[Rowan Chance]

A man in an ugly blue sports coat with the letters "GLPW" on his lapel (standing for Great Lakes Pro Wrestling) stands in front of the camera, just back from commercial break. He has a full head of handsome hair, look about in his '50's, and looks like he used to be a broadcaster with KMSP or WCCO. His name is Buck Weinberg and he's very happy to see you. Just look at that big smile plastered on his face.

"Welcome back, fans!" he says with a little too much enthusiasm. No complaints. That's how you get over in this business. "Well, we've seen a lot of rough and ready competitors in Great Lakes Pro Wrestling, but none quite like this woman. She's the Queen of the DDT, the Daughter of Darkness, one of the most dangerous women in the world... Rowan 'Unbreakable' Chance!"

Notice he said, "one of the most dangerous" and not "the most dangerous?" That's because of Paris. And yeah, I've still got wounds. Wounds you can't see.

I stop out around the curtain with my custom thin black tank top and black yoga pants (because I know Red is watching). Tall dominatrix boots on. I'm wearing a necklace. It falls just low enough to draw attention to my breasts which are aching to peek through my tank top. Just as you're aching to see them. I've also got black glasses over my eyes. My hair tied back tight. Long, black braid down my back. Raven black. So black, it's almost blue. My lips are blood red and I smile, even though the audience sends a thousand boos my way. Let 'em. Suckers. They paid to get in here. I walked in and they handed me a check.

Buck says, "Rowan, it sounds like you aren't too popular with our fans here." He points the mic at me.

I let my smile widen. "They say that if you die without Christ's forgiveness, you burn in Hell." A little wider. "That's wrong. They send you to Minnesota."

That gets the crowd riled up. I keep going.

"You burn with the heat, you melt with the humidity, and when winter comes...you freeze so cold, it burns."

More boos. I've got them going.

"And have you met the state bird? The mosquito?"

They're yelling at me now. Good.

"Oh, no. I forgot. It's the common loon."

They're on their feet. I just smile and nod at them.

"That's what I'm dealing with here, Wine Bag. A bunch of COMMON LOONS."

It's all cheap heat. That's fine. I'll give them the real stuff later. I look back at Buck. "I hear you've got a little girl here who thinks she's something special. Thinks she's a snake." I stand in place and do a little belly dancing, moving my hips as I raise my long, sleek arms above my head. "Little girl who thinks she deserves a shot at the title."

I look right into the camera now. "Listen here, Vivianne Labelle." I point at the lens. "I didn't just come here for fun. I wasn't brought in to do squash matches with nobodies. I came here for a very specific reason. For a very specific friend."

Buck asks, "Why are you here, Rowan?"

I turn to him. "See...I know a certain Great Lakes Champion...a certain Dark-Winged Angel...and I know she put a $50,000 bounty on Vivianne's head. That's fifty-thousand dollars to the woman who can put Vivianne out of wrestling. And I'm going to be the woman who collects that bounty."

I look back at the camera. "I like money, Viv. I like it a lot. Money is how I buy all those nice expensive things that make me happy. So, when I heard about the bounty, I made a few calls. I convinced Great Lakes Pro Wrestling to buy my flight and pay for my appearance. But that's all little money compared to what I'm going to make breaking your neck, little girl. And make no mistake. I'm here for one reason and one reason only."

I take a step closer to the camera, reaching out and grabbing it. Holding it still. Focused on my face.

"I'm here. To break. Your. Neck."

That's when I spin on my dominatrix heel and step out of the camera range. To the back!

Buck shakes his head and catches his breath. "Well...that's a lot to take in! The Unbreakable Rowan Chance is here to take up the bounty that our champion, the Black-Winged Angel, has put on Vivianne ‘La Vipére’ Labelle! We'll have to see what Vivianne has to say about that! But after this commercial!"

[Vivianne]

“The Great Minnesota Get Together, August 23-September 3 at the State Fair Grounds. See you at the Fair!” The commercial comes to an end and the smiling face of Buck Weinberg once again fills the TV screen.

“Welcome back, fans! Joining me now is the woman who seems to be the most wanted wrestler in GLPW today, if our champion’s bounty and the presence of my last guest are any indication…Vivianne, ‘La Vipére’ Labelle. Welcome Vivianne. Let’s get right to it…what do you have to say about Rowan Chance coming here and announcing to you and everyone else that she is going to break your neck?”

