Post by Arcadia on Nov 6, 2011 19:56:34 GMT -4
Katrina “Arcadia” Olivetti stands inside the IWC Arena in Long Island, New York in the room that was once known as the Blackwell Academy. Behind her, the old gym and the dilapidated, blood-stained ring that once stood are gone, and in their place is a mediocre lounge area, with a few chairs and some potted plants. The walls are covered with posters of the different events that have taken place at the arena. Arcadia’s back is to the room. In front of her is a wide steel door with the words, “No Admittance” stickered across them in red capital letters. She pulls a key ring out of the back pocket of her jeans and tosses them lightly in her hand a few times. Surreptitiously, she glances to each side, fingering one of the keys on the ring. Seeing no one, she slides the key into the lock of the door and tries to turn it. To her surprise, she can hear the tumbler move as the key fully rotates. She grabs the handle and pulls, the heavy door swinging open at her touch. The Hardcora Luchadora looks back once, making sure she is still alone, and steps down the stairs and into the basement of the IWC building.
By habit alone, she finds the light switch and the halogen rods flicker to life, some just flickering. She ducks the large green water pipe at the bottom of the steps and stops to brush the cobwebs and dust off of her hands, wiping them on the sides of her jeans. She shakes out her short curls, brushing them away from her face and takes a look around the basement.
Not much has changed, actually. It is still dusty, it’s still full of old ring gear, though there are some new pieces down here now, and there is still a large area in the back of the basement that has been sectioned off with white tape on the concrete floor. Arcadia heads towards that area and pulls aside an old curtain that had been strung across the basement to the far wall. The area is largely empty and untouched. There is only an old cot against the wall with a bare mattress on it. Katrina crosses to the bed and sits down on it, staring at what was her first apartment, this corner of the basement in the IWC Arena. She glances at the cameraman who followed her for this and says, “I used to live here, you know.”
He pans the room talking in the bare walls where faint outlines can be seen of pictures and perhaps a television that used to hang there, and catches a few cockroaches scurrying in the corners before coming back to Katrina Olivetti sitting Indian-style on the bed with her arms crossed.
“What? I was young, it was cheap and the commute was easy!”
The camera tilts up and down a little, as if the man holding had shrugged.
“Whatever. The reason we are shooting from down here is because this is the One Year Anniversary of the Asylum show. It’s being held here in Long Island, New York, right where it all started. Back to its roots, and all. This is quite a homecoming for me, in more ways than one.” She gestures to her old “apartment”. “I’ve spent a lot of time here. While many wrestlers like to say that they practically live at APW, I actually did. And a lot has changed since then. IWC is gone, Asylum moved from a low-budget Indy-fed that streamed live on the internet to a bi-weekly show of the biggest name in wrestling entertainment; Action Packed Wrestling. The company changed hands, the talent changed, the manager changed, the venue. I’m an APW Megastar. And a champion. That is something I’m not planning on having to change anytime soon.”
The Hardcora Luchadora clasps her hands together and bounces them in her lap. “I called out Chris Cyrus at One Night in Hell because I knew I deserved a title shot. I gave a Hurricanrana to Scripps and a DDT to Pence Weatherlight knocking them both out of the ring simultaneously. Don’t tell me that shit happens every day. And yet the referees chose Pence. But I don’t think they screwed me. They gave me a hidden opportunity. Pence earned a title shot of the boss’s choosing when he earned that win off of my back. I took my chance to call out the one person holding the belt I wanted. I called out Chris Cyrus. Not because I thought he would be an easy win since he was fresh off a brutal title defense against Branden Harvey, but because I knew he was someone I would have to earn the win from. Cyrus is a worthy opponent for a worthy prize. That’s why I chose him. And I came out the victor.”
Arcadia shrugs and leans closer to the camera, saying, “Some people may think it was an underhanded way to gain a title belt. Some people may think that I’m not a champion to be respected because I took advantage of Cyrus. I’m here to make them all eat their words. Tonight, both Chris Cyrus and I go to the ring fresh. There is nothing anyone can say about an underhanded win tonight. This battle is going to prove once and for all that I deserve the Suicidal Title Belt. Chris wants a fair match, and what may surprise him is that so do I. Because I want each and every person out there who doubts my abilities to understand fully that I am simply better. That I have the skill and savvy to win a title and retain it. Chris gets his rematch, and for once, he will not be able to say anything about how this match goes down, because he will get it his way.”
