Victory Conditions: Pinfall, Submission, or Knockout
***
Oh, god. Sheila should’ve just shut her fucking mouth.
For the past two months, she’d been bugging management, trying to get herself into a match, trying to get her something to do. She’d come to the office, knock on doors, make multiple phone calls, and deal with LAW’s pain-in-the-ass automated system, which gave her the runaround for two hours straight. She even sent emails to the appropriate people, and god, did she hate writing emails.
All of it, all those annoyances, and it hadn't gotten her anywhere…until today, when it was announced that finally, finally, Sheila had a goddamn match.
A standard match. Standard. ”Fucking hell.”
Sheila learned about it this morning, and it put her in a foul mood that lasted all the way to the end, when she was hanging in the gorilla position, pacing back and forth. At the same time, she waited for the stage crew to give her the go-ahead, silently fuming while everyone wisely gave her some space. She didn’t want to be too pissy about this sort of thing. A match was a match was a match, she was getting worked, she should’ve been happy…but she was a hardcore wrestler, to the bone. Giving her a standard match was like giving a wolf a salad. She needed red meat, something she could sink her teeth into, something real, not a match with stipulations and rules and limits. She could screw up and lose by DQ, the absolute lamest way a match could end.
”Ms. Morgan?”
”What?” She whirled around and snapped at the stagehand who was trying to get attention, a mousy little thing with glasses who leaped back like she was going to get punched in the face. Sheila sneered her way for a moment, before relaxing with a long sigh. Wasn’t her fault, don’t take it out on the help. She spoke again, lighter this time. ”What is it?”
”Um.” She coughed, then spoke up. ”Just letting you know we’re ready for you in a minute. The last commercial is about to finish, then you’re up.”
”I’m up. Right.” She rolled her neck around, getting loose, not that she expected it would make much difference with the vanilla match she was about to participate in. ”Let’s get this done, then.”
A minute later and Sheila was stomping her way down the ramp, heading straight to the ring as her played, making no effort to hide how irritated she was to participate in this RC Cola of a wrestling match. She didn’t even bother to slap any of her fans hands on the way down - no, she just slid into the ring, tossed her coat out of the ring, and made her way over to the corner, where she promptly laid against the pads like they were her favorite leaning tree. No fucks given.
She crossed her arms as her music faded and looked up the ramp, waiting for whoever-it-was to come out. Kinzie, right? That was all she remembered, the name. Some new chick, hadn't heard, and that was probably why they were putting her in with a standard match to start. Most likely wanted to test the waters with her, not involve fresh talent in anything too dangerous.
Sucked for her, then, because Sheila was about as dangerous as she could get at the moment. All pissed off and in desperate need of an outlet, so poor little Kinzie was going to be her punching bag.
Fight Night!
