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All I knew was that i was standing at her door. In one hand, a card, signed with a comment about ‘penelope’. An inside joke that I knew would make her smile. In the other, an address scribbled down on a piece of paper, the one she had jokingly given me during one of our titanfall nights. ‘As if you would ever come out here,’ she had told me. ‘Who knows? Maybe I’ll just use it to send you something for your birthday,’ I had replied, knowing she was probably right. But here I was, at her doorstep, wondering if my jeans and button up shirt were too flashy or too casual. I knew she would be surprised to see me, hopefully a happy sort of surprised. Hopefully not the ‘call the cops’ kind of surprised. I crumpled up the address and stepped up the stairs. The sounds of my knuckles rapping against the cool surface echoed in the silent air. I strained my ears, hoping I would hear footstep on the other side of the door. So suddenly that I actually jumped, the door swung open and, she was. She looked up at the clock every now and then. Fifty minutes passed and finally the blows and curses got fainter. Then silence! Nothing happened and Mrs FitzWalter went out into the garden to see if they were still alive after the ferocious battering they had given each other. She saw two bloodied and comatose girls lying totally flat out.She put the two of them, feebly and very unconvincingly protesting that they were alright, into bed, side by side, after cleaning them up. Then she went back to the garden and tried to wash the blood off the lawn! As she continued her errand of mercy she became increasingly sorry she had watched such a tiny segment of the contest. There was something horribly infectious about that couple's lust for carnage! Next time she would have a ringside seat and stay for the duration. Unhappily, after the way that they had just fought each other to a standstill she guessed that their next contest would not be for many weeks.Then Mrs FitzWalter called the.
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