Post by Zahara Matisse on May 20, 2016 9:19:08 GMT -6
”Gonna feel this one in the morning...and next week.”
I: You Mean the Third Time Isn’t Always the Charm?
Katalina warned me about this woman’s attitude and ferocity but in my hubris I allowed myself to believe that I could handle it. After two aborted attempts to find someone who would be willing to teach me mixed martial arts, the third time proved to be the charm. And while my would-be trainer’s attitude was really off-putting at the start, we came to a respectful agreement. People know me: I’ve never met a stranger and I have a smile for everyone. But this one really tested me, and not just on the mats or in the cage. I lost count after that first day of how many times I had to ask myself if it was worth it. But every time, I closed my eyes and saw myself in the ring, surrounded by thousands of screaming fans and standing in front of a woman I respect the heck out of with a belt over her shoulder that I coveted greatly.
And the answer was always yes. Bolded, italicized and underlined, by-God-yes!
*Huff* *Huff* “P-tuh…”
At first, it’s naught but a pair of wrapped and gloved fists pressing indentations into the professional-grade canvas. A few clear droplets of sweat patter silently against the textured, blue-and-black surface, soon joined by a spatter of saliva and blood. Heavy breathing surrounds both moments, a background to the example of pain laying shimmering in the light. Up and to the right, light footsteps are heard beneath a cold, half-mocking female voice.
”Seriously? I didn’t even hit you that hard. Do you even want this?!”
With no underlying motivational tilt or trace of concern to her voice, the other woman instead sounds both bored and disgusted. The view pans up a little as Zahara Matisse rises to her knees, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Some crimson smears across the back of her glove, a bit still staining the corner of her lips. She checks her jaw before pushing up the rest of the way and bringing her fists up.
”Well, you get a point for not crying about it. Won’t stop me from knocking your roof in again, though.”
“Not gonna do that by talking.”
”Say what?!”
A pale, blue-haired woman in a black top and shorts, bearing strikingly small resemblance to another blue-haired female of some repute, steps into view. Tautly muscled and imposing through her body as well as her scowl, she gets within a few inches of Zahara.
”You wanna repeat that, little girl? You’re here to learn how to fight like a woman, not lip off like a teenager. Or do I need to deck you for real?”
“Go ahead.”
Two seconds is all it takes for the cold expression of the cerulean woman to come alive with fiery rage. Two more seconds is more than enough for her to bring her right hand up and across to slap the proverbial taste out of the Enchanting One’s maw. Except Zahara brings her left arm up and blocks the strike. The pale woman quickly ducks the magician’s right hand and clips her chin with an uppercut , creating an audible click when Zahara’s uppers and lowers collide inside her mouth.
More than her molars are rattled and that’s just what Zahara’s adversary wants. Falling back a step, the Magical Maiden suffers a pair of blows to the ribs, one on each side. She winces when a fistful of her black hair is taken, raising her head up against her will. For all the world this blue-haired female seems to desire nothing more than to spit in Zahara’s face. Instead, a half-smile appears. The magician is wheezing just a little, which isn’t surprising. Both of them are glistening with sweat, peppered with dirt and bearing the beginnings of some nasty bruises.
One more so than the other.
”Nap time, sunshine. I’ll call Katalina to haul you off.”
The woman’s motions are ever fluid, shoving Zahara upright via her grip on the young woman’s hair and letting it go in the same motion. Whipping around with her right arm extended, she seeks to drive her fist into the Enchanting One’s jaw but instead has that arm twisted behind her back. Zahara brings her other arm around and lodges it under the pale woman’s chin, wrenching back tight.
“We’re… not… done.”
”F**k if we ain’t!”
Her attempts to twist out of the modified crossface only cause the magician to wrench tighter, making the ploy work as planned. Getting just enough space out of her efforts, the cerulean woman drives the point of her elbow back, fetching Zahara across the right side of her jaw. Avenue now opened, the woman pulls free of her trainee’s grip but keep a grasp on Zahara’s arm, yanking her forward and into a knee rising to slam against her stomach.
