The Red Queen

Flashback to the year 1785. In a clearing in the woods that borders a large, lush green lawn overlooked by a white chateau stands a very snooty Frenchman dressed in a collarless blue coat with deep cuffs and matching waistcoat, white breeches, ruffled shirt, silk stockings, and buckled shoes. The young man also wore a modest white powdered wig. He is joined by another, similarly, dressed man, in plain brown, to whom he hands a fine-looking Backsword with a gold basket hilt and a blue gem set into the pommel. The man in brown exchanges this Backsword for a plain duelling foil. Bo, dressed in a modest, red, French-cut Scottish ball gown, modestly ruffled at the front with white lace cuffs and a pink sash tied around the waist ending in a bow at the back, and a low-cut bodice, with its white lace lining that framed and enhanced her cleavage, a single white glove on her left hand that reached her elbow and a tall, powdered white wig that sat askew upon her head, barely containing her own hair, and holding an equally plain duelling foil, is so drunk she can hardly stand up. The Frenchman salutes with his foil before lunging forth, driving the thin blade neatly above Bo’s left breast, and quickly declares himself the victor as Bo stumbles and falls to the ground. A few seconds later, she struggles to her feet once more.

‘Sorry...’ she slurs, ‘...I think I foted over...’.

Both men are stunned.

‘Probably just missed a vital organ, My Lord...’ said the other man in brown.

‘Obviously, Gasparde...’ the man in blue replied with arrogance. Bo staggers about, trying to steady herself as the man in blue salutes with his foil once again.

‘Oopsie...!’ slurs Bo, as she farted loudly, causing her to giggle, ‘...ah seem to have dropped my sword...’ she finished, looking down towards the ground as the man in blue lunged, easily stabbing Bo again and she slumped to her knees.

‘Oh, well done, My Lord...’ gushed Gasparde, taking the foil.

‘Found it’ declares Bo a few seconds later, staggering to her feet, waving her foil in the air in the Lord’s general direction.

The pompous Lord is clearly annoyed at not being able to kill her, as he snatches the foil from Gasparde.

‘On guard...!’ cries Bo, lurching forward. The stamp of her foot causes the wig on her head to wobble, and it falls over her eyes.

‘Shit... I’m blind...!’ she exclaims in panic, just as the Lord drives his foil through her chest again. Nobody notices Talos walking through the trees to join them as she collapses to the ground again, the wig finally rolling off her head, revealing the mass of red curls. He is dressed much the same as Donnadieu, only his coat is deep red in colour and more military in design, and he wears a black tri-cornered hat. His hair is plaited at the back, and he wore the familiar customised Sabre upon a belt at his left hip.

Bo staggers to her feet laughing, as Talos approaches.

‘Foted over again...’ she slurs.

‘Hoo’s the fight gaan..?’ asked Talos, merrily.

‘Mademoiselle Carvetii is not abiding by the rules...!’ protests Lord Donnadieu to Talos in frustration, ‘...she’s supposed to stay dead when she is killed’.

‘A thoosan’ pardons, Lord Donnadieu...’ Talos answers, wrapping his arm around Bo’s waist protectively, ‘...but ah suggest that we call this a draw before it gets oot of hand...’

‘No...!’ demands Bo, wriggling out of Talos’s arm and tapping his chest with her finger, all the while fighting the urge to vomit, '...this is my fight - and I’m gonna fight ‘em...!’ she declared, staggering towards Lord Donnadieu, trying not to look as drunk as she was. Talos sighed and grabbed the bow at the back of her dress with his left hand, gently pulling her backwards. As he turned Bo to face away to the left, towards a copse of trees, he reached down with his right hand, plucked the foil from her and let her go. Bo continued to stagger off towards the trees before realising that she was going the wrong way without her sword.

‘I would beseech thee, Lord Donnadieu...’ started Talos, breaking the foil over his knee before throwing the two halves to the ground, ‘...to accept an apology on behalf of Mademoiselle Carvetii and claim victory this day’ he finished with a short bow.

‘But she humiliated me, Lord Loup-de-Gris...!’ Lord Donnadieu protested, ‘...and then publicly challenged me...’.

‘She merely... dropped her glove in yer direction...’ lied Talos, smiling at the memory of her aggressively stripping off her right glove and using it to slap the pompous idiot with enough force to knock his wig off, ‘...shock from the proposal of matrimony, no doubt. And, as for calling ye a “stupid wiggy faced pompous arse” ...’ Gasparde had to stifle a giggle, then pretend he was clearing his throat, ‘...she was quite blootered, and didnay mean nay offence’.

Donnadieu stood and watched Bo stumbling about trying to find her sword, which she must’ve assumed she had dropped again.

‘I must admit, it would truly be a waste to destroy such a rare beauty...’ he started, before Bo farted loudly again, which seemed to startle and confuse her even further, '...I shall spare her life this day and recount my proposal. Perhaps she will be more... agreeable in the morning’.

‘Aye she may...’ Talos replied with a short bow, fighting the urge to slap the pompous arse himself.

‘Good day, Lord Loup-de-Gris...’ answered Donnadieu with a short bow of his own. Gasparde also bowed with a short, quick bow, and, as the pair of “gentlemen” walked off towards the chateau, Bo finally managed to find her way back to Talos.

‘Wa’s he gone...?’ Bo slurred, looking around her, ‘...he’s fucking run away, has he? Fucking froggy bast-’

‘Falt ruadh...’ sighed Talos, '...you’re. Absurdly blootered...’.

'And you’re... fucking gorgeous...’ she snorts in reply, patting his chest, '...and I fucking love you...’ she slurs as she slides down to her knees once more, and rests her head between Talos’s thighs.

‘Piggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, Hehe Hehe...’ she giggled as she slowly toppled to the right.

And passed out.