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Descriptions of blood and violence
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By the time Alicia had parked, bought a ticket, and found her seat, the show had been underway for nearly an hour, but the near-floor-level seats more than made up for the headache. Row G was the next one down. The echo of wrestlers hitting the mat practically shook the floorboards up in the cheap seats. Down near the top of the alphabet, the thunder of each impact was nearly tooth-rattling. Alicia scooched in, beginning her latitudinal trek through row G cheeks-to-chest, mumbling an "excuse me" every few steps.
A few people down, Alicia spotted a single empty seat in the middle of the row. She double-checked her ticket, recalling the last mix-up. Row G, seat 16. Alicia stepped over the final tray of half-eaten nachos and prepared to sit down. Seat 15. Alicia checked her ticket again. Nope; those numbers weren't the same.
"Excuse me, you're in my seat," she said.
A pasty, balding man wearing some wrestler's T-shirt leaned forward, raising two fingers up to one ear, "Huh?"
"That's my seat. I'm in 16. You're in the wrong spot."
The man shrugged his shoulders, but when it was clear Alicia wouldn't be done with it, he sat up a bit straighter. "Look, I've got all my stuff here already," he said, gesturing to his beer, snacks, jacket, and merch. "Can't you sit in that one? It's empty." Alicia looked at him incredulously. "I'm serious. No one's sat there all night."
Alicia waited in place for him to move.
The man sighed, "Look, my ticket's for way up there, alright? I didn't know it belonged to anybody. There's still an open seat. I promise I'll move if anyone comes."
Alicia rolled her eyes. She and Zack had helped themselves to free seat upgrades more than once.
"Fine," she said with a sigh. "But I'm doing it under protest." The man didn't seem all that interested in continuing the conversation--a sentiment Alicia shared--but she had questions. "Hey, who's fighting right now?" she asked the seat-taking interloper seated (in her seat) to her right.
Again, the man raised two fingers to his ear, "What?"
"I said who is in the ring right now?" Alicia shouted over the crowd.
"This your first time?" the man asked.
Alicia nodded.
He leaned closer and continued. "The lady in the black? The short one? That's Iron Maiden. She was big in the '80s, early '90s. I haven't seen her in a while. She might've been out injured." Alicia nodded her head, eyes on the match.
Iron Maiden lay on the mat after taking a ring-shaking body slam, and her masked opponent covered her, going for a pin.
The referee counted, "One! T-"
The veteran's right shoulder shot off the mat, breaking the pin. Maiden's aggressor sat up on her knees and considered her next move. The taller woman pulled Iron Maiden back to her feet by a fistful of hair as the referee admonished her.
Her green mask had white and silver accents around the mouth, nose, and eyes, as well as across the jawline, and a tight, shoulder-length black ponytail protruded from the back. What looked like silver streaks of electricity crackled along the outer corners of each jet-black eye. She wore a green and silver top and tights with the word "Phenom" spelled out in a lightning bolt on both legs. The masked wrestler was heavier-built, though hardly bulky. There was clear definition in her arms and legs, and she was putting it to good use.
"I'm guessing the other one is named Phenom?" asked Alicia.
"How'd you know?" the man said with a sniff-chuckle instead of a laugh. "I wanna say she's from Mexico, but I know that's not it."
An older woman seated to his right chimed in, "Puerto Rico."
"There you go," he said. "Puerto Rico. I've never seen her here before. I'll bet she's just here for a few matches before heading somewhere else."
Phenom pulled Iron Maiden into a tight side headlock and secured a hold, hoisting the smaller wrestler high up overhead. It looked like the masked wrestler was about to finish the suplex when Iron Maiden slipped out of the move and landed on her feet behind Phenom’s back. In one motion, the tenured veteran torqued her opponent into a seated position with a knee against her victim’s back and a tight grip on both wrists.
The referee got to his knees to ask Phenom if she wanted to give up. Alicia couldn't make out what she was saying, but the vigorous shaking of the masked wrestler's head left no question as to her resolve.
Pockets of slow, rhythmic claps and stomps built throughout the arena as Phenom started to psyche herself up and, with one massive effort, hoisted her legs and butt up off the mat and sort of crab-walked a couple feet toward the ropes before Iron Maiden tugged her back down. The masked warrior nodded and stomped the mat in time with the crowd as she steeled herself for another escape attempt.
With another surge of core strength, the trapped fighter once again got her legs and rear up off the mat again and managed another couple steps closer to the edge of the ring, scooching more desperately than Alicia had ever seen. Phenom reached out with one black boot, stretched for the bottom rope, and only just barely got a toe on.
The referee started counting. "Break! Maiden, let go of the hold, come on! One! Two! Three! Four!" The smaller woman released the hold and stood up. She stepped back and allowed her opponent to rise.
"Come on, Maiden! When I say break the hold, you break!" scolded the ref, while the Platonic apathetic stare manifested on the veteran's face.
"Why'd she let go?" Alicia asked her tutor for the evening.
"It's called a rope break," the man beside her answered. "If you've got someone in a hold and they get to the ropes, you've got five seconds to let go or you're disqualified."