What do I think about it? He wants to know what I think about it? Well, to answer that adequately I need to back up a bit. I sat backstage and watched the Daughter of Darkness work up the local Twin Cities crowd with her insults, and chuckled to myself the entire time. See, I am not a native Minnesotan, and Rowan knows that. I moved here from Montreal when I was a child with my single mother, also a pro wrestler, and her trainer. I followed in mom’s footsteps, eventually starting to make a name for myself in the GLPW. While I adore my current home, the insults about this state do not phase me. They were simply for the crowd. I know it…and Rowan knows I know it. So, I chuckled. She is good at heating up a crowd.

I stopped laughing when she mentioned our champion, the Dark-Winged Angel. I shouldn’t be surprised that a wrestler as dark, vicious, and ruthless as Rowan Chance would be friends with that woman. The woman who took an instant disliking to me when I started wrestling here. The woman who liked me even less when I started winning. The woman whose dislike for me turned to hatred when I beat her, fair and square, in the ring three weeks ago, cementing my spot in line as a top contender for her title. A bounty to take me out of wrestling? Yeah…I had heard about that…and I am not surprised. Still…hearing Rowan announce she is here to collect is no laughing matter…so I watched the rest of her interview and listened VERY carefully.

I smile at Buck. His blue sports coat IS ugly, but he is genuinely a sweetheart and I enjoy the way my smile makes him blush under his TV make up. “Well Buck, I have a few things to say.” I turn toward the camera, dressed in my ring gear. My one piece suit (I just LOVE the old school one piece look!) is black with a charcoal grey snakeskin pattern. My boots are a matching black with snakeskin pattern too, coming all the way up my calves to just under my grey snakeskin patterned kneepads. La Vipére, comfortable I her own skin. My black hair hangs loose to my shoulders.

“First, I think our champion is a coward, hoping to get some other woman to take me out so she will not have to face me in the ring again after I beat her, but I’ll deal with her later. Second, I know you like money Rowan. It must take a lot to pay for all of the treatments and therapies you have had to go through since you LOST to PUNKY in Paris.” I deliver this last with a knowing wink to the camera. I know how much you hate hearing HER name and being reminded of what happened there.

“You are not as ‘unbreakable’ as you think, Rowan, and I am going to prove it to you. What do I have to say, Buck? I say I am not afraid of Rowan, and I am challenging her to face me next week, when the GLPW invades the Target Center here in Minneapolis. She will regret messing with La Vipére when I show everyone just how Breakable she is!”

With that I fluff my hair back over my shoulders, bring my hand to my lips and blow the camera a kiss, and stride out of the shot to the back.

Buck watches me bounce off, no doubt watching my ass, and then turns back to the camera. “Well…a threat has been made, and a challenge has been thrown down. That’s all the time we have folks, but be sure to tune in next time for more great action here in the GLPW! Good night!!”

[Rowan Chance]

"Good night!"

The camera is on you—precious little you—as you wave goodbye to the TV viewing audience. Standing there next to the idiot in the ugly coat. They start to roll the credits, the camera still on your smiling face.

But what you don't see is what's behind you. More specifically, who is behind you. And that who is me.

I move fast. My infamous speed that's undercut the strength of wrestlers like The Red Enforcer and the punching power of Gemma Rox. And yes...even HER.

You had to mention her name, didn't you? Just had to. Like saying her name would give you some sort of advantage. I'll tell you what it's gonna get you. No. Better yet. Let me show you.

Because I come up behind you all lightning and shadow. A steel chair in my hands. Not gonna hit you with the flat of it, no. I'm gonna hit you right in the back of the neck with the edge.

And when you go down, I'll throw the chair down and get behind your sweet little body, down on all fours. And I'll grab your right arm from behind, lifting it up, snaking my left arm under your right elbow and up behind your head.

If I was street trash with a bad purple dye, I'd give this hold a name from a punk rock song. Something like the "You Wanna Be Sedated" or the "Sniffin' Glue" or the "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" or something stupid like that. But I don't. I'm a traditional kind of girl and that means I keep the name.

Gory Guerrero called it la de a caballo. But I learned its more common name from the man known as the Sheik. The cobra fucking clutch.

[Vivianne]

I waive my final goodbyes to the Twin Cities crowd and am about to turn to the back when I feel the edge of the steel chair slam into the back of my neck. “HUNGHGHG!!” I have just enough to time to wonder where you came from as I fall to all four…just enough time to marvel at how fast and silently you move…but I don’t wonder either as my brain is only occupied with one thing right now…PAIN.

