Bryan Blaze [vs] Halestorm

~Frustrations and Disappointments~

This is not the place of comforting familiarity in which we usually find the remarkably  well built Ms. Duncan. No, this is “home”, of a fashion. A tiny little two bedroom house that's probably seen it's better days too long ago to even be properly remembered. It's in desperate need of a new roof, one window's been busted out and covered over with plywood, because she hasn't had the time to get around to having it replaced. But the yard is tidy, neatly trimmed and clean. Inside, the space might be cramped, but it's tidy. Everything properly ordered and in its proper place...except for the motley assortment of empty bottles scattered across practically every flat surface. Bottles of varying sizes, shapes, and colors, the sort that would give anyone who really knows the modern day Amazon to be concerned for her well being. She hasn't left, not since that goddamned phone call. Sure, her “day job” might not have been the most glorious thing in the world, but it kept the bills paid. And it gave her just enough extra money to be able to afford to pay for the travel expenses out of her own pocket. And it was gone. Not because she did anything wrong. Not because she fucked up at the job. But because she reached  out to seize hold of her dream. Because that dream led to a necessity to travel. And because that traveling meant that she had to occasionally miss a day or two in the shop. And then there was the press conference before From the Ashes. Oh yes, that damning press conference. Where true colors had been shown. All that compounded with much more...personal issues made for a really shitty week. It was more than enough to drive her into a sort of self imposed seclusion, shutting everyone out because that was just how Haley coped. She'd been ignoring phone calls, text messages. And it's worrying enough to bring her best friend and self proclaimed manager slash agent to her. Micah let himself in without bothering to knock, because that's a perk of being such a close friend, he has his own key. The bottles get a wary look as he wheels through the living room, suggesting that they are not a normal fixture in the Duncan home.

“Hales?”

There's no answer, but then he doesn't really expect there to be one. Still, the lack of one causes him to sigh as he heads for the kitchen. Which is of course, where he finds her. The brunette is seated at the table a half empty Jack Daniels bottle to the right, a three quarters full glass to the left. She has the tired, drawn look of someone who's just utterly fed up. And she must be. Because anyone who knows her, knows how adamantly she's sworn off anything alcohol related, and yet, from the look of things, she's been on a binge that's lasted several days. She barely even looks at him when he enters, perhaps not wanting to meet the pitying yet reproachful look head on. Instead, a hand lifts to rake back through disheveled hair, reaching for her glass for a long pull.

“Jesus Christ Haley. What the fuck?”

“Go away Micah. I'm not in the mood.”

“Yeah. Obviously. Christ Haley, when was the last time you left the house? Have you just been sitting here drinking since you got home?”

“I don't see how that's any of your business.”

“Oh gee. I don't know. Maybe because I'm your friend? Maybe because I actually care what fucking happens to you? Any of this ringing  a bell? What happened that was so terrible that it pushed you to fall off the wagon? You won't pick up the phone, you won't answer text messages. What am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to take care of you if you don't tell me what's going on?”

Haley spends a long moment staring at him before killing the remainder of her drink.

“Has it ever occurred to you that you can't fix everything Micah? Has it ever even clicked that no matter how badly you want to be a hero, there's just going to be times that you can't be? When things just don't work the way you want them to, no matter how badly you want it?”

“Haley...”

“I know. It's stupid. It is. I'm supposed to be the happiest I've ever been right? Because things were finally starting to fall into place. I'm finally getting to do something that I really love. I thought that I'd found someone I could really relate to...and now...well now it just sort of feels like life's throwing one great big “Fuck you” in my face. And frankly, I'm sick of it.”

She starts to refill her glass, or rather, makes the attempt to, but by this point Micah has reached her side, and reaches up to snatch the bottle out of her hands, dragging it away from her.

“Welcome to life Haley. It's kind of full of those “Fuck you” moments.  Why don't you try talking about it?”

“Talking about what? Oh, I know, how about how I feel like a complete idiot because I let myself think, even for a moment that someone might be interested in sticking around for the long haul instead of just for the novelty. You know, it's damned easy for guys to sit around and talk about how you're 'a fantastic person' and how you'll 'make someone lucky' one day, and all that bullshit, when they don't have to back it up. Isn't it? And you know the worst of it? I can't even really hate him. It would be so, so much easier if I could, but I can't. And that might piss me off more than the situation itself. And then like that's not enough, I have my employer treating me, no, treating all of us like we're trash. Less than trash.   He acts like we're not worth the paper our contracts are printed on. And it's pathetic. No, it's fucking infuriated. Like we haven't worked just as hard as those other fuckers. If anything, we work harder. And he thinks we haven't paid our dues yet? We pay for practically everything out of our own pockets. We pay for our own travel, our own hotels. And we get paid barely a fraction of the pay. We work twice as hard. And we get treated like garbage. So how exactly am I supposed to be feeling right now Micah? I can wrestle circles around half the Battlegrounds roster and everyone knows it. I'm just sick of it. I'm sick of all of it. People treating me like I'm subclass. I've been getting that my whole fucking life. This was supposed to change all that. This was supposed to be the thing that turned all of that around you know? People were supposed to finally start showing me just a little bit of respect. But you know what Micah? It never changes. No matter how far you come, no matter how much you overcome, no matter how hard you work...it never fucking changes.”

