Post by Arcadia on Oct 7, 2011 2:02:48 GMT -4
The lights are dim behind the heavy black curtain that separates the stage from the back at the AsiaWorld Arena in Hong Kong, China. The curtain itself smells of sweat and perfume and must, a distasteful combination at best. The painted concrete floor is only slightly dingy and there are just three old chewing gum stains packed down into it with time and the tread of workers and stars alike. The “backstage” area has always held the distinction of being one of the only places that truly brought together people of all classes. The stars, that wait there to perform. The crew, that brings everything together without a hitch. The adoring masses, that are willing to do just about anything to gain the coveted “Backstage Pass”. The homeless, the more sympathetic venues would give the leftover food supplies to. Even the poor schmuck who scrapes the gum stains from the floor with his razor. The only two other places that had that kind of power of Great Equalization were the Public Bathroom, and the New Jersey Turnpike during rush-hour traffic. And it was for this reason that The Hardcora Luchadora wanted to be far, far from this spot.
Katrina Olivetti was no stranger to hardship. She grew up in the middle of guerrilla warfare territory, with parents who could have been at home in the States making tens of thousands of dollars a year hand over fist, but no. That lifestyle was not for them. They proffered to help those less fortunate by using their medical skills in the Peace Corps. They tried to instill their daughter with the same sense of humanitarianism that brought them such completion in their lives and, for a while, she seemed to take to it like a fish in water. They left a glaring hole in her life education, however. Whenever young Kat might ask exactly why some of the men attacked others, her parents simply responded, “Because they are bad men, Katrina. Bad men with bad attitudes that don’t understand what the people want or need.”
The girl Katrina bought it all. Who wouldn’t trust such wonderful, loving parents to tell the truth to their little angel? But, fortunately, that poor girl died almost a year ago. She broke her neck on a table full of thumbtacks. Now, standing here, Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti had begun to realize something. Her parents’ logic was flawed in a very real way. Because nothing could ever be that black and white. Those that thought that way were victim to the same flawed logic that lead Arcadia to believe for most of her life in the inherent goodness of others.
Now, she had a new philosophy. Katrina had just begun to realize that perhaps, her parents had it backwards this whole time. Perhaps she had had it backwards. Maybe the difference between the guerrillas who wielded guns and knives and fear and the poor wretches begging for help wielding tears and outstretched hands wasn’t that they were either good or bad people. Maybe the difference was that the guerrillas were willing to stand up for what they believed in, even if that belief was for themselves. Those “good people” were only looking for a handout in their otherwise hopeless existence. They wanted someone else to solve all of their problems. Never did they do anything for their own betterment. The guerrillas at least stood for something.
She could hear her entrance music blaring through the speakers, only slightly muffled by the thick cloth barrier between her and the audience. At the cue of When Worlds Collide, she parts the curtain and steps out onto the stage, into the blinding strobes. Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti makes her way down the entrance ramp. Many fans remember her and those who are closest reach out their hands in the hopes of a high five, but she ignores them. Her cold green eyes never waiver from the ropes as she grabs a microphone and walks into the center of the ring and the spotlight. Arcadia waits for the noise to die down, sneering at the crowd while they quiet.
Nailz: The crowd seems pretty excited to welcome back the Hardcora Luchadora from her year long absence.
Random Guest Announcer #17: If the look on her face is any indication, the feeling isn’t mutual.
Nailz: How can you tell with that mask on, anyway?
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti narrows her eyes and, after a pregnant pause, brings the microphone to her lips and speaks. “Look at you all. Eleven months and nothing’s changed but the location. You people are all the same, month after month, venue after venue. Sitting there, catcalling, cheering for you precious faces and booing your beloved heels, eating up every last spoonful like dutiful little children with the promise of dessert being waved in front of your greedy little faces. Like mindless sheep, obeying every command of “applause” that blinks on the teleprompter. ‘This is the bad guy, this is the good guy. Let us be the army of drones APW must want us to be.’ How quaint.”
The cheers die abruptly and are replaced with murmurs rushing through the stands as the APW faithful process this sudden attitude adjustment from the former baby face.
Nailz: I’m beginning to see that this isn’t going to be the warm welcome we expected at Arcadia’s return.
Random Guest Announcer #17: It sounds like eleven months made a lot of changes in Player One, and not just her hair –do.
