Zero-Cool Laser

Amy had to grin again. Wow, Suzu got over that quick; she went from “kill me now” to “this is totally fine” in a matter of seconds, no doubt thanks to Amy and Mariko’s tension-cutting laughter. How old was Suzumi, anyway? She had to have some years under her belt, considering that both Blaise and Mariko couldn’t stop gushing over her work on a previous league. But she didn’t seem all that old, going by how quickly her embarrassment evaporated to match the mood of the room, and especially considering the way she was hanging off of Blaise like a first-time lover. Mid-twenties? Amy guessed. Younger? Or it could just be that, when she crushed on guys, she crushed on them like a schoolgirl. Aww.

Anyway, it seemed as though Suzu was comfortable chillin’ with them in that bikini. Good for her. There’s was just one problem.

Amy and Blaise had a talk to get out of the way, and Amy preferred to do that one-on-one- there was no need for Suzu and Mariko to get involved in their drama. But alone time with Blaise didn’t seem likely with Suzu stuck to his arm like that. Also, now that she thought of it, where would they even go; the bathroom? Big or not, it’s still a dorm room. So two problems, I guess.

And, while we’re on the subject, why did Blaise live here? Sure, it was a little cheaper to live in the supplied housing than to hunt something down on your own, and the Arena was just a drowsy stumble away. But the tradeoff was that Suzu and any other female visitors had to run a gauntlet of unwelcome jeers and vaguely threatening come-ons to reach him. Blaise’s neighbor called Amy ‘kitten’ and made sucking noises at her. The dude at the end of the hall invited Mariko to sit on his face. Ugh.

Amy watched Mariko and Suzu get to know each other. The atmosphere was friendly now that they were past that initial awkward point; she hated to have to kill it with this discussion (three problems). But who knows? Blaise seemed like he was in a good mood. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself; maybe Suzu cheered Blaise up enough that they could have this talk without too much heartache.

Amy traveled deeper into the room. “I appreciate the gesture, but we’re supposed to be the good guys or whatever, and having outside help seems like a bad guy thing to do. I don't have any problems with you at ringside, though.” Another problem with dorm living- no room for a couch; the only seating available apart from the bed was the chair at Blaise's desk. Amy found an empty spot on the floor and sat down. “Hey, but if you see them out on the street harassing an old lady or stealing candy from babies or something, you should totally do that Tsunami Sleeper thing.”

Amy sighed and leaned her head back against Blaise’s dresser. No sense in putting it off. “So… should we talk about yesterday?”

Mariko hadn’t intentionally started smalltalk with the purpose of cutting past the awkwardness of the whole situation. Regardless, she was glad it was all out of the way. And after hearing Amy’s response to Suzu’s offer, Mariko nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, it’d be best for us to handle it ourselves. But we don’t know what the Valkyries will plan on doing. Having a little extra security just in case they try to pull something might be nice to have.” she said, moving to lean against an open space on the wall while crossing her arms in front of her.

“I don’t really have much to say about yesterday, really.” Mariko then said with a shrug, before realizing the question might’ve been directed more at someone other than her. “...Unless there’s something either of you would like to talk about, of course.”

Blaise cracks a grin as Suzumi enters his previously-monopolized chatter-mode. He's fairly certain he still holds the title there, given the amount of rapid-fire gushing he'd made about the Wrestle Angels upon first meeting her, but it's pretty cute when his girlfriend goes all valley girl.

Amy has to go and ruin their good times with, sigh, serious business. The teen redirects his gaze from Suzumi to Amy, satisfied that the bluenette's question about being ringside has been generally addressed. He knows what Amy's asking; it's been gnawing at him. But this feels kind of inappropriate in front of so many people. Not like they have much choice, unless they excuse themselves out into the hallway. But then there are those other tenants who'd no doubt chime in like the peanut gallery. He's going to have to bite the bullet and air some dirty laundry in front of everyone then, and unfortunately, make himself look vulnerable. Maybe even weak. That sucks.

"Uh.. well... yeah. We should." Blaise separates from Suzumi and meanders a little further into the room, suddenly very aware of his bare upper-half. He busies himself with his closet, his back turned to the female audience. "I didn't expect you to come in during that match..."

Amy watched Blaise distract himself with the clothes in his closet. She could see where the blue tank top from last night had landed when it was torn off this morning- on top of the stove- but chose not to mention it. “What, you thought I was just gonna sit back and let you get yourself kicked out of the company?”

"I dunno," sighs Blaise, not nearly as distracted as Amy might think; or he might hope. "You seemed sort've like..." His words fail him for a few uncomfortable seconds, not entirely sure how to put it. She didn't seem like she didn't care, but she seemed like she didn't care. He has no idea how to translate that into human speech. So he settles with a more resigned, "...I'unno."

He plucks an unremarkable black tanktop from his closet and hurriedly pulls it on. It's backwards, but screw it. Maybe no one will notice. Except the tag is sticking up in front of his collar. Still, at least he's turning to face Amy again. "What you said before the match... I... guess you were... right?" The implications are clearly painful, and it's written all over his face. She was impressing the notion that he's a loser pretty hard. It sucks seriously hard, facing down the empirical evidence that supports it.

He's not being snarky. He's not sulking. He's not snidely demanding to know if his admission makes her happy now. It just is what it is, and having to admit it leaves him visibly weakened. He's used to taking losses and talking about improving for it, but she pointed out how he's failed constantly, with zero hopes of winning a match straight. What could he say?

Oh. Amy fiddled her fingers over her folded legs. That was unexpected; a concession right out the gate?

Amy was sorely tempted to just acknowledge the admission and move on. It would be so easy to ignore the obvious turmoil currently churning up Blaise’s insides into hamburger; to throw out a joke to cut the tension (‘I’m always right,’ or some shit like that), or to redirect the group's attention on the upcoming fight, or to just hug Blaise till he perked up again. It would be so. Easy.

But Blaise had heard something in Amy’s argument in that locker room that she’d never said, that she’d never thought, and that she’d never wanted Blaise to think that she thought. So Amy shut her eyes. “Sorry, but what is it that you think that I’m right about? Because like I said last night…” Amy’s eyes opened to glance quickly at the other occupants in the room. This was awkward. “...I don’t think you’re a loser.”

Well, hell yeah, it's awkward! At least Amy isn't dating one of the room's occupants! And it likely becomes even moreso as Blaise's head ducks under the question and clarification and his eyebrows raise. "You didn't? Er, don't?," he asks in an unusually small voice. "It seemed a lot like what you were saying."

His gaze fails to maintain on hers, adjusting low then to the side. A hand finds its way to the back of his neck, feeling a need to physically occupy himself with something, anything. "I-I mean, you... you kind'a pointed out how I've lost every straight match my entire life. And that I had no chance of beating her. And you really, really knew that I was gonna lose." It feels beyond strange trying to explain to someone how they convinced you you're a loser, while trying to avoid sounding like a complete chump.