Post by Athena on Feb 24, 2017 3:47:30 GMT -5
A brightly lit room was prepared for a press conference in Las Vegas, Nevada as it seemed like the place was getting fuller by the second. Cameras and recorders being set up, journalists trying to get a closer spot to the podium. The podium was decorated by the UFC logo as Dana White, the president of the company, and two of the top contenders for the Lightweight championship were sitting behind a table, immediate left from the center of the stage. Wes Danielson made his way on stage, with the title comfortably draped over his shoulder as he smiled at the cameras. Carefully placing the belt right in front of him, he lowered his head just slightly and spoke out.
You are all welcome for the invitations and please be so gracious not to steal pens or chairs from the press room. It probably comes as no surprise that over the past year I've became the most decorated and easily recognizable MMA fighter the world has ever seen. My career is one that will forever be engraved into the history books. And that is why I came to the conclusion that I am getting bored by the lack of challenges and challengers in the company. I officially announce my retirement as the undefeated, reigning Lightweight champion and fighting legend that I am.
Just as Wes was giving the speech of a lifetime, GZWA's own Blake Harper was standing right there backstage, close to the wall, resting against the table, her head lowered. She carefully listened to every word as she remembered every single minute of her own retirement speech. That odd feeling of completion and emptiness. Also, the intriguing sense of adventure and wonder. After all, Blake made the jump from MMA to wrestling at the young age of 24. As the press conference came to an end, Wes finally made his way backstage, without the title, just looking at her with that familiar glisten in his eyes. She knew that there was nothing much to say. Taking a few steps closer as her arms wrapped around him tightly, Blake pressed her lips softly against his forehead. Wes took in a deep, sharp breath... This was it. It was all over.
*Note: The second part of the promo is not being televised*
The scene soon cut to both Blake and Wes in a hotel room, both holding onto glasses of bourbon, as the tattooed redhead was laying on a couch, her legs draped over the very top. Wes, the suit jacket now off and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, was slowly pacing around the room, like he was measuring the entire perimeter. The lights were dim as most of the brightness in the room was coming through the wide open window, thanks to the heavily illuminated Las Vegas scenery. Blake turned her head to the side as those hazel eyes followed the now retired fighter along the room, counting each step.
Grace under pressure, Dr. Wes-tington.
I am very intrigued to see how graceful you will be under the pressure of Ms. Davis overripe peaches.
Blake almost immediately sat up as she looked at Wes. But it wasn't her usual angry glare. This look... Well... It was different.
Not funny, I might die out there. If, god forbid, she falls on me from the top turnbuckle I just might not make out of there alive. "Died of suffocation in the middle of a ring."
Finally, the grim mood was broken as Wes couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Blake cracked a smile herself as she felt a relief seeing him actually laughing.
I don’t think you faced her before in the ring, have you?
I haven’t. She is one of the very few OG Vixens left in the company. And of course, you know that because not a minute passes without her reminding you about that fact. I asked one of the stagehands to show me her Twitter feed, because that is pretty much the summary of her personality, and it all consists of her complaining about new talent, praises to herself and girls who look exactly like her. And don’t forget the complaining. A lot of complaining. Constant and never stopping.
But is she any good in the ring or is she just moving along because of her looks?
Blake shrugged a bit as she stood up slowly from the couch and pulled out her MacBook from her backpack. Sitting back down she started searching for Morgan’s matches online. Of course, she had already seen quite a few of them. And she had done her research. But it was always smart to get a second of pair of eyes to see if she had missed anything. Wes sat down right besides her as they watched match by match, stopping once in awhile to pinpoint certain tricks and shortcuts, some of the difficulties and strengths she has. Pausing on a frame, where Morgan was standing in a ring corner right before a match, Blake took a sip of her bourbon, the ice in it now completely melted.
In a sense she does remind me of Joanna “The Jungle Girl”. I had a match against her in the very beginning of my career here. Well, I mean only style wise, Morgan reminds me of Tarzanna. Both powerhouses and both mostly relied on stomps, powerbombs, clotheslines in their moveset, basing their in-ring performances on their physique and also physical advantage. Something similar to Nia Jax, Tamina Snuka and some of the other unconventional girls in the business. All physical strength with little technicality behind it.
Okay, how can you tackle her height and weight advantage?
The wicked redhead grinned as she leaned back with a satisfied grin on her face. You could see, she was waiting patiently for this specific question.
You see, here’s the catch. Joanna had a good 3 inches on me in height and 52 pounds in weight. In this ring that is still survivable. In the Octagon nobody would have even let her near me. But that was Joanna. Morgan officially weighs as much as me and is shorter by one inch.
So that means you have a match in your own weight class…
Correct, Sherlock. So, since we just eliminated the physical advantage factor, Ms. Georgia’s Peaches is only left with a very limited and dodgy moveset, slight ring rust and a whole lot of ego to compliment it all. Plus, she has a short temper, which won’t do her a lot of favors either. I am not saying that she can’t win… But it is unlikely. The second she gets upset and I bring her to the ground, where my game is unbeatable, she can start preparing another Twitter rant how the new crop of talent is ruining her career, because she will actually have to start training and preparing for once.
Wes turned as he looked at Blake with a grin on his face.
You are getting smart, Pookie.
Oh, fuck you, Wes. *Laughs* I keep saying it over and over again, but nobody seems to listen to me. MMA fighters have a huge advantage over any wrestler not only technicality or athletic background wise. We are trained to strategize, prepare, study, plan and be ready for any possible outcome and for the few that seem impossible. We combine our skills with our minds and it leads to the supreme athlete. A true prized fighter. Everybody fears Morgan who boasts herself as a groundbreaking powerhouse. Yet, in reality, when you take everything into account, she is just a clunky “Sports Illustrated” cover girl with her moveset being limited to her ass. But why is she considered to be a fear inducing powerhouse? Because she said so and nobody bothered to research and double check.
Wes sat up properly as he looked straight ahead for a brief second. He then turned to Blake as you could hear the serious tone in his voice.
Grace period is over…
And all this company needs… Is a little spark… To pierce through the dark.
As those last words rang in the dead silence of the room the scene faded to black.
