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One hour after FAWNamania, from the FAWN YouTube channel:

The FAWN logo appears on screen for a few seconds before fading out to show a diminutive, curvy blonde sitting behind a slightly curved desk. The scrolling marquee at the bottom of the video identifies her as Mel Sutton, FAWN’s resident social media director and YouTube host extraordinaire.

MEL SUTTON


Also sitting at the table with Mel is another blonde, a handful of years younger, a few inches taller, and a good bit lankier. The scrolling text misidentifies her as Charlotte Dawson.

MOST DEFINITELY NOT CHARLIE DAWSON


“Oh, c’mon guys! It’s not funny any more!” Bianca Simpson protests and throws her hands up in exasperation when she sees the mistake on another monitor off-screen.

Mel lays a comforting hand on Bianca’s shoulder to get the wrestler to calm down. “An honest mistake, Ms. Simpson. Though you must admit, you do bear more than a passing resemblance to --”

“Look, Mel, I have nothing against Charlie Dawson,” Simpson cuts in. “I’m sure she’s a great gal, it’s just that it’s not a exactly a compliment to be compared to her. Not to toot my own horn, but I think I deserve better, especially in light of my performance tonight.”

Sutton covers her mouth with one hand and mutters something under her breath that the microphone fails to pick up, then she asks her interviewee, “Yes, Ms. Simpson, you gave the FAWN universe quite the shock tonight. Would you mind walking us through that match? What was going through your mind? Quite frankly, you looked like a different woman out there tonight.”

A satisfied grin stretches across Bianca’s face. She props her boots up on the desk, folds her arms behind her head, and leans back in her seat. She leans back too far and tips the chair over, spilling her backwards onto the hardwood floor with a loud crash. Mel admirably maintains her professional stoicism, not even a ghost of a laugh flickering across her features even as the camera crew bursts into hysterics. A few seconds later, a flustered-looking Simpson reemerges from behind the desk, rights her chair, and gingerly takes a seat once more, this time going to deliberate lengths to maintain a ramrod straight posture.

“I’ll tell ya, Mel, I think I had a breakthrough tonight. I mean I reeeeaaaally hit my stride out there,” Bianca begins, doing her best to pretend that her pratfall never happened. “Admittedly, I was a little nervous at the start. I mean, who wouldn’t be at her first FAWNamania, right? And I’m not ashamed to say that those butterflies in my stomach kinda sorta maybe affected my performance at first.”

“You mean when you sat down in the middle of the match and cried for three minutes?”

Simpson cringes and mumbles, “Well, I wouldn’t exactly --”

“You said, and I quote,” Sutton reads from her notes in a flat deadpan, “‘Oh God, maybe dropping out of school and coming to FAWN was a terrible mistake.’”

Bianca cringes even harder. “You -- you heard that….?”

“The ringside microphones hear everything, Ms. Simpson. Everything.”

Simpson cringes so hard that viewers can practically feel the awkwardness radiating from their screens. “Oh, um, right. But what I really wanted to focus on was the second half of the match. Didja see how I threw Camille around like a ragdoll? I keep hearing how she’s one of the best athletes to ever walk through these doors, and I flat out dominated her! Geez-Louise, I even surprised myself! I mean once I got in the zone, it felt like I was literally doing nothing, that’s how effortless it was! Well… except my arms are still a little sore from those pushups… I might’ve gone a little overboard with the gun show.”

“Yes, Ms.Simpson, you were shockingly impressive, to say the least,” Mel affirms. “...and yet that first win continues to elude you.”

Confident and beaming just a second ago, Bianca’s expression suddenly turns dour and pouty. “You know what, Mel? I’m chalking this one up as a victory. A moral victory. I get that she was getting embarrassed in front of all her fans, but I never would’ve expected Camille Cosworth of all people to stoop so low. It boggles my mind that anyone would get so desperate as to pee her pants on live TV and then crotch smother --”

The social media director coughs conspicuously and begins to clarify, “I don’t believe she actually --”

Simpson holds up a hand demanding silence, and a couple of seconds later she continues to speak, “To tell you the truth, Mel, I’m not mad anymore, I’m just disappointed. Now this probably comes as a surprise, given how quickly and thoroughly I’ve eclipsed her, but Camille was something of an inspiration for me when I first started wrestling. To think that she would resort to such tactics --”

Bianca ruefully shakes her head, sighs heavily, then speaks directly into the camera.

“-- it just breaks my heart. Camille, please, if you’re watching this, come back to the light. I know how frustrating it must have been to have Anna Sharpe kick your ass, and I can only imagine that right now it feels like your career is in a downward spiral after being surpassed by a younger, more athletic wrestler like myself, but this isn’t the way! Don’t betray the woman you once were, Camille! Join me, and together we can reclaim all your past glory and more! I’ll even let you use my CrossFit groupon! Fifty percent off annual fees, offer valid through October 31st, 2017!”

Simpson wipes the corners of her eyes after her impassioned plea, failing to notice her interviewer giving her an incredulous, disbelieving look.

“Am I correct to presume, Ms. Simpson, that you will not be seeking a rematch with Ms. Cosworth?”