On all four now…shaking my head…black hair hanging over my face and covering the grimace as I try to push down the pain and get up. I need to get up, before you can…

Too late!!

You are on me quick…quicker than most women I have faced…and grab my arm. “Ngh…no!” I let out as you pull me into the cobra clutch!

Me…‘La Vipére’…caught in a hold named after a snake!

I immediately start to kick and thrash, desperately pawing at your arm and wrist with my free hand, twisting my upper body in a vain attempt to break free. Playing right into your hands, as my struggles simply add to the pressure being applied to my neck.

My neck! Worth $50K to whoever breaks it!

“No!” I squirm as the fear starts to hit me…fear that is only tempered by the fact I am starting to fade. My kicks and gyrations slowing…my breathing becoming labored…my vision…starting to get…fuzzy…

“N…no…”

[RedEnforcer]

I hate the cold. Sure most people think it's because I'm from the South, but what many people don't realize is that under the mask, I'm half Filipino. My mom would bundle herself up in full winter gear if it got below 70 in my hometown and I inherited her thermostat. That being said, I like having money to pay bills. And when a friend asks me to help them out, I'm on my way before I ask where.



So this promotion in the Twin Cities area is wanting to make a big splash. And they want to do two things, improve the production quality of their show and run some old school angles. They've noticed that many fans are turning from the Corporate Wrestling out there and tuning in more storytelling and angles. So I get a call and an offer for some serious cash if I would help out with this new angle they have for the contender for their title. This Vivianne Labelle.

And it's a damn good thing I was there.

I looked over some of their production earlier in the day and made some suggestions from my time running the infamous FTW recap shows that well went viral I hope? Anyways I'm watching from production in the back when I see Rowan show up and cut a real classic heel promo. Nice one. Then Vivianne shows up.

Wow.

Old school look and sensibility. Why have I never crossed paths with her bef...shit...oh shit...

She mentioned..."Greg, who told Vivianne to mention Paris or Megan?"

"She does her own promos Red, like we used to in the old days."

Please have left
Please have left
Please have left

Then Rowan jumps her. And I see what she's doing.

This is no longer an angle. It's personal.

Without thinking I roar out of the back and come up on the pair. Both women so tightly entwined, it's hard to tell where one stops and the other starts. Rowan has that look on her face that I saw in Vegas. She's different. More vicious. Even scarier than when she had the mask.

And poor Vivianne is just being treated like a rag doll here. If someone doesn't stop Rowan...

This is where it gets tricky. I go in full power and I could pry Rowan off, but she'd wrench poor Vivianne's neck. I have to be subtle. And hope.

Hope some of the Rowan I know is still in there.

I ease up behind her and slowly wrap my arms around her waist, pressing my broad chest against her lithe back. I can feel the muscles in her shoulders flexing hard. I press my hips against hers and basically try to envelop her body with mine. Nothing threatening or she'll react. Just something, familiar.

I slowly run my fingers along her abs. Just the way I remember her liking. The way only I do it so she has to know it's me and not some security goon. My lips find her earlobe and I whisper her name over and over in her ear. I just need her to relax. For one moment.

She does and she takes a breath.

Like a flash, I yank back on Rowan and step back, seeing Vivianne's lovely head slip free from Rowan's nasty grip. And suddenly my Rowan is gone and this new Rowan is back, screaming vengeance and cursing me for interrupting.

[Rowan Chance]

I feel...

...the pretty little girl's throat crushing under my grip.
...the strength in her body fading.
...her arms flopping down to her sides.
...her legs giving out from under her.
...her neck, ready to pop.

And I laugh. That wicked, dark laughter that sounds like autumn leaves blowing through a chilly wind. I intensify my grip as her resistance fades. My arms bending her head forward, pushing her chin down toward her chest. I see on the monitors. Her eyes glazing over. Her lips drooling. Eyelids fluttering.

"You're mine, pretty girl," I whisper into Viv's ear.

And as she starts to crumble, I start to go down with her. Her left hand desperately slapping at my wrists, trying to find some way to break the hold.

Baby...nobody breaks this hold. Nobody. I went to Mexico to learn from a man in a mask. I posed as a good Christian girl so Reverend Theodore Marvin DiBiase Sr. would show me something I didn't know. (Spoiler: I knew more than he did.) I even went to goddamn Stamford, CT. and tricked the Sarge into answering some questions. (Wrestlers love talking to "reporters.")

