Part 1 - Trip Down Memory Lane[/u]
The scene opens to Royal Purple’s apartment in Miami, Florida. Even with the blinds drawn, the sun beating through is relentless, casting shadows on her masked face as she presses on regardless, seated on the couch, addressing the camera.
Royal Purple: OK so a couple of PSAs before I let you watch this part - First of all, the grand scale of fuckery it took to try and edit this footage together without showing my face, it’s gonna look kinda choppy. I’m sorry. Send all letters of complaint to management if I ruin your enjoyment of it or whatever, but the whole importance of it, it’s gonna make sense later, and I wanted to show you this, no matter how bad the editing may be…
An image of a girl walking appears on screen, with Royal Purple’s static “maskshot” from the website edited on top of it. The static image ‘bounces’ as the girl walks.
Royal Purple: ...Case in point. Second, I had a lot of concern over social media from fans, animal activists...PETA...about what I did to Fluffy, so here you go:
The scene changes to the backstage area of a previous Climax Control. Royal Purple is sitting cross-legged on the floor, cutthroat razor in one hand, an apple in the other. Fluffy wiggles excitedly next to her as Royal Purple cuts off slices one by one, feeding them to the dog by hand, who accepts them willingly with barks of approval.
Royal Purple: Now let’s see if we can find your Mom huh?
Royal Purple snaps the razor closed, slipping it into the pocket of her hoody, then scoops up the dog as the image disappears.
Royal Purple: I may hurt other wrestlers...interviewers...ring crew...random people...but we humans don’t deserve puppers, they’re too good for us, and no matter how GRIMEy things get, dogs aren’t on my hit-list. Should I have maybe used a knife? Well, yeah, but I didn’t have one, and I think catering have been warned off giving me sharp objects or something so I worked with what I had. Anyways, I think that’s all the admin shit outta the way, so I’m gonna leave you with a trip down memory lane and we can catch up in a bit! Byeeeeeee!
Novosibirsk, Russia
14th November 2019
As a fluorescent light tube flickers on and off above their head with an audible buzz, we see the backs of Mark "The Dragon" Cross and Royal Purple sans mask make their way inside, surveying the surroundings. It's a locker room, very familiar, but the flaking walls and rusted, dented metal doors to each locker tell their own story of disrepair and neglect. The steam rising from their collective breaths tell you everything you need to know about the temperature in the building.
The Dragon: Can you smell that?
Royal Purple: Disgust-
The Dragon: Hard fought victory.
Royal Purple: Do you always have to be so positive? This is horrible. They musta been desperate for wrestlers to fly us all the way out here for one show.
The Dragon: Actually the opposite, the card was stacked, cost me a few hundred bucks for them to squeeze us both in.
Royal Purple: You PAID them to let us wrestle here? WHY?
The Dragon: Look - This is an experience worth paying for. You think real fighters, real winners were born in well-equipped, well-staffed, air-conditioned gyms on South Beach like ours? This is where real champions are made. I wanted you to see what TRUE grit and determination looks like.
Royal Purple: You were like, rich and stuff before you got into wrestling right? And you did all this anyway?
The Dragon: Yup, I don’t cruise through anything, I learned the hard way, ‘cause I know my opponents will have done - Russia, Mexico, Africa...Grimsby...a mental asylum...Utah…
Royal Purple: I was born in Ut-
Royal Purple is interrupted by the sound of splintering wood and a loud thud, followed by a plume of dust that creeps into the edge of shot. The camera pans to Mark Cross in a crumpled heap as the bench he'd sat on quite literally disintegrated beneath him.
Royal Purple: This is total bul-
Yuri: HEY! YOU BREAK THINGS YOU PAY FOR…
A large, hulking man with salt-and-pepper hair and matching moustache bursts into the room, sending the door flying open, his accent distinctly Russian.
Yuri: Ah, you're the Americans?
The Dragon: I'm English, she's A-
Yuri: 'EY YEVGENY! THE AMERICANS ARE HERE!
He closes the door behind him, needing to push it hard to make it close properly.
Yuri: Don't worry about bench you pay enough to be on show. Ladies change in here…
Royal Purple gingerly follows to the connecting door he'd walked to push open for her. A female voice from within booms out.
