Chelsea definitely has an intense air about her tonight, seeking to put another win on her record. Holly, on the other hand, is loose yet focused. The two young women lock up mid-ring in a collar-and-elbow with Holly’s power immediately allowing her to put Chelsea on defense. Chelsea fights back and levels things up again, only for Holly to suddenly yank the woman up onto her shoulders, preparing the Holly Diver! Knowing what’s coming Chelsea squirms her way down and backs off several steps, kicking the bottom rope in frustration. Holly, meanwhile, keeps her distance and her game face on. Chelsea gets hold of herself and gestures for another lock-up. She boots Holly in the midsection, though, and lays in some clubbing forearms instead. She sends Holly into the ropes and hits them herself, delivering For Justin to her powerful adversary, but her pin attempt earns her only a two-count.
Holly is brought back up and sent into the ropes a second time. Chelsea’s clothesline has little to no effect, though, other than waking Holly up a touch. Chelsea goes for a second one and this time Holly retorts with a blow of her own, sending Chelsea down hard enough to take the light outta her eyes briefly. Shaking off the early assault, Holly picks Chelsea up with ease, delivering a pair of backbreakers without putting the woman down, then showing off her overwhelming power by hoisting her up and holding her for a good fifteen seconds before dropping her with a stalling vertical suplex. Holly floats over into a pin attempt, but Chelsea matches her defiance and kicks out. Holly loads up another suplex but Chelsea quickly pulls her into an inside cradle for a quick two. She’s on her feet before Holly, bolting for the ropes, leaping to the second strand and coming back at Holly for a flying clothesline, this time succeeding in taking the stronger woman down. Chelsea immediately clamps on a chinlock but Holly is up to her feet despite Chelsea’s wrenching grip. She elbows her way out but gets yanked to the mat by a frustrated Chelsea, who then puts the boots to Holly to keep her down.
Not known for her temper, Holly has still had just about enough of this. She catches one of Chelsea’s stomps and shoves the woman back. Chelsea returns with a running kick to the ribs, which stalls Holly, but the second one clearly pisses her off. Chelsea aims another running assault at her powerful opponent but this time Holly goozles her before she can land the blow, hoisting her up and chokeslamming the ever-loving out of the blonde. Chelsea is catching her breath on the mat when Holly brings her up, whipping her so hard into the buckles that Chelsea recoils all the way to the mat. Holly brings her up again, though this time the Irish whip is reversed. Chelsea follows Holly in almost immediately, leaving no room to dodge as she drives a dropkick into Holly’s chest. Now it’s Holly gasping for air as Chelsea cracks her with a superkick before using a hurricanrana to bring Holly down to the mat! Chelsea ascends the rope for Skye’s the Limit but Holly rolls in toward the ropes, forcing Chelsea to irritably abort her strategy. Holly attempts to climb up, only to be met by fists from above. Chelsea rains down blows on the larger woman, even flipping over her with intentions of a sunset flip bomb. Holly, though, walks her out of the corner and drives her into the canvas with a powerbomb, again knocking the air out of Chelsea. This time, the Holly Diver connects…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
WINNER BY PINFALL: HOLLY RHODES
The cameras cut to the backstage area as Ernie Spencer is sitting outside his locker room with Rasputin right beside him. Ernie is all smiles as Rasputin is barking his little head off.
ERNIE SPENCER: Well Rassy, tonight daddy gets a chance to live out his dream.
Rasputin: Ruff
Rasputin is wagging his tail as Ernie's wife Jessie Jane walks up holding two Bang energy drinks.
ERNIE SPENCER: Thank you baby.
JESSIE JANE SPENCER: Are you ready for this honey? It's your first shot at a Major championship since your debut eight Years ago.
ERNIE SPENCER: I am ready to prove that I belong. Am I going to survive? Not really but I will give it my all. That's one thing those others can't take away from me. They can talk about my wrestling ability all they want but I am going to prove everyone wrong.
Jessie gives him a kiss on the cheek as they continue to converse while the camera cuts away.
The camera cuts away once more, and we find ourselves in the makeshift office for Ophelia. There’s a white couch, where she’s sitting at, a tablet in her hand and a smile on her face as she looks at the screen. Perched behind her, immediately, is Ollie Dorito, who sleeps calmly and undisturbed. The door swings open, and Ophelia looks up to find her General Manager stepping into the room. Charlie looks semi-frazzled, but she doesn’t seem to mind at all.
OPHELIA KNIGHT: What’s the matter?
