Post by Arcadia on Oct 22, 2011 0:22:25 GMT -4
Party City was crowded, even with still two weeks to go until Halloween. Children ran screaming up and down the aisles. Parents tried to calmly reason with them as they found out that the one costume they wanted was either sold out or far too sexy for their prepubescent children to don and knock on strangers’ doors, while the kids responded by having total meltdowns and proclaiming that if they had to be a giant pumpkin again, their lives would just be over! Wigs and costume accessories were scattered across the floor, and the poor employees were busy trying to fill costume orders for well over Party City’s maximum capacity of customers.
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti wanders the aisles, trying to block out the sounds of whining kids as she browses the selection. Unfortunately, the pickings are slim. It was the same at every retail outlet she had been to. Halloweentown: Sold Out. Halloween, USA: Sold Out. Crazytown: Sold Out. Her only options left seemed to be one half of a couples’ plug and outlet, a sexy Mafia gangster, or Barack Obama. None of those appeal led to her, each for different reasons. She could never go into the ring as a single in a couples’ costume; that kind of shit was best left to chummy tag teams. Arcadia would never want to send the message that she was looking for a partner of any kind. The sexy mafia costume would leave her scrambling to stuff herself back into her dress every time she attempted to Hurricanrana an opponent. As for the Obama costume, it would probably have the entirety of the Tokyo Dome trying to attack her before she even made it to the ring. No, none of these would work for a Battle Royal and a title shot. You would think that a masked woman might have more choices of attire come Halloween. The Hardcora Luchadora would have to do this one herself. Thank G-d she’s been to a few cons in her day.
A few hours later, surrounded by fabric and PVC, Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti sits on the floor of her hotel room in front of a rolling camera. She looks up from fashioning and fitting some sort of armored sleeve and stares straight into the lens.
“Halloween is just around the corner. It’s that time when all the little American children get to dress up, go out late, knock on strangers’ doors and demand candy from them, or else they put themselves at risk of mean little tricks being played on them. This “candy for protection” idea is encouraged and celebrated, with all the adults happily giving the little monsters what they want. Some believe that Halloween is the devil’s holiday, where the veil between worlds is at its thinnest, and spirits and shades can easily cross from one plane to the next. To some, who still celebrate the Old World holy days, it is simply the harvest celebration. The last celebration before the world starts dying, a time of endings, where one may make changes in their lives, ending bad cycles.”
Arcadia brushes back her blonde curls and sets the sleeve to her side, off camera. She picks up piece of fabric and lays it out in front of her feet, taking scissors to it.
“I did not grow up in America. I never tricked, I never treated. For me, this Halloween is about one thing: opportunity. This isn’t some gimmick match for laughs and entertainment. This isn’t just a battle royal in costume, not just a way for a large group of wrestlers to feel humiliated and subjugated by the whims of the man who signs our paychecks, but THIS is a title shot! This is huge. Everyone in this company wants gold around their waist and anyone who says differently is either lying or won’t be here for long enough to bother taking notice of them. I’ve had gold before, and I’m not the only wrestler in this match who’s sampled the finer wares of APW’s championship title belts. Once you have a taste of it, everything else is a little bit…lackluster. Once lost, you will spend forever trying to get it back, if necessary.”
The Hardcora Luchadora spreads the cloth over a piece of PVC which has been shaped into a breastplate. She picks up a can of fabric stiffener and sprays down the breastplate before setting that aside as well. When she crawls back to the camera, and resumes her Indian-style position, there is nothing to preoccupy her. She leaves her hands in her lap and speaks once more, her serious tone made ironic by the bits of ribbon, fluff, and glitter that surround her.