And then, I went to Lansing, Michigan and sat over a grave. I burned candles and let the scent fill my nostrils. I ground up a recipe from a black book and ate what was left. And I spoke with...something.

Nobody breaks this hold. Nobody.

You're going down, pretty little Vivianne. I'm collecting the money. And I won't even need to step into a wrestling ring.

And then... I feel...

...powerful arms reaching around me.
...a chest against my back that I know well.
...breath on my ear.
...the leather of a mask.
...that mask.

I hear him whisper my name. And my voice growls deep in my throat.

"YOU SIDED WITH HER!"

And I twist Vivianne's neck when I say that last word. And I let her crumble in front of me. Let her fall to my feet.

I turn on my dominatrix heels to face Red. My eyes full of black fire fury.

I shove him back.

"You don't get to touch me. Ever! Again!"

Then, I walk to the back. Determined. Not looking left nor right.

Just straight ahead.

Black Winged Angel better have my goddamn money.

[Vivianne]

I’m not really sure how I ended up in this position. I remember an excruciating pain in my neck, followed by Rowan locking me in her Cobra Clutch. I remember kicking and thrashing, trying to no avail to break free. I remember her voice in my ear, telling me I was hers. But after that, things get fuzzy.

There was someone else, wasn’t there? Someone big and strong. Someone’s voice said Rowan’s name, over and over. Someone…in a mask? It had to be a delusion as I faded away in Rowan’s arms.

Then…suddenly…the vice around my neck TWISTS one last time before releasing me. I am not sure what is going on. A woman is yelling…then…nothing. I push myself up onto my left elbow, laying on my left side with my legs bent, having fallen in this position and now just starting to move. I look up, brushing my hair from my eyes and see this big, strong man looking down at me…from behind a red leather mask. Mask? I…I must still be out of it. We don’t have any masked wrestlers in here GLPW…do we?

He is offering me his hand to help me up, and I reach out tentatively to take it, not yet trusting my brain is really seeing things clearly. I feel relief when he takes my hand, feeling his touch and knowing I am not imagining him. He pulls me up easily and in a voice with a charming southern accent says, “Are you ok?”

Am I ok? I just got blindsided in the back of the neck with a steel chair by Rowan Chance, and then put in a Cobra Clutch while she tried to break my neck. The champion of our promotion has put a $50K bounty out on my head. My neck hurts, my hair and makeup are a mess, and I'm fucking pissed. And to top it all off, I am just realizing I have been saved by The Red Enforcer. THE RED ENFORCER!! Seeing someone so famous in this business should be a special occasion…not being helped from the floor after being choked out. Yeah…I’m doing great!

But of course I don’t say that…

Instead, I brush back my hair and smooth out my one piece over my curves, noticing the way the eyes behind the mask follow my hands as I do. “Yes…I think I am…” I smile up at the big man, who smiles back at me from under his mask. I step close to him and place my hands flat against his broad chest. “…thanks to you!” I lean my face up and stand on my toes, my breasts pressing into him now as I kiss him gently on the cheek of his mask, lowering myself back down and smiling warmly as he seems to blush.

I back away from him and smile, turning to walk to the back. After a few steps I look back over my shoulder to see him watching me. “It was nice meeting you.” I wink and turn back, and as soon as I do my expression changes. Eyes narrowing and a frown on my face. You’re going to pay for this Rowan. By the time I am done with you there will be no putting you back together again. You. Will be. BROKEN...

[Rowan Chance]

I watch the video from my hotel room. I watch you stand up and kiss Red on his leather cheek, prancing off backstage.

Yeah. Adrenaline is a helluva drug.

I know that five minutes later, the real pain started kicking in. That pain in your neck. I heard all about it. How you dropped to the floor. How they had to call medics in. How you had to spend the night in the hospital for "observation."

They don't show that on TV. They don't the world to know how weak their top face is. How easily someone could come along and snap her pretty little neck.

I'll give you credit, though. You're still walking. And you only wear the neck brace when you aren't in public. You've been staying out of the ring. Letting yourself heal. That's because your mouth wrote a check your neck can't cash.

