Alicia Goon 040: Vegemite

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Descriptions of blood and extreme violence

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It felt nice to do the stalking for once as Black Violet scrambled to her hands and feet. Alicia raised her hockey stick high and swung it down like an ax at the back of her tormentor's knee. As if on instinct, Black Violet rolled out of harm's way at the last possible moment, sparing herself another crippling blow. A split-second later, she was up like a flash and slingshotting back off the ropes at the challenger still recovering from the wild overhead swing. The tape didn't do Black Violet justice. Even with a solid blow to the kneecap, she had enough speed for a baseball slide between Alicia's legs.

Just as Alicia thought to turn around, two cold, sticky hands clawed their way up her face toward her eye sockets. She grit her teeth and again stuck to the gameplan: don't waste energy fighting Black Violet's unbreakable grip. Instead, Alicia slammed the blade of her stick against her captor's left shin and dragged the wooden blade straight down the bone. The sudden pain bought Alicia enough time to shift her head a few inches to the side. Although not much, it offered a few seconds respite from the cracked yellow talons digging into her cheeks and eyelids.

Alicia slammed the blade of the stick into the same shin and once again scraped the wounded flesh. Rather than loosen her grip, Black Violet leapt onto Alicia's back, forcing the challenger to bear her attacker's entire weight. The former hockey player dropped her stick, reached back and grabbed a handful of greasy, matted hair in her right hand, wrapped her left arm around Black Violet's leg, and took two unsteady steps toward the corner. 

With a signature burst of power, Alicia threw herself and her passenger out of the ring through the top and middle ropes. There was enough momentum to partially roll in midair and position Black Violet to take the worst of the fall. A split-second after hearing and feeling all the wind rush from the champion's lungs, Alicia felt her left shoulder smack into the barely padded concrete. 

The ponytailed referee still in the ring started her count, "One! Two!"

Black Violet lay flat on her back, wheeze-coughing between soggy gasps for air. This was a chance. Alicia got to her feet and reached into her gym bag's side pocket. Her fingers and thumb slipped into place as she withdrew a pair of cast-iron fabric scissors Zack used for making his renfaire getups. 

"Three! Fou-" The referee stopped the count as soon as Alicia crouched at Black Violet's feet and secured a grip on her right ankle. 

Alicia plunged the blades between Black Violet's ragged shoelaces. The material was durable enough to slow Alicia down as she cut her way through the filthy, crisscrossed laces all the way to the top. With the laces completely severed, the mismatched wrestling shoe on Black Violet's right foot visibly loosened. The champion started to struggle, but Alicia couldn't afford to let her get away. She grabbed Black Violet's left ankle and stood up, then swung a hard toe kick into the back of her left knee--the same knee that felt the kiss of a hockey stick moments earlier--coaxing enough compliance out of Black Violet to allow Alicia to roll her onto her belly.

Alicia dropped onto the small of her opponent's back in a seated position and pulled Black Violet's left leg into a Single-leg Boston Crab. Rather than torque back on the captured leg, Alicia instead pulled her opponent's foot into place and secured a tight grip. Black Violet struggled to catch her breath as the challenger wedged the scissors between the laces of her left wrestling shoe and got to work. One at a time, the laces gave way as the special-purpose scissors chewed through the material, but there wasn't enough time to finish the job. 

Alicia yelped as Black Violet bucked her onto the floor. No. Don't lose track of her. Alicia rolled onto her back just in time to see a pair of mismatched wrestling shoes and bloodstained hospital scrubs speed past and instinctively tightened her grip on the scissors as she felt something determined and powerful trying to tug them away. One more yank, and Alicia and the crowd gasped in unison as Black Violet took control of the scissors. 

Alicia rolled to the side a split-second before the scissors slammed into the floor where her head had been. Another blur of motion sped past as Alicia pushed up to all-fours. Black Violet sprang from the floor to the apron and up to the top turnbuckle with uncanny grace. Much less so when she leaped off, scissors clutched tight in both hands. Hungry black eyes and a slick, bloodstained mouthful of spikes descended upon the grounded competitor. "AAAAALLLLLLLIIIIIIIIICCCCIIIIIIIAAAAAA!!" 

Every instinct screamed full-volume at Alicia to get out of the way, scramble under the ring, and look for something heavy to hit Black Violet with--but that wasn't the gameplan. She instead shot from the ground, threw both arms out wide, and caught her screeching assailant in a bearhug. Genuine confusion registered on Black Violet's sallow, painted features as she dangled inches from the floor while Alicia crushed the air out of her. That momentary shock turned to violent resistance, and Alicia struggled to maintain her grip as her rabid opponent flailed at her back with the scissors.

Rather than let go, Alicia charged toward the ringpost with a full head of steam, plowing Black Violet's back into the steel. The impact stunned the champ long enough for Alicia to transition the bearhug into a front waistlock. She dropped low, popped her hips, and threw her weight backwards, sending Black Violet sailing overhead with a Belly-to-belly Suplex. Alicia knew as soon as she hit the floor, it would be a race to get back to her feet. Just as she got to her knees, that unbreakable grip latched onto her left braid and yanked her head back hard enough to cause whiplash. Something struck Alicia in the forehead, and then something warm ran down the bridge of her nose. 

Alicia gazed up at Black Violet's painted, weeping expression that somehow looked both pale and dark silhouetted against the arena lights. Clutched tight in her bony hand were those cast iron scissors, which she again gouged into Alicia's exposed forehead. Although Alicia hadn't felt the first cut to draw blood, she really felt the second. The unforgiving metal scuffed open the flesh as it tore another angry wound into her forehead, eliciting a scream of agony from the trapped challenger. A trail of blood rolled down her temple and cheek a second later. A third vicious stab ripped open a hole just above Alicia's right eyebrow, and the resulting fountain of claret temporarily forced her eye shut as it poured down her face and onto her white and yellow hockey jersey.

