Vera Eames versus Tiffani Taylor

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1-on-1 Match

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The arena lights flicker low… a rusty harmonica wails through the speakers… and a shopping cart rattles down the ramp.

[Velma Rossi shoves the cart with one boot, a tattered fur coat draped over her shoulders, crown made of bent tin shining under the lights. She spits to the side and squints into the crowd.]

“Well now… would ya lookie here, Ward Episode three-sixty, an’ they done rolled out the red carpet fer lil’ ol’ me.”

She adjusts her crown and smirks, thick Texas drawl dripping like molasses.

“Name’s Velma Rossi, sugar — but y’all best know me as the Hobo Queen. I ain’t never needed no silver spoon… I eat with my hands an’ fight with my fists.”

[She taps the side of her shopping cart.]

“And tonight, I got me a date with Miss ‘Signature’ herself… Tiffani Taylor.”

Velma lets out a raspy chuckle.

“Ohhh, honey… you call yourself The Signature? That’s cute. Real cute. But the only signature that’s gon’ matter tonight is the one I stamp across your forehead when I plant ya face-first into this canvas.”

[She stomps the mat twice, cracking her knuckles.]

“See, Tiffani… I done watched ya. All polished up, struttin’ ‘round like you’re autographin’ history with every little wrist flick an’ hair toss. But this ain’t no photoshoot, darlin’. This is a fight. An’ I been fightin’ since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

She leans over the ropes, glaring toward the entrance ramp.

“You ever slept under a bridge in August heat? Ever had to scrap for your supper? Didn’t think so. I been forged in alleyways an’ railroad tracks. I ain’t refined… I ain’t rehearsed… an’ I sure as hell ain’t predictable.”

[Bell rings in her imagination — she snaps her head toward the timekeeper and grins.]

“When that bell rings, I’m comin’ at ya like a freight train outta Fort Worth! I’ll lock you up center ring, drag ya down by that pretty hair, and stomp a mudhole so deep you’ll need a GPS to crawl out!”

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You got finesse? I got ferocity. You got style? I got survival. An’ survival beats style every dang time.”

[Velma climbs the turnbuckle, raising her dented crown high.]

“So polish that signature up real nice, Tiffani… ‘cause tonight on Tuesday Night Ward… the Hobo Queen’s signin’ you up for a royal beatdown!”

She throws her head back and cackles.

“ALL HAIL THE QUEEN, BABY!”

[She hops down, shadowboxing wildly as the crowd roars, ready for the fight.]