"I'm not going to throw that fight!" Annabel declares, flinging open the door to the office of one of the members of the Council of Peers.
"Annabel, we need you to take on Trainees. You're long passed due to take some on," the Councilman replies simply from his desk.
"Two years is not 'long passed due,' and you know it, Mel!" she shouts, slamming her palms on his desk. "This is my shot at the title, and I'm not going to fall to some half-talented would-be!"
"Annabel, sit down, and stop raving. I know you're angry, but there's really nothing I can do."
"I'm not going to throw that fight," Annabel repeats, plopping into a chair.
"What could I do to convince you otherwise?"
"You've me signed for one of two brothers - twin brothers. I want them both," she admits, calmer but still brooding.
"You can't have both of them! No one's ever taken on two Trainees at once!"
"Do I look like I care? If I have to throw that match, I'm taking on the twins."
Mel rifles through a stack of paper to the designated Trainee report. "Franqiel and Elrondav Etherns. You're signed for Elrondav, but Franqiel didn't pass his tests."
Annabel reaches across the desk and pulls the paper down from Carmelotto's face. She fixes him with an 'I'm not joking,' stare and returns to sitting comfortably in the chair. "It's Elrondäv. Long 'a.' There's oomlauts."
Carmelotto fixes a pair of spectacles onto his nose and stares at the paper. "So there are. It doesn't change the fact that his brother failed to pass his tests."
"Let me tutor him. He can pass with help. Don't split them up, Mel! Have a heart!"
Carmelotto sighs. "What if we accepted every wash-out? Our ranks would be populated by so many could-bes that the true stars would be overwhelmed. Ratings would suffer drastically. Besides, it doesn't do to have an idiot fighting among us."
Annabel leaps to her feet. "An idiot!? Why? Because he, like me, never took a disk besides the doctor-sanctioned ones? Times may've changed you, Carmelotto, with your classy office high above us common Fighters, but I can't say the same. Sure, I'm older, wiser, stronger than before. I've had my falls brought about by my own incompetance, but I don't want to see you ruin Franq's career before it's even begun simply because he's like me! Isn't that what made you choose me? My tenacious resistance to injesting disks? Drop that Styroplex facade and quit pretending like you don't care! I know that, deep down, somewhere, you do care, that each kid who's turned away is like a sword plunged into your bowels, and by God, I just want to make a difference!" She borders on tears, but not one spills. She plays them simply for effect, much like a harpist could Mel's heartstrings. She plops back into her chair, fixing him with pitiful, heartwrenching green eyes.
Carmelotto's expression softens visibly and he sighs, considering her points. He closes his eyes and rocks back in his chair. "I'll discuss it with the council. If they really want you to take this fall, you'll know by saturday morning. If not, you do what you want. God knows I've never been able to control you since our Parglassi bout."
Annabel pops off the chair, smiling. She places one hand on his desk and leans forward. "Thank you, Mel. I knew you'd come through for me. Make sure you tell me either way by Saturday morning, or Saturday night, I'm pounding Tyranada for all she's worth!"
Saturday came soon enough, and, sure enough, there had been a smallish note hanging from the inside of her locker. Annabel changes into her Arena clothes and then unfolds the note and reads it.
"See me in my office," it reads. There is no signature, but Annabel knows it to be from Carmelotto. There is no duplicating his hurried handwriting.
She grins and slams shut her locker, practically bounces out of the locker room, and races up the stairs towards Mel's office. She reaches it, grinning like a maniac. "Are they mine?" she asks, flinging open the door and taking a step inside.
Carmelotto looks up from his desk where he had been filling out forms. "Annabel, don't you ever knock?" he wants to know.
Annabel closes the door behind her and makes a face. "This coming from the man who'd enter my father's house without a word to sneak up on me and see if my sociologist father was at home," she retorts, turning to the seats across from his desk where he gestures.
The inhabitants of the chairs make her grin wider. Two boys, each sixteen, only slightly older than she had been when she began her Training, are seated across from Carmelotto's desk. They both have the same piercing blue eyes, dark eyebrows, and tannish complexion. There is no doubt in Annabel's mind as to who they are.
"Franq, Däv, it's a pleasure to meet you both," she admits.
The boys nod at her in half-awe. She doesn't blame them and straightens her shirt to look a bit more presentable. "And you, too, Impros," one admits.
