[~Rox Erotique~]

Intoxicating... That's what Callista Quinn is. She makes you do things you never thought you could, never thought you would, that's where her danger lies. It's a danger I've always found impossible to resist so when she told me of her plan I was putty in the palm of her hand. That... that worries me, I can't lie. I'm not used to being anyone's pawn, but the confidence she instills in you? It's a drug.

As I leap up high, my small frame bounding up in a graceful hop, I curl up into a ball mid air, reaching out my hands to grip Rowan's shoulders before gravity has her say and I start falling back fast. The timing is a thing of beauty... unpracticed, no rehearsals, we just turn up on the night and nail it. Rowan caught dead centre between my anvil & Megan's hammer. I always knew Megan's destructive streak was a thing of terrifying beauty but in all our days of blissful love and passionate hate we've never had the opportunity to actually work together. Even as my back smashes into the boards with a decidedly painful thump it still feels wonderful... The noise Rowan makes as her back is smashed across my unforgiving knees will give her fans nightmares.

Megan argued long and hard, told me that Rowan wouldn't fall for it... she's too smart... to good... Bullshit. I insisted throughout all of Megan's protests that SHE is the one we need... Breaking her is a statement. A statement every fucking bitch in FCF will remember for the painful weeks to come and as I look up over the wreckage of Rowan to the beaming smile of the venerable Miss Dow... I wink, knowing it was the right decision. I roll the bitch off me and get up, the crowd booing as I circle the ring and lap it all up. Just as I pass Callista kindly rolls in an old friend of mine...

Emily Layne... Silly bitch. On her own she's a formidable opponent, but right now? She's toast. I must admit many moons ago we had quite the rivalry, neither one of us came out of it unscathed, seems now is as good a time as any to reignite that old hate. I reach down and grip her dark hair, pulling her up roughly until she manages to get up onto those shaky legs. I stuff her head between my thighs and raise my left fist upto my right shoulder, popping out my thumb and slowly dragging it across my throat as I glare out at the disproving masses. I reach down, double hooking each arm as she groans and moans, entirely helpless after Calli's bludgeoning assault with the heavy Maglite. the crowd are booing now, they used to lose their fucking shit when I pulled this move, now they hate me. But if you have an itch, you gotta scratch it... and as I lock in my finisher I hear the drums beating, the hardcore faithful Rox fans and even some of the booers stomping their feet, banging the chairs, the booms echo out all around me as I lower my head, green hair falling over my face...

Then I thrust my head up hard! The drums silencing as I scream at the top of my lungs

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA DO FCF???"

"CALL NINE ONE ONE!!!"

They roar and I drop, hard and fast into a splits as I plant poor Emily into the fucking canvas in a sit out facebuster...

BOOM!

The crowd pops off the chain like they always do, caught up in the rapture of the 911 but there are more boo's that cheers in the arena... Like I give a shit.

Megan comes and stands over me as I sit in the splits, leaning over and kissing my forehead, both of us looming over the twitching wreck of our Italian rival, Calli watching on with a smile on her face as the arena screens are all aglow with her Countdown...

x G x

[Emily Layne]

Once again I had been attacked from behind.
Last time it was Punky, this time Callista. But this time its very different from some weeks ago.
This time I am in the middle of something big,something that will probably change everything here.

My body is up now on my knees and elbows, like it was only few seconds ago.
I guess that I have a lot of eyes pointed to my body.

My right buttcheek partially exposed as I was dragged inside the ring by my hair and shorts but I have no time to adjust my white shiny pants.
I feel ten fingers grasping on my hair.
I don't see who is grabbing me, she doesn't give me time to open my eyes and see her face or body.

"Aaaaaaaaahh fuck!" I cry out and before I know my head is clamped between two strong and toned thighs.

I would recognize these thighs between millions. I had history with her, not a long history to say the truth, it was short but intense.
Me and Gemma never liked each other, probably there was a time where we respected each other, probably we still do, not tonight though.
I smell her, I feel her.
Before she hooks my arms my hands go up on her thighs, my heart says that I should try to shove her away, punch her or something else maybe but my body is not responding.
My hands are pawing her thighs covered by the ripped fishnets, it looks like I'm feeling her, it looks like I'm trying to make sure its her!

