Post by pixie on Mar 24, 2021 20:10:46 GMT -5
 āI see how you analyse shit.ā Her voice crackles over the silence, as though she hadnāt spoken in some time. Her words jar against the serenity of the room and jolt Martha from her concentration.. The one with the voice? Thatās Vhodka Marie. The wise among you might recognise her from her distinctive fall braids of varying colours, or tattoos, or nonsense Twitter posts. Sheās a longstanding champion in Outlaw Pro Wrestling, and presently leering into the camera as she points a wiry finger. Martha, our protagonist, and otherwise known as Pixie Sloane, (more on that later) is the subject of the finger-pointing. She is staring at a video monitor across the small and poorly lit locker room, where two wrestlers are exchanging blows in the centre of the ring. One is a behemoth woman, the other is a chiseled and greased, tattoo-covered adonis man. āJJās gonna have to face the winner of this, Iām certain of it.ā Came Marthaās reply. Freeze frame. Letās take a beat and catch our breath. Pixie here. Or Martha, or Marf. Youāll find whatās comfortable and thatās fine by me. JJ? My best friend. I love gameplanning for him because I know he has no idea about any of it - wrestling, that is. Heās been thrown into this unexpectedly. Yep, he wanted to be a model, or an actor, but lemonade from lemons is his goal. It is unfortunate that we have a professional wrestler who has no prior knowledge or interest in the sport on our hands, but alas, this is where we were. If he is to be successful, he needs someone to look after him and point him in the right direction. The guys Iām watching compete? The guy is Xavier Wolf and he is standing victorious over Necra Octavian Kane who is a fucking monster and terrifies me. Theyāre in the second round of Outlaw Pro Wrestlingās Co$a No$TRa tournament. The bracket has them on a collision course with JJ should he reach the semi-finals. So not next, but Iām watching everything. JJ, unlike me, is a big guy, incredibly naturally gifted, kind of like a nuke that can be aimed and fired and inevitably heāll come back with a W. Usually in comic fashion, because heās so good-hearted and wants everyone to like him. But weāre on this journey, in the middle of Europe. A lot motherfuckinā way from Big Tonyās apartment in Los Angeles, which is where we usually stay. Tony? Maybe another time. Long story. Okay, lets unpause. āSoooooooooo, have you ever thought about it?ā Vhodka Marie dragged a steel chair across concrete floor of the Johan Cruyff ArenA in Amsterdam, noisily disrupting the rest of the inhabitants of the room. She scowls at the few dirty looks that shoot her way from the various stagehands and performers who are sharing the space, and then returns her attention to the diminutive girl in fishnets with a shock of blue hair. āWhat?ā Martha responds, looking away from the monitor now that the match was over with, and into the face of Vhodka Marie. The pale, pristine porcelain features, accented with black and orange markings and framed with stark orange matted braids that had been tied into loose pigtails. āHave you ever thought about.. it?ā the OPW Southern Heavyweight Champion repeats, clicking her tongue and jabbing a slender, pointy and tattooed thumb into Marthaās shoulder. āNot really.ā Marthaās reply was terse, her hand reaching up to graze against the thumbprint shaped mark on her shoulder. āLike, this is his thing. Iām happy for him. Itās not for me.ā āTwo weeks ago, breathing fire wasnāt for you, and now I have to use a spreadsheet to check the availability of my wands and thereās probably an app somewhere that I need to download to check if thereās still gasoline in the kitbag, so donāt start telling me what is and isnāt for you!ā She stood up now, āYou donāt even know, yourself!ā I mean, sheās not wrong. Perhaps Iāve focused on keeping my head above water, focusing on keeping a steady supply of oxygen in and carbon dioxide out, that I hadnāt stopped to smell the roses much lately. I hadnāt stopped to think about me, lately. Or, like ever. I guess it is fair to say that my concentration has been elsewhere, and I guess what the institution of female professional wrestling, Vhodka Marie, is trying to express to me is that its okay to be a bit selfish from time to time. Itās something that Iāve never really considered. JJ is my best friend, Iād do anything for him. We look after each other. He has this opportunity, of course Iāma be there to help out, to stan for him, whatever it takes. Heād do the same for me. He totally would. āWell, weāre here now.ā Martha responds, gesturing around her at the Outlaw Pro Wrestling lockerroom. āSo?ā Vhodka Marie smirks, sitting back down, āIts not too late, and us being in Europe doesnāt mean shit. You gotta cast your own shadow, not live in his! You know more about wrestling than most of the guys picking up a paycheck, youāre freakinā acrobat flexible...ā Donāt ask how she knows that. ā...and Iāve heard you absolutely savaging JJ when he steps even a little out of line. Youād eat them for breakfast. Devour them.