The scene is set in a small, undisclosed room in the backstage area. The camera panned in, catching a glimpse of Katie Winter and the back of a woman’s head. The two women were silent as they waited for their cue. The woman’s head turned slightly to the side as she saw the second camera man countdown from three with his fingers and make a movement towards Paige that would signal her to begin her interview. The camera slowly panned around the second chair, catching its first sight of the Mistress of Darkness herself: Gwenivere Jordan. She looked rather uninterested with the interview set-up, for back in France, generally one only got interviewed after winning a “Hell-In-A-Cell” type match and as they were bleeding horribly. C'est la vive! A cigarette was held idly betwixt nimble fingertips with nails that were chipped, black nail varnish. Her free hand lifted to adjust the three lip rings that graced her bottom lip, paired by the three tongue studs that adorned her fleshy muscle. And, the interview commenced:

Katie Winter: “Hello, New Era Wrestling fans! I’m here with one of the newest members of NEW, Gwenivere Jordan. So, Gwen: how did you get into wrestling?”

Gwenivere: “Well, I was born to a family of six men, my mother and I. Unfortunately, for me, my mother died shortly after I was born so I was raised by six men who had no idea how to get themselves around women without making themselves look like an ass or getting me extremely pissed. We survived somehow and we got along great. Since my brothers didn’t know how to be gentle, I was pretty much forced to learn how to play with the big boys. We managed to all get contracts for the F.A.W.L.”

Winter: “The F.A.W.L.?”

Gwenivere: “Yes. The French Amateur Wrestling League. Or La Ligue française de Lutte d'Amateur. It’s a little federation based out of Paris.

Winter: “How did you get into the first America-based federation that you were in? The NWA was it?”

Gwenivere: “That’s right. On my last night there, I was defending my Women’s Roster belt in a triple-threat, lumberjack match against Bijoux and Emeraude: two women who have no idea what wrestling is all about. Bijoux was worried about her two women on the outside of the ring, and Emeraude was too busy flirting with her beau. I had to pick two of my brothers to be my lumberjacks. I chose the eldest, Freddy, and the youngest, Orion. Both were experts and I trusted them to watch my back. And they did. I was in the ring with Emeraude, and I was just about to pin her when her boyfriend got into the ring and hit me over the head with a chair. My stamina proved true as I got to my feet and knocked him one in the… groin. I went to pin Emeraude, and Bijoux jumped in the ring, dropping herself onto my back, my belt in hand. My brothers got into the ring and started wailing on Bijoux as I went for the pin. I retained my belt, but with huge, bloody injuries to my back and forehead. As I got back into my dressing room, I was approached by the NTWA commissioner. I was still bleeding so as the commissioner talked to me, my brothers bandaged me up. The F.A.W.L. couldn’t afford medics and didn’t have a free telephone to call the hospital. Anyway, they told me that they wanted a strong, female influence in their fed. They gave me a contract and I signed. I said good bye to my brothers and moved to the States. On my open-night debut, I was in a pink-slip match. I managed to win against Tiny Tina the Terror and get her fired.”

Winter: “What happened in the NTWA?”

Gwenivere: “It wasn’t for me. There was way too much shit that I got backstage from wrestlers, the management and the roadies, alike. So I quit and moved on. I joined Omega Wrestling briefly but found it was not much of a challenge. I was a big fish in a little pond, so to speak. I then went to Advantage Wrestling, but found it to be lacking so I came here.”

Winter: “Speaking of NEW, how did you end up joining?”

Gwenivere: “Hmm. (Thinking quietly to herself.) I guess I impressed them with my skill.”

Winter: “Do you know who you’re facing this Monday at Insomnia?”

Gwenivere: “Nope.”

Winter: “You’re facing Da Man.”

Gwenivere chuckled a bit as she butted out her cigarette into the little, tin ash tray that the crew had so kindly given her.

Gwenivere: “Ooh… that’s funny.”

