Alicia Goon 044: The end

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Description of spider bite

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Two days out from a return. Hockey had taught Alicia how to deal with injury layups from a conditioning perspective, but she never figured out the boredom. The near month-and-a-half away from the ring, or at least competition, had at least come at an opportune time, allowing her to spread out from the basement into the nice side of the house. 

Sabrina said the night of the Last Woman Standing match was the last anyone had seen of Black Violet, at least that she had heard of. While others might have suspected where the former TV Champion may have escaped to, only Alicia knew for certain.

Alicia toweled off the last dish from dinner and left the kitchen. She headed through the still mostly empty living room, past the weight room/guest bedroom, and into the walk-in closet. There hung Robert's painting of the princess and the wizard on dragonback, four feet above where she first saw it. She couldn't have asked for a better housewarming present. Something moved on the carpet. 

Alicia gasped hard enough to swallow her tongue if her heart hadn't already been stuck in her throat. Mandibles, thorax, seven and three-quarters legs, and a stare like an airport parking lot attendant. Not as big as she remembered, but not small. Maybe the size of Robert's hand, if it stretched.

"I'm sorry, Ralph. We can't keep doing this. I'm gonna tell Robert I took you somewhere upstate where you can run around with all the other spiders." Breathe in, breathe out. 

From Alicia's first footstep, Ralph was determined to make it a chase. She stepped--more like danced--in front of the door, blocking the exit. Alicia scanned the upper shelves and then the floor for options as her roommate scurried against the corner baseboard, heading for the door. "Okay, Ralph, come here," said Alicia, grabbing her neon green gym bag with her free hand. Ralph hung a sharp turn, scurrying toward and then up the back-corner wall. He was making a break for the vent. "Nononononono!" pleaded Alicia as she reached for her hockey stick propped next to the door. Five feet up the wall, six feet, seven feet, seven and three-quarters…

WHAM!

The excessive arachnid plummeted from the wall. She missed wide-left by more than a foot, but the impact had been enough to dislodge the creature. Ralph may have been disoriented from the fall but clearly not stunned as he tumbled into the open bag in Alicia's free hand. "Gross gross gross!" she cried as she tossed the stick aside and reached for the opening just as Ralph had the same idea. 

The wolf spider crawled out of the bag on the zipper side. She felt not only the creature's grip but its weight as it took the path of least resistance and skittered onto her hand. "Oh you. Oh you!" Her peeved and claustrophobic (if spiders can be that) adversary crawled up her wrist with one purpose in mind: vengeance. 

Chomp. 

"Owww!" cried Alicia as Ralph sunk his mandibles into her and continued to scamper in a direction that tickled in a fuzzy, heavy way all the way up her forearm.

Rather than drop the bag, Alicia flipped her arm and wrist with a dainty, terrified flourish. Into the bag went Ralph. She reached for the zipper. Zzzzzzz- it stuck halfway. "Are you kidding me?" shouted Alicia, stuffing her noncompliant luggage back into the duffel with her bare hand to stymie another escape attempt. "AAAAAAAAA!" she shouted, yanking the zipper past the unseen obstruction and drawing the bag shut -iiiiiip.  

Alicia breathed a long, relieved sigh when a chuckle bubbled up from who-knows-where. Another chuckle turned into a laughing fit. Triumph and relief made for a potent cocktail as Alicia continued chuckling. "Oh, that was disgusting," she said, catching her breath only to lose it again. She examined the bag from every angle, rotating it in her hands. "Oh beans, there aren't any holes, right?"

* * * * *

Triple-check to make sure. She was sure. Jersey, stick, keys, gym bag, and title belt. She headed for th- Oh, and purse. She headed for the garage and hopped into the driver's seat. Her guest of honor could ride shotgun with the belt. "You mind we leave it on Eagles's Nest? I know Steve-Steve's not for everybody." Hearing no objections, she turned up the volume and onto the highway. Windows down.

There was the Queens of War billboard, even grander cast against the growing skyline at sunset. Beyond it, a sign helpfully declared "Beaver, Illinois: It'll Grow on You!"

Doggone it, sign. You were right.

Into the parking lot, then into the arena. The first pair of eyes that met hers belonged to Jill McKill, flying solo these days. A second of tense silence hung between them. Alica shot her a quick up-nod, and the veteran-squared sent one back as the TV Champion strode past, headed for the trainer’s room labeled "Trainer's Room." There was the rolling garbage can and the alcove with the locked door leading to the maintenance hallway, and there was the hatch leading to the maintenance catwalk. After a couple minutes of uncomfortable waiting and eye contact with a pair of crew members chatting in the hallway, an opportunity arose. 

The unfortunate creak of the garbage can’s wheels managed not to draw any attention as Alicia tucked the hockey stick under one arm and grabbed her My "Handy" Flashlight from her purse. She adjusted her gym bag and title belt over her left and right shoulders, and with a quick, sure-footed leap, vaulted onto the lid. Slowly, she stood up and pushed the maintenance hatch open with all her strength. Far too much.

CLANG! 

She definitely heard that. 

She definitely heard that.

