I called Myra. It did not go well.

"I got your message from Jonah."

"Yeah?"

"You want me to lose a fight? On purpose?"

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

"I fight to win."

"Well, this time you'll be fighting to lose. No one's betting against you. We want to change that up a bit."

"I do not know how to fight to lose."

"It's easy. Just don't hit as hard, let their punches get through. Just try not to look like you're fainting or something. There's a bonus for you if you can make it look good."

"I do not think you understand. The people I have been fighting are not soldiers. They are barely fighters. It has been hard for me to not hurt them."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to let them hurt you."

"It does not..."

"Here's what you don't understand. You fight for me. You don't fight for them or the guys watching. You fight for me. Unless you can't play ball, and then you don't fight for me. You hear me?"

"...I hear what you say."

"Good. We'll set up three fights in a row for you, get the crowd going, and you go down in the third. That way you can claim you were worn out or something. Clear?"

"...Yes."

The fighting is easy. It is not a challenge to me. It is something to do. It is a place to go. And I get paid for it. And people now cheer for me.

And it is mine. Or at least I thought it was. But now Myra is saying it is hers.

When I told Husband about this, he said, "Sounds like your job has become work."

"What is the difference?"

"I think of work as something someone pays you to do because they don't want to."

"Are you saying Myra should do her own prize fighting?"

"Kind of sounds fair, since she wants it done in a certain way."

We were drinking cider in the workshop. In mere moons I have ceased to be as much of a lightweight drinker of cider. And the bottle gave me something to toy with as I thought. "We did not get to losing a fight in our theatre practice."

"Yeah. And we don't have the time or place for it now."

"Is it silly to worry that the people who watch me fight will lose respect for me?"

"Not really. But do you care more about their respect for you or your own?"

"Both, I think"

"Hm. Well...maybe Myra will find someone you won't feel too bad about losing to."

"Up to now she has failed to do so."

We had some time before our diner shift, so Husband tried to distract me with work on the ultralight. He seemed particularly insistent on doing so. Perhaps he thought I was worrying too much.

He explained to me about "welding," which is attaching pieces of metal to one another by melting them where they join. He showed me the ammo box he had bought, and how some of the edges were slightly puffy; the ammo boxes he had made from a recipe were not like that, but rather looked like a single piece of metal.

"Do we need to weld? It looks stronger our way."

"Far as I'm concerned, no. It's just another 'weird' thing to remember, like our identical apples."

The ultralight is getting built. Airships and submersibles in Eorzea were made in four pieces and then put together; this has been Husband's approach here. There is a wing piece, a body piece, a wheel piece and an engine and propeller piece. Each of them has an aluminum frame that things are attached to. And we are making these aluminum frames without welding.

The design he paid for only showed one seat. He has changed that to have space behind that one seat for either a second seat or a "cargo hold." I asked him why we need a box in the airplane if we have our inventory; he said something about "appearances."

But he is definitely making a second seat an option. He is definitely making it possible for me to fly with him. Assuming he can fly the airplane at all.

Thinking about that did distract me from thinking about losing a fight.