"Road to Gold . . . " || 02
Sept 17, 2016 6:08:07 GMT
Valentina Lemay, Ernie Parker, and 4 more like this
Post by Felix Hartley on Sept 17, 2016 6:08:07 GMT
R O A D T O G O L D //
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Felix Hartley is an interesting girl; almost always, she is seen as the underdog whose gimmick is unbearably tired, the classic mindless young female that uses professional wrestling as a stepping stone for all of its glorious benefits that follow in her wake. For the most part, the exterior is something not entirely unique, but what is incredible about Felix is that she has the ultimate game plan. Priding herself on being a malicious and manipulative powerhouse, nothing pleases her more than to watch the masses (encompassing both her peers, co-workers and the sheep that pay for these tickets that puts food on her table) passionately invest in the façade that Felix concocts day in and day out. Though she is young, Felix has mastered the art of manipulation and deception; two tools in her box that give her more power than any physical attribute could. A black-belt in pulling the wool over your eyes, Felix has used this to her ultimate advantage – now, people believe that she is in fact the useless slore that feeds off of attention for the benefit of her career. With the masses believing that Felix may in fact possess no substantial talent, she has created the ideal scenario for herself in the sense that she can fully submerge herself into the Championship picture, using what talent she does have from her two years of professional wrestling experience to make quick work of those overlooking the redheaded super-threat.
This wouldn't be the first time that Felix was considered an easy target – no pun intended. Wherever she goes, her utter essence simply demands that you deem her a proverbial write-off in the mental game of elimination; because realistically, who could believe that a twenty year old, technically inexperienced Vegas entertainer could make anything of herself in a world full of athletic wolves all vying for the same accolades? A trained, fully experienced roster full of hungry veterans waiting for their equal opportunity. Hungrier than they've ever been, in a world where titles mean everything. In what world does a girl like Felix belong here? Well, truth be told, she doesn't belong here – and that is a fact that Felix has one-hundred percent accepted. The fun part begins after the first show, when she steals the attention of every audience member in attendance, foaming at the mouth, waiting desperately to see who knocks the teeth out of the vivacious redhead . . . But nobody does.
Nobody does.
Because what they see instead, is Felix Hartley standing in a ring full of veterans, arm raised high in the air, wiping the smudged matte lipstick from the corner of her lips – the only real inconvenience to her physical stature that night. What nobody would have predicted, is exactly what will happen. What nobody would have imagined, is exactly what will appear before them. Felix Hartley is a spectacle in her own right, a true magician of the human mind insofar that she will lead you on the path that everybody takes the moment she opens her mouth . . . But when the time comes, she impresses, she performs, she skyrockets. She shines. She knows exactly . . . What she's doing.
♡ ♡ ♡
Saturday November 14th, 2015 | MILK Night club | Denver, Colorado. 1:13 AM
" . . . AND NEEEEEEEEW GLOBAL WRESTLING COALITION EMPRESS CHAMPION . . . FELIX . . . HAAAAAARTLEEEEEEEY!"
Felix replayed the video over and over again on her iPhone for the exponentially increasing number of fans gathered around her in the VIP section of one of Denver, Colorado's popular underground nightclubs, "Milk". It was a clip of GWC's Global Warming Pay-Per-View that September, where Felix Hartley defeated the longest reigning Champion in the company. Admittedly, for a woman who never possessed – and still doesn't possess – a shred of interest in professional wrestling, the industry itself, or any of the related aspects of the business alike, she brought the strap everywhere with her. It didn't matter that she had won it three whole months ago. It was beginning to become a sick obsession, and she could tell that she would have trouble parting ways with it. She knew that it was going to become an extension of her being, if it hadn't already.
"You were so fucking awesome, Felix," A rather obnoxious fangirl exclaims, drunkenly stumbling closer to the newly-crowned Championess. She held herself up on the arm of the leather sofa, "You're like, a fucking legend there."
"I know." Felix bemused, unenthused by her fan's tone as she tossed a lone strand of vibrant red hair over her perfectly bronzed shoulder.
"You should totally come to the bathroom with me," The fan – I think her name was Nicky – reached down to grab Felix's hand in a gal-pal sort of way.
"Don't fucking touch me," Felix viciously shook out of Nicky's grip. "Clear the way, slore."
