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The Long and Winding Road
Author Message
MollyBarnes Offline
Salford Supernova



XWF FanBase:
The IWC

(gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)


#1
04-26-2023, 12:51 PM


An exhausted Molly Barnes walked through the front door of her flat. She’d just gotten off a long flight that had dropped her off at the Manchester airport and had taken a 1* Uber to get her home. It had been the cheapest option, and it hadn’t been hard to see, or smell, why. With enough determination, she reckoned she  could’ve gotten buzzed off the alcohol stains on the back seats. And those stains had been the least of her worries…

As Molly entered her flat, for some reason, it was colder than it was outside. Which would be grand, had it been a hot Summer’s Eve. But it was a cold, rainy April night up in Salford, and Molly was already shivering from being up there where the air was supposed to be clear… and from keeping the window open during her cab ride home.

The flat felt cold and humid, and you could smell mould the second you stepped inside. If you touched the walls with your fingertips, they felt damp. Molly sighed and banged her fist on the walls. But not too hard. The plaster walls were so damp she feared she could leave an imprint. She walked over to the broom closet that housed her boiler and gave the thing a good old thrashing.

Molly: "Just work, you piece of shite!!!"

Molly pressed her back against the wall and slid down onto her arse, knowing fully well it wasn’t going to make any difference. The amount of plumbers she’d gone through who swore on their nan’s lives that they could fix it was more than she could keep count of. She sunk her face in the palms of her hands and shook her head. At this point, she blamed herself more than anyone.

It was her own fucking fault, innit? Believing she was finally on her way to make something out of herself. Get a proper paying job that paid her a decent amount of cash, and gave her a platform to air some… grievances. So of course she tapped out to the Atomic Bat. Of course she caved when the biggest opportunity of her lifetime stared her right in the bloody face.

‘Business decision’, she kept telling herself. And she’d almost managed to convince herself. Batty Gal had trapped her right and proper, and it was either break a limb or tap out and live to fight another day. Thankfully, the Anarchy GM had granted her another match after she had to almost beg for one. And if she ended up on the shelf, she wasn’t going to make any money. Not even a few pitiful ‘turn up and do your job’ sort of quid. Tapping out had been a sound decision. But then why did she feel so fucking awful about it?

Molly: "You’re a fucking waste of space!" she shouted, banging the boiler with her fist, not knowing whether she was talking to it, or to the vague reflection she saw in its dirty metallic shine.

The fact that she’d not just been given a booking, but a chance at actually competing for the Anarchy Championship if she was the winner, had made it all the more insulting. She felt like Oliver Twist standing in line, asking if ‘Please, Sir, could I have another’? But rather than a slap round the face like she’d expected, she was thrown into a match that nobody believed she could win.

Against The Atomic Bat. Or The Atomic Burp, to people in the know. Atomic Belch, really. Still, the lass had made her tap out. Business decision or not, that meant she was technically skilled. And she was strong. Cheeky freakishly so. Like she was holding back. Intentionally.

And her other opponent? Chelsea LeClaire. Now, being from Greater Manchester, it was in her blood to hate all things called Chelsea. And her last name sounds like a French vanilla pudding pastry. So not only was she from Chelsea, she was fucking French sounding as well! What more motivation could the Salford Supernova have to slap her silly?

To be perfectly honest, there was plenty. Molly wasn’t doing this out of spite, pride or resentment, although she could’ve. None of those silly things. She was doing it out of necessity. Winning three times in a row had given her the smallest of buffers to take care of the most urgent of expenses, like her nan’s nursing home, the rent of her flat, and other stuff like food and water. But that well was gonna run dry if she didn’t keep the cash coming in. And the only way to do that was to beat The Atomic Bat like she was a Geiger counter and snuff her the fuck out like she was The Sandman. And to beat Chelsea LeClair like she was Todd Boehly’s secret Dominatrix.   

Molly: "Fuck me, mate, I’ve been through some rough stretches in life. And this isn’t even the worst of it. All me life I’ve been trying to get out of this… I dunno what you could even fucking call it anymore. It’s a tip! It’s a bloody tip! Where they just dump everything they don’t want to be associated with. But I was wrong. I ought to fuckin’ stand the fuck up and tell them Tory bastards and all the worthless wankers looking to sell us off for a quick buck or rouble that they can go fuck themselves and that we’re proud fucking people. And I’m gonna do it by beating Chelsea. Like anyone can these days. And by beating Batty, and showing that we can overcome, no matter how down and out we looked to be. We can be better than all of this!”

Molly planted a hand on the wall and pulled herself back up. It was going to be a long and winding road out of this hole. And if she ever made it out, she wasn’t going to forget where she came from.

Anarchy was upon them.
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