The door painted with bright colors and elaborate patterns.

Even though the expertly painted door bearing the nameplate “Dinah Davis” is slightly open, you decide to knock anyway. After a moment, you hear a woman’s voice call “Come in!” in a broad Southern twang.

You pull the door open slowly and enter the room.

It’s pretty sparse, all told, with only the wardrobe and its accompanying mirror, a desk with a few chairs, and a bed tucked off to one side—plus, you notice, an artist’s easel with a half-finished painting on it. A Stetson hat and a lasso hang on a peg on the wall.

You’re greeted by a statuesque blonde girl in a paint-spattered white T-shirt and an old pair of jeans, who’s smiling demurely at you.

“Well, hi there!” she greets you. “I can’t say I’ve met you before.”

“Yeah, I’m new here,” you say. “My name’s John, and I was just wandering around to try to get to know some of the other wrestlers.”

“Oh, well, that’s sweet of you,” she replies. “I’m Dinah. Stage persona’s the Cowgirl, but you probably figured that out. I tried to talk ‘em out of it, but y’know, girl’s got a Southern accent...” She sighs. “Whatever. I shouldn’t go lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth, especially not one that lets me get up and strut my stuff in front of all those people.”

“Yeah, I hear that,” you agree, looking around the room. It takes you a moment to notice it, but this place is pretty lived-in. She’s clearly put a lot of time into that painting, there are a few half-finished fast-food meals on the desk, and is that—

“I’ll just put that right back where it belongs,” proclaims Dinah embarrassedly, quickly picking up the vibrator off her bed.

You chuckle a little as she hurriedly stashes it away in a dresser drawer. “Why on Earth would you need to masturbate in a place like this?”

Frustration clouds her features as she turns back to you. “I, uh...I haven’t been able to book a match for a while. Clerical error, or somethin’ like that. Least I can get workin’ on my art while I’m stuck here.”

“Which is quite beautiful, by the way,” you take care to mention.

She blushes a little. “Well, thank you kindly. But that doesn’t solve my real problem. I still can’t get in the ring yet.”

An idea springs to your mind. “You can if I book a match with you.”

She immediately perks up at the idea. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Why not?” you ask. “You’re not the only one spoiling for a fight.”

“Good thing, too,” she says. “I’m definitely lookin’ forward to when I see you in action.”

“Likewise,” you say.

“I really appreciate this,” she says sincerely, and then, with a teasing smirk: “It’s almost a shame I’m gonna have to beat the tar out of ya.”

“Aaaand the moment’s gone,” you laugh. “See you in the ring.”

“You too,” she says as you leave.