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S2: "Past, Present, and Future"; (Lily Ellison)
Topic Started: Oct 13 2012, 08:02 AM (228 Views)
The Inquisition
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This promo slot is reserved for Lily Ellison and anyone she wishes to bring out.
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Lily Ellison
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The ring is freshly cleared from the war that was the Tag Team title bout. The crowd continues to digest what they've witnessed of the iron resolve of Patrick Slaughter, the absolute mat mastery of Devlin Rok, the courage under fire of Ata Tatupu, the brutality of Terry Bukowski...

But the night rolls on, and into the center of the ring steps Bob Saget.

Saget: Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please welcome to the ring at this time, making her PRW debut appearance, The Modern Day Moolah, Lily Ellison!

Josh Brunswick: Lily Ellison!? You're kidding!

Doug Smith: You know her?

Brunswick: C'mon, Doug. Don't you follow indy women's wrestling?

Smith: Does Legacy count? I mean, I usually mute the broadcasts, but I can still follow the action pretty well. I'm a huge fan of Gemma Traumaward. Absolute Territory for the win!

Brunswick: ...

Music plays over the PA system. It is the rock classic "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts:



[dohtml]<iframe width="300" height="60" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/G9VSGPmkUc0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>[/dohtml]



The backstage curtains part to admit a striking woman in black boots and a black-and-grey singlet. She's five-eleven and in prime shape, with toned, muscular legs and arms. Brunette hair frames her heart-shaped face, and there is a tattoo on her upper left arm of bandana-wearing tough gal Rosie the Riveter. A thick strap of red leather circles around Ellison's waist terminating in a large, silver plate. It's not something the PRW crowd has seen before, but it sure looks like a wrestling championship belt.

Though there's not a big reaction from the New York crowd in general, there is a vocal group of young men who are quite appreciative of this young woman's obvious beauty. She smiles at the guys who cheer for her, in a friendly but not flirtatious way, as she makes her way to the ring.

Smith: Okay, Brunny, you indy fed watching hipster you... I'll bite. So who is this chick, anyways? She's smoking!

Brunswick: A little respect, Doug. Lily Ellison is the granddaughter of the legendary Fabulous Moolah. She's been tearing up the indy scene over the last couple of years, hopping from promotion to promotion, winning title after title. For PRW to pick her up -- it's a big coup!

Smith: Yeah, yeah. Everyone comes in from the alphabet soup out there with fifteen tin belts strapped around their waist. You want to impress me? Win in the big leagues. Win in PRW.

Brunswick: I'm sure that's what she's here to do. But let's let her speak for herself...

Ellison walks calmly, but with purpose, into the ring and accepts the microphone from Saget. She turns around to take in the scene, and smiles. Madison Square Garden. That's a big deal.

Ellison: Hello, Big Apple! My name is Lily Ellison. Some of you may remember my grandmother, the late, great Fabulous Moolah!

The crowd pops for Moolah. For years, MSG was the WWF and the WWF was MSG, and there are even a handful of people here who saw the Fabulous One live. Madison Square Garden is suffused with memory and legend.

Ellison: Thank you! Thank you. I loved my grandmother dearly... but I'm not here today to talk to you about the past. I'm here to talk about the present. Let's be honest. The state of women's wrestling in America is a joke.

Brunswick: That might be a small overstatement.

Smith: Quiet, Brunny. I'm trying to listen.

Ellison: For the last quarter of a century -- ever since my grandmother last held the Women's Championship -- WWE has poisoned the well, conditioning one and all to expect women's wrestling to be a blend of condescending cheesecake and crapola. They trot out a talentless nothing like Kelly Kelly and expect their 15-year-old-male demographic will be so busy pleasuring themselves to her walking stick body that they won't notice her complete lack of wrestling skill.

Brunswick: Okay, well, that's true enough. You won't find many Kelly Kelly fans here, I don't think.

Smith: Beg to differ! Hey... wasn't she just released? Maybe we could pick her up, too!

Brunswick: Oh calm down.

Ellison: I've been all across this country from Seattle to San Diego, Boston to Miami, DC to Frisco, and everywhere in between. I've worked every Armory and Senior Center from Poughkeepsie...

Mild pop for Poughkeepsie.

Ellison: ...to Las Cruces, and everywhere I go it's always the same. Women's wrestling is treated as a sideshow, or worse, an intermission. We get trotted out, sometimes to carry the men's belts and robes, or to put on a little striptease. And then we're put away like an afterthought so that the men can work the main event and sell the merchandise.

