[Michelle]

15.....14.....13.....

It's expected that you'll joke. It's how humans cope with a dark world full of terrifying secrets. And you're right to be afraid.

12.....11.....10.....

In Alcohol's defense...he has done some pretty dumb shit while completely sober to

[RedEnforcer]

OMG It's almost here!!!!

[Callista]

The lights go back on, and standing in the middle of the ring is Callista Quinn. Her hair has been cut short and dyed black. She's wearing a blue denim vest over a white tee shirt that clings tightly to her tall, slender frame. Matching blue jeans, and black, steel-toed combat boots complete the outfit. And she's got a microphone in her hand.

CALLISTA: I....have come. I have come to put each and every one of you in your rightful place. Yes. I mean you. I mean every one of you bikini-clad bimbos rolling around, tugging each other's hair. I mean every airbrushed airhead who uses the words "bitch", "skank", "whore", "slut", and "cxnt" more times combined than she mentions actual wrestling moves. I have come to represent WRESTLING in this place which so sorely needs more of it.

Callista scowls at the "Clique Wars" banner hung high in the rafters of the FCF arena.

CALLISTA: Wars? A bunch of wanna-be mean girls calling each other names. I'll show you a war. You "cliques" think you scored a win when you make someone cry. We know WE scored a win when someone calls 911. Oh, that's right. I said "we". Because I have come....and I am not alone.

Europe's "The Final Countdown" begins playing. Callista drops the mic and rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope, climbing the guardrail and making her way out through the crowd. At one of the landings halfway up, she climbs the railing, touching the back of her left wrist with her finger like she's checking her watch, before holding her arms out to the side and soaking up the reaction of the crowd....

[RedEnforcer]

*In the back I'm watching the monitor with a few others and seeing that debut and hearing that promo*

Fuck me, that's amazing.

[~Rox Erotique~]

I sit at the bar, nursing the third neat spiced rum this hour, the old beat up TV playing at the end of the bar. Hearing the crowd pop as that bitch makes her entrance back into the world of wrestling...

I sigh and down my drink, raising my hand to signal for another

"You sure you should have another?" a voice behind me chirps, a smile in her voice and I groan again "She's back." the voice finishes. Megan Dow...

"I know." I reply grimly

"Well... What was it you said? If she ever showed her fucking face again then you'd be there in a flash?" She presses

"I know what I fucking said Megan" I growl

"Then how about you put down the drink and start keeping your fucking word, huh Rox?" She hisses back and I turn to face her, my eyes narrowed. For a moment I hesitate. Callista fucking Quinn.... my head drops, my dyed green hair falling over my face. I put my hand in my pocket and pull out a roll of tape, my hands are visibly shaking and I can tell Megan is trying to work out if that's the drink I've been hitting this last few months or something else but the moment I start taping my knuckles up my hands stop. become solid as a rock. the familiar routine and sequence calming me

"OK... i'm ready" I finally reply, getting up off my seat. Feeling like an old warhorse in a world of tanks and fucking gun-ships "And Megan... don't ever doubt my word again" I hiss, my eyes dark and vicious. The normally fiery, volatile, psychopathic brutalist just looks down at the floor and nods.

"Lets do this...."

x G x

[The BIG E]

Standing on the metal scaffolding above the arena, facing the big titantron where most of the cameras are there. Looking on at the crowd's reaction as to what I gather, the return of a true veteran here. Callista. There isn't really a connection between her and me but something tells me that where she goes, trouble will certainly follow. What events will occur now?

Tugging on the brim of my Black Cap, the fitting a little irritating on the forehead. I pull out a phone from the right pocket of my Black Trousers. I dial the number and then wait for the one to pick up.

10 seconds was all it took for him to answer it.

"Yes?" A distorted voice asks.

"Well you are correct there. Someone special did come to the party." I answer, the certain Etonian accent that is more deep sounding would give away anyone who this is.

"So what happens now then? Any action needed?"

"No." Answers the mysterious man. "No action is needed. But keep watch and see how this plays out."

I take at least two second to think about that before I let out a sigh and respond.

"Understood."

I disconnect the call and put it back inside my pocket. Adjusting the Black Cap again, I look at her again. A small grin forms on my lips as I tip my cap down.

"Let's see how this plays out then..."

I tug on the modern, black, knee length trench coat before climbing down the scaffolding and make my way out of the arena.

[ThePurpleVixen]

fiery, volatile, psychopathic brutalist

Buy the new FIERY VOLATILE PSYCHOPATHIC BRUTALIST shirt on fcfarenashop.com!

