Post by alyadmirer on Jul 15, 2016 23:43:25 GMT
Camille Cosworth paced circles around the locker room, looking to burn off some nervous energy and stage jitters. Not so long ago, she was just another hopeless dreamer getting regularly demolished at Open Fight Night in Bangor. Now she was making her official FAWN debut at Summer Swelter in Orlando. Her rapid rise in profile was jarring, to say the least.
Camille’s dramatic entrance, and even more dramatic exit, when she interfered in Yoona Park’s second match with Paulette Severe had instantly made her a minor celebrity on social media. The video of her slamming Paulette through the announcer’s table had been replayed millions of times via Vines, Instagram GIFs, and Youtube remixes, the most popular of which was a five minute compilation of recordings from different camera angles set in slow motion to R. Kelly’s I Believe I Can Fly. Her Twitter and Instagram accounts started accruing thousands of followers by the day and never stopped, and both were now well into six digits.
CAMILLE COSWORTH:
She splashed her face with cold water in the sink, still not sure if this were all just a fever dream. She tied her long brown hair back in a loose ponytail, then brushed her bangs aside and ran her fingers over her left forehead where Paulette’s bullwhip had struck her. The stitches had come out a while ago, and now all that was left was a small, white scar a few inches in length and not even a quarter inch in width. It would have been unnoticeable had it not completely bisected her left eyebrow, the pale scar tissue standing out against the dark hairs around it.
Camille actually really, really liked the scar. Not only did she think it made her look tough and battle-hardened, but she also wore it as a badge of honor, a permanent reminder of her loyalty and devotion to the people she cared about. Yoona, however, hated the scar and got so weirdly emotional every time she saw it that Camille finally acquiesced by growing out her bangs to cover it up.
Camille looked in the mirror one last time and examined her wardrobe, specifically chosen to resemble what she was wearing when she had her star-making cameo.
Her favorite pair of black Chuck Taylor All-Stars. Check.
Black skinny jeans so form-fitting they might as well have been painted on. Check.
FAWN logo T-shirt. Check.
Leather bomber jacket, despite the Florida heat. Check.
Imitation luchadora mask. Nope, nope, and triple nope.
Her days as the knock-off La Halcon were over, she would simply be Camille Cosworth from now on and forge her own legacy rather than try to continue someone else’s. Satisfied with her look, Camille stepped out of the locker room and was immediately blindsided by a vicious ambush from Lily Burlingame.
LILY BURLINGAME:
“Good evening FAWNatics, this is your girl on the street, Lily Burlingame,” said the energetic, diminutive brunette as she grabbed Camille by the crook of her elbow and dragged her in front of a camera. “Joining me tonight all the way from Bangor, Maine is our latest Jungle import, Camille Cosworth. Tell us what it’s like to be in Orlando for the big show, Camille.”
Camille looked at the camera, then at Lily, before finally standing stock still like a deer in the headlights.
“Camille, how does it feel to be making your big debut?” asked Lily.
Camille continued to stare wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
“Camille?” asked Lily, a hint of concern in her voice. “Cosworth? Hellooooooo? Anyone there?”
Lily snapped her fingers in front of Camille’s face. Still no response, or signs of brain activity.
A worried look crept onto the face of the intrepid reporter. The rookie was apparently having a seizure. Lily was considering calling for a medic when the gears in Camille’s brain lurched to life once more.
“HOLY CRAP YOU’RE LILY BURLINGAME!” blurted a starstruck Camille. “CAN I HAVE AN AUTOGRAPH?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH A CAMERA MAN? OH NO! DID THEY DEMOTE YOU TO REPORTER AFTER YOU LOST YOUR TITLE?! OH MY GOD WHAT A STUPID AND INSENSITIVE THING TO ASK! I’M SO SORRY! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! CAN I STILL HAVE AN AUTOGRAPH?!”
“Whoa! You have got to calm down!” replied Lily as she took a step back and held up her hands defensively. “Our usual girl on the street is sick with the mumps so I’m just filling in for tonight. And I’ll trade you an autograph for an interview. Deal?”
“AN INTERV--I mean, an interview? M-me?” stammered Camille. She took several deep breaths, trying to regain her composure.
Lily nodded cautiously, then stepped closer to her interview subject. “I’m sure this has been an exciting time for you, Camille. Can you tell us about the last few days?”
Camille swallowed hard, making sure she had regained full control of her faculties before she replied. “Oh man, this has been the greatest time of my life. A few days ago I flew from Maine to Florida while getting drunk on complimentary Mai Tai’s in first class, then yesterday I met Mickey Mouse and threw up on Magic Mountain. Now I’m being interviewed by a world champion --”
Lily subtlely blushed and fidgeted.
“-- right as I’m about to wrestle another world champion in front of twenty thousand screaming fans. Then I’m going to fly first class and get trashed on free drinks again. Best. Week. Ever.”
“Tell us more about your opponent tonight,” asked Lily. “Rumor has it you were allowed to pick anyone you wanted. Why Marvela Marcille?”
“I’ve been a fan of wrestling for a long, long time,” answered Camille. “I was fourteen when Marvela Marcille became champion. I absolutely idolized her. She was everything I wanted to be. Beautiful, athletic, full of charisma, and loved by everyone. And then…”
Camille’s voice trailed off and became melancholy as she continued, “And then she changed. The low blows. The cheating. The disqualifications. When she finally quit Rival Roses and took the belt with her -- I guess for me that was the day the music died. I love wrestling and I always will, but after that happened, I have to admit that the industry lost some of its luster for me. It’s just that it’s never easy to see my heroes fail, and it’s even harder to see my heroes turn into villains. A part of me has always been in denial though, even to this day, and I just needed to see for myself if there is still something left of the Marvela that I loved as a kid.”
“Wow, that was really personal and totally not what I expected,” said a surprised Lily. “I thought you just hated the French or something. After all, it would be quite an understatement to say that you’re not on good terms with Paulette Sev--”
“Yeah, no,” interrupted Camille, “I don’t want to talk about Paulette, ever.”
Lily decided to press the issue despite her subject’s visible irritation. “Certainly emotions were running high during Paulette’s match with Yoona Park --”
“No comment. Next question,” muttered Camille with a roll of her eyes.
“-- what did Paulette say to provoke you?” continued Lily.
“Next question,” Camille replied tersely.
Camille’s refusal to divulge only made Lily more curious. “What was going through your mind when Paulette --”
Lily was abruptly cut off when Camille snatched the microphone out of her hand, a furious expression etched on her face. True to her Burlingame genes, Lily backed down from no one and she silently stared back at the taller woman, striking a defiant posture with her hands propped on her hips. For a moment, it seemed as if interviewer and interviewee were about to brawl right then and there.
After a few seconds, cooler heads prevailed.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be mad at you,” apologized Camille, the anger dissipating from her face and her voice. “You’re just doing your job.”
She held out the microphone to Lily, sheepishly adding, “You’ll still give me that autograph, right?”
Lily took the microphone with a small chuckle of relief, “As long as you’ll let me ask a few more non-Paulette questions.”
Camille grinned and nodded once.
“Your stunning leap from the crowd and slam through the table launched a thousand memes and made you famous overnight,” said Lily. “What possessed you to make such a crazy move?”
Camille shrugged her shoulders then scratched the back of her head. “I honestly don’t know. I saw Paulette pick up that whip, then everything was a blur and the next thing I know I’m getting stitched up by a medic. I guess I just didn’t want to see my friend get hurt.”
“Excuse me,” said Lily in a skeptical tone as she arched an eyebrow. “Just a friend?”
“Friend. Colleague. Sparring partner. League of Legends duo-queue buddy. All of those things,” Camille added, pretending to not know what her interviewer was implying.
Lily sighed and shook her head, entirely unconvinced by such a transparent misrepresentation and lie. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked, sticking out her tongue while raising her eyebrows suggestively.
“Lily Burlingame! What are you insinuating?!” Camille exclaimed with faux indignation. “I am a lady, and a lady would never kiss and tell!”