So I keep moving from company to company, hoping that I can find a place where women's wrestling is still respected and treated seriously, but every damn place is filled with these model wannabes instead of true athletes. I beat them up, bruise their pretty little faces, and win whatever garbage serves for a women's title. Then I get bored and move on.


There's a bit of disquiet in the crowd now. They want to know where this ideological posturing is going. Is she here to fight, or what?

Ellison: Finally, a few months ago, I get the big call. I answer my phone, and O-M-G, it's Quiz! Come to PRW, he says. Be a star!

Yeah. Do you know what he wants me to do? He's signed this rookie monster, Horestes Girotti, who's all big and powerful, but the kid can't get a damn sentence out straight through his thick Italian accent. He wants me to play valet to this kid so I can talk for him and soften his image, or win him fans, or some shit like that. Me! A professional wrestler who has been training for this since she was five years old! And Big Time Quiz of Big Time PRW wants me to come be an eye candy accessory for a god damned rookie!

Well screw you, Quiz, you lecherous old goat.


Huge pop. Finally something to cheer.

Ellison: I told him the same thing I've told Vince McMahon for the last three years. Yeah, I'll come be a part of your show, but only on my terms. Only if I'm treated as what I am -- a goddamn professional wrestler. I'm not here to wear bikinis and make a calendar. I'm not here to get male "talent" over. I'm not here to shoot t-shirts into the audience, or pose for Playboy and increase PRW's mainstream exposure. I'm here to work matches, win them, and take home the gold. That's what I do.

And speaking of gold, let's talk about that...

There is no PRW Women's Championship. I guess management doesn't see the point... and looking around the locker room? I can't say that I blame them. After all, PRW -- what do you got?

There are women like Ata Tatupu. Emily Hart. Jenna Jett. Sherri Taylor. Alex Mesa.


A series of cheers and jeers, following about how you'd expect.

Ellison: These women are just pale shadows of the men they follow around, like little puppydogs. Take away their better halves and what do you have left? What's Jenna Jett gonna do without Matthew Logan? Cut herself then cry herself to sleep? Bunch of losers!

Brunswick: Woah. That's tough talk.

Smith: Have to wonder if she can back it up...

Ellison: Then you have the has-beens, like Baseemah Peeples, Regan Crowe, or Bella Quinn. Decent enough, maybe, but they've gone and disappeared on us. Maybe they got tired of waiting around for that R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

After the has-beens you have the never-weres. Looking at the roster I see names like "Mackenzie Madison," "Natalie Mendes," and "Vaughn Evelyn Levesque." I'm sorry, hon, but what did you say your name was? Only Levesque I know is in Stamford, and he's got better things to do with his time than get all slutted up and noshow every card. These little tramps are just glorified ring rats, too strung out to remember their bookings.

And finally... finally there's Sylvia Wrath.


Huge pop. Everyone is dying to see her put the devious Adam Xclusiv in his place.

Ellison: If anyone here was worthy of respect... if anyone here could step up and be the backbone of a true Women's Division, inspiring the next generation of female athletes to hit the ring, it would be the Wild Child.

But what does she actually do? She spends her time playing buddy-buddy with Sean Aries, Joey NOX, Alex LeBlanc... Instead of being a groundbreaking women's wrestler -- like my grandmother was -- Sylvia Wrath has gone and reinvented herself as "just one of the guys." She doesn't want any "Women's" title. I guess that would be beneath her. No, she has turned her back on her sex and wants to be, as Ric Flair would say, "the man."

But, bitch? You don't have the balls for it.


The crowd "ooooohs."

Smith: Brunny... is it just my imagination, or has this lady just made an enemy out of just about every women's wrestler in PRW?

Brunswick: There's a thin line between fearlessness and stupidity. Just wish I knew which side of the line Ellison stands on.

Ellison: Well now that we've discussed the past, and the present, let me tell you about the future of women's wrestling! I'm here to show all of the divas or knockouts or whatever you little girlies call yourselves here how it's done, and more importantly to show the world that a woman can excel at this craft, at this sport, and still be a woman in every sense of the word. Since there is no PRW Women's Champion, and no plans on declaring one in the near future, I'm declaring myself Women's Champion. This is my belt.

Smith: Can she... do that?

Brunswick: Whether or not Quiz allows it, it rubs me the wrong way. Where I come from, you don't declare yourself a champion. That's something you have to earn.

Ellison: No, it's not a sanctioned title, and no, Quiz won't bump your pay for wearing it, but if any of you ladies in the back ever wants to take this away from me -- think it'll go well with your eyeshadow or something -- please come try.