"Or if you're getting pinned," added in the fact-checker to his right.
"Yeah. If you're getting pinned and you touch the ropes or get some part of your body under them, the referee stops the count. It's just a rule," said the man, shrugging. "It also means you can't use the ropes for an advantage to, like, choke someone or tie them up or whatever."
"That's not allowed?" Alicia asked, surprised.
"No, if you do it- actually, watch," said the man, pointing at the ring.
Phenom stood up on one knee and reached up for the top rope to pull herself back up to her feet. Iron Maiden moved in to stay on her opponent, but the masked wrestler had her scouted. As the veteran bent down to grab the Phenom, she snatched Iron Maiden's wrist and swept out her leg, sending the experienced grappler down neck-first onto the middle rope. The woman in green laid in a few kicks before reaching down with both hands and shoving the smaller fighter's throat against the bottom rope. Phenom seemed to be putting all her weight into it, unphased by the booing from the majority of the crowd, including the man and woman to Alicia's right.
The referee again interjected as the masked wrestler choked her flailing opponent. "That's enough! Off the ropes! One! Two! Three! Four!"
Phenom's face was a mask (probably of indifference). The masked fighter brushed past the referee on her way to the corner and scaled the turnbuckles as her victim's arms and neck remained draped over the middle rope. Phenom leaped from the top and slammed her knee into Iron Maiden's temple, landing on the edge of the mat in a superhero landing pose as the wiry Maiden crashed to her back, groaning and clutching the side of her head with one hand.
The green-clad warrior was all sprint as she grabbed the top rope and vaulted up and over, back into the ring, and dropped a leg across the veteran's throat. Phenom grabbed an arm and a leg and pulled a limp Iron Maiden closer to the center of the ring, seemingly getting her into position.
Phenom scaled the ropes again. This time, she stopped to pose with one foot on the top rope, playing to a particularly dense sea of green. A couple fans were holding up what Alicia presumed was the Puerto Rican flag.
"Too much time," shout-whispered the fan to Alicia's right.
"She's not getting up after all that," countered the woman two seats over.
"Way too much time," he repeated.
Alicia hoped not. She wanted to see if the upstart could put the veteran away.
Phenom stepped up with both feet onto the top ropes and sprang off, turning a graceful, high arcing backflip aimed squarely at her prone opponent below. The instant Phenom's feet left the ropes, Iron Maiden popped up off the mat and leapt into the air, turned, tucked her knees, and prepared to catch her helpless opponent across them.
The masked warrior plummeted belly-first right onto the points of both knees and reflexively bounced off, arms wrapped tight around her stomach. The once-dominant Phenom rolled onto her knees, forehead pressed to the mat, kicking in pain as she struggled to breathe.
Iron Maiden seemed intent on not letting that happen. The veteran crawled behind her opponent and raised both arms above her head, fingers gnarled into claws. Thousands in the stands joined her. Maiden let out a battle cry and brought her hands together, steepling her clawed fingers into something that looked like a Venus fly trap as a packed arena of fans matched her gesture.
"Here it comes," said Alicia's tutor. "She's about to lock in the Jaws of Death."
Iron Maiden sidled up behind her downed opponent and pressed her knee into her foe's back. She twisted Phenom's right wrist behind her back in a hammerlock, then Iron Maiden snaked her right arm across her victim's throat and cranked back hard, torquing the back of her masked opponent's neck in a blood choke. In less than a heartbeat, Phenom tapped out. Iron Maiden released the hold with authority and stood tall as the referee raised her arm in victory. The veteran yanked her arm away and clasped both hands together in the same Venus fly trap gesture. Most of the fans in attendance once again followed along. Alicia guessed it represented an iron maiden, assuming she grasped the symbolism.
"Awesome, right? I'm Jim, by the way,"
"Alicia." She nodded towards Iron Maiden celebrating in the ring. "You a big fan of hers?"
"No," said Jim before checking himself. "I mean, she's still good, and she's been around a long time. So, like, yeah... I mean, people like her."
There was some subtext behind the word choice Alicia wasn't completely sure she followed.
The ring had emptied, but no one else seemed to be headed out. The lights dimmed slightly, and the WarMachine video board cut to an interview backstage.
A fair-skinned, freckled man with curly red hair and a mustache stood opposite a young blonde-haired woman dressed in neon pinks and yellows with her arm in a pink sling. Each part of her gear prominently featured the Party Girl brand logo: a fluorescent yellow heart bordered by a hot pink chain. She sported an impressive tan and even more impressive gauze bandage on the left side of her neck. It was the woman the rest of the world knew as Giselle Tillman.
"Thank you, Helene," said the man in khakis and a magenta sports coat as he lowered a hand from his earpiece. His red-orange mustache bounced with each syllable as he introduced the segment, "Allen Preston here, backstage at the Plunj Drain Cleaner Arena. Joining me to discuss her ladder match against Black Violet for the Queens of War TV Championship this past Monday at Nothing To Lose, allow me to introduce my guest at this time: Party Girl."
