Post by kris on Nov 25, 2011 0:23:59 GMT -5
It's been awhile...
The abandoned bingo hall that the scene opens in is a vast space, with high ceilings and hints of architectural touches that were once prized and cherished, well taken care of… but now? The only living creatures that appreciate it are either insects or mice as they go about their tillings and killings-- and even then, it's just the shelter from the elements that they notice. The scant light that makes its way through boarded-up windows suddenly finds itself boosted, augmented as one of those old, thick metal double doors is shoved open with a soft creak of complaint. That broad rectangle of sunlight is soon interrupted by a silhouette that is diminutive compared to the majority of the people, men and women alike, that have competed in the business that once filled this hall with rows and rows of steel folding chairs positioned around a well-worn-- and well-loved-- ring. As the figure standing in the doorway narrows their eyes slightly, it's easy to slip back a good fifteen years into the past--
The cheers of all assembled reached a fever pitch as the North Carolinian legend himself, Morgan Reid, kicked out from a devastating body slam that had shaken the ring with its impact. Even though his face is a crimson mask, the fighting spirit that's always served him well gleams bright in his eyes as he rolls onto his knees, then climbs to his feet, gesturing for his opponent-- a bear of a man known as Mike Wheaton -- to get to his feet, to "Come an' git his hoss self s'morea' this." With a roar, the big man charged… only to get tripped up and snagged in a Texas Cloverleaf that had him screaming out in pain, struggling to hold out… only to end up pounding the mat with a hand the size of a catcher's mit. The roof about came off of the bingo hall as Morgan was helped to his feet, his arm raised over his head… and his free hand pointing right at Natalie and her father, a tradition that most of the local wrestlers would follow once Morgan retired.
The little eight-year-old girl that would grow into the Southern Belle that the fans know and love had never cheered louder in all her life as she did in that moment.
The little eight-year-old girl that would grow into the Southern Belle that the fans know and love had never cheered louder in all her life as she did in that moment.
A soft sigh passes parted lips as one footfall, then another, carries the source of that outline into proper view-- and as soon as the Southern Belle steps into view, it's quickly clear just how her trademark curls didn't give her away, what with how they're pulled back into a ponytail and all. Dressed otherwise in a pair of well-worn jeans and an equally-old Duke hooded sweatshirt that has faded to a medium blue over the years, Natalie nods to herself before heading over to one of those shuttered windows. A flick of the finger is all it takes to free up that hook-and-eye closure, tanned hands seizing the wood panels and opening them-- and she can't help but cough at the veritable cloud of dust that she unleashes as a result. The process is one that she finds herself repeating as she makes her way along the perimeter of the room, a total of eight sizable windows uncovered to allow the natural light to flood the space. Only then does she turn to properly look over the space, nodding to herself at how well things have managed to weather years of neglect. All it would take to get the floor back in shape was some elbow grease, something she'd never been unable to summon up. Considering the people that had surrounded her when she grew up--
Daddy, why're we here so early? The show's not s'posed to start 'till--
The man that towered over her while he held her eleven-year-old hand looked down at his only child with a quirked brow, one that was hard to see past the mass of blond curls that he never seemed to do much with on the weekend. Robert 'Robbie' Burrows chuckled to himself as he lightly jerked his head toward the group of strapping young men that were assembled around a seemingly jumbled pile of metal and wood, all with tools in hand as they worked.
It ain' obvious, kiddo? We're here t'help get everything ready. Now I'm gonna go an' help put the ring together… an' while I'm doin' that, I want you t'go an' ask Mister Morgan what he wants you to do to help out, okay?
Okay.
The patriarch of the Burrows clan leant down and pressed his lips to the top of her head before he gently shooed her toward the wrestler that'd been his best friend since high school. His daughter makes a beeline for Reid, wrapping her arms around his waist in an unabashed hug that caught him by surprise, a deep belly laugh his response as the white-haired man mussed her hair.
The man that towered over her while he held her eleven-year-old hand looked down at his only child with a quirked brow, one that was hard to see past the mass of blond curls that he never seemed to do much with on the weekend. Robert 'Robbie' Burrows chuckled to himself as he lightly jerked his head toward the group of strapping young men that were assembled around a seemingly jumbled pile of metal and wood, all with tools in hand as they worked.
It ain' obvious, kiddo? We're here t'help get everything ready. Now I'm gonna go an' help put the ring together… an' while I'm doin' that, I want you t'go an' ask Mister Morgan what he wants you to do to help out, okay?
Okay.
The patriarch of the Burrows clan leant down and pressed his lips to the top of her head before he gently shooed her toward the wrestler that'd been his best friend since high school. His daughter makes a beeline for Reid, wrapping her arms around his waist in an unabashed hug that caught him by surprise, a deep belly laugh his response as the white-haired man mussed her hair.