Audibly, and darn near visibly, the air goes whooshing out of Zahara’s lungs, making it all the more surprising that she stays on her feet. From the get she’s been neither mocking in her delivery nor flashing smiles. This is a gritter, more direct side of the Enchanting One we all know and love. Wherever she is and whatever she’s doing while we look on, it obviously means something to her. Why else would she take this kind of punishment from someone hell-bent on breaking her body and her spirit?
“Not as long as I’m standing...”
The reaction of the blue woman is immediate. A right hand lands viciously, not even close to being blocked this time. In the second before impact, Zahara… loosens, somehow. There’s not another word for it. She takes the hit but whips around the exact moment her opponent ceases driving her fist forward. An impact just as crushing happens a moment later when Zahara’s right fist slams backhand-style into the woman’s jaw.
Rocked back, it’s the blue woman’s turn to see, feel and taste blood. Prodding the inside of her cheek with her tongue, she grunts and rears back, fully intending to charge the magician...who at this point has dropped to a knee again. Nothing passing for sympathy is evident in the other woman, even when she sees Zahara with her guard down and limited options for defense. Every intention is there to put the magician on her ass and out of touch with reality, but inexplicably she lowers her hand and stares instead.
”You been at this how long?”
Confused and with the pain welling up in her jaw now increased, Zahara stares up at the other woman incredulously but still answers.
“Seven months.”
”And this is your second title match?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Is that so...”
Removing her gloves, the woman starts to peel off the black tape tightly wound about her wrist and hand, musing quietly before speaking again. As for Zahara, she attempts to push up to her feet but finds herself rather wobbly and decides it’s better for the moment to stay where she is.
“...you know, that mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble. Not just with me, either.”
“I’m honest to a fault. Told you that at the start.”
“Most people can’t handle the truth.”
Zahara’s voice is a bit shaky, just like the woman herself. As long as she stays still though, she tells herself, she’ll be all right. Somehow.
“Why did you agree to do this, Catherine?”
The blue-haired female, now known as Catherine, stops midway through the process of removing the tape from her other hand, staring at Zahara in silence. She considers quietly for a few moments, then responds in much the same manner.
”For Summer. Or who you all keep referring to as Holly, for some reason.”
”I think it’s cute.”
”Whatever. Thing is, a few weeks ago I got a text from her saying she was going back into the ring so, in response, I sent a text/threat to Katalina saying I wanted back in her life for this. She said she’d allow it but that I’d have to pull my weight around here if I was going to be staying. I told her to go fuck herself and she said she’d think of something better.”
Catherine lets out a long sigh before continuing on.
”Something better didn’t come but Summer’s career certainly did. But while she was getting ready I began having doubts on what I was even doing here. I wasn’t comfortable watching one bitch with all that control over a bunch of others and I knew I wasn’t going to be any help to Summer,”
There’s undeniable tension that passes through Zahara like an electric shock at hearing Catherine refer to Katalina in such a way, but the magician forces it down, lets it pass… somehow.
”Why didn’t you train her then? You’re… certainly proficient.”
Zahara says hoping that was the right word to use. Luckily, Catherine doesn’t care for her opinion of her training measures, just the question.
”Because I promised her a long while ago that I wouldn’t strike her for any reason. There’s been too much violence against her already in her life, y’know? So all I could really do is yell at her and you’ve seen how she gets when people do that.”
Zahara lets out her own sigh as she nods in agreement. Something about this, or perhaps it was a stray thought, causes a snap reaction out of Catherine.
”Don’t fucking yell at my friend.”
”Don’t call my girlfriend a bitch.”
Catherine keeps a constant glare on Zahara as a test to see if the magician cracks, but when it doesn’t happen the cerulean woman decides that perhaps the magician is telling the truth. Maybe. And Zahara? Well, we’ve never seen her flared-up angry. Only close to it. But the fire in her eyes when she locks stares with Catherine shows that there is indeed a flicker deep down beneath the smiles, wand-waving and athletic ability.
