Author's Note: Hello, loyal readers! I am so sorry I haven't updated anything in absolute yonks. I had loads of my other fic, Til Death Do Us Part, written but it got eaten by a Virus of Doom that wiped my hard drive, and sadly real life got in the way and prevented me from re-writing what I'd lost. So unfortunately I've had to abandon that project, and instead have started another fic featuring everyone's favourite OCs, Kit and Elli (well, I'm rather fond of them anyway…).

This fic came about after putting my iTunes on shuffle, listing the songs that came up and trying to make a story out of them. I already have plenty written and I know how it's going to end, so there's very little chance that this one will get abandoned. And if I fall behind on the updates, feel free to poke me with sticks and lob heavy objects at my head. As always, kayfabe and reality have been subtly changed to fit my little delusional world. Rating may change in future chapters; a warning will be put up well in advance should this happen. Enjoy, my dears!

Disclaimer: The WWE, its Superstars, storylines and all associated content are the property of Vincent Kennedy McMahon. The events detailed in this fic are pure fiction and do not guarantee to represent the Superstars portrayed in this fic in a realistic or factual manner. I own Elli and Kit (although Kit might disagree), and no money is being made from this complete work of fiction.

Summary: Two lifelong wrestling fans are thrown into the Diva Search mix. Join them as they embark on an exciting new career and experience highs, lows, love, hate, betrayal and obsession - and that's just behind the scenes.

--

"Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up! RAW's about to start!"

"Ow! There's still ten minutes to go! STOP SHOVING!" I laughed as my best friend, 'sister' and flatmate, Kit, tried to bully our other flatmate, Scotty, through the front door. Scotty automatically tried to block Kit from entering and, knowing what was about to happen, I jumped up from the sofa and ran out into the hall, grabbing the bags of Chinese takeaway from Scotty moments before Kit took a run-up and Speared Scotty through the door.

"I'll sort the dinner out, then, shall I?" I said as the two continued to grapple in the hall, Scotty yelling out as Kit bashed his head against the phone table. There was no response so I just shrugged and walked into the kitchen to set the dinner out onto plates.

"You'll miss RAW if you don't hurry up," I called. There was a squeak from the hall, another anguished yell from Scotty, and moments later Scotty appeared in the kitchen, rubbing his head.

"Your sister's vicious," he grumbled as he snaffled his plate.

"You shouldn't antagonise her. You should know that by now, Scotty," I laughed, grabbing some forks and placing them on the other two plates. I moved out into the living room, handed Kit her plate, and settled down to watch Monday Night RAW.

Kit and I had known each other for the best part of a decade, having met on an internet message board when we were young. We had developed a close bond over the years, so close that after my parents passed away I moved from England to Ohio to be with her. Shortly after that, we moved to Florida and applied to every wrestling school we could think of, working whatever odd jobs we could take in order to raise the funds for the admission fees. After a year the Xtreme Hardcore Federation agreed to take us on, which was where we met Scotty. The three of us got on so well that we decided to get a flat together. Two years later, Scotty was the Cruiserweight Champion and Kit and I were feuding for the Women's Championship, and we were beginning to dream of breaking through into the big leagues and signing for TNA or, God forbid, the WWE.

The show started. Kit and I booed as Mr Kennedy kicked off the show, and laughed as John Cena interrupted and verbally owned the Green Bay loudmouth. King Booker, Randy Orton and Bobby Lashley also showed up, bitching about who should be the Number One Contender, before William Regal came out and set a Beat the Clock Challenge for the Number One Contendership.

After that, a commercial aired seeking contestants for this year's Diva Search. Kit and I both scoffed loudly and threw cushions at the TV. Although in the past the Diva Search had unearthed some amazing talent, there was still an awful lot of dross connected with it and it was considered by many to be the least reputable way of joining the company.

"You know, I reckon you two should enter," Scotty said. "No, no, I'm serious," he added as Kit and I turned to stare at him. "We all know you can wrestle and, even though I hate to say it, you're not exactly hideous Gorgons, either," he teased.

