Post by Sabina Sainte on Feb 21, 2018 21:39:29 GMT -5
The only satisfying part of the last episode of Lights Out was getting to watch Noah Reigner and Rumble Reyes lose their second shot at the Battalion Championships. Honestly, Sabina and Oceane weren’t sure who they hated more: the Firing Squad or the Outliers. They were both pretty freaking awful, to be honest. Our Queens had been relegated to a shitty dark match (which they dominated, obvi) and decided to make sure that they were seen on the show. But the bout that those two teams had put on had literally bored them to death. They were getting pretty irritated watching the Outliers and the Firing Squad hog all of the fame and fortune that should be afforded to them. Management kept overlooking them and putting them in absolutely pointless matches. Why put them up against basically your number one contender’s night one and then shuffle them to the bottom of the card against losers? Sure they had lost their debut match, but they had given Noah and Rumble a run for their money. They had proven that they belong at the top of the card. Clearly a moron was running this place.
Winning wasn’t enough for Sabina or Oceane. The Patron Saintes of Sass and Class wanted to be seen. They wanted to make a name for themselves and to get people talking. They wanted the entire world to tune into Union and declare that Sabina and Oceane were two bad ass bitches that everyone should fear. This week they were set to face Maggie Chamberlain and Conor Tate, a literal random mis-mash of a team that has absolutely no history together. The girls were fed up with semantics and politics to say the least. If no one was going to give them an opportunity, they would just have to take it.
Sabina Sainte was sitting in front of a mirrored vanity inside the Ritz Carlton suite that she was sharing with Oceane Jourdaine. She had a small brush in hand and was blending her eyeshadow. Sabby and OC had decided to go out tonight and get lit to get their mind off of their current frustrations - Union and boys included. Oceane was in the bathroom curling her hair with the door slightly ajar. The savage Sainte was wearing nothing but a silk robe with her black lace bra slightly sticking out in the cleavage area. Sabby was ranting about how ridiculous their opponents were. Oceane could only kind of hear her from where she was, so Sabby was basically screaming to herself. Which was kind of normal for her.
“Like you would think with a roster that has like seven tag teams we could get some actual competition. We go from a stupid dark match to this haphazard team? Maggie the battered wife and some douche named Conor. Like how fucking boring! I hate when people think just anyone can be a team! Like honestly, tag teams aren’t just thrown together. I know everything you do inside the ring and you can basically read my mind. We are literally...”
Oceane poked her head out of the bathroom, with a section of her hair wrapped around a curling wand.
“The same person!” She giggled before slipping back into the bathroom. Yeah, they were gross enough that they finished each other’s sentences. Don’t be jealous.
Sabina nodded as she picked up another brush, dusting more eyeshadow onto her lids.
“Exactly! Maggie and Conor don’t even know each other. They don’t know each other’s strengths and weaknesses. They won’t be looking out for one another and watching the other person’s back. Honestly, they’re singles competitors for a reason. Because they’re both selfish. Say what you want about us, but we’re besties for life. Cradle to fucking grave. They are strangers.” She let out a sigh. Frustrated would be an understatement to describe how the Patron Saintes felt about their situation on Union.
“Well, that and I mean, you’ve heard the rumors about Maggie’s psycho boyfriend.”
Sabina made a face as Oceane screamed from the bathroom. “Ohmigod! He totally beats her! What a pathetic bitch.”
Her bestie couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Right?! Like how am I supposed to be afraid of a girl who fights for a living and lets her boyfriend run her life? For a bitch who runs her mouth about how much better she is than ‘other girls’, she really is full of shit. I’d much rather little girls look up to tough, strong women like us who stand up for ourselves at every turn than some sad, weak battered wife. Like how do you think that psycho is going to feel about her teaming with a man? He’ll prob punch her in the face before she even makes it to the ring if she looks in Conor’s direction.”
The purple-haired beauty rolled her hazel eyes. Maybe Sabina and Oceane weren’t the most sympathetic of humans, but they also made a valid point. Maggie’s boyfriend posed a real challenge to her in her career, especially in a company like Union where men and women were treated equally.
“And if she does make it out there to face us, I’m not scared. Carter’s just going to end up being a distraction. He’ll either tell her she’s doing awful and make her cry or lose his shit when Conor and her touch hands to tag.”
“I mean he’s kind of cute and I’m totally single. How distracting would it be if I hit on him?”
