War-Forged Part One

[Bonnie Blue]

“The desire of gold is not for gold. It is for the means of freedom and benefit”
— Ralph Waldo Emmerson

The junior suite on the thirty-fifth floor of the Westin Harbour Castle hotel was large and spacious, in spite of its diminutive name. Neutral tones of ecru and beige set the backdrop for a striking mahogany dinette, vivid teal and orchid throw pillows, and vibrant splashes of color in abstract shapes hung on the walls. Tasteful and eclectic; modern without going over the top as so many hotels tended to do. Wide windows that overlooked the harbor afforded a breathtaking view -- or would have, if Bonnie hadn't shut the thick curtains at the first signs of dawn's light.

Now, she stood before a mirror, framed by grey-veined marble walls, gazing with uncertainty at her reflection; as if it might fade away while she watched. Dressed only in a sapphire hued camisole of satin and matching lace-trimmed panties, she shifted her gaze to the array of makeup spread across the granite counter. Thoughts chased each other in circles as she reached for a lightly tinted foundation and began absently to apply it.

What have I gotten myself into? Am I really ready for this?

She spared a moment to touch up a slight blemish in her otherwise smooth complexion.

Odin Balfore…

A contouring stick highlighted brow and cheekbones.

The WCF World Title…

The notion brought a smile to her lips as she carefully blended the makeup.

Bonnie Blue, World Champion. Elevated to the same status as the ones who insisted I couldn't. Stephen Singh. Michael X. Dune. Gravedigger. Even John Rabid never quite believed in me.

But then, why did he…?

She shook her head, as if to dispel that line of thought. One problem was enough to deal with at a time, she reminded herself, gently patting powder over the foundation. Bonnie outlined her lips in stark crimson and filled them in with dusty rose lip stain. A touch of pink gave her cheeks a permanent blush. Black eyeliner and shades of bronze and copper gave her a smoky eye effect.

So damn close. One more week to go, and we'll be standing face to face in that ring; in front of twenty thousand cheering fans -- and to think, with that World Title on the line, a huge battle between the Daughter of Time and the All Father -- we're the warm-up match. But that's all anyone expects. How can little Bonnie Blue score a second win over Odin Balfore?

The young goddess checked her reflection once more, and satisfied with the look, strolled out to the bedroom, where her dark grey Michael Kors suit -- freshly cleaned and pressed -- hung neatly over a valet stand. A knock at the door, followed by the distinctive voice of Ripper-Seven informing her of the car’s arrival, did little to rush Bonnie. The car could wait. Nothing would start without her. She needed the time to clear her head.

Suddenly possessed by a case of nerves, she was strongly reminded of her first World Title match, more than a year ago, and under the United Championship Infinite banner. She had agreed to face Kevin Bishop in the match of his choosing -- an electrified steel cage -- with more than the title alone at stake. While she'd been confident in Wade's moral support, Bonnie had also known that the match represented her only chance at making a good impression on Jared Holmes. The fact that #beachkrew had been counting on her that night, the culmination of months of hard work and meticulous planning, had added both to the pressure and they anticipation. Her entire career up to that point was riding on her victory. Failure then -- like now -- was not an option.

Now, again, that old familiar flutter returned. Her heart jackhammered against her ribcage. Her stomach cartwheeled like a hyperactive cheerleader. Restless energy sent tremors along her limbs, and piqued an excitement that bordered on the sexual.

It wasn't just who she was facing -- she'd been in the ring with Odin enough times, Bonnie knew what to expect -- nor was it simply that it was her very first shot at the prize she desired most. This was something different. This time, Bonnie didn't have to worry about letting her #beachkrew brothers down -- although she could imagine Rabid’s reaction if she lost: less outright disappointment, more a confirmation of everything he'd thought about her all along. That she was good, but not destined for greatness. That she didn't have what it took to rank among WCF’s elite. A silly little girl, playing at a grown-up’s game she didn't understand. At least when the fans expected her to lose, it wasn't personal.

But I'll show them. All of them. Everyone who ever said Bonnie Blue would never hold the WCF World Title -- I'mma prove ‘em all wrong!

Another knock, more insistent, shook the young Time Witch from her thoughts. She dressed quickly, gave her reflection a long, considered look, and on impulse loosed her silvery-blonde hair from its messy bun. Sea-blue eyes sparkled as pink lips lifted in a satisfied smile. Bonnie threw open the bedroom door just as the android, R-Seven, prepared to knock a third time. Dressed in somber tones of black and grey, he carried a parasol in the crook of one mechanical arm, and with an exaggerated sense of casualness, extended a pair of dark sunglasses to her.

Following a brisk walk down a short corridor, walls papered in an uninspiring lavender, studded with vaguely floral shapes in white, the pair stepped into a plain service elevator -- all stainless steel and safety tread beneath their feet -- that carried them swiftly to the underground garage. There, a town car waited, windows tinted dark against the bright autumn sun. Seven opened the door and ushered Bonnie inside, then climbed in behind her, barely settling into his seat before the vehicle pulled away. The young goddess was quiet as the car emerged from the garage and made its way into traffic, her distant gaze taking in the view as buildings and storefronts passed them by in steady regularity.

