Not dying is an art in itself

His heart began to race like crazy in his neck, and adrenaline rushed through his veins. He couldn't win this, in London, he always fought with weapons - guns, and knives, while the woman in front of him was probably incredibly experienced. What had he gotten himself into?

He spat on the ground, which elicited a few cries. He had decided he wasn't going to die today.

Overconfidently, he took a step forward, toward Phebe, and attempted to punch her in the face with his fist. She dodged his punch and kicked him in the stomach, causing him to stagger backward double-faced. From the predominantly male audience, a fairly common, compassionate sound rang out. To the onlookers, it had seemed as if Phebe had hit him in the crotch.

He decided he had better fight defensively. He took a step backward, but was pushed back forward again: he had moved out of the ring. He had barely realized that there was a ring at all.

Phebe was attacking now. She ran forward, thinking she could ram him, but he took a step aside just in time, sending her running into the crowd. For the first time in this fight, she was the one being laughed at. She didn't like it, and she wasn't used to it either, because she angrily started yelling something that no one understood. Despite this, everyone got quiet - they were probably afraid that otherwise, they would have to enter the ring with her themselves.

Phebe turned around again. She looked into the face of Jeff who, despite being incredibly scared, was grinning. Her pupils stopped burning and dilated slightly as if she was getting ready for the final blow. Jeff didn't want to wait for that, so he leaped forward and slapped her across the face. Phebe didn't expect the blow and hissed confusedly at the air.

Jeff was watching her arms the whole time, at least they were the most important in a fight like this, he thought. As a result, he didn't notice when Phebe suddenly knocked him under. He fell to the ground, and just as he was about to get back up she hit him in the face. His vision became blurry and he felt as if several veins in his eye had snapped. He could just barely make out the shape of Phebe's face. Her face was getting bigger, she was getting closer. If I die, she goes with me, he suddenly thought. He reached out his arms and grabbed the back of her head. Then he gave her a headbutt. A sharp pain shot through his forehead, and everything went black.

He barely knew the guy who was now lying dead still in his bed, but there was something about him that he liked when he first met him. And now he had deadpanned Phebe, surely the brawler of the train.

Simon stood up and slapped Jeff in the face. To his surprise, it worked this time. The befuddled man groaned. 'What the...'

'Don't say anything,' Simon chuckled. 'You probably broke just about everything.'

Jeff opened his jaws wide as if to yawn. 'My mouth didn't, so I can just talk,' he said in a tone that implied he absolutely couldn't just talk.

'Just lie down, it's very rude to ignore your host's wishes, you know? Especially when you're soiling that same host's bedding as we speak.'

Jeff twisted his neck as far as he could, and then saw that Simon's once-white sheet was dark red with his blood.

'How am I still alive?" he asked.

'My God, if you necessarily had to ask twenty questions, then so be it. To put it together: she'll probably be lying there right now like you are.'

'How so?" asked Jeff, speaking with double tongue, as if he were drunk.

'Well, look, you kicked her ass pretty good. That headbutt was genius if I do say so myself.'

'What happened next?'

'All those questions,' Simon yawned, but he went on anyway. 'You two were sprawled out on the floor, the soles of your shoes touching. You looked pretty cute like that, the two of you.'

'Shut up,' Jeff said from his bed, Simon chuckled.

For a moment everyone in the wagon was dead silent, nobody knew what to do...' To build up the tension somewhat, he left a silence after his last sentence, but just in that silence, there was a knock at his door. Jeff tried to lift his head to look at the door, which he couldn't do. Simon frowned.

"Inside?" he asked hesitantly.

The door opened, and the woman who had announced earlier that evening that he should fight Phebe answered. Simon's frown went a little higher still.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

The woman nervously pushed the tips of her index fingers together. 'I've come to see how the challenger is doing. One consolation: you don't have to fight my sister anymore, you passed the test. First, by the way.'

'You come to see how the challenger is?'

'Yes,' she replied poignantly.

'Okay...' said Simon. 'Clara, was it?'

'Yes, and you two?'

'My name is Simon,' Simon said.

Jeff raised his hand from his bed. 'Jeff, nice to meet you,' he said, even though he was anything but pleased to meet her. Just hearing her voice pulled him back to that awful fight.

'Do you need something to drink?" asked Simon.

'Is good, have some. I don't care,' she replied.

Simon got up and walked over to the small countertop he had in his cabin. Jeff noticed that he took a quick look at Clara's behind. He grinned.

Clara walked over to him. "How are you?" she asked.

What a silly question, he thought. 'Well, not particularly well.'

Clara laughed lightly. 'I can understand that,' she said softly. For a moment she seemed to hesitate. Jeff raised his eyebrows. 'Is there something?" he asked.

'No, it's just...' but she didn't even bother to finish her sentence. She suddenly pulled a knife from her pocket, and stuck it randomly somewhere she thought Jeff's heart would be.

'That's for my sister,' she shouted angrily. Then she ran away.

Jeff just saw how a red stain began to spread around the handle of the knife, and then he fainted.