Victory Conditions: Submission, knockout, count out, or disqualification.
Rina’s phone was wedged between her shoulder and cheek as she tightened the laces on her boots, sitting cross-legged on the locker room bench. Her ring gear shimmered faintly under the flickering fluorescent lights, freshly cleaned, like she was trying to convince herself she belonged in it. Funny how much she suddenly cared about looking the part. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d given this much of a damn.
"I’m busy tonight," she said flatly, eyes flicking to the mirror as she smoothed a stray strand of hair back into place.
The voice on the other end gave a laugh somewhere between a snort and a scoff. "Busy? You mean hiding again?"
Rina rolled her eyes so hard it nearly hurt. "I’m not hiding, I’m doing personal shit."
"Personal shit? What personal shit? You don’t do anything on your own, runt. Wait a sec… is this tampon stuff? You get one lodged or something?"
"What?! Ew, fucking gross, Brick!" she barked, fumbling with her knee pad. "What even the fuck are you talking about?"
"Personal shit," he repeated, deadpan. "Like you said, idiot."
"Do the world a favor and die," she shot back.
"Can’t. Too hot to die."
That earned him a reluctant grin. Rina stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders until the tension cracked. "You’d be the first one dead in a slasher flick, you know that? You’d go outside to piss on a wall and get your head chopped clean off."
"Oh, so that makes you the virgin who lives?"
"Fuck you," she hissed, jamming the last strap of her pad into place. "Gotta go do my stuff now, buh-bye."
"Yo, seriously, Rina-"
Beep
She hung up mid-sentence and let out a small, satisfied snort. Tossing her phone into her gym bag, she caught her reflection again, a half-smirk, sharp eyes, nerves hidden under a layer of fake confidence.
"He’s so damn dumb sometimes," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. But deep down, she knew Callum’s timing was almost perfect. It was easier to argue with him than to think too long about what she was about to do.
She stood there quietly, taking a deep breath, absorbing the moment. She hadn’t told any of them, not Callum, not Zui, none of the gang knew that she’d managed to get booked tonight. They didn’t ever watch the program on their own, would never bother, so she ws pretty sure she ws in the clear. If tonight went poorly, they’d be none the wiser, and if she kicked ass, she’d have a cool video to show them. So for now, it was her secret.
Until she knew if she deserved to brag about it.
Her fingers traced along her wrist of her gloves before tightening the last bit. "Alright, Little Fang… let's make some noise and wreck some bitches," she murmured, straightening up as the backstage runner called her name.
The lights dimmed. The music hit.
Tonight, it was her turn.
---------------
TRiDENT - KICKASS
"Yeah, that’s right!" she shouted over the music, pointing out into the sea of faces with a grin that was way too confident for someone still climbing the ranks. She strutted down the ramp, hips swaying, slapping a few outstretched hands like a rockstar soaking in her spotlight. Every step was exaggerated, every smirk deliberate. Rina was playing the part of a star, and tonight, she was determined to make everyone believe it, even if nobody had a clue who she was.
At ringside, she climbed up onto the apron, pausing to flash a wink toward the nearest camera. Then she leaned forward against the top rope, mouthing something cocky the microphone couldn’t quite catch before flipping her hair back and slipping into the ring.
She strutted across the mat like she owned it, boots echoing with each step. Then, on the far side, she stopped and leaned lazily against the ropes, arms folded under her chest, a smug grin plastered on her face.
