The Sorceress Supreme of Professional Wrestling
5'7"
143
"Ladies and Gentlemen" - Saliva
Malibu, CA
Lawful Neutral
Seeing Stars, Spellbound
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The Sorceress Supreme of Professional Wrestling
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15 posts
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VICTORY ROSTER
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Post by Zoey Madigan-Star on Sept 20, 2021 18:04:57 GMT
 “UNFORGIVABLE”Pro Wrestling Excellence, Victory III (Impulsive Violence)
Ladder Match for the Impulse Championship: versus William Blake Mason, Allen Chaney, Lewis Chad Pinkston & Holly RhodesCameraperson: Farrah CornettOn-Camera: Zoey Madigan-Star, Katalina Star, Makayla StarOff-Camera: Farrah Cornett, Jimmy Mikowski, Kerry Michaels
Monday, September 20th, 2021
Northern New Jersey Veterans Memorial Cemetery, Sparta, New Jersey
10:12am, Eastern Time
Stopped at the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery, Zoey reaches out and runs her fingertips along the surface, feeling intimately the passage and ravages of time. Fingers close around one of the bars and she leans forward, resting her forehead against the cool metal. Foregoing glamour for multiple reasons, the Sorceress Supreme is dressed simply in a purple top, jeans and black sneakers, all beneath a light black jacket. The camera is there, right over her shoulder, but for the moment she ignores its presence. The act is not reciprocated; it stays upon the young woman as she pauses before the gates, moves in the direction she looks when a glance is passed back to the sedan parked across the way where a striking brunette awaits with a child who looks very much like her, the young one uncharacteristically patient. It turns back to the gates along with Zoey, then re-centers when the magician locks her gaze upon it for the first time.
”Welcome to the beginning.”
She smiles, but wanly; it never reaches those golden eyes. Without skillfully-applied makeup and some effort put into making her ebony locks ripple and dance, Zoey looks remarkably…
...human.
”As I came here, first by plane, then by road, I thought to myself that it would be in everyone’s best interests if I tried to put a positive light on my thoughts and feelings heading into Victory III, you know? Show some deference, emphasize how ecstatic I am to have this opportunity despite my less-than-stellar start in PWE. Dig deep and find some nice things to say about people that more often than not I would avoid for various reasons. After all, with everyone claiming a philosophical side of fence and then doing their best via words and actions to defy their chosen position… someone should rise up and be a beacon of honesty and good vibes, right? We can’t expect little Ollie to do it on his own, can we?”
At the very least, she is trying. But the effort taxes her. The smile falters a bit and she feels it coming, at that point turning her gaze to the partly cloudy sky. And that deep sigh… soulful and heavy. It says a great deal more than words can.
”But why should I?”
The words emit gently, but with a certain intangible weight, a snap like the crack of a whip.
”I stand upon the edge of cursed territory, but there are expectations. Good vibes and kind words, even delivered honestly, fall upon deaf ears. Derision, insults, disbelief… I have heard them all since the beginning And now upon my return, I hear them anew. I should be beyond caring; most of them didn’t exist in this business when I got my start, some won’t exist anymore when I am still competing. So why should their epithets be of any concern now when they weren’t to a young woman far more clean and innocent the first time she heard them?
Some of you read like a bad script from a tired, 80s-era afterschool special. Some of you are still finding your way. Some tell tales taller than anything I could accomplish on stage-”
Something about those last couple of words stop her. Zoey forgets herself for a moment and wraps her arms around herself against a sudden chill. Or a tremor she does not wish to let show. After a brief spell, she lets go and shakes her head.
”But at the end of the day, you’re flesh and blood, just like me. The difference being that I’ve walked through hell and left my bootprint on the devil’s tuchas. You lot are still running around with your hair on fire, trying to figure things out. Luck never lasts. I will prove this to you, my dears. One way or another.”
Again placing her hand on the gate, Zoey pushes inward, ignoring the resultant, resistant squeaking, and lets herself into the otherwise quiet cemetery, the camera moving to follow.
