The Athens Lodge hotel in (you guessed it!) Athens, Greece was truly something to behold and marvel at. If you were one of the lucky Superstars or Bombshells who managed to negotiate a stay here or had a manager or acquaintances who were in the habit of lending you a helping hand in booking, you are one of the lucky ones. This modern four star hotel stood right in the heart of Athens, surrounded by tourist attractions and traditional Greek eateries on all corners, each within walking distance if one wanted to forgo the use of a taxi with a driver who did not speak English. (And let’s be truthful; who wouldn’t want to skip out on the headache of using a translator to tell a stranger where you needed or wanted to go?) And for once…?
For once Tempest was refusing to fall into her old habits of shutting herself up in her room from the time she arrived until it was time to board the flight back to Las Vegas. Although the temptation was there, and who could blame her? The Athens Lodge was all about luxury and providing the very best of services to the men and women staying there, and thanks to the usual efforts of the Stevens, Tempest was one of those very people. Yet as much as she could have used the seclusion to her own advantage and relaxed away from the prying eyes of the Greek public, such was not her luck. She knew that soon she would have to learn the meaning of a ‘working holiday’ which was what these tours SCW took part in were known for being.
One part working to promote the upcoming Supercards and respective editions of Climax Control, another to rest and relax and partake in sights that otherwise many might not have ever had the chance to see in person. Tempest had always expressed an interest in travel, but it was not until she signed on the dotted line for Sin City Wrestling that she made those dreams a reality. Yet nine times out of ten, she did not take full advantage of the sights of the road. She did not leave her room but for the barest of essentials.
Not until a certain someone else had worked his way past the walls she had erected around herself and claimed a friendship she did not see coming. A friendship that she had not even wanted at the time, but one that she indeed cherished more than she would have cared to admit. And one that she had recently let go of due to a misunderstanding, one that left her angry and embarrassed. And one that her own mother had chastised her for letting go of. The volatile amazon was not known for forging friendships in or out of this business, and letting go so easily of the first true genuine friendship that she had forged in - years? Well, her mother had said it best…
“I would sooner have one true friend than an army of fair weather friendships to surround myself with.”
Wise words, from a wise woman.
But that was sort of where this short but poignant story would come into play. If you were going to be in Athens, there was one site and one alone that you had to see. And – it was better to see it with someone. A friend.
With a soft sigh of resignation, Tempest sat down heavily onto the edge of the bed in her suite and picked up her cell phone. She scrolled through her speed dialing until she saw the one that she wanted, and she hesitated. For all she knew, he had tired of her ghosting his attempts to communicate and either removed her from his call list or blocked her altogether. But no. There the number was and with a press of a thumb, she hit the speed dial and even though it was less than a fraction of a second, it still felt like an eternity before the phone started to ring.
And she closed her eyes in relief that the call went through and was not blocked. Two rings, that was all it took until it was answered, and she said simply and with only the barest traces of hesitation.
“It’s me.” She said. “Feel like going somewhere?”
Fifteen minutes away was the Acropolis. Thirteen minutes away was the Acropolis Museum. But there was somewhere only fifteen minutes still, somewhere much more important to the history of Athens and one of the only remaining Seven Wonders of the ancient world. The Parthenon; a former temple on the Athenian Acropolis dedicated to the Greek Goddess of both wisdom and warfare, Athena.
Athena had bested the God of the Oceans, Poseidon, in a battle of gifts to the people of Greece to be honored with this city in their name. While Poseidon gifted the people with a salty spring and horses, Athena gifted the olive. The people believed the gift of the goddess was the better and the rest was, quite literally, history. And this temple dedicated to that very goddess has withstood the tests of time while others of the Seven Wonders had fallen into dust and forgotten with the ages. The Parthenon attracted tourists by the thousands each year, and this year, Tempest was one such tourist. She had studied mythology in both high school and college, in all walks of life from Greek to Norse and even Native American. It was one of those little tidbits of information that she did not outwardly volunteer to those who knew her, but not one she bothered to hide. It was simply a part of who she was and if someone discovered it… so be it.
She stood away from the rest of the gathered groups, waiting with her arms crossed over her upper body, and feeling the eyes of the surrounding people on her. Her very imposing stature drew attention toward herself as a part of her every day life, but a part of her deep down wondered if it also had something to do with her being a part of the SCW roster that had people looking her way.
She wanted to brush past these people and move ahead and enter the Parthenon, the one place throughout this entire tour she would never have forgiven herself for passing up. But she waited, albeit with a great deal of difficult impatience. But she would not have to wait for long because as large as the crowds were that gathered to explore this Wonder, her size made it quite easy for her to be spotted by the one she waited on… as Austin James Mercer stepped up to her left side, a mere three inches taller than she herself stood. Both Tempest and Austin stood silent, staring ahead at the historic temple, their eyes wandering idly around at the people and taking in the ancient architecture. Until finally Austin broke the deafening silence between the two, “Thanks for the invite. I have been wanting to see this.”
