Part 1 - Cameo Appearances
The scene is almost pitch black as it opens, focusing on a battered, chestnut leather boxing heavy bag, which swings idly from side to side, squeaking ever so slightly as it rocks on the chain. From out of the darkness Royal Purple appears, dressed in black hoodie and black sweatpants, continuing the noir theme. She begins to strike at the bag, the thuds echoing around the empty space as she falls into rhythm. Her strikes have a touch of her trademark speed to them, but it’s almost like watching a different performer to the girl that had beaten Candy a few weeks prior. She was focussing too much on technique, like her striking was coached rather than instinctive.
A booming voice, filled with burning passion and simmering anger all at once filled the air.
Bad Cop
Hit the damn thing! C'mon show me something here! You know what really makes a champ? Natural ability? You really think I'm IMPRESSED by you? Your parents might be paying my bills and I gotta make peace with that but I don't give a fuck about you right now. You think it's because you're too fast, makes it damn near impossible to catch you? What about when they do catch you huh? Because they will catch you. They always do in the end, you can’t run forever. What about when they know the match, their career, their whole damn LIFE relies on keeping hands on you so you can’t keep outta their way again. Can’t have things all yo’ own way like you used to. Like your old coach used to. Fuck that. Hey, WHAT ARE YOU SLOWING DOWN FOR!?! Hit the damn bag! This here work ain’t about winning. Anyone can win stuff. Yo’ sorry ass wins all the damn time, but that don’t make you no champi-YON. If you wanna be a real champi-YON it’s about the intangibles kid, the guy who nearly popped they eyes outta their damn sockets getting in that last rep, guy’s that’ll put they body, they whole CAREER on the line if they got to for that title, all cause they know you better than them, and the intangibles is all they got. They’da ripped that bag straight outta the ceiling, you just pretendin’. You just some weak ass sorry ass little bitch *BEEP*. Go on and run home little girl, gettin’ sick of watching you disrespect my gym today…
For the record, that run home was 5 miles long. I’d gotten off lightly though, I mean sometimes he’d drive me in his truck another couple of miles FURTHER AWAY from home and make me run from there. Fucking asshole man. Some of what he said, I mean like...it made sense of course, looking back on it now, and his training methods got me in the best shape I’ll probably ever be in...but it came with a double helping of emotional abuse and, at sixteen, I wasn’t equipped to be dealing with anything remotely close to that back then. Still don’t know if I am now to be honest.
I handed out some abuse of my own kind though. The physical kind. The kind that makes sure a man never looks the same way at a folding steel chair again, so I guess it’s a little bit mental as well, right?. He sure changed my life, mostly for the worst, and he got a receipt for it when it was all said and done. It was at that point I truly took control of my own destiny. My parents realised the error of their ways, they learned to stay the hell out of my business, probably for fear of them being next, and things sure started to go a whole lot better after that.
My old coach took me back in a heartbeat, of course. He wasn’t scared, or intimidated, and you know what he wasn’t even surprised about the damage I handed out, just...proud? I think? You know what surprised everyone else most of all, about what I did? They didn’t have me pegged as a girl who was capable of beating anyone up like that, let alone a full-sized dude with years of professional experience and a very intimate knowledge of how steroids worked. They didn’t think I had it in me. Too sweet, too innocent, too kind-hearted, but you know why it didn’t surprise coach number one in the whole wide world? He didn’t doubt me one bit. He was the only one who truly respected me, my talent, how dangerous I could be. Just because of how I looked, how I acted, how young I was, didn’t mean I belonged in that ring any less.
It feels like I’ve gone against a lot of what he taught me in 2020, but I still hear his words every day when I train.
Good Cop
See most of us, we're held back by constraints. Train in Japan - Strong Style. Train in Mexico and you'll come out a luchador, go to England and you'll learn the British style, as a rule anyway. Every coach steals little bits here and there, either from other schools, or from some of their better opponents, but you learn what your coaches know and that's about the limit of what you can teach you. They may try and learn more, broaden their horizons, but usually they're too stubborn and stuck in their ways to adapt to help YOU become better.
