Post by Sahara on Jun 9, 2022 7:31:02 GMT -5
Lauren Duke was anything but normal…
If normal was even a thing, she would likely believe normal was the life everyone else lived and she did not.
Just over a year ago, Sahara – then known as Lauren MacKay – had washed out of professional wrestling after brief stints here and there, never quite finding her groove. She ended up back in her hometown of Chicago, waitressing tables at a Northside Applebee’s.
That’s right.
Waitressing tables.
That’s a far cry from becoming the wife of Thaddeus Duke II less than a year later.
Yet here we are.
Of course, all of that was before the FIGHT NYC scouts reached out, likely trying to find a diamond in the rough; that all-star talent that had somehow slipped through the cracks and was forgotten about. But that was the life of Lauren MacKay. Wasting her talents on slinging cheap microwaved food for those too short on time to do it for themselves. Her resurrection in FIGHT was legendary, returning to wrestling and winning accolades such as becoming the promotions Co-MVP, she was quickly viewed as an asset to the fledgling wrestling promotion that was taking the world by storm.
That is, until it was decided she was too… toxic.
She just… wasn’t the right fit.
They shoulda' left her where she was.
Gotta get along to go along, right?!
Yeah, fuck that. Sahara doesn’t march to the tune of others… she marches to her own, even if the consequence means going back to slinging food at Applebee’s for shitty tips instead of bathing in the limelight of professional wrestling.
If FIGHT NYC was the Titanic, Sahara was the fucking iceberg it hit, because shortly after she was dismissed…
The whole fucking company went down.
Now I’m not saying there’s a correlation… but it’s aliens.
But that was then, and this is now.
Enter OCW.
From a young age, our friendly neighborhood Sahara got to witness the changing landscape of professional wrestling as it were versus what it’s fast becoming. From the ginormous pill popping roid freaks, to the fat out of shape outlaws, to the miniature video gaming neckbeards that could only happen upon a gym if a McDonald’s or Gamestop happened to be next door to the fucking thing… she’d seen it all.
Not to mention, she’d done some of ‘em, too.
Unapologetically.
While the old school was a bit more dangerous and heavily guarded by that ‘no women allowed’ glass ceiling that’s long since been shattered, they’re all dropping like flies as a consequence of their non-stop drug culture and promiscuous stupidity. Of course, over the years she may have taken part of some of that promiscuity, but that’s a story for another time… This is in sharp contrast to what exists in wrestling today, this weird uncanny valley sort of comradery where they all ‘stand together as one’ for one arbitrary cause or another, until it’s convenient to not stand together at all.
Just look at Twitter…
She’d never seen wrestlers that were so outwardly skilled that they’re able to twist and contort themselves, executing moves you wouldn't believe were even possible. They’re functionally strong beyond the imaginations of the roided-out freaks of the past, and they’re doing it without cheating. They’re faster than light… they got year-round great bodies that never fucking stop. Some of ‘em have abs that have abs! Some of ‘em. There’s also that contingent of fatty’s and ugo’s milling about that don’t belong in a wrestling ring let alone on television, but that’s another whatever.
But for as quick, and strong, and agile and athletic as they are… their minds are made of fucking glass.
Most of ‘em got the mental fortitude of a jellyfish, and the spine to match.
You used to have to hammer away at someone long enough to break something off within these jacked up giants… it’s like they were coated in fucking diamond.
Today?
All ya gotta do is find that one exposed nerve… that one tiny little thing they ‘just can’t’, and lightly press on it. It doesn’t take much. Just a light, loving touch…
That’s all ya gotta do to break ‘em…
To make ‘em cry…
To make ‘em take their tiny little bawls and go home to their safe space…
Bright sapphire eyes open in a reflective glass surface, and with an icy gaze, a slight smile slowly curls the lip of Sahara Duke.
It was a smile of love and understanding.
Of unrelenting empathy...
The White Widow.
“Step into my web my ugly, skinny, fat, and beautiful little jellyfish… it’s a safe space.”
