Post by alyadmirer on Aug 10, 2014 9:06:13 GMT
Albuquerque Sunport
August 4th, 2014
11:48AM...
“How many escalators does one small town airport need?”
“When you get to be 46, you can make that gripe. Right now? Not so much.”
A pair of curvaceous brunettes are currently making their way from the gate to the rental car aera, which they might reach after traversing forty-six sets of escalators--give or take. The older and taller of the duo is dressed in a conservative yet sexy dark blue pantsuit, her facial features largely obscured by a pair of sunglasses and a stylish shawl. Yet if she were to be spotted by a serious wrestling fan, there is honestly very little Bethany Christian can do to hide her identity.
Bethany Christian...
Her companion is both considerably younger--16, though the casual observer would be forgiven for thinking her older--and far less formally dressed. She instead sports a form-hugging red T-shirt and ripped denim blue jeans, capped off by a pair of Reeboks. Currently, she stands about five feet four inches tall, but she might have a few inches growth left in her voluptuous frame. “Seriously, though... thanks, mom. I’m glad you brought me along for this trip.”
Avery Christian...
“School doesn’t start for another two weeks,” Bethany replies with a nod. “Besides... I’m not blind, Avery. I know you’ve been watching FAWN when you think I haven’t been watching. I’m just glad you haven’t found the tapes of the Maurie Devonshire era yet.”
“I’m just glad you THINK I haven’t...” Avery says with a sly grin, causing the executive to freeze dead in her tracks.
“You know,” Bethany says, her tone one of measured calm, “that threat would be A LOT more unsettling if I thought you had the first clue how to work a VCR.”
The Christian women resume their stroll, Bethany trying to keep the smile forming within her from reaching her lips. The last thing she needed Avery to realize was exactly how much she appreciated her youngest daughter’s taking after her. “Wrestling is in our blood, Avery,” Bethany says. “I can see that. I have to accept it. But first, you’re finishing school. And then, we can talk about college, Bangor or Albuquerque. Still, I figured you could do with seeing the desert southwest. Consider it an early campus visit.”
A few minutes later, mother and daughter have secured a rental vehicle and are on their way out to the lot. “So, what exactly IS on the agenda?” Avery asks.
“First off?” Bethany says. “Checking into the hotel, then lunch. After that, we’re swinging by the arena--or what passes for one, I’m sure. We have a meeting with some of the talent, to let them know what to expect. Then tomorrow, rinse, lather and repeat...”
The Left Turn
5:07PM...
Angie Vincent...
There was one thing about her professional home of the last decade that had always amused Angela Vincent: on a show night, particularly with a packed house, the place seemed so huge. Take out all the people, and she would think it would seem MORE spacious being empty. Instead, it somehow seems less, the lack of butts in seats allowing an idea of just how FEW seats actually surround that ring...
... and the young girl currently inside it, running the ropes.
“Should’ve known you’d be the first to get here, Charlie...”
Charlie Dawson...
Charlotte Dawson comes to a halt in mid-stride, turning her attention toward the door with a somewhat embarrassed smile. “Relax, kid,” Angie tells her. “When I was your age, sometimes I SLEPT at the arena.”
Vincent was often regarded, by the talent and the paying fans, as the most beloved figure in the locker room--but Angie herself is not too sure that Charlie isn’t even more loved than her. The kid had barely missed a show in 6 years as a fan, and it came as a surprise to no one when the bubbly blonde opted to switch sides of the railing. A number of the old guard had become VERY protective of Dawson ever since she started training, Jill Canyon and Angie in particular.
Charlie does just as she’s told, the tension easing from her shoulders as she moves to leave the ring. “I know this is supposed to be some sort of business meeting,” the youngster observes, “but I reckon I should try to get in as much work as I can, with the new sheriffs in town. If I’m gonna be of more help to you than I was Saturday...”
Angie holds up her hand. “Darlin’, back when I was 22, I had to wrestle a bear for $20--and it was tougher than Shannen Dennehy. Had better breathe, too. I’m not worried about defending my belt against her...”
“Well, maybe you SHOULD be, sugah...”
