Post by Emma Danielson on Sept 6, 2012 20:56:49 GMT -6
”Is this all a joke to you?”
“No, really. I need to know. Is everything about this a ****ing joke? You think you can laugh off everything, try to make me the bad person here? I was trying to be light-hearted. You honestly think I’d say something bland and templated if I wasn’t? I literally say ‘insert insult here’, and you decide to mock me? You think I haven’t heard enough of that **** in my life? I have spent YEARS getting mocked for how I look by women whose boots you aren’t fit to shine, so forgive me if some bitch who hasn’t been here for a cup of coffee digging into that well doesn’t provoke me just the tiniest bit.”
“This ain’t just a small comment. You might have thought you were poking harmless fun at me, but if you want to know what sort of bull**** you’re following in the steps of, look up absolutely anything Zelda Knite has ever said about me. I’ll be the first to tell you I’m not a model, but I never considered myself ugly. But oh no, high and mother****ING MIGHTY Zelda decided that I was an ogre, and she seemed to think it was the ****in’ funniest thing she’d ever heard.”
“So she repeated it, and repeated it, and drilled the message into the heads of anyone who had ears: Emma Danielson was a smelly, angry, repulsive ogre-slash-troll who lived under bridges and throttled cute little princesses because she’s always going to be jealous and miserable. And that cry got taken up. I could never get beyond that with so many people, because they blindly followed in ****ing LOCKSTEP with her. You opened your mouth, and your ignorance led you right down that road.”
“I hate Twitter, you know. I absolutely ****ing despise it. Because stupid **** like this happens. I wanted to wrestle you, because I wanted to see what you had. And you know what? I’m still looking forward to this match. Not just because I get to perform what amounts to a legalized mugging, but because I have a sneaking feeling you’re a lot better than I was giving you credit for. No matter what I say, you’re married to a former World Champion, and if he’s helping you train, then I can’t take anything away from that. No shame in training. And hell, no shame in coming in that way.”
“Do you know what my original contract with nCw was? A managerial one. I signed up to help out my friend, because I wanted to be around the business, even if I couldn’t wrestle. I was healing up a back injury, didn’t know if I had what it took…but not a week later, nCw announces the formation of its Women’s Division. I converted that contract on the spot, but if it hadn’t happened I would have stuck around anyway. See, here’s a secret: I’m not in this because I get some kick out of dominating smaller women. I don’t want to go to MMA, because that’s not what I love. I love wrestling. Always have. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a dozen times: if I have to throw myself through a table in front of a dozen people in a high school gym to wrestle, I will, because I love this business that damn much.”
“I can’t believe how full of **** you are, really. You talk about being this sweet, cheery, happy person, and then you turn around and act like a complete passive-aggressive bitch. I’m a pretty friendly person too, if you’re not insulting me and rubbing salt in a fifteen-year-old wound. I’m in this because I love wrestling, and I love competition, and I’m sick of seeing people who want to compete getting reduced to sideshow attractions. Aly? She’s irate. This isn’t how any of us wanted the first all-female nCw main event to go…calling it a wrestling match is a mockery.”
“You think you can lecture me on my problems? You think you can write off me, Ayla and Alysson as needing crutches to deal with our problems? There’s nothing wrong with having people to turn to in times of need. Yeah, you gotta find something within. But sometimes, it helps to be able to know that there are those who care about you. Ears willing to listen and not to judge, hell, even a shoulder to cry on in dire times. If you think any of us are just here to do the bidding of the others, you don’t know a damn thing about us. See, this isn’t about wrestlers and Starlets. It’s about seeing people who care about wrestling get the chance to do just that: wrestle. I don’t care if it’s you or Crystal or Amy mothereffin’ Marshall, if you’ve got a passion for this business I want you here. In short: **** you, you judgmental bitch.”
“You can try to hide behind this cutesy ‘friendly girl’ image, but I’ve seen that underneath all of that you can be just as much of a bitch as I can. If that’s how you want to play, fine. I guess I’ll be giving you a learning experience of a completely different kind: there are some lines you never cross. You found one of them. Now you get to know what happens when you make that mistake. Say your prayers.”[/i]
We open on Emma Danielson standing in front of a punching bag in the exercise room of the hotel nCw’s booked up its competitors in, boxing gloves on. She’s laying into it with heavy haymakers as the bag comes swinging back after each shot, punctuating her statements with growled insults, which presumably can only be directed at one person.