An earsplitting screech preceded a fourth plunge of the scissors that grew even louder when Alicia grabbed Black Violet's wrist and held it tight. Seemingly determined to turn Alicia's forehead into burger, the scissor-wielding Mother of Nightmares bared her fangs and bent closer to snap at Alicia's fingers. The challenger tried to pull her hand away from those snapping, eager jaws, and Black Violet leaned closer. Alicia held Black Violet's wrist tight in both hands as she rose to her feet and charged the ringpost, judo flipping the ghost of Plunj Arena over her shoulder and headfirst into the steel. The champion went down in a heap, clutching her wounded skull as the scissors clattered to the floor beside her.

The referee once again started her count. "One! Two! Three! Four!" 

The scissors lay on the ground within arm's reach, so Alicia reached. With blood pouring down her face and the bloody tailor's implement clutched tight in her hand, she looked every bit as deranged as the champion. Alicia leaped onto her downed opponent's back and snatched her left ankle. Rather than work on Black Violet's injured left knee, she secured a formidable grip around that ankle and slipped one of the scissor blades under the remaining uncut portions of Black Violet's shoelaces. Come on, come on! Alicia shouted internally. Progress slowed to a near standstill as her tool snagged just short of the finish line on a Gordian facsimile of a bow. She repositioned the scissors for the final cut when a sharp tug on the back of her jersey nearly threw her off. Snip. A smile spread across Alicia's face as she crossed off another step of the plan.

She changed her grip on the scissors and swiped at her literal hanger-on's arm. Despite impaling only the air, the threat of a clean hit made Black Violet let go of Alicia's jersey. Instead, a surge of disproportionate strength threw Alicia nearly face-first to the floor hard enough that she only just broke her fall with her forearms - all that front bump training paid off. 

Black Violet scrambled clear to regroup. Alicia had lost the chance to stay on her, but maybe she traded it for an opportunity, if she was quick. Black Violet rose to her hands and knees to a spider crawl away, but a sudden tug on the champion's left leg got her attention. Alicia lunged with both arms outstretched, using every inch of her six-foot-three stature to wrap her fingers around the red, worn-through heel of her wriggling opponent's shoe. Black Violet met the annoyance with violence. She cocked back her right leg and kicked Alicia again and again in the face as the bloody wrestler tried to keep her head down and crawl forward while maintaining a tight grip on her stalker's left ankle.

Kicks struck Alicia's head like raindrops that hurt like the dickens, turning the trickle of blood dripping onto the floor into a steady stream. Alicia rose to her feet and yanked Black Violet up off the floor by one leg to flip her onto her back. Unphased by the landing, the howling, furious champ resumed kicking at her captor. Left knee flush to the back of her right knee. Release the left foot with your right hand, step over. Keep turning… One of the kicks nearly sent Alicia sprawling, but she had already stepped into place. She dropped backwards onto the floor and poured on the pressure. Black Violet threw her head back and howled like a rusty door in a storm.

Alicia took the opportunity not to be hoist upon her own scissors and cast the horrible, her-own-blood-soaked shears aside. Back to the matter at hand - so to speak. She clamped two large, powerful hands around the loosened wrestling footwear to a surprising amount of resistance. The Mother of Nightmares wore her shoes tight. One, two, three, four quick wrenches and Alicia pulled the worn, moldy shoe free, overwhelming her senses with a scent of vinegar and hot summer roadkill. Eau de trenchfoot. Yellow, splintered toenails tipped the foulest appendage Alicia ever beheld. She reeled at the stench of success wafting from Black Violet's gangly bare left foot and flung the cursed object into the crowd. Forgive me.

Black Violet used her powerful arms to roll herself over, forcing Alicia to break the hold to avoid having the submission reversed. Both competitors scrambled to their feet, but Black Violet was up first. Like a flash, she ensnared Alicia's right hand and pulled the challenger up and into a Short-arm Clothesline that sent her right back down to the floor.

Black Violet maintained her grip and once again yanked Alicia to her feet and then off them, effortlessly lifting Alicia's muscular 193-pound frame up onto her shoulders. Black Violet took three steps towards the steel guardrail and dropped the challenger onto it, content to let gravity do the rest. Despite managing to get her hands and arms up, Alicia's skull bounced off the steel on the way to the floor. The pounding headache was enough on its own without the ringing in her ears. Her aching muscles screamed for mercy as she pressed up off the floor while a growing puddle formed on the floor beneath her as blood streamed from multiple gaping wounds across her forehead. The attack seemed to relent for a moment. 

That probably wasn't a good sign. 

Alicia turned her stiff neck and plummeted into a bloodshot void. Piranha grin. A porcelain white complexion weeping purple warpaint. A vinyl torture chamber of hooks. Black Violet yanked her prey closer by a fistful of hair. Shadow descended as the feral champion lifted the body bag into position above her struggling captive. She wanted to give Alicia a hood.

Rather than fight the unassailable grip around her braid, Alicia cocked her head back and drove a sharp headbutt into the champion's nose. She threw her head back again. Another quick shot to the point of the nose landed flush, and Black Violet's unbreakable grip seemed to loosen. Alicia dragged herself away from her opponent and up to her feet, racing toward a security guard seated at the corner where two guardrails met. 

