Post by Arcadia on Nov 3, 2010 5:31:19 GMT -4
It's two o'clock in the morning at the newly reopened Insane Wrestling Championship building in Lake Grove, New York. The construction crew and the moving team had ceased their incessant banging hours ago. The Blackwell Academy students who tended to linger after hours--for extra training or time in the weight room or even a chance to get a glimpse of their favorite wrestling talents--had long since left. Even the quiet cleaning crew was gone for the night, having finally hung up their mops and locked the doors behind them almost an hour ago. The building was silent, except for the occasional shudder of the chilly, October wind hitting the steel siding, and the moving shadows on the walls are caused not by a person, but by the yellow lights fixed atop the Arrow Security vehicle that patrols the neighboring mall as the guard does his rounds.
In the dead of night, as the arena sleeps, the thick, steel, fire door leading from the Blackwell Academy to the basement store room opens. Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti slips her head and one shoulder through the opening and glances around, checking to make sure she is truly alone, though she knows that the tread of booted feet above her had stopped much earlier. She swings the door wide and fairly skips into the room in full wrestling gear, dropping her gym bag on the floor by the practice ring. She sits down on the dingy, red mats and starts digging through her duffel, pulling out a bottle of water and a pair of black, fingerless, workout gloves with large silver X's on the backs, which perfectly match her one permanent accessory; her lucha mask. Arcadia stands and stretches, tossing her long, platinum braid over her shoulder as she raises her arms above her head and twists sharply to each side, her spine cracking up its length in a series of small pops. Planting her feet shoulders' width apart, she slowly lowers her hands to the ground, palms flush against the floor, and starts to edge her feet outward, stretching her leg muscles in preparation for the workout she is about to put herself through. Katrina's lips turn up in satisfaction as her inner thighs kiss the mats, pleased to realize that the recent upset in her workout schedule, due to the construction, hasn't effected her flexibility. She is going to need it.
It has been over a year since Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti has been on an active roster. Nineteen months and five days have passed since the collapse of Insane Wrestling Championships around former owner, Steve Beckett's greasy head. Not since Hardcore Homecoming has Arcadia faced an opponent in the ring. Some would assume that this will be her downfall. Having been out of the industry for so long can only trip you up. Slow you down. Make you soft. “Easy prey, really”, they would say behind her back. Still, others would say that this will be her greatest advantage. Being able to nurse old wounds back to health as if they had never even happened, without risk of re-injuring herself from week to week in her next match. Being in prime physical condition. Being fresh-faced and well rested, and ready to ride the wave of welcome into the perfect comeback. They would, one and all, be correct in their assumptions, but, for all that, their reasoning was flawed to the core.
Kat, having completed her stretches, eyes the practice ring ahead of her with her electric green gaze and sets her chin. As fast as lightning, the Hardcora Luchadora rotates her hips and brings her legs sweeping around from her sides, to straight out behind her torso, to tucked underneath her body, ready to spring. She takes her mark and launches herself at the ring, hand springing off of the apron with a twist and corkscrewing through the air, sailing over the ropes. An arm shoots out of the tiny cyclone and grasps the top rope with an “X” marked fist. She performs the flashy move fluidly, her fist becoming her vertex and she lands on her feet in the ring, facing the door to her basement apartment. Not one to lose momentum, Arcadia quickly seizes the top rope with her other fist and begins to grapevine her way across the ring ropes at a rapid pace. She pistons her legs up and down between the first and second ropes, alternating her forward foot with every other step. The red cables quiver and vibrate at Katrina's velocity but that doesn't stop her. She reaches the turnbuckle at a fair speed and instead of turning back, she grabs the post and swings herself through the middle and top rope with a Tiger Feint Kick that brings her out onto the apron. She grabs the fraying top rope once more and grapevines her way back across the ring, on the outside, in the same fashion; one, two, up, cross and down.
