CHAPTER 17

CW: Heavy sexual innuendo ahead

Foxx struck fast, occasionally swinging wildly to try and get Poppy to flinch so she could thrust in for the kill. It occurred to her that only her sword had a tip on the end, not her enemies. This is real life and death, and Foxx is fighting like it. They're far more mobile than in typical sport fencing, but this is no sport. Soon Poppy is using her agility to strafe and leap over the sofa. At one point she scales a wing chair and uses the tipping motion to thrust. It makes quick contact with Foxx's side before flinging off. With it, the tip goes flying into the mouth of a bear-skin rug (how long had that been there?!)

They move from behind the chair back to the sofa, where Foxx manages to pin Poppy to the cushion where she was sitting before. Her back is pressed against the sofa, and the scratchy texture makes her flinch just so slightly. Foxx sees the flash of an opening and pushes in. It's hilt on hilt, they're both so close to each other. Poppy can feel the fox's breath across her muzzle. They're both panting

"I haven't had a fight this good since my sparring partner last challenged me 10 years ago, and he was a damn spider monkey!"

"You ready to tap out yet, Foxx?"

"Only when I have your head off your body, prey."

Poppy hops up and uses her free hand to grab her jacket from the seat. She throws it in Foxx's face and kicks her in the leg, freeing her up just enough to get off the couch and towards the kitchen. Foxx is half growling, half laughing when she finally frees herself. She stands still, dead still, and it throws Poppy off guard. What's this game? She lowers her blade and slowly steps left. Poppy responds by moving in the opposite direction, now fully behind the slate kitchen island. Foxx stills again, ears perked all the way up. She howls at the rabbit and breaks out into a 4-legged sprint. Poppy responds by screaming for her life and jumping onto the island.

The slate cracks from the pressure, unable to take the strain on its one axis of cleavage. Foxx jumps up, and is ready to pounce when the shifting rock catches her off guard. It's marble underneath the slate, and theres nothing fastening the two materials together other than weight. So as both shift their weight, sheet after sheet of cracked slate slide away from under them. Through incredible footwork both manage to stay on the counter, half laughing as they shift balance and hop from one fragment to another while still trying to fence. It occurs to Poppy that for how little Foxx has practiced in the last decade their skill is about matched. She may actually be able to win this. The new energy brings her to leap towards Foxx, putting both of them on the same plate. Foxx jumps down in response but finds no exit between unstable shards of rock.

The fight continues as Foxx's laughs turn into pants, mutterings under her breath as the lowly jackalope begins to take the advantage. Slowly the two of them back into a corner, and every time Poppy thrusts towards the woman she barks. Before they know it she's pressed against the fridge, instinct kicking in as she parries everything Poppy can throw at her. Her other hand reaches for the fridge handle, to try something, and Poppy sees the opening and swipes from the left, tearing a gash through the foxes dress. Both are left totally stunned at this, the sudden appearance of exposed fur. Sylvia goes for one more thrust but Poppy knocks the saber out of her hand. She holds the tip of her own blade to her neck.

"Whatever I want for the contract, understand Fox?"

"Yes, yes, anything you want. Please, finish me off, I'll give you anything."

Poppy makes one more swipe at the dress, and the proper and prim Sylvia Foxx howls in pure pleasure as a full patch of fur is exposed. She's sweating like hell, makeup running down her face. Slobber has built up over her maw and tears under her eyes. She starts to laugh, maniacally.

"That dress, was worn by the d-duchess of Sussex. It, was valued, at 2 million dollars. I couldn't be happier to be rid of it." And the woman collapsed forward into Poppy's arms. The rabbit dropped her sword and embraced her. They stood like that for 10 or 15 minutes before stepping over the slates and making their way to the couch. It almost impressed Poppy how, despite constant attempts at domestication, Sylvia was still a wild animal.

"I have to ask, was that book..."

"Vegan leather."

"Oh thank god. And the bear skin rug?"

"..."

She moves her feet off it and rests them on the couch. Gross.


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