“- in the act of assaulting Emilia Oak,” Cashe said to the gaping reporter. His words boomed through the stadium, his face supersized on the big screens hanging above the arena, “He was grabbing her, even after she pushed him away and told him to stop, so I punched him. I would do it again.”
If the stadium was quiet after his victory, it had the silence of the dead running through it now. If Cashe snapped his fingers the sound would probably be heard all the way up at the top of the stands, even without the speakers echoing everything he said.
Mary still wasn’t recovered from his revelation, so Cashe continued, “He also bullied my young friend, so there may have-” Cashe petered out, noticing that his face was no longer displayed on the enormous screen, nor was his voice echoing through the stadium.
“Is the interview over?” Cashe said.
Mary jumped in place at his question, coming back to herself. She placed a hand to her ear, pressing a small earpiece closer to her head.
“Mary?” Cashe said.
She held up a finger to him, her face turning from surprise to frustration. She brought the mic in her hand to her mouth and spoke directly into it, “That’s not-”
Her mouth snapped shut and Cashe could hear the buzz of noise from her earpiece.
“This is a story,” Mary said into the mic, her voice upset, “Directly related to the sport. How can-”
She stopped talking when her earpiece buzzed again. The expression on her face turned from frustration to anger.
“What’s the point of putting a reporter on the ground for the tournament if we don’t report the stories of the tournament?” Mary snarled. She tore the earpiece from her head and tossed it to the ground. Or tried to. Its wire ran under her clothes and got caught on them, so the earpiece ended up dangling from her collar. She yanked the cord from a small box on her hip, shoving the mic at her cameraman and stomping away.
“Um… is everything okay?” Cashe said, giving an apologetic look to the cameraman who was fumbling with his camera, the mic and a backpack all at once. Cashe hurried to keep up with Mary. Both Machoke and their trainers had disappeared and no one was paying Cashe much attention. He saw several support staff darting around the edge of the stadium, speaking into headsets or listening to instructions, but nobody looked his way as he followed Mary to the edge of the arena.
Mary shot a furious look over her shoulder before replacing it with resignation. She slowed, allowing Cashe to catch up with her and continued marching towards the entrance tunnels.
“My producer cut the broadcast,” she announced, frustration clear in her voice.
“Oh, okay.” Cashe said.
“Okay? Okay? Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Mary scowled again, “You ruin the interview and drop the biggest story the True Rookie Tournament has seen in years and all you have to say is ‘okay’?”
Cashe took a step forward and pushed the doors to the tunnel open, holding one for Mary. He frowned, “I answered your question honestly, I don’t see how this is my fault.”
Mary held up her hand to snarl at him again, but instead stopped and sighed. She ran her hands through her thick, curly hair, letting it bounce back over her face, “It’s not. I’m upset.”
She glanced at Cashe as they stepped down the stairs into the tunnel. It was empty and their footsteps echoed down the long metal corridor. Cashe did not respond to her look, letting her continue without interruption.
“Was that the truth,” Mary asked, slowing her furious pace further and taking another deep breath, “What you said about Steven Stone III?”
“Yes.”
“Dammit,” Mary rubbed her face, “I liked him.”
“Lots of people do, from the sound of it.” Cashe wasn’t sure what to say but that at least sounded comforting.
“The Stone family is extremely popular,” Mary agreed, “It’s probably why grandpa Stone has kept his position for so long.” Her frown returned, “It’s also why my producer cut you off.”
“Is it that big of a deal?” Cashe said.
“It’s essentially celebrity gossip,” Mary admitted, “But when the celebrity is the scion of one of the most powerful families in the world it becomes more than that. My producer is just scared he’s going to lose his job.”
“I wasn’t trying to get anyone fired,” Cashe frowned, “But even if it were a guarantee that people did, I would have said the same thing.”
Mary glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and gave him a wry smile, “Maybe you should be the reporter, then.”
They came to an intersection in the long corridor and Mary waved him down a path. It was not the one that he took to get there, but he came from the brig, so this was probably the normal route out. That guess was quickly proven correct as they were soon greeted by a small lounge.