Tuesday, September 14th, 2021
The Madigan-Star Residence, Malibu, California
6:57am, Pacific Time
Home sweet home.
The house is still as Zoey unlocks the door and lets herself in. Dim, too, as the only illumination is from the still young sunrise outside. Looking somewhat forlorn, for obvious reasons, Zoey lets out a breath and moves quietly through the house, down the main hall and into her private office. There she puts her bags down and has a seat on the modest loveseat. Taking her phone out of her pocket, she checks her messages. The harsh light glowing upwards at her face shows a woman that is tired… perhaps even on the brink.
One message in particular catches her eye, prompting her to spend more than a moment perusing:
”Poor thing…”
Tapping the send button, Zoey lets out another sigh. But that’s life, isn’t it? If you don’t succeed, keep trying till you do succeed. Hiding a yawn behind the back of her hand, Zoey’s head rises and her eyes avert as a musical alarm goes off elsewhere in the house. The clock on the wall reads 7:15.
”Sleep can wait.”
She murmurs to herself, rising and tucking her phone into her pocket. In the kitchen, not fifteen minutes later, she’s already cooking up a storm and, at least for now, the magician looks a little more peaceful. Perhaps the kitchen is her happy place. Must come with being mostly Italian.
She’s scooping eggs, potatoes and sausage onto a pair of plates next to bowls of fruit. The coffee maker is bubbling merrily, too, with the scent likely offering some peripheral caffeine rush. The first to arrive, her nose in the air to catch the scent, is a familiar young girl. Her brown hair is braided neatly in back and her school uniform is neatly pressed with nary a wrinkle in sight. Those eyes, though… inquisitive, sharp, intense. Not the eyes of a child. Zoey turns to this gaze and smiles gently.
”Good morning, Kay. Sleep well?”
”Yes, mama, thank you.”
It isn’t quite curt but it IS… business-like? There’s the feeling that the world bores the girl a little bit. But emotionlessness is a dashed idea when she comes over and hugs Zoey. Taking a moment to kneel and hug her back, Zoey kisses her brow and sends her to the table, placing a platter before her. The next to emerge is no stranger: Zoey’s wife, Katalina, also entering with her nose in the air.
This just happens when you live with someone who is passionate about their cooking.
It’s a business suit for this one, making Katalina look severe, as is necessary for her work. But, like Makayla, she comes right over to Zoey and kisses her cheek affectionately before whispering in her ear.
”You haven’t slept yet.”
”Guilty. I will after I’m done at the center. There’s a bit of an emergency.”
Katalina takes her seat as well, but there’s an expression of concern and irritation, even as her own plate is put before her along with a cup of coffee and juice for Makayla. Daughter and wife give Zoey the same look, though: concerned and disapproving.
”..what?”
”We talked about this how many times? Must I keep at Jessamine to make these contracts unbreakable? Why, exactly, after a flight and a drive, must you go straight to the center?”
”Mrs. Landry. I want one more go at her. Plus she requested me personally.”
”Shouldn’t she go to a specialist?”
”Afraid I must agree, love. Pride isn’t a good thing in this sort of situation.”
One can almost feel Zoey’s nerves being pulled taut. Katalina and Makayla are trying to be helpful, but it feels like a stab at Zoey’s feelings. She does not let it show, or perhaps they don’t see it, but it is there. She busies herself getting into the fridge and gathering a few containers from within, setting them on the counter. From the looks of things, we have steak tortellini, Caesar salad and tiramisu in these well-organized dishes.
Zoey isn’t one to let her girls brown-bag it, apparently.
”And if today does not solve it, then I will refer her. I know my limits.”
”We beg to differ. If you knew them, you would be sleeping right now, like you need. But… I know there’s no convincing you, love. That stubbornness is part of what makes you attractive. And fun.”
