Kimberly Williams w/ Deanna Frost at ringside vs. Dawn Lohan

[Kemal Yilmaz]

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET SUNDAY, May 3, 2026

[The Matt]

1 of 2
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April 20th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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Breakdown came and went just exactly as Kimberly Williams had hoped it would. She and Shaun Cruze had managed to work together like a well-oiled machine and defeated Dawn Lohan and Polly. What’s better is that the seeds of doubt have been planted and whatever potential alliance that may have existed between the two is all but gone. The truth is plain and clear; the CEO Frank Delatosso wants anyone capable (and specifically loyal) to take that Adrenaline Championship away from Deanna Frost. If he no longer has faith Polly can get the job done he will instantly turn to Dawn to get the job done. The same holds true for Dawn. The idea that those two would ever get along was a fallacy. Now SCW turns to Australia and the Hubris pay per view; Kimberly Williams will be in Melbourne to compete against Dawn Lohan, one on one this time as opposed to a tag team scenario. What’s better is that Deanna Frost will be in the corner of The Queen of the Death Match. Just like Kim has been watching Deanna’s back in recent weeks, now Deanna will return the favor to ensure there will be no funny business while Kimberly attempts to keep her winning ways alive. And for Kimmy this has nothing to do with the Adrenaline Championship that Deanna possesses. This is about Kimmy being a friend to Deanna and watching her back.

Still, The Woman Scorned has a few other items on her agenda before she makes the flight to Australia. Among them is one of the most absurd things she has ever done with her newly acquired Floreschu wealth: a formal pajama ball.

The Floreschu Estate had always been impressive, but tonight it had been transformed into something far stranger and far more alive. What had once been a monument to quiet control and carefully curated luxury now hummed with chaotic celebration, every polished surface and towering ceiling repurposed for something no architect had ever intended. The ballroom stood at the heart of it all, vast and radiant beneath a cascade of crystal chandeliers that scattered light across marble floors and gilded columns. The room had not lost its grandeur. If anything, it had been exaggerated. Velvet drapes still framed the towering windows, and the intricate gold detailing along the walls gleamed as brightly as ever. But now, layered over that elegance, was something wildly unexpected.

People filled the space. Dozens upon dozens of guests moved through the ballroom, their laughter and chatter rising into the high ceiling in a steady, joyful swell. And every single one of them was dressed in pajamas. Not subtle ones, not quietly elegant sleepwear meant to mimic evening attire, but unapologetically absurd ensembles that clashed gloriously with the setting. Silk robes patterned with cartoon animals drifted past satin nightgowns in neon colors. Flannel sets in loud plaids brushed shoulders with footed pajamas shaped like oversized creatures. One guest wore a matching set covered in tiny dancing bananas. Another had arrived in something that resembled a full length cape made of fleece. The effect was surreal. A room built for black tie formality had become a parade of comfort and nonsense, and somehow it worked. “The Woman Scorned” Kimberly Williams stood near the center of the ballroom, entirely responsible for it all. She looked like the architect of chaos and was clearly enjoying every second of it. She wore an absurdly formal take on pajamas, a deep navy satin set with exaggerated white piping along the edges, the fabric catching the chandelier light with every movement. Over it she had thrown on a dramatically oversized robe in a rich burgundy that trailed slightly behind her as she walked, giving her the silhouette of someone halfway between a dignified host and someone who had just rolled out of bed and decided to throw a party. Her feet were clad in plush slippers that made no effort to hide themselves against the marble floor. Her red hair had been left loose, flowing freely around her shoulders in all its unruly brightness, a sharp contrast to the otherwise polished aesthetic of the room. Her eyes were alive with manic delight, darting from guest to guest, soaking in every detail of the absurdity she had created. She moved through the crowd with restless energy, unable to stay in one place for long, occasionally adjusting a sleeve here or straightening a robe there as if she were both host and amused observer of her own experiment. This was her vision brought to life, and it showed.

