Ghosts of the Past

[homeless_pard]

Who: Beryl, Nat, a reporter?
When: Once she's back on the low level MMA circuit, before the looking at buying a place.
What: Being...traced?

She adjusted the tape along her hands and smiled loosening up a touch in her corner. It was good to be back honestly, she'd taken four out of five matches so far and things were doing okay. She was getting her rhythm back, and she could see Nat sitting in the stands, that delicate mix of apprehensive and delighted to watch her. She could get the mixed feelings honestly, they made sense...

...but she was belatedly glad her boy was tall yes. Else she couldn't have picked him out so easily with many of the 'fans' choosing to fill the bleachers near him. She blew him a cheerful kiss before sliding her bite guard back in and ignored the honest to gods flashes going off as she turned her back to eye her opponent. A lot of sports enthusiasts and writers actually went with real cameras instead of cellphones so it could get a little bulb happy out there.

Given where the majority of the crowd was, well, the photography had to be getting great shots of her opponent's form...and her ass. Great, Nat was going to scrapbook the shit out of any magazines she ended up in and it would be nicknamed the 'hot in spandex' book or something by Eric and Lani. It made her snort a laugh, which pissed off her opponent, making him swing just a touch wide so she could bend and lash her heel into his hip, then her knee to his chin ad he buckled. TKO.

She grinned, adrenaline singing through her as she turned to beam at Nat, and caught another faceful of flashbulbs. Bah. "Excuse me, Beryl? Are you Ms. Beryl?"

"Hey, yeah, but I'm busy," she snorted ducking under the ropes to go to Nat for a kiss before hitting the showers! She barely registered the unassuming man muttering an apology and just flashing a few more pics before she was happily padding to the showers. Charles was going to demand she try that move on him again in a few days as they practiced so she didn't bother trying to poke him now. Let him go home and grump about getting old to his teens, who'd reassure him and make him a protein shake before he got a beer. He was a good guy, just competitive as shit.

After Beryl was safely away the man wove carefully through the crowd to smile hesitantly at Nathaniel, "hey, can you spell her name for me? I want to be sure to get things right but she...I guess she doesn't do ringside interviews huh?"

Comments

[nathanielgrayson]

Nathaniel had been grinning after Beryl as she disappeared into the back; he'd have happily followed her, but he wanted the reporters writing about her fighting prowess and not the cute twink she was fucking. Though that thought made him chuckle to himself: if he went back to those showers right now they'd have all the story they could handle.

He blinked up when he realized someone was speaking to him. "Oh, oh I'm sorry, I didn't know you were talking to me." He glanced around. "There's promotional flyers you can grab for her name. That's your best bet. But no, she doesn't really care about getting famous, she just likes the fight."