"You're mental," I laughed.

"I'm serious. If you get in - and I'm sure you will - it could be your chance to bring a bit of respect back to the Diva Search."

"I'm with Elli. You're mental. I want to be a wrestler, not a vacuous piece of eye candy," scoffed Kit. "Now shush. Jeff's on," she added as Jeff Hardy's music hit.

"Come on! If you get in, you get into the big leagues, if not, it'll be a laugh - it's win-win!" said Scotty enthusiastically. "Go on, I've been dying for an excuse to use the camcorder I've got for my birthday." Kit dragged her gaze away from the screen to glare briefly at him.

"If I say yes will you shut up and let me watch Jeff?"

"Yes," said Scott, grinning triumphantly.

"Okay. But only if Elli does it too."

"Hey, leave me out of it!" I protested. Scotty had a habit of nagging everyone to death until he got his way, and I was hoping that now he'd got Kit to agree to it he would shut up about it. No such luck.

"Go on, Ells! It'll be awesome!" Scotty pressed. "Just think of all the…"

"GUYS! Jeff!" roared Kit, throwing her now-empty Chinese cartons at us. I batted the one aimed at me away and folded my arms, glaring at Scotty.

"Fine. But this doesn't mean you win," I muttered, settling back on the sofa to cheer on Jeff against Orton.

--

That was nearly four months ago and now, there were four of us left. I was amazed that Kit and I had made it into the competition, let alone that we had managed to get this far. And it turned out that this year, they were actually looking for women who could wrestle; whenever we weren't filming segments for TV or or popping up on the different WWE brands, we were training hard at the developmental territory in Florida. It was completely the polar opposite of everything I had expected it to be. And it was hard, too; I'd thought, being somewhat used to wrestling, that it would just be a case of 'turn up, go through the motions and see if they like you'. I was wrong. They were pushing us so hard that I was sure my back would permanently be black and blue, and two girls actually quit after the first week.

As much as the WWE were trying to instil some legitimacy into the Diva Search, however, they couldn't completely ignore the eye candy part of it, which was why Kit and I were attempting to cover ourselves with about four square inches of material between us.

"How the hell am I going to get my boobs into this?" demanded Kit, holding up a piece of sparkly green string masquerading as a bikini tip.

"I don't think you're supposed to," I muttered, trying to adjust my blood red, holographic bikini top so that at least I wouldn't be flashing my nipples. "I give up. Where's the sticky tape?"

"Here." One of the other contestants, Monique, threw me the roll of tape. I caught it and spent several minutes trying to get my breasts under control. Monique and I didn't have much to do with each other, but she disliked Kit and had done from day one, for no reason that we could discern other than the fact that Kit was better at wrestling than her. But then that wasn't hard; Monique seemed to exist to simper, pout and flirt with as many men as possible. She had only survived the public vote so far because she was really pretty and wasn't averse to the odd wardrobe malfunction.

The other contestant, Carla, came into our locker room, sneered at everyone, and proceeded to get changed. Kit and I absolutely loathed Carla; she was convinced she was the best female wrestler ever, and that we weren't even good enough to breathe the same air as her. The fact that both Kit and I had beaten her in training matches had done nothing to knock her fierce conviction that she was going to be the next WWE Women's Champion. She had long, naturally blonde hair that fell down to her bottom, and had the most blatantly obvious surgically enhanced body in the world. She was beautiful, but it was completely artificial; without her makeup, she was just another plain face in the crowd. It took her at least two hours in the morning just to do her makeup.

"Here you go," I said to Kit, chucking her the tit tape. I sighed as I looked at the incredibly tiny miniskirt that was part of my outfit; it was little more than a glorified belt, consisting of a red satin waistband and about three inches of holographic red material. I was absolutely convinced that it was far too tiny to fit; miraculously, it did, and I completed the outfit with red thigh-high fishnet stockings, red elbow-length fishnet gloves, red ballet flats and knee-high red fluffy legwarmers. I looked more like I was going out to a nightclub than heading out to a wrestling ring.