"Move! I'm taking this!" she shouted as she waved off the bearded security guard with one hand before throwing him off with two. She grabbed the chair, lifted it, and turned. "MMmmffphhh!" protested Alicia, doubling over as a wrestling shoe buried itself in her stomach.

The chair clattered to the floor as Black Violet pulled Alicia's head into her hip in a side headlock. In one fluid motion, Black Violet leapt onto the barricade and then off, using her momentum to spin Alicia headfirst down onto the steel chair with a Tornado DDT. The challenger's skull struck the steel with a noise closer to a splat than a clang. The wiped-out challenger rolled off of the chair, staring through glassy eyes at a starburst-patterned bloodstain on the seat. Her forehead throbbed, and ached, and pounded, and each thought hurt worse than the last.

"One! Two! Three ! Four! Five! Si-"

Alicia rolled onto her side and tried to gather herself up to all-fours. Black Violet did it for her.

With one hand around Alicia's throat and the other hooked under her arm, Black Violet dragged her to something approaching upright, gathered momentum, and slung her shoulder-first into the steel ring steps. The TV Champion turned and stalked toward the bloodstained chair with a slightly lopsided gait. Gnarled fingers closed around the steel. Black Violet loomed over her victim with a diabolical glint in her eye and a face masked in sinister implication.

Things were no longer going according to plan.

Alicia Goon 039: Cheers

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Descriptions of blood and violence

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"I'm going to take one more look around to make sure I'm not forgetting anything," Robert wheezed, his hair sweaty and no doubt rapidly cooling in the night air. Packing for the move had gone well. What her former housemate lacked in upper body strength, he at least made up for in enthusiasm. Within a matter of a few evenings, they had managed to pack Robert's whole life into boxes, all in preparation for this. It felt final. The two former housemates stood beneath the untamed canopy of cedar and hugged each other--one much tighter than the other.

"We're still hanging out all the time," Alicia said matter-of-factly. "And if you ever just want to talk, you've got my number. About anything. Like we're teenagers."

Robert lifted a sleeve to his forehead and wiped away the sweat. With one sharp laugh, he replied, "I haven't done that since I was a teenager." He added, "But yeah, I would love to."

Alicia replied with genuine relief in her voice, "Seriously, even if it's n-" Movement in her peripheral vision seized her attention and took her smile as something skittered across the carpet a few feet away: a seven-and-three-quarter-legged wolf spider, big as her palm. "Robert," gasped Alicia as it galloped past them down the hall. Eyes still locked on the retreating arachnid, Alicia reached back with one hand expectantly. "Give me anything to hit it with. What do you have?"

"Nothing, but," Robert stammered. "Um... Alicia? Don't be mad."

Alicia turned from the scampering visitor to her visibly nervous best friend in wide-eyed horror. "Oh, Robert. Tell me you didn't," she begged. But he did. Robert had been harboring a fugitive.

"I swear I didn't bring Ralph in," Robert insisted. "I just didn't kick him out. It's cold out there, you know? He's missing part of his leg. Who's he hurting? Can you please not kill him?”

"Robert, those things can bite you!" Alicia retorted.

“Yeah, if you mess with them! They're not your enemy or out to get you. That's just how they react when provoked." Robert licked his lips as he tried to arrange the next sentence, "And I guess he was kind of," he trailed off. No, Robert. Please no. "Sort of like a roommate?" 

Begrudgingly, Alicia had to concede Robert at least held the high ground, "That's really nice of you, I think? I'm sorry! They really scare me. I can't stand them. I'm already on edge enough as it is."

"I'm not saying you have to, but would you please at least think about it?” Robert pleaded.

If it were anyone else asking, Alicia would have stood her ground. "If he stays on his side of the house, he's the next tenant's problem, but my side belongs to me. Okay?"

Robert sighed, not fully satisfied with the answer but unwilling to press the issue. "Alright, I'm going to have one more look around, then you can follow me in your car to the new place?" Alicia nodded. His eyes met hers as his face lifted in gratitude. "I really appreciate all your help. I know it's a long drive."

She gave Robert a one-armed hug and replied, "It's 40 minutes. And anyway, you helped clean up after the break-in, and you took care of the, um... the burial. I appreciate it." Robert nodded. "So if you ever move again, don't bother with the amateurs. Give me a call."

"You're welcome," answered Robert. "And thank you. I mean it. I couldn't have done this without you."

They enjoyed a moment of contented silence in each other's company. Alicia nodded back in agreement, "Same."

* * * * *

"I hope you appreciate me doing this," Sabrina half-jokingly grumbled over the mild but constant sound of wireless telephone static. "But if I end up with broken fingers, I'm gonna return the favor."

Alicia held the handset between her left cheek and shoulder as she scrubbed her plastic lunch containers at the break room sink. "I do. Really, really I do. Just please make sure it's in place by the timekeeper's table, okay?"

"You're crazy and this plan is stupid," chuckled Sabrina. "And if anyone asks, I'm taking credit." 

"49%," corrected Alicia, dabbing her silverware dry on a threadbare blue hand towel. "Alright, it's nearly 5:00. I need to say some goodbyes. See you in gorilla?"

"Yeah, see you there." Beep.

She returned the transient wireless phone to the countertop and returned to her desk. A somberness hung in the air of the Friday-at-quitting-time bustle. Shirley and Maxine stood side-by-side at the reception door, purse straps over their shoulders, sharing their last “have a nice weekend.” 

The time had come to leave her work-nana’s nest. Maxine threw her arms around Alicia for one more, “Goodbye, Miss Alicia." Alicia embraced her friend back just as tight. "And I'm sure I’ll see you around." Maxine threw her moonlighting colleague a wink.