Alicia felt uninvited as she flicked the flashlight on. "Hello?" she called, the bile of her better judgment bubbling in her stomach. She flashed the light down one end of the maintenance shaft, then the other. "Black Violet? I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I want to give you the belt back." The champion cringed as she tapped the metal edge of the catwalk with her stick. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I, um… actually, it's a long story." 

She turned to check behind her and sucked in a reverse-banshee scream as she dropped the flashlight on the linoleum. Greasy curtain of dark tangles, gaunt face, gnarled fingers, and smears of old, dried blood in varying stages of the curing and aging process. Narrow, accusatory eyes.

"Jiminy Christmas!" cried Alicia, louder than she would've liked. 

Louder than Black Violet would've liked, too. Her startle response chose "flight," and the wronged party retreated four or five feet back into the catwalk. 

"No, no, no," stammered the belt-holder. Wrong answer. 

Black Violet retreated another foot into the dark. Alicia slowly reached for the belt on her right shoulder. That got the previous owner's attention. No malice remained in Black Violet's shadowy stare. Alicia peered into eyes wrought with sadness, resentment, and loss. Her own expression expression grew heavy and her sight began to blur as Black Violet crawled closer. The TV Champion lifted the silver and gold from her shoulder and extended it for the taking. 

"I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve to be dragge-" A sharp tug yanked the leather strap free from Alicia's weathered hands. "Yeah, fair." 

Black Violet clutched the belt tight, hung it around her neck, and slunk back into the shadows.

"Wait!" called Alicia behind her. Black Violet slowed to a crawl from a much faster crawl. "I'm sorry, I need your help. Please. It's not for me." 

Dark eyes peered back at the edge of sight. This time, Alicia reached for the strap on her left shoulder and lifted the gym bag up into the vent. With nervous cringe, she reached for the zipper, pulling it open quickly enough to surely cheese off Ralph. Alicia recoiled as the bag opened.

No cheesed-off Ralph.

Please don't be in my car, Alicia thought as she peeked inside. There he was, scrunched in the corner. Black Violet continued to look expectantly at the interloper. Alicia made the introductions, "This is Ralph."

Scarred, misshapen ivory fingers slid into the gym bag in front of the timid creature as Black Violet scooped it into her palm. Ralph looked somehow smaller in her hands as he seemed to acclimate to being held almost immediately. After a quick survey of her new surroundings, Ralph plodded up Black Violet's wrist and up her left straitjacket sleeve. With a toothy, foul grin, the ghost of Plunj arena shrank into a pale, dimming shadow at the edge of Alicia’s vision. Hopefully, that meant a truce.  

At least for now, Alicia would be a queen without a crown. She would have to break the news to Helene and Allen. Sabrina warned it wouldn't go over well. The beltless champ reached for the hatch on the maintenance catwalk with one hand and effortlessly swung it shut with as quiet a loud clang! as possible. Maybe she could-

"Hi! Wow!" shouted Alicia in as close to an indoor voice as possible, suddenly face-to-face with another unexpected presence. She nodded and smiled enthusiastically while greeting the crew member watching her from the floor. Alicia hopped down to the linoleum. "No, this isn't what it looks like to you, whatever you think that is, if it's bad," she explained, poorly. 

The crew member on the receiving end took a moment to recover. "So what were you…?" she inquired, seeming not to know how to finish that sentence or perhaps not wanting to. She stood nearly as tall as Alicia, giving the champ a good look at the confused, fair complexion staring back.

Alicia answered to the best of her ability, "Um." When that answer proved unsatisfactory, she tried again. "I thought I heard something."  

The back of her head started to simmer in anticipation of a lot of very fair questions, but her unsuspecting spectator looked reluctant to ask. They simmered in each other's secondhand embarrassment, triggering a cascade event. A fremdschämen singularity, as Zack would say, no matter how many times Alicia asked him to stop.

Worth a shot. "We met normally in the hallway just now," offered Alicia with a what-do-you-say? shrug.

It took a second to register, but the crew member got it. "Oh, Right. Yeah, um. We did. Hey, how's it going?" said the backstage staff, not at all naturally. "Let's go- I have your key." She threw up her hands in frustration. "I don't talk like this. Let me start again: you've been bumped to a dressing room. Congratulations! That's huge. Let me show you where they put you."

"Oh. Wow. Thank you," Alicia replied. They approached the brightly lit hallway and kept walking. They were approaching the end of the line. Oh no. No. No no no no. Please. Please no. I'm having an irony dream. Oh no. "Last door on the left?"

"Mmhmm," answered the crew member. There it was, right across the hall from the last door on the right: Party Girl. Of course. "Um, sorry, Alicia Goon, I've kind of been following you since you started. I wanted to ask what advice would you give to, um, me if I wanted to become a pro wrestler?"

A reflective moment passed. "I say go for it. That's what I did." Another moment of reflective but much less pleasant silence followed. Fill it with something. "And make sure you try." No, something poignant. "And maybe you'll get lucky, I don't know. It's a crazy business, from what I've seen."

"Oh, okay. Thanks," the crew member muttered, dubiously grateful. She turned to leave.

One more try. "Sorry. Look, I'm not the one you should ask, but here," She reached into her purse for a Pupe's Full Mouth Dentistry pen and tore off a bicuspid-shaped piece of stationery. "I trained at Hard Times, and if you show up and work hard, you will learn to wrestle. Here's the number. Ask for Minisha. She's the head trainer. She'll take care of you."

