Post by Ampersand on Jan 8, 2023 7:38:29 GMT
Haven't we got some place else to be?
Cash-in our collective memories
They go cheap
Cash-in our collective memories
They go cheap
In the backstage area of the Ascended Colosseum, the leonine figure of the promotion’s newest signee, Unnamed D, is quietly taping up his hands in preparation for his fight. He may not know all the details of the person living in this skin, but the fighting makes sense. It’s the best clue he has to unravel this mystery and he plans to follow it. Not far off, another figure in a vivid neon mask is stalking the hallways, watching those around her with a predatory gaze. She seems to exude a malevolent, carnivorous grin with her entire body. To any outside observer, C-4 looks like a captive lion who has finally been let out of its pen and allowed to use its claws.
The lines are open;
Testing 1, 2, 3
But disconnection's still our sweetest dream
Like it's free
Exit, please
Testing 1, 2, 3
But disconnection's still our sweetest dream
Like it's free
Exit, please
Aurelius radiates a similar aura, dark eyes like twin embers as he watches his opponent for this show with a hint of disdain. The young gumshoe, Moxie Golightly, is poring over a notebook she holds in one hand, tongue stuck out between her teeth in concentration as she sketches a fairly accurate profile of Aurelius. The dark-haired young man tries to hide a begrudging admiration of her skill, but seems uncomfortable with how carefully she’s scrutinizing the features she’s drawn. Nearby, contrasting the sour expression of the young prodigy, BoarKnight and Teazel are having a lively conversation. For them, this is nothing to get twisted up about - it’s just sportsmanship and figuring out how to deal with their respective mysteries. In their hearts they share the same goal - finding home. And whether or not that involves a physical relocation, if nothing else, they’re making a piece of it here.
Call it love with a new face and new guts, a growth industry
'Cause we're all headed West; whatever we think we believe
Never have I felt so well-policed
Why should I be anything but pleased?
Sit down
'Cause we're all headed West; whatever we think we believe
Never have I felt so well-policed
Why should I be anything but pleased?
Sit down
Mia Rayne is watching as the Ascended fans begin to move in before the show, each one a dreamer who might one day traipse into the world they’ve built. Perhaps some already have. Viola Williams, her upcoming opponent, is currently having a pep talk with Silvio Leon and Axton Gunn, the pair cajoling and teasing to get a smile out of her. It contrasts with the two fighters in the main event - Roy Valentine and Kyle Beckett. In their respective portions of the locker room, the pair are focused, expressions neither grim nor elated. This is about honor, about settling scores, and about the past meeting the future. It’s about what the world of Ascended will look like going forward, and neither man wants to see the other set that pace.
Now the best you can be is the beast that they don't want to see
But you'll never get over, you're greasing the adding machine
Surveilled and serene
They hype satisfaction until you forget where you've been
And we're all headed West; whatever we think we believe in
But you'll never get over, you're greasing the adding machine
Surveilled and serene
They hype satisfaction until you forget where you've been
And we're all headed West; whatever we think we believe in
A few signs stand out in the audience:
MIA RAYNE OF TERROR!
I BELIEVE IN THE VALENTINE SUPREMACY!
C-4’s GONNA BE EXPLOSIVE!
At the commentary table, Hiro Suzuki, dressed in a black suit with orange shirt and black bow tie, is flanked by Artemis Direction wearing a plum-colored wiggle dress with black pearl accents, and Del Ramos, whose get-up consists of a black motorcycle tank with the words, ‘BLOOD OCEAN,’ written across it in red letters, and shredded jeans with fishnets beneath them.
Hiro Suzuki: Good evening, Ascended Army and welcome to Collision! I’m Hiro Suzuki joined tonight on commentary by drag deity extraordinaire, Artemis Direction–
Artemis flutters her lashes and blows a kiss to the camera.
Hiro Suzuki: –and master of malice, Del Ramos!
Del Ramos: I hope everyone’s ready to feed the beast because we have some seriously twisted violence coming up tonight.
Artemis Direction: That we do, darlings! Starting off with a pair of new signees to Ascended in Unnamed D and C-4!
