Post by Mariah Cutler on Sept 25, 2021 1:48:32 GMT
The voice of the trainer echoes through the practice space. No fewer than four full-size rings take up the majority of the space in the room, with plenty of area to maneuver on each side. “Jost! Cutler! Get in there. You two always seem to tune me out, let’s see how well you do.” Its source, the always hard-edged Emma Danielson, steps back, crossing her arms and watching as another pair of blondes, one towering and muscled, the other shorter but no less athletically built, step onto the apron and into the ring. Emma’s about to speak and call for the bell when the sound of the door opening behind her gives her a moment’s pause. Looking over her shoulder, she arches an eyebrow. “Can I...help you?”
Toothy grin, saggy skin and pathetic wisps of grey that are the final remnants of what was once a proud head of hair. This can only be James E. Big. ‘Sure can!’ He grins as he approaches, offering his hand to Emma. ‘Afternoon doll, could you direct me to the trainer here?’
Emma takes his hand, squeezing it in a crushing grip. “Emma Danielson. Former IWF Women’s World Champion. Strength and conditioning coach, assistant trainer.”
Big’s eyebrow raises in mild shock.
‘They’re letting you girls instruct nowadays?’ He snorts. ‘Brave new world and all that. I’m just here to observe, if that is agreeable,’ he smiles. ‘Please, pretend that I am not here!’
With a deadpan expression on her face, Emma replies “Were it that I could,” nodding and looking over to another student by the bell. “Ring the bell, let’s give the gentleman something memorable. Otherwise, I can always introduce him to Ciara.” The mention of the Performance Center’s foul-tempered Irish striking trainer drew winces from some of the trainees, male and female alike, and Emma smirks, turning back to the ring and crossing her arms.
Big smiles, leaning against the ring apron as he casts his eyes over the competitors within. He’s hopeful, despite the overwhelming feeling that perhaps the training at the performance centre isn’t up to scratch, which hit him approximately 20 seconds ago.
The moment the bell rings, the two women begin to circle. The shorter one, Cutler by the order in which they were called out, seems to be eyeing up her opponent’s stance. The tall woman lunges in for an attempted lock-up that would have been at home coming from Frankenstein’s monster, and the smaller woman rolls beneath, legs flashing out and snaring her in a modified drop toe hold that sends her crashing backwards to the mat. Successful, she immediately looks to snare one of her foe’s massive arms, but the big woman shoves her off and away, both rolling to their feet with a grin on their face, though for opposite reasons.
Another circle follows, this time with Cutler snaring Jost in a rear waistlock and attempting to slide a leg around for a back trip. Jost counters with a hard elbow to the temple, staggering the smaller woman, and hits the ropes, coming off with a lariat attempt. Cutler shoulder-rolls under again, coming up and into a sprint, and as Jost bounds off the opposite ropes for a second shot, Cutler throws herself into a heavy tackle to the knee, almost football-esque in its execution. Jost goes crashing to the mat with a loud cry of pain and a hollered obscenity in German, and Cutler immediately scoops her legs and flips forward into a jackknife cover. The count hits two before the bigger woman is able to power out, though only just.
Big’s brow furrows. The little one has fight, that’s for sure. ‘Let’s see if she can get the job done’, he muses.
Both women up again, and Cutler pounces on the bigger woman’s arm, wrenching it over and snapping it across her shoulder before twisting it into a wristlock. She brings her elbow down into the bigger woman’s own, earning another grunt, then, with the arm still in the wringer, fires a kick hard into the area just below the knee joint, where the quadriceps meets the knee’s structure. It earns another cry of pain, and seemingly rating her advantage, Cutler shifts her stance, ducking her head beneath Jost’s and sweeping a leg out as if to go for a STO. Jost rips her arm forward, though, shifting Cutler’s balance, and shoves her off into the ropes, catching her on the rebound and lifting her up into a military press for a second before dropping down into a gutbuster on the good knee, driving the wind out of the smaller woman with a sharp yelp.
Picking her target up again, Jost slings her hard into the corner and follows her in, finally landing that crushing clothesline she had been looking for earlier. Another back elbow, this one almost disdainful, connects high on the shoulderblade, at the union with the neck, sending Cutler stumbling out and towards the center of the ring. Jost turns and focuses herself, beckoning Cutler on for a moment before charging out with a pump kick. As she leaps, though, Cutler manages to sidestep, snagging the already-injured arm and turning it into a wild sacrifice judo throw that sends the big woman absolutely crashing to the mat, to the oohs of the assembled crowd! Quickly, Cutler scrambles forward, clearly far more used to the aftereffects of such a move, and grabs at Jost’s previously-targeted leg, moving into a familiar setup: that of a kneebar.
