K.C. IX: Batti vs King Mussél - I Quit Match
RP Deadline is Tuesday June 19th at 11:59pm PST
**NO EXTENSIONS AVAILABLE**
Batti gazed at the painting, imagining not the battle ahead, but the war in her mind.
"How can anybody focus on wrestling when children are being caged up?"
She let the words slip out before she could stop herself. Turning her head at an angle, she stared at the company-appointed therapist. Greg Trampera glanced back at her through thickly framed glasses.
"Like I know what's at stake against Flex more than most. For over a year I wanted to find the man that crippled Ramparte. The man that terrorized my dreams every week, reminding me how small I am and how afraid I can be. But Jesus I can't stomach the idea that there are kids being pulled apart from...well...fuck, man..."
He scribbled something down on his notepad. Batti's attention went from the shrink to the tiny holes in the ceiling. She tried counting them, but it was no use. He caught sight of the tears forming, and handed her a tissue.
"You can't stand to see someone defenseless. That's a healthy response," he stated.
"I can't focus on my training schedule. My opponent lives and breathes the gym and I can't focus on my match. This isn't good, doc."
He stroked his chin, the gray bush of a beard relaxed at his touch. "It is common for a performer to feel distracted, especially over world events. My advice there is easier than it sounds, I know, but you could use that anger and channel it into your work. Musicians are known to do that. Find that fire, do you understand what I'm saying?"
Batti wiped her eyes and thought about it. "Guess I'm not as professional as I thought I was."
"Don't say that," Mr. Trampera dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "From what I know about your career, I'd say you've grown a lot from when you were a rookie. You're not the same lady you were when Flex did what he did...I do wish to talk more about that though if you don't mind." Greg stood up from his chair. "Maybe we can take the anger you have for politics and see if we can help you find some peace of mind about what had happened over the month, or should I say the year, between you and King Mussél."
Batti nodded. "Not much good I'm doing venting about the world, huh?"
"No no on the contrary, that's good. I believe it connects to your fear of helplessness."
"It does go back to my past relationship with Ram. Flex and I were good friends, or so I thought, and he betrayed us. Worse yet, Ramparte acted like it wasn't a big deal, like he had that coming and that's just the nature of the game." Batti sighed, propping herself up. "At first he didn't want me to wrestle, but it wasn't up to him. Then he tried to coach me, but he played mind games and it hurt. I broke up with him, but I never forgot why I applied to WZCW. I needed to find the man who put such fear in me."
Greg walked to his desk and rummaged through a cabinet. "Do you think it's possible that you're trying to avenge your ex-boyfriend?"
"In a way, I guess."
"Would you please elaborate?"
"I don't know," Batti grimaced ,"He didn't deserve to be jumped like that. To see him have to push himself in a wheelchair for months tore at me in ways I can't explain. So yeah, I hate feeling like I can't do anything to help. Who doesn't?"
"This stems from the fact that you stood there and watched them break his legs and didn't do anything about it, correct?"
Batti looked down at the floor.
"It's good to get it all out in the open, Ms. Batti. No judgment will be had in this room."
"Y-yes. I was a coward and it's haunted me ever since. Now I can do something about it but I've been so lost in my own head that I don't think I can beat him. You've seen how he fights. He's retired Showtime, an icon. He did what he did to Ram and now he's stalking me. How can I make a man his size submit?"
Mr. Trampera pulled out a stress doll and closed the drawer. "It does no good to fight an opponent if at first you can't conquer yourself. Let's put it this way - the biggest event of the year is happening in Barcelona. I know you've been eyeing my painting there," he gestured at the wall with his free hand, "and I know you know that Spain has a rich history of being conquerors. So with that in mind..."
Greg handed Batti the doll. She moved it in her hand. It felt like a bean bag.
"Are you serious?" she asked.
"Yes. I want you to do whatever to my friend here. You have a lot of pent up frustration and need some release. Treat it like you would King Mussél. Tell it how you feel. It will help."
She peered at the sack with painted eyes and half-smiling mouth. It looked more something used for Voodoo than it did for stress relief. She sighed, and projected Flex's face on it. Batti muttered to him.
"I don't know who to trust anymore, thanks to you. You were my friend. You were the one person in the company I knew had my back after Ramparte's career ended, and to find out after so long it was you...you're a snake. A creature who doesn't deserve his legs. And when you collaborated with Eve Taylor to make me doubt Tyrone's loyalty - the love of my fucking life - I knew then that it would come down to this. I will not forgive you for what you've done to me. I don't want you to lose. Losing is normal in our line of work."
Batti squeezed the doll.
"I want you to quit. Bring this whole thing full circle. You were the reason I joined WZCW, Mussél. Everything I've done up to this point was to finally meet the man who made me freeze up when I should have done something. You made me question who I was. This I Quit Match will be the end one way or another, because if I can't beat you then what purpose do I have being here??"
She started shaking. The doll's head bounced up and down in spasms.
"What the fuck is there for me if I can't do what I set out to do this entire time?"
Her grip tightened.
"I have no future here if I can't beat you! There is no day after. No adventure for ol' Batti and Aquarius. No hypothetical feuds. No title matches. I came here for a reason, and I would be a hypocrite if I kept going after I lost. This is the biggest fight of my life, and I wouldn't have it any other way!"
Batti pulled at the stress doll. The seams began to snap.
"You call yourself a king. I'm challenging your claim."
It's arms came apart and fell to her lap. She didn't react.
"I've bled for this place. I've shed more tears than I could count. After Kingdom Come, I would have given everything I could possibly give to this sport. This isn't a battle. This is a conquest."
She held the doll by it's throat and looked at it with a far-off gaze. She didn't hear the clock chime the hour away.
"I think that's our time for the week," Greg said, making her jump. "Do come in and see me after your fight, win or lose. In case of the worst case scenario, I will be here until you get your final paycheck from WZCW."
Batti didn't continue the conversation. She handed back the stress doll piece by piece and headed for the door. She paused before reaching for the handle.
"I'm...I'm sorry I hurt your doll..."
"Ha! That's fine. There are dozens just like it in my desk. This is a wrestling company, you know."
When she left, Greg waited a few minutes before heading to the Headquarter's Employee Restroom on the same floor. Inside, he removed his glasses and cupped his hands with water. As the tiny puddle formed, he slapped it against his beard, letting the gray powder wash off into the sink.
It is amazing how easy it is to disguise yourself in this company, Ramparte thought to himself. He gave his reflection a grin before drying his hands.
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