I sighed again and moved over to the huge mirror that took up half the wall of the locker room in order to do my hair and makeup. Unlike Monique and Carla, who preferred to use the WWE's makeup staff, I preferred to do my own makeup. I knew what I liked on me and didn't trust anyone else to get it right.

"Excuse me, I need the mirror." I ignored Carla as I finished putting my long, dark brown hair into high bunches and started rooting through my makeup bag for my eyeliner. "Are you deaf? I said I need the mirror, now move!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise your head was so big that you needed the entire mirror," Kit and I said at the same time, and burst out laughing.

"Freaks," muttered Carla as she moved closer to the mirror. She shoved me out of the way just as I was about to apply my eyeliner, leaving a nice black streak across my face. I tutted and glared at her before reaching for the makeup remover.

"I still can't understand why you can't share the mirror," I said, taking a step back as she was brandishing some rather hot straightening irons.

"Because I don't need your ugly face clogging it up while I'm making myself beautiful," she replied.

"Oh, and we're back to the 'ugly' retort. How original," I scoffed, turning away from the mirror. I decided it would be best not to argue with someone who could easily cause me first-degree burns and removed the small compact mirror from my makeup bag instead.

"Do I look like a whore?" asked Kit. I looked up from my makeup to check her out; her outfit was similar to mine but dark green instead of red, and wearing knee-high boots instead of fluffies. Her long, naturally highlighted brown hair was loose with just the front bits clipped back from her face.

"Doesn't everyone in this room?" I countered with a smile. "You look hot. I'd so do you."

"Yeah, but you're a brazen hussy with no shame," she said with a grin. There was a loud knock at the door and she went to answer it.

"I am not! Well, maybe a little bit," I amended after a second's thought. Kit snorted and opened the door.

"I found them!" We stood there in shock and surprise as John Cena, Randy Orton, Jeff Hardy and Ken Kennedy trooped in. John hugged Kit and then came up to me and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug too. We'd met most of the roster at the Unforgiven Pay-Per-View a few weeks ago, and there were a few who were absolutely lovely and had taken to us immediately. Shawn Michaels had been especially taken with Kit; she was a huge fan of his, and he had been delighted to discover that he had a 'Super-fan'. Kit and I got on well with both Hardy brothers and their Core Group, too, and Ken seemed to have taken a shine to me, as he always seemed to be lurking wherever we were. And as the current WWE Champion and Number One Contender, Randy and John had taken it upon themselves to make us their business.

There were a few Superstars who were less than welcoming, however, and Kit had won a verbal spat with Melina while I had physically prevented Jillian Hall from singing. It was after those incidents that we seemed to have been accepted by most of the roster, and the way John kept talking it was as if we'd already won the contracts.

"You didn't find them on your own. We helped," said Randy sullenly.

"Yeah, you had me looking in broom cupboards, Orton," said John, playfully shoving his best friend.

"So, girls, how are you doing?" asked Jeff, as Randy and John started to squabble loudly and get in everyone's way.

"Apart from the fact that I wear more than this to the beach? Great," replied Kit. Jeff grinned, cocking his head to one side as he looked her up and down.

"I think you look good," he said. Kit allowed a small smile to cross her face, and then she looked up at me and elbowed me in the side.

"And you can wipe that look off your face," she said.

"What look?" I replied, rubbing my ribs.

"You know what look." She sent me a pointed look that just caused me to laugh. Kit and Jeff had been subtly flirting since the moment they'd met - lots of secret smiles and stolen glances - and it was clear to everyone present that there was instant chemistry there.

"Hey, Elli, my brother and Shane were asking after you," said Jeff after a few minutes of awkward silence, only filled with the increasingly familiar strains of John and Randy bickering. "They say you've got to get your ass to Smackdown and say hi."

