[Setting: The finally-paid-off Stastias apartment building, where our newly-35 Emevlas stares at the Mass Transit card, eyeing her tables match with the conspicuously absent Go-Go Spectacular. She just stares at that for a few seconds, then...]
"You know, I got a letter in the mail a couple days ago. It didn't have a legible return address, but I swear it read 'From: Angel Ramirez. To: That crazy chica Emevlas Stastias.' All the letter read was 'I accept, bitch' with several marked out things that made me think that Go-Go was trying to be a professional. She really wanted to keep this among friends, I feel, but she must've gotten frustrated."
[Emevlas holds up an envelope, much like the one she described.]
"I say it's illegible, but I can't really read much cursive."
[Mevy tosses the envelope over her right shoulder, and an almost cocky look crosses her face.]
"Now then, on to more important matters like that silly little tables match Go-Go and I are going to have. Like a fine Stratocaster guitar at the halfway point of its existence, I'm 35 and in the best shape of my entire life along with one of the best win-loss records in tables matches ever. I've only ever lost three. Three out of twenty-two matches, dear Go-Go. Not many people can say that, young one."
[Emevlas's expression turns eerily neutral.]
"Now, Ms. Ramirez, I have a question for you. Have you ever seen a table as a weapon of destruction before? Since you've not been around, I'll go ahead and answer this for you: no, you haven't. At the risk of sounding boring, come Mass Transit, I'll show you how much wood hurts a human back."
[Mevy smirks, reaching for the off button on her camera.]
"And you can quote me on that, sweetie. All of that. See you at McCormick Place."
[Emevlas winks to the camera, as she cuts it off.]