…well, it's no surprise that she has one of the strongest work ethics in the business. Shoving the sleeves of her hoodie up past her elbows, Natalie nods a bit to herself as she strides across the room to the small alcove where she knows the cleaning supplies were kept back in the day, managing to hold her breath when the inevitable dust cloud rolls free of the door when she opens it. Idly blowing at an errant curl in order to guide it out of the way of those bluer-than-blue eyes, the Southern Belle initially frowns a bit at the lack of anything but an old mop handle and a bucket that's too cracked to be of any use… but then she catches sight of something in the back corner, a dull metallic gleam. She reaches for that curve, grabbing hold of it and lifting as she backs up-- and what she ends up pulling out is one of those folding chairs that she'd opened and closed more times than she could count.
--twenty-three, twenty-four… and that's twenty-five, for the row.
The fourteen-year-old Burrows girl nodded to herself in satisfaction before she turned around-- and very nearly collided, face-to-chest, with the sixteen-year-old boy that had just finished setting up the protective railing around the ring. It wasn't often that she interacted with him, not anymore-- not ever since he had become so very, very uptight… even in her opinion. Looking up… and up… and up some more for good measure, she offered up an apologetic smile, one that showed the braces that she was secretly desperate to get rid of.
Oh, ah, s-sorry about that--
Watch where you're going. People are working here.
Shoving his way past her before she can stammer out an apology, the towering young man made his way off to see what else needed done instead of simply jumping in and helping her set up chairs. Apparently, that was beneath him now that he had started spending more and more time with the wrestlers, picking up tips and tricks for making the transition from the wrestling he did in high school to the professional variety… and since she wasn't going that same traditional route? She was apparently lower than dirt. Sighing to herself, Natalie got back to work, knowing full well that what she did was far more important than putting on airs of self-importance. Besides, her own official lessons would be starting as soon as she turned fifteen.
The fourteen-year-old Burrows girl nodded to herself in satisfaction before she turned around-- and very nearly collided, face-to-chest, with the sixteen-year-old boy that had just finished setting up the protective railing around the ring. It wasn't often that she interacted with him, not anymore-- not ever since he had become so very, very uptight… even in her opinion. Looking up… and up… and up some more for good measure, she offered up an apologetic smile, one that showed the braces that she was secretly desperate to get rid of.
Oh, ah, s-sorry about that--
Watch where you're going. People are working here.
Shoving his way past her before she can stammer out an apology, the towering young man made his way off to see what else needed done instead of simply jumping in and helping her set up chairs. Apparently, that was beneath him now that he had started spending more and more time with the wrestlers, picking up tips and tricks for making the transition from the wrestling he did in high school to the professional variety… and since she wasn't going that same traditional route? She was apparently lower than dirt. Sighing to herself, Natalie got back to work, knowing full well that what she did was far more important than putting on airs of self-importance. Besides, her own official lessons would be starting as soon as she turned fifteen.
Carrying the chair out to a spot where there's plenty of light coming in, she dusts it off with a few sweeps of her hand before she opens it, sitting it down as if it she was dealing with glass rather than slightly-rusted metal. She sits upon it without so much as batting an eyelash at the dirt she's surely getting all over her jeans as she looks right into the camera in front of her, a nod of greeting given before she begins to speak.
This is it.
Three little words… but they say so much. A deep breath, and she continues.
After proving that I am not someone to be passed over just because of my gender, after a strong performance in the Rumble, after months of hard work and dedication… I finally have the opportunity to truly make a place for my name in the history of this company. It's a lot of pressure, knowing that I could walk out of Prestige as the first woman to ever hold championship gold in this company's history, but it's something that I embrace wholeheartedly. How can I not? This challenge, this shot is exactly what I have been getting up at five o'clock every morning for. I've cried, I've sweat, I've bled and given up more than my pound of flesh to get to this point, and I wouldn't change a thing about my journey here since that's what has made me stronger. However, in preparing myself for the veritable war that is sure to come, in strengthening both my revolve and my heart...
I fear that I may have broken yours, Mister Tenfold.
The blond pauses, thinking over what she said, before a bit of a sheepish grin tugging at her lips.
I don't mean on a romantic level, of course-- it would take an exceptional level of arrogance rivaling that of Mister Rivera himself to think that I could do that, considering how we hardly know one another.
Having managed to recover from her gaffe this time around with a good deal more poise than the last time around, the Southern Belle shakes her head to chase that train of thought from her mind before she continues.
