Chapter

Posted on Saturday, 19 June 1999

Author's Note: Please forgive all the faults of this little Deathmatch--it has been a while since I have written one, and I hope I have not forgotten what 'knack' I had with it. Please enjoy, and I must dedicate this to Ann, for always being supportive of Henry Crawford. :)

"Right back at you, Dan! This promises to be one heck of a fight!--2 against 1!"

"Yes, and what a Duo! Ed Bertram and James Rushworth! Who'd have thought it? I thought that Ed didn't like Rushworth!"

"Well, Dan, Ed might think Mr. R stupid, but he sure hates Henry Crawford more! Word is that this 'Match' is what one would call a 'duel,' with the two 'gentlemen' fighting the 'cad' in 'behalf' of a 'lady's' 'honor'."

Dan gave Stan a cautious look. "You might want to lay off those quotes there for a while, Stan. Excessive punctuation can be deadly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"*Thump!*"

Dan looked away as Stan was tactfully pulled out to the sidelines. "Well, this match is a promising one--Henry Crawford, being the Cad of Mansfield Park should probably fight well against the Duo, but I give Bertram credit for being clever enough to outwit him! In any case, let's see what happens, as the competitors are entering!"

"In the right corner, firmly in the right, stand The Dynamic Duo, Edmund 'Morality' Bertram and James 'How Can Anyone Have An I.Q. This Low and Live?' Rushworth!"

The audience began to roar as the Duo entered in blue dress, wearing pink satin cloaks and nifty blue tights. Their anthem, "Men in Tights" from the movie Robin Hood: Men in Tights, began to blare through the sound system as they marched along.

"We're Men! We're Men in Tights!
We roam around the forest looking for fights!
We're Men! We're Men in Tights!
We rob from the rich, and give to the poor--that's right!
We may look like sissies, but watch what you say, or else, we'll put out your lights!
We're Men! We're Men in Tights!
Always on guard, defending the people's rights!

We're Men--manly Men! We're Men in Tights--yes!
We roam around the forest looking for fights!
We're Men! We're Men in Tights!
We rob from the rich, and give to the poor--that's right!
We may look like pansies, but don't get us wrong, or else, we'll put out your lights!
We're Men! We're Men in Tights--TIGHT--Tights!
Always on guard, defending the people's rights!
When you're in a fix, just call for the Men in Tights!
We're butch!"

"OK . . ." said the dazed Dan. "The Dynamic Duo! Now, in the left corner, Henry 'Love-'Em-And-Leave-'Em' Crawford!"

At these words, a whole section of the audience stood and began to jump up and down, cheering Crawford loudly as another section jumped up, and began to boo. Sauntering down the aisle in red and black came the Crawford as his song, "The Wanderer" by Dion, played.

"Oh well I'm the type of guy who will never settle down
Where pretty girls are well, you know that I'm around
I kiss 'em and I love 'em 'cause to me they're all the same
I flirt with 'em, and I leave 'em screamin' out my name
They call me the wanderer, yeah, the wanderer
I roam around around around . . .

Oh there's Mrs. Grant on my left and there's Mary on my right
Maria is the girl that I'll be with tonight
And when she asks me which one I love the best
I'll tear open my shirt and show her Fanny on my chest
'Cause I'm the wanderer, yeah, the wanderer
I roam around around around . . .

Oh well I roam from town to town
I go through life without a care
'Til I'm as happy as a clown
With my two fists of iron and I'm going nowhere

I'm the type of guy that likes to roam around
I'm never in one place; I roam from town to town
And when I find myself a-fallin' for some girl
I hop right into that barouche of mine and drive around the world
Yeah I'm the wanderer, yeah, the wanderer
I roam around around around . . .

Oh yeah I'm the type of guy that likes to roam around
I'm never in one place I roam from town to town
And when I find myself a-fallin' for some girl
I hop right into that barouche of mine and ride around the world
Yeah 'cause I'm a wanderer, yeah, a wanderer
I roam around around around . . .
'Cause I'm a wanderer, yeah, a wanderer
I roam around around around . . ."

"Whoo-hoo, Henry!" called out Susan as she fanned herself. "I can't believe it," she said to Marie L, who was right next to her. "I always wondered what he looked like, but I never imagined he looked like that! Black and plain!"

"And yet, not so very plain . . ." replied Marie, an admiring eye cast upon the man.

"He is not above five feet eight, I am sure," whined Rushworth to Edmund, directing some very fierce looks at the man. "I should be much surprised to learn that he is five feet nine--I should not believe it." Edmund rolled his eyes, but he was no more pleased by his opponent than his ally.

"And," announced Dan, "in the center of the ring, nowhere near five feet eight herself, is our referee for today's battle, that Fitzie-Fan and well-known Crawfordite, Rachel!"

Cheers came from the Crawfordite section, and groans from the rest of the audience, and Edmund himself.

"I object! This is not fair--you are far too prejudiced to judge rightly!"

Rachel grinned. "I'm sorry, Edmund, but this is my story. Perhaps you ought to join the JERKs, and force Annie to write your story for you, but as it is--" She grinned wider. "You know, you could always do a little disco action here, Edmund, and that would be very splendid, you know. I would quite enjoy that, and I am sure that Mary would, too," she said, elbowing him somewhat painfully as he blushed.

He coughed, and backed off. "No need--" he mumbled, and shuttled off to his corner.

Henry grinned. "Rachel, you are to judge the match?" he said, pleased.

