Post by Misha LeCavalier on Feb 16, 2017 23:16:50 GMT -5
For more character development context, click HERE.
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Early 1986
Pain is an interesting concept, no? Although it’s rarely welcomed, it is quite necessary. Pain is the sensation that let’s our bodies know that something is afoot. Once our bodies are safe again, that sensation often fades. However, in some cases, said pain goes into remission and lingers.
Ethan LeCavalier was a victim of that everlasting, subsurface pain. It didn’t come from training; decades of working out had hardened his muscles to the point of stone. It didn’t come his matches; the blows he received in the ring were more annoying than painful…
Alas, the loss of his first child still lingered on his mind.
To be fair, Ethan was in a much better mental statement than he had been when the miscarriage first occurred. He was no longer as distant, no longer as cold as he once had been. For the most part, his life returned to some state of normalcy. Every so often however, his mind traversed back to that dark, sinking pit.
In all likelihood, he probably would have gone stark mad if it weren’t for wrestling. When he was inside that squared circle, there were no worries. No fear, no doubt, no anxiety. He was free to lose himself; free to do what he loved. That freedom in the ring, it gave him a sense of control. Control—that was something he’d tragically lost.
Ethan desperately chased after that control, which inevitably resulted in an insane wrestling schedule. While the volume and frequency of Ethan’s schedule had always been fairly hefty, traditionally, he’d been fairly selective of where and who he worked for. That selective nature got tossed out of the window for a period of time. If the promoter offered a profit, then he’d be there (even in pain, he hadn’t lost his business sense). For a moment in time, it was almost as if he’d transformed into his older brother Norman.
After a grueling four-week tour of Germany, Ethan walked into his residence. Sleep urgently called out to him, which he would answer after he gobbled down a couple of pieces of pizza. “Neva,” he called out gently. It was around one in the afternoon, which is when she typically napped. No need to cause a fight or argument, not this early. He walked about the house for a while to ultimately discover that she wasn’t home. “Hmm, very well then,” Ethan said to himself as he trekked back towards the kitchen area. He quickly made his way to the countertop, opened the box of pizza that he’d brought in, and grabbed a slice.
In the midst of devouring his slice, his body reminded him that he was parched. As he walked towards the fridge, he saw an envelope marked ETHAN tapped to the front panel. “I imagine it’s from the waifu. Better give it a once over.” He snatched the letter off the fridge.
My dearest Ethan, I hope you are well when you read this. If my dates are correct, you should be arriving back in town today. And knowing you, you’ve probably stopped by Demarco's Pizza.
You are quite a creature of habit, my love—for better and for worse.
It was my sincerest wish to meet you at home and jump into your arms; however, it seems I’ll be a bit tied up. My doctor scheduled a vitally important appointment this afternoon. She’s been booked up for weeks, so I thought it was best that I attend it now.
However, while I’ve got your attention in writing form for a brief moment, there is something that I wanted to discuss. Of course, we shall talk about it more in depth when I get home…
Ethan, I know that the past fourteen months or so have been hard on you. When you and I first discussed the possibility of getting married, one of the first things you mentioned was having children. I know that raising a family has always been on your heart. Having married into and interacting with your kin, I’d like to say it is a family trait. You all are so rough and tumble, but children melt your heart—yours in particular. I always noticed how your demeanor changed when got the chance to hold your niece Ryan. Your eyes lit up and blazed with the intensity of seven suns.
...Dear, I know how much our first pregnancy meant to you. He was your son, your firstborn. And due to no fault of mine or your own, he was taken away…
I realize that you don’t like to talk with me about it, but trust me, I feel your pain. Courtney was inside of me. He was apart of me. And while it may not seem like it, while I put up a brave front, losing him hurt me as well.
...Hmm, I feel as if part of you passed away the day we got the news. The same vigor and love for the thought of children isn’t there, not even when you hold Ryan now. I don’t spot that blazing intensity—I spot fear.
You’re afraid the same result will occur if we conceive again, right?
Ethan, you and I went through a very traumatic experience. It would be insensitive to say that your fears aren’t valid, because in all honesty, they are. We don’t know what caused the miscarriage; and we don’t know if it is something that might happen again. The thought of losing another child, well, it’s terrifying.
Nevertheless, the thought of giving up something you and I have been dreaming of for so long, that’s even more terrifying.
So is losing the man that I love, the man I married.
The Ethan LeCavalier that I know is adventurous and outgoing. He’s always the life of the party; knows how to put everyone at ease and make them feel comfortable. The Ethan LeCavalier I know is bold and courageous. He stands tall and doesn’t take any bullshit. The Ethan LeCavalier I know is loving. He’d do anything to make sure his family is healthy and thriving. The Ethan LeCavalier I married doesn’t know fear.
I know that you’re grieving. I know that you’re torn up inside. However, I need you Ethan.
I, I can’t handle this all alone.
As he finished reading, his eyes gazed down at his now empty right hand. It shook and trembled ever so slightly. The letter had rattled his nerves. “A seat,” he muttered. “I, I need to take a seat.”
Ethan’s knees buckled as he went to take a step. Without anything to brace himself, he collapsed to the kitchen floor. The letter slipped out of his hand and glided across the room.
“Shit,” he said as he placed the back of his head against the lower cabinet doors. He sat there in silence. His eyes began to get heavy.
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Mid 1986
“Babe, come quick!” Neva shouted from living. “The baby is kicking!”
“One moment dearest!” Ethan forewent the salad he was crafting and hopped over to the sink. After washing and drying his hands, he swiftly made his way to the couch where his wife was resting. “Oh, this is most exciting!”
Neva patted an open spot next to her. “Sit here and come feel.”
Ethan made his way to the open seat with earnest and haste. Neva raised her shirt a bit so that her husband could put his hand on her stomach. However, in typical Ethan fashion, he elected to go away from the norm; instead, he carefully rested his head and face against her stomach.
“What are you doing?” Neva asked with a giggle.
“You did say the baby was kicking, yeah? What better way to feel its awesome power than to get up close and personal.”
The baby delivered a stiff kick, right on cue. While it didn’t hurt at all, the force of the kick from the tiny foot did push Ethan’s face back just a little bit. A wild and wicked grin came to his face as he sat straight up.
“It’s definitely a LeCavalier.” He joking rubbed his face. “Not even out of the womb yet, and already a world-class striker.”
“You’re so silly,” Neva said as she leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek.
