Allie Garcia
Low-Carder
Built To Go, Not Just For Show
Posts: 121
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Post by Allie Garcia on Oct 30, 2020 14:16:26 GMT -5
This will be released in multiple parts as I write it!
Prologue
The shot opens on Allie Garcia in the locker room, just finishing tugging her kickpads into place, dressed in her ring gear and an unzipped hoodie with the High Voltage logo on the back. She looks up at a knock on the door, bidding the person on the other side to come in. A referee enters, surprisingly still in street clothes.
Ref: “Hey, ah… not sure how to tell you this, but the show’s cancelled.”
Allie’s eyes widen in surprise, looking up at him before standing quickly.
“Cancelled? What the hell happened? Is everyone okay?”
Ref: “Slater’s AWOL, no one knows where he is. No boss, no one running the show, no one to pay us.”
Allie is visibly fuming now, the referee taking a half step back as Allie begins to pace a little.
“You’re telling me I came all the way to Jersey, ready for a match with Justice, and now just… nothing? What about the pay-per-view?”
Ref: “It, uh… looks like that’s not happening either. Sorry.”
“FUCK!”
Allie grabs the chair she’d been sitting in, launching it across the locker room before turning back to the startled ref.
“Is everyone here?”
Ref: “I think so, yeah. Just about everyone.”
“Fuck it. There’s a liquor store a couple blocks from here, right? C’mon, you’re driving.”
Allie reaches for her bag, digging out her purse and slinging it over her shoulder.
Ref: “You don’t wanna change?”
“Whatever, I’m too pissed to care.”
The shot cuts to black as the two leave the locker room. We come back on the two re-entering the building, the referee carrying a case of High Voltage energy drinks with a pack of red solo cups on top, Allie carrying a case of vodka. They find a table and set them down, Allie opening a can of High Voltage and a bottle of vodka, pouring herself a very strong mixed drink and taking a big mouthful as the ref goes about making himself a slightly more reasonably mixed beverage.
“Hey assholes! Drinks for everyone on me! If you wanna fight, do it away from the booze ‘cause I spent my own money on this and I don’t want anyone spilling it!”
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Allie Garcia
Low-Carder
Built To Go, Not Just For Show
Posts: 121
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Post by Allie Garcia on Oct 30, 2020 20:39:26 GMT -5
Part 1 - Friends, Foes and Fellows in Suits
The shot picks up with Allie working on her second drink; she smiles as Lou Natic approaches, Allie readying herself to pour a drink for him before smirking as she sees he’s already got a bottle of his own in hand.
“What’re you, a boy scout or something? Be prepared?”
Lou shrugs and moves to stand next to her, both quietly drinking for a moment before Allie slips an arm around his shoulders, giving him a side hug.
Lou: “What’re you gonna do now?”
“Long term, go back home, rest a little and then kick ass there til I find a new big stage, I guess. For tonight, I’m getting fucked up and making bad choices.”
Lou: “Do your thing, I’ve got your back if you need me.”
“I know. And thanks.”
Allie releases Lou, giving him a firm pat on the back before finishing off her drink and pouring herself another.
“Alright, enough feelings. Let’s get drunk.”
The shot cuts to black again, reopening on Allie in the hallway, spotting John Cavanaugh at the other end, picking up her pace as she marches down, drinking from her cup as she goes. Cavanaugh doesn’t seem concerned as he watches her approach, turning to face her squarely.
“Hey asshole, where’s your Blondie O’Chairshot?”
Cavanaugh looks mildly surprised at the aggression in her tone but he shrugs it off.
Cavanaugh: “None of your fuckin’ business. Why, you pissed you might not get a chance to pay her back?”
Cavanaugh smirks down at her before Allie drops her now empty cup, Cav’s gaze cutting towards it for just a second, long enough for Allie to rear back and kick him square in the groin.
“Fuck you, Cav.”
