It's hard to say whether the pounding in her chest was the best or worst part of this gig.
It's almost painful. With each impact, sound muffles into an incomprehensible commotion, her vision blurs, and her head throbs. Her surroundings only serve to agitate her condition further. The thrum of her heart provides a tempo as the performers, medics, and stagehooves create a symphony of stimuli and senses around her.
The backstage buzzes with activity as all components do their best to keep the fantasy alive. They operate under the cover of darkness with only a few slivers of light managing to penetrate the blackout curtains. It is through their combined effort that the story is told.
One performer loudly searches for his hoof tape, narrowly avoiding a collision with a medic. As he blows by her, the medic trips and spills her equipment. She scrambles to collect her things as another performer groans for medical attention. A stagehoof rushes to deliver a new mic cord to the announcer while another receives a report about a belligerent fan in the front row.
She does her best to block out the noise, but it only leaves room for other distracting sensations.
There is tightness on her body from her uniform which obscures her cutie mark, her head seems slightly heavier with her purple mane extensions, and her eyes have an uncomfortable itch from her colored contacts. Along with that, there is a sour and nauseating aroma of sweat wafting throughout the arena and an acidic taste in her mouth that she can't get rid of.
And when she is not being overwhelmed by her senses, she is being bombarded by her worries.
Mainly her concerns for her animals and friends. What if they needed her? She had done her best to explain her absence. Her critters knew she would be home late, and she told her friends that she was working on a project and needed the utmost privacy.
Strangely enough, that wasn’t a total lie. She really is working on a story, just not in a traditional way.
There was a reason why she endured this nervousness repeatedly and having experience with it helped to make it all the more bearable. Most of her life had been spent battling and losing to this feeling of fear. Over and over, she was paralyzed by it, left totally defeated.
But on these nights, this fear that courses through her veins is different. It reminds her not only that she is alive, but that this is her life. It makes her feel powerful, not just ready for battle, but eager. It is time to show that she is capable. Not time to be timid, not time to run away.
It is time to fight, time to tell her story.
On the other side of the curtains, she can hear the audience. The building practically shakes along with their enthusiasm. The cheering is ear-splitting as their hero makes her way to the ring. The start of the show is imminent and everypony backstage can feel it.
As they swarm around her, she waits patiently.
She can feel her coming into herself as she waits for the magic words to be spoken. The final confirmation that will allow her adrenaline to channel itself into raw aggression. It is the only way she can become the champion once more.
A stagehoof presents her with her championship belt, a decorative bronze plate with leather straps, and finally speaks those magic words, “Are you ready Nature Mare?”
She takes a moment to savor the question and revel in its implications before answering.
“Born ready,” Nature Mare answers coolly with a decisive smirk as she collects her belt.
The stagehoof nods and motions with his hooves. The backstage reaches a fever pitch as ponies rush to their stations. Yet Nature Mare remains resolute, bouncing on her hooves to loosen herself up as the announcer's voice blares over the speaker.
“And her opponent! Weighing in at twenty-six and a half bushels of apples! The Empress of Glamor. The Mastermind of Mayhem! She might as well hail from Tartarus itself! Your Undisputed South-Equestrian Heavyweight Champion! Natuuuurrrrre Marrrrrre!”
The world in front of the curtain erupts as her entrance music begins to play. She moves in rhythm with the heavy and electric tune as it fuels the fire burning within her. She makes sure to position her title belt over her shoulder so that all could see its shining face.
“Watch the train!” One of the stagehoof’s orders as Nature Mare makes her way out.
She bursts out into the open and is welcomed by the sweet and rapturous sound of booing.
She looks around at the various frowning and angry faces, receiving them with her characteristic infuriating smirk. Ponies are sneering and jeering at her, they curse her and hold up signs insulting her.
It makes her smile even more.
She struts her way down the walkway leading to the ring. Behind her, drags the long and luscious train of the robe which elegantly drapes over her. The garish garment was bejeweled, feathered, and dyed with the finest materials in all Equestria. The lights overhead reflect off of the rhinestones, blinding the onlookers as she follows her path.
As she walks, she studies the faces in search of the perfect victim. She quickly finds him in the form of a tiny colt with adorably rounded cheeks and innocent eyes.
He shouts at her, recycling the same phrases he hears from others, “Boo! Boo! Go home, Nature Mare!”