It had been a some months since Neva expressed her worry and concern to Ethan. She’d been harsh and stern in her letter to him. At the time, she wasn’t sure how he’d react; she simply hoped for the best. However, Neva’s letter really served as a kick in the pants to Ethan. They both began to communicate more, and as they did, wounds began to quickly heal. Soon, the prospect of attempting to conceive came back around. The couple had a few lengthy talks about it. At first, there was still some natural hesitation. However, both of them had always dreamed of having a child. Therefore, their desire trumped their doubt. They set out to conceive and were successful once again.
“I met with the doctors earlier this morning,” Neva mentioned.
“Did you now?” Ethan asked. “Is everything alright?”
“Certainly,” Neva said with a large smile. “Due to the miscarriage, they wanted to conduct a couple of extensive tests this time around. The baby passed them with flying colors. Our love is healthy and strong.”
“Magnificent! We must celebrate.” Ethan tapped on his chin. “Forget about that salad I was making. Are you in the mood to go out and have the finest feast? I’ll spare no expense!”
“I’d be content with some Chinese food, honestly.”
“That can be arranged,” Ethan said with a small chuckle as he got up from his spot. “Sit tight while I fetch you a menu.”
“Wait a moment.” She reached up, grabbed his shoulder, and placed him back in his seat. “There’s something that I wanted to show you?”
“Hmm?”
Neva reached on her left-hand side and produced a photo. “Here, this is for you.” She passed it over to Ethan. “It’s a ultrasound we took today.” Neva scanned his face as Ethan scanned the medical photograph.
That smile of his returned. “How exquisite,” he said as he continued to look at the picture. “Are we aware of its sex yet?”
“I am...are you curious?”
“Of course!” Ethan shouted.
“Very well. Be sure to keep an eye out for pink items whenever you frequent stores and during your travels.”
“A beautiful baby girl?” Ethan eyes light up a bit. “How marvelous! I must prepare. I’ll go shopping tomorrow after training.”
Neva took ahold of his hand. “You, you aren’t disappointed?” she asked. “I know how much you wanted a so—”
“Don’t speak foolishly, dearest,” Ethan said as he interrupted her. “I realize that my family places a great deal of importance on having a son. And but of course, I was overjoyed when we were birthing Courtney. However, those feelings spawned from the joy of creating life with my own hands.” Ethan sighed as he shook his head. “What I mean to say is, it doesn’t matter what the sex is. My only concern is that our baby is healthy and happy—that’s it.”
Neva nodded her head. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”
“I’ve heard that a few times in my day.”
The two shared a laugh. However, after they both regained their composure, they sat in silence for a little bit.
“Dearest, may I propose a name?” Ethan asked for a while. “I’ve been researching boys and girls name in my down time, just in case.”
“There is no need to propose one.” Neva kissed him once more. “I’ll leave the honor to you, and you alone.”
“Very well. It’s settled then. Ethan nodded. “Her name shall be Misha.”
“Misha, hmm?” Neva quickly mulled it over in her mind. “I’m fond of it. What does it mean?”
“God like—and that will describe her in every way.”
Ethan confidently nodded.
“She will be intelligent, like her mother and father. She will be successful, like the members of her family that have come before her. She shall have the keys to the dynasty that I’ve built; wrestling shall be her domain. She’ll take up the mantel that her brother was unable to.” Ethan paused for a second. “Above all else, and most importantly, she shall always remain number one in my heart—”
Do not allow the dark hand of Fear to drag you down into the dank abyss.
Do not allow the prospect of Failure dictate your current course.
Instead, always allow Valor’s radiant light to guide you as you walk.
No matter the circumstance; you’re Destined to be great. —Ethan LeCavalier
St. Valentine’s Day Massacre—North Atlantic Wrestling’s first pay-per-view of 2017. Over the past few years, the event has played host to a myriad of fantastic bouts. Who could forget when Gunner Hughes retained the NAW Legacy Championship when he was taken to the limit by David Fraggle in 2013? In 2014, Mr. Hughes shocked the world once more when he defeated Jason Price and Alex Jones in a grueling bout for the NAW Horizon Championship. Last year, Alice Harris smiled in the face of danger when she stepped into the ring and defended that very belt against Rocky Hollywood.
Although, if I’m being honest, my favorite St. Valentine’s Day Massacre match dates back to 2013 when Miss Kandi Washington got her ass thoroughly handed to her by Cthulhuson. Call me petty, but that match brings great joy to my heart, yes indeed. That night, she was forced to sit by aimlessly as the NAW TV Championship was handed over to her foe. That was also the night that she became imperfect—that major blemish on her nearly impeccable record still haunts her to this day.
Nonetheless, as grand as those previous matches were, as much attention and press that those previous events have garnered, there’s no doubt in my mind that this year’s iteration of St. Valentine’s Day Massacre will go down as the greatest in the company’s history. And at the very high chance of sounding arrogant and pompous, the prestige of this event is going to be elevated by one match in particular—LeCavalier versus Washington.
...You know, when I ponder the Femme Fatale Division and its legacy, one word always jumps to the forefront of my brain—opportunity. Based upon personal experience, many promotions treat their female competitors as freaks, as sideshows, as spectacles. They are often used and whored out as cheap ploys to gain a few extra ticket sales. But in truth, the companies don’t give two shits about their talent, or the difficult journey they’ve taken to get to where they are.
However, that wasn’t the case with NAW. No promotion isn’t perfect; nevertheless, NAW saw the benefit in treating us women as the talented wrestlers that we are. And therefore, since its inception, the Femme Fatale Division has been a safe-haven. It’s been a place to highlight and showcase the women who have helped build this company.
Like any division, there’s been ebbs and flows—high and low points. At it’s lowest point, the Femme Fatale Division was dead, deceased, defunct. Perhaps the owner back then wanted to move in a different direction. Or maybe it was because the number of women in NAW began to dwindle (for whatever reason). Whatever the case, the Femme Fatale Division ceased to exist.
You could say those were very dark days indeed…
However, a beaming light now shines upon NAW. In an effort to continue to highlight and showcase the promotion’s recent influx of female talent, the division was risen from the ashes—and along with it came the Femme Fatale Championship. The division a a whole has begun to step to the forefront.
...Do you know what I find truly humorous? In the midst of preparing for this classic bout, I must fully admit that my mind keeps wandering back to a previous moment in time. Or more specifically, my mind keeps traveling back to that four-woman elimination match that I had nearly a month ago. Ironically Kandi, you and I likely wouldn’t be facing each other so quickly if it weren’t for that match.
