Post by Emma Danielson on Nov 28, 2010 2:37:40 GMT -6
We open on Emma Danielson sitting in a bar, staring at the wood. A half-finished glass of ginger ale sits in front of her, and she looks over at it with the sort of look usually reserved for people who were just in a car crash. The bartender walks by her, briefly sparing her a glance. Her head slumps down onto the surface, thudding lightly. Someone sits down next to her, and he taps her on the shoulder. Emma mumbles a sleepy response to her newfound annoyance.
“Go away. I'm tired, and I don't want to join your cult.”
The man responds, immediately making it obvious that it's Andrew Jacobsen just by the voice and tone.
“Come. Join the dark side. We have cookies.”
Emma looks up, rolling her eyes at Andrew before slumping back down again. He pulls her back upright, ignoring her moaned protests, and signals the bartender. The young woman walks over, setting down the glass she was cleaning. Andrew grins at her, turning on his patented charm.
“Hey there. Can I get a Heineken? Thanks.”
She nods, smiling back at him, and moves off to fill his order. Andrew turns his attention back to the still groggy Emma, who shows visible signs of sleep deprivation.
“Jesus, Em. What happened to you? It looks like you were on an all-night bender, and not the kind that involves ducking law enforcement, pyrotechnics, illegal drinks, and ends with wild, passionate lesbian sex with a supermodel...not that I think you've ever had one of those before...of course, if you have, I'm not judging...”
Emma looks over to him and cocks an eyebrow at this stumbling attempt at a statement or apology. Andrew winces, looking down and shaking his head.
“Digging myself deeper?”
Emma nods, rolling her eyes again and grabbing her drink as she looks back ahead. Andrew smiles and nods to the bartender, pulling out cash to pay for his drink. As he hands it to her, she slips him a small piece of paper. He takes it, unfolding it and grinning to himself as he sees the number written on it. Andrew looks over to Emma, pocketing the paper.
“So what brings you down to the bar? Looks like you're hitting the hard stuff this time. I mean, ginger ale. Wow. Isn't that Joe Ragnal's brain bleach? What sort of madness and depravity would drive a clean-living, honest woman like Emma Danielson to drink...ginger ale?”
Emma groans, shaking her head and knocking back the entire glass of ginger ale. She sighs with relief, speaking to Andrew but still staring into the countertop like it was the most interesting thing in the whole world.
“No more. Please, dear merciful God. No more. If I have to sit through another one of those godawful videos with Newborn, I'm going to lose my mind. All I ask is a little mercy. I'm just asking the big guy upstairs to be nice to me for once. Throw me a freaking bone. I'll do whatever it takes. I promise. Hell, I'll even give up beating the crap out of people with weapons for the rest of my life.”
An uncomfortable pause ensues. It's Andrew's turn to cock a doubtful eyebrow. Emma blushes.
“Okay...six months.”
The eyebrow stays up.
“Three weeks?”
Andrew turns and looks at her, his eyebrow remaining angled at her. Emma looks back at him, stubbornly trying to keep a straight face. He maintains his deadpan look, and Emma starts to tremble. Finally, she throws her hands up in frustration, words exploding out of her, although not loud enough to draw the ire of the bartender.
“Oh, fine. I can't make any of those promises. Just please make it stop! ***damnit, I can't take any more of this! All I hear is the same bullcrap I've had to put up with for ages! “Oh, I'm pretty. I'm better than you, and you're going to be so easy to beat, because I'm totally as good as Zelda.” Take that ***damn argument and shove it so far up your ass you're choking on it, you pathetic little sycophant! Seriously, have we seen anything out of her worth paying attention to? What, like getting eliminated from a battle royal by Rayne was something to be impressed by? Being another body when I demolished Kris Titan was awesome? Okay, so she won a tag match...on the web show. I was competing on the pay-per-view. That's more than she can say. I've been here for the entire time we've had a women's division. I was in the very first women's match. Seeing her come in here and act like she DESERVES the Women's Title...that gets me pissed. More than I usually am. I just want to tear her ***damn head off her shoulders and...and...use it as a football!”
Emma finishes her rant, breathing heavier than she was previously. Andrew looks at her for a moment, processing what she said, and lets out a slow whistle when all is said and done. He reaches over and grabs his drink, taking a sip of his rum and Coke, and leans back as much as a bar stool will allow him to. An attractive young woman down the bar flicks a paper football at AJ, who catches it and unfolds it, grinning as he sees another number. The bartender glares daggers at her as she smirks sweetly.
“Damn. You really needed to get that out there, huh? It makes sense. She seems like an obnoxious little prick, and you...you worked your way to it. You've been here since the beginning, dealing with people who think they're vampires and goddesses and all sorts of other inane bullcrap. If either of you deserves this, it's you. What's more, you're the one that actually won the match to become champion in the first place, so you, in fact, deserve it more still. Add onto that the fact that Trish couldn't buy a win if they were complimentary with her hotel room, and you deserve not only this title, but the win and the credit too. Damn, she's not looking like a good candidate to end your title reign, is she?”
