Post by EmmaWoods007 on Apr 8, 2020 14:35:27 GMT
To the surprise of no-one, the People’s Princess was popular backstage.
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
On first name bases with most of the stage hands that many treated as invisible, the perpetually pleasant, petitely packaged Brit was frequently engaged in conversation with the hired help, enquiring after their days and the well-being of their loved ones. Akin to a little sibling, she weaved through the ranks like a welcome reminder that their invaluable efforts were indeed appreciated, and she was rarely to be found alone when she navigated the labyrinthian corridors of the Orlando Arena.
For Scarlet, it was especially irritating when she wanted her siblings’ undivided attention.
SCARLET SINCLAIR
Spotting her opportunity, she darted in, corralling her big sister by her elbow and unceremoniously pulling her away from an impending gathering. “Sorry guys,” she apologised without a terrible amount of sincerity, “need to talk, Sinclair business, most important!”
Caught somewhat flat footed, Sammie allowed herself to be corralled away down one corridor, their destination uncertain as she waved apologetically behind her.
“She’s up to something,” Scarlet explained in such a way that, in typical fashion, did not explain anything.
“She?” Samantha enquired, perking her brow as she settled into their new pace.
“Daisy!” Scarlet insisted, “She’s up to no good, I know it, I can feel it.”
“You can feel it?”
The youngest of the Sinclair’s nodded, looking about herself as though an ambush could occur at any moment, suspicious of any and all blind corners.
Sam, bringing them to a stop, smiled with the indulgence of elder siblings everywhere, “This is about March to War.”
“Of course, it is,” Scarlet huffed, “and I blame you! You and your bad ideas.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” the Upstart Supreme corrected, “and it’s a Cage Match, I’ve had them before.”
“It’s not a Cage Match,” Scarlet exasperated. “I do watch these shows you know? It’s a Hell in a Cell, that is completely different. And if it wasn’t your idea, then whose?”
Sammie shrugged, trying her best to diffuse her excitable sisters building concerns. “I don’t know,” she confessed, “Alejandra’s I assume, or Daisy’s, or both. It doesn’t matter whose idea it was; it’s happening.”
“I don’t like it,” Scarlet grumbled, not liking it when the bubble of her devil may care attitude was penetrated, or how effortlessly the People’s Princess seemed to take these developments in stride. Sometimes, it was like she didn’t even remember breaking her neck, and Scarlet wasn’t fond of being in the dark on just how much of her sister’s bravado was for show.
“Look, Scarlet, I…” Sammie began to console one of her siblings concerns when the other, Mary, caught her eye, the teeniest of the Sinclair’s marching down the corridor towards them with a pair of bolt cutters in hand, a set that seemed to be almost as big as she was. Mary came to a stop as soon as she realised that the eldest of them was present and, after opening her mouth uncertainly, only went on to offer no explanation.
MARY SINCLAIR
Samantha folded her arms, perking her brow expectantly at both of her little sisters. “Mary?”
The crimson topped, middle sibling looked sideways at Scarlet, who in turn shook her head in a clear indication that she was to confess nothing.
Samantha, releasing an audible sigh, unfolded her arms and took the bolt cutters from Mary who, meek by her very nature, surrendered them without protest. “Look, as much as I’m glad that the two of you seem to be getting along now,” the Upstart Supreme admitted, handing the liberated bolt cutters off to a passing (and very quickly confused) stage hand, “but Scarlet, stop giving Mary bad ideas, and Mary, stop listening to Scarlet’s bad ideas, ok?”
“Well, great,” Scarlet protested as she watched the bolt cutters disappearing around the corner in someone else’s possession. “How are we supposed to get in the Cell now? That door is going to be padlocked, and unlike the Cages your used to, there won’t be a giant hole in the top of this one!!”
“Here’s an idea,” Sammie suggested, frustratingly patient, “how about neither of you get in the Cell.”
“But…”
“Look,” the eldest of the Sinclair sisters sighed the world-weary sigh of big siblings the world over. “I appreciate you two helping me out at Heartbroken,” she admitted sincerely, “but this time is different. The entire point of this stipulation is that no-one else can get involved. For good or ill, it’s just me and Fernandez. Ok?”
After a moment, Mary nodded in the affirmative, Scarlet gave a non-committal grunt.
“Good enough,” Sammie smiled in relief, opening up her arms for a patented hug, “now bring it in.”
Mary engaged in the family embrace without needing further encouragement, Scarlet required further prompting via the scruff of her neck.
Comforted by the presence of her family, Sammie smiled all the more.
“Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it,” the EurAsia Champion affirmed.
“I promise.”
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
On first name bases with most of the stage hands that many treated as invisible, the perpetually pleasant, petitely packaged Brit was frequently engaged in conversation with the hired help, enquiring after their days and the well-being of their loved ones. Akin to a little sibling, she weaved through the ranks like a welcome reminder that their invaluable efforts were indeed appreciated, and she was rarely to be found alone when she navigated the labyrinthian corridors of the Orlando Arena.
For Scarlet, it was especially irritating when she wanted her siblings’ undivided attention.
SCARLET SINCLAIR
Spotting her opportunity, she darted in, corralling her big sister by her elbow and unceremoniously pulling her away from an impending gathering. “Sorry guys,” she apologised without a terrible amount of sincerity, “need to talk, Sinclair business, most important!”
Caught somewhat flat footed, Sammie allowed herself to be corralled away down one corridor, their destination uncertain as she waved apologetically behind her.
“She’s up to something,” Scarlet explained in such a way that, in typical fashion, did not explain anything.
“She?” Samantha enquired, perking her brow as she settled into their new pace.
“Daisy!” Scarlet insisted, “She’s up to no good, I know it, I can feel it.”
“You can feel it?”
The youngest of the Sinclair’s nodded, looking about herself as though an ambush could occur at any moment, suspicious of any and all blind corners.
Sam, bringing them to a stop, smiled with the indulgence of elder siblings everywhere, “This is about March to War.”
“Of course, it is,” Scarlet huffed, “and I blame you! You and your bad ideas.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” the Upstart Supreme corrected, “and it’s a Cage Match, I’ve had them before.”
“It’s not a Cage Match,” Scarlet exasperated. “I do watch these shows you know? It’s a Hell in a Cell, that is completely different. And if it wasn’t your idea, then whose?”
Sammie shrugged, trying her best to diffuse her excitable sisters building concerns. “I don’t know,” she confessed, “Alejandra’s I assume, or Daisy’s, or both. It doesn’t matter whose idea it was; it’s happening.”
“I don’t like it,” Scarlet grumbled, not liking it when the bubble of her devil may care attitude was penetrated, or how effortlessly the People’s Princess seemed to take these developments in stride. Sometimes, it was like she didn’t even remember breaking her neck, and Scarlet wasn’t fond of being in the dark on just how much of her sister’s bravado was for show.
“Look, Scarlet, I…” Sammie began to console one of her siblings concerns when the other, Mary, caught her eye, the teeniest of the Sinclair’s marching down the corridor towards them with a pair of bolt cutters in hand, a set that seemed to be almost as big as she was. Mary came to a stop as soon as she realised that the eldest of them was present and, after opening her mouth uncertainly, only went on to offer no explanation.
MARY SINCLAIR
Samantha folded her arms, perking her brow expectantly at both of her little sisters. “Mary?”
The crimson topped, middle sibling looked sideways at Scarlet, who in turn shook her head in a clear indication that she was to confess nothing.
Samantha, releasing an audible sigh, unfolded her arms and took the bolt cutters from Mary who, meek by her very nature, surrendered them without protest. “Look, as much as I’m glad that the two of you seem to be getting along now,” the Upstart Supreme admitted, handing the liberated bolt cutters off to a passing (and very quickly confused) stage hand, “but Scarlet, stop giving Mary bad ideas, and Mary, stop listening to Scarlet’s bad ideas, ok?”
“Well, great,” Scarlet protested as she watched the bolt cutters disappearing around the corner in someone else’s possession. “How are we supposed to get in the Cell now? That door is going to be padlocked, and unlike the Cages your used to, there won’t be a giant hole in the top of this one!!”
“Here’s an idea,” Sammie suggested, frustratingly patient, “how about neither of you get in the Cell.”
“But…”
“Look,” the eldest of the Sinclair sisters sighed the world-weary sigh of big siblings the world over. “I appreciate you two helping me out at Heartbroken,” she admitted sincerely, “but this time is different. The entire point of this stipulation is that no-one else can get involved. For good or ill, it’s just me and Fernandez. Ok?”
After a moment, Mary nodded in the affirmative, Scarlet gave a non-committal grunt.
“Good enough,” Sammie smiled in relief, opening up her arms for a patented hug, “now bring it in.”
Mary engaged in the family embrace without needing further encouragement, Scarlet required further prompting via the scruff of her neck.
Comforted by the presence of her family, Sammie smiled all the more.
“Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it,” the EurAsia Champion affirmed.
“I promise.”