Sabina let out a literal cackle. “I would die! That bitch may be tiny and fast but all that means is that we will be able to overpower her easily. Both of them have like no experience. And sure we’re green or whatever, but we’re trained by the best. I’m pretty sure Conor just like stumbled in off of the street or something and they gave him a job. He’s only a little bigger than Noah and we took Rumble off of his feet who at least can kind of wrestle.”
She scoffed at the lack of competition that was being thrown in their direction this week. “Like this is the best thing that Union can throw at us? Honestly, we gave up our lives and joined Union to revolutionize the business and to prove that we are the best. But in order to be the best, you have to beat the best. And this match-up is mediocre at best.”
“Like, we literally deserve a title shot and instead we get these losers.”
“We’ll just have to make yet another example out of them. Apparently no one here has an attention span. One week off TV and everyone has already forgotten about us and what we can and will do inside that ring. They think what we did to Wolfe was bad? Pfft. That will pale in comparison to this week.”
Her hazel eyes narrowed with rage as her phone, that was sitting next to her on the vanity, buzzed just as Oceane walked out of the bathroom. Her hair was in the perfect Victoria’s Secret curls that every girl would die for. Sabina glanced down at the phone and saw that it was a text from Luca. With a sigh, she flipped the phone face down. Standing behind her, Oceane was fluffing her curls in the mirror.
“Did you consider maybe telling him you’re mad at him?” Sabby made a confused face at her bestie.
“Umm… he should know!” Oceane simply shrugged. Sabby caught her glance down at her phone, with no unread messages on the screen.
Oceane couldn’t have the man of her dreams and Sabby was ignoring hers for basically no reason. OC didn’t have to say the words, Sabina could read her mind and she could feel the guilt trip.
-------------------------
Later that evening - Myst Nightclub, Shanghai
Sabina and Oceane were both four Vodka Cranberry’s deep into their night. The two girls were on the dance floor grinding on each other like they were at their first high school dance. Purple and blue lights and lasers flashed overhead and Cardi B was pumping through the speakers. Both girls were trying to drink and dance away their problems. Sabby downed the last of the drink in her hand and motioned to Oceane that she was heading to the bar to get another round.
As the beauty made her way through the crowd, she leaned over the bar and fished her iPhone out of her slinky Marc Jacobs dress. Like any girl, she had tucked it securely in her bra. She unlocked her phone and scrolled through the texts that Luca had sent her over the past few weeks. His last text simply read - “I miss you.”
For maybe the first time in her life, Sabina Sainte swallowed her pride. After a soft sigh, she typed a quick message on the keyboard and stared at it for a moment. As the bartender headed over to her, she hit send and shoved it back into her bra.
It’s becoming quite evident that in the Union Battleground Universe, Oceane Jourdain and Sabina Sainte are just two additional faces on a roster full of dozens. For two girls who have been worshiped and praised their entire lives, it’s probably a pretty bitter pill to swallow. During Lights Out 18, the girls appeared down at ringside for the Battalion Championship match after being forced to waste their talents in a dark match. Neither the Outliers nor Noah Reigner and Fat One gave them a second look, something else the two girls aren’t exactly used too.
It’s not that they need validation from either team, because they don’t. But what OC and Sabby seem to want is for all four men to acknowledge that they aren’t the only two teams in the Union world. The Outliers walk around as if they don’t know left from right, completely unaware of anything actually going on in Union. They’re part-time champions that put fans to sleep with their long-winded, shoot-style, generic ass promos and were just generally fucking boring as shit. As far as Noah and his partner go, that’s another story for another day. How many times do they have to lose before people realized they are overrated and overhyped? Like why are Outliers versus FatNoah still a thing?
● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
“It is a joke.”
OC tossed her phone down on the table and huffed. She and Sabby were having lunch at Scena, one of the restaurants inside the Ritz-Carlton Shanghai Pudong. They had been reading an article written about themselves, posted on probably the only fan site out there devoted to the two of them. Their only fan had basically hit the nail on the head and summed up exactly how the girls were feeling at the moment.
“We are the odd team out,” Sabby sighed, and pushed her uneaten salad away from her. “Of course, it probably did us no favors that we sat ringside during the match and took selfies.”
“And napped,” OC giggled.
“The match sucked. They all suck.” Sabina tossed her perfect hair off her shoulders and started skimming the article again. She also had it up on her phone.
● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
At least Oceane and Sabina get to appear on actual television this upcoming week, although it seems like the match was put together to appease their egos more than anything else. Their competition is a half-assed thrown together team with no real history. Maggie Chamberlain is another dark match darling who probably has more plastic in her body than Oceane does. And Conor Tate looks like some loser who’d be better off on a reality show. They’re another shitty team who aren’t competition for the Patron Saintes whatsoever. Maggie has had two mediocre wins over men who are bigger and stronger than she is, but both Saintes have stood toe to toe with Fatso and lived to tell about it. For as gross and horrible as he is, Rumble Reyes is an absolute monster inside that ring and neither OC or Sabby backed down from him. If not for a lucky break at the end and lack of experience on the Saintes part, they would have perfect records in Union as well. They’d probably be the Battalion Champions already because they’re a hell of a lot more interesting than the Outliers.
And they’re so much better than FatNoah.
And truth be told, there’s not much to write about Conor Tate. He’s useless, inexperienced, and will probably get beat up by Maggie’s hot abusive boyfriend if he even looks at her. They will never be able to function as a team and that’s not a bad scenario for the Saintes. Time and time again, Oceane and Sabina have shown that they are team. They weren’t put together by managers or promoters. They were born to be together and know each other better than they know themselves. Maggie might have the training, and Conor could have grown up in some hood in Boston, but Oceane and Sabina are a tag-team through and through. They have nothing to lose at this point in Union, because apparently no one knows they’re alive. They can go out there and compete freely. They can out-wrestle Conor and if they keep him secluded from Maggie, they should be able to win rather routinely. Conor’s power won’t be much of a factor. The ‘Southie Savage’ (literally the stupidest nickname ever) won’t be able to brawl his way out this one. Whatever rage he tries to harness to throw the Saintes off their game will pale in comparison to the anger and hate Oceane will experience when she checks social media and sees her former love, the good prince Nik, cozying up to Liechtenstein's fierce ice queen Sereinya Bargetze in PyeongChang.
fierce bitch Sereinya Bargetze; clearly our queen's former prince has a type.
● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
“GIVE ME YOUR PHONE!”
Sabby reached across the table and snatched OC’s phone up before the brunette could grab it and go back to reading the article. The last thing she wanted was for her bestie to read a lie. OC shot Sabby a Botox-filled look of annoyance.
“Rude.”
“Mine died, duh.”
Oceane had not been able to function since getting a text from Nik a few weeks ago. It had actually gone un-opened for days and once OC had decided to read it, she hadn’t shared it with Sabby. That was fine for the Greek Goddess because she had her own troubles. But what she would do in this situation was protect her life partner from a distraction she didn’t need. When OC left Nik, Sabby watched her unfollow and block him on every source of social media. She had watched her bestie set filters on everything so she wouldn’t have to see his name. The amount of poise and self-control Oceane had when it came to ignoring Nik was something Sabby admired. She had caught herself looking Nik up more than once just to see what he was doing.
OC just rolled her eyes. “Like for a fansite, they like totally referred to me as plastic. Aren't they supposed to be nice to us?”
“I mean, is that bad?”
OC shrugged. “It wasn’t my money that paid for this body.”
That statement was so true. The royal family of Liechtenstein had paid for OC’s enhancements and they’d probably never know it because their favorite son was a genius when it came to finance. He could literally hide anything. The two girls sat in silence for a few minutes, each of them absorbed in their own thoughts. Finally, it was OC who broke the silence.
“Do you think this is even worth it?”
Sabby didn’t immediately have an answer. Both women had sacrificed a lot to take their jobs with Union and so far it had not worked out the way they’d thought. Attacking Andrew Wolfe to make a statement was all but forgotten. They did nothing while at ringside for the Battalion Championship the previous show. It just all seemed pointless at the end of the day.
“I really don’t know,” Sabby finally answered. “We definitely don’t need to be here, that’s for sure. But at the same time I know that I don’t want to prove the haters right. They expected us to drop wrestling the second we lost to the biggest losers ever in our first match. They said we wouldn’t stick with this. This will only be our third match. Like apparently for normal people success doesn’t happen overnight.”
That thought was such a foreign concept to them. When you could snap your fingers and get what you want, having to wait wasn’t easy.
