Fíadh settles in and waits patiently as Waen prepares himself. She furrows her brows in confusion as he throws off his coat, but maybe it's to have a better range of motion? If everything goes well she'll end this quick enough that neither of them will work up a sweat.

As he takes form, Fíadh too raises her fists and bends her knees, ready. She gives a curt nod to him in reply and stays paused. Thinking. The wind begins to pick up, a snow flurry billowing beautifully around them. Somewhere out there, Ennio Morricone is running to get his trumpet. But that's not in this universe, not right now, so th-

Fíadh throws her punch. Hard. Straight toward Waen's jaw. Let's go.