Better to not think much about that one… especially if you know Katalina. She resumes eating calmly while Makayla from time to time glances over at Zoey before finally breaking her silence again.
”It’ll be alright, mama.”
With a quiet nod, Zoey sets the containers down on the table near the two, marking clearly whose is whose.
”I’m going to change before I go. If I don’t see you before you leave, have a lovely day, you two.”
There’s a kiss for each before Zoey turns and heads down the hall again. While Makayla looks after her curiously, almost analytically, Katalina seems to realize that the conversation went south and looks upset about the swerve in mood. She brings out her cell phone and starts sending a text...
Drake’s Landing Therapy Center, Malibu, California
8:53am, Pacific Time
Coming out of the examination room with her hands in the pockets of her white coat, dressed rather conservatively beneath, Zoey leans back against the door. She looks even more tired than before, something even a skillfully-applied touch of makeup isn’t about to hide. A blonde in red and black beneath her own white coat, hair wrapped in a severe bun, comes up to her, hugging a clipboard to her chest.
”How is it looking?”
Zoey glances at the woman and smiles sadly.
”Call Dr. Fellini’s office and see if they can take her in. I’m afraid this is a bit too serious for us to handle here.”
Kerry gnaws at her lower lip a little, then nods and hurries off. It is not even nine in the morning yet and already this day is following suit with the events of Victory II. Close… so very close… but nothing to show for the effort. Walking down the hall, Zoey enters the reception area behind the counter and goes over the list of appointments. Kerry, already finishing up the call to Dr. Fellini, reaches over and gently takes the list away.
”Sorry, doctor. I’m under… um… strict instructions to send you home after seeing Mrs. Landry. Or at least far away from work-
Ah, crap… the look!
”I’m sorry! But your wife is scary!”
A brow goes up on Zoey’s face, followed by her palm resting there.
”Oh, for the love of...
Doing her best to shrug it off, Zoey leaves the room to gather her belongings and leave. Kerry looks after her, making sure that she isn’t popping back in, then sends a text. Elsewhere, Zoey is packed up, hiding another yawn in the process, and putting her things in the rear seat of her truck. Her phone buzzes insistently before she can climb in herself, and she swipes the screen to find another text, this time from her agent.
Yay. More fun.
Wednesday, September 15th, 2021
Moonshadows, Malibu, California
12:14pm, Pacific Time
”They’re WHAT?!”
”I knew you’d react like this! Just… just calm down and let me explain, okay?!”
”Calm down?! Explain?! This is… it’s… it’s bulls-”
Whoa, okay. Deep breaths here, Zoey. Not only is it a public place, but… cursing is SO not you!
”It’s crap! How is this not some kind of breach of contract?! Have you sent anything to Jessamine?!”
”Just take a breath before your head explodes!”
Zoey tries to do just that. Even given a day to rest and recover from recent trials has not done anything to help her mood, though. And with Jimmy’s news, the spiral is continuing. A server comes to set down their drinks: a sweet iced tea for Zoey and a pint of the local brew for Jimmy. Zoey, however, reaches out and gently touches the server’s arm before they can depart.
”Bring me a glass of chardonnay, please.”
”...Zoey...”
”Just tell me what’s going on, Jimmy. And make it simple. I don’t have the fortitude for complicated things right now.”
Taking the hint, Jimmy brings out the paperwork and takes a long draw of his brew before starting.
”Okay... and for the record, I have told Jessamine about this. She’s almost as angry as you are. The bottom line is that show quality has been decreasing over the last couple of months in their opinion. The establishments are putting people in the crowds just to observe things and they feel that the reactions aren’t what they used to be. Several reasons for why have been put forth, from the act becoming passe to some concerns over safety and… well, they’ve noticed you not being you. Same as we have.”
The wine comes at about that point and, for now, is ignored.
”So I’m terminated… or what?”
”Oh, good grief, no! That WOULD be a breach of contract! They’re calling it a mandated vacation, stupid as that sounds. Sin City Sorcery still exists, Zee. You and your crew still very much have jobs. The understanding is that you’ll use the time to figure out what’s wrong and improve things.”