Del Ramos: Mr. Dude is a walking beef war. I can’t wait to see him crush Fruckster like a bug.
Artemis Direction: I’m excited to see what another young, powerful woman has to offer in the ring! C-4 facing off against Hot Dropkick is the perfect opportunity for our latest roster addition to show off her stuff!
Hiro looks momentarily baffled.
Hiro Suzuki: Wait, didn’t Lab Rat King drown Dropkick?
Del Ramos: Maybe he went to Hell and my dark lords decided having his ass handed to him week after week was a more fitting punishment than any they could ever dish out. Speaking of, I think that Aurelius kid is looking to lay down some punishment.
Hiro Suzuki: He has seemed to have a chip on his shoulder since he got here.
Del Ramos: A chip? Try a whole damn log, Suzuki. Heh. But I got no problem with that. If the kid wants to make it rain blood, I won’t bother with an umbrella.
Artemis Direction: Don’t count Moxie out so soon, darling. She might be sweet, but she certainly packs a punch!
Hiro Suzuki: Speaking of powerful things coming in small packages, BoarKnight and Thorne are facing off as our next match on the card!
Del Ramos: Fuck yes. BoarKnight has a kind of Underworld spirit I wanna see more of, and I think Thorne’s cut from the same cloth. Seeing those two go at it is going to be brutal beauty at its finest.
Artemis Direction Just so, dear heart! And I think the match that follows will serve up more of the same.
Hiro Suzuki: Viola Williams and Mia Rayne! Both of them are deadly competitors who have shown time and again they’re not shy about cranking up the intensity when the match calls for it.
Del Ramos: If they’re both leaving the ring under their own power tonight, I say we call them in for a second match.
Artemis Direction: Well if you’re looking for something to sate your craving for blood, darling, look no further than our main event.
Hiro Suzuki: Roy Valentine and Kyle Beckett have been circling each other like wolves for these past few shows! Speaking of, did you know what a wolf’s favorite leafy green is?
Del Ramos: We almost made it through the whole introduction without me wanting to stuff Suzuki’s tonsils down his ear canals but I guess some dreams will never come true.
Hiro Suzuki: Aroo-gala!
Before Del can initiate any unlicensed tonsillectomies, Artemis lifts one hand to her earpiece, arching an immaculately tweezed brow.
Artemis Direction: My my my! Dear ones, production staff are informing me they’ve just been handed a… video package? Apparently, it’s from one of tonight’s fighters!
Del Ramos: I’m sending whoever it is a fuckin’ bouquet for saving us from more Hiro-flavoured brain damage.
The arena’s screens fade to black, then fade in with a slow-moving aerial shot of a gorgeous sunlit mansion atop a green hill, set to the tune of Vivaldi’s Spring Allegro in E Major. An invisible pen prints The Valentine Estate over the video in fine copperplate script and both the announcement desk and audience groan in unison.
Hiro Suzuki: I can’t be-leaf this!
The screen fades, revealing a bright and cozy library with inset wall shelving. Opposite the camera, sitting dead-center in the screen, is a grandfather clock, its luxurious mahogany sporting intricate inlaid ebony designs. One Roy Valentine leans against the clock, tonight wearing a lilac cashmere sweater over olive-green dress pants with subtle white embroidery depicting vines of ivy. The camera draws closer and Valentine turns, acting surprised at its approach.
Roy Valentine: Ah! How good of you to join me this day, Ascended Army. My deepest apologies for interrupting the festivities tonight; but I thought I might address my match tonight with young Mr. Beckett. To begin…
Valentine hoists a glass of wine to the camera.
Roy Valentine: A toast: to your show of endurance at our last meeting. I know your courage has very much impressed both Ms. Lang and the Ascended Army. A toast, as well, to your partner’s quick wit at taking advantage of a minor miscommunication between her opponents. You have been a good friend to your bull-headed young friend, Ms. Williams.
Suddenly, Valentine tilts his glass upside-down, pouring wine all over the black and silver carpet. His mouth twists in a vicious scowl.