Nicky was evidently too drunk to notice Felix's belittling tone. She giggled, linking arms with Felix as she held out her other hand in front of her, clearing the path for Felix and her gang of new girlfriends to the club washrooms. Felix walked with a new air of self-inflation; she drew heads from the way her heels clicked, her shoulders poised down and back, chin tilted slightly upwards as if she was meant to look down on the scum around her. Felix even took her Championship to the washroom with her; she couldn't risk it being in anyone else's hands. Felix leaned up against the wall, looking expectantly over at Nicky.
"Well?"
Nicky's eyes shifted back and forth, keeping an eye out for any undercover employees. She reached into her black studded clutch, pulling out a tiny vial of cocaine. Felix snatched it immediately with lightning speed from her fingertips. She turned on her heels, walking into a stall as Nicky followed, but Felix slammed the stall door in her face.
"Let me in!" Nicky whispered, knocking lightly on the stall door.
"No room, sorry."
Felix's voice was monotone and unapologetic as she slung her purse on the washroom floor. She emptied the vial of cocaine on top of the toilet paper dispenser and, using her ex-boyfriend's credit card, neatly combed the cocaine into one perfectly straight line. She leaned down, snorting up the powder in one quick motion. When she opened the stall door, Nicky stood on the other side with Felix's whiskey sour in her left hand, her right hand poised on her hip.
"Thanks, I'll take that," Felix grabbed her drink from Nicky's hand, passing her nonchalantly and heading for the door.
"Wait – did you just do all my coke?!" Nicky yells, her words barely audible through her drunken slur. "You fucking bitch!"
Felix gracefully throws her middle finger in the air as she exits the bathroom. She headed back to the VIP lounge where she sat with a bunch of club regulars that had been partying with her since September, alongside her agent, Seth Jordan, who looked increasingly furious as the night went on. When Felix tapped on the counter as she passed the bar, another whiskey sour "on the house" (Seth's tab) was slid into her greedy hands. She downed it as if she had spent the last three months on a deserted island without any sustenance. She checked her phone, still nothing from Dante. Emotionally, she was a joyous wreck – the absolute euphoria of being a world Champion, mixed with the painful sting of losing somebody you loved. The emotions offset each other perfectly.
Or maybe that was the cocaine.
As she settled back into the lounge, she scrounged around in her purse to find the joint she had buried in there earlier. Where did it go? She could have sworn she hid it in the–yep, there it is. Tucked away in her sunglass case. Accompanied by security, Felix made her way outside of the club to the smoker's area.
"You got a light?" Felix asked her security guard, Lucas.
"Seth told me not to, uh, enable you," Lucas replies, his voice timid and shaky.
"Who is he, Doctor fucking Phil? Are you on his dime, or?" Felix barks, placing the joint between her painted red lips and tapping the end of it impatiently.
With a defeated expression, Lucas checks the surrounding area before swiftly lighting the end of Felix's joint with his own cigarette lighter he kept handy. It was true; Seth wasn't paying the security guards, Felix was. She knew the impending conversation with Seth was inevitable.
"We should head back inside. People are starting to take notice," Lucas subtly nods to a few paparazzi's hiding in the bushes outside of the club. Felix drops the joint, stepping on it with her Louboutins and crushing it into the pavement.
With Lucas standing behind her and Tony standing in front, the two guards lead Felix back into the night club where Seth was making his way outside to meet them.
"I'll take her from here," Seth ordered as he motioned for the guards to head back inside. "Stay close, but give us a minute, will you?"
"Yes sir," Lucas nods, heading just far enough away that he would be able to stop any future altercation in a timely manner, but giving Seth and Felix some privacy.
"What the fuck are you doing, Fel?" Seth growls through gritted teeth, pulling her in close by the forearm. "Are you trying to draw negative attention to yourself?"
"Take that fucking tone—"
"No, you listen to me," Seth releases his grip on her arm while he pulls out his cellphone. He shows her a webpage from TMZ, a paparazzi had already caught her smoking marijuana outside of a night club. The headline was less than applaudable. "What the hell is this?"
"It's a picture of me smoking pot," Felix responds dryly.
"Yeah, no fucking shit it's a picture of you smoking pot, Felix. It's a picture of GWC's newly crowned Empress Champ smoking fucking pot. Doing fucking drugs," Seth looked at her with disbelief, expecting an answer that would somehow mitigate the circumstances.
