"I'll fight you for her!" one of the shitty guys from Solipsism says, interrupting lunch, and rolls his sleeves up to demonstrate he's serious.
"What," Jurhazo says blankly.
"Valquazzit," the shitty guy says. "I like her. You like her. Winner gets to press their suit."
Pinviax stifles a laugh behind her fist. "Oh boy," she says brightly. "Duelling over the chattel affections of hot girls? Can't think why she hasn't banged the ass off you already."
"Press their suit?" Jurhazo says. "What fucking century did you just fall out of, son?"
Shitty Guy puts his fists up and waggles them in a deadly serious and deeply unconvincing way.
Jurhazo stares at him and stares at him and then takes a huge, emphatic bite of her burrito, chews it while still staring, swallows.
"If you want to duel me," she says, edged like a weapon of war, "come back with a second and throw down properly, you whiny little bitch," and bounces a balled-up napkin off his face before stalking away.
He comes back the next day, with another sad-ass emo stick figure trailing behind him, clearly not thrilled with the entire thing, and attempts to slap Jurhazo with a glove while she's eating soup.
"Are you deranged she will end you," Pinviax hisses, hauling him back by his other arm. "I'm strictly into this because it's funny, I don't want blood in my lunch, dude. Just yell at her."
He launches into a yelling ramble. Jurhazo crunches on a breadstick.
"Cool story," she says when he pauses for breath. "Challeng-ee picks weapons."
He starts flailing to show off that he brought a sword over to Lust with him; he doesn't seem to have the first idea how to hold it. Jurhazo gives him a sinister grin.
"Somebody should have told you about sword lesbians," she says. "But you're not gonna need that."
There's a crowd of succubi, by the time Jurhazo scruffs him onto a small and dismayingly sticky stage, and shoves a karaoke mic into his hand. When Pinviax starts a chant of "Sick! Rhymes! Sick! Rhymes!" he tries to hand the mic back in alarm.
"Uh-uh," Jurhazo says. "If you're chickening out, you can hand it to your second and let me demolish that dork. Where is that guy? Oh, look, he's doing tequila shots with Pinviax. Poor bastard's gonna regret that."
"I yield!" the shitty guy whimpers.
"I'd let you," Jurhazo says, and nods at their audience. "That lot, though, they're here for a show. Disappoint them, they'll fucking eat you."
The mic shakes in his grip as she taps her own sharply and the crowd noise drops off sharply.
"I'm the MC, I'm the MVP — yo, I'm Zo, y'all know me
See this guy, clown asshat, wrecked by my flow like fuckin' Tampax
Come up to Lust to wave his sword, seen bigger, seen scores
Henry Eighth-ass attitude, rude, tutor this Tudor dude
Valquazzit ain't your Greensleeves, guy, can't win or buy, no prize, goodbye
Descarte, malarkey, horse's ass, philosophical chaff, you're trash
We've got solipsism at home, go, jerk off alone
Duel, duet, pig in a poke — all cops, you're smoked
Welcome to hell, bitch, fuckin' choke."
The guy from Solipsism gapes. Jurhazo smiles, brilliantly savage, and stage-whispers into her mic: "Choke. Choke. Choke," before continuing to mouth it, holding it out to the crowd; the succubi gleefully take up the chant.
"They're gonna eat me," the guy says, eyes huge, in a tiny, barely understandable whimper.