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Gwenivere had managed to find her way to the small gym in the backstage area and had promptly begun to swing at a punching bag that was suspended from the ceiling. Her hands were bound in leather gloves that had her fingers, knuckles and the center of her hand exposed. Her fingers were curled into fight fists, her hair pulled back into a loose tail that had strands falling from it. A small hum began to grow in volume, the sound emitting from her knapsack which was propped against the wall. Gwen frowned slightly and spun around, perching herself on a bench. She brought out the cell phone and put it to her ear.

Gwenivere: “Hello?”

Unknown Voice: “Gwenivere. Have you gotten into AW?”

Gwenivere: “Yes…?”

U.V.: “Good. Do you remember your mission?”

Gwenivere: “Obviously. Don’t worry. I’ll get him. I just better get my money, damn it. You try to cheap-out on me, and I’ll kill you. And don’t think I won’t because you know I will.”

U.V.: “Yes, we know. You will not regret this.”

With that, the conversation was ended by the caller hanging up his phone. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and sighed.

Gwenivere: “Sick fucks.”

Gwenivere flipped the phone closed and tossed it into her knapsack. Slowly, she rubbed her face and cussed quietly to herself. She found it amazing at what anyone, including herself, would do for a little extra cash. But why did she need the extra dough? The price of human vanity was high these days. Even that didn’t make much sense. Gwenivere didn’t care about looks, though she tried a little bit now and then. She wasn’t one to go out and get plastic or reconstructive surgery just because her breasts were too small. She glanced down at her chest and wrinkled her forehead. To her, they were big enough as it was. So why did she want the money? Laws of class and social standing, she guessed. More money equals more class equals more “look-at-me” time. Hey, living with six men and being pushed to the side while all the boys were congratulated on their wonderful game of footie must have bugged her more than she had let on.

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‘ Twas weeks before Christmas, And all through the arena,
Not a wrestler was stirring, not even an S.O.B.,
The spandex was hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that you-know-who soon would be there.

The Mistress Of Darkness sat in her hotel room,
While visions of Joy Boxster’s face was imagined under her boot.
With Gwen in her M.O.D. cap and baggy black jeans,
She’d just settled in for a long, white cigarette…

Who am I kidding? I’m not a poet. I can’t even fake it. Christmas has always sucked ass for me. First, my brothers and father never got me what I wanted. I’ll admit it, I was a prissy little girl that wore the flower-pattern dresses and the white stockings to school. I wanted a Ballerina Barbie Doll for Christmas when I was eight. I wrote Santa Claus everyday for one. It was my one, true desire. Guess what I got? C’mon, guess. No. It wasn’t a Ballerina Barbie. Or any doll of any sort. I got some footie movie on the best kicks of all time and another movie about footie’s worst spills, falls and injuries. Yeah… great… thanks, guys. I love my family. Very much. But when they don’t have the consideration to go out and get me the only thing I asked for that year, than there is something definitely wrong. I suppose they’ve made up for it by now. They gave me the contract to the NTWA instead of them taking it. It was nice of them. Anyways… back to topic…

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The camera had found it’s target once more: Gwenivere. Unfortunately, she was obviously not in high spirits. She was in the process of writing an email to her family, post-dating it to be sent Christmas Eve to her father. With her luck, her laptop battery would die and the power-cord would be ripped in two during travel or the internet would be so damned back-logged by other people doing the same thing as her that she wouldn’t be able to send her e-mail before that all-wonderful, spending-pinnacle of the year: Christmas. Joy. Rapture. Giving a choice finger to the camera which would no doubt be fuzzed out when aired, she began to speak;

Gwenivere: “To those who may attempt to bring me down, I challenge you. Da Man… you are the first on my list. Who’s next? Only time will tell. But whoever it is, I say this: be forewarned. I do not take my job lightly. You get in the ring with me, and you’ll just be another one to be chalked-up on the Mistress of Darkness’s innocent bystander list. As many of you people that I work with, I’ve come here with a mission. Perhaps not the same as all, but as good as any other. I’ve come to----”

Before she had the chance to finish, the signal was cut. But by whom?