ā She can be damn pushy when she wants to be. But I guess that is why she has achieved the level of success in her career that she has, I guess thatās why sheās the mother hen that takes us all under her wing, when she sees something in us, she pushes. Maybe she doesnāt just see me as a side-character in JJ Starfireās story, perhaps she thinks I can be the protagonist of my own adventure. And the more I was thinking about it, the more it was starting to make sense to me. Thereās no reason why we canāt have concurrent plots that will eventually converge, or, meh, maybe diverge. Hopefully converge. But like, you know. We can experience the world through our own lens, if anything itād enrich both of our experiences, as weāre gathering data on what its like to start making your way through this world in parallel. I could feel the colour flushing my cheeks, and I was starting to get self-conscious. Is this what true, unabashed excitement felt like? Martha was, in gradual and chameleonic fashion, blending into the red exposed brickwork that separated them from the rest of the locker rooms just behind the stage door that led out into the large arena, and a knowing smile crept out from beneath the impish ivory fangs that had been tugging at Vhodka Marieās lower lip. āYes?ā It was almost rhetorical, the excitement bubbling through Vhodka Marieās voice was struggling to be contained. āMaybe???ā Martha burst into fits of laughter, as the older orange haired veteran hoisted her out of her chair and into a bearhug. It was clear to me that I wanted to try something different to JJ, different to everybody. She told me that I need to step into my own comfort zone, and for me its obvious. We spent the next, like, hour looking through the various offerings that exist in the world and for me it wasnāt even close. I want somewhere that will challenge me but let me grow, somewhere that I am my own entity and not in the shadow of those that came before me, somewhere that has a ceiling high enough that I wonāt get bored quickly, but not so high that its unattainable. Somewhere where the same five people arenāt dominating every column inch or television segment. Somewhere fresh, where my story wonāt get lost in the rich tapestry of backstory that everybody calls upon, but not so fresh that the injection of life I bring wonāt get lost in the crowd. Somewhere that called to me. Somewhere that when I look at it, I see potential, I see a place screaming to be heard. Theyāre doing things different, theyāre doing things right. So when I was playing a few YouTube clips, and saw people like Dickie or Hunter, Warstein or DeDraca, people Iāve come across on Twitter before, people who are folklore in and of themselves, believing in the mission statement of their organisation, and I watch the way they weave their stories with such care and passion, when I listen to their outward-facing executives, from Rock Johnson to the Fallout GM Christian DeMarco outlining their vision, it wasnāt even close. āIt has to be Project: Honor. Can you make it happen?ā Martha excitedly drums her fingers together, eyes widening. She catches her reflection in her iPhone screen, and realises that she might be coming off just a little over-eager, but she doesnāt contain it. Because she canāt. Vhodka Marie is notoriously the one that is in everybodyās business, if something is happening on Wrestling Twitter, sheās all over it. She knows everyone. Everyone. It isnāt but a moment or two before the self-styled āhabitual line-stepperā placed her iPhone face down in her lap, with her hand covering the microphone. āSooooooounds like thereās interest!!! Have you had chance to maybe think about your r-ā āPixie Sloane.ā Martha immediately cuts her off. āYeah you totally werenāt just waiting for this moment.ā An eyeroll, as Vhodka Marie picks up the handset again and continues speaking into it. The camera seems to be fading away from us as we faintly hear Martha saying, āI have to tell JJ! Wait, where is he?ā We fade down to nothingness briefly, with Vhodka Marie raising her hands in exasperation at Martha as the diminutive sprite darts away excitedly, leaving Vhodka Marie on the phone. In the darkness, we can hear the unmistakeable rustling of a hand in a bag of potato chips, followed by the crunch of teeth breaking it apart before being pulled completely into a mouth and a more muffled crunching sound dances through the silence. āShit. Shit shit shit. I didnāt mean to do that. Fuck!ā Thatās JJ. The very one. We met last year when, out of the blue, Tony said he was taking someone new into the house. Like I said, heās my best mate. Inseparable, hence why Iām in Amsterdam in the middle of March. Itās not like that. Fade in. A white cotton throw on top of a two person sofa in what is very clearly a hotel bedroom. Dark wooden legs dig into thin pale blue and orange carpet, and a prefab eggshell wall is adorned with two stock picture frames with photography of tulips and windmills. The male voice is deep, and childish in its canter as a wave of emotion blustered through it, before being punctuated by a resigned thud of a console controller falling to the floor. Heās large, wearing only a pair of greyish white sweatpants, leaving his chest with one pectoral muscle tattooed with a dragon that blends into a full right sleeve of tattoos. His face is unshaven, but not really bearded as such, and has a few piercings - one either side of his lower lip, each nostril has a ring and then