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“You’re changing the game on this one. Setting up a new face, that you then get to chase to hell and back. Or space, if you prefer. Either way, you’re indispensable after this.” He takes a seat and finally downs his shot, gesturing for me to do the same.
He holds up a promo of a howling werewolf in a bedraggled Roman uniform. Ganigar, the centurion. The wrestler’s been making waves in the amateur league for a while now, but that’s got fuck all to do with me. “Which I told them no one could buoy like you. No one. In fact, they were way ahead of me. They suggested you themselves once I got done selling it. You’re welcome.”
I lean forward and point to myself. “I’m Raucous’s new face.”
He shakes his head, then reaches over to grab my shot. “Not until you’re indispensable and that happens when you help them with their new golden child. Then, who knows what they’ll be thanking you with.”
“This is the last time we’re having this discussion,” I growl, getting to my feet. “Get it done.”
“Then meet me halfway,” Marty replies, gesturing to the promo before downing my shot.
CHAPTER 3
Cheyanne
Archimedes is just kinda there now, huh?
I read, courtesy of a social media post by Leodonnalover12. The busty blonde orc is just one of seventy-three others with the exact same username except for changing the number.
“Well, fuck you, too,” I hiss, taking another deep swig of grocery store bubbly, something I grabbed over a fifth of vodka.
Smart at the time. Now? Not so much. I always thought the day I’d catch myself drinking on my bedroom floor in the dark would come with a better backstory than some crap reviews.
Maybe I’d lost a future husband or close friend. Dad’s gotten sick, or my younger brother, Liam, even. Something like that would be ‘drinking on the floor’ worthy. Perhaps I’m in my mid-fifties and wallow-drinking after I'd discovered a lump in the shower. Anything other than what I’m doing.
I close my eyes and gulp down more of my impromptu purchase, taking a moment away from pouting over the message boards to consider the lump scenario for real.
“Just like Mom,” I say to the air as soon as the bottle leaves my lips.
She found a lump in the shower. I let myself fall a few inches back into the side of my bed, then point to my phone screen. I don’t have to read Leodonnalover12’s post twice but I still do. Probably because I’m a glutton for punishment.
Archimedes is just kinda there now, huh?
Six more people have liked it since my last drink.
“Your shitty comment is just there,” I slur into the screen. “What do you think about that?”
My eyes wander to the newest reply.
Sad to say, but the best heroes die together. She should have bowed out when Leodonna did. Would have made more sense. Just overall.
“Fuck! Shit!” My clenched fist connects with the carpet as I cry out.
But only because I thought it’d do more than nothing whatsoever to soothe me. I’m not hurt. I’m pissed. I try smacking my flat palm down a couple of times, then get up to punch a few good ones into a body pillow on my bed. It’s either this or throwing my phone against the wall. I’d go for something breakable if I had a bat and a few spare window frames.
“Okay, relax.” I tighten my ponytail as my bare ankle connects with the cold, smooth champagne bottle I’ve inconveniently left on the ground. “No!”
Luckily enough, there isn’t much left, and the carpet’s still dry when I land on it.
“Winning!”
This calls for a celebration. And some light. I flick on my Hello Kitty lamp, the one I know I’m too old for, but something about it just makes me smile.
I may not be nineteen anymore, but when I saw it back at Dad’s a few months back, nostalgia got the best of me. I had to give it a better home than where I'd found it, loitering in his storage room. I didn’t have the heart to leave it among the multitudes of various Quicksilver merchandise from over the years. Well-cared-for and pricey collectibles at this point, but it still didn’t feel right to leave something I once begged to have sitting unused, forgotten, and surrounded by my father’s angry wrestling persona.
“You deserve to shine bright, you,” I say to the mostly pink and purple lamp.
It deserves better than my worst nightmare. Even if that means it clashes just a touch with the rest of the chocolate brown, soft yellow, and cactus-green colors that comprise my room.
