Post by Brooklyn on Feb 4, 2024 22:20:00 GMT
“Okay, so, hold on a second.” April was shaking her head, eyes closed, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard. “So this was your idea?”
April tapped a fingernail against the screen of her phone, indicating the released card for Metamorphosis.
“Like, you marched into Fowler’s office and just decided you’d give yourself a match at the pay-per-view? But not just any match,” April laughed in exasperation, “but you demanded it be a Dragon’s Den match?”
The question hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity. Brooklyn continued to sit on the sofa looking at her sister who grew more and more impatient by the second.
“Hello?!” April continued, her eyebrows arching skyward as she stopped pacing and leaned toward her younger sibling.
“What do you want me to say, April?” Brooklyn asked. “Do you want me to deny and blame this match on Fowler? Do you want me to placate you and tell you whatever little white lies I need to in order to protect your fragile little view of me?”
April’s eyes narrowed, “Screw you, Brooklyn.”
The corner of Brooklyn’s mouth curled up slightly at this. She watched her sister throw herself unceremoniously into the soft, cushioned chair beside the couch.
“I had my reasons, April; and while I don’t feel like I need to justify my actions with you -” she began, quickly raising a hand to quiet her sister who immediately began to interrupt, “I will because you’re my sister.”
This seemed to be enough for April who settled back in the chair, arms crossed over her chest in a very defensive manner.
Brooklyn took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on April. The room was charged with tension, a heavy silence lingering between the sisters.
“D’you think I enjoy this? You think I wake up in the morning and relish the idea of stepping into the ring with Jennie Fenix again? This isn't about what I want; it's about what needs to be done."
April scoffed, uncrossing her arms to gesture incredulously at Brooklyn.
“Needs to be done? What are you talking about, Brooklyn? You've faced Jennie Fenix more times than I can count, and every time, it's like reliving the same nightmare. When does it end?”
Brooklyn's eyes narrowed, a flicker of frustration crossing her face.
“You don't think I know that? You don't think I'm tired of it, too? But this isn't just about me. It's about the entire women's division. If I don't face Jennie Fenix and put an end to this once and for all, it's like an anchor holding us all back.”
April leaned forward, her voice edged with anger.
“So, what, you're sacrificing yourself for the greater good? Is that it? That's a load of crap. This is about you and Jennie, and it always has been.”
Brooklyn pursed her lips and shook her head, her frustration visibly mounting.
“How are you not getting this, April? This division needs a definitive end to this feud. The constant back-and-forth with Jennie is holding everyone back. So you know what?” Brooklyn brushes her hands together, “I'm taking the hit, dealing with the devil, whatever you want to call it so that the rest of the women can move forward without the shadow of a Fenix/Madrox war looming over them.”
April's expression softened, her frustration giving way to a mix of confusion and concern.
“Whatever … but then answer me this, a Dragon's Den match? You know how dangerous that is, right? The risks involved—”
Brooklyn cut her off, her voice resolute.
“Do you know how long I spent trying to figure out the best way to do this? D’you know how many different match types I thought about? Hell, after what happened to Rowan …”
Brooklyn pauses, the muscles in her jaw tensing momentarily, “I know the risks, April. But sometimes, you need to walk through the fire to come out the other side. I'm not afraid of what might happen in that Dragon's Den. I'm afraid of what happens if I don't do something about Jennie once and for all.”
April's gaze softened as she looked at her sister, the concern evident in her eyes.
“You don't have to do this alone. We can find another way, a better solution. You don't need to put yourself through this.”
“You and I both know that It's not that simple. This is my burden to bear. I’m the leader, the Alpha … I need to face Jennie and end this. And if that means going through hell in a Dragon's Den, then so be it. I can't let this linger any longer.”
April reached out, placing a hand on Brooklyn's shoulder.
“Look, you’re a stubborn ass sometimes, but you're still my sister, Brooklyn. I know how much it's tearing you apart.”
Brooklyn looked at April, a mix of gratitude and determination in her eyes.
“I don’t know who it was that led that attack, April - could have been Shea … could have been Emmy … or it could have been Jennie. Every single one of them has a little vendetta against me, and they all seem to revolve around this title. So, if I have to suss out the asshole who tried putting Rowan down then I’ll go through a hundred Dragon’s Dens.