“I don’t know all of my opponents. I don’t know what to expect from most of them. The only one I have ever faced in the ring personally is Matt Ward, and judging by my performance against him last week, he is less than worrisome. I have seen only one wrestle in the past at APW, before I took my involuntary vacation from the ring, and what I know of Pence is that he is a formidable challenge. But Pence is not the same as I remember him. Not because he is washed up, or because he’s lost so many matches, but because he doubts himself. And while some may believe that motivation has nothing to do with winning, I tend to disagree. Without motivation, why would you even show up? Pence is no longer sure of his capabilities to win or to even entertain. If he can’t have conviction in himself, I’m sorry to say neither can I.”
Katrina shakes her head in disappointment and steeples her hands under her chin, her fingers making small squeaking noises as they rub lightly against her leather mask.
"As for the others, I only know what I have heard. I don’t take much to gossip and rumor, and I don’t like to make assumptions based on hearsay. But from the limited amount I have heard straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, I have come to a few conclusions. For one, most of my opponents are cocky, arrogant fucks, aren’t they?” Arcadia tilts her head to the side a little and nods slightly to reaffirm what she’s stated. “I’ve heard so many in this Battle Royal state how they would level, slash decimate, slash kill, -slash whatever other cocky prose wrapped in pretty packaging you want to insert here -all of their opponents. There is this saying that we have about talking a great game…maybe you are familiar with it?”
Player One reclines onto her elbows and stretches out her legs, crossing her ankles, now facing the camera sideways.
“The problem is that some of your talking game isn’t even that great to being with. So long before I get to judge, let’s say…Scripps, on his actual wrestling performance, I get to see that he is a man that talks out of both sides of his mouth and constantly contradicts himself. ‘I’m not a threat, I am a threat. I’m not worthy of his time, but Matt Ward, the guy I beat just a week ago, is. He won’t show any mercy, he will be merciful. He is a top wrestler at this company, but this match is going to start his rise to the top’. Quite frankly, Charlie, you’re a steaming load of bullshit. So instead of me continuing to try and sift through all of your waffling to get down to the nitty gritty and what you are truly trying to say, I will just send you this message, and I’ll make it short, so you get the ONE point I’m making.”
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti ticks one finger off on her left hand and says, “Stop talking,” another tick, “Start wrestling. I don’t care what you’ve got to say. I only give a shit about what you’ve got. That goes for everyone in this match. You see, ultimately, it doesn’t matter that Scripps can’t form a coherent sentence without playing on both sides of the fence, or that JaMarcus Haze is so cocky about winning this title shot that he alternately attacks his best friend and takes away his twenty five cent treats, or that Zachary Rodell has shown just enough respect and hidden just enough of his cards to make him both interesting and intimidating, or even that Pence is so afraid of disappointing the fans that he’s ended up trying to convince his opponents to work together to put on a good show just for him. What matters is what you put down in the squared circle. And I for one can’t wait to see it.”
Arcadia stands up and starts pacing now, skipping across the floor in places to avoid the piece meal Halloween costume that is still scattered here and there while the camera follows her.
“You can make all the bold predictions you want about how many of us you can throw over the top rope, or how many body bags you will end up stuffing, or how you will win by eliminating every last guy (and girl) in that ring, but when push comes to shove, you have no clue what we all bring. Watching a Youtube video or pirating old Pay Per Views can only help so much. When you are in the ring with an unknown factor, it’ll never go the way you predict. For those of my opponents who actually finished school, let’s take a quick lesson back to Algebra. For those who didn’t, go read a fucking book. The only way of figuring out the unknown factor is to take what you know and deduce the unknown from it. Again, I may not know all of my opponents, but I do know one thing better than any of you ever will. Myself.”
The Hardcora Luchadora turns toward the camera and plants her feet, her cold eyes shining like the finish on her ghost flame mask.
She leans forward towards the lens slightly and continues where she left off.
“I know my capabilities. I know my skills, my talents, and my goals. I know how much passion and motivation I will put behind those skills. I am the only one in that ring who knows just how much I can bring to this match and how much I can take away from it. I am not in this for fans, or to prove myself to anyone. I’m here for the one most important reason anyone can have. I’m here for myself. And you can all argue one your high horse all you want that that’s not the most important reason, but before you get all holier than thou, remind yourself that it is programmed into us from birth to preserve and survive. There is nothing to be ashamed of with following your instincts. Mine say I’m first.”
