Posted on Wednesday, 20 June 2001

Disclaimer: Robert Ferrars, may he sit eternally next to Mr. Collins, belongs to our Goddess, Jane Austen. Miss Nolen/Kopy Kat belongs to myself, thank you very much. And I hope you guys don't mind me starting off here with a deathmatch. After reading all of yours, I just couldn't resist!

Mr. Ferrars and his wife's companion Miss Nolen, nicknamed 'Kopy Kat' for her love of writing JA fanfic, battle it out.

The marriage of Miss Lucy Steele to Mr. Robert Ferrars had been an occasion of joy to a great many people, excepting the latter's mother and sister. Miss Steele's fortuitous change of affections enabled the younger Ferrars to propose to the one woman in the world who held his heart, Elinor Dashwood. Their engagement pleased the two young peoples' many friends and the young woman's loving family. As thus, they all lived happily ever after.

Unfortunately, 'happily ever after' is only for fairy tales and true lovers. Both of which Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ferrars were not. After the initial marital bliss of the honeymoon, Mr. Ferrars discovered that he and his wife had nothing in common but a love of gossip, and that she was a whiner. Mrs. Ferrars discovered that her husband was a sniveling bore. Unable to escape from a marriage born of a moment's mad desire, Mrs. Ferrars resolved to find herself a companion. She wanted a quiet, timid, mousy thing that would annoy her husband and stroke her ego. She thought she had found her companion in Mr. Collins, but Lady Catherine de Bourgh refused to give him up. Though thwarted in her first attempt, she did not lose hope, and so continued the search. She finally found the perfect girl while at the Darcys' annual London ball. Her name was Miss Katharine Nolen, and her natural shyness and American mannerisms made her the perfect ego-stroker. Best of all, Mr. Ferrars and the young lady hated each other on sight. Through much bargaining and bribing with the American government, Mr. Knightly, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Ferrars managed to secure the otherwise sensible young lady as her companion, and thus sealed her husband's fate.

The sitting room of the Ferrars townhouse was quiet. Mr. Ferrars was reading his newspaper, while his wife made up a bonnet, and Miss Nolen wrote.

The quiet did not last long.

"Penning another tale, Miss Kopy Kat?" Mr. Ferrars sneered. Miss Nolen sighed.

"Indeed I am, sir," she replied calmly. "I have just finished reading a tale by the great Jane Austen, and felt myself inspired.."

"Jane Austen?" said Mr. Ferrars. "She wrote 'Hamlet', did she not?"

"No sir, that was Shakespeare."

"No no no, I am quite sure it was she."

"And as an avid fan of hers, I can assure you that you are in the wrong."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"Really."

"Really."

A silence fell, heavy and foreboding, as were all silences in the Ferrars household.

"You are most presumptuous, Miss Nolen."

"I am an American, sir."

"And I am a gentleman of great fortune and fine education!"

"Evidently not fine enough, if you cannot tell the difference between a talented new female author and a classic male poet."

"Shakespeare wrote plays, not poetry!"

Miss Nolen sighed once more.

"His plays were poems, sir. 'Goodbye, goodbye, parting is such sweet sorrow. That we will say goodbye till it be 'morrow'.' Romeo and Juliette. 'Let me not the marriage of true minds..."

"Do you dare contradict me?"

"Have you heard a word I said?"

The irate master of the household turned to his wife.

"Mrs. Ferrars, I demand that you fire this impudent creature at once!"

"I most certainly will not, dearest. (Mrs. Ferrars smiled at her companion) Katie is a very deeeear friend of mine. I will not punish myself because you won't take the trouble to like her."

"Then I see I have no choice," said Mr. Ferrars, and he stood. "Miss Nolen, I challenge you to a Deathmatch."

Mr. Ferrars did not get the reaction he had been desirous of. Instead of cowering, trembling, and begging for forgiveness, Miss Nolen laid down her pen, and turned to face her employer. Her face was impassive, a cynically upturned eyebrow the only sign of emotion.

"So you've heard of Jane Austen after all, Mr. Ferrars."

"Of course I have! She wrote 'The Prince'! (Miss Nolen winced) Besides, what the deuce does a Deathmatch have to do with Jane Austen? It's hosted at the Republic of Pemberley."

Miss Nolen debated whether or not to sigh, as it had yet to do any good, but she needed the release. So, once more, she sighed.

"What are the terms?" She asked, choosing not to point out that Deathmatchs were hosted at the Derbyshire Writer's Guild, not the Republic of Pemberley, and that they were run by Jane Austen fans.

The entrance of a newcomer cut off Mr. Ferrars' reply. The man who entered was balding and strangely attired, with bizarre markings on his arms.

"They are quite simple, Miss Nolen," said he. Miss Nolen was surprised, not only that he knew her name, but at how her employer cowered in his presence. "The first rule is, no weapons. The second, no biting. The third, there are no more rules. It's a dog eat dog world, ect., ect. Any questions?"

Miss Nolen raised her hand.

"What do you classify as a weapon?" She asked.

"Sword, gun, and lightsaber."

"Nothing more?"

"Not that I can think of. I do not have time to search through the archives and find the rest."

"That's fine. I've never liked weapons anyway. Secondly, are there any exceptions to the second rule?"

"You can always set a precedent."

"I'm an American, I already have. (a small grin) But thank you."