“There you have it, FAWNatics, straight from the source’s mouth. Camille Cosworth confirms kissing,” Lily addressed the camera directly with a triumphant smile as Camille turned beet red and stuttered. Before Camille could further embarrass herself, however, Marvela Marcille’s entrance was announced over the PA.
“For tonight’s match, scheduled for one fall, introducing first coming in at 5’5” tall and 120 pounds, the ‘Original’ People’s Princess -- ‘Marvelous’ Marvela Marcille!”
“Looks like that’s all the time we have for now, FAWNatics!” concluded Lily. “Camille, anything to add before your match? Any cool gimmicks or epithets for yourself, or trash talk for your opponent?”
“No gimmicks, Lily,” replied Camille, “I’m just a lucky wannabe who’s getting her big chance. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for my big entrance.”
“Good luck, Camille. I’ll get you that autograph after your match,” said Lily. The two women exchanged a handshake and a hug, then Camille took off running down the hallway.
“Wait! Camille! The entrance ramp is the other way!” Lily shouted.
“I know!” Camille called back with a smile. “I’m not going to the entrance ramp!”
*************************************************************************************
MARVELA MARCILLE:
Marvela Marcille stood in the center of the ring, dressed in her usual crimson and white trimmed sports bra, spandex leggings, and boots. Nearly a decade later, she looked virtually identical to the doe eyed 20 year old who had won the world championship in one of the greatest underdog stories in wrestling history.
The only thing that changed was the serenade of the crowd.
NOT!
OUR!
PRIN-CESS!
NOT!
OUR!
PRIN-CESS!
Marvela fumed. As a world champion, she deserved more respect than this. For starters, she should have been headlining the PPV, rather than being relegated to the undercard. Furthermore, an unknown and undeserving rookie straight from the developmental league requesting to wrestle her was an insult to her legacy. Most galling of all was the fact that the rookie had the audacity to make her come to the ring first and wait.
Marvela walked to the side of the ring and demanded a microphone, which a technician promptly handed her through the ropes.
“Who challenges the Marvelous Marvela Marcille?” she asked, her voice full of resentment. “Who is the ignorant fool who thinks that she is worthy of sharing a ring with the Original People’s Princess?!”
There was no response, save for the chants of the fans.
NOT!
OUR!
PRIN-CESS!
NOT!
OUR!
PRIN-CESS!
Marvela grew infuriated. “WHO DARES TO STAND BEFORE ME?!” she demanded. “WHO?!”
Suddenly, the arena lights went dark, leaving only a pair of spotlights canvassing the crowd as an electric guitar riff played over the PA system. Marvela turned her attention to the entrance ramp, anticipating the arrival of her opponent.
Her opponent, however, never intended to use the entrance ramp.
Camille took a deep breath, then stood up from her seat all the way in the back row of the audience and began her slow, winding walk to the ring. She had spent many days choreographing a big, dramatic entrance and finally decided on something that would evoke the spectacular leap from the crowd which had thrust her into fame.
The beat of her entrance music picked up, and Camille accordingly increased her pace to a light jog. In the hours before the match, she had practiced her run to the ring dozens of times, just so that she could count out her steps and hit all the right spots even in the dark. By now the fans had caught on to what was happening, and they rose in cheers as she jogged past.
The music built towards a crescendo and now Camille accelerated into a full on sprint towards the ring, showing off the All-American track star speed that let her run the 100 meter dash in 11 seconds flat. The pair of spotlights stopped canvassing the crowd as they found their target, following Camille as she streaked directly towards the barricade.
When she was a couple of meters away from the barricade, she leapt up, planted her left foot on the barricade, and pushed off once more all without breaking stride. Sent hurtling through the air, Camille reached out and grabbed the top rope then pulled herself into a front somersault over the ropes before landing in a three point stance with a dramatic THUD.
The FAWNatics broke into an ovation.
Camille discreetly breathed a sigh of relief. She had been afraid that the superhero landing pose combined with Wonder Woman’s theme music would have come off as too ostentatious, but the crowd was eating it up. Encouraged by the positive reception, Camille couldn’t resist going for one more indulgent pose.
Without rising from her three point stance, Camille held her right arm straight out to her side, as if to summon a microphone. The audience popped once more, and a strong armed technician hurled a microphone into the ring.
DON’T DROP IT DON’T DROP IT DON’T DROP IT DON’T DROP IT - YEEEESSSSS thought Camille as she tracked the parabolic arc of the mic out of the corner of her eye and successfully snatched it out of the air.
Technically she didn’t need it, the ringside microphones alone were more than capable of picking up any conversation at normal volume, but Camille thought it made for a dramatic visual, and really what was more important than looking cool? She turned towards the technician and gave him a smile and a wink, then put on her game face and stood up to face her opponent.
Marvela was far less impressed with Camille’s ring entrance. A champion had no need for such flamboyant theatrics. “Who are you?” she pointedly asked, each and every word practically dripping with contempt.
“My name is Camille Cosworth, and I. Am. Everyone,” Camille replied in the most melodramatic voice she could muster as she gestured to the assembled FAWNatics, earning herself another round of cheers from the crowd. “Everyone who cheered for you. Everyone who looked up to you. Everyone who loved you.”
Marvela rolled her eyes and scoffed.
“And on behalf of all who once adored you,” Camille said, a hint of emotion creeping into her voice, “I ask you why? Why betray us?”
Marvela silently regarded the rookie for a few seconds, her expression inscrutable.
“Cosworth, I have seen things you wouldn’t believe,” said Marvela, her voice uncharacteristically soft and wistful. “My picture glittering in lights in the heart of Times Square. Fans clambering hand over fist over each other just to catch a glimpse of me in Tokyo. Autograph lines that stretched around the block in Mexico City.”
“And then it was all taken from me,” Marvela continued, her tone turning increasingly furious and acrimonious. “It was people like you who clipped my wings just when I started to soar. Your cheers turned into heckles. Your adulation turned into scorn. You turned on me. And now you the nerve to ask why I betrayed you?!”
“No, Marvela,” Camille said sadly. “I never hated you. I never wanted to see you fall. I wanted to be you. You were --”
“You stupid, arrogant girl!” snorted Marvela. “You could never be me.”
For a moment, Camille looked like a heartbroken teenager again, her shock and hurt plainly visible in her expression. Coming from one of her idols, that simple rebuke stung a lot more than she could have anticipated. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out as she choked up. At a loss for words, she tossed her microphone back to the technician, then stepped to the center of the ring and extended her right hand for a handshake.
Marvela laughed derisively, but Camille continued to earnestly hold out her hand with a pleading look on her face.
Judging by the chants, the fans were firmly on Camille’s side.
SHAKE HER HAND.
SHAKE HER HAND.
SHAKE HER HAND.
With a roll of her eyes, Marvela finally relented to the crowd’s demands. She handed her microphone to the referee and stepped forward to shake hands with her opponent.
Camille spirits lifted when Marvela firmly grasped her hand. “It’s an honor,” she said sincerely.
“Idiot,” sneered Marvela.
The official bell rang and Marvela immediately twisted the handshake into a painful wrist lock, looking to get a submission just seconds into the match.
Before Marvela could apply any substantial pressure, however, Camille reversed the hold via a standing backflip, and with Marvela still grasping her hand, Camille whipped her very surprised opponent into the corner turnbuckles.
Marvela managed to turn her body before she hit the turnbuckle, wincing as she took the impact on her back and slumped down. She regained her senses just in time to see the sole of Camille’s right shoe rocketing at her face, and barely dodged out of the way to her left as Camille’s Super Kick struck the top turnbuckle with a BWUNG.
Undeterred despite missing the kick, Camille swept her outstretched right leg backwards, catching the left side of Marvela’s head with the back of her right ankle. As soon as she felt the contact, she made a twisting leap and wrapped her left ankle around the right side of her opponent’s head and neck. Then with a flex of her well-developed hip and abdominal muscles, Camille threw herself into a front flip and sent Marvela flying across the ring with a hurricanrana.
