The morning after a girl proclaiming herself to be the fictional hero of legend, 'Lady Aardig' arrived, was proving to be as bizarre for Pierre as the day prior had been.

Finding accommodation for the women with the silver-white hair and large brown eyes had been easy enough - Pierre's home in London was a large three-story townhouse with a whole array of rooms he seldom had use for - So finding an empty bedroom for the pretend Aardig had been easy enough.

Further he had instructed the housekeep to leave the girl out a change of more contemporary clothes, as well as giving the man a small bonus to keep his mouth shut about Pierre suddenly keeping a woman on the property.

Now he sat in the dining room of the home's bottom floor.

It struck Pierre - What with his mind suddenly focusing on his past life - That the dining room was itself easily larger than any of his old flats back in his youth.

That wasn't to say he had been poor before being so rudely dragged to Earth, indeed as a knight in the service of 'Thee Lady Aardig', he would have been privy to accommodation fit for a Captain of the Guard - And yet it was only now after all these years living in the over-sized house, that he realised just how spacious the dining room alone really was.

In truth the bottom floor of his current home was without doubt twice the size of the building he had been born into.

The whole house might well have been fit for a noble lord in the world Aardig came from.

The exterior was a lavish wall of tall windows with interlinking exposed-brickwork sections and fine worked sandstones pillars that propped up quant balconies on the second and third floors.

The dining room was a long corridor-shaped affair with a grand fireplace against the far wall - Said fireplace was decorated with expensive looking tools and trinkets from a great many cultures atop its mantle - Alongside a fine layer of dust indicative towards a lack of use for the large hearth.

The rest of the room was mostly filled with a large wooden table surrounded by 12 ornate chairs, each with fine-ribbon inlays.

The table was covered in lush doilies and ornate silver cutlery - Further a small breakfast bar lay against the wall behind the table, lined with serials, European pastries and burcos filled with tea & coffee.

Pierre felt something akin to guilt run through him as he suddenly came to terms with the scale and lavishness of his home of so many years - Compared with what he had left unwillingly behind.

He also felt something undeniably like annoyance at the woman sitting next to him...

Despite the table being easily large enough for twelve, the girl calling herself Aardig had chosen to sit in the chair right next to Pierre - Not across from him or at the end of the table but right next to him - 'Far too close for my liking, Thank you very much!'

Her placement next to him created an image of two people surrounded by a ring of empty seats.

She was so close in fact that he could smell her scent, of course he did his best not to and felt guilty for it, but he was ‘only a man after all’, he reasoned - And how was he meant to react to the faint floral flagrance of someone who had never needed make-up in her whole life to be absolutely dazzling?

Her scent especially stood out considering the rest of the room had that faint musty smell One might find in cheap hotels or old B&Bs...

The girl had chosen not to wear the clothes Pierre had ordered be left out for her, instead sticking to her original fantasy-knight uniform, cape and all - Claiming;

"The material of those garments was most strange my good man, altogether too soft and course!"

Pierre hadn't argued this, he instead got a nostalgic moment of remembering his first-time wearing Earth clothes and how strange the articles had felt - A far cry from his current regime of slippered feet, warm cardigan and thin waistcoat - Or his first nights on Earth spent in shop doorways or police custody cells, because the beds of any hostel that would take him felt so alien to the touch.

"And this?" Asked the soft but excitable voice which belonged to the person Pierre was currently labelling 'Not-Aardig' - As she pointed towards a bowl of porridge.

“Made from oats I believe." Pierre said back.

"And that one?"

"Wheat based."

"That one with the, ummm? Large orange and black, menacingly grinning creature on the front?"

Pierre rose an eyebrow at this question before realising the carton brand 'Not-Aardig' had gestured towards;

"Hmmm? Oh yes Maize, barley and far too much sugar - Probably best you avoid the ones like that, last thing I need is your medieval digestion system getting a massive sugar rush."

"Med - IE - Evil?"

"Never-mind" Pierre sighed, this conversation on the various make-up of foodstuffs and other arbitrary items around the house had been going on for quite some time now.

Not-Aardig considered Pierre's responses few moments before asking her next query;

"But do you not find it strange Gem--"

"Pierre."

"What?"

"Call me Pierre. Gem hasn't been my name for a very long time, and besides if someone heard that a young woman was not only living in my house but also had some sort of private 'pet-name' for me - Well the broadsheet newspapers would be all over it."

