Whip

Aldrin sighed as he watched the stranger draw his sword, brandishing it in his direction threateningly as he staggered forward drunkenly. This man clearly had no idea what the hell he was getting himself into. He wondered which it had more to do with - the alcohol or the man's ego. Hard to say. Even if he had been sober, he barely would have stood a chance against Aldrin, but as the staggering drunk he currently was, He'd never even be able to land a blow.

"Wha'd you call me, you little punk?" the man asked loudly, flicking his sword back and forth as he spoke. Aldrin rolled his eyes - he'd never spoken to the man before, or even seen him before for that matter. "You think you can take me? Ain't even got a sword, boy. Gonna take me on wit your bare hands? You gonna die fightin' like that."

"You'd be best getting back to your drink," Aldrin said flatly. "I'd highly suggest picking your fights more wisely."

The blade flew forward in an arc, but it cut nothing but air, clanking against the ground and sending a shock up the man's arm as he tried not to trip over the blade now level with his feet. Aldrin was stepping back and around the man, reaching down to grip the whip the was looped and strapped to his hip. He wasn't much of a fighter, truth be told, but he was very good at controlling. As the man turned to face him again, he had his whip firmly in hand, and before the man could take another step there was a loud crack in the air.

The sword clattered to the ground as the man grabbed his hand, blood lightly beginning to breach the wound that was fresh on the back of his hand. Aldrin looped the whip back around his hand as the man looked wildly back and forth between him and his sword. He clearly couldn't even begin to comprehend what had just happened.

"You shouldn't mess with horse breeders," Aldrin muttered under his breath, "lest you face his whip."