4. Ronan

The autograph session goes on and on. I'm thrilled my fans are happy, but I'm getting carpal tunnel and my cheeks hurt from smiling. I suck it up and keep on singing and smiling.

In the crowd, I spy my shadow. Dee Dee Dauterive, wannabe wrestling star and my love-sick swampster. If her green eyes weren't so lovey-dovey, the creep factor would be more. The side-mouth drooling I could do without. Ronan, suck it up, man, and smile. She adores you.

My peripheral vision catches movement. A welcome appearance. It's Joseph and Cheyanne O'Malley. I've seen them around. This industry is tight-knit. I'm never sure if we track one another for actual interest or competitive reasons.

Joe, I've seen around the ring. Cheyanne, not as much, but I admire her character. Archimedes. Fighting for the good. Damn, I wish I had that brand. I'm so sick of the bad guy image. But money rules this game. I'm bringing in the cold, hard cash, and that's all that matters around here.

"You beautiful ladies take care now!" I wave off the last of the autograph hounds, blow fake kisses, and suppress a dry heave. I avoid direct eye contact with Dee Dee, lest she mows me down with her slobbering kisses in some amorous quarterback sack. One move from her, bad boy orc or not, and I'd cry mommy and run for the hills.

I approach the two, genuinely smiling now.

"Welcome. Hope you liked the show."

"How could we not? You brought the house down, yet again." Joseph flashes his gold-filled teeth.

"I'm glad you're here. I wanted to congratulate you on that merger. Quite the feat."

"Well, thank you. It's a gamble, I know. But once your wrestling brand is toast, you gotta make a living somehow. Back in my day, we didn't make the haul that you idols do now. Have to train my pretty girl over here." Joseph hugs Cheyanne, which makes her blush.

"Geez, Dad."

I laugh. "Hey, Cheyanne, grab while the getting's good!"

We all laugh. My pathetic attempt at humor at least broke the ice. Some. Cheyanne is uncomfortable around me, not at all like my fans. I can't decide if her stand-offish demeanor is due to shyness, or if she really doesn't see me as the idol the rest of the world does.

Should I admire or scorn her? Keep smiling, idiot. The last thing my image needs is self-doubt.

"So, Cheyanne. I've seen you around, of course, but I haven't caught your show. I hear your brand is solid." I'm lying, of course. It used to be, but I'm not trying to bring up a sore subject.

Under her breath, I hear, "Solid is a word for it, I guess."

Cheyanne smiles at me as if I were a child. It's like my manly ‘orcishness' is melting into that gecko I see on TV, the one selling insurance to humans. I swallow hard.

Joseph natters on about the merger. I see his lips move. I see his eyes sparkle. I eagerly nod. But I'm zeroed in on Cheyanne.

Why is she not gushing over me? Wait, why is it always all about me? Note to self, get that mental defect investigated.

I avert my eyes. "So, do you plan on injecting more female fighters into the industry? Watching only male faces vying for the silver buckles gets downright tiresome."

Joseph thrusts his hips forward. "Oh, you mean buckles like this beaut here? Quite the fashion statement and a great conversation starter at cocktail parties."

I really laugh. Cheyanne rolls her eyes. I quickly glance away again.

Oh, my God, what is wrong with me? I'm acting like a schoolboy around this woman.

"Man, look at that. That's from the 1999 Championship, isn't it? I watched that meet on TV as a kid. I loved your Quicksilver character. It was that fight that made me want to get into this game. I wanted to be you."

Joseph's cheeks blush this time. It's clear that I've won over his heart. But I can't say the same for Cheyanne. She's shifting her stance like she's bored.

Why doesn't she want to bang me like the rest of the female human race?

I side-eye my chest and slide my tongue along my razor-sharp teeth. No meat sinews stuck in my teeth. I'm sweaty from the meet, but I rock sweat! This chick should be all over me. Why do I attract the Dee Dee's of this world and not the Cheyenne"s?

Then it strikes me. Of course! Why would a wrestler care for another wrestler? I'll bet I'm as boring as hell to her since there's no intrigue left. I breathe easier, my confidence restored.

