[Rowan Chance]

LvK: Aika has Gemma trapped in that wicked Widow’s Kiss!

RP: And there’s really nowhere for Gemma to go! She’s trapped in the center of the ring!


Gemma’s eyes are wide with pain as she tries reaching for the ropes, but every move she makes only tightens the hold around her throat. She throws a punch down at Aika’s face but the masked woman only laughs.
She pulls Gemma closer, tightening the hold even further, and with their lips so close, Aika continues to gently kiss Gemma… her kisses becoming more and more intense.

Gemma has two choices: submit or escape. Her free hand, clenched tight, begins to tremble. Her fingers spread wide. The crowd erupts, knowing what’s coming…

But then, her hand wraps around the back of Aika’s head and with all her strength, and screaming bloody murder, she lifts Aika. In one fluid motion, Gemma throws the masked woman over her shoulder, Aika flying through the ropes to the mats below.



LvK: I can’t believe it! Gemma has escaped the Widow’s Kiss!

RP: How she did that, I have no idea. That woman must be made of stone!

LvK: And Aika is down! She landed hard on the mats outside and she hasn’t moved. Our secondary camera man got a look at the fall…



The camera switches to instant replay as Aika flies between the first and second ropes. She lands hard, her neck and shoulder hitting the mats at an awkward angle. Aika lays still for a moment, then flops over like a broken doll.



RP: There is NO WAY she’s getting up from that. NO WAY.

LvK: Row—Aika may have broken her neck on that fall.


Gemma lays in the center of the ring. The pain in her throat burns like the heat of a thousand suns. She holds her throat while she tries to get to her feet. It takes her three tries to do that. She looks around for Aika but only sees the ref at the ropes, looking to the floor below, counting. He’s up to six.

“SEVEN!” the ref shouts. Gemma staggers forward, looking over the ref’s shoulder. Aika lays on the mats, unmoving.

“EIGHT!” the ref shouts. Gemma laughs. “Count her out!” she says. “Go on.” But her voice is cracked and she grasps her throat again, her face wincing in pain.

“NINE!” the ref shouts. And suddenly, Aika goes from flat on her back to standing. Like a marionette on strings. Her head snaps to look at the ring and she leaps, sliding in just a heart beat before the ref hits ten.



RP: What the #$^% was that?

Tantalus: Aika.

RP: No way. No @#$%in’ way!

LvK: Aika is back in the ring… stalking toward Gemma…

RP: What’s wrong with her neck?

LvK: I… God, that’s the creepiest…



Aika moves toward Gemma, her head bent at the wrong angle.

Gemma’s eyes light up with fear. “Wait a second…” she says, both hands up. But her voice cracks and she puts her hand on her throat again. “Now just wait a second…”

But Aika keeps stepping forward, her limbs twitching, her neck bent.

Gemma backs all the way to the turnbuckle, hands out stretched. “Rowan… I…”

But Aika says nothing, her wet hair falling in front of her eyes.

Gemma’s face changes from fear to desperation. She cocks back a right hand and slams it into Aika’s face. Aika’s head snaps to the left, then back. Gemma throws an uppercut that knocks Aika’s head straight up… then it snaps right back.

Aika reaches out with a slow, inevitable gloved hand…

… and Gemma dodges it, spinning behind Aika. She gives the masked woman a spinning kick to the back of the head. Aika falls forward into the corner ropes and Gemma unloads with punches to the kidneys and the back. Aika's back arches, her fists clenching and unclenching as she stumbles forward.

“Red told me all about your back!” Gemma shouts. She throws elbows and stiff punches at Aika’s spine and Aika twists in pain. She reaches through the ropes to the post, gripping it like a woman tied to a whipping post.

Gemma’s punches hit fast and hard. Aika falls to one knee, losing her grip on the post. Then, Gemma starts stomping. And she stomps on Aika’s back until the woman falls to the mat, her head resting on the bottom turn buckle.

Gemma smiles. “I was never afraid of you,” she says. “But after this match, there’s something you’re gonna be afraid of… ME.”

Gemma lifts Aika by the hair and turns her around. She grabs the masked woman and twists her in the air into a piledriver position.

And she waits…

… and waits…

… and DROPS.



LvK: A sickening THUD as Aika’s head hits the mat.

RP: That’s it. It’s all over.



When Aika’s head hits the mat, her whole body crunches like an accordion. She falls back, her body limp and without strength. Gemma looks down at her, smiling.

“It’s almost all over,” she says. “But not quite yet.”

Gemma rushes over to the ropes, full speed. Aika’s body twitches once.

Ricocheting off the ropes like a bullet, Gemma comes back at Aika, launching herself into the air.



LvK: It’s the Gemmasault!

RP: Insult to injury, van Keel.



Gemma flips in the air, her legs in full splits as she falls toward Aika...

[ThePurpleVixen]

I'm pacing back and forth in the Countdown's annexed locker room.  I can't seem to stop pacing these days, like a tiger waiting for a feeding time that never comes.  Red's stop casting those sullen deep South Faulkner stares at me, at least, but that's mostly because he's watching Gems pound the shit out of the thing that's pretending to be Rowan.  I tighten my fists as I see that moment of confusion flash across Gemma's pretty face - that moment of Why isn't this working quickly buried in her usual wash of bravado and arrogance.  My knuckles crackle, still wrapped in bloodied tape since I haven't bothered to go to the trainer to get them undone yet.  I wanna punch something but there's nothing in here to punch safely, so I snatch the Red Queen up and sit down in a sudden rush.

Dropping into the IKEA chair hard enough to send it lightly crashing into the lockers, I flicker my wide dark eyes at you, watching the big monitor, and catch you looking at me.  We don't agree on a lot, of late, but we agree on one thing.  No matter how happy Red might be to see it live and in color, this ain't right.  Except you probably wouldn't say "ain't".

When Megan picked Rowan as the bearer of our message to FTW, I learned what I could of her on short notice. Mostly this involved matches, culled from various locales, and in various stages of her career. Then I met the woman. I was ill-prepared for what I found. Chaos. Madness. Watching her in the ring was an interesting study in contrasts. In similiarities as well. While "Aika" wrestled little enough like Rowan Chance, I reasoned that even if she had in the depths of her insanity produced another personality, it was still the same body. You could see it in the subtle movements. Where she rested her hands. How she took a punch.

Also, I've seen any number of one-sided beatdowns before. I've engaged in a few myself. This was...not one of those. For all that Gemma has dominated the offence thus far, somehow I don't feel like she's winning. I glance to the side to look askance at you. Seeing you look back at me, I cannot stop my jawline from tightening. It would be counterproductive to say so aloud, but I can't help blaming you for this. Blaming you for unleashing madness upon my plans.