”Ignorant—“
WHAM!
”Vapid—“
WHAM!
”Arrogant—“
WHAM!
”S***HEAD!”
POW! Another huge right, and Emma sighs, yanking the gloves off and throwing them aside. She walks over to the wall of the gym, leaning against it, and picks up a bottle of water from the floor. Emma takes a drink from the bottle, and she is about to turn around and put back on the gloves when a familiar male voice interrupts her actions.
”Something told me you’d be here…just a hunch, I guess.”
Emma turns to see Andrew Jacobsen standing in the doorway, fully street clothed with that ubiquitous smirk on his face. He begins walking over, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand.
”Let me guess: couldn’t sleep. Your little Twitter spat with Nina got you worked up, and once you saw what she said you were in the mood to rip someone’s head off. You didn’t want to seem like a hypocrite after your little intervention with Aly last week, so in lieu of that you decided to head down here and engage in a more socially acceptable expression of murderous intent. Am I right?”
Emma opens her mouth to protest, but she hangs her head, nodding at this succinct deconstruction of her purpose. Andrew chuckles, walking over and putting his arm around Emma’s shoulders.
”Em, she had no way of knowing. Yeah, she was rude, but you took it way harder than you should have…I’m…I’m honestly wondering if this whole ‘new BWA’ thing was a good idea.”
She looks over, glaring at him.
”Why’s that, Andy? You know the three of us are going to fight whether we’re a group or not. Why not do it with friends?”
Andrew sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and walks over to a weightlifting bench with her, sitting down. He looks over, concern written across his face.
”You damn near ripped her head off over a freakin’ Twitter comment. That’s not you. The Emma I know would have just shrugged it off if not replying with a joke of her own. You’re living in an echo chamber, Emma. The anger, the indignation, it bounces back and forth until it’s all you can hear…and that idea that your personality, who you are…the thought that all of it might get overshadowed by anger…it scares me. I don’t want to lose my best friend to this.”
Emma shakes her head, brushing Andrew’s arm off. She stands back up, looking back at him before looking away shamefacedly.
”Andrew, it’s not just about the cracks about me. She talks about us being ratings poison, and…she’s not all wrong. They…they drew more viewers than us. Megan’s little bikini stunt got more publicity than anything we’ve done. I don’t know how to argue against that…”
Andrew pauses, shaking his head slowly.
”Ratings? Press? You mean a difference of a few ten thousand viewers and an article on TMZ are going to break your will? Where’s the Emma Danielson that wouldn’t stop fighting against Zelda Knite even if it killed her? Where’s the woman that blazed through PT from a car crash like it was another day at the office? Where’s the woman that I spent nights upon nights watching wrestling tapes with in high school?”
He stands up, getting in Emma’s face, and grabs her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
”***damnit, who are you and what the HELL have you done with Emma Danielson?”
Emma shoves his hand off again, eyes lighting up. Andrew smirks, nodding, and takes a step back.
”I don’t want to see you miserable. So stop acting like nobody cares. Alysson cares about you. Ayla cares about you. Mom and Dad, your dad, Rick, Cassandra and Callie, they all care about you. Dammit, I care about you. You think that a few cocky cracks from Brad Kane’s wife on Twitter wash that all away? No. We’re stronger than that. YOU’RE stronger than that. I’ve known you a long time…I don’t care how much you can bench-press, your real strength’s in here.”
He reaches out, lightly tapping her sternum with a knuckle. Andrew smiles at Emma, who returns it with a slight grin. Andrew’s grin grows wider at this.
”Attagirl. So, here’s MY dilemma: I’ve got a mini-fridge full of Coke, a huge backlog of lucha libre to get through, and nobody to watch and do commentary with me. How the hell am I going to solve that dilemma?”
He ponders, clearly ignoring the obvious. Emma can’t help but laugh at this display of grandiosity by Andrew, and she reaches out, pulling him into a hug. Andrew hugs her back, smiling, and Emma pulls back, arms around his neck. After half a second, they realize the position they’re in, and Emma pulls her hands back, still smiling, but her cheeks are flushed a light pink.
”If that’s an invitation to waste our night watching luchadores flying around the ring and acting like soccer announcers while riding a sugar high, then consider it accepted. Just let me get a little cleaned up first.”
Andrew grins, handing her a room key.
