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Descriptions of violence
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She hadn't been pushed through the curtain, per se, but it was more than a nudge. People. Stands and people. She had played in front of bigger crowds, but that was when she was one of the best at what she was doing. The crowd had already grown to a few hundred, with more coming in like an ocean tide. Oh jeepers, she thought. "Oh jeepers," she said.
Alicia stared down the 30-foot ramp and at the ring just beyond. Red ropes, black ringposts, and a matching black ring skirt bearing the words "Queens of War" in red, angular lettering all surrounded twenty feet by twenty feet of pure white canvas, except for the bloodstains.
Breathe in, breathe out. One foot in front of the other. This was happening. What am I doing? What have I done? This was happening soon, and soon was almost now. "Okay. Okay, I can do this." I don't remember a single wrestling move.
"Ohhhhh boy," whimpered Alicia bravely. There had been scattered claps. The reaction wasn't hostile, at least. Take a breath. It's been a while since the last one. She noticed the ramp wasn't a ramp anymore. It was flat now. How am I getting into the ring? Up the ring steps or one big step up onto the apron from the floor or slide under the ropes? Roll? Step between them? BETWEEN WHICH?!
Alicia trotted up the ring steps, climbed onto the bottom rope, then stepped over with one foot, sort of, and then swung the other one over. She was now inside the ring, standing on the second rope and holding onto the top rope with both hands. The wrestler making her one and only debut of a lifetime kicked her feet out and landed flat-footed on the canvas. That was not an entrance she had practiced.
Alicia marched to the center of the ring. Halfway through raising her hand to acknowledge the audience, it became clear she was not about to be introduced. Cringing, she dropped her hand to her side and shuffled back to her corner. She wouldn't have to wait long for her opponent.
The drums and brass of college marching band music shattered the stillness. Half a dozen identically dressed, college-age Japanese men emerged from behind the curtain, each wearing a coal-black, four-button suit with two golden stripes around the left arm. All four polished bronze buttons had been done up, and the suit itself hugged the neck, almost like a priest's collar. She could tell they wore crisp, pressed formal white shirts underneath by the protruding inch-and-a-half of sleeve.
The men spread themselves evenly in a straight line along the stage area at the top of the ramp, facing out towards the audience. Then came the cheerleaders. Clad in red skirts, red and yellow tops with "ROCKET" emblazoned across the chest in white letters, and each carrying a red and a yellow pom-pom, the cheer squad filed in and took their positions several feet behind their male counterparts. Following them, a seventh college-aged man in an identical black suit rolled out a drum almost as big as himself and took his place in the back. Then the show began.
That giant drum pounded louder than even the marching band. With each beat, the besuited–she didn't know what else to call them but cheerleaders–gestured flamboyantly, changing poses in perfect unison every few seconds. Hands flat, arms outstretched, then crossed at the chest, up, down at the sides, overhead, crossed at the chest, and then a pause. All at once, the men shouted, kicked out a leg–managing some impressive height–turned 90 degrees to the right, dropped into a squat, and rhythmically threw one-two punches at the air in front of them in time with the beat of the drum. Another high kick, another 90-degree turn, this time to the left. Repeat. All while the cheerleaders kept up their end of the performance with a complex routine of dancing, kicking, jumping, and shaking their pom-poms in time with the music and the beat of the drum.
There she was: Connie Rocket. Bursting through the curtain beaming a confident smile, she soaked in the cheers of the gathering crowd that had grown to near a thousand. She wore her usual yellow sleeveless track shirt, red track shorts, a red sweatband, and completed the look with her signature white and red wrestling shoes with the orange flames. Even with so few people in a still mostly empty arena, the adulation of the fans threatened to drown out the music as Connie gave each section of the stands a polite bow. She stretched as if for a race, finishing up by easily touching her toes and then going palms-flat to the ground.
Upon completing the cheer routine a third time, the music stopped. The cheerleaders in skirts took a stance with their pom-poms at their hips while the ones wearing suits posed with arms outstretched, right arm slightly up and the left slightly down. The men shouted something in Japanese as they alternated between poses. Arms up, arms out, across the chest, arms up, arms forward. After bellowing a few sentences, the men finished posing and stood in place, arms at their sides.
The Rocket approached the top of the ramp, crouched down, and brought her fingers to the floor, as though lining up for a race. Head up, eyes forward. Silence washed over the crowd.
Bang.
She earned the nickname for a reason. With the sound of a starting pistol, the track star came off the blocks and was down the ramp and sliding into the ring blink-and-you-miss-it fast.
A man with gelled, jet-black hair, a light golden tan, and a flawless smile entered the ring in a more conventional manner wearing a black tuxedo and bow tie. Alicia recognized him instantly as the Queens of War ring announcer, Guy Brody. He brought the microphone to his lips and announced the premier athlete, "Hailing from Okinawa, Japan and weighing 148 pounds, she is the Human Blur. She is the gold standard. She is CONNNNIIIIIIIIEEEEE ROOOOCKEEEETTT!!"