We've been looking each other in the face and planning to hurt each other since we first met in the ass end of nowhere, which happens to be in northern California. I don't wanna say we can read each other like books, because I'm cut-up bits of a bunch of different gritty 80s gdaphic novels pasted into a Kenneth Anger Trapper Keeper, and you're one of those books that has words that change when you stare at them and the cover is made of human skin. Neither of us is safe or sane to read.  But we do have tells - mine are open, brash, and explosive.  If I draw a bad hand in poker, I accuse the dealer of being a cheating fuck, threaten him with a broken bottle, then throw the cards down and declare that the game sucks anyway and try to rally a game of naked Twister.  You're a BIT more subtle.

But you have your giveaways, and the way you tighten up, just a little, when your eyes click with mine speaks volumes.  I squeeze the handle of the Red Queen until the tape creaks on the old battered varnished wood, resting her weighted head on the ground and watching with wide, intent eyes.  I shudder a little bit as Gemma keeps pounding.  She KNOWS something is wrong, but if there's someone on this fucking planet more stubborn than me, it's Gemma Rox.  She doesn't try to figure anything out, doesn't try to trick the creature with her into revealing herself, doesn't try for a countout, doesn't do anything but bore into her like a drill. Gemma could've dug the fucking Chunnel if they'd told her that Calais said she looks fat in her miniskirt.

(She doesn't. I picked that miniskirt for her. It makes her ass look FANTASTIC.)  But Row- Aika's not playing by any of the rules we play by.  Wrestle long enough, and you'll meet wrestlers who are a little ... other-driven.  They're more common in Japan, but you seem them in Germany, Britain, and famously here in the States when Mark Calloway realized he'd been a Dead Man all along.  Aika's driven by something bigger than fame and darker than revenge.  And Gemma doesn't see it.  She just sees something she thinks she can lower her head and ram through.  I look back at the door before I can stop myself, judging the distance if I have to try to sprint out of here.  Red, not noticing a damn drop of the tension thanks the Southern Comfort he's working, laughs.

"Gemma's POUNDIN' that bitch!"

I glance to my side in Red's direction. Do his knuckles look a little white on that bottle? Hard to say. Red could be trying to project unfelt optimism, or he could really not have noticed that the same person who put his arm in a bad way mere days ago is doing this intentionally. He's not a foolish man, but he's very...direct.

He's also not my biggest problem, at the moment. Not in the top five, in truth.  I saw that head-turn from you. "No," I say flatly, turning back to the monitor I'd pilfered from the soundstage. "You'll get your chance. Not tonight, though."

I react to a flat "No" like a cat reacts to a faceful of cold water.  My shoulders roll and my back tenses up, and my lips draw back from my teeth, just a little.  I tense my grip on the weighted mallet in my hands and think for just a moment of the slapped look of bottomless shock that smug cxnt Ursula had painted on her cold high cheekboned face, realizing that the snapping sound she'd heard was, in fact, in her back, and her wrestling career had ended with a sound like a breaking clothespin.  Just for a moment, though.  I thump the handle against the floor in a soft rhythm - "Shave and a Haircut" - and take a couple of long, slow prana breaths.

"She's gonna be hurt, Calli," I say as calmly as I can manage.  In my current mood, that sounds like someone talking through a mouthful of blood and clenched teeth.  "And I - "- know you don't care ... I stop THAT line of talk right away, because you'll just get clipped and chill and Red will get awkward and we'll all be stuck here not looking at each other. "I think that would be harmful for our plans.  Red's already sore and if Gemma's hurt too then I can't hold off Lisa and Lenny and Spanky the Bombshell by myself if they come after you."  There.  I'll try appealing ot your sense of self-preservaton.  Cunning, Megan.  My knuckles creak on the haft of the Red Queen as I heft it, unawares, and thump it down again.

'And this is why I do the strategizing,' I think to myself as you attempt to rationalise trying to do what you want as beneficial to me. This is an inaugural title match. If one of the blondetards attacks me and the ref DQs my Mediterranean opponent, I'm champ. All the better if the fans find me undeserving of the victory. None of THAT needs to be said aloud, of course. "Don't count Gemma out," I say. "Even if this rope-a-dope, it takes an AWFUL long while to make that little hellion punch herself out." I frown. That's plain truth, but it's not precisely what needs to be said. "Anyway, Gemma's not really that crucial to our plans." Red won't care for that comment, but I've already got strings attached to him through other means...

"Gemma won't punch herself out, because Aika is gonna fuckin' BREAK her before that," I growl back.  I try to keep my hackles down but that last little line got them right up.  Almost like you were TRYING to piss me off - but that'd be fucking stupid when I'm sitting here with a hammer.  "Red.  RED." I jab the back of his chair and have to endure his face when he turns to face - that mix of disappointment and anger and pain is hard to bear on a friend, and now he's added to it a healthy dash of not-wanting-to-get-involved like so many people do when they hear us arguing.  "You were fuckin' READY to face Rowan, right?"  "I ..." he hesitates, glancing from you to me, and takes a long drink of iced SoCo and Coke with his good hand.  "...I thought I was."

I jab the head of the mallet at Red, holding it just beneath the weighted head like a thunder god using a  hammer as a lecture pointer.  "He has BROKEN her before.  He has broken Rowan down inta fuckin' PIECES. I was THERE. I fuckin' swept them up." I growl.  "An' she DISASSEMBLED him."  That makes Red wince, and it hurts to do that to him, but I keep my eyes on you.  "Roxxy's crossed with Rowan four, mebbe five times.  Gems doesn't get her shit out West that much, 'cept ta -" - fuck me - "- fight me.  She doesn't know what she's in for.  An' you KNOW how she gets when she's in a fuckin' hold."  The bitch has less give in her than a fucking iron skillet.

I get up in a rush, shoving the chair back hard enough to knock it off its casters with a crash, and stalk to the monitor, jabbing the Red Queen into it hard enough to rock the solid state beast, and I turn to face you, pointing at where Aika is moving like a broken puppet, like a parody of life.  "She's gonna get caught, she's not gonna give, an' she's gonna get her fuckin' arm torn off.  An' If she's not fuckin' important to YOUR plans, she's very fuckin' important to ME." I finish, flushed with fury, my weary muscles jumping in my sweat-chilled ring gear.

I look in your direction, turning my head slowly. "If she does, it will be the price she pays for failure," I say, fixing you with my iciest blue-eyed stare. "YOUR price is to sit here and see what you've wrought. If you can't bear to watch the match, look at Red, instead." Red gives me a 'leave-me-the-fuck-outta-this' look in response to that comment. I stand up, moving calmly towards the locker room door, turning to lean my back up against it. "Now as I said, you will get your hands on her. But Not. To. Night." This is risky. It could push you too far. But it could also solve two problems at once. Worth a toss of the dice.