The Hardcora Luchadora stands up and points at the camera. “That’s right. You heard me, Cyrus. I bring no weapons to this match. No padding, no tricks, no dirty moves. I’m going to fight you exactly how we both want. Just pure wrestling skill against wrestling skill alone. And when I still beat you, you can shake my hand and know that I gave you the good, fair shot at your rematch that you deserved, and you don’t have to worry about your pride getting in the way and causing you to make a fool out of yourself. You’ll know that I deserve this gold more than you do, and that is why I will keep it. No bitching, no whining, no complaining. Just each one of us standing up for what we believe in. Ourselves. Get ready for the game of your life, Chris Cyrus. I will see you in the ring. Just me, you, and the referee.”
The camera fades out.
By habit alone, she finds the light switch and the halogen rods flicker to life, some just flickering. She ducks the large green water pipe at the bottom of the steps and stops to brush the cobwebs and dust off of her hands, wiping them on the sides of her jeans. She shakes out her short curls, brushing them away from her face and takes a look around the basement.
Not much has changed, actually. It is still dusty, it’s still full of old ring gear, though there are some new pieces down here now, and there is still a large area in the back of the basement that has been sectioned off with white tape on the concrete floor. Arcadia heads towards that area and pulls aside an old curtain that had been strung across the basement to the far wall. The area is largely empty and untouched. There is only an old cot against the wall with a bare mattress on it. Katrina crosses to the bed and sits down on it, staring at what was her first apartment, this corner of the basement in the IWC Arena. She glances at the cameraman who followed her for this and says, “I used to live here, you know.”
He pans the room talking in the bare walls where faint outlines can be seen of pictures and perhaps a television that used to hang there, and catches a few cockroaches scurrying in the corners before coming back to Katrina Olivetti sitting Indian-style on the bed with her arms crossed.
“What? I was young, it was cheap and the commute was easy!”
The camera tilts up and down a little, as if the man holding had shrugged.
“Whatever. The reason we are shooting from down here is because this is the One Year Anniversary of the Asylum show. It’s being held here in Long Island, New York, right where it all started. Back to its roots, and all. This is quite a homecoming for me, in more ways than one.” She gestures to her old “apartment”. “I’ve spent a lot of time here. While many wrestlers like to say that they practically live at APW, I actually did. And a lot has changed since then. IWC is gone, Asylum moved from a low-budget Indy-fed that streamed live on the internet to a bi-weekly show of the biggest name in wrestling entertainment; Action Packed Wrestling. The company changed hands, the talent changed, the manager changed, the venue. I’m an APW Megastar. And a champion. That is something I’m not planning on having to change anytime soon.”
The Hardcora Luchadora clasps her hands together and bounces them in her lap. “I called out Chris Cyrus at One Night in Hell because I knew I deserved a title shot. I gave a Hurricanrana to Scripps and a DDT to Pence Weatherlight knocking them both out of the ring simultaneously. Don’t tell me that shit happens every day. And yet the referees chose Pence. But I don’t think they screwed me. They gave me a hidden opportunity. Pence earned a title shot of the boss’s choosing when he earned that win off of my back. I took my chance to call out the one person holding the belt I wanted. I called out Chris Cyrus. Not because I thought he would be an easy win since he was fresh off a brutal title defense against Branden Harvey, but because I knew he was someone I would have to earn the win from. Cyrus is a worthy opponent for a worthy prize. That’s why I chose him. And I came out the victor.”
Arcadia shrugs and leans closer to the camera, saying, “Some people may think it was an underhanded way to gain a title belt. Some people may think that I’m not a champion to be respected because I took advantage of Cyrus. I’m here to make them all eat their words. Tonight, both Chris Cyrus and I go to the ring fresh. There is nothing anyone can say about an underhanded win tonight. This battle is going to prove once and for all that I deserve the Suicidal Title Belt. Chris wants a fair match, and what may surprise him is that so do I. Because I want each and every person out there who doubts my abilities to understand fully that I am simply better. That I have the skill and savvy to win a title and retain it. Chris gets his rematch, and for once, he will not be able to say anything about how this match goes down, because he will get it his way.”
The Hardcora Luchadora stands up and points at the camera. “That’s right. You heard me, Cyrus. I bring no weapons to this match. No padding, no tricks, no dirty moves. I’m going to fight you exactly how we both want. Just pure wrestling skill against wrestling skill alone. And when I still beat you, you can shake my hand and know that I gave you the good, fair shot at your rematch that you deserved, and you don’t have to worry about your pride getting in the way and causing you to make a fool out of yourself. You’ll know that I deserve this gold more than you do, and that is why I will keep it. No bitching, no whining, no complaining. Just each one of us standing up for what we believe in. Ourselves. Get ready for the game of your life, Chris Cyrus. I will see you in the ring. Just me, you, and the referee.”
The camera fades out.
