“Do it, Atara, I fucking dare you.”

The words were whispered for only Atara to hear through the screaming crowd of fans; a challenge Betsy Granger never thought her former friend would actually accept. The last thing she remembers before being dragged dizzily backstage by Alias and Dolly Waters were narrowed Aegean blue orbs and an accepting smirk spread across the face of Atara Themis before the self-proclaimed Goddess threw her from the top of the Xtreme-Tron screen. The Tweety birds were still dancing in circles before her eyes and the pain still had her paralyzed when Atara had locked in Betsy’s own submission finisher on her, forcing her to tap. Atara had let go mercifully quickly to snatch up the title belt into her hands; meanwhile, all Betsy could do was look up at the ceiling as she allowed the pain to engulf her entirely.

It was over.

In the blink of an eye, she was Betsy No-Belts once more.

The days following Leap of Faith had been periodically joyous and unbearable. Despite falling, figuratively AND literally, at the hands of Atara, Twitter had been an unbearable place to be. It certainly didn’t help that she, along with James and Shawn, had thrown in their hats with Apex, forming an even stronger stable to ward off the growing masses of the BoB. Any sense of feeling like she was still under the radar had gone completely out the door that night; like it or not, the choice she made had officially thrust her into the spotlight. In a group of legends, she was the shiny new penny with the enormous chip on her shoulders.

Luckily, she found herself not only ready but eager to carry the burden.

Even as she hammers the words into her mind once more, bile creeps its way upward, burning the back of her throat. It wasn’t the loss of the Shooting Star title that hurt; on the contrary, being relieved of the championship had given her an unusual sense of liberation. Something within her had been nagging at her ever since the night she’d first one the title; a voice or perhaps a feeling, that kept telling her that she was meant for more. The Shooting Star Championship was only the beginning; the string of losses leading into the brutal match at Leap of Faith had acted like a snake shedding its skin. Betsy was ready to brush her shoulders off and look forward to bigger things. No, it was very much the who that continued to nag at her; sighing heavily, she reminds herself once again that Atara had made her bed and the bridge was too damaged to attempt to cross for now.

Rising abruptly from her chair and shaking herself out of her thoughts, Betsy makes a snap decision. Pulling out her phone, she sends out a Tweet to several people at once, telling them to prepare for her arrival. Even though he’s only two rooms down in the gym, she’s sure to tag James as well, knowing his AirPods would be in as he muscled his way through his weight training. Gliding gracefully down the hall, Betsy stops outside of the door of the gym in time to hear him set the bar back in its groove with a loud clunk as his music was interrupted by the notification. Quietly opening the door and standing casually against the frame, Betsy watches his face as he studies the tweet for a moment. He chuckles as he grabs his towel to dab at his face and turns, starting when he realizes at last that she’s there. Now it’s Betsy who chuckles as she enters the room and stands before him, taking the towel from his hands and patting at his sweat-drenched body.

“Seventies night, Bets? I don’t know how well that’s going to go with some of them...”

“Have faith in me, lover. Even the ones who drag their feet will come around.”

James looks skeptical, but Betsy smiles and nods her head confidently. Even as she does this, both their phones ping with an alert. Already, several of her invitees and a few others who wanted in had RSVP’d. The rest would surely follow; as of now, the party was officially on. The skepticism in James’ face turns to genuine delight as he leans down and plants a quick kiss on her lips.

“Meet me in the shower?”

Her eyes glow bright green as she gazes up at him, allowing him to take her hand and lead the way...




**

“Well Mr. Bourbon, we find ourselves in a bit of an interesting situation here, don’t we? When last we met, I was watching you and your fellow Bobbies fall like a sack of potatoes at the hands of APEX-LEGACY. For the record, I had nothing, in particular, to do with what happened to you; I find myself rather drawn to Miss Fury, but that’s another conversation for another day. First things first, and that’s you and Retro-Anarchy, hosted by my friends Ruby and An.... Centurion. Clever little show, really, I’m looking forward to seeing the names a retro night could draw out. But the name I was given was yours, which unfortunately means my bounce back starts with you. And that’s what this is really about for me, Bobby. That’s why it’s a matter of not just wanting to win; I simply must.

However, before we get into the uglier business of going to war, I owe you a debt of gratitude for the save you made on my behalf at Leap of Faith. For what it’s worth, I appreciate you coming through and showing me that not all of BoB are heartless pieces of human waste; even if it was only a momentary attack of your conscience. It’s refreshing to know that at least ONE of you still has a shred of decency left to speak of. It also adds a sense of guilt on my end over what happened later that night... But not enough, I’m afraid. At the end of the day, we still chose where to hang our respective hats and they are definitely not on the same rack.