a larger, thicker guage ring through his septum and finally a wide stretched black spacer in each of his ear lobes. Heās frustrated, and thrust his hand into the bag of tortilla chips. Pixie Sloane, Martha, was sat with him. Her black lipstick was starting to fade from eating, she had wing-lined eyes shadowed with green and a shock of blue-black hair in an outgrown mohican style. As she looked up at JJ, with a controller of her own in her hand, she tucked her feet into the large black London After Midnight hoodie that she often wore as loungewear or pyjamas. She pulled her hand from the bag of tortilla chips that they were sharing, whilst the glare from the television set in front of them flickered and lit up their faces in an otherwise dark room. Martha looked over at JJ, and grinned. She couldnāt really understand how he could be so uncoordinated and always needed to be completely carried when it came to videogames. Even with direct instructions, heād take a wrong turn, or jump when he should crouch and take a headshot. Martha thought he did it on purpose, sometimes, because thereās simply no way. It made no sense to her, but for him it wasnāt about the outcome, it was just about quieting his mind. It didnāt matter that he couldnāt win a round of WarZone. āMaybe... next time?ā Martha offers, before bursting into laughter. āWhy so doubtful! You believe in me, Marf, donāt you???ā JJ stands up, feigning outrage. He reaches down, trying to stop the bag of chips following the controller to the floor, but fails. āFuck.ā āAlright, this time Iām going into the lobby on my own! Does that tell you of the faith I have in you, Mr Starfire?ā Martha replies, jutting her tongue out from behind her ivory, pointed teeth. JJ slumps back on his chair, watching Martha as she queues up for a solos game. He sighs a little. āMarf?ā āYeah?ā She turns back to him, briefly, before returning her attention to the screen. āYou excited?ā He looks at her like a playful puppy. āExcited? About queuing solos? No, man, I legit do this all day when youāre not h--ā Martha starts, but is interrupted. āAbout your new adventure!ā JJ stands up. āI literally canāt wait, youāre gonna go there, to that Honor place, and wreck shit, man. Arenāt you excited? You may not admit it but youāve dreamt of being a wrestler your whole life since you idolised Angel Sloane back in hWa, you literally never shut up about that guy, I mean, itās gonna be so dope!ā āDick.ā Martha scolds, jerking her thumb into his ribs. āWhat?ā JJ answers, genuinely confused. Martha stands up, leaves the solos game that was just starting and clambers onto the bed. She turns the TV off, and pushes the button in on the bedside lamp, slightly illuminating the room near where sheās sitting. āWHAT?!ā JJ repeats. Martha crosses her legs under her as she looks back over at JJ for a moment, her eyes large and doeful as she contemplates. Pressure. Iām playing video games to try to escape the pressure that the decision I took then caused me. I mean, yeah, itās what I wanted. I canāt wait, honestly. But it canāt consume my every thought. Just got done finalising all of the contract particulars over the phone, and I need to decompress, forget about it for a minute, a moment. It isnāt his fault, heās excited for me. And Iām excited too. Perhaps too excited. Iām trying not to get overwhelmed. Thatās the whole point. I want it to go well. Its a trial by fire. I mean, I know I have got the brain for it, Iāve been watching, Iāve been a student of this sport for over half of my nineteen years on this Earth. I gameplan for JJ, I analyse stuff even for Vhodka Marie. Iām athletic, I can do the moves, I drill with JJ. None of thatās a problem. Stage fright, anxiety, worry? Yeah. So Iām trying to stay balanced, trying to put it in a box, because I donāt know how Iām going to react when the time comes to step through the ropes, crack my knuckles and get going. Will I freeze under the lights? Whatās going to happen? āNothing, Jay, donāt worry, mate.ā Martha smiles at him. He was a puppy. A naive, excitable, happy puppy. She didnāt want to bring him down or burden him with her worries. āYouāre freaking out like I freaked out, arenāt you?ā He whispers, in a moment of serene clarity, the tone in his voice changed completely. The impish spriteās lips curl and her nose squirrels uncomfortably. Awkwardness inevitably washes over her when things get ārealā with JJ. Their collective headspace is always very light and they keep each other on a level where the spiral never starts to get out of control. āListen, Marf, fuck it. No pressure. Youāre playing with house money. Nobody knows you, it doesnāt matter even if you crash and burn and make a fool of yourself.ā Heās up and on her bed with her now. His index finger pulls her attention from her lap, where sheād been willing for the upside down to come and swallow her so the social discomfort ends. Her eyes gaze into, or past, his. JJ squints, then smirks. āLookit, you wonāt make a fool of yourself, youāre just letting your head fuck with you. Youāre gonna smash āem. Grab it by the both hands,ā JJ smile, cracking a smile and pointing a pair of finger-guns up by his head. āSuccess is ya only motherfuckinā option, failureās not.ā āKnees weak? Palms sweaty? Tārow up on ya sweater already?