Post by Emma Danielson on Apr 15, 2010 23:56:53 GMT -6
Emma sits in front of a webcam, raising an eyebrow at the camera. She looks around, revealing her location to be...an undisclosed bar booth. Emma takes a Heineken in hand, sighing as she grins at the camera.
“Welcome to Last Call with Emma Danielson, not to be confused with another webshow of a similar name run by an ex-fake Cuban. With me as always is alcohol. Now, first things first: Alexandra Kane, also known as the “Golden Queen”, Cleopatra. No preamble this time, Alex. Just me mocking you and Nancy Drew, skulking around an abandoned building with the Mystery Inc. crew's evil counterparts. I'm surprised you didn't have a dog with a goatee drawn on it. Anyway, on to what you said, which is...hmm...”
She pulls out a notecard, scanning it and mumbling to herself. She looks up in feigned shock.
“Oh my god I can't believe it! You said the exact same crap you said in your FIRST promo! Death, and destruction, and all that gloom and doom and “I am the Queen of Kings”, and so on! How unexpected! Jesus H. tap-dancing Christ, talk about a waste of time! You say you're going to end careers EVERY week, but do you pull the trigger? NO! You vacillate and you yap and you DON'T DO ANYTHING! It's not that hard! DON'T TELL! SHOW! I'm the only one of the two of us who's actually ENDED a career! Alex, you say that getting a Women's Title shot means you're more important than I have been or ever will be? Guess what? I'm going to get one too someday soon, and with any luck, I'll be able to do what YOU COULDN'T. Seriously, you want to question me again? I'm just going to have to knock you flat and beat your ass even harder now. Golden Queen, pfft. Goddess my ASS! You couldn't deify your way out of a paper bag!”
Emma takes a swig of her beer, disgusted with the apparent lack of progress shown by Cleopatra in her supposed dominance of the women's division. She leans forward, smirking to herself.
“I know what you're thinking. I haven't been nearly as good as I tout myself to be. Otherwise I'd be winning more matches, getting title shots. See, there were a few things holding me back. One of them was the fact that Emma English seemed to be costing me title opportunities at every turn. Problem...eliminated. Second was that I was too focused on drinking and not enough the pain-causing aspect. That too changed. Now I'm ready. Now I'm all geared up to deal out some hurt. Starting with you, ya overhyped gasbag. I'm not trying to make myself look tougher than I am. I'm just trying to remind you that I'm a bigger threat than maybe you want to acknowledge. You honestly think the fans would be chanting YOUR name? What have you done for them? At least I'm not a TOTAL bitch, so they have sort of a REASON to like me. You? Totally unlikeable. Even watching Spartacus won't save you. Alex, you can go ahead and be strong like the tree. I'll just be the lady with the chainsaw.”
Emma chuckles, tossing the notecard aside. She moves on to the next one, a genuine smile blossoming on her face.
“Ahh, now here's where things get fun. Rayne. Let it Rayne all night and day as far as I'm concerned, because I'm taking quite the liking to you. You're the sort of person I love to get stacked up against. Someone that doesn't really give a damn about the theatrics and the over-the-top personas. A wrestler at last. No dumb sarcophagus entrances, no cults of personality. I mean, Jesus. An athlete that actually trains instead of pampering herself or going out shopping when they could and probably should be prepping for a match? Call me fricking stunned! Rayne, you know what? I want to take you up on that offer. You and me, Xtreme Rules. Sooner than later. Make it happen, staffers! The people demand it!”
She grins, taking another drink from the bottle. Emma sets the bottle down again, still happy.
“Twenty years? That's a hell of a career. I'm not going to belittle you like most of the women—and hell, most of the men—would about your age. I respect you even more because you know exactly what to do in a million different situations. Are you the most dangerous woman in this match? Even with Alex “Making Manson Proud” Kane involved, I'd say yes you are. Consider yourself on watch, because I know that someone who's been at this that long won't fall for a lot of the amateur mistakes that get women pinned in these matches. Nah, I figure I'll just play the power game, like I always have. Toss some of the women around. Maybe you and I can get in some “accidental” teamwork against Cleo. Once this match blows over, I'd love to be able to go one-on-one with you. This week, however? We've got to deal with two other women. Well, a woman and a whackjob. Which is which? If you've been listening to me in the recent past, you'd know. If you have been and you still don't know? Well...damn. No helping some people, is there?”