At the end of the day this isn't just about me. It's about all of us, and it’s about the future of the women's division. I won't let Fenix be a roadblock any longer.”
The room fell into a contemplative silence as the weight of Brooklyn's decision settled between them. The dimly lit room seemed to shrink as the gravity of the situation pressed down on both sisters. April's eyes, once filled with frustration, now held a mixture of disbelief and frustration. She withdrew her hand from Brooklyn's shoulder but maintained eye contact, a silent challenge lingering in her gaze.
“Okay, I get it. I do. But there has to be another way. You don’t have to lead this charge alone - isn’t that the whole point of this group? The four of us … together? We can, and will, figure out who did this and deal with them. Together.”
“You know as well as I do that Jennie won't stop until she gets what she wants. She won't rest, and the longer this feud goes on, the more it poisons everything around us. I have to end it, for everyone's sake.”
“Is that why you hit her with the …”
Brooklyn’s fierce glare cut her sister off.
“Jennie has pushed me to far for to long and … well, she might have gotten under my skin.”
“So …”
“So, maybe if I took her out of the equation for a little while I’d have some damn breathing room. Jennie’s a little thick in the head, and after three straight losses she wasn’t getting the message. So I … rephrased the response with the hopes that it would be a little clearer that she needed to back off.”
April shook her head, a look of disbelief coloring her features.
“And I see that worked marvelously.”
“Yup, I know. It's not my fault she's a moron.”
“And so you think risking your career in a Dragon's Den match is the answer? Going to send Jennie the message one last time? What if something goes wrong, Brooklyn? What if you don't come back from this one?”
Brooklyn leaned back, her frustration turning into a hardened resolve. She met April's gaze with unwavering determination.
“For once, April, try to see the bigger picture. This isn't just about me and Jennie. If I win, she can never challenge for the title again while I'm champ. It's about ending this feud once and for all, ensuring that the women's division can move forward without constantly looking over its shoulder.”
April's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and anger now evident in her expression.
“You're putting everything on the line for that? You're willing to risk your career and your safety for some vendetta?”
Brooklyn's jaw tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface.
“It's not just a vendetta, April. It's about securing the future of the division. You may not understand it now, but once this is over, you'll see why I had to do it.”
April scoffed, uncrossing her arms to gesture incredulously at Brooklyn.
“Who the hell died and made you the martyr for our division? All this talk about leading the next generation of women and then I turn around you're sacrificing yourself, and for what? To be some martyr for the women's division? You're not thinking this through.”
Brooklyn stood up, the tension in the room escalating.
“I don't need your permission here, April. All I need you to do is trust that I'm doing what needs to be done. One way or another this is ending this weekend - If you can't support me, fine, but don't stand in my way.”
April rose to her feet, the air thick with animosity. The sisters faced each other, a rift widening between them.
“You're making a mistake, Brooklyn. You’re being stubborn and letting what happened to Rowan cloud your judgment. I’m not going to just stand by and watch you throw everything away for some misguided sense of justice.”
Brooklyn's expression hardened, her frustration boiling over into defiance.
“I'll do whatever it takes to end this, whether you're with me or not.”
Brooklyn turned and stormed out of the room leaving April shaking her head. As the words hung in the air, the room seemed to hold the echoes of a division at a crossroads, torn between the bonds of sisterhood and the harsh realities of their chosen paths.
----------------------------------
The dim glow of a solitary spotlight flickers, casting shadows across a figure standing in the center of an otherwise darkened arena. The hum of anticipation hangs heavy in the air as Brooklyn Madrox steps forward, her eyes fixed on an imaginary adversary, her voice resonating with a mixture of frustration and determination.
“You know, they say familiarity breeds contempt. But in our case, Jennie, it's more like familiarity breeds an uncontrollable rage that I can't seem to shake off.”
Brooklyn paces back and forth, her fists clenching and unclenching as the memories of their countless encounters flood her mind.
“I've been patient, Jennie. Patient in the face of your incessant pursuit, your unwarranted interference. I've been patient as you clung to the idea that you're somehow entitled to a title shot, over and over again.”