“And you think drinking yourself into oblivion on a nightly basis is going to change any of that? C'mon Haley. You're better than this, and you know it. You want people to respect you? Then make them. It's the only thing you can do. These people have had their charmed lives. They've enjoyed their time in the limelight, and they think they're untouchable. They think they can't be bent, because they've forgotten Haley. They've forgotten that no matter how fucking good they think they are, there's always someone better. They've complacent. They've forgotten that at one point, everyone started off in high school gyms, youth centers, and YMCAs. So they think they're better than everyone else, even the ones that don't act like it, most of them have forgotten.”

“No shit, you think?”

“But the thing you have to remember Haley. Is that they might have forgotten...but you haven't. And you have every bit of the talent, and ability, needed to take those words, those doubts, that disrespect, and shove them down their throats. And that's what you need to do. They disrespect you, make them regret it. It's time to put this self pitying bullshit aside, and get ready to do what you do best. So go get changed. You're going to the gym, and while you're doing that, I'm going to get rid of all these bottles. We don't have time for you to be Emo Bitch. I need my amazon.”

~The Amazon's Rage~

“Congratulations Mr. Blaze. You see, you're coming in at something of a tumultuous time for us. Call it...civil unrest if you really like. It's like this, we're tired. Fed up. From the moment Underground opened its doors we've been treated like we don't matter. Because we're just “developmental”. We need to “cut our teeth”. Nevermind the fact that some of us come to this company with years of experience. Some of us come into this company having held championships in other promotions for record breaking reigns. Some of us come into this company having busted our asses, broken our bodies for years and years in backyard promotions, in the gyms and community centers. We've paid our dues. Just because they haven't been paid under bright ass spotlights with people rushing to learn everything they can about our personal lives doesn't make what we've done any less impressive. Just because our names haven't been printed in the magazines, run in the tabloids, doesn't make our accomplishments less impressive. Only one in every twenty gets this chance. To stand beneath the lights, to wage war while the world watches. And that should mean something. That we have earned the right to stand here, should mean something. But it doesn't. To the powers that be, we're nothing. We're trash. We're insignificant and useless. We aren't worthy of gracing their Pay-Per-Views, we aren't worthy of the time, or effort of their illustrious members. Because they are, after all, so very high above us aren't they? They're “better” than us...only...they aren't. Which is something that they'll come to understand soon enough.”

Let it never be said that Haley Duncan is anything but dedicated. Like every time before, the scene opens with the modern day Amazon seated in the center of the ring on a simple, unassuming folding chair. Dressed in a pair of faded, creased jeans and a plain black T-shirt with her brunette hair left loose to frame her face. She gives every appearance of being relaxed, and yet there remains something of a hard edge about her. The set of her shoulders, the line of her jaw, it all screams tension and irritation.

“And this is what you're entering into Blaze. But it's not that simple, which I'm sure you understand. Because knowing all of this, it becomes the responsibility of each and every one of us, the Underground to properly represent our brand. Because the actions of each and everyone of us reflects on the others. We are being judged, weighed and measured by our actions, as a collective. And frankly, if you aren't willing to be a part of the solution, then you're part of the problem and you will be removed. Something tells me, that you're only going to be part of the problem. Case in point? You couldn't be bothered to check a fucking profile to know that your opponent this week, is not a goddamned man. Of course, I can see why. Your days are so full of being busy and productive aren't they? You just must not have had a chance. Or, better yet, I know. You don't need to do any research. You don't need to prepare, because you're just that damned good right? Spare me. Please. Spare us all. Because we've already heard it, more than once, and I imagine we'll continue to hear it in the future, from any number of people. But the words, just saying them, doesn't make it's true. So I'm going to do you a favor. I'm going to tell you exactly what it is that you're contending with, because I think that's only fair. It's the only generous, charitable thing to do.  So, let's start with the basics.

Hi there. My name is Haley Duncan, the Halestorm according to my friends. And I'll be your opponent come this week's Underground. As you can see, I'm not your typical tiny little wrestler chick. Officially I stand at six feet, three inches in height, and tip the scales at two hundred and fifteen pounds. I've been engaged with the industry since I was nineteen which makes me a little more than just a wet behind the ears, green as fuck rookie. I more than know my way around this ring. In a way, it's almost like a second home. So if you come into this, thinking that it's going to be a cakewalk, you're in for a rude awakening. But of course, that's exactly what you're going to think, you've proven that much already. You know what? I'm not even going to waste the words on you. You aren't worth it. So I'll make this short and sweet. You? You'll be a message, to every cocky, arrogant son of a bitch who thinks they're better than us, who wants to treat us like trash. We're not going anywhere. We will not be stopped. And if that means leaving a trail of the broken in our wake, that's exactly what we'll do.”