Post by Emma Danielson on Jun 30, 2012 2:10:45 GMT -6
”…wait, I’m sorry, run that one by me again. I’m booked…in a match…this week on Trauma. A six-person tag team match…me, Jasmine Barrera and my old friend Ayla St. James against Mercedes Vargas, Jenny “Hype Machine” Williams and Kelly “I Run This Town” Fox? And I’m only being informed of this NOW? Well, great timing, guys. It’s not like you had a whole week to let me know what was going on or something…oh, wait. Well, that shoots that idea to hell. Damn, it’s been a while. Gotta get back in the groove of things…okay, let’s see, where do I start…”
“Jenny Williams is an idiot! There we go, baseless insults that do nothing but attack the other person’s character. Man, that seemed so natural. Okay, time for a little foundation-building. Jenny, you seem to think that you’re the new breed of dominant Starlet…god, that term still sticks in my craw. Yes, you’re screwing Xander. Yes, your brother is a former World Champion. Congratu-frickin’-lations. I especially loved hearing you run down Mercedes Vargas’s run as Starlets Tag Team Champion. Y’know, the woman you’re partnered with. That’s one thing people don’t know how to do: shut their damn mouths before they say something that’s gonna bite them in the ass. Have fun looking over your shoulder the entire match, Jen.”
“You certainly fit in with the Famularo tradition, something which I have no doubt makes you very proud. You’re loud. You’re abrasive. You’re arrogant. You pay zero attention, considering the fact that you were all lovey-dovey besties with Crystal after she, y’know, TRIED TO COST YOU YOUR MATCH AT REBORN. Lord, you’ll fit right in with the Island of Misfit Maniacs. Your fiance’s torpedoing Aly Gardner into turnbuckles, your soon to be father-in-law’s…well, he’s Gib, and that’s all I can say without the FCC trying to fine the pants off me. Kind of comes with the territory of trying to talk about that madman.”
“And you, Jen? You’re convinced you’re the next big thing, the next Starlets phenomenon. That remains to be seen. What I can tell you right now, Lady Dream, is that if you let your guard down against me, even for a second, you’ll be laying on your back before you can get your head out of the clouds. Oh, and, uh…a message to DJ Jazzy Barrera? Don’t you get all mushy if you’re in there with Jenny. I want you laying the smack down like she ran over your dog, understood?”
“Door Two, Mercy Vargas. Mercedes, it’s been a while. Too long, I think. How ya been? Not enjoying everything, I’d imagine. I can sympathize. But while you may not have been on the greatest string of luck lately, at least you’ve been able to show up and try to do something. I’m lucky if I even get my royalty check from the four Emma Danielson T-shirts they sell a week online. Okay, so maybe it’s not that bad, but not getting a match in two months? That just sucks big time. Ironically, my last match, in case you forgot? Against you. How’d that go again?”
“…oh. Right. You getting flipped head over heels with the Brooklyn Hangover and pinned for the three. Hey, as far as I’m concerned, a little bit of history repeating itself wouldn’t be a bad thing this week. Of course, I’m sure you’ve got plenty to say about that. If you do, just feel free to speak up, Sparky. I’m always ready for a good argument. Good arguments usually mean good fights, and a good fight is just what I need to blast the ring rust off.”
“Kelly…yeah, I know better than to try to trash talk you down. Never works, never will. Uh…good luck dealing with the Homeless problem? Yeah, I don’t have a lot to say there other than that I freakin’ hate loopholes. I never thought I’d find the day when I’d be pulling for Kelly Fox, but stranger things have happened. Makes me miserable. But as far as our match goes, you know damn well I’m going to do everything to win. I know you’ll do just the same. Good luck, ‘cause we’re both gonna need it.”
“Oh, and Ayla! Good to see you, couldn’t think of anyone I’d want in my corner more. Let’s go kick some ass and raise some major hell, okay? For old times’ sake. Sound like a plan to you? Thought so.”