Unknown Female: I vill break you American.
Royal Purple shakes her head and steps back.
Royal Purple: Nah it's OK, I wore my ring gear under my clothes anyway. What does I vill break you mean in English?
The Dragon: It means she's gonna fuck you up.
Yuri: Ha ha, do not worry about her now. You meet her in ring. You two wrestle mixed tag, our best warriors. You put on good show for Russian people, da?
Royal Purple: OK so they're gonna fuck US up. I like this, Russia is nice.
The Dragon: That’s fine. Anything else?
Yuri: Be at ramp in 20 minutes.
Around 20 minutes later…
The camera pans around the maybe 100-strong crowd of devout Russian wrestling fans, the country's flag held aloft or wrapped around the shoulders of the fans. It’s hard to tell if it’s a matter of national pride, or a way to keep warmer in the bitterly cold building. The camera then moves to the ring, the ropes a grubby red white and blue to match the flags, the mat grey with age, ripped, and most definitely blood stained. The Dragon and Royal Purple stand, both giving away much in size to their Russian counterparts, as Royal Purple elects to start against her opponent, a silver medalist shot-putter for the motherland, apparently.
As soon as the bell rings, the Russian is off at a solid run, Royal Purple ducks under easily, connecting a snap dropkick to the woman as she rebounds off the ropes. She falls back into them, coming back off at a spring and straight into a DDT. Royal Purple follows it up with a standing moonsault, then a pinfall that fails at 1.5.
The pair go around for a few minutes in a game of cat and mouse, Royal Purple virtually untouched throughout, which frustrates her opponent, who by more luck than judgement catches the teenager with an erratic back elbow that sends her reeling. Not wanting to miss her opportunity, the Russian grabs the staggered Royal Purple by the neck, throwing her into her own corner and tags her partner...in Mother Russia, intergender is no problem...connecting a few stiff elbows to the girl before she exits ropes right.
The new entrant, built like a literal tank, and a Olympic gold medalist in wrestling, if the rumours were true, struggles to get his mass in between the ropes as he eventually slips inside, surveying the situation. A dazed Royal Purple works herself up to standing, using the corner for support as a heavy knife edge chop drives her all the way back to her feet the hard way. As the camera pans to Mark “The Dragon” Cross, his face is a picture of calm, as if everything was completely under control as another savage chop rings out around the arena. We pan back, the Russian giant setting up for a belly-to-belly suplex as he looks to send Royal Purple on her first flying lesson.
With a roar of effort he catapults the girl skywards, Royal Purple catching big air as she twists her body through the motion, rolling through the impact as she hits the canvas, using the momentum to spring her towards her corner where Mark willingly takes the tag with his outstretched arm.
With a look of frustration and confusion all rolled into one, the giant Russian bull-rushes Cross, a drop-toe hold sends him down to the mat with a heavy thud. The only thing it seems to hurt is his pride, and with the assistance of the ropes he climbs back to his feet, his back turned to Cross as he does. The Brit, determined not to let up, capitalises, closing in with a firm boot to the back of the Russian’s leg, sending him back down to a knee. Cross sets off, using the ropes behind him for leverage to get speed up as he sprints towards the ropes next to the big man. His inside foot lands on the middle rope, and with a 180 degree rotation connects a kind of springboard Shining Wizard square into the face of his opponent.
The big Russian flops onto his back, motionless. Cross stands in stunned silence for a moment. Messy blonde hair waves from side to side as Royal Purple shakes her head. The referee bends to check on the Olympic gold medallist, waving the match off. The crowd boo, a few at first, turning into a crescendo as more and more get in on the act. Foot stomping, angry shouts, chairs thrown, and two foreigners high-tailing it for backstage area as the atmosphere turns sour.
The camera switches, and now focuses on two double-doors on the outside of a snowy arena, looking as run-down as the inside of the building. All is quiet for a few moments until the doors burst open, Mark “The Dragon” Cross and Royal Purple spilling out of them at a straight run while a mass of angry Russians set off in pursuit.
Royal Purple: Was this part of your plan?!?
The Dragon: No! A Shining Wizard hasn't nearly killed a guy before!