It had the look of a sport’s bar, with a long counter stuck against a wall and a row of seats running along it. There were a few large screens hanging from the walls, all showing a flustered person speaking directly to the camera. They were muted and subtitles popped up on the screens in front of the desk where the man sat. He was talking about some sort of issue with the broadcast.
Across from the bar and the TVs were several booths as well as a long pair of couches facing each other and separated by a table. The lounge was mostly empty, only hosting two groups of people. The first were trainers with upcoming fights. They mostly sat on the couches, heads bowed, glancing nervously at a production assistant with a headset over her ears. She noticed Cashe and Mary walk out of the tunnel and pointed to a jittery young man. He hopped to his feet and she led him out of the lounge and into the tunnel.
The second group of people were those who had already battled. They were fewer in number and actually making use of the bar. They, too, were separated into two groups: those who had been victorious, and those who had not. The victors were easy to spot, all sitting in a group, drinking cheerfully with each other. The losers sat separate and alone, nursing drinks, eyes downcast.
Cashe noticed Emilia waiting with the group of victors and waved to her. She grinned and beckoned him to join her, but before he could, Mary pulled him aside and into an empty booth. The cushions of the booth were stiff and uncomfortable, as if they didn’t get much use. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, fiddled with it for a second and slapped it on the table. There was a pulsing red circle on the screen.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“That’s recording,” Mary said, “That okay with you?”
“I thought your producer told you to drop it?” Cashe said.
“Not my producer anymore,” Mary said, “I just quit.”
“Over text?”
Mary shrugged, “I didn’t like the network anyway. Too much politics. Are you okay with this conversation being recorded?”
“It’s fine,” Emilia said, slipping into the booth with them, shuffling next to Cashe. She gave Mary a polite smile, “I’m Emilia, nice to meet you.”
If Mary was put off by Emilia’s sudden appearance, she didn’t show it. If anything, she looked pleased. She nodded to Emilia as she sat down, not wasting any time introducing herself, “So it’s true that you two are traveling together then?”
“Yes,” Emilia said.
“And-” Mary paused as the bartender walked up to their booth. He was an older man with a relaxed look to him.
“Congratulations on that win, Trainer Cashe,” he said, “Don’t think anyone saw that coming.”
“I did,” Emilia said.
The bartender shrugged, “Good eye on you, then. Can I get you anything Trainer Cashe, and you miss?” The bartender turned to Mary.
“No, thank you,” Mary said, shaking her head.
“Got any food back there?” Cashe said, “I haven’t eaten since last night.”
“Only pub food, that work?” The bartender asked.
“As long as it’s edible.”
The bartender nodded, not asking any details further than that and returned to the bar to prepare something.
“Maybe I should have grabbed a drink,” Mary frowned at the bartender’s back, “It’s been that kind of day.”
“There’s always after the interview,” Cashe suggested.
Mary’s face blossomed with a smile, “Was that an invitation?”
“I did-”
“It was not,” Emilia interrupted, narrowing her eyes at Mary. “Cashe rarely drinks.”
Mary met her gaze with a level look. “Of course.” She held her look for a second longer, searching Emilia’s eyes. She smirked, apparently finding what she was looking for.
“So, how do you two know each other?” Mary said, continuing from where she left off as though nothing happened, “Nobody has ever heard of Apollo Cashe, and I think there would be plenty of better known people to travel with an Oak.”
“We met shortly before my journey started,” Emilia said, “We were heading in the same direction and decided to stay together.”
Cashe nodded. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but was obviously covering up the truth of the situation, meaning Emilia probably had a reason. Cashe spent the first few months here in a miserable state, so he had much less knowledge of the world than he should, especially of the political situations, which was beginning to become an issue.
“That’s a pretty lucky break for you then, Apollo.” Mary commented.
“Call me Cashe,” Cashe said, “And you only say that because you don’t know Emilia. If you were in my position you wouldn’t consider it lucky.” He grinned.
“Oh please,” Emilia said, shoving Cashe on his shoulder, “As if you are any easier to travel with. One minute you barely emote, and the next you're going on and on about how much you don’t want to travel with me.”
“I never said that,” Cashe frowned.