The remark comes not from Charlie in front of her, but from another voice behind--one with a pronounced Mississippi drawl. Dawson and Vincent both turn, finding an older blonde--not nearly Angie’s age, but certainly older than Charlie--standing in the doorway, her black crop top doing little to conceal her ridiculously chiseled midsection. Vincent rolls her eyes as she responds, “Is that right, Lorelei?”
Lorelei Butler...
“Honey, I’ve wrestled Shannen Dennehy,” the Mississippi Queen purrs. “I’ve wrestled you. I have a pretty damn good idea which one of you is tougher, and here’s a hint: she ain’t standing in this room right now.”
“I was tough enough to kick YOUR ass, wasn’t I?” Angie hisses, stepping a little closer to the blonde hardbody, possibly ready to try to do so again.
“You were LUCKY enough,” Lorelei corrects her. “Lucky that our previous employer wanted to put on an all-ages show, one that THAT punk brat...”
Butler points past Angie, toward Charlie.
“... could watch and get ideas that she belonged in OUR ring. If we’re suddenly gonna be working under the FAWN banner, you can bet your granny panties THAT’S goin’ out the window. I’m just sorry Shannen’s gonna whoop your ass and take your belt before I have a chance to make you Pray for Mercy.”
“Why don’t you try making me do that RIGHT NOW?” Vincent challenges. Charlie hops down from the ring, but there’s no way she’s reaching the duo in time to break them up--and the odds of a smaller girl like her managing that anyway are slim and none.
Fortunately, a little help has arrived.
Reagan Atkins...
Mattie Knight...
“Get a hold of yourselves,” Reagan barks, her arms wrapped around Lorelei’s sculpted waist as Mattie pries Angie away.
“This is hardly the time for us to be at each other’s throats!” Knight shouts. “We need to be united, so we can show Cathy that she can’t come in here and push is all around!”
“United,” Lorelei scoffs. “So then, I guess now that you’ve pulled us apart, we can expect to see you two go and sing ‘Kumbaya’ with the freak show over there, then?”
Mattie and Reagan’s gazes follow Butler’s nudged head, allowing them to see the next two women to arrive. And though their paths had yet to cross in the ring, most knew it was only a matter of time before that happened. One was a tall, ebony skinned, nearly mystic figure--and no stranger to the world of FAWN. Her partner was shorter and stout, her skin exceedingly ivory--save for a number of tattoos--most especially on her upper left arm, and the near belt of stars across her lower waist. Her bottom lip sports two rings, and her hair is a most shocking pink.
Harrietta Morreaux...
Amaris Poison...
“Child,” Morreaux coos in honeyed tones, “your pathetic little squabbles aren’t any concern, to either me or my colleague here. All that matters to us is having a ring to rule.”
As Harrietta speaks, another woman slips in, almost completely unobserved--a fact made all the more remarkable by the crimson mask that covers most of her facial features, and is totally at odds with the battered grey tee and matching sweatpants that constitute the rest of her ensemble.
La Diosa del Deseo
Things finally start to settle down, and remain calm as the next two women arrive on the scene--one a short but disproportionately leggy redhead in a flowery dress and a floppy hat, the other a lanky, very nearly six foot brunette in blue jeans and a red “Bazinga!” t-shirt, engaged in a spirited discussion on the relative merits of David Tennant and Peter Capaldi.
Jasmine Ryan...
Finn Cunningham...
As the assembled begin to settle into groups, Charlie works her way through her co-workers to the water fountain near the door. She barely finishes quenching her thirst when the only woman on the SWA roster younger than her strides in.
Piper Sexton...
“Oh, hey, Charlie!” Piper Sexton, her voice sweet--but with a clear undercurrent of wishing her fellow youthful blonde would spontaneously combust. “Bethany hasn’t pulled in yet, so you’ve still got time to go outside and lie down. After all, we all know you’re only good to be a speed bump for those of us with REAL talent...”
Dawson takes a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m sure you’re the happiest of all of us about being a part of FAWN,” Charlie responds. “Now, you can put the skills you used to impress Michael Irwin in his office to work in the ring.”
“Why you little...”