Marvela was far too savvy to fall victim to such a move, however. She tucked her head and absorbed the landing on her forearms and elbows, rolling with the force of the throw. Instead of a brain-rattling impact on the mat, Marvela landed with a graceful and harmless front roll. Nevertheless, she opted to quickly scramble under the ropes and out of the ring to try to regain her bearings.
Camille knew better than to give her any such respite. Even as Marvela was rolling out of the impact of the hurricanrana, Camille was already on her feet and running at her opponent. At the same time that Marvela was going under the ropes, Camille was flying over the top, anticipating her opponent’s escape attempt and trying to literally Goomba stomp Marvela as soon as she hit the arena floor.
Luckily for Marvela, she saw the shadow flying over her and realized what was about to happen. She quickly grabbed the bottom rope even as she was slipping off the apron and pulled herself back inside the ring. A split second later, Camille’s feet forcefully slammed into the ground where Marvela would have been had she not aborted her escape midway.
Coming up empty on her stomp did little to slow down Camille. She bounced up into a second jump almost immediately after she landed and turned 180 degrees in midair before landing with both feet on the apron, and then took to the air for the third time in as many seconds by slingshotting herself over the top rope in a repeat attempt to crush the still grounded Marvela under her sneakers.
Once more Marvela barely rolled out of the way, and Camille stomped an empty patch of mat with a loud THUD. This time Camille did not go immediately into another move, opting instead to stare down her opponent as both of them quickly caught their breaths.
The fans took advantage of the break in the action to catch their breaths too, and then broke into a round of applause. It was hardly twenty seconds into the match, and the latest addition to the roster had not disappointed in displaying her highlight-reel athleticism.
“Right now they cheer for you as one of their own, Cosworth, but it’s all an illusion,” hissed Marvela as she made her way to her feet. “They will disavow you as soon as I leave you broken and battered in this ring.”
Marvela stalked to the center of the ring and held out her arms at shoulder level, challenging her opponent to an elbow and collar lockup.
Camille was more than happy to oblige. Showing that her physical gifts extended beyond running fast and jumping high, Camille overpowered Marvela and pushed her back into a corner with an ease that belied her mere one inch and ten pound size advantage.
Marvela didn’t become a world champion because she was the strongest or fastest wrestler, however. Whatever she conceded to the rookie in terms of physicality, she made up for in resourcefulness and willingness to fight outside the rules.
As soon as Camille forced her up against the turnbuckle, Marvela quickly released her grip and forcefully stabbed the fingers of her right hand directly into the center of Camille’s throat. Camille’s eyes bulged and she instantly relinquished the lockup, both hands clasping her abused neck as she gagged and choked.
Even as the referee was issuing an ineffectual verbal reprimand for her illegal throat stab, Marvela grabbed two handfuls of Camille’s hair then made an impressive leap of her own over the top rope and fell to the arena floor, causing the rookie’s trachea to be crushed a second time against the rubber-coated steel cable.
The crowd booed lustily, but the damage was already done as Camille flopped onto her back and spasmed, desperately trying to get some air back into her lungs. She could offer no resistance when Marvela grabbed her ankles and spread her legs around the ringpost, then forcefully pulled back, causing her groin to be smashed against the unforgiving steel.
Camille couldn’t quite manage a scream through her injured throat, but the way her hands shot from her neck to her groin made her pain readily apparent. To make matters worse, Marvela twisted her right ankle over her left knee and then threw her own legs over Camille’s, trapping the newcomer in a brutal ringpost figure four leglock. Camille arched her back and tore at her own hair, eyes squeezed shut and mouth wide open in a silent howl of agony.
The referee’s count reached FOUR, and Marvela released the illegal leglock and climbed back into the ring. Had her title been on the line Marvela would have held on until the referee worked up the courage to disqualify her, but for a non-title match a greenhorn did not deserve a win over the Marvelous Marvela Marcille, even if it were by disqualification.
Camille dragged herself on her elbows to the center of the ring, wanting to avoid any further punishment against the ringpost. Her throat was still burning, but she had recovered to the point where she could at least draw a few pained, ragged breaths.
Not for long though, as Marvela pulled her into a sitting position, then bent her backwards and continued to attack her neck and throat with a Dragon Sleeper.
“Do you see how fickle these sycophantic parasites are?” asked Marvela, referring to the FAWNatics who had fallen silent with concern. “They forsake you as soon as the tide turns.”
Camille thrashed and struggled, trying to think of a way out of her predicament. Fortunately, the very brief ringpost figure four leglock had not done lasting damage to her legs, and Camille was able to kick her right leg up and back, striking her captor in the forehead.
Surprised more than hurt, Marvela released the sleeper and Camille wasted no time in quickly rolling out of the ring to hopefully recover in peace. Marvela made no attempt to follow. Chasing after a newbie was beneath a world champion of her stature.
Camille walked a couple of laps around the ring, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why, Marvela?” she rasped, voice still weak and unsteady. “You were an amazing wrestler even without resorting to cheating.”
“There are many amazing wrestlers,” answered Marvela. “I have seen countless others like you come and go. Strong, fast, and agile. Then the ravages of time inevitably wither their bodies and dull their skills, and their names and memories are lost like tears in the rain. Only champions live forever, Cosworth. Gold never tarnishes.”
The referee counted EIGHT and Camille re-entered the ring, electing once more to bypass the apron and leap directly from the floor and pull herself into a somersault over the top rope.
To show their appreciation and support for the dynamic rookie, and also to spite Marvela, the audience broke into a chant.
COOOOS-WORTH.
COOOOS-WORTH.
COOOOS-WORTH.
“Will they still chant your name when you have to take the stairs and go under the ropes like the rest of us?” Marvela asked rhetorically, a hint of bitterness in her words. She approached the center of the ring with hands held high and fingers curled, seeking to engage in a test of strength.
Camille hesitated. She outclassed Marvela in terms of strength, and Marvela surely knew that, therefore this test of strength could only be another trap. Camille circled around Marvela at a safe distance, weighing her options.
During her very first sparring session with Yoona months ago, Camille had challenged her partner to a test of strength and promptly got smashed in her exposed ribs by a nasty right hook. As pragmatic and effective as that was Camille still found it distasteful, and more importantly, boring. After a few seconds of deliberation, her predilection for the spectacular overruled her common sense, and she interlaced her fingers with Marvela’s.
Sure enough, the wily veteran had a trick up her sleeves. Instead of trying to futilely overpower Camille, Marvela immediately dropped to a sitting position. Unbalanced by the sudden lack of resistance, Camille stumbled forward and Marvela took advantage by planting her feet in the rookie’s gut and launching her with a monkey flip.
Camille also had a trick up her sleeve.
Even as she was flipping through the air, Camille adjusted her grip so that she was grabbing Marvela's wrist in each hand. Then she arched her back, flexed her legs, and landed in a bridge with only her toes touching the mat.
As soon as she found solid footing, Camille poured every ounce of her strength into flexing her quadriceps, hip flexors, and abdominal muscles. Aided by the rotational inertia of the monkey flip, the two women flipped once more, this time resulting in Marvela being flung over Camille’s head before slamming belly first into the mat.
The impact was so great that it caused Marvela to bounce free from Camille’s grip and do another half flip before coming to a rest at the edge of the ring, legs splayed out and shoulders resting against the bottom rope. Marvela tightly hugged her own chest and abdomen as she gasped for air, the slam having forcibly knocked the wind out of her lungs.
Camille grinned and took a second to mentally celebrate. That was so much more awesome than a simple punch to the ribs, and she looked forward to rubbing it in Yoona’s face when she got back home to Bangor. Her opponent was not quite finished yet, however, so Camille exploded forward into a spear aimed at Marvela’s torso, looking to deliver the coup de grace.
The second it took Camille to give herself an imaginary pat on the back was a mistake, as that was all the time Marvela needed to gather her wits. Seeing the rookie fly at her like a missile, Marvela simply raised her left foot and braced for impact.