Arcadia shrugs.
“I’m not going to try and hide it. I’m not going to fight my instincts and because of it, I’m more in touch with myself than any of you could wish to be. So many people forget to follow their instincts and listen to hunches once they’ve been taught a practiced way to do things. They get so caught up in remembering how to properly execute a move that they forget about the instinctual reactions involved. I don’t have that problem. I have the greatest combination of skill, talent and pure instinct possible. And that is what makes me a threat to you. In this match and every match.”
Katrina crosses her arms across her chest and furrows her brow under her mask.
“I am a force to be reckoned with. I am YOUR unknown factor. It’s perfect that others don’t consider me a threat. Please,” she waves a hand in invitation, “go ahead, under estimate me. Convince yourself that I am nothing more than a gnat easily swatted out of your way. Pretend for both of our sakes that I am just a minor annoyance, a name to fill a space on a card. Let me take your ignorance all the way to the bank. And when I win that title shot, and you are watching me celebrate from the outside of the ring, you will know just how wrong you all were. When you go sailing over that top rope by my hand, or someone else’s, it matters little to me, you will realize the error of your ways. I willingly volunteer to enlighten you to a new perspective, one where you head face first into the mat outside the apron after going airborne over the ropes. The same new perspective that will humble you a notch or two and make you listen up to the way things really work here. And the way they work is you talk all the shit you want, and I’ll make you eat your words as quick as you can spout them.”
Arcadia approaches the camera, the screen getting a very up close shot of her lips as she speaks on last time.
“You may not think I am worth your time, after all, I’m just a small unknown factor in this Battle Royal, But I know that that title shot is worth mine. That makes each and every one of you a threat. None of which I take lightly. In the ring, none of your shit talking, your demotivating, your intimidation, or your respect matters. In the ring, it’s about what you do with what you’ve got. I’m planning on bringing everything to One Night in Hell. And whether or not you all live up to your words, that alone will surely make this a Hell for everyone who gets in my way.”
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti reaches out her arm and turns off the camera, sending the feed to static.
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti wanders the aisles, trying to block out the sounds of whining kids as she browses the selection. Unfortunately, the pickings are slim. It was the same at every retail outlet she had been to. Halloweentown: Sold Out. Halloween, USA: Sold Out. Crazytown: Sold Out. Her only options left seemed to be one half of a couples’ plug and outlet, a sexy Mafia gangster, or Barack Obama. None of those appeal led to her, each for different reasons. She could never go into the ring as a single in a couples’ costume; that kind of shit was best left to chummy tag teams. Arcadia would never want to send the message that she was looking for a partner of any kind. The sexy mafia costume would leave her scrambling to stuff herself back into her dress every time she attempted to Hurricanrana an opponent. As for the Obama costume, it would probably have the entirety of the Tokyo Dome trying to attack her before she even made it to the ring. No, none of these would work for a Battle Royal and a title shot. You would think that a masked woman might have more choices of attire come Halloween. The Hardcora Luchadora would have to do this one herself. Thank G-d she’s been to a few cons in her day.
A few hours later, surrounded by fabric and PVC, Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti sits on the floor of her hotel room in front of a rolling camera. She looks up from fashioning and fitting some sort of armored sleeve and stares straight into the lens.
“Halloween is just around the corner. It’s that time when all the little American children get to dress up, go out late, knock on strangers’ doors and demand candy from them, or else they put themselves at risk of mean little tricks being played on them. This “candy for protection” idea is encouraged and celebrated, with all the adults happily giving the little monsters what they want. Some believe that Halloween is the devil’s holiday, where the veil between worlds is at its thinnest, and spirits and shades can easily cross from one plane to the next. To some, who still celebrate the Old World holy days, it is simply the harvest celebration. The last celebration before the world starts dying, a time of endings, where one may make changes in their lives, ending bad cycles.”
