>Anticipated title fight of the year at the arena
>Opponents loathe each other, constantly shit talking and boasting about how bad they were going to beat the other
>Anon the mercenary steps out
>He's an underdog, but he's upset the odds so far. Still being single at this late a stage of the arena is impressive
>His opponent steps out
>She's a dragon. She's crushed the hopes of thousands beneath her claws. She's turned swords to melted scrap her fire breath. Defended her title like a normal, functioning dragon would defend her hoard
>They look so cool, circling each other, riling up the crowd.
>They take their places
>The announcer steps up, "But before we start, let's go to our local fortune teller to see who she thinks is going to win."
>A scene is projected onto the arena walls for all to see
>Anon and dragon, cuddling, hands interlaced with claws. Her fat tail slumps over his legs. Her wings blanket around both of them. Puffs of contented smoke wisp from her smile. Then, she nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck while whispering about a "champion's treasure"
>Silence in the arena
>Then, the crowd goes wild
>Already some are demanding marriage on the spot
>The announcer is bamboozled. The fortune teller simply shrugs at him.
>Both fighters are clamouring to dispell what is obviously a totally impossible outcome.
>The dragon is beet red, but anon is lucky enough to have a helmet to claim plausible deniability
>"As if I'd ever with some scaly reptillian-"
>"Oafish, hairy monkey of a-"
>"Two-bit warrior who has no life outside of battling and never once had a boyfriend-"
>"HEY!"
>Outraged, she flicks his helmet off with her tail, revealing he is blushing too
>In response, he charges at her only, pins her, and starts pulling her ears while she cries
>Any decorum has evaporated. Any skill the fighters had has gone out the window and in their embarrased fury they're instead resorting to childish insults and cat fighting
>Match cancelled
>Dorks lose