music entrance
At this point in her career, all lovers of lust and violence had the name of this semi-proclaimed queen of the pub well engraved on their minds. An Englishwoman who, just by listening to her track, it was clear to everyone which of the 3 main cards of her faction she was. The most violent and seductive in equal parts. But also, the most hateful to win what she wants when she gets in the ring.
"GABRIEEEELLLL VINLEEEEE" The announcer's voice was the necessary din to raise the public's clamour even higher for having their promised no-DQ.
And, as expected, a Royal Viper like this specimen would not last long in the same outfit —repeating more than a month was only her courtesy to the general conceptions on their part and to show herself as one more of the federation. No more.
The sizzling blonde-haired heel planted her beautiful, curvaceous, imperious, sultry figure at the entrance to the top ramp like a star as soon as her music cheered the crowd's favour with a howl. Imposing herself with one hand on her waist and her chest heaving. She dazzled with her glowing enviable skin as the small lights pointed at her. with its slow, cyclical breathing. Letting herself admire~.
Many hands outstretched on each side waiting for a light touch of her palms. Even a rose. But receiving her overbearing half-smile as she combs her hair, running her fingers over her head, marking her presence by puffing out her chest and bending her hips into a sensual pose as her most benevolent response to all the attention she's given would be more than enough to make today's pop de law explode. Feeding her devilish charisma.
As the first contender, she would stop bragging about her beauty and start advancing towards the ring, ignoring the outstretched hands on either side of the ramp as usual. Gabriel had to open the match as she does best, by being herself. Armed with nothing but a pair of red MMA gloves on each hand, and protected by a choker necklace around her throat with a geometric heart-shaped buckle on the front.
Dressed in an outfit from her wardrobe: a cottony black crop top with very short sleeves and very tightly fitted to her crop-top underneath, leaving many drooling at her slim waist and toned, shiny abs. A red mini-skirt that was barely a couple of fingers below her hips, flapping carelessly and shamelessly to reveal her dark trunks, and for more, that garment was cut from the waist all the way down, revealing the smooth, toned skin of her right thigh as her quadriceps showed off with every untamed step of hers.
The excuse this powerful gal gives for not shaking hands with anyone, even her oldest and most loyal fans, not even out of politeness, is to avoid giving the wrong message of trying to win over the public with trifles and fake smiles.
The excuse this powerful gal gives for not shaking hands with anyone, even her oldest and most loyal fans, not even out of politeness, is to avoid giving the wrong message of wanting to win over the public with trifles and fake smiles. That is why it is a privilege to have her smiling in the ring and she prefers to give all her attention to her opponent, the only one she will touch and let touch her because that is her goal. That is the goal of the first queen.
However, it is also known, deep within her inner circle, that she denies this too because she likes to leave others wanting. She finds it great fun to be this perverse.
Anyone who saw her eyes glittering and looking forward as if there were no distractions, would notice that playful perception of reality of hers, and if she were to reach the ropes and climb up the ring—she was barely halfway up the ramp—she would only emphasise that not at all vehement spirit of hers, blowing a kiss to the crowd, an unattainable kiss because no one could receive it without fighting for it. Even if made eye contact with the queen herself and they assumed things.
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