CHARLIE JONES Oh just…ugh, Malachi and Bella were attacked. I’m handling it, I’m having security check cameras, but between that and the fact that people just can’t seem to get along tonight…
OPHELIA KNIGHT: They’ll get there.
CHARLIE JONES Anyway, I wanted you to check this out. I just sent it to you on your iPad.
Ophelia looks down at her tablet once more, using the handy pen tool to click her way to whatever was sent. As she does that, Charlie sits down next to her. Ollie sleepily looks up at her, but doesn’t say or do anything this time to annoy her, as is his purr-ogative. Ophelia’s eyes light up.
CHARLIE JONES Of course, it’s a mock-up, but they’re ready to finalize it the second we know who is in that final match.
OPHELIA KNIGHT: It looks wonderful.
CHARLIE JONES I thought so too. And then, if you click the document with it, you can see some stipulations for the night…
The owner looks at it, tilting her head to the side. Her eyebrows raise.
OPHELIA KNIGHT: No Disqualification…Street Fight. Nothing too crazy besides one falls or submissions. That’s perfect…we don’t need a repeat of the crazy stipulations every show. This is about their talent, not if they can kill one another.
CHARLIE JONES Oh, and if you look at the one for Kayla versus Betsy…
Charlie reaches over, pointing at respective match. Ophelia follows her gaze, and her eyes open widely and she stares at Charlie incredulously.
OPHELIA KNIGHT: You didn’t!CHARLIE JONES I thought it was apt.
OPHELIA KNIGHT: Very. I agree. I approve. I approve all of it. Good job, Charlene. I do have a meeting here in a couple of minutes with our other…guest. Of course, you’re welcome to stay.
Charlie smiles, pleased to have gotten some kudos for all of her hard work. She leans back and crosses her arms as she crosses her legs, tapping her foot lightly.
CHARLIE JONES It ends at Magnificence. There should be no more attacks, no more jumping. Kayla should get what she deserves…
At this, Ollie lifts his head. His ears go back, his eyes narrow.
CHARLIE JONES Don’t you start.
Ollie
hisses at her, and Charlie rolls her eyes.
CHARLIE JONES I know you like her, but the rest of us think she’s a bitch. You’ll understand.
She reaches out to pet him and Ollie leaps down, hopping off the couch back and darting from the room.
If only cats could speak, right?
He’s been at it for a while now. The better part of an hour, even.
Cameras find Nathaniel Cartwright in the locker room area, already coated with a sheen of perspiration despite his match being mere moments away. The tattooed neophyte, wrists wrapped tightly with tape, remnants of his war wounds from his match with Damian Ayla several weeks ago still very apparent, is pushing himself through a series of grueling stretches. Without pause, he follows up with a series of push-ups, first with two hands, then with one, then the other.
The Winter Wraith looks more like a man who’s trying to exorcise rather than exercise, truth told. A familiar face, that of his friend from Adrenaline, Mitch Sands, looks on with an expression equal parts awestruck and concerned.
MITCH SANDS: You’re planning to save some for that Brenna Gordon chick, right?
Nathaniel does not look up immediately, though he seems to find a moment to pause his efforts and turn toward his friend. For a moment, Nate’s expression is completely blank; he looks at Mitch as though he has never seen him before. The light clicks on in short order, though, and he turns to stare straight ahead. A held breath is released and Nathaniel responds quietly.
NATHANIEL CARTWRIGHT: Would you be surprised if I said that it didn’t matter one way or the other?
MITCH SANDS: Nah, bro, but I’d call it pretty disrespectful to the girl.
Almost as tattooed as Nathaniel himself, the Winter Wraith’s fellow skin artist comes up to stand beside his friend. Both men stare at one another, and themselves, in the mirror. The silence is appropriate, yet also a little unnerving, even sad.
MITCH SANDS: You gotta put this other shit behind you, man. I know how important it is, what you got going on at home, but you have a job to do out there. I wouldn’t want you wielding a needle right now any more than I’d want you going out to fight in this mindset.
NATHANIEL CARTWRIGHT: Maybe I should stop, then. I could barely find the words to say last week.
MITCH SANDS: You’re distracted. Who the hell could blame you? If I were in your spot… fuck, man, I don’t know what the hell I’d do. Can’t handle my own self half the time, much less the kind of shit you’re mucking through. I don’t know how you get out of bed sometimes.
Faintly, for but a moment, Nathaniel smiles a little.
NATHANIEL CARTWRIGHT: Just something else to survive.
Not really knowing how to respond to that, Mitch just nods. But a few moments later, he says…
MITCH SANDS: Naw, fuck that, bro.