And considering what little we’ve been shown of her training? That’s probably one of the main reasons she’s still standing.
”Anyway, I’m about to pack up when Katalina comes up and says she has a task for me. Heh, you’ve probably noticed she’s been wearing long sleeves a lot lately.”
Zahara makes a mental note to check on her lover’s arms later when she can, while Catherine keeps on.
”She said she set up her girlfriend with two would-be trainers and felt they would both fall through. So she asked me to accept you as a student if that were the case. So, yeah, there you have it. Happy now?”
Listening intently, Zahara finally finds the wherewithal to get to her feet. She staggers back a step but puts a hand on the top of the cage surrounding the octagon in which she and Catherine just battled like hellcats. It’s very faint, the smile that Zahara allows onto her lips, but it is if nothing else genuine.
“Ecstatic.”
Catherine stares at her for a moment, then resumes her task with a shake of her head.
”You’re fucking weird, Zoey.”
“So does that mean we’re friends now?”
”W-What?”
“Only my friends call me Zoey. Just saying.”
Grunting in disgust, Catherine finishes up and moves to exit the cage. She looks over her shoulder at Zahara for a few seconds, then shakes her head and grunts again. Slamming the cage shut behind her, she stalks into the locker room area, muttering audibly.
”Out of your goddamn gourd...friends...you fucking kidding me? What kind of...”
Zahara hears every word but it only serves to keep that little smile in place, which lasts until she stares down at her gloved and taped hands…
“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe’.”
...and it evaporates once again. A ring sounds from inside of her bag, set on the floor outside the octagon. Going out and fetching it up, she sweeps her finger across the screen and puts the device to her ear.
“Hey. Yeah, we just finished...”
Back to one of the padded portions of the cage, Zahara slumps down to the floor, the lack of adrenaline making the pain hit powerfully all at once. There she remains, the sound dwindling to silence and the scene fading to black.
II: Sleep is an Accident
After surviving that first session with Catherine, the smart thing would have been to get some rest in preparation for the next day. But I’ve never been accused of doing the smart thing. People thought I was crazy for turning down an offer from Matthew Robinson to teach me a few things about wrestling. They thought I was out of my gourd for entering a relationship with Katalina, too. And when I took in Kelsey Spencer after Rebecca Saint all but abandoned her. Who does things like that?!
I do. Because I choose to follow the rules as well as my heart. And I haven’t regretted it once.
There’s no light, within or without, save for the cold glow coming from the television via the wrestling match taking place on it. The digital clock on the DVD player beneath it read 12:13, though the view of it panned back quickly, showing a coffee table with scribbled notes, roughly-drawn diagrams and a couple of, we kid you not, action figures. The view swings about to the sofa, upon which we see a sleeping magician. In the middle of watching recorded matches and, presumably, coming up with strategies for her upcoming opponents, Zahara had succumbed to fatigue.
She dozed quietly, her head perched precariously on the arm of the sofa. A pair of reading glasses were slightly askew on her face and her dark hair fanned out over the cushions and her arm. Truth told she looked more adorable than usual caught in such a natural, human moment… and a bit comical, too. One false shift and she’d end up on the carpet. Thankfully that didn’t happen as someone wandered into the room and set a hand down on Zahara’s shoulder, giving the sleeping woman a little shake.
”Miss Zahara? Hey… are you all right?”
If most of her body didn’t feel like it’d been put through a meat grinder and then smashed up with a jackhammer, Zahara might have woke up a bit more… animatedly. Instead, she blinked a few times and turned, looking up at Holly and smiling sleepily.
”Hm? Yeah… sorry. I must have drifted off while studying.”
Confusion appears on the face of the young woman VoW fans met for the first time at Breakthrough 45 as Blink. She turns on the recessed lighting at a dim level, revealing more of the impeccably-neat living room in Katalina Star’s Malibu home, where Zahara recently moved to. The only mess is on the aforementioned coffee table, something the magician begins tending to after a stretch and a yawn. Putting socked feet on the floor, she sits up and begins to gather up her papers and the figures, which Holly watches with interest.
