Draftsman v. Dramaturge

The Draftsman, using pencil and the blank pages of a notepad left on Stetson's desk, sketches the growing bodies of the dead.

He recognizes this as a somewhat morbid activity, but chalks it up as cathartic.

I did just kill a man in an honorable duel, he says sadly. What better way to extend his mortality - if even so feebly - than through art.

Unfortunately, being so habituated to the style of technical draftsmanship, regardless of how many attempts the Draftsman makes to represent the Doorman's grotesque corpse with emotion and nuance, the image looks less like a page from the notebook of Caspar David Friedrich than the preliminary spec for a high-end anamatronic car test dummy.

Sleep on, sweet prince, sighs the Draftsman, regarding his work tearfully.

Next morning:

The Dramaturge's flight from the city is cancelled due to heavy rainstorms. He waits in the airport for close to an eternity. When he arrives to the dueling grounds he's not interested in anything apart from dueling.