The smile stays when she moves on to the next victim on her list of terror (not to be confused with Falcon's list of terror). Emma shakes her head, almost facepalming at what she reads.
“Roxi Johnson has finally spoken! Lordy Lordy Hallelujah! I mean, how could we have gone so long without her valuable input? With her pointing out facts like the women's division having a lot of three-way and four-way matches, thus meaning she doesn't end up in a lot of singles matches. What with her pointing out that apparently my cockiness cost me a title match before against her. Wait, did I get pinned by her? Let me check my handy-dandy notecard...”
She looks at the notecard, looking back up and gasping in mock-surprise for the second time this promo.
“Nope! She pinned English! So that kind of throws your argument out the window there, doesn't it? You say you've only seen me drinking? How about you see my forearm blasting you head over heels when I hit you with the Brooklyn Hangover this Friday? How's that for seeing me doing something besides drinking? I think you'll have to swallow your words when the match rolls around, because you don't want to get in my way. Alex is my primary target, but if you're in between me and her, prepare to be used as an improvised weapon. Just sayin'.”
Emma finishes her beer, signaling to (presumably) a barmaid or waitress offscreen. She looks back into the camera again, still pretty pleased with herself.
“So that's what I've got to say right now. Rayne, good luck and I can't wait to go up against you one of these days. Alex, same old crap as I've heard before. I don't care, and I'm going to kick your ass. Roxi, you need to double-check your facts. Just like Carly. Listen, ladies. I'm the Hardcore Hellion. I'm an ass-kicker. I'm possibly the toughest women in this company. If I'm going to prove to management that I deserve a title shot, I'm going to have to beat you three women before anything else happens. Hold on to your hats, girls...”
She takes a beer from a hand offscreen, smiling and nodding. Emma cracks the bottle open on the lip of the table, grinning once again.
“...it's going to be one wild ride. Cheers.”
She takes a swig of the beer, sighing in contentment. Fade out.
“Welcome to Last Call with Emma Danielson, not to be confused with another webshow of a similar name run by an ex-fake Cuban. With me as always is alcohol. Now, first things first: Alexandra Kane, also known as the “Golden Queen”, Cleopatra. No preamble this time, Alex. Just me mocking you and Nancy Drew, skulking around an abandoned building with the Mystery Inc. crew's evil counterparts. I'm surprised you didn't have a dog with a goatee drawn on it. Anyway, on to what you said, which is...hmm...”
She pulls out a notecard, scanning it and mumbling to herself. She looks up in feigned shock.
“Oh my god I can't believe it! You said the exact same crap you said in your FIRST promo! Death, and destruction, and all that gloom and doom and “I am the Queen of Kings”, and so on! How unexpected! Jesus H. tap-dancing Christ, talk about a waste of time! You say you're going to end careers EVERY week, but do you pull the trigger? NO! You vacillate and you yap and you DON'T DO ANYTHING! It's not that hard! DON'T TELL! SHOW! I'm the only one of the two of us who's actually ENDED a career! Alex, you say that getting a Women's Title shot means you're more important than I have been or ever will be? Guess what? I'm going to get one too someday soon, and with any luck, I'll be able to do what YOU COULDN'T. Seriously, you want to question me again? I'm just going to have to knock you flat and beat your ass even harder now. Golden Queen, pfft. Goddess my ASS! You couldn't deify your way out of a paper bag!”
Emma takes a swig of her beer, disgusted with the apparent lack of progress shown by Cleopatra in her supposed dominance of the women's division. She leans forward, smirking to herself.