Instead of driving her right shoulder into Marvela’s vulnerable belly, Camille rammed into the heel of Marvela’s boot. She shrieked in pain as she took the impact right on the base of her neck, causing a stinging electric shock to run all the way from her shoulder to the fingertips of her right hand. Camille skidded to the mat and rolled onto her back, left hand clutching her right shoulder as she wondered if she had just shattered her own collarbone.
After taking another half dozen seconds to catch her breath, Marvela pulled herself upright and walked over to the still supine Camille, then nonchalantly put a boot on the rookie’s damaged right shoulder and ground her heel. Amplified by the directional microphones around the ring, Camille’s screams were so loud that the broadcast announcer ripped off his headset, lest he lose his sense of hearing.
Camille reached out with her left hand and grabbed the bottom rope. She was too preoccupied with her agonized wailing to verbally call for a break, though the referee was astute enough to immediately begin his count and force Marvela to back off once he had reached FOUR.
“I admit my tactics are cruel, merciless, and yes, underhanded, but this is the price of being champion,” explained Marvela as she paced around the ring. “Sooner or later you will learn the same lessons I did, that there are no moral victories in wrestling.”
Camille rose to her feet wearing a look of renewed determination despite her right arm dangling limply at her side.
“Thank you, Marvela” she said grimly. “For years I’ve wondered if you had any regret or remorse for all the wrestlers you’ve cheated and swindled. Now I know firsthand, and I finally realize how misguided I was as a kid. You’re right that I could never be you, so instead I’m going to be what you never were.”
Marvela scoffed, “And what might that be?”
Camille clenched her right hand, then dropped to one knee and drove her fist into the mat as hard as she could, jolting her arm back to life.
“Someone worthy of admiration and respect,” she declared as she held up her right hand and flexed her fingers.
As if on cue, the FAWNatics broke into their loudest ovation of the match thus far, earning an angry snarl from Marvela.
To further demonstrate that her shoulder was okay, Camille lunged forward with a short-arm clothesline. Marvela was more than ready, however, and she effortlessly ducked under Camille’s outstretched limb and pivoted behind the rookie. Moving almost more quickly than the eye could follow, Marvela straddled her left calf over Camille’s left thigh, then trapped Camille’s right bicep under her own left arm. Hold secured, Marvela straightened her posture and leaned back, pouring intense pressure into a powerful abdominal stretch.
Camille squeezed her eyes shut as a groan escaped her lips. Normally she would just hip toss her opponent off of herself, although despite her earlier show of bravado, that was proving to be impossible with her injured right shoulder. She stretched out her left arm and to her dismay found that the ropes were a handful of inches out of reach. Marvela ground the bony point of her right elbow into Camille’s taut oblique muscles, eliciting another series of anguished gasps.
Beads of sweat formed on Camille’s forehead and trickled down her face as lactic acid built up in her muscles, making the the burning in her abdomen more intense by the second. Out of options and nearly out of time, Camille had little choice except to resort to a move so dull and mundane that she almost would have prefered tapping out.
Almost.
Reaching down with her left hand Camille found Marvela’s left leg, and then forcefully squeezed and twisted the knee cap. Marvela gave a shrill cry of pain and immediately withdrew her leg, relieving much of the pressure on the abdominal stretch.
Camille wasn’t out of trouble yet, however. Even as she was unhooking the abdominal stretch, Marvela was once again bending Camille’s head and neck backwards into an inverted facelock. Instead of another Dragon Sleeper, this time Marvela was looking for a more immediate way to send the bothersome rookie into unconsciousness.
Grabbing a hold of the waist of Camille’s jeans, Marvela grunted and pulled her opponent off the ground, then held her upside down and vertical in preparation for an inverted brainbuster that would surely end the match.
Despite being firmly anti-Marvela all throughout the match, the crowd couldn’t help but gasp and murmur in appreciation of the display of strength and skill.
Camille knew what a dangerous predicament she was in. She thrashed and kicked her legs trying to do something, anything, before Marvela dropped her on the crown of her head. Sensing that Marvela was staggering and on the verge of losing her balance, Camille straightened her legs and forcefully kicked towards her stomach as if she were trying to do a backflip.
Caught off guard by the sudden torque, Marvela lost her grip on her would-be victim and Camille safely flipped over and landed on her feet behind Marvela. Before her opponent could react, Camille threw her calf over Marvela’s left thigh, as if to lock on an abdominal stretch of her own. Instead of securing Marvela’s arm, however, Camille reached down and wrapped both arms around Marvela’s other thigh.
With a forceful pull, Camille yanked Marvela’s right leg out from under her while scissoring Marvela’s left thigh between her calves, causing both women to roll to the mat.
Marvela unleashed a high pitched scream as her groin muscles were stretched past their limits, but the worst was yet to come. Camille kept her holds on Marvela’s legs and continued to roll and ragdoll Marvela even after they hit the mat.
Marvela was on her back.
Now on her shoulders.
Now Camille was under her.
Now they were on their sides.
Now Marvela was on her back again.
Over and over and over they rolled in the center of the ring, spinning and gyrating like an unbalanced top knocked off its axis.
The crowd roared with approval.
Camille thought she might have felt a series of taps on her leg, but she herself was too disoriented to be sure and as far as she could tell over the din of the audience there was no bell signifying the end of the match. The safe play, she reasoned, was to keep going for as long as she could.
After another thirty seconds, Camille was too dizzy and too exhausted to continue. The two wrestlers eventually came to a stop with Marvela on the bottom and folded into a matchbook with Camille on top of her still controlling both of her legs. Marvela could offer little resistance save for a groan.
The referee immediately dropped to the mat, and accompanied by twenty thousand FAWNatics, counted out
ONE
TWO
THREE
“The winner of this match, via pinfall -- Camiiiillllee Cooooooswooorth!” announced the PA as soon as the referee called for the bell.
The fans serenaded Camille with chants of her name once more as she unsteadily pushed herself to a kneeling position, not daring to believe that any of this was real. This moment far surpassed her wildest childhood dreams. She could spend the next decade losing all her matches as the Queen of Jobbers, and it still all would have been worth it.
“Drink it in, Cosworth. You only get to have your first victory once,” said Marvela, her voice somber and sad as she laid on her back, unmoved from where she had been pinned. “Soon these people will move on to the next big thing and forget about you.”
“I don’t need them to remember me,” said Camille, “I will remember them, and that’s good enough for me.”
Mavela laughed bitterly. “Once upon a time I was pure like you. Honorable. Virtuous. Righteous. I lost a bit of that every time I walked into the ring, until I became the woman you see in front of you now. How long can you stay unsullied, when every match you wrestle is another step towards perdition?”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Marvela,” sighed Camille. “But I am not you. I will never be you, and I don’t want to be. That golden belt is your burden to bear, not mine.”
Something in Camille’s words absolutely infuriated Marvela, and she grabbed Camille’s ankle as the rookie was standing up to walk away.
“DON’T YOU DARE FEEL SORRY FOR ME!” Marvela screamed. “I AM A WORLD CHAMPION! I WILL ALWAYS BE A WORLD CHAMPION! WHEN YOU ARE OLD AND GRAY, I WILL REMAIN AS BEAUTIFUL AND VIBRANT AS THE DAY I STRAPPED ON THAT BELT!”
Camille shook her foot free and smiled sadly. “May you live forever, Princess.”
“DO NOT CONDESCEND TO ME, CHILD! DO NOT THINK YOU ARE BETTER THAN ME!” Marvela bellowed as she got increasingly emotional. “WHAT WILL YOU HAVE, COSWORTH?! WHEN THE LAST BELL TOLLS, THE APPLAUSE FALLS SILENT, AND THE SPOTLIGHT FADES ON YOUR CAREER, WHAT WILL YOU HAVE?!”
“My soul,” Camille softly replied, stunning Marvela into silence.
Without so much as another downward glance at her opponent, Camille took a running leap onto the top rope, then used the steel cable as a springboard to launch herself into the air once more before landing on the other side of the audience barricade.
“COSWORTH!” called Marvela, brought back to attention by the cheers of the crowd. “DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME, COSWORTH!”
Camille didn’t look back as she started heading back into the crowd from whence she came.
