---

The scene opens inside Dr. Jolene's office in Cleveland, Ohio.  The day is Monday and the time is 1PM.

"My honest opinion, huh?  You're absolutely sure you're ready for it?  Because once I tell you, there's no going back," Dr. Jolene Fitz informs Vagabond, the latter sitting on one of those cold, uncomfortable hospital beds wearing a gown.  His wife, wearing a white lab coat, checks his heart and lungs with her stethoscope.  "You need to quit smoking."

"Yes, dear.  Normally I don't even have to ask for your opinion, though."

Jolene bonks Vagabond on the head with one of those knee-tapper doodads.

"Ow.  What was that for?"

"Oh, nothing.  I was just checking to make sure it's still hollow.  The good news is, it is, so no change there.  The bad news is you're still a complete and total nincompoop."

Vagabond rubs the spot on his forehead where his better half attacked him, feigning pain.

"Just say what you need to say.  Can I put my pants back on?"

Before he can get an answer, Vagabond hops off the table and bends down to pick up his blue jeans.

"You're too nice a guy to be working at a place that literally has the word Xtreme in it's name."

"Ha!" Vagabond scoffs.  "Too nice?  How is that even possible?"

Now wearing his pants, Vagabond slides his belt through the buckle and fastens it, then he removes the gown. Jolene hands him his Creedence Clearwater Revival t-shirt and places her right hand on Vagabond's cheek. "Sweetie, they're going to chew you up and spit you out."

"Never mind, doc.  I wasn't ready to hear your opinion."

Jolene gives him a light slap and turns around to put her clipboard on the desk.  Vagabond pulls his shirt on and hops back up on the medical table with his socks and sneakers beside him.

"I appreciate you giving me my physical.  Should help speed things along.  I don't have a whole lot of time to get ready for next weekend."

"How are you suppose to quote-unquote get ready," Jolene pulls out the finger quotes, "for getting your ass handed to you?"

"Please, I'm sure I'll be just fine."

"Famous last words," Jolene says as she sits down in her chair.

"Why can't a nice guy be successful in an 'Xtreme' setting?  I probably won't piss off too many people, heck, I might even make some friends."

As Vagabond chuckles at the thought of anyone signing with the XWF to make friends, Jolene jots down a few notes on her husband's physical sheet and then signs off on it.  She stands up and walks the paper over to Vagabond.

"I just don't think it's the right fit for you," she half-smiles.  "But if it's what you really want to do, you have my support.  Begrudgingly."

"It may come in handy, having my own personal physician."

Vagabond folds up the piece of paper and tucks it in his back pocket as he leans in to kiss his wife.  She pulls away with a wave of her hand and a scrunched-up nose.  "What on Earth did you eat this morning?  Skunk?"

"You're either smelling the bud I smoked on the way over here, or whatever was in that casserole your mother sent over."

"What casserole?  There was no casserole."

"Yeah, you know, in the blue bowl with the little owls on it?"

"The blue bowl?!  That was bacon grease, you putz!  Great, now you've probably clogged your arteries like you usually clog the bathtub drain."

"Relax, I only ate a spoonful," and then, under his breath, "or two."

"Shaun John Jacob Jingleheimer Fitz--"

"--that's not my name--"

"--you have GOT to be more careful about what you eat.  Doctor's orders."

"That, not so handy."

Jolene laughs humorlessly, but allows Vagabond to give her a peck on the cheek.

"Get out," she says, giving him a slight shove toward the door.  "Don't forget you have that phone interview today at 2:30."

"I love you," Vagabond turns to give his wife one more look.

"Ditto," Jolene closes the door on Vagabond, then leans against it, a contemplative look on her face.  When she notices the camera's rolling, she grabs it and opens the door up again.

"Hey, numbskull, you forgot your toy."

Before he can respond, Jolene tosses the camera--and by extension, us--at Vagabond, and closes the door in his--and our--faces.

"And quit filming everything, you weirdo!"

End scene.

---

---

Well, jeez, Astra.  Way to think like a hypochondriac!  Getting kicked off planes, finding oneself on top of burning buildings before they collapse, deep, dense forests... It's a real picnic in that brain of yours, huh?  But how does any of that have anything to do with me?  Because A) you're unlikely to ever catch me on an airplane--I prefer the bus; B) I'm not a firefighter, so I can't see myself doing anything in, on, or around a burning building; and C) What would I be doing in a forest without a flashlight?  Sounds like poor planning to me.  Then again, it seems you've missed the point already, so I'll try to explain.  You see, you can't hunt without a gun.  You can't fish without a pole.  You can't play baseball without a bat.  Are you with me thus far?  It's not about what worst case scenario you think you can poof me into, because I always stock up before shipping out.  Know what I mean?  I have everything I need everywhere I go.  However, I wouldn't take a dinghy to the desert, or  an air conditioner to Alaska.  What would be the point?  You've thrown all these scenarios at me to see how I'd react if I were in them, but I wouldn't be there in the first place.  If I was, I'd be prepared to handle that given situation, just like I'm prepared to handle THIS situation.

