Picayune surveyed the incomprehensible mélange that had once passed for his bed. The mattress had found much more rigorous use as a makeshift workstation than a place to actually sleep. It hadn't found much traditional use of late… or at all. He gathered his wand, spare, and offhand, taking the odd shaped wooden horns over to his alchemy set simmering in the corner. Before proceeding, he made sure that the arm-belts of the overlarge offhand wand were properly fastened. Satisfied with their sturdiness, he turned back to the task at hand.

At the terminus of his winding alchemy set, a small faucet was eking out the last drops of a pungent, gelatinous fluid into a waiting beaker. Picayune unscrewed the clay lids from the wide-brimmed ends of his three wands and carefully pulled them out. Beneath the lids, a delicate wireframe clung to the underside—an intricate lattice of glass almost as long as the wands themselves.

He set each lid down, face-first, taking extra care to not damage the fragile glass on the hollow wand edge.Then, lifting the beaker, he poured the completed alchemical concoction into the hollow wands. He took the wand lids and with slow, deliberate pressure, he guided the glass frameworks back into place then twisted the clay lids until they sealed shut once more. Lastly, he mounted the three wands on a simple stand hanging over a small smokeless flame.

While the refractory gel hardened inside the wands, Picayune turned to inspect his collection of spell covers. Scattered across his bed—amid the rest of the chaotic sprawl—were a series of colour-marked clay lids, their undersides home to an ink-stained maze of runework ending at hollow needletips.

Using the magnifying eyeglass by his bedside table Picayune studied the minute etchings carved into the runework of each spell cover. He checked every inch of the runes ensuring that no dust or imperfections had managed to clutter the precise shapes. A single imperfection could throw the entire construct off balance. Fortunately for his schedule, he found no such flaws. He rarely did. Still, it never hurt to double-check… or triple-check.

As he reached for the final spell cover, a sudden jolt of panic struck. He counted again—five covers. Flare Repeater, Propulsion Up with Glider Coat, Switch, Physical Barrier, and Synchronized Self-Blind with Flash Bomb. Where was the Magic Barrier!?

He ignored a knock at his door, already on his hands and knees, tearing through all his clutter in a desperate search. Against an opponent like the Vampire, he may as well forfeit his life without a Magic Barrier cover. His hands dug under heaps of parchment, through toolboxes, beneath the bed—until finally, he spotted the fragile contraption wedged beneath a knot of overturned blankets. Relief washed through him. He exhaled, long and shaky.

Having confirmed the quality of all six of his spell covers he then looked over his emergency ring blade, and he also investigated his extra emergency pair of cracked mirrors, he also couldn't forget to check his extra extra emergency renaissance pendant. He made sure that nothing was blemished or broken upon his exceptionally expensive and hard formed trinkets. Well, except for the cracked mirrors, in which case he had to make sure they were broken and blemished in exactly the correct way.

Those cracked mirrors were always annoying to check. Having to count and make sure that both mirrors had the correct total crack length distance was a ridiculously irritating task, almost as annoying as cracking two mirrors in just the way so that they had the same total crack length distance in the first place.

There was a second knock at the door. Louder this time. Picayune frowned and glanced toward his alchemy set. He should probably check to see that the wand gels were properly hardening over the fire.

Then came a third knock, firmer—almost impatient. He let out a sharp, aggrieved snort. How many times had he reminded the Tournament staff that he didn't want to be disturbed? He suspected most ignored the notice just for the thrill of meeting a proper contestant. He spun on his heel, marching toward the door, ready to give this intruder a piece of his mind.

He started shouting before the door was even open. "WHAT DO YOU WA—aaaaa…" Picayune's voice wilted into a pitiful whimper as he found himself face-to-face with a perfectly modeled Belabor. Her makeup had been expertly applied with the finesse only an army of servants could achieve. Her evergreen dress sparkled with an alluring vibrancy, its long flowing weave ending just over the knees and hemmed with an indescribably detailed floral pattern. Her hair was drawn into a tight braided bun, with the slight glimmer of encrusted jewelry shining from within the voluminous hair. And large diamond earrings in the shape of grand daisies dressed the side of her head to complete the spring motif.

Belabor smiled with quiet irritation. "You forgot, didn't you?"

Picayune shut his mouth before any flies could find their way in. He floundered for words before stumbling out with a stutter, "...Y-you look amazing."

Her smile softened, amusement breaking through the exasperation. She gave him a slow once-over, "So do you. You forgot, didn't you?"

Picayune looked down to see that he was still only in his undergarments, stained and ripped in the most unflattering of matters. Picayune was still sweaty from tireless exertion, and his eyes, devoid of sleep, were cast in dark shadows of ill time-managed agony. Pushing his disheveled hair aside, he looked back to Belabor with an apologetic smile, "Did I?"