”Studying? This doesn’t look like your school stuff, though?”
”Studying my opponents, sweetie. For my next couple of matches. I’ve been watching their previous matches and mine, looking for mistakes on both sides and ideas for new strategies...”
Stopping herself before the rambling got to be too much, Zahara looked up at Holly and patted the cushion next to her. Hesitantly, Holly sat down on the edge of the sofa. It wasn’t Zahara that made her nervous, though. It just… seemed to be the young lady’s nature.
”...ahem! Sorry about that. Did you ever do this sort of a thing when you competed previously?”
”No, I… well, I was always trained given the circumstances. Lady Emily always had me working on my speed and keeping my focus up. Sometimes her measures would differ, depending on how the matches were formed. For instance, table matches she would remind me why it was important to avoid going through them...by reminding me a few times how much it hurt. But...this is nice too, Miss. Zahara”
”Oh...well, I didn’t do this at first. While I was training, sure, but after Double Jeopardy I started doing it more and more.”
”So what’s with the toys?”
Glancing to the two figures, which appeared to be G.I. Joes at first glance, Zahara blushed a little and her lips turned up in a grin.
”I use them to mimic wrestlers and test out new moves to see how or if they’d work.”
She pauses briefly, nibbling on her lower lip.
”Is that weird?”
”You’re asking me?”
Holly looks up and around the living room, though the indication is that she’s looking at the house as a whole. When she turns back to Zahara, she has a cute little smirk on her face, an expression that’s far from the normal for the well-mannered and very obedient maid. Zahara takes one look at that smirk and giggles enough that she has to put a hand to her lips to hide the noise.
”Okay, okay! Point taken!”
Getting herself back under control, Zahara continues stacking up her papers and notes, putting the figures atop the pile and reaching for the remote. She’s near the end of the match at 45 between Joanna Thade and Elskerinne though and so puts the remote back down as she observes the match for the third time this evening. She doesn’t forget about the young lady next to her, though.
”I meant to tell you before now, but congratulations on your win at this show, hon. You did an awesome job out there.”
She puts her hand on Holly’s and the maid tenses just briefly before Zahara lightly squeezes her fingers. She looks up and into Zahara’s golden eyes and manages a small smile to go nicely with the rosy pink rising to her cheeks. Holly says nothing but she really doesn’t have to.
”I think I speak for all of us, from Kat to Makayla and everyone in between, when I say we’re proud of you.”
”I… well… thanks, Mi-”
Stopping herself, Holly takes a measured breath and…
”...thanks, Zoey.”
”You’re welcome.”
Releasing Holly’s hand, Zahara stretches again, gathering up the remote just as Joanna is getting her arm raised on the flat-screen in front of them. As before, the magician gets a very serious look on her face, rewinding the match back and watching the finish a couple more times. Grabbing a pen from the table, she jots down a few more lines while Holly watches, prompting the maid to comment.
”I never knew you were this dutiful. Are such measures required?”
”I feel like they are.”
It isn’t as if the happiness left the Enchanting One, or that her mood had taken a dark turn. No, her focus simply had her on another mental level right now, where energy was better spent dissecting what played before her eyes than anything else. She adjusted her glasses slightly, tucking some hair behind her ear as she leaned over the paper a second, then a third time before addressing Holly again.
”At first, looking back on it, things were easy. My opponents were on the same level as me, but their drive to rise higher was lacking. That’s no shot at their talent. I’m not of a mind to insult anyone if I can help it, you know?”
Listening intently, Holly nods quickly, not wanting to interrupt.
”But I also have to be honest and those people… Damian Knight, Alec Rose, and to a lesser extent Joanna Thade and Winter Pine? They weren’t motivated, or at least not in the same way I was. Knight and Rose were there just to be there and they’ve barely been heard from since. Thade, well, look at how far she’s come since then. Same goes for Pine. If you look past all their plots and intrigues, they’re excellent wrestlers and fighters. If I faced them again, in a triple threat or one-on-one, the result might be a lot different than it was all those months ago in Edinburgh. Only looking back now can I see that.”