Arcadia points at the audience in front of her and continues, “None of you have ever been on the other side of these ropes, and not one of you would last inside this ring with me for more than the point seven seconds it would take to see your meaningless lives flash before your eyes, filled with wasted breath and squandered opportunities, lost chances and regret, before breaking down in tears, begging me to let you go unscathed, and running back home to your mothers. None of you have ever stood for anything in your pathetic lives! Instead of taking some action, you come here and watch people like me live out your dreams, dreams you never had the balls to chase after.” She shrugs one shoulder up to her cropped blonde curls. “Or maybe you did, and discovered that you weren’t nearly good enough to make it. I don’t really care which. Just that this is what you are. This is all you ever were and ever will be and for the life of me, I can’t understand why I didn’t see it before. How could I have spent so many years pandering to you people, vying for your affection, for your cheers and your admiration, when this entire time, I’ve been exponentially better than each and every one of you?” The Hardcora Luchadora sweeps around in a small circle, holding her arms aloft as if this is the obvious conclusion and her audience cannot help but to understand their inferiority.
As the crowd boos her loudly, she stops and braces her legs apart, growling into the microphone, “I gave you--a bunch of mindless, pathetic wastrels—my blood, sweat and tears! And the reward I get in return? Booed for daring to go up against the biggest heel in the business on his home turf. Well, f**k you, then!”
Suddenly the crowd noise is deafening as all at once they begin to shout expletives back at Katrina with vehemence.
Nailz: She does realize this is live, right?
Random Guest Announcer #17: I don’t think she cares, Russ.
“I lived for you. I nearly died for you, twice! Not anymore.” Arcadia slashes her arm through the air. “You mean less than nothing to me. I am at a level that you couldn’t ever dream of attaining and I’m in doing this for me, now. So I will give you exactly what you all stand for. Nothing!”
She soaks in the fans’ jeers for a moment, holding her arms out and beckoning with her fingers, urging them to go further, to give her more. For the first time tonight, a small smile plays around the edges of her lips behind her ghost flame mask as she feeds off of their anger.
When she finally returns to the microphone, the sound booth crew has to turn up the feed to make Arcadia heard over the noise of the enraged crowd. “Go ahead, boo me! Your cheers did nothing to make me better and your rejection will matter less than that. Finally, I am here for me and me alone. I don’t need you to get to the top. No one needs you. You’re all cardboard cutouts, just with the added accessory of a mouthpiece. You turned your backs on me first! I’m just not stupid enough to forgive or forget what you have done. So please, show your true colors for once, and stop pretending to give a damn. It’s sad and unrequited. Your convictions are lacking and false, put in your heads to spew out of your mouths by anyone other than yourselves and you all appear to be just fine with that. Look at you right now, cursing me because the only thing you bothered to hear out of my mouth was a little F-bomb, completely disregarding the fact that what I’m saying makes sense, has conviction and holds water. I AM better than you. And you will all make my argument for me when, in two more weeks, you will tune in yet again to APW Asylum and watch me beat yet another opponent while cursing your existence. Because you are all just so predictable. And because for all of you, this is the closest you will ever become to being a part of this thing that you love. Me, talking to you like this, and you getting a chance to respond to me with boos is the closest you will ever come to standing for something. You poor, poor, lemmings.”
The crowd is absolutely buzzing with anger, and Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti sits down Indian-style in the center of the ring with the microphone by her side, giving them a few minutes to yell back and forth.
Nailz: This is going to end in a riot if she keeps it up!
Random Guest Announcer #17: You can’t deny that she brings the passion out in the fans.
After the crowd starts to quiet just a little, Katrina grabs the mic again and asks, “Are you done yet?” Accomplishing nothing but to further provoke the crowd into another round of boos.
“That’s alright, because I’m done with you. And on Sunday night, after I beat Matt Ward, both you and he will understand exactly how serious I am about this. And don’t worry, after I take him around the squared circle a few times, I’ll be just as considerate to his feelings, as well. I’ll give him enough time to get it out of his system once I’ve pinned him for the three count. Hell, I’ll even help him clean up the blood if I need to. Offer him a hankie and all that jazz.”
