“So here we are again, ladies.”

Her breath is shallow and her appearance is in shambles, but the emerald eyes of Betsy Granger remain alight with determination. She is currently dressed in a red leotard, working out on silk ropes. Her movements are graceful and timed to perfection. A violin and piano are played together in a haunting melody.

“I imagine neither of you expected our destinies to remain so intertwined after High Stakes. Both of you wanted to write me off as nothing more than a newcomer with a hot opportunity she didn’t deserve. Neither of you did anything original to try and stop my vibes; Jenny relied on her obsession with the title and middle school jabs to rile me up. Scary Geri tried to no-sell me completely, before, during, and after the match. It’s all good though because Betsy Granger doesn’t allow herself to be snubbed so lightly.”

Having climbed the ropes, she now uses the silks wrapped around her waist to twirl back to the ground effortlessly. She plants her feet into the floor while her back arches and she faces the ceiling. After a quiet count, she pulls herself back upright.

“I’d ask if I have your attention now, girls, but I should think that the answer by now would be a firm yes. It took you both long enough to get your heads out of your asses… Oh, who am I kidding? They are still screwed tightly up there, you just spread the hole open a little wider. At last, you see the light! Don’t be scared to walk towards this one, its okay! The world gets bigger and the smell definitely gets better.
To say you girls have made a fine mess of the Shooting Star title picture would be a gross understatement. Between Jenny’s obsessive and overly long reign and Scary Geri’s fluke of a win, the entire division is in absolute shambles. Neither of you are fit to represent the XWF as the Shooting Star Champion the way I am. I can already see both of you laughing and gearing up to call me cocky and begin spouting off all the ways I’m not going to win; you’re both predictable as the tides.”

She climbs back up the silks with ease, using her weight to flip herself upside down. Now she does an upside-down split in the air and holds this pose. Her breath is more labored when she speaks again.

“It pains me to say this, but I have to give Scary Geri credit over you on one thing, Jenny: She’s at least trying to see a bigger picture. It may not be one I, and many others, agree with; but she is committing herself to something she feels is bigger than herself. Bigger than this triangle we seem to be temporarily trapped in; bigger than the Shooting Star Title itself. I didn’t want to give her credit for having that much depth, but compared to you? Scary Geri is at least knee-deep in the kiddie pool; I couldn’t keep a fish alive in your level of shallowness.
Do you really think you and Ash calling me Miss Piggy in the locker room was going to hurt my feelings? Come on, you guys bestowed upon me the most glamorous puppet to ever grace film and television! Miss Piggy is not only a renowned fashion icon worldwide, she’s a sassy, classy, take-no-shit kind of a gal. Her feisty temper and unashamed honesty have made her a sex symbol in her own right. So the next time you want to try to use Miss Piggy to belittle your betters, you better remember to put some respect on her name. She’d kick your ass in her stilettos without knocking a single hair out of place.
I just don’t understand women like you, Jenny. The talent is there. You clearly have the look and the fortitude it takes to succeed. Yet, you parade around, priding yourself on your looks and the length of your title reign. But what did you do with that reign, Jenny? What did you contribute to the company as a champion? Nothing you’ve ever done has gone beyond self-service, that’s why I find it hard to believe that you and Ash are suddenly Bitchy Sisters. Speaking of which, you better watch your back with that one. Look how quickly she and Scary Geri went from hating one another to Hot Topic Besties to hating one another again. I’m just saying… “

Pulling herself back up and using all of her upper-body strength, she does a split in the air and holds it as the silk ropes twirl her around slowly. As she spins, she slowly rotates her ankles, allowing the silks to wrap around her legs.

“Don’t sit back and relax yet, Scary Geri. Our next round is fast approaching and if you think the results are going to be any different, you are very sadly mistaken.”

Releasing her grip on the silks, Betsy allows herself to fall. The ends of her golden hair sweep the floor as she stops short, her ankles still securely tied in place. A grin crosses her face as she casually hangs upside down.

“You may hold the title, but that only makes you that much more my target. You could have done the smart thing and stood aside. Allow me to take my place as the rightful number one contender after our cage match, and then step to me. At least then, you would have only had to lose to me once. In a perfect world, that would be the case, but here we are. I shouldn’t complain too much, to be fair… It means I get another shot at you. And ripping the belt out of your grasp and halting your reign before it has a chance to take off sounds really fucking sweet right about now.”

