First, a few words of introduction: I haven't written proper celebrity wrestling in literally decades, but the genesis of this project was a discussion a little while back with my longtime friend the Walkin' Dude, upon his arrival on FCF. Initially, I had suggested to him that perhaps he might treat Jackflash's "Finish Her" thread as an avenue through which we readers could take a look back into his "Fanninverse" continuity, the stories from the old Kim & Ginny board that gave birth to the man, the myth, and the legend that is the Dude. Whether that happens or not remains to be seen, but I'm optimistic. 
But as the wheels turned further, I discovered that I had a desire to dip my creative toes into the universe he created. And, with his full blessing, I've done precisely that--though it has been my intention that what I write will be accessible to anyone, whether they read those original works back in the day or have not.
Before going further, I'd also like to take a moment to thank both the Walkin' Dude and my brother from another mother Jackflash, for the technical, artistic, and moral support they've given me as I've embarked on this path. I don't know how regularly I'm going to update this, and as of right now I'm envisioning a mixture of "Finish Her" style check-ins during the final moments as well as full stories for the bigger matches. But I hope you all enjoy!
And now that I've droned on long enough...PrologueThis was certainly not the way that Wyatt Lawrence had envisioned his life unfolding. Not that he had any complaints.
Oh, he had absolutely envisioned himself in Hollywood, ever since that first stage play rehearsal in high school. He had just expected to be standing on a soundstage, rather than sitting in an office. Or an editing suite. But there weren’t that many parts out there for a six foot three inch guy who could charitably be described as ‘stout’, whose skin was pathological averse to tanning, and whose hair was already beginning to thin, years before he gave up the fight and shaved it off altogether. (The beard, however, remained to this day. His face just didn’t look right without it, he felt.) But a studio internship launched a journey to becoming a successful and respected film producer…
… and that, in turn, would eventually lead his life into places that even he would not have expected.
It had been almost four years since the day he took his first phone call from Richard Fannin. While getting that call had been a surprise, Fannin’s voice was
very familiar to him. He had been a fan of Richard’s promotion for quite some time. He even had good seats at the company’s first pay per view, all those years ago, and had very much enjoyed witnessing the dawn of that new age. However, Wyatt had tended to keep his wrestling fandom a closely guarded secret.
Of course, Fannin had long demonstrated keen skills in learning the unknowable.
From that first pay per view, the company’s fortunes had done little but grow. Its bank accounts too had seen exponential growth thanks to that television and, later, streaming revenue. But something else had grown as well: the need to discover and train talent, not only to supply the company, but to ensure that once they stepped onto the main stage, they were ready to excel. The time had come for Richard Fannin to launch a satellite, developmental promotion. And Richard Fannin knew exactly who he wanted in charge…
… and that
wasn’t Wyatt Lawrence.
But Wyatt did possess a certain set of skills. He had the knowledge and expertise in overseeing a production, in keeping the books balanced, and in navigating all manner of red tape. He could make an absolutely invaluable right hand man to Fannin’s handpicked exec, who would oversee the in-ring trajectory of the promotion, should he agree to take the job.
Which he did in about the time it usually took that woman to claim victory, once he learned who he would be reporting to: about three seconds.
Over the last three years, the new league had seen success, both in terms of drawing money and in producing a string of graduates that had gone on to success in ‘the big leagues’: names like Hailee Steinfeld, Cami Mendes, Naomi Scott, Daisy Ridley, and Chloe Bennet had all passed through here, before making names for themselves in Fannin’s traditional New England haunts.