Alicia let go of Maxine, except for her hands. “I’ll call to set up a date as soon as things settle down at my new job,” promised Alicia, finally allowing her former coworker’s fingers to slip through hers as Maxine turned to the door.

The only part of Sherry that turned was her expression. “Okay, Alicia, I didn’t want to have to ask, but I’d like that explanation you promised.”

Right. It wasn’t that the wrestler/almost-former office assistant wanted to keep her other coworkers in the dark so much as a desire to keep her two lives separate, but that line had long ago been crossed and crossed again many more times since. Perhaps Robert was right: there was only ever one life. How best to explain it? The truth, probably. Alicia cleared her throat and confessed, “I’m a pro wrestler. That's why my face is all,” she held up her hands to her visible bruises and cuts. "Like this."

The hygienist's eyes popped wide open for a moment before pleasant surprise lifted her previously quite stern expression. “Ohhhh! I was so worried! Why didn't you say anything?”

“I don't know. I guess I was worried what people would think,” mumbled Alicia, plugging the silence while she waited for the other shoe to drop. Another beat came and went. Nothing. “Don’t tell Dr. Pupe?”

With a nod, a shrug, and an indifferent little smirk, Sherry answered, “Sure.” Oh, thought Alicia, somehow disappointed by the anti-climax. “Good luck on your next,” Sherry whispered, “match,” before returning to full volume, “whenever it is!”

“Tonight.”

“Oh!” replied Sherry with a small chuckle, “Hope you win!”

“Me too,” Alicia agreed and waved one final goodbye to her now-former coworkers as the door swung shut. 

She sat back at her desk to pass the idle minutes in silence with her butterflies. The sound of the break room door opening and the look-busy reflex interrupted the screensaver frog’s trek across the lily pads. Alicia grabbed the mouse and clicked open a spreadsheet. 

“Alicia,” called Dr. Pupe. “If all your work’s done, you’re free to go. I’ll clock you out.”

Alicia took a moment to recover before asking, “You sure?” Dr. Pupe nodded in response, clearly making an effort to be a nice guy at the last possible moment, when it mattered the least. Still, at this final moment, she felt like appreciating it. “Thanks. And thank you, seriously, for keeping me on the past two-and-a-half or so years. I know I gave you a few reasons not to,” said Alicia, shutting down her computer a final time.

“Except for those times, it was nice having you aboard,” replied her now-former boss.

Alicia rose from her desk and grabbed the box of Mondoz Robert left behind in the shared kitchen. "Something to remember me by. -R" read the note scribbled on half a sheet of printer paper. She couldn't help but share it at the office to a series of horrified reactions. Three steps from the main entrance, she froze. Alicia reached into her pocket and withdrew the key to the reception door. The back of her head heated up as she slowly turned to find a smirk veiled beneath an ashen mustache. 

She groaned, “I promised myself all day I would surprise you by remembering to lock the door.”

“You’ve surprised me enough, Alicia. It was nice to see you go out playing the hits. Let’s just agree we’re both better off this way. Best of luck in your future endeavors.” 

It wasn't the nicest good bye and good luck. As good as it might have felt to get in one last dig, it wasn’t worth a chance to end what had been a mostly unpleasant experience on mostly pleasant terms. “Thanks,” Alicia replied. Polite little wave. 

Out the door and into the car. She turned the key, cranked the heat, and checked her mobile. 5:17 PM, battery at three of four bars, 1 text message.

Fri Feb 13, 2004

4:11 PM PARTY GIRL (370)167-5770
we need 2 talk b4 ur match i dont want u to go out there 2nite wo tellin u sry plz meet @ my dressin room just nock on the door

Hopefully, she meant it, although Alicia fully expected the reconciliation, if for no other reason than she doubted anyone else would willingly tag with the Party Girl brand’s self-appointed mascot. Time to face whatever life had for her next, and the fishhook body bag it had prepared for her. Breathe in, breathe out. Drive.

* * * * *

“Way to go, bestie! Main event! Wooo!” cried Party Girl, her excitement noncontagious. "I wish I had seen your promo." She looked at the can of Cinnamon with X-tra Hold clutched in her hand before looking Alicia in the eye and asking with sincere curiosity, "Do you know anyone who would be interested in buying a quarter-million or so units of Party Perm?" 

In the span of two hours, the young mogul's mood had shifted from sorrow to vengeful and then back to the baseline level of manic. The upcoming match seemed to have Party Girl on edge, as well. Dealing with nerves presented enough of a challenge without the distraction of a room saturated in eye-biting pink. Although to be fair to the decorator, the cause of Alicia's headache actually sat four feet away in a pink bean bag chair. 

"What? No. Sorry. Why?" asked the preoccupied main-eventer.

Party Girl's mouth opened to give an explanation, but thought better of it. A few false starts later, she tried her luck again with a revised answer, "It's selling so well that I have a very large inventory I need to offload extremely quickly because I have another massive shipment on the way." A whole lot of vacant nothing behind the faraway look behind Party Girl's eyes. More so than usual. But the Look returned to dissolve the appearance of tension. "And my accountant keeps calling to say 'great job, keep it up!'" 

Alicia answered again with a shake of her head. A knock at the door interrupted the pep rally. Alicia bounded to the door in two strides and threw it open. 

"You're up, Goon," said the woman with the headset. "Are you ready?"

Alicia double-checked to ensure she had all her carry-on items with her. "Got my gym bag. Got my hockey stick." Breathe in, breathe out. This was it. "Yes. Let's go." To Alicia's surprise, Party Girl trotted alongside her. "You following me to gorilla?"

