L.A. Duet

Amy got bored easily.

When she was usually stuck without something active to do, Amy would get restless and do something new. That’s how she’d gotten into most of her hobbies in the first place- fighting, dancing, bouldering and the like. But not running; trail running was fine, freerunning, excellent, but around a track? Around the neighborhood? On a treadmill? It was repetitive, almost as bad as sitting, so no thank you.

But waylaid and stuck in a hospital bed for a week meant that she had no out. True, the knee injury from her first AFW match wasn’t as bad as it could have been- or should have been. The league doctors made sure to emphasize how lucky she was, but it was a tired sort of scolding, preached by professionals who were used to being ignored by their reckless patients. And her fortune of course didn’t make her time there any less tedious.

It was only two days into her recovery before she reached her limit. Nathan, bless his soul, had brought her some books to whittle away the time, but really he should have known better. Books? Her?

That was why she was on her laptop browsing the AFW virtual directory, looking at her potential opponents. The directory didn’t give away much- a name, a ring name, a place of origin, a birthday, some basic contact details, and a photo. Many entries were missing one or more of these. Some didn’t have anything beyond an alias. Pretty shoddy human resource work, if you asked her.

But one entry had nothing to hide. Drake Vyril, AKA Domino. A good-looking raven-haired… nineteen year old? Guess they start ‘em young in… she traced her finger several columns over. “Los Angeles?” she read out loud. Los Angeles was a big town, but the world was an even bigger place; she had yet to meet a fellow Angeleno in her travels, and it might be nice to make a friend from her hometown.

With nothing better to do, she lazily pulled out her phone and typed out a text to the number on the directory.

Hey. Where in LA are you from?

Drake's had an interesting time recently in the AFW, but this particular day has been fairly uneventful. He's currently kicked back in his dorm, tapping away at a laptop. He isn't doing anything productive, don't be fooled. He's just watching a small doctor protest the insistence of an unseen voice that he's killed his own mother with a broken lawn chair.

And that's when his phone buzzes.

Dark purple eyes flit to the device and the subsequent message. It's not a number he's familiar with, and the question is awfully invasive! This could be a reporter, or someone looking to dredge up scandal! His last match had hentai elements, after all - something he'd never done before. Something he never thought he'd do. So his response is coy and cagey.

"The best part! Who is this"

'Oop. Forgot the punctuation.'

"?"

'Nailed it.'

The phone buzzed in Amy's hands, and she smiled. Had to love a quick texter. But when she opened the message she frowned. She couldn't blame him for being cautious, of course. In fact, the response she received was probably about what she would have sent, too. She briefly toyed with the idea of ignoring his question and playing text tag, but eventually sighed and decided to be up front. It was only polite; she'd initiated contact, after all.

this is Amy Poford. you can find me under friction. i think we should be pals.

Then a second text.

when's the last time you were home?

Not only is Drake, otherwise known as Domino, a quick texter! But he's also hawking the phone, having sent his text. It's taking a while to get a response, and the suspense is killing him! Text! Text, blast you!

Buzz~

The result earns a tilt of his head. Before he fires back a response, he looks to his laptop and accesses the database. 'Amy... Poford...' Oh, there she is. Blonde hair, perky look, kind've fresh to the league. Pals, huh?

'Oh, hey! Someone else from Los Angeles!'

The phone buzzes again. Eyes course over the message. Taptaptap.

"Nearly a year. Miss the beach. Miss the people. How about you? We should totally be pals."

And after sending off this message, he begins hunting down some footage of her last match...

I go back every year for xmas. not so much in between. did find the time to get to SM pier though this time. pretty rad that we can do beach things in the middle of december.

She sat for a while, thinking. What did LA people talk about? Traffic? Juicing? Seeing Brad Pitt at the Starbucks? She hadn't really been an LA person for two years, and she was feeling a little rusty. Then she thought a little more and decided that this was a weird thing that she was doing, texting strangers from a company directory. But fuck it. She was bored, and there was a real life human being at the other end of that line who, at least for now, wasn't against texting some strange woman and, again, at least for now, didn't seem like an asshole. She typed out her next text.

i'm stuck in the hospital and i'm feeling a little homesick. talk LA to me, baby. tell me about yourself.