She stops, the spotlight casting a stark silhouette as her eyes narrow, a storm brewing behind them.
“Last month, I thought maybe, just maybe, a taste of steel would finally get through that thick skull of yours. But what did you do? You crawled right back, demanding more, oblivious to the message I was trying to send.”
Brooklyn's frustration simmers, the weight of months of dealing with Jennie's constant presence bearing down on her.
“It's like dealing with a relentless storm. You don't get to choose when it hits, and you certainly can't control its fury. But storms pass. They don't last forever. And neither will your constant attempts to stake a claim to my title.”
She raises her head, looking up as if seeking guidance from the unseen forces above.
“Metamorphosis. It’s a fitting name, isn’t it? See, in the heart of our little wrestling world, where stories play out beneath the spotlight's glow, we find ourselves at a stage for change, where narratives reach their zenith, and rivalries, like ours, find a profound evolution.
Jennie, you, and I, we've etched our history in the annals of the Women's World Championship. It's been a tale of relentless collisions, a dance for supremacy that's become all too familiar. But Metamorphosis, with its poetic resonance, offers us more than just another clash.
The Dragon's Den isn't just a cage of steel and weapons; it's a crucible of transformation. It’s a cocoon, a transformative space where our feud undergoes a metamorphic process. We step into this den not just for victory or defeat but for the metamorphosis of our conflict. The significance lies not only in the physicality but in the metaphorical weight it carries. It's a symbol of liberation, a promise that we can transcend the cyclical nature of our past encounters.
I stand here as the champion, the harbinger of change. My demand for this Dragon's Den match isn't just about defending my title; it's about asserting our commitment to metamorphosis. The women's division deserves to transcend the perpetual shadow of a single contender and blossom into a diverse tapestry of competition.
As the den door locks behind us, the audience becomes witnesses to a symbolic rebirth, a cathartic release of pent-up energies. Metamorphosis is not just about our clash; it orchestrates the evolution of our rivalry into something more—an enduring testament to the transformative power of our narrative.
In the end, as the final echoes of our clash reverberate through the arena, it becomes clear that Metamorphosis has borne witness to our metamorphosis—an evolution that transcends the confines of a title match and becomes a testament to the enduring power of our wrestling narrative.
This is more than just a match, Jennie. Do you even realize what you've stepped into?”
The air thickens with tension as Brooklyn contemplates the significance of the upcoming clash.
“The Dragon's Den is no ordinary match. It's a descent into chaos, a descent into the very core of my frustration. Inside that cage, there's no escape, no count-outs, no disqualifications. It's just you, me, and the myriad of weapons that will become instruments of your demise.”
She smirks, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
“You see, Jennie, I’m beyond tired of the predictable dance we've been engaged in. Title match after title match, and for what? To see you fail, time and time again. I want to end this, not just for me but for the entire women's division.”
Brooklyn takes a moment, the spotlight capturing the resolve etched across her face.
“The stipulation is simple. If you win, then the title is yours - no, ifs ands or buts. But, Jennie … WHEN I win, you can never challenge for this Women's World Championship as long as I hold it. It's time to cut the dead weight, Jennie. It's time for the women's division to thrive without the constant shadow of your failed attempts looming over it.”
The arena is shrouded in darkness, the weight of Brooklyn's words sinking in as she continues to lay bare her frustrations.
"But what really baffles me, Jen, has been your refusal to just accept defeat. Sure, some people look at you and compliment your resolve … your dedication, and your refusal to ever give up the fight. But we know the truth, you and I. You're just a stubborn, petulant child who keeps reaching for the flame despite the burns. Metamorphosis will be the crucible, and only one of us will emerge from that fiery abyss.”
She pauses, the silence punctuating her next words.
“I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I don't need you to define MY legacy. I've faced the best, conquered challenges, and stood tall as the World Champion. But you, Jennie, you've become a constant thorn in my side, a constant reminder of how piss poor this division once was."
Brooklyn's tone turns darker, the resentment palpable.
“This isn't just about the championship. This is about me putting an end to the constant annoyance that is you. This is about me ensuring that the women's division can finally breathe without your looming presence making every. single. thing. about. yourself!”