So, let's get to the reason everyone is listening to me gab today, shall we? To say Leap of Faith was a veritable success sounds strange coming from me; yet, that’s precisely what it turned out to be. Did I lose the Shooting Star Championship? Obviously, and in a rather heinous fashion. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still hurting from that tumble off the Tron; not to mention the bump on the back of my head the size of China. Atara is a real piece of work, but she took what she wanted... Well, most of what she wanted, anyway. Some things just aren’t up for grabs, no matter what you do, as the Goddess has recently discovered. Alas, it’s finally time to move forward from all of that and focus on what’s to come.

It’s clear now that despite your help at Leap of Faith, the birth of Apex-Legacy irrevocably ruins any shots of finding a tumultuous truce within our ranks. I’m also certain that your involvement on my behalf was greeted with ire from your counterparts. I'm afraid that’s the price you pay for doing a good deed in a group of immoral dickwads. I mean it when I say I’m sorry you had to deal with whatever heat they gave you for it; but if it makes you feel better, we can write it off as an ‘error of judgment’ on your end that won’t happen again. It’s also the last apology I’m going to make leading into this fight because the final thing I know without a shadow of a doubt is that you’ll have no compassion left for me by the time this reaches you. I’m good with that, I don’t need your compassion or your pity; I didn’t even really need your help in the first place, it was just an unexpected, albeit fun little bonus. I enjoyed Atty and Osira’s faces when you tried to get me out of the airlock; it made the entire experience worth it.

It’s a shame you’ve got such a bee in your bonnet over James and my band of brothers; I still don’t believe in my heart that you are truly a bad man, Bobby Bourbon. I don’t think you’re a saint, you’ve definitely got an edge that’s gotten you to where you are. But BoB and what they stand for... Is that really you? Is attaching your hitch to that wagon really worth it just to get your hands around the necks of a few of your enemies? Look at you, Bobby, you’re a fucking Juggernaut of a man; part of my strategy going into this match is figuring out how I’m going to slay the giant. You don’t need BoB to get your dirty work done; you just want someone in your corner when the numbers game starts to work against you. I get that, Bobby, I really do; knowing I’ve had Legacy at my back since day one of my revival has been a great relief to me. Having a family of brothers that I could trust to have my back, no matter what, is a commodity so many folks lack around here. Can you say the same about BoB, without even the slightest of hesitations?

I digress, I’m not here to try and talk you out of your chosen alliance; your mind's made up and it’s going to take more than Betsy Granger to change it. Perhaps that makes my questions of appeal seem a touch redundant now; but maybe you need to ask them of yourself and reflect over what you discover. Or you can just keep barreling down this path of inevitable destruction that will come at the hands of Apex-Legacy. It really doesn’t matter to me at this point which you choose, because my current objective is crystal clear: down the giant.

I’m a very patient woman when it comes to the attack, Bobby Bourbon, even if it doesn’t seem so on Twitter. I learn from the mistakes I’ve made every day and they only keep me coming back stronger. If you think my recent streak of failures is indicative of what’s to come, I would kindly suggest you think again. Much like the phoenix, one must die to be reborn and my second coming has arrived. People seem to think the mark of success hangs on whether you hold a championship and how many one may hold at a time; no one ever stops to think of what potential LOSING that championship holds as well. I’m honored to have had the Shooting Star title and to be a name within its hall of champions; but having been relieved of the belt, I now have nothing but opportunity ahead of me to grab.

It only takes one win to get myself back on track; I appreciate you acting as my mammoth sacrificial goat. Until next time, Bobby.”

**

“I can’t believe I let you talk us into this...”

Even as he mumbles this to Betsy, the eyes of Shawn Warstein are locked steadily on Kasey Winterbourne; the gorgeous red-head is a stunner in a tight, 1970’s style black and white polka-dotted mini-dress and matching go-go boots to accent her long legs. Around her slim waist is a silky pink sash; her flaming locks are held out of her face by a chunky plastic headband. Gold bangle earrings swing playfully as she throws her head back and laughs at something James had said. Betsy is decked out in a sparkling gold, disco jumpsuit and matching Converse high-tops, blond hair swinging down her back freely; she nudges Shawn playfully as she tips her head towards Kasey and James.

"She already looks to be having a good time; it’s okay to lighten up and have a good time with her.”

Shawn tugs nervously at the collar of his black, cotton suit jacket; all of the guys had found the most fashionable 1970's clubwear in Excellence’s wardrobe that was suitable for what Betsy had in mind. Looking around at her guests, Betsy marveled once again at the mixed company and how they all seemed to be meshing at the moment. James and Kasey were now accompanied by Robert “The Omega” Main, while Drew Archyle and Jim Caedus kept mostly to themselves in a corner, occasionally looking around. Even Dickie Watson and his wife Hannah had joined them for the occasion, blending easily and were currently marveling at the control panel and engine. Shawn shakes his head as his momentary uncharacteristic bout of nerves subsides.

