Abigail Redel (allbusiness) wrote in athinblackline, @ 2009-07-09 21:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | redel |
Who: Abigail Redel, Natalya Annenkova
When: Saturday, July 4th; late evening (backdated)
Where: Bar
What: When does business become pleasure?
The tournament had gone well. She hadn’t been able to sleep the past few nights, worried that her fighter wasn’t healed yet, that the fights were just going to agitate his back, and that the doctor’s predictions would be correct and she would end up with a fighter who couldn’t fight any more. After the first round, she had started to feel better, but when they announced a Sudden Death match, her heart had nearly stopped. Deadpool was famous for his first death match, but she wasn’t sure if he would be able to repeat his performance. She had been proven wrong.
If it had gone so well, though, with her fighter even managing to win in the sand arena and roll with the punches, so to speak, of a Sudden Death, why did she feel like shit? Most people had cleared out of the bar already, returning to the mainland or their hotel rooms, and as Abigail put her purse on a stool next to her and took a seat, she noticed that only a few stragglers were left, groups quiet in tables and another person at the bar. She caught the bartender’s attention and ordered a Pinot, pointing out the bottle she wanted from the shelf. As he popped the cork and poured her a glass, she leaned forward, resting her elbows against the bar and resting her chin in her hand.
Sure, her fighter did seem to freak out during the sudden death match (she made a mental note to ask him about it later), and he had been beaten by that – that vampire she met earlier in the week, but really none of it was an excuse for the way she felt. The bartender placed the glass in front of her with a gentle click, and she offered a complacent mumble of thanks before sipping the wine. The smell of a good Pinot always calmed her down; it was comforting, in a way. She set down the glass and started absentmindedly rubbing at her eyebrow, reviewing the fights in her mind.
She had been stressed out about the first fight, concerned that he would have some mental block about fighting in the sand arena again, but it had all been fine; even the second fight proceeded without incident. The Sudden Death round was next, and she could picture it, the fighters stepping out, the names announced, the other man looking really pale, and Wilson winking up at her –
Oh. God, was that it? She remembered blushing, and the other owner shooting her an accusatory look. And that was when she realized that this was getting all too close. She didn’t want her fighter to think fondly of her; she wanted him to treat her like an employer, someone he called Miss Redel, not Abby. And yet, she also was starting to think about him more often, even when she was lost in work, she would wonder what kind of movies he liked.
She looked down at the wine, some part in the back of her mind telling her it looked like blood, before glancing up to the bartender, muttering, “I might need something stronger.”