Her alluring eyes narrow ever so slightly.
“I promise…”
If normal was even a thing, she would likely believe normal was the life everyone else lived and she did not.
Just over a year ago, Sahara – then known as Lauren MacKay – had washed out of professional wrestling after brief stints here and there, never quite finding her groove. She ended up back in her hometown of Chicago, waitressing tables at a Northside Applebee’s.
That’s right.
Waitressing tables.
That’s a far cry from becoming the wife of Thaddeus Duke II less than a year later.
Yet here we are.
Of course, all of that was before the FIGHT NYC scouts reached out, likely trying to find a diamond in the rough; that all-star talent that had somehow slipped through the cracks and was forgotten about. But that was the life of Lauren MacKay. Wasting her talents on slinging cheap microwaved food for those too short on time to do it for themselves. Her resurrection in FIGHT was legendary, returning to wrestling and winning accolades such as becoming the promotions Co-MVP, she was quickly viewed as an asset to the fledgling wrestling promotion that was taking the world by storm.
That is, until it was decided she was too… toxic.
She just… wasn’t the right fit.
They shoulda' left her where she was.
Gotta get along to go along, right?!
Yeah, fuck that. Sahara doesn’t march to the tune of others… she marches to her own, even if the consequence means going back to slinging food at Applebee’s for shitty tips instead of bathing in the limelight of professional wrestling.
If FIGHT NYC was the Titanic, Sahara was the fucking iceberg it hit, because shortly after she was dismissed…
The whole fucking company went down.
Now I’m not saying there’s a correlation… but it’s aliens.
But that was then, and this is now.
Enter OCW.
From a young age, our friendly neighborhood Sahara got to witness the changing landscape of professional wrestling as it were versus what it’s fast becoming. From the ginormous pill popping roid freaks, to the fat out of shape outlaws, to the miniature video gaming neckbeards that could only happen upon a gym if a McDonald’s or Gamestop happened to be next door to the fucking thing… she’d seen it all.
Not to mention, she’d done some of ‘em, too.
Unapologetically.
While the old school was a bit more dangerous and heavily guarded by that ‘no women allowed’ glass ceiling that’s long since been shattered, they’re all dropping like flies as a consequence of their non-stop drug culture and promiscuous stupidity. Of course, over the years she may have taken part of some of that promiscuity, but that’s a story for another time… This is in sharp contrast to what exists in wrestling today, this weird uncanny valley sort of comradery where they all ‘stand together as one’ for one arbitrary cause or another, until it’s convenient to not stand together at all.
Just look at Twitter…
She’d never seen wrestlers that were so outwardly skilled that they’re able to twist and contort themselves, executing moves you wouldn't believe were even possible. They’re functionally strong beyond the imaginations of the roided-out freaks of the past, and they’re doing it without cheating. They’re faster than light… they got year-round great bodies that never fucking stop. Some of ‘em have abs that have abs! Some of ‘em. There’s also that contingent of fatty’s and ugo’s milling about that don’t belong in a wrestling ring let alone on television, but that’s another whatever.
But for as quick, and strong, and agile and athletic as they are… their minds are made of fucking glass.
Most of ‘em got the mental fortitude of a jellyfish, and the spine to match.
You used to have to hammer away at someone long enough to break something off within these jacked up giants… it’s like they were coated in fucking diamond.
Today?
All ya gotta do is find that one exposed nerve… that one tiny little thing they ‘just can’t’, and lightly press on it. It doesn’t take much. Just a light, loving touch…
That’s all ya gotta do to break ‘em…
To make ‘em cry…
To make ‘em take their tiny little bawls and go home to their safe space…
~~~~~
Bright sapphire eyes open in a reflective glass surface, and with an icy gaze, a slight smile slowly curls the lip of Sahara Duke.
It was a smile of love and understanding.
Of unrelenting empathy...
The White Widow.
“Step into my web my ugly, skinny, fat, and beautiful little jellyfish… it’s a safe space.”
Her alluring eyes narrow ever so slightly.
“I promise…”