She whiffed at the air and nearly gagged at the smell. Whether the stench was from the wand gel or his own personal aroma he wasn't even sure. Her crinkling nose soon turned to snorting as she burst into laughter at the tragedy before her. She wrapped her arms around Picayune's, uncaring of the grime he was rubbing onto her, "Alright let's get you washed up tough guy."

Picayune grimaced uncomfortably, his sentence apprehensive from worry, "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

Belabor looked up to her taller boyfriend, love in her eyes and a grin stretching from ear to ear. She spoke with boundless cheerfulness, "Yup." She hugged him tighter as she popped the p.

"How badly did I screw up?"

Belabor ran her manicured hand through Picayune's knotted hair as she guided him to the baths. She chirped over to Picayune "You better hope the Vampire kills you, because otherwise I will."

"Not cool Bela!" Belabor shoved him aside and burst into laughter, darting just out of reach as Picayune lunged to retaliate. "Get back here traitor!"he shouted, chasing her down the hall. Their light game of tag carried the two all the way to their eventual destination.

Belabor reached the baths first and made a grand show of arrival, throwing open the double doors with theatrical flair.

Slightly disappointed, Picayune pouted. "Where are all the servants?"

Belabor's chipper mood stilled momentarily before quickly rebounding with full force. "Well, that's not a problem. I can just draw the bath for you."

Picayune drew a single brow in doubt "You will?".

She ignored the doubt in his voice and strutted toward a wall of pipes, knobs, and pulleys that looked vaguely water drawing related. Look, if some uneducated peasant servants could manage the water system, then how complicated could it be?

While Belabor tried to decipher the convoluted tap system, Picayune was trying to search for any type of soap or cleansing products with very little success. Aside from the convoluted wall of piping, the bathhouse seemed utterly empty.

Belabor traced the twisting path of piping and levers, trying and failing to form a mental blueprint of the mechanism. A few minutes of embarrassingly fruitless effort and she was starting to get seriously aggrieved with this whole venture. Sure, she was no Picayune, but she was still a qualified wizard of Ersatz University, something pedestrian like this should be trivial to her. "Okay, Picay," she finally groaned, "I tried being cute, but this thing is less user-friendly than an ancient ruin."

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Picayune temporarily gave up on his soap hunt and joined her at the tangled contraption. "Okay, so what's going on here?"

Belabor gestured at a pulley attached to a hollow log embedded in the wall. She began commenting as she went through the motions. "So, I pull this lever, and then this faucet seems to fall down—" she demonstrated, tugging on the lever. The log tilted forward, its nozzle dipping expectantly toward the tub. "—but no water pours out. No matter what else I fiddle with, nothing changes."

Picayune scanned through the odd system trying to source the problem. "Have you tried using the pulley after locking that valve in the other direction?"

Belabor looked over to where Picayune pointed. "Hmm, no I haven't. Let's try it." She leaned over, switching the lever into the other position and tried the pulley again.

She twisted the valve clockwise, squared her shoulders, and tried the pulley again.

No water came out. Instead, a low rumbling groan began to rise in pitch, echoing through the pipes.

Picayune cringed at the sound, "That can't be good."

As if in reply, an explosion thundered somewhere out in the hall, followed by a panicked scream.

The two slowly turned to face each other, "Oops."

Then a panel beside them burst open, unleashing a jet of pressurized water that blasted them clean off their feet. They hit the floor in a tangled heap, both soaked to the bone.

Belabor's immaculate hair now a raging rat's nest, her glittering jewelry scattered all across the room like shrapnel.For a long second they just blinked at each other—then both erupted into uncontrollable laughter.

Their hysterics were soon interrupted by the arrival of a very wet, very irritated servant. "What in the divine realm are you two doing!?"

The two nobles turned to the poor servant woman who seemed more reminiscent of a cat caught in the rain than anything else, and that only made them laugh harder. It didn't take long for a small army of flustered attendants to swarm the room, dragging the dripping pair apart and frantically trying to salvage what was left of Belabor's once-perfect ensemble.

More than one servant nearly wept at the sight—Belabor's ruined dress and smeared makeup must have cost more than their entire careers, and would have taken some other servants upon hours of arduous work to have prepared.

Meanwhile, Picayune's attendants fared no better. With time and isolation, he'd grown used to the stench of the wand gel, but the smell clung like no other. Without Belabor's love to bear with it, the servants tending his bath had to take turns for breaks so that they could relieve their tormented nostrils.

Eventually, with their reservation time looming, the exhausted staff had no choice but to let the pair go—only half-clean, half-dressed, and still giggling like idiots.

The hastily dressed couple looked horrendously out of place in the prestigious restaurant. Belabor's washed-out makeup and Picayune's wrinkled clothes earned more than a few scornful sneers as they were escorted to their seats. The loud giggling over what most were certain was a dirty joke didn't help the room's first impressions of the young couple either. Though as a paying customer—and Tournament contestant—the two were still granted a reluctant modicum of respect, and they managed to order their food with only one warning for disturbing public order.