There's a long, long moment of tension that's as tangible as a plucked violin string, humming desperately between two unrelenting grips.  My eyes narrow furiously and I wrap my left around the hammer in my hand as my right tightens until there's small icy crack of one short squared fingernail splintering against my taped palm. My tendons suddenly ease and I let out a long, slow breath, and turn my back to you to take a deliberate seat on the bench, watching the monitor. My eyes stay locked on the dark things there, and when I speak, my voice is almost as clipped and icy as yours, which is never, ever a good sign with me.  "I'll watch the fucking match.  But if this goes wrong, and she gets hurt," I grit my teeth so hard I can hear them almost cracking, and shake my head with a sharp snap to break my own tension. "... then I am goin' out there to fuck that crazy masked cxnt up."

"And if you get in my fucking way one more time, Quinn, then YOUR price is gonna be a prolonged fucking hospital stay."  Not the best words way to ease the tension.  Red mutters something about a refill and gets up, putting as much distance between himself and us as he can, but the room is really not very big.

And it feels fucking smaller all the time.

[Rowan Chance]

Gemma flips in the air, her legs in full splits as she falls toward Aika...

But at the very last second, Aika sits up.

Gemma lands in her full splits, slamming into the canvas. Her face twisted in agony, her body stunned as she sits motionless for a moment, her face twisted in pain... then collapses.

Aika’s masked face turns quickly, staring at Gemma. Then, Aika’s gloved hand shoots out and grabs Gemma by the throat.

Gemma’s face snaps from pain to surprise. Her hands reach up, grabbing Aika's wrist. She tries to gasp for breath, but can't.



LvK: It's a choke, Ref! Come on!

RP: Gemma's in real trouble now.

LvK: What? You aren't going to complain about double standards?

RP: In this match, van Keel, I'm keeping my opinions to myself.



Like before, Aika slides to her feet as if something above her had lifted her up and she pulls Gemma up with her. The two women now face-to-face, bound together by Aika's iron grip.

“NO!” Gemma tries to shout, but the hand on her throat cuts off the sound.

Aika’s head snaps forward, smashing her forehead into the bridge of Gemma’s nose. Blood explodes over both women as Gemma’s face snaps from surprise to agony. Her limbs freeze. Her legs buckle.

Then, Aika twists Gemma’s body into a Tombstone piledriver position…



LvK: It’s the Tomb Breaker! The Tomb Breaker!

RP: That move almost killed a wrestler in Japan! It's banned all over the world! Why hasn't FTW banned it?

LvK: Don't do it, Rowan! Don't...


Aika pauses, holding Gemma in the perfect position…




LvK: For the love of God, Rowan! Don't do it!

LT: Rowan cannot hear you, Mister van Keel.

LvK: This is too much! Don't...



Aika leaps straight into the air, her legs splitting out under her, dropping Gemma into a tombstone with full splits.

The sound of Gemma's skull hitting the boards under the canvas meets with a heavy, sick crack.



LvK: I can't tell if that noise was the boards under the mat or Gemma's spine!

RP: It's probably both, van Keel.

LvK: Someone stop this match! Right now!




Gemma’s body falls from Aika's grip and slumps to the mat. Gemma's body splayed before Aika, shuddering like a woman struck by lightning.

Aika sits, crossing her legs behind her, looking down at Gemma.

The ref goes down for the pin… but Aika doesn’t pin her. She just looks at Gemma’s body, twisting like it was hit by a stun gun, Aika's head bent just to the side. Like a curious cat watching the last throes of a dying mouse.

Aika then looks at the referee. Then, back at Gemma.

Almost as if she doesn’t know what to do.

Finally, Gemma’s spasms quiet and her body rests. Still.

Aika doesn't move, watching Gemma. Silently watching her.

The ref begins his count on Gemma. She lays on the mat, unmoving.

He gets to three. Then four. Then five and six. Finally, Gemma’s body twitches. Her hands begin to push against the mat, trying to lift herself up.

And that’s when Aika, like a spider, throws Gemma over onto her back. Then, she slides onto Gemma's shoulders. Her legs coil around Gemma’s right arm.


LvK: Oh, no…

RP: This is exactly what she did to the Red Enforcer…

LvK: Tantalus, you have to stop this!

LT: I cannot stop her. Nothing can stop her.

RP: Holy $%^&, Rowan's going to break Gemma's arm!

LT: In life, the penalty for not understanding is pain.

LvK: Tantalus, I don't care what kind of screwed up shades of grey relationship the two of you have...




Sitting on Gemma’s back, Aika’s hands wrap around Gemma’s wrist, her legs tight around Gemma’s shoulder. The crowd is dead silent. As silent as a wake.

Then, Aika laughs… and pulls.

Gemma screams out loud. “NO! YOU #$%^ing bitch! I’ll NEVER tap for you!”

Aika laughs more and pulls back harder.

Gemma screams again. “NO! NO!”

The ref looks at Gemma. “Do you…?”

She doesn’t let him finish the sentence. “$%^& YOU!!!" she shouts. "NO!!!”

The referee looks at Aika and shakes his head. “She says no.”

Aika keeps her eyes focused on the ref. Locked on him. She tightens her grip around Gemma’s wrist, her dark laughter filling the room like a black cloud, billowing from the center of the ring, through the ropes, out to the chairs and stands.

The crowd is still silent. Like NASCAR fans holding their breath the moment they see a car starting to lose control... waiting for the wreck. Half their hearts filled with dread and the other half filled with anticipation.

The ref asks again, "Gemma... please..."

As if in response, Aika pulls a little harder, twisting the wrist in her hands, arching her back just an inch. The scream Gemma makes sounds like it came from the darkest parts of the Hart Dungeon.

"@#$% YOU, ROWAN!" she screams. "NEVER! NEVER!"

The camera focuses on Gemma. Her face is red. Her eyes moist. Her lips screaming.

Then, the camera shifts to Aika's face. And for a brief second, she looks directly into the camera. Her eyes are black. Her lips twisted in a cruel smile. And mouths says a single word. The only word she has spoken the entire match.



"Megan."

[ThePurpleVixen]

I'm already on my feet when Aika flips Rowan over into the ude-garami. I take a long breath and then turn to face Callista Quinn, still watching the monitor with her back to the door and her face carved from ice.

Behind me, something twisting Rowan's voice speaks my name.

"I'm bein' paged, Calli," I say quietly, my eyes burning with fury as I grip the Red Queen under her lead-weighted mallet head with my right fist and around the haft with my left, holding the heavy croquet weapon across my chest.  Her eyes meet mine, chilled and shadowed to hide whatever she's thinking, but I see her hands quietly dip out of sight into her pockets.