Having stolen a chair from one of the rookies moments ago, Big is on the edge of his seat at this stage in the contest.
Instead of hooking in the heel hook that Big had seen his client apply so many times before, however, Cutler tugs Jost’s other massive leg over into an inverted figure-four position, hooking her arms around the now-crossed legs and applying what appears to be the bastard child of a cloverleaf, a kneebar, and the aforementioned figure-four! Jost rears her head up, crying out in agony, and as she bucks her face down again her hand slaps the mat repeatedly. Cutler tugs on it once before letting go as the bell sounds, and Emma cocks her eyebrow in apparent surprise, wryly smiling. “Well done! Play the woman’s music! You’ve got ten minutes to break that down, pair off and talk about it, we’ll come back together. Jost, check with the trainer. Cutler, get some water, that was...well, it was something else.” Quite appropriately on cue, one of the other trainees taps a button on an iPad near the ring, and the small speaker setup begins playing the chorus of Stormzy’s “Big for Your Boots” as the two women roll out on opposite sides, Cutler grabbing a towel and Jost grabbing her knee.
Big rolls his eyes as he hears the music. Bloody millennials. As unimpressive as he finds her music taste, however, Big can’t help but be impressed by what he’s just seen from this scrappy woman. She’ll do. ‘Hey, you,’ he gestures towards Cutler, beckoning her over. ‘Here.’
Wiping her neck down, the young woman walks over to the much older frame of Big, cocking an eyebrow and tilting her head to the side. The moment she opens her mouth, two things are apparent: a constant attitude of, if not outright dismissal, certainly an even keel...and a thick Norfolk accent. “What’s it, then?”
Big grins, pointing at her and making some weird noise of approval. ‘Ahh, I knew your grunts sounded English! Perfect,’ he crosses his arms. ‘Congratulations on your victory there, you were very impressive. You’ve got talent alright. But y’know what else I saw there?’ He lets the question hang for a few seconds, following up just before Cutler can get a chance to respond. ‘I saw some kid, still wet-behind-the-ears and lips still moist from her mother’s breast milk!’ He snorts, nodding. ‘You see what I’m sayin’?’
“Sure hear it, yeah,” she nods back, still slightly dismissive. “Y’think I’m not qualified. Not to be in that ring. Heard it before. Make your pitch, geezer, or I’ll hit the showers. Tell me something some other sanctimonious self-appointed expert hasn’t.” Her expression, though mostly neutral, is betrayed by a slight smirk, almost as if amused by the old man’s audacity to address her this way.
Big scoffs. ‘Cor, you’ve a mouth on you, haven’t you? We’ll sort that out.’ He claps his hands together, smiling. ‘Tell me love, does the name Jason Williams mean anything to you?’
Her eyebrows pop a little. “Yeah it does. Grew up watchin’ him. James Big, yeah? Thought I recognized that mug. Him and De’Relic’s burned in the back of my braincase.” Knitting her brows back together, she tilts her head to the side. “How’s he factor?”
Big chuckles. ‘The one and only. As I’m sure you’re aware, Jason made his debut recently and we’re looking at ways to get some momentum. I’m sure you’ve also heard of the upcoming Olympians Mixed Tag Team tournament.’ He smirks. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out, so what d’ya say?’ He gestures around the performance centre. ‘Because, if we’re being honest, you’re better than most of these. You’re far too good to be here. What I’m offering you is a chance to prove that.’
She inhales sharply through her nose, nodding slowly once, twice. “Huh. S’pose Jason Williams has enough stroke to name his partner, doesn’t matter who it is. You get me a spot on the big stage, I’m in.” Looking Big up and down, she extends a hand. “So. Want to know a bit more about what you’re buying into?”
Big nods. ‘Go on then,’ he crosses his arms. ‘No doubt you’ve heard of myself and Jason, but you are a bit of a nobody. To us and everyone in general.’
A confident nod follows, hand retracting as she folds her own behind her back. “Mariah Cutler. Fifth-dan black belt in judo. Black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Mum tells me I was shooting single legs before I could walk. Most undervalued talent to cross these doors since they were put up. Norwich’s greatest export. And your man’s best bet if he wants that trophy.”
‘Leave the promo talk to me, sweetheart.’ Big chuckles. ‘That’s all very impressive, though it does make me wonder…’ He runs his tongue over his teeth, staring through Cutler. ‘With all that, what the hell’re you still doing here?’ He pauses for a few seconds. ‘What’s your damage?’
