The Post-Game: Helvetica & Beyonce (for Tat)

Following her last officially-sanctioned AFW match, Helvetica Lee's life had been something of a blur. Sure, by the "rules," as AFW had laid them out, she'd lost before. Despite her (self) vaunted knowledge of the ins and outs of professional wresting, several of the exact kinds of AFW competitors that Helvetica would have taken no end of verbal jabs at in assorted video reviews and interviews had managed to pin the American's body flat to the mat. That never seemed to really register to Helvetica. They'd won, but they hadn't managed to really impress the "student of the game." Of course, none of those competitors had managed to go and break her arm, before.

Which was what brought the hobbled American back to the AFW gym, tonight. Arm in a sling, up to her ears in painkillers, this was the first time since her fateful match against Beyonce that Helvetica had been seen in public. Previously, the last view any of the fans had of her was of the paramedics stretchering her out. This, shortly after the sound of her shattering arm echoed throughout the arena. And now, a look of grim determination was etched on her face, as the American made her way through the gym halls, looking like a woman on a mission. She'd defied the orders of doctors, trainers and her own fans, and left her hospital bed with a single goal. To find Beyonce, the woman who had gone further than dominating her, in their match, and telling her exactly what the "student of the game" thought of her performance.

Beyonce took a towel and wiped the sweat off of her forehead and then down across her toned abs. After tossing it aside, she took out a bottle of water and drank it down. Her muscles were burning from the workout. She felt good and was eager for her next match. She had felt bad that the girl she fought was too stupid to avoid injuring her career. Beyonce thought for certain that it was definitely Helvetica's own fault.

Still, even if she felt bad, she did not feel bad enough to stop and she did not dislike the feeling of doing it. Helvetica should have given up. She didn't. Beyonce put more pressure on her. Her arm happened to break. It was what it was.

Beyonce sat down on the nearby Bench and closed her eyes for a moment to meditate. Some of the girls who had seen the fight had avoided her. Others had confronted her. It was all pretty bothersome, but if they wanted a piece of her, then they could take it up in the ring. That's where Beyonce fought. Though if she had to fight outside, she would hold back even less than she already did.

After a minute of silence and with a clear head, she opened her eyes. She searched the room, just making a note of who was coming and going. Her eyes caught an obnoxious girl in a sling but all Beyonce did was note her and went back to looking as if she wasn't there. As far as Beyonce was concerned, she wasn't. If the girl had revenge on her mind, she was going to end up back in the hospital. How well could she hope to do with one arm when having two had made no impact?

Beyonce sat up and took another drink, ready to resume her workout.

Helvetica caught the finishing moments of Beyonce's workout, and paused. She watched the fierce wrestler's muscles coil and tighten with exertion, watched the athlete pushing herself, getting better and stronger with every moment. The American's jaw squared, as her eyes fixated on Beyonce toweling off.

The American kept an uncharacteristically respectful distance, as Beyonce cooled down from her workout. The girls in the gym who noticed her seemed to keep their distance, but watched intently. Some anticipated violence, some figured that any second Helvetica would come to her senses and run like hell. In any event, a number of them were interested.

Helvetica ignored them all, her attention fixed squarely on Beyonce. She tried to meet eyes with her, when the girl glanced around the locker room, but Beyonce didn't seem to pay her any mind.

"Just perfect," Helvetica muttered, huffing slightly. Her chest swelled as she took a deep breath, then she blew her bangs out of her face. With a long, confident stride, she approached Beyonce on the other side of the gym. Seeing the young woman down another drink made Helvetica pick up the pace, eager to get to her before Beyonce was back into her routine. She stumbled, slightly, bumping past machines. Her sling-bound arm clipped a lifting bench, but she paid it no mind. Her entire attention was squarely on Beyonce.

"You," she said, voice firm, "you and me. We need to have words."

Beyonce stopped when she heard Helvetica's voice. It was, unfortunately, a noise she did not forget. She turned and looked at the red head and then faced her completely after looking her over, lingering on the sling.

"My time outside of the ring is more valuable than inside. Be quick with your words."

Beyonce would give the "student of the game" just enough time to say her peace.

Helvetica shifted her jaw, as she felt Beyonce sizing her up. She shifted her weight with onto her back foot, and put her good hand on her hip. She huffed, her chest shifting sharply as she regarded Beyonce. Curt, but that was fine. Getting right to the point was one of the things that Helvetica felt she did best.