"Really?" I said, feeling extremely pleased. Matt Hardy and Shane Helms were incredible sweethearts and probably the two I'd bonded best with out of the Superstars we'd met. "Well, provided I'm still in the competition after tonight there's a one in three chance of me going to Smackdown for the final week."

"I have a feeling you'll be okay, both of you," said Jeff with a broad grin. "Don't forget, we have access to the internet too. Shawn's been voting as fast as the refresh button will let him."

"Aww, sweet!" laughed Kit. "I can just see it. I'll get a contract, get drafted to RAW, and he'll be in my shadow, following me everywhere I go like a cute puppy version of a stalker."

"You say that like it's a bad thing!" came a new voice from the doorway and Shawn Michaels stepped in, looking pleased with himself. He went over to John and slapped his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming new Diva-hunting?" he demanded with a pout.

"Hey, man, you were busy plotting with Hunter," John protested. "You managed to find your way here anyway," he pointed out.

"Yeah. Because I always know where my princess is," Shawn replied, moving over to Kit and wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"Yeah, because that's not creepy at all," laughed Kit, pushing him away. "Go over there. I need to do my makeup."

"Ooh, I can do it for you!" said Shawn excitedly. Kit gave him a cautious look and took a step back.

"I think that may be a bad idea," she said slowly.

"Trust me. Do you trust me?" he asked.

"No," Kit replied.

"Tough!" Shawn took the makeup bag from her, steered her over to a chair and sat her down. Kit sent me a pleading look but I ignored it in favour of joining the guys in ganging up on Randy.

"There. See? I didn't do a bad job, did I?" Shawn announced five minutes later. Kit actually looked pretty good. She had dark mascara that accented her eyes, sparkly green eyeshadow that complimented her outfit, and Shawn had brushed some green glitter on her cheeks.

"You know, if you weren't married I'd swear you were gay," teased Ken.

"I'm my wife's bitch," Shawn admitted, hanging his head.

"Okay, ladies, sorry to love you and leave you but we've got to go and get the show started," announced Randy, looking incredibly sulky due to the fact that John had just been questioning his manhood.

"Good luck out there tonight," said Jeff, giving me a hug and giving Kit a kiss on the cheek. "Not that you'll need it, I'm sure," he added, his eyes sparkling.

"Go out there and knock them dead, super fan!" said Shawn, giving Kit a huge hug. "And if you win it'll all be thanks to me!" he said, looking incredibly smug.

"Yeah, you're not bigheaded at all, are you, dear?" I laughed. Shawn just grinned and waved as he walked out of the door, the other Superstars following suit, calling out their own goodbyes.

"I see how it is," said Carla coldly as the locker room fell quiet again. "Which ones are you sleeping with?"

"Aw, is someone bitter that she doesn't have the necessary social skills required to make friends?" said Kit in mock sympathy.

"I just know that when I win this competition it'll be down to my own talent, not because I'm sucking off the WWE Champion," Carla retorted, flicking her hair behind her shoulders. Kit and I just shared a look and laughed; John was lovely, but there was no conceivable way we could ever imagine him in a sexual setting.

"You know, if you would only deign to clamber down from that pedestal you've put yourself on, you might make some friends in this company too," said Kit. "And if you need any help getting down, I'll be only too happy to help."

"Whatever. I'm not going to get into a war of words with trash like you," Carla sneered. A stagehand appeared at the door and informed us that the show would be starting in five minutes, and that we were going to be kicking it off. Carla applied a coat of lip gloss, smacked her lips loudly and sauntered out of the locker room, Monique following close behind.

"Oh, I'm so looking forward to our training match tomorrow," said Kit darkly, glaring at the space where the blonde used to be.

"Yeah, she definitely needs taking down a peg or two. Or three, or four, or five," I agreed, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. "Ready to go and flaunt yourself to millions?"

"No," she replied. "You?"

"Not in the slightest. Let's go," I said cheerfully, strolling out of the locker room and trying to ignore the nervous feeling that had settled in the pit of my stomach and was building by the second. Let's just get this over with and then I can get into something normal, I thought as we headed to the gorilla.