Post by Emma Danielson on Apr 28, 2010 23:19:28 GMT -6
Open on Emma Danielson in O'Neill's Irish Bar in New York City, home of A Night to remember. She sits at the bar, looking around and taking in the atmosphere of an authentic NYC Irish pub. She looks at her glass of beer, grinning, and pulls out a cocktail napkin, wiping off some condensed moisture on the glass. She looks over at the camera guy on the stool a few spots away from her, giving him a look that seems to ask if they're ready. When he replies in the affirmative, Emma begins to talk as if she were addressing a group of her close friends.
“Hey all. So, in the last 24 hours, both of my opponents got the chance to open their yaps, and boy did they take it. I'd be more vulgar, but I am technically in a public place, so I've got to keep it PG. Friggin' killjoys. Anyhow, since I started with Tara last time, I'm gonna talk about the Don of Jersey Shore, Joanne Canelli to start us off. Well, it makes me happy to know I'm in the Mob's good graces. Wouldn't want to wake up with a horse head in my bed, eh? Don't want to get whacked, eh? I know I'd be terrified if Luca Brasi showed up at my door...but all the jokes aside, Joanne—which is hard for me sometimes...”
Emma grins, taking a drink from her beer. She mulls over Joanne's words again, finding something to single out once again as she does so often against the women of nCw.
“I got no problem with your boys slipping you some knucks to use during a match. More friggin' power to ya. But just to let you know, if it comes down to the two of us...it'll be strictly business if I scramble your brains with a kendo stick shot. I know you want your chance to be the big dog in the yard. But I've been here since before Day One, working my ASS off to make this division respectable. You'll have to forgive me if I'm more than a bit hungry to get my chance at the big one.”
Emma takes another big gulp of her beer, waving down the bartender. She orders a Jägerbomb, turning back to the cameraman with a slightly more somber look on her face than usual.
“Joanne, you've had some history elsewhere. Now, I really don't like to bring that sort of stuff up. As I said before, it's not very productive other than to ego-stroke. Although this is basically what our promos are about in the first place, so it might seem a bit weird to say that. I base how I respond to people based on what I've directly observed of them. That's why I out-and-out said that whatever you and Tara have done in any other feds doesn't matter to me. Like I said, you want my ***damn respect? You want me to act like you matter? Then step up and take your best shot.”
Emma holds her arms out, inviting someone to take a crack at her. After a second or two, she stops, grabbing the Jägerbomb off the counter and slamming it. She almost recoils, grinning a wide-eyed grin as the potent combination of Red Bull and Jägermeister surges into her body. Emma lets out a quiet whoop of excitement.
“What a rush...anyhow. Joanne. If you want to work out an arrangement wherein we both beat the living hell out of Tara and turn this into a one-on-one affair, be my guest. I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. Preferably involving copious amounts of alcohol coming into my possession. Think we can have ourselves a sit-down and work that out? I'd enjoy it. Maybe I can teach those two shaved gorillas you call henchmen and that weasel of a brother of yours how a real badass gets things done. Maybe, maybe not. Who knows?”
Emma orders another beer and another Jägerbomb, grinning to herself as she takes the last sip of her first beer. Emma tucks a length of her hair behind an ear, clearing her throat.
“Well, guess that means I get to go rip into Tara Fenix now, doesn't it? And boy, do I have some venom saved up for her. Not to be confused with the joker that's in the National Title match, but venom nonetheless. You think I failed basic math? How incredibly shortsighted of you. Especially in light of your planning out an elaborate chess metaphor when you could have boiled it down to a few words and saved us all the ***damn waste of time that was your promo. You want to say how I'm imitating you and that makes you an icon. Bitch, I hadn't heard of you before this week, so you can take that ill-founded argument and throw it in the proverbial trash. I had to double-check to make sure we had someone by that name on our roster. You've got World Champions that can vouch for you, Hall of Famers that can vouch for you? Who? Steve Awesome? Angel? I know Angel would, since he seems to be such a frequent fixture in your promos you could have him listed as a co-star in the credits...”