Beyond the ballroom doors, parts of the estate had been transformed in ways that would have been unimaginable not long ago. Entire wings had been converted into sanctuaries. Softly lit rooms filled with carefully arranged habitats housed dozens of hamsters, their enclosures spacious and enriched, complete with winding tunnels, climbing structures, and meticulously maintained bedding. Elsewhere, climate controlled areas had been adapted to support small groups of rescued penguins, their environments designed to mimic natural conditions as closely as possible. The quiet dignity of the estate had been replaced with the gentle rustling of small animals and the occasional soft chirp or shuffle. And tonight, the ball celebrated all of it.

Near one side of the ballroom stood Angelica Jones, a striking presence even among the spectacle. She had followed the dress code, though in her own way. Her pajamas were crafted from fine silk in a soft ivory tone, tailored with the same precision as one of her formal gowns. The cut was elegant, the fabric luminous under the chandeliers, and her posture remained as poised as ever. A delicate wrap rested over her shoulders, and her hair was styled perfectly, as though she refused to abandon refinement even in the face of deliberate absurdity. She observed the scene with composed curiosity, a faint smile betraying her amusement. Not far from her was Tommy Wasley, who looked both comfortable and slightly out of place in equal measure. He wore a set of flannel pajamas in dark green plaid, the shirt fitting snugly across his broad shoulders while the pants hung more loosely. The fabric looked soft and well worn, the kind of thing he might actually choose to sleep in, though he had paired it with sturdy boots that suggested he had not fully committed to the theme. His thick beard and relaxed stance gave him a grounded presence amidst the chaos, his eyes frequently drifting back to Kimberly with quiet admiration and a hint of disbelief at the scale of what she had created. Then there was Kimberly Lambert, known to this crowd, at least by one person, as The Other Kim. She stood near the edge of the room, taking everything in with the measured awareness of someone who had spent her career in carefully controlled environments and was now witnessing something entirely outside of that experience. Her pajamas were refined, a tailored set in soft gray satin that struck a balance between professional restraint and playful compliance. Her hair was styled neatly as always, and her posture remained composed, though there was a subtle shift in her expression that suggested she was still processing the sight of a grand ballroom filled with people dressed like this.

The music drifted through the room, light and celebratory, blending with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. Guests mingled freely, their ridiculous attire dissolving any sense of hierarchy that might have existed in a more traditional setting. Here, everyone was equally out of place, and that made it feel strangely inclusive. Kimberly moved through it all like a spark, the energy that kept everything alive. She paused now and then to take it in, the chandeliers, the marble floors, the sea of ridiculous pajamas, the people she cared about scattered among strangers who had somehow embraced her idea without hesitation. The Floreschu Estate no longer felt like a relic of someone else’s control. It felt like hers. Messy, absurd, alive, and entirely unapologetic.

“Mommy, mommy,mommy!” Kimberly skips happily towards her mother, Angelica Jones. Kimmy stops just short and then looks her over. She makes a disgusted looking face, looking very judgmental at her mother. “I don’t like your pajamas.”

“You’re lucky I even abided by this so-called ‘dress code’, Kimmy.”

“You wouldn’t have got in otherwise.” Kim winks playfully. “I have fierce guards standing outside making sure anyone who DARES enter my domain during this party is abiding by the dress code.”

“Fierce guards?” Angelica rolls her eyes. “You have no guards.”

“Yes I do.” Kim insists. “James Evans and Ryan LeCavalier are standing guard this very moment!”

“No they’re not.”

“Yes they are!”

“Kim…you have CARDBOARD CUTOUTS of James Evans and Ryan LeCavalier standing guard.”

“I doubt anyone will notice.” Kim snickers.

“Right.” Angelica sighs. “Just try to enjoy yourself for now, ok? Remember that soon you need to start preparing for the Australia trip. Remember Hubris?”

“I know.” Kim nods her head. “Me and Dawnie gets to maim one another. Such fun!”

“I doubt Dawn will find it very fun.”

“Oh of course she will.” Kim insists. “Just look at her sister. Abi and I maimed each other and we became instant friends. That’s how it works. Me and Dawn are going to come so damn close to murdering each other that we’ll be closer than ever! Best pals!”

“I thought you and Deanna were best pals?”

“We ARE! And look how that friendship started? We tried to maim each other first!” Kim nods her head. “Now I get it, Dawnie is a little confused. She thinks Franky D is a nice guy. Dawnie must be on something illegal and isn’t sharing with the rest of us. That’s fine. I don’t care who she associates with but I am going to carve her up at Hubris for all of the kangaroos to see!