Sexton draws her hand back, no doubt intending to slap the taste out of Charlie’s mouth--when a hand snatches her wrist out of the air. Piper turns, coming face to face with Alaska’s tomboy in a bombshell body.
”Yukon” Jill Canyon...
“You’ve hardly got room to call ANYONE little, little girl,” Canyon mutters. “And if you wanna keep that hand, Piper, I suggest you pipe down and take a seat.”
Sexton yanks her hand out of Jill’s grip--only once the curvy blonde relaxes her grip. And though she pouts, Piper takes Canyon’s advice, grabbing the nearest chair and setting her pert little tush down.
Jill slings an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, guiding the smaller blonde to a seat of her own. As they sit down, one more SWA stalwart walks into the room--one who had just come up short challenging Angie Vincent for the title.
Casey Maxwell...
“That bytch Christian here yet?” Casey spits with contempt.
“Gee,” Finn Cunningham says flatly from her chair, “why don’t you let us know what you think of her?”
“At least I got a reason,” Casey mutters. “She’s fired me more times than she has anyone else in this room. If she’s planning on doing it again, I have better places to be, thank you.”
“No one here is getting fired,” Bethany Christian announces loudly, making her presence known and turning EVERY head in the building toward the door. “Quite the reverse.”
Bethany, along with Avery, approach the ring--Christian’s daughter resisting the urge to climb onto the apron as her mother does precisely that. “Looks like everyone’s here...” Bethany says.
“Almost,” Avery interjects. “There’s a...”
The young brunette checks her mother’s notes.
“... a Delilah Lyman that doesn’t appear to be here.”
“Delilah?” Jasmine laughs. “Figures. She runs on her own standard time.”
“Hardly a good way to make a first impression...” Piper notes, prompting Charlie to motion that Sexton just might have a little smudge of something on her nose.
“I suppose I can get with her later,” Bethany sighs. “Naturally, when Cathy talked to me about her new acquisition becoming a part of FAWN, I decided to look into the talent on hand. If you’re in this room, it means one thing: that we saw value in each and every one of you.”
“Of course,” the elder Christian goes on, “values means a great many different things for a great many different people. For some, it might mean that we can see you one day headlining Mania. For others, it might mean we think you can do a fabulous job preparing them to headline Mania...”
Bethany doesn’t mention names--but her eyes lock on Angie Vincent’s with those last remarks.
“Still, each and every one of you can expect to get the occasional call and the occasional round trip ticket to Orlando. You WILL all get an opportunity to make that a one way flight. But the competition WILL be fierce... and there’s more talent coming in. Any questions?”
“Yes,” Charlie Dawson speaks up, raising her hand. “I assume you’ve seen, or you at least heard about what Cathy and her sister did on Saturday. What do you plan to do about the way she intends to run this place?”
“An excellent question, Charlotte,” Bethany replies. “I’ll tell you what I plan to do about it: not one damn thing. First lesson you need to learn about this business: the system is ALWAYS stacked against you. If you want to make a name for yourself, you need to be able to overcome that on your own. That means doing it in the ring, not running off crying to the principal’s office. If you can’t take care of business in the ring... well, then. Possibly you need to go into a different business. Any other questions?”
When none are offered, Bethany smiles. “Good. I’m looking forward to working with each of you--some of you again. Have a good rest of your evening, ladies.”
The holdovers from the FWA offer their farewells to the FAWN CEO--some more loudly and enthusiastically than others. Once the last of the women have filed out, Bethany turns away from the exit and toward the entrance to the backstage area. “Don’t think I didn’t know you were there the whole time,” she notes.
A moment later, and a tall, well-endowed brunette steps out from the locker room. Clad in black leather pants, a white tank and a black leather jacket, she leans against the doorway, her piercing blue eyes shining as she smiles at Bethany.
Delilah Lyman...
“Then I guess I should thank you for not giving me away?” Delilah offers.
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Bethany replies.
“Oh, but I assure you,” Lyman says with a shake of her head “it WILL.”
The words had barely escaped Delilah’s lips when Avery can contain herself no longer. The buxom teenager darts down the aisle, her arms engulfing Lyman’s waist in a tight hug. Delilah retains the embrace, placing a quick peck on Avery’s forehead.