Emma shakes her head again at this fact, moving on quickly lest she get hung up on the previously god-complexed former World Champion's guest role.
“Okay. Let's get back to the subject of respect. You want to claim that we should respect you? You want to say that we're going to respect you? The foundation of respect is approaching others with the assumption that you are communicating on an equal level. If you want respect from someone, you don't talk down to them. Degradation is no way to build anything. Thus, starting off by freakin' teaching me how basic statistics work again, like I was some mental case, isn't going to get you jack in the way of respect. I had your profile up as a visual aid for all the nice people at home who didn't watch your promo as a replacement sleeping aid. I think you think that your previous accomplishments mean that you can just walk in here and we'll all prostrate ourselves for you like peasants before their ruler. Maybe you've been able to pull that card elsewhere, but not here. Never here. Bowing and scraping isn't what most of us do. And if you think that you'll be able to beat me so badly I'll leave nCw, you better think again.”
Emma takes her newly arrived beer, taking a big drink of it. She sighs, rubbing her temples as she processes just what the hell Tara was trying to tell her in that long, rambling combination of a math lesson and game of chess.
“Tara, I'm actually a very organized person. I may not look like it, but I've got what I do very regimented and scheduled. I make sure I get in several hours of training every day so that not even a bit of ring rust can have a chance to develop. You assume that I'm far too snap-decision, far too instinctual. No, no. I know what I'm going to do far in advance. For example, I've already got my strategy blocked out for this match, down to how best to counter each of your signature moves and finishers. As I've said, I want this win bad. So I'm putting in more effort than I ever have before. I'm going to need this level of effort for the Women's Title, if not more, but this is a good place to hone my strategy.”
Emma takes another sip of her beer, allowing herself a bit of cooldown time before resuming her speechification.
“And there's your daily dose of Danielson. Hmm...I have to write that down. Might be useful. So, with the Women's Title match looming, we've got the backup job. We're deciding who gets to duke it out with Zelda—because I know she's winning, it's just that simple—next time the pay-per-view week rolls around. Let's steal the show, girls. Let's show everyone how you have a match. Until one of you two speaks...I'll be drinking and waiting.”
She sits back, slugging down her second Jägerbomb as the scene fades to black.
“Hey all. So, in the last 24 hours, both of my opponents got the chance to open their yaps, and boy did they take it. I'd be more vulgar, but I am technically in a public place, so I've got to keep it PG. Friggin' killjoys. Anyhow, since I started with Tara last time, I'm gonna talk about the Don of Jersey Shore, Joanne Canelli to start us off. Well, it makes me happy to know I'm in the Mob's good graces. Wouldn't want to wake up with a horse head in my bed, eh? Don't want to get whacked, eh? I know I'd be terrified if Luca Brasi showed up at my door...but all the jokes aside, Joanne—which is hard for me sometimes...”
Emma grins, taking a drink from her beer. She mulls over Joanne's words again, finding something to single out once again as she does so often against the women of nCw.
“I got no problem with your boys slipping you some knucks to use during a match. More friggin' power to ya. But just to let you know, if it comes down to the two of us...it'll be strictly business if I scramble your brains with a kendo stick shot. I know you want your chance to be the big dog in the yard. But I've been here since before Day One, working my ASS off to make this division respectable. You'll have to forgive me if I'm more than a bit hungry to get my chance at the big one.”
Emma takes another big gulp of her beer, waving down the bartender. She orders a Jägerbomb, turning back to the cameraman with a slightly more somber look on her face than usual.
“Joanne, you've had some history elsewhere. Now, I really don't like to bring that sort of stuff up. As I said before, it's not very productive other than to ego-stroke. Although this is basically what our promos are about in the first place, so it might seem a bit weird to say that. I base how I respond to people based on what I've directly observed of them. That's why I out-and-out said that whatever you and Tara have done in any other feds doesn't matter to me. Like I said, you want my ***damn respect? You want me to act like you matter? Then step up and take your best shot.”
