Page 1 of Beauty and the Brawn
CHAPTER 1
Cheyanne
“Yeah, girl! Get her!”
I hear the slurring fan holler from the crowd as I flail my arms for effect. My opponent, Kelly Anne, or Amazonia as the fans call her, and her classic headlock have always been a crowd pleaser, even if tonight’s wrestling match at Big Bad Ben’s is a little thin in the fan department. So I’ll take the ass-kicking.
“Crush that skull!” I hear another spectator call, followed by a chorus of whoops.
My cheek scrapes against Amazonia’s itchy wrestling costume as she spins me around the ring.
My skull isn’t exactly what she is supposed to be crushing, but I’ll play along since the show’s almost over and nothing about it so far has been memorable.
Right now, I’m supposed to be fake falling halfway across the ring. But, hey, Kelly has the crowd, and I’m not against freestyle.
I fall back onto the mat, let out a good battle cry, and roll to my feet just in time to miss her swinging arm.
“Finish her, Amazonia!” the same voice yells in the stands as I duck, and then dart out of Kelly’s grasp. “Defend the throne!”
We play a little cat and mouse around the ring. My eyes roam Big Bad Ben’s, not typically this bereft of my own personal fans. But then again, I’ve been saying that for six months now.
“Smash her good!” another fan jeers.
I let Amazonia snatch me by the hair, pulling me back and into her.
“Ready?” Kelly asks, about to hurl me into the ropes per the actual routine. The boring, basic, stale routine.
“No!” I scream, clawing at her arms.
Nothing gets the crowd going faster than a little pleading, making it the perfect safeword.
We’re about to finish this thing. I’ll make sure to cry out as I bounce off the ropes and back into her grasp. I’m supposed to wiggle free, then catapult myself off the opposite ropes and straight into her waiting abdomen. Amazonia, or Kelly, will spin and toss me. But I’ll come back, taking her to the mat with a knee to the nose.
I swing my way across the ropes and into Kelly.
“Oooh!”
Again, the crowds are responding to her, to Amazonia, the villainous queen of the warlords. I don’t know much about her character’s motivations for evil, though my hero persona, Archimedes, plays a small part in the league’s current storyline for Amazonia.
I squeal as she spins me around, and then lets me go. I roll nearly all the way off the mat but stop short. I’m tonight’s winner. Stale choreography or not.
“No! No! Stay down!” The screamer is right in front of me, a thin man in a trucker’s cap and blue jeans.
I shouldn’t be getting booed. It’s the last thing I think as I fake-smash Kelly’s face. She collapses to the mat as choreographed, and I raise my arms high. A cacophony of boos hit me from all angles. Again.
“And there goes Arachne, Queen of—” Whoever Raucous Entertainment has emceeing this lukewarm match stops suddenly.
I fake-stomp my heel into Kelly’s toned and shimmering midsection. Apparently, in her Amazon, leopards have black spots that glitter. And orange fur that glitters. And a face that glitters. Their primary export is glitter, I guess.
I can feel an entire handful smeared across my left arm. I wave big for the fans, which is such a strong word now that I think about it. A lot of angry faces are in the crowd, easier to stomach than the bored ones. I’d say over half the drifting spectators are rocking something closer to disappointment than rage. A performer’s worst nightmare.
“Amazonia! I mean. Ha!” the grinning dud with the mic says. I can’t believe this was their last-minute replacement for our usual rotation of narrators. “Sorry, guys. The winner’s Archimedes.”
“Oh, whoa,” Kelly says, still flat on her back and obviously aware of the terribly timed apology. “I’m sure he meant sorry about my name, not you winning.”
“Stay in character!” I say with a smile.
I’m supposed to be a face, a hero character in the wrestling canon. It’s part of my image to love the audience, even if they don’t love me.