Flipping with the silks, Betsy finally lands on her feet. She stands in place, the silks hanging off her arms as she plants her hands into her hips.

“You know, you really have been a pain in my ass these last few weeks. Actually, it hasn’t even really been you; you just happen to capitalize when I’m down. But you and the rest of your group of blood-sucking weirdos have been a thorn in my side and I’m getting real sick of that shit. The bruises around my neck are finally starting to heal, no thanks to that psycho you call a leader. You tried to set me on fire; thank god that didn’t work out as you’d hoped. Even after the Baphomet gets arrested and it should dissolve, you fuckers manage to pull another ace from the hole.
You wanted to get inside my head, Scary Geri. Congratulations, you’ve made it there. But you should have been more careful about what you wish for. My head is a very dangerous place to inhabit, especially given the bullseye on your back. It’s not just about the Shooting Star title anymore, we both know that. So let’s not pretend that it is. You fired the first significant shot for the Left Hand when you managed to claim the strap from Myst.
I hope you're prepared for the clap back when I walk out of Snow Job with the Shooting Star title on my waist and your bodies layed out in the ring.”

Using the strength in her arms, she pulls herself up to the ceiling once more and hangs there.

“I’m not like you Jenny; I don’t need the Shooting Star title and commercial endorsements to validate my place in the universe. My entire world doesn’t revolve around one belt or the people who happen to possess it.

I’m not like you, Geri; I don’t need to compromise my identity to feel a smidgeon of worth and claim titles I didn’t earn the right to. One day, you’ll regret having to pay the debt on your soul for so little reward.

It’s time, once and for all, to bring stability and honor back to the Shooting Star Divison. With Atara gone, it’s up to me to finish what she started. I have climbed mountains since my first shot at becoming the Shooting Star, and I’m nowhere near finished. The lengths I’ve already gone in the short time I’ve been on this path have been unpassable.

I only wrestled for a month in 2020 and already, my list of accolades is longer than either of yours and growing longer all the time. And believe leave me, girls, there is so much more to come.

The Shooting Star championship is only the beginning.”

Using the silks, The Impossible Traveler slides to the floor into a clean split, covering her face and holding the pose. The feed ends on this image.

Part One: Into the Mists

Checking the screen of the navi-computer one last time, The Impossible Traveler gives a small nod. As always, her landing had been right on the mark. Per the request of her host, she’d parked Excellence just outside of the village, in a lonely field. Slipping into her warm wool poncho, she walks briskly towards the doors of the ship, full of determination. That fades as soon as she reaches the doors, slipping into a stomach fluttering terror. She knew that what she was about to partake in, she’d requested. It was her choice to be here… But it didn’t stop the terror from eating away at her.

Ever since Dagobah, Betsy had been plagued with nightmares. The dark marriage played out in her dreams relentlessly. Only now, the face of the wicked minister had been revealed and the Pale Rider appeared. She shivered as she remembered the freezing touch of his lips against hers. The familiar wickedly dark desire that spread hotly through her, even as her body recoiled from his touch. The numbing fear when her mind cleared and she saw his true form… Too late. She’d already given herself over to him…

“No, I didn’t. It was only a vision… It was… It’s...” She lets her frantic whisper trail off as she pressed her head against the wooden door and sighs. “It’s exhilarating… intoxicating.” She whispers in defeat as a single tear falls from her cheek. “No.” Now her whispers are more determined. “You’ve taken enough souls. You can’t have mine. I will never be yours.” She pushes herself away from the door and wipes away the tear.

Straightening her poncho, she takes a deep breath and starts on her way. The fields are tall with wheat and grains. Livestock grazes lazily, taking no notice of her as she strolls past. She takes her time heading towards her destination, losing herself in her thoughts. The latest developments with the Left Hand had left her more shook up than she cared to admit. No matter what happened, their numbers never seemed to stop growing. It was unnerving, to say the least. And now that Geri held the Shooting Star Title, Betsy was forced to finally see her as a credible threat.

A flash of anger burned through her as the bitter taste of Geri’s victory prickled her tongue. That title shot should have been hers in the first place. If Scary Geri hadn’t managed to play at Jenny’s ego so quickly, that shot would have been rightfully hers. Especially after winning the cage match. It was about as fair as her debut when the Shooting Star Title had first slipped from her grasp. It had been there… Right there at her fingertips. A wave of bile attempts to work its way up her throat, but she forces it back down.