“I know what you're thinking. I haven't been nearly as good as I tout myself to be. Otherwise I'd be winning more matches, getting title shots. See, there were a few things holding me back. One of them was the fact that Emma English seemed to be costing me title opportunities at every turn. Problem...eliminated. Second was that I was too focused on drinking and not enough the pain-causing aspect. That too changed. Now I'm ready. Now I'm all geared up to deal out some hurt. Starting with you, ya overhyped gasbag. I'm not trying to make myself look tougher than I am. I'm just trying to remind you that I'm a bigger threat than maybe you want to acknowledge. You honestly think the fans would be chanting YOUR name? What have you done for them? At least I'm not a TOTAL bitch, so they have sort of a REASON to like me. You? Totally unlikeable. Even watching Spartacus won't save you. Alex, you can go ahead and be strong like the tree. I'll just be the lady with the chainsaw.”
Emma chuckles, tossing the notecard aside. She moves on to the next one, a genuine smile blossoming on her face.
“Ahh, now here's where things get fun. Rayne. Let it Rayne all night and day as far as I'm concerned, because I'm taking quite the liking to you. You're the sort of person I love to get stacked up against. Someone that doesn't really give a damn about the theatrics and the over-the-top personas. A wrestler at last. No dumb sarcophagus entrances, no cults of personality. I mean, Jesus. An athlete that actually trains instead of pampering herself or going out shopping when they could and probably should be prepping for a match? Call me fricking stunned! Rayne, you know what? I want to take you up on that offer. You and me, Xtreme Rules. Sooner than later. Make it happen, staffers! The people demand it!”
She grins, taking another drink from the bottle. Emma sets the bottle down again, still happy.
“Twenty years? That's a hell of a career. I'm not going to belittle you like most of the women—and hell, most of the men—would about your age. I respect you even more because you know exactly what to do in a million different situations. Are you the most dangerous woman in this match? Even with Alex “Making Manson Proud” Kane involved, I'd say yes you are. Consider yourself on watch, because I know that someone who's been at this that long won't fall for a lot of the amateur mistakes that get women pinned in these matches. Nah, I figure I'll just play the power game, like I always have. Toss some of the women around. Maybe you and I can get in some “accidental” teamwork against Cleo. Once this match blows over, I'd love to be able to go one-on-one with you. This week, however? We've got to deal with two other women. Well, a woman and a whackjob. Which is which? If you've been listening to me in the recent past, you'd know. If you have been and you still don't know? Well...damn. No helping some people, is there?”
The smile stays when she moves on to the next victim on her list of terror (not to be confused with Falcon's list of terror). Emma shakes her head, almost facepalming at what she reads.
“Roxi Johnson has finally spoken! Lordy Lordy Hallelujah! I mean, how could we have gone so long without her valuable input? With her pointing out facts like the women's division having a lot of three-way and four-way matches, thus meaning she doesn't end up in a lot of singles matches. What with her pointing out that apparently my cockiness cost me a title match before against her. Wait, did I get pinned by her? Let me check my handy-dandy notecard...”
She looks at the notecard, looking back up and gasping in mock-surprise for the second time this promo.
“Nope! She pinned English! So that kind of throws your argument out the window there, doesn't it? You say you've only seen me drinking? How about you see my forearm blasting you head over heels when I hit you with the Brooklyn Hangover this Friday? How's that for seeing me doing something besides drinking? I think you'll have to swallow your words when the match rolls around, because you don't want to get in my way. Alex is my primary target, but if you're in between me and her, prepare to be used as an improvised weapon. Just sayin'.”
Emma finishes her beer, signaling to (presumably) a barmaid or waitress offscreen. She looks back into the camera again, still pretty pleased with herself.
“So that's what I've got to say right now. Rayne, good luck and I can't wait to go up against you one of these days. Alex, same old crap as I've heard before. I don't care, and I'm going to kick your ass. Roxi, you need to double-check your facts. Just like Carly. Listen, ladies. I'm the Hardcore Hellion. I'm an ass-kicker. I'm possibly the toughest women in this company. If I'm going to prove to management that I deserve a title shot, I'm going to have to beat you three women before anything else happens. Hold on to your hats, girls...”
She takes a beer from a hand offscreen, smiling and nodding. Emma cracks the bottle open on the lip of the table, grinning once again.
“...it's going to be one wild ride. Cheers.”
She takes a swig of the beer, sighing in contentment. Fade out.