New Beginnings - Brooke Betancourt v. Parker Ward

[FreestylePoet]

Standard Match
Victory by pinfall, submission, count-out, or disqualification.

"It is... a good stepping stone back, as far as a match goes. Exactly what we were looking for." Dr. Christina Morgenstern wet her lips and gulped. "She -- she isn't easy by any stretch, and is in fact quite talented, but she is new. To LAW, I mean. Rave reviews from all the LAW personnel she's interacted with, too, so--"

"Christina." Brooke stopped her manager. The assurance was appreciated, but the Downrange Diva knew it was as much for her as it was for Christina herself. Besides, at this point, it was far too late anyway. Brooke put on a smile. "It's okay. Really, it is." She shook her head as if to dismiss how big a deal this was. "I just gotta... Go out there, shut out the noise, and let myself get back into the swing of things. It's exactly like you said. Right?"

Manager and wrestler shared a long look. Finally, Christina nodded. "That is right."

Dr. Christina Morgenstern, Manager of Team Stanza

The rest of the details behind this match went unsaid. Low pressure, low stakes. Nobody would be out to humiliate Brooke, not the way Rose Gold had so long ago and certainly not the way Brooke tried to do to others shortly after. She tightened her shoulders to repress a shudder at the thought. That was behind her now, though. She was better than that.

She would have to be.

Brooke let out a bit of that tension and softened her smile. "You helped me get here, you know. You and all the rest. That's your job, sure, but you did more than you'll ever know. Thanks, Doc... Can I...?" Her manager wasn't so great with surprise contact.

"Of course." The two hugged, and before it could go on for too long, the backstage crew called Brooke for her entrance. Christina let her go. "And Brooke?"

"Yeah?"

"Introducing first: She is five-foot-two and one-hundred-and-eight pounds, fighting out of Galveston, Texas, by way of LAW's own Team Stanza..."

"The new ring gear. It looks amazing on you."

"Please welcome BACK to the ring...!

"It's a perfect fit."

"The Downrange Diva -- BROOKE! BETANCOOOOURT!

Entrance Music

Brooke Betancourt, the Downrange Diva

Eyes suddenly fixed into that catwalk steel, Brooke Betancourt strode across the entrance ramp, step by long-legged step set to the beat of her entrance music. She wished she could say the cheers and jeers didn't barge their way into her mind, but even as they buzzed between her ears, she kept her strides long and purposeful -- until she finally made her way back to LAW's squared circle.

Brooke felt the rope. Whole, taut, ready to trap two fighters between them until one came out on top, all for the audience's amusement. But also the dividing line between the stage and the rest, that firm line in the sand which told her: if she swung past it, she would become the woman in the arena.

Without a second thought, she slung it up and slipped through.

[Parker]

Parker’s boots echoed along the hallway as she made her way toward the stage, already suited up in her ring gear. A light sheen of nerves hummed under her skin, but she carried it with a steady rhythm in her step. Moving to Japan hadn’t been all sunshine, her tiny apartment barely fit her things, the water pressure waxed and waned on a whim, and she was still figuring out which corner shops didn’t mind her broken Japanese, but it had been worth it. Every day seemed to put her in the path of someone tied to LAW, from veterans who tossed her a word of advice to staff members who treated her like she belonged here.

She lifted a hand in greeting to a pair of stagehands wheeling a lighting rig, traded nods with a referee, even offered a grin to another rookie stretching in the hallway. Each acknowledgment put a little more wind in her sails. She wasn’t invisible here, not anymore.

When she reached gorilla position, she bounced lightly on her toes, rolling her shoulders out, trying to keep her heartbeat calm. She muttered under her breath, firm enough for herself but lost under the thrum of the music system. “Alright, Parker. One step at a time. Go out there and give them something real.”

-------------

“And her opponent… hailing from Rainy River, Ontario, Canada… Standing at five foot seven and weighing in at one hundred and forty two pounds… with a heart that won’t quit, ★The Northern Star★, PARKER WAAAARD!”