NATHANIEL CARTWRIGHT: Excuse me?
MITCH SANDS: The fuck is surviving, man? It sure as shit ain’t living, I promise you that!
Taken aback, Nathaniel forgets his own thoughts and turns to his friend.
MITCH SANDS: Look, I’m the last person to tell someone how they oughta handle a relationship. I can barely handle myself, much less a female. But I’ve seen this kinda thing enough to know from people who come in one week to get somebody’s name on their arm only to show up a month later to have it blotted out. If you hand over your heart to someone, you better be sure you trust ‘em. Or they’ll hand it back in pieces every time. And you’ll be trying to pick up the pieces the rest of your damn life.
NATHANIEL CARTWRIGHT: From the guy who by his own admission isn’t mature enough for a real relationship?
MITCH SANDS: Blame my parents. You grow up around people like that and you got a front-row seat to how NOT to live a happy life. Not everyone is as lucky as you are, Nate, having a family that actually gives a damn about you.
NATHANIEL CARTWRIGHT: So… what? Are you saying I should just turn her out? Not everyone is undeserving of an opportunity, Mitch.
MITCH SANDS: And not everyone would twist a good man’s heart for giggles, or whatever the hell her reasoning was.
His natural defensiveness about Melissa and his feelings for her has Nate tighten his hand into a fist. Mitch, seeing this, does not move, but instead tenses up and prepares for the blow that he’s certain is about to come.
And it nearly does.
But then Nathaniel lowers his hand and shakes his head.
NATHANIEL CARTWRIGHT: Call me a fool, then.
MITCH SANDS: You ain’t a fool, Nate. You’re just… new. Fresh. You don’t know yet. Look…
He raises his own hand, like he wants to clap Nate on the shoulder, give him some gesture of kindness or reassurance. But he cannot. Mitch lowers his arm and shrugs.
MITCH SANDS: …just go out there and do what you do. We can talk about this later if you got a mind. Maybe we’ll grab a beer after the show and see if we can figure something out. I don’t know shit about shit, but at least I’m a good friend.
Tension is rocketing through Nathaniel at that moment. Whatever is in front of him, he isn’t seeing it. But what IS he seeing? Melissa Reed? Brenna Gordon? Damian Ayla? None could say… not even Nathaniel himself. But he responds to Mitch as the man turns and puts his hand on the door, preparing to take his leave.
NATHANIEL CARTWRIGHT: Yeah… you are. One of the best. I’ll see you back here in a few.
Mitch turns back and nods. The two bump fists and Nathaniel watches as the tattoo artist leaves. After a moment, he gathers his jacket and exits as well, heading off in the opposite direction.
DING! DING! DING!
The match between newcomer Brenna Gordon and former top contender Nathaniel Cartwright starts off with Brenna coming full speed at Nathaniel. She moves under wild strikes from the bigger stronger opponent. Brenna ducking under a clothesline, hitting the ropes and sliding under Nathaniel between his legs to pick his ankle and take him down into a kneebar. But Nathaniel rolls with the kneebar’s pressure, throwing his leg over and standing up with Brenna’s legs around his.
He turns her over, holding her legs together before releasing one and locking in the single leg crab he calls the Predator Lock. However, Brenna is too close to the ropes reaching out and grabbing it in her hand. The referee started the five count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!
FI-
Nathaniel releases the hold and steps back with his arms up, taking as many liberties with the rules as he can. Brenna stays near the ropes to make sure that she has the space and time to recover. She pulls herself up and Nathaniel steps forward throwing a vicious kick, low and hard like a kicker would throw in football to hammer home a fifty yard field goal, his leg slams into the knee of Brenna causing her to fall forward. She holds her knee and shakes her head as the referee asks her if she wants to quit. Nathaniel stays on the attack grabbing Brenna by the leg and pulling her into the middle of the ring, focusing now on her knee as he turns and spins around dropping down with all his weight to twist the joint sideways. He stays on top of her leg and pulls back hard as Brenna screams in pain.
GREYSON MARKS: Nathaniel has such a high ring IQ, he is wearing down Brennas knee knowing that she has already felt and fears that predator lock.
LINCOLN PHELPS: You think he's shitty that there's another Nathaniel in PWE that has leapfrogged him?...I know I would be real shitty if there was another Lincoln runnin’ around being a better commentator...
GREYSON MARKS: You'd have to be good at this first.