Tempest sighed rather audibly and all but rolled her eyes. She shook her head and replied, “God, will you just give it a rest? You act like we have to go everywhere together. We’re not nuns and it's only been a couple of weeks.”
Austin cast a sidelong glance her way and pointed out, “It’s been a month.”
“Whatever.”
“So… are we good?” he asked, to which she gave her best ‘put on face’ and she exclaimed, “We would be if it wasn’t for this unfortunate ABC after-school special I seem to have found myself in.”
Austin smirked. She didn’t fool him, not one iota. He knew the air she was putting on but it was still his own mistake that had caused the tension between the two, even though the olive branch offered was her own, he still felt the need to speak the truth between them, “Well, I missed hanging out with you Alleyene.”
“Oh for the love of…!” Tempest shook her head and started to march toward the Parthenon. “I’m already regretting this…” But as Austin watched after her, he heard her say just loud enough to hear, “Missed you too.”
Bringing a smile to his face and he moved to follow…
The camera opened upon a closed studio setting, all but devoid of any emotion to enhance the atmosphere. No set decorations. No flare. Nothing to draw the eye or capture the attention save for one thing; nay, one person; Tempest. The 6’3” amazon Bombshell was seated in the one single chair, dead center of the studio floor with the camera focused solely on her and her alone. Tempest was dressed in a simple, teal green tank top and blue jeans with her favorite tanned, heel boots. Like her surroundings, nothing to set herself to standing out, which was all but the norm for this woman. While many others in her division worked overtime with makeup and two-piece costumes to draw the eye and heighten their own sex appeal, Tempest simply came as she was. Her size and the demeanor in which she carried herself was more than enough to draw attention her way.
But she seemed elsewhere, as if her mind was not on the present course of her upcoming match at Into the Void XI. Her long legs were bent at the knee and drawn closer toward the chair rather than stretched out for comfort to a woman her size. And she was not looking AT the camera, but off camera. Her elbow rested on the armrest of her modern-style chair and fingers curled against her jaw line. And it was like this that she remained, seemingly lot in thought, when the only other person present attempted communication.
The cameraman waited for as long as he dared before he cleared his throat, “Erm, Tempest? … The camera is on.”
Nothing. No sound, no visual response.
He tried again, “Tempest? I said that we’re…”
“I heard you.” She spoke with a touchy blend of both annoyance as well as defiance, turning her attention straight at the camera and the man behind it. One could almost feel the camera (or the man) flinch from her piercing stare. “I am not deaf!”
Tempest then shifted in her seat, turning just slightly enough at the waist that she might look more directly toward the camera itself, before turning her head to look away just enough with a slight crease upon her brow. One knitted in either confusion or annoyance.
“It is just that I find myself in somewhat unfamiliar territory. Ever since I can remember after signing to SCW, I’ve had one goal. To break every Barbie doll that I happened to come across. Every single little girl who entered this sport thinking their choice of clothes and application of makeup were just as important as whatever training they received to become a wrestler. The women who think if they wear skimpier clothes and show off more skin, that they stand a better shot at gaining the attention of fans and upper management. The women who ‘earn’ their opportunities through feminine wiles rather than actual talent and/or winning matches. When I look at Seleana Zdunich, I see all the physical characteristics of just such a woman…”
She shook her head,
“But she’s not. I see a woman who for all intents and purposes looks every part of being the prototypical soft Barbie doll type, but isn’t. Instead, she’s the type of woman who takes advantage of anyone who thinks she’s soft and proves she is anything but. Taking advantage of an opponent’s misconceptions about herself and using them to her every advantage. Let’s just coin a phrase or description right here and now and call Seleana the Anti-Barbie. She may look the part, but she’s all the evidence one needs to prove the old adage of ‘looks can be deceiving’. I look at Seleana and see a strength in her, something that I could actually look toward with some degree of admiration. And trust me when I say that if you think you’re all surprised to hear me say that about any opponent of mine…”
She scoffed and shook her head all the same.
“It doesn’t even begin to describe the level of surprise I’m feeling about myself. I heard a joke or two saying that it shows evidence that I’m growing - maturing - in this business if I can freely admit to showing respect towards someone that so many others have antagonized or made fun of, but all of those naysayers are just making the effort to prove my point all the more easy. Ever since I can remember, I was hearing the jokes and every put down you could think of in regards to my size or since I love sports, whether or not I was attracted to men at all. Then I look at some of these girls running around, acting like a bunch of catty bitches and throwing out insults toward my opponent like it was some kind of sport all unto itself. Poking fun at her win-loss record or trying to say how she’s living off of her wife’s scraps and reputation,when in my own personal opinion it’s more like the other way around. While Crystal’s success rate is the better of the two, she looks at her wife and sees everything - everything - that she wants to be and time after time, she gets denied. She isn’t as popular as Seleana is. She’s not as accepted as Seleana is. And why?”