“Kangaroos?” Angelica furrows her brow in confusion.

“Australia. Duh!” Kim smirks. “After I’m done flaying Dawnie and we’re friends again, I might buy a kangaroo and send it to her as a gift. One of those ‘Sorry I Had To Maim You’ gifts. You bought those for your enemies, right mom?”

“Not exactly…”

“Well point is everything will be fine!”

“I somewhat doubt that.” Despite herself, Angelica cracks a smile. “Now go, enjoy yourself.”

Kim doesn’t need to be told twice to enjoy herself. The Woman Scorned starts skipping away in her absurd pajama attire towards another guest. Namely one that she knows is not feeling quite at home in this environment; Kim Lambert, her real estate agent who has helped her with her real estate business. It was Lambert’s desire that Kim keep the Floreschu Estate as opposed to tearing it down. But this kind of luxury is not Kimmy’s style. If she had to keep it, she would use it for whatever ridiculous things she could concoct; in this case, a pajama party. Williams approaches Lambert with a wide, ear to ear grin.

“The Other Kim! I am so glad you came!”

“Oh, uh yeah, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Hmmm…” Kim studies her and judges her just as much as she did her own mother a few moments ago “...I don’t like your pajamas…”

“Sorry.”

“It’s ok. My mom has lousy taste too but…hey…” Kim pauses “...where is that penguin head I gave you to wear?”

“Oh that thing wasn’t necessary.” Lambert insists.

“But it was!” Kim counters. “It was necessary because this is going to be a hamster sanctuary AND a penguin sanctuary!”

“And I am very pleased that you are putting this place to…uh…good use.” Lambert laughs uneasily. “But are you sure you want to use this for penguins? It will be costly to maintain proper environmental controls for penguins.”

“Yeah, well, I’m filthy rich and looking for anything to throw my money at!” Kim grins. Then she looks down at The Other Kim’s feet and spots the aforementioned penguin head. “Oh, there it is!” Kimberly picks up the giant penguin head and places it atop Lambert’s head, covering her up completely. “You look gorgeous! Just like a penguin…about to sell me a house…”

“Thanks.” Lambert says, her voice now muffled through the penguin head.

“You’re welcome.” Kim snickers. “And this place will make a great home for penguins and hamsters alike!”

“You know, Kim, it should be your home…”

“Heh, you know how ridiculous you look? Talking to me with that penguin head on?” Kim asks, snickering. Lambert ignores her and just continues speaking.

“...I’m serious. I heard about the incident involving you and Tommy and the neighborhood watch.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.” Kimmy sighs. “Tommy was brave but I wish I had caught the thief. I would have gutted him had I caught him.”

“You’re joking right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Kim winks playfully.

“I’m just saying that it may be too dangerous where you’re living.” Lambert says. “That’s all.”

“I’ll take it under advisement, The Other Kim.”

The Woman Scorned turns and spots her boyfriend Tommy. She waves at him to get his attention and then skips happily over towards the bearded man. Kimmy rushes right over into his arms, embracing him with a tight hug. Tommy laughs at her enthusiasm, the energy that she gives off this evening.

“Well you seem thrilled!”

“You kidding? Of course I’m happy! Look at this place!” She exclaims. “Once a dud full of stuck up rich dweebs and now its made up ridiculous decor and said stuck up stuffy rich dweebs are all here wearing pajamas. It’s great!”

“Is that what all of this is about? Making the wealthy feel dumb?” Tommy asks curiously. “Because if that’s the case I think you failed. They seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“Humbling them is only part of the goal; the fact that they can see that you don’t have to maintain some stupid image and that you can enjoy yourself is great news as far as I’m concerned.”

“I’m just glad you’re happy.” Tommy kisses her.

“Oops,” Kim checks her watch “I got a speech to give!”

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” Tommy jokes.

