Christopher J. Garcia
Evenlyn Mundus-Bane assumed the pose of victory over expectation, prepared to engage in battle the likes of which had not been seen in these parts for years numbering at least three. Only The Lawyer could be expected to participate in this form of legalese combat.
The two had, in the past, participated in such battles, first in training at the Blind Sage School of Law, then playfully as a form of romantic preparation for grander schemes when they were first courting, once assuming full form as they Honeymooned in Reichenblacker Falls. After a flurry of convivial secret combats at the start of their togetherness, the amount of battling slowly tapered off; first to several times a weak, then once a fortnight, maybe once-a-month, and finally as the marriage wound to a grind, a near-annual event. Staring across the distance between them, The Lawyer took position on the far side, walking like a tiger in a tea kettle, while his once-true love made her circle so they remained at a constant separation, similar to the last year they were legally a couple.
“It’s your move, creep,” Evenlyn said, “age before beauty.”
The Lawyer, mentally preparing himself, found the clause he had been looking for, and started reading…