Can't We Be Friends?

The truth was, if she could pull this off all by herself, she would have. The Valkyries were on an image campaign; their concern wasn’t with whether they won or lost. It was only important that they dominated all comers and crushed all opposition. That’s where their power lay: their willingness to operate outside the rules, and the means to physically destroy the people that got in their way. If Amy, slight, nonthreatening, suburban blonde, could shut them down all by her lonesome, it would have been devastating to that reputation, and their little crusade to control Tension would be stopped in its tracks.

But she couldn’t. As dedicated a fighter as she was, there were three of them and one of her, and there was simply no way that she could beat the Valkyries on her own.

Which was why she was calling Blaise today. It was only a few days since they’d seen each other last, but big things had happened since then, and Amy wanted to gush. She had a story, she had ideas... and she was hungry.

Amy dialed Blaise’s number. She was outside the men’s dorms again, but a safe distance from the entrance, wearing a light grey henley shirt with denim shorts, all under a casual tan linen blazer. Amy had treated Blaise twice now; it was time for him to repay the favor.

Blaise has had his own thing going on with the Valkyries, and Amy was the first person he'd informed. In fact, she was informed just as the thought occurred to him! And though it may appear that he's not yet made his move, he's had things in the works.

No, really, he has.

Nevermind that he's currently lying across his bed on his back, his head hanging upside-down over the side while supporting a magazine in the air. It's an older edition, but one completely focused on the Wrestle Angels. His legs idly kick about whilst he peruses the pages~

Suddenly, his ringtone sounds off. The magazine is flopped aside and left open (he'll get back to that, you see), and he paws at the covers until he finds the device. He takes a cursory glance at the ID, grins, and hits the receive button.

"Heeeyy, giiirrrl," he drawls boyishly, head still hanging upside-down. "What's up?"

Amy grinned. The last time she was here, Blaise was a sad, sunless shell of himself. There seemed to be plenty of color in his voice now, though. "Hey, champ. Have you eaten yet?" Amy rolled her eyes at and flipped off a couple of wolf-whistling wrestlers. "Let's get lunch, your treat."

"My treat?," faux-balks Blaise. "Either I won the lottery or you're askin' me out on a date!" His playful smile is probably audible. "What're you in the mood for? I sort'a want chicken. You want chicken? They've got a KFC down the block. The Japanese have great, discerning taste."

He wasn't hungry before, but he has a tendency to get sympathy hunger. If someone mentions food, eating, or is eating in front of him, his mind can't help but go in that direction.

Amy laughed. Yes, she wanted fried chicken. She always wanted fried chicken, but she'd been yearning for it in particular recently; it wasn't something she realized until Blaise made his suggestion. This was the second time that Blaise had correctly divined her craving; maybe they were on the same taste schedule? "I'm outside. Come downstairs."

Once he was in range, she gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. "First of all, if this were a date, I'd be insulted. KFC? Is that all you think of me?" Her arms, which ended in pointing fingers, came up and crossed over her chest. Then they proceeded to alternately change angles in an implied question that Amy soon vocalized. "Which way?"

Blaise rolls with the punch with a lighthearted laugh, and he returns the shot with a playful jab aimed at her midsection. "Or maybe it's genius! Give you a taste of back home, enjoy a little guilty pleasure with a guy you're so obviously into," he explains.

No, he doesn't think Amy is into him in any way other than friends. But it's fun to tease her! She's proven herself capable of rolling with it.

His right arm lifts to point out in that direction. "That way." And he begins walking, heading down the sidewalk. "So, what's shakin'? Decided you wanted to hang today?"

Amy latched onto Blaise's side by sliding her arm through his, and the pair took on a surface appearance of a couple. They were just friends, but Amy was tired of fending off catcalls, and the visual deterrent a boyfriend figure provided was usually enough to shut dudes up. Amy would detach once they were off the property, but ugh. The AFW male dorms were the worst place in Japan.

But she kept that disgust off of her face. "Something like that! Got some things I want to run by you, get your opinion on." She beamed as they walked. "How you doing? Glad you're feeling healed enough to come out today."

Just as Blaise was reminding himself that Amy had no romantic attachment to him, she physically latches onto his arm like a swoony schoolgirl. Girls and their headgames! But Blaise doesn't read much into it. He just squeezes her arm as he begins walking.

"I was fine by a day or two!," he chirps. "But... you helped a lot. I was in a pretty dark place after that match. I dunno if I would've made the turnaround that I did if you hadn't come by to see me." As the KFC looms up ahead, Blaise looks to Amy. "Thanks for that. You're a good friend."

Amy unfastened herself from Blaise once they were in front of the restaurant, but she came back in for a quick hug when Blaise thanked her. She appreciated Blaise’s sincerity. No, really, she did. “Hey man, any time.” Amy gave a quick squeeze, and then she pulled back, eyes twinkling. “It’s not like I did it for free. I wasn’t joking when I said you were buying me lunch today.” She winked and held the door open for Blaise. “In you go. I’ll grab us a table..." Her eyes happened upon a set of stairs. “...upstairs.” She finished with interest. A 2-story KFC; the Japanese really had their priorities straight. “The 2-piece original meal with mashed potatoes and slaw. And a Coke, please. Also, try to get different sides so I can steal from you.”

...Wait, a 3-story KFC! Amazing! The restaurant had plenty of seats on the lower levels, but Amy liked high places- roofs, trees, what have you- and the KFCs back home tended to stay anchored to the ground, so the third floor was a natural pick. She selected the corner table, where the windows from two walls met, and peered cooly outside at the street and its people until Blaise arrived.

Blaise isn't one to argue (that is to say, doesn't have the time to argue) before she breaks away and bounds upstairs, ponytail a-bounce.

It took a little investigating before he found her again, but he does. A tray is set on the table before her, smelling richly of chicken. The tray is angled in such a way that the paper cup containing Coke is angled towards her. His own mystery drink is on the opposite side, and Blaise claims said logical seat.

His plate is scooted before him. He ordered the same thing as her, but with potato wedges. "Talk to me, sweetpea. What's up? I've not done my call-out yet - I keep getting nudged aside." And he's not impetuous enough to demand things of the higher-ups. Too darn nice. "But it's coming!" He doesn't yet pick at his food. Those bright blues are affixed to her with interest.