“That was slick of you, by the way, Sister Mine; inviting Kasey along knowing I’d come if she said yes.”

"She seems like a girl who knows how to have a good time, I’m just glad she proved me right. And you’re a less miserable son of a bitch just for having her nearby.”

Shawn mocks outrage as Betsy giggles; the motion causes Kasey and James to look over curiously. Flashing Shawn a cheeky grin, she checks the navigation screen and her grin widens.

“Grab a seat or something to hold on to guys and dolls, we’re getting ready to land and for the newbies... This part can get a little bumpy.”

James and Shawn both smirk as they take a seat on either side of Betsy’s pilot’s chair. The others look around and tentatively sit or grab something sturdy near them. Betsy begins punching buttons as she maneuvers the control stick with ease under deft fingers. For once, her landing goes without a hitch, and Betsy gestures towards the door. No one is the first to move, all eyes remaining on the Impossible Traveler, who is bouncing on her toes in her excitement. Finally, James indulges her and walks swiftly down the ramp and opens up the doors, looking out… and quickly steps back inside, a look of pure awe all over his face.

“So… That was Salvador Dali who just walked by… With Andy Warhol.”

For a moment, the words hang in the air between Betsy and her current gaggle of companions; the sudden scramble for the doors forces a giggle from her lips. James hangs back as Betsy makes her way down the ramp, giving them a moment alone. He wraps his arms around her waist as she studies her face with an amused smile.

“Studio 54, Bets? Nicely played; even Shawn’s jaw was on the ground just now.”

Making sure Shawn himself wasn’t looking, Betsy shrugs before running her hands up his arms and cupping them around the back of his neck. Heart pounding like it was the first time, she closes her eyes as his lips touch hers; before she has a chance to fall into his kiss, the impatient voice of Drew Archyle floats towards them. Chuckling to each other, they clasp hands and exit Excellence, joining the group to head towards the famous, blacked-out doors…

… And are greeted immediately by an elaborately decorated lobby; the walls were covered from ceiling to floor in red velvet, floor-length mirrors adorning each side. Upbeat music is playing loudly behind the doors at the end of the hall; all the group had to do was walk the red carpet leading the way. Looping her arm through Betsy’s, Kasey leans in, whispering excitedly under her breath.

“Thank you so much for inviting me along! All of this is… Well, it’s weird, and a bit overwhelming, but wow! How cool is this, we’re really at Studio 54 right now!”

Betsy chuckles and squeezes Kasey’s arm gently as she nods. Hannah Watson has joined them by now, leaving Dickie with the other guys, and loops her arm through Betsy’s free one. The girls look before them at the ornate doors of the club that barely keep the pulsing, ear-shattering music at bay. Together, the girls swing the doors open and their every sense is blasted by the sights, sounds, and smells… the overall FEELING of the place they now stood. Before they’d even had a proper chance to soak it in, a voice blessed with a British accent came from behind them and urged them along.

“Are you beautiful darlings just going to stand there, or are you going to come inside and dance with me all night long?”

The girls turn to tell off the intrusive male and all of them stop dead, trying not to let their jaws hit the floor. Before them, in his prime and all his splendor, stood Queen frontman, Freddie Mercury. Behind him were Elton John and Divine, and just entering the club behind them were Elizabeth Taylor and Michael Jackson. Even Betsy, who had been prepared for the star power they’d potentially run into that night, felt her breath catch in her throat. Beside her, Kasey was almost bouncing on her toes and Hannah was still holding back a gasp. Even all the guys were staring in shock as the heavy-hitter celebrities started to pile in around them. It was then that a voice from within the club started calling out her name.

“Betsy Granger, as I live and breathe! It’s about damn time I finally got you here in my club!”

Smiling, Betsy waves as Studio 54 co-owner and creator, Steve Rubell, wades his way through the wave of dancers to greet them at the entrance. Taking up Betsy in both his arms, he plants two kisses on each of her cheeks before stepping back to take her in.

“You look amazing, kiddo… And look at these beautiful people you've gifted me with. Honestly, Bets, you're always thinking of me!”

Giggling, Betsy makes introductions as quickly as she can before Steve sweeps the group up into the club. Putting his arm over Betsy’s shoulders, he points up to his private box and promises it to her and her friends for the night. With an apologetic smile, he heralds over a waiter, promising them whatever they wanted, before disappearing once more in the depths of the club. The girls begin to dance to the beats wildly, attempting to match the other dancer's movements. This elicits chuckles from the guys; James, Dickie, and Shawn remain on the floor with the ladies while Drew, Jim, and Robert make their way up to their private box up on the balcony. Before long, all of them were losing themselves to the music, the lights…

To the club itself.

FORMER