"Seriously?..." Victory Battle Royal

SOMEWHERE in NEW YORK STATE

‘TOTAL CHAOS’ was what the wall read.

The training facility was located in a rural area of New York state. No need for prying eyes on the upcoming stars of the Wrestling industry. Chris (Devereaux / Chaos) was a man that kept to himself now that his career was over. All he wanted to do was help the next generation of talent receive proper training and help them get their foot into the door. He worked his ass off to build himself and his name from the ground up, he knew the struggles. As times changed, sure, entry into the industry became easier - but what can I say? Chris was a man stuck in his traditions.

Not too far from the training facility was his personal house where he and wife, Keilli, lived. They would both spend the majority of their time here. They each had their personally chosen students, many of whom also lived in close proximity to the school - or, in special cases, even in the Devereaux’s guest house.

The facility echoed with the thuds of bodies hitting mats, with the ropes pulling when people ran into them, with the words meant as encouragement from the Devereaux’s. And then…

“Ow, fuck!” a shrill yell cut through all of the other noise in the facility. All attention turned in the direction of the scream. Chris, who - at the time - was busy with Luca Cilic, quickly made his way to the ring where two were sparring. One of which being a male, the other - the source of the yell - a female; short, raven haired female who held her jaw, eyes wide in shock. “I asked you NICELY, NOT IN THE FUCKING FACE! CEDRIC!”

She yelled, turning from her sparring partner to Cedric who sat on a row of benches. Dressed completely inappropriately for a training facility, in designer clothes with the top of his shirt unbuttoned, his slacks riding up to his ankles and the most expensive slide on shoes you could imagine. “HEY DO NOT TOUCH THE FACE! SHE HAS TO BE INSTAGRAM LIVE READY IN AN HOUR! THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!”

“Okay relax…” Chris intervened. “Mia; you can’t just ask for people to not hit your face. You’re in the wrong profession for…”

“Absolutely NOT. I know you’re a legend and all, but I have a career outside of here Chrissy. And it’s a career that exists because of my looks. So, please-no one is allowed to touch my face.-thankyou.” She, Mia Castillo, interrupted Chris, who’s eyes glossed over when she went into her spiel. It was something reminiscent of what Keilli would have said in her hay-day.

“I’m not so sure that the people of Pro Wrestling Excellence will play by your rules.” Chris said, turning away and shrugging his shoulders. It caught Mia off guard, her overall vibe turning from appalled that someone would attempt to ruin her looks, to shock at a company signing her. “I’ll pull the offer and decline. Don’t want you to break a nail, or something.”

“Wait, wait.” She said, stopping him. Pushing out her lower lip to a pout, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Can we negotiate the no-face damage thing, at least?”

Chris, who stopped and looked back at her, rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No.” He was stern, but fully turned to offer her advice. “You’re talented. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t have sent out the word about you, Sabina and Peach. If I thought you weren’t ready, you would still be here full time. If you want some advice, tell your boy there to arrange your travel to Orlando. The three of you - four, if the idiot tags along - are needed there.”

He didn’t allow her to say anything further. He left the ring, leaving just Mia standing there. By now, her sparring partner had left the scene as well. Cedric, who - during Chris’ motivational speech - left the bench to move toward the practice ring, stood with his hands on his hips. His designer sunglasses lowered to the tip of his nose. Mia couldn’t help but to smile; Chris really went out of his way to push her, Sabina and Peach into an organization together? Not a bad guy after all, especially for a dinosaur - she thought. She, however, caught herself smiling when she glanced at Cedric. Snapping out of it, her smile quickly vanished.

“You friggin’ heard him, Cedric! GO! Book my flight to Orlando. First class. OH! See if P and Sabby have their flights arranged; if not, do theirs too. Kbyeeeee.” She held the ‘e’ in bye for an extended period of time, honestly it was kind of annoying. But Cedric took the order and turned on the heels of those stupid expensive shoes before beginning to walk away.

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his extremely tight slacks to withdraw his phone. He furiously worked his thumbs on the large screen before placing the phone to his ear. Within seconds, he was on the line with someone. “Judy. … What? … I don’t care what your name is. I need THREE, count ‘em, THREE first class tickets from New York to Orlando on your next flight. … No, I don’t want a layover in Indianapolis. Who the hell lives there? What even IS in Indianapolis?! … You know what, don’t answer that. Three first class tickets. New York to Orlando. No layover. Next flight. Got it?” Cedric began to walk away, still barking orders at Judy -- or whoever.