"Gah! You're not to call me that!" she exclaims dramatically. She takes a step nearer to them both. "You're to call me Annabel or Nabel, do I make myself clear?"
"Clear as the Box," replies the other, alluding to the Styroplex walls that surround the Court.
"So good to hear it!" she admits. She smiles and leans on Carmelotto's desk. "So, Mel, do I get their release papers or what?"
"After you throw the match."
One of the twins looks up at them both. "Begging your pardon, but you're going to take a fall?" he inquires, his eyes wide. "Why?"
Annabel leans close and holds up a hand to half-whisper and pretend to leave Mel out of it. "Just between you two and me, so the stick-in-the-mud councilmen don't all get their ways." She sits straight again and resumes speaking at her normal volume. "Besides, we can't break up you and Franq," she adds with a spritely wink.
The boy blinks. "How did you know which one I was?"
Annabel walks over to him and dances her fingertips across his head. "Nine-oh-three-four-seven-dash-twelve. I've been looking at your records, don't worry."
Däv blinks. "You must have been really bored if you went through all the trouble of memorizing my ID number."
Annabel has the decency to look a bit embarrassed but simply shrugs it off. She continues to smile. "But after tonight, you boys had better be ready to work, because I'm giving up an awful lot to keep you two together. You do, of course, understand."
"Why? You could kick Tyranada's lazy a-"
Däv quickly places a hand over his brother's mouth. "Excuse him, won't you?"
"Of course. Let me explain something to you two. I could beat Tyranada easilly and win the title simply enough, but the Council of Peers has declared that I take on a Trainee, and so, I have to take this fall. I refused and got our darling Carmelotto here to arrange for the Council to allow me to take on both of you as my Trainees, granted Franq can pass his tests."
"I can pass them!" Franq admits, glowering a little.
"I know you can, but you have to do it. So, until tonight, I bid you both adieu. I hope to see you again soon." Smiling, she dusts her fingertips over both their hairless heads before opening the door. "I have to prepare to lose a blood-bout with style," she adds, flicking a wave to all three.
When the door closes, Däv turns to Mel. "She's an odder woman than I'd expected."
Carmelotto sighs. "Get used to it," he says. "She runs the emotional gauntlet at least three times daily, I've come to suspect. Best of luck with her as your Master," he adds, rubbing his temples to dispell the headache that is just starting to set in on him.
"The crowd is not happy about Impros' lack of drive tonight. She does seem to be more than a bit hesitant to go on the offensive," one of the announcers explains for the viewing audiances' benefits.
"My sentiments exactly, Garl. She's not usually one to hold back, so this behavior is rather peculiar," a second announcer admits.
"Perhaps she just has something on her mind?"
"No, I doubt it. She said it herself; when she's in the Court, there's nothing but her, the walls, and her opponent. If there is something on her mind, it's something big!"
"So you agreed to the fall, Nabel?" Tyranada asks, using her shield's edge as a blade, hoping to draw blood from Annabel's arm.
"I did, but only because they offered me sufficient reason," Annabel replies, batting the shield away. "But you're not going to win easily. If you came in here hoping for a simple bout, you thought wrong!" She pulls herself into a twisting high-kick to Tyranada's unguarded side.
The woman blocks with her arm, and is aghast when she discovers that her shield is on her other arm. The rough, leathery composite of Annabel's boot causes a smallish brush-burn. Soon, with any luck, it will begin to well red with light traces of burst capilaries below the skin.
Annabel smirks and dances back, out of Tyranada's reach as the other woman begins to pummel forwards with her shield. Tyranada grins broadly. "So what did you get for letting me win?"
"I train the twins." Annabel flicks one of her knives into a forwards grip just long enough to make a sweeping jab, misses, spins it into her more comfortable backwards grip, and swings back again, missing once more.
Tyranada nearly stumbles as she dances away from Annabel's knife. "The twins? Däv and Franq? How'd you pull that one? I was thinking more along the lines of super-big bonus!" They continue to make glancing, mocking swipes at one another as they talk, keeping the action tight, but not so tight that distraction by the conversation will cause the other to get a chance at a nice slice. Neither of them has drawn any blood besides Annabel with her brush-burn on Tyranada's arm.
Annabel laughs and ducks below a hard blow of Tyranada's shield. "Whatever happened to your Trainee?"