As Cavanaugh slumps back against the wall, Allie turns on her heel, cursing under her breath as she storms away.
“I need another drink.”
The shot cuts again, tight to Allie with another drink in hand, hoodie long gone, leaning back in a folding chair, laughing a little to herself. There’s the sound of a door opening, Allie quickly leaning forward and bouncing to her feet.
“What the hell are you doing in the women’s locker room?!”
Windsor: “You’re in the men’s locker room, you bloody drunk!”
The shot pans out a little; Allie and Nicholas Windsor, resplendent in a full suit, alone in what is clearly indeed the men’s locker room.
“Huh. I wondered where my bag was. And I'm not that drunk! It's the caffeine, really.”
Windsor: “Yes, well I’m leaving this godforsaken city and going home. Enjoy getting pissed with the rest of these bloody fools.”
As Windsor tries to step towards the door, bags in hand, Allie steps in front of him, a hand on his chest, a smirk on her face.
“Y’know… we’ll probably never see each other again. And you look good in that suit. Wanna go fool around in the showers?”
Windsor looks shocked as Allie looks up at him, toying with his tie.
Windsor: “But… why the shower?”
“Where else should I be going to get wet?”
Allie giggles coyly as she steps back from him, moving around him towards the showers, peeling her top off as she walks with her back to the camera and tossing it aside. Windsor quickly turns to follow her into the showers, Allie pressing him back against the wall once in the tiled area. Allie’s hands dip low, unzipping his fly, leaning against the brit as she tugs him free of his trousers, stroking him vigorously for a few moments until he hits his release, spilling onto the shower floor. Smirking, Allie steps back from him as he composes himself, turning to walk out of the shower area.
Windsor: “What, you’re leaving already?”
“Yeah. But don’t worry, I’ll help you clean up.”
With that Allie reaches over for the knobs on the wall, turning them on before breaking into a sprint, laughing as the water begins to pour down, scooping up her top before exiting the locker room. A few seconds later a thoroughly soaked Nicholas Windsor emerges from the shower, sputtering and cursing as the shot cuts to black.
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Allie Garcia
Low-Carder
Built To Go, Not Just For Show
Posts: 121
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Post by Allie Garcia on Oct 30, 2020 21:16:41 GMT -5
Part 2 - C is for Cupcake, B is for Belt, A is for Andy Donahue is Still an Asshole
The shot reopens with Allie, another drink in hand, and a few others facing a makeshift target drawn on the wall before proceeding to start hurling cupcakes at it, laughing and cheering each other on. Kenneth Marshall approaches, eyeing the group curiously.
Kenneth: “Uh, what’re you guys doing with those cupcakes?
“They’re vegan, this is about all they’re good for. C’mon, you’re allowed to have fun doing something other than fighting people once in a while.”
Allie offers Kenneth a cupcake and, after a moment, Kenneth takes it and lops it, barely missing a bullseye, drawing a cheer from the others.
“See, fun is possible even without headlocks involved!”
Kenneth: “So, back to Canada for us, eh?”
“Yeah, for now anyway. I might take a little break, unwind a bit before I get back in the ring.”
Kenneth: “You have been wound pretty tight lately, relaxing might do you good.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t plan on leaving here tonight ‘til I’ve worked all the crazy out of my system.”
Kenneth eyes her curiously at that comment before shrugging.
Kenneth: “Too bad it looks like we’ll never get our title shots. I think you had a good chance against Ash.”
“Yeah, I woulda beat her ass. That big, thick, gloriously jiggly ass...”
Kenneth: “... how many of those drinks have you had, anyway?”
“Not that many. The caffeine really amps it up though. Anyway, I’ll see you around Kenneth.”
Kenneth: “Where are you going?”
“I’m gonna go get a title!”
Allie turns and runs away from the group, turning a corner and down a hall as the shot goes black. The shot comes back on Allie finding Anthony Royal muttering to himself as he wheels his bag behind him, heading for the door, World Television title slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, Royal. You still talking to yourself all crazy-like?”