Sitting in my hotel room...and make no mistake, this isn't some shitty Hotel 6 rathole like I'd stay in when I was traveling around the country, trying to earn a reputation. This is a suite on the top floor. King-sized bed, patio hot tub, dining room, kitchen, the works. And the man laying unconscious in my bed after I fuck fought him down is dreaming sweet dreams about me right now. He'll be dreaming sweet dreams about me for the rest of his goddamn life.

But I'm in the living room. The TV on. And I'm watching you.

Watching how you walk. Watching how you fight. Watching how you throw a punch. Watching how you wince when someone hits you in some places but not in others. Watching that finisher of yours.

I know how to counter it, Viv. You'd better believe I do. I spent hours in the gym practicing it.

And oh, have I got a surprise for you. Yes, I do. Something you'll never see coming.

It's going to be so sweet.

I look at my iPhone. About time to drive down to the arena. I grab my gear bag and head out. No need to worry about Mr. Sleepy-Go-Night-Night. He gave me a nice warm up for the evening, but I don't need to worry about leaving him here in my room. Everything I need is in my bag. I'm checking out. I won't be coming back here tonight.

I have other plans.

[Vivianne]

The hot water feels good on my neck as I stand in the shower in my apartment. Nice thing about GLPW having most of its events in the Twin Cities  is I got to sleep in my own bed last night. The water feels good as it runs down my neck and over my curves. My eyes are closed…and I am thinking about many things.

Thinking about how you attacked me, Rowan.

Thinking about how The Red Enforcer saved me, and how determined I felt as I walked away from him to the back.

Thinking about the POP I heard in my neck as I went through the curtain…and the intense pain that caused me to fall to the floor. The ensuing panic as I was rushed to Hennepin County Medical Center, where I was indeed kept over night for “observation.”

Remembering the smile on the doctor’s face when she told me there was nothing broken or torn. There was some damage in the form of strains and potential weakening of a few vertebrae, but she was happy to report I could avoid surgery and make a full recovery…if I stayed out of the ring for six months…maybe longer.

Her smile faded quickly when I told her that simply would not do. It turned into an outright frown when I told her I needed to compete in six days…I had challenged you, Rowan, during my promo, to a match at Target Center in a week, and I will be damned if some doctor, no matter how cute she is, will tell me I can’t be there. I signed myself out of HCMC the next day, determined to prove this doctor wrong.

She was right…

I was so stiff for the first week that I was not medically cleared to compete. It took that entire first week, and most of the second, before I was able to get back in the ring, but even then I played it safe, wearing the neck brace backstage, and keeping my training as low impact as possible. I did not make the weekly shows in Duluth or Rochester, and last week in St. Cloud I showed up to cut a promo and reissue my challenge you to, Rowan. The following week, back at the Target Center, I was going to make you pay for attacking me like you did.

I step from the shower and my thoughts shift from the last few weeks to tonight, and what I know I am facing. WHO I know I am facing. I’ve been watching you too, Rowan. Being on the shelf has given me time to watch footage. Paris, Vegas, and most recently in LA. I know you are dangerous. The way you move, with a quickness unlike any I have faced in my comparatively young career. I know I can out punch you, if it comes to that. You may have faced one or two harder punchers than me…and we both know the women to whom I am referring…but I hit like a Canadian nor’easter myself. What you lack in punching power, you more than make up for in a variety of other lethal strikes, so I will need to be careful.

You have the ability to lock in and hit your DDT from "Outta Nowhere!”, and I have seen footage of that too. Yes, Lady DDT, footage from Japan. I will be wary of that move, Rowan.

Your finisher and your submission move are both deadly. The Widow’s Bite and Widow’s Kiss…or was it the Widow’s Web? Even you seem to interchange the names yourself, so it doesn’t really matter. Very few women have gotten out of your submission hold, and your finisher is just that…a FINISHER. The best way to counter both will be to be sure you don’t get the chance to use either on me.

Fully dressed and ready to go now, I sit on my couch and rub my neck. It will be a target of yours tonight for sure, and I know I am taking a risk by not waiting longer. It’s not in my nature though. My mom used to lace up the boots and hit the mats injured all of the time. Of course, she was trying to put food on the table and in her day, before long-term contracts, no wrestling meant no payday. Still, I am a Labelle, and I do not run from a fight.

It’s time. The GLPW limo should be waiting downstairs by now. I may not be able to afford to stay in a top floor suite, complete with room service and a male companion, but being one of GLPW’s top draws does have this one little perk. I grab my bag and make sure I have everything I need, confident I will be returning home tonight after sending you back where you cam from, Rowan.