”322. Don’t be too long, I might get started without ya.”
Emma rolls her eyes, punching Andrew in the shoulder, and he chuckles, turning and waving as he leaves the gym. Emma watches him go, smile slowly fading, and she sighs before turning and walking to where she left her water bottle as we fade to black.
“No, really. I need to know. Is everything about this a ****ing joke? You think you can laugh off everything, try to make me the bad person here? I was trying to be light-hearted. You honestly think I’d say something bland and templated if I wasn’t? I literally say ‘insert insult here’, and you decide to mock me? You think I haven’t heard enough of that **** in my life? I have spent YEARS getting mocked for how I look by women whose boots you aren’t fit to shine, so forgive me if some bitch who hasn’t been here for a cup of coffee digging into that well doesn’t provoke me just the tiniest bit.”
“This ain’t just a small comment. You might have thought you were poking harmless fun at me, but if you want to know what sort of bull**** you’re following in the steps of, look up absolutely anything Zelda Knite has ever said about me. I’ll be the first to tell you I’m not a model, but I never considered myself ugly. But oh no, high and mother****ING MIGHTY Zelda decided that I was an ogre, and she seemed to think it was the ****in’ funniest thing she’d ever heard.”
“So she repeated it, and repeated it, and drilled the message into the heads of anyone who had ears: Emma Danielson was a smelly, angry, repulsive ogre-slash-troll who lived under bridges and throttled cute little princesses because she’s always going to be jealous and miserable. And that cry got taken up. I could never get beyond that with so many people, because they blindly followed in ****ing LOCKSTEP with her. You opened your mouth, and your ignorance led you right down that road.”
“I hate Twitter, you know. I absolutely ****ing despise it. Because stupid **** like this happens. I wanted to wrestle you, because I wanted to see what you had. And you know what? I’m still looking forward to this match. Not just because I get to perform what amounts to a legalized mugging, but because I have a sneaking feeling you’re a lot better than I was giving you credit for. No matter what I say, you’re married to a former World Champion, and if he’s helping you train, then I can’t take anything away from that. No shame in training. And hell, no shame in coming in that way.”
“Do you know what my original contract with nCw was? A managerial one. I signed up to help out my friend, because I wanted to be around the business, even if I couldn’t wrestle. I was healing up a back injury, didn’t know if I had what it took…but not a week later, nCw announces the formation of its Women’s Division. I converted that contract on the spot, but if it hadn’t happened I would have stuck around anyway. See, here’s a secret: I’m not in this because I get some kick out of dominating smaller women. I don’t want to go to MMA, because that’s not what I love. I love wrestling. Always have. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a dozen times: if I have to throw myself through a table in front of a dozen people in a high school gym to wrestle, I will, because I love this business that damn much.”
“I can’t believe how full of **** you are, really. You talk about being this sweet, cheery, happy person, and then you turn around and act like a complete passive-aggressive bitch. I’m a pretty friendly person too, if you’re not insulting me and rubbing salt in a fifteen-year-old wound. I’m in this because I love wrestling, and I love competition, and I’m sick of seeing people who want to compete getting reduced to sideshow attractions. Aly? She’s irate. This isn’t how any of us wanted the first all-female nCw main event to go…calling it a wrestling match is a mockery.”
“You think you can lecture me on my problems? You think you can write off me, Ayla and Alysson as needing crutches to deal with our problems? There’s nothing wrong with having people to turn to in times of need. Yeah, you gotta find something within. But sometimes, it helps to be able to know that there are those who care about you. Ears willing to listen and not to judge, hell, even a shoulder to cry on in dire times. If you think any of us are just here to do the bidding of the others, you don’t know a damn thing about us. See, this isn’t about wrestlers and Starlets. It’s about seeing people who care about wrestling get the chance to do just that: wrestle. I don’t care if it’s you or Crystal or Amy mothereffin’ Marshall, if you’ve got a passion for this business I want you here. In short: **** you, you judgmental bitch.”
“You can try to hide behind this cutesy ‘friendly girl’ image, but I’ve seen that underneath all of that you can be just as much of a bitch as I can. If that’s how you want to play, fine. I guess I’ll be giving you a learning experience of a completely different kind: there are some lines you never cross. You found one of them. Now you get to know what happens when you make that mistake. Say your prayers.”[/i]
We open on Emma Danielson standing in front of a punching bag in the exercise room of the hotel nCw’s booked up its competitors in, boxing gloves on. She’s laying into it with heavy haymakers as the bag comes swinging back after each shot, punctuating her statements with growled insults, which presumably can only be directed at one person.
