May 30, 2018
The name of the bar isn’t important. What is important is that Candi and Lara Bratton are in the mood to celebrate. They burst into the bar as Candi yells, “Look who’s the motherfucking champ!” she raises the title high in the air as Lara gives a nice long ‘wooo’. The patrons burst into cheers as the duo walk up to the bar and take a seat. Candi drapes the title over her shoulder and grins at the bartender, “Give everyone a shot on me.” That causes another round of whoops to be heard throughout the bar as everyone starts lining up to get theirs. Candi slaps her credit card on the bar and slides it towards the bartender who takes it, “Keep it running?” he asks.
“Damn straight.” Candi turns to Lara and puts an arm around her, “You were right on time. How long can you stick around?”
Lara grins at the compliment, “Oh, a few weeks and then I gotta head to California.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Lara reaches for her shot glass and throws it back, grimacing a little before slamming the glass back on the counter, “But a job is a job is a job, right? With Fight Union closing, I had to find work.”
“Well, I’m glad you were here to see your old lady win the belt. Those two motherfuckers didn’t stand a goddamned chance.” Candi takes her shot now and nods to the bartender to fill em up for another round.
“Mom, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I was there when you won your first World Title and I’m glad to be here to see you win the Mile High title. You were great.”
Candi laughs out loud, “I was, wasn’t I? I’m sure little Samuel is sitting back in her goddamned locker room bawling like a goddamned baby.” She mimics a baby’s voice, “Now no one will pay attention to me cause I don’t have my little title.” She chuckles and picks up her refilled shot glass. “What a fucking whiner. Crying cause I didn’t pay her enough attention. Holy shit, with kids these days. They’re fucking YouTube and Facebook and what the fuck ever. Crying for the attention of the goddamned world. I’m glad I raised you better than that.”
Lara drinks her shot down and reaches over to touch the belt. “I know you did. This belt looks amazing. I wish Fight Union had stuck around. Was looking forward to defending my belt.”
“Shit, you fucking earned that belt. Four matches in one night.” Candi says as she motions for more shots for the two of them.
Lara nods, remember that night, “Not going to lie, it was the hardest night of my career. I was hurting for over a week after that night. I’m sure Sammy Hamilton would say the same thing. Oh no. She wouldn’t. She had one match and lost and yet she still thinks she’s hot shit.”
They both bust out laughing.
Lara gets distracted as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. She swipes a few times, “So, looks like your boss decided to book us in a tag match next week. How does he get off putting me in a match anyway? I don’t work for Mile High.”
Candi leans over and looks at the screen, “Fucking Hamilton again? How many times to I have to embarrass her ass? And who the fuck is Scrubs? And how does he warrant a title shot anyway at that fucking PPV?”
Lara shrugs, “No idea. I think he won his match tonight, then got his ass handed to him after. I wouldn’t worry about him. Not like I have to show up for this match anyway. He doesn’t have me under any contract.”
Candi pushes another shot towards her daughter, “Oh, stick around. We haven’t tagged up before so this will be fun. We can really show them what the Brattons are all about. Not like you have anything else going on. We can beat their asses and have ourselves another celebration.”
With a grin, Lara nods, “Sounds like fun. And you’re right. It’s not like I’ve got anything else going on for a few weeks. Maybe I’ll stick around and make it a weekly habit of beating the crap out of Hamilton.”
“Now that’s my girl talking,” Candi says as she reaches for her shot but Lara places a hand over it. Candi looks at her, “What?”
“Gimme your phone.”
“Because if you’re going to get plastered, I don’t want you going on Twitter and saying something insensitive and getting us both fired.”
Candi looks at Lara for a moment and reaches for her phone, handing it over. “Like I would ever do something that stupid.”
They both crack up laughing as the scene fades.
May 31, 2018
Candi Bratton’s live feed turns on as she holds her phone up. It’s the next morning and she has her championship over her shoulder as she is seen walking out of her hotel room and heading towards the elevator.
“What was that bullshit you were saying there Samuel? I didn’t stand a chance? It was going to come down to you and The Masterbator? I was going to be irrelevant? Well, look at this here, motherfucker. I’m the goddamned Mile High Champion. You were so fucking full of yourself that you completely discounted me and what I brought to the table. Now you can fucking choke on your words, you ignorant fuck.”