[Rowan Chance]

The lights go back on, and standing in the middle of the ring is Callista Quinn. Her hair has been cut short and dyed black. She's wearing a blue denim vest over a white tee shirt that clings tightly to her tall, slender frame. Matching blue jeans, and black, steel-toed combat boots complete the outfit. And she's got a microphone in her hand.

CALLISTA: I....have come. I have come to put each and every one of you in your rightful place. Yes. I mean you. I mean every one of you bikini-clad bimbos rolling around, tugging each other's hair. I mean every airbrushed airhead who uses the words "bitch", "skank", "whore", "slut", and "cxnt" more times combined than she mentions actual wrestling moves. I have come to represent WRESTLING in this place which so sorely needs more of it.

Callista scowls at the "Clique Wars" banner hung high in the rafters of the FCF arena.

CALLISTA: Wars? A bunch of wanna-be mean girls calling each other names. I'll show you a war. You "cliques" think you scored a win when you make someone cry. We know WE scored a win when someone calls 911. Oh, that's right. I said "we". Because I have come....and I am not alone.

Europe's "The Final Countdown" begins playing. Callista drops the mic and rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope, climbing the guardrail and making her way out through the crowd. At one of the landings halfway up, she climbs the railing, touching the back of her left wrist with her finger like she's checking her watch, before holding her arms out to the side and soaking up the reaction of the crowd....

OOC:
(Applause!)

Have to admit, Callista, I like your style. Well done.

IC:
Backstage, I raise an eyebrow at the monitor.
"We'll have to see about this one..."

[~Rox Erotique~]

"I don't like this..."

"I don't like you."

"That's a little mean. What did I ever do to...." Megan stops dead mid-conversation, a mischievous smile on her face as she remembers every little thing she's done to me over the years "Ha... Fair point. I still don't like this though"

We walk down the corridor and I resist the urge to punch her as I'm forced to go over the plot once more... "Listen Megan, We need her if we're going to Pull this off. This is CALLISTA fucking QUINN we're talking about. You understand me?" I halt, poking a finger into her shoulder "Quinn is pure evil.... So as much as you hate it? We're going to need her to pull this off" I finish. I see the anger in your eyes, a storm raging under your skin as those toned muscles tense but after a few shaky moments you nod your head... It's going to be a fucking struggle keeping this alliance in check.

And as we get to the door with the big gold star reading 'Rowan Chance' I sigh, knowing my job is about to get much more difficult

x G x

[Callista]

Evil? Moi?

[ThePurpleVixen]

I wait for a long few seconds, staring at the door.  My reflection in the gold star is all twisted, bent.  Ain't it the truth.  I glare at the etched name.

Rowan Chance.

Fucking Rowan Chance.

"This is SUCH a bad fucking idea," I mutter, and rap on the door.  There's a long silence before it opens, and those wicked eyes look out of the darkness.  She's still bearing some of the scars of our most recent dances.  Hell, so am I.  I hold up a hand before she can say anything - or just slam the door on us.  Gemma waits at my shoulder like a raven on my pallid bust.

"I know, I know.  Just hear me out.  Whatever else we may be, Rowan, you and I are wrestlers.  Gemma is a wrestler.

Callista Quinn says she's out there to represent the wrestlers, but all she's really representing is HERSELF.

This isn't some us-against-them revolution, no matter how she tries to paint it.  This is her trying to claim the banner of wrestling that you and I and Gemma and Red and Emily Layne and everyone else have been carrying in this arena, shedding OUR blood for it."

I slam my fist into the painted wall of the arena hall with a solid CRACK.

"We need to go out there united and show her that she can't fuck with us like that."

My eyes burn into Rowan's, blazing with righteous fury.

"All three of us.  C'mon.  Not even Quinn can stand up against three cast-iron bitches like us."

I hesitate, and then offer my hand with a grin, teeth bright behind my dark black lips.

"Stand with us, Rowan."

Gemma looks away, no doubt overcome with the sheer raw emotion of my passionate performance.

As well she should be.

[Rowan Chance]

Looking in the mirror, I see the dressing room behind me. There's just me and HIM. The way we started, the way it would always be.

The pain in my shoulders has almost healed. Almost. The pain in my back... maybe never.

His hands touch my shoulders, rubbing at the pain. His strong, gentle, cruel hands. I twinge. He knows me so well. Better than any other.

"You need more time," he tells me.

I shake my head. "Can't let them see me weak," I say. I look at him in the mirror. "You taught me that."

He doesn't look at me. He's got his hands on my shoulders. I feel the fire under my skin, his fingers kneading and repairing my muscles. 

Then, there's someone outside the door. He turns quickly. Then, he looks at me.

