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Snazzy music plays from the live band as the Betty Smith show remains on its commercial break. The famous talk show host is one of the most influential people around, having worked in late night for nearly forty years and having interviewed politicians and superstars and introduced many up-and-coming stars to the world at large.

Miss Prim gulps as she stands behind the stage, hearing the last few chords of the song play, indicating that the show is about to go back onto the air. The short, petite blonde coach dresses in a nice white blouse and skirt today, wanting to make sure she looks nice for everyone, especially for the students that would no doubt have their eyes plastered on the television, waiting to hear about their wonderful teacher being given the spotlight outside of her regular area.

A hand clasps her shoulder, and Miss Prim sighs, holding onto it. Miss Jones, the Headmistress of the Matadora University, nods quietly at her and says. “This is show, dear. Just like any other." The old woman's voice comes as a soothing ointment to her burning anxiety.

With a deep breath, she nods, and says. “You're right… I face life-threatening challenges every day. This should be nothing. This is nothing!

Outside, the voice of the prestigious Betty Smith picks up, breaking her back into her trance. “Welcome back, Ladies and Gentlemen, Girls and Boys! I hope you enjoyed that commercial break, because without our sponsors, we wouldn't have money, and that would be a capital offense.

The drummer fires off a rimshot, and her guest, sitting closest to her on the nearby couch, titters. Betty is a distinguished-looking woman in her sixties, her light blond hair tied up into a bun, and with glamorous pearls around her neck. Her guest is a taller woman than Miss Prim, a rather fierce looking Japanese woman in her twenties with long black hair, dressed in a purple suit — some analyst of the fights or the other. She actually didn't catch the woman's name.

“Anyway, I'm happy to announce that we have a very special guest on our show today. She's been on television's biggest show for more times than anyone can count. It's the reigning guest star of the Beat the Gladiatrix show, give it up for Miss Prim!"

A flourish of Spanish music blares through the room as Miss Prim steps out into the studio. She smiles towards the camera, keeping her pace with her distinguished grace as she then waves to the cheering audience. She sits down next to the analyst, straightening out her skirt and holding her hand out to shake her hand.

“Hello," she says.

“Pleased to meet you face-to-face" the analyst says, squeezing the Matadora's hand. “I've been waiting for this for quite some time."

Miss Prim chuckles at that, wondering just what she meant, but before she could ask, Betty continues.

“And every prodigy needs to have an instructor. This woman has been running the Matadora School for gifted girls for as long as I've been in show business, and she's been kicking ass for as long as I can remember. Give it up for Headmistress Jones everybody."

The analyst and Miss Prim both clap, losing their connection as the older woman hobbles her way over towards the couch, sitting down next to Miss Prim with a dignity that shows her experience in the limelight.

Betty taps some of her note cards and motions over towards Miss Prim. “Now, Miss Prim… let me get this straight. You've been asked to be a contestant on the world's most popular, and most deadly, competition show, and you have won every time you showed up?"

Miss Prim, holding onto her skirt, nods quickly. “That's correct."

Betty looks to her studio audience, throwing her hands up. “And you're not some kind of immortal zombie?"

Miss Prim giggles. “Oh… oh no!."

“You know the mortality rate on that show is something like 100%, right? Yet here you are, sitting on my couch after… what, how many victories? Over one hundred, right?" she asks the analyst.

“One hundred and twenty." Miss Prim says, looking down a little with a little smile on her face.

Betty feigns shock and looks to her audience, holding onto her desk and shouts. “One hundred and twenty? That's ten dozen!? With all the bushes you got, you can probably afford to make a sweater out of 'em!"

The crowd roars with laughter at that one.

“Wow… how do you survive one hundred and twenty fights to the death? Please, you must tell us your secret. I mean, it's not like the other contestants can answer that question for me.

“Well," Miss Prim says, sitting up. “It's all about putting on a good show and keeping your cool in the heat of pressure. After all, a gladiatrix is nothing more than a mad bull, lashing out and spitting poison. A true Matadora must be willing to take a life, but not hate those that she faces."

“Wow, really? How does it feel, then, to see the life come out of someone's eyes. To know that you're the one who shuffled them off of this mortal coil? Do you ever have any regrets?"

“You know Miss Smith,"

“Please, Betty."

“Betty…" she corrects herself. “It's different out there… when you're a swordswoman. You know that your whole life is centered around battle. It's in your blood. My mother wielded a blade. Her mother did as well. Generations fought and died on the field of battle and glory, and that's just something that isn't lost in our world."

“And to those who say that the practice of television death matches is archaic… what do you say to that?"

Miss Prim nods at that. “I can understand why people might think that way, but look at it this way. We die doing what we love, and to lose and live…? That's an even greater dishonor than to be defeated by such a great opponent. If I'm going to fall, then I know that the woman who got me is my superior. It's really as simple as that."'