Royal turns to stare at Allie, who takes a half step back, raising her hands a little.
“Alright, touchy subject, sorry, sorry. Hey, listen… I want your belt.”
Royal: “Are you challenging me to a match for my championship?!”
“What? No. No no. I’m kinda drunk. And all the refs are really drunk. No, I just want it for like an hour. I never got my chance to hold the women’s title and I can’t find Ash anywhere so, y’know… if you can’t wear the belt you want, wear the belt you’re with, y’know?”
Royal: “That explains why you want it, but why should I let you have it?”
“Name your price.”
Royal: “You know I’m rich, right?”
“Right, right. Let me think...”
The scene jumps ahead to the two in a storage closet, Allie on her knees before Royal, his hands in her hair, her head bobbing at a quick pace, her hands on his hips. After a long moment he groans and she swallows, licking her lips as she sits back on her knees before rising to her feet, taking the belt off his shoulder.
“I’ll leave it on your car!”
With that she turns and leaves the closet, wrapping the belt around her waist before raising her arms above her head triumphantly.
“I’m the fucking champ! Someone pour me another drink!”
With that she breaks into a sprint, headed back towards the party as the shot fades out again. The scene opens back up on Allie back by the booze table; more wrestlers, referees and production staff are milling around in conversation, drinks in hand. Allie has poured herself yet another, leaning back against the wall and watching everyone with a little grin on her face and the World Television belt around her waist, hair a bit mussed.
Donahue: “GARCIA!”
Andy Donahue storms in, fuming, looking around until his eyes settle on Allie, making a beeline for her.
Donahue: “Did you kick Cav in the balls?!”
“His girlfriend brained me with a chair, he had it coming!”
Donahue: “I oughta… wait, are you the champ now?”
Both look down to the title belt and Allie shrugs.
“For about another half hour or so, yeah. So, what’s the deal with you and Cavanaugh anyway? Are you two just pals? Do you work for him? Is he your uncle or something?”
Donahue: “What? Why do you care? I fuckin’ hate you!”
“Well I fuckin’ hate you too!”
The two are nose to nose, or at least as close as possible with the height difference, glaring daggers.
“You wanna go fuck or something?”
Donahue stares down at her like Allie’s grown a second head as she continues to glare up at him.
Donahue: “This is a trick. You’re screwing with me.”
“Listen, I haven’t had sex in almost a year. We hate each other so it’s not like we’re gonna ever talk again and be awkward. So, you got it in you or what?”
They continue to glare at each other for a long moment, then the scene cuts. We rejoin in the trainers room, Allie bent over the exam table, holding on to the far side for dear life, her wrestling trunks down around her mid-thighs but otherwise still dressed, the TV title belt still around her waist, spun around with the plate on her back. Donahue is behind her, holding her hips as he pummels her aggressively. Her eyes are shut tightly, both breathing heavy, sounds of encouragement leaving Allie loud enough to be heard over the noise of their motions. Finally Donahue withdraws and releases onto the belt as Allie slumps forward on the table.
Donahue: “Goddamn. I still hate you, y’know.”
Allie smirks and lifts a hand to give him the finger without moving otherwise before Donahue leaves the room. She stands up straight slowly before taking off the belt and inspecting it.
“Well… Royal needed an excuse to have this thing cleaned anyway.”
She sets the belt down on the exam table and tugs her trunks back up, moving a bit slower now as she moves for the door.
“Now I really need another drink.”
She steps out the door as the shot goes to black once again.
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Realm
Dark Match Talent
Posts: 27 
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Post by Realm on Oct 31, 2020 23:21:44 GMT -5
All the sudden Realm comes out and repeatedly bashes Allie in the head with a lead pipe. There's blood everywhere.
