Writing Prompt: Yes
Date: 11th Nov 2021
Executive Conference Room A
With a flick of the wrist, the blonde made a dismissive gesture as she breezed past the middle-aged woman sitting behind the receptionist’s desk. The minimalist room was adorned with clean lines, bathed in a soothing off-white light, and decorated with a simple post-modern flair. Moving toward the large frosted double doors at the opposite end of the room, Sahara shoved them open like some sort of outlaw making a grand entrance to a saloon, only these fancy-schmancy doors led to a sprawling conference room.
The receptionist finally stood up and called out in protest, ”You can’t go in there!”
Standing between the open doors, Sahara turned her head ever so slightly as to look back at the receptionist.”Watch me.”
As she entered the conference room, a number of FIGHT executives stood up in shock as the battled hardened blonde slowly gazed around the room. The executives weren’t sure if she was looking for someone in particular, or … all of them? They stood there, somewhat bewildered as they gazed upon one of their many FIGHTers – oddly decked out in her full on ring attire – as she seemingly sized up the room.
The receptionist followed closely behind, profusely apologizing to the executives in the room for the intrusion. Sahara calmly turned toward her and whispered something. She then looked at her with a faint smile and lifted the receptionist’s chin with a finger and gently booped her nose. The receptionist merely nodded and quickly scurried away.
An amused smile spread across Sahara’s lips as she looked around the lavish conference room. In stark contrast to the rather minimalist design of the receptionists lobby, no expense was spared in here. There was a Starbucks coffee station, complete with bagels, muffins, and whatever the hell Starbucks claims to be donuts. Tea. Sugar. Cream. Honey. You name it. Hot metal food containers were placed next to the coffee station, likely containing various breakfast meats and scrambled eggs and whatnot. Untouched of course. We wouldn’t want to forget to waste money.
The sprawling conference room table that spanned the length of the room was made of some expensive wood Sahara couldn’t name if her life depended on it. She pointed down at the table and tapped it with her index finger.
Her voice was calm and soothing.”Oak?”
One of the executives nervously cleared her throat, ”Mahogany.”
Sahara smiled.”Of course it’s mahogany. Why wouldn’t it be mahogany?”
The executives looked at each other with nervous glances.
”And the leather backed chairs?” Sahara pointed to that same executive and flashed a practiced smile. ”Italian, right?”
She sheepishly nodded.”Ha! Such extravagant wastefulness. That’s why I love you executives…you’ve always got such wonderful taste on the backs of other people’s hard work and sacrifice!”
A nervous voice spoke up, ”Sahara is it? Can we help you with something?”
A not so nervous voice followed, ”Yeah, are you lost?!”
Turning toward the snarky young executive that asked if she was lost, Sahara shook her head, ”Lost? No. I know exactly where I am.” She then nodded toward the other exec that asked if she was Sahara– ”Sahara? Yes. Yes I am. But you know that. Or I’d hope you’d know that. I’m just one of the many people that puts her body on the line to justify you sitting in this room…and as for the other part of your question, can you help me with something? YES! Yes you can!””You asked us to describe ourselves in three words. I mean, I assume it was you. You’re obviously part of the ‘creative engine’ that makes this locomotive move, right? Otherwise why would you be sitting in here discussing my merchandise sales in such a fancy room?! By the way, where’s my action figure for Season 2?! I mean, you gave James Raven an action figure for Season 2 and he’s been here for like a cup of coffee, yet mine is nowhere to be found! Has it even been discussed?!”
Sahara giggled, seemingly amusing herself. But before anyone could respond to her rhetorical question, she continued–
She held up one finger. ”Sick.”
Two fingers. ”And.”
And finally, three fingers. “Tired.”
