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Miranda stumbles back upon the tiled floor of the grand hall, wiping the blood off her cheek with the sleeve of her jacket. The half-orc's eyes glow with a yellow glare as she growls, staring at the older, larger, imposing woman before her.

"Still not enough for you, old lady?" she growls. "You must get all punch drunk before my ceremony, too?"

The older woman, Ognesha, as Miranda came to know her, stands dressed in a flowing party dress, her hat gently askew. Though she's most certainly human, a greenish twinge to her skin denotes her ancestry. When she pulls back her cheeks in a barbaric growl, her slightly elongated tusks show off the intensity of that bloodline. "This ceremony is pointless. It's not a true test of honor and strength!"

Ognesha rushes forward, throwing a punch at Miranda.

Miranda is ready for her this time, deflecting the hit with a palm and grabbing her by the arm. "Ya bloody git, you're the one who paid for all my schoolin'!" she follows through by elbowing the woman right in the stomach, though her corset blocks most of the blow.

Ognesha backs off, grunting, staring at Miranda as she holds onto her stomach, her eyes blinking, her gaze more white. "Why... why of course I did... why would you... have to remind me?"

Miranda snorts, adjusting her jacket. "Clyde!" she shouts.

The old servant and a few maids approach, bowing politely.

"The old hag's confused again," Miranda says, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing her lips. The glistening red leaves a coppery taste in her mouth. "Where's the bloody doctor?"

The stooped old man bows again, motioning to the maids, who walk to either side of Ognesha, holding her gently and cooing to her sweet platitudes. "Apologies, my lady, but she assured us that the medicine she prescribed would be enough to last for the day, so she left to go home."

"I'll have some things to say about her meself," the half-orc says, combing her hair and heading toward the mirror. "Bloody hells, that first deck got me good, din'it?

The older woman's sing-song voice echoes from outside the adjacent chamber, "You need to learn to dodge, dear!"

She whirls around, her fist clenched. "And you need ta learn when it's appropriate to throw a punch, ya crazy git!"

"Lady Miranda, please!" old Clyde says, clasping his gloved hands together. "Ever since the mistress took you in, she's been kind to you. Please, show her respect in her hour of need."

"Hour... days... weeks. I got plans, Clyde. I wanna get out of this city. I wanna be someone. I want to do more than just survive day to day. That's what she taught me; now, she's my biggest obstacle."

In the other room, Ognesha sits in a chair, accepting tea from one of her maids. Her hand shakes as she takes sips from the drink. "No one can understand me, ladies, not like she can, yet she doesn't know it."

"Of course, mistress."

Ognesha places the tea down and snorts. "After all, there isn't another noble in Anteronia whose bloodline can be traced to the Warlands beyond the sea.

"Indeed, Mistress," says the other maids.

Ognesha hops up to her feet, stomping through the small sitting room. "How am I supposed to attend some fancy party when we should be out there, getting drunk and making merry in a time of great victory!? She doesn't understand. She can't understand." She says this, clutching her head and trembling at the window overlooking the Anteronian cityscape. "My sweet Miranda, always forsaking her birthright, never wishing to travel to her ancestral lands."

"You make it tough, old bird, to make me wanna go there! Are all the orcs as crazy as you, or is it your human side what done it? If that's the case, then I'm doomed to the same fate, innit, right?"

Ognesha whirls around, roaring and storming out of the room, her hands like massive paws as she swipes at the smaller woman.

Miranda spits and rushes forward, screaming at the top of her lungs.

The two crash together, with Ognesha dropping her hat on the ground, wrapping her massive arms around Miranda's waist, lifting the smaller woman, and flinging her behind, landing the grad against the ground with a serious crack.

When Miranda awakes, she's lying in bed, and sitting beside her is Ognesha, dressed in her house robe. Tearstains run down her cheeks, and she jumps up and clasps the hand of the girl in the bed, squeezing her hand tightly. "I'm sorry, oh Miranda, I'm so sorry. These fights have gone too far. They're no longer playful things. I... I'll do better."

Miranda snorts, turning away from her. She rubs her head, wincing at the bump that's still there. "How long 'ave I been out, old bird?"

"Only an hour. We can still make it to your graduation."

"It's just a ceremony," the girl says. "Yer right. I can't be what I'm not. So, why don't you and I find ourselves a fighting ring by the docks?"

Ognesha blanches at that, pulling away. "No-no, I can't, I couldn't. I have a reputation to uphold!"

"And there it is," Miranda grumbles. "Good Old Ognesha, the hypocrite."

--

Lady Miranda, an aristocrat of Anteronia, steps through the asylum halls, following the doctor in charge.

"The prognosis is grim, Miss," "There's no more treating the Battle Fever here with our medicine. The only cure may be in the lands to the west."

Miranda takes a deep breath. "Can she travel?"

"It's hazardous. It would require quite several accommodations."

Raging roaring on the other side breaks through the wall as the elderly woman on the other side fights against her binds.

"It's okay," Miranda says, a frown. "There ain't no expense too great for the lady who made me who I am."