In the meantime, I'll take on all-comers, no matter the gender. If there's a man in this arena who thinks he has what it takes to beat me, let him step on up. After all, if I sit around waiting for worthy female competition, I might as well--


Ellison's interminable introduction is finally cut off by a shot of strange, etherial music, heralding another wrestler emerging from the back:



[dohtml]<iframe width="300" height="60" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/O34Por_fqQU" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>[/dohtml]



The crowd reacts, mostly because they want to see this big talker put to the test, but their cheers quickly die down -- it isn't anyone they were hoping for, like Bella Quinn or Alex Mesa. Instead it's some dude in a long brown trenchcoat.

Smith: Who is that now!?

Brunswick: Not recognizing Lily Ellison I can maybe understand... but don't you even know our own roster, Doug? That's Doctor John Smith!

Doug Smith: Doctor who?!?

Brunswick: Exactly.

Doug Smith: What? Exactly what? I'm confused!

Brunswick: Never mind. Let's just see what he's doing out here...

The good doctor has a microphone in his hand, and he talks to Ellison as he heads towards the ring. He has a slight British accent.

John Smith: Excuse me, love. I hope you don't mind my interrupting... I haven't really been listening to your little speech or whatever this is, but I couldn't help but notice you backstage earlier. Can I just say? You're quite beautiful.

Ellison: That's... irrelevant. And maybe a little offensive, given everything I've just been talking about, but okay. What can I help you with?

John Smith: Well, it's just... my name is John Smith, PhD. I've been kicking around PRW for some time -- since February, actually... but I haven't yet achieved the success I know is my due. Cyanide title, sure, who hasn't won one of those, but when I look around at fellows like Adam Xclusiv or Patrick Slaughter, men who are less talented than myself but who have somehow risen to impressive heights thanks to the help of lovely things like Sherri Taylor and Ata Tatupu, it occurs to me that what I really lack is... a companion! No good doctor is ever without one!

John Smith has reached the ring. He walks up the steps, then enters the ring, making sure to sweep the trail of his coat behind him. Ellison smiles as she looks the goofy Smith over like a personal amusement. Like a bug, maybe, that she has trapped in a jar.

Ellison: You're saying we should form a partnership of some kind? Challenge for the tag team titles?

John Smith: Well... not exactly that, no, but something close to it. I was thinking, rather, that perhaps you could help me to challenge for the X-Division Championship.

Ellison: Uh-huh. And where would I fit in, exactly?

John Smith: I... well, I don't know precisely. You could accompany me to the ring and charm the fans. Use your feminine wiles, perhaps, to sway the referee's favor. Take off my browncoat, fetch me some tea... play with my Sonic Screwdriver...

Ellison: That's what I thought. Okay, Doc. Let me give you the answer you so-richly deserve.

John Smith smiles and grins at the fans, expecting that he's melted the heart of this newcomer and won himself a "companion." So he's staggered -- literally and figuratively -- when the answer comes in the form of a heavy kneelift to the midsection.

The doctor groans with an audible "ooof." Ellison doesn't waste a moment, but she reaches out and hooks her arm under his chin and around the back of his head in a half-cravate hold. She takes off running with her powerful legs towards the turnbuckle, and Smith is forced to come along. Still holding Smith's head, Ellison climbs the turnbuckles and, in a fluid motion, elevates herself into a flip over his head.

Where others would come down into the Asai DDT -- "slicing the bread" -- Ellison continues to rotate. As they fall together to the mat, she brings her knees up and plants them into John Smith's spine, right behind his lungs.

The force of the landing drives those knees up into John Smith's chest cavity. The air is crushed from his body, and he's left a spasmodic wreck on the canvas.

The crowd pops, won over by this innovative and stark display of pro-wrestling style violence. Okay, they seem to be saying, if this is the woman that was doing all that talking, maybe she's someone worth paying attention to after all.

Doug Smith: Well, how do you like that, Brunny? Hot and dangerous!

Brunswick: I look forward to seeing her in the ring with some actual competition, that's for sure.

Ellison stands tall above a flattened John Smith, PhD, and takes the title belt she has dubbed the "Women's Championship" off from her waist. She holds it high into the air, and the camera zooms in on it.

In the middle of the belt is a picture of the Fabulous Moolah.

Ellison points to the picture in the belt, and holds up her index finger high in the air, the implication clear. She's the number one woman unless and until someone else steps up and proves that she's not.

As the scene fades to black, taking us to a commercial for the upcoming PPV Bloodletting, Lily Ellison's unspoken question hangs in the air: any of you bitches tough enough to take this belt?

Well, ladies?
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