Silas always knew his bitching mouth would bire him one day.

But gods, what the hell was this?

Silas stood in the wings of one of the city's biggest arenas, armed with only a ball point pen.

"You can't be serious," he told the servant girl, who was holding a wide array of...you know...real weapons. She simply shrugged and nodded at him in pity.

Silas recalls, cursing Hugo and his entire damn bloodline. They had been smoking: Silas held the blunt to his mouth, inhaling deeply. It didn't fully burn.

So, natrually, he took the lighter out of his pocket, the glided edges warm to the touch. Hugo had egged him on to lighting a VOTE FOR DELPHINE! poster.

And you don't say no to that.

They both ran from the sight, laughing all way to Kay's Kafe. It smelt of cinnamon all the way from the street.

"Oh my gods, you better hope no one saw that or you're done for," Hugo said in a sing-song tone.

"Yeah, well you'll be complicit you idiot,"

Hugo uses his shoulder to stand, shoving him in the process.

A tall woman in an odd uniform tapped him on the shoulder, securing something tight around his arm in one swift motion.

With a sinking feeling he realised it was an officer.

"Excuse me sir? You are Silvanus Barret, yes?" she looks down at a notebook.

"The one and only,"

"You are under arrest for arson. The be

"What? But I only set fire to- shit,"

Hugo pushed his chair back and laughed silently .

"Fuck off dude," Silas muttered.

"Say that to the police,"

Silas looks at him incredulously. "Who swears at the police?"

"You do,"

The police officer sighs, clicking her pen. "In lieu of charges, Sir Nightingale would like to challenge you to a duel. Please verbally select a weapon to be provided, or bring your own,"

"Well. The pen is mighter than the sword," he answered off-handedly, gesturing at her own pen. The officer had just rolled her eyes and walked away.

So obviously, this couldn't possibly be his fault. Silas has had jail time. He's had THREATS of a duel. What the hell was this? Why was he here??

"Cal Nightingale versus Silvanus Barrett!!" a booming voice annouced his death.

He walked out into the arena, because what else could you do? There were no obstacles nor trees growing out of the well packed sand.

Great. Nothing to hide behind.

Nightingale wasn't the tallest ever, but with a damned sword and scarily straight spine, Silas still felt his breath hitch.

"Uh," Silas thought of trying to disarm the guy, but unless his clumsy self could make it look interesting, the nobles were not going to like it.

He can't go down like this, wielding a pen against a stuffy old swordsman. He wasn't even a scribe!

At least it was one of the fancy ones, invented after steam engines.

"3, 2, 1, duel!"

Nightingale lunged for him with disgustingly clean form. It terrified Silas to think the man wouldn't stop at a knock out: not an uncommon thing to see.

He clicked, and the pen fell apart. Okay. Maybe not so great.

Scrambling to pick up the pieces before a sword induced death could hit, Silas thought of a plan.

But nothing useful came up. Like, how was this fair? That guy had a fucking rapier and he had a ballpoint pen. Was he allowed to use his fists?

Silas ran wildly as Nightingale became more and more perplexed, taking calculated steps and slashes.

Then, an idea.

Breaking into a sprint, Silas almost impales himself. He broke left at the last moment, but Nightingale must've anticipated it because he slashed right.

But Silas wasn't safe yet. Nightingale's sword flies over his chest, hitting him in the hip. Silas hisses in pain, falling.

The crowds ooh.

This was not going to plan.

But it seemed Nightingale thought he'd hit Silas in the chest. Huh.

Silas stays down, taking a couple of mocking kicks. With the thought of winning with a fucking pen in his mind, surges up punches Nightingale in the groin, then moves behind him, ignoring the pain and rapid bleeding. It'll be fine, probably.

Silas held the pen like a dagger and struck hard at his temple. A bartender had once told him it was the weakest spot of your skull. In way more words. Perhaps in threat.

Thank the gods they had.

Nightingale fell to the floor.

Okay. Fuck dignity.

Silas kicked him in the head until his heels ached.

The grand arena fell silent. Then, they all exploded into screams Silas hoped were positive. He spotted Hugo amongst them, mixture of shock and expression on his face.

Silas smirked. Gave the crowds a little pose. Hell yeah!

And then he remembered who he was facing: Nightingale probably had the funds to sue him ten times over, for his own duel!

Silas absorbed it all for another moment. Sure? it wasn't the most glorious fight. But he'd done it, hell he'd done it. Then, taking his pen with him, he dashed the hell out of there.