My arms suddenly point up, hooked by hers, my butt pointing back, still it can be noticed that one buttcheek is more covered than the other.

She screams out with full voice, the crowd reacts with any kind of noises and its impossible to hear anything.

"no..no..wait..wait.." I pathetically moan, I think that Gemma is the only one in this arena that can hear my voice though she doesn't matter at all.

The floor is coming toward my face, I close my eyes, like I'm tryin to eat the pain but of course that doesn't work at all.

The impact stuns me,even more than I already am after Callista vicious attacks.

My body shakes after the impact, it convulses for a second, my ass jumps up once, my arms slumps down over her thighs, my face naturally falls on my right cheek but my eyes are closed, legs and arms spread apart, body limp,not moving except for breathing.

Helpless, completely destroyed.

And now the question is plain and simple, coming from the bottom of the heart.

Why in the hell I decided to step out of my locker room?
Who did tell me to do that crazy thing?

[ThePurpleVixen]

Planting Rowan across Gemma's perfect leap in that backbreaking powerbomb is the closest I've come to sex in the ring since the last time I actually had sex in the ring.  Ah, those tours of Germany.  What a country.

The Black Widow's scream echoes out as we break her between us, a perfect fluid movement of divine violence that transcends the way lovers in perfect harmony.  This is the way DEMONS move together, when they dance on the smoking bloody points of pins.

I smirk at the audience as they settle into contours of shock and disdain and rapidly twisting hatred, which escalates as Gemma turns around their stupid call-and-response on them - the sheep STILL answer her with their desire to call for help - right before she spikes Emily Layne's overly-painted face into the mat.  I slither behind Rox, stroking her emerald hair back with slow languid fingers, leaning down to plant a teasing kiss on her as she sneers in grim satisfaction.

There's something so SATISFYING about being justifiably hated for doing what you want to do.

Because fuck them. You're doing what YOU want to do.

My eyes settle on Rowan, smoldering as I watch her twist on the mat, clutching at her injured back even half-unconscious.  I run my hands through Gemma's hair as Calli slides into the ring like Eden's serpent.  "Get that bitch up for me," I purr in Gemma's ear, black soft lips caressing her, and with a gesture to Calli, I'm tossed the microphone.  Rox wrestles Rowan up to her boots on unsteady legs, her back clearly in agony and her eyes an intoxicating boiling mixture of pain and rage and dazed hurt and fury.  I slink closer, hips swaying, and toss my purple hair back as Gemma snugs Rox in a half-nelson, forcing her to look at me.

I put the mic to my lips, leaning close enough to Rowan that the microphone brushes her mouth, picking up her pained breaths.

"Still want me to convince you with a kiss, Rowan?" I purr, silky and soft, my eyes half-lidded.  I toss the microphone idly over my shoulder, and Calli snags it neatly out of the air, barely looking, and I lean closer still, my breasts soft against Rowan's gorgeous body, pressing close enough to feel the heat of her, the silky closeness, the need ...

... and then I SNATCH her out of Gemma's arms, taking the Widow's head and her arm in a clutch I know all too well, drawing an INSTANT burst of fury from the crowd.  I look around and then TWIST my hips with a snarl, muscles tensing and abs like steel as I just WHIP Rowan off her feet, twisting her around and snapping back to PLANT her skull into the mat with her own fucking finisher, the Widow's Kiss DDT.

Rowan bounces bonelessly up and flops to the mat, spasming softly.  I sit there with my legs splayed, and casually bring my gloved hand up from where it was wrapped around Rowan's neck, casually licking the leather with a pierced tongue like it was too good to resist.  I reach and take her shoulder, rolling her over on the canvas and slither over to straddle her, slow and lascivious, and lean slowly, silkly down to mockingly kiss her unconscious lips, tilting smirking eyes up at the crowd.  I slide back down her twitching body and rise up, standing above the fallen Widow, tossing my violet hair back as I stretch my tattooed arms above my head, clasping them together like the upright hands of a clock.  "Stroke of midnight, bitch."

Then Calli speaks, and I turn to listen, grinning darkly.

