> The Company She Keeps

[Lord Blake]

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Lord Blake’s boot lands on the asphalt of the parking lot. A flyer blows against his ankle - #RISEUP - with a photo of Hanalei Brightly. He kicks it off with the other boot and it takes off into the night. His footfalls are muted as he transitions from concrete to the sand of the beach, moving towards his target. He sees her silhouetted alone against a fire taller than her, just feet from the ocean waves that roll onto the shore.

A red Solo cup lands next to an eroded sandcastle, the Bayou Silver rum soaking into the beach. Sand kicks up as he walks down the coast through the dark. Between the crackling fire and the rolling surf, his target would be hard-pressed to hear him approach. His speed increases until he’s right behind her. In one smooth motion he grabs her shoulder, spins her around and aims an uppercut at her stomach. Whether she could hear him coming or her reflexes are that good, his fist never finds its destination.

Lord stumbles and turns around, raising both fists to square up. Emma looks at him, entirely unimpressed, going so far as to tap her chin, daring her tag team partner. Lord waves it off.

“No, I’m not gonna have you show up at Vendetta with a missing tooth. You go telling anyone that I gave it to you and that we can't cooperate, then my girl is out a job. Now, no touching of the hair or face!”

Again, his fists come up in a boxer's stance. When Emma doesn't make a similar move, Lord sits back on his heels.

“I goddamn hate you and the company you keep, Emma. I would just as soon tag your face with a fist than tag your hand in a match. I know you want to hit me just as much as I want to beat you, so since I can't do it on Thursday, let's get this out right now!”

Hands up to protect his face with his heavy fists, but he drops them completely when it's apparent she still isn't going follow suit.

“I swear, Emma, we had better do this now so I don't kick that fucked up eyeball out of your skull during the match tomorrow. I've already done something stupid to save Ravey this week, I'm not doing something stupid to lose her too!”

Emma is still as a statue, save for the coastal breeze tossing her hair around. The heat of the fire counters the cool breeze on the side of Lord's face. With a frustrated sigh, he seems to relax.

“The fucking stupid part is that we're just chess pieces on the Delise's board. Not pawns; no, I'm definitely a King and you're like, the horse. Any other day I'd love to bash Archer's face in, but it's just bittersweet when it's because of Delise bidding with these stupid fucking rules. We're not fighting because we hate each other, we're fighting to save jobs and titles and the opportunity to rip Mondae's throat out.

“Any other time you and I might have a chance at winning. I've already beat Archer one-on-one and you took out Hailey while she was training Rave. We obviously hit harder than them and either one of us are strong enough to keep them grounded. We match up with them when it comes to technique, focus, a ton of stuff. If this was just a twisted joke of a match, we could have Archer down and out cold instantly.”

The ocean air picks up and stirs the flames. Lord almost to yell to be heard.

“But this is more than a twisted joke! Archer won't hesitate to end you if you cost him his shot at my belt and I won't either if you cost my fiancée her contract! You've already got her phone, her engagement ring -- that's all you take, because I get it back tomorrow night! Don't think I won't let Rave give me a Super Orgasm and pin me the second you're down.”

Lord expects a reaction but it never comes.

“Fuck… you don't want to do this now, then whatever. But as soon as that bell rings to end the match…”

Slowly, so slowly, Emma brings two fists up just in front of her chin. A boxer's stance. Lord cracks a disgusted smirk.

"Let's go."

“My fuckin’ pleasure.”

Emma and Lord charge at each other as a fire rages behind.