Not good enough, Nature Mare thinks as she brings her one-mare parade to a halt. She quirks an eyebrow at the tiny colt, admiring the way he maintains eye contact.
“Why that’s no way to talk to somepony,” reprimands Nature Mare with her surprisingly melodic and gentle voice. “If I were you, I’d get down and kiss my hooves for even breathing the same air as you, you little ingrate!”
She smirks at the colt's astonished face, holding on to ensure he receives her words as intended. His lip quivers slightly, and his face contorts as he considers the words spoken.
Eventually, his brow furls, and he stomps his hoof. “I hate you, Nature Mare!”
There we go, Nature Mare thinks as she abruptly turns. She emits a haughty laugh at a job well done. She doesn’t just want to be disliked; she wants to be hated.
Hate afforded her freedom. A right, no, an expectation to do bad and be bad. No words were left unsaid by Nature Mare. When she exited backstage, she put everything out there. She said what she wanted and did what she wanted. No apologizing, no holding back.
It was all so deliciously chaotic. She was beholden to nopony but herself. There were no standards, no paragons of virtue to uphold. She cheated when she wanted to, taking cheap shots, interfering with matches, and even occasionally knocking out the referee “on accident.”
The only rule for her as a villain, as a heel, was to stay in character. And what an enticing character she was, the “Nature Mare'' who wore pompous and luxurious outfits. She was a lady who did unladylike things.
To be Nature Mare, was to be stunning.
When she arrives at the ring, she grabs the top rope with practiced poise and hoists herself upward and over. Her hooves gracefully land on the foam mat as she glares at her opponent.
Clean Finish glares right back at her while keeping her unwavering grin. She is the hero, the babyface, the one everypony roots for, and for good reason. Clean knows how to perform and work a mic. She perfectly embodies the very hope she inspires in her fans.
A stagehoof gives Clean a mic, and the young star waits for the crowd to lower their booing. It wasn’t standard to talk before matches, but considering the importance of tonight’s fight, it was worthwhile to give a little context. Nature Mare tightens her grip on her title belt as Clean’s eyes glisten with youthful optimism.
“Well Appleloosa, it is a pleasure to be here as always!” Clean begins, eliciting cheers from the crowd. “You’re just the crowd I need on a night like tonight. All I hope is that I can win this belt for y’all! If you ask me, I think Nature Mare’s been holding the gold for a little too long. I say it’s about time somepony ends her reign of terror!”
The words were spoken well, but Nature also knew a thing or two about being on the mic. Her words hit equally as hard as her hooves. She had a stubborn disposition that demanded she get the last word. Years of working out in the wild gave her an unyielding tenacity and brutal honesty that bordered on savagery and cruelty.
To be Nature Mare, was to be tough.
Nature Mare flexes her muscles as a stagehoof places a mic in her hoof. “End my ‘reign of terror,’ you say? ‘Win this belt,’ you say? I don’t give a flying feather about what you have to say! You know, maybe if you did less talking and more fighting, you wouldn’t have torn your ACL and been put on leave.”
It was a low blow, but a good one. Clean shakes her head in disbelief before sighing into the mic, “Wow, is there any level you won’t sink to, Nature? It’s true, I did tear my ACL and did have to leave to recover. But you know, the only thing worse than dealing with that pain was watching you dominate this ring week after week for over a hundred days. That was real pain.”
“Aw, boo hoo! Take it from somepony who hasn’t been using a bedpan for moons! This title is for bonafide, dominating, coward-hating winners! Not pansies with glass for bones and kitty litter for brains,” Nature derides before lifting her belt to the sky. “You want my title? Well, to be the mare, you gotta beat the mare! Too bad I've meet breezies that are more intimidating than you and your loser fans!”
And that was Nature’s other talent. She didn’t just know how to undress her opponent; she also knew how to build herself up. She had a ruthless competitiveness and relentless desire to brag, and why wouldn’t she? Nature Mare was blessed with unbridled athletic prowess and charisma.
To be Nature Mare, was to be bold.
“You wouldn’t have that title if you weren’t a dirty cheat!” Clean accuses with intensity. “But you know what, the buck stops here. No amount of dirty tricks will amount to real, undeniable skill!”