“Attitude, they say. Unwillingness to listen to trainers, expand the ways they want me to.” Mariah’s eyes lock with Big’s, unflinching. “I know what I’m good at. I know what got me a contract at twenty. I know what I’m worth. And because I won’t grow the ways they want me to grow, like I’m their bloody topiary, I get to rot here with IRA Barbie and a woman with tenure to match your man’s.” She exhales slowly through her nose. “So I want out. And this is my best shot I’ve had come across thus far.”
Big rubs his stubbly chin, thinking to himself for a moment. ‘Right. Look, I don’t blame you for ignorin’ the trainers here. You’re getting taught by women - no offence - so whatever. But…’ He pauses, ruminating on how he wants to phrase the next part. ‘I don’t give a rat’s hairy arse about your development as a professional wrestler, but y’know who will?’
“First of all, offence taken.” Her eyes harden. “Y’don’t get a pass to slag ‘em off. Even if I don’t like O’Connor or particularly enjoy most of Emma’s wisdom, they know what they’re doing. Just not with me. It’s a brave new world, codger, and we’re just livin’ in it.” Exhaling through her nose, she measures the moment. “But point taken. If I’ve got to listen to anyone, Jason Williams is good as any.”
‘You’re damn right. He’ll probably try to feed you his usual respect bullshit but listen up and I guarantee you you’ll learn useful stuff too.’ He nods. ‘Anyway, I’m glad we’ve come to an arrangement, kid. I’ll draw up a contract and have it with you soon.’ He rubs his hands together like a cartoon villain, practically salivating. ‘That tournament is as good as won.’
Mariah cracks a smirk, nodding back at Big. “You’re damn right,” she echoes, unable to resist the delicious symmetry. “So. Want to break the news to him? I think I’ve earned myself an early exit. Tapping that titan was posting bond.” She flicks the towel into a corner, unable to keep her delight off her face.
‘Yeah, about that…’ He rubs the back of his neck. ‘I lied, I haven’t actually talked about this with him at all. But you’ve agreed now! He couldn’t possibly trample over some kid’s big shot at finally breaking out into stardom!’ He pauses for a few seconds before gesturing. ‘Work on your puppy-dog eyes just in case.’ He waves, turning around and heading for the doors. ‘I’ll call you, kid!’
Mariah watches him go, the excitement draining from her face as she watches Big walk out the door, twisting momentarily into a scowl...before melting into a frustrated, but begrudging, frown, nodding and crossing her arms as she turns back towards the ring, two more trainees sliding into the ring as we fade away.
Toothy grin, saggy skin and pathetic wisps of grey that are the final remnants of what was once a proud head of hair. This can only be James E. Big. ‘Sure can!’ He grins as he approaches, offering his hand to Emma. ‘Afternoon doll, could you direct me to the trainer here?’
Emma takes his hand, squeezing it in a crushing grip. “Emma Danielson. Former IWF Women’s World Champion. Strength and conditioning coach, assistant trainer.”
Big’s eyebrow raises in mild shock.
‘They’re letting you girls instruct nowadays?’ He snorts. ‘Brave new world and all that. I’m just here to observe, if that is agreeable,’ he smiles. ‘Please, pretend that I am not here!’
With a deadpan expression on her face, Emma replies “Were it that I could,” nodding and looking over to another student by the bell. “Ring the bell, let’s give the gentleman something memorable. Otherwise, I can always introduce him to Ciara.” The mention of the Performance Center’s foul-tempered Irish striking trainer drew winces from some of the trainees, male and female alike, and Emma smirks, turning back to the ring and crossing her arms.
Big smiles, leaning against the ring apron as he casts his eyes over the competitors within. He’s hopeful, despite the overwhelming feeling that perhaps the training at the performance centre isn’t up to scratch, which hit him approximately 20 seconds ago.
The moment the bell rings, the two women begin to circle. The shorter one, Cutler by the order in which they were called out, seems to be eyeing up her opponent’s stance. The tall woman lunges in for an attempted lock-up that would have been at home coming from Frankenstein’s monster, and the smaller woman rolls beneath, legs flashing out and snaring her in a modified drop toe hold that sends her crashing backwards to the mat. Successful, she immediately looks to snare one of her foe’s massive arms, but the big woman shoves her off and away, both rolling to their feet with a grin on their face, though for opposite reasons.
