Daylight of the Jewels #1 JakeVSFiona

f i o n a.

Competitions are my dealio, you feelio. 

I've always been competitive, even when I was a little tyke with braided ponytails and mix-matched sandles with black knee high socks because I thought it was cute. Back when Cat and I made wooden swords out of tree branches and I would tackle her while she played with insects and spew some crazy witch shit before running back inside while I stabbed an ant hill with my Excalibur. Honestly, she was never as good with branch swords as I was, maybe that's why she's out to spite me by committing various fashion crimes I can't even tell anymore. I mean, it's not my fault I got genes of a goddess and she got the middle name Maude. 

Yeah, Cat's always been a little jealous of me, I would say, but then again who wouldn't be? Hell, even I am a little jealous of me as my hand twists around my newfound wooden Excalibur. That tiny tacky tyke inside of me squeals as I see my reflection in its blade - excalibur. My tits are perky and not a smear of my lip stick, and damn my mascara game is killer enough to win this fight for me itself. Excalibur no, a blade this great needs a name like Fiona, maybe Leon, yeah. Leon. Like the victor; Fiona, like the victor. There's a gleam in my eye that could make my sister's jealous boil her alive, because I already know this match is mine.

Win or lose, with this sword I'll still have the crown of a victor. 

I take my place on the mat, squared chest parallel with my competition. Jake, last name Irrelevant, something like that oh well, he's got a nice face, not like a Fiona-nice or Leon-nice, but a pretty fitting face for Jake, and with a quick check I realize he's not my type anyways. I only date victors: Julian, Peridot, Leon. Not jewel misfits, or Frays but my mother swears on my life and her's that I'll marry that one boy eventually. 

"Are ya ready?" My eyes stuck on his, prey, I've always been a pampered house cat, but even those can kill a backyard rat. "I'm Jake. Nice to meet you."

"Practically dying - my name's for the leaderboard." I smile, teen punk burning in my veins and he's mine, I smile a closed grin. Fiona & Leon, my name isn't for whispers in a ring but for a trophy's mantle, and this boy's head could make a great plaque to bring back to Maude Cat.

I raise Leon in stance - first attack isn't classy. Going second is a challenge, and at least something in this fight's gotta be. 

f i o n a.

"Well, we'll see about that." He winks and matches my stance, while I shrug off the hit with grimace. Good luck showing me up with a name like Jake, pfft - actually Jake isn't that bad of a name. Not that great at winking, I check to myself. It'll take a lot more than that to distract me, mhm, I'm eyes like a hawk, ears like a lion, something like that, but Leon's tight in my wrists with my pupils locked on him. Never, never ever never, has Fiona Royce lost on the first round of anything - "I'm sorry if you want the special treatment, but in my book, ladies don't go first" - and in the strings of everything I swear this won't be the first.

I chuckle at him calling me a lady; I am no lady, I am a victor, a warrior and a crown bearer. "My pa told me first attack isn't for ladies," 'lady' is for the weekend, for prom nights and primping hair, and "but for cowards, y'know." Grin - one, two,

Three ticks, viper strikes on my chest like heartbeats and my smile dies in thought. Three points for 'Jake,' and I didn't even bother moving. My fingers slip on my sword, my Leon, and I meet his eyes again - stoic. Lame, three points lead on me and my mascara isn't even staining my shirt yet. Only three points, "my sister can hit better than that," and I'm not lying. If Cat get three, then I can get four.

Easy.

j3M1d|5_1-4

f i o n a.

I strike his chest a matching three times, one, two, three like heartbeats and I got a rhythm going now, it's pulsing through my veins and Jake's words mix in the air as I start picking out my crown already. Maybe a nice silver chrome, yeah, maybe platinum; platinum would be a better contrast with my eyes wouldn't it, and babe this mascara game still strong. Elevator music is playing through my mind as I flick my sword with a nice whoosh cutting air, before raising it back in defense, the melody of my brain being cut off by Jake's face abrupt in my vision and a one,

Two, rebound of a sword. 2, lackluster, and the shock of his sword slashing against Leon rumbles through my body and a sequential beating of the heart because holy tits, I'm pretty sure I could've just died. Jake straddles back to his side of the mat as I raise my sword again, my Leon. 

"Nice job with getting away with three hits last time. This time don't be so sure you will get that much. You should really just run along home before this gets dangerous little girl." And I'm taken back again with 'little girl' being thrown at me; queen yes, child no. I guess Jake has never seen a victor before, and I grin out a "little girl?" without a second of thought. That's me - Lady Fiona 'Little Girl' Royce, here to conquer. I take my stance again.

"And I thought this fight would be elevator music."


E4P1x6|61-4

f i o n a.

One strike - better. A singular heartbeat like a dying fire: 3 hits, 2 hits, one. Honestly, I'm a little disappointed, no snark comeback, no physical struggle to remind him that there's no beating the queen, bitch, this crown tattoo'd on my wrist. Six vs seven, I might as well take this lead and run with it but where's the fun in that? Winning is only an option when you have nothing left to prove and hey, once a winner always a winner. Disco-tech is humming through my mind and lion-stripes; "only one? Boo."

Three hits, two hits, none, I didn't need to win this fight. Of course. When did I ever need to win, it's just a nice hobby of mine, part time job: winner. I flick the ashes off Leon, a sympathetic-esque face sketched on my face, "babe, this is only half time." Cat isn't in the sidelines either, my sister's never been a big fan of this whole tournament thing, but me no, with a curl of my hair my mother forced me onto the list once she heard 'Jewels' in the title. A quick whisper of "good luck, better not need it!" and here I am, a pop technicolor-galaxy breathing.

I don't fight for a crown, I fight for the air.

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f i o n a.

Without my lion mane and crown, honestly I would enjoy this fight more. It's always so difficult to find a good match when you're so talented, but he had me for a second I will admit. More so into my own fists than to anybody else, but for a second there was a tiny shadow etched onto my heart and vessel and I thought that I wouldn't win. Pfft. If only, with Leon in my hand it was more difficult to lose. Cut it to me, punk, I'm an awfully modest person. Honest. I'm not bragging or anything as much as I should be, they should thank me. 

Honest.

This fight is dying like my mother's natural hair color, greying at the roots, but it'll finish eventually. The spark in the air is dying out, him burning up and me burning out. Living off fumes isn't something I'm good at. Win or lose, at least it'll be over then - maybe I should just give him the win. Momma needs her beauty sleep anyways, and my mom needs a good loss in her face anyways. Eh, "I think I left my iron on, can we hurry this up?" I'd rather just sit in the bleachers, at least then I can yell at the ring instead. Cat would laugh at me losing first tier, I would laugh at her mascara and how good I looked in this sport singlet and then eat a corndog probably. I don't know, he stabbed at me a couple times and I don't really keep track at this point. This fight is dying out, and I might as well finish it soon. Afterwards, I'll get a corndog I think. 

79mYf8541-4

way 2 suck fiona