“Skill? Looks like that skill hasn’t gotten you anywhere! I’ve spent more bits on uneaten rabbit food than you have made in a whole year. Ponies pay to see me! Because I’m the strongest, the fastest, and the smartest! And you know what!” Nature Mare screams, removing her robe. “One of you morons, come take this mic because I’m peeved off and tired of talking! Time to kick some flank!”
Nature Mare throws her mic haphazardly as the referee takes her title and holds it up for all to see.
As the title belt twinkles in the spotlight, the announcer begins once more. “Ladies and Gentlecolts! The following is a no holds barred match for the South-Equestrian Heavyweight Championship belt.”
The crowd roars as Nature and Clean retreat to opposing corners of the ring, preparing for battle. At this moment, everything becomes real. Nature Mature draws in steady breaths, reveling in the calm before the storm. She knows full well that once the bell rings, her body will no longer be hers.
From the tumultuous shouting of the crowd, Nature can just barely make out the unmistakable sound of a bell ringing. The sound reverberates throughout her body, eliciting her conditioned form to carry out its mission. She commands herself forward, propelled by a mighty push from her backlegs.
She and Clean collide and interlock, their forehooves gripping each other in a battle of wills and force. They try their best to overpower the other, to assert dominance, to get the upper hoof, but the outcome is already known.
Nature Mare breaks the hold with a shove, leaving Clean in the middle of the ring as the champion retreats to the ropes. Nature bounces off the elastic tethers, using them as a sling to launch herself forward. She holds out one of her forehooves as she charges at her opponent, clipping Clean with a clothesline.
The contact isn't stiff, but Clean sells it well. She allows her body to move with the momentum of Nature’s hoof, flipping head over hooves. She crashes to the mat, holding her head in “agony.”
Nature leers at the other wrestler, not giving her a moment to recuperate. She jumps onto Clean’s crumpled form and batters her with a barrage of punches. Although it is blatantly obvious that none of the punches are connecting, the crowd erupts into booing anyway.
Knowing that the audience is sufficiently riled up, Nature relents and removes herself from her opponent.
She circles the ring with a victorious smile and delivers harsh words with a soft voice, “How do you like that Appleloosa? Is that your champion? After I take out this trash, I'm throwing an afterparty! And guess what, none of you losers are invited!”
Nature bellows out a wicked and condescending laugh despite the deafening negativity in the room. As a character, Nature Mare was a bit eccentric, wild, and rowdy. Revered for her boundless energy, she was a reckless hedonist who took immense joy in what she did. Sure, she fought for glory and power, but she also fought for the fun of it.
To be Nature Mare, was to be exuberant.
Nature taunts the crowd a bit more, giving Clean enough time to recover and attack her from behind. They begin exchanging blows, missing each other wildly but acting as if they weren’t. It is useless flapping of forehooves that looks pathetic out of context.
But in the ring, it is epic.
Nature channeled her surging energy into every strike and blow, but it was important not to get carried away. She braces herself for impact as Clean delivers a chop to her chest. The slap echoes throughout the room and even evokes a sympathetic groan from the crowd.
The chop is an iconic, yet painful move. Even the most seasoned wrestler was left red and sore from it. Nature grabs at her chest as Clean bounces her off the ropes. The champion runs forward, jumping up into Clean’s hooves. The pair work together in a strange dance as Clean guides Nature’s movement. Nature soars upward, lifted away by Clean's strength, and is immediately slammed to the mat.
The crowd voiced their support for the turn of events. Nature always found it funny how the crowd responded to different wrestlers. Had she delivered that move, they would have booed ferociously. Clean rushes to cover her, looking for a quick win. She presses Nature’s shoulders to the mat in a pin. The referee dramatically slides to their side.
Nature keeps one eye open to watch the referee count as the crowd chants along. “One! Two!”
Nature waits until the very last second before kicking out, now the show can really begin.
After about twenty minutes of running, lifting, and punching, Nature can feel fatigue plaguing her body. Long matches like this were reserved for champions like her, but she only had so much stamina. Her heart burns, leaving her raw and breathless. Her sore muscles twitch, threatening to give at any moment. Nonetheless, she knows she has to keep going.
Nature Mare was the reigning champion for a reason. She was a mastermind in the ring. A tactical genius with an almost neurotic need to succeed. She commanded nothing but respect in the ring due to her expertise and mastery.
To be Nature Mare, was to be brilliant.