"Yes, you little rascal you, but I have determined that I will be unprejudiced as from now. However, as I watch Edmund, he looks so fierce that I am afraid I cannot like him. His brother is much superior to him, I find," she said, casting a look through the Bertramite section for Tom, but alas, she could not find him. Nor Xenia with the Crawfordite group, no matter how much she looked. She sighed, but quickly shrugged off emotion and began to announce.

"All right, gentlemen and cads, here is the deal for this fight. There are no rules, except that I would prefer this to stay relatively clean and nobody is allowed to kill anyone. I'll just jump back now, and you three can . . . BEGIN!" She rang a little bell, and the match started.

Henry glanced at his opponents as he stood, crouched down, trying to think what to do. Rushworth was still standing there, looking at where Rachel had been, so Henry safely assumed that he still had to process everything, and therefore would be relatively harmless for most of the match. Thus, he looked at Edmund, and quickly yanked at his ponytail. It worked.

"Oww!" shrieked Edmund, and quickly grabbed Crawford's curls in response, giving equal tug value.

"You know, this is pointless," said Henry, and with his head, butted Edmund in the stomach. "Your sister's honor is so besmirched, I can't begin to imagine how you mean to defend it."

"Well, I can try," said Edmund nobly as he pulled out a Bible and threw it at Henry's head. It struck, and Crawford was forced to stagger back to the side, where he could regain his balance.

"Impossible!" cried Henry, once his senses were back in order, as he pulled out a tortilla slipped to him by Maddie, and dashed it at Edmund. "It was she who seduced me. Besides, I love Fanny: forty thousand cousins could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum!"

Enraged, Edmund ducked the tortilla, and jumped over to Henry, whereupon he grabbed him and began to dance with him. Henry screamed as his toes were trampled, and he fell to the ground.

Amazingly, Rushworth suddenly said, "OK!" and crossed over to where Henry lay, and sat on him.

"Help! Help! I can't breathe!" croaked Crawford, almost breathless. "Rachel!" his shrill voice called, and she looked over.

"Crawford!" she cried, but then suddenly, she turned around and glanced out into the audience, for she could swear that she heard the sound of a footstep--yes, ladies, gents, and cads, the Fitzie-Pie had just entered the building, and Rachel heard it. She extended her arms, calling,

"Fitzie!" but then Henry croaked again, and she turned back to him, and called,

"Henry!"

"Fitzie!"

"Henry!" It appeared that she could not make up her mind who to turn to, and was rendered helpless by the charm of her two favorite characters.

Realizing that help would be long in coming, Henry thought and came up with an idea. "Get off me, now!" he commanded Rushworth in imperious and sonorous tones.

Startled, Rushworth quickly obliged, and Henry jumped up quickly.

"Now, recite one of your two-and-forty speeches," he commanded in the same voice, quickly putting in his earplugs. Compelled, Rushworth began.

"'In my travels, I learnt delicacy in Italy--hauteur, in Spain--in France . . . enterprise--in Russia, prudence--in England . . .' oh, hang it, what did I learn in England?" he called out.

Although affixed by boredom once Rushworth had begun, this pause allowed Edmund the time to recover and stuffing a gag in his partner's mouth, pulled out a pen nib.

"Hey, this always seems to work on villains!" he said to the audience, who looked a bit unsure of this sudden development.

"Nibber try to get rid of me by that route!" punned Crawford, and neatly capped the Nib. "After all, I read Katt and Meesh's Deathmatch with Fwood, too!" He then began to advance threateningly on Edmund, who was unfortunately stuck in a corner and it looked like he was going to win . . . after all, who is writing this Deathmatch?

Suddenly, when it looked like the match was becoming predictable, a voice from the back called out, and cried, "No!"

Stunned, everyone turned to look at the young female marching up the aisle, her reddish hair streaming behind her. "I object to this ending! Rachel, I cannot allow this!"

"Ann!" murmured Rachel, and immediately jumped to attention. Henry Crawford gulped uncomfortably, having a bad feeling about this sudden development.

"What's the matter, Ann?"

She marched over to Henry, and stared him in the eyes. "Henry Crawford is a louse!"

"What?" said Henry, not a little surprised.

"Henry Crawford is a louse! He cannot win! He is a louse! He is a louse! HE IS A LOUSE!"

"I'm sorry, but-- but--" answered Henry in a tiny voice.

Immediately, she pulled out a magic wand, and Rachel, King Darcy, Sir Colonel, Sir Knightley, and above all, Sir Edward, gasped in shock, and jumped under a chair.

"Smilies!" she cried, and began to pelt Henry with her smilies.

This went on for quite a while until Henry was cowering on the floor, and she suddenly ran out of smilies. Not at a loss, she began to beat him over the head with her stick and he took off, with her hot on his heels. Many laughed, and since Rushworth had still not gotten the gag off, all present could be satisfied.

"But who won?" asked Edmund of Rachel, who now only having to drool at the Colonel could be more in her right mind.

"Mmm . . . what did you say?" she said dreamily. Then, the words processed, and she replied, "I don't think anyone won, but if your mean, 'Did you successfully defend your sister's honor?', I don't think so. After all, Henry might be a louse, but she's no Princess Innocent herself. And now, Edmund, if you'll excuse me, the Colonel is running away now and I must follow. A Fitzie-Fan's duty is never done!" And with a leap, she landed on her feet on the auditorium floor and began to speed off after the dashing Redcoat.

Edmund sighed, then shrugged, and turned to the audience. "Well, I guess that's everything, everyone. I think you'd better go home now . . . good-bye!"
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"No, really, get out of here."
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"I mean it, this is just silly. Nothing else happens, now go!"
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"Now look, do I have to sic Rushworth on you? Bugger off!"

Finis.