"She couldn't hack it, and she realized it. She decided to go play among the Pholiostars. They're more her crowd anyways."
"That's what I would've thought." She blocks Tyranada's shield again and glances up at the clock above the ring. "Whoops. Five minutes left. Come get me." Absolutely serious, Annabel pulls a backflip and returns her knives to their sheaths, strapped to her thighs.
"Are you crazy!?" Tyranada wants to know as she chases after her. "I could kill you!"
Annabel's laughter, deep and hearty, echoes through the Box of Court, and she jumps to the wall, waiting.
"What the heck kind of moves is she making in there, Garl?" the second announcer demands, astonishment seaping into her voice as she wonders that aloud.
"I really don't know, Silb, but she's bound to have something up her sleeve. You remember, this is a blood-bout. The one who hits with blood via the most flesh-wounds by the time the counter runs out is declared the victor. Annabel wouldn't be one to fool around with a title match. Unless..."
"You don't really think that, do you, Garl? She wouldn't mess around with something this important! She may be crazy, but she's not stupid!"
"I don't know. If she doesn't take the title, she's marked down for training. She'll be training twin brothers, Franqiel and Elrondäv Etherns. Twins don't happen much. They're practically unheard of!"
"Yes, the labs pretty much take care of worrying about copy-clones. I hear Elrondäv and Franqiel aren't lab-born."
"It says here Franqiel didn't pass his tests. Special condition acceptance. She's going to take it."
"Pity. She could have made it big, too."
The counter hits the one-minute mark and Franq sighs, watching the two women fight, or, more accurately, the one woman fight and the second run away from her. "This is ridiculous! She should have beaten that stupid bi-"
"Must you swear every other sentance, Franq?" Däv asks, blinking up from his notebook. "And really, should you be watching that? You have to study! You want to pass those tests so Miss Nabel's sacrifice wasn't in vain."
Franq nods. "Don't make it sound so noble. She's just doing her job."
Däv sighs. "Don't make yourself sound so ungrateful. She's doing it for you."
"Us," Franq corrects.
"Okay. She's doing this for us. Nonetheless, I would have gotten in without her help. I passed my tests. You didn't."
"It's not my fault you're a braniac."
"It's not my fault I felt to compensate myself for our allergic reaction to the disks. You could have done the same easilly enough."
Franq sighs. "I know," he admits. He reaches up and turns off the Pholiograph. "Let's do that studying bit a while. Quiz me."
The bell tolls and Annabel sinks to her knees. She had to practically throw herself at Tyranada to get her to win. She kneels there calmly as Tyranada annoints her, the loser, with sand from the Court's floor. "Feel humbled yet, child?" she asks in loud, mocking tones.
Annabel knows the routine. She is supposed to stay silent, but she can not bring herself to do it. "Not lately," she retorts through gritted teeth, staring at the sandy ground.
"Shush, will you?" Tyranada demands through her own clenched teeth. Then, she raises her hand high and addresses the crowd. "I have retained my rightful title!" she declares. "Perhaps, at some far later date, this wretch of a child will realize her place is nowhere near my own! Knowing Impros, however, I doubt that day to come until the fires freeze below us all."
Annabel raises her chin defiantly, and Tyrananda extends her hand to her. She accepts it and allows herself to be pulled to her feet. "You did well enough," Annabel whispers.
"I couldn't keep up with you. You did well. You shouldn't've taken the fall," the older woman whispers back.
"I did what I had to do," Annabel hisses in a low reply as they shake hands and depart to opposite sides of the Arena. The corridors out both exits converge into one main one, leading to the locker rooms. They will meet again there. It is, after all, all for effect anyways.
"And there you have it, folks. Impros has fallen to Tyranada in the title blood-bout. Tyranada retains her title, Impros picks up two Trainees, and we'll see you next week, same time, same place. Til then!"
Silb rolls her eyes after Garl signs off and the Pholioman signals that this showing is finished. "Must you use the same sign-off after every match?" she demands. "I swear you have a form made up or something!"
Garl blinks up at her. "How'd you know?"
Silb issues a slight growl and stalks from the announcers' post.
"Next week, then, Silb?" The door slams shut in reply. "She wants me," Garl remarks to the Pholioman, who fixes him with an odd look. "Whaaaat?" Garl demands, undoing his necktie. "She does."
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