Training Week 1: Gettin’ the Rust Out
Jul 6, 2019 8:12:39 GMT -5
Odin Balfore, Shadowlove, and 4 more like this
Post by Sahara on Jul 6, 2019 8:12:39 GMT -5
Training Week 1: Gettin’ the Rust Out
Stepping out of her Uber, Sahara grabbed her duffle and slung it over a shoulder before looking up at the sign above her destination. Rodgers Wrestling Academy. The fact it still looked the same brought a slight smile to her face, and it gave off that very old school Rocky vibe. The facility was well worn, but it was clean. Just not the sterile environment you’d expect someone like Sahara to visit. This place was full of salt of the earth types, and her shock of white-blonde hair drew immediate eyes when she stepped through the front door.
A momentary silence spread around the facility.
She didn’t belong.
She also didn’t care.
This was the same gym she’d visit years ago when she first decided to go pro, and it changed her life. A bit of success in wrestling -- and Hollywood -- didn’t change that fact, even if it changed everyone else's view of her. While training at a facility like this was never enough, it was the perfect way to shed the bit of rust she’d collected over the past few years.
After the initial shock of her appearance faded, those that paused their various workouts started picking up where they left off. Her sapphire eyes darted around before falling on the well-worn training ring situated at the center of the facility, where two greenies bounced around sparring. She made her approach with that ever present aura of confidence that seemed to follow her.
“You sure you wanna do this?!”
The trainers gruff voice pierced the sounds of weights clanging around as she approached the ring, but despite the uncertainty in his voice, the smile on his face gave it away. He was happy to see her, regardless of the circumstances. He hugged the blonde tightly before shaking his head.
“All do respect, girl, but why the hell would you wanna come back to this? Don’t they got some fancy state of the art gym for y’all to train in?”
As she left his questions lingering, she closed a fist around the bottom rope of the ring, momentarily closing her eyes. Feeling the spring and tension of the wrapped cable just felt … right. The blonde smiled. She’d almost forgotten how stiff the ropes actually were. For the past eighteen months, for all intents and purposes, Sahara had thought this part of her life was long in the past…
Finally, she glanced back at the trainer to answer his lingering questions, “Because it’s all I have…and I don’t care about their fancy gyms or facilities, I go with what I know.”
Looking up, she could almost feel the heat of the lights above the ring. The sights, sounds and feel of the crowd.
The trainer shook his head, motioning out around the gym, “No … that’s bullshit. It’s all they have. You got everything. What do you think guys like Vayden, Lockhart or Shadow are gonna think when they see you? Or the Royals? Or the fans for that matter? Hell, even the guys and girls sweatin’ it out in this gym everyday in the off chance a place like Action Wrestling might roll into town and give one of ‘em a tryout? Then you walk in here with your Gucci and your blonde fancy hair or whatever the hell else you wearin’--”
“You got nothin’ to gain here, kid. To the guys and gals already in the big show? They see you as a publicity stunt. A Hollywood girl lookin’ to steal their spotlight. They ain’t gonna take you seriously. The fans? They see a sellout, and they ain’t gonna be so keen on takin’ you back after you ‘retired’ from the ring to go act. And to everyone in this gym -- look around right now -- they see a spoiled rich white girl takin’ their spot.”
Sahara scoffed, “You know that’s bullshit, Rodgers, I’ve dropped more blood and sweat in the ring than most of ‘em--”
“But that doesn’t matter anymore! Yea, you did some great things in the past, but you walked away on the edge of greatness. Be smart. Go back to Hollywood,” his voice was almost pleading, “you don’t need this kind of violence in your life anymore. Look at you. You’re a beautiful woman, you was on television and everything...”
Sahara paused a second before heaving a sigh, “You don’t know what it’s like for me. I was born into this game. Practically raised in the ring. Unfortunately, I didn’t look the part. Still don’t, apparently.” Lifting a perfectly manicured hand, she pointed at her face, “Turns out, people don’t like seein’ girls that look like me gettin’ their noses bloodied. We’re meant to smile and nod. Maybe be a valet or a ring announcer. I’m the one that needs to get saved, right? I grew up listening to this bullshit from my indy darling brothers...it was always amazing gettin’ to play the damsel in distress at some indy fuckall show in front of a bingo hall crowd so the local heel could make a name for himself. That way, they could make the save and send ‘em home happy! You know what I got for my troubles?”
Lifting the hair back from her forehead, she showed a scar a few inches long just above her hairline. “Twenty-five bucks and sixteen stitches and some staples, and for what? So some fuck out of shape fatass could look like king heel for a night in front of two hundred people and my brothers could feel like heroes for makin’ the save? You know what he did? Had me cornered in the ring, big fuck musta’ outweighed me by a buck-fifty, at least. Turns out, it was just bad timing. Eh, they figured I could juke-n-jive my way around the ring for a bit before he’d get his hands on me and they could do the run in. But that sick fuck saw something of a different kinda opportunity. A way to make the crowd really hate ‘em. So he folded a chair over my pretty little head, splittin’ me wide open. I’ll give ‘em this, the contrast of the blood on my white hair and skin sure looked great. Too bad only a few hundred drunks saw it. But at least I got my first holy shit chant, right?”
“But ya know what happened that night, Rodgers? I got a taste of it. I got infected by the wrestling sickness. That’s what I call it. The Sickness. The concussion be damned, the ‘ohhh’ of that crowd sucked me in. It was like adrenaline in my veins ... and I wanted more.”
She snorted, outright dismissing his words of warning, “So fuck you for sayin’ I don’t need this in my life. Fuck you and fuck them. I don’t care why ADub wanted to sign me. I don’t care if it’s my ties to Hollywood, or that I was on a television show, or that I happen to love professional wrestling in a way few could possibly understand. I don’t care what the fans think. I don’t care what these gym rats think. And I sure as hell don’t care what the Royals, or Lockhart, or Jonny fucking Stylez whoever else up there thinks, either. I know I can do this...and I know I can do it on a level they’ve never seen before, and I’m here to prove it.”
“They say don’t judge a book by it’s cover, so don’t. I may look like a disney princess on the outside, but I got nothin’ but pure venom in these veins, and I don’t care who wants to step up to prove I can’t hang. Go ahead fellas, knock me down. I won’t just get up, I’ll keep up … and then I’ll pass you up. Their eyes are gonna open to the fact that there’s a whole big world out there beyond their little bubble...yeah, the Adub is considered the king of the wrestling world...”
“...and I may not be royalty, but I’m damn sure gonna be it’s Queen.”
Eyebrows raised, he slowly nodded at her venomous response, “Okay then…”
Her brow furrowed, somewhat surprised he relented so easily, “Okay then? That’s it?!”
“Yeah. Okay. If you’re all in, then let’s do it.” He motioned to the ring, “Nice little promo, by the way. Very convincing. Now get in there and let’s see if you can even run the ropes still...Hollywood.”
Blowing his trainers whistle, he vacated the ring with a simple motion. Sahara flashed an innocent little smile, “Mind if I change into my gear?” She pulled a duffle off her shoulder and held it out to show she came prepared.
He merely made motion with his head toward the showers.
It was on.