"Thanks," replied the aspiring wrestler. She held up the paper with a smile, "I'll tell her you sent me. Good luck tonight."

Alicia turned the key and stepped inside. Big mirror, couple of chairs, closet. Sparse. Alicia's heart dropped. Yep, that was definitely a title belt laid on the edge of the dressing table. How many wrestling champion ghosts do we have around here? Fortunately, this one came with a note:

I still don't know why you're giving the belt back, but by the time you read this, I'm guessing it's too late to talk you out of it. If you think it belongs to her, then do what you think is right.
If it were anyone else, I'd kick their ass because that belt cost like $30,000. You're getting special treatment. Welcome to backstage politics. Enjoy when they work out in your favor.
You're the champion, and you don't need a belt to prove that.
(over)

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But a champion should have a belt, so just this once, I'll spot you. They retired this version of the TV belt in '92. First title I ever won. Championships should be fought for. It's wasted on my office wall. I know you'll make me proud.
-Sab
PS- Don't lose it! No pressure haha

Once again, Sabrina managed to drop Alicia's jaw. She examined the aged, well worn but well cared-for brown leather strap with a faceplate like a pair of layered, concentric circles of lustrous silver. The pattern evoked a round shield, specifically a buckler. Turns out I did learn something at all those renfaires after all. 

The faceplate had been engraved with a silver wrestling ring, surrounded in laurels, wrapped in a brilliant red banner spanning the top for a nameplate. Sabrina had already done the honors of removing her own. "Queens of War" had been engraved across the top border in black lettering, and "TV Champion" appeared in similar lettering across the bottom. The rounded, rectangular silver side plates depicted a wire frame outline of the Plunj Drain Cleaner Arena against the silhouette of the Beaver, Illinois skyline circa 1976. She not only held a piece of history in her hands, she was now part of it.

Knock at the door. "It's unlocked!" called Alicia. Ooh. Better not make that a habit.

The door swung open. Different crew member. "We're live in five minutes. You're on first after the video package."

The throwback belt got the looks it deserved as Alicia strolled through the corridor. As much as she admired the other belt, Black Violet could have it. This was the prize Alicia wanted to defend. She strolled into the darkness of the production area, instinctively checking over both shoulders when she entered. There was Sabrina, and there was Allen. Alicia hoped he dug the retro aesthetic as much as everyone else. 

"Where the fuck's the belt? Hey. Hey!" Allen stood up from his chair and stormed over.

He did not.

Alicia grasped at syllables. "Um, right. So-"

"Hey, there's no chit-chatting back here," Sabrina interrupted, shooting Alicia a wink. Sabrina turned to Allen and gave him the spiel, "Okay, I'm about to throw a whole bunch of crazy shit at you all at once. Do not talk, do not ask questions. Listen." 

Allen gave his colleague the reluctant courtesy of his undivided attention as he sighed. "Why, again? What is-"

"I'm starting. You know how we're like a tenant of the Plunj arena? We also have a neighbor, and we should try to stay on her good side." Sabrina gestured with a thumb for Alicia to take her spot in gorilla.

Alicia excused herself to her mark behind the curtain and watched the monitor. Following the opening lead-in, the florescent yellow heart and pink chain of the Party Girl logo exploded onto the screen with "Get Like Me!" written in obnoxiously pink, puffy lettering. The intro graphic cut to a shadowy silhouette, stark against a vivid pink background. The figure looked familiar, but different. The shape of her head looked uneven and heavily bandaged. Long hair hung past her shoulders with the right third done in dreadlocks. 

Her voice also sounded familiar, but different. "Hello, this is Giselle Tillman, owner and CEO of Party Girl Incorporated saying 'wassup' to all my party animals. Today's my 24th birthday. Sorry I couldn't be there. You know me, staying busy! Really, really busy with a lot of... stuff. That's why I am choosing, voluntarily, to retire undefeated from Queens of War, having achieved my goal of holding the prestigious TV Championship. If anyone is in the market for three-quarters of a million cans of Party Perm, please reach out to my lawyer." 

Giselle paused for a moment before clarifying, "Not the one handling my historical landmark defacement case with the city of Pickle, Illinois or the one cooperating with authorities about the several bags of someone else's cocaine found in my dark room, thanks to an anonymous tip. Janice. But if you want a great deal on a bulk order of Party Perm, talk to the lawyer handling my… situation with the bank. It turns out having a net worth of $86 million doesn't mean you have $86 million in money. Nobody told me that." There was another pause. "And how can Party Perm cause mesothelioma? That's not even an ingredient!" The silhouette seemed to look at someone off-camera. "I wasn't commenting on a pending case! No, I wasn't! No, you're jeopardizing it! You don't make sense! Fine! I don't need you! Get out! Get out!" Once again, Giselle found her focus. "So, okay, Party Animals. Holla-holla, or- yeah, that's fine. I'm going away for a while." Giselle trailed off before breaking down into gasping fits of song, "Happy birthday to me… happy birthday to me…"

Alicia watched the monitor utterly mortified at what she just witnessed. "That's terrible," said Alicia to a crew member passing by. "Giselle was on drugs?" 