“The last thing I need is some drama-filled, hare-brained mess of a match. This is a chance for me to get some solid, legitimate wrestling in, and after a two-month drought, I think nothing would make me happier than getting in a good solid fight and going out afterwards to get totally plastered. If any of you ladies are still standing after this, feel free to join me. I’m buying the first round.”[/i]
Open on Emma staggering into her hotel room, a keycard in one hand, a set of keys to a rental car in the other, and a duffel bag over her shoulder. She tosses the bag onto the bed, dropping face-first next to it and groaning loudly into the mattress. The room phone rings, and Emma grumbles, blindly reaching for it. After a few misses, she rolls over onto her back and grabs the phone, answering with an annoyed expression on her face.
”Yeah?”
The voice on the other end is the sort of overly obsequious voice you’d expect from someone desperate to get on someone else’s good side: slimy, unctuous, and just generally pandering.
”Hello, this is Nathaniel at the front desk. I couldn’t help but notice that you looked very stressed as you checked in, Ms. Danielson. Might I recommend—“
She cuts him off, annoyed.
”Listen, Poindexter, if I want a recommendation from you it’ll be a good bar, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen the inside of a good bar once in your life. Don’t bug me with recommendations on what hotel services I can take advantage of, don’t try to sell me on an on-demand movie, and for the love of Jesus almighty, don’t give me your tips on where I can go to find some fun around town. Oh, and don’t call me unless it’s important, okay? I just got informed I had to be here at the last minute, and I’m just a little pissed.”
All the man on the other end can do is mumble an apology and a confirmation of her orders before hanging up. Emma sighs, opening her bag, and pulls out a bottle of Amstel Light along with a bottle opener. She pops the top off of the beer, immediately slamming back a good third of the bottle in one long swig. She sighs, setting the bottle on the nightstand, and mutters obscenities to herself before moving into a slightly more broadcastable stretch.
”Don’t get a match in months and then out of nowhere with no damn warning I get a match on Trauma? The main event, no less…it’s something, but couldn’t someone tell me what’s going on? I almost feel sorry for the dumb bastards I had to pass on the highway…stuck with a damn Civic…I hate Hertz, I really do…okay, Emma, time to stop talking to yourself and just relax. Big match, lotta pressure, can’t walk in ready to have an aneurysm…oh, that’s a good idea.”
She reaches over and takes the phone off the hook, setting it on the table. Emma grabs the remote, rolling back over with a satisfied grin on her face. She levels the remote at the TV, and speaks a lone word.
”Showtime.”
Emma hits the power button on the remote and we cut to black.
“Jenny Williams is an idiot! There we go, baseless insults that do nothing but attack the other person’s character. Man, that seemed so natural. Okay, time for a little foundation-building. Jenny, you seem to think that you’re the new breed of dominant Starlet…god, that term still sticks in my craw. Yes, you’re screwing Xander. Yes, your brother is a former World Champion. Congratu-frickin’-lations. I especially loved hearing you run down Mercedes Vargas’s run as Starlets Tag Team Champion. Y’know, the woman you’re partnered with. That’s one thing people don’t know how to do: shut their damn mouths before they say something that’s gonna bite them in the ass. Have fun looking over your shoulder the entire match, Jen.”
“You certainly fit in with the Famularo tradition, something which I have no doubt makes you very proud. You’re loud. You’re abrasive. You’re arrogant. You pay zero attention, considering the fact that you were all lovey-dovey besties with Crystal after she, y’know, TRIED TO COST YOU YOUR MATCH AT REBORN. Lord, you’ll fit right in with the Island of Misfit Maniacs. Your fiance’s torpedoing Aly Gardner into turnbuckles, your soon to be father-in-law’s…well, he’s Gib, and that’s all I can say without the FCC trying to fine the pants off me. Kind of comes with the territory of trying to talk about that madman.”
“And you, Jen? You’re convinced you’re the next big thing, the next Starlets phenomenon. That remains to be seen. What I can tell you right now, Lady Dream, is that if you let your guard down against me, even for a second, you’ll be laying on your back before you can get your head out of the clouds. Oh, and, uh…a message to DJ Jazzy Barrera? Don’t you get all mushy if you’re in there with Jenny. I want you laying the smack down like she ran over your dog, understood?”