”Those are my three words.” Sahara kind of half-shrugged, “Now, I don’t know if you count the ‘and’ in the middle of that ‘sick and tired’, but since you didn’t make that clear to me, those are the three words I’m using to describe me. And let me tell you why…”
Sahara stepped up onto one of the empty chairs and then stepped up onto the elongated mahogany table, knocking a few pens and papers around as she did. The unexpected move took everyone in the room by surprise. She gazed down at the executives surrounding the table she now stood upon. One by one, she stares at them before taking a single step and staring at the next, as if sizing each of them up individually. Damp stringy hair swept her shoulders as she calmly walked the length of the table. Her boots, the bloody ‘Victory’ and gleaming white ‘Valhalla’, were now at eye level with her audience. The blood smeared boot drew a number of concerned looks in particular.”Have a seat ladies and gents. We have much to discuss…”
Nobody in the room moved.
”SIT DOWN!” She channeled her inner Pacino when her voice suddenly went from zero to unhinged in about a microsecond. All but one of the executives sat down as commanded.
The tension in the room was palpable.”I don’t know what you think you’re doing, young lady, but there are cameras everywhere. Or have you forgotten about our state of the art Occhi system? Security will come bursting through those doors any minute! You should know that!”
Sahara bobbed her head, but it was unclear whether she was processing his words of warning, or sarcastically dismissing them…
Hands clasped behind the small of her back, she slowly strolled across the top of the mahogany table. Her boots step over any number of items, from laptops or tablets, to pens and notepads, without a care in the world. At one point, she pauses and uses the toe of her boot to nudge a half-filled cup of Starbucks to the side, making room for herself to approach the unruly executive. An older gentleman with greying hair in a perfectly tailored suit. He looked none too amused. She slowly tilts her head and places her bloodstained boot on the man’s shoulder. Much to her amusement, he doesn’t budge.
”Ya know,” Sahara motions toward the glass windows facing out high above New York City as a sinister little laugh emanates from her lips. ”I’ve heard those are shatterproof. They started doin’ that after that Black Monday thing in the 1980’s due to rumors people were jumping from skyscrapers when the market crashed. Now I don’t know if any of that’s true or not, but it got me wondering…”
With her boot still placed on the executives shoulder, she gazes out the window for an uncomfortable amount of time, thinking about … something. Finally, she looks down at him–
”What would you say the odds are of that thing shattering?! I mean, a hundred to one? A thousand? A million?! Tell me Mr. Richie-Rich, ‘I’m not gonna back down from this crazy bitch in front of my peers Executive’, would you bet your life that that glass – which was probably made in China by a twelve year old kid being paid a slave wage by people like yourself – would you bet your life that it won’t shatter? Cuz I’d loooooove to find out, so please–” She locked her icy blue eyes on his, “Don’t give me a fucking reason–”
As the words left her mouth, she violently shoved him with her boot into his high backed leather chair, sending him rolling across the floor before it came to a stop a few feet in front of the window. A few audible gasps could be heard.”And if you think I’m fuckin’ with ya, old man, ask Mia. I’m sick and tired of people like you thinkin’ you can control me cuz you can have me fired or fined or something. There are those words again. Sick and tired. Sick and tired. I ain’t exactly all there if ya know what I mean. Wrestlers I mean. That’s why we do what we do. Problem for you is, I ain’t a twelve year old born in a communist country that you can pay in rice while you dine on fine swine and wine. No sir! I’m sick and tired of people like you. I’m sick and tired of people like Vincent Black preempting my matches for his own. I’m sick … and tired … of the New Status Quo. I’m sick … and tired … of this whole goddamn creatively bankrupt industry that’s turned to invisible men, dinosaurs, and pandas, like it’s all a joke!” ”I mean, is this the best we got?!”
Turning away from the older executive, she took a single step and twisted some papers with the toe of her boot, as if to read whatever was written down during the meeting. Her face contorted as she reached down and grabbed a handful of those papers. She half crumbled them up in her hand…”Look at this shit! Do I need to say sick and tired again?!”
She threw the fistful of papers up in the air, and they went flying aimlessly about the room.”Is this where it was decided to take me out of the opening match at the seasonal kickoff of Venom? Did you decide that?!”