Emma shakes her head, grinning and grabbing her refilled glass. She takes a drink from it, setting it down and looking over to Andrew. The combination of getting to vent her frustrations and hear her friend chop down Newborn seems to have put some energy that wasn't there before in Emma. In the background, the bartender and the other woman are shouting at each other over the bar, pointing down the way at Andrew as they argue. Emma swings her legs around, facing him fully, and brushes some dirt off her shoulder as she speaks.
“No sir, she most definitely is not. I have to have these talks with you more often. You always bring a bizarrely calming yet energizing influence to me. I missed this, man. During rehab, when you were spending all your time with Zelda...I missed being able to just hang out with you and BS around. Like the old days. We'd go over to your house, watch old pay-per-views, make fun of people with stupid haircuts from the early 90s...that was fun. Think we could do something like that sometime soon?”
Andrew shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. In the background, the two women seem to have stopped fighting, and are speaking to each other normally. They begin to lean in closer to each other, and finally leap into a passionate embrace, making out like they've never done so before. Andrew remains completely oblivious to this sight, while Emma's watching with morbid curiosity. The bartender drags the other woman over the counter and down out of sight, but the expression on Emma's face suggests that they haven't stopped. Andrew finally notices, looking behind himself, but sees only empty bar. He looks back to Emma, confused.
“Where did the bartender go? Ah, never mind. I'd love to do that. Maybe we can have a victory celebration after Road to the Gold? Champion and Legend Killer, just you and me?”
Emma just nods numbly, still entranced by the antics behind the bar. Andrew nods enthusiastically, standing up and grabbing his drink. One of the women sticks their head up, but gets pulled back down by a hand for presumably more action. He slugs it all down in one go, smiling at Emma.
“Alright then. I guess I'll talk to you later. Good luck kicking Trish's ass. I'm gonna go check these phone numbers and see if they're legit or if this is going to redirect me to Mr. Happy's voicemail again...bad times.”
Andrew walks off, shaking his head. Emma finally breaks her gaze, looking away and blushing heavily. She grabs her ginger ale and takes a sip of it. The bartender and patron finally stand back up, both with untidy hair and breathing like they'd just run a marathon. The patron meekly hops the bar again and reaches to pay, but the bartender reaches over and stops her, giving her a light peck on the lips and a wave. Emma shakes her head, taking another swig of her drink, and we fade out on one last comment from Emma.
“Man, this place is weird.”
“Go away. I'm tired, and I don't want to join your cult.”
The man responds, immediately making it obvious that it's Andrew Jacobsen just by the voice and tone.
“Come. Join the dark side. We have cookies.”
Emma looks up, rolling her eyes at Andrew before slumping back down again. He pulls her back upright, ignoring her moaned protests, and signals the bartender. The young woman walks over, setting down the glass she was cleaning. Andrew grins at her, turning on his patented charm.
“Hey there. Can I get a Heineken? Thanks.”
She nods, smiling back at him, and moves off to fill his order. Andrew turns his attention back to the still groggy Emma, who shows visible signs of sleep deprivation.
“Jesus, Em. What happened to you? It looks like you were on an all-night bender, and not the kind that involves ducking law enforcement, pyrotechnics, illegal drinks, and ends with wild, passionate lesbian sex with a supermodel...not that I think you've ever had one of those before...of course, if you have, I'm not judging...”
Emma looks over to him and cocks an eyebrow at this stumbling attempt at a statement or apology. Andrew winces, looking down and shaking his head.
“Digging myself deeper?”
Emma nods, rolling her eyes again and grabbing her drink as she looks back ahead. Andrew smiles and nods to the bartender, pulling out cash to pay for his drink. As he hands it to her, she slips him a small piece of paper. He takes it, unfolding it and grinning to himself as he sees the number written on it. Andrew looks over to Emma, pocketing the paper.
“So what brings you down to the bar? Looks like you're hitting the hard stuff this time. I mean, ginger ale. Wow. Isn't that Joe Ragnal's brain bleach? What sort of madness and depravity would drive a clean-living, honest woman like Emma Danielson to drink...ginger ale?”
Emma groans, shaking her head and knocking back the entire glass of ginger ale. She sighs with relief, speaking to Andrew but still staring into the countertop like it was the most interesting thing in the whole world.
“No more. Please, dear merciful God. No more. If I have to sit through another one of those godawful videos with Newborn, I'm going to lose my mind. All I ask is a little mercy. I'm just asking the big guy upstairs to be nice to me for once. Throw me a freaking bone. I'll do whatever it takes. I promise. Hell, I'll even give up beating the crap out of people with weapons for the rest of my life.”
