Chapter Text
The next morning, she decided to execute her plan. She didn’t know how it would go, but she needed to do it as quickly as possible. What was the goal? Get her father alone. How to do it? Duel. How to propose and when to propose the duel? Crack of dawn, in person, at breakfast.
The day seemed to have already begun by the time Bridget got downstairs. Both her parents and her brother were having a bountiful continental breakfast, full of both sweet and savory options that one could have to their heart’s content. She sat down, hands a bit fluttery, but she knew she had to do this. She had to do this, because she already did it tons of times. She had to do this because then her parents would just love the version of her that’s stuck in the past.
“Dad?” she asked, with most of the strength she could gather.
“Yes son?”
“Would you like to have a duel today? After lunch if it’s not too bothersome?”
“Oh? Yes! Of course! That would be absolutely wonderful! Weapon of choice?”
“Any, but both have to be melee weapons”
“Ah, yes! A true gentleman’s choice!” he said proudly. Bridget knew her father loved sword duels. She especially knew he liked them to be private affairs whenever it was possible. He liked preserving the public image of a silly, harmless man. But she knew that he could handle his way around most melee weapons with incredible dexterity.
“Alright, see you in the atrium?” she asked.
“Yes yes of course, I shall be pulling out old Christine from my closet, what weapon shall you use then?” he said, curious.
“That’ll be a surprise”
“Ah, very well, a surprise it shall be” he smiled.
Her mother and Oisin looked at her. One knowing, the other not. Oisin looked at her as if knowing some part of her scheme, or at the very least a clue. Her mother simply looked a little baffled at the proposal of a duel in the middle of breakfast but trying to figure out what in the heavens was going on.
“So you’re telling dad in a duel?” Oisin asked her later in the day, watching her practice with her yo-yo.
“Yep, well, after the duel” she said absent-mindedly, practicing the different moves she needed to do. In her mind she ran through the setups she needed to do. Placing down different yo-yo’s, both making space for the yo-yo’s in a way that she could maintain range and keep the suite of attacks incoming.
“And why the duel? Why not a private conversation?” he asked.
“When he duels dad becomes one of the happiest men in the universe”
“Yes, we know this”
“And if he’s the happiest man in the universe, whether the duel is lost or won, then this possibly sad news might not affect him that much”
“Makes sense, but why dad first? Don’t you think he might be like “oh no I have one less son” or something along those lines?”
“Well, between that and the possibility of my mother looking at me in disgust for trying to be a woman, I’d rather take the sadness”
“Right, why are we always so negative?”
She paused, “what do you mean?”
“I mean, I feel like we’re being a couple of Debbie downers. What if our parents just love you unconditionally? What if it’s all going to be alright?”
“Our mother shouted at you when she saw you, what will she do when she knows of me?”
“You’re right, but what if she learned from that?”
“Then that doesn’t exclude dad”
“Right, but I don’t know, maybe it’s just foolish for me to hope that they’re better parents than what we give them credit for, but I still hope”
“It’s not a dumb hope” she explained, “But, I just don’t want to have some sky-high expectations and then be dropped to earth with melted wax wings”
“Is it a high-sky expectation for a parent to love their kid through highs and lows? Through all circumstances?”
“Maybe, maybe in this case”
They both stayed silent. It seemed eternal. Just Bridget practicing, remembering her setups and performing them ‘till she did them perfectly. Place deployable yo-yo. Jump, make the opponent guess if she was going to go from above or from below.
“Well then, whatever happens, I wish you the best of luck. And if things go badly, count on me to have your back”
He stood up and left. Leaving her with the need to practice and with anxiety of the moment to come.
And the moment did eventually come. Both stood in the atrium, weapons at the ready. Bridget with her yo-yo, spinning it back and forth, making sure she was ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Arthur with Christine, a simple rapier at first that could also shoot bullets if the battle required it. These two fighters of course had dummy bullets rather than real bullets, they were aiming to practice, not kill each other.
“Ready?” asked her father, confident, stretching to make sure the old articulations were working correctly.
“Ready!” she answered with as much positivity as she could muster.
The master of ceremonies, a servant of the house that oversaw these internal duels, rang the bell. Bridget ran towards her father, using both her yo-yo’s as wheels, doing a bit of damage to Arthur’s shins. However, this did not stop her father from piercing her jacket, making her stop in her tracks, dangling like a poor kitten picked up by the scruff.
“Son, you have to understand that you cannot just approach your enemy in such a way, you have to think your approach, see your range versus your enemy’s and -”
A thwack with a yo-yo cut the sentence short and freed Bridget from his grasp. He smiled, proud that his teachings had been learned. They both continued to fight, sharing a similar style of fighting. Both dextrous, both focused on speed rather than pure strength. However, Bridget used those two to confuse her opponents and make sure she won in the short term while her father used those to patiently wait for his opponent to attack and counterattack with a long string of thrusts and slashes.
The fight, unfortunately, ended in a draw. They both demanded a rematch but the master of ceremonies declared that they both needed to rest and needed to hydrate before any rematches could be done.
“But by gods did we have a wonderful duel!” her father said after the fact, despite being sweaty, tired and bruised.
“A wonderful duel indeed” she answered, despite having slashed clothes, a couple of knicks here and there, and some bruises from those dummy bullets.
“And you’re still skilled at that yo-yo I gave you boy! Incredible work! Masterfully done!”
“Thank you dad, but, I need to talk to you about something”
“What is it?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t call me boy”
“Oh! Yes! Sorry! I still think of you as my little boy when you’re clearly a man!”
“No, it’s something else entirely”
“Oh?”
“Well…”