”What am I, Seven?” Bonnie asked at last, finally giving voice to the question that had been plaguing her for months.

“The next World Champion, if you play your cards right,” the android replied smoothly.

”Well, obviously,” she agreed. ”But I mean… look, I was a clone; human, maybe enhanced a little, but entirely human.”

“And?” Seven eyed her with an expectant look. “Your point?”

“And then I died. And I came back -- different. I've felt changed ever since then. Not just superficially, but fundamentally altered. That night, in Denmark, he did something to me, and now I'm --"

“Better off,” the android cut in. “You were given a gift, a second chance, and you've been making the most of it. Why question it now?”

“Because I don't understand what's happening to me.”

“Yes, you do. Deep down, you know.”

She turned to face the android, eyes glistening with the threat of tears.

“I didn't ask for this.”

“But you did, Bonnie. You set all of this in motion the moment you decided to pick a fight with the Ripper -- a fight you were never going to win. There were only two ways this would have ended. Perhaps you'd have preferred the alternative outcome?”

The young goddess sighed.

“No.”

“Good. Then stop whining. Accept it and be grateful. You have other things to concern yourself with -- like winning that title from Odin Balfore.”

Seven was right; of course, he usually was. There was no point arguing the matter, and in any event, no more time to do so. The car pulled to a stop alongside the art deco facade fronting the Scotiabank Arena, where a throng of excited fans had already gathered. The android got out first, cleared some space as he opened the parasol, and held out a hand to assist the Time Witch from the backseat. Together, beneath the shade of the canopy, they progressed step by halting step, pausing frequently while Bonnie posed for fan selfies and signed autographs for her adoring crowd.

******************************************

Inside the Scotiabank Arena, down a broad concourse and through a set of double doors, a spacious chamber is set up for a press conference. Dozens of chairs are arranged before a raised stage; a podium stands in front of a black canvas backdrop, the letters “W-C-F" and “W-A-R" splashed across the center in white and frost blue. The logos of key sponsors, Whoop-Ass Beer foremost among them, surround the central graphic in a repeating pattern. Every chair is occupied by a member of the press, their attendant photographers and videographers ranged along the sides and lining the back of the room; each major network, sports channel, and local affiliate represented, alongside reporters for various magazines, from Sports Illustrated to Pro Wrestling Insider, Time and Newsweek to People and US Weekly. Bonnie Blue emerges onto the stage to a scattering of polite applause and a score of camera flashes. She favors them with a dazzling smile that outshines the brilliant fluorescents overhead.

Bonnie Blue: I can't tell y'all what a pleasure it is to be here today with all you fine folks, on the cusp of what could be the biggest match of my career! Ya girl has had to work twice as hard as anybody else in this company to reach this point, and I'm about as proud as I can be right now. Before we begin, I wanna thank Mr. Corey Black for this opportunity, and my esteemed opponent, Mr. Odin Balfore, for accepting my challenge in the first place. We may have our differences, and I may be trying to unseat him from the proverbial throne, but I want it known that I got the utmost respect for the man and everything he's achieved.

Now, that said, y'all got a lot of questions, so let's get this party started!

Hands shoot into the air. Voices clamor for her attention. Bonnie points at a guy in his mid-thirties, with a bushy hipster beard and glasses.

Reporter One: Fred McCallum, Bloodsport dot com. Bonnie, you're one be of a handful of women given the opportunity at the World Title in the seventeen year history if WCF. Do you feel that the recent resurgence of the women's equality movement has contributed in any way to your shot at the World Title?

Bonnie Blue: Well, let me correct your little misimpression right there, Freddy -- ya girl wasn't given a damn thing! I had to claw my way to the top of that ladder, with the whole rest of the roster trying to pull me back down. I fought for my right to compete for Leon Hayze’s Hardcore Belt -- and took it for my own, to become one of only three women in Dub-Sea-Eff history to hold that Hardcore Title -- and the only woman to fully embrace Horrorkore. I fought for my right to compete with David Sanchez for the tag team titles -- and we obliterated former champs Ainsley Ivanovic and William the Behemoth. And in neither instance did I lose them titles fairly. Kyle Kemp pinned Jason O'Neal to claim my Horrorkore strap, did nothing with it, and disappeared a few short weeks later, after getting humiliated by Mikey X. Kid Dynamo assisted Stephen Singh and Michael X in robbing me and Dave of our tag titles in his own pathetic bid to join the Church of Singh. Technically, I'm owed a rematch for both, but with the chance at becoming the next Dubya-See-Eff World Champion on the horizon, I'm more than happy to set all that aside -- for now. My point, though, Fred is that this opportunity was not given, but earned.

As to whether the current political climate has anything to do with it, well, that does add a bit of impetus to my bid for that belt. I would hate to let my sisters down at a time when our rights are being threatened at every turn. Next question.

A woman with short hair dyed a trendy shade of scarlet stands.

Reporter Two: Cathleen Faulk, PWI. How would you characterize the tactics you used last week against Noble Savage?