The fans rose to their feet, clapping, stomping, and cheering for the living legend herself. Connie mounted the middle ropes in each of the four corners and played to the crowd while dozens of fans lobbed a rainbow of streamers into the ring from the stands. Two young Japanese women in red tracksuits eventually followed the Rocket down the ramp carrying towels and bottled water. Although the pair of trainers had been waiting at ringside, they reflexively climbed into the ring and bundled out the streamers with a quickness almost as impressive as Connie's. At the top of the ramp, the cheerleaders finished their routine. With a loud "Hoi" and a bow, the squad filed out, drummer at the caboose. Connie Rocket took her corner.
"And her opponent, already in the ring: Alicia Winthrop."
Polite little wave.
It wasn't crickets, but if crickets heard the reaction, they'd describe it as "mild." Alicia took the corner opposite Connie. You've got this. Just rememb-
Ding!
Connie didn't drop into a traditional wrestling stance. She bounced on her toes, shifting her weight between them, almost dancing as she removed her sweatband and tossed it into the crowd. Alicia lowered herself into a half-crouch, arms partially extended. She knew her opponent wasn't going to lock up with her; she hoped her opponent didn't know she knew that.
Connie kept a measured distance, harrying Alicia from just outside her reach as she approached. Sabrina was going to give her heck for going maverick at the start of the match, but in all the tape she watched, she had never seen anyone try bum rushing the Rocket at the opening bell. Worth a try. Alicia charged full-speed at her opponent with a clothesline. Way too slow. Connie effortlessly ducked underneath, and turned. She took to the air with a dropkick, catching Alicia right on the button with both feet as she came charging back off the ropes.
Alicia went to the ground hard, clutching her nose with one hand. It hurt, but it wasn't broken. After vandalizing her own prom photo with a broken nose from a game the week prior, she swore she would never let it happen again. Alicia rose to her feet. Where was Connie? Alicia wheeled around just in time to see that same pair of wrestling shoes hurtling towards her chest. She got her hands up in time to block the dropkick, deflecting her opponent's feet away and sending Connie Rocket crashing unceremoniously to the mat.
With Connie flat on her back and within reach, it was time to go on offense. Alicia grabbed her smaller opponent's ankles and launched a few kicks into the back of that rehabilitated knee. Figure Four. Here goes. Right knee flush to the back of her left, release the right foot, step over, keep turning…
Suddenly, a woman in a black and white striped shirt jumped in Alicia's face, shouting and counting with her fingers. It was unwelcome. "Alicia, you've got to break the hold! One! Two! Three! Four!"
While Alicia struggled to apply the figure four, Connie had been scrambling for the ropes, making good use of her long, powerful limbs to drag herself across the mat and secure a grip on the bottom cable with one hand. Guess that's that "ring awareness" thing Sab always talks about.
Alicia released the captive leg and took a step back as Connie rose to one knee. Seeing her opponent near the ropes and an opportunity, Alicia reached down and grabbed Connie in a wristlock to try and drag her to her feet. The smaller combatant shot her head up into Alicia's stomach, briefly knocking the wind out of her. The Rocket turned the wristlock around on her more powerful opponent and jumped out of the ring to the floor through the middle and top ropes, hanging Alicia up by her armpit over the middle strand.
Alicia faced out towards the fans and groaned as a sharp pain stabbed up into her shoulder. Connie kept her foot on the gas, grabbing the second rope and using it to assist a jumping roundhouse kick directly into her larger foe's face. Alicia stumbled and fell onto her back in the middle of the ring, clutching her nose in anguish. The haze cleared just in time to spot Connie completing a graceful backflip and landing chest-first across Alicia's stomach and floating ribs with a devastating top-rope Moonsault. Connie reached down, hooked Alicia's leg and went for a pin.
The referee slid next to them and slapped the canvas, "One! T-"
Alicia kicked out, shoving the nimble warrior off of her as she clambered to all-fours. Wait. This feels familiar. She turned her head to the left just in time to see Connie zooming off the cables at breakneck speed, looking for that running knee. Nice try.
Alicia shot to her feet and took two powerful steps toward her fast-approaching adversary. The powerhouse threw her arm wide, like swinging a right hook over her opponent's left shoulder, and flattened Connie with a crushing clothesline that nearly took her head off. The impact felt nothing like hitting the kick pads in the gym. It felt way better. For the briefest instant, Alicia was back on the ice.
