Head Bangers

I don't know what in the actual fuck that was, but it wasn't music...

The problem with being a musician was that you were bound to be overly critical of other peoples work. Especially when said other band was headlining with what sounded a hell of a lot like some poorly imitated version of one of*her* songs, "River of Tears". Besides that, they were okay, your standard goth industrial band with a rebellious punk edge, but it just didn't quite have enough of the raw, gritty edge she was expecting. What was the point of being an outlaw indy band if you weren't original? Experimental even! And that last guitar solo? Sub. Par.

It was the sort of thing that might drive a girl to drink, but of course, Ophelia Black didn't allow alcohol to touch her lips.

Not anymore, at any rate.

She was loitering around the venues parking lot, decked out in black cargo pants, doc martin boots and a black tank top with the words, Straight Edge, Till DEATH, emblazoned proudly across her breasts in stylized white lettering. She was taped up to the wrists as if she were headed into the ring for an MMA fight, with two black X's drawn in marker on the backs of her hands.

The band, Godsfall , had just finished their last set and people were staggering out into the cold half-light of 3:00 a.m, most in various states of intoxication. She sighed, wondering what she was doing out here at this hour, considering she had an early appointment with the AFW main office. Perhaps she just wanted one decent night on the town, taking in the Japanese night life, before she settled into the grind of wrestling matches and training for wrestling matches.

River Styx was in a mood to do three things: drink, fight, and fuck. Not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily in separate form.

Granted, that wasn’t all that unusual for her - in fact, she’d been kind of buzzed when she came to the concert. Not buzzed enough to realize that her money was kind of wasted coming here tonight. She’d wanted to get out, do something, and she’d heard some good things about Godsfall, so coming out to see them seemed like a good idea - if anything, it would’ve been sweet to hear a band that spoke English for a change.

And they did that, at least, but she would’ve preferred if they’d done it was some actual original material, and preferably with a finish that didn’t fizzle out like a soggy firecracker.

It wasn’t the worst concert she’d been to, but far from the best, and as she came out of it, she wasn’t feeling better about her life than when she’d entered. She still had to worry about getting WAR up and kicking. Still had to figure out what to do about the hardcore title, the one that rightfully belonged to her. Silver Ace was the champ, and even though she’d laid the white-haired bitch out, she wasn’t any closer to getting  a shot at the title than she had been before. Hell, she was worse off, because there wouldn’t be any talk of the belt changing hands until Ace got cleared to compete.

So there she was, running her hands over the scorched earth that was her shaved scalp, while she tried to figure out what to do with her night. As usual, she stood out from the Japanese throngs. Large, bulky, bald, she was one of the few actually dressed like you should dress at a punk rock concert. The baggy jeans, the boots, her black Blasphemy t-shirt, complete with upside cross...it gave her a good ‘Don’t Fuck With Me’ look, overall. She could also see pretty clearly over the crowd, which was why she spotted something that made her stop.

It was a familiar face - not one she knew personally, but one she’d seen before. There was a woman nearby, an American from the looks of it. Good body, Styx loved the shirt, but what struck her most was the resemblance to a certain musician. She was willing to just keep on walking, chalk it up to chance, but...well, whoever it was, she was alone. And fine. Couldn’t hurt to have a word or two.

With a shrug and grunt, she walked over to the lonely stranger. ”Yo.” Styx came over with her head craned to the side, checking her from an extra angle to make extra sure it wasn't just the lack of sleep messing with her head. ”You...you look a lot like Ophelia Black, know that?”

Not exactly a classic conversation starter, but Styx rarely did small talk.

Styx was a hard woman not to notice. She stood out from the crowd, taller than the other girls and even most if the guys. There was an edge about her, something dark and grounded and gritty and real in a way she wished that lead singer had been. She was also clearly an outsider, in the most literal sense, a foreigner, a fellow traveler from a distant shore, just like Black herself. What was her story?

Where most would have been nervous at the bigger woman's approach, Ophelia relaxed slightly."Yeah? Been told there's a passing resemblance."

She ran her fingers through her dark hair as intense green eyes swept over Styx from head to toe with a look of cool, level headed appraisal. "Nice to see someone else dressed the part. You American? I could have used you at the last Slayer concert I went to. You look like you can really clear a mosh pit."

