Say she's bluffing.

“Alright,” you cross your arms. “If you’re so of yourself, let’s fight.”

“I don’t want to damage your ego,” she crosses her arms. “But if you’re really so full of yourself, let me break you.”

There’s a lot of hostility in her eyes as she says this. You wonder what the odds are of her losing her temper and actually breaking something. However, as you come to the conclusion, you also realize that if you back down now, Half-Gob will see this as a sign of weakness, a trait you don’t want Half-Gob to think you have.

“Where should we settle this?”

“Here,” she says, unclasping her pistol belt from her hips. “Let’s fight right here.”

She starts approaching you when you extend a handout. “Relax, fireball.”

Half-Gob does not relax. She charges forward, tackling you and sending you to the ground as she throws herself, plus 100 more pounds of **** behind her. She’s heavier than you thought possible for a girl of her stature and size.

“Good Christ,” you say, feeling her snake around you like a constrictor. You grab and push on her stomach, wiggling around enough to create some space. For some reason, you can’t help but start chuckling. “Your title should have been Half-Rocket!”

Half-Gob wraps her legs around you as you get to your feet. She’s light enough to carry on that you’re on your legs, but you still can’t get her off you. You carry her to a patch of bushes and try shaking her off in there. It goes decently at first, but then she gets her legs around your neck and starts holding you in a chokehold. Half-Gob might even give Scarlet a run for her money!

This time, you’re hopelessly locked between her legs, and the squeezing entices you to tap out before you’re blacked out. You try feebly for a few seconds before finally tapping her leg to let you go.

Once released, you grasp and stumble out of the brush. Half-Gob follows you and jabs your arm. “How about that?”

“I bet you’re dangerous in bed,” you remark, rubbing your neck.

“You couldn’t handle me in bed either,” Half-Gob says, but her eyes widen. She points at you. “No, we’re not proving that theory.”

“Alright…I get your **** to join me under the sheets, but how about a rematch on the mat instead?”

“Sure,” Half-Gob looks annoyed with your back and forth now. “An hour after high noon?”

“Good as time as any,” you reply.

Half-Gob scratched her arms, where pink scrapes were spotted. She runs her hands over them. She smiles, laughing slightly. “I always like proving my opponents wrong.”

“Don’t be so sure,” you tell her. “Now that I’ve got you gauged, I don’t think your odds of winning are so good.”

She dramatically rolls her eyes, returning to the trail and towards the hotel. In the back of your mind, you find yourself less confident than what your words or tone suggested.

You return to the hotel and intend to visit the foxgirls; however, when you knock on Scarlet’s door, neither Arabella nor the twins answer. You’re just left standing at the door with your hands in your pockets. “Shit,” you murmur, wondering where they could be. It was likely they were with the rest of the circus, probably getting more accustomed to the layout and whatever tasks they were given while staying here.