She showboats with a forward roll leading into a jump before hitting Clean with a formidable dropkick. Nature grits her teeth as she feels one of her backhooves hit Clean’s chin directly. She pulls Clean close to the ropes and rolls her up into a pin but decides to do a little more. She uses her forehooves to hold her opponent and places her backhooves on the lower ropes behind her.
She is doing exactly what she is supposed to do as a heel, breaking the rules. Propping backhooves up on the rope gave her unfair leverage over her opponent. The crowd tries to draw attention to the trickery, but the referee counts away, “missing” the transgression.
“One! Two!”
Clean kicks out with a grunt that sounds too genuine. Nature collapses at Clean’s side, allowing both exhausted wrestlers to catch their breaths.
For a moment, the real pony hidden within Nature peaks through. She uses her hoof to obscure her mouth and mutters, “How’s the chin?”
Clean squints to keep the sweat from getting into her eyes and explains, “Chins fine. It’s my backleg.”
Her ACL. Nature thinks gravely. The average pony rarely acknowledged how difficult this task was. Of course, it was all fake, the stakes, the stories, and the outcomes. But the physicality of it was very real as was the risk of bodily harm.
Clean Finish really did tear her ACL during a botched move some moons ago. It was healed now, but it would never be the same. Clean, however, would never let that stop her, not this early in her career. If she was willing to push through it, then Nature was ready to help her on her way.
Nature takes a deep breath. “The medic will look. Follow along.”
Nature stands up and pulls Clean along. She takes the brunt of the lifting to let Clean rest her leg. She places Clean against the ropes, creates some distance between the two of them, then charges at her. She delivers another clothesline causing Clean to flip over the top rope.
The babyface tumbles out of the ring and onto the soft floor below. To distract from the medic arriving on the scene, Nature launches into a tirade against the crowd, insulting as many viewers as she can.
At times like this, it was hard to stay in character. This was the type of thing that delighted Nature Mare, but the pony deep inside felt much the opposite. Seeing any of her fellow competitors in pain conflicted with the very reason she did this.
For the longest time, she was at war with this part of herself. The part that felt so deeply for others. The part that made her terrified of hurting others or annoying others or simply inconveniencing others. She shrunk herself down to nothing.
For a time, she felt so weak.
An insecure, defenseless coward. Easily intimidated and overly complacent. Ponies tended to fill in her empty space with their own definitions, and she let them. She relied on other ponies to help her with everything, to fight on her behalf.
This all started because she wanted to be strong, or more accurately, she wanted to feel strong.
She had an idea of what she was looking for. She felt her when she was singing acapella, walking the runway, or playing buckball.
It was Nature Mare. Outgoing, confident, and competitive.
However, her assertiveness training with Iron Will had shown her that she was capable of taking these qualities too far.
Uninhibited, arrogant, combative. That was also Nature Mare, a monster too dangerous to exist in the real world. She had hurt her friends and frightened her animals. A cruel pony like that could never live in a polite society.
Yet, from time to time, she really missed her.
So, she found a place where Nature Mare could exist, played dress up, and invented the type of pony she occasionally wished she was.
But as much as she loved Nature Mare, she dreaded imagining what her friends might think of her. Once the initial shock of learning about her secret life wore off, would they understand the character they saw? That Nature Mare was just as much of her as she was of them.
It certainly wasn’t intentional, but she didn’t see it as a bad thing. Yes, the traits were taken to their worst extremes, but the reverence was still there. Nature Mare was openly stunning, tough, bold, exuberant, and brilliant. She encompassed the qualities she admired and aspired for so greatly. Nature Mare was loved by her because Nature Mare reflected the many ponies she loved.
Even if she was hated. It was one of the many lessons she had learned in the ring, to hate and be hated in return. But it was a good hate, a hate that could only be understood once she finishes telling her story.
With Clean Finish outside of the ring, the referee begins to count backward from ten. If she doesn’t return in time, she would be disqualified, and the champion would retain. The audience chants Clean’s name, but she remains grounded and curled around her weak leg. By count five, even Nature Mare feels a little worried.
“Three!” The referee shouts as Nature Mare looks on, unable to gloat anymore.
“Two!” The referee screams. The crowd begs for Clean to get up, and Nature can’t help but think the same.
The “one” is on the tip of the referee’s tongue when Clean jumps up and slides into the ring. She stands up unsteadily noticeably taking pressure off her backleg. She wears a daring grin on her face. Who doesn’t love a little bit of suspense?
