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A man sits quietly and alone at a table in an out of the way club. He's obviously lost in thought--he often comes to clubs to disappear from the rest of his life and buy some thinking time. However, people still come and talk to him. He's polite to them, but his manner is brusque and signifies that he'd rather be alone.

A woman approaches him. She smiles, and for no apparent reason, he graces her with his actual smile--not the mocking, sneering grin he usually proffers. They trade names, and he is already becoming bored with the exchange. She asks how he's doing, and he says, "Pretty good," in his low, quiet voice--his natural voice, not the loud, goony voice he uses in normal company.

"Pretty good" will not satisfy her. She wants to play at words but can't know that she is challenging a virtuoso opponent. She takes his "pretty good" as a lunge at killing the conversation. She parries and ripostes viciously, and he finds himself slowly being sucked into the duel. All things aside, his ego simply will not allow him to lose a battle of words--especially not to a total stranger.

He turns his attention fully toward her and really notices her for the first time. His eyes trace the Romanesque nose with the tiny, tasteful steel stud; the large obsidian-black eyes; the fine, aristocratic features; the lean, muscular body; and the jet-black hair with the vivid red streaks. When she moves a well-manicured hand, he notices her supple, easy grace.

In any other combatant, her beguiling charms would have tipped the scale. However, his ego will not allow such petty distractions.

Their duel becomes a game of cat and mouse. She is as agile and lithe in her words as she is in body. He is playful in a way that few could credit. Her speed could almost give her an advantage, but he is much more seasoned duelist and feints often--only to switch back and attack from a novel position.

Over the course of the next two hours, their game becomes more and more complex. Her ability to bridge topics smoothly impresses him, and he mutters, "Nice segue," in appreciation. Even that bit of meta-conversation can't go unchallenged in the duel, and she chooses to dispute that she even segued. He concedes the point and tries to regroup on different ground, she chases him, and the duel continues unabated.

Soon the talk becomes a little risqu, and it's her turn to compliment his work. "That could be taken so many ways. Well said," she mutters after a particularly clever turn of phrase. Ever humble, he nods his head minutely in acceptance of her recognition of his obvious skill.

Eventually, other matters press, and he is ready to leave. Coyly, she asks, "What are you doing next Thursday?"

He replies, "I'm having sushi with you. Followed by a trip to Elliott Bay Books."

Only after he is in his car and driving home does he stop to wonder who really won the duel: he with his clever finish to the conversation, or her for drawing him out in the first place.

Finally, he decides that if luck holds, they'll both be winners.