The Hardcora Luchadora stands and brushes off her pants, shaking out her curls. “I appreciate that you’ve all proven my point by sitting there and eating this up, but I’ve got no more patience for this or you. I hope you’ve all enjoyed your little temper tantrum. I’ve got better things to do that deal with your fraying emotions and grubby hands begging for a small slice of pie that you haven’t earned. Tonight was your night to learn. Sunday will be Wards’. Screw the lives, screw the tokens, screw all those silly little catchphrases I used to spout every week. I’m DONE playing games.”
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti drops the microphone onto the canvas, sending screeching feedback throughout the arena, effectively ending the conversation as she exits the arena.
Nailz: That’s one way to get the last word.
Katrina Olivetti was no stranger to hardship. She grew up in the middle of guerrilla warfare territory, with parents who could have been at home in the States making tens of thousands of dollars a year hand over fist, but no. That lifestyle was not for them. They proffered to help those less fortunate by using their medical skills in the Peace Corps. They tried to instill their daughter with the same sense of humanitarianism that brought them such completion in their lives and, for a while, she seemed to take to it like a fish in water. They left a glaring hole in her life education, however. Whenever young Kat might ask exactly why some of the men attacked others, her parents simply responded, “Because they are bad men, Katrina. Bad men with bad attitudes that don’t understand what the people want or need.”
The girl Katrina bought it all. Who wouldn’t trust such wonderful, loving parents to tell the truth to their little angel? But, fortunately, that poor girl died almost a year ago. She broke her neck on a table full of thumbtacks. Now, standing here, Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti had begun to realize something. Her parents’ logic was flawed in a very real way. Because nothing could ever be that black and white. Those that thought that way were victim to the same flawed logic that lead Arcadia to believe for most of her life in the inherent goodness of others.
Now, she had a new philosophy. Katrina had just begun to realize that perhaps, her parents had it backwards this whole time. Perhaps she had had it backwards. Maybe the difference between the guerrillas who wielded guns and knives and fear and the poor wretches begging for help wielding tears and outstretched hands wasn’t that they were either good or bad people. Maybe the difference was that the guerrillas were willing to stand up for what they believed in, even if that belief was for themselves. Those “good people” were only looking for a handout in their otherwise hopeless existence. They wanted someone else to solve all of their problems. Never did they do anything for their own betterment. The guerrillas at least stood for something.
She could hear her entrance music blaring through the speakers, only slightly muffled by the thick cloth barrier between her and the audience. At the cue of When Worlds Collide, she parts the curtain and steps out onto the stage, into the blinding strobes. Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti makes her way down the entrance ramp. Many fans remember her and those who are closest reach out their hands in the hopes of a high five, but she ignores them. Her cold green eyes never waiver from the ropes as she grabs a microphone and walks into the center of the ring and the spotlight. Arcadia waits for the noise to die down, sneering at the crowd while they quiet.
Nailz: The crowd seems pretty excited to welcome back the Hardcora Luchadora from her year long absence.
Random Guest Announcer #17: If the look on her face is any indication, the feeling isn’t mutual.
Nailz: How can you tell with that mask on, anyway?
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti narrows her eyes and, after a pregnant pause, brings the microphone to her lips and speaks. “Look at you all. Eleven months and nothing’s changed but the location. You people are all the same, month after month, venue after venue. Sitting there, catcalling, cheering for you precious faces and booing your beloved heels, eating up every last spoonful like dutiful little children with the promise of dessert being waved in front of your greedy little faces. Like mindless sheep, obeying every command of “applause” that blinks on the teleprompter. ‘This is the bad guy, this is the good guy. Let us be the army of drones APW must want us to be.’ How quaint.”
The cheers die abruptly and are replaced with murmurs rushing through the stands as the APW faithful process this sudden attitude adjustment from the former baby face.
Nailz: I’m beginning to see that this isn’t going to be the warm welcome we expected at Arcadia’s return.
Random Guest Announcer #17: It sounds like eleven months made a lot of changes in Player One, and not just her hair –do.