Roy Valentine: But make no mistake, Beckett. I am here to ensure you shall have no such advantages tonight.
Valentine’s hand and the wine glass disappear off-screen. When they reappear, Valentine is holding a sheaf of papers, through which he begins to rummage.
Roy Valentine: You may recall, Beckett, when we first signed the contract leading to this match, that some specific circumstances were outlined. Specifically: at the bottom of the second page, and I quote: the challenger will be offered a subsequent contract outlining a match with stipulations decided by the Valentine Estate. To your credit, you have not dallied; you did inform the Estate of your desired time and place. However, personal emergencies have kept me from returning our finalized contract to you…
Valentine tosses half of the stack of papers across the screen to reveal a second contract beneath.
Roy Valentine: Tonight, I will rectify that mistake. I have your contract here, Beckett. One match. Held tonight. Should you win, I shall drop all personal grievances against your person, and any further injury I cause to yourself or your reputation outside of that ring over the course of the next year shall be subject to fines, paid directly to you, upon myself. In simple terms—ones that you might understand—I cannot touch you til next October. No threats. No bribes. No assaults. For all intents and purposes, in the eyes of the Estate, you are sacrosanct. But should you lose: that stolen title you hold in your hands? It comes home to me. And there is one further catch, Beckett.
Valentine’s scowl flips into a sneer.
Roy Valentine: Tonight, we fight under Pure rules.
Tossing the contract at his feet, Valentine begins to admire the grandfather clock’s inlay, tracing it with his thumb.
Roy Valentine: For the uninitiated, the Pure match, as immortalized by one of the greatest historical federations in existence, is the ultimate contest of true wrestling skill. Competitors are given three rope breaks, and three only, to counter submissions and pinning; any further rope breaks are considered invalid. In addition, closed-fist strikes, that is, punches, to the face, along with other illegal actions, are banned from use. Fighters are disqualified after two witnessed uses of illegal moves. And the cherry on top? Titles can change via disqualification and count-outs.
Valentine crosses his arm behind his back and faces the camera.
Roy Valentine: These are my terms, Beckett. Sign the contract tonight—or no match. Show me what you have learned. Prove to us that you have become a true student of the game… Or walk away in shame.
Behind Valentine, the grandfather clock chimes the hour.
Roy Valentine: The clock is ticking.
Hiro Suzuki: Those are some pretty heavy stipulations from Valentine.
Artemis Direction: You said it, hunty. They can be taken for granted, but the ropes are a critical resource for any fighter in that ring. Kyle might not know what he’s missing until it’s gone.
Del Ramos: Maybe prince posh himself’s just scared of getting his nose broken again. Beckett’s shown week after week that he can hold his own against some of the toughest on the roster—I mean, he beat Sebastian fuckin’ Hawke to earn the Emerald City belt. If Valentine sees himself outlasting the Culture Clash, I think he needs new glasses.
Hiro Suzuki: Or eyeballs.
Del Ramos: You offering?
Artemis Direction: … Let’s move on, yes? Kevin Kim is already in the ring with Buck Fruckster for our first match of the evening!
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army this is your opening match of the evening! Already in the ring with me is Buck Fruckster! And his opponent!
Nine Inch Nail’s, ‘The Hand That Feeds,’ thumps through the sound system, Unnamed D waiting for a solid couple bars of industrial music before appearing before the crowd. He walks down the ramp making a show of imbibing some Oly beer, stopping numerous times to mug for the fans on either side of the ramp, high-fiving them. Before mounting the steps to the ring, he crushes the beer can against his forehead, grinning in a way that reminds one that in nature, a smile from an animal is a threat.
Del Ramos: Now this is a motherfucker I can get behind.
Hiro Suzuki: I think Fruckster’s not too keen on being in front of him right now.
DING DING!
