An electronic wolf howl plays from the speakers, followed by an energetic techno beat.
David Bekker: The following contest is scheduled for one fall!
Sara Jr, tall and light-skinned with long black blue-streaked locks, wearing a black sleeveless, thigh-length romper with blue claw marks and a black bandana with blue paw marks, runs out of the concourse to the embankment and bounces on her feet.
David Bekker: Approaching the ring, from Staten Island, New York in the USA, standing 196 centimetres tall and weighing in at 96 kilos, SARA BLOOOOOOOOD JUNIOOORRR!!!
She looks around at the completely indifferent crowd, throwing up her MMA-style gloved fists to try and garner a reaction. Some people cheer, politely; others boo; most just kind of sit there. She lowers her arms, looking sad before slapping herself and running down the embankment.
SDS: The youngest daughter of Bredda G and Big Mama Moolah, also known as Mr and Mrs Williams, who run this company. You almost have to feel bad for her.
SDS: Well, look at her journey so far. At the draft, she doesn't get picked by either General Manager and has to fight in a final spot match, which she loses dubiously to Shay Maharaj and only ends up in the Fight Pit due to Jeffrey Campbell losing a coin toss earlier in the night; She makes her Fight Pit debut against Torti Gal and loses in a 5-minute Race Against Time match, and well, just look at the reception she's getting-
DS: Oh, boohoo. Let's all cry and feel sad, because the nepo baby isn't getting an easy ride!
SDS: I never said she needed to get an easy ride. I do think the extra scrutiny she's been getting is completely unwarranted. She has as much right to take this opportunity as anyone else.
DS: Answer me this, comphaneiro. If she wasn't the boss's baby girl, would she get this opportunity?
SDS: Well, considering her parents actively tried talking her out of entering the wrestling business-
DS: Is that the truth or is that just the story they been shelling out?
SDS: After everything they endured, I choose to believe it's the truth.
Sara Jr slides into the ring and climbs the turnbuckle, throwing up her fists again to the same (non) response. She frowns and hops down.
SDS: Regardless, she's got a tall order tonight. Last week, Jeffrey Campbell gave her an empty line on the booking sheet, and she wrote... Mudir, the man who's been targeting her from jump with belittling provocations and allusions to the Mamluk Sultunate of all things. If she was ever going to rise to the occasion with a breakout performance, now's the time.
A modern remix of Cello Suite No.1 in G major, BWV 1007 by Johann Sebastian Bach is heard on the speakers. The Yemenintellectual with long, black hair and a handsome face down the embankment in his boxing-style robe. As always, he has a mic in hand.
Mudir: Good evening, Suva!
The crowd pops.
SDS: Oh no.
Mudir: Indeed it is. Which is surprising given all the rain you're always having.
They laugh.
Mudir: You laugh, but you're the ones stuck in this, isolated mudhole of petty crime, not me.
The crowd boos loudly.
DS: Hahaha! I love this guy.
SDS: I know, you've said so several times.
Mudir (holds up finger): Now, then. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mudir Al-Nābighah, but you may simply refer to me as Mudir. I come from the Ibb Governorate in what is known as the Janad Region in the Republic of Yemen. I stand at a respectable 180 centimetres, and I weigh in this evening at a not-so-insignificant 96 kilograms.
SDS: The way he talks just... irks me.
Sara Jr. rolls her eyes, hands on her hips.
Mudir: If you forget anything tonight, remember this: I don't just always have a plan; I am the plan.
DS: Hehe! The Plan Himself.
SDS: Oh, for the love of-
Mudir: And tonight, the plan requires me to be put in what some might consider an unfavourable position. Why would it be unfavourable, you ask? Well, you feeble-minded fools, because I have to face the... (points at ring)"boss's kid".
Sara Jr narrows her eyes.
Mudir (starts approaching): Why would that be unfavourable, you ask? Well, think of the political ramifications. In any other professional wrestling organisation, you never want to be the one who hurts the boss's kid, beats up the boss's kid, makes the boss's kid. (points up the embankment) Everyone back there is terrified... (points at himself) but not me. I relish this opportunity, but not out of malice. And no, not to bolster some sanctimonious, anti-nepotistic agenda either.
He stops at the bottom of the steps.
Mudir: You see, believe it or not, my various verbal "antagonisations" have all come from a place... of fascination.
Sara Jr raises an eyebrow. Referee Damaso Gasco taps his watch, urging the man to hurry up, but he has no hurry in him.
Mudir: Not so much fascination with you, but with the parallels that you inhabit, the dualities you embody. The personal and the professional.
SDS: This man just loves just loves the sound of his own vo-
DS: Shiiiu!
Mudir (points up at her): You are the last born of your house and, by circumstance, the final ever pick at the draft in December.
SDS: What exactly is he getting at?
DS: Hehe. It's like poetry.
Sara Jr clenches her fists and bares her teeth.
Mudir: It's amazing how in both instances you are in a position where you have to carve out an identity for yourself and cry out for attention and validation and love... but, whether they're in the ring winning championships or in the boardroom signing contracts, mommy and daddy are just too busy with the wrestling business to notice.
SDS: Oh come on!
DS: HAHAHA!
The statuesque Staten Islander screams and nearly dives through the ropes after him, but Gasco blocks her path and tries pushing her away to the opposite corner.
Sara Jr: Get in heah and say dat shit! GET IN HEAH AND SAY DAT SHIT! I DARE YA! COME ON!
Gasco: Back up! BACK UP! BACK UP OR I'M CALLING A NO-CONTEST! GET BACK!
The Yemeni man finally climbs up the steps, slowly and still lacking urgency.
Mudir: But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they do care for you, as any parent should. It's why supposedly tried talking you out of this business. And you selfishly, stubbornly refused to heed their warnings.
She stops and glares. Gasco turns away and approaches Mudir, screaming orders, but he doesn't hear.
Mudir: There's another phase to the Plan. Euphoria, which I will experience for two reasons. One, I will be leaving the cesspool known as Suva...
The crowd boos.
Mudir: ... and two, I will be counting the money I made this week- the money Sanka Williams paid me this week after having demolished, (steps inside) demoralised and destroyed his little girl!
Sara Jr roars and sprints from her corner to his, attempting to hit him with her mother's signature Striking Spear, the Rabid Rush.
SDS: Oh God! Sara Jr, with a head of steam, goes shoulder-first into the post.
DS: Mudir, like a bullfighter, cara! He side-stepped her with ease.
Mudir calmly removes his robe to expose his long pants and forearm sleeves with fingerless gloves, all green with lime circuitry patterns, as well as knee pads and boots of the same lime colour. All the while, Sara Jr is screaming in pain on her knees and clutching her shoulder.
Gasco just shakes his head and calls for the bell.
DS: This ref is still a dick.
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