Another circle follows, this time with Cutler snaring Jost in a rear waistlock and attempting to slide a leg around for a back trip. Jost counters with a hard elbow to the temple, staggering the smaller woman, and hits the ropes, coming off with a lariat attempt. Cutler shoulder-rolls under again, coming up and into a sprint, and as Jost bounds off the opposite ropes for a second shot, Cutler throws herself into a heavy tackle to the knee, almost football-esque in its execution. Jost goes crashing to the mat with a loud cry of pain and a hollered obscenity in German, and Cutler immediately scoops her legs and flips forward into a jackknife cover. The count hits two before the bigger woman is able to power out, though only just.
Big’s brow furrows. The little one has fight, that’s for sure. ‘Let’s see if she can get the job done’, he muses.
Both women up again, and Cutler pounces on the bigger woman’s arm, wrenching it over and snapping it across her shoulder before twisting it into a wristlock. She brings her elbow down into the bigger woman’s own, earning another grunt, then, with the arm still in the wringer, fires a kick hard into the area just below the knee joint, where the quadriceps meets the knee’s structure. It earns another cry of pain, and seemingly rating her advantage, Cutler shifts her stance, ducking her head beneath Jost’s and sweeping a leg out as if to go for a STO. Jost rips her arm forward, though, shifting Cutler’s balance, and shoves her off into the ropes, catching her on the rebound and lifting her up into a military press for a second before dropping down into a gutbuster on the good knee, driving the wind out of the smaller woman with a sharp yelp.
Picking her target up again, Jost slings her hard into the corner and follows her in, finally landing that crushing clothesline she had been looking for earlier. Another back elbow, this one almost disdainful, connects high on the shoulderblade, at the union with the neck, sending Cutler stumbling out and towards the center of the ring. Jost turns and focuses herself, beckoning Cutler on for a moment before charging out with a pump kick. As she leaps, though, Cutler manages to sidestep, snagging the already-injured arm and turning it into a wild sacrifice judo throw that sends the big woman absolutely crashing to the mat, to the oohs of the assembled crowd! Quickly, Cutler scrambles forward, clearly far more used to the aftereffects of such a move, and grabs at Jost’s previously-targeted leg, moving into a familiar setup: that of a kneebar.
Having stolen a chair from one of the rookies moments ago, Big is on the edge of his seat at this stage in the contest.
Instead of hooking in the heel hook that Big had seen his client apply so many times before, however, Cutler tugs Jost’s other massive leg over into an inverted figure-four position, hooking her arms around the now-crossed legs and applying what appears to be the bastard child of a cloverleaf, a kneebar, and the aforementioned figure-four! Jost rears her head up, crying out in agony, and as she bucks her face down again her hand slaps the mat repeatedly. Cutler tugs on it once before letting go as the bell sounds, and Emma cocks her eyebrow in apparent surprise, wryly smiling. “Well done! Play the woman’s music! You’ve got ten minutes to break that down, pair off and talk about it, we’ll come back together. Jost, check with the trainer. Cutler, get some water, that was...well, it was something else.” Quite appropriately on cue, one of the other trainees taps a button on an iPad near the ring, and the small speaker setup begins playing the chorus of Stormzy’s “Big for Your Boots” as the two women roll out on opposite sides, Cutler grabbing a towel and Jost grabbing her knee.
Big rolls his eyes as he hears the music. Bloody millennials. As unimpressive as he finds her music taste, however, Big can’t help but be impressed by what he’s just seen from this scrappy woman. She’ll do. ‘Hey, you,’ he gestures towards Cutler, beckoning her over. ‘Here.’
Wiping her neck down, the young woman walks over to the much older frame of Big, cocking an eyebrow and tilting her head to the side. The moment she opens her mouth, two things are apparent: a constant attitude of, if not outright dismissal, certainly an even keel...and a thick Norfolk accent. “What’s it, then?”
Big grins, pointing at her and making some weird noise of approval. ‘Ahh, I knew your grunts sounded English! Perfect,’ he crosses his arms. ‘Congratulations on your victory there, you were very impressive. You’ve got talent alright. But y’know what else I saw there?’ He lets the question hang for a few seconds, following up just before Cutler can get a chance to respond. ‘I saw some kid, still wet-behind-the-ears and lips still moist from her mother’s breast milk!’ He snorts, nodding. ‘You see what I’m sayin’?’
“Sure hear it, yeah,” she nods back, still slightly dismissive. “Y’think I’m not qualified. Not to be in that ring. Heard it before. Make your pitch, geezer, or I’ll hit the showers. Tell me something some other sanctimonious self-appointed expert hasn’t.” Her expression, though mostly neutral, is betrayed by a slight smirk, almost as if amused by the old man’s audacity to address her this way.
