A.B.: Ladies and gentlemen, before we get started with our main event, I have just received word of a situation in the Trainer's Room caught by one of our drones.
Shamoon: The O.R.D.R.L.I.s!
A.B.: I am not calling them that. Roll the footage, please.
The titantron shows the trainer's room and the toll from the night's events: Hotaru Ishikawa still getting splinters pulled out of his bruised back while holding ice to his head, and Luisa Festa being drug-tested, again, behind a curtain.
Then it captures Elsa Filipsson, now with only one of her trademark pigtails, and Chakir Jabbar, coughing violently, on separate tables being checked by Dr Anya Sharma. Eeva Mustonen, her own skate shoes draped over her neck and Elsa in her hands, and Chelem Jabbar with an ice pack of his own, are standing by. Chelem points at Eeva and starts yelling something, no doubt akin to blame. Eeva throws down all the skates and fires back. They get right in each other's faces. The sound is muffled until it isn't.
Eeva: ...TURHIA PASKASÄKKEJÄ!
Chelem: What are you even saying? Speak ENGLISH!
Eeva: YOU... SUCK!
Chelem: OH YEAH?!
He raises his fist. She clenches her.
Kalavina Leota, who was sitting at the far end of the room, stands up: HEY!
The Mother Hen of Holds throws down the track jacket she was wearing and marches over. Eeva's fire is completely extinguished at the sight of her old trainer.
Leota: Dis is a doctor's office. People in here getting treated, including your brother (points at Chelem) and your tag team partner (points at Eeva). Whatever dis is, it shoulda been settled out there in the ring when you had the chance.
Eeva: But he-
Leota: I don't give a damn! (looks from one to the other) Either sit down... (points at the door) or get out!
Eeva and Chelem glare at each other again, but ultimately choose to continue this staring contest while seated on opposite sides of the room.
Dr Sharma (deadpan, while shining a flashlight in Chakir's eyes): Thank you, Mrs Leota.
Leota is about to go back to her own seat when Elsa grunts and slowly sits up while clutching her... everything.
Leota: Hey, what are you doing?
Dr Sharma: Ms Filipsson, I will be with you shortly. Please stay-
Elsa (gritted): I have... a question.
Dr Sharma: As I said, I'll be with-
Elsa: Not for you... (points a trembling finger at Chakir) for him.
Dr Sharma turns off the flashlight and steps away.
Chakir blinks, but stays on his back: What?
Elsa: Why are you here?
Chakir: Maybe you don't... remember, but a really... really big man fell on me.
Elsa: No, I mean here, on this show, in this company. What are you guys trying to accomplish?
Chakir: I don't know.
Elsa: You don't know?
Chakir (throws up his hands): What do you want me to say? We want to have fun, we want to put on a good show for our subscribers, maybe even prove we're actually legit. Why are YOU here?
Elsa: We are here to be champions. Tag Team Champions.
Chakir lets a groan/laugh/cough combo: G-Good luck with that with those crazy island people running around. (Quickly looks at Leota, who is still standing next to Elsa with folded arms) Uh, n-no offence.
Dominga: Saying "no offence" doesn't make it less offensive, idiota.
Elsa looks away, frowning.
Chakir: Plus, even if you could get past them, the actual champions are two 7-foot-tall monsters and their scary witch mom.
Elsa: First, we have to get past...
Chakir: Yeah, and how do you plan to do that?
Elsa looks at him again, then at the door, then back at him, then at the ceiling and then closes her eyes before taking a deep breath: What if, next week, the four of us team up against the Madness and a partner of their choosing?
Shamoon: What?
Leota (frown... deeper frown): What?
Chakir (raises his head): What?
Elsa (raises her hands): It'll just be for one night. Asovale and her team, they're not just big and loud. They were a well-oiled machine. We need an advantage edge or neither one of us is going to accomplish anything.
Chakir (sits up, seriously looking at her): You... want to team with us?
Elsa: Only if you're okay with it and ONLY if you promise to pull your weight, so we can make the same promise.
Eeva: HUH?! Elsa-
Leota: Quiet!
Chakir: You're serious about this?
Elsa: If we do this right, if we work together and win, we can prove that we ALL are legit and that we ALL can be title contenders.
Chakir (frowns): There can only be one champion, though... or two, because... Tag Team- You know what I mean.
Elsa (nods): And we'll cross that bridge when we get there. (smirks, which gets a disapproving raised eyebrow from Leota) We've beaten you once anyway.
Crowd: Ooh...
Chakir (frowns deeper, but then shrugs his shoulders): What the hell? (extends fist) We're in.
Chelem: Bro, what? I didn't agree to-
Leota: Quiet!
Elsa reciprocates the fist bump: Bra! I'll go talk to Shabani.
Leota: And here's the part where I say, dat's not happening.
Elsa winces while slowly turning to face her: Mrs Leota, all due respect, you're not my Coach anymore. You can't tell me what to do.
Leota: No (gets very close), but I can choke you out if you move ya little ahss off dis table. But you a grown woman, so make da choice.
Elsa's bravado instantly evaporates. Chakir laughs.
Leota (looks at him): I got a big red nose on my face? What's so funny?
Chakir (lies down flat): Nothing.
Leota (looks back at Elsa): When da good doctor is done with you, da only place you're going is home... (looks at the far end of the room, then at the door) I'll talk to Shabani.
Elsa (shocked): You would do that?
Leota: Yeah. (starts walking to the door) I have a match of my own to make, anyway.
Elsa smiles and watches her go, then frowns in thought before taking a look for herself at the far end of the room, where Leota was sitting, where Maya Lethbridge is lying on a table, with taped up ribs and a foam neck brace.
Elsa (wide eyes, trying to get off the table): Wait, Leota, no-
Dr Sharma sticks a needle in her arm, and the Swede goes limp on the table, earning some wide-eyed stares from all present and gasps from the crowd. The Doctor notices the drone and waves the syringe.
Dr Sharma (deadpan): She's fine, it was a sedative. (turns to Chakir) Would you like one, Mr Jabbar?
Chakir (trembling): I'm not really good with needles, so... no thanks?
Dr Sharma (looms over him): Then stay very, very still...
The feed cuts.
Shamoon: There's... a lot of that we probably shouldn't have seen, but props to Elsa for extending the olive branch like that. 8-man tag next week.
Dominga: I'm calling it now, it'll backfire. Those Jabbars are dead weight.
A.B.: I'm just wondering who on Earth is going to be crazy enough to team with the Madness.
Shamoon: Yeah, but what about Leota, though? You guys don't think...?
A.B.: The Mother Hen is a lot of things, and one of those is fearless.
Dominga: FINALLY! Athiambo's going to get a real test! Please, Shabani, I am begging you. Make. This. Match!
The sombre violins heard, the arena darkens, and fog seeps out of the sliding doors. The Queen herself crawls out, her long white hair obscuring her face.
The Queen rises to her feet, slowly and spreads her arms.
Briar Lane: ... from Blackpool, England, standing 5 feet 11 and weighing in at 135 pounds, QUEEN COBRA!
Cobra performs a hypnotic, serpentine dance, bending and twisting, crawling and kicking and stomping on her way down to the ring.
A.B.: The night's not over. Cobra. Ngozi. Non-title match. Next!
No comments:
Post a Comment