She glanced around the room at the intimidated eyes that gazed back at her in silence.”I’m sorry, am I not speaking in your native tongue? Looking around this room, I’m sure you could afford a translator, I mean that abstract on the wall, how much did that ugly shit cost?”
One of the executives glanced back at the painting adorning the far wall of the room and shook his head, ”No, uh, we understand you. Things like that aren’t decided by uh, us, that’s solely on the creative team. We handle stuff like merchandising and licensing–”
Sahara snaps her fingers and points at the guy–”So you’re the one that decides if I get my face on a lunchbox?! What’s your name?” ”Uh, no, I um–”
”Calm down, I ain’t sick and tired of you just yet–” Sahara pivots on a bootheel and turns toward the lone voice brave enough to speak up. He was a cute young thing that was probably a few years out of college. A little too clean cut, but whatever. He’ll do. ”What’d you say your name was?! I’m sure you’ve seen posters of my face plastered all over this building, so we can skip the part where I introduce myself … again!” She held her arms out, motioning to the space surrounding them.”N-no, my name is Jerome. I um, I mean we don’t decide things like that in these meetings, I mean, the lunchbox thing yeah, but not the creative. That’s handled by an entirely different executive committee.” ”So you’re saying the person I need to hurt … isn’t in this room?” ”No, I uh, I’m saying I don’t think you need to hurt anyone.”
Sahara stops, rolling her head back as if contemplating his words. She runs a hand through her stringy blonde hair and heaves a sigh as she approaches the chatty young executive. She drops down and takes a seat on the edge of the table, her legs dangling from the edge. She playfully sways her legs as she seductively motions for Jerome to scoot closer to her. As he does, she grabs him by the tie and wraps it in her fist. With each twist, she draws him in closer and closer…
Her voice started as a mere whisper, but continued to get louder as she spoke to the young executive.
”That’s literally what you pay me to do, Jerome. Hurt people. Take this week for example, we got Sahara versus Aiden Reynolds. What exactly do you think I’m gonna do to Aiden Reynolds on Venom?” She raised a brow at the young executive. ”Shake his hand and play ring around the fuckin’ rosie?”
He lets out a nervous laugh.”Am I being funny now?”
He nervously shook his head.”Very good, Jerome! You’d be right in assuming I’m not gonna shake his hand and play ring around the rosie! What I am gonna do is follow up that Batman shit I did to him on Venom and whoop his ass from pillar to post for a second time, only this time I’m gonna do it out there in the ring where it matters. Hopefully in front of his no status quo buddies so they can get a preview of what’s to come. Because by the time I’m finished, I’m gonna lay waste to this entire fuckin’ roster if that’s what it takes to wake people up. But what I need from you people is insurance the rest of his little crew ain’t gonna interfere in my business…I mean, how would you like it if some random wrestler burst into this room and interrupted your little meeting and started tellin’ you how to do your job?!”
Sahara allowed her words to linger for a few moments before she started to laugh.”I gotcha on that one, Jerome…right? I got ya!”
He nervously laughed along with the lunatic blonde holding him by the tie as she looked around the room eliciting others to laugh along with them. She then wrapped her hand with the tie one more time, drawing him in even closer as her voice suddenly turned very calm. She turned back to Jerome and was just about nose to nose with him.”Jerome. Could you pretty-please-with-sugar-on-top, do me the biggest … giantest … hugest favor in the whole wide world and tell old man winter that if he picks up that phone and hits the panic button, that I’m gonna calmly push myself off this table, walk over to him, and give him a preview of what I’m gonna do to Aiden Reynolds on Venom?! Huh? Could ya do that for me, sweetie?”
Jerome swallowed nervously and nodded his head. He didn’t actually have to say a word, as the elder executive put his hands up and pushed himself away from the phone.
Sahara joyfully smiled at the response, ”Wow, you’re good, Jerome. You didn’t even have to say a word and he did the right thing!” Pulling him forward by the tie, Sahara suddenly locked lips with the young man, bringing audible gasps from others. And it wasn’t a mere peck of a kiss. Her lips parted ever so slightly and this went on for a very uncomfortable length of time before she finally shoved him away and licked her lips.