Royal Purple: It's a flying shin to the face and it's not meant to nearly kill a guy?
The Dragon: No, he was a big dude!
Royal Purple: It’s called STRONG Style for a reason! Your words!
The Dragon: Just keep running!
Royal Purple: I am running!! Now what?
The Dragon: Backup hotel.
Royal Purple: Back...wait what?
The Dragon: The Russians booked the accommodation. I arranged something else in case they screwed us!
Royal Purple: Or you killed one of their guys!
The Dragon: I didn't kill...FUUUUCK I forgot how cold Russia was!
Royal Purple: It’s not Miami! Hey is that a cab?
The Dragon: Get it…
Much like back home, Russian taxis were generally bright yellow, and easy to spot. With a glance behind, the advancing mob had dwindled to a few stragglers, the powerhouses that seemed to dominate the company's roster finding their cardiovascular endurance had flamed out as soon as they'd left the arena. Regardless, the pair bundled into the back of the taxi at top speed anyway, visibly out of breath as Cross slams the door shut behind him.
The Dragon: DoubleTree...Novosibirsk…
Royal Purple: Siberia has a DoubleTree!?!
The Dragon: Everywhere has a...DoubleTree…
As The Dragon in particular struggles to catch his breath, we watch from the window as the taxi pulls away, whisking them away to relative safety. The short cab ride passes in silence as the pair stare out of their respective windows, trying to process the night’s events. The closer they get to the centre of the city, the less ‘remote’ Siberia seems to look, and that continues all the way to the gold-and-silver metallic sheeting that covers the outside of the DoubleTree building.
Cross throws a collection of bills, definitely more than the cost of the meter, across to the driver, and the pair trudge inside, wordlessly, as the scene skips a few minutes to the front desk.
Receptionist: Yes - Cross, two rooms. Complimentary vodka?
Royal Purple: N...no thank you…
The Dragon: Yup.
As soon as the bottle of vodka hits the reception desk, Mark scoops it up by the neck.
Receptionist: You vant hers? You look thirsty.
The Dragon: Nah it's fine, cheers!
Receptionist: No problem sir.
Royal Purple: Only in Russia…
As the pair scoop up a room key each and head for the elevator, there are another few moments of silence until...
Royal Purple: So now what?
The Dragon: You phone your Mom, I’ll phone your Dad, we tell them we won, we leave out the part where an angry mob chased us out of the building, meet for breakfast at 9am?
Royal Purple: Oh and phone Manda!
The Dragon: Really? She’s got you-
Royal Purple: Yes, your wife has me telling you to check in with her. I guess she knew what it’s like in Russia huh?
The Dragon: Yeaaaaaah...I kinda...had an experience much worse than this in Russ-OW!
Mark realised he probably deserved that punch in the arm.
Royal Purple: Thanks for the heads up! What the hell?
The Dragon: Look - The first time I came to Russia it was a far more extreme situation from the outset. We knew what we were getting into, I wasn’t going to get you into anything like that. Even a straight up wrestling show though...this country is just crazy. I like it here more than Japan though, believe it or not.
Royal Purple: You would.
The Dragon: What’s that supposed to mean?
Royal Purple: Heeeeey I’m Mark, and yeah we nearly died like three times but so what? At least we have a kick-ass story to tell!
The Dragon: That...does sound like something I’d say…
Royal Purple: Too right it does! Phone Amanda please.
The Dragon: Fine.
Royal Purple: Hey - Are the door numbers gonna be in like Russian or something?
A beep signifies the correct floor, and the doors slide open.
The Dragon: They’re gonna look like normal numbers.
Royal Purple: Oh, cool. I hope our rooms aren’t next to each other!
The Dragon: What - Why?
Royal Purple: If you drink too much of that vodka you’re gonna be snoring like a freight train! Night!
Royal Purple sprints out of the elevator at a run, turning left down the corridor in a flash of blonde hair.
The Dragon: Our rooms are to the...never mind...
Mark “The Dragon” Cross, who waited long enough to read the signs, turns right, and the scene fades away.
Part 2 - Champion Material
We are bounced back to Royal Purple’s apartment. As the Russia segment played out, the sun had moved far enough that at least it was breaking through behind the couch, far less distracting for the viewer.