Ok…time to go to work…

[Rowan Chance]

The booker wants me to come out first.

Me. Go out through the curtain first. Because the babyface should come out second.

I look up at him. And let me tell you how much I hate looking up at men. So much bullshit attached to height. Wanna know how much bullshit? Go visit New York. You'll see how much bullshit.

He's balding, trying to cover it with a clever comb over. Three chins. Smells like cigarettes. God, I hate cigarettes. Boys, you want a chance with a girl? Quit smoking. Trust me. The world will become a target rich environment. His shirt is too short for his belly and his fingers are thick and dirty. Yeah, he's the cliche of every single cheap ass promoter in North America. There's a reason cliches exist.

"Yeah, how about the bigger star goes out second?" I ask him.

"Babyface goes out second," he says. He looks down on me. Goddamn, every single time a man looks down at me I want to kick him in the balls. Doesn't help I'm dressed like a stripper. I mean, I love the way I look. But he doesn't see me as a professional. Even if I was the kind of professional he's thinking about. No, he just sees me as something to use.

"All right," I nod. "I'll do it."

"Good," he says. Then, he goes back to whatever he was doing. Peeking through the hole he had installed in the womens' locker room, probably.

I stand behind the curtain and wait for the cue. The wrestlers from the previous match come through the curtain. I stand far enough aside so nobody can see me from the other side. There's about a thirty second pause, then the lights go out. And my new theme starts to play. Black Vultures by Halestorm.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnrKrFS6L0Y

I don't give in, I don't give up
I won't ever let it break me
I'm on fire, I'm a fighter
I'll forever be the last one standing
Black vultures circling the sky
Pick at the pieces
Scavengers wait for me to die
But I'm not defeated

When the chorus hits, that's when I shove the curtains aside, spreading my arms wide. Black smoke curling around me. My new entrance gear has a long coat made of black feathers, a halo made of the same around my shoulders. My eyes are painted black with a black stripe across my face--just like Priss from Blade Runner or Furiosa from Fury Road. The pitch black makes the white of my eyes shine bright, matching the dark brown of my own eyes. With my arms outstretched, the curtain still in my grip, I look around the place. My blood red lips curling into a cruel smile.

I'm here to wreck your hero. That's what my smile says. And you--all of you--are going to watch.

Black vultures circling the sky
Pick at the pieces
Scavengers wait for me to die
But I'm not defeated

I make my way down the entrance ramp toward the ring. I don't clap hands, I don't dance. One tall, black leather domme boot in front of the other. My long legs are on full display under my feathered robe.

I'm on the edge of the war
I'm holding on and hanging by a thread
I am the eye of the storm
And you haven't seen the last of me just yet
I'm falling down but I'm not out
I'm coming back for more

I imagine most people are distracted by my walk, but a few in the audience hear the lyrics and hear all the shit going through those lyrics: past, present and future. One in particular.

Black vultures circling the sky
Pick at the pieces
Scavengers wait for me to die

When I reach the ring, I slide between the bottom and second ropes. Not my usual highly sexualized entrance. Simple. Elegant.

I move to the center of the ring and spread my goddamn wings, dropping my chin to my chest, then raising it up and screaming at the ceiling. More mythic meaning for my masked man.

Black vultures circling the
Black vultures circling the
Black vultures circling the
Black vultures circling the sky

Then, as the music suddenly stops, I drop my wings and raise one of them up to my face, hiding my lips and nose, looking straight into the camera. Just the black paint and my shining eyes.

[Vivianne]

“Miss Labelle, it’s time.” The voice of the arena attendant follows his knock on my dressing room door. He doesn’t knock twice, or wait for a reply, knowing I am familiar with the routine. I stand up and take one last look at myself in the full-length mirror, making sure everything is just right. Nice thing about Target Center is the top-notch dressing rooms, and being in the main event tonight means I get to use one of the private ones.

As I walk the hall to the entrance area I hear your music. “Scavengers wait for me to die, But I’m not defeated.” Hmm…sounds like someone is either trying awfully hard to forget Paris…or awfully hard to NOT let herself forget. Either way, I don’t intend to be your next stepping stone on your road to recovery.

Your music stops and after you’ve had a few moments to play to the crowd, and the cameras, the show manager looks at me, waiting. The crowd is buzzing as I give him a smile and a nod. With a flash of pyro at the top of the stage, my entrance song hits.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PgraolBe6ss

You flash a smile,
You think I’ll fall,
You push me back against the wall…
The time has come to pay or play,
But I slip away!