That's where you're different *BEEP*. With a coach you learn their style of wrestling, the manoeuvres that fit into the confines of that style, you repeat and repeat until you get the muscle memory, then you use them where they used them. Where they told you to use them. It's not instinct, per se, it feels like that cause it happens so fast but it's pattern recognition, read the situation, remember the training, execute the instructions. The thinking time may be small, but it's there...and what happens when the pattern changes, you see something you’ve never seen before out there?
You don't think, you just do. It's like it's hard-wired into your synapses or something, I've never seen anything like it. Knowing how a move works on the ground, I've seen you turn them into running or diving variations, no practice, pulling things off I didn't even think possible. You, in the ring, there's nobody that knows you better than I do. Nobody even close...but I can't read you. I can guess, and I'll probably guess right more than any other opponent too but you know what? I don't think that's going to be enough anymore.
My coach was a singles champion when he said that, and ya know 2020 may have been one of his best years yet. Don't try and guess who it is by his voice either, I had some other dude read it for me. I asked him if he was worried about if we ever faced each other...like was he scared of losing to me, a girl, a teenage girl, his student. His answer blew me away.
Why would I be scared of losing to a more talented opponent?
That was the last time we ever spoke about talent really. It became this unspoken little secret between us by that point, we both knew so we didn’t have to speak about it...like I had all the tools I needed to make a success of my career. Mostly, that took the weight off. Sometimes it tore me up inside, having this whole undertone around every convo even if we never spoke the words.I need to put this work in because I deserve to win it all. I need to get in great shape because it’ll be physically intense when I’m a champion. I need to get used to working with no breaks because the best wrestlers need to be out as much as possible to sell tickets. High pressure, lots to handle, but I had my thing, and it was up to me to use it.
I fight on instinct. It makes me sharper, faster, more responsive. My *real* coaches have never tried to change that in me. They just show me moves, options, help me get fitter, stronger, eat the right stuff, avoid the bad stuff...yeah I've dropped the ball on that lately...but sometimes I long to like...execute 100 suplexes until I get my technique all dialled in ya know, see the progress? Be boring and repetitive for a while. Train like a normal human not some wonderkid protege with a buncha tools I just have to go out and use cause that’s who I am and what I do.
I’m gonna move on in a second but just before I do, I know what you’re gonna be thinking. Yes, he knows about me, about this. No, he doesn’t approve, not of how far I’ve fallen, not about how I’m trying to battle my way back, and yeah he does feel guilty, like he let me down, like he caused this somehow. Maybe in some ways he did. Maybe he still is. I’ve been let down by everyone at every turn, one way or another...but no matter how far my path of destruction goes, throwing someone under the bus that was in my corner so much more than anyone else in my life...nah. I can’t do that.
Besides, the biggest heartbreak is yet to come.
Japanese Ex Girlfriend Cop
愛は世界共通の言語です (love is a universal language)
...and by losing the one, I really started losing myself.
So like...the holy trinity of wrestling education, USA - Mexico - Japan. I did the USA thing cause, well duh it’s where I lived, and my next stop was Japan. I don’t wanna go too much into my history and stuff cause I wanna save that for a BIG match if ya know what I mean and umm…you might guess who I am...but Royal Purple unmasked isn’t very gimmicky, she just likes to go out and work, keep herself to herself, the kinda thing the purist Jap fans are into right? It was a perfect match. I was on a real hot streak of wins, carried it with me into Asia, everything was great. It was my first real time away without my coaches or my parents with me, no big deal though really, I’d been a full-time wrestler for a couple of years, I was used to life on the road I just...didn’t have anyone to reign me in. Nobody thought I needed it, me included, but this was where the trouble REALLY started.
A few of the girls on the tour were from the States too, and one was Irish (love that accent), so I had English speakers to hang out with, which was cool, and we went to this bar one night after a show. It didn’t work out, we were gonna just go and buy drinks and sit in the park or something cause their drinking age is 20 and hey little old Royal Purple didn’t qualify but then...I just saw...her. Ordered myself a soft drink and went right over.
I didn’t speak Japanese, she didn’t really speak English at all but there was...just a spark ya know? It was crazy, like Google Translate literally made a relationship possible for a while, passing our phones backward and forward with cute little messages. Even after a few months of living there I still dunno what kawaii is but I think that mighta been us? Maybe?