Being a six-foot-tall bald woman, Styx had grown used to people checking her out and giving her a look over. It used to piss her off, but she learned to let it go fairly fast - as much as she liked fighting, even she couldn’t go through life punching every other person she met in the face. People were superficial, they judged her at a glance, and it wasn’t like she did much to dispel their notions. Fine.

The look this woman gave her was different than most, though. It seemed curious, approving, and she certainly seemed calmer than most did when Styx stepped their way.

As she checked out Styx, Styx checked her. In particular, she couldn’t help but notice that her fists were wrapped up, like she was about to do something violent with them. Interesting little thing.

She also couldn’t help but notice that her voice was a dead ringer for Ophelia Black’s, too, which was a bit too much of a coincidence to accept. The only thing keeping her from accepting she was the real deal was her finding it hard to believe Ophelia Black would be here, of all places.  ”I’ve been known to leave some bodies on the floor, yeah.” Styx held her fist out for a bump. ”Name’s River. River Styx.”

She never intended to reveal anymore then she already had. Someone recognized her... so what? She was under no obligation to entertain every fawning sycophant who happened to come along, and if that's what Styx was, Ophelia would have already called it a night and kept it moving.

But she didn't think that was the case. There was something about this woman that intrigued her, not the least of which being the intelligence that was there, if one looked passed the intimidation factor.

"Ophelia." She bumped fists hard enough to make her knuckles sting. "Ophelia Black. Good eye, Styx. I'm not sure I'd recognize me at whatever-o'clock in the morning." Though in truth her voice would have given it away, Ophelia had a very distinctive voice, clear, rich, feminine but with just a touch of a raspy, gritty undercurrent that let her purr like a kitten or wail like a hell-bound lost soul being flayed being the devil himself.

Good fist bump, nice and strong, Styx hated when people gave her pussy taps. She might’ve even complimented Ophelia on it if she wasn’t so stoked about it being actually Ophelia Fucking Black.

She fought her initial instinct to ask for an autograph, in part because she had nothing to sign, and also because she didn’t want to come off like a fangirl. Even if she technically was. She could still be cool about it.

”Thanks. And no shit.” She chuckled and took a step back, leaning up against some truck parked on the sidewalk. ”You’re a long goddamn way from home. Fuck, so am I.” She rolled her eyes. ”Yeah, I’m from the States, as much as Nevada counts for one. Came here on-”

Before the conversation could progress any further, there was a commotion from the side, as three guys made their way through the crowd. Young, all of them, about Styx’s age. Japanese, though taller than most, with one of them in the back even reaching her own height. They looked pissed, and as they neared she could smell the scent of heavy alcohol around them. Not the best sign.

”Fucking knew it!” The big guy in the back snorted and gave one of his buddies a shove in the shoulder. ”That’s River Styx!”

Styx just stared at them, unblinking and unmoving and unimpressed. ”That’s me, brain trust. Not a lot of tall, bald women in this city.” Her eyebrows furrowed. ”You guys mind fucking off? In the middle of something, here.”

Ophelia never expected to be recognized on the street, thousands of miles from home. She wasn't some industry sellout, a hack cranking out the musical equivalent of cotton candy for the masses. She had a decent, hardcore following and the respect of her peers, but in the business integrity often meant foregoing the path of easy fame and fortune. Hell, it was one of the reasons she'd starting wrestling in the first place. She needed the extra income.

Still, she'd be lying if she said being approached by someone who knew her work didn't feel good. Meant she wasn't completely alone. And then there was the mysterious, and not unattractive to her eyes, River Styx. Some people thought you could learn a lot about a person from the music they listened to, but Ophelia knew that wasn't always the case. Often they just liked a certain beat, the emotion stirred by a riff or the overall sound of the band. Was Styx that type? Or did she hear the words, the stories of rebellion and desolation and chaos and nonconformity that so prevailed in Black's music? Before she could learn more, they were rudely interrupted...

And the shift in Ophelia's demeanor was so abrupt it was startling. That calm, measured attitude was gone, replaced by mingled anger and disgust so intense it seemed to radiated off of her like heat the desert sand. If she was a cat, every hair would have been standing on end, claws out and fangs bared.

"I suggest you listen to her. It's after 3:00 am and my give-a-shit stopped working around 2:00. If she wanted to talk to you, she would have found you. Anyone could smell you drunk assholes from the other side of the parking lot."