"Thank you, Allen. I know you've been trying to get an interview with me for a while, so I'm just so happy for you we could have this time! First off, I just wanna give a shout-out to all my Party Animals! WASUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!! Let me hear you out there!"
The audience seemed evenly split between cheers and boos.
"Oh, and to my beau, my one and only, Keven Se7en, I miss you! Good luck at the Celebrity's Choice Awards! And to everyone watching at home, make sure to keep living the Party Girl Lifestyle™ by picking up our award-deserving single, '1-luv, 2-gether, 4-evr,' out in record stores now! Kisses!!"
"I didn't know that you could sing," commented Allen.
"Never took a single lesson!" Party Girl chirped back.
She beamed at the camera, flashing her blindingly white teeth while tossing her pink-tipped bleached blonde hair, revealing the right third had been braided into solid pink dreadlocks. The massive bandage stuck to Party Girl's forehead nearly escaped Alicia's notice due to almost fully blending in with her golden tan.
"Okay," said Allen, clearly happy to change the subject. "Party Girl, when you turned 22 last year, you said you were focused on winning your first championship before you turned 23. Queens of War held its Nothing To Lose event this past Monday. That actually fell on your 23rd birthday, didn't it?"
Every feature of Party Girl's visage lit up with a prize-winning smile except her eyes, which bored a searing hole in the interviewer as he spoke. "Thank you, Allen. Yes, the past 12 months of my social calendar have been amazing for me and all my Party Animals. Love you guys! Mwa! And an extra-special thanks to everyone who came out for my birthday last week! Besides the car, mural, and private concert, your cheers were the best gift of all! And you're right, I accomplished, like, so much. For me to remain undefeated throughout my entire three-year career, I-"
"Just to clarify, when you say 'undefeated,' you are of course referring to your record in non-title matches," Allen corrected. "Fans will recall you lost your ladder match for the TV Championship against Black Violet at Nothing To Lose."
"Actu-"
"Here are some highlights from that match."
The screen cut to a match graphic of Party Girl standing opposite a tall, lanky woman with long, matted black hair and pale, sickly skin. Her porcelain-white face had been painted to look as though she were weeping purple tears, and she was shawled in what looked like the torn remains of a straightjacket.
The first clip showed the pale woman effortlessly heft a metal ladder like a lance and charge at Party Girl, cracking her in the forehead. The next clip showed Party Girl leaping off the edge of the ring and dropkicking a folding chair into Black Violet's face. Then a clip of Party Girl being body slammed off the edge of the ring through a table that split neatly in two on impact. Then followed a clip of Black Violet dumping out a cloth bag full of thumbtacks onto the mat. After that, a clip of Party Girl, face masked in blood, trading punches with Black Violet at the top of the ladder. The fracas caused the ladder to tip, spilling both women onto the tacks.
The final clip showed Party Girl slowly climbing the ladder while Black Violet lay buried in the splintered wreckage of a table near one of the corners. Just as Party Girl's fingertips brushed the title belt suspended about 12 feet above the ring by a cable, Black Violet jolted to life, rolled onto her belly, spider-walked to the ladder, and slithered up the other side. The birthday girl swung a few loaded right-hand shots into the pale competitor's forehead with a set of hot pink brass knuckles, but Black Violet held on.
In one sudden, maniac surge, Black Violet lunged over the top of the ladder, grabbed Party Girl by the hair, and sank her teeth deep into the millionaire socialite's neck. Party Girl screamed and thrashed while trying to pull Black Violet off her. Just as the challenger managed to free herself, Black Violet gave her a violent shove, sending her thoroughly wrecked opponent back down onto the thumbtacks still littering the mat.
Black Violet reached up and unhooked the belt from the cable, winning the match. She held the belt tight in her arms, staring at it as Party Girl's blood trickled from the champion's lips and ran down her chin. She gently rocked the title belt in her arms and appeared to be humming it a lullaby.
The camera cut back to Party Girl standing with the interviewer backstage. Her face was tightened into a look of practiced cheeriness, but her eyes burned with unmistakable rage. The jet-setting pugilist was practically trembling as she struggled to maintain her poise.
"Watching the loss back again a week later, do you have any thoughts or comments to share about the match?" asked Allen, extending the microphone to his guest.
Party Girl locked eyes with Allen for several seconds of uncomfortable silence. "...................... Mm-hmm!" she squeaked through a fake smile and gritted teeth. "That's right, Allen, I did turn 23 last week! And as amazing and as memorable as it was for each and every one of you to see me in action, I already have the best idea for my next birthday! As you know, every year, I do things bigger and better, so that's why I guarantee that on my 24th birthday next year, I'll be partying with 24 karats of championship gold around these hips. So write it on your calendar in pen, because you're all invited, and that's a Party Girl pinky promise! And as for you, Black Violet? Consider yourself lucky I let you walk away from my birthday bash last week. Actually, you're lucky I invited you at all!" Party Girl stuck out her tongue to the camera as the interview ended.
"Is she always like that?" asked Alicia.
Jim shook his head. "No. Sometimes she can be pretty immature."
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