A long, silent stare got cut short by the sound of skates carving through the ice and the crack of a slapshot. That was her cue. The reigning Queens of War TV Champion emerged through the backstage curtain into an arena bathed in pale blue light as snow blew from machines rigged to the arena roof. With her hockey stick in her right hand and title belt over her left shoulder, Alicia Goon raised her stick in the air to signal for the crowd to join in as one.

Bang.

Claps, stomps, and cheers picked up speed, building louder and louder. Alicia unloaded an imaginary slapshot that set off the horn and lit the red light, sending the fans into a frenzy for the new singles star making her way to the ring Helene extended a handheld microphone from the commentator's desk. Alicia Goon took it and left her hockey stick on the floor. With a single, giant step, Alicia Goon climbed onto the ring apron, then vaulted up and over the top rope. She made the rounds from one corner to the next, standing on the turnbuckles and playing to the crowd, hoisting the belt with her spider-bitten arm–not that she noticed. No more corners remained. Time to cut a promo. Live mic.

"Illinois, it is good to be back, and I am proud to be your Queens of War TV Champion!" announced Alicia Goon, hoisting the belt high once again to enthusiastic cheers.

"Goon! Goon! Goon! Goon! Goon!" chanted a 4,068-strong capacity crowd for the March 31st "March to War" special event. The crowd might not have torn the roof off the arena, but they at least loosened it.

"Maybe some of you are wondering who's the newcomer holding the TV title? And that's fair. Who I am is your your fighting TV Champion--not on paper, in the ring--and I promise you, nobody wrestles like me, and I don't wrestle like anyone else!"

"A-li-cia! A-li-cia! A-li-cia! A-li-cia!" rose another wave of chants.

Alicia raised the title in one hand as she spoke. "Starting tonight, this TV Championship is a belt of opportunity. I'm issuing an open challenge to the locker room: anyone in the back who wants a shot at this title tonight, step up. Everyone else, form a line, because that challenge stands every week for as long as I hold this title. Who am I? I'm Alicia Goon. This is my belt. Come take it if you can."

A hush of anticipation hung, and hung, until the drums and brass of college gameday shattered the quiet as the crowd erupted into cheers. Connie Rocket emerged through the curtain to a white-hot crowd, clad in her yellow sleeveless track shirt and red shorts. The Human Blur pushed back her short black hair and adjusted her sweatband. She waved to the crowd from the stage, then turned and looked at the champion as she bounced on her toes at the top of the ramp. Alicia Goon faced her challenger. Polite little wave. Connie Rocket flashed a warm smile and waved back.

The former track star took a moment to stretch before standing up and effortlessly touching her toes while Alicia Goon handed the referee the microphone and belt and took her corner. The Rocket lowered herself into a ready position as the marching tune faded out. She put her fingers to the floor behind an imaginary starting line. Head up, eyes forward. Silence washed over a tense crowd as they awaited the starting pistol.

"Alright, second title defense," said Alicia. "Let's go." Breathe in, breathe out.

Bang.

 

The end

Alicia Goon 043: Not the end

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Extremely graphic descriptions of blood and extreme violence

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Squeak. Squeak. Squea-

Party Girl's ride came to a stop as she dug her heels into the wood chips. Her expression turned as she rose from the spring-mounted horse and stepped closer. 

"Why couldn't you be more like Janice?" asked Party Girl, her voice thick with disappointment. "You killed my cat. You know that, right?" 

"What?" Alicia squinted in confusion as she adjusted the strap of her gym bag and tightened her gloved hands around her hockey stick. About two more steps and she'd be at the edge of swinging range. She continued to circle clockwise as her opponent mirrored her.

"I told you to fight Black Violet, but you waited and waited, and you left me no choice. I'd still have my presh-presh if you fought stupid Black Violet the first time I said so!" What began in an accusatory tone had turned to an angry shout by the end. Party Girl took a moment to compose herself. "Janice didn't want to, but she did what I told her," she explained. "I'd give her the day off, but unfortunately I had to let her go. She killed my cat."

A half-laugh escaped Alicia's lips as she shook her head. "You're flippin' crazy."

"Yeah, well you talk weird," Party Girl retorted. She unzipped the right pocket of her tracksuit, slipped her hand inside, and extracted a fistful of hot pink brass knuckles. Her eyes flitted playfully to her reinforced right hand, then back at Alicia. "Oh look! It's still covered in your frien-"

Fury seized control of Alicia's limbs from her better judgment as she stepped forward and hacked at her giggling opponent with her hockey stick. Party Girl danced under the swing, took a stutter-step and a leap forward, and caught Alicia in her bandaged forehead with a loaded flying haymaker. The world spun 180 degrees, and the champ only remained on her feet with the aid of her stick. Alicia heard two quick footfalls on the soft surface behind her and saw the ground racing to meet her as Party Girl grabbed her by the back of the head and dragged her face-first to the ground with a flying Bulldog.

A stomp to the back of the head treated Alicia to another mouthful of wood chips. "Oww!" Why did that hurt so much? Alicia slipped her arm free of her gym bag and rolled to safety a split-second before a follow-up stomp landed where her head had been. Oh, thought Alicia, glimpsing her opponent's footwear. Cleats. The encroaching cold made the mere thought of them hurt.