The spotlight flickers, casting eerie shadows as Brooklyn's gaze hardens.
“You won't find any sympathy from me, Jennie. No quarter asked, none given. This is the final act, the last chapter in a story that should have ended long ago. And when the Dragon's Den door locks behind us, there’s going to be no mercy. No escape. Just the culmination of months of frustration, anger, and the undeniable truth that, in the end, I’m the only one worthy enough to carry this title. And it’s going to be MY shoulders that carry this division into the future while you do what you do best - cry about it.”
Brooklyn steps back into the shadows, leaving the spotlight to fade, the arena plunged into darkness as the echoes of her words linger in the air.
----------------------------------
The room was shrouded in an almost ethereal quiet, disturbed only by the soft hum of machinery and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. The early morning hours cast a muted glow through the window, painting the room in shades of indigo. The sterile scent of the hospital mingled with the faint aroma of antiseptic.
Brooklyn sat vigil by Rowan's bedside, her eyes never leaving the form of her beloved who lay in a state of peaceful vulnerability. The white sheets seemed almost luminous against Rowan's battered and bruised body. The various monitors present at her bedside were a symphony of electronic melodies, measuring the life that flowed beneath the surface.
As Brooklyn's fingers traced the ridges of the bandages that adorned Rowan's wounds, her thoughts echoed in the silence. Rowan, the force of nature she had always been, now lay still, a canvas of resilience marred by the brutality inflicted upon her. Each bruise told a silent tale of defiance, but also vulnerability.
"You know, I always thought you were invincible," Brooklyn whispered, her voice a hushed soliloquy to the woman who had always been her anchor. "I've seen you take hits in that ring, seen you rise above everything they threw at you. But this... this was different."
She reached for Rowan's hand, cradling it gently in her own. The contrast between Rowan's calloused strength and the fragility of her current state was a harsh realization that cut through Brooklyn's stoic exterior.
"I've been searching for answers, Row. Trying to figure out who did this to you. But in my gut, I can't shake the feeling that Jennie's hands are stained with your blood," Brooklyn admitted, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and determination.
The room seemed to close in around them, a silent witness to the storm of emotions that raged within Brooklyn. She couldn't fathom the depth of depravity required to harm Rowan in such a way, and it fueled the fire burning in her veins.
"But you know what, love? I won't let them get away with this. Not Jennie, not anyone. They might have tried to break your body, but they won't break us. I'll make them pay … pay for every bruise, every drop of blood spilled," Brooklyn declared, her words carrying a fierce resolve.
Outside the window, the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold. It was a stark contrast to the darkness that clung to Brooklyn's heart, an emblem of the dichotomy between the beauty of the world and the ugliness that sometimes lurked within it.
"I got me a Dragon's Den match, Row. No rules, no escape, just like you’d have done for me. Just me and Jennie locked in a cage of our own making. I want her to feel the pain, the helplessness … everything that she inflicted on you. I want her to understand the consequence of crossing us," Brooklyn confessed, her grip on Rowan's hand tightening as if drawing strength from the connection.
Rowan remained oblivious to the words spoken in the quiet hospital room, lost in the realm of healing slumber. Brooklyn, however, was resolute in her determination to protect the woman who meant more to her than life itself.
"I don't know when this will end, love. But I promise you this — when I step into that Dragon's Den, I'm not just fighting for revenge. I'm fighting for us, for our future. I told the others that this was about pushing the division forward, but only you know the truth. Until I see Jennie lying in pool of her own blood I don’t give a damn about this title … about this division … about anything. That bitch is going to pay - and if it turns out that she’s not the one that did this to you,” a small, hollow laugh escapes Brooklyn’s throat, “well then I’ll turn my attention to the next name on my list. Don’t worry, baby, they might have thought they could break you, but they underestimated your strength … and ours."
Brooklyn's voice trailed off, lost in the quiet hum of the machines and the subtle symphony of dawn. She sat there, a lone sentinel in the early morning hours, watching over the woman who had weathered countless storms by her side. The battle for justice and redemption had only just begun, but in that moment, Brooklyn found solace in the silent promise she had made to Rowan — a promise etched in the quiet hours before the world awoke.