”Let me get this straight.”
She picks up the glass, swirling it a little. When the server moves to approach the table to take their order, Jimmy gently waves them off, indicating that they are ‘still deciding’.
”After years of being one of the top attractions, because I look tired and miss a step or two, something I guarantee that no one in the crowd could discover unless they knew what they were looking for, all of a sudden I’m grounded?”
”Oversimplified, but… yeah. More or less. They’ve noted three such instances that chiefly led to their decision if you want to-”
”So, on top of everything else, one of the purest joys in my life is denied me. Just… bloody magical.”
Without taking a drink, Zoey sets the glass down and rises. Jimmy moves to rise with her but Zoey shakes her head as she gathers her bag from the seat. Past that, she puts a few bills down on the table.
”Lunch is on me. I’m sorry you had to bear that news. I need some time to think.
”Zee, might not be a good idea for you to be alone right now.”
She considers this for a moment, then shakes her head.
”Not a good idea to be around people, either. I’ll call you later.”
Seeming to accept the situation, Jimmy just watches as she goes. After a moment or two, though, he retrieves his phone and sends a text…
Thursday, September 16th, 2021
Cornett Enterprises, Fort Waye, Indiana
4:21pm, Central Time
Seated behind a broad desk, Farrah Cornett’s mind is about as far from work as it can get. She’s staring at the blinking indicator on her phone, set next to her keyboard. Her jaw sets firmly as she picks up the device, sweeping her thumb across the screen. Multiple text notifications appear, all with a different sort of message bearing the same tone but always bearing the same two characters at the beginning:
“Z0.”
They had been coming in for the last few days now, but today had seen at least three. Ever since that time a few years ago, Farrah had worked up a little system as a ‘just-in-case’ measure. Looks like it was finally seeing use. She taps the phone icon and scrolls down to a number labeled ‘Zee’, tapping the call icon.
”Hello?”
”What’s up, Zee? Sorry I haven’t been in touch lately… some overhauling going on with the network. Wanted to check in on you.”
”I was actually about to call you, but it seems like it’s a bad time.”
Warning bells… Farrah pushes up to her feet and walks over to the window overlooking the city, heeled footsteps almost soundless on the plush carpet.
”For you it’s never a bad time. What do you need?”
”...I’m thinking about going to see Drake.”
Double warning bells. Recalling the messages from the past few days, Farrah folds an arm across her body beneath her chest, the other precariously positioning the phone against her ear.
”It’s been a while.”
”Yeah. I was… hoping you’d be able to fly us there? Save some of the rigmarole of standard travel? Plus we’d be able to get a little work done.”
”Even when you should be healing you’re still thinking about business. And they say I’m a workaholic.”
Farrah manages a small smile.
”How about I meet you Sunday and we fly out then? Maybe bring Katalina and Makayla along. We can show them around. Maybe even visit that old bastard Vincenzo. I’ll bet he’d be happy to see you.”
”Yeah… those are good ideas. Sunday, then?”
”Definitely. I’ll see you then.”
The moment that the call ends, Farrah goes to her desk and sets her phone back down. Taking a seat, she gets on her office phone.
”James? Hey, sweetheart. Listen… I’ve got a code Zee-Zero. Can you make sure the plane’s ready for a flight down to Malibu on Sunday? I know it’s short notice. Good… thank you, baby. How is she? According to the texts I’ve been getting, the simple answer is ‘not well’. And if this one from Jimmy is any indicator, it might get worse. Uh-huh. No, you stay here, baby. If things go beyond, I’ll make sure to call you. Right. Love you too.”
Farrah takes a few moments, her face in her hands, her head shaking.
”Damn it, Zoey...”
Scooping up her cell, her keys and a few other things, Farrah leaves the office in a hurry.