Spinning on her ass, she stood back up on the conference room table and looked around at the very nervous executives which brought a joyful smile to her face.
”You see, old man, you don’t have to push that panic button. They already know what’s goin’ on in here, don’t they?” Sahara motioned around the room at the various Occhi system cameras with a knowing smirk. ”Because I guarantee you those sick fucks up there in their gold-plated ‘creative suite’ watchin’ this shit go down. And you know what they’re wondering?!” Sahara looked around at the various executives surrounding her and repeated the question– ”Do ya know what they’re wondering?””How to monetize it…”
”Bingo!” Sahara pointed at a younger woman who suddenly looked quite proud of herself.
”We have a winner! Give that girl a Gingerbread Latte with extra whipped cream and one of those weird English biscuits! Exactly! That’s exactly what they’re doin’! Ain’t you sick and tired of it?! There’s those words again! Sick and tired! You’d think after I threw one of their fucking wrestlers off a cruise ship they’d stop and be like, ‘Hey, maybe we should do something about that Sahara chick, she’s become unglued from reality and is startin’ to do some bat crazy shit!’ But no! They see fans in the crowd with signs that say ‘Sahara’s my interior decorator!’ after a rumor spreads that I put Joe Montouri’s stripper through a coffee table and those sick fucks realize they got somethin’ in me the fans wanna pay to see!”
Sahara slowly turns atop the table, seemingly addressing them as individuals.
”That’s why armed security ain’t busted in here and stopped me dead in my tracks. That’s why armed security won’t be bustin’ in here anytime soon! So if you ain’t sick and tired of it yet, you damn well should be after today.” Taking a well placed step, she stops and uses her boot to close the lid of one of the many laptops on the table. ”Work time is over, folks. It’s time ta’ play with Sahara! This is the part of wrestling people like you could never understand. You’re too civilized. Because you’ve never been exposed to it. Until now. Call it re-origination. Allow me to show you the reality of what it is we do out there, so the next time you think about stampin’ one of our degenerate faces on a lunch pail or ice cream bar, you stop and think twice about what you’re doin’ to the younger generations that look up to us! Like Jeff Goldblum said in Jurassic Park – paraphrasing of course – ‘You’re so preoccupied with whether or not you could, you never stop to think if you should!’””Take it from me. You shouldn’t. Especially when it comes to pricks like the NSQ.”
”So like your feelin’ – right here right now – I woke up one day and realized, what the fuck?! I’m sick and tired of everything I see goin’ on around here! I’m sick of people like Shawn Warstein and Dickie Watson controlling this place. And I’m not even talkin’ about the NSQ in terms of the strength in numbers perspective, cuz there’s like six of those monkeys now. I’m talkin’ about the fact they’ve amassed upwards of 95 thousand in blood money amongst themselves. So if they feel like keepin’ the titles for themselves for another season or two, they could easily swing it just by outbidding everyone else and keepin’ ‘em on lock within the NSQ, win or lose! And everyone else seems to be asleep at the wheel while they’re doin’ it right in front of their faces!”
”I’m sick and tired of “Sister Mine” or whatever the fuck her name is. I’m sick and tired of James Raven and his action-figure with kung-fu grip and sixty-nine points of cock articulation. And I’m really sick and tired of hangers-on like–” Sahara pauses, as if losing her place. She snaps her fingers and points at Jerome. ”Jerome! Who the fuck am I facing this week?!””Ai-Aiden Reynolds…” ”That’s right, Jerome! Aiden Reynolds it is! The FIGHT NYC Islands Champion! I think. The Japanese-Mexican-Australian-Englishmen himself!” ”Also known as the next domino to drop on my path to the top.”