ā Martha was smiling too, now, but looking down into her lap once again. This call and response had become part of their internal patois, something they repeated to one another when they sensed that the other was faltering. āThank you, JJ. Iām gonna miss you when Iām in Greece.ā āWonāt be long before weāre back home and we can hang out together way much more. Anyway, wanna go for a walk and do some Pokemon GO? Iām actually dope at that game.ā He smirked, eyeballing the mess by the sofas. āRed light district? Iāll clean this up tomorrow when youāre gone.ā But they wouldnāt go out to the red light district in the night, Martha wasnāt dressed and had a red eye flight to Athens to catch in a few hours. Luckily, they were already packed up and fixing to go to the next stop for JJ, so it wasnāt a catastrophic change of plans. Martha lingered as they made their embrace in the hotel lobby, before she stepped out into the night. The chill in the air took her breath away, as itād been an uncharacteristically mild day in Amsterdam, and now it was much colder than the oversized hoodie, fishnet stockings and Doc Marten boots were sufficient for. As she looked up out through the glass window of the taxi, JJ smiled at her and she put her hand up to the glass. Itās cliche, and Iām not even sorry. Since I met him, I havenāt spent a full 24 hours apart from him. Heās everything to me. No, itās not like that. I already told you. Heās basically my big brother. And heās my safety blanket. Iād much rather we were travelling together, doing this together. What an idiot I am... crying in a cab driving through the city, leaving my best friend behind to chase my own dream. How is this an occasion to be sad? Why arenāt I happier? I feel loss, grief. It crashes into me and he isnāt here to stop my spiral. Its raining now, just faintly, and my eyes are focused on the droplets forming on the tinted glass. Mist condenses into small droplets, which in turn consume one another until they make a droplet large enough for gravity to take over and the rainwater cascades down the window, leaving a brief ravine in its wake. And thus the process repeats, with the lights blurring as they refract through the liquid and glass. My mind is racing fast like the passing traffic, the hollow strange sensation of the vacuum between the vehicles reverberates within me, like the numbness. Itās really happening. I am doing this. I am on my way. On my journey. I push away the tears, resolving to keep a positive mentality. As positive as I can muster, anyway. The irony is not lost on me that I signed my contract on International Womenās Day, yet I am not officially āpart of the showā. Thatās fine though, it is to be expected that we pay our dues. It isnāt my time, yet. Apropos, though, that to āget to the showā I am tasked with taking out two male athletes, given a womanās struggle. The struggle where you know that you have to work twice as hard as people who you know youāre better than because you need to do double what they do just to be seen equal. So give me two of them, it doesnāt matter. After talking on the phone with the exec, the road agent, and then finally DeMarco, I hadnāt become wiser in the slightest about my opponents. I gave a quick search of YouTube and TikTok for any clips that might be out there, a little heads up or something, but nothing. And I mean, Iām sure theyāre facing a similar frustration. The fact that Hunter claims to have prior experience as a World Champion, yet his in-ring highlights on the internet are non-existent is somewhat alarming, though, no? I have an excuse, Iām a noob. This guy is seasoned. About Burgess? Well, I dont know. Looks pretty though. Maybe we can objectify him in lieu of any real data. Iāll have to see what happens and adapt on the fly. Iāve searched high and low for footage of either of them, Iāve followed any and all leads that Iāve been able to sniff out, but theyāre all dead ends. I donāt know what backwater leagues theyāve been handling their business in previously, but it canāt be worth a damn if I canāt even drag up some Twitter clips. We drove past the red light district, there were accountants working the windows, barely anything on, advertising massage services, and it made me chuckle a bit. Life throws a curveball sometimes, aināt it? Thatās probably how some of those accountants found themselves in those shop windows, thatās probably how the sliding doors aligned to find me flying the Greece. The boys Iām going to fight are also debuting. Theyāre probably feeling similar feelings to me right now, hoping the stars align for them and they get the fairytale finish that everyone dreams of, but Iām here to make sure they recognise that happy endings only happen in massage parlours and shopfront windows in Amsterdam, and weāre going to be a long way from either in the middle of the squared circle, filmed for the preview presentation. So, Martha, Pixie, whatever Iām called, fix up. Take a deep breath. Swallow the fear, quell it, beat it. Youāve got this. And if not? āIf you canāt beat the fear, just do it scared.ā āLove you.ā She whispered out of the window to a passing nondescript pedestrian, as the taxi arrives at the front of the airport. Fade to an airplane soaring through the sky. |