In the time it took for Amy to send her follow-up message, Drake had found some video clips of her on the Youtubes. And a part of it gets a wince from him. Looks like some dude screwed up her leg. But that was a male opponent. She said-

Buzz!

Taptaptap.

"Oh dont talk to me about the beach! I used to go nearly every friggin day. The sun, the sand, the chicks in bikinis... :3"

He goes back to looking at the match. Amy's cute, he concludes. She seems tough, too. Tenacious, even. That's a good quality to have in the ring. But that outfit. Goodness, so plain. He could chalk that up to her being new, though. New folks tended to be more modest, less flashy. Still, she pulled off a win, so that's cool.

Buzz!

"City lights, pastel sunsets, and warm breezes. Cameras flashing, fine dining, and pool parties. Tall buildings, beach culture, and club life. Is this doing anything for ya? <3"

The next message takes a moment, but she'd asked for some details. Drake is happy to comply, though there's another thought nagging at the back of his mind.

"I've been a wrestler before coming out here. Legacy. Dad's a wrestler. I also do modeling. Which hospital are you at?"

oh yeah, gotta love those bikini chicks. it's not quite LA without somebody showing boob somewhere

Amy was grinning into her phone. She was glad she did this. Oops, and here's another text.

oh baby, you really know how to get a girl going.

She was exchanging flirty texts with a teenager. She needed to get the fuck out of this hospital.

His next text made her blink. A wrestler before coming out to Japan? Exactly how early did he start? And what the fuck, were all models secretly professional wrestlers? Was there something about being professionally pretty that cultivated a deep, violent rage against humanity?

Of course, just because he shared a career with Daisuke didn't mean that she wasn't going to tell him where she was.

I'm at the AFW hospital near the Tension arena. you thinking about dropping by for a visit? < 3

A beat. Then,

If you start spouting bullshit about being "wrestling royalty," i will beat your ass with a bedpan.

Drake snickers at the texts he gets in return. And when she tells him which hospital she's landed in, he begins tapping out a response only to be interrupted!

...

"Um. Is it a clean bedpan?"

Drake lets that response hang in the air long enough for him to procure his coat from the closet. He then adds, "Wrestling royalty. What am I, an anime villain?"

And out the door he goes! Any messages she sends in response to this will not be answered for a time - at least twenty minutes. Why, it might even give the girl the impression that he'd ditched the conversation. Because of course threatening someone with a bedpan would frighten them away!

Alas, that turns out to not be the case at all. Drake had to make a quick stop before hitting the hospital to pick something up. And then there'll be a soft knocking on the door, whether or not she left it open; it's always best to announce your presence, after all. Following this, Drake's head peeks in. "H'lo? Amy?"

I’ma find the most heinously ill motherfucker in here and use his. not even joking.

Amy snorted. She was glad that she wasn't the only one to find Daisuke's schtick to be ridiculous.

right?! It's downright cartoonish. I couldn't believe that there were actually people out there that talked like that. it's pretty incredible.

Then silence. Amy was a little disappointed. Was Domino the sensitive sort? Had she scared him off? She thought it was pretty clear that she was joking. Oh well.

Amy was back to stalking people online when a gentle knock at the door turned her head. When she saw who it was, she let a smile crawl across her face. "Well, as I live and breathe. Drake…" She glanced down at her open tab. "Viral? Or is it Veeril? It’s good to finally meet you."

She reached out for a handshake. Up close, Amy was pleased to see that it hadn’t been a trick of the camera. "Your eyes are amazing. I didn’t know that they even came in that color."

"Viral," clarifies Drake.

He slips on into the room, wearing a white button-up and black slacks with a lightweight black peacoat. And in his hand is a small, but tasteful arrangement of purple lilacs. "Had to pick something up for ya," he notes, lifting the flowers indicatively. "Just tell me where you want'em!"

In the meantime, he steps forward to take her hand. He doesn't shake it so much as hold it briefly. Actual shaking of hands is for business. This is most certainly pleasure. When she draws attention to his eyes, a modest smile brightens his features. "Aw, thanks. Grew'em myself!" One of them winks at her playfully. "But there are at least two sets. Myself and my mother."