———

INSTAGRAM LIVE FEED

Mia Castillo sat in the ‘living room’ area of the hotel here in Orlando, Florida. Cedric was (finally) successful in acquiring the three first class tickets as instructed by Mia, and the three besties flew down together and had their hangouts at poolside before splitting up for the time being. Mia returned to her hotel room, applied her make up and set everything up perfectly for this IG Live Stream. Her ring was light set up directly in front of her not only illuminated the area, but held her phone in place while it recorded.

“¡Hola! everyone! I just wanted to come on here real quick today to officially let you know that YA GIRL has finally gotten herself a professional wrestling contract. And I know you’re all waiting for the break down, the tears and the ‘it’s been my life's goal…’ story, but nah that ain't it. You’re not gonna’ get tears from this chica. Instead, I’ll fill you in on what me and the girlies are doin’ in Orlando.”

Mia flashed a smile. The bitchiness was already poking it’s head out when she said she wouldn’t break down and profess her undying passion for the business. Truthfully, it wasn’t there.

“I’m not one of those lames that have dedicated, like, a million years to this sport. Do I like it? Of course. Did I do my training? Absolutely. But this isn’t my life. Nah. I’m already millionaire rich, baby. I have the endorsements that many of these so-called ‘professionals’ would kill for. I have enough zero’s in my bank account to keep everyone in this PWE place fed, clothed and housed for - minimum - ten years. So, I know you’re wondering why would I even bother? I bother, because it will give me great satisfaction in seeing the disappointment, the sadness, and the heartbreak in each and every one of you when I beat you.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna’ beat you. I’m gonna’ beat all of you, and that’s facts. Me, Sabby, P - we’re all in this together, and together the three of us will stand over your bodies, laughing at how pathetic you are and basking in the glory of victory. BUT SPEAKING OF. Who in the hell booked this? Like. UGH! It’s right there - crystal frickin’ clear - that myself, Sabina and Peach are literal best friends, so why would we ever fight each other? Are you stupid or something? AS IF we would ever fight each other. So after we eliminate all of these other losers, the three of us will declare ourselves the WINNERS of this stupid little battle royal, and all of ya’ll can cry about it later.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling a bitchy little smile.

“Like. Does it really even matter who else is in this battle royal? All the offense meant. This is just an elaborate red carpet roll out for the hottest trio to ever grace PWE, as it should be. Do you think any of us are worried about some oddly-shaped man-boy named Lachlan Kane who’s grasping for straws to try and stay relevant after falling so far from being the inaugural Victory champion? Or what about the soulless ginger himself, Noah Ortega? Absolutely-not. Maybe Sabina, she has a thing for those pale white boys with disgusting hair and all that. Maybe Enigma; a whole ass spooky-mystery. Like. Monster Machine? What the hell does that mean? Someone’s trying a little too hard to be scary, it’s actually pathetic. Then of course the so-called Head Lyon-ess? Clever word play with your name there … if this was the Nineteen Nineties.. Another tool who thinks painting half of their face on some Santa Muerte shit will make them intimidating. You and Mister Monster Machine can go be dark and brooding together, maybe you’ll find each other appealing because I assure you - no one else does.”

“Like, seriously. Are myself, Sabina and Peach supposed to be worried about the field of competition? Because if so, you’ve failed. We feel annoyed, to be honest. Not only have you thrown us against each other, which was never going to work - you should have seen that one coming; but you also throw us against the pinnacle of boring. The epitome of bland. The definition of uninteresting. And this is a company that prides itself on excellence? Please. The only thing excellent in this match are the three of us, and when the three of us win this match, maybe that will send a little message to whoever is in charge of this place - that you don’t mess with the Sorority. Nothing good ever comes of it. This might just be some throw-away match to some, or an opportunity to debut in front of the bright lights and unwashed masses in Florida - ew - but for myself, Sabina and Peach? This is a statement that we’re here, bitches. We’re here and we’re going to do things our way. If you don’t like it? Too bad. It’s something you gotta’ deal with.”

She shrugged her shoulders carelessly.

“But, until the time comes for the girlies and I to show up, show out, and beat up on your garden variety class of losers; ya’ girl is going to catch some of those summer sun rays and lay out by the pool. I mean. What else is there to do in Florida other than become alligator food or become a meth-head? I’m far too pretty to be dead or to be a meth head. I could go out and train, but what for? Just seems like a waste of time considering the sheer level of disappointment that we’re up against.”

“Adios!”

She flashed another brilliant smile before reaching forward and ending the live stream.