Post by Cartier on Dec 16, 2020 13:28:26 GMT -6
“The fuck you will.”
Cartier was standing in a wrestling ring in Brooklyn, New York, not far from her home. With the pandemic raging in the city, she’d had to rent out a warehouse just to have a place for training since the gyms were all locked down.
At the moment, she and her trainer Slymm were in a corner of the ring, with Slymm having slid an arm under one of Carti’s while imploring her to take a bump over the ropes to the uncovered warehouse floor below.
“C’mon, C, you in a battle royal here. You gotta be ready to take a spill.”
He moved a little closer, way inside her personal space. He looked to scoop her into a hip toss or an arm drag or some such, a throw to take her out and over. She nudged him off of her, putting a little space in between them.
“I’m plenty ready, I had my share of bumps n’ bruises, Slymm. Just because these folks in GCWA don’t know who I am don’t mean I’m nobody. I been in ladder matches, I been in battle royals, I been in death matches… I don’t need to practice bein’ dumped out the ring. Especially since that ain’t even gonna happen at the Righteous Rumble.”
“You gotta be ready for anything.”
She was exasperated; she threw her hands up and raised her voice.
“I AM ready, Slymm, ain’t you listenin’? You here to keep my cardio up an’ to keep me on my toes… there ain’t no reason for me to just hit the cement in order to prepare my body for it. That ain’t somethin’ your body can be prepared for. I know about pain, it ain’t somethin’ I’m worried about.”
Slymm chuckled. He clearly thought a lot of himself, and he even more clearly did not see Cartier as an equal - too many men in this neighborhood saw themselves as automatically superior to women, and it seemed Slymm was a perfect example. He took a step closer, but Cartier backed up subtly, keeping the air empty in between their bodies.
“Maybe you need to worry. You just one of thirty, girl. What makes you think you better than them? What makes you think it’s gonna be your day an’ not one of them? It ain’t like it’s impossible for you to lose.”
“Of course it ain’t impossible… but what the fuck you mean, what makes me think I’ll win? Slymm, what the fuck point would it be for me to even work in this business if I ain’t expect to win? Every time I go to the ring I’m expectin’ a win - an’ you know what? More times than not, I’m right. The day I hear my music an’ expect a loss is the day I needa never do this again. You can’t be a champion wit’ a loser’s mindset. Bifford the Big Red Dog can keep that outlook, not me.”
“You right, but…”
Cartier was getting heated, and when she got heated she got animated. Her body bounced in her training gear: spandex shorts and a training bra that both were looking ready to burst at the seams due to her ample curves - both a trademark Savage look as well as a potent in-ring weapon. Slymm definitely noticed, and he definitely took it as a signal.
“I know I’m right! Why the fuck should I think edgelords wit’ names straight out of Manny Fernandez’s Skyrim wet dreams like Valis Von Deathbringer or whatever would beat me? Why should I think Robert Main is better than me? Because he got a scary mask on? Shit. I don’t gotta try to act like a hardass an’ name myself Ragin’ Dead or Super Loco Whateverthefuck these people wanna call themselves… my name is a brand that’s already got me anywhere I wanted to go, includin’ right here into GCWA. They was HAPPY to have me be a part of this show. Why? Because they know what I bring. The GCWA seen my work in 4CW, then seen my work in Mainstream, they know I got what it takes… so I’mma go prove it to these other couple dozen people who ain’t ready.”
His whole energy changed. It was shift too obvious not to notice as his movements and body language became nothing resembling an athletic partner and moved into that of a stray dog salivating over a piece of raw meat.
Cartier saw him wet his lips and stiffened as he closed the gap between them, reaching up and grabbing her upper arm in one of his wide, streetballer palms.
“Ain’t nobody ready for you, girl, that’s a fact. When you show up wit’ all that cake stuffed into them tights… god DAMN.”
“Slymm… look, that’s nice an’ all, but this ain’t gonna happen. I hired you for a reason, but dick ain’t that reason. I got plenty to choose from. I just heard from around Redbone’s old gym that you was reliable.”
“Lemme show you what’s reliable…”
Slymm then grabs Cartier’s wrist and pulls her palm onto the bulge in the front of his shorts. She immediately yanks her arm away and shoves him with a sneer on her face. Her eyes show a hint of panic as she looks around, suddenly much more aware of the empty, isolated warehouse they were both in.
“Yo! Slymm what the fuck? Fuck this shit, I’m out…”
She pushes past him, but he moves in front of her, leaning his mass against hers so that her front is pressed against the ropes. He licks his thick lips and lowers his head, grinding his hips against her ass.
“Come on, girl, I know this what you been wantin’... I seen that look in your eyeOOF!”
He crumpled into a heap on the mat in front of her, grabbing at his groin. Cartier had ducked his mouth and sent a back elbow hard into him, and she felt him wither against her when she made contact with his most sensitive parts.
“The FUCK off me, Slymm! The fuck you thinkin’? You got the wrong one, bitch, I ain’t gonna be some victim to Black Larry Nasser.”
“Ungh… bitch…”
Slymm rolled onto his back like a submissive dog. He still cradled his balls like he was trying to put a baby to sleep, and it looked like he had tears in his eyes.
“YOU the bitch. And you fired. Get the fuck out my ring before I stomp them little nuts into scrambled eggs.”