‘The Boss’ hadn’t been at last night’s show. She had only just gotten back on the West Coast this morning, having spent a couple of days ‘at a retreat’ with Richard and his significant other at a secluded cabin on the Upper Peninsula. Now that she was back in the office, though, it was time to give her a status report. And after checking in on the early post-production work being done on last night’s raw footage, Wyatt made his way to the office of the only woman who could run the Slayer Wrestling Academy…
Wyatt knocked on the door, his knuckles striking a few inches directly below Sarah Michelle Gellar’s nameplate. “Come in,” that distinctly light and melodic voice, so pleasant when she wasn’t intending to kick your face in, responded. Sarah was seated within the hollow of a ‘U’ shaped, oak executive desk, a sight which to this day always retained a slightly surreal note in Wyatt’s mind. It had only been three years since the blonde had wrestled her last match, and frankly, it hadn’t
needed to be Gellar’s last match. Her effort that night had been nothing short of stellar, even if the outcome had been…
Still, there was something to say for the Slayer’s decision. In this industry, for every Charisma Carpenter or Ming-Na Wen, who could still go out and give a credible accounting for herself—even if only on a part time schedule—there were two dozen or so former legends still showing up for indy bookings, desperate for the payday, and tarnishing their legacies with each match competing as a shell of their former selves.
Her office wasn’t so much a shrine to her career—Sarah Michelle’s ego was healthy, and justified given her accomplishments, but not out of proportion—but it did make an acceptable substitute for a Hall of Fame display, should construction ever go ahead at Martin’s Beach. Behind Gellar’s desk, framed photos of each of her triumphs for the World title adorned the wall, Sarah standing with her hand raised over the likes of Theron, Hewitt, Cuthbert, and “the Dark Angel” Jessica Alba on not one but two occasions.
And then, of course, there was the woman whose defeat at Sarah’s hands was displayed in both photographic form, as well as the set of bikini bottoms that now resided on a shop window bust. They may not have previously hugged the best backside in the industry, as Jennifer Lopez had so often claimed, but they had arguably covered the most iconic one. And, as trophies go, those bottoms were pretty hard to top.
“Tell me, Wyatt,” Sarah said, “have I ever told you how much I appreciate having one employee who actually
knocks?”
“Not since last week, no.”
“Well, I do. I gather I missed some fireworks last night?”
“You could put it that way,” Wyatt said. “The live crowd wasn’t particularly happy with how the night ended. We even ended up trending on Twitter locally for a bit.”
Wyatt’s attention turned, as it always did when he sat across from the Slayer, to the one item that was not positioned for the benefit of a visitor, but for Sarah Michelle. The photo sat beside her computer, so that she saw it every time she looked that way. If you didn’t know it was there, you would likely never notice it. But once you
did see it, it would likely haunt you forever.
As it almost certainly haunted Sarah.
Everything has its time, and everything dies—including arguably the greatest in-ring career this industry had ever known. And the final war of that career, between “the Slayer” Sarah Michelle Gellar and “the Undead Angel” Nina Dobrev had been the stuff of which legends were born. Dobrev had been the woman to end what would prove to be Gellar’s final title reign, and though she had scored victories over the brunette in other circumstances, Sarah had failed on multiple occasions to take that title back.
When Nina granted her rival one last shot at the belt, she didn’t demand Gellar’s career in exchange. Instead, she made Sarah agree that, should the Slayer fail, she would never again be able to challenge for the title that she had defined and was synonymous with, for so long as the company remained in existence. With those stakes set, the last battle was as vicious, as punishing, and as bloody as you would expect.
That photograph captured the final moments of the broadcast: Nina Dobrev seated on the mat, clearly exhausted, and yet her eyes possessed that unmistakable flicker of triumph. Her lower jaw was awash in blood, blood that was not hers. Sarah Michelle slumped against the seated champion, between Nina’s parted stems, Gellar’s once blonde hair matted in dried blood and her face the proverbial crimson mask…
… which made what would otherwise be the blissful slumber gracing her features all the more unsettling. Though even that was not the most distressing detail of that image. No, that would be the one word that had been written across Sarah’s tummy in glistening, crimson “ink”:
“SLAIN”Knuckles rapping on the desk drew Wyatt’s attention from the still photo of Sarah Michelle back to Gellar in the flesh. “Last night?” the blonde exec asked.
“Right,” Lawrence replied. “Prelims went about as you’d expect. Aly Michalka and Katrina Bowden left the Fanning girls in a crater. Sweetnam shut Lavigne up. Again. Sammi and Brec pulled out a nice come from behind victory against Bella and Sydney…”
“Oh, I’m sure they took that REALLY well,” Sarah interjected.