Yes, for all the locker room whispering, it had been a long time since she had been in front of her fans, taking a move from an adversary while being recorded and broadcast across the World Wide Web. But it wasn't softness or loss of focus or training that was making her veins thrum in nervous anticipation. It wasn't the knowledge that that first hit one of her opponents lands was going to be like a shock straight through her system, or that the brunt of the second and third were likely to be just as surprising to her before adrenaline fully sets in to make her mindless of the pain. It was the idea that she might disappoint her fans. She had disappeared from public view for a long while. Nineteen months might as well be five years in wrestling time, especially on the Indy scene. Careers are made and broken here in less time than that. And the IWC faithful have always been the most diehard, loyal, shout-'til-the-rafters-shake, screw-mainstream-this-is-the-real-deal fans of any Indy fed Katrina has laid eyes on. And she lives for it. She gave them blood, sweat, tears, bruised ribs, broken bones, and lacerated muscles just to make them shout her name the loudest of any. And she would gladly do it again...if they would have her back. That is what worries her. Along with the diehard loyalty of the Indy scene fans came the scathing ostracization of any and all who turn their backs on the Fed. The fans never forget and certainly never forgive the indiscretion of any wrestler who leaves without their approval. Chants of “You Sold Out” and mounds of high velocity garbage get tossed at wrestlers when fans get wind of a career change in the midst. So the real questions on her mind are, “Do they want Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti to return? Will they accept you back into the fold? Are you yesterday's news?”
The Hardcora Luchadora's eyes narrow with steely resolve. Her jaw sets with an audible click of her teeth as she grips the ring ropes tighter. She vaults over the ropes and runs at the far corner, twisting her body a fraction of a second before she goes mask first into the turnbuckle and runs up them instead, agilely sailing off the top turnbuckle and back into the ring with a graceful tuck of an arm and a twist of her hip. Arcadia can practically here the nonexistent commentator screaming to compete with the crowd, “Ego-Crusher! Ego-Crusher!”, as she lands perfectly on the ring canvas. She will not be yesterday's news. She is coming back stronger, faster, and smarter than ever, and she will earn the respect of every last one of her opponents. She will have the adoration of the fans. She will prove to each and every person in this building that she does not need a posse of allies to protect her, or a stable to make her stand out. She does not need a rag-tag group of trainers to hone her skills, or a mouth piece to make her sound good. She does not need a dark past to make her seem more intimidating, or Pagan powers to give her more intrigue. And while others may have forgotten the name Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti, she has never once forgotten who she is, where she comes from, or what she has been through.
It is she who has the upper hand and the greatest advantage in her upcoming match, and not because she is injury free, though that may be true. It is because Katrina Olivetti understands who she can rely on: herself. She knows exactly what instructions to follow: her instincts. She will not be looking towards multiple trainers and hoping for non-conflicting advice. She certainly won't be relying on faith to bring her through the match, but instead on hard work and man hours. And while everyone believes that Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti has disappeared from the wrestling world, she and Trevor Blackwell know the truth. The Hardcora Luchadora has been living in the basement of the Blackwell Academy for the past two years and every night, while the building sleeps, she takes her Master Key set up the the Academy and trains. She weight trains and practices her signature moves. She goes through ring awareness exercises and shoots promos to herself in the mirror. Every night for nineteen months and five days, she has been polishing herself to a brilliant shine. There will be no rust or tarnish on her, and she will come out to the ring for her Triple Threat debut match as a force to be reckoned with.
Arcadia bounces like a pinball across the tired, red-and-black practice ring in the Blackwell Academy with a fluidity and grace that only comes with years of muscle memory training; each action reflexive, without thought, and almost involuntary. Her signature wrestling moves can be seen tossed into the middle of every other motion she makes, as if an imaginary match is unfolding in her head, like the choreography to a complex and dangerous dance. Her flashing green eyes are focused solely on her invisible target as she performs the steps of the routine she appears to know like the back of her hand, though it changes nightly. The Hardcora Luchadora climbs to the uppermost turnbuckle and walks the top rope to the center of the cable. She takes in a lungful of air, breathing in deeply the scent of sawdust and fresh paint, anticipation and excitement building with every notch higher her adrenaline pumps. She can she her opponents, Amber Stevens and Trinity Evans, in her mind's eye before she closes her lids and superbly executes a 630 degree Shooting Star Press to the echoes of her invisible fans chanting, “STAR POWER! STAR POWER!”. Arcadia lands on the mat in the center of the ring, without moving for a drawn out moment. When she opens her eyes and peers through the eyeholes of her lucha mask, she is smiling. Oh, yes. She is ready. And her opponents in this week's Triple Threat had better be careful. Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti was about to introduce the to the Only Player in the Game.
