Fighting was always a drag. Flint never particularly developed a love for it. Do not confuse such sentiments with pacifism. It is more than Flint sees little fun in the escapade of combat, and much rather weasel himself out of such tight situations with a careful choice of words or a nimble escape. Others may consider Flint a fleeting coward. He considers himself a clever strategist. However, despite this, Flint had gotten involved in a number of scraps (especially in his travels) and was experienced to say the least.
On Marcus' order, the siblings each engaged a single thief. Flint's opponent was comparable in build to Flint, though he was a few inches taller and a few pounds heavier. No matter. Nothing he couldn't handle. Hell, even Marcus would say Flint could handle this guy easily and he never admired Flint's fighting style (though he might commend its efficiency). The thief was probably in his late 20s, maybe early 30s, but it was hard to tell given his unkempt beard, missing teeth and patchy hair. For once, Flint felt gorgeous. He sighed as he approached his opponent: "Alright, let's get this over with." Flint brushed off his opponent, taking a neutral stance, drawing his hands out of his pockets, and placing them on his sides.
"What did ya say say, punk?" The thief said, drawing out his knife and brandishing it. The knife was a bit bigger than Flint expected, but at least he didn't get the guy with the sword or machete. That would of been annoying to dodge. Then again, the knife is a weapon of agility and precision. Smart fighters know how to use it. This thief was far from intelligent. Flint could tell.
"I said, come on! Stop dancing around like this is West Side Story. I got things to do. People to see," Flint said taunting his opponent with vulgar gestures.
"Ya think you're funny. Imma cut that tongue out of your mouth!"
"Try me. Oh, here I'll make it easier for you," Flint said, leaning forward, sticking his tongue out. The thief's face contorted in anger at Flint's arrogance. He lunged forward, going for a quick stab, but Flint read the move, hoping his taunting would pay off. Flint sidestepped the attack, grabbing his opponents wrist. He twisted it sharply and quickly, disarming the thief with ease before hammering his forearm against the thief's elbow to the orchestra of ear wrenching crack. The thief stumbled to the ground in pain, holding his arm gingerly, taking shallow breaths as he tried to reconcile with the pain. "Oops, seems I broke your arm," Flint said with a chuckle. "My bad."
"You son of a b-" Flint did not let him finish and he drove his knee into the face of the thief. As the thief squirmed in pain, suffering from breaks in his arm and nose, Flint grabbed the thief by the collar and approached the side of the boat.
"Take my advice and cool yourself off," Flint said as he chucked the broken man into the cold waters below. "Have a nice swim!" Flint called out as the man tumbled into the sea below. Flint took a cigarette from his back pocket and put into his mouth, his patted himself down to find his lighter before catching a sight in the corner of his eye. It was someone struggling in the waters, probably drowning. Flint wondered if it was the thief he just threw overboard. It wasn't likely. Did Marcus or Beck throw someone off the ship? Wait…Flint squinted and caught a better look. "Oh you gotta be kidding me…"
Flint did not hesitate at the sight and immediately jumped off the ship, quickly using his Arcana card's abilities to allow him to walk on the surface of the water. He ran over to Camellia, almost tripping over his own feet as he treaded across the water and lifted Camellia out of the water and over his shoulder. He ran over to shore and threw her on the ground. Not versed in CPR, Flint firmly pressed against her chest until he heard coughing and saw some water spew out. It was good enough for him.
"You know…now you owe me a new cigarette."