“COSWORTH!”
The FAWNatics engulfed Camille as she went deeper and deeper into the stands.
“COSWORTH!”
Camille was gone, swallowed up by the legion of fans.
Camille’s dramatic entrance, and even more dramatic exit, when she interfered in Yoona Park’s second match with Paulette Severe had instantly made her a minor celebrity on social media. The video of her slamming Paulette through the announcer’s table had been replayed millions of times via Vines, Instagram GIFs, and Youtube remixes, the most popular of which was a five minute compilation of recordings from different camera angles set in slow motion to R. Kelly’s I Believe I Can Fly. Her Twitter and Instagram accounts started accruing thousands of followers by the day and never stopped, and both were now well into six digits.
CAMILLE COSWORTH:
She splashed her face with cold water in the sink, still not sure if this were all just a fever dream. She tied her long brown hair back in a loose ponytail, then brushed her bangs aside and ran her fingers over her left forehead where Paulette’s bullwhip had struck her. The stitches had come out a while ago, and now all that was left was a small, white scar a few inches in length and not even a quarter inch in width. It would have been unnoticeable had it not completely bisected her left eyebrow, the pale scar tissue standing out against the dark hairs around it.
Camille actually really, really liked the scar. Not only did she think it made her look tough and battle-hardened, but she also wore it as a badge of honor, a permanent reminder of her loyalty and devotion to the people she cared about. Yoona, however, hated the scar and got so weirdly emotional every time she saw it that Camille finally acquiesced by growing out her bangs to cover it up.
Camille looked in the mirror one last time and examined her wardrobe, specifically chosen to resemble what she was wearing when she had her star-making cameo.
Her favorite pair of black Chuck Taylor All-Stars. Check.
Black skinny jeans so form-fitting they might as well have been painted on. Check.
FAWN logo T-shirt. Check.
Leather bomber jacket, despite the Florida heat. Check.
Imitation luchadora mask. Nope, nope, and triple nope.
Her days as the knock-off La Halcon were over, she would simply be Camille Cosworth from now on and forge her own legacy rather than try to continue someone else’s. Satisfied with her look, Camille stepped out of the locker room and was immediately blindsided by a vicious ambush from Lily Burlingame.
LILY BURLINGAME:
“Good evening FAWNatics, this is your girl on the street, Lily Burlingame,” said the energetic, diminutive brunette as she grabbed Camille by the crook of her elbow and dragged her in front of a camera. “Joining me tonight all the way from Bangor, Maine is our latest Jungle import, Camille Cosworth. Tell us what it’s like to be in Orlando for the big show, Camille.”
Camille looked at the camera, then at Lily, before finally standing stock still like a deer in the headlights.
“Camille, how does it feel to be making your big debut?” asked Lily.
Camille continued to stare wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
“Camille?” asked Lily, a hint of concern in her voice. “Cosworth? Hellooooooo? Anyone there?”
Lily snapped her fingers in front of Camille’s face. Still no response, or signs of brain activity.
A worried look crept onto the face of the intrepid reporter. The rookie was apparently having a seizure. Lily was considering calling for a medic when the gears in Camille’s brain lurched to life once more.
“HOLY CRAP YOU’RE LILY BURLINGAME!” blurted a starstruck Camille. “CAN I HAVE AN AUTOGRAPH?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH A CAMERA MAN? OH NO! DID THEY DEMOTE YOU TO REPORTER AFTER YOU LOST YOUR TITLE?! OH MY GOD WHAT A STUPID AND INSENSITIVE THING TO ASK! I’M SO SORRY! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! CAN I STILL HAVE AN AUTOGRAPH?!”
“Whoa! You have got to calm down!” replied Lily as she took a step back and held up her hands defensively. “Our usual girl on the street is sick with the mumps so I’m just filling in for tonight. And I’ll trade you an autograph for an interview. Deal?”
“AN INTERV--I mean, an interview? M-me?” stammered Camille. She took several deep breaths, trying to regain her composure.
Lily nodded cautiously, then stepped closer to her interview subject. “I’m sure this has been an exciting time for you, Camille. Can you tell us about the last few days?”
Camille swallowed hard, making sure she had regained full control of her faculties before she replied. “Oh man, this has been the greatest time of my life. A few days ago I flew from Maine to Florida while getting drunk on complimentary Mai Tai’s in first class, then yesterday I met Mickey Mouse and threw up on Magic Mountain. Now I’m being interviewed by a world champion --”
Lily subtlely blushed and fidgeted.
“-- right as I’m about to wrestle another world champion in front of twenty thousand screaming fans. Then I’m going to fly first class and get trashed on free drinks again. Best. Week. Ever.”
“Tell us more about your opponent tonight,” asked Lily. “Rumor has it you were allowed to pick anyone you wanted. Why Marvela Marcille?”
“I’ve been a fan of wrestling for a long, long time,” answered Camille. “I was fourteen when Marvela Marcille became champion. I absolutely idolized her. She was everything I wanted to be. Beautiful, athletic, full of charisma, and loved by everyone. And then…”
Camille’s voice trailed off and became melancholy as she continued, “And then she changed. The low blows. The cheating. The disqualifications. When she finally quit Rival Roses and took the belt with her -- I guess for me that was the day the music died. I love wrestling and I always will, but after that happened, I have to admit that the industry lost some of its luster for me. It’s just that it’s never easy to see my heroes fail, and it’s even harder to see my heroes turn into villains. A part of me has always been in denial though, even to this day, and I just needed to see for myself if there is still something left of the Marvela that I loved as a kid.”
“Wow, that was really personal and totally not what I expected,” said a surprised Lily. “I thought you just hated the French or something. After all, it would be quite an understatement to say that you’re not on good terms with Paulette Sev--”
“Yeah, no,” interrupted Camille, “I don’t want to talk about Paulette, ever.”
Lily decided to press the issue despite her subject’s visible irritation. “Certainly emotions were running high during Paulette’s match with Yoona Park --”
“No comment. Next question,” muttered Camille with a roll of her eyes.
“-- what did Paulette say to provoke you?” continued Lily.
“Next question,” Camille replied tersely.
Camille’s refusal to divulge only made Lily more curious. “What was going through your mind when Paulette --”
Lily was abruptly cut off when Camille snatched the microphone out of her hand, a furious expression etched on her face. True to her Burlingame genes, Lily backed down from no one and she silently stared back at the taller woman, striking a defiant posture with her hands propped on her hips. For a moment, it seemed as if interviewer and interviewee were about to brawl right then and there.
After a few seconds, cooler heads prevailed.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be mad at you,” apologized Camille, the anger dissipating from her face and her voice. “You’re just doing your job.”
She held out the microphone to Lily, sheepishly adding, “You’ll still give me that autograph, right?”
Lily took the microphone with a small chuckle of relief, “As long as you’ll let me ask a few more non-Paulette questions.”
Camille grinned and nodded once.
“Your stunning leap from the crowd and slam through the table launched a thousand memes and made you famous overnight,” said Lily. “What possessed you to make such a crazy move?”
Camille shrugged her shoulders then scratched the back of her head. “I honestly don’t know. I saw Paulette pick up that whip, then everything was a blur and the next thing I know I’m getting stitched up by a medic. I guess I just didn’t want to see my friend get hurt.”
“Excuse me,” said Lily in a skeptical tone as she arched an eyebrow. “Just a friend?”
“Friend. Colleague. Sparring partner. League of Legends duo-queue buddy. All of those things,” Camille added, pretending to not know what her interviewer was implying.
Lily sighed and shook her head, entirely unconvinced by such a transparent misrepresentation and lie. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked, sticking out her tongue while raising her eyebrows suggestively.
“Lily Burlingame! What are you insinuating?!” Camille exclaimed with faux indignation. “I am a lady, and a lady would never kiss and tell!”
“There you have it, FAWNatics, straight from the source’s mouth. Camille Cosworth confirms kissing,” Lily addressed the camera directly with a triumphant smile as Camille turned beet red and stuttered. Before Camille could further embarrass herself, however, Marvela Marcille’s entrance was announced over the PA.
