Ficlet: The Duel
Jan. 8th, 2026 06:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
badly_knittedTitle: The Duel
Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: Tosh, OCs, Team, Owen.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 730
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Having offended visiting aliens, the team find themselves challenged to a duel. Who will be their champion and fight for their honour?
Written For: The prompt ‘any, any, choose your weapon: foil, epee, sabre’, at
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threesentenceficathon.Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
This is Cardiff in the early twenty-first century, not medieval times; the idea of fighting a duel over a point of honour seems almost laughable, except that the situation is anything but. Offence has been given, however inadvertently, and the challenge has been made. Walking away and refusing to fight is, according to Jack, out of the question. Their only option is to accept the challenge and choose a champion, and that’s where Tosh comes in, because out of the five team members, she’s the only one who knows how to wield a blade.
She steps forward, acutely aware of everyone’s attention on her, but knowing she can’t allow herself to become distracted. This isn’t a game, and it won’t be playacting; it will be a genuine swordfight, and she can’t afford to make any mistakes. It’s a scary thought, but at the same time, it’s oddly exciting, although that’s probably the adrenaline talking. Then again, she’s used to the rush; it’s a Torchwood thing.
“Choose your weapon,” the alien says, staring down hir nose at Tosh, haughty and aloof, displaying for her the choice of foil, epee, or sabre. Each blade is gleaming steel, and razor sharp, each hilt is elaborately decorated, the grips bound in supple leather, the guards finely engraved and inlaid with gemstones and precious metals. They are lethal weapons, but at the same time, they’re works of art, and it seems a shame to sully any one of them by putting them to the purpose for which they were made, but there really isn’t any other choice. The alien’s mistress demands satisfaction, and neither party can refuse to take part. Such duels are commonplace in the aliens’ culture.
Toshiko weighs each of the blades in her small, elegant hands, more at home typing away at her keyboards. She admires their artistry as much as their functionality, and after careful consideration, selects the epee. It is neither too light nor too heavy for her, and the balance feels spot on; stepping back and flexing her wrists, she prepares herself for the fight to come. Her opponent arms hirself similarly and proceeds to make some practice lunges.
The fight isn’t to be to the death, merely to first blood, for which Tosh is grateful, but if she should lose, the penalty the rest of the team must pay will be harsh. Although she loves him, at the present moment, she would like to kill Owen for getting them into this situation thanks to his usual lack of tact and complete absence of anything that might charitably be described as manners.
She steps into the arena as her opponent does likewise. They approach each other, bow respectfully, touch blades and… It’s like a dance, and Tosh is gratified to find that she still remembers most of what she learned in those long-ago fencing lessons. The blades clash, sliding along each other with an ear-punishing metallic screech, and Tosh twists her wrist so that her opponent’s weapon slides harmlessly past her.
They move apart briefly, circling each other, looking for an opening, then clash again, and again; they appear to be evenly matched, but Tosh is in good shape thanks to working for Torchwood. She has plenty of stamina. Once again, they circle, flickering blades testing each other, thrust and parry, over and over, until Tosh sees the smallest opening… She dips her shoulder, feints left drawing her opponent’s blade aside just enough, lunges, feels the moment the tip of her blade finds its target… A drop of deep maroon blood glides briskly along her blade, signalling her victory!
A signal is given. Tosh and her opponent lower their blades, bow to each other once more, and although she half wishes she could keep if, Tosh places the epee back into the hands of her erstwhile opponent, seeing new respect in the alien’s eyes.
“You fight well, human. It was an honour.”
“Thank you. So do you. The honour was mine.”
A final bow and they go their separate ways, the alien back to her people, who will shortly be leaving earth, and Tosh to her team, blushing slightly at the open admiration on their faces. Even Owen is looking at her differently, surprised and impressed, as he should be. There is a lot more to Toshiko Sato than he’s ever realised; perhaps in future he won’t underestimate her.
The End
She steps forward, acutely aware of everyone’s attention on her, but knowing she can’t allow herself to become distracted. This isn’t a game, and it won’t be playacting; it will be a genuine swordfight, and she can’t afford to make any mistakes. It’s a scary thought, but at the same time, it’s oddly exciting, although that’s probably the adrenaline talking. Then again, she’s used to the rush; it’s a Torchwood thing.
“Choose your weapon,” the alien says, staring down hir nose at Tosh, haughty and aloof, displaying for her the choice of foil, epee, or sabre. Each blade is gleaming steel, and razor sharp, each hilt is elaborately decorated, the grips bound in supple leather, the guards finely engraved and inlaid with gemstones and precious metals. They are lethal weapons, but at the same time, they’re works of art, and it seems a shame to sully any one of them by putting them to the purpose for which they were made, but there really isn’t any other choice. The alien’s mistress demands satisfaction, and neither party can refuse to take part. Such duels are commonplace in the aliens’ culture.
Toshiko weighs each of the blades in her small, elegant hands, more at home typing away at her keyboards. She admires their artistry as much as their functionality, and after careful consideration, selects the epee. It is neither too light nor too heavy for her, and the balance feels spot on; stepping back and flexing her wrists, she prepares herself for the fight to come. Her opponent arms hirself similarly and proceeds to make some practice lunges.
The fight isn’t to be to the death, merely to first blood, for which Tosh is grateful, but if she should lose, the penalty the rest of the team must pay will be harsh. Although she loves him, at the present moment, she would like to kill Owen for getting them into this situation thanks to his usual lack of tact and complete absence of anything that might charitably be described as manners.
She steps into the arena as her opponent does likewise. They approach each other, bow respectfully, touch blades and… It’s like a dance, and Tosh is gratified to find that she still remembers most of what she learned in those long-ago fencing lessons. The blades clash, sliding along each other with an ear-punishing metallic screech, and Tosh twists her wrist so that her opponent’s weapon slides harmlessly past her.
They move apart briefly, circling each other, looking for an opening, then clash again, and again; they appear to be evenly matched, but Tosh is in good shape thanks to working for Torchwood. She has plenty of stamina. Once again, they circle, flickering blades testing each other, thrust and parry, over and over, until Tosh sees the smallest opening… She dips her shoulder, feints left drawing her opponent’s blade aside just enough, lunges, feels the moment the tip of her blade finds its target… A drop of deep maroon blood glides briskly along her blade, signalling her victory!
A signal is given. Tosh and her opponent lower their blades, bow to each other once more, and although she half wishes she could keep if, Tosh places the epee back into the hands of her erstwhile opponent, seeing new respect in the alien’s eyes.
“You fight well, human. It was an honour.”
“Thank you. So do you. The honour was mine.”
A final bow and they go their separate ways, the alien back to her people, who will shortly be leaving earth, and Tosh to her team, blushing slightly at the open admiration on their faces. Even Owen is looking at her differently, surprised and impressed, as he should be. There is a lot more to Toshiko Sato than he’s ever realised; perhaps in future he won’t underestimate her.
The End
(no subject)
Date: 2026-01-09 11:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2026-01-09 11:43 pm (UTC)Thank you!