Consequences

It was just another television taping for Friction and the first match of the night was just about to start. Two members of the kawaii division were squaring off, the referee’s hand raised to signal the opening bell when-

The lights went out. And, when they came back up, Alicia Wells was stood centre ring in full match gear.

She didn’t say a word, just turned a deadly glare on the two ‘wrestlers’ and jerked her thumb at the ramp. The message might have been silent but it was no less clear for that.

Scram.

One of the two did just that, backing slowly away to duck under the ropes and skedaddle as fast as her legs would carry her.

The other however…

”You can’t just stomp out here,” She protested, getting as close to up in the big redhead’s face as she could manage, ”We’re going to have a match. You can’t-“

KRAK.

She never even saw Alicia move, the kickboxer torqueing her hips and snapping one leg up and around in a roundhouse that sent the smaller woman head over heels. There was no interest on the amazon’s expression, just a tightly contained cold fury – not even at the one who’d dared to get in her way.

No, she was here for someone else.

With no interest in the ref’s efforts at checking the kawaii fighter, Alicia sent her limp body under the ropes with a curt boot. But she stuck an arm between the referee and the ropes when the official tried to follow, shaking her head.

It was about this point when the nearer fans noticed the microphone in one hand, just as Alicia brought it to her lips. They leant forward, eager to hear an explanation for this out of character set of actions. But they were destined to be disappointed.

”Wright!” The redhead half-snarled and half-bellowed the name into the microphone with considerable venom, ”Get out here.”

Jessica was lurking backstage, watching, waiting, scheming. The AFW arena was increasingly becoming one of her favorite haunts as it was one of the few places she got respect for who she was. In all the bars she had not been banned from, usually she had to crack a skull or two before she truly owned the place. But here, they knew the horrors that Jessica could bring with her. They knew that anyone who got knocked out was liable to be taken home by Jessica, too, and even fewer people wanted that.

The Violent Violet was wearing dark jeans and a simple white tank top. It was cold outside, but she deposited her jacket in her locker before she started roaming around the arena. Now all she had to do was cause anarchy, and start shit, both of which came naturally to her. Jessica meandered close to the staging area, when a rather odd announcement came over the loudspeaker. She grabbed a microphone and walked to the top of the ramp.

"You're looking for me? And not my brother?" Jessica mocked. "Because he is really good. I am much better though, but I am sure you," Jessica pointed to Alicia for emphasis, "of all people know exactly how good I am. So go on, tell all these people," the Violent Violet gestured towards the useless throngs of fans, "exactly what happened, so we all get the full story of how your an up-jumped punk who can't hang in the big leagues."

"So fucking pray continue. Flap you mouth, issue your bullshit challenges, give us your excuses. Because I am not afraid of you, Alicia. No one in their right mind is."

Whatever her reason for being out there, Alicia didn’t wait patiently for Jessica Wright to make her appearance. Instead, the big redhead moved restlessly from one side of the arena to the other, her eyes never still. Part of that was making sure that nobody blindsided her - whether that be Jessica herself or one of her BFF gang, like Styx.

Part of it was just the anger driving her, refusing to let her stay still. She had too much energy for that and the referee – only the referee – was close enough to see her fingers drumming on the microphone as she held it at her side.

And then Jessica appeared at the top of the ramp, bold as brass, and Alicia orientated on her like a heat seeking missile acquiring its target.

Her lips twisted in an ugly expression, the British amazon more or less had her mic at her lips the instant before the Violent Violet was done talking. And it was a measure of just how furious Alicia was that she wasted time answering at all.

”You mean the full story of how you couldn’t stand to be second best in a photoshoot? So you put me out and stormed off like that makes you better than me?”

Alicia’s lips skinned back from her teeth in a fearsome snarl that showed what she thought of that idea.

”No challenges, no excuses, bitch. Either you come here so I can kick your ass or I’ll come down there and kick it. Five seconds.”

Jessica had been wrestling her entire life. She lived wrestling, breathed wrestling, dreamed of wrestling when she was asleep at night. This was not her favorite part of all the hooplah, but she knew how to turn it to her advantage when she had to. "I just put you, what, Alicia? I don't think any of us quite heard that. Can you speak up? Or have you been so cowed by mean old Jessica that you can't be proud."

The Violent Violet dismissed the boos of the crowd with a wave of her arm. "Fine, I knocked her out. She doesn't deserve to be on the sand with me, let alone anywhere near the ring with me. You don't fucking understand what I do. You don't fucking think like I do. That is why I am at the top of the fucking card. What have you done, honey? What makes you think you are anywhere even fucking close to where I am?"

Jessica then sat down. It was a sign of disrespect towards Alicia, and she wanted the redhead to know it. "I don't have shit to prove," Jessica spoke into the microphone, "so why don't you mosey on up here, and let's drink some fucking tea and discuss this shit."

When Alicia said ‘five seconds’, she meant five seconds. No more, no less. So the redhead gave Jessica five seconds count to rant and spout nonsense before she stalked to the ropes and dropped to the floor. She did pause to throw the mic down but, even so, Jessica was still mid-ramble as the big redhead began stomping her way.

The very irate big redhead, as the look on her face made it clear. There was plenty of hot air in Jessica’s spiel that didn’t particularly bother her – she didn’t want to think like Jessica Wright, thank you. Nor did she particularly care where she was on the card. At the same time, the implications still rankled when the purple haired woman implied that she was some sort of failure.

Or non-entity.

That drew a snarl from her and she was well on the way to the top of the ramp by the time the Violent Violet got to the point about tea.

That just meant Alicia accelerated, almost running as she brought a leg up in a football style kick aimed to shorten the taunting bitch by a head.

Being a security officer at AFW was not a pleasant job. The hours were not exactly the best, as they had to stay late on Saturday nights, and the pay was mediocre. Worst of all was the actual exciting part of the job, when a fight would break out. The wrestlers here were all experts in martial arts, and when they were angry they could really get going. When Jessica descended into the arena proper, they all went on high alert and swarmed together. Alicia began climbing the ramp, and they tentatively made their way to the door.

But Jessica was more ready than they could ever be. She knew exactly what effect her words would have, and that was the precise reason that she said them. Sure enough, Alicia came storming up and launched a hell of a kick towards her. She managed to avoid the worst of the damage by blocking it with her arm. Even that had some fairly dire consequences though, as her forearm lit up with pain. In the next millisecond, Jessica was up and ready to level a punch at her foe when one of the security guards caught her blow before she had a chance to launch it forward.

"Fuck you," she hurled at Alicia as the security staff dragged her away. They got her inside, at which point she pushed a few of them off. "I can walk just fine on my own, thanks," she said before she turned to leave. Avalanche. Now that was going to be fun.