"I see." The ‘young woman’ mused, clearly thrown off her stride, "Speaking of which, where-ever has that young butler gone? I called for him to bring me better clothes, but he never did return!"

‘Ah, so that's what all that shouting was earlier....’

"He is no butler, he's a part time housekeeper - He does an hour here in the morning and the evening, luncheon I prepare for myself." Pierre added.

"Only 2 hours in the day!? But how can such a thing be possible, in a house as large as this you must surely have a whole retinue of staff!"

Pierre sighed again; "Nope, 2 hours a day is more than enough for him to keep the parts of the house I use most tidy, the rest is of little consequence."

"You mentioned a guardsman just last night!" Not-Aardig shot back.

Pierre flushed a little with embarrassment, "Ah, well yes, not exactly. The whole street pays a modest sum to have a man patrol the entire thing for a bit nightly - But he, umm, is not exactly 'my guard'..."

The girl's face turned to a broad grin, and she poked teasingly at Pierre's left cheek causing him to redden even further.

"Ho-ho my old friend it seems you have not yet changed as much as I thought. You always were the one for crafty plans - 'If one cannot afford a guard on every door, then one should spread rumours to the contrary' - In spreading your miss-truth you deter the least determined of would be cutpurses with words alone, yes?

And all without spending a penny on guards of your employ."

Pierre's blush grew even deeper - "Well I suppose that's the gist of it yes..."

"He-he-he, I see your cheeks also still shine when I tease you such - They at least have not forgotten who I am."

She cooed, poking playfully.

Pierre for his part stood up out of his chair, brushing away the woman's soft fingertip.

He strode grumpily around the long table and stopped by one of the large paned windows, running his hand through the plump red curtains that adorned it.

Not-Aardig frowned at having her fun stopped, before turning her attentions back to the conversation at hand;

"So you have no guardsmen or servants here?"

"None at all." Pierre said dryly, his eyes now fixed on the street outside the window.

"No spouse or child. No cousins or apprentices for your craft?"

"Nope."

"But isn't that awfully lonely?"

The woman asked in all sincerity.

Pierre's hand held frozen in the air before he coughed up a response - "Some people do not mind being alone you know."

Not-Aardig frowned again, deeper this time;

"Do you still not believe I am the woman you once knew, Pierre Havelock?"

It was his turn to frown back at her - "I do not deny you in order to cause hurt, there are simply too many inconsistencies between you and the Lady Aardig I was acquainted with.

In fact I have been considering the possibility of a multi-verse - You know, that perhaps your some alternate version of Aardig from a whole oth--"

He didn't get the chance to go any further with his musings as the silver glint of a sword coursed through the air towards his neck.

****

It had happened it a single flush movement, almost too fast for the human eye - Alt-Aardig (As Pierre was now considering addressing her) had launched from her chair, used the table as a steppingstone (sending a veritable collection of cutlery and condiments a-strewn) before drawing her sword in a single flourish.

Said sword had gone straight through one of the red, heavy-set curtains Pierre had been admiring - Cleaving the thing in half as Pierre stumbled backwards out of surprise.

Grabbing the slashed curtain to try and regain his balance, only caused the remaining fabric to rip from the rails and fall lifelessly to the ground with a slick clicking sound.

Pierre wanted to ask what in God's name was going on but he didn't get the chance - Alt-Aardig stabbed forward twice in a fencing style manoeuvre, a beaming grin across her ever pretty face.

Before he even knew it Pierre was swaying from side to side, the blade barely glancing his grey-sideburns as he deftly (if a little clumsily) dodged the assault.

This caused Aardig's smile to grow even larger.

She ended her short assault in order to take up an expert stance - Gleaming silver sword outstretched in one hand, the other held behind her back - She hopped lightly between her feet like some prized boxer might of before a fight, her every-movement light and controlled.

'What's that phrase? 'Move like a Butterfly, sting like a Bee?' - Well this Bee's sting is half a metre of cold, hard Goibniu-Steel!' - Pierre lamented but this time he took action, dashing behind himself he grabbed up the fire-poker from the mantelpiece.

Like everything in the house it was of an ornate but practical make, a long shaft of stainless-steel with the heavy poker to one end and a small loop to the other.

Placing his fingers through the loop he managed to raise the awkwardly balanced 'staff' just in time to block a diagonal strike from his 'young friend's' blade.

There was a terrible clanging as the ad-hoc weapon met with real craftsmanship;

"The Hell are you doing Girl!" Pierre uttered as he blocked a second slash and a third, fourth and fifth.

