Regan, in typical fashion, turned red the second Astor started speaking. Her mouth just stood half-open for a moment as Astor walked toward her before she finally twisted her tongue into a single syllable.

“Oh.”

Another moment of fluster before—

“No, you’re fine. I just…” She cleared her throat, gesturing vaguely to the punching bag, “Fuckers don’t put up much of a fight, do they?”

Ladies didn’t swear, but Regan was no lady.

Regan stared at his hand for a moment before realizing she needed to actually do something.

“Uh, oh—” She shook it, eyes jiggling in their sockets as she tried to look at his face and continued to fail. “I’m, uh, Regan. I punch too.”

Regan visibly cringed at how dumb those words sounded when dropped into the air.

“Yeah, I am. From Nevermere.” Regan perked up. There was a whispering caution at the back of her mind. The hellhound fire was close to the surface these days, and she wasn’t about to visit that on this guy who didn’t deserve it. Regan was going to save that kind of bite for Fischer.

“If you think you can handle it,” Regan grinned, surly demeanor giving way to something more playful. Regan was indeed a soldier, one far more formidable than your average Nevermeran witch.

Backing up, she’d head to the center of the field, shaking out before raising her hands to a ready position.

“Yeah,” Regan responded with a wicked grin, “But I’ll go easy on ya. Don’t you worry.” She stood at the ready, sizing Astor up, waiting for him to make the first move—

Which he did.

Regan would step forward, heading straight for his fist until moving to duck at the last moment and jab him in the ribs before pulling back.

The punch landed, and it would land with more force than Regan initially intended. She dialed back, mindful of the fire that lurked close to the surface. His hand went for her exposed shoulder, and Regan pivoted, grabbing him by the forearm of his extending hand so she could throw him to the ground.

To save both her and his shoulders from dislocation, Regan dropped with him. She landed on her back, keeping a tight hold of Astor so that by the time the landed she could yank him to the side and try to roll on top of him. It wasn't a sweaty, grunting effort. It was more like a dance.