Monday January 9, 2012
They rode out for the parlay, but there was little to discuss. There was the question of when the killing would start - but all else was mere formality.
“No knights at your side. How bold.” Tiffany spoke in a brash voice. Quick - and to the point. Her steel armor spoke for her. Inlaid with the gold markings of her House. The House of Prada. Two high heeled shoes, toe to toe. Gold on cold steel.
“I have no need for protection, my cause is just. The gods will reward me.” Stephen answered. A true born son, and heir to his father’s throne. He held a battle-axe marked with the signal of his own House. The House of Hungry Man Dinners.
“Defiant till the bitter end. If you would have just done the dishes when I asked. Thousands of men need not perish.”
“Done them when you asked??” Stephen laughed bitterly. “When did a mortal man have time?” “One second it was, ‘Can you do the dishes?’ and within the very same, ‘Why aren’t the dishes done yet??’” “I do not have your magical powers of perfection, sweet one.”
Tiffany’s face twisted in anger. “I spoke not of perfection, but rather effort. You never even try to do the dishes. You let the sink fill up. And the trash – when was the last time you carried it to the curb? Have you ever?”
“Have I ever?? Hold your tongue before I cut it out! I am always the one who does the trash. And the dog poop. I have never seen your robust frame bending over to retrieve his droppings. And you adopted that stupid thing.”
At that - Tiffany drew her sword and challenged Stephen to single combat. “I will not let you besmirch my name any longer, boy. And yes, I called you boy. For you still wear converse sneakers and work at the Best Buy. Are you even applying to night school?”
Stephen accepted the challenge, and his squire brought forth his longsword.
“It’ll be a pity when I strike you down. I will have to go back to pleasuring myself. Not that I’ll really miss much.”
Tiffany strapped on her wooden shield. “Sex - the last vestige of man. When all else fails, complain about the tally of sexual offerings and I’m the bad guy.” Tiffany paused. Then began to cry. “You are such a jerk Steve.”
Stephan spoke, “Look, maybe I went too far.” Tiffany swung her sword, but Stephan caught the blow, deflecting it off to his side.
“Hold. For a moment, please. I am sorry things have been rough lately. There’s been a lot going on. Work and stuff, is kicking my ass…. Maybe I should be doing more to help out around the castle.”
Tiffany paused, removing her great helm. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge you, I know things haven’t been easy since your parents kicked you out and took back their siege weaponry.”
“Yeah… and anyway, most of those dishes in the sink were yours. I only used one bowl and one goblet, so I’ll just do those. Okay?”
Tiffany drew up her sword once more. “Oh, my god. Not true! You are so petty!” She swung with such a speed and ferocity that Stephen never had a chance to respond. His severed head fell to the ground, the ‘thump’ echoing across the battlefield.
Tiffany called forth her squire, wiping the blood from her blade. “Send a raven to Sir Brian Foster, the hot guy who works at Morgan Stanley. Tell him I’m single once more.”