“For tonight’s match, scheduled for one fall, introducing first coming in at 5’5” tall and 120 pounds, the ‘Original’ People’s Princess -- ‘Marvelous’ Marvela Marcille!”
“Looks like that’s all the time we have for now, FAWNatics!” concluded Lily. “Camille, anything to add before your match? Any cool gimmicks or epithets for yourself, or trash talk for your opponent?”
“No gimmicks, Lily,” replied Camille, “I’m just a lucky wannabe who’s getting her big chance. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for my big entrance.”
“Good luck, Camille. I’ll get you that autograph after your match,” said Lily. The two women exchanged a handshake and a hug, then Camille took off running down the hallway.
“Wait! Camille! The entrance ramp is the other way!” Lily shouted.
“I know!” Camille called back with a smile. “I’m not going to the entrance ramp!”
*************************************************************************************
MARVELA MARCILLE:
Marvela Marcille stood in the center of the ring, dressed in her usual crimson and white trimmed sports bra, spandex leggings, and boots. Nearly a decade later, she looked virtually identical to the doe eyed 20 year old who had won the world championship in one of the greatest underdog stories in wrestling history.
The only thing that changed was the serenade of the crowd.
NOT!
OUR!
PRIN-CESS!
NOT!
OUR!
PRIN-CESS!
Marvela fumed. As a world champion, she deserved more respect than this. For starters, she should have been headlining the PPV, rather than being relegated to the undercard. Furthermore, an unknown and undeserving rookie straight from the developmental league requesting to wrestle her was an insult to her legacy. Most galling of all was the fact that the rookie had the audacity to make her come to the ring first and wait.
Marvela walked to the side of the ring and demanded a microphone, which a technician promptly handed her through the ropes.
“Who challenges the Marvelous Marvela Marcille?” she asked, her voice full of resentment. “Who is the ignorant fool who thinks that she is worthy of sharing a ring with the Original People’s Princess?!”
There was no response, save for the chants of the fans.
NOT!
OUR!
PRIN-CESS!
NOT!
OUR!
PRIN-CESS!
Marvela grew infuriated. “WHO DARES TO STAND BEFORE ME?!” she demanded. “WHO?!”
Suddenly, the arena lights went dark, leaving only a pair of spotlights canvassing the crowd as an electric guitar riff played over the PA system. Marvela turned her attention to the entrance ramp, anticipating the arrival of her opponent.
Her opponent, however, never intended to use the entrance ramp.
Camille took a deep breath, then stood up from her seat all the way in the back row of the audience and began her slow, winding walk to the ring. She had spent many days choreographing a big, dramatic entrance and finally decided on something that would evoke the spectacular leap from the crowd which had thrust her into fame.
The beat of her entrance music picked up, and Camille accordingly increased her pace to a light jog. In the hours before the match, she had practiced her run to the ring dozens of times, just so that she could count out her steps and hit all the right spots even in the dark. By now the fans had caught on to what was happening, and they rose in cheers as she jogged past.
The music built towards a crescendo and now Camille accelerated into a full on sprint towards the ring, showing off the All-American track star speed that let her run the 100 meter dash in 11 seconds flat. The pair of spotlights stopped canvassing the crowd as they found their target, following Camille as she streaked directly towards the barricade.
When she was a couple of meters away from the barricade, she leapt up, planted her left foot on the barricade, and pushed off once more all without breaking stride. Sent hurtling through the air, Camille reached out and grabbed the top rope then pulled herself into a front somersault over the ropes before landing in a three point stance with a dramatic THUD.
The FAWNatics broke into an ovation.
Camille discreetly breathed a sigh of relief. She had been afraid that the superhero landing pose combined with Wonder Woman’s theme music would have come off as too ostentatious, but the crowd was eating it up. Encouraged by the positive reception, Camille couldn’t resist going for one more indulgent pose.
Without rising from her three point stance, Camille held her right arm straight out to her side, as if to summon a microphone. The audience popped once more, and a strong armed technician hurled a microphone into the ring.
DON’T DROP IT DON’T DROP IT DON’T DROP IT DON’T DROP IT - YEEEESSSSS thought Camille as she tracked the parabolic arc of the mic out of the corner of her eye and successfully snatched it out of the air.
Technically she didn’t need it, the ringside microphones alone were more than capable of picking up any conversation at normal volume, but Camille thought it made for a dramatic visual, and really what was more important than looking cool? She turned towards the technician and gave him a smile and a wink, then put on her game face and stood up to face her opponent.
Marvela was far less impressed with Camille’s ring entrance. A champion had no need for such flamboyant theatrics. “Who are you?” she pointedly asked, each and every word practically dripping with contempt.
“My name is Camille Cosworth, and I. Am. Everyone,” Camille replied in the most melodramatic voice she could muster as she gestured to the assembled FAWNatics, earning herself another round of cheers from the crowd. “Everyone who cheered for you. Everyone who looked up to you. Everyone who loved you.”
Marvela rolled her eyes and scoffed.
“And on behalf of all who once adored you,” Camille said, a hint of emotion creeping into her voice, “I ask you why? Why betray us?”
Marvela silently regarded the rookie for a few seconds, her expression inscrutable.
“Cosworth, I have seen things you wouldn’t believe,” said Marvela, her voice uncharacteristically soft and wistful. “My picture glittering in lights in the heart of Times Square. Fans clambering hand over fist over each other just to catch a glimpse of me in Tokyo. Autograph lines that stretched around the block in Mexico City.”
“And then it was all taken from me,” Marvela continued, her tone turning increasingly furious and acrimonious. “It was people like you who clipped my wings just when I started to soar. Your cheers turned into heckles. Your adulation turned into scorn. You turned on me. And now you the nerve to ask why I betrayed you?!”
“No, Marvela,” Camille said sadly. “I never hated you. I never wanted to see you fall. I wanted to be you. You were --”
“You stupid, arrogant girl!” snorted Marvela. “You could never be me.”
For a moment, Camille looked like a heartbroken teenager again, her shock and hurt plainly visible in her expression. Coming from one of her idols, that simple rebuke stung a lot more than she could have anticipated. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out as she choked up. At a loss for words, she tossed her microphone back to the technician, then stepped to the center of the ring and extended her right hand for a handshake.
Marvela laughed derisively, but Camille continued to earnestly hold out her hand with a pleading look on her face.
Judging by the chants, the fans were firmly on Camille’s side.
SHAKE HER HAND.
SHAKE HER HAND.
SHAKE HER HAND.
With a roll of her eyes, Marvela finally relented to the crowd’s demands. She handed her microphone to the referee and stepped forward to shake hands with her opponent.
Camille spirits lifted when Marvela firmly grasped her hand. “It’s an honor,” she said sincerely.
“Idiot,” sneered Marvela.
The official bell rang and Marvela immediately twisted the handshake into a painful wrist lock, looking to get a submission just seconds into the match.
Before Marvela could apply any substantial pressure, however, Camille reversed the hold via a standing backflip, and with Marvela still grasping her hand, Camille whipped her very surprised opponent into the corner turnbuckles.
Marvela managed to turn her body before she hit the turnbuckle, wincing as she took the impact on her back and slumped down. She regained her senses just in time to see the sole of Camille’s right shoe rocketing at her face, and barely dodged out of the way to her left as Camille’s Super Kick struck the top turnbuckle with a BWUNG.
Undeterred despite missing the kick, Camille swept her outstretched right leg backwards, catching the left side of Marvela’s head with the back of her right ankle. As soon as she felt the contact, she made a twisting leap and wrapped her left ankle around the right side of her opponent’s head and neck. Then with a flex of her well-developed hip and abdominal muscles, Camille threw herself into a front flip and sent Marvela flying across the ring with a hurricanrana.
Marvela was far too savvy to fall victim to such a move, however. She tucked her head and absorbed the landing on her forearms and elbows, rolling with the force of the throw. Instead of a brain-rattling impact on the mat, Marvela landed with a graceful and harmless front roll. Nevertheless, she opted to quickly scramble under the ropes and out of the ring to try to regain her bearings.