'The Girl' simply grinned even more, a fire of excitement in her eyes - 'If she smiles any further she'll run out of face!'

Alt-Aardig continued to press her assault, clattering down time and time against Pierre's fire-poker as he desperately repelled each blow.

Gradually they circled around the room, the girl sometimes jumping on chairs, throwing them or plain slashing the antique seats out of her way as she advanced forward with movements that seemed more fitted to a dancer then a fighter - 'It would be beautiful...If not so damn deadly!'

Pierre did his best to keep up, at one point risking a twirl manoeuvre - Moving faster than he remembered moving in years, as he spun the heavy end of the poker off - Letting it fall to the ground and freeing up the rest of the shaft as a more usable tool.

More and more dents formed along Pierre's pretend weapon, and he felt as though his lungs would give-out and collapse at any moment from more exertion than had been expected of him in literal decades.

He didn't think of himself as an unfit man but compared to a master-swordswoman in her prime of peak physical fitness - Well it was a contrast between them put lightly.

Soon he realised that for all this to and froing, the girl clearly was holding back a great deal.

Stainless-Steel or not the fire-poker could never survive long if she were serious - Indeed Pierre even caught her turning her blade to its flat once or twice as the dance continued its course.

Nonetheless the sword flurry eventually hit with force enough to buckle over the poker with a sickening screech - Before, with one finally clanging-ring, the depleted utensil collapsed in half - The broken part being launched aside by the force of the slash, before lodging itself into the wall next to Pierre at roughly eye level - With the other half falling loosely from his hands.

Alt-Aardig rose her blade's tip to Pierre's heaving chest.

----

And then she laughed, or maybe howled would have been a better word.

Sheathing her sword and gripping her sides as she near rolled around with laughter.

Pierre also clutched his sides, though mostly just trying to regain his breath - He grabbed one of the remaining upright chairs (few as they now were) and collapsed into it (sparing only a briefest of glances for his destroyed dining room).

His heart was racing at a thousand miles an hour, his vision seemed almost blurry. He knew he was coated in sweat and his hand's shook rapidly.

And there in the centre of his vision stood the culprit, laughing like a madman - Her long silky hair swinging from side to side as she cackled, her voice as always soft but confident - Her smile full of warmth brighter than any sunrise.

"What...the...heck....was.... that.... for...." Pierre stuttered through his panting.

Alt-Aardig looked up, wiping a tear from her eyes and finally finishing her laughing spree - She moved back to the now messy table and leant against it;

"Hmph, you think you were the only one questioning the validity of the others claims to identity? Why should I have believed you were my friend Gem so easily, any more then you should believe I am Aardig, yes?"

Pierre stared bemused at her - "But...there.... must of... been better ways!" He exclaimed, finally getting his breathing back under control, "...I still have... my sword.... nearly sold it a few times but I held.... onto it all this time....as proof.... I can show you that, other things too. Lots of proof."

The girl shook her head with a stern expression.

"And why do that, I've seen your collections of tat around this estate - Trinkets and toys not relics. And of-course your sword could be stolen or forged as a trick--".

"--No my dear fellow don't you see, the muscle memory of your body has not forgotten your style my friend. Every strike and block you made is infinitely better than a signature written in mere pen and ink could ever be - Even with three decade's worth of rust on you."

She said with a louse wave of her hand in Pierre's direction.

He just stared back blankly at her and so in turn she giggled at his expression.

"There is no further questions to be had now - You are without doubt Gem Havler, the man who trained me in the ways of the sword all those years ago and the one who was my sparring partner till just yesterday - Although I suppose for you that was some time ago, still I could never forget your method!

And what of you, are you now convinced by my sword-form of who I am?"

'Gem' paused for a moment before shaking his head - 'That style is definitely hers... But still' -

"I'm sorry, but still no."

Alt-Aardig's face fell to one of true hurt and sorrow for a moment before brightening once again; "Alas then very well. It was not a total failure for I am now convinced of you and that has given me all the more motivation to show that I most certainly am the Lady Aardig!"

She said with that ridiculous grin once more plastered across her face.

"But for now you may call me....Hmmmm. Call me Maka, yes. Maka Umit. And I shall call you Pierre - That is at least until I convince you of who I really am - And trust me, 'Pierre', I will convince you!"

And like that Pierre's bizarre breakfast, the first he'd had alongside another human-being for the quite some years - Ended.