Alicia crawled to the misery-go-round, ripping aside fistfuls of wood chips as she scrambled for space to recover. Party Girl grabbed one of the misery-go-round’s push-handles and gave it a spin, causing one of the metal bars to smack into the champion’s temple while Party Girl cackled at her own slapstick gag. She grabbed one of the push-handles and spun the misery-go-round again as Alicia lay writhing on the ground, turning the demented playground equipment into a game of pain roulette. The living brand name grabbed both of Alicia's braids and pulled her upright. The haze hung thick in her head as she heard Party Girl take a two-step run-up and deliver a flying dropkick. Rows upon rows of hard, plastic teeth bit into Alicia's chin as she flew backward onto the misery-go-round.

Crash!

The roulette wheel chose broken glass. Alicia's jaw peeled open as she let out an anguished scream that failed to fully convey her feelings. She spun helplessly aboard the misery-go-round and slowly, delicately tried to sit up from the razor-sharp surface inch by excruciating inch. Shockwaves of pain exploded through Alicia's chest as Party Girl struck her with the heel of her own hockey stick squarely in the sternum, blasting the air from her lungs. Another crash followed as her mutilated back once again hit the glass. 

Party Girl grabbed one of the push-handles to stop the misery-go-round and pressed the shaft of the hockey stick into Alicia's throat. Her thrashing had grown weaker, but she had to be conscious to say the words to end the match, forcing Party Girl to reluctantly let go. Alicia gasped and coughed as she gulped precious air as Party Girl hefted the hockey stick in her hands. "I can see why you like this thing. What were you thinking with the color, though? Plain wood?" chastised the frowning fashion mogul.

The pretender to the throne tossed the lumber to the ground and pulled Alicia off the broken glass by the arm and her jersey, dragging her towards a steel-plated rocking horse for some head-to-head contact. At the last possible moment, the TV Champion slammed on the brakes and swung Party Girl around to take the impact instead, sending the socialite head- and shoulder-first into the horse's steel-reinforced blonde hairdo. The horse creaked once again on its spring as its former rider went down beside it in a heap. Slowly, painfully, Party Girl rose to her knees. Alicia booted the rocking horse as hard as she could, causing it to snap back and smash into Party Girl's skull, sending her once again to the ground.

Alicia yanked Party Girl to her feet and drove a right hook into her stomach. It wasn't a Gut Check, but the blow still turned the celebrity's legs to jellies. Alicia trapped Party Girl in a side headlock, captured her right leg, and hoisted the celebrity up into a Fisherman's Brainbuster position. Alicia aimed to plant her former tag partner headfirst on the reinforced saddle of the playground abomination. From her inverted position above Alicia's head, Party Girl drove a withering barrage of knees with her free leg down onto the crown of her captor's noggin.

The desperation offense allowed Party Girl to slip out of the predicament and land on her feet behind her property theft victim. She grabbed two handfuls of braids and slammed a set of cleats into the back of Alicia's injured right knee, causing it to buckle. The saddle zoomed towards her at a thousand miles an hour as Party Girl attempted to slam Alicia's face into it, but the champ got her hands up in time to stop her nose from meeting the steel half an inch from disaster. On instinct, she threw a back elbow at Party Girl, who deflected the strike with her forearms on similar instinct.

Suspicion confirmed. The plan was a go.

Party Girl's two-handed effort to protect her face allowed Alicia to create some distance as she stumbled towards the thumbtack swing set. Manicured fingers tightened around her shoulder, but Alicia spun around of her own volition and swung her forehead down at the bridge of Party Girl's nose. Two deceptively powerful arms got between Alicia and her target, blunting her headbutt at the last moment. Meanwhile, two visibly powerful arms coiled around Party Girl's waist as Alicia threw her overhead with a Belly-to-belly suplex.

The star shot through the air, sailing into the swing set and landing almost perfectly on the small of her back across one of the swings. Party Girl dangled in place for exactly a second before processing all of it at once and shrieking like a howler monkey that had fallen onto a swing covered in thumbtacks. "AAAAAAAA! AAAAA! AAAAAAAAAAA-AAAA!!"

An extremely motivated Party Girl extracted herself from the swing with several souvenirs still stuck to her and fell to her knees on the other side of the swings. Party Girl lay writhing in agony grabbing at her back and backside. Where's my stick? There it was, on the ground a few feet from her neon green sports duffel. Easy enough to find in the low light. Beyond loomed the two-story gazebo. 

Alicia turned in the direction of approaching footsteps to find Party Girl back on her feet and charging. Alicia leaned back, swung out her arm, and hooked it under her opponent's armpit, sending her sailing back-first onto the barbed wire nest inside the pair swing with a crisp armdrag.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" screamed Party Girl as she thrashed in the mound of jagged metal.

The champ reached for the pair swing and pushed with all her strength, sending the pair swing high into the air and causing a frantic Party Girl to lose her balance and tumble back into the barbed wire.

Alicia hobble-hurried to pick up her stick en route to the edge of the playground. She dropped the hockey stick where the runway ended and buried it in the wood chips. One fistful of wood chips after another cascaded onto the stick until it was fully obscured, then she grabbed the puck from her gym bag, slapped it on the runway, and laid the gym bag on top of it. She turned around and saw the door to the thorn room and the warped, barbed wire wicker parody of furniture within. Perfect place to line up a shot--she just wasn't sure how to set it up.