”So why now, then? Because you lost that one match?”
Almost immediately, the maid's hands come up over her mouth before holding one out.
”I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
Zahara’s expression tightens just a little bit, but it’s enough for Holly to think she’s messed up more than she presently believes. She’s more than ready to bolt off the sofa but Zahara puts a hand on her shoulder and eases her back down before she can get her rear more than an inch off the cushion.
”I could be sitting here with the Xcel Championship in my lap cradling it like a baby and I’d still be doing this, Holly. The loss certainly helped teach me a lesson or three, but that isn’t all of it. I mean, look at my opponent for 46. Elskerinne? People think she’s nuts and most aren’t sure what to make of her. But do you know what I see?”
”I… don’t know?”
”Skill. And a lot of it. But more than that, I see a person who’s like me. They have something to prove and a goal to fight for. Might be different for the two of us, but Elskerinne and I are very alike in terms of motivation in general. There’s a fire in us, Holly. She wants to be a better person all around from what I understand. I want to be the best I can be and to get a little gold around my waist. That woman tore through two-thirds of the Orphanage and almost beat the World Visionary Champion. There’s a lot of respect comes with accolades like that, especially mine.”
”You were un-de-fea-ted for a long time, though, and you got wins over really good wrestlers yourself.”
”But where and when it counted most, I couldn’t get it done. I’m not looking through Elskerinne and seeing Constance on the other end, because that would open the door for this woman to flay me alive in front of the St. Paul fans next Thursday. I’m treating this match as if…”
Zahara trails off for a moment, but she doesn’t get to finish her thought. A woman clears her throat from out of sight and two things happen quickly: Holly bolts to her feet, suddenly very apologetic and Zahara turns to look over her shoulder with a fiery little smile beneath her glasses. The view pans about to show Katalina Star standing there, a crimson silk robe worn over her short nightgown. She leans against the door, arms folded and a small smile on her face.
”You’re late for bed, Zoey.”
How she could make something so simple sound so wicked was one of the true mysteries of life. Forget the pyramids or Atlantis...Katalina Star’s ability to make normal questions and comments blush-inducing was the real McCoy. She turns her attention to Holly, though, before Zahara can answer.
”It’s past your bedtime as well, Holly. Make one last sweep of the house before you lie down, if you please?”
”Yes, Mistress!”
The instruction, as Zahara had witnessed in the past, lent new invigoration to Holly. She paused just long enough to bow to Katalina and give Zahara a smile in passing before darting off. Shutting off the television, the dark-haired magician rose from the sofa and walked quietly over to her lover. Katalina watches intently, yet as Zahara leans in to whisper into her ear…
”Just couldn’t do without me a minute longer? That’s why you’re out of bed past your bedtime?”
...suddenly she’s doing a nice goldfish impression. Her lips part as if to speak, close again, and repeat. Zahara smiles softly and leans in just enough so that her cheek touches to that of Katalina.
”Y-You know quite well that that bed is too big for just me!”
”I know, and I’m sorry I made you wait. I’ll be along soon. Promise.”
Kat turns with playful reluctance and a fairly authentic pout, which gets her an audible smack to her silk-covered rear end.
”Keep warm for me, hm?”
Watching Katalina swiftly make her way down the hall, Zahara smiles… yet not in the same heated way she had before. No, this is her more tender, down-to-earth smile, the kind that displays actual happiness… the reason for that joy having darted off to await her presence elsewhere for the evening.
III: Under the Bright Lights and Through the Looking Glass
Should I have been more thankful for the two shows that saw me go without a match? If I think about it logically, the answer is yes. It allowed me time to get settled in Malibu and get through my first few weeks of shows in Vegas, creating a routine that I could weave my wrestling responsibilities into. But emotionally and mentally, those two Breakthroughs off hurt me. I showed up, gear in bag, just in case they needed me of course, but ended up watching both shows via monitor backstage. And logically, like I said, I get it. Our roster is almost full to bursting and everyone deserves their time.
