Post by Ayla St. James on Jan 8, 2010 17:12:56 GMT -6
(A phone rings. Glen Jermaine sat on the edge of the bed in the hotel room. The camera crew had finished setting up and had begun recording, but Ayla was still in the shower. The sound tech and Glen look at one another, then realize the phone is coming from Ayla's luggage. Glen shrugs then stands up and fumbles around in the bag for it.)
"Ayla, phone is ringing."
"Answer it, you ninny! I'm not ready yet!"
(Glen sighed and put the phone to his ear.)
"Ayla's phone. Oh hi, Mila. Yea, she's in the shower, or getting dressed or something. All I know is these cameras are set and she's not out here."
(Glen holds the phone away from his ear as the shouting starts.)
"Yes, yes, I know. I tried to stop her. ....Well what was I supposed to do, gag her and dump her in the basement? ...Yea, hilarious. You can't be... you are serious, aren't you? Well, I'll tell her, but I doubt she'll listen. Ok. Ok. Ok. OK... alright.. bye.."
(Glen threw the phone down in exasperation. The Sound tech gave him a quizzical look as he adjusted the height on the microphone.)
"Who was that?"
"Her sister."
"She sounded pissed."
"You have no idea. And of course, this is all my fault all of a sudden."
"I hear that."
(Ayla strode out of the bathroom, finally. She was dressed in her wrestling gear, a white halter with white shorts, the Maple Leaphoenix (The trademarked name of her logo. A Canadian Maple Leaf adorned with phoenix wings.) logo clearly visible. She stopped by the mirror to adjust her hair.)
"Everything look alright? It's not too tight is it?"
"It's fine."
(He hoped she'd just drop it, since he wasn't even looking in her direction.)
"You're not even looking."
(Busted.)
"Are you comfortable?"
"More or less."
"Then it's fine. Now these guys have been set up for an hour waiting for your slow ass."
(She ignored that.)
"Who called?"
"Mila."
"She complain?"
"Of course."
"Figures."
"Could you just get on with it?"
"Alright, alright."
(Ayla sashayed her way in front of the camera, striking a pose that was one quarter hot, one quarter intimidating, and the other half god knows what.)
"Oh, Zelda, I expected so much more from you. I expected more insight from the sister of the arguably one of the best wrestlers this company has ever seen. But all I heard from you is a hashed explanation behind something I actually praised, and then an accusation about the way I flaunt myself. Well, I'm sorry for being 'snooty' as you call it, I'll make a mental note of it in my journal of crap I don't care about. And here I was thinking I was just confident in myself, like I was supposed to be. Gee, how wrong I was!"
(She held a hand out as if to shake away her embarassment at being caught.)
"But all that aside, I'm sorry if my personality offends you. Unlike my hair color, it's not that easy to change. Like I'd change for you anyway. Here I was giving you an opportunity to be my friend and you compare me to.. Microsoft? That would almost be as insulting if you compared me to Diet Coke or something. Then again, that's more your style isn't it? Something that tries so hard to be like the one who came before it, but when you crack it open and take a sip, you almost throw up on the floor."
(Gagging motion accompanyment.)
"So, stay cute Z, for your own sake. From what I can see, it's the only thing you got going for you. Those video game references are going to get real old, real fast."
(Neccessary pause. Too long in fact. The camera guy motions asking if he should cut the feed, but Glen waves him off.)
"And now for whom I seem to have forgotten about. Or.. who a certain someone who shall remain nameless.."
(Motioning at Glen on the bed.)
"Forgot to tell me about..."
"Card subject to change is there for a reason."
"Pfft. Excuses... Anyway, we have the drunken tart of epic proportions, Emma Douchington. Let me ask you something. How bad does it suck watching the tape back after you've run your mouth? Is it full of as much "Oh damn I shouldn't have said that"'s as I think there would be?"
(A Snap of the fingers to accompany the question. For effect.)
"See, let's clear the air about a few things. Where am I from?"
"Canada.."
"Where did I train to wrestle?"
"Canada."
"Who else was trained in Canada?"
"The Hitman and his kin. Adam Copeland. Lance.. whatever his real name is. And some names you will recognize, Lance Ryan and Trent Helms."
(Glen got a thumbs up for that.)
"Thank you Mr. Helperton. See, in all your booze hound rage you forgot one simple thing. You're an extremist. I'm a wrestler. That means while you're swinging that chair trying to crush my beautiful face, I'm taking you down with a drop toehold and then wrenching your arm so far out of the socket you won't be able to pick it up. I was content to be happy and friendly to everyone, but you.. you just threatened the money maker. I wonder how bad it pisses you off knowing that I can have a career at more than one thing, and the only thing you're good for is going from high school gym to high school gym trying to get enough money to drink your next meal. That's just sad, for any kind of woman. Especially one as mannish looking at you. I don't mean to sound obtuse, but did anyone check her for a Y chromosome?"
"I don't think something like that would escape their notice."
"Bah. Fine. I suppose there's a sad and lonely group of guys who carry your picture in their wallets and wait for the day to meet you so they can tell you how much they love you and whatnot, and what kind of person would I be to take that away from them? So, here's how it's going to be woman to... woman.."
"Hopefully."
"Right. Bring whatever ruckus you think you can muster, and I'll match it. And you'll find that not every woman with golden hair that walks through that door is a blonde bimbo that gets by life on her back. That is a promise."