Fruckster lets out a bellow like an aggrieved chimpanzee, launching himself at D with a short arm lariat! Taking a step back, D avoids having the move connect with enough force, the blow bouncing off his chest instead. Grabbing the offending arm, D uses it to whip his opponent into the ropes, Fruckster coming staggering back only to be floored in an instant by a European uppercut! D looks amused as he waits for Buck to gather himself, Fruckster glowering up at the stocky, wild-haired man who gives him a playful little wave. Once Fruckster is on his feet, he and D lock up, the pair exchanging holds until Buck gets the upper hand, forcing D into a nearby turnbuckle and laying into him with a series of chops across the chest!
Artemis Direction: Fruckster came out swinging, but D quickly put a stop to his momentum, darlings!
Hiro Suzuki: Maybe, but it looks like Buck’s evened up the score.
Del Ramos: I’d look again if I were you, Suzuki.
Fruckster’s chops begin to slow, the senseless screaming starting to decrease in volume and ferocity as an expression caught between astonishment and dread dawns on his face. Because far from being rocked by the machine gun blows of his opponent, D is regaining his footing, that jovial grin never leaving his face even as Buck steps back, holding up his hands to beg off. With a roar, D grabs Buck’s arm, jerking him forward just in time to hit him with a spinning knife edge chop! Not giving Fruckster a moment, D gives himself just enough space to nail Buck with a running bicycle kick! Slamming to the mat, Fruckster is too dazed to keep D from locking him into a Sharpshooter! The roar of the crowd drowns out Buck’s screech of pain as he writhes in the submission!
Del Ramos: Heh! Looks like D was just playing with his food.
Artemis Direction: My my my! Fruckster had better hope for a rope break or this might be over here and now!
Buck thrashes, trying to reach the ropes and not getting very far. Before he can tap out, however, D eases up, Fruckster squirming away and using the ropes to help him get vertical again.
Del Ramos: This guy gets it. He’s not here for a quick victory. He’s here for the thrill of the slaughter. Gotta savor it.
Unfortunately for Fruckster, that’s all the time his opponent plans on giving him, as the pair both go flipping over the top rope and spilling onto the mats below as D slams into Buck with a Cactus Clothesline! The crowd is on coming unglued as the fighters start to get back to their feet, Buck a bit worse for wear but finding some spark of will left in him as he makes the first move! Seizing D by the back of the head, Buck takes the opportunity to swiftly slam his opponent’s head into the ring apron! The crowd lets out a collective cry of sympathy before Fruckster, clutching the back of D’s head, shoves his opponent back into the ring to beat the ten count Godric Smith was conducting. Rolling in after his opponent, Fruckster goes for the pin!
ONE!
Kick out from D!
The crowd is going banana as Buck scrambles to his feet with the aid of the ring ropes, gaping in disbelief as D, grinning like a wolf, gets vertical!
Hiro Suzuki: Say, what do a calendar and Buck Fruckster have in common?
Artemis Direction: I don’t know, darling, what?
Hiro Suzuki: Their days are numbered!
Buck is utterly flabbergasted at D’s resiliency! Before he can react, D moves like lightning with his Memento Mori finisher, foot colliding with Fruckster’s chin and sending him sprawling! D covers, Godric Smith sliding in for the count!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army, your winner! UNNAMED D!
Ascended’s newest signing takes a moment to bask in the adulation as his hand is raised.
Artemis Direction: I don’t believe Fruckster was anticipating someone so… formidable on their first outing!
Del Ramos: That definitely cost him. You can’t take anything or anyone for granted when you step between the ropes. Fruckster should have learned that lesson at this point.
Hiro Suzuki: Reminds me of the M&M who went to college.
Artemis Direction: Does it, dear heart?
Hiro Suzuki: He was trying to be a Smartie!
Del Ramos: Hey, Suzuki, did you know you can donate your cadaver to science after you die?
Hiro Suzuki: I didn’t!
Del Ramos: Yeah and it’s not too late if you wanna get a tax deduction this year, so why don’t we meet up after work by the dumpsters and we can get that donation squared away?
Hiro Suzuki: You got it! But, uh, whose cadaver are we going to be using?
Artemis Direction: Remember! No murder on company time unless it’s sanctioned by our Ascended officials! Which, as it turns out, I think is the case for our next bout.
