It was enjoyable, working that girl over in the ring. At least, that's what the audience would take away from what they'd witnessed in the ring moments ago. A girl, pretty and perky, dressed to kill, suddenly finding herself in the ring with a veritable goddess. Thrashed around the ring, made to suffer before inevitably being spiked to the mat and pinned in provocative fashion. The magazines would have a special section plastered with a few shots of that entanglement; something Nefretiri would get to enjoy later.
Of course, she's very aware that she left the girl in perfectly fine condition. She's maybe a little roughed up, but nothing worse than a little light training. A jostling. It was really a testament to her acting chops, and Nefretiri's ability to pull back - not something she ever expected to do in the ring, but... if ever there was going to be a time to do it, that felt like the right time. Dare she think it, Beatrix seemed... sweet. Cute and sweet. Very unlike the getup she was wearing would suggest.
Ah, well.. it'll be a fascinating memory to keep. It's unlikely the bookers will put them together again after that showing. But a part of her hopes Beatrix does find some success in the ring. She doesn't often entertain warm or fuzzy thoughts about the competition, but maybe the blonde wiggled her way into her heart. Maybe a little. Earned a soft spot by being so bizarrely agreeable and deferential. She had a hand of cards, and she played them right.
A hard clearing of a throat behind her yanks her out of her reflection. Odion, grand in stature and severe as ever, had been waiting for her to open the door and noticed she'd wandered off into her thoughts. She quickly shoots a look over her shoulder. "Yes, yes. Don't rush perfection," she chides. And with that, she grabs the handle and pops open the door leading into...
...well, it's less like a locker room and more like a lounge. In no small part due to the sheer opulence being thrown at the company for preferential treatment, the room Nefretiri has been given to retire to for the evening is carpeted and decorated, complete with a wall-monitor tuned in to the ring feed. Her mousy attendant is already standing by, wearing her 'garb' as appropriate the gimmick - shendyt and bandeau, with a few baubles. Most importantly, however, is the plate of grapes.
The moment the door is open, she squeaks. "I saw everything! That was a stunning victory! The little runt didn't stand a chance!"
Nefretiri breezes past her, pivoting on heel to let herself languidly descend in a flop onto a plush couch, managing somehow to still retain elegance in the process. The larger man takes position behind the backrest.
Catching herself partway down, Nefretiri's arms fold behind her head and against the middle cushion, gaze focusing on the attendant. "Were there any doubts?," she asks. Her legs stretch out along the armrest, toes flexing before relaxing again. "..My slippers disappeared."
"O-oh, I'll find them at once--"
"No, someone must have taken them for safekeeping. You have a more important job to see to."
"..I do?"
Nefretiri's smile edges in impish haughtiness. "Grapes, Aneksi."
Startling, the girl hurries behind the couch and angles the plate closer to her. Nefretiri sinks fully back onto the couch at this point and plucks one of the fruit-morsels from the bunch, inspecting it between her fingers.
"...she wasn't really a runt," she mentions. "Smaller, yes. But not by much. Not as strong as me, no. But a runt...?" She breathes a soft sigh, thoughtful. It doesn't feel good insulting Beatrix, even though she knows fully well that's what the norm would be here; gloating. Reveling in victory. She pops the grape into her mouth and crunches on it, the burst of tart sweetness instantly refreshing.
Another grape is plucked, and she shifts her gaze aside enough to catch Aneksi eyeing her curiously.
"If she asked for my mark, I wouldn't deny her," Nefretiri offers by way of explaining herself. "She has- merits." The focus returns to the small, spherical fruit between her fingers, but her mind is distant; focused on the match. Squeezing Beatrix, holding her by the hair, pinning her, feeling her pinning her down, that finish...
A wistful sigh escapes her.
"I didn't get to use my magic on her. And I'll probably never run into her again anyway."