"I'm goin' out there.  Now.  I'm either gonna go past you or I'm gonna fuckin' go through you," I growl, taking a step closer.  "An' if ya wanna pull your fuckin' MagLite or your brass fuckin' knuckles out of your pocket an' take a swing right now, we can do that fuckin' dance.  An' then I'm gonna get up outta the lake of blood we'll leave behind an' I'm gonna go down there anyway, so I'll say it fuckin' succinctly."

I tighten my grip on the croquet mallet - it looks silly, a comic book weapon, something a riot grrl would carry ironically; a spraypainted, stickered croquet mallet.  But the lead core and African hardwood the Red Queen is made of has ended one career already and won me more than a handful of matches.

"Get outta my fuckin' way."

Calli doesn't give a thing away aside from the slightest narrowing of her eyes and tightening of her jaw that practically snarl We shall discuss this later before she almost casually steps off the door and goes to take a seat in the IKEA chair after setting it back on its casters.  She swivels the chair to the monitor, putting her back to me.

When Callista Quinn does ANYTHING you've forced her to, she does it like a cat - languidly, arrogantly, and with the air that she was going to do this ANYWAY so you haven't really won.  I bet she even orgasms with a disdainful air.

I shoulder through the door and pelt down the hall.  Red shouts something after me but by that time I've gotten my Doc Martens churning, and my heavy boots slam through the halls.  A camera guy working on his light takes a second too long to get out of my way and I clothesline him into the fucking wall with the handle of the Red Queen.  Security guys in polos and a couple of the commissioner's backstage agents in cheap suits are hanging out at gorilla, keeping an eye out for trouble, but they're watching the madness in the ring and it's too late to stop the insanity coming up behind them.

I swing from the hips, taking out one of the agent's knees from behind, and he drops with a howling ragged scream as I turn an old ring injury into a lifelong limp.  A security guy turns to lunge at me and takes a 14 pound lead weight in the chest as I bring the hammer up and drive it forward, driving him into the wall and dropping him wheezing.  Another one gets a grip on me, trying to drag me down, and I snap a headbutt into the bridge of his nose and, as he staggers back, punt the toe of my Doc up into his goody bag, sending him to his knees with an unearthly howl.  The last road agent, who under the cheap suit and slicked back hair appears to be Flower Power Phil (one half of Peace and Love Incorporated, the hippie heels who used to run amok in the Midwest territories. Phil is short for "Philodendron" - the guy whose knee I took out was Sweet Richie Love, his partner), takes a good look at me and puts his hands up, backing away and holding the curtain up for me.

I don't stop to exchange snappy remarks or to argue about assault with a deadly weapon or grievous bodily harm - I go slamming down the aisle at furious speed.  They don't queue my music because that's fucking stupid. Also Europe would be a little inappropriately cheery for this situation.

The crowd pops my arrival - possibly out of confusion or discomfort before they realize they hate me and Gemma, but it's really hard for anyone to get behind a monster like Aika.

I hit the ring at a dead run, leaping before I hit the apron and belly-sliding under the bottom rope, twisting my body to bring my boots around so I can use the momentum to leap smoothly to my feet, a trick I learned from Paul London.  That leaves me in my sweaty and bloodied ring gear with the Red Queen in my fist facing Aika, who stares up at me with her eyes mad and lost behind her new face.  It's hard not to look at my suffering lover, but I have to keep Aika's eyes on me.

The referee starts to warn me out, but thinks better of it when he sees agents and crew beginning to swarm from the back, helping some of the men I've injured and starting to approach the ring, and the zebra instead just backs off with one hand raised to signal the timekeeper.

I keep my dark gaze locked on Aika and snarl in a dead tongue (Yeah, I took Latin in high school.  What of it?), invoking the monster, trying to peel her off my Gemma and get her onto me.

"Vocavi te, venefica -" I splay my arms, the Red Queen held under the head in my dark-taped and bloodied right fist as I plant my blood-red boots defiantly in the ring. "- et VENIO."

[Rowan Chance]

The crowd pops and Aika looks up. Her masked face twists into a kind of smile. Wet hair dangling over her eyes, she watches Punky charging for the ring.

When Punky hits the apron, Aika stands, letting go of Gemma's arm. Gemma writhes in pain, holding her shoulder with her good hand.

The ref runs forward, sending warnings at Punky, but it's as if he isn't even there. There are just two people in the ring right now. No Gemma, no ref. Only two.

Punky snarls something the mics don't pick up and charges, the Red Queen held high above her head. Aika doesn't move, frozen like a grotesque statue.

Punky screams...

Aika stands motionless...

The Red Queen swings...

BLACKOUT

RP: What the @#$% just happened?

LvK: We've lost everything. Lights, feed, everything.

RP: What's going on? I hear...

LvK: Something's happening in the ring...



Suddenly, the crowd hears a horrible scream. A helpless scream. The sound of a soul being torn from the body.

And then, the wet sound of a bone breaking.




LvK: What in the name of God was that?

RP: (murmuring) Please don't turn the lights back on... Please don't turn the lights back on...



The lights return.

Punky stands in the corner of the ring, the Red Queen in her hands, squeezing it with taped fists, her punkytails flying this way and that, looking for something that isn't there.

The ref stands in another corner looking completely confused.

And Gemma lies in the center of the ring, her shoulder twisted in a way that shoulders just don't turn. She's screaming, lips wide open, eyes shut tight, tears running down her face.



RP: Oh, @#$% why did I have to see that?

LvK: Aika is gone!

RP: Thank Christ. But look what that sick @#$% did to poor Gemma!

LvK: Gemma is lying in the center of the ring, her arm broken like a bread stick!

RP: @#$% YOU, VAN KEEL! NOW I CAN NEVER EAT BREAD STICKS AGAIN!

LvK: This is sick! This isn't what wrestling is supposed to be about!

LT: This is what the Countdown asked for. And thus, this is what they get.

LvK: You bastard! This isn't wrestling! This is ending people's careers!

LT: The same way they hoped to end Rowan's. And now, they must suffer the consequences for their choices.



Tantalus stands, watching Punky in the middle of the ring. Slowly, he walks around the ring toward the ramp. But Punky doesn't even notice. She only wants one thing right now and Tantalus isn't that. He walks up the ramp and through the curtain to the back.

The ref has been kneeling over Gemma. She's still screaming, still clutching at her twisted arm. He stands, turns to the back and throws up the Dreaded X.




RP: Who's the winner here, van Keel?

LvK: I don't know. We have to wait for the referee's decision...




