Billy Mitchell vs Adrianna Wilde

[Alex Smiley]

Reminder:

- Word limit for Group Stage matches is 1500.
- 1 RP per wrestler per match.
- Deadline: December 2, 2018, at 11:59PM Pacific.

[Hyde]

05:24 PM
Chicago, Illinois

Kill her, Mommy. Kill her.

A cheer went up throughout Delilah's as the camera closed in one the crazed, brown eyes of Betsy Palmer, clad in her gray sweater. From booth near the back of the bar, Billy Mitchell cracked a modest smile at the outburst, before turning his attention back to the can of Pabst he'd been nursing for the better part of an hour. Normally, he wasn't so slow, but distractions in the form of his Experts invitation and summarized bios on the rest of the competition kept him from fully committing to the alcohol at hand. Pulling another long sip from the can, he set it aside and filtered through the mostly unfamiliar faces. One or two had stood out for obvious reasons. Georgie, Ace and Robina were all on the EWC roster along with him. In fact, Georgie and Ace were part of the same brand. Add in the fact that just last Friday, he was goin' at it tooth and claw with Ms. Nickles over a shot at Ace's title, and it was a full 'hat trick' for the irony game.

The only thing that could have made the situation more of an impossibility was if Georgie, herself, were his opponent, rather than the Wilde woman. No such luck, though. Apparently even the man upstairs felt that was a bit of a stretch. He would have preferred the unbelievable in this case, however, since he at least knew Nickles. He'd stood across from her, behind her and beside her on more than one occasion. He was familiar with how she moved and worked, whereas Adrianna Wilde was a complete 'Wilde' card, so to speak. He knew nothing about her. Not the promotion she was signed to. Not her in ring style, not even her statistics. Was she small and petite like Georgie? Was she a little on the heavier side, like the Dynamo woman? Nothing. There was no bio sheet, no summary. Had she forgotten to fill one out? Was she a past regular like Jack Benevolence or Level-One and he was just supposed to know who she was already?

Mystery entrants were nothing new, to him or the business, but it made things more difficult than they already were. This was foreign soil, and once again, Cpt. Mitchell found himself behind enemy lines, with nothing but his wits and training to keep him safe. Unbidden, his smile hitched up the corners of his mouth at the comparison. Sure, professional wrestling could be a little rough, but there was a distinct difference between someone hurling a chair at your skull and being pinned down by enemy fire. But the response was the same in either case – To get your retaliation in first. Do unto them before they could do unto you.

"Any luck finding her?"

Mitchell glanced up at the question, meeting the steel-blue eyes of a man ten years his senior, with a shaved head and well-kept physique. Without invitation, the man slid into the other side of the booth.

"Not yet," he answered, looking back to the papers. He'd separated the 'big' names. The ones he'd heard Georgie talk about – Benevolence. Level-One and obviously the infamous Scorpio. Another pile held Georgie, herself, along with Ace and Robina. The known entities. EWC roster mates. Known entities. The last was a hodge-podge of the remaining competitors like Rayne Young, Lisa Seldon and Rex Evans. People he didn't know from Adam, other than at some point, he'd be standing across the ring from them. "I've gone through these a dozen times. Then a dozen more, to be sure. Whoever Wilde is, they've got nothin' on her." A hesitant smirk flattened his mouth. "Nothin' they feel like sharin', anyway. So, I'm flyin' blind."

"Not the first time," 'T' offered, an inside smile already forming.

Mitchell mirrored it with a knowing nod. "Not the last," he finished.

"So," 'T' started, reaching over to grab Mitchell's beer and bring it up for a sip. "What's the plan, then?"

A heavy shoulder rolled in answer. "Show up, knuckle up and put the girl down. Knowing or not knowing don't change the objective." Sliding the piles of bios aside, Mitchell settled his arms to the table top in a casual fold. "Whoever this girl is, she's here for the same damn reason as the rest of us. She wants to be the best. She wants the fame. She wants the legacy." He shook his head. "You don't get that by pussy-footin' around and pickin' off the easy targets. You get it by chargin' in time and again, whether you know what's on the other side of that door or not. This whole thing's about earnin' the right to be called a True Expert, right? Call it cheesy, but an expert knows how to do their job inside and out and no matter what."

A nod of agreement from the older man, though he remained silent.

Mitchell took it as a sign to continue. "I don't have the numbers half these people do. I don't have a belt to throw around and flaunt to the cameras. All I got is who I am, and call me arrogant, but that's been more than enough for me since I started doin' this. I don't need people callin' me an expert. I don't need people etchin' my name in the history books ... but I'd be a damned liar if I said I didn't want it. I'm a wrestler. Same as them. I earn my money in that ring. The more I win, the more I earn. And those belts usually come with a nice little bonus on the side. But more than that, they're a message. They're a statement that don't need backin' up. When you're wearin' the World Heavyweight Title around your waist, or when you have the magazines and the papers and the websites calling you a True Expert? That's big. That's bigger than any ego and any mouthful of words could ever or would ever be worth." Ending his private little tirade, Mitchell reached over to reclaim his Pabst and upturn it, finishing the last few gulps.

'T' continued to remain silent, opting to arch a single brow before leaning forward to take up Mitchell's earlier posture, folding his arms to the tabletop. "And beating three of the biggest names in EWC in this tournament doesn't have anything to do with it, right?" His tone made it clear he already knew the answer, but that didn't stop him from needling a little more. "Nickles just got done droppin' you for the second time. I'm guessin' makin' it further than she does, or even bein' the one to knock her out of the runnin' hasn't even crossed your mind, right? Or doing the same thing to King?" Only now did a twisted smile appear on the man's face, as he watched Mitchell's expression shift under the weight of the truth.

For the longest moment, Mitchell just stared, until a soft chuckle finally broke itself loose, shattering his stern expression and leaving both men with broad smiles. A slow shrug was the only admission Mitchell gave to the accusation. "Like I said. I don't need to, but it'd be nice. I'm just here to see how far I can go, same as the rest. No politics. No agendas. No ulterior motives. For one, I ain't smart enough. I was just a grunt. Give me a gun and show me who to shoot. There's a reason I stayed away from the Officer shit. No thank you." Lifting a hand, he sliced it through the air, as if cutting the subject off at the neck. "If I happen to take 'em out along the way, then yeah, I'd say that's worth a little extra cheese when I smile for the cameras, but at the end of the day?" His expression sobered up as he let his head drop for a second, exhaling slowly before looking back up. "I meant what I said back before the match with Georgie and the others. That bastard didn't leave me a whole lot when he died, but one thing I did get was his name. And when he carried it through those curtains, he made damn sure it meant something. To him. To the fans. To this business. Now here I come fuckin' up left and right, diggin' ditches and buryin' his name in six feet of fuckin' mud and shit." With each expletive, Mitchell's anger rose, until he seemed ready to start spitting. Instead, he forced himself to pull back with another long breath. After a minute or so, he finally brought his eyes, now hardened to emeralds, back to match 'T's once more. "I owe this to him, T. I owe it to him, and everyone who knew him. Come hell or high water, I'm puttin' my father's name where it belongs ...

"At the top."