“Door Two, Mercy Vargas. Mercedes, it’s been a while. Too long, I think. How ya been? Not enjoying everything, I’d imagine. I can sympathize. But while you may not have been on the greatest string of luck lately, at least you’ve been able to show up and try to do something. I’m lucky if I even get my royalty check from the four Emma Danielson T-shirts they sell a week online. Okay, so maybe it’s not that bad, but not getting a match in two months? That just sucks big time. Ironically, my last match, in case you forgot? Against you. How’d that go again?”
“…oh. Right. You getting flipped head over heels with the Brooklyn Hangover and pinned for the three. Hey, as far as I’m concerned, a little bit of history repeating itself wouldn’t be a bad thing this week. Of course, I’m sure you’ve got plenty to say about that. If you do, just feel free to speak up, Sparky. I’m always ready for a good argument. Good arguments usually mean good fights, and a good fight is just what I need to blast the ring rust off.”
“Kelly…yeah, I know better than to try to trash talk you down. Never works, never will. Uh…good luck dealing with the Homeless problem? Yeah, I don’t have a lot to say there other than that I freakin’ hate loopholes. I never thought I’d find the day when I’d be pulling for Kelly Fox, but stranger things have happened. Makes me miserable. But as far as our match goes, you know damn well I’m going to do everything to win. I know you’ll do just the same. Good luck, ‘cause we’re both gonna need it.”
“Oh, and Ayla! Good to see you, couldn’t think of anyone I’d want in my corner more. Let’s go kick some ass and raise some major hell, okay? For old times’ sake. Sound like a plan to you? Thought so.”
“The last thing I need is some drama-filled, hare-brained mess of a match. This is a chance for me to get some solid, legitimate wrestling in, and after a two-month drought, I think nothing would make me happier than getting in a good solid fight and going out afterwards to get totally plastered. If any of you ladies are still standing after this, feel free to join me. I’m buying the first round.”[/i]
Open on Emma staggering into her hotel room, a keycard in one hand, a set of keys to a rental car in the other, and a duffel bag over her shoulder. She tosses the bag onto the bed, dropping face-first next to it and groaning loudly into the mattress. The room phone rings, and Emma grumbles, blindly reaching for it. After a few misses, she rolls over onto her back and grabs the phone, answering with an annoyed expression on her face.
”Yeah?”
The voice on the other end is the sort of overly obsequious voice you’d expect from someone desperate to get on someone else’s good side: slimy, unctuous, and just generally pandering.
”Hello, this is Nathaniel at the front desk. I couldn’t help but notice that you looked very stressed as you checked in, Ms. Danielson. Might I recommend—“
She cuts him off, annoyed.
”Listen, Poindexter, if I want a recommendation from you it’ll be a good bar, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen the inside of a good bar once in your life. Don’t bug me with recommendations on what hotel services I can take advantage of, don’t try to sell me on an on-demand movie, and for the love of Jesus almighty, don’t give me your tips on where I can go to find some fun around town. Oh, and don’t call me unless it’s important, okay? I just got informed I had to be here at the last minute, and I’m just a little pissed.”
All the man on the other end can do is mumble an apology and a confirmation of her orders before hanging up. Emma sighs, opening her bag, and pulls out a bottle of Amstel Light along with a bottle opener. She pops the top off of the beer, immediately slamming back a good third of the bottle in one long swig. She sighs, setting the bottle on the nightstand, and mutters obscenities to herself before moving into a slightly more broadcastable stretch.
”Don’t get a match in months and then out of nowhere with no damn warning I get a match on Trauma? The main event, no less…it’s something, but couldn’t someone tell me what’s going on? I almost feel sorry for the dumb bastards I had to pass on the highway…stuck with a damn Civic…I hate Hertz, I really do…okay, Emma, time to stop talking to yourself and just relax. Big match, lotta pressure, can’t walk in ready to have an aneurysm…oh, that’s a good idea.”
She reaches over and takes the phone off the hook, setting it on the table. Emma grabs the remote, rolling back over with a satisfied grin on her face. She levels the remote at the TV, and speaks a lone word.
”Showtime.”
Emma hits the power button on the remote and we cut to black.