Arcadia brushes back her blonde curls and sets the sleeve to her side, off camera. She picks up piece of fabric and lays it out in front of her feet, taking scissors to it.
“I did not grow up in America. I never tricked, I never treated. For me, this Halloween is about one thing: opportunity. This isn’t some gimmick match for laughs and entertainment. This isn’t just a battle royal in costume, not just a way for a large group of wrestlers to feel humiliated and subjugated by the whims of the man who signs our paychecks, but THIS is a title shot! This is huge. Everyone in this company wants gold around their waist and anyone who says differently is either lying or won’t be here for long enough to bother taking notice of them. I’ve had gold before, and I’m not the only wrestler in this match who’s sampled the finer wares of APW’s championship title belts. Once you have a taste of it, everything else is a little bit…lackluster. Once lost, you will spend forever trying to get it back, if necessary.”
The Hardcora Luchadora spreads the cloth over a piece of PVC which has been shaped into a breastplate. She picks up a can of fabric stiffener and sprays down the breastplate before setting that aside as well. When she crawls back to the camera, and resumes her Indian-style position, there is nothing to preoccupy her. She leaves her hands in her lap and speaks once more, her serious tone made ironic by the bits of ribbon, fluff, and glitter that surround her.
“I don’t know all of my opponents. I don’t know what to expect from most of them. The only one I have ever faced in the ring personally is Matt Ward, and judging by my performance against him last week, he is less than worrisome. I have seen only one wrestle in the past at APW, before I took my involuntary vacation from the ring, and what I know of Pence is that he is a formidable challenge. But Pence is not the same as I remember him. Not because he is washed up, or because he’s lost so many matches, but because he doubts himself. And while some may believe that motivation has nothing to do with winning, I tend to disagree. Without motivation, why would you even show up? Pence is no longer sure of his capabilities to win or to even entertain. If he can’t have conviction in himself, I’m sorry to say neither can I.”
Katrina shakes her head in disappointment and steeples her hands under her chin, her fingers making small squeaking noises as they rub lightly against her leather mask.
"As for the others, I only know what I have heard. I don’t take much to gossip and rumor, and I don’t like to make assumptions based on hearsay. But from the limited amount I have heard straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, I have come to a few conclusions. For one, most of my opponents are cocky, arrogant fucks, aren’t they?” Arcadia tilts her head to the side a little and nods slightly to reaffirm what she’s stated. “I’ve heard so many in this Battle Royal state how they would level, slash decimate, slash kill, -slash whatever other cocky prose wrapped in pretty packaging you want to insert here -all of their opponents. There is this saying that we have about talking a great game…maybe you are familiar with it?”
Player One reclines onto her elbows and stretches out her legs, crossing her ankles, now facing the camera sideways.
“The problem is that some of your talking game isn’t even that great to being with. So long before I get to judge, let’s say…Scripps, on his actual wrestling performance, I get to see that he is a man that talks out of both sides of his mouth and constantly contradicts himself. ‘I’m not a threat, I am a threat. I’m not worthy of his time, but Matt Ward, the guy I beat just a week ago, is. He won’t show any mercy, he will be merciful. He is a top wrestler at this company, but this match is going to start his rise to the top’. Quite frankly, Charlie, you’re a steaming load of bullshit. So instead of me continuing to try and sift through all of your waffling to get down to the nitty gritty and what you are truly trying to say, I will just send you this message, and I’ll make it short, so you get the ONE point I’m making.”