Footfalls drew closer as Party Girl sprinted toward Alicia. The champion unloaded a two-fisted salvo of wood chips into her opponent's face, but Party Girl already had her hands up. Alicia used the opening to thrust her shoulder into the celebrity's midsection and drop the challenger with a double-leg takedown. The Hard Times graduate rolled Party Girl onto her belly and cinched in an ankle lock as tight as she could manage in her hockey gloves and cranked the appendage violently out of position, wrenching at the socket and joint and causing Party Girl to cry out in pain.

"Your gap-tooth looks stupid!" spat Party Girl between painful wails with her face and stomach flat against the ground. 

"You're just jealous," Alicia offhanded back. 

Another hard wrench of the ankle, but this time Alicia cried out as pain exploded through the back of her right knee as Party Girl hammered it with yet another cleated kick, sending Alicia tumbling to the ground. Both competitors were down, but Alicia could already hear her opponent starting to rise.

Ten or so feet from the action, the bespectacled referee monitored the violence with a microphone in his hand. His only role in the match would be to ask a competitor if she wanted to say "I quit." It presented a philosophical quandary, then, when Party Girl snatched the handheld microphone, turned around, and blasted Alicia with an overhand shot to the forehead. Alicia could feel blood soak through the bandage on her forehead as she lay on the ground.

Party Girl tossed the mic aside and stalked towards the champion and then past her, heading for the gazebo with a hitch in her step. She looked over her shoulder, calling back to her bleary-eyed opponent, , "I got myself a present. After everything I went through for this belt, I deserve it. You're gonna be so jealous!" She raised her thumb and forefinger in an an "L" gesture. 

Scintillating pain ripped through Alicia's kneecap as she pressed herself up off the ground and limped--mostly hopped--in pursuit, but too much distance lay between them for the champion to overtake the challenger. Party Girl topped the ladder just as Alicia approached the rungs and leapt on her one good leg for the highest rung on the ladder she could reach before climbing the rest the hard way. 

She poked her head up to find a three-foot-long pink, rectangular box with an even pinker bow and a soccer shoe racing towards her nose. Half-intuition and half-reflex saved Alicia from disaster as she dipped her head back down to safety. She wondered how good the traction was on those cleats and popped out of cover, snaring Party Girl’s ankles and forcibly seating her on the wooden plank floor. The celebrity squealed as the thumbtacks she hadn't removed reintroduced themselves. 

Alicia pulled herself up and over the ledge and onto the second floor of the gazebo while Party Girl retreated, bicycling wild kicks at her pursuer. There wasn't as much force behind them as Alicia expected; the ankle was clearly bothering the mogul. She shoved the smaller socialite to the floor and reached for the hot pink gift box.

"Um, no? That's mine!" shouted Party Girl. She spun to her feet, scraping her cleats against the hard surface as she threw herself at Alicia. The two women toppled into the barbed wire-wrapped railing and nearly over it, crying out in unison as the pitiless metal jabbed into their sides.

Alicia felt her head pitch forward as Party Girl snagged one of her braids and tried to drive her head into the barbed wire. The former hockey player grabbed the railing with her gloved hands to stop her momentum, much to the dismay of her opponent. She feigned a back elbow to Party Girl's face and stomped the heel of her size 14 wrestling boot onto the toe of Party Girl's soccer shoe, causing her to instinctively retract her foot and loosen her grip on the braid. 

The champion reached for the back of Party Girl's head and attempted to slam her face-first into the barbed wire. The Party Girl brand mascot stopped her momentum with her hands, much to the dismay of her palms. Alicia lunged for the gift box and grabbed hold with both hands, then rolled onto her back and heaved it over the edge of the gazebo. 

"Hey! What the hell? God! You're so annoying," whined Party Girl as she glanced down at the gift box, which lay a few feet from the thorn room entrance. With an angry grunt, she blasted a slowly rising Alicia in the back of the head with a loaded rabbit punch, sending the champ to the ground in a heap as every bodily faculty shut off at once.

When Alicia’s senses returned, she found herself buried in a faceful of pink polyester. Party Girl had her in a side headlock and appeared to be setting up for a suplex. The moment Alicia's boots left the gazebo floor, the powerhouse sprang to life, hooking her captor's leg to block the suplex before slamming two gloved lefts into the smaller woman's side. Party Girl answered back with a metal-reinforced blow to Alicia's injured kneecap, causing the champion's to scream in pain as her knee nearly gave out again. 

It was the opening Party Girl needed. She lifted the larger woman into the air, holding her upside-down long enough to allow her a good look at the landing zone. It was the bouncy bridge. And those were fluorescent light tubes.

CRAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH!

Every single tube exploded into thin blades of glass shrapnel, peppering Alicia’s back with millions of tiny pinpricks. 

The referee reached between the supports of the rope and plank bridge with a microphone and asked, "What do you say, Alicia Goon?"

A stark silence followed, and then a pitiful whimper escaped her trembling lips as she lay beneath the floodlights staring wide-eyed at the washed-out moon. Before the devastated champion could clarify, Party Girl kicked the microphone away. "I'm not done with her," she scolded.

