“M-m-ma’am, s-sir, do I h-have to do this?”
“Yes, Lance Corproal Murray, you most certainly do! And with a smile, man, for goodness’ sakes!”
The poor, thin-faced guardsman twitched his quivering lips into something resembling a grin, looking like he was “‘most certainly’” going to vomit. He lifted one shaking hand and gestured formally towards his left.
“L-lady Atyi—”
“Oh, do the whole thing, Murray, come now! This is for a lady’s honor after all.”
Murray swallowed thickly, eyes flicking up to the ramparts surrounding the courtyard, as if to silently beg his fellow mates to make good use of their rifles and put him out of his misery. He coughed three times to clear his throat and began again.
“On this day, the thirteen of the month, thirty-eighth year after the Battle of Yevin, at thirteen-hundred hours—”
“Lucky,” was all the other occupant of the green rumbled, squinting in the sun as he removed his mask.
“—I d-do pledge witness to this du-uel between the L-lady Atyuri—”
“Atyiru, dear! Atyiru! A-t-y-i-r-u. It’s a bit hard to pronounce in Basic, I know.”
The man flinched badly. “My apo-ap-apap—”
“Oh, dear sweetling, do calm down. Shh. It’s okay, just breathe. You’re not some fluffy little baby hoojib. You’re a Lance Corporal of Clan Arcona! You’re a man with a spine! A full grown adult perfectly capable of finishing his sentences. Right?!”
“R-right ma’am, yes ma’am!”
Good! Now, finish up. No apologies.”
“Yes, ma’am. I do, do pledge my witness to this duel b-between Lady At..yiru?” The poor man received a nod. “Atyiru Caybus—”
Under her breath, the Miraluka sighed and muttered, “Oh, frak it.”
“--Entar, Aedile of House Galeres, Shadesworn of the Second Circle, the Mountain of Arcona, and Lord Celevon Edraven, Aedile of House Galeres, Master of the Antei Contract Bureau, Shadesworn of the Second Circle, Shadicar. The matter of the duel is to the honor of the Lady...er…” he squinted and pulled out the small business card he’d been given. “Do I have this right? Tyffany Lace, with a yivt instead of an isk?”
“That’s the gem.”
“Riiight, ma’am, sir. For the honor of one Lady Tyffany Lace, having been presumed upon with possession, and for the violation of the Brethren’s Code—”
“What?” Atyiru interrupted again. “I would never violate the Brethren’s Code! It’s the most sacred of codes any of we faithful hold dear! How dare you say that, Cel!”
“How dare I?” the Human scoffed grumpily. “You broke your oath as one of the brethren!”
Atyiru gasped.
“Y-you insult me, Celevon! I would never, ever—”
“You violated my dibs!”
“Dibs? I did not — no! I saw her first!”
“You can’t even see!”
“Oh, that’s irrelevant! I sensed-saw her first, damn you! I saw her before you called your silly dibs! It’s you that broke the code!”
Celevon also gasped.
The sound of a lightsaber activating punctuated the argument. The Shadicar bent at the knee and sprang forward, blue blade clutched tightly. Atyiru dived, not-so-gently shoved the Lance Corporal out of harm’s way, and rolled under the Human’s first strike. Half a heartbeat, and she threw herself to the left to avoid being impaled from behind.
The Archpriestess rolled again, coming into an upright crouch and spitting out clods of dirt as Celevon uncurled from his downward strike. He held his saber loosely now, its tip blackening the sweet grass.
Atyiru took the chance to draw her own seraphic lightsaber. She stood, whirling it before her, a ceaselessly moving shield to counter the assassin’s deathly-still blade.
Somewhere up on the bulwarks, the other sharpshooters watched their fellow soldier scramble away from the two fighting godlings and began to chant.
“Fight, fight, fight, fight!”
-=x=-
Off to the side, lazing drunkenly under the shade of the great tree, the dueling pair’s “honorable stand-ins” watched the fight with bleary eyes and silly grins.
“Shhhould just stay hammered more of’en,” Uji observed. “No hangover, jusht drunk or dead.”
“S’how I uh, prefer to live..he..hehe…” Kordath replied, taking a small swig from his quickly-emptying flask. “Shay, doya think we shhoulda, eh, shtop them?”
“Naahhhh. They’ll be fiiine. Blinky’s got this,” the red-eyed Human paused. “When did I shtart sayin’ dat?”
“Too much shtime aroun’ me, mate, bad for ya health, right, heh,” the Ryn chuckled back. “An’ I dunno...Cel’s...looks fasht.”
“Maybe fightin’-wise he’s better, buh Atty’s got—”
They both shared half-dazed looks.
Uji stuck out a leg and kicked at the cowering mundane soldier nearby that had officiated the dueling business. “O-oi, you, whatsername. C’mere an’ witness thish.”
“Whadda we bettin’?” Kord asked. “Tab at the Tipshy Rancor?”
“No,” Uji said. “I propose a shlap bet.”
Kordath drunkenly gasped. Lance Corporal Murray observed that there was a lot of gasping going on.
“Slaps? Heh-h nonononooooo man, not ag — hic! --agin!”
“C’monnn. Three to...to five! If Cevon wins, I get five, an’ if Atty wins, I get three.”
“Oka--wait waht? No!”
“You!” the Templar kicked at the Lance Corporal again. “He shaid okay, righ? Tha’s it!”
“Both sides need to benefit for a fair challenge, s-sir,” the poor man groaned, curling in on himself in the grass.
“Pssssht, fiiiine. If Atty wins, you can have...two.”
“Mahke it five!”
“If Atty wins five timesh, you can have two.”
The Ryn lifted his flask to throw it at his Obelisk companion, then seemed to think better of it and just drank some more.
“Three each. Blinky beats ‘im, me win. Broody, then you do.”
“Bahhh. Fine. Leshhh deal.”
They missed twice before finally shaking on it. Back across the courtyard green, Atyiru and Celevon danced around in colorful blurs, plasma flashing.
Lance Corporal Murray cried quietly to himself.