"Well fuck, it's a good thing they didn't catch what I was doing in the bathroom, then," Felix snickers, her own laughter throwing her off balance and sending her stumbling back a bit. Seth catches her and pulls her back in close.
"You think this is funny?" Seth asked, shoving the phone in Felix's face.
"Who fucking caaaares, Seth . . . "
"You should! Your fucking career is on the line!" Seth's voice was drawing attention to their little circle now. "Your future is on the line. Dude . . . " Seth shook his head, thumbs wracking his own temples now, "Okay. I know you've been going through some rough fucking shit, Fel, but Jesus Christ, get it together. Some dude left you. I get it. But you have a fucking reputation to uphold. You're a public figure now, Fel. You can't be doing this shit to cope with your fucking emotions – what are you, sixteen?"
"Okay first of all," Felix points her finger in Seth's face, "Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do? You're a fucking nobody dude, I could fire you tomorrow and find a new agent in literally thirty-seven seconds. Do not fucking try to be my psychiatrist right now."
"As your agent . . . " Seth points his index fingers together, closing his eyes to try to calm himself down, "It is my responsibility to make sure that you are able to perform. It is my responsibility that you are of sound body and mind to be a public figure. You think I give a fuck what happened in your personal life? I don't. At all. But if you're shitting on your own reputation, you're shitting on my reputation as an agent. So get your fucking shit together. You fell off the goddamn wagon when this shit with Dante happened, and you're treating your Championship win like you have a fucking NBA ring. It's not the same. You cannot party like this and expect to keep your fucking job. You don't have an 'off season', Felix. You need to get back in the ring and sort yourself out."
Seth turns to walk back into the club before stopping abruptly, turning to face Felix with a stern finger pointed in her direction.
"That's not advice, that's a warning."
♡ ♡ ♡
Friday September 16th, 2016 | Crowne Plaza Times Square Hotel | Manhattan, New York. 11:30 PM
"Honestly, I'm not quite sure where to start."
Felix Hartley sat perfectly groomed atop her plush King bed in the penthouse suite of the Crown Plaza Hotel. A glass of rosé gripped loosely in her left hand, the fingertips of her right hand gently stroking the smooth skin of her exposed leg.
"I have had the absolute pleasure of exchanging pleasantries with Mysti Savage this week and boy, let me tell you, that one has all fucking kinds of screws loose. In what world does a webcam model have any authority to tell me what kind of success I may or may not have in EOW? I'd really love to explore that, actually. So let's talk about it. Mysti Savage has done jack fucking shit for the world of professional wrestling. It amazes me that a woman of piss-poor caliber is the first to complain about me – me, as if she can hold a fucking candle to the shit I've done. She's quick to compare us side by side but, honey, I'm the only one of the two of us who have held championship gold. What have you done, besides rub your low-down parts on camera for an Amazon gift card?"
She snickered, the corners of her mouth just dripping with condescension as she swirled the wine around in her glass.
"The joke's on you, Mysti. You've been so mesmerized by my sexual exhibitions that you've completely overlooked a major differentiator between the two of us – I have talent. I am a professional, no matter what the task is in front of me. Give me a puzzle, I'm going to solve it. Tell me to wrestle? I'm going to wrestle. Tell me to entertain? I'm the best fucking entertainer money could buy. Why do I do all of these things if I don't genuinely enjoy them? Simple. It fucking infuriates you – all of you – to know that somebody like me could be so damn good at something you love. Half of you crave the attention and the opportunities that I get. But you'll never get them. Especially you, Mysti. None of you are on my level, no matter how hard you think you train, no matter what you do from the second you wake up until the second you go to sleep. None of you have the determination I have to simply be better than you at whatever it is you're doing. That's called being a natural competitor."
She grins, sipping elegantly on the wine. Her voice cold and determined.