In the dead of night, as the arena sleeps, the thick, steel, fire door leading from the Blackwell Academy to the basement store room opens. Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti slips her head and one shoulder through the opening and glances around, checking to make sure she is truly alone, though she knows that the tread of booted feet above her had stopped much earlier. She swings the door wide and fairly skips into the room in full wrestling gear, dropping her gym bag on the floor by the practice ring. She sits down on the dingy, red mats and starts digging through her duffel, pulling out a bottle of water and a pair of black, fingerless, workout gloves with large silver X's on the backs, which perfectly match her one permanent accessory; her lucha mask. Arcadia stands and stretches, tossing her long, platinum braid over her shoulder as she raises her arms above her head and twists sharply to each side, her spine cracking up its length in a series of small pops. Planting her feet shoulders' width apart, she slowly lowers her hands to the ground, palms flush against the floor, and starts to edge her feet outward, stretching her leg muscles in preparation for the workout she is about to put herself through. Katrina's lips turn up in satisfaction as her inner thighs kiss the mats, pleased to realize that the recent upset in her workout schedule, due to the construction, hasn't effected her flexibility. She is going to need it.
It has been over a year since Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti has been on an active roster. Nineteen months and five days have passed since the collapse of Insane Wrestling Championships around former owner, Steve Beckett's greasy head. Not since Hardcore Homecoming has Arcadia faced an opponent in the ring. Some would assume that this will be her downfall. Having been out of the industry for so long can only trip you up. Slow you down. Make you soft. “Easy prey, really”, they would say behind her back. Still, others would say that this will be her greatest advantage. Being able to nurse old wounds back to health as if they had never even happened, without risk of re-injuring herself from week to week in her next match. Being in prime physical condition. Being fresh-faced and well rested, and ready to ride the wave of welcome into the perfect comeback. They would, one and all, be correct in their assumptions, but, for all that, their reasoning was flawed to the core.
Kat, having completed her stretches, eyes the practice ring ahead of her with her electric green gaze and sets her chin. As fast as lightning, the Hardcora Luchadora rotates her hips and brings her legs sweeping around from her sides, to straight out behind her torso, to tucked underneath her body, ready to spring. She takes her mark and launches herself at the ring, hand springing off of the apron with a twist and corkscrewing through the air, sailing over the ropes. An arm shoots out of the tiny cyclone and grasps the top rope with an “X” marked fist. She performs the flashy move fluidly, her fist becoming her vertex and she lands on her feet in the ring, facing the door to her basement apartment. Not one to lose momentum, Arcadia quickly seizes the top rope with her other fist and begins to grapevine her way across the ring ropes at a rapid pace. She pistons her legs up and down between the first and second ropes, alternating her forward foot with every other step. The red cables quiver and vibrate at Katrina's velocity but that doesn't stop her. She reaches the turnbuckle at a fair speed and instead of turning back, she grabs the post and swings herself through the middle and top rope with a Tiger Feint Kick that brings her out onto the apron. She grabs the fraying top rope once more and grapevines her way back across the ring, on the outside, in the same fashion; one, two, up, cross and down.