At the far end of the ballroom, a polished podium had been set near the base of a small raised platform. It looked as though it had been borrowed from some far more formal event, its dark wood surface gleaming under the lights, a small microphone positioned neatly at the top. In any other context, it would have suggested a serious announcement or a carefully prepared address. Tonight, it stood waiting in the middle of a room full of people dressed like they were ready for bed. Kimberly Williams spotted it from across the room and immediately broke away from the conversation she had been half engaged in. There was no hesitation, no quiet transition into host mode. Instead, she moved with sudden, unfiltered enthusiasm, weaving through clusters of guests with quick, light steps that turned into something closer to a skip as she crossed the marble floor.

Her robe swayed behind her with each movement, the rich burgundy fabric catching the light as it trailed in exaggerated arcs. The satin of her navy pajamas shifted and shimmered beneath it, the loose cut allowing her complete freedom of motion. Her slippers made soft, almost soundless contact with the floor, barely registering against the hum of the room. Her red hair bounced with her pace, curls catching the light in flashes of copper and gold. People began to notice her movement almost immediately. Conversations paused mid sentence. Heads turned. There was something about Kimberly’s energy that drew attention without her needing to demand it. She looked like she was on the verge of something, eyes bright, expression alive with a kind of mischievous excitement that was impossible to ignore. By the time she reached the platform, a noticeable shift had already begun. Guests angled themselves toward her, some stepping closer, others simply turning in place, their curiosity piqued. The absurdity of the evening had primed everyone for something unexpected, and Kimberly had never been one to disappoint in that regard. She took the few steps up onto the platform in one smooth, almost bouncing motion, barely slowing as she reached the podium. For a brief second, she placed both hands on its polished surface, fingers splaying out as if grounding herself, though the gesture felt more like a momentary pause before launching into something rather than any attempt at composure.

“My fellow Antarcticans…” Kim smirks “...I was talking to the penguins, not you people! But if I must give a speech to you wealthy capitalists pigs then fine!

Up close, the contrast between her and the setting was even more striking. The podium, the chandelier light, the towering room all suggested formality and control. Kimberly, in her loose satin pajamas and trailing robe, looked like she had wandered into the role of host by accident and decided to embrace it fully. Her posture straightened just enough to suggest purpose, though she never lost that underlying looseness that defined her. Her eyes moved across the crowd, taking in the faces, the ridiculous outfits, the people who had actually shown up and committed to her strange idea. There was a flicker of something deeper beneath her usual chaotic energy. Not restraint, not exactly, but awareness. This was her moment, her creation, her space.

“You are gathered here this evening because…you’re rich and have nothing better to do…”

Some laughter echoes in the ballroom. From the edges of the room, Angelica watched with composed interest, her elegant silhouette still distinct even among the sea of pajama clad guests. Tommy stood a little closer to the center, arms relaxed at his sides, his expression soft with a mix of pride and quiet amusement. Kimberly Lambert, The Other Kim, remained near the back, her attention fully fixed on the woman at the podium, her professional instincts perhaps still trying to categorize an event that refused to fit into any normal framework.

“You are here because of me.” Kimmy winks playfully. “Does that sound arrogant? Sorry if it does, but isn’t that what wealthy people really mean when they give these grandiose speeches? I’m just being honest here! I inherited this money from people who had no freaking clue what to do with it. My former foster, Emma Floreschu…her brother Lucian…they didn’t know what to do with their wealth either so they gave everything to me. I’ll be honest with ya, I don’t know much of what to do with this kinda money either. Just ask my mommy down there! There’s a reason I live in a barely up to code dump on the other side of the city!”

The ballroom itself seemed to hold its breath, the noise tapering off into a low murmur before settling into near silence. The chandeliers hummed softly overhead. Somewhere in the distance, faint sounds from the sanctuary areas drifted through the estate, a subtle reminder of what the evening was truly celebrating. Kimberly stood at the podium, hands resting against the wood, her grin beginning to form again, that unmistakable spark returning to full strength.

“I tried living here but it drove me crazy.” She pauses, considering her words. “Well, crazier than usual. And again, ask my mom, you don’t wanna see me any crazier than I usually am. My bestie’s sister Dawn Lohan is gonna learn just how crazy I can get when I travel to Australia but that’s another story for another crowd…particularly a wrestling crowd who knows what the hell I’m talking about…” Williams snickers “...but anyway, initially I planned to bulldoze this whole place. Tear it all down. But CERTAIN PEOPLE insisted that I maintain it…”

She waves playfully at Kim Lambert, who is likely blushing furiously in embarrassment underneath the penguin head.

