Post by Brenna Gordon on Feb 27, 2017 10:48:55 GMT -5
Pain was nothing new for Olivia.
Even before she knew what professional wrestling was or that she wanted to compete, the idea of moving through discomfort had long since become the way of things. It was just a part of life, right alongside of breathing and having a heartbeat. There were days that it was worse than others, but it was always there-- a twisted sort of imaginary friend she couldn't ever ignore entirely, not with how its claws dug into her every chance it got. It caused her to favor long sleeves and pants even in the height of summer until she discovered the wonders of Dermablend and powder, to seek out the corner in a busy room where she could hide, to keep to herself--a possessive sort of pal, Pain was, and it did all it could to convince her that isolation wasn't just the best choice. No, no... it was the only choice. Training herself to exhaustion and learning submissions gradually became acceptable companions as the years progressed, indirect contact the only sort of contact that Pain allowed. Her trainers and peers never understood how she found the energy to work so hard and endure so much punishment above and beyond anyone that surrounded her, and she never saw fit to inform them. No one needed to know how she was ultimately the bitch of an intangible emotion.
No one but the trainee that Pain belonged to and owned, all at once.
Even as she progressed through her training and eventually earned the right to compete, it clung to her like an overprotective parent, shielding her from the world around her. She could get hurt out there, after all-- and that was not a privilege Pain wanted to share. It wanted to rule her world, be the only thing that consumed her waking hours and those she slept fitfully through.. and for awhile, it did just that. It greeted her when she awoke, it hung onto her every motion throughout the day, and it accompanied her to sleep, filling her thoughts with the sort of darkness that often turned its fangs inward to tear her own soul apart. She knew how to pretend, to hide it all away behind that razor-sharp wit and words that cut deeper than any whip ever could hope to match--but what made Pain step back, even temporarily, was another emotion that Kyle Shane had brought out of her by simply existing.
Anger.
That fire that filled her, all-consuming and bright, melted away anything and everything to leave her free to move, to act... to fight in a way that she had never managed before. It awoke every neuron in her mind, every nerve in her body, every fiber of her being in such a way that there wasn't room for anything else. Not fatigue, not soreness... not Pain. The dumb bastard would probably mistake it as something else if he was ever made aware of it, knowing how willfully obtuse he was. She was the fire until after the roar of the crowd in support of her--and the thundering boos of Kyle escaping his defeat--had stopped ringing in her ears. But now that the red flag was taken away from the bull of her temper, well... that only meant one thing.
Hello again, Pain.
A sardonic huff of a laugh left the redhead as she stood beneath the hot water that the shower stall was pounding into her skin, the steam threatening to blind her even though she was facing away from the shower head. While the heat helped a little, the scar tissue that lived beneath the bruising was either wholly numb or so sensitive that it was a wonder she wasn't crying. That didn't even mention how her head throbbed, or how her lip was threatening to split open if she moved her mouth too much... or the numerous other, more minor complaints that Pain was refusing to let her ignore. She was paying dearly for her performance against Kyle, but that was alright. So was how he had managed to get a draw. He had happened upon his condition for victory; she had planned hers, and the entire world knew it. She'd get another crack at him, and when that happened?
Her smile grew grim and determined at the thought of the Hell she would put Kyle Shane through before she took the Underground Championship from him. And if he decided to keep trying to force his ways between thighs that didn't want him there, well... there were other things she could take, each of which would make what she put him through at Trauma 207 seem like a walk in the park. His pride, his ego, his masculinity--and if she had to? She'd take his career and leave its broken and bloodied corpse as a reminder of how no man was entitled to a single solitary shred of any woman... much less Olivia Xavier.
---------------------
"Well... isn't this a relief." It'd be easy for one to read cattiness, perhaps even some level of sarcasm into the redhead's tone as she regards the camera with the beginnings of a smile, but really--all the more anyone needs to do to know how genuine Olivia's sentiments are is to look at how relaxed her posture is. Gone is the tension of anger, of disgust, of being so thoroughly off-put by the idea of even humoring her opponent's existence as she stands on what is probably the balcony of some middle-of-the-road motel with her back to the railing and her hands resting upon the metal. Instead, there's a return to the almost-nonchalance of the first time that the cameras got to settle their lenses upon the redhead... which is a nice and welcome change for her, really. Even if she knows that matters with a certain Underground Champion are far from settled, she's not going to look an opportunity like this in the mouth.
Not when she's finally being given an opponent that she respects.
A pair of well-worn jeans and a simple green t-shirt is her chosen attire as she regards the camera, the sun catching the unnatural crimson of her hair and seemingly setting it ablaze as it moves in the breeze. The light and the shirt she wears has her eyes appearing the color of old Chinese jade, though there's not quite enough wisdom in those depths to truly make the comparison. Olivia chuckles softly to herself, the sound inviting and warm as the sunbeam she is settled in the middle of.
"That isn't to say that I expect this to be easy, Kelli--I know it isn't. You're the biggest challenge that I've probably faced in all of my career, and that's a race you win by a walk. No, what makes this such a relief is that I don't have to wrestle a sleazy, slimy creep. I don't have to worry about you trying to get a handful of my ass or not taking no for an answer... or stealing someone else's identity because you're too cheap to pay for something yourself, for that matter. There's no dishonesty here, no overwhelming waves of frat boy come-ons followed by explosions of neckbearding when things don't go your way. No, even if you're this ball of child-like energy--which is a compliment, by the way--you, at least, understand something that's as simple as common human fucking decency while also getting the idea of what's appropriate and what isn't." The redhead nods. "But enough about delusional men. You deserve all of my attention, Kelli. I mean, it's like I said before--your record and your accolades speak for themselves in a way that can't be ignored. And what makes you truly stand out to me is that you don't need to walk around with your nose in the air, looking down at everyone around you. You know you don't need to explain yourself ad nauseam to anyone and everyone that happens to be nearby. Instead, you just go down that ramp, get in that ring, and show the world just what you can do. I respect that. Hell, I wish I could get certain people to learn that lesson!"
Her smile turns rueful for a moment as she shakes her head, faintly annoyed with herself at how things managed to swing back around to Kyle--albeit indirectly.
"I think you feel that way too, huh? Dealing with Seromine and his 700 Club From Hell sermons. I wouldn't blame you for sneaking into his house in the middle of the night so you could superglue his mouth closed. I mean sure, there's shit to dissolve that stuff... but imagine the way it'd burn his skin." Something impish shows itself in her gaze as she chuckles to herself. 'Thinking about it from that angle, I'm a reprieve for you too, aren't I? A break from the bullshit to have a match that's about what wrestling is supposed to be. It's not meant to be a place for creepers to cruise women that are out of their league both in the ring and out of it, it's not meant for attention whores that need a place to preach their stories about some guy up in the sky that allegedly rules over us all--it's supposed to be an athletic contest to see who's better. Better prepared, better trained, better conditioned... the list goes on. Being able to focus on that and only that is going to be amazing, and I know you agree with me on that. So don't hold back on me, alright? I can take whatever you throw at me, promise."
Her final words are delivered with a smirk that reaches her eyes, setting them alight with mirth--mirth that is bright in regards to her opponent, but not to just about anyone else.
"Let's steal the show from those delusional bastards and show them why we are the future of PCW."