Nathaniel stalks around Brenna, he smiles making her and the rest of us watching feel uneasy. Brenna pulls herself up, her leg obviously sore and stiff. Nathaniel slides down low and goes to pick her leg again, but Brenna slides down, catches Nathaniel by the arm and then throws herself up and over his back locking in a sleeper hold to buy herself some time, only one of her legs sliding around to get hooked in as she shakes out the other to get the blood flowing.
Nathaniel pushes up to his feet carrying his smaller opponent on his back before running backwards to slam Brenna into the corner turnbuckle.
But Brenna hangs on with tenacity and refuses to let go. Nathaniel does it again, running backwards to slam his opponent right into the turnbuckle again. And again Brenna refuses to let go. Nathaniel drops to one knee as Brenna has her arm pulling right back. Nathaniel shakes his head and stands back up launching himself back one more time into the turnbuckle. Brenna lets go and drops down to the mat as Nathaniel holds his neck and wheezes.
GREYSON MARKS: Brenna Gordon was locked on him. She was refusing to let go...
LINCOLN PHELPS: I knew a girl like that from Manchester.....once you were in there she locked in and–
GREYSON MARKS: Dude come on.....
Brenna steps forward and grabs Nathaniel dropping down into a Jawbreaker. Nathaniel stumbles back and holds his chin as Brenna runs forward anf goes for the rip tide, but Nathaniel turns and is able to drop down and pop Brenna up for the legend of the sun!. The european uppercut slamming into Brenna who drops down and looks out of it. Nathaniel holds his throat and coughs a few times to clear it out after the sleeper. Brenna crawls over to the corner and tries to pull herself up, but Nathaniel comes flying in with a kick to the back of Brennas head hitting the legend of the hunter!. Brennas body goes limp, Nathaniel calls for the Call of the wild, he hooks his arms rolls back and finishes the chaos theory bridging up.
LINCOLN PHELPS: CALL OF THE WILD!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
WINNER BY PINFALL: NATHANIEL CARTWRIGHT!
GREYSON MARKS: Brenna didn't make it easy she is scrappy but Nathaniel again reminds us why he challenged Damian Ayla...
The frame opens as a somewhat tall and familiar looking silhouette blocks out light coming in from a hallway somewhere in the bowels of the Ball Arena in Denver. The figure takes a step, her boot clicking against concrete which softly echoes in the silence. As the camera refocuses, we can see that La Andalucera has her back to the camera, and as the shot widens, we see that another figure is in the frame. Behind her.
As the camera panned around to her front, the tension in the room intensified. The Pro Wrestling Excellence Champion brought the bottom of his cane down, drawing attention to himself with a resolute sound. Damian Ayla tilted his head at La Andalucera, his cold eyes assessing her in a way that only he knew. Soon enough, he cleared his throat.
DAMIAN AYLA: Ah, La Andalucera, it’s a pleasure to come across you tonight. Forgive me for not saying it earlier, but thank you for taking Tara out. She enjoyed herself quite a lot.
Damian summoned a smile as he made his way from behind her.
DAMIAN AYLA: With homelife, we sometimes fail to keep up social interactions.
He hoisted the cane up and laid it against his shoulder.
DAMIAN AYLA: Do you plan on doing it again?
The gypsy’s eyebrow crooks sharply up, a strange question for her husband to be asking, she thought to herself.
LA ANDALUCERA: It is her choice, no?
Damian let out a small chuckle, which did little to dissuade La Andalucera’s initial reaction. If anything, it did more to amplify her latent confusion. The champion eyed the tip of his cane, radiating clear amusement with the whole situation at hand.
DAMIAN AYLA: Yes, indeed, but the reason why I ask–
He stopped his sentence, where he decided to stare into the gypsy’s eyes.
DAMIAN AYLA: Ah, there it is.
He lowered the cane down from his arm, letting it rest gently in his hand as he closed the distance between him and La Andalucera. His shoulders were relaxed, his step containing a coy, little bounce.
DAMIAN AYLA: No, no, my friend, it’s your pursuit. I can see it in your eyes. I know that look.
LA ANDALUCERA: What look?
This time La Andalucera steps closer to Damian, unbowed, shoulders pushed out as broadly as she could. The Excellence champion’s expression remained balanced, as the tall woman came close enough to feel his breath as he exhaled.
LA ANDALUCERA: Why don’t you telling me what look you see?
The champion didn’t respond immediately, enjoying the way he toyed with La Andalucera. He relaxed himself, acting as if his words weren’t meant to offend or disturb.
DAMIAN AYLA: It’s the same one that I had when I first laid eyes on her.