“Hi there, The Other Kim!” Williams refocuses. “Now where was I? Oh right, since I decided ultimately not to tear this place down, I needed to use it for something, otherwise it would sit and rot. So I am using it for hamster sanctuaries and penguin sanctuaries. And that’s just the beginning!” She taps the side of her head. “Who knows what insane ideas might pop into my head?! I was once declared certifiably insane so there really is no limit to my imagination and no way of knowing what I may add to this estate next! All I can say is that it will definitely be better than it once was!”

[The Matt]

2 of 2
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April 21st, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The Phoenix Marie Jones’s home carried a very different kind of quiet than most places in Boston. It was not the hollow silence of an empty building or the heavy stillness of something abandoned. It was curated silence, intentional and maintained, the kind that came from careful living and an appreciation for order. Every detail in the living room reflected that sensibility. The space was bright and elegant, anchored by tall windows that let in soft morning light filtered through sheer white curtains. The sunlight settled gently across polished hardwood floors, catching on the edges of carefully chosen furniture and giving everything a subtle glow. The color palette leaned toward soft neutrals, warm creams, pale grays, and hints of gold that added just enough richness without overwhelming the space. A large area rug stretched beneath a sleek coffee table, its pattern understated but clearly expensive. Everything felt balanced, nothing out of place, nothing left to chance.The sofa itself was a statement of quiet luxury, upholstered in a smooth, light fabric that looked as though it had never been subjected to anything more aggressive than a neatly folded throw blanket. A pair of matching armchairs flanked it, angled just enough to suggest conversation without disrupting the room’s symmetry. Decorative pillows sat in perfect arrangement, their textures varied but coordinated, soft velvet beside fine linen. On a nearby console table, framed photographs had been arranged with thoughtful precision. Family moments captured in stillness, a younger Sean Connor Jones, Marie’s son, smiling in one frame, Marie poised and composed in another. A small vase of fresh flowers added a hint of color, their scent faint but present, mingling with the clean, almost airy fragrance of the house itself. It was a room that spoke of control, of taste, of someone who found comfort in refinement.

And in the middle of it, Kimberly Williams sat trying very hard not to ruin the illusion. She had taken a place on the sofa, though even sitting still felt like an act of performance. Her posture was more upright than usual, shoulders drawn back, legs crossed carefully at the knee. It was not how she naturally held herself, and the effort showed in small, almost imperceptible ways. Her fingers occasionally twitched against the fabric of her skirt, and her foot shifted slightly before she caught herself and stilled it again. Her outfit was unmistakably her sister’s influence. She wore a fitted blouse in a soft ivory tone, the fabric smooth and structured, tucked neatly into a tailored skirt that fell just below her knees. The material was refined, hugging her frame in a way that emphasized elegance over comfort. A slim belt cinched at her waist added to the polished silhouette, and her shoes, modest heels, rested neatly on the floor instead of being kicked off as she would have preferred. Her red hair had been styled, or at least made to appear styled. The usual wildness had been tamed into smoother waves, parted more deliberately, framing her face with a level of control she rarely tolerated for long. Even her makeup had been adjusted, subtle but precise, softening her features into something more composed, more like Marie. The resemblance between the sisters was already striking. Like this, it became almost uncanny. At a glance, in the right light, with the right posture, she could pass for her twin.

The previous night was the formal pajama ball. The Woman Scorned was the star of the hour as she enjoyed humbling the once great and refined Floreschu Estate. Kimmy knows that she must now turn her attention back to SCW, for soon she will be traveling to Melbourne, Australia to compete against Dawn Lohan. And The Queen of the Death Match had every intention of making that effort today; but late last night she learned that her nephew, Sean Connor Jones, would be returning today after spending time overseas in London, England to begin his training at the Braddock Wrestling School. Kimmy adores her nephew and cannot resist the opportunity to have this reunion and play a joke at the same time.

