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Description
There was no way to pick up the pieces of my shattered mystique. All historic winning streaks simply vanish into the ether when they’re snapped, the losses that end them always towering like a spiteful indictment of the athlete who’d racked up all the victories... as if I’d been the general of an insurgency against the allied forces of Sport and Chance and my comeuppance had finally been served in cold, rough slabs, the cruel balance of parity and excellence restored at last.

All I could do was get back to work and try to ignore the subtle reminders that a new queen had supplanted me. For sure, my relationship with Andy notwithstanding, Panthéon demanded to be fed. A common custom in the sport frequently pitted a fallen champion and the ascendant against each other in a doubles match, joined by some other compelling pair. All the better to stoke the tension of the eventual rematch to the point of eruption. I prepared for the fight in a shared dressing room while the new queen sheltered in a private suite.

“Damn,” Rachel said, looking at me as she finished tucking her trademark bikini straps under her breasts. “Awesome look.”

“Thanks, Rache,” I replied flatly. “Gotta remind the bitches that I’m still me.”

“Mission accomplished,” she chirped.

I’d spent more time than I care to admit fretting over my choice of wardrobe for this one. My traditional white and black sets felt like retreat, as if Keyne had made me recognize the error of my ways. The red... ugh... it was too soon. I had a blue set reserved for Greece, hoping to thaw the icy reception I normally received in Hellas.

I chose gold. Something new to acknowledge reality, but proud enough to serve notice that I was unbowed and unbroken. I was... gracefully defiant.

“You look like you’re ready to kick some nunnery ass!” I said to Sunburst.

“Oh, I’m as ready as it gets,” the fitness goddess replied, cool and confident, but with an intensity that blazed like a pent-up explosion at the very cusp of detonation.

“Shall we?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Oh, yeah,” she replied grimly, a hard edge in her voice. She didn’t ask if I was ready. She simply winked. And then a knock at the door told us it was time.

We bumped fists and I pushed open the door. We strode down the corridor and made our entrance onto the floor of the brand new arena, the Pantheon Amphitheatre. The throng leapt to their feet, and showered us with cheers, the crowd making it clear that Rome was firmly in the corner of us two American expats. Especially since my blonde partner currently called a Milan suburb home. We waved to the crowd, soaking in the warm welcome.

Special guest !

Gratitude to for his narration!

Description
There was no way to pick up the pieces of my shattered mystique. All historic winning streaks simply vanish into the ether when they’re snapped, the losses that end them always towering like a spiteful indictment of the athlete who’d racked up all the victories... as if I’d been the general of an insurgency against the allied forces of Sport and Chance and my comeuppance had finally been served in cold, rough slabs, the cruel balance of parity and excellence restored at last.

All I could do was get back to work and try to ignore the subtle reminders that a new queen had supplanted me. For sure, my relationship with Andy notwithstanding, Panthéon demanded to be fed. A common custom in the sport frequently pitted a fallen champion and the ascendant against each other in a doubles match, joined by some other compelling pair. All the better to stoke the tension of the eventual rematch to the point of eruption. I prepared for the fight in a shared dressing room while the new queen sheltered in a private suite.

“Damn,” Rachel said, looking at me as she finished tucking her trademark bikini straps under her breasts. “Awesome look.”

“Thanks, Rache,” I replied flatly. “Gotta remind the bitches that I’m still me.”

“Mission accomplished,” she chirped.

I’d spent more time than I care to admit fretting over my choice of wardrobe for this one. My traditional white and black sets felt like retreat, as if Keyne had made me recognize the error of my ways. The red... ugh... it was too soon. I had a blue set reserved for Greece, hoping to thaw the icy reception I normally received in Hellas.

I chose gold. Something new to acknowledge reality, but proud enough to serve notice that I was unbowed and unbroken. I was... gracefully defiant.

“You look like you’re ready to kick some nunnery ass!” I said to Sunburst.

“Oh, I’m as ready as it gets,” the fitness goddess replied, cool and confident, but with an intensity that blazed like a pent-up explosion at the very cusp of detonation.

“Shall we?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Oh, yeah,” she replied grimly, a hard edge in her voice. She didn’t ask if I was ready. She simply winked. And then a knock at the door told us it was time.

We bumped fists and I pushed open the door. We strode down the corridor and made our entrance onto the floor of the brand new arena, the Pantheon Amphitheatre. The throng leapt to their feet, and showered us with cheers, the crowd making it clear that Rome was firmly in the corner of us two American expats. Especially since my blonde partner currently called a Milan suburb home. We waved to the crowd, soaking in the warm welcome.

Special guest !

Gratitude to for his narration!