"I'm not going to let her ambush you on the way to the ring," answered Party Girl with a purpose in her voice Alicia hadn't heard since the night Party Girl first proposed going for tag team gold. 

Through the door to production, past the threshold, and into the void. Alicia instinctively shot a quick glance over both shoulders. For the first time, the crew and backstage staff paused and took notice of Alicia on the way to gorilla. 

"Why's it called gorilla position, anyway?" asked Party Girl.

"It's- I'll tell you later. I need to focus," Alicia answered back, voice full of nerves. 

There was one face she needed to see before stepping through the curtain. Her eyes strained in the dark to find her former trainer. They caught each other's gaze just as Alicia stepped on her mark behind the curtain. 

Sabrina rose from the showrunner's desk and trotted over. She still had the cast on her arm. "I know I said we couldn't talk, but tonight's the exception," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Better, but still not good. Is everything in place?" If the plan failed or misfired or, heaven forbid, backfired at the do-or-die moment, the cost would be dear. Win or lose, Black Violet's favorite chew toy expected the night to end in an ambulance. Alicia wondered how much of it she'd remember.

Sabrina's lip turned up in a sneer. "I nearly took my fingers off three different times," she said, holding up as many digits. "But it's ready to go. Not sure why you glued them to the underside."

Genuine giddiness washed over Party Girl's expression. "Oh my God, it's gonna be hilarious if she falls for it. Can you imagine her face?" The former teacher and student exchanged concerned glances.

"It better. I don't have a backup plan if it doesn't," Alicia confessed with a loud sigh. Her eyes darted to the can of Party Perm. "I could use a drink." 

As if on cue, a pristinely manicured hand extended a pink and dark red spray canister towards her. She pretended not to notice Party Girl's proud smile as she took the can, shook it thoroughly, and brought it to her lips. Tears poured from Alicia's eyes as a literally intoxicating deluge of artificial, so-sweet-it-burns cinnamon overpowered her senses.

The voice of Guy Brody over the speakers made the inevitable official, "Your main event for tonight is a Last Woman Standing match scheduled for one fall-

"One fall!" the crowd called back.

"-With no time limit. There are no rules, no count-outs, no rope breaks, and anything goes. The match can only end when one competitor is unable to stand and answer the referee's ten-count."

"You're up, Goon," called Allen from his desk, making no effort to hide his irritation at yet another backstage reunion.

"You've got lots of ways to get her into a Figure Four Leglock," Sabrina said, slapping her former student on the shoulder as she wiped the Party Perm tears from her eyes. "Look for a good opportunity, not the first opportunity. Like you said, you have one shot. I'll see you after."

The sound of skates carving a path across the ice played over the sound system, followed by the crack of a slapshot and the blast of a horn while a red, revolving lamp bathed the crowd in its glow.

Allen shouted, "Goon, you're on!"

Through the curtain. Roaring crowd. Four-thousand screaming faces, but in a good way. The newcomer raised her hockey stick and held it there, allowing the anticipation to build.

Bang. 

Alicia slammed the butt of the wooden stick down again and again on the steel stage platform while the rhythmic stomps and claps of a unified audience built until they echoed from the rafters. The crowd response crescendoed as the beat picked up. She twirled the weapon overhead, then drove the hockey stick blade down onto stage and fired an unseen slapshot of her own. 

The ring announcer continued Alicia's introduction as a renewed chorus of cheers accompanied the wrestler high-fiving her way down the ramp, "Introducing first, the challenger, wrestling out of Longstat, Minnesota and weighing 193 pounds, she is the tooth collector. She is the one-woman power play. She is THE GOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!!!" 

Alicia reached for the top rope and pulled herself up onto the ring apron in one giant step, pushed the top rope down and stepped over, and headed to center ring. She clutched her stick in both hands high above her head, drawing a renewed wave of cheers. The adulation turned to gasps and then silence as the lights above a section of bleachers to Alicia's right flickered and cut out. Another ka-chunk of what she assumed was a lighting array shutting off dimmed another section behind her. Shadow seeped in now from the left as those lights turned off as well. Two more sections followed and then the rest, turning the arena black as pitch.

Two more sounds, similar but smaller - ka-chunk, ka-chunk - pierced the eerie silence, and the glow of a pair of spotlights teased Alicia's light-starved eyes. One beam remained focused on the challenger, while the other pried among the crowd as if searching for something. Someone. Alicia spun in place at the thought of an ambush, but found only darkness. 

A handful of bloodcurdling screams cut through the low din of nervous chatter in the stands. Both searchlights snapped to a section of the front row close to where Alicia had been looking, leaving the challenger once again in darkness. A section of fans shrieked and shrank in their seats as a pale figure weeping violet tears and shawled in the stained tatters of a straitjacket slithered at their feet towards the guardrail. With one visibly clammy hand then the other, Black Violet reached for the steel and pulled herself over. Behind those craterous eyes, two tiny pinpricks of light peeled away Alicia's defenses. For the first time in a fight, she felt scared. 

"Her opponent, with no officially recorded weight and hailing from Parts Unknown, she is the eater of light. She is the Mother of Nightmares. She is your reigning and defending Queens of War TV Champion. She is BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK VIIIIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOOOOLEEEEEET!!!!!!" 