I just missed it, that’s all. The blast of the pyro and lights, the loud music and the louder cheers, the action between the ropes… all of it has become a part of me. Take it away and I’m barely half a woman. Makes me wonder if anyone else feels the same or if I’m the crazy one for being so devoted...
It really is a lot like every other backstage hallway you’ve seen in movies or television shows: the narrow path between concrete walls, words stenciled on heavy steel doors and the odd pail and mop or crates full of Gods-know-what. It’s the noise reverberating down the half-darkened passage, the rumble created by the cheering of fans elsewhere in the building. This is on the edge of our senses as we follow behind a man in a suit, fairly broad of shoulder with short brown hair. He rounds a corner, then another, left then right. Through a heavy red curtain he moves, sweeping the heavy drape aside with a wave of his arm.
Here, we see racks of various pieces of attire, from costumes to fancy sequined gowns and everything in between. Feathered boas, extravagant hats and all eyes, racked, hanging, and strewn all about as though a brief whirlwind had passed through. Down the middle of a series of lighted make-up mirrors, the man comes around the far end to the next row over, though before we can see it from his point of view our own vantage changes.
A brief glimpse of purple-painted toenails barely hidden by a fine layer of fishnets. Brief for soon the foot and part of the attached leg are pushed into a calf-high black leather boot trimmed in purple. A good tug and a zip up the side, then a pair of hands with matching purple nails stroke up the sides of the boot and along the mesh-sheathed leg a bit. The view rises as the woman sits up, her attention on the mirror in front of her.
The only thing missing? Her smile.
”All set for tonight, Zoey?”
Zahara looks in our direction, but not at us… no, she’s looking to her manager and friend, for whom she manages a slight smile.
”As ever. What kind of crowd do we have tonight?”
”Couple hundred it looks like. Didn’t look like we’d get that much but when they heard you were here, well...”
Maybe he was saying it to make her feel better, get a bigger smile out of her. It worked after a fashion, though it wasn’t the full glow we’re so used to from the Magical Maiden. James Mikowski steps into view a little further, glancing over his shoulder and giving the camera (no doubt carried by Farrah as per usual) a nod and a wink before looking upon Zahara again.
”...you packed the house. Enough that next time they’re talking about pairing you up with a regular from out here.”
Jimmy glances at the camera again briefly.
”But I know you got a little work before you work, so I’ll leave you to it. Dinner for the three of us after the performance tonight, as per usual?”
”Of course.”
Quickly taking his leave, Jimmy brushes past Farrah. She briefly follows him with the camera before reverting back to Zahara. The magician is already eyeing the mirror as she carefully applies her makeup for the performance, going with a deep purple around her eyes along with some black and silver to give them some sparkle. It takes Farrah breaking the new silence to get the Enchanting One’s attention.
”You can start whenever you’re ready, Zee.”
A faint nod is the only response around Zahara’s efforts with a black pencil. But a few moments later sees her get underway with Farrah getting a good angle on the lady and her reflection simultaneously. The lack of a smile is… troubling.
”All at once I’m reminded of an old Looney Tunes bit involving that stalker-ish French skunk...Pepé Le Pew, was it?”
”Yeah, him.”
”Right. Well, the one in question has him chasing that poor cat through the Louvre and he wanders past the Mona Lisa with his, um… his ‘smell’ following him. Everything else is just wilting or getting all disfigured somehow, but Mona Lisa, she just up and says…”
Putting down the pencil, Zahara clears her throat lightly and puts on what could be called a classier, more mature tone of voice.
”’Well, I’ll tell you gents one thing: it’s not always easy to hold this smile.’”
Glancing sidewise at the camera, Zahara smiles faintly before starting on the other eye while staring into the mirror, going back to her normal voice.