“I missed you, too, sis.”
August 4th, 2014
11:48AM...
“How many escalators does one small town airport need?”
“When you get to be 46, you can make that gripe. Right now? Not so much.”
A pair of curvaceous brunettes are currently making their way from the gate to the rental car aera, which they might reach after traversing forty-six sets of escalators--give or take. The older and taller of the duo is dressed in a conservative yet sexy dark blue pantsuit, her facial features largely obscured by a pair of sunglasses and a stylish shawl. Yet if she were to be spotted by a serious wrestling fan, there is honestly very little Bethany Christian can do to hide her identity.
Bethany Christian...
Her companion is both considerably younger--16, though the casual observer would be forgiven for thinking her older--and far less formally dressed. She instead sports a form-hugging red T-shirt and ripped denim blue jeans, capped off by a pair of Reeboks. Currently, she stands about five feet four inches tall, but she might have a few inches growth left in her voluptuous frame. “Seriously, though... thanks, mom. I’m glad you brought me along for this trip.”
Avery Christian...
“School doesn’t start for another two weeks,” Bethany replies with a nod. “Besides... I’m not blind, Avery. I know you’ve been watching FAWN when you think I haven’t been watching. I’m just glad you haven’t found the tapes of the Maurie Devonshire era yet.”
“I’m just glad you THINK I haven’t...” Avery says with a sly grin, causing the executive to freeze dead in her tracks.
“You know,” Bethany says, her tone one of measured calm, “that threat would be A LOT more unsettling if I thought you had the first clue how to work a VCR.”
The Christian women resume their stroll, Bethany trying to keep the smile forming within her from reaching her lips. The last thing she needed Avery to realize was exactly how much she appreciated her youngest daughter’s taking after her. “Wrestling is in our blood, Avery,” Bethany says. “I can see that. I have to accept it. But first, you’re finishing school. And then, we can talk about college, Bangor or Albuquerque. Still, I figured you could do with seeing the desert southwest. Consider it an early campus visit.”
A few minutes later, mother and daughter have secured a rental vehicle and are on their way out to the lot. “So, what exactly IS on the agenda?” Avery asks.
“First off?” Bethany says. “Checking into the hotel, then lunch. After that, we’re swinging by the arena--or what passes for one, I’m sure. We have a meeting with some of the talent, to let them know what to expect. Then tomorrow, rinse, lather and repeat...”
The Left Turn
5:07PM...
Angie Vincent...
There was one thing about her professional home of the last decade that had always amused Angela Vincent: on a show night, particularly with a packed house, the place seemed so huge. Take out all the people, and she would think it would seem MORE spacious being empty. Instead, it somehow seems less, the lack of butts in seats allowing an idea of just how FEW seats actually surround that ring...
... and the young girl currently inside it, running the ropes.
“Should’ve known you’d be the first to get here, Charlie...”
Charlie Dawson...
Charlotte Dawson comes to a halt in mid-stride, turning her attention toward the door with a somewhat embarrassed smile. “Relax, kid,” Angie tells her. “When I was your age, sometimes I SLEPT at the arena.”
Vincent was often regarded, by the talent and the paying fans, as the most beloved figure in the locker room--but Angie herself is not too sure that Charlie isn’t even more loved than her. The kid had barely missed a show in 6 years as a fan, and it came as a surprise to no one when the bubbly blonde opted to switch sides of the railing. A number of the old guard had become VERY protective of Dawson ever since she started training, Jill Canyon and Angie in particular.
Charlie does just as she’s told, the tension easing from her shoulders as she moves to leave the ring. “I know this is supposed to be some sort of business meeting,” the youngster observes, “but I reckon I should try to get in as much work as I can, with the new sheriffs in town. If I’m gonna be of more help to you than I was Saturday...”
Angie holds up her hand. “Darlin’, back when I was 22, I had to wrestle a bear for $20--and it was tougher than Shannen Dennehy. Had better breathe, too. I’m not worried about defending my belt against her...”
“Well, maybe you SHOULD be, sugah...”