The champion dragged a black vinyl body bag behind her. Around her neck hung the Queens of War TV Championship belt. Alicia could see now her opponent wore what looked liked bloodstained white hospital scrubs. Her wrestling shoes looked worn and mismatched, but sturdy enough. Black Violet crawled to the timekeeper's area and rose to her feet long enough to bow her head and allow the belt to fall from her shoulders onto the table. The timekeeper wisely shrank away from the title belt as Black Violet turned and scampered up the ring steps on her hands and feet. She discarded the body bag on the top step and crawled into the ring. Only when she reached her corner did Black Violet rise to her full stature of well over six feet tall. Alicia slowly backed into her corner and slung her old, tacky neon green gym bag to the canvas.

Alicia hadn't seen it at first, but as Black Violet slunk nearer, she noticed something dangling from the champion's mouth. It looked like a white cloth bag about the size of a pillowcase shut tight with a drawstring. Black Violet popped her jaw open and allowed the bag to fall to the mat. The champion crouched in her corner with her gnarled, ivory-white hands wrapped tight around the blood-red middle ropes. Though the lights came back up, darkness still somehow clung to her.

Ding!

The pro wrestling banshee shrieked as she tore across the ring, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" 

"Pfffttt!" spat Alicia, blowing a cloud of 130-proof, sugary-sweet cinnamon hairspray cocktail into those dark, bloodshot eyes. The crowd came alive as Black Violet howled in fury. The straitjacketed competitor stumbled backward, clawing at her face. Alicia saw her window and smashed it. 

She took a step forward, planted her feet, and unloaded a crushing right hook directly into her ravenous opponent's midsection. The Gut Check caught the temporarily blinded Black Violet unprepared, doubling her over and forcing her to suck air. Alicia pressed the advantage, tightening both hands around her weapon of choice. She hauled back for a generous wind-up and swung the heel of the wooden stick directly into her nemesis' left kneecap. The gurgling, ragged gasps and furious shrieking turned to howls of agony as Black Violet's leg folded beneath her. The barest trace of a smile lifted the right corner of Alicia's lips. Sabrina was right: it really was fun to have a gameplan.

Alicia Goon 038: Movie night

Content warning, highlight the hidden text between the lines: 

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Descriptions of blood and violence

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Allen lowered the microphone and shrank inside his crimson suit like the air had been let out of him. The made-for-TV smile melted and refroze into a look of utter bafflement. "I have about a thousand questions," he remarked. "And they're all the same word: why?" 

"She won't leave me alone," said Alicia, throwing up her arms in exasperation. "I touched her belt, and now she's stalking me. In the arena, at home, who knows where else. She wants a match. I guess I'm going to give it to her."

Confusion mixed with disbelief on Allen's face. "Black Violet followed you home?" 

"She's made it clear this is what she wants," muttered Alicia, casting her gaze to the linoleum floor. "It's the only way."

A hush shouldered its way into the conversation as the weight of her disjointed explanation settled upon Allen's brow. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to consider the claim before offering his thoughts, "Huh." Alicia endured an uncomfortable stretch of silence, waiting for him to offer any insight, but he had spoken his piece. "Alright. Well, good luck next week," offered Allen in lieu of advice, encouragement, or help.

Hardly a bother when Alicia knew someone who could offer all three. "Sabrina here tonight?" she asked.

"Ah," said Allen, making a sound that has never preceded good news. "We've got her in Mexico scouting until next Thursday. She did say to let you into her office if you want to watch tape as long as you don't–and let me make sure I get this right–'jack up the VCR.'" Finger quotes. Of course he used finger quotes. "Call ahead to make sure I'm there, and I'll open it up for you. I'm not just handing you her keys. Cool?" With a casual half-salute, Allen headed with his crew toward the production area. A few steps further down the hall, he called back over his shoulder, "For what it's worth, you definitely did just make us some money."

Alicia found the unpainted wooden hockey stick that was supposed to protect her about a dozen feet farther down the corridor than expected. Despite Black Violet's sickly, elongated appearance, those wiry arms posed a significant danger. Alicia wondered if crawling around in the ducts on her hands and knees would explain the incredible upper body and grip strength. That, along with startling reach and easily standing six feet tall, allowed Black Violet to overwhelm Alicia in each of their encounters so far. Although she did have the benefit of surprise, thought Alicia in her own defense. And home field advantage, let's be fair. A straight contest could either be a different story or a different chapter from the same book. She trudged back out the staff and talent entrance and trekked across the parking lot back to the car, either numb or indifferent to the cold. She had left the door unlocked.

Alicia collapsed into the driver's seat and leaned back, then she turned the key, cranked the heat, and closed her eyes. 

She took a minute.

Since no one was looking, she took a few more. 

She wanted another but she forced her eyes open. She didn't skip a workout day on account of a sore throat, and that same internal coach once again kept Alicia honest. The weight of spent adrenaline hung from her limbs as she slid the cell phone from her pocket. She had just come face-to-face with her fanged, blood-drinking wrestle-stalker in her boiler room lair and beheld her homemade death cocoon; now it was time for the scary part. 

Darvingtonfordhamfordshire Upon Avon was six hours ahead of Beaver, Illinois. Alicia could only hope that somehow Party Girl was awake, alert, energetic, and feeling talkative at 1:30 AM on a Saturday. That seemed unlikely, given all the skiing it sounded like Party Girl was doing.

Breathe in, breathe out. Alicia hit 1 on the speed dial. She waited two rings and part of a third. 

"HEY THE GOON I'M IN A CLUB NOW! CAN YOU HEAR THAT IT'S LOUD IN HERE?!" Party Girl's formidable volume held its own against the overpowering beat of electronic club music.

A drawn-out sigh escaped Alicia's lips. Right. Of course she's up. She screwed her eyes shut in a wince of anticipation before answering, "Yeah, i- YEAH, IT'S REALLY LOUD! CAN YOU GET SOMEWHERE QUIET? IT'S VERY IMPORTANT!"