Wait this is getting too long and cutesy and boring, time for the good stuff. Long story short? Cheated on her. Came clean, apologised, promised to never do it again. Did it again. Kinda stalked her a bit, got blind drunk and smashed up her bike when she wouldn’t take me back...while she stood there in the street and watched the whole damn thing. I think I sent her abuse for like two weeks straight, thanks to Google Translate again, until eventually I thought fuck that bitch anyway and gave up. Good riddance to her. I was going through some stuff, I needed her to help me through it not throw me away like I was nothing. Lucky escape.
Ya know someone told me after my last match...people might actually start to feel sorry for me if I want them to, they might stop booing me. I mean cool story bro but this is a one person pity party and there ain’t anyone else invited. Under this mask, ya know, there probably is something worth saving and maybe, just maybe, Royal Purple is like the vessel that helps...some therapeutic way to get out all the anger and the hate in a constructive way or whatever. I just know that if people start to like me, start buying my t-shirts and stuff? I’m doing something wrong. Might have to turn up the heat this week huh?
Part 2 - Namedroppers
Narrator: The scene opens to Royal Purple’s apartment. Compared to two weeks ago, it looks like she’s cleaned up at least some of the bottles of alcohol, and there’s less clothes scattered about. We can only guess that she attempted to tidy. Royal Purple sits on the couch, her head looking up to the sky, trying to figure out where this voice is coming from, and wondering if it’s all in her head.
Royal Purple: Heeeeeey guys it’s ya girl Royal Purple back with you again aaaaaand well fuck, I didn't know they had it in them ya know? Picture the scene - Gemstone Ruby walks into their office and tries to pitch herself, seriously, as a wrestling prospect. You know what a fair, normal human being does in that situation? They politely decline.
Narrator: Royal Purple leans back on the couch, interlocking her fingers as she drops her hands behind her head.
Royal Purple: You heard it here first - Our bosses are sadistic fucks ladies and gentlemen. Say no, say not yet, recommend coaches, put in a good word to some smaller companies that you trust, that'll put her in the ring with opponents on her level, protect her. Either that or Just. Say. No. Just say no, make sure that whatever destruction this timid little rabbit is hopping herself into, they guide her gently back into the bushes to safety but no, instead they chose option number three, agreed, and picked the girl in the mask as her first opponent. Ya know, the same one that was repeatedly pounding Candy's head onto the canvas a buncha times before she nearly ripped it off like opening a bag of M&Ms, that girl in the mask. I mean if there’s one sure fire way to make sure that Gemstone Ruby NEVER asks to wrestle again, well making sure she gets quite literally murdered in the ring is one way to do it but...kinda extreme right? Sounds like a GRIME level douchebaggery kinda thing to do. Are ratings really that bad?
Royal Purple: I mean what the bloody fucking hell is this matey?
Narrator: A bad attempt at a British accent…
Royal Purple: GETOUTOFMYHEAD! Seriously! Ugh, I'm guessing you guys can't hear the low-budget attempt at Morgan Freeman too? ...no of course you can't, that's ridiculous…need to straighten myself out I swear...
Narrator: Get to the point please.
Royal Purple: ALRIGHT! Alright. What is it with all the wannabes here these days anyway? Even the voice in my head wants a promotion, jeez. I woulda thought that umm...since that Candy bitch I defeated is kind of a big deal around here, even with that nasty losing streak and all, I might have got fed a proper opponent to stop me getting too big for my boots but instead - BARGAIN BASEMENT VERSION OF KATE STEELE EVERYBODY! YAAAAAAAY! Let’s just take that total basket case and water her down in every way possible. She has bright coloured hair, but it’s not purple, so she sucks! Ruby plays guitar too, but it’s a special kind for an extra special girl and she has to use TWO LESS STRINGS cause she’s a basic bitch! Take a Blast from the Past finalist, a former champion and dilute that down into ZERO WRESTLING EXPERIENCE WHATSOEVER cause that’s an incredible idea! In fact, the only way Kate and Ruby are anywhere close to being on the same scale is they’re both in SUCKY BANDS! And only cause it’s THE SAME DAMN BAND oh my God this is too perfect.
