Helvetica's Hotseat, Ep. 2- Alicia Wells

Helvetica nodded along, lips upturned slightly. She wanted to look like she was taking in every single thing Alicia was saying, carefully. Not lost in her own head, trying to figure out what question would most dazzle her viewers with her own journalistic insight. However, Alicia's voice rising slightly, jarred the American.

"W-wait, what?" Helvetica asked, eyes daring between her subject and the camera. "I-I uhm, huh. Well." Helvetica looked a bit red-faced, at that. "I'm really not sure what you're talking about. Helvetica is totally a name people have, I mean ...

"That does bring up an interesting point," Helvetica said, looking flustered as she attempted to redirect. "Now, we've gotten to see who 'Alicia Wells' is, but what about you? I know some comeptitors like to draw up a character. Make people more interested in their fights, by being 'larger than life.' Like, say, by acting like a tough London thug that doesn't care what the fans think, and doesn't pander. Which is totally a great character. But what about you? I mean, the real you?" Heletica cut the question short, somehow managing to sound even more curt than usual, as she stared over her glasses at Alicia.

It seemed, based on Helvetica’s reaction, that the ‘Student of the Game’ wasn’t used to being tested on her actual knowledge Alicia noted. She’d definitely been caught off guard by the fact of the question, as well as the redhead thought what was asked.

Of course, with a name like ‘Helvetica’, she wasn’t entirely sure she could blame her.

The big redhead chuckled at the stammering but she was nowhere near as keen on the next direction things took.

Lips pressed together in a thin line – the ‘thug’ part landing a lot closer to home than Alicia would ever like to admit – Alicia’s brows were arched as she eyed the interviewer.

”The real me?” She echoed, voice calm and low and somehow a little dangerous as she parsed the question in her head.

And then the penny dropped and the British kickboxer let out a harsh cackle of laughter as she got it.

”You think this is a gimmick?” She waved at herself, before barking another laugh, ”Sorry to spoil your fun, but this is the real me. I don’t do gimmicks – more power to the ones who do but, with me, what you see is what you get.”

A thin, hard grin curled her mouth.

”And Alicia Wells is the name on my passport, birth certificate and any other paperwork you’d like to see. I don’t care what the fans want. I’m not here to pander. But call me a thug again and I’ll see you in the ring, Helvetica.”

She scoffed.

”And were your parents naming you after an ancient Gallic tribe or a typeface? Not that either’s something to boast about.”

Helvetica ran her tongue across her upper lip, nodding along as if she were ready to listen. The "student of the game" couldn't imagine a way in which this line of questioning wasn't going to go exactly as she had planned. Then, Alicia opened her mouth, and things went nothing like planned.

Alicia didn't give a "tough girl" rant, or a glare, or talk about training or threatening her opponents. Or, that is, she did- and she considered the assuming American to be among them!

"W-waitasec-" Helvetica stammered, shaking her head slightly. "I-I don't see how that-" the self-proclaimed 'student of the game,' however, was at a loss. Normally, Helvetica would have tried to interject somewhere in here, with an invective or an insult or a snarky observation. However, at the rate that Alicia was throwing out her words, cutting Helvetica off on no-nonsense terms and shutting her down before she could speak, Helvetica could only sit there and stammer.

"W-well, uh ..." she gasped, not even sure where to begin. The only thing the usually-mouthy American could think to do, at the moment, was to point at her arm cast, at Alicia's mention of the two settling their differences, in the ring. Something Helvetica was clearly not about to do- especially not against someone like Alicia Wells!

At first, the redhead didn’t even notice Helvetica’s stuttering. She really didn’t, caught up in her rapid-fire verbal putdown, until she came to the end of her rant. By that point, Helvetica had more or less stopped too, reduced to pointing to her ‘injured’ arm and looking otherwise completely bowled over.

That was certainly satisfying, given how much the accusation thrown at her had stung. Looked like she wouldn’t be getting an answer to her question about just what the interviewer was named after but that was fine. Shutting Helvetica up was more than enough for the moment.

Alicia simply leant back in her chair with a thin, very nasty smile playing on her lips.

”Don’t worry, I’ll be happy to give you a matching one for the other arm.”

Her violet eyes flickered very pointedly to the American’s uninjured arm in case she was so very dim as to miss what the British amazon was referring to. And anyone who’d watched Alicia’s matches to date would know that she was more than capable of following through on that threat if she so chose.

No, she really did not think Helvetica would take her up on that offer but she was starting to enjoy watching the other woman squirm.

And if Helvetica did slip and accept, well, Alicia didn’t believe in beating on helpless opponents but, after being called a thug, she was more than willing to make an exception here.

Helvetica's upper lip twitched, as she stared in stunned silence at her interviewee. For anyone that followed Helvetica's work, they were treated to a rarity: complete and utter silence. The "student of the game" froze, completely, just looking at the glare in Alicia's eyes. Helvetica tried to keep her arm cast on prominent display.

Helvetica tried to force out a chuckle, as she wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. The brash American's head sank between her shoulders, her face flushed bright red. She was getting brow-beaten and humiliated on her own show, and no amount of editing was going to hide that fact!

"Ah-heh," Helvetica started, "w-well, I th-think we're running out of time, here, folks." She talked to the fans, but didn't look at the camera. Helvetica wasn't taking her eyes off the British martial artist for a second. "So, A-Alicia ... is there any last message you w-wanna send out to the fans, before heading into your title bout?" The only times Helvetica looked away from Alicia were just a few darting glances toward the door, just in case.

With every little squirming motion Helvetica made, every growth of the treacherous flush creeping across her face, Alicia’s deadly smile widened further and further. She was in no mood to break the uncomfortable – for the American – silence, so it wasn’t until Helvetica spoke up again that either woman made much of a noise.

And, funnily enough, it was to declare that the interview had to come to an end now. How strange.

”Imagine that,” The redhead mused as the ‘Student of the Game’ declared that they were all out of time, looking almost like the cat that’d eaten the canary, not looking at the camera either. Oh no. She only had eyes for Helvetica right now, in a slightly bizarre cobra-slash-mongoose stare down between the two women.

It wasn’t until Helvetica had asked the actual question that Alicia’s dark eyes slid over to regard the camera as she leant forward.

”Only this. I don’t know if I’ll win at the pay-per-view. I don’t know if I’ll lose. What I do know is that Adrian Kytes is going to get my very best at Summer Splash. And so will anyone else the bookers throw in my way.”

There. That was a pretty good statement, she thought. Now Helvetica would presumably wrap up, turn the cameras off and she could go do something useful.

As far as first interviews went though, that hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as she’d worried.