”The Australian Wolf. The Oy-Vey Dickhead or whatever the hell that means! Well, at least he’s not another King … or Queen … which granted I was until I dropped that stupid shit after Betsy the Space Granger pointed out how cliché it is to use such titles in your name these days. Props to Betsy, cuz I agreed with her. That one time. Besides, why would I wanna be a King or a Queen when you all know I’m the fuckin’ Ace that’s gonna save the place?! High or low, y’all know I’m still the best card ya got up your sleeve…” Sahara points upward. ”And so do they…””Aiden…”
Sahara pauses and looks around at a few of the various Occhi cameras mounted in the room, seemingly ignoring her built-in executive audience. She slowly turns atop the mahogany table, giving the cameras a complete 360 degree view of her.
Her tone was suddenly venomous.
”I hope you’re watchin’ this, Aiden. I want you to see me this time. I want you to look me in the eyes. I want ya to know I’m sick–” She lets out a demented little laugh. ”–and … tired of bein’ dismissed around here. You all wanted a new status quo? That’s what yer gonna get! At Venom, you got a little taste of your own medicine. At the next Venom, yer gonna get a little more of this Jagged Little Pill. And that one IS Alanis, you snarky little bastards! But this time it’s gonna take place under the lights, in the ring, in front of those fans so they can see the fear in your eyes. Yer gonna swallow down my pain. But unlike you wishy-washy NSQ fucks that can’t decide whether yer good or bad, right or wrong, shades of grey, black or white – or the purple tentacle from Maniac Mansion in Betsy’s case – I’m gonna make up yer minds for ya! I’m gonna paint that ring with your parasitic blood, Aiden Reynolds. No sticks. No bricks. Just these fists. I am gonna fuck you up. And I don’t care how you frame it … I’m the Alliance to your Empire. I’m the Angel to your Demon. I’m the Yin to your fuckin’ Yang.”
”You think what yer doin’ is altruistic, Aiden? Yeah, I said altruistic. I know some words, too. But it’s not. You’re just another cog in the dictatorship called the NSQ, even if you can’t see it. Your mixed message is carefully crafted propagandist bullshit designed to keep everyone wonderin’ if you’re with them or against them. But it ain’t about you being with or against anyone. You’re for yourselves. You, and Dickie, and Shawn, and Betsy, and Kasey and James. And I’m the fuckin’ uprising that’s gonna bring you all down.”
Holding her arms out, she continues to slowly turn for the cameras.”Take a good long look at the beginning of your future’s end, NSQ. Cuz it ain’t gonna be Allison, Ricky, Peter, Paul or Mary. The Boylen’s, or the Black’s, or that one Montuori hack. It ain’t even gonna be Dane Preston that gets this counter-revolution rising.” ”It’s gonna be me.” ”Ya know, that mid-carder that ain’t important enough to pay attention to?”
Just then, the conference room doors flew open and a number of FIGHT Security poured into the room, surrounding the long mahogany table. Many of the executives quickly back up and make their way out of the room. Whispers of ‘crazy bitch’ and ‘I didn’t sign up for this’, could be heard amongst them.”We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Sahara…”
Sahara nods her head, ”Wow. I really thought you guys wouldn’t bother…oh well. I’m gonna have to go with ‘the hard way’…”
The head of security held his arms out to keep everyone calm.”Don’t do this! Come down and let’s let human resources handle the rest.” ”He’s right.”
The familiar voice of the young executive named Jerome stepped around one of the security guards, making his continued presence known.”Right now the most they can do is fine you for breaking a few laptops and some minor infractions. If this gets violent, you’ll force them to take more drastic measures. Sahara. Don’t let ‘em win like this.”
Jerome held a hand upward toward the blonde standing on the table that looked ready to fight the world.”Come on down. You sold me on this. I know money when I see it. It’s literally my job.” ”Yer just sayin’ that cuz I kissed you.”
Jerome somewhat shrugged, ”Actually that’d be sexual assault, but…as I didn’t take it that way, there isn’t much they can say about it. Like you said, sick–“”…and tired.”
An amused smile curled her lip.
Reaching out, she took his hand and jumped down off the table…”Okay boys, now take me to FIGHT jail.”
There’s something happenin’ here
But what it is ain’t exactly clear
There’s a man with a gun over there
Tellin’ me I got to beware