April tapped a fingernail against the screen of her phone, indicating the released card for Metamorphosis.
“Like, you marched into Fowler’s office and just decided you’d give yourself a match at the pay-per-view? But not just any match,” April laughed in exasperation, “but you demanded it be a Dragon’s Den match?”
The question hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity. Brooklyn continued to sit on the sofa looking at her sister who grew more and more impatient by the second.
“Hello?!” April continued, her eyebrows arching skyward as she stopped pacing and leaned toward her younger sibling.
“What do you want me to say, April?” Brooklyn asked. “Do you want me to deny and blame this match on Fowler? Do you want me to placate you and tell you whatever little white lies I need to in order to protect your fragile little view of me?”
April’s eyes narrowed, “Screw you, Brooklyn.”
The corner of Brooklyn’s mouth curled up slightly at this. She watched her sister throw herself unceremoniously into the soft, cushioned chair beside the couch.
“I had my reasons, April; and while I don’t feel like I need to justify my actions with you -” she began, quickly raising a hand to quiet her sister who immediately began to interrupt, “I will because you’re my sister.”
This seemed to be enough for April who settled back in the chair, arms crossed over her chest in a very defensive manner.
Brooklyn took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on April. The room was charged with tension, a heavy silence lingering between the sisters.
“D’you think I enjoy this? You think I wake up in the morning and relish the idea of stepping into the ring with Jennie Fenix again? This isn't about what I want; it's about what needs to be done."
April scoffed, uncrossing her arms to gesture incredulously at Brooklyn.
“Needs to be done? What are you talking about, Brooklyn? You've faced Jennie Fenix more times than I can count, and every time, it's like reliving the same nightmare. When does it end?”
Brooklyn's eyes narrowed, a flicker of frustration crossing her face.
“You don't think I know that? You don't think I'm tired of it, too? But this isn't just about me. It's about the entire women's division. If I don't face Jennie Fenix and put an end to this once and for all, it's like an anchor holding us all back.”
April leaned forward, her voice edged with anger.
“So, what, you're sacrificing yourself for the greater good? Is that it? That's a load of crap. This is about you and Jennie, and it always has been.”
Brooklyn pursed her lips and shook her head, her frustration visibly mounting.
“How are you not getting this, April? This division needs a definitive end to this feud. The constant back-and-forth with Jennie is holding everyone back. So you know what?” Brooklyn brushes her hands together, “I'm taking the hit, dealing with the devil, whatever you want to call it so that the rest of the women can move forward without the shadow of a Fenix/Madrox war looming over them.”
April's expression softened, her frustration giving way to a mix of confusion and concern.
“Whatever … but then answer me this, a Dragon's Den match? You know how dangerous that is, right? The risks involved—”
Brooklyn cut her off, her voice resolute.
“Do you know how long I spent trying to figure out the best way to do this? D’you know how many different match types I thought about? Hell, after what happened to Rowan …”
Brooklyn pauses, the muscles in her jaw tensing momentarily, “I know the risks, April. But sometimes, you need to walk through the fire to come out the other side. I'm not afraid of what might happen in that Dragon's Den. I'm afraid of what happens if I don't do something about Jennie once and for all.”
April's gaze softened as she looked at her sister, the concern evident in her eyes.
“You don't have to do this alone. We can find another way, a better solution. You don't need to put yourself through this.”
“You and I both know that It's not that simple. This is my burden to bear. I’m the leader, the Alpha … I need to face Jennie and end this. And if that means going through hell in a Dragon's Den, then so be it. I can't let this linger any longer.”
April reached out, placing a hand on Brooklyn's shoulder.
“Look, you’re a stubborn ass sometimes, but you're still my sister, Brooklyn. I know how much it's tearing you apart.”
Brooklyn looked at April, a mix of gratitude and determination in her eyes.
“I don’t know who it was that led that attack, April - could have been Shea … could have been Emmy … or it could have been Jennie. Every single one of them has a little vendetta against me, and they all seem to revolve around this title. So, if I have to suss out the asshole who tried putting Rowan down then I’ll go through a hundred Dragon’s Dens.