"OKAY, AFTER THIS SONG THOUGH, ALRIGHT?" Party Girl answered back.

Eleven minutes and twenty-nine seconds later, the throbbing rhythmic computer noises ended or at least became different sounds. Alicia could hear the music slightly fade as Party Girl left the dance floor and must have recognized someone as they shared a little hello and a 15-minute conversation about why Janice was a not-nice woman (not in those words) and how Party Girl's favorite assistant should switch to a dandruff shampoo. Finally, it sounded like the career socialite made it outside.

"What's up? I'm super busy and my phone's got, like, no battery, so make it quick," said Party Girl, far too loudly for her new surroundings.

The sick pit in Alicia's stomach came back. "I'm sorry, Party Girl. I have bad news. Something terrible happened tonight."

"Uh," sputtered the millionaire. "What are you talking about? I'm fine."

"No, look, somebody, um… not somebody, Black Violet. She, uh," Alicia floundered. She backed up the story a bit and got a running start. "When I got home from work, the door to my side of the house was open."

"So why are you telling me?" asked Party Girl before seemingly asking herself that question. "You- Oh my God, Mr. Cattywampus!" shrieked Party Girl. The disbelief in her voice turned accusatory. "No. Nononono. Tell me right now you didn't let Mr. Cattywampus run away!"

The former cat-sitter had good news and bad news. She braced herself. "No. Something a lot worse."

"But just to you, right?" Alicia didn't appreciate the callous optimism in her tag partner's tone. Party Girl paused for a long-for-her moment of silence, then shouted again into the phone, "Janice! What about Janice? Did you call her? No. Shut up. I'll call Janice. How quickly can you organize a search party?"

Alicia took a moment as she searched for the least worst answer possible. Time was up. The pause had gotten uncomfortable. She instead started saying words as they came to her. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how to tell you this. Black Violet broke into the house while I was at work and trashed my place, and Mr. Cattywampus-" Alicia paused to choke back the lump in her throat. "Mr. Cattywampus is dead. Black Violet, she- I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I locked the door when I left the house. I promise, I swear I locked the door. I don't know how she got in."

Shock, rage, and grief poured through the phone, "What? I don't- How could you let this happen? I trusted you! My presh-presh is gone. You were supposed to take care of Mr. Cattywampus!" Alicia thought she had gotten away with it. Then came the pause. "Wait. Did you leave the door unlocked? Oh my God, at your house! When I visited, you left the door unlocked! She didn't BREAK in?! You fucking LET her in?!"

"No!" Alicia volleyed back. "I told you I locked the door!" She raised her thumb and forefinger to her forehead and tried to massage away the stress of a month-long sleepless nightmare. It was a valiant failure. She retorted with the obvious question, "Why did you leave your cat with me? You knew Black Violet had visited me once already!"

Party Girl shouted back, "Because I wanted to believe in you! Alright? You seemed sure, so I trusted you. I trusted you. You're the smart one, you know?" Her voice started to crack again, "What did you do? What did you even do?! You waited and waited and waited and now my widdle presh-presh is dead! Why did I listen to you? Why didn't you listen to me?!"

Alicia could feel her own emotions rising to match her hopefully-still-but-probably-not tag team partner. Out gushed the apologies, "I'm so sorry, Party Girl. You were right. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm just so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, I just want you to know I am fighting Black Violet next week, okay? I'm going to fight her. I'm just telling you so you know. I know it doesn't make a difference now. It's all my fault. I'm sorry, Party Girl. It's my fault. I know it's too late. I understand if you hate me." That knot rose again in her throat.

Seconds passed, and the unbreakable quiet lingered. Alicia couldn't breathe. She made the first move, "Party-"

Party Girl shed the forever-cheerful demeanor, and her voice dropped to a lower register. "I hope you kill her," said Party Girl. "I wish you would kill her. She deserves it. If anyone deserves it, she does! I want you to kill her. Please? Please would you please just kill her? Literally no one would care. Does anyone even like the crazy turd-smearing psycho living in the vents?" 

"Don't joke like that," said Alicia, chastising her partner with kid gloves, which were pink. "I can promise you, whatever happens, I'm gonna hurt her really bad," promised Alicia. "Really, really bad. Okay? Win or lose, she will never forget what I do to her. Either I leave the ring on my own power or neither of us will."

Party Girl interrupted again, "Why are you talking like a loser? Do you want to turn your career around and prove the haters and doubters wrong? Then win. Take her precious fucking belt! She deserves to have the only thing she loves taken from her. It's the closest she'll ever feel to how I feel now." 

"I have a request," Alicia began the sentence she hoped more than anything she wouldn't regret. "My match with Black Violet? It's a Last Woman Standing match. You've been through too much already. You don't need to have anything to do with this. I know it's personal between you and her, but could you please stay in the back until after the bell? Don't help. She's my monster now."

"I wasn't planning on it," Party Girl answered back matter-of-factly.

"Oh," replied Alicia after a beat.

"But I'll be cheering for you!" offered the celebrity as consolation. The call dropped, and Alicia sat in the car alone.

* * * * *

"Tapes, TV, VCR," Allen said while pointing to each item. "You know what they look like. I don't know why I'm pointing them out. I trust you can find a chair on your own," he remarked, gesturing around the densely packed ten-by-ten-foot office. "Just so you know, the door locks when it's closed. I've got the key, so come get me if you need to get back in."

"Can I just hold onto it and give it back when I leave? I don't want to bother you," said Alicia, attempting a bit of self-serving generosity.

