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Title: Adamantine Bridles Don't Have To Be Literal
Author: Sherlockian

The impact rocked Eliot back on his feet and he stumbled and shook his head, trying to shake the stars from his eyes. It was getting harder to concentrate, the longer this fight went on. The other guy-- well, he looked about the way Eliot felt, though, so there was hope. Eliot took a moment to wipe a drip of blood from his forehead. "Why are we doing this again?" he asked, slurring the words a little. A concussion too? Great. The other fighter snorted, making a sound like a bull and just charged again.

That was okay. It wasn't as though Eliot really needed the answer. He thought he could feel Sophie's gaze, hot and hard against his bare back. He didn't bother to risk a look at her-- she was probably standing, as he'd seen her last, regal and smug. But even though he didn't give in to temptation, the momentary distraction led to an elbow to the face, and Eliot went skittering back.

The Nemeseia, Sophie had translated for Nate, was a festival to appease the Nemesis of the dead. She liked blood. Well, there certainly was a lot of it-- Eliot pulled himself to his feet and slammed his knee into the oncoming opponent. A hell of a lot of it. And somehow Eliot got the feeling that this wasn't just a job for Sophie. As his opponent collapsed, Eliot glanced up. Sophie didn't bother to hide her triumphant smile.