A camera operator settled in front of them and held their fingers out for countdown. Mitch attempted to swallow, but his mouth was dry; he hadn’t even noticed that his leg was bouncing until Rod reached under the table and placed a hand on his knee. “Sorry,” he whispered in shame.

Rod tilted his head towards him, but kept focus on the camera in front of them, and Mitch took the cue to stare into the lens. An “OK” hand signal was flashed by the camera operator, and Rod’s face shifted from casual indifference to a split grin, full broadcaster caricature. The man was either the paradigm of professionalism, or a cartoon character come to life.

“Good evening, ghosts, ghouls, and goblins at home, and welcome to another episode of Grindhouse Pro Wrestling! We have a stacked card for you tonight as we march forward towards The Graveyard Smash. As always, I’m your host, Rod Snarling, and tonight I’m joined by-” Rod’s glance drifted to Mitch, and he gestured towards him. “Zevon, of Bad Moon Rising! Zevon, how are you tonight? Last we saw you, you took a rather nasty spill.”

Mitch turned to him and cleared his throat once more, trying his damnedest to channel Zevon outside of the ring. The sudden awareness of how ridiculous he must look with the facepaint on weighed heavy on him, and the makeup started to itch. “Rod!” he rasped in the wrong pitch, and held back from externally flinching. “What’s going on, buddy? How am I? Couldn’t be better!” Stretching his left arm, he waved it around in an exaggerated manner and hoped that it would compensate for any expediencies in his demeanor. Not that it mattered. Despite Jodie’s insistence, no one was tuning in to catch Zevon make an ass of himself.

“That’s great to hear! Any idea how long you’ll be out of action?” Rod’s upper lip had a subtle curl to it, either an attempt at appearing interested, or an attempt at holding back laughter. If he knew Rod better, getting him to corpse would be a fun endeavor.

“Well, it should take a full moon or two to fully heal up, I think Lagoon Goon dipped their claws in some silver before our match, the cheap bastard! But I’ll be back sooner rather than later!” He looked directly into the camera and pointed. “And then I’m coming for that title!”

“Alright, we’ll talk more about that later. However, right now, let’s kick it over to our announcer, Desdemona!” The buttons for both mics were muted by Rod, and in a hushed tone, he said, “More confidence, but stick to that. And be sure to drink water.”

“Can do.” A nearby waterbottle was cracked open and Mitch took a sip, his heart jackhammering in his ribcage. The sensation reminded him of the first time that he stepped out of the curtain to a crowd of no more than 30 people. Scanning the room, he sought Jodie out and eventually spotted her by the sound guy, wearing a headset as she monitored the audio levels. Seeming to sense that she was being watched, her head lifted and she looked over, and gave him an enthusiastic wave and a thumbs up. A few seconds later, a text from her came through that said ‘you’re doing great ‘

The mics were unmuted, and Mitch was careful to take Rod’s advise to heart. He snarled at the likes of the vampire stable Coven, provoking Yours Truly to saunter over and threaten to put him through the announcement table, and resulting in the two getting into a shouting match. As the matches progressed, he felt more at ease about calling the occasional move, until it verged on effortless; he tried not to come across as too excited, but Rod gestured in a way that encouraged the minor theatrics, so Mitch leaned into it. At the brief midshow intermission, he inquired if he should dial it back, and Rod rubbed his chin.

“If you were doing this every week as an commentator, I’d say yes, absolutely. But you’re supposed to be your character, and in that vein, you’re doing fine for your first venture.”

“I did college radio for a while, so it’s not exactly an uncharted territory for me. Just. Didn’t have such an audience.” That time, he didn’t hold back a grimace after the words were spoken. Why did he disclose that, he wondered. No one cared, especially not a person that had an education and a career in this.

“Ah. That explains it a lot,” Rod nodded to himself. Mitch couldn’t read the guy for the life of him, but he assumed that if it was supposed to derogatory, it would have been framed in a much harsher way. So he took at not as a compliment, but as a cut-and-dry neutral assessment. He could live with that. If all else failed and it turned out that everyone thought that he sucked at this, he’d just never do it again. And maybe change his character. And maybe never wrestle here ever again. Or anywhere, even. That was clearly the best option.