The remark comes not from Charlie in front of her, but from another voice behind--one with a pronounced Mississippi drawl. Dawson and Vincent both turn, finding an older blonde--not nearly Angie’s age, but certainly older than Charlie--standing in the doorway, her black crop top doing little to conceal her ridiculously chiseled midsection. Vincent rolls her eyes as she responds, “Is that right, Lorelei?”
Lorelei Butler...
“Honey, I’ve wrestled Shannen Dennehy,” the Mississippi Queen purrs. “I’ve wrestled you. I have a pretty damn good idea which one of you is tougher, and here’s a hint: she ain’t standing in this room right now.”
“I was tough enough to kick YOUR ass, wasn’t I?” Angie hisses, stepping a little closer to the blonde hardbody, possibly ready to try to do so again.
“You were LUCKY enough,” Lorelei corrects her. “Lucky that our previous employer wanted to put on an all-ages show, one that THAT punk brat...”
Butler points past Angie, toward Charlie.
“... could watch and get ideas that she belonged in OUR ring. If we’re suddenly gonna be working under the FAWN banner, you can bet your granny panties THAT’S goin’ out the window. I’m just sorry Shannen’s gonna whoop your ass and take your belt before I have a chance to make you Pray for Mercy.”
“Why don’t you try making me do that RIGHT NOW?” Vincent challenges. Charlie hops down from the ring, but there’s no way she’s reaching the duo in time to break them up--and the odds of a smaller girl like her managing that anyway are slim and none.
Fortunately, a little help has arrived.
Reagan Atkins...
Mattie Knight...
“Get a hold of yourselves,” Reagan barks, her arms wrapped around Lorelei’s sculpted waist as Mattie pries Angie away.
“This is hardly the time for us to be at each other’s throats!” Knight shouts. “We need to be united, so we can show Cathy that she can’t come in here and push is all around!”
“United,” Lorelei scoffs. “So then, I guess now that you’ve pulled us apart, we can expect to see you two go and sing ‘Kumbaya’ with the freak show over there, then?”
Mattie and Reagan’s gazes follow Butler’s nudged head, allowing them to see the next two women to arrive. And though their paths had yet to cross in the ring, most knew it was only a matter of time before that happened. One was a tall, ebony skinned, nearly mystic figure--and no stranger to the world of FAWN. Her partner was shorter and stout, her skin exceedingly ivory--save for a number of tattoos--most especially on her upper left arm, and the near belt of stars across her lower waist. Her bottom lip sports two rings, and her hair is a most shocking pink.
Harrietta Morreaux...
Amaris Poison...
“Child,” Morreaux coos in honeyed tones, “your pathetic little squabbles aren’t any concern, to either me or my colleague here. All that matters to us is having a ring to rule.”
As Harrietta speaks, another woman slips in, almost completely unobserved--a fact made all the more remarkable by the crimson mask that covers most of her facial features, and is totally at odds with the battered grey tee and matching sweatpants that constitute the rest of her ensemble.
La Diosa del Deseo
Things finally start to settle down, and remain calm as the next two women arrive on the scene--one a short but disproportionately leggy redhead in a flowery dress and a floppy hat, the other a lanky, very nearly six foot brunette in blue jeans and a red “Bazinga!” t-shirt, engaged in a spirited discussion on the relative merits of David Tennant and Peter Capaldi.
Jasmine Ryan...
Finn Cunningham...
As the assembled begin to settle into groups, Charlie works her way through her co-workers to the water fountain near the door. She barely finishes quenching her thirst when the only woman on the SWA roster younger than her strides in.
Piper Sexton...
“Oh, hey, Charlie!” Piper Sexton, her voice sweet--but with a clear undercurrent of wishing her fellow youthful blonde would spontaneously combust. “Bethany hasn’t pulled in yet, so you’ve still got time to go outside and lie down. After all, we all know you’re only good to be a speed bump for those of us with REAL talent...”
Dawson takes a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m sure you’re the happiest of all of us about being a part of FAWN,” Charlie responds. “Now, you can put the skills you used to impress Michael Irwin in his office to work in the ring.”
“Why you little...”
Sexton draws her hand back, no doubt intending to slap the taste out of Charlie’s mouth--when a hand snatches her wrist out of the air. Piper turns, coming face to face with Alaska’s tomboy in a bombshell body.