Narrator: Royal Purple chuckles away to herself, throwing her head back with glee
Royal Purple: I mean I know I haven’t exactly been a straight A student since I turned up to GRIME wearing this stupid mask but...why am I here? Why am I being made to do this? Why do I have to murder some poor little bass player’s dreams? It’s like they can see my mean girl image slipping as well and they want me to like...burn ants to a crisp with a magnifying glass or pull the legs off of insects one by one...but with a human, in a wrestling ring, with fans watching. I mean like...I’m not complaining? I’m happy to play ball and stuff. Sounds like the kind of petty, senseless violence aimed at a poor, unsuspecting victim that’s right up my alley, but ya know...I think I’m kinda insulted too? I’m trying to clean up my act and everything.
Narrator: Keep trying. Maybe start by making your bed on recording days...
Royal Purple: Thanks for the tip. The matchup, it’s stupid, but you know what the dumbest thing of all is, though? Or maybe it’s pure genius I can’t tell - I just feel like this is like a little group therapy session for everyone involved. For me, a chance to release some pent-up anger, cause we all know I’ve got PLENTY of that to share around. For the fans, a little bit of comic relief in these dark, pandemic-riddled times as I bounce some copycat wannabe loser’s face against the canvas until she begs me to stop, I mean that’s the kind of wholesome content we all need in our lives right now, and for the higher-ups a warning to anyone stupid enough to put themselves in harms way is gonna get WAY HARMED when they step into my domain. It’s like they want me to ruin her day...and it’s like they want you guys to cheer me on while I do it too, cause you’re as tired as the whole Teddy-Kate-Warren-Steele-Crossdresser-Pink-Ruby-Jet-whatever their names as the rest of us are by now.
Narrator: I think they’ve calmed down a little on...
Royal Purple: Ooh look at meeeee! I just wanna wrestle and dance and stuff ohmygaaaaawd! WAKE UP you cute but very very dumb little bitch. I wanna pinch your cheeks but I also wanna slap you into a year where you’re finally ready to stand toe-to-toe with someone like me This may be a joke to you. Hell, the way I act it seems like it’s a joke to me too BUT I’m not the one who hasn’t gotten it into their pretty little head yet that what we do is DANGEROUS. This is the REAL SHIT we do out there, no matter how much glitter, how many swimming pools, whatever schoolyard level stipulations you throw in there, people get hurt doing what we do. All the time. I could give you some tales from the treatment table but again, hey, you might figure out who I am before I’m ready to show you myself...and Royal Purple isn’t going through all this to not finish it on her terms, that’s for damn sure. I understand this business. I know what goes down out there. I’ve wrestled high on whatever drug I laid my hands on, sure. I’ve left a party, got in a taxi, gone and wrestled, and gone straight back to the party afterwards. Sure, I admit I didn’t win every time, maybe more than half the time, which is pretty good in the circumstances, I guess? But I got up and walked out and I stayed in one piece every time. Even at my absolute worst possible shape, my survival instinct kicked in. It’s what EXPERIENCE does for you. I lived to fight another day.
Narrator: It’s a miracle to us all...
Royal Purple: If I keep ignoring these voices will they just go away? Let me know in the comments. Gemstone Ruby doesn’t have a survival instinct. She has calluses on her fingers from playing her Special Olympics version of a guitar or whatever, that her body automatically gave her, nice one, but that’s it, and I swear to God if she tries ONE single dance move out there the main is going to be excruciating and unrelenting. Our little rabbit is caught in two beaming purple headlights, and she’s about to learn a bunch of tough lessons all on one night. She won’t know it yet, but if she plans to have more than one match in this sport she’ll thank me for it one day. These are the things you don’t learn in many schools or gyms, you know, the kinds that won’t beat up on you too hard cause they want the cheques to keep on rolling. They don’t tell you that if you look too fast, you’ll lose your knee, or your ankle, something to bring you back down to a speed they can handle you at. If you’re hitting too hard it’ll be ribs, kidneys, keep you out of breath so you can’t wind up with those power shots. Submission specialist? Try locking that in when your arm’s dead and you’ve lost all ability to put the squeeze on. To me? That’s the basics. That’s what I’ve dealt with week in and week out. To Candy? She tried her best to slow me down, it was her first reaction, her survival instinct kicked in, kept her in the match, gave her the chance.