Bonnie Blue: Good question, Cathleen and I'm glad you asked. Brandi Noble has been making a lot of noise ever since her “win" over Odin Balfore a few weeks back, about how she “deserves" a title shot -- when the fact of the matter is, the dumb bitch had to cheat her way to that win by striking the All-Daddy with a steel wrench. Not only does that demonstrate a complete lack of respect for everything we stand for in the Dub, but indicates a level of fear that tells everyone she ain't ready for this. She wasn't then, or she wouldn't have needed a weapon. She damn sure ain't gotten better since. I didn't need help beating Odin Balfore the last time, and I damn sure ain't scared of the Se7en God.

The tactics I employed last week were no more and no less than smart planning. Brandi made her bitterness at my contendership well known before I ever set foot in the ring with the little psycho, and there was no doubt in my mind that she was gonna try something foolish. Maybe an attempt to cause an injury to take me outta the equation and clear her path to a title shot she ain't earned. Ya girl was not about to stand for that shit. She damn lucky the ref disqualified me, cause I had a whole lot worse in store for her dumb ass, y'all feel me?

If you're asking whether I'm ashamed at what I did -- nah, I ain't. I'm just disappointed I didn't get to deliver the coup de grace.

Another woman, a forty-something ash blonde with a severe haircut and wearing a violent pink Chanel skirt suit, stands before Bonnie can acknowledge her.

Reporter Three: Karen Taveres, US Weekly. Is there any truth to the claim that you're in a steady relationship with Buff Mustache?

The Time Witch directs a withering glance at the reporter.

Bonnie Blue: Ain’t you got a manager you oughta be harassing, Karen? Don't waste my time with ridiculous questions. For the record, Buff stands a better chance with James Wolf’s sister. Next.

She gestures to a young, twitchy dark-haired man, who seems slightly overwhelmed at the proceedings.

Reporter Four: Ricky Dietrich, ESPN. Miss Blue, what is your honest assessment of your chances at walking out of this match with the gold?

Bonnie Blue: That's a much better question and I'm happy to answer it. Let me put it this way: Odin Balfore has been treading water for months. His championship reign has been pretty lackluster since reclaiming his title from Mikey X -- after losing it to Adam Young in the first place. Now people are gonna point to Odin’s win/loss record -- far more lengthy than my own -- and the fact that this is his fifth overall World Title reign. And yeah, that's damned impressive… until ya realize that reigns number three, four, and five all happened within the last eight months, and mostly because his competition has been a big, old steaming pile of number two. When was the last time Odin Balfore did anything worthy of a god?

Y'know, they say my boi Alex is the one who don't take shit seriously -- but Odin Balfore is the one who scoffs in the face of every opponent. The one who just assumes he's gonna win on account that no mere mortal can pose a threat to the God of War. Except Alex Richards -- but he ain't your run-of-the-mill, average wrestler. Or Noble Savage, a level of batshit crazy even the Se7en God couldn't deal with.

Or ya girl right here, Bonnie Blue. Then again, I ain't exactly gonna fit into that category, neither. Am I even mortal anymore? Who knows?

I’m addressing you directly now, Odin, cause I know you're watching this. Sitting on your ass in that penthouse suite reserved for members of Pantheon alone, slacking off cause you think this is fixing to be a cakewalk. Each and every one of us has a victory over you, big bad All-Daddy; and each of us you failed to take seriously. You let that arrogant, thieving prick Stephen Singh distract you last week, when ya shoulda had all your focus on my partner. Ya let that silly borderline personality disordered cunt Brandi take ya out with a pipe wrench.

And me? Ya called me a whore and thought that was enough to send ya girl crying back to her corner. You thought so little of me, ya reckoned a bunch of third grade name calling would dissuade me from kicking your ass -- and how'd that work out for you, ya conceited sack of turds? At least, the very least, you owe me the same consideration you'd have attributed my father. You remember: the man who annihilated your big ass at War Ten? The time you were so convinced you was gonna win ya just walked off with the belt my daddy won fair and square -- even after entering that battle royal at number two. Yeah, you remember. The sting of an embarrassment like that never quite goes away.

But nah, ya took one look at cute little Bonnie Blue and assumed I would tremble in fear, or be overcome with sexual desire, or whatever other toxic masculine fantasy bullshit goes on inside that THICK skull of yours. Not once did it ever enter your mind that I am every bit the warrior you are -- if not a little bit more.

The difference is, I still respect you. Hell, I even kinda like ya, when y’ain’t being an overbearing dickhead. So I want ya to keep that in mind when I take that belt from around your waist. We can get along, Odin. We could be friends, even with this title standing between us. I got plans, and you'd be an incredible asset -- but make no mistake: that World Championship is of paramount importance. You have only to reach out your hand and get a shot at it whenever ya want. I had to toil for three long years, even going to another promotion entirely and dominating the fuck out of that one, to prove I deserve this.

This is my only chance compared to the twenty opportunities you're gonna get down the line just because of who you are; the connections you've got. My only shot -- and I'm damn well gonna make the most of it.

Bonnie looks up from the podium, sea-blue eyes sweeping over the crowd, determination written in the set of her jaw. A slow smile works its way along her lips.

I’m gonna be the woman who toppled the reign of the All Father.