It was only once the food had arrived that the satisfaction finally came to Belabor. She sat in this beautiful restaurant that she had looked so forward to for the past month, along with her precious Picayune, eating what was probably the best meal she had ever had in her life. She swore she could almost see the light return to her boyfriend, the fatigue lifting from his eyes, the lines of worry softening as he ate.

They never spoke of anything important, no mokoi leaders, no Tournament responsibilities, not even politics. Their conversation never reached beyond trivial nonsense, and that was precisely what made it perfect. The deepest they strayed into serious territory was gossiping about their classmates, that topic was a never ending well of content.

The food dried but the wine glasses never emptied, much to their pleasure… and the displeasure of everyone around. The giggling only got louder and stories more animated. They could hear a few snide comments whispered around but they were sure that those people were just jealous to see a genuinely happy couple.

Somehow it felt like they hadn't spoken in ages. and they caught up with one another for hours before the staff finally asked them to leave to make room for other reservations.

It was too early to end their date so their celebration spilled into the streets bouncing from market to market. They perused about all the foreign garbs and sampled some strange foods. They failed miserably at rigged games and bartered against overpriced jewelry. Every so often, someone recognized Picayune, forcing the pair into awkward escapes from gathering crowds—but even that became part of the fun.

As the day wore on, the markets quieted. One by one, the stalls closed, lanterns dimmed, and music faded. Eventually, the couple drifted beyond the city walls, searching for somewhere peaceful to rest. They found it on a gentle hill overlooking the slumbering lights below.

There, they lay together in the soft grass, watching the bronze dusk surrender to the first stars. Belabor's head rested snugly into Picayune's shoulder as they pointed out as many constellations as they could spot. Sometimes they would even invent some of their own constellations and see if the other would notice, they always did, but it was fun regardless.

A cloud slowly drifted across the night sky, dimming the stars and pressing pause on their little game. "I can do this right?"

Belabor slowly dragged her head up to see Picayune looking down at her uncertainly. She smiled warmly, "Of course."

For a while they accepted the silence in married content. "Besides…" Belabor raised her hands to her face, pointing her index fingers down beside her mouth in a parody of long fangs. "Your blood iz not vorthy enouf to kill you." She imitated with a terrible accent.

Picayune laughed and gently pushed her mocking face away. "Oh, hush you."

"No, hush you!" Belabor shot back, suddenly flipping herself over. With a two-handed shove, she knocked Picayune flat on his back. She knelt over him, her hands against his chest, still pinning him down. Her eyes locked with his.

She leaned down, closing the space between them until her lips brushed his. The touch was so gentle, the kiss barely present. She just felt the need to touch him, to be closer to him. She stayed in that position for a while feeling the bliss in simply being with him, simply touching, and that was enough.

She understood that he had a lot on his mind through this whole Tournament thing and she wanted to be supportive, but she still missed him. After a few seconds, she came back to her senses and pressed her lips more firmly to his, giving him a proper kiss, "I love you."

She leaned down again and kissed him once more. "And you'll totally win."

She kissed him once more. "And you ruined my dress."

Picayune rolled his eyes. "I said I was sor—"

She cut him off with another kiss. "I'll forgive you."

Then another. "And I just want to kiss you some more."

She began pecking all over his face, covering him in playful kisses until his skin shone with her red gloss.

"That's ticklish!" he managed between writhing giggles, which only encouraged her further. He retaliated, grabbing her hips and tickling until she collapsed into laughter. He rolled over, reversing their positions, and continued his relentless attack.

"Stop! Stop!" she gasped between bursts of laughter.

"What's the magic word?" he teased, fingers moving even faster.

"Please, please stop!"

The second he heard those words he stopped tickling and pinned her face to the ground with a solid kiss on the lips. "I love you too."

He kissed her again. "And I will win."

one more "And I prefer you without the dress." He smirked and kissed her once more.

She shot up a warning finger "Don't you dare."

"And I just want—"

"Don't do it." She warned again.

He held perfectly still, eyes locked on her raised finger. "—to kiss you some more."

Then he unleashed a storm of kisses, sending her into helpless laughter. Belabor found the only way to stop his assault was to intercept his lips with her own and lock the two in a deep passion.

"Urgh, Vhy vould he try to eat her blood?" The Vampire grimaced in disgust as his powerful mokoi eyes observed Picayune from within his Tournament-appointed chamber.

The Vampire's personal mokoi attendant Sobriquet responded. "He is kissing her sir. Humans tend not to drink each other's blood."

"Does that tazte good?"

"I do not think so sir."

The Vampire paused, then gave a small shrug, accepting once again the incomprehensible nature of humankind. "Veird."

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