The fashion icon grabbed the rope handrails and walked over her opponent, stopping partway to grind her cleats into the side of Alicia's head and her sternum. The plummeting temperature made the cleats feel like masonry nails digging into her bones. After a journey of too many steps, Party Girl arrived on the other side of the bridge. She pulled the shellshocked TV Champion up by her wrists and hoisted 193 pounds of dead weight onto her shoulders. Alicia got a good look at the bloodstained hot pink boards and powderized glass where she landed as her opponent carried her to the edge of the sandpaper slide.

Party Girl steeled herself for a massive display of strength and hurled Alicia down onto the hard, coarse surface. The champion's back and head crashed onto the sandpaper-coated steel from a Sit-down Powerbomb that rattled the nauseatingly pink structure to its frame. Once again, Alicia's ruined back took the brunt of the impact, and every flayed nerve screamed for mercy as she slid helplessly down the incline.

Party Girl got to her feet, but she had clearly lost some zip. Carrying Alicia's weight on that hurt ankle must have done some damage, but the challenger still moved with purpose. She secured a grip on Alicia's ankle, held her left knee flush to the back of Alicia's right knee, stepped over, turned into place, and fell backward, trapping her in a Figure Four Leglock. Tendons stretched past their limits and muscle pulled taut, eliciting a scream from the champion that threatened to rip apart the night sky. 

The referee stuck a microphone in Alicia's face and asked, "Alicia Goon, do you give?"

Alicia thought she had already made her opinion on the subject quite clear. From her inverted position, it wouldn't do much good to try for an escape, but maybe she could reverse the hold. She rocked her weight side to side, picking up momentum little by little as Party Girl fought to flatten herself out and lower her center of gravity. The powerhouse threw her right shoulder up off the course surface, pouring every remaining ounce of core strength into the effort as she rolled onto her stomach. Party Girl cried out in frustration more so than pain as Alicia turned the hold around on her. Alicia pushed up with both hands, applying even more pressure, but the plan wasn't to win with a submission hold. 

She reached one gloved hand in front of the other and wheelbarrow-walked down the slide, using gravity to her advantage to pick up the pace. With one adrenaline-fueled surge of power, Alicia threw herself down the remainder of the sandpaper slide, landing on the wood chips at the bottom and dragging Party Girl along with her. A shriek of pure agony echoed throughout the compound as her unwilling cargo scuffed her face on the grit all the way down. 

Alicia batted a few wood chips out of her hair as she crawled from the tangle of limbs that used to be a submission hold, dragging her throbbing, mind-bending ache of a right leg behind her. Party Girl sat on the edge of the slide, eyes wide, mouth agape, face frozen in shock. That once-perfect beach tan looked sunburnt. The sandpaper road rash had given the cover girl a clown nose, an angry patch in the shape of Hawaii below her left eye, and one of Montana on her forehead. 

"You-" stammered Party Girl. "Wh- wha?" the owner of the Playground of Dreams seemed genuinely shocked to fall victim to her own masterpiece. The scuff marks nearly vanished as her entire face turned bright tomato red. "I swear to God I'll kill you!"

Alicia crawled for the gift box, but the challenger limped faster. Party Girl closed the gap but stopped several feet short and helped herself to a stiff kick to the champion's ribs that put Alicia on her back. Party Girl dropped to her knees next to her former enforcer and secured a tight two-handed grip around her throat.  

The challenger leaned in close, her ice-blue eyes alight with a hatred purer than Alicia had ever seen. "I'm not going to stop just because you give up. I decide when you're done. That'd be a fly headline, right? 'Party Girl Goes Too Far!' Smaller print: 'Fans Stunned but Effluvient.' And on the cover, a photo of me standing over your body holding the belt while they try to decide whether to call an ambulance or an ambulance for dead people. Do you think I'll get in trouble? I don't." 

The fight had sapped Alicia of the strength to pry the multimillionaire's moisturized, workshy hands from her neck, but Party Girl left her face wide open. The powerhouse reached up and honked her opponent's clown nose, drawing a bloodcurdling shriek from the grown-up brat as both hands instantly retracted from Alicia's throat to protect herself. 

"Pfffttt!" spat Alicia Goon, blowing a loogie into Party Girl's eyes.

A frustrated scream echoed through the rapidly cooling night air. The facade fell away as Party Girl sneered in disgust at her gasping opponent. The celebrity reached up and wiped - smeared, really - the thick, gooey mucus away with a polyester sleeve. Party Girl swung a vicious open-palm slap in retaliation. Alicia's cheek burned as she lay sputtering on the ground as a pair of pink soccer shoes stormed past in the direction of the gift box.

With a groan of pain and exhaustion, Alicia rolled onto her stomach, pushed off the ground, and used that bad leg just one more time to launch herself at Party Girl and wrap her up with a shoestring tackle. The celebrity wrestler cried out in pain as Alicia twisted the injured ankle once more. Alicia crawled past her downed opponent for the mystery box, briefly taking the lead. It wasn't much of a head start. She had only crawled a few feet when a pair of hands wrapped around her left ankle, forcing the champ to drag the terminally famous star behind her. Alicia's fingertips brushed the gift box, but she couldn't quite grab hold.