“Fans loved it, no question,” Wyatt said. “I swear, Thorne and Sweeney are just… frustrating. They’ve got all the potential in the world, and they’ve got great chemistry. If they could just…
focus, they’d be a force. Maybe not the physically destructive force that AlyKat are, but there’s more than one way to dominate in…”
Before he could finish his thought, the office door swung open. “Missed my big night, Sarah,” the new arrival remarked. “I’m hurt.”
Wyatt didn’t need to cast a glance over his shoulder. He knew that voice. In point of fact, it belonged to the woman who had once been his very favorite wrestler on Fannin’s roster. Of course, she was younger in those days. A little bit lighter. And a whole lot nicer. But with those extra pounds had come an added power game to her arsenal, and years of never quite living up to that Rookie of the Year potential had shaped her into both a bitter and vicious competitor. When he did look her way, it was not a surprise to see her dressed head to toe in black: black slacks, a black V-neck blouse underneath a black leather jacket—all of which served to cast the brunette perfectly porcelain skin in absolutely stark contrast—and black 5 inch heel boots. Even her eyes were hidden behind a pair of black shades.
The only note of color was the gold title belt draped across her shoulder.
“Well, what can I say, Michelle,” Sarah said to her long ago protégé. “A career full of choke jobs left me feeling fairly safe nothing major was gonna happen while I was gone.”
Michelle Trachtenberg, newly crowned queen of the Slayer Wrestling Academy, was not amused.
“Not to mention the small matter of the steel chair you tombstoned Kaley’s head onto…” Wyatt added, before Trachtenberg tutted him into silence with a raised finger.
“Nobody asked your opinion,” the brunette scoffed, ”so just sit there and look hideous. That should be within your limited talents.”
Wyatt winced, entirely involuntarily. As much as twenty-five year old Lawrence would have been delighted to be in those close proximity to Trachtenberg, no matter what had happened in those intervening years, she couldn’t help but draw blood with those barbs.
Turning her attention back to her former mentor, Michelle leaned forward, placing her hands on the front of Gellar’s desk. “Words hurt, Sarah. But do you know what hurts worse?” the brunette asked.
Gellar settled back in her chair, casting her glance upward to meet Michelle’s gaze. And yet, somehow, normal power dynamics did not seem to come into play. Trachtenberg, the woman on her feet, looming over the seated executive,
should have seemed to be in command. The seated woman
should have looked cowed, intimidated. And any other executive probably would have. Not Sarah. “Getting sunburned even from a spray tan?” the Slayer quipped.
Michelle didn’t take the bait. “Being wrong,” she said, simply. “I told Fannin when he shipped me off here, I told his bitch Cowbell, and I told you: if I was gonna be exiled to this wasteland, then I was gonna end up ruling it.”
Trachtenberg rose, slipping the title belt off her shoulder just long enough to place a light kiss on the golden faceplate. “Well, look who fucking told you so,” she purred. “The company might be named after you, but that ring belongs to me. And every bitch in that locker room better be ready to kiss my ass when her name is called. And next week? When I go out and celebrate my achievement, Sarah? Your sagging ass better be at ringsi…”
“Ummmmm, excuse me?” a new voice entered the fray. “Sorry, boss, but the door was open.”
All eyes turned to the new arrival. She too was a brunette, though considerably younger, clearly in her early twenties. And where Michelle’s skin was a flawless ivory, hers was beautifully bronzed, a sliver of her toned abdomen left bared between her purple tank top and blue denim hip huggers, tucked into a pair of knee high black suede boots.
“It’s alright, Kira,” Sarah Michelle said, waving the youngster in. “Pretty sure I know what’s on your mind.”
“How’s Ginny?” Wyatt offered, the concern obvious in his voice.
Kira Kosarin had come into the Slayer Wrestling Academy riding a considerable wave of hype, though she had come very close to
not arriving at the Slayer Wrestling Academy at all. When the front office had contacted her, Neve had actually offered Kosarin a main roster contract. But
Kira wanted to come here first, to prove her mettle, and hone her skills. Though the buzz around her had been as a singles competitor, shortly after arriving Kira formed a fast friendship with Virginia Gardner, and soon the chatter was that they just might be the team to dethrone the unstoppable force that had been Michalka and Bowden…
… but that chatter came to a heinous halt last night. Gardner now found herself looking at several months of arduous rehab.