At the end of the day this isn't just about me. It's about all of us, and it’s about the future of the women's division. I won't let Fenix be a roadblock any longer.”
The room fell into a contemplative silence as the weight of Brooklyn's decision settled between them. The dimly lit room seemed to shrink as the gravity of the situation pressed down on both sisters. April's eyes, once filled with frustration, now held a mixture of disbelief and frustration. She withdrew her hand from Brooklyn's shoulder but maintained eye contact, a silent challenge lingering in her gaze.
“Okay, I get it. I do. But there has to be another way. You don’t have to lead this charge alone - isn’t that the whole point of this group? The four of us … together? We can, and will, figure out who did this and deal with them. Together.”
“You know as well as I do that Jennie won't stop until she gets what she wants. She won't rest, and the longer this feud goes on, the more it poisons everything around us. I have to end it, for everyone's sake.”
“Is that why you hit her with the …”
Brooklyn’s fierce glare cut her sister off.
“Jennie has pushed me to far for to long and … well, she might have gotten under my skin.”
“So …”
“So, maybe if I took her out of the equation for a little while I’d have some damn breathing room. Jennie’s a little thick in the head, and after three straight losses she wasn’t getting the message. So I … rephrased the response with the hopes that it would be a little clearer that she needed to back off.”
April shook her head, a look of disbelief coloring her features.
“And I see that worked marvelously.”
“Yup, I know. It's not my fault she's a moron.”
“And so you think risking your career in a Dragon's Den match is the answer? Going to send Jennie the message one last time? What if something goes wrong, Brooklyn? What if you don't come back from this one?”
Brooklyn leaned back, her frustration turning into a hardened resolve. She met April's gaze with unwavering determination.
“For once, April, try to see the bigger picture. This isn't just about me and Jennie. If I win, she can never challenge for the title again while I'm champ. It's about ending this feud once and for all, ensuring that the women's division can move forward without constantly looking over its shoulder.”
April's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and anger now evident in her expression.
“You're putting everything on the line for that? You're willing to risk your career and your safety for some vendetta?”
Brooklyn's jaw tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface.
“It's not just a vendetta, April. It's about securing the future of the division. You may not understand it now, but once this is over, you'll see why I had to do it.”
April scoffed, uncrossing her arms to gesture incredulously at Brooklyn.
“Who the hell died and made you the martyr for our division? All this talk about leading the next generation of women and then I turn around you're sacrificing yourself, and for what? To be some martyr for the women's division? You're not thinking this through.”
Brooklyn stood up, the tension in the room escalating.
“I don't need your permission here, April. All I need you to do is trust that I'm doing what needs to be done. One way or another this is ending this weekend - If you can't support me, fine, but don't stand in my way.”
April rose to her feet, the air thick with animosity. The sisters faced each other, a rift widening between them.
“You're making a mistake, Brooklyn. You’re being stubborn and letting what happened to Rowan cloud your judgment. I’m not going to just stand by and watch you throw everything away for some misguided sense of justice.”
Brooklyn's expression hardened, her frustration boiling over into defiance.
“I'll do whatever it takes to end this, whether you're with me or not.”
Brooklyn turned and stormed out of the room leaving April shaking her head. As the words hung in the air, the room seemed to hold the echoes of a division at a crossroads, torn between the bonds of sisterhood and the harsh realities of their chosen paths.
----------------------------------
The dim glow of a solitary spotlight flickers, casting shadows across a figure standing in the center of an otherwise darkened arena. The hum of anticipation hangs heavy in the air as Brooklyn Madrox steps forward, her eyes fixed on an imaginary adversary, her voice resonating with a mixture of frustration and determination.
“You know, they say familiarity breeds contempt. But in our case, Jennie, it's more like familiarity breeds an uncontrollable rage that I can't seem to shake off.”
Brooklyn paces back and forth, her fists clenching and unclenching as the memories of their countless encounters flood her mind.
“I've been patient, Jennie. Patient in the face of your incessant pursuit, your unwarranted interference. I've been patient as you clung to the idea that you're somehow entitled to a title shot, over and over again.”