"Jack Owyns . . . " Her grin stretches ear to ear, "A man after my own heart. I'm no feminist, I really couldn't give two shits about equality if you want honesty. I know that it's like, science or whatever that men technically are stronger than women. Am I at a disadvantage for being the tiny, fragile woman? Maybe. But the funny thing about women, Jack – something you might know from dealing with your ex-wife and your daughter, if you ever get custody of that gross little shit – is that all of our strength comes from up here," Felix points a finely tipped manicured finger to her forehead. "Here's a fun fact about me, guys . . . I'm a chameleon. I change with the circumstances. I adapt. Mentally, I'm stronger than anybody on the Victory and Livewire roster combined. What I've dealt with in my history as an entertainer, growing up in a dysfunctional household, fending for myself until I was eighteen and finding my ticket out of sex work doesn't even come close to any sort of 'ring psychology' you people think you have," Felix rolls her eyes, air quoting 'ring psychology' in a mocking tone. "You don't think I've manipulated my way into a man's head to work him? You don't think I've mastered what it takes to bring a man to his knees without using my body? Baby, I made a living off of using my brain to steal a man's dignity. Don't pity me for being the "whore" or the "slut"; I've never felt more powerful in my entire life. As a matter of fact, Jack, a man as weak as you should be shaking in his boots right now because you're exactly the type I have experience with – and not just the fun kind."
Felix winks.
"As for Connor Jacobs, well, he hasn't exactly found out yet that I'm a woman of many talents. As it turns out, there's a plot twist – yes, sex is one of those talents. It's been a popular theme as if I wasn't smart enough to figure it out myself that I'm clearly the smallest out of the eight of us. Unfortunately for him, he would be my ultimate victim. Big, tall, strong . . . Physically attractive. Sure. But mentally? Young, confused, overcompensating by talking a big fucking game but having little to show for it. Typical guy, am I right?" Felix snorts, eyeing her fingernails and becoming increasingly disinterested in Connor Jacobs, "I've seen your type. I see it all the time. In the grocery store, in the mall, on the Strip in the club, and now here. You're normal, you're boring. Nothing stands out about you. You scream insecure, and feeling the need to lash out at a woman because I've never been in the ring with a man is a surefire way to tell that you're scared shitless that I might have something planned for you that you won't see coming. Some sort of variable that you're scared that you missed. The joke's about flashing my tits to distract you aren't so funny anymore because you're beginning to realize that I've had success before, with one – yes, one – loss on my record. You take advantage of women sexually, as you seem to plaster all over social media, and it's adorable, really . . . But maybe you use them for sex to try and suppress the talent they actually have. How embarrassing would it be to be defeated by a woman of my size, Connor? Pretty fucking embarrassing. So keep that in mind next time you talk a really big fucking game about how easy it's going to be to toss me around."
"While we're on the topic of tossing around – where are we getting the idea from that Finn and I are banging, please?" Felix asks, her face contorting and her mouth curling up in disgust. "Look at my track record, do you really think I'd add him to that? No. No fucking thank you. Like if somebody could provide a real answer on how that conclusion came to be a thing, I'd really appreciate it. In regards to wrestling him, though? He's green. Like, are we friends? No. Do we have a bit of an agreement to watch each other's backs? Sure, but that means absolutely fucking nothing to either of us. He's an athlete, but I'm a business person. I'm the entrepreneur between the two of us, and I'm not going to do anything that'll cost myself my own business. The Championship? That's my business. We're really not that close. I'm not that close with anybody; because I'm a greedy fucking bitch and when I want something I'll get it. No questions asked. I don't have time in my personal life or my professional life to care about anybody else's emotions or desires but mine, and that's that."
Swigging the rest of her wine back like a professional alcoholic, Felix sets the empty wine glass down on the night table next to her.
"Bryan Williams and Matthew Page are admittedly two of my biggest challenges. I'm not a fucking idiot, I'm not going to sit here and give you some generic bullshit like, 'I don't care who's on the other side of the ring, I'll kick their ass' because it's not logical. I know that I lack wrestling experience, I know that I'm small, I know that I'm shorter and I weigh less than a feather. It's not news to me. My body is literally the most important thing in my life, so I'm not sure why people assume I'm not aware of my own statistics and how I measure up. A real woman's strength comes from her mind. Where Bryan Williams has dominated in nearly every company he's been in, I've dominated every man I've come into physical contact with. Is his experience a factor? Of course it is. Does it make him a better-suited challenger for the Ultimate Championship? Sure fucking does. But the real question is, am I intimidated by any of it, and the real answer is no. Despite what almost all of the participants in this challenge agree on, I may not be the biggest, most experienced, or most successful wrestler. But I'm the smartest. I'm the most manipulative. I'm certainly the most devious, and I know that I can use that to my advantage whenever I feel like it."
Felix leans forward, her eyes glowing and her perfectly plumped red lips take the centre of attention.
"That being said, let me know how your words taste on Sunday night. Tweet about it. Kisses!"