Royal Purple: Now look - I get it. I know I may have looked like a bit of a joke to you guys. The angry teenager with a drinking problem as Mark called me. Yeah that was me, I guess I’ve gotta own it, first stage of dealing with a problem is acceptance after all, right? Yeah - I’ve been going to my sessions bitches. Even took a few notes. I wanted to show you the footage from Russia for good reason. People in this business who cover their faces, they’re one of three things. Some washout that fucked their career up so badly, that it was their only chance to get back in a ring...never-has-beens, or luchadores. Well I ain’t Mexican, and it isn’t one of the first two, that’s not me at all, so we’re making up a new category right here. I have my own reason to hide from my own identity. My own reason to side with the scum of the Earth...and my own reasons for being sent to Russia. My own reasons for taking a tour of Japan. Oh, and my own reasons for grabbing a chance at a title shot with both hands too, so I guess we’re doing that huh?
Royal Purple claps her hands together, leaning forward a little further on the couch.
Royal Purple: See when I’m getting shipped off to countries where guys have it real tough, give everything they can to ‘make it’ because it’s a ticket out of the shit they’re born into, a way to better things for themselves and their family, it’s a sign that people believed in me. Still...believe in me, even after I crashed and burned. People wanted the best for me, my career, who went out of their way to make sure I had the best, no expense spared. The best training. The best conditioning. The best experience as a competitor, even if that meant experiencing the absolute fucking worst that wrestling has to offer, being scared for my life on more than one occasion. Hey I may even have a right to be pissed about that...except for the guys and girls who put me in those situations being right there alongside me, in it with me. They didn’t have to be, they paid their dues once, they made it as full-time pros. This was already their career, their life...but they wanted me to go through them, to toughen me up. They wanted them to make me better, stronger...and since they wouldn’t ever make me do something they weren’t prepared to do themselves, they bit the bullet and came along for the ride. That means more to me than they’ll probably ever know.
She looks down to the floor.
Royal Purple: My spiral into drink, into drugs, into falling in with the wrong crowd? Yeah that fucking sucks. Can I blame the pressure, the expectation? Sure. Was it maybe all too much for someone at my age? Yeah, I guess, but the problem is why wait for a few years to be a champion when I was good enough now? Why throw it back in the faces of the companies that, to be fair, didn’t have to give a kid like me a job at all. Right now - It’s the same call.
I may not be at my absolute best in the ring right now. I’m definitely not at my best in here…
She taps her head with her finger.
Royal Purple: But I can win this. I’ve won title matches, I know how it feels. I’ve held that strap in my hands before and the weight of the belt, it’s like the weight of expectation. It’s pretty heavy, but you can handle it, you can sling it over your shoulder and walk around with it all the time if you have to, or you want to. I still have people in my corner, believe it or not. They probably feel a whole lotta guilt, looking at what I went through, but the thing is? Sometimes, no matter how much you wish you could, you can’t fight people’s battles for them. Sometimes, I do blame them. They know that, I tell them. It’s pretty cruel really, Imma owe them some apologies in the future, but right now it makes me feel better sooooo...yeah. This is for them though, just so everyone knows. I need time, I need to heal, I need to find all the broken pieces and glue them back into the person that didn’t need to call themselves Royal Purple, but I can flip the switch, see the llittle light at the end of the tunnel and use that thing that hardly ever left me, except in the really dark days - Getting it done in a ring.
She nods to herself at the thought before continuing.