Arcadia points at the audience in front of her and continues, “None of you have ever been on the other side of these ropes, and not one of you would last inside this ring with me for more than the point seven seconds it would take to see your meaningless lives flash before your eyes, filled with wasted breath and squandered opportunities, lost chances and regret, before breaking down in tears, begging me to let you go unscathed, and running back home to your mothers. None of you have ever stood for anything in your pathetic lives! Instead of taking some action, you come here and watch people like me live out your dreams, dreams you never had the balls to chase after.” She shrugs one shoulder up to her cropped blonde curls. “Or maybe you did, and discovered that you weren’t nearly good enough to make it. I don’t really care which. Just that this is what you are. This is all you ever were and ever will be and for the life of me, I can’t understand why I didn’t see it before. How could I have spent so many years pandering to you people, vying for your affection, for your cheers and your admiration, when this entire time, I’ve been exponentially better than each and every one of you?” The Hardcora Luchadora sweeps around in a small circle, holding her arms aloft as if this is the obvious conclusion and her audience cannot help but to understand their inferiority.
As the crowd boos her loudly, she stops and braces her legs apart, growling into the microphone, “I gave you--a bunch of mindless, pathetic wastrels—my blood, sweat and tears! And the reward I get in return? Booed for daring to go up against the biggest heel in the business on his home turf. Well, f**k you, then!”
Suddenly the crowd noise is deafening as all at once they begin to shout expletives back at Katrina with vehemence.
Nailz: She does realize this is live, right?
Random Guest Announcer #17: I don’t think she cares, Russ.
“I lived for you. I nearly died for you, twice! Not anymore.” Arcadia slashes her arm through the air. “You mean less than nothing to me. I am at a level that you couldn’t ever dream of attaining and I’m in doing this for me, now. So I will give you exactly what you all stand for. Nothing!”
She soaks in the fans’ jeers for a moment, holding her arms out and beckoning with her fingers, urging them to go further, to give her more. For the first time tonight, a small smile plays around the edges of her lips behind her ghost flame mask as she feeds off of their anger.
When she finally returns to the microphone, the sound booth crew has to turn up the feed to make Arcadia heard over the noise of the enraged crowd. “Go ahead, boo me! Your cheers did nothing to make me better and your rejection will matter less than that. Finally, I am here for me and me alone. I don’t need you to get to the top. No one needs you. You’re all cardboard cutouts, just with the added accessory of a mouthpiece. You turned your backs on me first! I’m just not stupid enough to forgive or forget what you have done. So please, show your true colors for once, and stop pretending to give a damn. It’s sad and unrequited. Your convictions are lacking and false, put in your heads to spew out of your mouths by anyone other than yourselves and you all appear to be just fine with that. Look at you right now, cursing me because the only thing you bothered to hear out of my mouth was a little F-bomb, completely disregarding the fact that what I’m saying makes sense, has conviction and holds water. I AM better than you. And you will all make my argument for me when, in two more weeks, you will tune in yet again to APW Asylum and watch me beat yet another opponent while cursing your existence. Because you are all just so predictable. And because for all of you, this is the closest you will ever become to being a part of this thing that you love. Me, talking to you like this, and you getting a chance to respond to me with boos is the closest you will ever come to standing for something. You poor, poor, lemmings.”
The crowd is absolutely buzzing with anger, and Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti sits down Indian-style in the center of the ring with the microphone by her side, giving them a few minutes to yell back and forth.
Nailz: This is going to end in a riot if she keeps it up!
Random Guest Announcer #17: You can’t deny that she brings the passion out in the fans.
After the crowd starts to quiet just a little, Katrina grabs the mic again and asks, “Are you done yet?” Accomplishing nothing but to further provoke the crowd into another round of boos.
“That’s alright, because I’m done with you. And on Sunday night, after I beat Matt Ward, both you and he will understand exactly how serious I am about this. And don’t worry, after I take him around the squared circle a few times, I’ll be just as considerate to his feelings, as well. I’ll give him enough time to get it out of his system once I’ve pinned him for the three count. Hell, I’ll even help him clean up the blood if I need to. Offer him a hankie and all that jazz.”
The Hardcora Luchadora stands and brushes off her pants, shaking out her curls. “I appreciate that you’ve all proven my point by sitting there and eating this up, but I’ve got no more patience for this or you. I hope you’ve all enjoyed your little temper tantrum. I’ve got better things to do that deal with your fraying emotions and grubby hands begging for a small slice of pie that you haven’t earned. Tonight was your night to learn. Sunday will be Wards’. Screw the lives, screw the tokens, screw all those silly little catchphrases I used to spout every week. I’m DONE playing games.”
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti drops the microphone onto the canvas, sending screeching feedback throughout the arena, effectively ending the conversation as she exits the arena.
Nailz: That’s one way to get the last word.