Emma holds her arms out, inviting someone to take a crack at her. After a second or two, she stops, grabbing the Jägerbomb off the counter and slamming it. She almost recoils, grinning a wide-eyed grin as the potent combination of Red Bull and Jägermeister surges into her body. Emma lets out a quiet whoop of excitement.
“What a rush...anyhow. Joanne. If you want to work out an arrangement wherein we both beat the living hell out of Tara and turn this into a one-on-one affair, be my guest. I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. Preferably involving copious amounts of alcohol coming into my possession. Think we can have ourselves a sit-down and work that out? I'd enjoy it. Maybe I can teach those two shaved gorillas you call henchmen and that weasel of a brother of yours how a real badass gets things done. Maybe, maybe not. Who knows?”
Emma orders another beer and another Jägerbomb, grinning to herself as she takes the last sip of her first beer. Emma tucks a length of her hair behind an ear, clearing her throat.
“Well, guess that means I get to go rip into Tara Fenix now, doesn't it? And boy, do I have some venom saved up for her. Not to be confused with the joker that's in the National Title match, but venom nonetheless. You think I failed basic math? How incredibly shortsighted of you. Especially in light of your planning out an elaborate chess metaphor when you could have boiled it down to a few words and saved us all the ***damn waste of time that was your promo. You want to say how I'm imitating you and that makes you an icon. Bitch, I hadn't heard of you before this week, so you can take that ill-founded argument and throw it in the proverbial trash. I had to double-check to make sure we had someone by that name on our roster. You've got World Champions that can vouch for you, Hall of Famers that can vouch for you? Who? Steve Awesome? Angel? I know Angel would, since he seems to be such a frequent fixture in your promos you could have him listed as a co-star in the credits...”
Emma shakes her head again at this fact, moving on quickly lest she get hung up on the previously god-complexed former World Champion's guest role.
“Okay. Let's get back to the subject of respect. You want to claim that we should respect you? You want to say that we're going to respect you? The foundation of respect is approaching others with the assumption that you are communicating on an equal level. If you want respect from someone, you don't talk down to them. Degradation is no way to build anything. Thus, starting off by freakin' teaching me how basic statistics work again, like I was some mental case, isn't going to get you jack in the way of respect. I had your profile up as a visual aid for all the nice people at home who didn't watch your promo as a replacement sleeping aid. I think you think that your previous accomplishments mean that you can just walk in here and we'll all prostrate ourselves for you like peasants before their ruler. Maybe you've been able to pull that card elsewhere, but not here. Never here. Bowing and scraping isn't what most of us do. And if you think that you'll be able to beat me so badly I'll leave nCw, you better think again.”
Emma takes her newly arrived beer, taking a big drink of it. She sighs, rubbing her temples as she processes just what the hell Tara was trying to tell her in that long, rambling combination of a math lesson and game of chess.
“Tara, I'm actually a very organized person. I may not look like it, but I've got what I do very regimented and scheduled. I make sure I get in several hours of training every day so that not even a bit of ring rust can have a chance to develop. You assume that I'm far too snap-decision, far too instinctual. No, no. I know what I'm going to do far in advance. For example, I've already got my strategy blocked out for this match, down to how best to counter each of your signature moves and finishers. As I've said, I want this win bad. So I'm putting in more effort than I ever have before. I'm going to need this level of effort for the Women's Title, if not more, but this is a good place to hone my strategy.”
Emma takes another sip of her beer, allowing herself a bit of cooldown time before resuming her speechification.
“And there's your daily dose of Danielson. Hmm...I have to write that down. Might be useful. So, with the Women's Title match looming, we've got the backup job. We're deciding who gets to duke it out with Zelda—because I know she's winning, it's just that simple—next time the pay-per-view week rolls around. Let's steal the show, girls. Let's show everyone how you have a match. Until one of you two speaks...I'll be drinking and waiting.”
She sits back, slugging down her second Jägerbomb as the scene fades to black.