Royal Purple: So just in case you don’t know what I’m referring to here - it looks like I went and won myself a little title shot, huh? I mean...I thought the deck was gonna be stacked in my favour when I went into that match but c’mon, I didn’t expect to have as easy a time as I did! Ha! Where was the challenge? I even felt a little sorry for Mercedes, I mean...she even showed a level of respect to me and I just tore her to little pieces like a losing lottery ticket. Mercedes is washed up, punchdrunk, held together with paperclips and bubblegum, I really went after her with both barrels and she’s all out here like “Royal Purple is gonna be a tough competitor etc etc” it almost warmed my heart a little bit. Alice, who knows what she was thinking, it was probably better for all of us that she kept quiet. Probably would have recited some weird poetry hanging upside down from a tree or something, fucking weird bitch. I mean I will say one thing - This mask is fun, ya know? The “old” me would have been super respectful, towards Mercedes and everything she’d accomplished, to Krystal for stepping up to the big show and making a splash, to Alice for...turning her life around and suddenly getting money, I guess? For living her best life, something like that? It’s the nice thing to do after all. Trouble is, I should have come outta that match on top. I have too much for all three of those women, and the only reason I wouldn’t win? If I sabotage myself. If I partied too hard or got too cocky or just like...literally didn’t turn up? I don’t have to play nicey-nicey with people that aren’t on my level anymore. It feels kind of...liberating ya know? I don’t have that extra little niggling pressure building where I used to walk into a match, and everyone knows I should be winning. Me, my team, my parents, my opponent, but nobody can come and outright say it ‘cause that’s not the kind of person I want to be, the image I want to portray, etc. etc. cause people don’t know who I really am. I mean it’s OK, wrestlers come out all the time and say “OMG IMMA WIN CAUSE I’M BETTER THAN U LUL” and like...really lose. BADLY, right? It’s the business, but by playing it down? It takes down that expectation a few notches. I’m still young, I’m still learning, some nights I might not be able to get anything going...but maybe it just makes it worse, I dunno…
She shakes her head, as if trying to shake a few things into order.
Royal Purple: ...and I gotta think about all this stuff ‘cause I’m not gonna be Royal Purple forever, that’s for sure. Like how is this experience gonna change me and stuff? Am I gonna go back to being all nicey nicey, or just call it like I see it? What’s gonna be more exhausting? Like this whole thing is exhausting, trying to figure out what the ‘right thing’ is to do all the time? It’s making other people happy, but it’s my life, my career. The struggle is real guys I swear! I guess I should say more about the number one contendership match...but I won, there was no surprise, so hey, never mind, imma stop there, ‘cause the cream rose to the top and I find myself in against Johanna. Fucking. Krieger. Huh. Miraculously? Wolfslair’s most relevant member right now, who would have thought that? Maybe I should design them a recruitment poster. HAS YOUR CAREER BEEN LARGELY INSIGNIFICANT, WITH THE OCCASIONAL TITLE JUST TO PROVE YOU’RE STILL RELEVANT? JOIN WOLFSLAIR SO WE CAN ALL BE LARGELY INSIGNIFICANT TOGETHER, BECAUSE MISERY LOVES COMPANY!
She reaches down to the floor, picking up a poster with the slogan printed under a picture of the Wolfslair members. Because it’s so long, it’s a little small and tough to read compared to a poster with a regular size slogan would be.
Royal Purple: Oh wait - I already did! It’s honestly like those guys and gals have an automatic renewal clause in their contract every year, pick one up, maybe while the better opponents are all fighting it out for a bigger title, keep it a little while, drop it, rinse, repeat, keep yourself in a job! I mean, pro tip to the Wolfslair, go and spend the extra money on some proper polish for your title belts guys - Using baby oil? Just means they slip outta your hands just as fast as you can earn the damn things. I mean, you’re right, it’s better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all but...how about building a legacy? How about sticking around a while, defending it a couple-a times, have World title contenders ‘dropping down’ to your level ‘cause it’s actually been made to mean something after your run. That’s real. That’s what gets targets painted on your back and hey, it’s a results based business. We wanna hold that belt FOREVER, and we wanna beat the best people while we do it. That’s what a champion is. A real one anyway…
Royal Purple flings the poster on the floor, the paper making a ruffling sound as it moves.
