There was a woman, she was beautiful. Most of them were if you asked who she was fighting. For most of the time, she had used that to her advantage. All those that were smart enough would know not to fall for the trick of her beauty.
There was a man. He was a man who was funny. He could make any man woman and child laugh with his jokes. But he wasn't a comedian. He never did much with his life. He was smart.
Neither of their names mattered to one another. This battle was going to be a landslide.
"Hello ma'am."
"Oh?"
"Don't take me for a fool." He waved his hand for the announcer to summon something. "Sit, have some tea with me."
She looked at him with confusion. A part of her wondered if she wasn't good enough. See, her body was a weapon. If it wasn't good enough, that was a problem on par with a dull sword or a gun filled with blanks.
"What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing really." His voice was as quiet as it was calm. "I simply don't care for what you do in hopes of distracting me if that's what you mean." For some strange reason, she could feel the intensity of her arms ease. When the tea finally arrived, he poured her a cup and even put two sugar cubes in with a dash of honey. Nobody did that for her. That was her preferred way of drinking tea. When he put his pinky up, she came to the conclusion that he must have some form of mind reading or he might just be a crazy person.
"Why aren't we fighting?"
"I know myself to be a man of reasonable intelligence. Not high enough to be the talk of the brainy circles on my side." His face was very melancholy. She knew that this man had prepared himself to die. Living in such a way was horrible. She could never imagine doing something like that. "Now, I'm a shallow individual of no-good fighting ability. You will win this. But I just wanted to talk with you first."
"Are you trying to get me to forfeit?" His face looked honestly disappointed in her. He had no intention in winning, and that made him the real winner. "You know that won't work."
"No. I am simply allowing myself to have tea before death."
What in the hell is going on? Why do I feel almost bad for him? Fine, I'll bite. I'll take the bait.
"Where are you from?"
"Dublin."
"Ah… I'm from Derry." She felt a sense of joy cross her as she had felt memories of times long past flood back to her. "Say, what is the time you come from? I know a few fellas from Dublin."
See, what was happening here is commonly known as Nemesis Self-Destruct Syndrome. Truly a sad thing. See, in many of the rounds to come, you'll find that plenty of these folks knew one another. Most of the time, these people were one another's nemesis. Thus, when one of them dies, they see no rhyme or reason to continue in the fight but to throw their fight.
"I thought you could make a conclusion from my dress. But I was foolish." He took another sip of his tea. "There is no reason for anyone to waste their time."
Like it was a rehearsed notion, he raised from his seat, took prayer beads in one hand and a crucifix in the other. When she listened carefully, she could hear him recite the lord's prayer. From that, she figured out that he was catholic. Which didn't help her figure out when he was from. But does when matter more than the who?
"I don't want to kill you."
"I don't want to die."
"Are you afraid? To walk off into oblivion alone?"
"Of course I'm afraid. But I won't be alone. I have a feeling that some kind man will come and you'll be right behind me." He had a smile on his face before dropping it and she had seen a tear roll down his face. "Until then, you're holding up my journey."
She felt bad about having to kill him. Like she did a million times, she held a blade in her hands. It was a creation of ice; she couldn't feel the cold as much as she used to.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Ma'am, my patience grows thin. Swing the damn sword."
She did as told. Like many people who had experienced something somewhat close to her situation, she would spend the rest of her life regretting it. She walked off the battlegrounds and hoped to never return.