However, I digress…
Before I ultimately made the decision to bring my illustrious talent here to NAW, I did a thing that most wrestlers never do. I sat down, reflected on my career, and was completely honest with myself. My career has spanned over nearly a decade. In that amount of time, I’ve done many amazing things. I’ve captured awards. I’ve won championships. And yet, more often than not I feel under-accomplished in my reflections; missed and wasted opportunities attempt to rear their ugly heads in the rear-view mirror of my mind. Therefore, I made it clear to myself that if I were to come into NAW, then I was going to actually accomplish something. Henceforth, I sat down with my iPad and typed out a pretty decent list of goals that I hoped to fulfill.
My younger sister happened upon that list; she was the only one who had ever laid eyes upon it, besides myself of course.
Nonetheless, No One made reference to that very list in her video leading up to the bout. How did she discover it? The hell if I should know; maybe she’s a secret member of Dedsec or something. That’s a Watchdog’s reference for you who are uniformed.
But once again, I digress...
I won’t bore everyone with the line by line details of the list, because in truth, most of you all don’t give a two fucks. However, there are two goals that are very pertinent to this pay-per-view match up:
a. Submit/Knockout/Hurt Kandi Washington
b. Win the Femme Fatale Championship
How ambitious, yeah? Nonetheless, if you’re going try and obtain something, it might as well be worth all the effort.
The funny thing about that list is that I’ve already achieved and accomplished a fair amount of the goals I had written down. My my, at time if I would have known I’d been writing down premonitions and prophecies, then I might have been tempted to write down the NAW Legacy Championship.
However, I’m more than thrilled at the prospect of holding the Femme Fatale Championship, more so because that would entail demolishing you, Ms. Washington.
Speaking of you, Kandi, I’m willing to bet large amounts of money that you never thought you’d be in this position, at least not so soon anyway. As you can probably infer from my last video, I’m not at all fond of you. Unlike you though, I’m willing to do the unthinkable—give you props. I’m almost certain you won’t do the same for me; it’s not in your nature. Your little interview is fine evidence for that. What a pitty. Although, if I’m truly being honest, I find your insecurities are flattering, Ms. Washington. Everyone knows that I’m the largest threat to your championship; you know it as well. But your foolish pride won’t allow you to admit it.
Fortunately for me, I have no shame in being the bigger professional, in addition to being the better wrestler. That being said, you’re far from being a scrub in the ring, Kandi. You’re good, damn good even. Ever since your return to NAW, you’ve been an ungodly tear. How does the saying go, you’ve been “kicking ass and taking names?” And when the Femme Fatale Division was resurrected, you made it your purpose to rule it with an iron grip. On your path to world domination, you’ve defeated just about everyone in your path. The Femme Fatale Division has been your playground. The division’s resurgence probably wouldn’t have been as successful as it has been without your efforts. And while a few have stepped up in attempts to claim your belt, you’ve never truly been faced with a challenge, have you Kandi?
I imagine you wouldn’t want it any other way. There is no question that you’ve defended that belt of yours; I watched the match with my very own eyes from the outside. And yet, that doesn’t make you a fighting champion, dear. Every time a challenger rises to the forefront, you conjure up some magicall bullshit excuse. Suddenly everyone becomes unworthy,; suddenly Mr. Hayes and NAW have an agenda against you. It’s the same tap-dance and broken record story every time. And why? Because you don’t desire a true fight. You don’t desire a true test. And most telling of all, you don’t desire a true struggle. Because without a struggle that means that you are free to write history as you see fit, even if that tale deviates from actual reality…
And what glorious yarn you did spun, Kandi. What fanciful fallacies you force fed to the masses. You were seen as impregnable in the eyes of the public. You were said to be untouchable. Hell, you had everyone believing that you were the most skilled competitor in the company—well, at least up until my arrival.
You and the rest of NAW were then hit with a hearty dose of reality. And that reality is that your perception in this company, your alleged “queendom,” it’s all a fucking fraud. Perhaps people bought into those hoaxes at one point in time, but now they’ve been introduced to the glorious light.
I left you screaming and writhing in pain at the conclusion of Meltdown Eighty-Four. You aren’t indestructible. At the close of Meltdown Eighty-Five, I stomped your fucking head into the mat, after I’d already decapitated you with a lariat. And the whole world got to lay witness to the “Saddest Face in Professional Wrestling” as he hovered over your nearly lifeless body. You aren’t invincible.
However, you are now faced with someone who has the ability to to shut you down (myself, of course). You are now faced with someone who has the gift of gab, just as you do; she just chooses to speak the truth with her gift. For once in your entire career, the spotlight has been sntached away from you; in the flash of a moment, you’ve became Player Two. And I know it makes you furious.
Fear not though, you’re in good company. There are a decent amount of women here in NAW; they all have been here much longer than I have. They have more tenure. And when this match between you and I was announced, I’m sure they snapped their fingers, rolled their eyes, and sucked wind through their teeth. To them, I’ve stolen away that grand opportunity that they’d been vying for.
And you, Kandi? There were probably bunch of vulgarities and slurs thrown about the Washington residence.
However, neither you nor anyone else should be frazzled. This match is merely a testament to my talent and skill. It isn’t a result of a handout, nor begging and pleading. Kandi—this title match is the result ass kicking and hard work.
Considering your current run, isn’t that something you can relate to, Kandi?
...You know, as much it pains me to admit and say, you and I are cut from similar pieces of cloth. I know that seems unfathomable, but honestly, you should view it as a compliment, Kandi. Now, I realize that my previous video highlighted many key differences. Corruption, injustice, oppression, stagnation, and tyranny might ring a bell, yeah?
And yet, there are still some vital similarities between the two of us. Let’s take a look, shall we:
1. Despite our respectives philosophies about this sport, we are both ferocious and unrelenting.
2. I’d like think that the two of us have a lingering hunger for competition and violence.
3. We are both dream-makers—not mere dreamers. We do not follow the pack. And we’d prefer to dictate our own destinies.
But of course, in regards to our bout championship bout, there’s one more key difference between you and I—and that is the presence and dichotomy of failure.
Hypothetically speaking, if I were to walk into this match and lose, would that be a failure? The majority of the wrestling world would answer “yes.” Fortunately for me, I don’t usually adhere to the other people’s expectations.