(Ayla extends a certain one finger salute. Obvious by the blur over her hand.)
"Baisez-vous trop chienne."
(End.)
"Ayla, phone is ringing."
"Answer it, you ninny! I'm not ready yet!"
(Glen sighed and put the phone to his ear.)
"Ayla's phone. Oh hi, Mila. Yea, she's in the shower, or getting dressed or something. All I know is these cameras are set and she's not out here."
(Glen holds the phone away from his ear as the shouting starts.)
"Yes, yes, I know. I tried to stop her. ....Well what was I supposed to do, gag her and dump her in the basement? ...Yea, hilarious. You can't be... you are serious, aren't you? Well, I'll tell her, but I doubt she'll listen. Ok. Ok. Ok. OK... alright.. bye.."
(Glen threw the phone down in exasperation. The Sound tech gave him a quizzical look as he adjusted the height on the microphone.)
"Who was that?"
"Her sister."
"She sounded pissed."
"You have no idea. And of course, this is all my fault all of a sudden."
"I hear that."
(Ayla strode out of the bathroom, finally. She was dressed in her wrestling gear, a white halter with white shorts, the Maple Leaphoenix (The trademarked name of her logo. A Canadian Maple Leaf adorned with phoenix wings.) logo clearly visible. She stopped by the mirror to adjust her hair.)
"Everything look alright? It's not too tight is it?"
"It's fine."
(He hoped she'd just drop it, since he wasn't even looking in her direction.)
"You're not even looking."
(Busted.)
"Are you comfortable?"
"More or less."
"Then it's fine. Now these guys have been set up for an hour waiting for your slow ass."
(She ignored that.)
"Who called?"
"Mila."
"She complain?"
"Of course."
"Figures."
"Could you just get on with it?"
"Alright, alright."
(Ayla sashayed her way in front of the camera, striking a pose that was one quarter hot, one quarter intimidating, and the other half god knows what.)
"Oh, Zelda, I expected so much more from you. I expected more insight from the sister of the arguably one of the best wrestlers this company has ever seen. But all I heard from you is a hashed explanation behind something I actually praised, and then an accusation about the way I flaunt myself. Well, I'm sorry for being 'snooty' as you call it, I'll make a mental note of it in my journal of crap I don't care about. And here I was thinking I was just confident in myself, like I was supposed to be. Gee, how wrong I was!"
(She held a hand out as if to shake away her embarassment at being caught.)
"But all that aside, I'm sorry if my personality offends you. Unlike my hair color, it's not that easy to change. Like I'd change for you anyway. Here I was giving you an opportunity to be my friend and you compare me to.. Microsoft? That would almost be as insulting if you compared me to Diet Coke or something. Then again, that's more your style isn't it? Something that tries so hard to be like the one who came before it, but when you crack it open and take a sip, you almost throw up on the floor."
(Gagging motion accompanyment.)
"So, stay cute Z, for your own sake. From what I can see, it's the only thing you got going for you. Those video game references are going to get real old, real fast."
(Neccessary pause. Too long in fact. The camera guy motions asking if he should cut the feed, but Glen waves him off.)
"And now for whom I seem to have forgotten about. Or.. who a certain someone who shall remain nameless.."
(Motioning at Glen on the bed.)
"Forgot to tell me about..."
"Card subject to change is there for a reason."
"Pfft. Excuses... Anyway, we have the drunken tart of epic proportions, Emma Douchington. Let me ask you something. How bad does it suck watching the tape back after you've run your mouth? Is it full of as much "Oh damn I shouldn't have said that"'s as I think there would be?"
(A Snap of the fingers to accompany the question. For effect.)
"See, let's clear the air about a few things. Where am I from?"
"Canada.."
"Where did I train to wrestle?"
"Canada."
"Who else was trained in Canada?"
"The Hitman and his kin. Adam Copeland. Lance.. whatever his real name is. And some names you will recognize, Lance Ryan and Trent Helms."
(Glen got a thumbs up for that.)
"Thank you Mr. Helperton. See, in all your booze hound rage you forgot one simple thing. You're an extremist. I'm a wrestler. That means while you're swinging that chair trying to crush my beautiful face, I'm taking you down with a drop toehold and then wrenching your arm so far out of the socket you won't be able to pick it up. I was content to be happy and friendly to everyone, but you.. you just threatened the money maker. I wonder how bad it pisses you off knowing that I can have a career at more than one thing, and the only thing you're good for is going from high school gym to high school gym trying to get enough money to drink your next meal. That's just sad, for any kind of woman. Especially one as mannish looking at you. I don't mean to sound obtuse, but did anyone check her for a Y chromosome?"
"I don't think something like that would escape their notice."
"Bah. Fine. I suppose there's a sad and lonely group of guys who carry your picture in their wallets and wait for the day to meet you so they can tell you how much they love you and whatnot, and what kind of person would I be to take that away from them? So, here's how it's going to be woman to... woman.."
"Hopefully."
"Right. Bring whatever ruckus you think you can muster, and I'll match it. And you'll find that not every woman with golden hair that walks through that door is a blonde bimbo that gets by life on her back. That is a promise."
(Ayla extends a certain one finger salute. Obvious by the blur over her hand.)
"Baisez-vous trop chienne."
(End.)