The rebuke was immediate, "No. I told you, I'm not letting you just 'hold onto' the key. Do I look stupid?" Not when you're off-camera. "You and your tiny bladder can knock, and I'll let you back in," Allen repeated.

Hang on. "Sorry, did you say the door locks on its own when you shut it? Automatically?" Jeepers creepers, Dr. Pupe is never going to believe this! thought Alicia, to entirely her own amusement.

"You can also leave it unlocked. I mean, you can't, and I'm not going to, but it can be done." Allen muttered. "We live in exciting times."

Though she couldn't understand it back then, Alicia had known teammates who voluntarily spent their own, limited, personal free time in the tape room - watching tape, no less. Breaking down a play was something an assistant coach did. She played the game on the ice, setting records and putting up hat tricks on the same night as double-digit penalty box minutes, but the Professler's infectious passion turned Alicia into one of those nerds. Watching with Sabrina meant taking the occasional browbeating and getting her ego bruised, but Alicia could bear it now. Wrestlers get used to taking bumps, after all.

Alicia tossed her threadbare, fluorescent green and teal backup gym bag onto the chair next to her and stepped behind the desk with a strange trepidation. She felt like a kid in the teacher's lounge. A folded three-step ladder leaned against the scuffed wall by the bookshelf with the sign at the top reading "Singles, Standard." She checked first under B for Black Violet. No luck. She tried V for Violet, Black. Maybe it was a legal name. Nope. Two shelves from the bottom, another section had been labeled "Singles, Stipulation." There she was. A single VHS tape in a white cardboard sleeve caught her eye.

Black Violet Dec 2001 -
12/7/01 SF vs Riptide (W) 3:10
2/22/02 SF vs Tiffany Bertha (W) 6:12
4/26/02 cage vs Kat Cable (W) 10:07
4/30/02 SF vs Trace Roote (W) 28:58
8/23/02 barb. ropes vs Kendra Terminus (W, TV title) 50:06
10/31/02 barb. cage vs Lady Gallows (W, retains) 1:05:11
11/30/02 I quit vs Shieldbreaker Mazenda (W, retains) 1:18:30
3/31/03 ladder vs Party Girl (W, retains) 1:31:46

Black Violet didn't have many matches on her record, but she was still undefeated. Every single one was some flavor of no-DQ match, assuming "SF" stood for "street fight." How would Sabrina prepare for a fight like this? If Alicia recalled correctly, the retired grappler spent most of her time looking for injuries to exploit. That's something, thought Alicia. She pushed the cassette into the VCR, looked at the back of the VHS box, and fast-forwarded to the start of the first match three minutes and ten seconds in. Then she grabbed a Pupe's Full-Mouth Dentistry pen and leafed through the bicuspid-shaped legal pad looking for a clean page. 

"Ow!" cried Alicia, instinctively bringing her index finger to her mouth and sucking on a fresh papercut.

The final bell of the last match sounded at 8:27 PM, according to Sabrina's wall clock. Alicia paused the cassette on the same camera shot she saw during the Party Girl interview at the first show Alicia attended: Dark, wild eyes, face painted in violet tears, and Party Girl's blood running down her pale chin. Black Violet's unorthodox - heck, unnatural - fighting style made the straitjacketed fighter hard to predict, except for the biting. Lady Gallows grabbed the champion's belt from the referee and held it up to the crowd before Black Violet's title defense. Chomp. Touch the belt, and Black Violet comes running. That definitely feels like something I can use.

More impressive than the champion's capacity for violence was her ability to endure it. After wincing her way through most of those eight bouts, Alicia wondered what it would take to keep her stalker down. Somehow, Black Violet rose from the splintered remains of a barbed-wire table and raced up the ladder to bite Party Girl when she touched the TV Championship belt and retained the title. Shieldbreaker Mazenda looked to have the match won with a Brainbuster onto the steel ring steps. But when she grabbed the championship belt to try and hit Black Violet, Mazenda went from controlling the match to having a set of fangs in her neck to screaming "I quit" in submission in seconds. 

Alicia looked down at the notepad in her lap and felt confident she had circled the words "exploit injuries" enough times. She checked the back of the VHS box again. Black Violet had only fought eight matches total. She was still very much a rookie in her own right, although she probably hadn't been trained at a place like Hard Times. It seemed like a fair assumption--now to wring something useful out of it. With so few matches and little to no formal training, Alicia guessed Black Violet probably didn't know how to escape or reverse submissions, probably couldn't chain wrestle, and probably couldn't reliably counter throws, either. That also feels like something. Shieldbreaker Mazenda had been the only one brave enough to even try, but based on the few examples Alicia had observed, the theory seemed to hold water.

Alicia hadn't noticed any obvious injuries from the tape. Maybe she could create one, but would it even matter? It was a Last Woman Standing match; winning by submission wasn't even possible. The match only ended when one competitor couldn't stand up within a ten-count. What did Alicia have that could keep Black Violet down for ten?

Nothing. 

But something clicked. She thought back to the first time watching tape with Sabrina. Was she focused on the obvious answer and not seeing the correct one? After all, Alicia didn't need to knock Black Violet out for ten seconds - just keep her down. Alicia looked at the papercut on her finger. Maybe she just needed to hit the right spot.

The seeds of a plan started to come together. Sabrina would be proud: one of her lessons about ring awareness finally stuck. The Hard Times graduate tidied up and headed for the parking lot. The match took place in four days. Tomorrow after work, she'd swing by Things 'n More to pick up some supplies for an arts and crafts project. Alicia was feeling inspired.