In my mind, Kandi, a loss to you would simply be the catalyst to the following:
1. To refocus my mind and recalibrate my course.
2. To step back in front of the drawing-board and develop another plan of action.
3. To jump back into the ring and continue to improve until you’re vanquished.
Kandi, let me explain it to you in another way. No matter what the outcome of this match might be, I’ll essentially come out looking golden. It is the quintessential win-win scenario, for me at least.
You will not steamroll me, Kandi. And you shall not body me. On our worst days, a match between you and I would still be highly competitive. When the viewers see me hanging with you in the ring, they’ll have no choice but to be impressed. And when I out-wrestle you (as I know I shall), they will be mystified.
So to summarize things, there are only two outcomes for me, my dear. The first, I have an impressive match. The second, I have an impressive match and I walk away with the belt. The latter is what I’m aiming for, but of course. However, in either event, my stock increases exponentially.
...However, your stock won’t, Kandi.
If the unstoppable queen named Kandi Washington, the woman who has killed just about everyone in the division, struggles put poor little Misha LeCavalier away in timely fashion, what does that say about our almighty champion?
Traditionally speaking, the pressure and ownness in a championship match is heaped upon the challenger. Said person must crawl tooth and nail to overcome the champion and his or her mighty advantage. Nonetheless, I’d like to think of myself as a bit more, progressive. Tradition was ingrained and instilled into me by my family as I was learning the ropes. However, the fact that I’m even carrying the family mantel in the first place is a grave departure from tradition—that role was meant for my brother, originally.
I said all that to say this, I have no worries going into this match. I have no pressures. And I have no fears, nor should I. You on the other hand, Kandi? Well, the weight of the world is all on your shoulders.
The stakes are a lot higher for you, Kandi. For you, this match isn’t just about the Femme Fatale Championship. No no no—it is about your everlasting legacy in this company. This match is about how future generations will view the “First Lady” after she’s been disgraced and dismissed from her position.
Face the facts, you need to walk away this match with a victory—and I’ll be hell-bent to deny you that satisfaction.
...Kandi, St. Valentine’s Day Massacre will spell your demise, just like it did four years ago. This showdown was inevitable. It was written by the hands of Fate itself. However, I don’t have tell you that, do I?
You already know it to be so.
Your back is against the wall, Kandi. When you and I face in the middle of the ring, you’ll be all alone—you won’t have a friend in the MGM Grand Garden Arena. Not the fans, not the promotion, and certainly not the other women of the Femme Fatale Divisions. Oh, and Kandi spoiler alert if you didn’t know, you have to actually be likeable to receive cheers. And because of your alienation and less than stellar personality, you’re kind of failing at that right now. At this point, I severely doubt if your very own band of cronies even care about you. Regardless, The fact you live in Vegas will be irrelevant. Hell, this match might as well be held in Moscow—because it will be akin to the same level of hostility in the building that evening.
You’ll be defenseless, utterly helpless—how wonderful. And at the end of the night, you’ll have to deal with the fact that your kingdom crumbled beneath your feet.
Part of me wants to apologize, to show you some sympathy. In the matter of a few moments, your career, your life, your world, will be flipped upside down. Nonetheless, the otherside of me rests somewhere between “oh well” and “fuck it.” You probably can infer which position I’m going to side with. We all know you’re a heartless bitch. Therefore, fuck it, and fuck you. You showed no mercy to the women you slaughtered to build your little dynasty—so it’s only fitting that your demise occur in the same manner.
To live by the sword, to die by the sword.
The Femme Fatale Division deserves a champion who is highly skilled, yet still embodies the sentiment in which it was first built upon—opportunity. That person is not you, Kandi—it never was, and it never will be.
Look at me, Kandi. I waltzed into this company and subsequently changed a man who is renowned throughout this sport. And not only did I defeat him, I had an astounding match with him. I walked into an elimination match and stood victorious over three of the best women that this division had to offer. The conclusion was unavoidable, but they all fought so valiantly. And then I went on the vanquish Jenny Smith, your former contender.
I shot my shot. I made an instant impact. I snatched and gobbled up every opportunity that was in my path. Once again, you can lie to yourself and believe I’m not worthy to step to you. However, you delusions are refuted by the footage, Ms. Washington. Night in and night out, I’ve shown why I’m so highly praised. And night in and night out, I’ve proven what the Femme Fatale Division will look like when that belt is around my waist—a violent wonderland where everyone still shines.
Have I soundly defeated every opponent I’ve run across here? Yes. Have I fought and scrapped to snatch up opportunities, even at the expense of others? Yes. However, have I shit upon them? No. Have I diminished their accomplishments, their value, their worth? No, I have not. However, that’s your M.O., isn’t it, Kandi?
Every single time I’ve stepped into a NAW ring, I’ve pushed my opponents. I’ve forced them to exceeded their limits, to become greater. That’s why I’ll be a better Femme Fatale Champion than you could ever possibly hope to be.
...Kandi, I need you to open up your ears and listen to what I’m about to say. I’d be remiss if I ended my audio log without touching upon it. Call it a life lesson, if you will. And it’s a lesson that you are clearly struggling to grasp. Maybe you’re ignorant, you perhaps you’re just too stupid to understand it; don’t worry, I’ll speak slowly.
Rulers, kings, queens—they are nothing without the people. Ever since the Femme Fatale Division was reinstated, all you’ve done is berate the women of this company, of this division. All you’ve done is call them shit and tell them they aren’t deserving enough to face you. That is something you can’t refute either; one can pull up any one of your videos and view footage with his or her own eyes. Therefor, if every single woman in the Femme Fatale Division is undeserving, valueless, then what does that make you? What the hell are you ruling over?
The answer that is nothing. By your own admission, your “queendom” is meaningless; reign is worthless.
—As each day passes, my anticipation grows. When all is said and done, generations of wrestling fans shall look back upon LeCavalier versus Washington with fond memories. Fans and critics alike shall recall the night the two best women to ever grace a NAW ring clashed for the first time. But the more superior one shall be the victor. In spite of our difference Kandi, you need to realize that after February Seventeenth, our names shall forever be attached to one another—for better, or for worse.
I’ve got everything to gain, and nothing to lose.
...What happens to you after this match, Kandi? When your reign is shattered? When failure has enveloped you like a black hole? When the Femme Fatale Division is soaring and thriving without your onerous presence on top? Will anyone except your boy-toy even care?
Now, I’d love to hear your answers to those oh so pertinent questions. Unfortunately, I don’t have fifty-five more minutes of my time to waste on another one of your diatribes. I have a match to prepare for, and celebration to prep...