"AAAAAAAAAA!!" wailed the TV Champion as stabbing, crushing, pinching pain tore deep into her calf. Alicia glanced back to find Party Girl chomping down on the back of her leg through the denim of her worn-out jeans. Another mistake. 

The powerhouse pulled back her ailing right leg and shot a weak kick into the rabid Party Girl's raw, scraped-bloody forehead that looked like it had started oozing something clear. Again, the challenger covered up at the expense of her hold. Alicia used her momentary freedom to pull herself to the package, grab it tight, and force herself into a sitting position. It would be a tricky throw. The thorn room door stood about fifteen feet away and the weight in the gift box wasn't balanced. So what? 

Alicia pitched Party Girl's present through the door and watched it slide to a stop just in front of the throne of thorns. A split-second later, cleats collided with the side of Alicia's skull, sending her to the ground as Party Girl landed her signature flying kick: the Unvitation. The next sound Alicia heard was a scream. To her surprise, it wasn't her own. Party Girl lay on the wood chips clutching her ankle for several precious seconds before slowly standing up and limping gingerly toward the thorn room. Now or never, thought Alicia as she dragged herself toward her buried hockey stick. 

The venom spewed as Party Girl vented her fury at her former tag partner. "You're worthless! Completely worthless! You're fired! You can't be The Goon anymore!"

Alicia pressed the blade of her hockey stick into the wood chips and pushed herself to her feet while Party Girl stood with her back to Alicia as she peeled the bow from the package and peered inside. Once again, her mood swung on a dime as the gift-giver and recipient gasped in performative delight as she withdrew a pink baseball bat wrapped in an obscene coil of barbed wire. 

 "It's perfect!" fawned Party Girl. "I love it!" 

Alicia hobbled onto the runway and batted aside the gym bag covering the puck. She tightened her grip and cocked the stick back. One shot. Make it count.

Party Girl stood at the throne as she called out in a furious sing-song. "You're gonna leave in a body bag, Gretchen." 

Alicia replied, "That's not my name, Pickle."

Boiling, unbridled scorn creased the fashion icon's face as she spun around to shout something back. Her enraged expression turned to horror as she dropped the bat and covered her face as the crack of a slapshot cut through the night air. 

"HHHHHHHhhhhnnnnnnnhhhhh..." gasped Party Girl, sinking to her knees as the puck clattered to the wooden gazebo floor.

Alicia Goon gouged the blade of her hockey stick into the ground like a crutch and limped toward her downed opponent. The wounded champion discarded her weapon at the thorn room entrance. She scooped Party Girl up by the hair from her breathless, agonized coughing fit on the floor and shoved her face into the barbed wire throne.

At first, Party Girl didn't react as the red started to seep onto the pink metal barbs and trickle down the connective wire. Suddenly aware of her own distress but still too shocked to act, another harrowing second passed in flailing, grasping silence. Metal teeth dug into the tender, exposed flesh as Alicia Goon rubbed the cover girl's face back and forth along the jagged surface like a cheese grater. 

Screams. 

Screams, and screams, and screams poured from the thrashing, frantic millionaire as her survival instinct finally kicked in. "I quit! I QUIT!!" shrieked Party Girl, tearing her fingers to ribbons as she pushed and grabbed at the seat and armrests trying to get free.

The champion released her defeated opponent and stumbled backwards out of the gazebo, collapsing onto the wood chips outside. A few feet away, the vanquished challenger sat on her knees, clutching her face with blood-soaked hands as crimson spilled through her fingers.

"Here is your winner, and still Queens of War TV Champion, AAAALLLLIIIIIIIICCCCIIIIIAAAAA GOOOOOOOOOOOONNN!!" announced Helene over the loudspeakers.

The referee reached down for Alicia's hand to help get her upright. Nothing doing. A second hand reached down to assist as Helene left the commentary desk to help Alicia Goon to her feet. Moments later, the referee raised the retaining champion's hand in victory.

Another scream. Alicia Goon looked over her shoulder as her defeated opponent tried to break through a pair of production crew and a half-dozen security guards as they forcibly ushered her from the battlefield. Her hands dropped from her face as she tried to push her way through the crowd, revealing the bloody thatch of lacerations and angry red gouges crisscrossing her once-flawless complexion. 

"I hate you! I hate you! Let me go! I'll fucking kill her!" she screamed, throwing herself against the wall of security and crew. "I hate you! Nobody even wants your stupid TV belt! Who are you?! Nobody cares! You're no one! I'm going to win way bigger championships in way better companies! You didn't beat me! You CHEATED!"

"Okay," said Alicia Goon. Polite little wave.

"AAAAAAAAAA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" screamed the beaten challenger behind a bloody mask of torn flesh, incoherent with rage as Tryystynn'n and Xaun joined the procession of security and staff corralling her into the medical tent.

The referee approached Alicia Goon with arms outstretched, title belt in hand. Black leather. Ten pounds of gold and silver with "Queens of War TV Champion" stamped on the face in red steel. Breathe in, breathe out. The champ shed her hockey gloves and hoisted the prize in her callused hands. It was the heaviest ten pounds she ever lifted.