Ninjette to the Rescue

It might not be obvious at first why a single venue should have so many locker rooms, but, for a company like the AFW, it only made too much sense. First of all, there was the simple matter of volume- there were a lot of wrestlers in Tension’s employ, and that meant there were a lot of street clothes to store. Next, those wrestlers more often than not had deep-rooted grudges against each other. It wasn’t uncommon to have to send security backstage to break up fighters who had gotten their hackles raised over something or other. A surfeit of changing rooms helped reduce the number of these incidents tremendously. Finally, the locker rooms were more than mere locker rooms; sometimes, they acted as stages themselves. Obviously, other wrestlers would still need to get changed during these special events, so whoever designed the building was sure to include locker rooms in abundance.

But there are disadvantages to having so many locker rooms, too. The poor PAs had a lot more area to cover when searching for the talent to call them to curtain. The stadium had to pay for that many more janitors for that many more hours every night. And, when a girl got ambushed and trussed up in one of those locker rooms, it could be a long, long while before she was discovered.

When Amy came to, she immediately wished she hadn’t; her head throbbed like a subwoofer at a rave, and her body felt like it had gone through a tumble dry cycle. Her abs in particular gave her a special dose of grief. She had to work hard not to vomit; the cold of the tile on her face helped her ride that urge down.  

Her memory came back to her in pieces. Three women in maintenance uniforms. Vaguely familiar faces. Expressions hard, threatening; bodies similarly so. Amy had just finished changing when the first one attacked her, but it wasn’t until the second and third had already joined the fray that Amy’s fighting instincts finally roared to life. She held her own, got in some good shots. But there were three of them, and the fight’s conclusion was long past written, even before the smallest one drew a long, oak staff from their fake janitor’s cart.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on here. Blaise was out in the ring right now, fighting his rematch with Stone, and Mako had made it very clear to Amy that she’d give his matches extra special attention, especially since their little encounter at the 7-Eleven.

Amy needed to get ringside.

With a groan, Amy tried to push herself up off of the grimy tile, but to no avail- her hands, try as they might, couldn’t find their way out from behind her. The sharp, cutting sensation on her wrists suddenly made sense. Zipties. She was immobile; a prisoner. “Fuck.” The word tasted like iron and felt like ash in her dry mouth; blood. “Fuck.” She said again.

That was ten minutes ago. Since then, after considerable effort (and one severely painful cramp), she'd managed to get into a sitting position. Beyond that, though, she hadn't had much luck. Her bindings were secure- a little too secure, judging from the way the plastic dug into her skin. She pulled, she yanked, she struggled, but the stubborn little zipties refused to break. Frustrated, Amy finally snapped.

“AhhhhhHHH FUUUUCKKK!!” Her feet kicked impotently against the floor as she shrieked. She felt so helpless.

Kozue made her way through the back, her wrapped feet softly padding along the floor as she went. Some of the stage crew nodded her way as she passed. Gave her pats on the back, thumbs up. 'Good match, Kozue'. 'Almost had him'. 'Next time'.

She kept up a little smile, did a few fist bumps here and there, but she was having a hard time agreeing with them. It didn't feel like she did a good job. It felt like she fucked up. Big time.

Maybe she went too risky. Overreached with that last moonsault. Should've softened him up more, had a better ground game. She'd let Nathan run to wild near the start, build up too much momentum, and she'd never gotten it back. And submissions - did she even go for a submission? She couldn't remember, but she didn't think she did. Should've targetted the arms, weakened them, taken away his best weapons. Armbar, maybe? She needed to get a few more upper body submissions down.

Better. Kozue needed to be better. She needed to be better to beat guys like Nathan Weed. She needed to be a lot better to beat freaks like Black Dragon and Killer King. Something needed to change, that much was clearer than crystal. She just had no idea what. Not yet.

She had a lot of thinking to do, and she did her best thinking when she wasn't sweaty and grimy and smelling like Nathan Weed. Her train of thought had just started to slow down when she neared the locker room and heard a voice that was a lot like her own. Only without her accent, a bit shriller, and in octave even she'd never gone. "Hey, hey!" Kozue burst into the locker and looked around for the source. "The fuck's wrong, what's...what?"

It was a girl. Tied up on the floor. In the women's lockerroom. So many things could be inferred.

After a moment of confused staring, Kozue brought up her hands and took a cautious step forward. "Okay, I'll help you in a sec, but just...gotta ask. Is this a sex thing? 'Cause if it is..."

Not a normal question, but in the AFW,  it wouldn't hurt to be sure.

The door exploded inward, and Amy immediately stopped screaming. “Hey, hey!-” A ninja?… no, no time. She could address that later; there were more important issues at hand. “Hey, I’m stuck. Can you help me out?”

Rather than a response, Amy's plea was met with an odd silence. The two women stared at each other- Amy expectantly, the new girl with a confused expression. Then the second stretched awkwardly on into the next. There was a dripping sound from the showers. A duffel bag somewhere settled with a subtle fwump. Amy’s face tickled. Amy didn’t know what was going through the ninja’s mind, but her own was filled to the brim with urgency, and couldn’t figure out what the hold up was.

Finally, the ninja spoke. Accordingly, she also had her hands up and approached her like she was a dangerous animal. Oh. Amy started to roll her eyes, but stopped herself halfway. Shit- she needed very much not to piss off her angel of salvation, here. Amy shook her head and blinked, as though that were enough to erase the eyeroll. “No, no, not a sex thing. This was a violence thing. I got my ass kicked.” The tickle got worse, and, as if on cue, a tiny drop of blood dripped from an eyelash and to the floor.

plop!