He slid out under the bottom rope. Cartier kicked the bottom strand hard, smacking it into his face as he turned and staggered off toward the door, looking like someone fresh out of a prison shower with his bow-legged slow mosey. He left without looking back again, only throwing up a weak middle finger in some vain attempt to retain a drop of machismo.
“Lucky I don’t fuckin’ kill you, bitch…”
He thought he muttered it, but the warehouse had incredible acoustics. Cartier’s face twisted in rage as the front door banged open against the jamb and Slymm walked out into the afternoon light.
Cartier watched as he disappeared down the road and the door swung itself shut. She then pulled her cell out from the pocket of a jacket hung across a corner of the ring. Swiping it to life, she only had to press one or two buttons to make the call she needed.
“Santana? Where you at right now? I need someone took care of.”
Not long later, Cartier sat on the apron of her training ring with her feet hanging a few inches from the floor. Her wrist tape was loose and dangled from her arms as if someone had cut the strings of a marionette.
She was calmer now, and had settled down to take a quick break with an old friend that always made her feel more centered and settled - a standard wooden-tipped Black & Mild cigar. The small brown smoke was already half finished by now, and as Cartier took a deep drag she began talking in measured tones while looking off into the dark of the empty gym.
“Let me just be simple an’ clear. I’m not a member of the GCWA. I never set foot in a GCWA ring once in my life. I don’t know most of these people unless our paths crossed in other places… shit, Kylie Moore is my damn boss in Revo1. Sara Cross works there too, but I might have said two words to her backstage once, we ain’t exactly friends. Half this damn rumble is talent from another company, the XWF, which I’ve watched a time or two. Names like Noah Jackson, Robert Main, Micheal Graves… they ring a bell, but that’s about it. I read about Dylan Thomas in High School but what the fuck I’m supposed to do wit’ that? Tell him not to go gently into the night? Come the fuck on.”
Another pull. Another exhale of grey clouds.
“Fact is, that’s exactly what I wanted. I wanted to find a spot that I could go in completely unknown an’ turn the shit upside down. For me, it ain’t even about the GCWA Title. It ain’t about James Raven. He been cool to me, he the cupcake man of Toronto after all. Him an’ Elena Dedraca make good shit, y’all should eat it sometime. Nah, it ain’t about him or the championship, although you can bet your narrow ass that if I come out on top I’ll snatch that gold off Raven like a bad weave off a crackhead.”
“For me this is about testin’ myself wit’ a blind effort. The fact that I don’t know these people, the fact that it’s a big match wit’ big talent, that’s what I want. The fact that my chances of winnin’ is somewhere between slim an’ none? That’s the whole point. What, you think I’m just desperate to get a autograph from a even fatter Perry Wallace named ‘Thunder Knuckles?’ You think I’m starstruck because Shawn Warstein was number two on the podcast onanism list? Y’all crazy. What I seen was a chance to walk in as a total stranger, bust 27 or 28 other motherfuckers in the face, an’ walk out as the hottest name on all they lips. I got a career wit’ or wit’out the GCWA. But I like a challenge, I like a good fight, an’ I LOVE doin’ what everyone tells me I can’t do.”
She shook her head on another inhale, then pushed the smoke out with a faster pace to her speech, her cadence matching her increasing passion.
“It ain’t like it matters who anyone is. We got World Champions in this bitch. But you know what? World Champions go ass over teakettle an’ fall out a ring just like anyone else. They the ones who gotta worry about they reps an’ they public image. They the ones who gotta make excuses once they get tossed on they ass by a loudmouth black bitch none of ‘em ever heard of before that very day. Me? Just by showin’ up I did more than they thought I would. Every Chad or
Betsy I humiliate once I get to Kansas City is one more than any of ‘em thought would happen. An’ I guarantee, when it comes down to me an’ WHOEVER else is left, once it’s one on one, I ain’t the one they thought it was gonna be. My Mama named me Cartier for a reason. Because I’m a diamond. I get prettier under pressure. I don’t crack. Try to break me an’ I just keep shinin’. Bet.”
“Understand that this ain’t some nobody. I ain’t a statistic. I ain’t gonna be the next BLM hashtag, because I found this life instead. I known for years that when you outnumbered you gotta shoot first an’ you gotta shoot faster. I’m from the streets of NYC, y’all, not some soft ass suburbs where people name they kids Jackson an’ Alice. I’ve ducked bullets. I’ve carried. I’ve dealt. I’d most likely have ended up behind bars or shot in the back by some MAGA cop if I hadn’t found the passion for this business instead. So although I’m on the straight an’ narrow path, never forget that the lessons I learned before are to hit harder an’ to hit sooner. It’s what could have been my death, but in wrestlin’ it’s my life. In this Righteous Rumble, it’s my ticket to a W.”
“I hope y’all ready. I pray y’all don’t underestimate me. I pray y’all are as good as y’all’s resumes say you are… because I wanna walk into a ring wit’ thirty-odd of the best I’ve ever met, an’ beat ‘em in they own back yard. I need that. I need y’all to do that for me. Call me Mariah, ‘cause baby all I want for Christmas is you.”
By now she was down to just a tiny butt, the wooden tip practically all that’s left between Cartier’s lips and the cherry.
“Look like the fuse almost all the way gone. Y’all best brace y’all selves for the boom.”