Del scowls a little at the reminder of workplace protocol, but brightens at the prospect of additional violence.
Del Ramos: Fuck yeah we do. Another powerful woman laying waste to anyone who gets in her way.
Hiro Suzuki: Hey, now, we don’t know if… y’know, Dropkick is gonna… gonna lose this one.
Del lets out a low cackle.
Del Ramos: See, you get jokes of that calibur on the reg, you might get a decent audience to watch your schtick, Suzuki.
Artemis Direction: Our other new signee is, like Mr. Dude, something of an enigma! But this wildcat has made it clear she’s here to show us her claws.
Hiro Suzuki: Sounds like we might need a first aid kit-ten!
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army, this next match is set for one fall! Already in the ring with me is Hot Dropkick! And introducing next, making her Ascended Wrestling debut!
The arena lights cut as the buoyant piano entrance of “Sirens” by Bear Ghost bounces between the speakers, each note accompanied by neon fireworks scattered across the darkened screens. Then the lights burst to life, strobing and flashing in all directions as a sharp-dressed figure in a plain white mask strides calmly from the entrance portal. She pauses at the top of the ramp and turns back to the tunnel, where another creature crawls out the top of the portal, hanging upside-down in the entrance.
Del Ramos: Oh, fuck yes.
Kevin Kim: Accompanied by her manager, C-3, weighing 150 pounds, the explosive, C-4!
In a black bodysuit streaked with bursts of neon details, C-4 clamors over the edge of the arch, settling comfortably atop it as she scans the arena through her mask, a wicked grin cutting across her features. C-3 continues down to the ringside, prompting her wrestler to follow; she pitches forward, catching herself at the last second on the underside of the portal again, flipping from her perch and swinging down to the floor. Quick as a flash she climbs up the back of the nearest seating bank and crawls her way to the ring via the railing, peering curiously at the reaching fans. She hops down as she reaches the bottom and launches right back up over the top rope and into the ring.
Artemis Direction: Well she certainly knows how to make an entrance, darlings!
C-4 looks as if she’s ready to pounce on Dropkick, barely containing herself to her corner as her handler raises a hand, holding her off until the bell rings.
DING DING!
With lightning speed C-4 shoots across the ring, up onto the ropes, and catches her opponent off-guard with an immediate hurricanrana! Dropkick goes whipping into one corner while C-4 rolls into another, crouched and waiting while he launches back to his feet from the mat. The fury in his charcoal-lined eyes only seems to encourage her, and the two charge forward again, C-4 sweeping under Dropkick’s attempted lariat with a super kick that sends him reeling back into the ropes. This time she leaves him no room to recover as she ricochets off the ropes to deliver a harsh European uppercut, then takes a celebratory front flip to land, seated, in the center of the ring, looking rather pleased with herself.
It gets a roar of approval from the Ascended Army, the commentary team similarly impressed.
Artemis Direction: Flashy and splashy!
Del Ramos: I get the feeling this is just the appetizer. Let’s see what this bitch has in mind for the main course.
Doing his best to recover, Dropkick seizes his opportunity and comes up from behind with a kick that sends C-4’s head bouncing off the canvas.
Hiro Suzuki: Oof! Looks like C-4 is gonna have a lot in common with jealous wheat farmers.
Del Ramos: I swear to Beelzebub if you don’t shut-up–
Hiro Suzuki: My grains!
Artemis Direction: I don’t think C-4 is going to stay down for long!
She pops back up, grinning with vicious delight, arching back farther than needed to cackle up at her opponent. It doesn’t stop him from rushing in with another kick, but this time C-4 lets the momentum carry her forward into a somersault and springs to her feet, shaking the sting of his boot from her shoulders. Dropkick rushes after her but she drops under his swing, rolling backward across the ring. He circles back around, aiming low this time, but she leaps over his slide to land on her feet. Dropkick scrambles to get back to his, but he’s only halfway up when his head meets a boot and C-4 curb stomps him back down to the canvas!
Del lets out a vicious little cackle, pounding a fist onto the top of the commentary table.