—Arrivederci.
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Early 1986
Pain is an interesting concept, no? Although it’s rarely welcomed, it is quite necessary. Pain is the sensation that let’s our bodies know that something is afoot. Once our bodies are safe again, that sensation often fades. However, in some cases, said pain goes into remission and lingers.
Ethan LeCavalier was a victim of that everlasting, subsurface pain. It didn’t come from training; decades of working out had hardened his muscles to the point of stone. It didn’t come his matches; the blows he received in the ring were more annoying than painful…
Alas, the loss of his first child still lingered on his mind.
To be fair, Ethan was in a much better mental statement than he had been when the miscarriage first occurred. He was no longer as distant, no longer as cold as he once had been. For the most part, his life returned to some state of normalcy. Every so often however, his mind traversed back to that dark, sinking pit.
In all likelihood, he probably would have gone stark mad if it weren’t for wrestling. When he was inside that squared circle, there were no worries. No fear, no doubt, no anxiety. He was free to lose himself; free to do what he loved. That freedom in the ring, it gave him a sense of control. Control—that was something he’d tragically lost.
Ethan desperately chased after that control, which inevitably resulted in an insane wrestling schedule. While the volume and frequency of Ethan’s schedule had always been fairly hefty, traditionally, he’d been fairly selective of where and who he worked for. That selective nature got tossed out of the window for a period of time. If the promoter offered a profit, then he’d be there (even in pain, he hadn’t lost his business sense). For a moment in time, it was almost as if he’d transformed into his older brother Norman.
After a grueling four-week tour of Germany, Ethan walked into his residence. Sleep urgently called out to him, which he would answer after he gobbled down a couple of pieces of pizza. “Neva,” he called out gently. It was around one in the afternoon, which is when she typically napped. No need to cause a fight or argument, not this early. He walked about the house for a while to ultimately discover that she wasn’t home. “Hmm, very well then,” Ethan said to himself as he trekked back towards the kitchen area. He quickly made his way to the countertop, opened the box of pizza that he’d brought in, and grabbed a slice.
In the midst of devouring his slice, his body reminded him that he was parched. As he walked towards the fridge, he saw an envelope marked ETHAN tapped to the front panel. “I imagine it’s from the waifu. Better give it a once over.” He snatched the letter off the fridge.
A Wife’s Lament
My dearest Ethan, I hope you are well when you read this. If my dates are correct, you should be arriving back in town today. And knowing you, you’ve probably stopped by Demarco's Pizza.
You are quite a creature of habit, my love—for better and for worse.
It was my sincerest wish to meet you at home and jump into your arms; however, it seems I’ll be a bit tied up. My doctor scheduled a vitally important appointment this afternoon. She’s been booked up for weeks, so I thought it was best that I attend it now.
However, while I’ve got your attention in writing form for a brief moment, there is something that I wanted to discuss. Of course, we shall talk about it more in depth when I get home…
Ethan, I know that the past fourteen months or so have been hard on you. When you and I first discussed the possibility of getting married, one of the first things you mentioned was having children. I know that raising a family has always been on your heart. Having married into and interacting with your kin, I’d like to say it is a family trait. You all are so rough and tumble, but children melt your heart—yours in particular. I always noticed how your demeanor changed when got the chance to hold your niece Ryan. Your eyes lit up and blazed with the intensity of seven suns.
...Dear, I know how much our first pregnancy meant to you. He was your son, your firstborn. And due to no fault of mine or your own, he was taken away…
I realize that you don’t like to talk with me about it, but trust me, I feel your pain. Courtney was inside of me. He was apart of me. And while it may not seem like it, while I put up a brave front, losing him hurt me as well.
...Hmm, I feel as if part of you passed away the day we got the news. The same vigor and love for the thought of children isn’t there, not even when you hold Ryan now. I don’t spot that blazing intensity—I spot fear.
You’re afraid the same result will occur if we conceive again, right?
Ethan, you and I went through a very traumatic experience. It would be insensitive to say that your fears aren’t valid, because in all honesty, they are. We don’t know what caused the miscarriage; and we don’t know if it is something that might happen again. The thought of losing another child, well, it’s terrifying.
Nevertheless, the thought of giving up something you and I have been dreaming of for so long, that’s even more terrifying.
So is losing the man that I love, the man I married.
The Ethan LeCavalier that I know is adventurous and outgoing. He’s always the life of the party; knows how to put everyone at ease and make them feel comfortable. The Ethan LeCavalier I know is bold and courageous. He stands tall and doesn’t take any bullshit. The Ethan LeCavalier I know is loving. He’d do anything to make sure his family is healthy and thriving. The Ethan LeCavalier I married doesn’t know fear.
I know that you’re grieving. I know that you’re torn up inside. However, I need you Ethan.
I, I can’t handle this all alone.
As he finished reading, his eyes gazed down at his now empty right hand. It shook and trembled ever so slightly. The letter had rattled his nerves. “A seat,” he muttered. “I, I need to take a seat.”
Ethan’s knees buckled as he went to take a step. Without anything to brace himself, he collapsed to the kitchen floor. The letter slipped out of his hand and glided across the room.
“Shit,” he said as he placed the back of his head against the lower cabinet doors. He sat there in silence. His eyes began to get heavy.
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Mid 1986
“Babe, come quick!” Neva shouted from living. “The baby is kicking!”
“One moment dearest!” Ethan forewent the salad he was crafting and hopped over to the sink. After washing and drying his hands, he swiftly made his way to the couch where his wife was resting. “Oh, this is most exciting!”
Neva patted an open spot next to her. “Sit here and come feel.”
Ethan made his way to the open seat with earnest and haste. Neva raised her shirt a bit so that her husband could put his hand on her stomach. However, in typical Ethan fashion, he elected to go away from the norm; instead, he carefully rested his head and face against her stomach.
“What are you doing?” Neva asked with a giggle.
“You did say the baby was kicking, yeah? What better way to feel its awesome power than to get up close and personal.”
The baby delivered a stiff kick, right on cue. While it didn’t hurt at all, the force of the kick from the tiny foot did push Ethan’s face back just a little bit. A wild and wicked grin came to his face as he sat straight up.
“It’s definitely a LeCavalier.” He joking rubbed his face. “Not even out of the womb yet, and already a world-class striker.”
“You’re so silly,” Neva said as she leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek.
