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Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.

The ref raised his arm. “Welcome to the fifth round of the tournament! We start with our remaining winged combatants, Roc and Ingram!” As the audience cheered in anticipation, the two foes glared each other down. Normally, Roc would enter the ring with a stoic scowl, sharpening his mind for battle while spitefully feeding on the boos from beastman haters, but this time, he was smiling.

“Well, with all the treatment you’ve given me since I arrived, I’m probably ahead of schedule. I can’t thank you enough for that. So, shall we all head to the Knight’s Sheath? I’m craving a drink and some good music.” She then began to laugh and stood behind Noah, rubbing his shoulders. “To think I’d reach this point in my life, spending all these evenings down in a brothel. You’re a horrible influence on me.”“You aren’t nearly as innocent as you pretend to be,” he teased.