Big scoffs. ‘Cor, you’ve a mouth on you, haven’t you? We’ll sort that out.’ He claps his hands together, smiling. ‘Tell me love, does the name Jason Williams mean anything to you?’
Her eyebrows pop a little. “Yeah it does. Grew up watchin’ him. James Big, yeah? Thought I recognized that mug. Him and De’Relic’s burned in the back of my braincase.” Knitting her brows back together, she tilts her head to the side. “How’s he factor?”
Big chuckles. ‘The one and only. As I’m sure you’re aware, Jason made his debut recently and we’re looking at ways to get some momentum. I’m sure you’ve also heard of the upcoming Olympians Mixed Tag Team tournament.’ He smirks. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out, so what d’ya say?’ He gestures around the performance centre. ‘Because, if we’re being honest, you’re better than most of these. You’re far too good to be here. What I’m offering you is a chance to prove that.’
She inhales sharply through her nose, nodding slowly once, twice. “Huh. S’pose Jason Williams has enough stroke to name his partner, doesn’t matter who it is. You get me a spot on the big stage, I’m in.” Looking Big up and down, she extends a hand. “So. Want to know a bit more about what you’re buying into?”
Big nods. ‘Go on then,’ he crosses his arms. ‘No doubt you’ve heard of myself and Jason, but you are a bit of a nobody. To us and everyone in general.’
A confident nod follows, hand retracting as she folds her own behind her back. “Mariah Cutler. Fifth-dan black belt in judo. Black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Mum tells me I was shooting single legs before I could walk. Most undervalued talent to cross these doors since they were put up. Norwich’s greatest export. And your man’s best bet if he wants that trophy.”
‘Leave the promo talk to me, sweetheart.’ Big chuckles. ‘That’s all very impressive, though it does make me wonder…’ He runs his tongue over his teeth, staring through Cutler. ‘With all that, what the hell’re you still doing here?’ He pauses for a few seconds. ‘What’s your damage?’
“Attitude, they say. Unwillingness to listen to trainers, expand the ways they want me to.” Mariah’s eyes lock with Big’s, unflinching. “I know what I’m good at. I know what got me a contract at twenty. I know what I’m worth. And because I won’t grow the ways they want me to grow, like I’m their bloody topiary, I get to rot here with IRA Barbie and a woman with tenure to match your man’s.” She exhales slowly through her nose. “So I want out. And this is my best shot I’ve had come across thus far.”
Big rubs his stubbly chin, thinking to himself for a moment. ‘Right. Look, I don’t blame you for ignorin’ the trainers here. You’re getting taught by women - no offence - so whatever. But…’ He pauses, ruminating on how he wants to phrase the next part. ‘I don’t give a rat’s hairy arse about your development as a professional wrestler, but y’know who will?’
“First of all, offence taken.” Her eyes harden. “Y’don’t get a pass to slag ‘em off. Even if I don’t like O’Connor or particularly enjoy most of Emma’s wisdom, they know what they’re doing. Just not with me. It’s a brave new world, codger, and we’re just livin’ in it.” Exhaling through her nose, she measures the moment. “But point taken. If I’ve got to listen to anyone, Jason Williams is good as any.”
‘You’re damn right. He’ll probably try to feed you his usual respect bullshit but listen up and I guarantee you you’ll learn useful stuff too.’ He nods. ‘Anyway, I’m glad we’ve come to an arrangement, kid. I’ll draw up a contract and have it with you soon.’ He rubs his hands together like a cartoon villain, practically salivating. ‘That tournament is as good as won.’
Mariah cracks a smirk, nodding back at Big. “You’re damn right,” she echoes, unable to resist the delicious symmetry. “So. Want to break the news to him? I think I’ve earned myself an early exit. Tapping that titan was posting bond.” She flicks the towel into a corner, unable to keep her delight off her face.
‘Yeah, about that…’ He rubs the back of his neck. ‘I lied, I haven’t actually talked about this with him at all. But you’ve agreed now! He couldn’t possibly trample over some kid’s big shot at finally breaking out into stardom!’ He pauses for a few seconds before gesturing. ‘Work on your puppy-dog eyes just in case.’ He waves, turning around and heading for the doors. ‘I’ll call you, kid!’
Mariah watches him go, the excitement draining from her face as she watches Big walk out the door, twisting momentarily into a scowl...before melting into a frustrated, but begrudging, frown, nodding and crossing her arms as she turns back towards the ring, two more trainees sliding into the ring as we fade away.