”Yukon” Jill Canyon...
“You’ve hardly got room to call ANYONE little, little girl,” Canyon mutters. “And if you wanna keep that hand, Piper, I suggest you pipe down and take a seat.”
Sexton yanks her hand out of Jill’s grip--only once the curvy blonde relaxes her grip. And though she pouts, Piper takes Canyon’s advice, grabbing the nearest chair and setting her pert little tush down.
Jill slings an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, guiding the smaller blonde to a seat of her own. As they sit down, one more SWA stalwart walks into the room--one who had just come up short challenging Angie Vincent for the title.
Casey Maxwell...
“That bytch Christian here yet?” Casey spits with contempt.
“Gee,” Finn Cunningham says flatly from her chair, “why don’t you let us know what you think of her?”
“At least I got a reason,” Casey mutters. “She’s fired me more times than she has anyone else in this room. If she’s planning on doing it again, I have better places to be, thank you.”
“No one here is getting fired,” Bethany Christian announces loudly, making her presence known and turning EVERY head in the building toward the door. “Quite the reverse.”
Bethany, along with Avery, approach the ring--Christian’s daughter resisting the urge to climb onto the apron as her mother does precisely that. “Looks like everyone’s here...” Bethany says.
“Almost,” Avery interjects. “There’s a...”
The young brunette checks her mother’s notes.
“... a Delilah Lyman that doesn’t appear to be here.”
“Delilah?” Jasmine laughs. “Figures. She runs on her own standard time.”
“Hardly a good way to make a first impression...” Piper notes, prompting Charlie to motion that Sexton just might have a little smudge of something on her nose.
“I suppose I can get with her later,” Bethany sighs. “Naturally, when Cathy talked to me about her new acquisition becoming a part of FAWN, I decided to look into the talent on hand. If you’re in this room, it means one thing: that we saw value in each and every one of you.”
“Of course,” the elder Christian goes on, “values means a great many different things for a great many different people. For some, it might mean that we can see you one day headlining Mania. For others, it might mean we think you can do a fabulous job preparing them to headline Mania...”
Bethany doesn’t mention names--but her eyes lock on Angie Vincent’s with those last remarks.
“Still, each and every one of you can expect to get the occasional call and the occasional round trip ticket to Orlando. You WILL all get an opportunity to make that a one way flight. But the competition WILL be fierce... and there’s more talent coming in. Any questions?”
“Yes,” Charlie Dawson speaks up, raising her hand. “I assume you’ve seen, or you at least heard about what Cathy and her sister did on Saturday. What do you plan to do about the way she intends to run this place?”
“An excellent question, Charlotte,” Bethany replies. “I’ll tell you what I plan to do about it: not one damn thing. First lesson you need to learn about this business: the system is ALWAYS stacked against you. If you want to make a name for yourself, you need to be able to overcome that on your own. That means doing it in the ring, not running off crying to the principal’s office. If you can’t take care of business in the ring... well, then. Possibly you need to go into a different business. Any other questions?”
When none are offered, Bethany smiles. “Good. I’m looking forward to working with each of you--some of you again. Have a good rest of your evening, ladies.”
The holdovers from the FWA offer their farewells to the FAWN CEO--some more loudly and enthusiastically than others. Once the last of the women have filed out, Bethany turns away from the exit and toward the entrance to the backstage area. “Don’t think I didn’t know you were there the whole time,” she notes.
A moment later, and a tall, well-endowed brunette steps out from the locker room. Clad in black leather pants, a white tank and a black leather jacket, she leans against the doorway, her piercing blue eyes shining as she smiles at Bethany.
Delilah Lyman...
“Then I guess I should thank you for not giving me away?” Delilah offers.
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Bethany replies.
“Oh, but I assure you,” Lyman says with a shake of her head “it WILL.”
The words had barely escaped Delilah’s lips when Avery can contain herself no longer. The buxom teenager darts down the aisle, her arms engulfing Lyman’s waist in a tight hug. Delilah retains the embrace, placing a quick peck on Avery’s forehead.
“I missed you, too, sis.”