Kimberly caught her reflection faintly in the glass of one of the framed photographs and had to resist the urge to smirk. The whole thing felt ridiculous and brilliant at the same time. There was a playful tension in her expression, a barely contained excitement that threatened to break through the composed mask she was trying to maintain. Her eyes, though softened by makeup, still carried that familiar spark, that chaotic edge that no amount of refinement could fully erase. She leaned back slightly, then quickly corrected herself, remembering that Marie would never sit like that. The adjustment made her exhale quietly, a small release of energy that she immediately suppressed. This was a performance, and she intended to commit to it fully.

The house remained still around her, the distant hum of the city barely audible through the windows. Time seemed to stretch as she waited, every second heightening the anticipation. Somewhere deeper in the house, a clock ticked softly, marking the slow approach of the moment she had been planning. Kimberly’s gaze drifted toward the front door, her expression sharpening just a little as she imagined it opening. She pictured the look on Sean’s face, the split second of confusion before realization set in. The thought alone made her lips twitch, the beginnings of a grin threatening to break through her carefully practiced composure. She straightened again, smoothing the fabric of her skirt with deliberate care, forcing herself back into the role. The room remained elegant, untouched, perfectly arranged. And in the middle of it, Kimberly Williams sat disguised as her sister, waiting with barely contained excitement for the moment her plan would unfold.

It is at that very moment that the deranged ginger hears the door beginning to unlock. Only Marie and Marie’s son Sean would have keys and Marie is going to be gone the entire day. Kim grins from ear to ear as she realizes that now is the time for fun.

“And awaaaaaay we go!” Kim snickers as she waltzes over to the door. She makes her approach just in time to see her twenty year old nephew, fresh off the beginning of his own professional wrestling journey, crossing the threshold and into the home. His brown hair is tussled, messy. He is wearing faded jeans, sneakers, and a long sleeve New England Patriots logo hoodie. He turns his attention to his Aunt Kim and, based on the look on his face, the joke appears to be working perfectly so far…

“Mom?” Sean appears confused.

“What’s wrong, Sean? Didn’t expect me to be in my own home?”

“Well, not that,” he shrugs “I just thought you told me that you would be busy all day, you told me to let myself in.”

“Oh please.” Kim rolls her eyes. “When was the last time I was ever honest with you?”

“Uh…”

“I am a busy woman nowadays, but I’m never too busy for my son.” Kim states. “And believe me, life is very busy for someone posing nude for magazines.”

“What?!”

“Uh-huh,” Kim nods her head “I mean, your Aunt Kim already did it and pinned it on me. So I figured why the hell not? I might even start an OnlyFans and make money off of this drop dead sexy gorgeous body of mine.”

“Aunt Kim…” Sean says as a look of realization washes over his face. Kimberly either doesn’t detect it or she’s ignoring it as she goes on with her act.

“Yes, your Aunt Kim, MY SISTER, the greatest champion ever produced by the Jones Family. Do you know she gets to travel to Melbourne, Australia and wrestle a kangaroo?”

“Aunt Kim…”

“Ok, so maybe Dawn Lohan isn’t a kangaroo but she still might very well be a marsupial. But the point is she gets to travel the world while I get to stay here, alone, as the world’s greatest prude.”

“Aunt Kim!” Sean’s voice is louder this time. Kim reacts.

“What? I mean, no…I mean…your Aunt Kim isn’t here. There is no Kim, only Zuul.”

“That was funny, Aunt Kim, you had me convinced there for a moment.”

The Woman Scorned grins from ear to ear. She finally decides to drop the act.

“You think so? Because you spent nine months in her belly and then twenty years living with her. I wasn’t sure I could convince you.”

“Well you did have me going for a moment.” Sean shakes his head. “But mom would never pose nude for any magazines or open an OnlyFans.”

“Yeah, you’re right, she’s too much of a prude.” Kim kicks off her heels, grateful the act is over and she can remove the ridiculous shoes. “So tell me, kiddo, how did you enjoy London and, specifically, how did you enjoy the Braddock Wrestling School?”