Oceane twisted her former engagement ring around her right ring finger. It was a gesture she did when she was deep in thought. It was her reminder of the bigger picture. “So one day at a time. We just focus on doing what we were born to do.”
“Which is win.”
Oceane nodded. “We beat up Maggie worse than her boyfriend ever could and we show Conor Tate why he should have stuck to one shitty guest appearance.”
“But actually. He looks like a douche.”
“He’s definitely the type of guy who thinks he’s more important than he actually is and probably treats women like shit. Like he would have the most perfect girlfriend ever and just not care. It would like take her getting sick with some disease like cancer and like die before he realizes what he had.”
“Ugh so tragic.”
“And because she would be poor, they couldn’t afford to cure the cancer. Because really, no rich woman would ever date him.”
“Obviously not. He’s total street trash. And probably has a fit when he can’t hang with the cool kids.”
“Or like tries to beat them up and fails like he does at everything else in life.”
OC and Sabina giggled at that because they’re hilarious. The fact they think money can cure cancer is mind-blowing, but not entirely unexpected. Clearly their reality is a little warped, but at least they were focused. Come Lights Out, Maggie Chamberlain and Conor Tate were going to find themselves on the losing side of things.
And finally, maybe Union could actually have another tag team in the spotlight.
Post by "C.T." Conor Tate on Feb 21, 2018 23:12:23 GMT -5
"COME GET IT, TOUGH GUY!" INSECURITY (BOSTON, MASSACHUSSETS) ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Nobody likes to lose; least of all me.
Nobody likes the feelin' of layin' flat on their back, their own blood stainin' the canvas around them as they look up at the arena lights in the rafters and try to remember what just happened. Nobody likes the sound of their opponents music blastin' from the speakers, the fans cheerin' someone elses name as they pose above you and soak it all in.
Fuck Tommy Crimson. Fuck all of Salvation. They've got a receipt comin' their way.
BARTENDER You want another one?
CONOR TATE Do I look like I'm fuckin' done?
BARTENDER Hey buddy, I don't give a shit if someone pissed in your cheerios, don't be a dick to me alright?
I don't say anythin'. I just eye him down from across the bar. He arches his eyebrows, rolling his shoulders and taking a step towards me.
BARTENDER Hey! Hey pal! You suddenly go mute or somethin? You understand what I said?
I still don't say anythin'. I push my empty glass across the polished wood bartop, blue and yellow neon bar lights reflectin' back up at me. I give him the slightest of nods in acknowledgement, then look down at my empty glass. He scoffs and shakes his head in disgust.
BARTENDER You're a real piece of work, asshole.
He doesn't challenge me beyond that, though. He picks up my glass and walks away, still mutterin' to himself as he shuffles off. I turn my head the opposite direction, casually lookin' around the room and takin' in the various posters and pieces of sports memorabilia. The Bruins, the Celtics, the Sox, the Pats... pictures of wrestlers in the old Boston Garden. I stop on those; the black and whites of my Beantown wrestlin' forefathers. They were legends in their days. They brought a blue collar toughness from the streets of this city to the ring, and they chased their moments of glory.
That's what I wanted. I wanted that pay per view moment, that title to bring home with me and show off. I wanted to be the guy. I wanted to be a superstar.
Tommy Crimson put the brakes on all of that.
Don't get me wrong, I always knew I was gonna lose eventually. I always knew someone was gonna come along that knew a little bit more than me, or was a little bit quicker, and they were gonna end the undefeated streak and commandeer my hype train for their own bull shit. I just didn't think it was gonna be in my second fuckin' match.
I didn't think it was gonna be before I could be invited to the King Cobra tournament, I didn't think it was gonna be before I could stake a claim at main eventing in my first ever pay per view.
I've said it before, I'll say it again; fuck Tommy Crimson.
BARTENDER Here's your drink.
I look up just as he drops a fresh Jack & Coke in front of me. We lock eyes, and there's an expectancy in his. It dawns on me that he's waiting for an apology, but it's yet to dawn on him that he's gonna be waitin' a long fuckin' time. I reach down and grab the glass, liftin' it slowly to my lips and drainin' the entire thing without ever breakin' eye contact. It burns it's way down my throat to my stomach, but I no-sell the shit outta it for dramatic effect. I drop the glass back onto the counter top, and slide it towards him.
BARTENDER You really got nothin' else to say?
CONOR TATE I'll have another one.
