It's Called Murder- wednesday

4.

Mourn and Wednesday, we're faced with a sea of white while sporting their black fencing gear. The air was filled with foils clattering, grunts of those involved, and the soft, familiar pattering that had followed them around since their arrival. As the twins eyed their peers, Mourn clicked his tongue.
"Pathetic," he whispered to his sister, who nodded in agreement.
They took great pride in their excellent education, and having trained with multiple kinds of weapons from an early age was a big part of that. If they wanted to, they could have participated in the country's most notorious matches long ago but agreed a tournament without mutilation wasn't worth their time.
It was the big advantage of having a twin; there was always one to battle who was on the same level about almost anything. With a sign, Mourn followed his sister, who had started to walk right through the fighting pairs to get to the coach, who was observing a match right in the middle of the room. They passed by the gargoyle and his artist friend, some faces that weren't worth remembering, and came to a halt right when Nevermore's Queen had won over a boy who wasn't too fond of the loss.

"Coach, coach! She tripped me," he squirmed on the floor, but the man looked down at him sternly.
"It was a clean strike, Rowan."
"Maybe if you whined less and practiced more, you wouldn't suck," the siren told her partner. From his own experience, he couldn't entirely disagree, yet he felt his sister stiffen next to him. The tone triggered unpleasant associations within her, and Mourn was a central part of them.

"Seriously, coach, when am I gonna get real competition?" Bianca huffed, and to be fair, Mourn would have categorized that as just as whiny. "Anyone else wanna challenge me?"
The siren looked around, and Mourn immediately knew what was coming next.
"I do," Wednesday replied coldly.
Bianca's lips curled into a cruel smile, "Oh, you must be the psychopath they let in. And you brought the crybaby."

Mourn glanced at his sister. While he was not offended by being called names, Wednesday did highly for him. She would ignore any insult thrown her way, but as soon as it was about Mourn, it was deeply personal.
"You must be the self-appointed Queen Bee," she said. "Interesting things about bees: Pull out their stinger, and they drop dead."
An impressed murmur went through the room, and Bianca's smile fell. "
Rowan doesn't need you to come to his defense," she started. "He's not helpless, he's just lazy."
And that was exactly where she mistook Wednesday's actions. This wasn't about Rowan.

"Are we doing this or not?"Wednesday waited for a nod of approval, then took her position, pulling the helmet over her head in one with experienced motion. Mourn remained in his place, watching her every move while someone stepped beside him. He didn't need to glance up to know it was the pathetic artist, but much to his delight, he kept his mouth shut and didn't interrupt his observation.
"En garden!" the couch announced, and the girls moved into the standard position just to go at each other the very next moment. Wednesday was fast, stock, and highly skilled, and it didn't need more than a few lunges to score the first point. Bianca didn't take that well and got more aggressive, while the other girl got increasingly angry, which was a mistake. Mourn watched as his sister's footwork became sloppy, allowing Bianca to draw even. Glaring, Wednesday removed her helmet, her eyes boring into the other girl's, who grinned smugly.

"That first point was beginner luck," she cooed, and Mourn knew his sister was furious as the girls started circling each other like prey. "Let's finish this."
Wednesday's eyes darted at the couch," for the final point, I want to invoke a military challenge. No masks, no tips. Winner draws first blood."
Another murmur went through the room, and Bianca agreed, "Let's see if you bleed in black and white." For this round, there were no rules and no floor mats that counted. Wednesday forced Bianca around, her foil mercilessly hammering down on the girl. She dodged in somersaults and kicked the other foil away, but her rage continued to be her fatal weakness. After a particularly fancy attack, Bianca managed to get up and take a full swing, and there it was, the first blood dripping from a cut on Wednesday's brow. Mourn heard the boy beside him gasp, and he sent him a glare for that blasphemy.