I feel drunk with power already.

[Callista]

I lift my leg up over the middle rope, leaning forward and sliding in through the ropes as Gemma and Megan conclude the destruction of Rowan, tossing Megan the mic when she asks for it, then catching it when it's tossed back.

That destruction was always the plan. It wasn't a particularly complicated plan. Lure a chosen target into the ring, and then annihilate her. But there's a difference between a simple plan and a foolproof one. Scowling down at Emily, the particular fool in question, I debate the next step.

With Emily lying there, arms and legs spread, there's any number of things that can be done, especially with such useful partners in debauchery as Gemma and Megan, but sometimes the tendency to overthink can be as disruptive as its opposite. Simplicity is a gift. I smile, walking over to my two cohorts, and lay out a supremely simple plan, keeping the microphone at arm's length as I speak for their ears only.

First Gemma smiles when I list her part, then Megan does when I tell her what she's to do. Excellent. A team is always strongest when they're on the same page. I back up into the corner, giving Rowan's barely-moving body a shove with my foot to make room. Gemma is backed up towards the corner opposite me, while Megan is in the corner to my right. I take a step forward, and all three of us are in motion.

Gemma leaves her feet, aiming both boots at Emily's midsection, Punky's single-legged kick goes between Emily's legs, while mine strikes the back of her head. The timing is close enough to perfect that all of our kicks land solidly at roughly where they were aimed at. "OHHHHH!!!!" the crowd says, a great sudden exhalation from thousands simultaneously.

After a breath's time, the boos rain down loud and long. I lift the microphone and the boos lessen. They don't disappear, but as much as this crowd hates me and mine right now, they DESPERATELY want to hear what I have to say.

"Last week," I begin, "I told you that I was here to save wrestling. Well this week," I continue, prompting a brief resurgence of boos. I calmly wait for the noise to fade again. "This week," I resume, "nothing has changed. I AM here to save wrestling. But while you all cheered me, most of those untalented, uninteresting losers in the back had the reaction I knew they would. Anger. Jealousy. Terror."

"You see, you wrestling fans, you want wrestling saved. More to the point, you realize wrestling needs saving. It needs saving...from them." I say, pointing down at Rowan and Emily. "I'm not saying they're not good little wrestlers, but when I walked out here and told all of you what I intended to do....their thoughts were immediately of themselves. Of their position in the company. Of their paychecks. I want to save wrestling. They want to save their jobs, their fame, their petty egos."

"But two brave women...two WISE women...two women who heard my words and heard truth in them, they came to me and said, 'We're with you.' Because these women love wrestling more than they love fame and fortune...more than they love themselves...even more than they love hearing your cheers."

"So it's alright if you want to boo us. We can take it. We're the heroes that you need right now, and the clock is ticking. The clock is ticking, and the era of taking bikini models and trying to make wrestlers out of them is almost over. The clock is counting down the hours on self-absorbed nobodies like the two lying at our feet right now."

I point at my wrist and hold the microphone close to my mouth, saying in a calm and even voice, "The Countdown has arrived. And Time. Is. Up."

The keytar strains of Europe's The Final Countdown play, and Gemma and Megan follow me out of the ring, up over the guardrail, and through the crowd. I don't get nearly the warm reception I did last week, but no one seems inclined to get in our way.

[ThePurpleVixen]

The keytar strains of Europe's The Final Countdown

And we dance JUST LIKE THIS.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JFmQNuG7AY

[Callista]

Purple and Red? That's clearly you two goobers.

[RedEnforcer]

*puts away my cape and my gloves* No I don't own Just Dance 4. No, not at all.

[Rowan Chance]

The camera opens on a wall of trophies and belts. It pans to the left, focusing on championships from all over the world. Little indie American leagues, Canada, Mexico, Japan. Then, the camera pans out and we see Gordon standing with a mic beside the wall.

"This wall tells a story," he says. "A story of victories and defeats, triumphs and tragedies. And the woman who fought and bled for these championships is Rowan Chance."

Gordon pauses for a moment. Then, he says, "It's been a month since we've seen her in the ring. We've received thousands of letters, postcards and emails, all asking when she will return to the ring. Last week, we promised you an answer. And here, in her own home, Rowan Chance will tell us that answer."

