Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter summary: This is just the introduction, bro. There's not much character interaction just intel on our protagonist. Might as well get to know the lass, eh? If you decide to stick around you'll be stuck with her happy-go-lucky, foul mouthed, chipper ass.

Jab, Hook, Hook, Jab

Each individual blow landed, the poor punching bag suspended from the ceiling drawling back in result of the abuse it was being dealt. Unlike the punching bag, the hyper latina whomst was throwing the punches was having a rather swell time. She kept on her toes, bobbing and weaving, jabbing and dabbing, ducking and dodging invisible attacks. Sweat dripped down her temple onto the damn near moist stone floor. Loose little strands of her chocolatey hair that decided to rebel from the hastily made bun of other hershey curls atop her head clung to her forehead as she crouched low, bringing her clenched fists closer to her chest, avoiding yet another invisible blow.

In reality, she was pretty much actually allowing the old 80's rap bop booming from the stereo in the corner of the stuffy room to guide her 'graceful' movements. Speaking of graceful, she brought the back of her hand, wrapped in banadges from the wrist to reddened knuckle, to her nose, sniffling as she briskly wiped it. Very graceful in my opinion.

Sunlight peeked through the dimly lit room from the windows linning a single wall, the dust particles in the air flying and seemingly dancing to the tune of the music that bounced from wall to wall, honest to god it was that loud.

You'll go deaf, chica.

Her aunt would say in quite a knowing, smug ass tone albeit as she sweeped the dusty floors. Goodness, the gym hadn't had a good thorough clean since her aunt had moved away back home. Home to the glorious, hot, hot, blazing Dominican Republic leaving her in the care of Abuela. Abuela wasn't bad at all! In fact she was the perfect influence, truely. Patient, nurturing, fun, and as wise as any movie grandmother was. Our girlio would've most definitly tagged along to D.R though, had she not been chasing the same exact almost impossible (also idiotic) dream she had been racing after since she was just a young girl, bright eyed and toothless with a head full of dreams and schemes and a heart as big as her hope.

See, she had been wanting to be a professional wrestler for quite a bit now, her heart always dead set on that one questionable lifestyle. Good god, most teenagers would've used a fake ID for alohol and other nonsense, but not our girl, no. You can bet yout bottom dollar that she had used that crafted custom ID to walk her chipper ass right into a local underground fightclub organization. And you can bet your top dollar she walked her dazed ass out at the end of the night, bloody nose, busted lip, bruised eye, (maybe an extremely kinkshamable pain kink) and boosted confidence. In school she had taken wrestling for a spell, only because the footballs coaches were sexist bastards. Ever since the first few matches, she had begun watching WWE on cable- sparking worry in her poor Tia Daniela and sparking such interest in herself. She had even pressed the more wealthy, disconnected side of her family for support in her self-proclaimed life goal. She had spent a few years in wrestling school, yes it's a real place, goodness google will educate you as it did the intelligent me.

Gee, where are my writing skills? if you have yet to notice that I have yet to reveal the name of our protagonist I must be a damn good writer, if you have- well damn don't expect too much from this story. Mira De La Vega, our protagonist brought all her attacks unto the punching bag to a halt, Her breathing shallow and heavy, the fire in the pit of her stomach hinting at the fact that she knew she would rather be sparring with a human, rather bask in the feeling of her knuckles burying into flesh, reaching hard bone rather than hard leather covering even harder sand. She was but a delicate Catelaya orchid basking in the glow of the warm sun. Plot twist: deep down she was simply a dissatisfied, angry woman. The fire in her belly was quickly overshadowed with an all too familiar surge of excitement, spreading over her body that was pretty gross with sweat. God, words could not describe her joy.

Did I mention after five whole years, give or take 6 months (definitely give) she had finally been noticed by the big leagues?

The smile on her caramel little face was enough to warm the coldest, emptiest person. The glimmer in her hazel eyes could make an emo child wash the dye from their hair and dance to the glorious tunes of kids bop. She let out a silent squeal of joy, wiggling her chistled body and stomping her feet. Hm, stomping wasn't quite the word. Bouncing would suffice because let me tell ya, Mira was light on her feet, her movements were ever fluid and graceful.( I know what you're thinking there, buddy 'The girl literally used her hand as a cleanex! Graceful who?' You're probabaly not thinking that, I am but anywAYS)

The brunette suddenly found heself stepping along to the beat of this highly dance-able song, moving her body as she allowed her excitement to control her body. A light laugh flittered from her lips as she came to a hesitant stop. Gosh, she didn't want to stop dancing and training in her little gym. Her laugh shifted to a sad chuckle as she thought of what was to come. Soon, she'd have to go away. To achieve her lifelong goal, of course. Don't get me wrong she wanted this badly, everyone wanted this for her, everyone knew how much this meant to her. She only hoped she'd stay in contact with her less attractive childhood friends. They gave her confide- I MEan they gave her, er, uh, motivation. Sighing, Mira strode over to the stereo that blasted bops that got her blood pumping. She huffed, blowing a few stray hairs from her sight as she bended her knees, her pointer finger pushing over the button that resigned the stereo to its dormant off setting. She stood straight and stretched her arms to the ceiling, catching a rather unpleasant whiff of herself. She visibly winced,

"Ay, Caramba," She murmured, bringing her arms down quickly. She shook her head at once thinking of the aroma of dirty old socks filled with even older, dirtier onions with a hint of Old Spice men's deodorant mixed in. A shower would be needed, definitely. She had to keep her hygiene up if she was going to be a pristine, snobby, dramatic diva. She stepped towards a near table containing her post practice necessities. A bottle of ice cold water, condensation causing a small puddle to have formed around the teal bottle, a fluffy towel, two fluffy towels actually. One for sweat which was considerably smaller than the one used after showers, both stolen from a nearby hotel that was fancy enough to not miss the absence of two simple towels. A duffel bag containing a change of clothes, a little pack of hair holders- just in case- a roll of bandages, a bar of soap, and last but certainly not least, a few maybe four packs of vitamin fruit snacks. Listen, you can insult Mira for anything you choose, but never insult her way of getting her nutrition and vitamins. I swear she's actually an extremely mature person.