Camille knew better than to give her any such respite. Even as Marvela was rolling out of the impact of the hurricanrana, Camille was already on her feet and running at her opponent. At the same time that Marvela was going under the ropes, Camille was flying over the top, anticipating her opponent’s escape attempt and trying to literally Goomba stomp Marvela as soon as she hit the arena floor.
Luckily for Marvela, she saw the shadow flying over her and realized what was about to happen. She quickly grabbed the bottom rope even as she was slipping off the apron and pulled herself back inside the ring. A split second later, Camille’s feet forcefully slammed into the ground where Marvela would have been had she not aborted her escape midway.
Coming up empty on her stomp did little to slow down Camille. She bounced up into a second jump almost immediately after she landed and turned 180 degrees in midair before landing with both feet on the apron, and then took to the air for the third time in as many seconds by slingshotting herself over the top rope in a repeat attempt to crush the still grounded Marvela under her sneakers.
Once more Marvela barely rolled out of the way, and Camille stomped an empty patch of mat with a loud THUD. This time Camille did not go immediately into another move, opting instead to stare down her opponent as both of them quickly caught their breaths.
The fans took advantage of the break in the action to catch their breaths too, and then broke into a round of applause. It was hardly twenty seconds into the match, and the latest addition to the roster had not disappointed in displaying her highlight-reel athleticism.
“Right now they cheer for you as one of their own, Cosworth, but it’s all an illusion,” hissed Marvela as she made her way to her feet. “They will disavow you as soon as I leave you broken and battered in this ring.”
Marvela stalked to the center of the ring and held out her arms at shoulder level, challenging her opponent to an elbow and collar lockup.
Camille was more than happy to oblige. Showing that her physical gifts extended beyond running fast and jumping high, Camille overpowered Marvela and pushed her back into a corner with an ease that belied her mere one inch and ten pound size advantage.
Marvela didn’t become a world champion because she was the strongest or fastest wrestler, however. Whatever she conceded to the rookie in terms of physicality, she made up for in resourcefulness and willingness to fight outside the rules.
As soon as Camille forced her up against the turnbuckle, Marvela quickly released her grip and forcefully stabbed the fingers of her right hand directly into the center of Camille’s throat. Camille’s eyes bulged and she instantly relinquished the lockup, both hands clasping her abused neck as she gagged and choked.
Even as the referee was issuing an ineffectual verbal reprimand for her illegal throat stab, Marvela grabbed two handfuls of Camille’s hair then made an impressive leap of her own over the top rope and fell to the arena floor, causing the rookie’s trachea to be crushed a second time against the rubber-coated steel cable.
The crowd booed lustily, but the damage was already done as Camille flopped onto her back and spasmed, desperately trying to get some air back into her lungs. She could offer no resistance when Marvela grabbed her ankles and spread her legs around the ringpost, then forcefully pulled back, causing her groin to be smashed against the unforgiving steel.
Camille couldn’t quite manage a scream through her injured throat, but the way her hands shot from her neck to her groin made her pain readily apparent. To make matters worse, Marvela twisted her right ankle over her left knee and then threw her own legs over Camille’s, trapping the newcomer in a brutal ringpost figure four leglock. Camille arched her back and tore at her own hair, eyes squeezed shut and mouth wide open in a silent howl of agony.
The referee’s count reached FOUR, and Marvela released the illegal leglock and climbed back into the ring. Had her title been on the line Marvela would have held on until the referee worked up the courage to disqualify her, but for a non-title match a greenhorn did not deserve a win over the Marvelous Marvela Marcille, even if it were by disqualification.
Camille dragged herself on her elbows to the center of the ring, wanting to avoid any further punishment against the ringpost. Her throat was still burning, but she had recovered to the point where she could at least draw a few pained, ragged breaths.
Not for long though, as Marvela pulled her into a sitting position, then bent her backwards and continued to attack her neck and throat with a Dragon Sleeper.
“Do you see how fickle these sycophantic parasites are?” asked Marvela, referring to the FAWNatics who had fallen silent with concern. “They forsake you as soon as the tide turns.”
Camille thrashed and struggled, trying to think of a way out of her predicament. Fortunately, the very brief ringpost figure four leglock had not done lasting damage to her legs, and Camille was able to kick her right leg up and back, striking her captor in the forehead.
Surprised more than hurt, Marvela released the sleeper and Camille wasted no time in quickly rolling out of the ring to hopefully recover in peace. Marvela made no attempt to follow. Chasing after a newbie was beneath a world champion of her stature.
Camille walked a couple of laps around the ring, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why, Marvela?” she rasped, voice still weak and unsteady. “You were an amazing wrestler even without resorting to cheating.”
“There are many amazing wrestlers,” answered Marvela. “I have seen countless others like you come and go. Strong, fast, and agile. Then the ravages of time inevitably wither their bodies and dull their skills, and their names and memories are lost like tears in the rain. Only champions live forever, Cosworth. Gold never tarnishes.”
The referee counted EIGHT and Camille re-entered the ring, electing once more to bypass the apron and leap directly from the floor and pull herself into a somersault over the top rope.
To show their appreciation and support for the dynamic rookie, and also to spite Marvela, the audience broke into a chant.
COOOOS-WORTH.
COOOOS-WORTH.
COOOOS-WORTH.
“Will they still chant your name when you have to take the stairs and go under the ropes like the rest of us?” Marvela asked rhetorically, a hint of bitterness in her words. She approached the center of the ring with hands held high and fingers curled, seeking to engage in a test of strength.
Camille hesitated. She outclassed Marvela in terms of strength, and Marvela surely knew that, therefore this test of strength could only be another trap. Camille circled around Marvela at a safe distance, weighing her options.
During her very first sparring session with Yoona months ago, Camille had challenged her partner to a test of strength and promptly got smashed in her exposed ribs by a nasty right hook. As pragmatic and effective as that was Camille still found it distasteful, and more importantly, boring. After a few seconds of deliberation, her predilection for the spectacular overruled her common sense, and she interlaced her fingers with Marvela’s.
Sure enough, the wily veteran had a trick up her sleeves. Instead of trying to futilely overpower Camille, Marvela immediately dropped to a sitting position. Unbalanced by the sudden lack of resistance, Camille stumbled forward and Marvela took advantage by planting her feet in the rookie’s gut and launching her with a monkey flip.
Camille also had a trick up her sleeve.
Even as she was flipping through the air, Camille adjusted her grip so that she was grabbing Marvela's wrist in each hand. Then she arched her back, flexed her legs, and landed in a bridge with only her toes touching the mat.
As soon as she found solid footing, Camille poured every ounce of her strength into flexing her quadriceps, hip flexors, and abdominal muscles. Aided by the rotational inertia of the monkey flip, the two women flipped once more, this time resulting in Marvela being flung over Camille’s head before slamming belly first into the mat.
The impact was so great that it caused Marvela to bounce free from Camille’s grip and do another half flip before coming to a rest at the edge of the ring, legs splayed out and shoulders resting against the bottom rope. Marvela tightly hugged her own chest and abdomen as she gasped for air, the slam having forcibly knocked the wind out of her lungs.
Camille grinned and took a second to mentally celebrate. That was so much more awesome than a simple punch to the ribs, and she looked forward to rubbing it in Yoona’s face when she got back home to Bangor. Her opponent was not quite finished yet, however, so Camille exploded forward into a spear aimed at Marvela’s torso, looking to deliver the coup de grace.
The second it took Camille to give herself an imaginary pat on the back was a mistake, as that was all the time Marvela needed to gather her wits. Seeing the rookie fly at her like a missile, Marvela simply raised her left foot and braced for impact.
Instead of driving her right shoulder into Marvela’s vulnerable belly, Camille rammed into the heel of Marvela’s boot. She shrieked in pain as she took the impact right on the base of her neck, causing a stinging electric shock to run all the way from her shoulder to the fingertips of her right hand. Camille skidded to the mat and rolled onto her back, left hand clutching her right shoulder as she wondered if she had just shattered her own collarbone.