CUT TO: Rowan's living room. A glass coffee table with drinks set out. Gordon sits on a plush sofa while Rowan sits nearby on the loveseat.

"Rowan, we understand you spent a few days in the hospital after that brutal attack by Punkie, Gemma and Callie."

Rowan nods. Her voice is calm and quiet. "That's right, Gordon."

Gordon asks, "What did they tell you?"

Rowan looks down for a moment, then raises her gaze to look back at Gordon. "Well, Gordo, to be honest, it was scary there for a few days. The Widow's Kiss DDT gave me a concussion, but more importantly, the power bomb into the backstabber was what gave me the most problems. I couldn't feel my toes for a day or two. Had trouble walking. The move also dislocated three of my ribs."

Gordon shakes his head. "That sounds terrible." Then, he says, "You've had back injuries before..."

Rowan nods. "That's right. But not like this. The doctors think it was coming off the 3-way match with Red Enforcer and Punkie that put me in the position of landing in the hospital for almost a week. That last powerbomb, Punkie's powerbomb, was the last straw."

"Did the doctors say anything else?"

Rowan nods. "They suggest at least a year off to fully recover."

"That's a long time," Gordon says.

Rowan takes a deep breath. "Yes. It's already been a month. And the Power Trio or the Three Fates or whatever it is they call themselves, have been running roughshod all over the Fed like they own the place."

Gordon says, "Have they cleared you to wrestle?"

Rowan nods. "Yes," she says. "I'm cleared. But they want me to take a year off. And that's a year without putting food on my table. A year without paying rent. A year without..." Rowan pauses, her cheeks growing red. Then, she slowly--slowly--turns to the camera.

"Punky..." she says, her voice suddenly as dark as vengeance. "Punky... you made three mistakes."

Rowan lifts one finger. "The first was picking the wrong side."

She lifts a second. "The second mistake was picking me to make an example."

And then, she lifts a third. "The third mistake was NOT. FINISHING. THE JOB."

Rowan turns, directly facing the camera. "You think there's safety in numbers?" She shakes her head, smiling. "No," she says. "There's no safety for you. Not any of you. Not you, Punky. Not Gemma. Not Callie. Not one of you is safe."

Rowan jumps to her feet, her face flush with fury. "BECAUSE I'M STILL STANDING! YOU SEE THAT? I'M. STLL. STANDING."

She glares at the camera, her eyes full of darkness. Her voice drops down low and you hear something you've never heard before. A deep and dark sound. A predatory sound. Not the sultry, seductive Rowan. Something else. Something ancient and deadly. And when she speaks, all the color flushes from Gordon's face. His eyes bulge out like he's seen his own grave and the grave digger standing over it with a shovel and a smile.

"As long as there's a drop of blood in my body. As long as I have a breath in my lungs. As long as I can crawl... I will find you. Each of you. And one by one, I will break you in ways that modern medicine hasn't figured out how to fix. I will humiliate you."

She pauses...

"I will DESTROY you."

Gordon sits still, unmoving. Then, finally, he says, "Um... yes. Uh... let's go back to the studio."

[Lord Tantalus]

As always, she comes back to me for healing. After her recklessness and passion have gotten the better of her, she comes back to me. This time, the injuries are deeper than, perhaps, even I can heal.

She lies in my arms, tears flowing from her eyes. Her body was broken. Her spirit was broken. Her heart was broken. One has healed. The other two... I don't know.

"I trusted her," she says, her words and tears falling on my chest. "She..." Rowan stops then, unable to continue.

I hold her face in my hands and lift it so she can see my eyes.

"Listen to me. The time for grief is over. You have suffered, yes. Perhaps more than you ever have. But that time is now over."

She blinks as her lips tremble. "Tell me what to do," she says.

I smile at her. "You know. You are just afraid to do it."

I feel her shudder under my hands.

"No," she says. "I promised myself. I would never..."

I nod. "It's time."

She stares at me, her eyes full of fear and uncertainty.

"The last time..." she says, then pauses. "The last time... people... were hurt."