BARTENDER You know, you're a real douche bag! I'm glad that b-movie reject gore-monger fucked your shit up in New Zealand! I'm glad those two gimmick stealing bitches are going to embarrass you, too!
I feel my jaw clench, the back of my neck getting hot almost immediately.
CONOR TATE ... the fuck you just say to me?
BARTENDER You heard me! What? You didn't think I knew who you were? Newsflash asshole, everyone in here knows who you are. Everyone in here was rottin' for you. We put our eggs in the wrong fuckin' basket, man.
He turns to walk away from me, but before I know what I'm doin' my hand shoots up and grabs his sleeve. He spins around and smacks my hand away, his finger rifling up into my face.
BARTENDER Don't fucking touch me! Just wait, Maggie Chamberlain ain't gonna be enough to cover the fact that you don't know what the fuck you're doin' between the ropes! You can look bad, and you can talk tough, but when the bell rings you've got shit. Once Union figures it out, it's over for you. There's not a single company in the world that would pick you up with what you've shown. You're gonna be lookin' for a job bouncin' in a place like this.
CONOR TATE Fuck you.
BARTENDER You can't cut a promo worth shit, either! Jesus C.T., I bet Union would hire me to fill your spot.
CONOR TATE Yeah? Fight me, you fuckin' punk! You think you're so fuckin' tough standin' behind the bar in a fuckin' polo? I'LL WORK YOU! I'll SNAP and DRAG your ass over this bar, and put each and every one of your fuckin' teeth in a martini glass beside your body!
I stand up from the bar stool, my voice billowin' through the bar as every other patron shuts the fuck up. There's no goin' back now. We're in a full blown scene. His eyes widen slightly as I reach my full height, my grizzly like shoulders castin' a shadow on his bitch ass. He looks around the rest of the room, and swallows hard before trying to sidestep.
BARTENDER Alright bud. I think it's time for you to go home and sleep it off. You've had enough tonight.
I grab my empty glass and hurl it at the wall behind the bar. It shatters on impact, exploding into a hundred crystalline pieces which rain to the floor.
BARTENDER FUCK!
CONOR TATE Yeah! What's good now? Say somethin' else smart, kid! Tell me again how you can kick my ass, or how much you love Tommy fuckin' Crimson! Huh? WHY SO FUCKIN' QUIET?! I thought you had a bunch of insight on Sass and Class and how they were gonna beat me? I thought you were tellin' me about how I was weighin' Maggie Chamberlain down! HUH!? WHAT'S THAT?! I can't fuckin' hear you!
He doesn't say anything. Nobody in the bar does. Every set of eyes is on me as I pant and flare my nostrils like a wild animal, rolling my neck and flexing my biceps as I dare someone to challenge me. I stand there for what feels like an eternity. It's not exactly a pay per view, and there's no title on the line... but everyones watchin' me. It's sort of what I wanted.
Out of the corner of my eyes I see movement and turn to see two security guards making their way slowly over towards me.
BARTENDER Shut it down, bro.
This kid has never heard the phrase "don't poke the bear". I wheel away from security and back to him, veins bulging in my neck.
CONOR TATE Fuck you! Don't tell me what to fuckin' do! You think I'm scared of you or your pussy ass security! I'll kill you one by one or all at once, I don't give a shit!
BARTENDER Why? 'Cause you're pissed that you can't cut it as a wrestler? You want to assault civilians? I'd sue the shit out of you, not that I expect a broke bitch with one career win to have much.
I take a step forwards, and immediately feel the security guards hands' on my arms, holding me back. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. The bartender senses weakness, though. He keeps goin', thinkin' he's home free.
BARTENDER Sass and Class, tits and ass, whatever the hell they're called... they have more wrestling ability in their clits than you have in your entire body, you fuckin' mongloid. I'll celebrate when they bounce you to the curb!
I feel securities grip on me tighten. They know what's coming. I sigh deeply, then lunge forward, tearing out of their grip with ease and hurling myself over the bartop. I tackle the bartender to the ground, a high pitched shriek escaping his lips as glassware and empty bottles spill across the floor loudly. The patrons of the bar gasp and scream in horror. The two security guards lunge over the bar after me. General chaos ensues.
An average night in Boston.
A warmup for Lights Out.
I'll pay for this in the morning, but whether it's in the Union Battleground ring or right here... I'll leave my fuckin' mark.