Good 4 U - Olivia Rodrigo

The arena lights dipped, and the opening riff of her entrance theme hit.

stepped out, greeted by a wall of cheers. The sound hit her harder than she expected, and for just a split second her grin broke wide with rookie disbelief before settling into something more confident. She slapped a few hands along the ramp, feeding off the noise, her energy bouncing right back into the crowd.

At ringside, she broke into a quick jog and slid under the bottom rope, popping up smoothly to her feet. She shook out her arms, hopping in place as her eyes found Brooke across the ring. A small nod, a crooked grin. Respect, but a hint of mischief. She circled the inside of the ring, throwing a fist up to the roar of the crowd, clearly thriving in the moment. She wasn't sure what had them so pumped tonight but she was loving it. Turning her attention back to Brooke she hummed curiously to herself, feeling a bit overdressed in comparison with her layered wrestling attire.

“Another Texan, what a small world. It feels like I am starting a collection at this point.” Parker spoke up, lighthearted. Unknown to Brooke, one of her earlier opponents had been from the lone star state as well. The rookie folded her arms, chewing on her lower lip lightly. "So, quick question. Is calling you a cowgirl considered a compliment or derogatory? I’m not super in the know about my American stereotypes so uh… be gentle.”

[FreestylePoet]

Brooke had been at this long enough -- and had Christina coaching her for long enough -- to know what she should have been thinking. That fresh-faced, rookie exuberance, the size mismatch, even the way she moved down the entrance ramp. All of it could've given Brooke an idea of what she'd be in for tonight. And she'd be lying if she said those all-too-common distractions didn't rear their ugly heads, either. Her opponent was hot. Brooke would have to be blind not to notice that.

Somehow, though, the wrestler and the lesbian in her both took a back seat. As Brooke's opponent made her way to the ring, her mind could only latch onto one thing:

Parker Ward looked nice.

It wasn't just an act, either. Brooke had been around enough sleazy photographers and magazine publishers to know a trap smile when she saw one. This wasn't that. Cue the sigh of relief, deep and full-body.

"You'd be surprised. I'm more of a surfer girl than anything, but..." She shrugged, and despite it all, she giggled. "You're not entirely wrong, either. Can't take the Texas out of the girl, I guess. Let's make it a good one!"

Brooke shot her hand out to offer it to Parker, and suddenly, that telltale sear of attention fell on them both. The crowd wasn't silent, but she could tell. They waited with bated breath, as if something so routine, so normal, especially for two wrestlers that looked like Parker and Brooke did, was now of interest.

Her smile wavered.

[Parker]

Parker’s brows shot up at the “surfer girl” line, and a grin tugged across her lips before she could stop it. She gave an animated nod, a laugh bubbling up from her chest that made the crowd perk up with her.

“Ohhh, see? That’s on me. Here I was, stereotyping wrong. You do have that whole beach vibe going.” She wiggled her fingers vaguely in Brooke’s direction, like she was tracing an invisible aura around her. “Laid-back, sunshine-y, probably owns at least three pairs of sunglasses too many. Totally checks out.”

She reached out without hesitation to clasp Brooke’s hand, giving it a firm, warm shake as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The crowd spiked, a roar swelling from the handshake, but Parker didn’t so much as blink, her grin only widened as if she couldn’t help but soak in their energy.

“I think I got too hung up on the Texan yeehaw thing and forgot y’all have a whole gulf right there.” She tilted her head sheepishly, green eyes glinting. “My bad.”

Her grip lingered a beat longer before she finally let go, stepping back but not taking her eyes off Brooke. “I haven’t so much as touched a body board since I was a kid, but hey, that’s a far cry from surfing. Maybe I should hit you up to learn a thing or two sometime? I hear the waves out here are pretty uh…” she paused, hunting for the right word, her grin quirking. “...gnarly, right? That’s the surfer term?”

She gave a little shrug, rolling her shoulders loose like she was shaking herself back into focus. “Oh - and also the match thing.” The rookie chuckled at her own absentmindedness, tossing in the line almost like an afterthought. “You know. That part too.”