Can't We Be Friends?

First things first. Amy reached for her drink, taking in her meal as she did. Amy's eyes closed. That's a good smell. That's a really good smell. And, even though Amy hadn't specified which pieces she'd wanted, it was a drumstick and a thigh that sat waiting for her on her plate; one reflected her preference for food with high ease of eating, the other represented the superiority of dark meat. Blaise's selection only further confirmed that she and Blaise were highly compatible food buddies... or it was completely random. Either way, nice!

"I'm looking forward to that. Are you gonna write something, or do you tend to do these off the cuff?" Amy took a sip from her straw, and her eyes popped open to return his gaze. Her thing actually had something to do with his thing. She began to pull off her jacket for when he asked his question again. She didn't really need to, but becoming a pro-wrestler had had a bit of an impact on her sense of showmanship.

"Cuff!," chirps Blaise. He lifts a drumstick of his own and begins waving it as he continues, "See, that's the only way it comes off natural! I don't know if I'm much of an actor, too. But what I know is what I've got in here." He bumps his free hand to his chest. "So what'cha get when I'm in front of the cameras is just me! In the ring, out of the ring, I think I make a pretty good me!"

He starts to move the drumstick to his mouth, only to pause when she sheds her jacket. Her arms still bear the marks from her 7-Eleven adventure - the likes of which Blaise is unaware. "Whoa, did you get in a fight with a flight of stairs?"

Amy was impressed. Blaise's last promo was extremely well done. All that was spontaneous? Amy reached for one of Blaise's potato wedges. "You do make a pretty good you. In fact, you might be the best you I know."

Focus shifted to her arms, and Amy grinned. "What, these?" Enormous purple bruises covered nearly all of the real estate on her forearms (a small adhesive bandage occupied a small timeshare on her left), but she pulled them up and posed like she was modeling a watch. "Had a little run-in with our mutual friend, Mako. We're totally besties, now. We got matching sets; hers are on her face. Nice, right?"

Blaise's head tilts. "Was it.. official? Like, was it in the ring? I didn't hear anything about it. Did you wreck'er? Bruises are good'n all, but did you wreck her?" His tone isn't particularly vicious - he's purely, sincerely curious. He knows how brutal Amy can be in a fight firsthand. It nearly became infectious with him in his second match. He's not the sort to truly brutalize someone else. Wrestling's supposed to be fun.

...Supposed to be fun.

Has it been lately?

His lips screw a little at the thought.

Amy shook her head, but the grin held on tight to her face. "It was official, but it wasn't in the ring. We fought in a 7-Eleven." She leaned in, excited. "Did you know that you could call the company whenever you feel like having a match, and they'll just send a ref over to wherever you are? They're called 24/7 matches, and the league will cover any damages you incur. Best. Job. Ever." Amy laughed. It was seriously the best. Then Amy's grin simmered down into a small smile, and she canted her head as she took a moment to evaluate Blaise and assess their surroundings. Could she visualize him coming at her with the napkin dispenser? With one of those stools? Somehow, the image didn't fit. Amy shook her head. No matter; she had a boyfriend who she'd bet was into that sort of thing.

She grabbed her utensil pack and began to undo the packaging around it. "She looked about as bad as the store did near the end, but she ran away before I could knock her out. No big; her whole gang was there, and that can't have been fun for her to be seen like that." She freed her spork from its plastic prison and dug it into her coleslaw. "That's actually sort of what I wanted to talk to you about."

Did she wreck her? Yep. Sounds like she wrecked her. He wishes he could see it!

...Actually, he doesn't. Even the thoughts of seeing someone in that state dampens his mood. He has no love for Mako or her cronies, but seriously hurting people will never be something he celebrates. So while Blaise starts with a bright smile, it fades - not completely, he's still supportive, but something about it feels grungy to him.

Could he challenge someone out on the street to a fight? Sure. Could he whack'em with chairs and stuff? Absolutely! That could be fun! But not to the point of what his imagination is conjuring. He'll let Amy have the brutality.

The teen then occupies his mouth with the aforementioned drumstick, and everything is made right again. KFC's got some great chicken, no matter what country they find themselves in! Sweet, sweet, artery-clogging chicken. Blaise watches her attentively as she talks, nibbling with a near-neko look on his face. "Oh!," he pipes up, mouth full, "See, that's what I was thinking!" Swallow. "Prove they ain't all big'n bad! But.. you know, in a ring, where you know everyone'll see it."

The drumstick comes returns for more neko-nibbles. The allusion to her point causes him to pause his nibbles and tilt his head, which does nothing to take away from the feline qualities.

Amy took a big sporkful of her coleslaw and swallowed. "Exactly. Individually, they're no big deal, you or I could take'm. They're really only dangerous when they’re together and teaming up on somebody, and they're pretty good at that. I kind of want to form, like... an anti-Valkyrie task force; a consortium of wrestlers that’ll put a stop to their shit." She gestured in Blaise's direction with her utensil. "Stop them from fucking around with matches by beating them down whenever they try. Hit'em in right the image, in front of a big ol' crowd, where it'll really hurt. Make it clear that, if they want to stay, they'll have to play by the rules." Her spork dipped low again, this time into her gravy-flooded mashed potatoes. "What do you think?"

Amy could've said nearly anything and gotten away with it after saying he could take'em. Blaise was positive he had Stone where he wanted her, but Amy said "'em" - as in, "them." Against the backdrop of over a year of losses in straight matches, that's a heck of a compliment. He even remembers her reaction at the arcade when he'd admitted his track record, that looks on her face; that momentary pause. So this is a great turn for him!

That's not to say Amy didn't say things he would've liked anyway. It was a great idea. In fact, "That's a great idea!" Blaise sets the chicken piece down. "But I'm still gonna go through with my plan. That won't, like, get in the way of what you have in mind, will it? And there's just the two of us; three of them I know of in the ring so far..."

Amy put down her spork and held up her hands. "No, not at all! In fact, you should definitely follow through with your plan. They think they got you in the ring last week, killed your spirit," And they very nearly did, Amy added silently. "Showing up with a promo all full of spunk and moxie will take some of the wind out of their sails, and show the audience that the Valkyries are nothing to get worked up over."

Amy tore a piece of thigh and popped it into her mouth. "Yeah, that's a problem. We'll probably want a third. But I already have an idea of who might want to be a part of our little band." Amy wiped the glorious grease on her jean shorts and pulled out her phone. She pulled up a company directory entry with a photo and slid it over on the table to Blaise. "Ever hear of this girl? The Valkyries did to her like they did to you and Nathan."

Blaise nods along, then blinks as Amy so obviously wipes a hand on her shorts. He gives a deadpan look and lifts a napkin from a small stack of its kin and wags it at her.

"Philistine."

A wry little smile peeks out soon after. Yes, he's teasing her.

His gaze redirects to the phone, and he tilts his head. "Don't.. think I know of'er? But I've been a little buried lately. Still, if she's had to deal with'em the way me'n Nathan have, she's bound to be ticked off and want a piece of'em. What's she like? You ever meet'er?"