”Really obscure thing to bring up, I know. I bet 85% of kids these days don’t know what the heck Looney Tunes even are anymore. Cartoons today just don’t compare with them, though. Ask your parents, kids. Getting back to my point, though…”
The second eye is finished up in short order, pencil and brush put back down while Zahara swept up a different, larger brush and added a touch of rouge to her cheeks. It would have really showed off her dimples if she could bring that smile back…
”...that’s how I feel where VoW is concerned right now. Vincenzo told us from the start that the wrestling business would suck the soul out of you and spit it out to make room for seconds. The constant travel, backstage politics, divergent attitudes, and all else wear on everyone, no matter how rosy their outlook. That says nothing about the verbal wars across Twitter and the miscellaneous nonsense, some good and some bad, on the periphery. And though it took the better part of seven months, it’s starting to happen with me. My confidence is taking a dip, my Italian temper that my mother was kind enough to share with me is showing its ugly self and the people who mean so much to me are hurting in ways I can’t help.
Elskerinne, I’m sorry that you have to deal with me in this state. This isn’t what you need right now, considering what I’ve seen between you and Matt Slater on Twitter of late and your physical health based on Breakthroughs 44 and 45. The Zahara of a few months ago would be halfway to your doorstep with a covered bowl of soup and probably a stuffed animal of some sort which I’d have pulled out of my hat. In minutes you’d be on the couch and I’d be putting you on the road to recovery. Instead, you’re heading into our last show before Fate of the Gods II, in your adopted hometown no less, facing… this.”
The Magical Maiden gestures to the mirror, her attention on the camera via her reflection. The pause goes a little too long, during which she picks up a tube of lipstick with a color named ‘midnight dancer’, applying the dark purple shade to her lips. Putting the lid back in place with a click, Zahara puts the tube down and purses her lips a little to even out the cosmetic before sighing.
”I may be lacking my smile and some of my joy, but I’m still a very motivated young woman. We have that in common, Elskerinne…”
Despite the way that name did NOT roll off the tongue, Zahara seemed determined to use it properly and not hang some nickname on her opponent.
”...though I won’t presume to know what you’re motivated to do other than the standard wrestling goals of accomplishing victories and earning titles. Or maybe that’s not what drives you at all. The point is that you have the drive. If you didn’t, you’d have been at home with a hot water bottle and a fuzzy blanket instead of throwing yourself at Constance Chapin or Joanna Thade. And I admire you for that as much as I respect you for those big wins on your ledger shortly after your arrival. That’s the woman I hope to face in St. Paul. That’s the kind of opponent that I have to defeat if I’m going to prove to myself that I’m even halfway ready for Fate of the Gods.”
”Zoey, how can you say that?”
Stopped in her monologue, the magician’s attention goes to her camera-wielding friend, just barely visible on the edge of the mirror’s lighted border.
”That match at Nothing Else Matters had everyone on their feet and the air went in and out of the arena in unison every time the referee slapped the mat. You gave Constance the match of her life. Hell, the woman even smiled! And didn’t Sky Sangue personally congratulate you on your performance?”
”Yeah, she did.”
Now looking at her friend instead of the camera, Zahara sits in relative silence, waiting to see if Farrah has more to say. But all the camerawoman can do is shrug her shoulders and make an exasperated sigh. Zahara’s eyes drop, then return to the mirror as she folds her hands in front of her on the makeup table.
”You wanna know the truth of it, Farrah? And the rest of the world, for that matter, since this all being recorded?”
Zahara offers a faint smile. Farrah nods slightly but hardly looks eager.
”It was Kincaid who was supposed to be in this spot, taking on Constance for the title at Fate of the Gods II. Then he got his ankle smashed up by .PAAK and now he’s on the injured reserve.”
”Yeah, and…?”
”And since everyone else already has business to tend to at the pay-per-view, they had to settle for what was left: me. I’m not in this match because I earned it, Farrah. I’m in it because I’m all they had.”
”Zoey, that’s bullshit and you know it!”
It’s sudden and unexpected, the way Zahara brings her palms down on the surface of the makeup table. Bottles rattle and brushes shake, a contorted expression of frustration on the magician’s face as she whips around to stare at the camera directly.