Del Ramos: THAT’S IT! PREPARE THE FEAST FOR THE GORE GODS AND THE MEAT SAINTS!
C-4’s manager, standing stoically at the side of the ring, checks her watch and circles one finger in a motion that says, “wrap it up.” The smile fades from her wrestler’s face as she whirls back to her opponent, who had slowly begun to hoist himself up onto the turnbuckle while her back was to him. C-4 scowls; she rushes the corner, hooking an arm around Dropkick’s neck as she scales the ropes and flips him into her Bunker Buster finisher!
The crowd is on its feet in a bloodthirsty chorus!
Dropkick goes down and C-4 rolls back over for the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Kevin Kim: Your winner—C-4!
Del Ramos: AHAHA! YES! JUST WHEN I THINK I CAN’T HOPE FOR MORE, MY DARK LORDS SEND US ANOTHER POWERFUL BITCH WITH A TASTE FOR BLOOD!
Hiro Suzuki: Somehow I think she hadn’t quite satisfied her craving…
C-4 leaps to her feet, twirling over her fallen opponent as she soaks in the energy erupting from the crowd around her. She only gets a moment to enjoy it, however, before C-3 gestures toward the ramp; immediately C-4 drops to the mat and rolls all the way off the edge, then leaps and tumbles after her handler.
Artemis Direction: Looks like her manager’s got her on a bit of a schedule, doesn’t it?
Just at the back side of the entrance portal, C-3 and C-4 are intercepted by two private security guards ushering them from the backstage area, C-4 treating the equipment around her as a parkour course while C-3 falls into step with the guards. They make their way toward the back door of the Colosseum, passing by David O’Toole and Viola Williams as they do.
C-4 stops, perched atop a bit of scaffolding, something sparking in the blue eyes beneath her mask. Williams, too, slows as they pass, turning with a wondering look to find C-4 staring back hungrily, a predator poised to pounce on her prey. Before either can react, a sharp voice cuts between them.
C-3: Four. Let’s go.
C-4 straightens again, leaping to the ground and scuttling after her manager as they’re both led out into the night.
David O’Toole: You good, Ms. Vi?
Williams, still staring after them, frowns and tries to shake it off.
Viola Williams: Yeah, yeah. All good.
At the commentary table, Hiro, Artemis and Del all look intrigued by the interaction backstage.
Artemis Direction: Well now, I think I smell a juicy bit of drama brewing, sweetlings!
Hiro Suzuki: You know what they say about juicy smells–
Before Hiro can defile the ears of his commentary team, the audience in the arena, and the audience at home, they are all mercifully saved as ‘Stick to your Guns’ by the Sick Puppies hits the speakers and the current reigning Emerald City Champion, Kyle Beckett, is quick to make an appearance, storming out onto the entry way with title belt draped over his shoulder.
Kyle Beckett: Yeah nah. Ain’t got time for that bizzo. Cut the music. I wanna make this bloody nonsense quick so we can all get to what we’re all here to see. Valen-dick. You and your fucking contracts. Are you fair dinkum? Like, no cap, you couldn’t just let things lie? You couldn’t handle the fact that Vi and I beat you, we beat you at your own games. I met your terms and now here we are. You just couldn’t cop it. You still gotta try your tricks and your cheugy manipulative bullshit. Well guess what…I’m gonna bite. I’m a high-key stubborn bloke. To a fault. I know that, you know that, heck the entire Ascended Army knows that. But another word for stubborn is determined.
Del Ramos: Ah. In what thesaurus?
Kyle Beckett: And that makes me a real bloody nightmare for wankers like you. Cause no matter what you do. No matter what roadblocks you put in my way, I’m gonna keep on coming. Working hard yakka. I’m gonna keep on pushing through until you are no longer standing in my way. And it ain’t gonna be pretty. I’m about as subtle as a brick to the face. But I’ve never promised pretty. Or graceful. But I have promised to deal with the likes of you once and for all. I may not have come here tonight to fuck spiders, but I’ll play your game. Cause mate. I just really want to cash in those receipts and you catch these hands. It’s the least you deserve. And this way. When I beat you, there’ll be no denying that I outplayed you, that I, Kyle Beckett, was better than you. And that’s a real mood. So take a good long, hard look Val. I really want you to feel this vibe. Cause I am the future. And I. Am. Inevitable.