LA ANDALUCERA: No. It is not.
She was not as relaxed. She could feel the tension running the length of her spine and felt sure that one hard hit could shatter her into pieces. But she held her nerve, as she looked up and met his gaze.
LA ANDALUCERA: You thinking you know everything. That is your problem. No room for someone else point of view.
This time, his reaction was a bit more noticeable. A small smile. A reaction from her.
LA ANDALUCERA: Is funny? Really? You think so?
Damian did his best to dismiss the smile, but failed.
DAMIAN AYLA: No, no, that’s a misonception. If anything, I don’t point out that look because I’m…fearful or anything. No…”
The champion looked around the space, finding the retaliation awkward in many facets. When he returned his gaze to her, within it was pity.
DAMIAN AYLA: It’s a hard thing to hide. Even I, a man with seemingly no emotion, couldn’t do it. That brazen spirit of yours? Ohhhh, it tells me the story so loudly. It’s just that…
Damian failed to find the words, scratching at his temple in a futile effort to draw it forward.
DAMIAN AYLA: If there’s one thing I know more than anything, it’s my wife. You…you don’t know her as well as I do. You couldn’t possibly, but I need to stress this to you before you get yourself hurt. Not by me. No. Not at all. The only reason why I would have to hurt you is if–
The once playful tone he used died in favor of the more familiar, stern growl PWE was mostly accustomed to.
DAMIAN AYLA: --You try anything to
hurt her.
Damian paused, straightening his already perfect tie to kill the hostility summoning forth.
DAMIAN AYLA: But since I don’t know your point-of-view, why don’t you tell me? What is it that you have planned for my wife, young lady? I’m curious.
LA ANDALUCERA: Plans? Is that how you got her?
Damian may’ve attempted to cut off the mood, lightening his tone and re–establishing a modicum of personal space, but La Andalucera was not there, yet. Her lip curled as she launched forth her next barb.
LA ANDALUCERA: Surgical and precise, planned every last hello and goodbye. No emotion, you say it yourself. No passion, no–
She places her closed fist, taped and ready for her match, on the chest of the Champion. He looks down, a vacant expression of disappointment crossing his face.
LA ANDALUCERA: No
amor. She is just a possession to you. Another trophy.
As La Andalucera’s voice trails off, she steps back, half turning away from Damian.
LA ANDALUCERA: Plans are for people who cannot thinking for the moment.
Damian lifted his head, the same expression remaining there.
DAMIAN AYLA: I see.
He nodded, a quiet acknowledgement of La Andalucera’s words.
DAMIAN AYLA: If you have to know, I ‘got’ Tara by understanding her when the whole world ignored her. Yet, there are many people like yourself that think that I’m devoid of that. Though, let me ask you a final question.
Damian narrowed his eyes, glaring at the gypsy with clear disdain.
DAMIAN AYLA: Why share my emotion when the dregs when I can keep all reserved for the only woman that matters?
He cleared his throat, using it as a way to avert from his main subject.
DAMIAN AYLA: From this conversation, I understand your ambition to abscond with her, but a drink or two won’t suffice. You were not there for any of the rough times with her. You don’t share a domicile with her. But it’s that very reason, the fact that I do? It’s why I’m standing here, telling you that if you try to come between what she and I have? You may not come out of this unscathed.
The champion looked away from La Andalucera, staring into a void where only nightmares dwelled. He saw outcomes for the young woman that she wouldn’t–no,
couldn’t understand. He let out a sharp exhale.
DAMIAN AYLA: Tara…she wants friends. I want her to have that. I want my wife to be happy. That is all. I can’t be responsible for people who will never understand where we come from.
A hint of sadness came onto his face. It washed away as he returned back to the sullen conqueror that he normally was.
DAMIAN AYLA: It won’t be my problem to bear.
The champion turned on his heel, going to leave. Yet as the same time that he does, La Andalucera bit her tongue, she looked down albeit briefly.
LA ANDALUCERA: When you came here to talk to me, is not because you want your wife to be happy. You put it in words like you protecting her, maybe is how you think thing have to be. But you
control her. She can have friend, but only if husband say yes, yes? Your insecurity smells almost bad like your perfume.
Damian did give her the time to say her piece. Yet, instead of twisting around to reply, he rested the bottom of his cane against the ground. Words were on his tongue, but he swallowed them and let out a sigh.
DAMIAN AYLA: ...Good luck in your match.
Carrying on his way, the Excellence Champion left the camera to go back to La Andalucera. She listened to his trailing footsteps, and then twisted herself back.