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Allie Garcia
Low-Carder
Built To Go, Not Just For Show
Posts: 121
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Post by Allie Garcia on Nov 1, 2020 20:27:50 GMT -5
Part 3 - Broken Chairs and Bucket Lists
The shot opens on Allie, hair even more messy now, standing back by the booze table. The party, such as it is, is still ongoing, when Realm wanders in, rambling nonsense at a loud volume at everyone around, drawing pointed glares from most everyone. Lou Natic and Enforcer start to approach from opposite sides of the room but before either can reach him one of the production assistants, a petite redhead barely five feet tall with freckles and glasses, steps up and kicks Realm square in the crotch, following it up with a straight right punch. Realm goes down, and he does not get back up.
The crowd cheers as several wrestlers move to drag Realm out the door but before he can join in, Lou Natic is jumped on by the PA, the young woman wrapping her legs around him and surprising him with a kiss, drawing another cheer. Lou immediately turns to carry her off to the nearest empty room he can find, the redhead fumbling with his belt as they go. Allie shoots Lou a thumbs up and then grins over at Enforcer, who watches the cleanup with a bemused expression.
“I guess it’s good to be the champ, eh?”
Enforcer: “Whatever, I’m too married for that shit.”
“Hey, ah… tell Justice I appreciate her apology the other day? For real, not just saying that to be polite.”
Enforcer nods and after a moment the two silently bump their red solo cups as something of a toast before Allie finishes off her drink and the shot goes to black. We pick back up on Allie walking down a hallway, another drink in hand, smiling to herself as she ambles along. The look on her face darkens a little as she spots the door at the end of the hallway ajar. Slater’s office. She quickens her pace, pushing the door open with her foot, to find the room absolutely ransacked; desk broken, papers strewn about, a box of EWF t-shirts appearing to have been thrown against a wall and broken open. In the middle of the ruin stands Jesse Jamester.
“Did you do all this?”
Jesse: “No, I didn’t get the chance. I came down the hall and a couple of refs were leaving, this is how I found it.”
“Refs did this?!”
Jesse: “They’re mean little bastards when they’re drunk.”
“Huh. Well, I guess everyone’s pretty pissed off tonight.”
The two look around the room for a moment, their gazes both settling on the one piece of furniture seemingly still in good condition: Slater’s chair, a swanky leather model with a swivel base and arms.
Jesse: “I was here first, I get to smash it.”
“Wait… we could break it together if you want?”
Jesse glances down to Allie quizzically.
Jesse: “How do you mean?”
Allie’s reply is a smirk. The shot cuts ahead; Allie leaning back in the chair, still in her ring gear aside from her trunks which are on the floor, her legs on the shoulders of Jamester, trembling as she grips the top of the chair’s back above her head. Jamester is holding on to the arms of the chair as he jackhammers Allie, the chair squeaking in protest at the wear and tear. Finally he pulls back with a grunt and finishes on her cleavage and the revealing top that held said cleavage in place. They stare at each other for a moment, grinning and breathing hard as Jamester steps back. The chair lets out one final groan before the back snaps and the legs give out, sending Allie crashing to the floor with a laugh, Jamester joining in a few seconds later as he offers her a hand, helping her back to her feet.
Jesse: “Sorry about your top.”
“Whatever, it’ll wash out. At least you didn’t get it in my hair, then I’d have to kill you.”
Both are still chuckling as she finds her trunks and pulls them back on, glancing over to the box of t-shirts. She peels her top off, pulling out one shirt to wipe herself clean, tossing it aside, then finding a small and tugging it on.
Jesse: “You really gonna wear that?”
“Would you wanna walk around with that all over your top?”
They exchange grins and Allie holds out a fist, Jesse knocking his own against it after a moment.
Jesse: “Look me up if you’re ever in Calgary.”
“Same to you if you’re ever in Newcastle.”
Jesse turns to leave, calling out to her over his shoulder.
Jesse: “No one will ever go to Newcastle, no one knows where it is!”