After taking another half dozen seconds to catch her breath, Marvela pulled herself upright and walked over to the still supine Camille, then nonchalantly put a boot on the rookie’s damaged right shoulder and ground her heel. Amplified by the directional microphones around the ring, Camille’s screams were so loud that the broadcast announcer ripped off his headset, lest he lose his sense of hearing.
Camille reached out with her left hand and grabbed the bottom rope. She was too preoccupied with her agonized wailing to verbally call for a break, though the referee was astute enough to immediately begin his count and force Marvela to back off once he had reached FOUR.
“I admit my tactics are cruel, merciless, and yes, underhanded, but this is the price of being champion,” explained Marvela as she paced around the ring. “Sooner or later you will learn the same lessons I did, that there are no moral victories in wrestling.”
Camille rose to her feet wearing a look of renewed determination despite her right arm dangling limply at her side.
“Thank you, Marvela” she said grimly. “For years I’ve wondered if you had any regret or remorse for all the wrestlers you’ve cheated and swindled. Now I know firsthand, and I finally realize how misguided I was as a kid. You’re right that I could never be you, so instead I’m going to be what you never were.”
Marvela scoffed, “And what might that be?”
Camille clenched her right hand, then dropped to one knee and drove her fist into the mat as hard as she could, jolting her arm back to life.
“Someone worthy of admiration and respect,” she declared as she held up her right hand and flexed her fingers.
As if on cue, the FAWNatics broke into their loudest ovation of the match thus far, earning an angry snarl from Marvela.
To further demonstrate that her shoulder was okay, Camille lunged forward with a short-arm clothesline. Marvela was more than ready, however, and she effortlessly ducked under Camille’s outstretched limb and pivoted behind the rookie. Moving almost more quickly than the eye could follow, Marvela straddled her left calf over Camille’s left thigh, then trapped Camille’s right bicep under her own left arm. Hold secured, Marvela straightened her posture and leaned back, pouring intense pressure into a powerful abdominal stretch.
Camille squeezed her eyes shut as a groan escaped her lips. Normally she would just hip toss her opponent off of herself, although despite her earlier show of bravado, that was proving to be impossible with her injured right shoulder. She stretched out her left arm and to her dismay found that the ropes were a handful of inches out of reach. Marvela ground the bony point of her right elbow into Camille’s taut oblique muscles, eliciting another series of anguished gasps.
Beads of sweat formed on Camille’s forehead and trickled down her face as lactic acid built up in her muscles, making the the burning in her abdomen more intense by the second. Out of options and nearly out of time, Camille had little choice except to resort to a move so dull and mundane that she almost would have prefered tapping out.
Almost.
Reaching down with her left hand Camille found Marvela’s left leg, and then forcefully squeezed and twisted the knee cap. Marvela gave a shrill cry of pain and immediately withdrew her leg, relieving much of the pressure on the abdominal stretch.
Camille wasn’t out of trouble yet, however. Even as she was unhooking the abdominal stretch, Marvela was once again bending Camille’s head and neck backwards into an inverted facelock. Instead of another Dragon Sleeper, this time Marvela was looking for a more immediate way to send the bothersome rookie into unconsciousness.
Grabbing a hold of the waist of Camille’s jeans, Marvela grunted and pulled her opponent off the ground, then held her upside down and vertical in preparation for an inverted brainbuster that would surely end the match.
Despite being firmly anti-Marvela all throughout the match, the crowd couldn’t help but gasp and murmur in appreciation of the display of strength and skill.
Camille knew what a dangerous predicament she was in. She thrashed and kicked her legs trying to do something, anything, before Marvela dropped her on the crown of her head. Sensing that Marvela was staggering and on the verge of losing her balance, Camille straightened her legs and forcefully kicked towards her stomach as if she were trying to do a backflip.
Caught off guard by the sudden torque, Marvela lost her grip on her would-be victim and Camille safely flipped over and landed on her feet behind Marvela. Before her opponent could react, Camille threw her calf over Marvela’s left thigh, as if to lock on an abdominal stretch of her own. Instead of securing Marvela’s arm, however, Camille reached down and wrapped both arms around Marvela’s other thigh.
With a forceful pull, Camille yanked Marvela’s right leg out from under her while scissoring Marvela’s left thigh between her calves, causing both women to roll to the mat.
Marvela unleashed a high pitched scream as her groin muscles were stretched past their limits, but the worst was yet to come. Camille kept her holds on Marvela’s legs and continued to roll and ragdoll Marvela even after they hit the mat.
Marvela was on her back.
Now on her shoulders.
Now Camille was under her.
Now they were on their sides.
Now Marvela was on her back again.
Over and over and over they rolled in the center of the ring, spinning and gyrating like an unbalanced top knocked off its axis.
The crowd roared with approval.
Camille thought she might have felt a series of taps on her leg, but she herself was too disoriented to be sure and as far as she could tell over the din of the audience there was no bell signifying the end of the match. The safe play, she reasoned, was to keep going for as long as she could.
After another thirty seconds, Camille was too dizzy and too exhausted to continue. The two wrestlers eventually came to a stop with Marvela on the bottom and folded into a matchbook with Camille on top of her still controlling both of her legs. Marvela could offer little resistance save for a groan.
The referee immediately dropped to the mat, and accompanied by twenty thousand FAWNatics, counted out
ONE
TWO
THREE
“The winner of this match, via pinfall -- Camiiiillllee Cooooooswooorth!” announced the PA as soon as the referee called for the bell.
The fans serenaded Camille with chants of her name once more as she unsteadily pushed herself to a kneeling position, not daring to believe that any of this was real. This moment far surpassed her wildest childhood dreams. She could spend the next decade losing all her matches as the Queen of Jobbers, and it still all would have been worth it.
“Drink it in, Cosworth. You only get to have your first victory once,” said Marvela, her voice somber and sad as she laid on her back, unmoved from where she had been pinned. “Soon these people will move on to the next big thing and forget about you.”
“I don’t need them to remember me,” said Camille, “I will remember them, and that’s good enough for me.”
Mavela laughed bitterly. “Once upon a time I was pure like you. Honorable. Virtuous. Righteous. I lost a bit of that every time I walked into the ring, until I became the woman you see in front of you now. How long can you stay unsullied, when every match you wrestle is another step towards perdition?”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Marvela,” sighed Camille. “But I am not you. I will never be you, and I don’t want to be. That golden belt is your burden to bear, not mine.”
Something in Camille’s words absolutely infuriated Marvela, and she grabbed Camille’s ankle as the rookie was standing up to walk away.
“DON’T YOU DARE FEEL SORRY FOR ME!” Marvela screamed. “I AM A WORLD CHAMPION! I WILL ALWAYS BE A WORLD CHAMPION! WHEN YOU ARE OLD AND GRAY, I WILL REMAIN AS BEAUTIFUL AND VIBRANT AS THE DAY I STRAPPED ON THAT BELT!”
Camille shook her foot free and smiled sadly. “May you live forever, Princess.”
“DO NOT CONDESCEND TO ME, CHILD! DO NOT THINK YOU ARE BETTER THAN ME!” Marvela bellowed as she got increasingly emotional. “WHAT WILL YOU HAVE, COSWORTH?! WHEN THE LAST BELL TOLLS, THE APPLAUSE FALLS SILENT, AND THE SPOTLIGHT FADES ON YOUR CAREER, WHAT WILL YOU HAVE?!”
“My soul,” Camille softly replied, stunning Marvela into silence.
Without so much as another downward glance at her opponent, Camille took a running leap onto the top rope, then used the steel cable as a springboard to launch herself into the air once more before landing on the other side of the audience barricade.
“COSWORTH!” called Marvela, brought back to attention by the cheers of the crowd. “DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME, COSWORTH!”
Camille didn’t look back as she started heading back into the crowd from whence she came.
“COSWORTH!”
The FAWNatics engulfed Camille as she went deeper and deeper into the stands.
“COSWORTH!”
Camille was gone, swallowed up by the legion of fans.