Yes, for all the locker room whispering, it had been a long time since she had been in front of her fans, taking a move from an adversary while being recorded and broadcast across the World Wide Web. But it wasn't softness or loss of focus or training that was making her veins thrum in nervous anticipation. It wasn't the knowledge that that first hit one of her opponents lands was going to be like a shock straight through her system, or that the brunt of the second and third were likely to be just as surprising to her before adrenaline fully sets in to make her mindless of the pain. It was the idea that she might disappoint her fans. She had disappeared from public view for a long while. Nineteen months might as well be five years in wrestling time, especially on the Indy scene. Careers are made and broken here in less time than that. And the IWC faithful have always been the most diehard, loyal, shout-'til-the-rafters-shake, screw-mainstream-this-is-the-real-deal fans of any Indy fed Katrina has laid eyes on. And she lives for it. She gave them blood, sweat, tears, bruised ribs, broken bones, and lacerated muscles just to make them shout her name the loudest of any. And she would gladly do it again...if they would have her back. That is what worries her. Along with the diehard loyalty of the Indy scene fans came the scathing ostracization of any and all who turn their backs on the Fed. The fans never forget and certainly never forgive the indiscretion of any wrestler who leaves without their approval. Chants of “You Sold Out” and mounds of high velocity garbage get tossed at wrestlers when fans get wind of a career change in the midst. So the real questions on her mind are, “Do they want Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti to return? Will they accept you back into the fold? Are you yesterday's news?”
The Hardcora Luchadora's eyes narrow with steely resolve. Her jaw sets with an audible click of her teeth as she grips the ring ropes tighter. She vaults over the ropes and runs at the far corner, twisting her body a fraction of a second before she goes mask first into the turnbuckle and runs up them instead, agilely sailing off the top turnbuckle and back into the ring with a graceful tuck of an arm and a twist of her hip. Arcadia can practically here the nonexistent commentator screaming to compete with the crowd, “Ego-Crusher! Ego-Crusher!”, as she lands perfectly on the ring canvas. She will not be yesterday's news. She is coming back stronger, faster, and smarter than ever, and she will earn the respect of every last one of her opponents. She will have the adoration of the fans. She will prove to each and every person in this building that she does not need a posse of allies to protect her, or a stable to make her stand out. She does not need a rag-tag group of trainers to hone her skills, or a mouth piece to make her sound good. She does not need a dark past to make her seem more intimidating, or Pagan powers to give her more intrigue. And while others may have forgotten the name Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti, she has never once forgotten who she is, where she comes from, or what she has been through.
It is she who has the upper hand and the greatest advantage in her upcoming match, and not because she is injury free, though that may be true. It is because Katrina Olivetti understands who she can rely on: herself. She knows exactly what instructions to follow: her instincts. She will not be looking towards multiple trainers and hoping for non-conflicting advice. She certainly won't be relying on faith to bring her through the match, but instead on hard work and man hours. And while everyone believes that Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti has disappeared from the wrestling world, she and Trevor Blackwell know the truth. The Hardcora Luchadora has been living in the basement of the Blackwell Academy for the past two years and every night, while the building sleeps, she takes her Master Key set up the the Academy and trains. She weight trains and practices her signature moves. She goes through ring awareness exercises and shoots promos to herself in the mirror. Every night for nineteen months and five days, she has been polishing herself to a brilliant shine. There will be no rust or tarnish on her, and she will come out to the ring for her Triple Threat debut match as a force to be reckoned with.
Arcadia bounces like a pinball across the tired, red-and-black practice ring in the Blackwell Academy with a fluidity and grace that only comes with years of muscle memory training; each action reflexive, without thought, and almost involuntary. Her signature wrestling moves can be seen tossed into the middle of every other motion she makes, as if an imaginary match is unfolding in her head, like the choreography to a complex and dangerous dance. Her flashing green eyes are focused solely on her invisible target as she performs the steps of the routine she appears to know like the back of her hand, though it changes nightly. The Hardcora Luchadora climbs to the uppermost turnbuckle and walks the top rope to the center of the cable. She takes in a lungful of air, breathing in deeply the scent of sawdust and fresh paint, anticipation and excitement building with every notch higher her adrenaline pumps. She can she her opponents, Amber Stevens and Trinity Evans, in her mind's eye before she closes her lids and superbly executes a 630 degree Shooting Star Press to the echoes of her invisible fans chanting, “STAR POWER! STAR POWER!”. Arcadia lands on the mat in the center of the ring, without moving for a drawn out moment. When she opens her eyes and peers through the eyeholes of her lucha mask, she is smiling. Oh, yes. She is ready. And her opponents in this week's Triple Threat had better be careful. Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti was about to introduce the to the Only Player in the Game.