It had been a some months since Neva expressed her worry and concern to Ethan. She’d been harsh and stern in her letter to him. At the time, she wasn’t sure how he’d react; she simply hoped for the best. However, Neva’s letter really served as a kick in the pants to Ethan. They both began to communicate more, and as they did, wounds began to quickly heal. Soon, the prospect of attempting to conceive came back around. The couple had a few lengthy talks about it. At first, there was still some natural hesitation. However, both of them had always dreamed of having a child. Therefore, their desire trumped their doubt. They set out to conceive and were successful once again.
“I met with the doctors earlier this morning,” Neva mentioned.
“Did you now?” Ethan asked. “Is everything alright?”
“Certainly,” Neva said with a large smile. “Due to the miscarriage, they wanted to conduct a couple of extensive tests this time around. The baby passed them with flying colors. Our love is healthy and strong.”
“Magnificent! We must celebrate.” Ethan tapped on his chin. “Forget about that salad I was making. Are you in the mood to go out and have the finest feast? I’ll spare no expense!”
“I’d be content with some Chinese food, honestly.”
“That can be arranged,” Ethan said with a small chuckle as he got up from his spot. “Sit tight while I fetch you a menu.”
“Wait a moment.” She reached up, grabbed his shoulder, and placed him back in his seat. “There’s something that I wanted to show you?”
“Hmm?”
Neva reached on her left-hand side and produced a photo. “Here, this is for you.” She passed it over to Ethan. “It’s a ultrasound we took today.” Neva scanned his face as Ethan scanned the medical photograph.
That smile of his returned. “How exquisite,” he said as he continued to look at the picture. “Are we aware of its sex yet?”
“I am...are you curious?”
“Of course!” Ethan shouted.
“Very well. Be sure to keep an eye out for pink items whenever you frequent stores and during your travels.”
“A beautiful baby girl?” Ethan eyes light up a bit. “How marvelous! I must prepare. I’ll go shopping tomorrow after training.”
Neva took ahold of his hand. “You, you aren’t disappointed?” she asked. “I know how much you wanted a so—”
“Don’t speak foolishly, dearest,” Ethan said as he interrupted her. “I realize that my family places a great deal of importance on having a son. And but of course, I was overjoyed when we were birthing Courtney. However, those feelings spawned from the joy of creating life with my own hands.” Ethan sighed as he shook his head. “What I mean to say is, it doesn’t matter what the sex is. My only concern is that our baby is healthy and happy—that’s it.”
Neva nodded her head. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”
“I’ve heard that a few times in my day.”
The two shared a laugh. However, after they both regained their composure, they sat in silence for a little bit.
“Dearest, may I propose a name?” Ethan asked for a while. “I’ve been researching boys and girls name in my down time, just in case.”
“There is no need to propose one.” Neva kissed him once more. “I’ll leave the honor to you, and you alone.”
“Very well. It’s settled then. Ethan nodded. “Her name shall be Misha.”
“Misha, hmm?” Neva quickly mulled it over in her mind. “I’m fond of it. What does it mean?”
“God like—and that will describe her in every way.”
Ethan confidently nodded.
“She will be intelligent, like her mother and father. She will be successful, like the members of her family that have come before her. She shall have the keys to the dynasty that I’ve built; wrestling shall be her domain. She’ll take up the mantel that her brother was unable to.” Ethan paused for a second. “Above all else, and most importantly, she shall always remain number one in my heart—”
Do not allow the dark hand of Fear to drag you down into the dank abyss.
Do not allow the prospect of Failure dictate your current course.
Instead, always allow Valor’s radiant light to guide you as you walk.
No matter the circumstance; you’re Destined to be great. —Ethan LeCavalier
St. Valentine’s Day Massacre—North Atlantic Wrestling’s first pay-per-view of 2017. Over the past few years, the event has played host to a myriad of fantastic bouts. Who could forget when Gunner Hughes retained the NAW Legacy Championship when he was taken to the limit by David Fraggle in 2013? In 2014, Mr. Hughes shocked the world once more when he defeated Jason Price and Alex Jones in a grueling bout for the NAW Horizon Championship. Last year, Alice Harris smiled in the face of danger when she stepped into the ring and defended that very belt against Rocky Hollywood.
Although, if I’m being honest, my favorite St. Valentine’s Day Massacre match dates back to 2013 when Miss Kandi Washington got her ass thoroughly handed to her by Cthulhuson. Call me petty, but that match brings great joy to my heart, yes indeed. That night, she was forced to sit by aimlessly as the NAW TV Championship was handed over to her foe. That was also the night that she became imperfect—that major blemish on her nearly impeccable record still haunts her to this day.
Nonetheless, as grand as those previous matches were, as much attention and press that those previous events have garnered, there’s no doubt in my mind that this year’s iteration of St. Valentine’s Day Massacre will go down as the greatest in the company’s history. And at the very high chance of sounding arrogant and pompous, the prestige of this event is going to be elevated by one match in particular—LeCavalier versus Washington.
...You know, when I ponder the Femme Fatale Division and its legacy, one word always jumps to the forefront of my brain—opportunity. Based upon personal experience, many promotions treat their female competitors as freaks, as sideshows, as spectacles. They are often used and whored out as cheap ploys to gain a few extra ticket sales. But in truth, the companies don’t give two shits about their talent, or the difficult journey they’ve taken to get to where they are.
However, that wasn’t the case with NAW. No promotion isn’t perfect; nevertheless, NAW saw the benefit in treating us women as the talented wrestlers that we are. And therefore, since its inception, the Femme Fatale Division has been a safe-haven. It’s been a place to highlight and showcase the women who have helped build this company.
Like any division, there’s been ebbs and flows—high and low points. At it’s lowest point, the Femme Fatale Division was dead, deceased, defunct. Perhaps the owner back then wanted to move in a different direction. Or maybe it was because the number of women in NAW began to dwindle (for whatever reason). Whatever the case, the Femme Fatale Division ceased to exist.
You could say those were very dark days indeed…
However, a beaming light now shines upon NAW. In an effort to continue to highlight and showcase the promotion’s recent influx of female talent, the division was risen from the ashes—and along with it came the Femme Fatale Championship. The division a a whole has begun to step to the forefront.
...Do you know what I find truly humorous? In the midst of preparing for this classic bout, I must fully admit that my mind keeps wandering back to a previous moment in time. Or more specifically, my mind keeps traveling back to that four-woman elimination match that I had nearly a month ago. Ironically Kandi, you and I likely wouldn’t be facing each other so quickly if it weren’t for that match.