Royal Purple: But Johanna you’re not much of a champion, really. You have size, you have power, sure, but you’re a brute in a technician’s world. You’re a bull in a six-sided china shop. You know what six sides means, in practical terms, science and shit? More tension on the ropes. More angles to take off from. More launch points. More ways for speedsters and high flyers to fuck your day up. More ways for me to dip, dive and dodge my way around you while you’re swinging at air, and more ways to neutralise your submission game ‘cause hey you can’t catch me I’m too fast for youuuuuu.This company promotes people like me all the way down to the shape of their ring. Fast, exciting wrestlers - They’re literally giving title belts out to them. Coby Quik, anyone? It wants someone like me to be successful, to be entertaining, to sell tickets for them. The evidence is clear...like putting me in number one contendership matches that I didn’t really earn, or deserve, in the hope that yeah, just maybe, I’ll come good. The future of the company is not you, or people like you Johanna. You have your uses, I’ll give you that. Keeping belts warm. Knocking some sense into Mikah hopefully, even if she did beat you in the end. Showing me why I need to make sure my wrestling is...erm...a little more diverse. Giving me a good look into the future if I don’t get my anger issues under control and, yeah, proving who is stupid enough to stand and try to trade shots with you. As champion, imma take their names down and call them out for a shot at my belt, ya know, when I decide I don’t wanna work too hard that month, that kind of thing. You’re archaic, a dying breed, but ya know, maybe in Germany? Or Russia, had a real good experience there, you’d fit right in. I was even gonna say Japan but then...you’d be at a disadvantage I think cause...well...you’re all Strong and no Style…
She laughs at her own bad pun.
Royal Purple: This is something of a no-contest, sorry. It’s almost like they meant to put us in a WORLD Bombshell number one contenders match and umm...forgot to put the first word in...as maybe that’s a little closer to where I belong. I’m getting better at admitting things to myself...like I didn’t deserve THIS opportunity let alone going all the way for the big prize and stuff, but let’s be real. The Royal Purple that’s good enough to win A title is good enough to win ANY title. The Royal Purple that doesn’t have her shit together isn’t even worthy to be in a ring. Probably can’t even lace her own boots up in that condition - there’s no in between. There’s God-tier or there’s alcoholic tier, and I poured away all my liquor, so I guess there’s only one result, right?
Royal Purple leans forward again, moving right to the edge of the couch as she lowers her voice.
Royal Purple: You know what a wise old dude once told me about wrestling? The biggest noise you can make in this business is if you let what you do in the ring do the talking for you. I’m swerving onto another topic real quick by the way, but ya know it feels like I’ve never belonged in the GRIME club. Not really. I know I talked about them like they’re kindred spirits, like we all understand each other and all respect each other and stuff but hey, with every club there’s always an inner circle, right? Even before it came out that I was trained by “one of the enemy” from Sin City Underground I just wasn’t one of the cool kids. I wasn’t invited to the super secret meeting, that they announced on social media, fucking geniuses I swear, guess they don’t think I stand for the same things they do or something I dunno, but maybe, just maybe, they should invite me to one of their circlejerk fucking meetings once in a while, cause I’m about to do something most of them could only DREAM of for their little revolution. Blast from the Past 2020 was Mark Cross from SCU and Javi Gonzalez from GRIME in the final. Cross wins, after beating up on most anyone he faced in a Sin City ring, sets up a unification match for the flagship titles on both brands. Nearly takes the dub there too, it was close. Javi proves he has the ability to be right up there too, big night for both men. They get respect, credibility, whatever the hell, it makes everyone in the Sin City universe sit up and take notice. Turning up, ruining matches, breaking some shit, hey yeah that’s cool right, but who really cares, who really remembers? Uhhhhm...that’s great and all, but can we get to the Champion vs Champion matches please? These GRIME guys making a mess is just making us wait longer!
She drops back onto the couch, crossing her legs.
Royal Purple: I understand the business ‘cause I was taught the business. I lived around the business ‘cause my family did too. They were all in it, three generations of the Sim...Purple family, me included now, making things happen in professional wrestling. I’m about to do more in one match, one title win, than half of those guys accomplished all year in 2020 to try and “take over”. I mean, chaos? That’s all fun and stuff, I’m into causing trouble and vandalising and throwing drinks on people, do it all the time, you’ve seen me! Just one thing we’ve all gotta remember. We’re wrestlers. It helps if we win wrestling matches occasionally, that’s where we make a real splash. GRIME can sit around and talk all they want about how they’re gonna make changes, make a difference...but it’s been a year, nothing’s *really* happened, so I’m gonna go and win a title. I might even wrap purple LED lights around it to match my mask, and I’m gonna start a revolution the best way I know how. Winning.
The scene fades to black.