With that the Culture Clash drops the mic and doesn’t even pause to posture with his title, just turns back around and disappears into the back, eager to prepare himself for the fight to come.
There isn’t an audience member in their seat at this point, the chant of, ‘CUL-TURE CLASH!’ resounding around the arena.
Artemis Direction: Well there you have it, Ascended Army! It looks like we’re getting a special edition pummeling for our main event!
Del Ramos: As long as they’ve got brutality in their hearts and they’re willing to spill it all over the mat, I don’t care what the rules say about what orifice it comes out of.
Hiro Suzuki: Speaking of, our next match features a guy with a heckuva chip on his shoulder.
Artemis Direction: Indeedy, dearie! Facing off against a rather well-regarded and bubbly young lady in Moxie Golightly.
Del Ramos: I get the feeling that Aurelius kid has no compunctions against mopping the floor with her sunshiney attitude. If she’s smart, she’ll bend the rules enough to give herself an edge against that seething mass of eyeliner and daddy issues.
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army the following contest is set for one fall with a thirty minute time limit! Introducing first!
As the emphatic opening brass and percussion of Tank! by Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts blasts from the sound system, the big screen flashes with jagged washes of black, white, and red. The screen divides into white on top and red on the bottom, the thin red line that runs between them pulses and vibrates along with the impatient thrum of the bass, smoke billowing around the entrance like fog rolling in.
I think it's time we blow this scene
Get everybody and the stuff together
Okay, three, two, one, let's jam!
Get everybody and the stuff together
Okay, three, two, one, let's jam!
Kevin Kim: From Spokane, Washington, weighing 150 pounds, she is Girl Detective, MOXIE GOLIGHTLY!
As the rest of the band kicks in, ‘MOXIE’ appears in black letters in the white division of the screen, ‘GOLIGHTLY’ in white text in the black division. Moxie strides out onto the ramp, emerging from the fog in a film noir detective style overcoat and fedora. The images on the big screen shift to ones of a steamy Seattle right out of a Raymond Chandler novel - all sharp silver angles awash in neon rain. Moxie watches the ring as she approaches as if trying to replay the scene of some mystery she in the middle of solving, mounting the stairs and hanging her hat and jacket on the turnbuckle to reveal a bodysuit done in Art Deco style lines of black and white with red highlights, fishnet stockings, knee pads, and kick pads. She paces a circle around the ring as if examining a crime scene before standing in the ring's center and raising a fist to the sky.
Kevin Kim: And her opponent!
The arena grows dim. A ringing sound--like a climbing siren--resonates through the ring, underlined with a thumping pulse; the noise burrows into the bones and leaves behind a deep sense of unease. The tension finally breaks when the music plummets into a frantic rhythm, a subtle strobe light flickering along the floor, highlighting the approaching figure in flashes of silver. In a wash of red light he reveals himself--dark eyes like cold stained glass, jet curls pushed back from his face, expression stony. He wears black tights, pads and boots with gold highlights in the shape of jagged feathers cascading down his flanks, a black leather jacket covering his otherwise bare torso.
Kevin Kim: From Pearl City, Hawai’i, weighing in at 195 pounds, he is AURELIUS!
Aurelius proceeds down to the ring with a slow confidence, as though he owns the ground he walks on. He doesn't look at the crowd, nor seem to acknowledge them at all, hoisting himself over the top rope and landing with a thud that seems to belong in the pulse of the music. As he moves to the corner, discarding his jacket on the turnbuckle, he turns his eyes upward at last. Their liquid smoke surfaces glare with defiance.
Hiro Suzuki: …I got a bad feeling about this.
DING DING!
As the bell rings, GoLightly extends her hand for a customary shake, giving her opponent an expectant grin. Aurelius looks at her hand, then her face, his dark brow creased. He takes her hand.
And squeezes.
