I'm where I belong...

[Sahara]

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A Lion's Pride | OCW (proboards.com) | [Skip Recap]

~~~~~

PRESENT DAY

Standing beneath the lighting umbrellas, I smiled brightly for the cameras while adjusting and readjusting the TransAtlantic Title draped over my shoulder. I found these “photo-ops” to be mind numbingly mundane and annoying, but I also understood that it comes with the territory of being a champion. Well, that and OCW needed new renders of me holding their precious little title. Still, I couldn’t help but feel like a prop as their annoying fucking photographer asked me to pose in any variety of ways… and of course he had one of those annoying foreign accents that grated on my American nerves.

Take zee shoes off, put zeeze on… try ziss colour… nevermind, ziss colour goes bettear wif your eyes. Is it just in my mind, or do all of these pretentious artsy foreigners sound like this?

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating the accent, but you get the picture. Carry on my wayward daughter…

This was my entire day.

Let’s get a few with your hair up… nevermind, let’s get some more with your hair down. Put the title over your right shoulder. Nevermind, put it on your left. Turn this way and that. How’s it look around your waist? Let’s try laying down facing the camera, but make sure the title doesn’t cover your cleavage…

I know, I know… shut the fuck up and pose you vapid, spoiled ass bitch! You’re literally getting paid a fuck-ton of money to do drink mimosas and pose, while an entire crew caters to your every whim. I got an idea, how about going back to being a waitress? No? Then shut the fuck up and smile for the cameras!

Trust me, I know how you feel…

But I also don’t care.

Yea, I get it, I can show just enough boob to get the male imagination going because that’s what’s really important… after all, my bread-and-butter fanbase is adolescent men that wanna fuck me… not that I blame them.

I mean… look at me!

“Lauren!” I heard my name in that annoying accent, which somehow made it sound pretentious and annoying. It sounded more like ‘Low-ren’ than Lauren, and yea, there's a difference.

“Keep zee championship facing zee lens–”

I nodded, turning my TA title more toward the camera as instructed. This went on for a lot longer than you’d expect, to the point my face hurt from forcing a genuine looking smile over and over.

All told, they probably took a thousand shots from a thousand different angles, when their goal was to use maybe a couple of them at most. The rest of them would be archived to be used for who knows what? If I had to guess, probably for some post-op photoshop jockey to jerk off to. But whatever, I mean… I could always be the people on the other side of that barricade instead of the person in the ring…

Silver linings and all.

“Lets take zee break… that is all!”

Finally! Break time!

~~~~~

I retreated to my trailer and dropped the TA title on an ottoman and kicked my heels off. My feet hurt so fucking bad… I should tell them to send a masseuse in here to massage my aching feet–

Mulling over my greedy thoughts, I scanned the room for something to drink and that’s when I saw it…

I mean, I knew I had it, but that was the first time I think I actually saw it…

I gazed down at the TransAtlantic Title with my bright sapphire eyes and it finally registered. It had to be the most unique looking championship I’d ever seen in all the years I’d been involved in wrestling. Bright blues and splashes of purple and pink adorned the faceplate… it was… gorgeous.

I slowly knelt down in front of that beautiful title draped across that ottoman and ran my palms outward from the center of the faceplate. I could feel the contours of the lettering; the little nicks and dents it collected along the way.

I felt its history.

I could feel champions of old sighing in disappointment of what's become of it.

I let out an unrelenting sigh.

All the while I forced that smile during the photo-op, between the breaks where they pampered the fuck outta me, fetching me wine or champagne or whatever else I asked for, I knew it was fake…

If little-girl me could see me now, she wouldn’t be proud. She’d be disappointed. I knelt there staring at that wonderful title and knew I had become everything I’ve always despised about wrestling.

I’d become the paper champion I never wanted to be.

There they were… those multicolored side plates engraved with the name SAHARA.

I could hear that little girl's voice rattle around in my head, “The title doesn’t make the champion…”

I whispered, “...the champion makes the title.”

I always knew what I wanted to be in this business… and how I got here was one story…

What I do now is another.

Standing up, I grabbed that beautiful championship and turned to a large mirror in the corner of my trailer and stared at myself holding that brightly colored strap…

I hoisted that title up and draped it over my shoulder.

“I’m where I belong…”

This is the beginning of the rest of my story...

...and Duke's never say die.

~~~~~

This is my last hurrah, once I start

I ain't gonna stop 'til I go too far

Last hurrah and it's okay

Maybe tomorrow I won't feel this pain