Their tongues battled for dominance. Who would win? No one could possibly know. That's why they battled- to establish their dominance. Of course, only one could win. Whose tongue was the fiercest?
The quick jousting movements of the king seemed almost futile against Pitou's expert fencing techniques, but he was not to be deterred for he had an ace, or so he thought, up his sleeve.
With a mighty thrust with the force of a thousand linebackers, his tongue stretched far into the recesses of their wet cavern, choking them of their breath. But what say of Pitou? Did they relent? Anyone who knew them would kill you for asking such a ridiculous question.
The king's great push forward lost steam and grew helpless about Pitou's mighty forehand and backhand movements. Each swing pushed him farther and farther of the court until he was way past the baseline. Pitou's final smash knocked the racket out of his hand and he was forced to retreat his tongue.
He had lost.
He lost the battle, but not the war. Soon it was he who would hold the trophy high. That was okay because, in the end, this was a team effort. He felt no pity for Pitou for he knew, he knew, that they did not feel any towards him.
Their mouth's smashed together once more like a baseball that hit the bat at it's sweet spot, flying over the heads of many. A grand slam.
Their tongues battled for dominance.