With a polished bow, the man turned to leave. Then suddenly he turned around, as if he had forgotten something.

"The contract!" he said, pulling out a piece of paper. "You must sign the contract! I learned my lesson after that Colonel Studmuffin and his band of camp followers....."

"Watch your tongue, sir," Miss Nolen said coldly. "They are obsessive stalker personalities, not camp followers."

"You haven't met them yet, miss," the man grumbled, and handed the contract to Mr. Ferrars. The latter signed it carelessly, and passed it to Miss Nolen. She skimmed through it, frowning.

"What time is the Deathmatch?" she asked.

"Noon tomorrow."

"I want to meet with your lawyer. Tonight. This contract needs a little hammering out...."

"Shall I send my lawyer, Katie dear?" Mrs. Ferrars asked, glad to finally insert herself into the conversation.

"No thank you, Mrs. Ferrars," her companion replied. "I've read enough of my dad's law textbooks to know how to get what I want."

True to her word, Miss Nolen brutally abused the strangely attired man's lawyer. She had little knowledge of the law itself, but was familiar enough with the legal terms that she could immediately identify his lawyer's tricks, and so the man had no choice but concede to her wishes.

Night fell on a contract finally completed, and the new day's dawn would rise on the Deathmatch.

The Deathmatch Arena was quickly filling, much to everyone's surprise. Robert Ferrars was neither particularly popular nor particularly hated, and nobody had even heard of his opponent. Mystery, in this case, lent its appeal, and everyone came to see the nobodies battle. The souvenir venders found themselves greatly disappointed though-only a handful of their shirts sold. Nobody was quite sure who they should support, as Mr. Ferrars was slimy, and Miss Nolen completely unknown. A few hardy souls with money to burn bought 'Kopy Kat's Kool!", but they were few, and for the most part friends of Mrs. Ferrars.

"Welcome to the Austen Celebrity Deathmatch!" an announcer, Dan, shouted energetically into his microphone. "The crowd's have come en masse, though few seem to know which side to support. What say you, Stan?"

"The girl," his partner replied immediately. "No clue who she is, but Robert Ferrars is whiney and slimy."

"Hey, you're a poet and you didn't even know it!"

"Indeed I did, you fish eyed squid."

The entrance of the balding referee cut off Dan's rhyming retort, and he shouted, "The referee is here! NOW LET'S GET READY TO RUUUUUMMMMBLLLLLLLEEEE!!!!!!"

A screeching whistle blew, and the two opponents faced off. A very familiar ominous silence fell.

"Are you a chicken, Miss Kopy Kat?" Mr. Ferrars sneered.

"No, but I love to eat them. And you sir. Are you a toad?"

"No, I believe what you're seeing is your nose."

"I'm afraid you're wrong, sir. My nose is much bigger than a toad. Indeed, methinks it more resembles that of Bottom."

"Bottom? As in your derriere?"

"You call yourself a gentleman? Such vulgarity! I do not refer to that body part, sir, but to the character Bottom in Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. Had you any learning in you, you would have known this."

"I am indeed a gentleman!"

"Yes, and George Wickham has always wanted to be a clergyman!"

Mr. Ferrars looked dumbfounded.

"Then why'd he run off with Miss Lydia Bennet?"

The room suddenly went silent. The complete and utter stupidity astounded all.

Miss Nolen's murmured "What the heck?" Could be heard by the entire crowd. Any confusion as to her meaning was quickly resolved when she delivered a painful right hook to Mr. Ferrars. The man, unused to anything physical, was knocked off his feet.

The crowd began to cheer. Though not actively disliked, in terms of general disgustingness, Mr. Ferrars was quite Mr. Collins' equal.

After much moaning and groaning, Mr. Ferrars stood.

"You will pay for that, tu merde," he hissed.

"Really, Mr. Ferrars, your French is awful. You have no verb! Tu est merde would have been fine. I believe what you meant to say, however, was toi merde." Miss Nolen turned to someone who looked like they spoke French. "I am right, correct? My French isn't that good. Je t'aime. Je toi aime. I love you. Correct?"

The person shrugged, deciding to leave the American in suspense. Miss Nolen sighed, but let the matter drop, and returned her attention to her opponent.

"Are you not going to do something, sir?" she asked. "So far all you have done is made stupid insults and gotten punched in the face."

Mr. Ferrars' response was to charge the girl, which she easily sidestepped. Mr. Ferrars' head made a dull 'thud' as it contacted the wall, and he slid to the ground, only semi-conscious. Miss Nolen strode up to him.

"Are you hungry, Mr. Ferrars?" she asked sweetly. He nodded, too dazed to comprehend. "Why don't you have a knuckle sandwich then?" The knuckle sandwich was duly given, and Mr. Ferrars gladly conceded his last shred of consciousness.

"WE HAVE OUR WINNER!" the referee shouted, holding up Miss Nolen's arm and making her wince in the process. "MISS KATHARINE NOLEN!"

Miss Nolen smiled timidly, suddenly nervous. While battling Mr. Ferrars she had felt calm and controlled. She had nothing to fear from him, for she was his intellectual superior. But the crowd....what would they think of her?

So, what will the ending be? Will the crowd accept this upstart Yank, or will they shun her? I do not know the answer, Dear Reader, but perhaps YOU may.