“Better than King and Cameron are gonna be,” Kira fumed, then addressed Sarah Michelle. “Boss, you know I haven’t asked for a single thing since I got here.”
Without a word, Sarah nodded.
“But I want Hunter,” Kosarin said, in about as close to a demand as one could make without giving the Slayer an ultimatum. Brown eyes burning in her rage, she pressed her case. “Give me Hunter’s ass in that ring, Dove will come tagging along for the ride, and I’ll get my hands on both of them before it’s over. I wa…”
“Psssshhhhhhh!” Trachtenberg exhaled, finally deciding that she had yielded too much of her valuable time to this whining brat. She swept her hand into the air—in fact, coming perilously close to piefacing the younger brunette as she motioned her into silence. “No one gives a rat’s ass what
YOU want, little girl. Hell, no one even knows who you
ARE!”
Wyatt scooted his chair a few inches away from the two standing women, lest this budding war of words transform into something more physical.
“If Richard hadn’t sent me down here to sell some tickets,” Michelle claimed, “your precious little grudge match would be taking place in front of about five people, four of them comped. Now, why don’t you just head off to your room, have a little cry, and maybe write a few angsty words in your diary? The adults were trying to have a conversation.”
“Watch where that hand goes next time, if you want to keep it,” Kira finally snapped back. If the newly crowned champion had expected the younger brunette to back down, Kosarin instead turned to face her directly. “Didn’t get a chance to congratulate you last night, Michelle, since I was riding with my partner to the hospital. But after I’m done with Hunter, assuming you can cheat your way past Kaley a second time in her return match, you wanna see just how bad this ‘little girl’ can fuck you up?”
“More likely I’ll see just how comfortable your face is,” Michelle replied, nonplussed. “But if you think beating King’s gonna be good enough to get you to the head of the line for this belt…”
Trachtenberg’s hand gave the gold faceplate a possessive pat.
“… then you’ve still got a lot to learn, kid.”
Kira offered a mirthless chuckle. “Oh, I’ve got nothing but time, Michelle. And that bothers you, doesn’t it? Cause you know this might very well be it for you, your last chance to do something worthy of all those early accolades…”
Even behind those tinted lenses, Kira was sure she could see Michelle’s eyes narrow. Trachtenberg took a small step forward, bringing them together practically nose to nose. “Tough talk, kid,” Michelle remarked. “But you know all about talk, don’t you? That’s ALL you’ve ever had. No titles. No accolades. Just a lot of people saying how big a star you’re *going* to be, and how many belts you’re *going* to end up with. Talk’s cheap, babe. Almost as cheap as the last bitch I saw wearing that ensemble, down on Hollywood and Vine. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure she can break you in, after you’ve been a bust here.”
Kira’s fists balled, her muscles tenses, but before she could respond to that insult either verbally or physically, Sarah slammed her hands onto the desk as she shot out of her chair. “LADIES!” the blonde bellowed, her voice demonstrating more power than a five foot four inch frame had any right to possess. “Good stuff, but would you mind saving some of it for when there’s an actual, paying audience?”
Kosarin let out a cleansing breath as she relaxed, while Michelle’s lips curled into the tiniest of smirks as she also stood down.
“Kira,” Sarah continued, “you’ve got Hunter next week. Make her pay. Mitchie, good luck defending against Kaley. For all the good it’s likely to do you. And now, if there’s nothing else and while there’s no property damage to this office that I’d have to deduct from your paychecks, Wyatt and I have business to conduct. I know you both know where the door is.”
“Thanks, boss,” Kira said, her gaze drifting from the executive’s to Trachtenberg’s prized accessory. “Keep it shiny for me.”
With that, Kosarin turned and sauntered toward the door. Michelle waited until the upstart had reached it before offering her own, parting retort.
“Pucker up, buttercup.”