"Since I've come to this pit of a wrestling company," she started, "I've been forced to grapple with 'wrestlers' that couldn't main event a bingo hall in sheboygan. And, sure, they could 'beat' me, if you're one of those marks that 'follows the rules' or whatever. But what you did ..."

Helvetica shifted her stance, putting her good up up to tug slightly on her sling. "What you did ... you actually beat me. You broke my frickin' arm. That doesn't happen often in this glorified jello wrestling league! You're an actual fighter! I mean, holy shit! A real fighter! Broke my real arm! Pinch me! Just not in my arm!

"So," she continued, "how the holy hell did you end up here?"

Beyonce narrowed her eyes at Helvetica's words but didn't budge for the moment. "You broke your own arm when you cared more about your pride than your body." She said simply.

Beyonce turned to leave, going to a bicycle machine. She figured if Helvetica wanted to talk to her, she would keep doing it even if she broke the other girl's arm so she might as well continue working out. "I am a professional and this is the top of the heap even if the bottom rung is soiled by people like you who claim to be fighters. It's that simple."

Helvetica stared at Beyonce for a moment, eyes wide, jaw slacked. She looked the girl up and down, taking in the full sight of the muscular young woman as she stood before her.. Then, the "student of the game" smiled.

"God damn," she said, knees buckling. "That is what I saw in you! The other chicks here would make this whole thing about breaking an arm, crippling somebody, whatever. You? You straight up don't give a single, solitary fuck!"

Helvetica followed Beyonce to the next stage of her workout, keeping a respectful distance. She craned her neck, flinching past the discomfort her sling was causing her, wanting to get a better look at the athlete as she trained.

"So," Helvetica said, after a moment. "Tell me. I keep up on this shit. I know who's at the top of the heap, and I usually know why. But you ... being so skilled, so cutthroat ... Somebody who's got so much goddamn potential ... How come I've never heard of you? How come you aren't killing Taylor Parker or Adrian Kytes or whoever, and taking their titles right fucking now? How do none of the fans know you?"

Beyonce began to pedal her bike at a fairly decent past. Her tight frame moving seamlessly as she watched Helvetica try and gauge the best distanced to stand. "I come from a small Joshi school." Beyonce said simply. "And when I outgrew it, I came here. Even the best don't start out on top. I just assumed I would have to run through several pathetic girls like you before I was able to fight any real competition."

Beyonce took a drink from her water bottle and then looked back at Helvetica. "Perhaps if they are all as brain damaged as you, the management will take notice once enough of them are sent to the hospital. I'm young. I'm in no rush, but I do intend to beat them all." She said simply.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh," Helvetica said, nodding along, listening closely to every word coming from between Beyonce's lips. "Sounds solid. Lacks the panache of some stories, but I like that. Makes you seem more serious," the "student of the game muttered, as she watched the flow of water down Beyonce's slender throat.

"Yyyyeahhhh," Helvetica nodded, after the brawler had said her piece. She watched Beyonce for a moment, before sidling up closer to her. The insults and veiled threats seemed to wash right over the American, her focus square on Beyonce herself. "Management is going to notice that," she said, with a half-shrug, her good shoulder kipping up almost theatrically as she rolled her eyes. "Eventually. But when is 'eventually' going to happen, exactly? I mean, lots of girls wash out of AFW ... I mean, lots. But the ones that stay? They've got character. They stay in because they spend months, even years giving the fans a reason to cheer them, or their opponents a reason to hate them, all while they get into shape for title matches.

"Those are months and years a real competitor, somebody willing to cut through the bullshit, could be spending on training. On keeping in fighting trim. No wait, no bullshit, no promos. Just come in, fight. Win. Repeat. How great would that be, huh?"

Beyonce allowed the woman speak, but she did not like it one bit. She was prattling and annoying and seemed to have no point to her words. Once Helvetica was finished, Beyonce slowed her bike to a halt. After taking a drink, she set her water down and turned to face the "Student of the game."

Her red eyes focused on the red head and she slipped off of the bike and was now nearly chest to chest with the girl, staring at her coldly. "Get to the point or get out of my face." Beyonce said. "Unless you want to be carried out on a stretcher."