“Didn’t you?” Emilia frowned right back, “You talk about your home more than anything else and it always seems like you are looking for an excuse to distance yourself from us. I can’t tell if you are a loner or if you just don’t want to be here at all.”
“Emilia, I was joking when I said I wasn’t lucky.” Cashe said, “And I’ve been trying to do more with you and Lindon.”
“Have you? I can’t tell with you, Cashe. You’re all over the place. You ran off with your little scientist friend instead of talking with me just last night. And then you ended up punching one of the most famous rookies in the world in the face a minute later.”
“He deserved that.”
“You shouldn’t fight just because you’re angry,” Emilia sniffed.
Cashe blinked, flabbergasted at Emilia’s shamelessness. Those were his own words! “He had his hands all over you! You shoved him first!”
“Oh, so that bothers you now?”
“Obviously!”
“Do you two need a moment?” Mary said. Emilia and Cashe were glaring at each other, turned awkwardly in the booth, heads only inches apart.
Cashe broke eye contact with Emilia, who let a satisfied smirk slip through her glower as he did, turning to face Mary. She did not look upset by their arguing, at all. She looked smug.
“We’re fine.” Cashe said, placing his hands on the table.
Mary did not look like she trusted his words. She turned to Emilia.
Emilia nodded, “Please continue.”
“Okay,” Mary drew the word out, raising her eyebrows. She shuffled in her seat, returning to her train of thought, “So you can confirm Cashe’s story then?”
“I don’t know the details of what he told you,” Emilia said, giving Cashe a small frown, her tone strangely accusatory, “But Cashe punched Stonehead out cold after he was aggressive with me, yes.”
“I see,” Mary said, “That’s upsetting to hear. Mr Stone has a sterling reputation.”
“Only among those who don’t know him,” Cashe snorted, “It was the same thing when we first met him.”
“You know him?” Mary said, leaning forward.
Emilia gave Cashe a warning look and answered for him, “We had a brief encounter with him while we were checking in for the tournament, though we didn’t know it was him at the time,” Emilia said in a neutral tone.
“Oh? And that ‘encounter’ also ended in violence?”
“No,” Cashe said before Emilia could speak, earning him a glare, “He only said a few rude things to us. That’s Emilia, Lindon, and myself. You don’t attack someone because of that.”
“When do you attack someone, Mr Cashe?” Mary said, pointedly.
“When someone has their hands all over a young woman, apparently,” Emilia said with a light chuckle, as if the entire thing was a funny joke. Under the table she was squeezing Cashe’s thigh in a death grip. He took the hint and didn’t say a word.
“Any young woman, or…?” Mary let the question hang in the air.
“Are you a sports journalist or a gossip columnist?” Emilia said with a frown.
“Neither,” Mary shrugged, “I am recently unemployed.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Emilia muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” Mary asked.
“Nothing.”
“Ah, never mind, I’m sure the recording picked it up.”
Emilia scowled at the reporter.
“Is there anyone who can confirm your story, besides the two of you?” Mary continued.
“You think I’m lying?” Emilia snapped, leaning forward in her seat, “You think Cashe just attacks people for no reason.”
“I am simply doing my due diligence,” Mary said, giving Emilia a look, “If I took everyone at their word, I certainly would believe that, going by what they say online about Apollo Cashe.”
“Sasha Firesong was there,” Cashe said before Emilia could snap at her again, "as well as a number of trainers and guests. I’m sure your investigation will find out who.”
“Oh, I didn’t even know Sasha Firesong was on the ship,” Mary said, “I love her. Maybe I’ll see if I can find her.”
“You do that.” Emilia muttered, crossing her arms.
Mary snorted and shuffled out of the booth, grabbing her phone as she did. She paused at the edge, stopping and giving Emilia a teasing glance. She reached into a pocket and produced a small card and a pen. She crossed out a few things on the card and scribbled on the back of it, sliding across the table to Cashe.
Cashe picked it up. It was her contact card. The information on the front had been crossed out, but the back had a phone number on it.
“In case you change your mind about that drink,” Mary said with a wink, grinning widely at Emilia’s expression.
*****