“That’s not—” Beatrice started.
“Oh yes.” Caspar nodded. “It’s exactly what you think.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she muttered. “Cas, you have made my year.”
Beatrice walked silently into the living room, suddenly happy to be wearing her soft ballet flats. She approached the two vampires watching the television, who had well over a thousand years of life between them, careful to keep her distance so they didn’t smell her.
Giovanni had donned his usual grey sweater and black slacks for the evening, but Carwyn appeared to be wearing a garish t-shirt with an ugly masked face on it. They were totally absorbed with the spectacle on the television screen. Just then, the crowd went wild and both vampires jumped up shouting.
“Tap out, you buggering idiot!”
“Use the damn folding chair!”
Beatrice couldn’t believe the ammunition she had just been given.
“Hey, guys.”
They both spun around when they heard her quiet voice from the back of the living room. Carwyn grinned at her.
“Hello, B! Grab a beer, you’re just in time. The main event’s on right after this match.”
Giovanni, if possible, looked even paler than normal. “Beatrice, this is—were you scheduled to work tonight?” He scratched at the back of his neck in obvious discomfort.
“Nope. Just came by to pick up a couple of books I forgot from the library.” She smirked in satisfaction as he squirmed. This mental picture was priceless.
He continued to stare at her, speechless and obviously embarrassed, until he heard the roar from the crowd and Carwyn shouted again. Giovanni spun around to see what was happening on the television.
“Finally! Damn it, Gio. They always go for the folding chair.”
“Of course they do. Folding chairs are always there for a reason. They’re never just stage props.”
Shaking her head, she walked closer to the back of the couch. Both men were staring at the television again, completely engrossed in the professional wrestling match on screen.
“Seriously, guys? Professional wrestling? I might have suspected archery or fencing. Hell, even soccer—”
“Football!” they shouted simultaneously.
“—wouldn’t have been that big a surprise, but this?”
Barely clothed women walked around the ring, and flashing lights filled the screen. The announcers shouted about the final match-up of the night, which was on just after the previously taped profiles of the two participants.
“This is the most bloody brilliant sport ever invented,” Carwyn almost whispered in awe as he stared at the screen.
“It’s not a sport!”
Both turned to look at her in disgust.
“That’s not the point!” Carwyn shouted.
“You see, Beatrice,” Giovanni started, while the priest turned the volume down just low enough so they could be heard. “Professional wrestling is simply the most modern interpretation of an ancient tradition of stylized verbal battles between enemies. From the time that Homer recorded the Iliad, the emergence of what Scottish scholars call ‘flyting’—”
“That would be a verbal battle preceding a physical one, but considered equally as important to the overall outcome,” Carwyn interjected.
“Exactly. Throughout world myth, warriors have engaged in a verbal struggle that is as symbolically important as the battle itself. You can see examples in early Anglo-Saxon literature—”
“You’ve read Beowulf, haven’t you, English major?”
Giovanni glanced at the priest, but continued in his most academic voice. “Beowulf is only one example, of course. The concept is also prevalent in various Nordic, Celtic, and Germanic epic traditions. Even Japanese and Arabic literature are rife with examples.”
“Exactly.” Carwyn nodded along. “See, modern professional wrestling is following in a grand epic tradition. Doesn’t matter if it’s staged, and it doesn’t matter who wins, really—”
“Well, I don’t know about—”
“What matters,” Carwyn shot his friend a look before he continued, “is that the warriors impress the audience as much with their verbal acuity as their physical prowess.”
Giovanni nodded. “It’s really very fitting within classical Western tradition.”
Beatrice stared at them and began to snicker.
“Did you two just come up with some really academic, smart-sounding rationalization for why you’re watching professional wrestling on pay-per-view?”
Carwyn snorted. “Are you kidding? It took us years to come up with that. Grab a beer and sit down.”
Still snickering, she walked into the kitchen, where Caspar was holding an open long-neck for her. “Do you—”
He shook his head. “Oh no, this is their own crass amusement. I’ll have nothing to do with it, no matter how many times they cite Beowulf.”
Beatrice chuckled and took the beer. “I guess I can hang out for a while. After all,” she smiled, “the main event is just ahead!”
Caspar chuckled and went back to his crossword puzzle on the counter. She walked back into the living room and sat in the open spot between the two vampires. Carwyn was already shouting at the screen on her left, but Giovanni sat back, slightly more subdued as he stretched his left arm across the back of the couch and looked at her.