She'll be looking for the Figure Four. Alicia grabbed her opponent's left ankle and ran through the list of alternatives. She used her grip to roll Connie onto her stomach and dropped a knee onto the track star's back, pressing her full weight onto her grounded captive. Connie yelped and thrashed as Alicia bent the trapped leg up and over her broad, powerful shoulders for leverage and wrenched the captured limb, attempting to hyperextend Connie's hip and knee with a Stretch Muffler submission hold. The smaller competitor pounded the mat and squirmed in Alicia's grip. Alicia knew she hadn't locked the hold in tight and couldn't maintain it for long.
Connie groaned as she poured all her strength into turning her body over on the mat, unseating her captor and wriggling free of the hold. Both women scrambled to their feet, but this time the Rocket couldn't outrun her pursuer. Alicia grabbed the smaller woman's wrist and twisted it behind her back. Connie expected it and swung her free elbow behind her, cracking Alicia in the jaw and causing her to lose her grip on the attempted hammerlock. The ring spun around Alicia for a moment as she shook out the cobwebs. Once again, she had lost track of her opponent.
There she was, flying in from the top rope. Connie Rocket caught her larger opponent in a flying Headscissor. Connie twisted her body, using her momentum to throw her sizeable opponent with a Hurricanrana. Sabrina was right: practicing flip bumps really did pay off.
Alicia rolled to her stomach and tried to push herself up, only to be yanked toward the nearest corner by one of her french braids. The two women gathered speed as they neared the turnbuckle. Holding her opponent in a tight front face lock, Connie hopped onto the middle and then top rope, then sprung back towards center-ring with Alicia in tow, dragging the disoriented powerhouse spiraling down to the mat face-first with a modified Bulldog. Alicia's hands instinctively flew to her face to protect her throbbing nose, leaving the rest of her body to take the impact unprotected. The ring started spinning again, but the debuting wrestler rose to her feet regardless.
The Rocket took a moment to soak in the cheers before approaching her dazed opponent to resume the assault. Alicia caught Connie's roundhouse kick with arm and kept hold of the errant limb. Trying to press the advantage, Alicia went to sweep the other leg - where was it? A spinning kick to the side of the face answered her question and sent her sprawling.
Standing up had gotten significantly more difficult. The best Alicia could manage was a slow crawl for the ropes, and Connie was more than happy to help her on her journey. The half-Japanese wrestler grabbed a braid again and tugged Alicia along behind her to try and slam the bigger combatant's head into the top turnbuckle. Although groggy, beaten, and bewildered, Alicia managed to grab the top ropes on either side of the buckle to stop her momentum. Alicia fired a back elbow into her opponent's temple, gripped the smaller woman by her short raven hair, and drove Connie's head into the top turnbuckle instead, then bounced it off the pads two more times for good measure.
Alicia spun the disoriented competitor around and shoved her back-first into the corner. She grabbed the middle ropes on either side of Connie and threw a shoulder into her midsection, eliciting a grunt of pain, then lifted the smaller woman into a seated position on the top turnbuckle. Once again, the Rocket was a step ahead and hopped onto the top turnbuckle from the middle ropes, then front-flipped up and over Alicia and out of her predicament, making an escape back to center-ring.
Nuts to this! shouted Alicia in her mind as she tracked her slippery opponent through the air. The moment the Rocket touched down, Alicia threw a right hook–the punch she wanted to show Sabrina since the start of training–and slugged Connie Rocket dead-center in the breadbasket like a sledgehammer.
The smaller wrestler's eyes turned to saucers, her hands dropped, and so did the rest of her. Connie sank to the canvas, audibly sucking air, trying desperately to fill her lungs. A rush of adrenaline lightened Alicia's limbs as she dove onto her gasping opponent with fury in her eyes and poured punches and forearm shots onto her victim's head.
Not satisfied with the damage of her ground-and-pound, Alicia stood up from the mat with Connie in tow by the hair and arm. The rookie wrapped her prey in a front facelock and bombarded her with a salvo of rapid-fire fists and knees to the stomach, chest, and noggin.
Still not enough. Alicia stood the smaller woman up and shoved her into the nearest corner. The powerhouse mounted the bottom ropes and fired piston shots down onto Connie's forehead while the audience counted along.
There were those black and white stripes again. "Alicia! Out of the corner! One! Two! Three! Four! Fiv-"
Reluctantly, Alicia peeled herself off her trapped opponent before getting herself disqualified. You stay there. I'm not done. It was the angriest she had ever heard her internal monologue. Alicia stormed toward her punch-drunk opponent and threw a massive haymaker.
The instant she committed to the swing, the newcomer knew she'd been had. Connie was playing possum. The Rocket sneaked underneath the swing and behind her towering adversary. The track star hopped onto the middle rope and sprang onto Alicia's shoulders in a piggyback position while securing another tight Headscissor. With one massive surge of coordinated strength, Connie backflipped Alicia headfirst into the mat with a devastating Poisonrana.
The adrenaline was wearing off now. Alicia's arms weighed more than ever, her legs felt rubbery and unresponsive, and Connie Rocket was already back on her feet.