"It's time," I say again.

I take my hands away from her face. She nods. "I know," she says.

Rowan stands up and walks away from me. She kneels down and takes a key from a locket around her neck. She opens a small, ornate box. She takes what is inside and shows it to me.

"Yes," I tell her.

Rowan puts on the mask. When she speaks again, her voice is different. Not the same woman at all. It's darker... hungrier. Like an ancient demon summoned from the pits of Hell itself. A spirit of pure vengeance. Hell's assassin, released only when needed. And those who release it tremble as they do.

She speaks: "It's time."

[The BIG E]

Watching the carnage unfold as I just see one thing. Betrayal. I've had some experiences some time ago when I was serving my country. I know very well this feeling. And this feeling took me back to the place that I really don't want to be in right now.

"Are you still there? Hey! HEY!"

The distorted voice that shouted brought me back to reality. I forgotten that I have not disconnected the phone.

"Sorry about that."

"I've seen it all"

"To be honest, I have absolutely no idea what is going on right now."

You think? All this crap going on? And I'm still confused of Inception."

"*sigh* There is a time for that."

"Sorry."

I turn towards the exit and make my way out. Tugging on the trench coat again, I walk at a brisk pace.

"I'll be right back. There is something that I have to do."

And with that, I disconnect the call.

After finding my way to the ground floor (God Damn Confusing Directions!) I make my way towards the dressing room. Looking around to make sure nobody is watching, I slip in and enter. Walking through the hall, I look for the name of one particular person. While I'm doing so, I write a note on a piece of paper. I mean, I ain't looking to go inside to take a peek. That's another story. As I come towards the door that has the name "Emily" in it, I leave the note outside her door. Slotting it from the bottom gap of the door, I make my way out of the building.

The note says...

"We should talk sometime.

A Friend

*number on the note*

[Rowan Chance]

Rowan puts on the mask. When she speaks again, her voice is different. Not the same woman at all. It's darker... hungrier. Like an ancient demon summoned from the pits of Hell itself. A spirit of pure vengeance. Hell's assassin, released only when needed. And those who release it tremble as they do.

She speaks: "It's time."

(Ahem. Slight amendment.)

I put the mask to my face for just a moment. Then, I shake my head.

"No," I say. "I won't. Not yet."

I put the mask back in the case and close it. "I'll take care of this myself. I don't need her help."

Then, I walk out of the room.



(I apologize, my Lord T., but the time isn't quite ready yet... Yet.)

[Callista]

Having watched that interview-slash-promo that Rowan gave, I decide a chat is in order. Of course, since I want a chat and not a brawl, this must be handled...perhaps "delicately" is not so much the word as "precisely". I have, in my checkered, sordid, and some would say mysterious past, (not that it's a mystery to me, but it doesn't take much probing for me to go all close-mouthed,) picked up a few unsavoury habits. Well, ok, a lot of unsavoury habits. For instance, wanting a conversation with someone who might not wish to converse with me. Of course, I don't plan on giving Rowan the opportunity to refuse. One of my other unsavoury habits is breaking and entering, hence why I am now sitting in her living room chair, waiting for her to come home, pointing a taser in the direction of the front door, when she arrives.

Seeing me here, Rowan pauses in the door, looking at me from across the room. She puts one hand on her hip and says, "Give me one good reason not to call 911."

The corner of my lips curl upwards. "Immediately or ever? At the moment, because it would prevent you from hearing what I came to say. Ever, because it would annoy me." I smile more broadly. "Emily annoyed me."

The other woman takes out an iPhone and plugs in the numbers, but she doesn't hit "SEND." She walks over to the chair and sits down. "Put that thing away," she says. "You don't need it." Then, she puts the phone down on the table.

"Perhaps I don't," I reply. I don't quite reciprocate her gesture, as I don't put the taser entirely away, but I do set the wrist of my right hand atop the wrist of my left, pointing the electrodes at an angle and not directly at the woman. "I'd note we haven't been formally introduced, but conceding that this isn't the friendliest of entrances on my part, I will dispense with pleasantries and simply address you. You take things personally, don't you Rowan?"