And squeezes.
GoLightly snatches her hand back with a wince, waving it as though trying to shake the pain out of her knuckles. Aurelius doesn’t wait, following up with an even more disrespectful spinning heel kick that knocks his smaller opponent to the mat.
Hiro Suzuki: Jeez! They say a firm handshake’s a good quality to hold onto, but this is out of line!
Del Ramos: What’d I tell ya? Anyone with the spine to step into the ring deserves more respect than that. But now I think we know this kid’s cruelty doesn’t stop with the job squad.
To her credit, GoLightly pops back up with vigor, her playful smile replaced by a determined hard line. She ducks under Aurelius’s next swing, avoiding his attempt to grab her, shoving him back with a shoulder tackle. She then closes the space with a running bicycle kick, knocking him back into the corner turnbuckle, using his own weight against him to rock the newcomer’s back! Without missing a beat, she follows it up with a ferocious Chicago Typewriter, raining impacts on Aurelius’s chest, shoulders and jaw!
Artemis Direction: What a recovery!
While her opponent is briefly stunned, GoLightly makes use of an arm drag to put him on the mat, pulling him overhead so that he lands on his back, and lunges across for a pin.
ONE!
TW–
Aurelius shoves her off with a snarl, his dark eyes burning like hot coal.
Del Ramos: Looks like our boy’s pissed about the competition putting up a fight.
He doesn’t let her get away this time. As GoLightly begins to roll to her feet, Aurelius grabs her hair, ignoring her cry of foul play and the admonishment from the referee as he pulls her back toward himself. Switching his grip to her arm, he twists it up around her back, pressing it hard into her spine while locking her leg with his ankle so she can’t pull away. He hisses something inaudible above her ear, his teeth bared, and lets go of her arm–his own grabbing her waist and hauling her up and back into a Snap Suplex!
Artemis Direction: Now this all seems rather excessive…
Hiro Suzuki: Did she run over his dog or something?!
The next few minutes feel almost as painful as they look. Every time GoLightly seems to be regaining her footing, Aurelius tears her back down, chasing her like a bloodthirsty shark in a canvas and cable tank. Attempted Superman punch denied with a clothesline, bicycle kick caught and refused with a dragon whip followed by a cruel knee drop and an STFU that feels more like an insult than a submission hold. The Ascended Army can’t help but feel like they’re watching a cat play with his food, and the jeers in the arena are almost deafening when mixed by cries of encouragement for the Girl Detective, who refuses to give ground–getting up again, and again, and again.
Artemis Direction: Moxie showing us she’s not one to give up!
Del Ramos: I gotta admire a bitch who won’t stay down, but discretion might be the better part of valor here. Like I thought - Aurelius isn’t afraid to fight dirty and it looks like he doesn't give too much of a shit about whether or not his opponent gets to walk out of the ring under their own power.
She stands up in the middle of the ring, gasping, unsteady–but standing, despite everything pushing her to the contrary. Sensing Aurelius behind her, she goes for a Dry Gulch–but the spinning back elbow is denied, the angel on clipped wings lunging underneath the strike, gripping her around the head and neck with a snare of a Cobra Clutch–
Hiro Suzuki: Ohh this doesn’t look good…
–and with barely enough time for GoLightly to gasp, he cracks her backward in a Snapdragon–his devastating game-ender, Retaliation!!
He rises to his feet, chest heaving with breath, lazily pressing his boot over the barely conscious Detective’s sternum as the ref has no choice but to count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Kevin Kim: The uh… winner of this match… ouch… Aaaaaaaurelius!
As the referee checks on GoLightly, waving Ernest Conagher in from ringside for a medic check, Aurelius grabs Kevin’s mic angrily, his heavy breath amplified as he brings it to his face and glares at the cameras around the ring.
ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!
Aurelius: Shut up.
A swell of jeers follows from the crowd, but he doesn’t seem to care.
Aurelius: Stop fucking around and send me your champions. I don’t like it when people waste my time.
He drops the mic to a fresh burst of Boos from the Army, leaving via the ramp without sparing them a glance.