The ring ropes are replaced with red silk Shibari ropes. The turnbuckles are decorated with moon lanterns. There are no pinfalls. To win, a competitor must "Bind the Sacrifice." She must tie her opponent’s hands or feet to the ring ropes or turnbuckles using the provided silk cords until she cannot free herself for a ten-count.
Flick Sterling stared into the makeup mirror, squinting as she lived up to her name and flicked a bit of something unrecognizable out of her teeth with a polished fingernail.
"Right, Cleophee," she muttered to her reflection, her accent thick and jagged, chewing on the syllables. She had heard this lady was hot shit. Hot shit, but emphasis on the hot, not on the shit. She hadn't gone down for three yet, based on Flick's bit of research and the rumors she had heard. Flick grinned, a mischievous expression that didn't match the ethereal elegance of her attire as she looked over to open space where ol' Cleo could have been standing and pretended as if she were already talking smack to her. "Good job we ain't countin' to three then. You gotta play strings with me, girlie."
She stepped back to admire the full effect. The outfit was ridiculous, and she loved it. It was a high-concept piece of madness: a form-fitting set of strips that almost formed a leotard. The pieces squeezed her chest just right, fading into a fancy white hemline that fluttered around her hips like clouds. Gold bangles clasped her arms. Her hair, dyed an impossible electric blue as always, was tied up in twin tails using more gold jewelry, and her ribbons lay perfectly twined down her calves and over her feet.
"Yeeeeah, look at you," she whispered, turning to the side and popping a hip. "Fit."
A stagehand poked his head in, unaffected by the modeling show. "Ms. Sterling? You're up."
"Yeah, yeah, keep your wig on." Flick bounced on the balls of her feet, shaking out the jitters, and shimmied her way out of the dressing room. She wriggled through the crowded gorilla position, her bouncing twintails slapping people in the face as she passed. She spotted one of the headset-wearing producers, a stiff-looking bloke with a clipboard, and immediately invaded her personal space, leaning in until her nose was an inch from the other woman's ear. Bothering people helped her shake out what few nerves she carried into her matches.
"Oi, eyes front, yeah?" she chirped, winking aggressively. "You'd hate to miss out on the sexy bits."
Before she could stammer a reply, Flick was gone, scurrying not through the curtain, but up a maintenance ladder to the lighting rig.
Her music hit - the subtle opening of Lacrimosa washing over the arena. The crowd hushed, expecting grace. Then, the record scratch tore through the silence, and the dirty, distorted grime beat dropped, rattling the speakers.
High above the stage, a spotlight snapped on. Flick stood on the catwalk, silhouetted against the lights like a demented angel. She grabbed a rappel rope, wrapped it once around her leg, and jumped. She spiraled down through the air, ribbons and rabric and hair whipping around her like a tornado. She stuck the landing on the ramp with a heavy thud that transitioned instantly into a liquid roll. She pushed off the floor with her hands, bending her spine backward into a terrifyingly flexible chest-stand, her feet dangling over her own head as she blew an upside-down kiss to the front row.
"Hello, lovelies!"
She scrambled into the ring, which had been transformed. Gone were the standard steel cables; in their place, thick, red silk shibari ropes hung slack and inviting. Flick’s eyes lit up. She threw herself at the ropes, twisting her body through the gaps like a cat navigating a fence. In seconds, she had tangled herself intentionally, hanging suspended by her waist and ankles in the red silk, arching her back to display her flexible frame to the hard cam. She knew exactly how she looked - trapped, helpless, and incredibly sexy - and she soaked up the cheers, flashing a bratty grin.
Then, with a simple shrug and a contortion of her hips, she slipped free of the "trap" as if she were made of water, landing lightly on her feet. She threw her hands up, basking in the applause.
"Easy peasy!" she shouted at the camera, tapping her temple. "Send her out then! The spider's hungry, yeah?"
Spoiler