Fretting over what’s done was useless. If she was going to win now, it was time to take a deeper look into herself. She stops at the edge of a wide pond and waits. Fragrant water lily and floating hyacinth dapple the murky waters with bursts of vivid color. Along the shore, primroses hang from low-hanging branches of the trees that line the forest. Tall sprouts of maiden cane and cattails blow lazily in the breeze. A small silver fish leaps from the pond, gracefully flipping to catch bugs in the air, before disappearing again. The sky cast a fiery orange glow across everything as the sun quietly slipped into the sky for another day. The only sounds were the early morning birds and crickets. A few frogs would bellow out an occasional baritone solo. Everything about the scene was utter bliss.

Closing her eyes, Betsy lifts her face towards the rising sun, basking in the early rays. She sniffs, taking in the intoxicating aromas: Dirt, damp with fresh morning dew. Fragrant flower petals, curving outward to bask in the sun for another day. The sweet decaying of wood as moss and mold eats away at the bark of the trees that have stood as sentinels over this sacred land for centuries. Completely lost in the moment now, Betsy slides out of her shoes and squishes her toes into the mud on the shoreline. It’s still cold from the night, but it’s refreshing on her tired feet. She leans over and plunges her hands into the icy pond water, splashing some onto her face and chest. It sends a surge of powerful energy through her and she smiles.

Just as she’s rinsing off her feet, the little wooden boat for three appears. The man silently rowing is deeply tanned and lined from the sun. His hair is shaved except for the long black braid that runs the length of his spine. Though he’s slender, there’s an obvious muscle definition from physical labor. His dark brown eyes land on her face and he studies her curiously. Above his brow, a sigil was burned into his forehead. He wears a clean white tunic over brown slacks. He rows the boat confidently to where Betsy is standing. Rising from behind the rower is the woman Betsy had come to see today.

Vivienne moved with a quiet elegance that, despite her smaller stature, commanded respect. She wore the plain blue, woolen tunic of any priestess, her raven black hair hooded with a brown cloak. Her dark eyes follow Betsy’s every move, her expression giving away nothing. For no reason at all, Betsy’s heart begins to pound as she dries her feet off on the grass and slips back into her sandals. She knew neither of them was judging her, yet she could feel the power coming off of Vivienne like waves. When Betsy finally approached the boat to climb aboard, Vivienne silently offered a steadying hand. Betsy shot her a smile and got settled in quickly.

Even though the ride to the mists was short, the silence that spread between them made it feel like an eternity. Dark eyes that could see through your thoughts, into your very soul, bore into her. Vivienne was trying to figure out what had her desperate enough to make the request that had brought her here. Well, she’d know soon enough. As sure as she was that the druid rowing them steadily wouldn’t betray his High Priestess, Betsy felt a leap of insecurity about exposing this much of herself to anyone else. It had been difficult enough to make contact with Vivienne, and harder still to convince her to agree to the ritual.

The mists appeared before them as if out of nowhere; a dense, heavy veil, hovering above the water shrouding the island just beyond. Vivienne rises once again and turns towards the mists. Betsy catches her breath in her throat as she watches the tiny priestess. Vivienne closes her eyes and presses her fingers against them. After a few moments, she lifts her hands in the air and holds them in place. Betsy can feel Vivienne’s power crackle through the air like electricity, but her eyes are glued to the heavy mists. Vivienne lowers her arms; in tandem, the mists part, and the sun now shines brightly on a gorgeous island.

The druid rows them quickly to the shores and hops out of the boat. He holds out a hand for Betsy, who accepts it with a smile. He does the same for Vivienne, then with a silent bow, takes his leave. Betsy looks around the island; young girls, newly brought to the island to begin their service to the Goddess. Druids walking around in deep conversation. Another group of older girls, clearly on the cusp of womanhood and ready to take their vows. Everything about this place promised clarity and peace.

At last, Vivienne steps up beside Betsy and wraps her up in a hug. Betsy smiles and gives the elfin priestess a tight squeeze. Vivienne holds her out and looks her over thoroughly, eyes shining.

“My Impossible Betsy… Welcome back to Avalon.”

FORMER