However, I digress…
Before I ultimately made the decision to bring my illustrious talent here to NAW, I did a thing that most wrestlers never do. I sat down, reflected on my career, and was completely honest with myself. My career has spanned over nearly a decade. In that amount of time, I’ve done many amazing things. I’ve captured awards. I’ve won championships. And yet, more often than not I feel under-accomplished in my reflections; missed and wasted opportunities attempt to rear their ugly heads in the rear-view mirror of my mind. Therefore, I made it clear to myself that if I were to come into NAW, then I was going to actually accomplish something. Henceforth, I sat down with my iPad and typed out a pretty decent list of goals that I hoped to fulfill.
My younger sister happened upon that list; she was the only one who had ever laid eyes upon it, besides myself of course.
Nonetheless, No One made reference to that very list in her video leading up to the bout. How did she discover it? The hell if I should know; maybe she’s a secret member of Dedsec or something. That’s a Watchdog’s reference for you who are uniformed.
But once again, I digress...
I won’t bore everyone with the line by line details of the list, because in truth, most of you all don’t give a two fucks. However, there are two goals that are very pertinent to this pay-per-view match up:
a. Submit/Knockout/Hurt Kandi Washington
b. Win the Femme Fatale Championship
How ambitious, yeah? Nonetheless, if you’re going try and obtain something, it might as well be worth all the effort.
The funny thing about that list is that I’ve already achieved and accomplished a fair amount of the goals I had written down. My my, at time if I would have known I’d been writing down premonitions and prophecies, then I might have been tempted to write down the NAW Legacy Championship.
However, I’m more than thrilled at the prospect of holding the Femme Fatale Championship, more so because that would entail demolishing you, Ms. Washington.
Speaking of you, Kandi, I’m willing to bet large amounts of money that you never thought you’d be in this position, at least not so soon anyway. As you can probably infer from my last video, I’m not at all fond of you. Unlike you though, I’m willing to do the unthinkable—give you props. I’m almost certain you won’t do the same for me; it’s not in your nature. Your little interview is fine evidence for that. What a pitty. Although, if I’m truly being honest, I find your insecurities are flattering, Ms. Washington. Everyone knows that I’m the largest threat to your championship; you know it as well. But your foolish pride won’t allow you to admit it.
Fortunately for me, I have no shame in being the bigger professional, in addition to being the better wrestler. That being said, you’re far from being a scrub in the ring, Kandi. You’re good, damn good even. Ever since your return to NAW, you’ve been an ungodly tear. How does the saying go, you’ve been “kicking ass and taking names?” And when the Femme Fatale Division was resurrected, you made it your purpose to rule it with an iron grip. On your path to world domination, you’ve defeated just about everyone in your path. The Femme Fatale Division has been your playground. The division’s resurgence probably wouldn’t have been as successful as it has been without your efforts. And while a few have stepped up in attempts to claim your belt, you’ve never truly been faced with a challenge, have you Kandi?
I imagine you wouldn’t want it any other way. There is no question that you’ve defended that belt of yours; I watched the match with my very own eyes from the outside. And yet, that doesn’t make you a fighting champion, dear. Every time a challenger rises to the forefront, you conjure up some magicall bullshit excuse. Suddenly everyone becomes unworthy,; suddenly Mr. Hayes and NAW have an agenda against you. It’s the same tap-dance and broken record story every time. And why? Because you don’t desire a true fight. You don’t desire a true test. And most telling of all, you don’t desire a true struggle. Because without a struggle that means that you are free to write history as you see fit, even if that tale deviates from actual reality…
And what glorious yarn you did spun, Kandi. What fanciful fallacies you force fed to the masses. You were seen as impregnable in the eyes of the public. You were said to be untouchable. Hell, you had everyone believing that you were the most skilled competitor in the company—well, at least up until my arrival.
You and the rest of NAW were then hit with a hearty dose of reality. And that reality is that your perception in this company, your alleged “queendom,” it’s all a fucking fraud. Perhaps people bought into those hoaxes at one point in time, but now they’ve been introduced to the glorious light.
I left you screaming and writhing in pain at the conclusion of Meltdown Eighty-Four. You aren’t indestructible. At the close of Meltdown Eighty-Five, I stomped your fucking head into the mat, after I’d already decapitated you with a lariat. And the whole world got to lay witness to the “Saddest Face in Professional Wrestling” as he hovered over your nearly lifeless body. You aren’t invincible.
However, you are now faced with someone who has the ability to to shut you down (myself, of course). You are now faced with someone who has the gift of gab, just as you do; she just chooses to speak the truth with her gift. For once in your entire career, the spotlight has been sntached away from you; in the flash of a moment, you’ve became Player Two. And I know it makes you furious.
Fear not though, you’re in good company. There are a decent amount of women here in NAW; they all have been here much longer than I have. They have more tenure. And when this match between you and I was announced, I’m sure they snapped their fingers, rolled their eyes, and sucked wind through their teeth. To them, I’ve stolen away that grand opportunity that they’d been vying for.
And you, Kandi? There were probably bunch of vulgarities and slurs thrown about the Washington residence.
However, neither you nor anyone else should be frazzled. This match is merely a testament to my talent and skill. It isn’t a result of a handout, nor begging and pleading. Kandi—this title match is the result ass kicking and hard work.
Considering your current run, isn’t that something you can relate to, Kandi?
...You know, as much it pains me to admit and say, you and I are cut from similar pieces of cloth. I know that seems unfathomable, but honestly, you should view it as a compliment, Kandi. Now, I realize that my previous video highlighted many key differences. Corruption, injustice, oppression, stagnation, and tyranny might ring a bell, yeah?
And yet, there are still some vital similarities between the two of us. Let’s take a look, shall we:
1. Despite our respectives philosophies about this sport, we are both ferocious and unrelenting.
2. I’d like think that the two of us have a lingering hunger for competition and violence.
3. We are both dream-makers—not mere dreamers. We do not follow the pack. And we’d prefer to dictate our own destinies.
But of course, in regards to our bout championship bout, there’s one more key difference between you and I—and that is the presence and dichotomy of failure.
Hypothetically speaking, if I were to walk into this match and lose, would that be a failure? The majority of the wrestling world would answer “yes.” Fortunately for me, I don’t usually adhere to the other people’s expectations.