"When they're done to me, personally?" she asks. Then, she slowly nods. "You'd better bet I do."

I give a nod, in response. "I do note that I'm not judging, simply observing. Megan takes things personally, as well," I say. "Me? I don't."

The woman smiles. A dark, sharp smile. "You will," she says. "I promise you." She leans forward a little in the chair. "You will."

I chuckle disdainfully. It's to be one of those conversations, is it? All threats and blood and thunder. How tiresome. "I won't. Even were you to succeed in revenging yourself upon me, and please don't think you'd be the first to do so, my reaction would be calculated to achieve my aims. You can dismiss what I'm saying, or you can take it into account in your own plans. Your personal...." I pause, trying to think of the best word. Issues? Problems? Psychoses? "complexities" I eventually decide on "with Megan are not really my concern. At present though, she is my ally, so any action you might take against her, would be. At some future time, when she is NOT my ally..." I trail off.

There's a moment of silence in the darkness. We both sit quietly. Then, she speaks, very slowly, "I want you to pay attention to what I'm about to say. I want you to not just hear it, but listen to it. Because when I say that you will take things personally, what I mean is this..." She leans forward a little more, "I'm not going to hurt you. Not physically. Not even emotionally. What I'm going to do... is break you. Break your body first. Then, I'm going to break your spirit. I'm going to make you wish you never even thought of picking me to make an example of. I am going to find out what a cold-hearted bitch like you cares about, and then, I'm going to take that from you." Another pause. "And I'm going to rip it up in front of your eyes."

I let that sit there for a moment, and then I shake my head. "Typical arrested adolescent. You mistake passion for conviction, and anger for ability. Allow me to demonstrate the lengths a truly dangerous person will go to," I say, and my right hand goes into motion, getting the taser's electrodes pointed at Rowan. The taser hits her in the belly and her whole body freezes in agony. She tries to scream, but her throat is frozen shut. After the initial burst, her eyes shut tight, tears forming, her teeth clenched.

She tries to open them again, muttering through clenched teeth, "...can't let you... ahhhgoddess..."

I stand up, leaning over Rowan's table, picking up her phone and hitting "SEND". After a moment, I say, "Police, please." After another moment, I say, "This is Rowan Chance," proceeding to give them her address. "Callista Quinn has just broken into my home and attacked me with a taser," I conclude, disconnecting the call and then tossing the phone aside dismissively. In as calm a voice as I'd give a sommelier ordering a nice cabernet, I say, "You cannot threaten me. You cannot break me. You cannot even comprehend my motivations, let alone how to thwart them. You are an insect. All you can do...is annoy me. I punish people who annoy me. If you wish to annoy me further, you may give the police a true report, and I'll spend a nominal amount of time in prison. If you don't...or worse, if you think you can actually do more to me than annoy me...then lie. Tell them it was a bit of drunken foolery that got out of hand and you're very sorry." I step towards the door, giving the taser a quick tug and yanking the electrodes free. "Seeing your answer will be...interesting. Good evening, Rowan," I say, stepping towards the door.

As I move to depart, though, I hear something come from behind me. It sounds like... laughter? A dark, haunting laugh that sounds like it came from the worst corner of a nightmare. And then, a voice speaks from the darkness. "You were right..."

"I generally am," I say matter-of-factly, pausing before the door to glance back behind me, brow quirked upward in curiosity.

The voice, Rowan's, if distorted by tension and...something...says, "I know why you tried to take me out first." Then, more laughter. "Because you think I may be the one who can stop you." She goes silent. No voice. No laughter. And then, like an echo from before...."You were right."

I do not like where this is going. "Fool," I say softly, pursing my lips and shaking my head. "I didn't pick you."

Rowan laughs again. "Then, SHE was right." And just then, I see her stagger at the corner. Her legs can barely carry her, still stunned, and she clutches at the wall to hold herself aloft. She looks at me down the corridor. A feather could knock her over. "And you... if you aren't afraid yet..." She smile. A demon's smile. "You'll learn."

I am forced to admit that there is a moment's hesitation, there, at what I see. An instant of concern. I am not a child and I do not believe in ghost stories. I fear no demons. No, I fear what can't be controlled, manipulated, or reasoned with. What I see in your eyes. Madness. 'Well of COURSE Megan would choose a psychopath...' I think to myself, grimacing and turning back to stalking out of the front door.