Narrator: Royal Purple shrugs nonchalantly.
Royal Purple: Still beat her, obviously, but she was in that fight longer because she knew how to keep herself there. She gave herself a bigger window of opportunity. What opportunity you’re probably asking? The kind of opportunity you only see in real-time after some in-ring experience. The kind where, for your first few months as a competitor, you don’t see it. Someone has to rewind the tape and point it out to you in SLOW motion. Maybe even draw you a diagram. This is how you could have won that match. Next, you start to realise it in the showers, or in the taxi back to your hotel, or when you’re watching the match back to yourself. It starts to click of your own accord, slowly, that takes time. Ruby wouldn’t know a winning opportunity if I stopped, wrote WINNING OPPORTUNITY on a giant piece of cardboard and held it up in her face. How the hell even could she? I know why she thinks she has something. It’s so fake it’s untrue, but whatever helps her sleep at night before her big match I guess?
Narrator: What’s the key to her false hope? Please tell us!
Royal Purple: So what’s the key to all this false hope, huh? It’s something the wrestling public hears waaaaaay too often. Trained by, protege of, daughter of, son of, pure namedropping. Ruby was trained PERSONALLY by Kristopher Ryans and Mikah, she announces it proudly for the world to hear, as if some magical pixie powder rubbed off just by their very presence in the same four walls as our little lost rabbit. I mean if it was true, sure I’d be scared but look - Two problems.
Narrator: Number one.
Royal Purple: Ruby. Is. Not. Them. Just because someone trains you, it’s not like you magically transform into them overnight or anything. You’re still you. In your body. Trying to do someone else’s shit that may work really well in theirs but doesn’t translate so well into yours. They’ve got muscle memory you don’t. They’ve got instincts you don’t. They’ve seen things in a wrestling ring you can’t even comprehend. Hell for all we know they might be showing her stuff that doesn’t suit her in. the. slightest. She might have been better taking flying lessons with little old me, or learning to boot people in the face like that douche canoe Cross, getting all like...Strong Style-y or whatever he learned in Japan I dunno. One size doesn’t fit all. I’m either gonna get like a really bad version of...whatever would come out if those two spawned a child...or a really raw version of what Ruby might eventually be one day if she stuck at the wrestling thing, trained hard, and ate all her veggies at every meal time. I might get some flashes of potential or something, ya know? All adding up into something that I honestly couldn’t care less about, and definitely aren’t threatened by.
Narrator: Number two.
Royal Purple: Second of all, she's not their protege, not really. I've been coached by a successful wrestler, a champion, someone who I could happily name drop all over social media and make most people around these Sin City parts think "ah yeah she's gonna be the real deal" and you know what? Even without the mask, and with their name in plain sight, I was priority number one. I wasn’t trying to step out of my shadow, they wanted to step into mine. They went all in on me for the first couple of years of my career. Dropped to a part-time schedule, worked locally, so they were in the gym when I was in the gym. In the crowd when I was woo'ing the crowd. They'd run early in the morning to get their cardio in before I got there, they'd get their gym work in after I left. They turned down their own title opportunities, or big pay days to help facilitate mine. I got them, the whole them, and even when they absolutely had to miss a session? He brought in his coach, the guy that taught him everything HE knew, to fill in.
Narrator: Number three.
Royal Purple: I’m still on number two here...Mikah's one of the most successful bombshells in SCW history, and if that wasn’t demanding enough a mother. Kris Ryans is a champion whose stock is back on the rise, a World title contender no less, with the chance to win it all on the same night. You want to tell me they've mentored her, trained with her, sparred with her, watched tape with her? Taken her to shows and talked through the matches in real time, right up close and personal? Ruby's team built, put through the production line, handled by whoever was manning that station put through the regular system with the regular recruits. Special treatment? Nah - regular treatment...and who put their name into the Sin City Goblet of Fire? She did. Not two proud mentors, ready to see their girl live up to the potential they know she has. Someone jumped the gun. Someone thought she was worth more than the two people who are SUPPOSED to know her best.