I believe your exact words to me were "I am not prepared ‘for any environment’ but I am prepared to adapt."  Maybe now that you've had a little more time to think about it, you'll understand how repetitive you sound.  Let's look to Merriam-Webster for the definition of environment, shall we?  ENVIRONMENT: the circumstances, objects, or conditions by which one is surrounded.  Okay, now let's check out the intransitive verb for the word 'adapt.'  It says, to become adapted.  Example given: adapt to a new environment.  Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

So what you're trying to say is that you can adapt better than I can, right?  Ah, just like a 20-something to think they can do everything better.  Okay.  Okay, okay.  I get it, you're confident.  But newer doesn't necessarily mean better, you feel me?  Regarding the XWF, we're both 'new.'  While I would love for one of us to make it to the finals and win the whole shebang, you and I aren't even being considered for the final four.  No one's predicting either of us to win.  Yours or my next opponent in this tournament is either going to be Bobby Bourbon or Jay Omega, and a lot more people have their eyes on them.  Isaiah King, Ned Kaye, heck, even Jenny Myst, are also in this tournament as favorites to move on.  Other than adaptability, we have another thing in common: we're both being overlooked.  So regardless of the outcome of our first-round match, I hope whoever wins doesn't fall flat on their face against Bobby Bourbon or Jay Omega.  What's worse than losing to someone only to see them lose in their next match?  It creates doubt.  It makes a person wonder just how many people can beat them since they got beat by someone else.  Sure, luck may play a part, but self-doubt is a career-killer.  I know this from experience.  So when I get knocked down, I pick myself up, dust myself off, and I adapt.  But those doubts will eat you alive, Astra.  For your sake, I hope you really can adapt.

---

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Monday, February 6, 2023 - 2:45PM
Dr. Jolene's Office in Cleveland, Ohio

Dr. Jolene sits in her office chair, her elbows on the armrests and her hands clasped in front of her.  It almost looks like she's trying to use her mind to make the telephone on her desk explode.  And then it rings, startling her a little as if she wasn't expecting a call.

"Hey, buttface."

We hear a muffled voice from the phone, but we can't make out what it's saying.  It sounds like a man's voice, however, that much we can tell.

"This weekend in Houston."

More muffled words.

"I'm still waiting to hear back from him.  What was that last part?  I can barely hear you.  Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker phone."

Jolene presses a button on her phone and sets the receiver back on the dock.

"You there?"

"Yeah, can you hear me?"

"Now I can.  So 'no' to Houston, then?"

"Afraid not.  Why, what's up?"

"I'm worried about Shaun, I think he's in over his head.  The XWF is more about the violence and less about wrestling."

"You mean that crazy sumbitch actually did it?  Hahahahaha!  Oh, that's hilarious!"

Now the expression on Jolene's face really does look like she wants to make something explode with her mind.

"Don't be a jerk.  I called you to ask for a favor."

"Yeah, okay.  I'm sorry.  You don't even have to ask, baby sister.  I'll meet up with you two next week and we'll figure something out."

"In the meantime, keep your fingers crossed for me, all right?  He's got a match against some mouthy bimbo named Elena Stratt on Saturday.  She calls herself 'Astra.'"

"Astra?  Never heard of her."

"I just heard of her and already I don't like her."

"Well, to be fair, you don't really like anybody, now do you?"

"Not true!  I like Shaun."

"Because you're legally obligated to?"  The question sounding more like a statement.

"And I like you when you aren't being a douche."

"Which, according to you, is like 99% of the time."

"Point-nine-nine, and you said it, not me."

"Yeah, yeah.  Listen, I have to go, but we'll talk again soon."

"Ciao."

"See ya."

Jolene presses a button and the call ends.  She dials another number and leans back in her chair.

"Hey, beautiful, what's up?"

"Oh, not much.  Have you figured out what you're going to say for the interview yet?"

"Well, we've started, but I guess I'm only being given five minutes to talk.  Did you know Dunkin AND Dollar General sponsor this radio station?  That can't be a good omen.  So, yeah, I get five minutes to hype up what could turn out to be one of the biggest nights in my career."

"That's four more than you need.  I mean, how long's it going to take to correct her bad logic and tell her to pound sand?"

"I'm trying to be a little more civilized than that, hon."

"They're going to have a field day with you."

"Thanks again for your support.  Gotta run, the crew just came back in."

Jolene bites her lip as if to hold back from saying something.  Instead she says, "Knock 'em dead, sweetie."

"I love you."

"And despite your questionable decision-making skills, I love you, too."

After hanging up, Jolene rises to her feet, grabs her winter coat off the rack, and walks out of the office with an exacerbated sigh.

"Men, I tell ya."

Fin.