In my mind, Kandi, a loss to you would simply be the catalyst to the following:
1. To refocus my mind and recalibrate my course.
2. To step back in front of the drawing-board and develop another plan of action.
3. To jump back into the ring and continue to improve until you’re vanquished.
Kandi, let me explain it to you in another way. No matter what the outcome of this match might be, I’ll essentially come out looking golden. It is the quintessential win-win scenario, for me at least.
You will not steamroll me, Kandi. And you shall not body me. On our worst days, a match between you and I would still be highly competitive. When the viewers see me hanging with you in the ring, they’ll have no choice but to be impressed. And when I out-wrestle you (as I know I shall), they will be mystified.
So to summarize things, there are only two outcomes for me, my dear. The first, I have an impressive match. The second, I have an impressive match and I walk away with the belt. The latter is what I’m aiming for, but of course. However, in either event, my stock increases exponentially.
...However, your stock won’t, Kandi.
If the unstoppable queen named Kandi Washington, the woman who has killed just about everyone in the division, struggles put poor little Misha LeCavalier away in timely fashion, what does that say about our almighty champion?
Traditionally speaking, the pressure and ownness in a championship match is heaped upon the challenger. Said person must crawl tooth and nail to overcome the champion and his or her mighty advantage. Nonetheless, I’d like to think of myself as a bit more, progressive. Tradition was ingrained and instilled into me by my family as I was learning the ropes. However, the fact that I’m even carrying the family mantel in the first place is a grave departure from tradition—that role was meant for my brother, originally.
I said all that to say this, I have no worries going into this match. I have no pressures. And I have no fears, nor should I. You on the other hand, Kandi? Well, the weight of the world is all on your shoulders.
The stakes are a lot higher for you, Kandi. For you, this match isn’t just about the Femme Fatale Championship. No no no—it is about your everlasting legacy in this company. This match is about how future generations will view the “First Lady” after she’s been disgraced and dismissed from her position.
Face the facts, you need to walk away this match with a victory—and I’ll be hell-bent to deny you that satisfaction.
...Kandi, St. Valentine’s Day Massacre will spell your demise, just like it did four years ago. This showdown was inevitable. It was written by the hands of Fate itself. However, I don’t have tell you that, do I?
You already know it to be so.
Your back is against the wall, Kandi. When you and I face in the middle of the ring, you’ll be all alone—you won’t have a friend in the MGM Grand Garden Arena. Not the fans, not the promotion, and certainly not the other women of the Femme Fatale Divisions. Oh, and Kandi spoiler alert if you didn’t know, you have to actually be likeable to receive cheers. And because of your alienation and less than stellar personality, you’re kind of failing at that right now. At this point, I severely doubt if your very own band of cronies even care about you. Regardless, The fact you live in Vegas will be irrelevant. Hell, this match might as well be held in Moscow—because it will be akin to the same level of hostility in the building that evening.
You’ll be defenseless, utterly helpless—how wonderful. And at the end of the night, you’ll have to deal with the fact that your kingdom crumbled beneath your feet.
Part of me wants to apologize, to show you some sympathy. In the matter of a few moments, your career, your life, your world, will be flipped upside down. Nonetheless, the otherside of me rests somewhere between “oh well” and “fuck it.” You probably can infer which position I’m going to side with. We all know you’re a heartless bitch. Therefore, fuck it, and fuck you. You showed no mercy to the women you slaughtered to build your little dynasty—so it’s only fitting that your demise occur in the same manner.
To live by the sword, to die by the sword.
The Femme Fatale Division deserves a champion who is highly skilled, yet still embodies the sentiment in which it was first built upon—opportunity. That person is not you, Kandi—it never was, and it never will be.
Look at me, Kandi. I waltzed into this company and subsequently changed a man who is renowned throughout this sport. And not only did I defeat him, I had an astounding match with him. I walked into an elimination match and stood victorious over three of the best women that this division had to offer. The conclusion was unavoidable, but they all fought so valiantly. And then I went on the vanquish Jenny Smith, your former contender.
I shot my shot. I made an instant impact. I snatched and gobbled up every opportunity that was in my path. Once again, you can lie to yourself and believe I’m not worthy to step to you. However, you delusions are refuted by the footage, Ms. Washington. Night in and night out, I’ve shown why I’m so highly praised. And night in and night out, I’ve proven what the Femme Fatale Division will look like when that belt is around my waist—a violent wonderland where everyone still shines.
Have I soundly defeated every opponent I’ve run across here? Yes. Have I fought and scrapped to snatch up opportunities, even at the expense of others? Yes. However, have I shit upon them? No. Have I diminished their accomplishments, their value, their worth? No, I have not. However, that’s your M.O., isn’t it, Kandi?
Every single time I’ve stepped into a NAW ring, I’ve pushed my opponents. I’ve forced them to exceeded their limits, to become greater. That’s why I’ll be a better Femme Fatale Champion than you could ever possibly hope to be.
...Kandi, I need you to open up your ears and listen to what I’m about to say. I’d be remiss if I ended my audio log without touching upon it. Call it a life lesson, if you will. And it’s a lesson that you are clearly struggling to grasp. Maybe you’re ignorant, you perhaps you’re just too stupid to understand it; don’t worry, I’ll speak slowly.
Rulers, kings, queens—they are nothing without the people. Ever since the Femme Fatale Division was reinstated, all you’ve done is berate the women of this company, of this division. All you’ve done is call them shit and tell them they aren’t deserving enough to face you. That is something you can’t refute either; one can pull up any one of your videos and view footage with his or her own eyes. Therefor, if every single woman in the Femme Fatale Division is undeserving, valueless, then what does that make you? What the hell are you ruling over?
The answer that is nothing. By your own admission, your “queendom” is meaningless; reign is worthless.
—As each day passes, my anticipation grows. When all is said and done, generations of wrestling fans shall look back upon LeCavalier versus Washington with fond memories. Fans and critics alike shall recall the night the two best women to ever grace a NAW ring clashed for the first time. But the more superior one shall be the victor. In spite of our difference Kandi, you need to realize that after February Seventeenth, our names shall forever be attached to one another—for better, or for worse.
I’ve got everything to gain, and nothing to lose.
...What happens to you after this match, Kandi? When your reign is shattered? When failure has enveloped you like a black hole? When the Femme Fatale Division is soaring and thriving without your onerous presence on top? Will anyone except your boy-toy even care?
Now, I’d love to hear your answers to those oh so pertinent questions. Unfortunately, I don’t have fifty-five more minutes of my time to waste on another one of your diatribes. I have a match to prepare for, and celebration to prep...
—Arrivederci.