“It was great, Aunt Kim!” Sean exclaims. “I met awesome people and learned so much…”

They make their way over to the living room, Sean talking all the way. Kimberly listens intently to every word Sean has to say about the beginning of Sean’s wrestling journey. He sounds genuinely excited about the future. Unfortunately this means Sean will likely be pursuing a career in professional wrestling going forward, which is not what his mother wanted, and it is definitely not what the Matriarch of the family, Angelica Jones, wanted. Lucky for Kim, she will always be supportive of her nephew. Inside the living room they approach the sofa. Kim sits down first, followed by Sean.

“Doesn’t it sound great, Aunt Kim?”

“It sure does, kiddo, and I know you’ll make a great wrestler some day.”

“Thanks!”

“But…just a piece of advice…tone down the wrestling talk just a smidge. Trust me on this one, your mom is still having difficulty accepting that this is what you want to do with your life. She means well, she’s just overprotective at times. Y’know what I mean?”

“I get it.” Sean nods his head. “And I did miss mom and I missed you.” He leans in and gives Kimmy a big hug. Even a psychopath like The Woman Scorned is touched by this emotion.

“Awww, you’re hitting all the soft spots, kiddo.”

“So what have you been doing, Aunt Kim?”

“Nothing much.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Just a little bit of this and that.”

“I refuse to believe you’ve been doing nothing while I was gone.”

“You know me too well.” Kim winks. “Well, for starters you just got home from being overseas, but I’m about to travel to Australia to compete at SCW Hubris against Dawn Lohan.”

“Australia? Wow!”

“Uh-huh…” Kim nods her head “...and my life outside the ring is busy too. I started a hamster and penguin sanctuary in this stuffy old estate I inherited. Oh and I joined a neighborhood watch.”

“A neighborhood watch?” Sean snickers. “You?”

“I know, I know, I’m the type of person neighborhoods watch out FOR, but trust me, it’s really fun!” Kim playfully salutes him. “I even got to be Commander in Chef.”

“Don’t you mean Commander in Chief?”

“Not with the food they serve.” Kimmy smirks knowingly.

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On Camera
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The backdrop was as plain as it could possibly be, a smooth expanse of neutral gray stretching out behind her with no texture, no detail, nothing to distract from what stood in front of it. The lighting was even and soft, flattening shadows and giving everything a clean, almost studio like stillness. It was the kind of setting that seemed designed to strip away context, leaving only the subject and whatever energy they brought with them. Kimberly Williams filled that empty space without any effort at all. She stood upright, though not rigidly so, her posture loose and natural in a way that felt entirely her own. There was always a sense with her that she could not fully commit to standing still, and even here that restless energy showed itself in small, subtle shifts. Her weight leaned slightly to one side, her shoulders relaxed, her stance grounded but never stiff. She looked comfortable, like someone who had no interest in performing for the setting around her and every intention of simply existing in it.

Her outfit was unmistakably hers. The Woman Scorned wore a worn black t shirt that hung loosely over her frame, the fabric softened by time and repeated wear. Her jeans were equally well worn, a medium blue with natural creases and faint fraying at the edges, fitting comfortably without any effort at polish. On her feet were a pair of scuffed sneakers, laces tied unevenly, the soles marked by long use. Her red hair fell freely around her shoulders, unstyled and unapologetic. It framed her face in uneven waves, catching the light just enough to bring out its natural brightness against the muted gray behind her. A few strands rested across her forehead, others tucked themselves behind her ears without much thought. It gave her a look that was effortless and a little wild, as though she had simply shown up exactly as she was without considering how it might appear.

In her arms, held firmly against her chest, was Wasley. The large penguin plushie looked almost comically oversized compared to her frame, its rounded body soft and slightly misshapen from years of being carried around and handled without much care for maintaining its original form. Its black and white fabric stood out starkly against the neutral background, and its bright orange beak and feet added small bursts of color that made it impossible to ignore. Wasley’s stitched face wore its permanent smile, a simple expression that somehow managed to feel both cheerful and slightly ridiculous at the same time. One of its wings bent slightly outward, as though it had been pulled or squeezed one too many times, and the fabric along its side showed faint signs of wear. It looked like something that had been dragged through countless situations and had simply accepted its role in all of them.

