Making the transition from fighter to fight promoter had not been an easy one for Aaron and it was perhaps even more difficult tor Ares. Aaron had understood a little of playing the game where Ares did not. Most days it was Ares’ manager who set out his agenda for what he should be doing. They were a saint - he reminded himself that he should probably schedule a bonus for them.

Today he was trying to drum up some publicity for one of his newer fighters. The kid had talent, and a temper, and Ares enjoyed watching him fight. He’d been told that the person to talk to if he wanted any information spread was Ella  Vandertrap. He had dutifully called up her office and organised drinks, something far less casual and more him than a suited meeting in an office. 

He was a little late to the meeting but found the woman without too much difficulty. 

“What are you drinking? I’ll get the next one.”

BLACK  LEATHER  GLEAMS  in the harshness of what feels like way too many fairylights. he wonders if it’s some twisted masochistic pleasure that makes him subject himself to events like these. the crowd doesn’t touch him, but it feels like a hundred ants crawling beneath his skin, each artificial glow cast upon his skin blistering into steam.