PSW Powwow #1 - Saturday Night Super Fight

It's December 2nd, 2030, in the bustling coastal city of Sambuca, situated at the very top of the northern island region of Vodka. A blue oasis in this sea of green, right next to the actual sea and home to the fearsome Cobalt Colliders rugby team and their massive stadium, the Cobalt Colosseum.

Not far from this arena is Marina Quarter, a modernist structure of black steel, blue glass and white lighting accents. It stands twenty stories tall and is shaped with jagged, asymmetrical lines that evoke the motion of a breaking wave. 

Made with Perchance

It is shared office space, home to many businesses, thriving, floundering and blossoming. In the latter category, you will find the offices of Psycho Style Wrestling, and in one of the boardrooms, you will find the various department heads convening about the company's debut.

At the head of the table sits the CEO, Sanka G. Williams, a tall, broad-shouldered black man with a grey beard, dressed in business casual and a pair of square glasses. An assortment of characters sits on either side of him, all dressed in formal or semi-formal attire, mostly, with flat touch monitors in front of them, and some snacks too.

"Alright, people. Let me hear it," he says, leaning back in his chair.

"A resounding success!" declares Sara Williams, President of Talent Relations & Head of Creative. An equally tall, light-skinned woman with full cheeks, sharp cheekbones, and even sharper-looking teeth, "All the way through, as far as I'm concerned."

Sanka looks to his left, at  a wiry Puerto Rican man in his mid-thirties with slicked-back hair and a colourful pocket square, "Tony?"

With a hum of excitement, Tony Garcia, Brand & Marketing Manager, connects his monitor to the big screen behind the boss, "Post-show web traffic is still up 40% AND we've firmly secured the Pacific and South Asian markets!"

Bethany Jones, Social Media Manager, a petite Welsh woman in her twenties wearing a PSW hoodie with bright red curls and big round glasses, chimes in, "And Tình Nhân, she were a PROPER big bit o' that. Still gettin' us lots o' chatter, just from that one little clip. Kraken Khan and Zadie Chen, they're big enough names, but she's right showin' 'em up, she is!"

"Yeah.." comes the gravelly Glasgow growl of Brendan Steele, Head of Security, bald with a thick beard and black shirt, "What on Earth wis that aboot? My people weren't briefed on her makin' an... appearance. Cage match wis crazy enough without some witch lady messin' wit the lights. I mean, what were we supposed to do if those twae freaks she brought made a move on the Wallaces?"

"Your concerns are noted, Brendan," Sanka says, before looking straight at his wife, "I'm sure she'll be spoken to."

Sara turns away, looking behind her as though Sanka were looking at someone else. She soon realises that he's still staring at her and nods, "Alright, I'll handle it," before looking at Brendan, "But in future, just tell your people to stay ready at all times. She's going to do that a lot."

Steele sighs, "Understood."

With that settled, the old Jamaican then turns to an Indian woman with deadpan black eyes, greying hair and a white coat, sitting next to Brendan, "Since we're talking the cage, Anya?"

Dr Anya Sharma, the Medical Director, lightly taps on her tablet, "Marcelo Sousa required stitches after getting his face smashed into the steel wiring, Oscar Wallace has a black eye and several bruises, mostly from his 220-pound brother landing on him from 18 feet, and Dick Jagger was hysterically claiming to need an, and I quote, 'eye transplant' due to said brother poking him in said eye before throwing himself off said cage and landing on the aforementioned Oscar Wallace. All other injuries were minor."

Sanka nods, "Alright."

"It was a hell of a finish, though," adds Sara, before lightly shoving Sanka, "And you thought we only needed one Wallace."

Sanka simply hums in response.

"If I may," Sharma cuts back in, "I would like to share my own concerns about Tình Nhân. I am aware of the... numerical benefits," she looks at Sara with a sharp gaze, "But are we absolutely certain that having her in this company is safe?"

"Safe?" Sara chuckles, "Safe for whom?"

Sharma narrows her eyes, and Sara gets serious, "Alright, look, Tình Nhân was the first true believer in 'Psycho Style'. She respects what we're trying to do here and wants to be a part of it. She's not going to let some ancient history get in the way of that."

"But... didn't you and Ngozi break her back, Ma'am?" Jones asks, immediately earning wide-eyed glares from the rest of the group.

"You'd better brush up on your history, girl," Sara warns, half-playfully, half-deathly serious, "There was no 'you' or 'and' in that situation. I just so happened to be in the ring while Ngozi was taking a sledgehammer to the old lady's back after she tried to murder both of us. Everybody moved on. So has she... probably."

Sharma goes back to her tablet, "If you say so."

"Let's move on to the battle royale," Sanka urged, turning back to Jones, "You mentioned Kraken Khan earlier. Tell me more about the overall response."

"Well, like I said, proper massive name, so it's mostly positive, but loads o' folk reckon he's just gettin' on a bit," Jones says.