Narrator: Number th-
Royal Purple: Bro I’m still...Look how do I know this? I’ve seen both sides of the coin, cause after a few years I hurt myself, bad, I'd be out for months. I could train upper body, arms, but that was all, until I was out of cast. I was lucky not to need reconstructive surgery. My coach went back to a full-time schedule, figured the best way he could prepare for getting me back into full-time action was to try and do it for himself, figure out how to get his physicals back to how they were, how long it would take to shake off the rust. Turned out he was wrestling better than before he cut back, beating anyone in front of him, winning titles of his own. I hung out at the gym most days to watch him, his work ethic, how he trained like every match was his last. He became the top guy in his own gym again, he needed the ring? He got it. Needed the bench? He got it. Needed water? Someone else got it. Probably would have taken off the cap and poured it into his damn mouth if he asked. He took that spot from me, earning it on merit, just like I did before him. When there was an exercise I could do as well, I joined HIS practice. It wasn't the other way around anymore. It was humbling, for damn sure, but it made me thankful too. I didn't know why he dropped to part-time before, couldn’t understand it. Seeing that all change, it just reminded me that he dropped his own success in exchange for mine. In those few months, it dawned on me. He couldn't train like a champion for himself, as it meant he couldn’t be the coach I needed for me.That’s fucking commitment for you guys. That’s self-sacrifice.
Narrator: Royal Purple shakes her head. I think she’s still on point number two, I’ve stopped paying attention.
Royal Purple: So no, Mikah and Kris don't suck as mentors. Self-absorbed? Sure. Narrow-sighted? Letting their girl walk into this, absolutely, but I get why they couldn't be there, they’re two people that have put their own success over that of their students. It’s mean to say that but it’s absolutely true. Until they’re in that building working with their guys, at the expense of their own success, they’re nothing but some names above a door. Some selling point on a poster to get people to come to their gym instead of Carlos three blocks away who remortgaged his house just in the hope of finding one kid with potential he could give his everything to. Oh, and they're as guilty as Mark and Christian. Four people in power positions, set to have Ruby's best interests at heart, sending her out like a lamb to slaughter, and the abattoir is ready to receive her. She just has to go towards the purple light and bust out a moonwalk as soon as the bell rings. CHAMON BITCH! A-HE-HE!
Narrator: Does Ruby wanna be starting something?
Royal Purple: I train every single day. I may be hung over. I may have ran across town because I don’t know whose bed I woke up in or remember how I got there. I maybe don’t try as hard as I could all the time. I may call up all the people that love me and tell them how inadequate they are as family, as friends, as girlfriends, as tag team partners. I may hit people with chairs that don’t deserve it. Some that do deserve it too. I may break Candy canes, I may cut Gemstones. I may feed chocolate to Evie’s dog. Mikah’s unbelievable winning streak may just get snapped by some anonymous teenage girl that hides behind a mask, who even knows. I am GRIME, through and through. Not because I tell you I am, not because I want to be, but because I became the kind of lowlife scum that deserves to be there. In this business you earn everything on merit, I earned my stripes just like my brethren, but now it’s time I cemented my spot in the major leagues, got serious about this, as much as I can manage right now anyway. After I’m done taking out the trash this week, give me something better, have some respect. Please tell me that actually taking an active interest in my own career in this business again is worth my time and effort, and slapping around someone who isn’t fit to lace up my boots. My second opponent is a serious downgrade compared to my first and umm...I kinda already beat the first one? Level me up Mark. Level me up Christian. How about making me work for the next one ‘cause ya know what? I think I can actually be bothered to try.
Narrator: Are you done? I...think she’s done...Royal Purple gets herself up from the couch and disappears into the kitchen. There’s a loud crash of falling pans…
Royal Purple: Jesus CHRIST Katie! Why can’t you put things away after you cook me breakfast you *beep*ing useless *beep beeeep*
Narrator: Uhh...the scene fades to black?