She stops, the spotlight casting a stark silhouette as her eyes narrow, a storm brewing behind them.
“Last month, I thought maybe, just maybe, a taste of steel would finally get through that thick skull of yours. But what did you do? You crawled right back, demanding more, oblivious to the message I was trying to send.”
Brooklyn's frustration simmers, the weight of months of dealing with Jennie's constant presence bearing down on her.
“It's like dealing with a relentless storm. You don't get to choose when it hits, and you certainly can't control its fury. But storms pass. They don't last forever. And neither will your constant attempts to stake a claim to my title.”
She raises her head, looking up as if seeking guidance from the unseen forces above.
“Metamorphosis. It’s a fitting name, isn’t it? See, in the heart of our little wrestling world, where stories play out beneath the spotlight's glow, we find ourselves at a stage for change, where narratives reach their zenith, and rivalries, like ours, find a profound evolution.
Jennie, you, and I, we've etched our history in the annals of the Women's World Championship. It's been a tale of relentless collisions, a dance for supremacy that's become all too familiar. But Metamorphosis, with its poetic resonance, offers us more than just another clash.
The Dragon's Den isn't just a cage of steel and weapons; it's a crucible of transformation. It’s a cocoon, a transformative space where our feud undergoes a metamorphic process. We step into this den not just for victory or defeat but for the metamorphosis of our conflict. The significance lies not only in the physicality but in the metaphorical weight it carries. It's a symbol of liberation, a promise that we can transcend the cyclical nature of our past encounters.
I stand here as the champion, the harbinger of change. My demand for this Dragon's Den match isn't just about defending my title; it's about asserting our commitment to metamorphosis. The women's division deserves to transcend the perpetual shadow of a single contender and blossom into a diverse tapestry of competition.
As the den door locks behind us, the audience becomes witnesses to a symbolic rebirth, a cathartic release of pent-up energies. Metamorphosis is not just about our clash; it orchestrates the evolution of our rivalry into something more—an enduring testament to the transformative power of our narrative.
In the end, as the final echoes of our clash reverberate through the arena, it becomes clear that Metamorphosis has borne witness to our metamorphosis—an evolution that transcends the confines of a title match and becomes a testament to the enduring power of our wrestling narrative.
This is more than just a match, Jennie. Do you even realize what you've stepped into?”
The air thickens with tension as Brooklyn contemplates the significance of the upcoming clash.
“The Dragon's Den is no ordinary match. It's a descent into chaos, a descent into the very core of my frustration. Inside that cage, there's no escape, no count-outs, no disqualifications. It's just you, me, and the myriad of weapons that will become instruments of your demise.”
She smirks, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
“You see, Jennie, I’m beyond tired of the predictable dance we've been engaged in. Title match after title match, and for what? To see you fail, time and time again. I want to end this, not just for me but for the entire women's division.”
Brooklyn takes a moment, the spotlight capturing the resolve etched across her face.
“The stipulation is simple. If you win, then the title is yours - no, ifs ands or buts. But, Jennie … WHEN I win, you can never challenge for this Women's World Championship as long as I hold it. It's time to cut the dead weight, Jennie. It's time for the women's division to thrive without the constant shadow of your failed attempts looming over it.”
The arena is shrouded in darkness, the weight of Brooklyn's words sinking in as she continues to lay bare her frustrations.
"But what really baffles me, Jen, has been your refusal to just accept defeat. Sure, some people look at you and compliment your resolve … your dedication, and your refusal to ever give up the fight. But we know the truth, you and I. You're just a stubborn, petulant child who keeps reaching for the flame despite the burns. Metamorphosis will be the crucible, and only one of us will emerge from that fiery abyss.”
She pauses, the silence punctuating her next words.
“I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I don't need you to define MY legacy. I've faced the best, conquered challenges, and stood tall as the World Champion. But you, Jennie, you've become a constant thorn in my side, a constant reminder of how piss poor this division once was."
Brooklyn's tone turns darker, the resentment palpable.
“This isn't just about the championship. This is about me putting an end to the constant annoyance that is you. This is about me ensuring that the women's division can finally breathe without your looming presence making every. single. thing. about. yourself!”
