Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Jan 31, 2010 0:00:01 GMT -6
The scene is set. Emma Danielson stands in front of a poster for Metamorphosis. She's wearing the same outfit she wore in the photo from the last MWF Showdown, but her expression is hardly the one she wore that night. Rather to the contrary, she has her usual condescending smirk plastered on her face. Emma holds in her right hand a steel chair, but instead of brandishing it she sets it up and sits in it. Emma tuts disapprovingly.
“Emma, Emma, Emma. I know you're doing this to show just how much support you have, and how that means you're going to walk all over me. You think that I'm clumsy and graceless. You think I'm sloppy, and I'll leave myself open to you. Well, that's where you're wrong. It'll take more than a wristlock to take me out, English. I don't WANT you to back down. As a matter of fact...I want you to step up.”
Emma crosses her legs, shaking her head.
“I expected better, and you failed to provide better. If you show up Sunday like this, I'm afraid you won't put up a fight at all. And if there's one thing I won't accept at all, it's that. Come on, Emma. I know you've got it in you. Show some fire. Give me some competition already!”
She cracks her knuckles to punctuate this statement. Emma laughs, only for her smile to fade away.
“Ahh...it's so funny it's sad. The little girl's trying to hide behind that famous stiff upper lip. Emma, your stoicism won't help you win. It'll just mean you face the executioner with a neutral expression on your face, instead of the sheer terror you should be feeling. English, I talk a lot. But I mean every word I say, and I can back every one up. Can you say the same for yourself?”
She stares into the camera, piercing it with her glare.
“I doubt it. You see, you talk a lot as well. But you make much grander claims, and they all seem to trace back to one thing: your lineage. You can't rely on that forever. I, however, base claims on my raw strength. That I can EASILY back up. And, the best part is? I can back it up forever. My muscles won't desert me. So, the Queen has spoken. You, Dutchess, think you can rise above me. Well, let me tell you—OH!”
Her eyes light up as if she's just realized something.
“I just remembered something I was going to do! Hold on a second, Emma. I've got some props I need to get.”
She stands up, running towards the camera, and kneels down. Rustling is heard, and she stands back up, walking out with four thumbtacks and a large roll of paper in her hand. Emma tacks up what is revealed to be a flowchart of royalty. She grabs a Singapore cane and uses it as a pointer as she talks.
“Okay, we'll start at the bottom. There's the peasantry and other common folk. Then—and I'm using British hierarchy, so you should be comfortable—then there are the lords and ladies. Y'know, Christopher Lee and that sort. Then you have the barons and baronesses, the marquesses and marchionesses, the viscounts and viscountesses, the earls and countesses—I never got that one myself. Why don't they just say 'counts and countesses'?—and, of course, the dukes and duchesses. But there are some titles that come above them. There are princes and princesses—like Zelda Knite, the little princess—and then there are the two on top. The king and queen.”
She grins.
“Get it? The Dutchess doesn't rise farther than the Queen. She's always one step below, scrabbling for that spot at the top but fated to always be second-best. And that's what you are, Emma. You're second-best. I'm going to prove that to the world this Sunday. I will have you beat DOWN, and when you feel a Jagerbomb exploding in your head like a bad hangover, you'll know that you were beaten not by chance, but by sheer power. You will know that I am the Queen when I lay my vengeance upon you.”
Emma sits back down, cane still in hand.
“Now I know what you're thinking. I'm all bluster and no strategy. But I have a strategy. The best wrestlers have a strategy that they know wins them matches. This one's been formulated over all the years I've been wrestling. And believe me...”
She taps her temple, grinning.
“This one'll knock you for a loop. So bring your new move if you think it'll protect you. For Queen And Country, you said it's called? Well, the Queen's ready. Show me what you can do. Please. I'm dying to see how effective it really is.”
Emma sets the Singapore cane down.
“Here's how it boils down: Two women. Number one contendership. No bull****. Bring it on, English. The Queen is waiting.”
Emma stands up, folding her chair back up and walking off. Fade to black.
“Emma, Emma, Emma. I know you're doing this to show just how much support you have, and how that means you're going to walk all over me. You think that I'm clumsy and graceless. You think I'm sloppy, and I'll leave myself open to you. Well, that's where you're wrong. It'll take more than a wristlock to take me out, English. I don't WANT you to back down. As a matter of fact...I want you to step up.”
Emma crosses her legs, shaking her head.
“I expected better, and you failed to provide better. If you show up Sunday like this, I'm afraid you won't put up a fight at all. And if there's one thing I won't accept at all, it's that. Come on, Emma. I know you've got it in you. Show some fire. Give me some competition already!”
She cracks her knuckles to punctuate this statement. Emma laughs, only for her smile to fade away.
“Ahh...it's so funny it's sad. The little girl's trying to hide behind that famous stiff upper lip. Emma, your stoicism won't help you win. It'll just mean you face the executioner with a neutral expression on your face, instead of the sheer terror you should be feeling. English, I talk a lot. But I mean every word I say, and I can back every one up. Can you say the same for yourself?”
She stares into the camera, piercing it with her glare.
“I doubt it. You see, you talk a lot as well. But you make much grander claims, and they all seem to trace back to one thing: your lineage. You can't rely on that forever. I, however, base claims on my raw strength. That I can EASILY back up. And, the best part is? I can back it up forever. My muscles won't desert me. So, the Queen has spoken. You, Dutchess, think you can rise above me. Well, let me tell you—OH!”
Her eyes light up as if she's just realized something.
“I just remembered something I was going to do! Hold on a second, Emma. I've got some props I need to get.”
She stands up, running towards the camera, and kneels down. Rustling is heard, and she stands back up, walking out with four thumbtacks and a large roll of paper in her hand. Emma tacks up what is revealed to be a flowchart of royalty. She grabs a Singapore cane and uses it as a pointer as she talks.
“Okay, we'll start at the bottom. There's the peasantry and other common folk. Then—and I'm using British hierarchy, so you should be comfortable—then there are the lords and ladies. Y'know, Christopher Lee and that sort. Then you have the barons and baronesses, the marquesses and marchionesses, the viscounts and viscountesses, the earls and countesses—I never got that one myself. Why don't they just say 'counts and countesses'?—and, of course, the dukes and duchesses. But there are some titles that come above them. There are princes and princesses—like Zelda Knite, the little princess—and then there are the two on top. The king and queen.”
She grins.
“Get it? The Dutchess doesn't rise farther than the Queen. She's always one step below, scrabbling for that spot at the top but fated to always be second-best. And that's what you are, Emma. You're second-best. I'm going to prove that to the world this Sunday. I will have you beat DOWN, and when you feel a Jagerbomb exploding in your head like a bad hangover, you'll know that you were beaten not by chance, but by sheer power. You will know that I am the Queen when I lay my vengeance upon you.”
Emma sits back down, cane still in hand.
“Now I know what you're thinking. I'm all bluster and no strategy. But I have a strategy. The best wrestlers have a strategy that they know wins them matches. This one's been formulated over all the years I've been wrestling. And believe me...”
She taps her temple, grinning.
“This one'll knock you for a loop. So bring your new move if you think it'll protect you. For Queen And Country, you said it's called? Well, the Queen's ready. Show me what you can do. Please. I'm dying to see how effective it really is.”
Emma sets the Singapore cane down.
“Here's how it boils down: Two women. Number one contendership. No bull****. Bring it on, English. The Queen is waiting.”
Emma stands up, folding her chair back up and walking off. Fade to black.