Monday, September 20th, 2021
Northern New Jersey Veterans Memorial Cemetery, Sparta, New Jersey
12:28pm, Eastern Time
On the cool earth, Zoey sits cross-legged before a gravestone. There are fresh flowers, white lilies, set before it which we can view from our angled vantage, though we cannot see the name on the marker. Of course, that should be a no-brainer; Zoey said she wanted to visit Drake, after all… her late brother. She has been here for a while now; a good two hours or so. The magician at least looks calm, though perhaps that’s because there’s no energy for any other feelings.
”A thirteen-year veteran who, like me, is seeking a proper comeback and a return to glory. A lucky punk who has more mouth than brains at this point. A lout who laughs at the misfortune of others like some second coming of Tyron Bickerton. A young lady fighting to make a name for herself. And yours truly. Quite a crew.”
Sliding off her sunglasses reveals that Zoey’s eyes are on the red side. This has been an emotional visit. She averts her attention to the camera.
”Do any of you have the faintest idea what it is like to be truly vulnerable? To have your entire future in question, whether through your own machinations or those beyond your control? I feel that you might, William, given your professional history. The rest… may or may not. It isn’t on me to delve into your personal lives. Regardless, I want you to take a close look right now. I don’t look like a Sorceress Supreme right now, do I?
No makeup, no sleight of hand, no posh outfits, no smiles… just a woman. If you saw me on the street, you would see little more than a 29-year-old Italian who does not take as good a care of herself as she should. You would not flinch or offer a second glance. Oh, there might be a double-take because clearly something is wrong, but that would be it. Consider how each of you would look if the weight of the world were bearing down upon you and you were putting every ounce of energy into digging deep, looking for an answer, perhaps some meaning.
Would you have the courage to get in front of the camera and say what needed to be said? Would you allow the fans and your peers to see the real person beneath the on-camera persona? Because let’s be honest: none of us are all-on, all-the-time. We would burn ourselves out. Oh, I’m certain that Pinkston’s attitude is still apparent even in his sleep, and Allen Chaney would snap out of a coma to laugh at another’s misfortune. William and Holly would still be fighters even if the challenge before them was as simple as a pickle jar lid.”
Okay, there’s a small smile. But it is a sad one; it has no glow.
”The question remains: would you have the courage?”
She turns from the camera, reaching out and setting her fingertips upon the marker. It has been well tended for as long as it has been here, that much is obvious.
”It feels to me as if the answer is no. Why? Because people would leap upon such a moment of weakness and tear you apart. I know full well that once this hits the Internet, at least half of my opponents are going to laugh. And not only laugh, but laugh and point. You know who you are. Others might show pity. They might even commend what they see as a show of strength. But… all of you are wrong.
This is not a moment deserving of pity. This is not an action that exemplifies strength. It is most certainly something that could be scoffed at… that is, if you want to expose yourself as cruel and borderline sociopathic by doing so. What is this, then? What are my opponents and the rest of the world looking at right now?”
Zoey exhales slowly and her hand returns to her lap.
”An example of what happens when your past finally catches up to you.”
She looks away briefly, then returns her attention to the camera.
”Ladder matches bother me in the same way that battle royales do, for the simple reason that a person’s skill has little bearing on the outcome. All it takes is a mistimed moment and you’re out of a battle royale, tossed or dumped or shoved… different means, same result. Ladder matches are no different, except the spills happen with far more frequency, from greater heights, through harder surfaces.
Are you a chain-wrestling savant? Sorry to say that that won’t avail you in ascending several feet of aluminum to grab a shiny hanging over the ring.
Big and strong? You might be able to swing one of the ladders around and do some damage, but lugging that heavy frame up all those rungs before someone stymies your efforts? Kind of unlikely.
Quick and agile, both in and above the ring? You’ll get the crowd on their feet and that adrenaline will certainly make you hard to catch… but one good drop and your night is over.”
She lists out each set of traits on a finger, one at a time, and comes to the fourth.
