[Childe looks... abashed and amused by that stubbornness, but he doesn't begrudge the other man his pole. If he refuses to give it up, what else can be done? Keen on the details, of course, it's clear to him in the next moment that at least there's some skill here—this isn't someone swinging around a blunt instrument out of blind stubbornness. Confirmation quickly matched with words.]

Well, if you insist. Perhaps you should have brought whatever it is you're used to out onto the ice instead, then? Ah, but not if it's a real weapon, because in that case you'd give the civilians here quite a fright. [Leave it to Childe to find the one guy in the vicinity with some sort of prowess with weapons; he must have scented it like blood in the water. It's his sixth sense.] I'm flattered, though. It's been a while since I've done this sort of activity, but where I grew up, we had plenty of frozen lakes to practice on. I admit, it's nostalgic.

[He pushes away from the railing to complete a graceful spin, scraping the ice in a neat arc with the blades on his skates. Yes, he's showing off.]

Try something more practical first. We call it "marching," like you're a soldier about to head out to the battlefield. I'll demonstrate. [Childe picks his feet up, one after the other, marching in place.] Make sure to relax, it'll help your balance. What's your name, stranger?