the quinnsane diaries. // mainstream sellout.

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the quinnsane diaries
2.2. // mainstream sellout.

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Following Victory Episode XII: When Doves Cry.

After her loss to Sabina Sainte on Victory Episode XII, the Victory Champion sits herself down on the trainer's table backstage, a grunt of discomfort leaving her throat through gritted teeth as she lifts her left leg up and onto the table for the doctors to look at, some sort of injury to her leg being sustained at the hands of the sinister Sainte's OTP submission hold, forcing only the second loss in the champion's tenure in PWE thus far. Wincing at the current of pain jolting through her leg as she lifts it up, the trainers move quickly to tend to her.

"What happened out there?"

"God, fuck—"

"You alright, Ellie?"

"Just felt a pop or something in my knee when she dropped me with that fuckin' facebuster."

As Ellie leans in and unlaces her left boot, the trainers quickly move to tug off the knee pad covering her left knee. Ellie's eyes widen as she and the trainers can all instantly tell what's wrong.

"Oh, fuck me!"

"Oh yeah, that puppy's dislocated."

Ellie immediately balls her fist up, slamming it down hard onto the examining table. Signs of agitation now visibly evident on her face as she leans her head back against the wall.

"The fuck am I supposed to do now, Doc?"

"Well, we're going to have to pop it back into place. Then we're going to recommend that you take the next six weeks off—"

"Six weeks!? Nah, fuck that, Doc, pop that shit back in and put a fucking brace on me or something. I'm not sitting out for six weeks! I'm going to be busy putting Sabina and her little bestie in the goddamn dirt for fucking up my leg!"

"Ellie, you know we can't sign off on that—"

"Then don't! Now fix my leg!"

Sighing, one trainer holds down Ellie's leg, the other gripping Ellie's left knee and stabilizing the patella back into place. Ellie bites down on her arm to stifle the cry of pain as her knee is put back into place. Panting out as she leans back once again.

"God, fuck that!"

Climbing off the trainer's table, Ellie hobbles over to a roll of athletic tape, swiping it before hobbling further towards a chair. Seating herself in the chair, she begins to yank a strand off the roll using her teeth before tightly wrapping it around her knee. Wincing as the tape clings to her body before yanking the roll away from the tape coating her knee. Quickly grabbing a crutch that was leaned against the wall, she tosses the tape at the trainers before hobbling off.

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Last week.

In a video posted to her social media, Ellie Quinn is seen in the driver's seat of her red 2020 Chevy Camaro. The Victory Championship draped across her shoulder, Quinn smirks as she holds her phone up to record herself, a myriad of boxes in the backseat of the Camaro. Her emotional support dog, Markov, seen hanging her head out the window, tongue flapping in the wind as she reached nearly 70 miles per hour. Changing the view of the camera, Quinn blazes down an empty highway, a sign becoming more and more visible as she closes in on it.

"WELCOME TO SEDONA, ARIZONA"

The desert was a match made in heaven for an Ellie Quinn now hellbent on being all about herself.

"It's a new era for Ellie Quinn...an era that's all about me. No one holding me back. No one holding me down. Just me, Markov, and this title."

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Present Day.

Ellie Quinn has seated herself on the couch in the living room of her new apartment in sunny Sedona, the sunset rising over the red rocks forming an orange tint in the room. Her left leg is wrapped up in athletic tape with a brace stabilizing it, still dealing with the aftermath of her knee dislocating during her match with Sabina Sainte.

"Sabina Sainte, let's just cut to the chase, sweetheart: You caught me off-guard. Congrats. You finally did something on your own without your little friend to help you out. But that's sure as hell not going to happen again, Blondie. Next time I get you in that ring? Your ass is mine. Which, that brings me to said little friend, Peach Dillinger."

Ellie grits her teeth as she shifts herself on the couch, stacked up boxes visible next to the couch as she glares into the camera filming her, which is currently stacked on top of books on the coffee table.

"Now that I'm slowly making this new place home, I figure I'll take some time out of my busy, busy day to give you the acknowledgement that you so desperately want, since your Daddy was never around as a kid to give you all that attention you ordered. So, here you go, kiddo: All the attention you could ever ask for and then some."

"Now, trust me Peach, I know you've never really had a powerful female figure in your life before, considering Mommy Dillinger decided she'd rather rot in jail than put up with you. And I know that your Daddy was too busy trading stocks on Wall Street to take you to the mall or buy you ice cream. But don't worry, after I'm done beating your ass in front of the entire world, you'll be calling me Daddy instead."

A sly smirk forms on the Victory Champion's face as she grabs her trusty butterfly knife off the table, beginning to swing it around in her right hand. The cold, sharp steel swinging around like mad as she showcases her skill with the weapon. Running her tongue across her top row of teeth as she does.

"Trust me, once I get my hands on you and your little friend Sabina, I'm going to enjoy carving the two of you up like fucking turkeys. But instead? Think I'm just going to draw out all the fun. A pretty little princess like you could never walk a mile in my shoes. Been pampered with a silver spoon hanging out your mouth your entire life. Might as well still be just a kid, because you've never actually encountered the real world, sweetheart. The biggest struggle in your life has been choosing between a Gucci belt or Louis Vuitton shoes at the mall on your Daddy's dime. You don't even know what the hell the world 'struggle' actually means." 

"I just moved out into the middle of fucking nowhere on my own with a fucked up leg, no movers paid for by my Daddy's credit card, while you and your little bestie were sitting poolside at your Dad's mansion sipping Mai Tais working on your tans. I'm the definition of grit and determination, two words you wouldn't even know if you thumbed through a dictionary. My entire career has been built on hard work and a desire to tell all my doubters to kiss my ass. Your entire life was paid for on someone else's dime and someone else's reputation."

Slowly grabbing her braced left knee, Ellie lifts it up and slips it off the couch along with her right leg, sitting herself upright as she glares directly into the camera.

"So let me tell you, fucked up leg or not, I'm going to use it to kick your ass, kid. Your Daddy may have friends in high places, but all the money in the world won't be enough to dig you out of the grave that I bury you in. I'm going to end your career before it ever even begins, and then you and Sabina can enjoy your matching mani-pedis in matching body casts."

Cracking her neck, Ellie reaches over towards the coffee table, grabbing hold of the Victory Championship and draping it over her left shoulder. Wrapping her arms tight around the leather strap, hugging the title against her body.

"I may have a bum wheel right now, but it'll take a hell of a lot more than a messed up leg to take this title from me. You'll have to put a silver bullet in my fucking heart to rip this championship out of my hands, and I sure as hell welcome you, Sabina, or anyone else in this division, hell, anyone else on this entire roster to try and take this championship from me...because I will bring it with me to my goddamn grave. I can promise you that."

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2.2.