She grabbed her bottle, flipping up the straw before she took a swig, tossing it back like a poor guy at a grimy bar whomst had just recieved the news that his wife was leaving him for a man named Estabon whom wore the same tank top everyday. The cool water slid down her throat, cooling her stomach and fresh on her tongue. Once she was satisfied, she sat down the water and grabbed her sweat towel carelessly tossing it over her face the scent of fresh linen assaulting her nostrils. She let out a hum of contentment before she removed the what I shall onwardly refer to as her face towel from her face. She tossed it back on the table as she grabbed her bar of soap, placing it onto the showering towel. She wrapped the towel around the bar before she lifted the shower time bundle and grabbed her teal and black duffel. Time to clense

Taking her nutritious gummies, she strolled out of the gym, travelling to a small room that contained the basic bathroom necessities, stalls and shower stalls, as Mira called them. She undressed herself swiftly after flipping on the lights, tossing her articles of clothing here and there though she handled her teal and white polka-dot unmentionables with care, draping them over the sink. Any other day she'd perform a little strip tease for herself but she actually wanted to get through this quickly. She had to go home and start packing, our girl departed tomorrow evening after all. She tossed her duffel against a wall as she walked towards an empty 'shower stall', the tile floors felt almost icy against her feet, her hand reaching up to free her mane from its bond that was simply an elastic hair tie. Her long hair cascaded down her shoulders like frazzled curls of chocolate, rich caramel highlights streaking the pleasant shade and she literally could not stop grinning to herself.\

As she stepped into one of the old scarcely used shower stalls, she allowed her imaginitive mind to stray. She had experience- believe it or not, the woman was in her mid twenties. Unofficially, she has been 'pro-wrestling' for quite some time, honestly. She worked harder and grew smarter each day with the hope to go farther. Her style of fighting was simple enough, nothing with too much pazazz. Nothing fancy, but her trainer never said that fancy was essential. She stuck to her core knowledge, boxing, and used her impressive strength to carve out a ever so fresh reputation. Sincerely, she hoped she'd be able to cement herself in at WWE. The Summer Slam was vastly approaching and she'd be diddly darn damned if she was sent back home without at least a days taste of that excitement, 'Cojeme' Mira thought with a mental huff, 'I'm doubting myself again.'.

Her hand moved forth to the shower handle, turning it slowly. The rusty old handle let out quite a shrill shriek as it was disturbed from its ever lengthy nap. The water was ice cold at first, causing Mira to let out an overexaggerated hiss. The seconds of torture passed and the water gradually heated to a nice warm temperate. Not too hot, though.

Sigh, hopefully if-When she got famous in the league, people would put the pieces together and the Diaz family gym would finally be put to use as it once was. Don't get her wrong, it was nice to have the place to herself- people were fuckin' weird and her experience with men in other ibhabited gyms made it this just simply perfect for her it just sometimes got creepy at times, just her and only her. Sometimes, there'd even be blackouts! It didn't help that the gym was located on a dark street. Mira forgot how many wannabe children she'd have to chase away like rats with the old wooden broom near the entrance of the gym. Smetimes it was alright, though. Some of the kids were alright. Most just were downright rotten and near sleezy. She pushed the thoughts of home down, letting her dreams of the future fill her mind.

The water caressed her body, streaming down the curve of her hips, the valley between her honey breasts, and the arch of her back from her drenched locks in thick rivulets. Mira closed her eyes, moving her hands up to her hair as she accepted the feel of warm water against her scalp.

One satisfying borderline sexually written shower later,

Our girl turned off the water earning yet another rusty shriek, though this one was noticably more quiet. After wringing out her chocolatey curls, she stepped out of the shower, water dripping from her body creating a little puddle around her feet. She walked towards her collected little pile of clothes leaving watery footsteps in her wake. She crouched her knees to grab her fluffy snow white shower towel. She dried herself thoroughly before folding the towel, sitting it down atop her discarded sleeveless sweatshirt. Her hands moved to her duffel, working on the zipper swifly and easily. Her hazel eyes flittered over the rather plain change of clothes she had brought along. A teal tank top and an slightly oversized pair of timberwolf gray sweats that had belonged to her aunt once upon a time. She pushed those aside in order to locate her undies and socks. Yes, she had forgotten a bra in her hastiness to get to the gym. She grabbed her undies and stood to slip them on pulling them up over her glutious maximus, a.k.a her rear. She then grabbed a pair of white and gray socks separating them so she could individually pull them on. They fit her like gloves. After the little things that surely mattered were taken care of, she dressed herself, pulling her stolen sweats up over her tank top once she was done. She stuffed her old clothes and her towel into her duffel, hefting it over her shoulder after she braided back her long hair.

She walked towards the exit of the public bathroom, her hand drifting to the switch. She took one last look around, checking for anything she may have left behind. Ay, she had once left her undies. Once she confirmed to herself everything was all clear, she flipped the switch down, and the lights flickered out as she confined the room to its dormant darkness for the last time.