"Fuck you, bitch." One of the shorter men stepped forward, or rather tried to. He staggered in his inebriated state and had to catch himself to keep from falling. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Are you kidding me? You three shit-birds had to get stinking drunk just to go after one woman? Doesn't say much about your manhood. Then again, the best part of you probably ran down your mother's leg. Now run along boys. We're bu-."

The guy who'd stepped forward grabbed Ophelia by the shoulder so hard she hissed in pain, sharp intake of breath through her teeth. Instinctively she twisted away, turning and ramming the point of her elbow into the side of the drunken youth's head. He cried out, cursing, stumbled over his own lack of coordination and fell on his ass, cursing some more.

"Sorry. Force of habit." Ophelia shrugged and then, as suddenly as her temper had come, she seemed to dismiss the men entirely, looking back to Styx. "So, you're from Nevada?"

To an outside observer, this might’ve seen random. To River Styx, notsomuch. This wasn’t even the first time this sort of thing had happened to her this month.

She had many talents, but making friends and playing nice would never be among. Since she’d joined the AFW, she’d made enemies with a lot of women. Women who had fans. Fans who sometimes got it in their head that it was their job to avenge whatever little starlet she’d beaten to a bloody pulp. Most of the time, a quick glare was enough to reacquaint them with the reality of the situation, but throw in some alcohol, some adrenaline from the concert, and the kind of bravery that only comes when you have two women outnumbered, and this was the kind of shit that happened.

She’d dealt with it before, she could deal with it now, and she stepped forward to do just that...when Ophelia went and did it for her.

Styx wasn’t one to let her emotions play out much, but she couldn’t contain the surprise on her face as the rockstar dropped this guy in under five seconds. She moved fast, struck with skill, the kind you’d expect from an actual fighter who’d been in actual ring. ”Huh.” Styx clicked her tongue, enjoying the sight. ”Nice.”

His two buddies were stunned, but Styx knew that wouldn’t last long. In three seconds, they’d get what little wits they had and make a try for them. So, it behooved her to make her move in two seconds. She took a bold stride forward, kicking the fallen dude in the face to take him out of the equation, then coldcocked his nearest friend in the face, making him stagger into a Jeep. His buddy was behind her, but Styx had a feeling that wouldn’t be a problem.

”Unfortunately, yeah.” She called back as she raised her fists and moved in on her dance partner. ”What about you? The fuck’re you doing way out here?”

Ophelia was still trying to wrap her head around the situation herself. She'd gotten into the strange world of women's wrestling to take some of the starving out of the starving artist bit. She never imagined that decision would lead to her moving halfway across the world. At least adrenaline fueled, after concert brawls were the same the world over.

"New job. Got into the wrestling game to earn some extra money. My little bullshit promotion got bought out, so here I am..." The guy behind Styx wasn't a threat for very long. Not after Ophelia cut the distance between them and drove the steel toe of her boot into the back of his knee. When he staggered, she boxed his right ear so hard it sent him reeling to the ground, all semblence of equalibrum shot between the pain and the intoxication. "...in the big leagues."

The wail of distant police sirens cut through the chill early morning air and Ophelia stopped in her tracks. The last thing she needed was to get arrested. "Shit. Time to bail, Styx."

This night was becoming far, far more interesting that Styx had originally planned, there was no question there. Whereas she’d originally saw it all ending with her passing out drunk on a bed...well, it was still likely to end that way, regardless, but now there was an interesting twist in between.

”A wrestler, huh?” Styx spoke in between thrusts of her knee, as she rammed the point of it home into her living punching bag’s sternum over and over, again hammering him against the Jeep. ”Who do you-”

Styx was just about to find out how big a coincidence this all was, when she heard the police sirens nearing. She’d forgotten how quick the Japanese police were to respond to things like this. Back home, they’d at least have had a couple minutes to do damage.

”Ah, shit, fucking figures.” She rammed her the guy’s head into the bar of the Jeep and let him slump down to the ground. ”Come on, know a place near here.”

The ‘place’ Styx was talking about happened to be a construction project nearby, a bridge that the city had been on and off working on for about a year now. The area was cordoned off, but there a loose section of the fence near the back that was just big enough for two hoodlums to slip through. Styx made it there in good time with Ophelia and slipped in, coming to a rest and catching her breath as soon as they were in the shadows.

”Should be good here for a while. Watch the cement.” Styx took a few seconds to wipe the sweat off her forehead. They hadn’t gone all that far, but she’d never been much for sprinting, her body not exactly being designed with heavy running in mind. ”Wrestler, though? You’re wrestling?”