The ref walks to the corner and shouts something down at the time keeper. The time keeper walks back to his mic and says,

"The referee has ruled that the winner of this match... via disqualification due to outside interference... is AIKA!"



RP: THAT'S A BULL@#$% CALL! A BULL@#$% CALL!

LvK: A controversial decision if I've ever heard one.

RP: Ya think?!?!

LvK: The ref had no other choice. Punky interfered in the match and took a swing at Aika with the Red Queen.

RP: What about poor Gemma? What about her?

LvK: All I can say is, pick your friends and enemies wisely.

RP: Now you're starting to sound like that Tantalus asshole.



The crowd erupts in cheers. Punky slams her Doc Martins against the mat, slams the Red Queen into the turnbuckle. Some start throwing cups and bags of popcorn at her. Punky doesn't care. She's still looking. Still scanning the crowd. A fan hits her with a soda cup and she doesn't even notice. Her eyes are wide and full of hate and fury.

Meanwhile, paramedics assist Gemma out of the ring and toward the back.



LvK: Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to try to restore some order here before our main event. But I don't know who is going to be able to get Punky out of the ring. She's hitting everything in sight with that croquet mallet... Wait a second... there's some kind of commotion in the back... we've got a camera there, can we... ?



The camera switches from van Keel to a dark room. A solitary figure throws herself about the room, smashing into the lockers, smashing into the walls, throwing herself like the victim of a voodoo doll.

It's Aika.

"YOU CAN'T HAVE MY PAIN!" she shouts, ripping at her hair and the mask on her face.

She screams it again: "YOU CAN'T HAVE MY PAIN!"

She falls to the floor like a marionette who has lost its strings, her masked face against the concrete, her body twisted like a demonic pretzel. Her hands are in her hair, twisted in her fingers.

Her voice, cracking, whispers, "Nobody can have my pain... Nobody but you... Nobody but you..."


Aika's body shudders... then becomes very still. Silent.




The camera man approaches, almost cautiously...



And Aika leaps up, grabbing the camera, her masked face filling the screen.


"NOBODY BUT YOU!!!"


The camera man falls back, the image spinning out of control, then breaks into static.

[ThePurpleVixen]

FTW: SECOND COMING is an iPPV brought to you in part by our sponsors!

Promotional consideration paid for by the following:

Special thanks to OneHourTees.com for supplying the custom T-shirts available at ftwshopzone.com!

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Hansen's Hypno-Coins - if you can find a sturdier hypno-coin, you buy it!

And a very special thanks to The Art of Wrestling with Professional Wrestler Colt Cabana!

[ThePurpleVixen]

[Callista]

Alone in the locker room, I watched as the scene in and around the ring unfurled. After they showed Gemma being wheeled towards the backstage area, I turned the phone off and took a single breath. No sense avoiding it. Time to see what needed to be done. I pulled the hoodie on, tucked my mag-lite into the front pouch, then opened the door and stepped through into chaos.

Locker room doors up and down the hall stood open, wrestlers and managers and crew all huddled around televisions in groups. Gorilla was wide open, the stage lights blazing as Gemma was wheeled back by a cadre of EMTs. They had her strapped down tight, her arm in a temporary splint, (and if they're wise, sedated with enough tranquillisers to pacify a rhinoceros.)

Stepping towards them, I head over towards the parking garage where the ambulance was located, passing a closed door with what appeared to be a hand-made star with “SADIE” written on it in black sharpie. “Wasn't this a supply closet?” I thought. The door opened, and out stepped the Red Enforcer. “Ah.” I gave a purposeful tilt of my head and, after a moment's pause, he fell into step with me.  

I caught up to the EMT's, the ambulance door open as they prepared to bring their patient inside. Megan was with them, alternating strokes of Gemma's hair with streams of invective so furiously obscene that it seems to scorch the air around her. “Oh,” I thought. “So that's the way of it.”

Looking on the bright side, an enraged Punky is a dangerous Punky. She might tear Layne apart if I could get them together while I distracted the referee. Unfortunately, though, recent events proved I couldn't be certain she had the discipline to stick to a plan, no matter how straightforward. In her present state, I wasn't sure I wanted her ringside. Maybe it would be best to tell her to go with Gemma to hospital. I pursed my lips at that thought, remembering that I didn't want Megan thinking I cared about Gemma. Complicated plans and chaos are a dangerous mix.

I still wasn't sure how I wanted to play this as I approached, but that decision was quickly taken from me. “Megan, I-” I started to say, but when she glared in my direction, my hand tightened of its own accord around the grip of the Mag-Lite. She didn't say a word, but I could read her intent with perfect clarity. Sighing, I nodded my head, offering a non-committal gesture with my hand that even I was entirely certain of the meaning of.

She climbed into the back of the ambulance as Gemma's gurney was loaded in, and the door shut, wheeling two-thirds of my minions away into the night. Sighing in moderate irritation, I turned to Red. Again, I tried to look on the bright side. Red had been around the block, and his experience in the Southern territories meant he knew all the tricks about how to help out from the outside. I could also trust he'd keep his head cool in the clinch. “Looks like it'll just be you out there for my match,” I said.

“No. It will not,” a familiar voice said behind me.

I winced and thought “Ah fu-”

The woman the Spanish accent belonged to stepped into my field of view. Gabriela Dos Santos, La Santa herself. Former holder of about every title you like, (possibly still current holder of a couple, albeit for companies now out of business,) and FTW Commissioner, La Santa herself. Dressed in a smart bespoke white pantsuit with gold highlights and fringe, and with a large golden cross around her neck, its design a perfect replica of the one she used to adorn her tights with in her wrestling days. The days I ended.

Unfortunately, with those days ended, it meant I couldn't settle disagreements with her with violence, anymore. I was finding that...inconvenient, as of late. “I warned you that there would be consequences if Countdown interfered in any of tonight's matches. So there shall be.” She pointed at the curtain marking Gorilla. “If any member of Countdown sets foot on the other side of Countdown in your match, be it in the ring, on the stage, or in the stands, he or she is FIRED!”

My irritation, previously somewhere between mild-plus and medium, escalated to Thai hot. It took a moment to unclench my jaw to make sure I was maintaining my icy, calm expression. Judging by the fact that Red was now a step further away from me, I had perhaps not done so quite as well as I might have hoped. I could swear I saw the barest hint of a smirk in Gabriela's professionally aloof demeanour, but I doubted that would be considered a justifiable reason for clubbing her to death with the Mag-Lite I had a white-knuckled grip on just then.

Now, MEGAN, on the other hand. Her I had justification for murdering, but sadly, the ambulance was well out of view by now. La Santa, satisfied that her point had been made, walked off. I glanced in Red's direction. He looked back worriedly, possibly fearful I might order him to interfere despite the punitive consequence he would face.