Rather, I'm talking about how you've not set foot in that ring ever since I pinned your shoulders to the mat. To the best of my knowledge, I didn't injure you… so why haven't you been in the ring since? I could flatter myself and say that you've been holed up in a gym somewhere solely to prepare to face me again, but you and I both know that there's no substitute for getting in that ring with someone that is just as desperate, just as hungry for victory as you are to improve your trade. So where have you been? I mean, when you were preparing for that all-out war that you had with Mister Cross, you were out there competing every show… but yet now that you're facing me? The most that you have done is a couple of interviews--well, that and came charging down the ramp on one occasion to break up Mister Viper's attempted after-match attack on me. While I do appreciate the latter, I also can't help but wonder what changed. Do you feel that you don't need to be so prepared any longer, Mister Tenfold? Am I that little of a threat to you, despite how I earned my shot at the Lionheart championship by defeating you, fair and square?
It's clear that she's not horribly thrilled by this possibility, a slight frown tugging at her lips before she shakes her head.
No, no I think it's something else… something that's either better or worse, I'm not entirely sure, but it's what makes the most sense to me. After you won the Lionheart Championship, you decided that you'd done enough to prove that you were worthy of what it represents in your pursuit of it, so you rested on your laurels and, to the best of my knowledge? You haven't budged since. Now I know that you've shown glimpses of the brave heart that I once fully believed you to have, once or twice, but those times have been rather few and far between when they used to be a common occurence. I hate to say it, but it doesn't take much courage to stand next to an interviewer and speak into a microphone, nor does it take perseverance to not even so much as to attempt to bounce back from a loss. All the more that is needed to do any of that is complacency, something that you've developed quite a bit of. It's become painfully obvious to me, Mister Tenfold, that you've forgotten one of the most fundamental truths of this business; namely? The real work doesn't begin until after you've become champion, and while I may not be the biggest or the meanest opponent you've ever faced, you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone tougher than me. Heck, I never thought I'd see the day that I'd ever think this-- much less say it aloud!-- but I've been more of a brave, hard-working, never-say-die, lionhearted champion than you have these past couple of months… and I didn't even have the title to declare me as such. That's the only piece missing from the puzzle, Mister Tenfold-- and at Prestige?
I will become champion.
Now there is that competitive fire, burning brightly within the depths of her eyes. She's tried to keep from getting her dander up, she's done her best to keep calm and not allow harshness into her words… but in the face of such blatant disrespect from such a surprising source? It's no surprise that the Southern Belle cannot hold it in any longer.
I know that a whole new set of challenges are going to present themselves once I have taken my place as the Lionheart Champion, that the road is going to get a lot rockier... but the way I look at it, the route I've taken to get here is the best preparation I could have ever asked for. Ever since I first set foot in the ring back in 2009, I've seen joy and heartache, defended those I care about and been stabbed in the back, won and lost both fairly and not… and through it all, I've kept my head up and my dignity intact. All that remains is for me to experience the greatest high that can be had in this business - and that is to earn my right to be called one of the best that the Asylum has to offer. Do I deserve that privilege? I know I do, deep down in my bones.. and so do you, Mister Tenfold, even if you're reluctant to admit it. You've known me to be worthy ever since we climbed into the ring together-- and there's nothing that you can say, nothing that Mister Lavory can falsify, nothing that Mister Viper can steal from me that could ever change that. That's the thing, about having the heart of a lion… when push comes to shove? I embrace the truth of a situation, feel right at home in the reality of battle. I know that it won't be easy, but I also know that I can best you-- and that's all that matters.
A bit of a smirk plays at her lips as she returns to her roots, the very things that she would find herself drawing upon to keep going well beyond what her opponent could reach.
Good luck, Mister Tenfold… because in order to beat me? You're going to be surprised to find that you'll need it.
Having said her piece, the blond glances around herself once more before she gets to her feet, the chair folded up and held beneath one arm. Stashing it near the door, Natalie then steps right into the middle of that broad expanse of sunlight before placing a pair of fingers in her mouth to let out a piercing whistle. At the sound, a group of young men and women make their way into the vast empty space, each carrying something; a box here, a support beam there. One of the men stops next to the Southern Belle, nodding in greeting before he speaks... his accent thick even in comparison to hers.
Didja fahnd tha' cleanin' supplies, Miss Burrahs?
I didn't, Ray... but it's alright. I had Brandon pack some in the trunk of his car, just in case. He had to stop off and pick up the programs for the event tonight, but he should be here any minute.
The gangly young man that’s going to be an absolute bear of a man once he grows into his proverbial paws nods before brushing past her, the thick coil of ring-rope in his hands a brilliant blue in color. Even seeing that simple little piece of the puzzle brings those feelings of nostalgia rushing back anew, to that night where she watched two men fight as if they were gods. Before she can get swept away into those memories, though, the sound of brakes screeching followed by a familiar voice cursing--
OH FFFFFUUUUUUU--
…has Natalie chuckling, shaking her head before she heads outside to meet up with her boyfriend. As everything fades to black, the camera remains upon the wall where a quartet of up-and-coming talents can be seen hanging a banner which reads, quite simply?
THE 2011 MORGAN REID INVITATIONAL