[The Second City Wrestlerette]

Nice thing ya got going here. Very cool stuff

[Emily Layne]

The scene cuts in Emily Layne locker room.

I am lookin forward to the monitor of my room, the remoter in my right hand as in the little screen are showed the scene of what happened in the ring some weeks ago when Megan betrayed Rowan and I got beaten up by the three Misses Countdown.

I watch intently as Gemma and Megan are together with Rowan as they walk across the ramp that brings to the ring.
I was sure that something wrong was happening, I felt that and I was right. I'm always right.
Then the camera switches to Calli hitting me from behind with the huge maglite before she throws me inside the ring and Rox cuts her finisher on my hurt body.
Some more seconds and my body is abused by the all three with three kicks and finally Callista makes her fool speech to the arena.

I press "Rew" on the remote and I watch the scene once again, and again. Listening carefully to Callista words, one by one as the door of my locker room opens.

"Miss Layne? They're waiting for you, the press conference should have started" the guy looks down at his wrist "20 minutes ago.."

"give me some minutes" I reply with calm voice

"but..."

I turn back "I said, I need some more minutes"

He gulps and move away.

I watch the video one more time before I get up and move out the door. For a moment I stop and turn back lookin at the door.
No notes this time.

I slip off the pocket of my jeans the note I found out some days ago.
I never called that number back, but I thought about that many times and I will found out what's happening.

I move toward the auditorium of the FCFW wearing my light blue ripped jeans and a white tight shirt with a "I HATE COUNTDOWN" written in black and sneakers at my feet.
I appear in the large room and I'm surrounded by the flashes of the cameras as I walk toward the long table and sit down in the chair.
One guy pushes the Mics toward my face as I wave to the people sit in the audience.

One of the interviewer is already on his feet and asking

"how are you feeling Emily?"

"I'm fine, don't you see that?" I smile at him
"it would be needed much much more to break me,don't worry!"

Another interviewer gets up and asks

"what happened in the ring the last time we saw you?"

"well.." I stop "I think you all saw what happened there, someone tried to save wrestling with a maglite.."

I hear some giggles from the audience

"probably someone will get a Nobel for that this current year!"

The same interviewer asks again "seriously Emily, what do you think about this new force? The Countdown"

"my shirt says anything I think..okay,do you want me serious? Okay, I think that what happened in the ring was a total bullshit, everyone saw that.
I knew that something was wrong and I moved down of that fucking ramp cause of that! Plain and simple.
There are no ego or paycheck to talk about.
They want to save wrestling? How s that? Cowardly attacking from behind with a maglite?
Oh please, that wasn't about saving wrestling! That was only their theatre for their little show, but people is smart enough to know what's real wrestling!"

Another interviewer gets up

"but Rox hit you with her finisher!"

"oh really? Such a great wrestler she is! Maybe she was when I knew her, not now of course. I can't believe what she did.
When we crossed paths in the past she was the leader of her gang, people respected her,what is she now? She's a doll in Callista hands nothing more!"

Interviewer: "Speaking of Callista, some rumors tell that you annoyed her"

"ok ok, lemme say something now." I push myself toward the Mics a bit more and point to the interviewers
"The Countdown isn't wrestling, The Countdown wants to break all we trust in. But Callista and her puppets won't break anything!
They made her appearance and they showed what they can do.
Attacking from behind and betraying.
If they really want to stay here, then lets see what they have in the ring. One on one, even two or three on one if needed, but face to face!
I'll show that without the dark,without a maglite or whatever, they're only a gang of big egos and big mouths!"

I stop and hiss

"I'm done"

I get up and move away toward the corridors of the backstage while other interviewers are getting up and tryin to ask some more questions.
As I move away I slip the note with that phone number once again and disappear in my locker room.

[Callista]

"I'm done." Emily says before walking away from the microphone, the reporters still clamouring for more.

I turn the telly off. Taking a sip of porter from the glass in my right hand, I nod, saying with satisfaction, "Much better."