I probably would trade his job for the belt, if it were reasonably certain, but looking at the situation practically, I couldn't be sure that would work. La Santa might just order security to block Red from getting to the ring. Greensboro's minimum-wage goon squad probably couldn't stop him if he were determined, but Red having to fight his way through a phalanx of tubby former high school handegg players would surely be noticed even by the dimmest of FTW's referees.

No, too much risk for too little reward. “You're off the hook,” I said, barely noticing his relief as I turned and headed back to the locker room. A new plan was needed...

[Emily Layne]

Scene switches to the commentary table where the two announcers still seem shocked by the bizarre turn of events.

LVK: And we are back, ladies and gentlemen! We must say that we had some crazy times in the backstage with two ambulances needed. One for Gemma Rox and the other for two of the EMTs,injured while they were tryin to keep Rox still!

RP: Also we had some technical issues with our broadcast, apparently.

LVK: That's right, Rick, but all is fixed up now and we are ready to serve you the main event of the night with the first ever championship match in FTW!

The camera pans lower to the table where we see the championship belt laid front and center on the announce table on a small red pillow.

RP: And we have a very special guest here at the commentary table with us: the prize that everyone is fighting fort!

LVK: Fans, we have had confirmation from the Commissioner's office: Due to Megan Dow's interference in that savage match between Gemma Rox and Rowan Chance -

RP: Aika.

LvK: Er, yes - the Commissioner has formally announced that all members of The Countdown except Callista Quinn are banned from the ring and the ringside area! If one of them shows up tonight, they will be fired!

RP: This is bull*beep*! A fascist act! A total abuse of power!

LVK: What are you talking about? Finally we have the chance to see a fair match, one on one without any interference from outside, unlike every OTHER Countdown match!

RP: But tell me this: who will prevent Layne from cheating?

LVK: The referee, Rick.  He's an impartial official. It's his job!

RP: You live in the Dark Ages, van Keel! If that Italian tries to cheat again like she did against Punky, I will personally take care of business!

LVK: *facepalms* Oh, Lord.

The lights go off, the arena turns totally dark like moments ago during the match between Rox and Aika. The audience reacts with a gasp. The large video screen at the head of the aisle - the FTW-Tron - shows white writing on a black background.

WHO WILL BE THE FIRST FTW WORLD CHAMPION?

Music starts to play, filling the arena. It's the soundtrack from the first Saw movie. The writing is replaced by a image of the shining belt in the middle of the screen.

The image of the belt drops lower, on the right side is Emily Layne with her hands on her hips switching to have her arms crossed under her chest. On the left side is Callista Quinn lifting her face up and pulling her dark hood back, showing her short-cut hair and bright evil eyes.

The music goes on, images of FTW moments are shown on the screen.

The volume turns down some, there is Calli sitting on a sofa in a apartment, talking to a unseen person.

"Emily ... has annoyed me"

The scene switches to a conference hall, with Emily Layne in front of a bank of microphones.

"The Countdown isn't wrestling!"

The volume turns up again. A series of scenes from FTW are screened on the FTW-Tron:

Emily coming down and interrupting Gemma and Punky when they are about to hit Rowan with a double-team move.

Callista with a mic in her hand, talking to the audience in her first infamous promo.

Callista trapping Emily in a surfboard submission hold, both in casual outfits.

Emily ready to go after the leader of The Countdown while she is climbing outside between the ropes.

Pause.

The images are now black and white.

Emily is concentrated flipping a dart toward the wall in front of her, Callista flips a coin in the Countdown locker room, Emily climbs the ropes in the corner and waves to the enthusiastic audience, Callista confronts with Red Enforcer before turning away with a smug smile painted in her face.

The rhythm of the music increases, the scenes become rougher, again with colours.

Callista traps Lisa Starr in her Muta lock, Emily cuts a impressive Psycho Driver on Shizuko, Emily in street clothes spears Punky, Callista slams down Sadie's body in a huge powerbomb!

The screen turns black with a huge white writing in the middle.

EMILY LAYNE

Rowan grabs Emily hand and raise it up to the ceiling between a roaring crowd, Layne cleans the ring hitting first Gemma and then Punky with two running clotheslines, Emily finishes Shizuko with the Kudo driver while smirking at the camera.

Black again,music is still on. White writing appears.

CALLISTA QUINN

Callista pins Lisa Starr, Callista traps a screaming Sadie in a abdominal stretch, Quinn mockingly extends her hand out to Emily for a tag, Callista slams the bleeding face of Emily down on the metallic ramp over and over.
The screen once again shows Emily on the right and Callista on the left, the belt between them.

Another sequence of images.

Emily rolls up Punky for the three count, The Countdown posing over Lisa, Rowan and Emily's bodies in the ring, Callista drags Emily's limp body in the ring, a bleeding Emily puts her hands on her thighs waving at Quinn who is quickly walking across the ramp.

Music volume turns down some.

"One by one, they will all fall" Emily says, throwing a dart into Callista's picture hanging on the wall in front on her.

"The belt will be around the waist of someone in this ring. Because we've got all of wrestling to save. And this is the next step. Time's up," Callista nods and looks to the ceiling before dropping the mic.

Volume turns up again and a last writing appears.

WHO WILL BE THE FIRST FTW WORLD CHAMPION?

Music ends, and the crowd roars.

(Soundtrack: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhSHXGM7kgE )[/i]

[Emily Layne]

LvK: And that was the violent history between the two superstars that in few minutes will face each other in this very ring!

RP: And they will compete for the gold, Larry!

LvK: I could't be more excited about it, Rick!

The lights goes off again in the arena.

RP: It looks like someone forgot to pay the power bill.

Thud.

RP: OW! Hey!

LvK: Shhhh, Rick.  Shhhhh.

The FTW-Tron shows a row of bright brass horns and blaring horn music fills the arena.

The crowd gasps again. Two bright spotlights are randomly moving through the audience until they come to a stop on the stage, under the giant screen where I am standing.

I am wearing a very long white toga with gold trim, draped over my whole body. My head is covered under a golden centurion helmet which leaves exposed only my eyes, mouth and chin.  My head is tilted down as if in prayer.

The original theme from the movie Gladiator starts to play and replaces the blaring horns as I lift up my face and look forward in front of me.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kln605W1r3E

The crowd cheers!

I stay there as behind me on the large screen the audience can see a scene of an ancient Roman army in glorious shining iron marching toward their unseen enemies.

LvK: Wow, some spectacular effects for the main event tonight!

RP: That ain't spectacular! That movie is 14 years old!

I finally start to walk down between the roars and cheers of my fans.

I gladly notice tons of "I HATE THE COUNTDOWN" signs and T-shirts around me.