As the beat drives on I step through the curtain, moving first to my left, then my right across the stage, playing to the crowd on each side. Big smile on my face, and hands in the air, getting a big pop from my adopted hometown crowd. Coming back to the top of the ramp, I stand with my feet together,  arms straight out, palms open and up, head back, face to the ceiling…waiting…until the chorus starts. My head snaps forward and I start down the ramp, giving high fives and hand slaps all the way down the aisle. The GLPW crowd loves me…and why shouldn’t they? Like the song says, “I’m a snake charmer!”

My curvy body is clad in a classic one piece suit, with a silver and black snakeskin pattern. My calf high boots and knee pads are colored to match, giving La Vipére her skin. My ring jacket is short, only down to the waist, in matching colors with yellow snake eyes on the back. My black hair is loose and down to my shoulders. Just enough makeup to highlight my cheekbones and eyes, and black lipstick. A smattering of glitter on my chest and in my hair. The entire ensemble…one piece, boots, knee pads, ring jacket, hair, makeup, and glitter…resembling something you might have seen on GLOW back in the day. Combine that with my enthusiastic interaction with the crowd…and they eat it up! Every crowd loves a good Babyface, right?

I reach the ring and do a lap, slapping hands with fans at ringside, before coming back around. Looking up to be sure you are on the far side of the ring, I slide in under the bottom rope, my back arching as I raise my upper body with my arms, SLITHERING into the ring. I push myself to my feet and peel off my ring jacket. I swing it over my head a few times, bringing even more cheers from the crowd, before I toss it over the top rope where a ring attendant will pick it up.

As my music stops I stand in middle ring, looking directly at you. You, Rowan…the woman who attacked me a little over a month ago. You, Rowan…the woman who has vowed to put me out of wrestling…to break my neck…and claim our bitch champion’s bounty. You, Rowan…the woman I plan to send back to the hole you crawled out of to come here.

My eyes borrow straight into yours, showing you I am not intimidated by your entrance or your new look. I bounce from foot to foot, like a prize fighter getting loose. I roll my head and shoulders, feeling some stiffness still in my neck, but it is too late to worry about that now.

I’m ready.

Time to go to work…

[Rowan Chance]

Look at you. So confident. So pretty. Your eyes, your lips. Your breasts, your hips. Lean, muscular limbs. But not too muscular. Not too hard. Just a lovely combination of strength and beauty. Almost perfect.

Almost. But not quite. Let me show you what perfect looks like.

I shrug my cloak of feathers off and it slides down my shoulders, and with a twist, it lands in my arms. I turn and give it to one of the ring crew, making sure he knows what will happen to him if he messes with it. And then, I turn to face you.

This is what perfect looks like.

My custom-made leather corset isn't exactly a corset. It's flexible. Leather plates, yes, but with black spandex which allows me to bend. And to be honest, the leather isn't leather. It's pleather. Plastic leather. That gives it additional flexibility.

My boy shorts are cut just right so all the boys can see the curve of my ass. Made from the same material as my faux-corset. And black. Black as night. Black as nightmares. And on my ass is a reminder of my old gimick: a blood red black widow's mark. Like a sand timer. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Skin-colored stockings and tall dominatrix boots specially made for this kind of activity. No heels. Flat soles. But they go all the way up to my knees. Laced up the front with blood red laces.

On my arms are long, pleather opera gloves. I flex the fingers, listening to the stretching sound. Looking at you. And smiling.

The referee looks at both of us. The crowd going wild. Chanting your name. There are a few smart marks out there with Rowan Chance shirts and signs, but I've alienated most of the people who used to cheer for me. Traveling across the country breaking necks and arms and legs does that to a girl. But there's money. Oh, so much money. So many pretty little things like you who make enemies. And those enemies pay top dollar.

I'm not in this for the wins anymore. I'm not in it to make a point. I'm in it for the dollar bills. I'm a mercenary. Heartless. Cold. Calculating.

The Dark-Winged Angel wants you out of the business, Viv. He's paying me big bucks to take you out.

Win, lose, or draw. That's what's going to happen. Tonight, you're being carried out on a stretcher.

The bell rings. Time to go to work.