But Cheyanne O'Malley isn't boring to me. Just her fiery red hair alone draws my eye, not to mention the rest of her. And those freckles. Damn, they're adorable. I just want to take a green Sharpie and link them up, one by one, all the way down…

"Ronan, are you still staring at my buckle? You can try it on if you like." Joseph unbuckles the silver monstrosity and hands it over. His bellowing tone wakes me up. Thank God.

Tracing freckles with a Sharpie? Was I concussed in that last match-up? Daredevil Stevens and that little guy, Mickey Mouser, they can hit. Note to self, get checked out physically, too.

I accept the buckle and turn it around in my hands. The thing weighs a ton. I have to wonder how Joseph's pants don't crumple with the weight. Again, I stifle a laugh. It's the visual, thinking his butt is as shiny bald as his head.

"It is a beauty alright, Joseph. They don't make them like this anymore. That's solid silver, that is. All they have in the championship now is silver-plated. Too much pawing and the silver wears right off. As fake as the industry who makes it, I guess."

"Hey, now there, son. You can make your brand as genuine as you want, the industry be damned."

I exhale. Finally, someone gets me. "Between us and those empty seats, I've wanted to take my Lawless character in a new direction. I want to be more of an everyman's hero, you know."

Joseph"s eyes sparkle, and I swear I see the cogs in his brain churning. I look over at Cheyanne as if somehow I need her approval. And what do I see? Is that shock? Disgust even? Cripes. I should write a book. 101 Ways To Not Impress a Girl. It'd be a smash hit.

"Why would you do that?"

Oh, great. Now Cheyanne finds her voice.

I let out a stealthy sigh. "I guess, well…"

"Tell me, tell us."

Now she's aggressive all of a sudden. Geez.

"Well, like I was going to say. I want a change. I've been the villain for so long now. I memorized all the evil looks, all the devious takedowns. It's like I'm sleepwalking through the shows. Eventually, the fans will sense it. Briarwood is covered in sensitives. And when they do, well, ticket sales will plummet. If I don't hold passion, nobody will."

There. My reply sounds intelligent, worldly, and grand even. She has to be impressed with me now.

"Oh, you two are a pair. You want to be a hero, and Cheyanne here is jonesing to be you. She's been working hard on developing a new alter ego."

"Interesting. What's her name?" I truly am interested now. I lean in and actually mean my expression for once.

Cheyanne whispers. "Disastra."

I lean in close. "Sorry, say that again."

Cheyanne clears her throat. "Disastra." I see her recoil like she thinks I'm going to laugh or something.

"Cheyanne, that's a perfect alter ego name. I love it. Disastra. Rolls right off the tongue, and we orcs have big tongues, let me tell you."

Cheyanne laughs. A truly genuine laugh. Finally, I've struck her funny bone. I laugh right back.

Joseph takes back his buckle, puts it around his waist, and continues in an assured voice. "Yep, two opposite ships passing in the night, you two. Human or not, life is always greener on the other side, isn't it?" Joseph flashes an all-knowing grin, like that TV gecko. I shiver.

"How do you plan on –?"

"Ronan, a word over here."

It's Marty. His timing, man. I could hit him with something hard and sharp about now. Who needs birth control when you have Marty by your side? I scowl on the inside but put a smile on my face.

"Yeah, sure, man, be right over. Hey, sorry, I gotta run."

Cheyanne and Joseph nod. Joseph boasts a big smile and a jaunty wave. I look for disappointment in Cheyanne's face, but all I see is a flat affect. Suddenly, I'm kind of… disappointed. So weird. I won the match. There are more ways to lose even when you win.

Marty tugs on my costume and hauls me over to the dais where the bell sits. I'd like to ding this dong on Marty's noggin. I suppress the urge, wave back, and follow my manager. The smoke from his ever-present stogie makes me cough.

"This had better be good, Marty. I was in the middle of something important over there."

"X-nay on the confessional, my big man. You can't be yapping about brand changes to all and sundry, not when yours is a multi-million-dollar enterprise."

"Yeah, whatever. What else do you want?"

"I've booked you into another fight. This one's a doozy. A full storyline, and complex routines. The complete kit ‘n' kaboodle. And rumor says it's double your ticket take."

I sigh. "Yeah, okay."