Amy made a face. She probably looked like shit. “I’m ziptied. I don’t suppose you have some scissors on you, do you?”

Now that the initial surprise had faded, Kozue could see that this was clearly not a consensual thing, if the girl's words weren't enough to sift that out by themselves. She didn't know exactly what had went down, but she could put in enough pieces of the puzzle to tell what the picture was supposed to be. It looked like somebody had pissed off another somebody who didn't respond well to being pissed off.

"Scissors, no. But..." Kozue fished around in her top for a moment, until she found her keys - the outfit didn't have any real pockets, but she'd sewn one in to keep her stuff in during matches, because fuck trusting random stagehands to hold onto her wallet.

She brought her keys out, but more importantly, she brought out the mini-Swiss Army knife that was attached to them. She'd bought it years ago, and everyone once in a while, the stupid thing came in handy.

Kozue gave them a quick jangle, then kneeled down behind the girl. She popped the blade out and started to work on slicing the zip ties. Wouldn't take too long. "Sorry, wanted to make sure. AFW's full of weird shit, you know?" She moved careful and slow, focusing so she wouldn't cut anything that might bleed afterwards. "Kozue Kaburagi."

A weird time to make small talk, but it seemed to fit. If she was going to untie a girl in the lockerroom, they should at least be on a first name basis.

A knife. Perfect. Though the girl pulled it from an odd place. Presumably, the clothes she was wearing was ring attire- didn't the keys get in the way while she fought?

She pushed the thought out of her mind, though. Instead, Amy leaned as far forward as her bindings would let her to facilitate access to the plastic. “Yeah, no, I don’t blame you. I’d probably have thought the same thing myself.” Then the girl said something unintelligible. “Ah, I don’t speak-” got out of her mouth before Amy figured it out. “Right. My name is Amy Poford. Nice to meet you Kozue.” Not much longer now. “And thanks.”

Kozue Kabaragi.

Amy couldn't make eye contact with the girl behind her, but she turned her head all the same. "Kozue, did you just come off of a match?"

Amy Poford - the name sounded familiar. Kozue was pretty sure she'd seen it on the match list a few times, though she'd yet to watch her wrestler. She didn't look like someone who'd be in the ring tossing it up with the big guys, but then again, Kozue didn't, either.

"Yeah, just got through with it a few minutes ago. Nathan Weed. Lost." There was some annoyance in her voice, couldn't keep it all out. She finally snapped the ziplock and freed Amy's hands, setting her free. Kozue stood up and backed off, giving her some space to breathe.

"Soooooo...can I ask what was up with this?" Kozue tucked her keys away and moved over to her locker. "Or is it none of my damn business and I shouldn't be so nosy?"

She thought so. Kozue “Ninjette” Kabaragi; that was the name on the screen opposite Nathan’s just before she came to the locker room. “Sorry to hear that.”

Amy breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the snap of the plastic finally giving way. "God, that feels great. Thanks a ton." Her hands immediately came in front, where they took turns rubbing each other’s wrists. There was blood on her knuckles, which alarmed her at first, until she realized that there weren’t any cuts on her hands; that meant the blood came from a different body. Nice! Then she struggled to her feet… only to immediately fall back down to her hands and knees. “Fuck.” She needed to get to a TV, but she’d need a moment to get her blood circulating right again. She pulled herself onto the bench that had imprisoned her just a moment ago with a groan and massaged the soreness in her abs and shoulders. While she recovered, she pondered Kozue’s questions.

“Have you heard of the Valkyries? They’re a bike gang that decided to become pro-wrestlers for some reason. Anyway, their leader and I don’t get along. A friend of mine's in a match with them right now, and I guess the leader decided to send her cronies to mess me up while I was changing to keep me away from it.” Amy paused. “At least, I think. I can’t actually prove it was her. But probably.” Amy tried to stand again. This time, she managed to stay on her feet, though she was still a little wobbly; it would have to do. “Listen, thanks again. But the match has been going on for a while now, so I should really get going, see how my friend's doing.” She hobbled slowly for the door, and aches lit up up and down her body. This was going to suck.

Kozue was sorely tempted to come with Amy and help her with whatever she was doing against the Valkyries. She didn't have any beef with them, but she didn't like the idea of people outnumbered or beat up on. Tension seemed to have a thing for attracting some of the most dickish people in wrestling, and it was starting to get on her tits.

But she was already pretty beat from her own match, pretty tired, pretty much done for the night. She wouldn't be much good to anyone. And there was already a long list of people who wanted to beat her ass.

But she felt like she should've said soemthing. Done something. So... "Hey," She called to Amy as she left and brought out her phone. "Want to trade numbers, right quick? It's just not all that often I get to meet someone else in Tension who isn't a raging jackass, is all. Can't hurt to keep a little close."

Amy stopped at the door and hesitated. Not because she was in a hurry- she was- or because she was uninterested- she wasn't- but because walking kinda hurt, and making the trip alllll the way back across the locker room meant that she’ll have wasted a lot of effort.

But Amy sucked it up. Kozue was right; there was an unsettlingly high concentration of assholes at Tension, and it would be helpful to know the good guys from the bad. "Hey, you don't know that I'm not a raging jackass," she remarked as she limped back. “But yeah, okay, that sounds good.” She plucked Kozue’s phone from her hands (and silently mourned her lost progress). As she typed in her number, she spoke again.

“This works out, because I kinda wanna thank you more thoroughly for saving my ass. Like, buy you food maybe. Or drinks, if you’re into drinks.” Amy hit send; a muffled rattle sounded from one of the lockers in response. "Done." She handed Kozue back her phone. “Thanks again, Kozue. I’ll be seeing you around.” Amy turned and slowly made her way to the exit a second time.