[Vivianne]

You shrug your feathered cloak and I get my first up close look at you…and you do look perfect. The way your corset hugs your body and accentuates your breasts. The way your domme boots make your long, sexy legs look even longer. The way your boy shorts hug your ass. Everything about you looks perfect.

Everything about you looks cold…

Everthing about you looks…dangerous…

The crowd is really worked up now as the ref makes sure we are both ready. “VI-VI-ANNE! VI-VI-ANNE! VI-VI-ANNE!”

On the outside I look confident. Eyes narrow and looking straight into yours, Smile gone from my face and replaced with the look of determination my fans have come to expect from me when a match starts. Body coiled…like a snake…and ready to strike.

On the inside? That is another matter. I am feeling something I have not felt since my debut match…nervous. My stomach is churning and my arms are tingling just a bit. My bouncing from foot to foot is not just to loosen up…but to burn off excess energy as I prepare to clash with one of the most dangerous…and sexy women in this sport.

The ref turns to call for the bell, and I shove these feelings down, knowing I cannot afford to hesitate.

DING! DING! DING!

I come out of the corner in a slight crouch, guard up, circling you in a classic, almost old school wrestling stance. Like I do every match. Showing you exactly what you expect to see…for now…

Circling…feet shuffling and leg muscles tense…looking for an opening…ready to pounce as soon as you give me one. Suddenly, I plant my right leg hard, digging my boot into the canvas as I LUNGE toward you, going for a classic collar/elbow lockup…

Here we go!!

[Rowan Chance]

Collar and elbow?

Collar and elbow?

Oh, little princess. You're in the wrong place.

You go for a collar and elbow and I duck down and under, swinging low. The intent is simple: throw the tip of my boot straight into that gorgeous flat belly of yours. I'm doing it fast and I'm doing it just out of the range of sight of the referee. Because kicks are only legal if its the flat of the boot, not the tip. And I'm going for hitting you with the tip.

I pivot on my left leg, spinning 360 degrees around. A kick I learned in Japan. Ah, Japan...

I was just nineteen years old when they gave me the Lady DDT hood. Still green as grass, knowing how to bump and that's about it. And in the ring, I was doing DDTs. Like Daniel-san washing cars. They were teaching me something. Do one thing and do it over and over and over and over again until you do it right.

But at night, I was doing a different kind of training. A different kind of teacher. I caught his eye. He liked what he saw. And what he saw was potential.

So, late at night, I show up in a dark dojo and I suffer at the hands of my teacher. And he shows me things almost nobody knows.

But when you see my kick--when everyone sees that kick--they'll invoke his name. They'll use the same adjectives.

Intense. Sudden. Powerful.


Spinning on my heel, sending the tip of my boot toward your stomach. I even whisper his name as my own subtle kiai.

Mutoh!

[Vivianne]

Sitting on a stool in my mom’s dressing room after one of her matches, watching her as she finishes dressing and packs her things into her bag. I don’t remember what town we were in. They all seem the same, especially to my six year old eyes.

“Mommy, why did you cheat in your match tonight?” While still stuffing her bag, my mom looks at me and smiles.

“Well Sweetie, sometimes mommy has to bend the rules a little bit, to keep the other girls from hurting me too much. You’ll understand more when you get older.”

Mom was right. I did understand more as I got older. Some wrestlers are heels. Some are babyfaces. I realized early on that my path to success in this business was as a babyface. I simply had that classic, babyface build and look. A look I cultivated with one piece suits, free flowing hair and glitter, and generally playing by the rules. Yes…I am a babyface.

Rowan, you are most definitely a heel, and a vicious one at that. A fact you seem intent on proving to me, and the entire arena, from your opening move…

I lunge in for the lockup and my arms WHIFF as you duck under me. Fuck…so fast!! You’re behind me before I even realize I grabbed open air…and before I can process that fact the tip of your boot…fucking heel move!...smashes into my flat tummy. So fast and so hard!!

“UNGHGHG!!!” I gasp out and buckle forward, my arms immediately going to my gut. You caught me with my arms still out, having missed the lock up, and your boot slammed into relatively relaxed abs…and sunk in deep! GAWD!!!

I feel as though I might throw up. I shake my head, hair flowing side to side, and step away from you, almost staggering as my right hand continues to hold my gut. Bent over slightly, my left hand out in front of me, pawing the air as I pant for breath.

Another shake of my head and…where are you? Knowing you won’t simply let me recover after a single kick. Trying to straighten up…

Where are you?