Kimberly held it securely, one arm wrapped underneath its body, the other draped casually across its front. Her fingers pressed lightly into the plush material, absentmindedly adjusting her grip now and then. The way she held it was not delicate or careful. It was familiar. Comfortable. As though carrying around a large penguin was the most natural thing in the world. Her expression completed the picture. There was a hint of a grin pulling at the corner of her mouth, something playful and knowing that never quite settled into a full smile.

“Dawnie, Dawnie, Dawnie…” Kimberly laughs slightly “...your family and I go way back. Well, at least your sister and I do. Abi and me, we became the best of friends the same way most normal people do; we tried to maim and butcher one another, we shed each other’s blood all over the countryside, and after that we became besties. That’s how it works with normal people, right? And I really do hope it will work out that way for you and I, Dawnie. I hope that after Hubris is over, after we are finished with our epic battle and after I am done knocking some sense into that skull of yours, you and I can be besties just like me and Abi.” Williams shakes her head.

“The problem is that you are making mistakes, Dawnie. Unfortunately that seems to be your thing, isn’t it? You make mistakes. You were just Brittany Lohan’s nicer little sister. But no one cared. You joined Blood Grove and while I may not have been SCW back then, I still recall those days. True, being part of that cutesy cult got you a SCW World Title, at the same time what happened to you and your culty pals? They turned on you like venomous snakes. Then you were Ms. Wonderful…at least, you were until you realized just how less than wonderful this world really is…” Kimmy shrugs her shoulders.

“So now the question is, who are you now? You are once again part of a band of nitwits who will betray you like venomous snakes once you no longer are needed. Once again you are saddled with a not so impressive nickname; you went from the little sister and Ms. Wonderful to…the backup plan. Specifically Franky’s backup plan. Now I don’t want you to think I am insulting you, Dawnie. I am only trying to help you. So what do you think will happen when Franky realizes his backup plan isn’t going to work? Or maybe what if Polly actually does something impressive for a change and takes the spotlight away from you?” Williams holds Wasley the penguin plushie up to the camera. She begins speaking for the penguin.

“YOU’RE GONNA GET THROWN OUT LIKE YESTERDAY’S GARBAGE!” Kimmy tucks Wasley back in her arms and snickers. She nods her head.

“That’s right, Wasley, Dawnie will get tossed out. Franky needs you now, Dawnie, but when he doesn’t you will get cast out like a leper. This has nothing to do with Franky being some saintly idiot handing out opportunities to people like you. Franky has you around because he thinks there is a chance you can take the Adrenaline Championship away from Deanna Frost. Now I get it, you want Deanna for a very specific reason…you need that one singular title to complete the set, to become Supreme Champion. And quite honestly, I believe you can get the job done. I believe in a straight up one on one match, you have the tools to defeat Deanna.” The Woman Scorned shakes her head.

“But you do not need Franky’s help to do it, you don’t need Polly’s help to do it. Damn it, Dawnie, you are a former SCW World Champion. You have the tools to defeat Deanna on your own. But knowing that you have chosen to take the shortcut, knowing who you have chosen to ally yourself with, well I cannot just sit back and watch it happen. I have Deanna’s back, not because she NEEDS help because trust me, as someone who has gone to war with her in the past, I know she does not need help. I have her back to make sure people like you, Franky, and Polly don’t try to screw her over. I am not a saint in this situation, either. I am not the hero of this story and I have never pretended to be. I am just Deanna’s psychotic guardian angel. Or better yet, maybe I am The Archangel of Chaos?” She winks playfully at the camera.

“You know what else I am? I am the Queen of the Death Match, and with the Queen’s Guard Deanna Frost in my corner at Hubris to make sure there is no funny business from Team Frankypalooza, I am going to march into Melbourne and paint the town red with your blood. I am going to maim you in Melbourne.” Kimmy shrugs her shoulders. “Or maybe I will just pick a limb and work it over, piece by piece, and make you tap out? I already proved to the entire world that I can be just as deadly a submission wrestler as I am a hardcore queen. Therein lies the beauty of chaos, Dawnie. You are going to battle against the most chaotic and most dangerous person in SCW and you have no idea which version you are taking on? The Queen of the Death Match or the Submission Specialist? You have no idea who or WHAT to prepare for…” she shakes her head.

“...and that’s why you have no chance of beating me at Hubris.”

[Serenity]

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