I step off the ramp and stop at ringside. Turning to the crowd, I look around and survey them before using both hands to take off the helmet and show off my pretty face, freeing my dark hair to cascade down onto my shoulders.

I smile and don't waste any time; with a single movement I strip off the large toga to display the outfit I picked for tonight, the big championship night.

Shining gold laced boots that end just below my knees, white booty shorts with gold trim and the ornately scripted letters "E" and "L"printed in gold on each of my firm cheeks. I wear a gold halter top that covers my upper chest, laced behind my neck, cut high to just under my breasts to show off my toned abdomen.

A single gold band wrapped tight around my right bicep completes my outfit.

Two stagehands from the production team  are quickly running behind me to take care of the toga and the helmet.

LvK: This is a epic entrance for the Italian competitor Emily Layne!

RP: Yeah, well, remember that the ancient Roman empire ended in an ancient epic fail!

I step regally up the stairs and climb between the ropes before heading to one of the corners, the one closer to the commentary table, and I lithely climb to the middle rope.

I do not wave to my fans but only move my hands down to my waist, curling my fingers and dragging them back in the classic "I want the belt!" gesture, making sure everyone knows what's on my mind for the night!

From this position I point down to the belt at the announce table with my index finger, then again bring my hands down to my waist.

I notice that Rick is glaring up at me, so I smirk and blow him a kiss before jumping off the corner.

RP: THAT'S IT! Don't hold me back, Larry! I'm gonna show her! Don't you DARE hold me back!

LvK: Rick ... I'mm not even touching you!

I move to my corner and stretch my neck and shoulders, working my powerful arms as I await my evil rival.

[Callista]

LvK: The Countdown's contender is going to have to do quite a bit to top THAT entrance.

The lights in the arena go out.

RP: You HAD to open your yap, van Keel...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cAG49M6WPIw

Synthesized strains of music began to play over the arena's PA system. 10 seconds in, the sound of ticking can be heard, and an animation of the pocket watch from Countdown's logo appeared on the screen. 38 seconds into the song, a percussion beat starts up behind the synthesised chord.

RP: Emily Layne looking at the stage, but also looking over her shoulder as well.

LvK: She's wise to do so. Callista has used the cover of darkness as a prelude to a sneak attack, before!

Standing backstage at Gorilla, I had given thought to doing just that, but I'd abandoned that line of thinking when Megan and Red pulled that trick in the tag match, earlier. Not good to do the same bit twice in one night. Also, there were all sorts of ways to get an edge over your opponent. At one minute in, I slipped through the curtain, moving out onto the still-dark stage, the hood of my sweatshirt pulled over my head.

Between proximity and camera flashes, a few people around the stage area could tell I was there, but it was made clearer at 1:20 when I clicked on the Mag-Lite, holding the torch in my hand and pointing it upwards towards my chin. The clock disappeared as the ticking sound ceased, and it white, large lettering, the screen read “CALLISTA.” A chorus of boos rained down upon me.

At 1:55, when a heavy guitar riff kicked in, the strobe lights flashed. I clicked off the torch and tucked it back in the hoodie's pocket as the music built to a crescendo at 2:04, at which point a pyrotechnic explosion occurred around me and the screen above and behind me went white. When the flash cleared, my hood was pulled back, and I was staring hard at my opponent in the ring.

My name remained on the screen, dropped down to the centre bottom of the picture as a montage of shots from my matches (and other combative appearances) were shown. After about 30 seconds of waiting, I strode down the ramp, not taking my eyes off of my opponent until I got down towards the ring, turning a bit and slipping my hoodie up off my head in a smooth, practised motion.

My entrance music wasn't the only thing I'd changed, as underneath I was wearing a black pleather halter top and matching square-cut shorts and boots with orange flames on all of them.

RP: Oh my...

LvK: Watch it, Rick. I think Takei has that copyrighted.

I set the hoodie in my corner and climbed up onto the announce table, ignoring the announcers and glaring out at the screaming fans.

RP: This is just like a dream I had.

LvK: Feel free NOT to tell us about it.

I hopped off of the table, heading for the stairs at a measured pace before stepping over the middle rope and climbing into the ring.

[Emily Layne]

My muscles tense as the lights goes off once again and now I am alone in the ring, in the dark.

I know that anything can happen as I am facing Callista.
But tonight I am ready, I am ready for anything.
She wont catch me surprised, not again.
I watched and re watched all the scenes of her in FTW,and not only here.
You cant predict what is going to happen, but tonight is my night, and Im ready to take my revenge and the championship too.

I look up and see the screen, then the music fills the arena and my eyes are now fixed on the top of the ramp.
My evil rival takes her time, standing there, those seconds are like a eternity for me and I step forward a bit.

Finally she makes her way down, our eyes meet for the first time, until she reaches the end of the ramp.
I am in the ring, hands on my thighs, crouching, lookin ready to get this started and to get my hands on her.

After some more seconds we are both in the ring and I straighten up, not saying a word.
It looks like anything can happen in any moment.
Part of the audience probably is expecting me rushing toward her to ground and pound her, the other part is waiting the opposite, her takin a early advantage with a attack before the bell.

Nothing of these options happen.

The referee moves to the ropes and leans between them to grab the belt, handed by Charlie Guiteau,dressed in his most elegant outfit ever, the ring announcer who starts to talk.

The following contest is set as one fall and its the Main Event of this show!
The winner will be the first ever FTW World Champion!

The referee lifts the belt above his head to show it to anyone in the arena.

The crowd cheers.
I grab the top rope to the side of the corner and pull it with both hands as my eyes are still on my rival.

Introducing first, coming from Milan, Italy, standing at 5'7" and..

There is a hesitation in Charlie words although he tested this over and over in the last week.
His eyes left the paper in front of him and he noticed that I started to walk forward, toward the middle of the ring in Callista direction.

.. weighing at 135 lbs, she is the Italian Gladiatrix. Ladies and Gentlemen, Emilyyyyy Layneeeeeeee

I simply raise up my right arm, closing the fist to welcome the roar from the crowd as I stop myself in the center of the ring, like waiting for my rival here, like in a pre boxing match ritual.

[Callista]

Charlie Guiteau turns to me in his fancy swallow-tailed coat with the gold edging, visibly preening as he savoured his time in the spotlight. As always, he looked a right muppet.

”And in this corner!” said muppet began, “weighing in tonight at one hundred and thirty two pounds, hailing from scenic Salford England,” he's obviously never been to Salford, “we have the Founder of the Countdown, the MASTER of ALL SHE SURVEYS ...

CAAAAAAAALLISTAAAAAAAA QUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!”

You can't say he doesn't know how to announce properly, though.