The elevator dings as the doors open and she steps inside, “So go ahead and get all of your crying and wailing and moaning out of the goddamned way because now folks are really paying attention to me. Not you. Fucking attention whore. You wanted it to be all about you and guess what, no one is fucking talking about you. They’re talking about the goddamned Brattons. And if you think that your plans failed last night, you just wait until next week because putting us both together, you don’t stand a fucking chance.”
The elevator stops as Candi steps out of it and heads out of the lobby, “And now we have this fucking douchebag named Scrubs. And let me get this fucking straight, you earned yourself a title match by missing the first show? Is that how I understand that? While I’m here week in and week out beating up trannies and cartoon characters, you’re skipping shows and getting your ass beat and that’s how you earn a title shot around here? Someone needs to give that motherfucker Mack a class on how to run a goddamned promotion. But that’s alright because Scrubs, I’m sure that after Wednesday, you’ll letting Rob know that you decline your fucking shot and give it to a more worthy challenger. You know, like Anya. Oh wait, I already beat her ass. Or that Masterbator. Nope. Beat his ass too. Streez? Give me a fucking break. Or maybe Sammy Hammy. Oh right, I beat her to win this fucking title.”
She walks across the parking lot and she unlocks her truck as the camera gets jostled around, “Scrubs, you’re gonna be another notch in my championship belt come the Rising PPV. And learn a little fucking English while you’re hanging here,” she then adds, “fam.” She rolls her eyes as she climbs into the truck, “You think having one Bratton in Denver is bad, you now have two. Your fucking lives have just taken a turn for the motherfucking worse.”
She cranks on her truck as she reaches to shut off her feed.
May 31, 2018
Yes, Still Denver
Not long after Candi has left the Denver city limits, Lara Bratton’s Facebook feed comes to life as she finds herself in a park somewhere. She’s dressed up in her gear. Shredded jeans, tucked into steel toed boots. Sex Pistol’s T-shirt and over the top a shredded leather jacket. She’s got her face painted up, white with dark mascare with drips of black tears down her face. “Well, well, well. Mile High Wrestling gets themselves a supersized double dose of the Bratton family and you should be scared for your lives.”
She walks over and takes a seat on a swing and begins to rock back and forth, “Poor Sammy Hamilton. Loser in Fight Union. Loser in Mile High. You poor little thing, just don’t have what it takes to win the big one no matter where you go, ain’t that right? Well, it’s okay. Not everyone is championship material, sweetheart. Don’t take it too hard.” She gives a little pouty face as she pushes herself off the swing and continues to walk, “But I will say that you look swell in purple. I wonder what other colors you might look good in?”
She twirls her cane, “And then there’s Grimace. Listen big boy, you owe me a new cane after breaking my last one. Lucky for you, I was able to buy another, but I’ll just put it on your tab. For all of your huffing and puffing, you just couldn’t blow the house down, could you? My mama beat your ass and sent you packing back to the mid-card. Maybe next time send the Hamburglar instead.”
She stops and leans against a tree as she repositions her phone, “Robbie, Robbie, Robbie. If you wanted my attention, you just had to ask, but I’ll play your little reindeer games. I’ll bite. Hard. I will come to play with Sammy and Crabs at your next little show. I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into. Double the Brattons mean double the trouble, my creepy little friend.”
“Crabs, Crabs, Crabs. You think you’re ready to fight the champ? I think you might want to reconsider this title opportunity. If you’ve been paying attention, you know that Mama Bratton isn’t playing any games here. She takes no prisoners and has absolutely no mercy for anyone who gets in their way. Isn’t that right, Anya? Sammy? Grimace? But you’ll find out all about that come Wednesday.”
Lara bats her eyelashes cutely at the camera, “So, Robbie, put the Bratton’s faces on all of your promotional material for Wednesday. Take advantage of our unparraleled success to promote your little agenda. We don’t mind making you money as long as you’re willing to share. We just want our cut. Just remember one itsy bitsy thing…”
She brings the camera very close to her painted face, “When it’s all said and done, next Wednesday the pranks will be on you.”