An uncomfortable pause ensues. It's Andrew's turn to cock a doubtful eyebrow. Emma blushes.
“Okay...six months.”
The eyebrow stays up.
“Three weeks?”
Andrew turns and looks at her, his eyebrow remaining angled at her. Emma looks back at him, stubbornly trying to keep a straight face. He maintains his deadpan look, and Emma starts to tremble. Finally, she throws her hands up in frustration, words exploding out of her, although not loud enough to draw the ire of the bartender.
“Oh, fine. I can't make any of those promises. Just please make it stop! ***damnit, I can't take any more of this! All I hear is the same bullcrap I've had to put up with for ages! “Oh, I'm pretty. I'm better than you, and you're going to be so easy to beat, because I'm totally as good as Zelda.” Take that ***damn argument and shove it so far up your ass you're choking on it, you pathetic little sycophant! Seriously, have we seen anything out of her worth paying attention to? What, like getting eliminated from a battle royal by Rayne was something to be impressed by? Being another body when I demolished Kris Titan was awesome? Okay, so she won a tag match...on the web show. I was competing on the pay-per-view. That's more than she can say. I've been here for the entire time we've had a women's division. I was in the very first women's match. Seeing her come in here and act like she DESERVES the Women's Title...that gets me pissed. More than I usually am. I just want to tear her ***damn head off her shoulders and...and...use it as a football!”
Emma finishes her rant, breathing heavier than she was previously. Andrew looks at her for a moment, processing what she said, and lets out a slow whistle when all is said and done. He reaches over and grabs his drink, taking a sip of his rum and Coke, and leans back as much as a bar stool will allow him to. An attractive young woman down the bar flicks a paper football at AJ, who catches it and unfolds it, grinning as he sees another number. The bartender glares daggers at her as she smirks sweetly.
“Damn. You really needed to get that out there, huh? It makes sense. She seems like an obnoxious little prick, and you...you worked your way to it. You've been here since the beginning, dealing with people who think they're vampires and goddesses and all sorts of other inane bullcrap. If either of you deserves this, it's you. What's more, you're the one that actually won the match to become champion in the first place, so you, in fact, deserve it more still. Add onto that the fact that Trish couldn't buy a win if they were complimentary with her hotel room, and you deserve not only this title, but the win and the credit too. Damn, she's not looking like a good candidate to end your title reign, is she?”
Emma shakes her head, grinning and grabbing her refilled glass. She takes a drink from it, setting it down and looking over to Andrew. The combination of getting to vent her frustrations and hear her friend chop down Newborn seems to have put some energy that wasn't there before in Emma. In the background, the bartender and the other woman are shouting at each other over the bar, pointing down the way at Andrew as they argue. Emma swings her legs around, facing him fully, and brushes some dirt off her shoulder as she speaks.
“No sir, she most definitely is not. I have to have these talks with you more often. You always bring a bizarrely calming yet energizing influence to me. I missed this, man. During rehab, when you were spending all your time with Zelda...I missed being able to just hang out with you and BS around. Like the old days. We'd go over to your house, watch old pay-per-views, make fun of people with stupid haircuts from the early 90s...that was fun. Think we could do something like that sometime soon?”
Andrew shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. In the background, the two women seem to have stopped fighting, and are speaking to each other normally. They begin to lean in closer to each other, and finally leap into a passionate embrace, making out like they've never done so before. Andrew remains completely oblivious to this sight, while Emma's watching with morbid curiosity. The bartender drags the other woman over the counter and down out of sight, but the expression on Emma's face suggests that they haven't stopped. Andrew finally notices, looking behind himself, but sees only empty bar. He looks back to Emma, confused.
“Where did the bartender go? Ah, never mind. I'd love to do that. Maybe we can have a victory celebration after Road to the Gold? Champion and Legend Killer, just you and me?”
Emma just nods numbly, still entranced by the antics behind the bar. Andrew nods enthusiastically, standing up and grabbing his drink. One of the women sticks their head up, but gets pulled back down by a hand for presumably more action. He slugs it all down in one go, smiling at Emma.
“Alright then. I guess I'll talk to you later. Good luck kicking Trish's ass. I'm gonna go check these phone numbers and see if they're legit or if this is going to redirect me to Mr. Happy's voicemail again...bad times.”
Andrew walks off, shaking his head. Emma finally breaks her gaze, looking away and blushing heavily. She grabs her ginger ale and takes a sip of it. The bartender and patron finally stand back up, both with untidy hair and breathing like they'd just run a marathon. The patron meekly hops the bar again and reaches to pay, but the bartender reaches over and stops her, giving her a light peck on the lips and a wave. Emma shakes her head, taking another swig of her drink, and we fade out on one last comment from Emma.
“Man, this place is weird.”