Way to keep us on our hooves show off. Nature thinks affectionately.
Nature shakes off the last of her concerns and returns to her fighting headspace. Clean’s miraculous return initiates an intense shift in the atmosphere. As the performers stare each other down, they know this match is coming to an end. Any energy they have left is to be spent here and now.
Having found their second wind, the pair collide at the center of the ring. Clean’s movements are swift, but Nature knows how to keep up. They tousle on, pummeling each other with supermare punches, spears, cutters, and more.
The pair keep the crowd at the edge of their seats, almost ending the match in various ways. Nature Mare even attempts a chop, chop block, and figure four leglock, which is usually her winning combo, before Clean powers herself out of the submission.
They run through their rehearsed moves with ease but take the time to freestyle a move here and there. Clean momentarily catches Nature off guard with a jarring Germane Suplex. It was most likely a receipt, a bit of payback for accidentally bucking Clean in the chin early.
Nature Mare kicks out, and Clean places her in a headlock. The resthold lets them catch their breaths, but they are running out of time. Nature jerks her head in the young hopeful’s grip and instructs her.
“Take it home.”
Clean’s eyes glisten for a second before she releases her hold. Nature remains “incapacitated,” lying helpless on the mat as Clean climbs to the top rope.
She positions herself correctly, balancing on her backhooves as the crowd loses its collective mind. She hops up into a moonsault, an aerial move beginning with a midair backflip and ending in a splash. The crowd rises to their hooves to watch her flight.
Nature braces her core for impact.
It comes swiftly, the both of them connecting and bouncing minimally on the mat as Clean lands on top of her. Nature’s shoulders go back as her hind hooves go up in a pin.
The referee slides to their sides and pounds her hoof against the mat. “One!”
Nature Mare already knew the outcome long before the match had even started.
“Two!”
Despite the hiccups, everything had gone just as planned. Yet, she still finds herself overcome with emotion.
“Three!”
The world becomes a cacophony of elation as the building explodes in celebration. Nature could barely hear the announcer proclaiming that there is now a new Undisputed South-Equestrian Heavyweight Champion over the sound of cheering.
She expects Clean to celebrate with them right away. To jump up and collect her belt, her first title in her promising career. But she stays dormant, staying with the former champion. Nature feels Clean grip her forehoof and squeeze it tightly twice. A silent thank you and a way of showing respect. Nature squeezes her back then sets her free.
And with that, it is done. The battle is fought, the winner's hoof raises to heaven, and Nature Mare can rest well knowing that everypony wins in the end.
That’s why she does it.
Initially, it was simple wish fulfillment for her, a way to blow off some steam. Eventually, she realized she could uphold upcoming stars and entertain crowds of deeply invested fans. She could make others feel good by being bad.
Strangely, by being somepony else, she was staying true to herself.
To be Nature Mare, was to be kind.
It was a sacrifice to play the villain. To be mocked and hated. But seeing the crowd rejoice in her defeat warms her to her very core. It is said that a story is only as good as its villain, and Nature Mare was an impeccable villain. It was an obvious story of good versus evil.
And if telling that story meant being the villain, then she would do it time and time again. Ponies needed that story; she needed that story. Everypony deserves to feel that way. To believe, even if it's fleeting, that this world was protected. That even if evil rose, good would triumph over it.
As she lays on the mat, solitary and defeated, out in the crowd she can see the little colt from before. On his tiny foalish face is a massive smile.
It took her a while, but spending time in the fantasy of Nature Mare, made her realize that she was never weak to begin with. Of course, she could benefit from advocating for herself more, but in the end, her compassion for others was never a flaw. It's what made her so strong because it motivated her to always be the best version of herself. It was the part of her that defined her very purpose.
It’s the best part, she thinks as she places a sore hoof over her chest. Her heart still hammers away, the final remnant of a battle hard-lost.
Author's Note
This is dedicated to all the heels out there that make pro-wrestling so enjoyable, their dedication to being hating is truly admirable. The character of Nature Mare is a direct reference to the Nature Boy, Ric Flair, who is an iconic performer.
Hopefully y'all can guess the anonymous character in this story by the end of it. I considered tagging her, but I'm not sure if it's against the bonus. I might change it later because I do want fans of this character to find it, but I'll leave it for now.
All in all, thanks for reading and have a great day 
