You've got a bad feeling

Michelle was standing at the contest line, in her purple tight fitting shirt and purple ruffled skirt, twirling her throwing knives and facing the spinning scoreboard.

Wait....wait for it...now. She let her knife fly.

"18!" The crowd shouted, their earsplitting voices making the walls of the tavern shake. They had good reason to make a ruckus, it was close. Too close.

Michelle grins as she turns to face the competitor, head cocked and one hand on her hip. "That makes my 39 points to your 28." She says, "Ooooh, 11 points. So close. Maybe next time Frederick!"

The huge bear of a man, known as Frederick Agapheny, stormed out of the building, roughly shoving anyone who stood in his path. The next competitors jeered at him and taunted him, but Michelle wasn't looking at him at all.

39 points. Normally that would be a terrible score for her, but she had been scoring like that for the entire morning. She had given six consolation handjobs today, and one challenger had actually beaten her. By two points, yes, so it was only another handjob, but it never would have happened on any other day. Something was terribly wrong.

But she couldn't stop. You can't stop. The crowd wanted a show, and you always deliver. If you don't, they'll look somewhere else for entertainment and bring their rubles with them. Michelle had never cancelled before, and despite the bad feeling, she wasn't going to cancel now.

"Next!" She said as her eyes scanned the room.

Far off in the corner of the room, Michelle saw Lee Harkum, sitting at a table, calmly sipping his drink and watching her intently. His pearly-white teeth were showing. But it didn't look as much like a smile as it did a wolf baring his fangs. He couldn't have...

But Michelle had no time to finish the thought, as the next competitor faces her.