Already dressed in her ring gear, the newcomer known as Summer is sitting cross-legged on the floor, idly flicking her finger over the screen of her phone, obviously scrolling her Twitter feed. A hint of a smirk crosses her lips but she doesn't look up.
Summer: "My uncle had this poster on the wall at Wild Ones, the acronym KISS written on it and I remember the first time I asked him what that meant – I was old enough to know it wasn't the rock band since the font was different. He sat me down and told me how it began as a design principle but he'd kind of adapted it for his students because the language was universal. Keep It Simple, Stupid. I'm sure at least a few of you have heard that one, right?"
Her voice comes out softly, her red hair still falling down and covering part of her face, those black-rimmed glasses just peeking through.
Summer: "It's a pretty straightforward concept: don't overcomplicate things. The direct approach is the best one... blah blah blah... you get the picture without me having to fill in all the colors, right?"
She finally looks up, setting her phone aside as the screen goes dark.
Summer: "Didn't even get to set foot in a ring before I had an asshole knocking on that metaphorical door, ringing the dinner bell just as loud as he could to try and get my attention. It's funny, I suppose. Mostly in hindsight."
Her hands flutter in her lap, restless as if she really, really wants to gesticulate but is trying so very hard to keep them still.
Summer: "I'm here because of social media. Honest to whatever god you believe in. That's the kind of networking I do and I know that's really lamesauce to admit it because it makes me come off sorta weirdly desperate or something?"
She bites her lip, nose scrunching up as she makes a face that she's probably not aware of.
Summer: "No, okay, wait. I'm honestly not using Twitter as any kind of love connection. Let's clear that up right up front, okay? I'm here because I followed someone the Twitter algorithm selected based on mutual interests, like some sort of star-crossed binary connection. I came and watched a show. I'm sure some of you remember seeing me in the crowd. I'm sure some of you saw me at the gym the next day like some desperate little rat, trying to find Ak because he'd sort of backwards offered to help me train. I'm not going to lie to any of you because what the hell's the point? You've already judged me based on the stupid shit that Vossler put out there, like he was fucking White Knighting in and saving Landon from heartbreak or whatever?"
She rolls her eyes.
Summer: "Oh I know. What a steaming load that was. But hey, don't let facts get in the way of a great narrative. The world loves their heroes, right? And see, I had this cute little thing all planned out before... well... yeah. I was going to call him out – I know that's what he wanted. That's what they always want. To make an example using poor, dumbass, happy-go-lucky Kasey. Don't worry. She'll walk it off. She'll bounce back with a smile and be all Oliver Twist with some of that 'thank you sir, maybe I have some more' mentality. I mean, watch some tape. You'll see it."
Her hands are moving now, the heel of her right hand slamming down against her thigh for emphasis.
Summer: "In FFW, I ended an undefeated streak of a girl named Sophie Richards. I won her title. I did it cleanly because I was so damned naïve I thought that bending the rules was something only the worst people did. I beat her. And you know what that stupid bitch did? She does this bullshit interview the next week, claims that I had a handful of tights for leverage. Claims I cheated, claims she never should have lost to someone like me. God, I was so... I was so unbelievably angry. I was so pissed off that I went on a TEAR. I spent the next six months living and breathing wrestling. I made sure my game was absolutely flawless. I beat FOUR women at the same time to retain – first time anyone ever did that. 2012. That... it was a good run. It was something I was so damned proud of at the time. Now though? Now when I look back, I can see what it cost me. I can see how stupid I was, thinking it was going to be just like Rocky Mountain Pro and that ten-win streak that ended with me winning a tournament and their stupid World Championship."
She sighs, shaking her head.
Summer: "No. I'm not bragging about the past. Not really. I don't expect you to care or keep track and I know history is dusty crap on a mantle in a room nobody goes into – I get that. I've done nothing in BFW except make the world think I'm some hanger-on, some coat-tail riding wannabe. Nope. So not. But you're welcome to make a supposition about me just like trollface Vossler did. Call me a slut. Warn me that I'm not safe as if I'm some delicate friggin' little flower that just rolled into town yesterday. Save yourselves the trouble, okay? Just listen to what I'm telling you right now. I'm keeping it simple. Well, as simple as I can. I'm telling you about me in the easiest of terms: in 2012, I was good. In 2014 I was fearless, reckless... I've spent the last YEAR clawing my way back to fighting shape. This match tonight is going to prove that I belong. That I'm not the butt of some joke, the target for some immature Internet troll. Pay attention, Vossler, you giant bag of peppered dicks with no handle... and know that what I do to this girl is what I really, really wanted to do to you. Where I'm from, warriors don't lurk behind keyboards. Gladiators don't spend all day stirring up trouble in little white boxes on social media. They pick their battles and they ACTUALLY FRIGGIN' FIGHT THEM!"
Summer lets that hang for a few seconds before those hands return to her lap, still once again. Her voice returns to being calm although it's slightly raspier now from yelling.
Summer: "I know it's a novel concept. Beating someone in the ring. Getting that 1-2-3. I mean, that is still the standard, right? The legal way, generally speaking, to win a match in pretty much any promotion these days? Yeah. I think it is."
She shrugs as if to dismiss the entire topic.
Summer: "You know what I plan to be in 2016? Here in Brutal Force Wrestling?"
Her eyes are narrowed, focused behind those glasses as a predatory smile curves her lips. She says three words, continuing to stare forward intently.
Summer: "Dangerous. Ruthless. Heartless."
That smirk grows wider.
Summer: "Victorious."
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Sat Jun 04, 2016 9:12 am