Tempest glanced from left to right and shook her head as if to utter a silent but obvious ‘duh’.
“Maybe because Seleana doesn’t change her name and alignment as often as most people change their underwear. From the moment I set foot into SCW, I noticed this girl was a matter of what you see is what you get. She doesn’t pretend to be something that she’s not. She doesn’t put on false faces in order to make someone either like or accept her. She's simply Seleana. She is herself, and above even all of her professional success stories, that is the thing I think I can admire about her most.”
“Inside of the ring…? It’s like I said, her record might not be perfect on paper, but then again, we don’t compete on paper now do we? We face one another in the ring, and time and time again I see people look past Seleana as if she weren’t even there and a number of times, she’s left them in the dust as a result. Those same people thinking her a flash in the pan or a loser, left wondering what the hell just happened as they walk the walk of shame backstage after she just put their shoulders down on the mat. Win or lose, her skills shine through. And to all the two-faced divas who throw out baseless accusations that her wife gets her these handouts like when Crystal was the Queen For the Day and set things up for her wife to get a title shot? Bitch… tell me! Any. One. Of. You! TELL ME that you wouldn’t have done the same thing! Tell me you wouldn’t have accepted that title opportunity in the same breath that you’re putting her down for doing the same! Tell me, that you would look your benefactor in the eyes and turn down a championship match given to you as easily and risk …”
**air quotes**
“Earning it all on your own. Oh we’ve all said it, but you know damn well that you would take that gift and run with it - just like Seleana did. The only difference is, she did it freely. You put on false airs of being offended and acting all butt hurt when you would have done the EXACT same thing. Which makes each and every one of you who talked down to her for taking her chances when given them – a hypocrite!”
“But Seleana, all respect aside for one brief moment – I have to ask. Why are you with that woman? You’ve sat back and watched each and every atrocity that she’s committed all in the name of cementing a legacy for herself in this business. Hell! You were one of those casualties as I recall! And yet, each and every time you turn the other cheek and make excuses for her behavior. ‘That’s just how she is’ or ‘She’s competitive’ or ‘I know she loves me’... and so on, and so forth.The name changes and goes from face to heel and back again time after time! It’s gotten to the point where the fans and the staff and everyone else around her do. Not. trust. Her!”
She slapped a hand into her palm for emphasis in each word. She then spread her arms open wide and shook her head.
“So - why do you? What hold does she have on you that you look the other way and forgive and forget so easily? I have been in the business of bounty hunting for a number of years. I have seen a number of crimes and a number of victims. Have you ever heard of something called Stockholm syndrome?”
She nodded with a serious look etched on her face.
“Look it up, girl. Then maybe you’ll understand why I ask. But that’s enough about that. All of this? Everything that I’ve talked to you about? It had a path. It brought us to the heart of this matter between us. The fans, the rest of SCW? They look at this and maybe see it as just another match. Card filler. A way for one or both of us to push ourselves just a little bit further up that imaginary ladder. But in reality, it could mean quite a bit more, hm? Your wife and I? We had something of a past in the ring, remember? She wanted to use me as a stepping stone to get another championship around her waist. She even resorted to using a man like J2H’s fame and notoriety as a means to an end to get what she wanted; a Grand Slam championship.”
She shrugged.
“She failed. In the process, I threw her daughter like a lawn dart into the barricade. And I even ended that egomaniacal self-celebration that she threw by dive bombing her into her own cake. Ring a bell there, Sel? So I have to wonder if those memories, that past, is going to add a little extra flare to this little encounter of ours. Is it going to make you want to fight even harder, maybe to see your wife avenged? Or are you going to acknowledge that maybe she and that little Brittany deserved what she got?”
She cast a look upwards wistfully.
“I’m not altogether sure which I hope for, but I can tell you that whichever makes you bring the fight to me even more? That’s the reasoning I want. That is the Seleana Zdunich that I want to face in that ring in Athens. Then, and only then, will I be truly satisfied with a real fight against the first woman I can acknowledge respect toward! So, Seleana… not to rub your nose in a bad habit of yours or anything but…”
She sat back and relaxed in her chair and slipped from English to her native Hawaiian…
“ʻO ka mahalo aʻu i kamaʻilio nei no ʻoe? Hele lōʻihi wale nō, no ka lōʻihi. Hoʻopau ke kani ʻana o kēlā bele, a me ka laki?” (“The respect that I have been talking about having for you? It only goes so far, for so long. It ends once that bell rings, and with any luck?”)
She sliced a hand horizontally across the air.
“E hoʻomaka hou ia, ke pau ka pāʻani a nānā ʻoe iā lākou e hāpai i koʻu lima. ʻO ka mahalo e lawe wale iā ʻoe i kēia manawa. ʻAʻole au e eo i kēia pāʻani!” (“It will resume, once the match is over and you watch them raise my hand. Respect will only carry you so far. I am not losing this match!”)
That said, she stood up and simply walked away. Nothing else needing to be said between these two women.