”She beat me clean as a sheet, Farrah, right in the middle of the ring! That means I go to the end of the line, the bottom of the ladder! I earn my way back up to that level in the same fashion that got me there in the first place: by busting my tail and putting wins on my record! That’s what I was prepared to do! I figured, oh, give it a couple months, another pay-per-view or two, and I’ll be ripe and ready for another go. Then after sitting on my butt for a month, I get this memo from Sangue wanting me front and center on the biggest blowout on the VoW calendar. Against whom, you ask? The same woman who chewed me up like rawhide at the last pay-per-view!”
Drawing in a breath to retort, Farrah is stopped when Zahara’s hand jerks up into the air, palm out. Not as if to strike something or someone, but a forceful gesture begging for quiet so that she can get the rest of it out. It’s easily ten times worse than her reaction to the haggis back in Edinburgh months ago. She breathes once, twice, and gets her voice back down after a moment.
”I know I shouldn’t be raising Cain about it. I should be thanking Sky Sangue from the bottom of my heart and looking forward to testing myself against an amazing opponent like Constance. But I didn’t earn this, Farrah! And no matter how much the fans clamor for it, no matter how much money it’ll make this company or how much better both Constance and I may be after another war between the ropes… and I AM looking forward to that part of the deal… that doesn’t mean I deserve it! It doesn’t mean I earned it!”
”Okay, fine. I’m not talking you out of thinking that. But what about all the extra training you’ve been doing since you found out? I mean, you and Katalina spent days looking for a proper trainer and you’ve been working with her for, what, a week now?”
”You know where that’s gotten me?”
It’s the kind of question one isn’t sure they wish to know the answer to, but Farrah manages a nod. Zahara rises and puts one booted foot, her right one, on the chair she’d up until now been perched on. A few bruises can be made out through the fishnets though they thankfully aren’t obvious. Returning her foot to the floor, Zahara shrugs out of her jacket. Her bare arms are marked up fairly harshly and, when she opens the front of her corset-like top (no, there’s no goodies to ogle at, you pervs!) there’s a few more across top of her chest and presumably elsewhere.
Farrah has no response for this as Zahara composes herself again and locks on to the camera.
”I’m learning plenty to go along with those. Like how much pain I can take before I have to tap out and, conversely, just how hard I can hit someone. There’s no woe is me when it comes to all this because I knew what I was getting into from the start. That’s the price I’m willing to pay in hopes that something I learn will give me the edge against Constance.”
It’s little more than a soft upturn of her lips, faint but enough to let at least some light into her golden eyes.
”But it’s for you, too, Elskerinne. I apologized before and I’ll apologize again, because I wish I could come at you as the woman you had such kind words for a while back on Twitter. You showed me kindness, and I don’t forget things like that. It wouldn’t change the desire to hand you a loss and roll into Fate of the Gods with at least a little momentum at my back, but I could at least treat this match with the recognition it deserves.
You came in here on a tear just like I did. You stood out, did things your way and put down some dangerous opponents. So did I. A battle between the two of us is worthy of some space on the marquee in my opinion. Let others hang on your recent losses if they want but I’m not gonna do that. I know that at the top of your game you can put me on my back same as Constance did and probably will again in a few weeks. Will you be at that level in St. Paul? My money’s on yes. Will I?”
Zahara rolls her shoulders a little and cracks her neck in one direction, then the other. Gathering her gloves from the table, she pulls them on and then applies her hat, tipping it at the mirror, then again at the camera.
”Physically, yes.”
Lifting her wand, Zahara twirls it a bit before the end slaps against the gloved palm of her other hand. Gripping both ends tightly, she peers at the camera from beneath the brim of her hat once more.
”So smile for me. Smile for the world watching us. Maybe… maybe seeing it shining and bright on my opponent’s face will bring one to my own. I can hope, right?”
Taking a short bow, the magician affects her stage smile; just as pretty and, at a distance, quite genuine in appearance. It’s a shame that, for the moment, her heart isn’t quite in it.
”Time to go give the good people a show of a lifetime. Then… it’ll be your turn, Elskerinne.”
Turning on her heel, Zahara slips away toward the stage entrance as the scene is brought to a slow close.