"And what do you think?" Sanka queries, looking her right in the eye and prompting everyone else to do the same.

The young lady shrinks in her seat, "A-well, it don't really matter what I-"

"Boss asked you a question, kid," Garcia cuts her off with a sudden and practised coldness, "Answer him."

Jones looks around, "W-Well, I just think a title like the Tecton should've gone to a guy or gal what's on the come up, is all..."

"Such as?" Sanka prodded further.

"... D... D-Dennis Zázrak?"

The entire boardroom bursts into laughter, and Jones' face starts matching her hair. She tries defending her point, "He's really popular wi'... uh..."

"Oh, we are well-aware," Sara said with two raised eyebrows and a smirk, leading Jones to pull up her hood to hide her face.

"He probably could have made a pretty good Tag Team Champion if he didn't walk out on his partner," added "Big Joe" Wilson, the Senior Referee, after taking a sip of coffee. A burly, grizzled, quinquagenarian man with cauliflower ears, "Really hope that doesn't become a trend around here. That kind of confusion can make things dangerous. Well, more dangerous."

"Your people handled it well, Joe," Sanka says, "Now, then. Let's get to the big ones," He looked over at the far end of the table, wherein sat a short Kenyan woman in her early forties, with close-cropped natural hair, striking gold-rimmed glasses and a perfectly pressed pinstripe suit, "Nalah, the Jewell is all yours. What are your thoughts?"

Nalah Shabani, a General Manager, clears her throat and stands, "The Championship Scramble was... technically sound, a good showcase for all five women. Although I would have preferred my first champion be crowned in more dominant fashion."

"Especially with the performance Ngozi had," Garcia adds, "The boos were LOUD when Cobra snuck the win."

Jones, having recovered from the earlier ribbing, chimes back in, "#NgoziWasRobbed is still trendin'. Number 3 right now."

Sara just shakes her head while muttering, "25 years, still can't watch a clock or her own damn back," in frustration."

"Be that as it may," Shabani continues, "It did seem to create a great deal of anticipation for a 1-on-1 rematch."

"Done," Sanka states, "Thank you, Nalah."

Shabani is about to sit, but stops herself, "There is something else I'd like to raise."

"Shoot."

"Queen Cobra, she is Tình Nhân's... niece?" Shabani asks, looking around the room for confirmation, "Am I correct?" 

Sanka and Sara look at each other, with the latter saying, "The short answer is yes."

"And, Mrs Williams, Empress Ngozi happens to be your... cousin?"

"Distant, but yes," Sara confirms.

"And Paul Grizzly, whom my counterpart is about to address, is, in your words, Mr Williams, an 'old friend'?"

"Indeed," Sanka nods.

"Oh, boy..." Garcia mutters while playing with his matter.

Shabani adjusted her glasses, "Given these existing relationships and the respective lineages of Kraken Khan and the Wallaces and several others, are we not creating an overtly nepotistic environment? I would expect the fans to take exception to that. I'm sure Ms Jones can attest?"

Jones does, indeed, attest, with a nod.

Sara chuckles again, "Welcome to the wrestling business," before holding up both hands, "It's pressure on two fronts. Upholding the old vs building something new, by any means necessary."

Shabani can only frown in response.

"Is there anything else, Nalah?" Sanka asks

"Yes..." she begins, "Is it possible that we can revisit that rule about the world champions having matchmaking authority?"

"No."

"Then I have nothing further," And with that, she sits back down.

Sanka's eyes turn to the tanned, sandy-haired Australian man sitting back in his chair across from Shabani with the sleeves of his blue dress-shirt rolled up and a big, curve-rimmed hat, "Jeff, take us home."

Jeffrey Campbell, also a General Manager, leans forward in his chair, "Right. That Dominion Gauntlet? It went off like a bomb. Personally, I was lovin' Kruscher's run, even if the crowd wasn' too fond of him by the end. Defo didn't feel good screwin' him ovah like that."

Sara waves him off, "Ah, he'll get over it."

"And he'll get another chance," Sanka adds.

Wilson suddenly jumps back in, "With all due respect, that is very easy for you to say. If he wasn't spent, he would have ripped my head off as soon as Grizzly's music hit."

"Took twelve o ma guys tae restrain him whan he got tae the back," Steele states, "And that's while he wis still half-dead."

"With a possible rib strain," says Sharma.

"Well, we spent a pretty penny on the man," Sanka says, "Needed to get our money's worth."

"I get that. I do," Campbell says, holding up his hand, "I just wish my champion would have shown up to the press conference," he rolls his eyes when he speaks, "As far as my other concerns go," he gestures to Shabani, "Asked and answered."

"Thank you, Jeffrey," Sanka states before sitting up in his own chair, "Folks, the train is officially moving. It's our job to make sure it doesn't stop. I'll remind you, draft on Friday, Ascension on the 29th. Enjoy whatever holiday you can manage, but don't drop the ball."

He then quickly tapped his knuckles on the desk, "Meeting adjourned. Get home safe."