Laughter, bright, energetic, genuine, gasping, oh my god I’v laughed until I can’t breathe and tears are rolling down my face laughter. That’s what greets us. Now you might be wondering why. Well you might be wondering a lot of things, but certainly what it is that has someone laughing this hard. We open in a living room, at least, we can assume that it’s a living room. There’s a couch, a TV, all the usual furnishings of a living room....they’re just lost, buried amid the guitars and the massive collection of music memorabilia. Someone should probably see about getting her into some kind of twelve step program for her music addiction, but hey, at least it’s not something worse. The Pink Bombshell is on the floor actually...probably because she actually fell off the couch laughing, her laptop perched precariously on the arm...how that survived we’ll never know. But the woman herself, is on the floor, gasping for breath. She’s dressed very, down to earth, pink t-shirt, faded, torn jeans that probably saw the last of their ‘good’ days years ago, but she clearly loves them too much to give them up. Pink hair, yes her hair is in fact, actually pink. Like for legit pink. But anyway, it’s been left free to frame her face. A face which is, at the moment, covered by the span of a palm as she continues to snicker and snort, making a valiant, but vain attempt to get her mirth under wraps. When the hand comes away, you might be surprised to find that she looks like she’s been beat to hell and back. The bruises are dark, purply blue starting to fade into yellow around the edges, and her nose looks like it might have been recently busted. Finally, after a couple of agonizingly long minutes she manages to get herself calmed down enough to breathe properly.
“You are an idiot.”
Uh oh. If we’re starting out on this foot, that can’t be good. Usually, Lea likes to lead in with a bit of self reflection, a bit of an explanation about herself. But not this time, oh no. No, this time she just jumps straight in, head first, hoping that the pool’s full.
“And I mean a complete, and total idiot. So much of an idiot that I’m not even really a hundred percent sure where to start with this. Oh, wait, nevermind, I know exactly where to start. Ditch the bitch. For real, if you’re going to run with the whole, “I’m a vulgar, womanizing douchebag” thing ditch the tits permanently attached to your ass, because otherwise, your whole schtick, makes no sense. If you can’t even say the name of your move without your girlfriend getting all offended and Queen Bee bitchy, then there’s a problem. Second of all, I realize that you might not care if you’re a vulgar dick who comes off like you’re an overly hormonal fourteen year old boy, but frankly, you could stand to have just a little class. No one wants to see your dick. This is a wrestling promotion, not a porn studio. Which seems to be a really hard concept for you to fucking grasp. Which doesn’t surprise me since your grasp on reality seems to be pretty nonexistent. The Broom probably has a better grasp on things than you do. And it’s a broom. Stop and think about that for a second. An inanimate object, has a better grasp of reality than you do. God, stupid people make my brain hurt. Which means my brain hurts a lot, because there’s seems to be a neverending stream of stupid. And the whole thing with the tournament..,everyone was booked in it. Even The Broom is scheduled for a round one match. Christ. It’s not about talent this time. We all got thrown into the mix...which was announced when the tournament was. Shame you didn’t pay attention to that. Then again, it doesn’t seem like you pay attention to a whole lot. Kinda used to that crap too. Because it comes with the territory when you have tits. People automatically sell you short. They stop listening to the words that come out of your mouth because most of the time, they can’t pull their eyes above chest level. Of course, it doesn’t help at all when there is such a very, very, very large percentage of female competitors really are little more than a walking pair of tits. Happy and content to be objectified, treated like nothing more than eye candy. Empty headed, shallow, vapid, useless bitches who spend more time on their hair and nails, shopping at the mall than they do logging hours in the gym. Now, if my illustrious, idiotic opponent were facing one of those kind of women, then sure, his misplaced assumptions about having a cake walk this round might be well founded. But unfortunately...he’s facing a monster of an entirely different nature.”
Alright, so maybe she’s a little more articulate that you might have been expecting someone of her...eccentric nature to be. After a heartbeat of seething silence, a small smile spreads across her lips as she kicks her feet up onto the coffee table.
“Now that that’s out of the way, let’s really get down to business. My name, is Lea Idas. And while I’m aware that it sounds like a joke name, I can assure you, it’s anything but. And no, Idas is not my name by birth, but one I chose for myself. Because it has meaning, it has history. Leonidas I of Sparta is hailed as one of the greatest kings to come out of Greece. A king who was never meant to be king, but came into the role because of a series of events outside of his control. He was the first king to rule Sparta who had ever been subjected to the agoge. It made him a superior king because unlike those who came before him he understood what his people endured. He was military genius. And there were cults dedicated to his worship for centuries after his death at Thermopylae. It is a name that has meaning. A name that carries the weight of expectation, it demands greatness. When faced with the choice of choosing a new name, there just wasn’t one that made more sense. It seemed to fit. There I was, growing up in Sparta North Carolina, enduring trial, after trial, after trial. I always wanted more out of my life than anyone else seemed to expect of me. Everything that I’ve ever done in life, I’ve done going balls to the walls. I don’t know any other way. When I made the choice to set my feet on the road to this, I knew it was going to be a long, hard road. I knew that it was going to take hours upon hours, upon hours of training, conditioning. I knew that it was going to have days that I wanted to throw in the towel...and none of that was enough to deter me. Am I inexperienced? Of course. I’ve had all of...two? Yeah, two actual professional matches in my entire life. I still have a lot to learn...but that’s never stopped me before. Does it mean that I’m at a disadvantage? Of course. But so were the Greeks when their force of a scant twenty thousand or so stood firm in the face of a hundred and fifty thousand Persian soldiers screaming for their blood. But they were undeterred, and so am I. Because I don’t fail. I never have, in anything that I’ve set my mind to. Not my art, my music...when I decided to become a pilot, I not only gained my license, but went on to found a very lucrative charter service. One which has been successful enough to permit me a small fleet of craft all my own. But that doesn’t matter, because none of that affects my performance in the ring does it? No of course not. I could sit here, right now, and go on and on, for hours about all the ways, and reasons that I’m going to beat you. But you won’t listen. People like you, they never do. And frankly, I’d rather let my actions speak for me. Which is exactly what I intend to do.”
A hand lifts, brushing a few stray strands of bright pink hair back from her face.
“At Underground your hopes of Championship gold will be crushed beneath my heell. Because I need this, I don’t just want it. It’s not about the pretty gold that you so desperately want to get your hands on, it’s about the validation. It’s about realizing, standing there, when the bell rings for the last time, and that ref holds your hand high in victory, placing that weight of responsibility in your hands...that you have, officially, arrived. A champion, is someone who leads by example. Someone who commands respect by their actions and with their words...and frankly, Betterman, I don’t see a champion when I look at you. I see tacky. I see cheap. Overdone. Classless. You, with the Underground Championship in your hands would be a disgrace. While I might not be stupid enough to think that I can climb to the top of mountain myself? I can, at the very least, make sure that you don’t get there. You want victory? Molon labe. Come and take it.”
These last words are practically spit at the camera, the smile fading. She means it, ever word. She hasn’t put a lot of thought into what happens after this match, but everything about Betterman disgusts her. Everything. And come hell or high water, she means to ensure that he comes nowhere near that finals match.
![Lea Idas [vs.] James Betterman Empty](https://2img.net/i/empty.gif)
Subject: Lea Idas [vs.] James Betterman ![Lea Idas [vs.] James Betterman I_icon_minitime](https://2img.net/s/t/15/19/06/i_icon_minitime.gif){kind=icon}
Fri Jul 12, 2013 11:20 pm
