[ He lets out a relieved breath as she finally backs away, letting him sit up. He hauls himself to his feet, brushing himself off, rolling his shoulders experimentally. His fall to the deck hadn't been particularly graceful, but neither had it been too damaging – but he knows that any more of those are bound to get painful, over time. ]
Or you could, like. Not trip me.
[ He fishes out the rolled up mats from their storage in the cargo bay, bringing them back to the cleared out space. He unfurls them onto the deck. ]
I thought this was supposed to be sparring, not "Get Quill flat on his ass"-ing.
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Or you could, like. Not trip me.
[ He fishes out the rolled up mats from their storage in the cargo bay, bringing them back to the cleared out space. He unfurls them onto the deck. ]
I thought this was supposed to be sparring, not "Get Quill flat on his ass"-ing.