“Ladies and Gentlemen. It is my life’s greatest honour to introduce LAW’s finest — most spectacular — most dominant — and most crrrraaazzzzy hot wrestler in the entire world. While I know you folks may not know with your incorrect opinions on who that might be, allow me to spell it out.
Ahem…〞
He reached to adjust his tie, then took a knee, faced towards the ramp.
〝SHE HAILS… from Hamburg, Germany, STANDING at five feet and two inches and WEIGHING in at NONE of YOUUUUR BUSSINESS. SHE IS THE MAIN SHOW, THE CENTRE ATTRACTION, THE CROWN JEWEL AND THE SHOW STEALER FOLKS! SHE IS MISS MAIN EVENT! KARLA…. RAY…. REINHARDT… K!… R!… R!〞
As darkness and silence swallowed the arena, deep booms thundered in the soundscape. The piano hum trickled with a pattern of drums, choir vocals and exploded with guitar. Spotlights flickered, rapid fire, and cast an intersected cone upon the one — the only — Karla “Ray” Reinhardt.
New Theme!
Her pearly grin flashed the crowds, who replied with roars and scowls. The sparkle of her cherry lipstick stunned the front row, if not for the golden dog-leash that sashayed with her hips. Not that they’d dare look in her eyes, from either fear of the dog collar attached to the end or the fact she wore red-tinted shades that matched her vermillion tresses that spilled down her back, with a contingent that spun down her right eye and twirled.
New Look!
She gave a smirk; her glee overflowed as she leaned forward and shackled him with a golden collar; a heel rose and mounted his skull, now forced to dip. His body fell onto all fours, just as she coiled the leash around her knuckles and tugged once. His one hand raised to offer the mic, an all-but giddy smile on his face.
When she grilled that microphone, the arena’s music turned quiet.
The lights returned as she stood within that ring, a foot pressed into the bigger man’s nape and her body on display; a picture of muscle from wealthy biceps and legs, and the abs that cemented down to her waist, crowned by a V-shape at her hips. Even her back had a new lining, more defined now that she showed it off. They only had one match to soak it all in, not enough if the average viewer was asked.
〝Well, here I am. Right here, in this ring. At this point in history, where a new time has come for me and for you.〞She stepped off and seated the servant’s back, slouched back, folded one leg over the other and the leash-wielded hand pushed betwixt his shoulder-blades, coiled further around her knuckles four times over.
〝See, four years ago — the wrestling industry gained someone special. A uniquely talented woman from a wealthy family. This someone has already had battles worldwide, as money brings the opportunities to show off her talents. So many countries, so many different cultures, languages and yet one thing stays the same. Poor people — the less fortunate, no, the less talented and deserving people, who don’t want to appreciate the one who holds their leash.
Do you get it? We Reinhardts feed your families, we give you jobs; we make your economies grow so you may have the disposable income to sit here and cheer all these replaceable wrestlers, all the plucky babies who stand there in their thrift shop attires, wish their opponent’s a good match and hope to make it to the main event one day.〞
A short laugh carried out, 〝And all those outdated veterans who cling to past glory when their only talent is accumulating wrinkles on their dried-up sagging face.〞A hand flipped her hair, 〝And all those mommy’s reject brawlers, those whores in bikinis, the bumbling mistakes, the orangutan grapplers and whatever you call those cat-themed wrestlers.〞
Her finger raised, 〝All those dogs when you should be cheering me. The Main Event. YOUR! Main Event.〞As boos rained down, she stood; her grin turned sour into a frown, and she paced from one side to the other, the servant in tow. 〝Because I have realized something in my time in this business, hell, even before I joined this pigsty of a company — that whenever I pin or submit yet another helpless Hundchen, I’m met with jeers and these cries of sympathy for the bloodied, bruised and sobbing loser. Yet I’m cheered when in agony, when I, dare I say, make a mistake — you all love it.〞She stopped to control her breathing that skipped into the mic, where she stopped her pace, stuck a sleeved hand out, closed her eyes and took a breath.
〝And dare I say again, when someone illegally steals my victory. When the referee makes that incorrect call, that leads to their hand being raised instead of mine. If it were anyone else, it would be called defeat.〞
The crowd exploded into a cheer, where her eyes snapped open, gaped and steam boiled in each breath. She came to the ropes, slung her arms around the top rope, pinned the servant’s skull onto the mats and raised the microphone.
〝BUT IT IS NOT DEFEAT! THERE HAS NEVER BEEN DEFEAT FOR KARLA RAY REINHARDT. REINHARDT’S DO NOT LOSE. NOT NOW, NOT NEVER. YOU ALL WILL LEARN THAT!〞
As the rant went on, pressure mounted his skull until her heel harvested his whimpers and branded his flesh.
〝M-Miss Reinhardt.〞
Her eyes snapped down, and she stepped off, only to swing the opposite leg to toe-bash his stomach, which made him roll over.
〝SILENCE, YOU FUCKING FILTH..〞
Her foot struck his chest and pinned it. Her hair needled over her visage as she bathed rage that lifted both shoulders up, then down again. And as more shouts reigned down amidst her dying snarls, she hoisted the mic again, just as her composure reasserted itself.
〝You all will learn…. But now… I think it’s only fair to enact some disciplinary action against you all. Something to prove that you’re the minority when it comes to giving me the respect I’m entitled to. Because despite my harsh judgments of the locker room, they all respect me. I am, in fact, beloved by everyone, except you mutts. And with time, perhaps sooner than you think, you all will see that. You all will respect your main event.〞