The spotlight flickers, casting eerie shadows as Brooklyn's gaze hardens.
“You won't find any sympathy from me, Jennie. No quarter asked, none given. This is the final act, the last chapter in a story that should have ended long ago. And when the Dragon's Den door locks behind us, there’s going to be no mercy. No escape. Just the culmination of months of frustration, anger, and the undeniable truth that, in the end, I’m the only one worthy enough to carry this title. And it’s going to be MY shoulders that carry this division into the future while you do what you do best - cry about it.”
Brooklyn steps back into the shadows, leaving the spotlight to fade, the arena plunged into darkness as the echoes of her words linger in the air.
----------------------------------
The room was shrouded in an almost ethereal quiet, disturbed only by the soft hum of machinery and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. The early morning hours cast a muted glow through the window, painting the room in shades of indigo. The sterile scent of the hospital mingled with the faint aroma of antiseptic.
Brooklyn sat vigil by Rowan's bedside, her eyes never leaving the form of her beloved who lay in a state of peaceful vulnerability. The white sheets seemed almost luminous against Rowan's battered and bruised body. The various monitors present at her bedside were a symphony of electronic melodies, measuring the life that flowed beneath the surface.
As Brooklyn's fingers traced the ridges of the bandages that adorned Rowan's wounds, her thoughts echoed in the silence. Rowan, the force of nature she had always been, now lay still, a canvas of resilience marred by the brutality inflicted upon her. Each bruise told a silent tale of defiance, but also vulnerability.
"You know, I always thought you were invincible," Brooklyn whispered, her voice a hushed soliloquy to the woman who had always been her anchor. "I've seen you take hits in that ring, seen you rise above everything they threw at you. But this... this was different."
She reached for Rowan's hand, cradling it gently in her own. The contrast between Rowan's calloused strength and the fragility of her current state was a harsh realization that cut through Brooklyn's stoic exterior.
"I've been searching for answers, Row. Trying to figure out who did this to you. But in my gut, I can't shake the feeling that Jennie's hands are stained with your blood," Brooklyn admitted, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and determination.
The room seemed to close in around them, a silent witness to the storm of emotions that raged within Brooklyn. She couldn't fathom the depth of depravity required to harm Rowan in such a way, and it fueled the fire burning in her veins.
"But you know what, love? I won't let them get away with this. Not Jennie, not anyone. They might have tried to break your body, but they won't break us. I'll make them pay … pay for every bruise, every drop of blood spilled," Brooklyn declared, her words carrying a fierce resolve.
Outside the window, the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold. It was a stark contrast to the darkness that clung to Brooklyn's heart, an emblem of the dichotomy between the beauty of the world and the ugliness that sometimes lurked within it.
"I got me a Dragon's Den match, Row. No rules, no escape, just like you’d have done for me. Just me and Jennie locked in a cage of our own making. I want her to feel the pain, the helplessness … everything that she inflicted on you. I want her to understand the consequence of crossing us," Brooklyn confessed, her grip on Rowan's hand tightening as if drawing strength from the connection.
Rowan remained oblivious to the words spoken in the quiet hospital room, lost in the realm of healing slumber. Brooklyn, however, was resolute in her determination to protect the woman who meant more to her than life itself.
"I don't know when this will end, love. But I promise you this — when I step into that Dragon's Den, I'm not just fighting for revenge. I'm fighting for us, for our future. I told the others that this was about pushing the division forward, but only you know the truth. Until I see Jennie lying in pool of her own blood I don’t give a damn about this title … about this division … about anything. That bitch is going to pay - and if it turns out that she’s not the one that did this to you,” a small, hollow laugh escapes Brooklyn’s throat, “well then I’ll turn my attention to the next name on my list. Don’t worry, baby, they might have thought they could break you, but they underestimated your strength … and ours."
Brooklyn's voice trailed off, lost in the quiet hum of the machines and the subtle symphony of dawn. She sat there, a lone sentinel in the early morning hours, watching over the woman who had weathered countless storms by her side. The battle for justice and redemption had only just begun, but in that moment, Brooklyn found solace in the silent promise she had made to Rowan — a promise etched in the quiet hours before the world awoke.
Well howdy there pardner.