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti ticks one finger off on her left hand and says, “Stop talking,” another tick, “Start wrestling. I don’t care what you’ve got to say. I only give a shit about what you’ve got. That goes for everyone in this match. You see, ultimately, it doesn’t matter that Scripps can’t form a coherent sentence without playing on both sides of the fence, or that JaMarcus Haze is so cocky about winning this title shot that he alternately attacks his best friend and takes away his twenty five cent treats, or that Zachary Rodell has shown just enough respect and hidden just enough of his cards to make him both interesting and intimidating, or even that Pence is so afraid of disappointing the fans that he’s ended up trying to convince his opponents to work together to put on a good show just for him. What matters is what you put down in the squared circle. And I for one can’t wait to see it.”
Arcadia stands up and starts pacing now, skipping across the floor in places to avoid the piece meal Halloween costume that is still scattered here and there while the camera follows her.
“You can make all the bold predictions you want about how many of us you can throw over the top rope, or how many body bags you will end up stuffing, or how you will win by eliminating every last guy (and girl) in that ring, but when push comes to shove, you have no clue what we all bring. Watching a Youtube video or pirating old Pay Per Views can only help so much. When you are in the ring with an unknown factor, it’ll never go the way you predict. For those of my opponents who actually finished school, let’s take a quick lesson back to Algebra. For those who didn’t, go read a fucking book. The only way of figuring out the unknown factor is to take what you know and deduce the unknown from it. Again, I may not know all of my opponents, but I do know one thing better than any of you ever will. Myself.”
The Hardcora Luchadora turns toward the camera and plants her feet, her cold eyes shining like the finish on her ghost flame mask.
She leans forward towards the lens slightly and continues where she left off.
“I know my capabilities. I know my skills, my talents, and my goals. I know how much passion and motivation I will put behind those skills. I am the only one in that ring who knows just how much I can bring to this match and how much I can take away from it. I am not in this for fans, or to prove myself to anyone. I’m here for the one most important reason anyone can have. I’m here for myself. And you can all argue one your high horse all you want that that’s not the most important reason, but before you get all holier than thou, remind yourself that it is programmed into us from birth to preserve and survive. There is nothing to be ashamed of with following your instincts. Mine say I’m first.”
Arcadia shrugs.
“I’m not going to try and hide it. I’m not going to fight my instincts and because of it, I’m more in touch with myself than any of you could wish to be. So many people forget to follow their instincts and listen to hunches once they’ve been taught a practiced way to do things. They get so caught up in remembering how to properly execute a move that they forget about the instinctual reactions involved. I don’t have that problem. I have the greatest combination of skill, talent and pure instinct possible. And that is what makes me a threat to you. In this match and every match.”
Katrina crosses her arms across her chest and furrows her brow under her mask.
“I am a force to be reckoned with. I am YOUR unknown factor. It’s perfect that others don’t consider me a threat. Please,” she waves a hand in invitation, “go ahead, under estimate me. Convince yourself that I am nothing more than a gnat easily swatted out of your way. Pretend for both of our sakes that I am just a minor annoyance, a name to fill a space on a card. Let me take your ignorance all the way to the bank. And when I win that title shot, and you are watching me celebrate from the outside of the ring, you will know just how wrong you all were. When you go sailing over that top rope by my hand, or someone else’s, it matters little to me, you will realize the error of your ways. I willingly volunteer to enlighten you to a new perspective, one where you head face first into the mat outside the apron after going airborne over the ropes. The same new perspective that will humble you a notch or two and make you listen up to the way things really work here. And the way they work is you talk all the shit you want, and I’ll make you eat your words as quick as you can spout them.”
Arcadia approaches the camera, the screen getting a very up close shot of her lips as she speaks on last time.
“You may not think I am worth your time, after all, I’m just a small unknown factor in this Battle Royal, But I know that that title shot is worth mine. That makes each and every one of you a threat. None of which I take lightly. In the ring, none of your shit talking, your demotivating, your intimidation, or your respect matters. In the ring, it’s about what you do with what you’ve got. I’m planning on bringing everything to One Night in Hell. And whether or not you all live up to your words, that alone will surely make this a Hell for everyone who gets in my way.”
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti reaches out her arm and turns off the camera, sending the feed to static.
