Prime Villainy, Salem 'Shooting Star' Taylors vs Spectre

[Galactic Thing]

Salem's career at LAW was off to a decent start, and she was really starting to feel like she was getting used to the area and the people both in and out of the organization. From a while with no match, things began accelerate quickly, her first match spring boarding her into another two matches to be scheduled. The first of which was far stranger then the other, a bout against some "Spectre". There wasn't much Salem could learn about her, but the rather simple and ominous name usually meant one of two things: a newer wrestler that was way too confident, or a more nefarious heel that new exactly what they were doing.

Despite optimistic wishes, Salem knew it was far more likely for the latter here at LAW than the former. After all, this place held some of the best in the world!

At the moment, the Shooting Star was backstage, preparing herself for the match. Going through her rather extensive set of stretches, she would start with her arms, bringing them in across her chest one at a time, and then rotating them to focus on her shoulders. Leaning down to her hug her legs, it assisted her back: a common target for more malicious competitors. Finally, she would crouch down, extending her legs and doing a much more robust set of stretches. They were her two biggest weapons, assets, and tools in the ring. From submission holds to aerial maneuvers, her legs needed to be in tip-top shape.

As she did her routine, Salem would watch as the crew got ready, setting up the page after a match had concluded just 10 minutes prior. It was impressive how they worked, and she would temporarily find herself mesmerized with how they worked. Her leg was extended on the cold tiled floor, her other leg's boot underneath her barely concealed butt with the starry leotard. Her dyed pink hair was like a beacon amongst the more neutral hair colors amongst the crew...as if her sitting on the floor stretching wasn't already pointing a giant arrow at herself.

[Monsy]

Hm~Hm.

By now, people knew what time it was. Spectre was hungrier than ever post We are LAW 7. They must’ve thought, up in their head offices that Dot and her bugged, that they were just going to throw valueless free meat at her. Stop her from consuming the roster too fast. Control, contain and mitigate.

Little did they know the talent they were slotting. A deer.

A newer face, yes. Talented. A huge prior win record, with echoes from another promotion and chatter once upon a time about… A rising star! A beloved prodigy takes the scene! YOUR new crowd favourite!! A Shooting Star no less. Dot and Spectre shared a look at each other going over their usual game plans, with a cool smile from Spectre that said:

Let’s shoot her down.

And one sleepless for Spectre later, with her appetite whet and fists craving, the Chrome Skull logo flashed on-screen. Spotlights crossed on-stage in an X-formation, then died from electrical shorting before ending in a dying drone sound. The crowd’s boo filled the brief silence. By the time the

on Spectre’s theme, the average blood pressure of the arena must’ve skyrocketed. That was all candy for the virus, looming above for a bird’s eye view on a dark catwalk. She stood on a ledge, a glare pointed at the ring, then the stage that was filled with white smoke and new purple stage lights.

From above the titantron, a shadow emerges like a lightning bolt. The Malevolent Virus descending on a cable and hook, then dropping to the floor in her pool of smoke. She stood up, concealed, closing her eyes as her head tipped down. Her arms slowly unfurl. Her shoulders roll. She opens her hands wide, rolls her neck, then— FWOOSH!

Spectre’s cape brushed the smoke aside, clearing an ankle-high path for her down the rampart. A rolling bank of smoke piled up at her flanks. She strutted with one foot in-front of the other, deliberate and with a clack as her boot smacked down flat.

Clop… Clop… Clop.

Her hands out to her sides in a pose, her grin wide and shit-eating and her narrow cat-eyes locked on the ring. As she got closer, it morphed into a war-ready glower, both focused and intentful, then hopped onto the apron. She ran for the corner, stepped up onto the middle buckle and backflipped parallel to the ropes, landing inside with another WHOOSH from the cape.

Once she turned around, the entrance was over. "Don't make me wait, Shootin' Star. It's your turn."

.

[Galactic Thing]

Spectre's words were almost a call to the Shooting Star, whose theme kicked in just a second later. The retro sounds echoed throughout the arena, almost like a giant arcade system took over the sound system and starting playing over it, playing the main menu before you started the game. Finding her way to the top of the ramp was Salem herself, raising an arm into the air and shining bright under the lights that followed her.

She basked in the roaring cheers of the crowd, her fist finally lowering but only to bring her fingers to her mouth. Blowing several kisses to the crowd, she gains their support both because of her rather well received debut and the fact she was facing someone so villainous. Not only was she the favorite, but she was the crowd's hero! It was a role Salem was more than comfortable in, and even more so willing to embrace fully. Against someone malicious and evil like Spectre, it only made the prospect of such a dynamic even more appealing.

Finally heading down to the ramp, the overhead light followed Salem, her speed increasing until eventually she was full on sprinting to it! With a leap, she managed to deftly land on the apron as she had so many, many times before.

As the Shooting Star entered the ring, the pair of wrestlers shared the first good look the other got at each other. For Salem, it was a chance to genuinely understand what her game was, and also get a chance at redemption after her unsavory exit from her last league. This was a critical match, to prove that not only did she deserve to be at LAW, but that she could handle the more menacing group of wrestlers who weren't afraid of doing whatever it took to win.

"So you're 'Spectre'? Can't say I've heard pleasant things about you." Salem speaks first, her voice ringing out once the crowd finally dies down as does her theme.

[Monsy]

The shouting scratched her ears. Scrape of a nail. Her shoulder lifted, then rested back down, with Spectre exhaling to reset focus. She strode between two corners, rolling her shoulders, keeping an eye on the ramparts. Her cape was unfastened, thrown and hung on the post like you would a coat. It wasn’t that much longer then.

And the crowd was hungry as usual, divided between concern and fervour of someone new, but more importantly, for tonight, someone strong.

“Another one fed to the fire.”
“There goes her career.”

Were the voices of doubters. Nay-sayers, and those with cynical hearts towards rookies. Those new who dare show their face here, when eeeeveryone knew the fates of precious young upstarts.

“Lets go, Salem! Kick her butt!”
“Fold the bitch like laundry!”

Was on the other end. Front-rowers, those in the stands waving signs, the ones holding out their hands for high-fives and then feeling their brains flood with joy just to cross that border and touch the hands of greatness, future, present or past. LAW had it all.

Salem finally arrived on the apron. A good JUMP to make the crowds OOOooo in response.

When Salem got between the ropes, Spectre’s stare finally flicked on her, then stayed there as she paced in her corner. Strut, turn around, strut. She stopped when spoken to, with her shoulder pointed at the talking target.

The sentence ‘ Can’t say I’ve heard pleasant things about you ` bemused her slightly.

“Right.” She said sarcastically. Her hands combed back her shoulder-length red hair, pushing back all the bangs and breathing out calmly, eyes closed, then opened.

“Guess that makes you reason number eighteen, then, Punch-Meat.”