Allie shakes her head, watching him go as she uses yet another shirt to wipe her wrestling top off as best she can, the shot fading to black as she makes her way out of what’s left of the office. The shot picks back up with Allie, a bit worn out, hair bordering on absolute disaster, but smiling and chipper, approaching the women’s locker room just as Hardcore Heather, in street clothes and bag over her shoulder, makes her way out.
“Hey! You taking off?”
Heather: “Yeah, it’s been a weird night.”
“You have no idea.”
Lou Natic walks past, shirtless, saying nothing, raising a fist to Allie which she happily bumps with her own as Heather watches them curiously.
Heather: “I guess I don’t. Something wrong with your bra?”
Allie shifts slightly so that the garment in her hand is hidden a bit behind her back.
“Anyway, what’re you gonna do now?”
Heather: “Japan. I could put in a good word if you want?”
“Thanks, but not right now. I think I need a little time away, get my head right. Tonight’s been the first night in… fuck, in forever that I’ve actually been able to really unwind, like just no stress at all. It’s weird, but I like it, y’know? It was needed.”
Heather: “... do I want to know what you’ve been up to tonight?”
Allie shrugs before holding up her sports bra so that Heather can see it, and why she’s not wearing it.
Heather: “Who… nevermind, probably better I don’t know.”
“It’d been almost a year before tonight.”
Heather: “Shit, in that case I’ll just say good for you. Don’t be a stranger, okay? And if you decide you want to check out Japan, just reach out, I’ll put in a good word.”
Allie tosses the spoiled bra aside and pulls Heather in for a quick hug.
“I appreciate it. Take care of yourself, I’ll see you around.”
Allie releases Heather, both women smiling as the tall blonde heads off down the hall, Allie watching her go with a little smile.
“That’s a good note to end on. I should shower, pack up, head to the airport and get on the next plane home.”
She nods to herself, staring off down the hall before biting her lip as she looks down the hall.
“One more bad idea can’t hurt, right? Hey, over here! Can you help me knock something off my bucket list real quick?!”
The shot cuts ahead to inside the women’s locker room, Allie’s stolen t-shirt torn in two as if by a Real American™, her trunks tossed across the room, leaving her in just her knee pads, kick pads and wrestling shoes. She’s on her knees, back arched, bent forward over a bench. Leon Mondo is behind her, gripping her hips as he pounds her, Allie’s moans of approval muffled by Mason Blackwell as he pumps into her mouth, ragdolling the seemingly overwhelmed woman thoroughly between them as Allie clings to Mason. Finally Blackwell pulls back and releases on to her; a moment later Mondo pulls back as well, a shaky Allie rolling over to receive the same final treatment from him.
Blackwell: “So… that what you wanted?”
A trembling, clearly exhausted Allie smiles weakly and gives them a thumbs up as she tries to catch her breath, American Muscle grinning down at her before offering their hands to help her up, Allie waving them off.
“I’m gonna need a minute, it’s been a long night. You, uh, don’t have to stick around. I’m good. Enjoy the drinks.”
As the two men leave the room Allie slowly removes the last of her ring gear before pulling herself to her feet, the shot fading to black as she very shakily walks to the showers. For the last time, the shot picks up with Allie standing outside of the arena in street clothes, her rolling suitcase at her side as she looks up at the building in the moonlight, shaking her head a little.
“Not the longest run, but it sure as fuck was interesting, wasn’t it? Why am I talking to myself now? Is Royal’s thing contagious? Fuck.”
A car pulls up and Allie checks her phone, noting the license plate matches what’s in the Uber app; she walks gingerly to the door and opens it, sliding her bag in before climbing in, her phone starting to ring in her pocket, Allie digging it out to answer it.
Driver: “LaGuardia, right?”
“Yeah, thanks. Hey Claire. Yeah, no show tonight, things got weird.”
Allie smirks a little in the back of the car as the shot fades out once again.
“Weird how? Well… turns out they do tag team that way too.”
FIN
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