“No, Mel. That would be cruel,” Bianca replies. “I think this match showed what an enormous gulf there is between us. The B-Train is off to bigger and better things, so hop aboard now! Chugga chugga, chugga chugga, CHOO-CHOO!”

Bianca pumps her arm as if she’s working the steam whistle on an old timey locomotive engine. Meanwhile, Mel looks a bit more skeptical as she furrows her brows and forms a steeple in front of her face with her fingers.

“B-Train…” Sutton repeats flatly.

“That’s right, Mel! The B-Train’s going to Burlingame, and Treymane, and Wendy Smith, and Ashley Locke, and Pandora, and Papee -- Pahpoo -- Papadoh -- the third member of the Three!” Simpson proudly proclaims, getting more pumped up by the second. “We’re going to Lemarchand, and Dare, and the bigger, stronger Burlingame!”

Worked up to a frenzy now, Simpson rises from her seat and pounds her fists into the table for dramatic emphasis.

“And we’re going to Waterford, and Domi Daly, and Trisha Belle…!”

Red-lining and feeling the surge of adrenaline through her veins like never before, Bianca climbs onto the table in front of the startled social media director while the camera crew moves in for a closeup.

“AND THEN WE’RE GOING TO ELIZA BLISS, AND WE’RE TAKING BACK THE WORLD TITLE! YAAAARRRRGGGGGH!

Simpson furiously pumps her fist with her hot-blooded yell, and the action causes her to lose her footing on the sleek, polished tabletop. She windmills her arms forwards, then backwards, trying to regain her balance, but it’s all for naught as she pitches forward, falls off the desk, and crashes into the cameraman.

The video is rendered ninety degrees askew as the camera now lies on the ground, and a short moment later the feed cuts back to the FAWN logo before fading to black.

Video posted to FAWN’s youtube channel

We open in a close up of the name plaque for one of the many identikit dressing rooms tucked away in the backstage areas of FAWN. This particular one had three important distinguishing features. The first and most obvious was that someone had very determinedly pasted a large and extremely gaudy golden star on the door, the name ‘SCOTT’ emblazoned in glitter across it.

The second key feature was the noise from within, the thumps and smashing glass giving the impression of a small but extremely destructive whirlwind contained inside those walls. The third feature was only revealed as the cameras pulled back to widen the shot, revealing an impossibly curvy blonde standing next to the door, self-consciously checking her phone to avoid looking into the camera. Her black Stetson was pulled low, but it was still possible to see the expression of vicarious embarrassment on her face.

ISOBEL LAMONT

After a few seconds of what would have been awkward silence if it wasn’t for the din coming from within the dressing room, Lamont reached one hand out and gave a hard double-thump on the door. “Cameras here, Scotty” she called to the person inside, “You want ’em gone?”

There was no answer for a few seconds, long enough for the Texan to tuck her smartphone back into those skintight jeans and straighten up. But the noises of destruction had paused and then a slightly muffled voice yelled back “Camera can stay, lose the midget.”

Isobel’s face turned towards FAWN’s resident interviewer Mel Sutton, who had been waiting patiently. The tiny blonde didn’t move until Lamont pressed herself away from the door and drawled “Sorry Ma’am, boss wants to talk to the camera. I need you to step away please.” Mel looked a little annoyed by this but didn’t protest, Bel waiting until she was sufficiently far away before shouting “All clear Scotty!”

The woman who emerged from the dressing room looked very different from the oil baroness who’d been strutting in the spotlight a few hours before. Scott was clad in a dressing gown which she had either forgotten to tie or had purposely left open to the waist, revealing an impressive cleavage in white lingerie. She had made an effort to sort her hair but her usually immaculate face was red and there were noticeable bruises forming on her knuckles. But her eyes were only for the camera.

ZOE SCOTT

“THIRD ON THE BILL!” Even Lamont looked a little surprised that this was the first thing her boss wanted to focus on, but the billionaire brunette ploughed on regardless. “That old bytch is apparently the champion wrestler of ever, and I’m ME! We should have been the main event. I just hope the management realises how many viewers they just lost.”

Scott’s voice was still somewhat raw from the gruelling match and disappointing outcome, but she clearly still had plenty of energy left for anger. “You all saw that I was robbed!” she snarled. “That tired old hag might’ve managed to sneak one on me when I was distracted, but you all saw.”

“All those haters commenting on twitter about that old witch being ‘different class’. Well maybe she got lucky, but I didn’t just show that I belong at that level, I DOMINATED her. So next time I see her I’m going to make her scream so loud they can hear it in whatever crappy retirement home she ends up in. Now get out of my face!”

This last demand was emphasized by Scott reaching up and physically pushing the camera, causing a blurry shot as the unsuspecting operator staggered back. By the time he’d refocussed Scott had swished back in the dressing room and closed the door, but like a true pro he kept on shooting anyway as Lamont glanced over to where her boss had just gone, shook her head in embarrassment, then dug her phone out of her pocket again.

A small white business card came out alongside it. Lamont glanced quickly up at the camera crew who seemed to be packing down ready for their next interview. The cameras stayed rolling for a few seconds longer though, as Bel reached down to retrieve the card, punched some numbers into her phone and held it to her ear. The last sound before the recording cut out was the Texan drawling “Howdy. My name’s Isobel. Olivia Dare gave me this number...”