I shake my head and he ducks behind a closet door. Then, I answer the knock.

The first face I see  -- the one with the purple tresses -- is a face I don't know how to respond to. Half my heart breaks and the other half turns pure poison hate. She raises her hands and asks me to listen.

So, I listen.

After she's done, she gives me her hand.

Her hand.

After what we've done... all the whispers and screams. All the beautiful, terrible things we've done. Enemies in the bedroom, lovers in the ring... she offers me... her fucking hand.

I look at it. I look at her. I can see my hate reflect in her eyes. And something else, too. Something darker and even more dangerous. For both of us.

I take it... then pull her close. Close enough to... well, do a lot of things. Close enough that our breasts touch. Close enough to feel hers as stiff as mine.

"Convince me with a kiss," I tell her. "Or get the [BEEP] out of here."

[ThePurpleVixen]

Rowan's hand clasps mine and pulls me in tight and the scent of her fills my head like pure intoxication, my eyes going wide and hungry and my hand tightening on hers. My breasts are pressed up against her chest, my pierced nipples immediately coming to full attention at the close heat of Rowan's body, tenting my Bullet Club shirt.

I meet those deep eyes, full of infinite dark desire, and forget that Gemma is standing right there fuming at me with her arms crossed as I bring my left hand up, slowly brushing a curl of Rowan's hair back over her ear.

"After all, lips don't lie ..." I purr softly against her, tilting my head so my purple hair falls in a slow curtain, framing us for the cameraman as I caress her cheek, thumb stroking delicately as I draw closer and gently press my black kiss to Rowan's knowing lips.  The world falls away into a spiraling sweet darkness and I breathe in slowly, tasting her on the very air. The heat between us surges, from fiery to molten.  We know each other so well - the secrets you learn as lovers who hate each other are limitless - and my body shifts against hers delicately, hips pressing in just so, hand clasping hers and free left hand caressing her cheek and down her smooth neck and over her shoulder and down her side to her hip, holding her close against me.  Hips don't lie either, after all.

We press against each other, so eerily similar and so jaggedly different, dark moons whirling around a lost planet.  I lose myself in her lips for a long few moments and let my kiss tell the tale - heated passion, flaring fury, the curling serpent's tongue of the liar queen who threatens us, my crushed soft lips eloquently expressing despair and my hungry throaty sounds the growls of the lioness gathering a pride to hunt the savannah.

I arch my back, pressing my body to hers, my breasts imploring her aid and my tight abs grinding her belly with a noble plea for her strength.  And I also squeeze her ass because damn, that's a sweet ass.

At last the kiss breaks, and I pant a little, color flared in my cheeks, black lips shining, pierced tongue gently swirling Rowan's taste along my lips.

"You coming?" I ask with a half-grin.

Gemma rolls her eyes so hard she'll require a visit to the optometrist.

[Rowan Chance]

I pause, the taste of Punky still on my lips.

Then, a simple, "Yes."

[Callista]

I arrive into the backstage area of the arena with my duffel bag over my shoulder, sunglasses and the hood of a black cotton hoodie pulled up over my face to give me some measure of anonymity. Only a measure though, and one that proves less protection once I'm backstage. Roving FCF reporter Blake Hairjob, with camera in tow, spots me and says, "Miss Quinn! Miss Quinn! Can I get a comment?"

I let out a sound that's half-sigh, half-snarl, but I toss my head to throw the hood back, and pull the glasses off of my face, giving the camera a good shot of me as I flip Blake a V of my fingers, answering, "Does 'sod off', count?"

At five-foot-eight, Blake is looking up at me, but he doggedly presses on. "Can you clarify what you said in the ring last week?"

I scowl at him, saying, "Clarify? You need it clarified. Fine." I set down the duffel bag, smile sweetly into the camera, and say, "Your worst assumptions, your worst nightmares...are all true. I am here to cause damage. I am here to cause destruction. I am here because the core of FCF is infected with a cancer. A cancer so vile and virulent that there is no treating it. There is only destroying the infection utterly. If that means a few ostensibly healthy cells must be destroyed in the process, then so be it."

"Because I am wrestling's last chance. I am wrestling's last hope. I am salvation incarnate. And all who oppose me...must be destroyed for the greater good." I smile at Blake and say, "Does that provide you with the clarity you sought?"

Blake, seeming nonplussed to see the least, begins, "Actually, Callista, I'm more confused than ev-" his sentence cuts off as my fist crashes into his jaw, sending him down to the concrete floor in a heap.

I turn to look at the cameraman, smiling and saying, "What about you? Do you need further...clarification?" The camera moves first to the left than the right. "Good." I shoulder my duffel again and walk off.