LvK: And the first official championship match here in FTW is underway, ladies and gentlemen!

RP: I'm not one to get all friggin' metaphorical, van Keel, but I gotta tell ya, you can FEEL the electricity in the air!  It's like summer lightning in the air!

LvK: That's... surprisingly poetic, Rick.

RP: And Callista's ass looks FANTASTIC in those new shorts!

LvK: And you're back.

Emily comes out of her corner, moving with confidence and aggression in her step.  She comes right towards me as the bell sounds, looking not to let herself get baited or held off and worked into a submission or out-wrestled.

A good plan...if I hadn't seen it coming a mile away...

As she comes right for me, I let my hands slide off the top rope, starting to circle for a second before pushing off the canvas with my right boot and I lunge forward towards her, swinging my arm up and greeting her with a stiff *CRACK* of my bicep against her jaw that rocks her head backwards.

LvK: Holy COW!  Callista Quinn starting off VERY aggressively, lunging straight into Emily Layne with a European uppercut!

RP: I think with these two in the ring it's just called an uppercut. But yeah, that was pretty smooth!  And now she's goin' to town on Layne with forearms to the head! I'm lovin' it like a fast-food chain!

LvK: VERY uncharacteristic approach by the leader of the Countdown, but it appears to have Emily Layne rocked back on her heels.  Callista is just all over her, relentless, now with a knee strike low into Emily's belly!

RP: And never even comin' close to using a closed fist so the ref can't stop her.  Hot damn!  I'd marry her if I was a chick.

LvK: Rick I really don't... wait, what?

RP: And it'd be SUPER hot.  I'd have a big rack and we'd make out all the time.

LvK: ...

RP: I mean HEY LOOK she hit an elbow to the back of Emily's head!

For some reason I get a sudden and inexplicable urge to kill someone. This must be what it's like to be Megan. Fortunately I'm somewhere I can channel that emotion productively, and Emily staggers back under my assault. I snap a kick into her knee like I was a footballer and the referee was bent in my favour. Her like drops out from under her, and I follow that up by hammering my forearm across her back, making it arch as she groans in pain.  My face impassive, I nonetheless relish the sound.

[Emily Layne]

"UGH"

"UGHH"

"UGHHH"

I groan each time Callista hits on my body and head.
I must admit that I wasnt waiting for this start as I never seen her doing this kind of tactic in the first moments of her earlier matches.

The crowd gasps as they see me stumbling back, one knee down and when I straighten up

*BAM*

Another European uppercut to my chin.
I take a step back but the leader of the Countdown follows me,  for some more punishment.
This time I block her blow with my left arm, my lips curling in a snarl,showing my teeth as I drive my knee high to her mid section followed by a quick but strong clothesline that caught her enough surprised to send her down!

  LVK: And finally Layne starts to counter with a huge clothesline!

RP: How rude!

This time its me that I dont waste time, she is gettin on her feet when I rush forward sending my elbow to her face and follow by moving one hand down between her legs and grip on her bottom (which it causes Rick face to get green in envy) to scoop my taller rival upside down and hold her up for a couple of seconds for a high body slam that sends her down on the mat again!

  LVK: Perfect executed body slam from Layne! And Quinn is on her back again now, for the audience joy!

RP: you dont have any professionalism! She is on her ass, and what a great ass she has!

LVK: We already got your point about that Perle

My rival reaches for her back with one hand before getting up,this time a bit slower than before but I am not going to allow her to give her time to think, I move quick again and send my boot to her knee, before wrapping my strong arms around her body, not wanting to give her any time to plan a counter.
My right hand tightly grip on my left wrist and I harden my muscles, bending my knees low before flipping her over my body in a belly to belly supkex release that makes the ring shakes after the impact!

  LVK: Wow! Emily Layne makes sure that anyone knows whats her tactic for tonight! She wants to wear her opponent down with some power moves!

RP: This is a championship match my friend, tactics are useless tonight!

LVK: since when we are friend?

I take a look around and see the audience on the first rows cheering up and wild.
I kinda ignore them and not taunt them.
Its time to go on with the plan and I nipup and head to my rival, focusing on her and on the next move

[Callista]

I have a moment as I'm snapped overhead before I crash into the mat to appreciate how, after all these years in rings around the world, I still loathe being suplexed. There's a soundless snarl that briefly colours my expression as I arch my back instinctively and start to rise to my feet, trying to get my bearings before Layne has time to pile into me again. Unfortunately, if there is one thing you can rely on in both wrestling and traffic along the Riviera when you're driving a rental, it's that an Italian will crash into you at the very first available opportunity.

RP: And Layne is on her like arrabiata on spaghetti! Hot and SPICY!

LvK: Do we really need to relive the "gazpacho soup" incident from when we called a La Santa match, Rick?

Emily drives a shoulder into me and gets me up and off my boots before I can stop her, lifting me under my arms and then slamming me down onto my back. It's not exactly the most efficient way to do a spinebuster, but I've got my chin tucked to keep from getting a whiplash concussion, so now's not the best time to criticise the woman on her technique. I roll to my side, tucking one hand behind myself, emphasizing the pain in my back.

The Italian immediately bends to drag me up, hooking my arm behind her head and bunching a fist in my shorts, making them ride up my arse enough that I can almost feel Rick Perle's greasy eyes leaving a snail's trail on my skin, and tenses her legs for a vertical suplex. Bending at the knees, I'm mentally resolving to buy a pair of tights for this look when I feel a lift coming, and I push upward. The momentum pushes me up and over my opponent, and a twist in the air gets me facing her when I land.

There's all manner of things I can do in this position, but I'm keeping to a strategy that isn't my norm. There's no time to think, so I take a page from Gemma, who doesn't generally think when she's wrestling anyway, and I grab hold of Emily's shoulders, using the bounce from my landing to propel my legs back off of the mat, I throw my weight backwards and pull my knees upward towards my chest, yanking Layne backwards and driving her back down into my knees.

LvK: OHHHHH, that was BRUTAL!  Callista Quinn drops Emily Layne with a DEVASTATING lungblower, ending her rally!

RP: That was a new one for ol' Lex Luthor.

LvK: Probably not a comparison you want Quinn to hear, Rick.

RP: Why not? She's brilliant, she's almost a lock to be the first FTW World Champion, she's in charge of the most dominant stable in wrestling, and she has a fantastic ass.

LvK: That's...are you saying Lex Luthor has a fantastic ass?

RP: I...uh...CALL THE DAMN MATCH, VAN KEEL!

Em topples off my bent knees with a satisfying groan, and I go right to work, rolling over to my knees behind her. A hand on her hip and another on her shoulder secures her in place, and I get the night's efforts fully underway by driving my left knee into the small of her back with care and precision a few times.