”What’s left are those thick of skin, those with stamina to spare and who can weather ungodly punishment while still being able to get back up and fight. And even then… the damage can get to be too much. You might give your all to go up and grab that title, only to be in no shape to defend it. The price that we pay for being lauded as the best, no? It almost makes another go-round with Ursula Von Rossbach seem pleasant in comparison.”
Her hand closes into a fist, a flicker of a smile coming and going.
”I am going to show you what vulnerability is, Pinkston. If it comes down to it, I am going to embarrass you in front of your pretty wife by stuffing every snide comment and snarky tweet you’ve sent my way straight down your throat, figuratively speaking. Someone needs to teach you what respect is, and if that means it has to be beaten into you, then I don’t mind at all. I will consider it a favor both to PWE and professional wrestling as a whole. And where Allen Chaney is concerned, I know that you have not had cross words for me yet, but-”
She closes her eyes for a moment, but they snap open again quickly.
”-oh, right. Magic bitch.”
Such a shame that her first full smile is just laced with acidic snark.
”This is one of those rare moments where I would love to stoop to your level and ruthlessly shame you, Allen, but that just isn’t me. No matter how poor of shape I may be in. So I’ll settle for running circles around you Monday night and leaving you gasping for air and cursing my name even more. You’re just another face in the crowd spewing crap... a larger, less-charming Lewis Chad Pinkston. Get in my way with your nonsense at Victory and I’ll be forced to make your arm bend in a way that nature never intended. Pretty sure you can still order DoorDash one handed, right?”
Ouch...
”Now that the trash is tended to…”
The smile fades out and Zoey is staring at the grave again.
”I see that you earned a win at Victory II, Holly. That made me smile. I said from the start that I hoped you would step up and achieve, and so you have. We didn’t have much chance to dance at Victory I, but we’ll make up for that at Victory III, won’t we? Glad-handing aside, I will not go easy on you. Power is something I am accustomed to as some of my fiercest opponents were overwhelmingly strong… outstripping me considerably in that regard. Like I told all of you before: power is a double-edged sword in a match like this. Not that you don’t have more to offer, but in stressful situations, we fall back upon what we know. For you, that is the power game.”
Zoey taps her temple slightly with a faint smile.
”But maybe you’ll surprise me.”
She casts her gaze briefly to the sky...
”Which leaves us with William, no?”
...then back to the camera.
”You’re the threat here, sir. The experience, technical skill and perfect mix of size and strength. You are, dare I say it, the prototypical wrestler a company in its fledgling stages would want on top. Yes, you have an admittedly dark past, but clearly you are making an effort to work on that. Even if an opponent does not respect you, they must respect your effort. Like myself, your start here has been… trying. No one likes to lose. Especially not to someone like Kayla Richards. But is not the measure of a wrestler in large part determined by how they handle defeat and adversity? Here you are, one of the first five to vie for the Impulse Championship. That means you clearly have something to offer. Something special. I suppose you could say the same of all of us, though…”
Shifting position, rising into a crouch on her way to her feet.
”...though I begin to question my own inclusion. No matter.”
A moment of weakness? Perhaps.
”It is the same mindset I took in facing Betsy Granger, William, that I take with you: I single out the biggest threat, the most dangerous person in the match, and put my focus into making sure that they are no longer a factor… at least for long enough that I can achieve what I desire. You can understand that logic, certainly. So when I come right at you, fists and feet flying, that’s just a sign of respect. Nothing personal, just business. That’s what they say, isn’t it?”
Another faint, failing smile. Zoey rises and dusts herself off.
”I’ve run my mouth enough for one day. My family awaits for a stroll down memory lane. Either this little jaunt will rejuvenate my spirit, or this is the woman you’ll see at Victory III, pretending she has a chance to become champion once again. There’s no spell in my book for that, but who knows, right?”
A pause. Then...
”Zee?”
”Shut it off. We’re done here.”
Zoey turns, wiping her eyes and making her way to the gates.
Fade to black. |
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