”Ignorant—“
WHAM!
”Vapid—“
WHAM!
”Arrogant—“
WHAM!
”S***HEAD!”
POW! Another huge right, and Emma sighs, yanking the gloves off and throwing them aside. She walks over to the wall of the gym, leaning against it, and picks up a bottle of water from the floor. Emma takes a drink from the bottle, and she is about to turn around and put back on the gloves when a familiar male voice interrupts her actions.
”Something told me you’d be here…just a hunch, I guess.”
Emma turns to see Andrew Jacobsen standing in the doorway, fully street clothed with that ubiquitous smirk on his face. He begins walking over, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand.
”Let me guess: couldn’t sleep. Your little Twitter spat with Nina got you worked up, and once you saw what she said you were in the mood to rip someone’s head off. You didn’t want to seem like a hypocrite after your little intervention with Aly last week, so in lieu of that you decided to head down here and engage in a more socially acceptable expression of murderous intent. Am I right?”
Emma opens her mouth to protest, but she hangs her head, nodding at this succinct deconstruction of her purpose. Andrew chuckles, walking over and putting his arm around Emma’s shoulders.
”Em, she had no way of knowing. Yeah, she was rude, but you took it way harder than you should have…I’m…I’m honestly wondering if this whole ‘new BWA’ thing was a good idea.”
She looks over, glaring at him.
”Why’s that, Andy? You know the three of us are going to fight whether we’re a group or not. Why not do it with friends?”
Andrew sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and walks over to a weightlifting bench with her, sitting down. He looks over, concern written across his face.
”You damn near ripped her head off over a freakin’ Twitter comment. That’s not you. The Emma I know would have just shrugged it off if not replying with a joke of her own. You’re living in an echo chamber, Emma. The anger, the indignation, it bounces back and forth until it’s all you can hear…and that idea that your personality, who you are…the thought that all of it might get overshadowed by anger…it scares me. I don’t want to lose my best friend to this.”
Emma shakes her head, brushing Andrew’s arm off. She stands back up, looking back at him before looking away shamefacedly.
”Andrew, it’s not just about the cracks about me. She talks about us being ratings poison, and…she’s not all wrong. They…they drew more viewers than us. Megan’s little bikini stunt got more publicity than anything we’ve done. I don’t know how to argue against that…”
Andrew pauses, shaking his head slowly.
”Ratings? Press? You mean a difference of a few ten thousand viewers and an article on TMZ are going to break your will? Where’s the Emma Danielson that wouldn’t stop fighting against Zelda Knite even if it killed her? Where’s the woman that blazed through PT from a car crash like it was another day at the office? Where’s the woman that I spent nights upon nights watching wrestling tapes with in high school?”
He stands up, getting in Emma’s face, and grabs her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
”***damnit, who are you and what the HELL have you done with Emma Danielson?”
Emma shoves his hand off again, eyes lighting up. Andrew smirks, nodding, and takes a step back.
”I don’t want to see you miserable. So stop acting like nobody cares. Alysson cares about you. Ayla cares about you. Mom and Dad, your dad, Rick, Cassandra and Callie, they all care about you. Dammit, I care about you. You think that a few cocky cracks from Brad Kane’s wife on Twitter wash that all away? No. We’re stronger than that. YOU’RE stronger than that. I’ve known you a long time…I don’t care how much you can bench-press, your real strength’s in here.”
He reaches out, lightly tapping her sternum with a knuckle. Andrew smiles at Emma, who returns it with a slight grin. Andrew’s grin grows wider at this.
”Attagirl. So, here’s MY dilemma: I’ve got a mini-fridge full of Coke, a huge backlog of lucha libre to get through, and nobody to watch and do commentary with me. How the hell am I going to solve that dilemma?”
He ponders, clearly ignoring the obvious. Emma can’t help but laugh at this display of grandiosity by Andrew, and she reaches out, pulling him into a hug. Andrew hugs her back, smiling, and Emma pulls back, arms around his neck. After half a second, they realize the position they’re in, and Emma pulls her hands back, still smiling, but her cheeks are flushed a light pink.
”If that’s an invitation to waste our night watching luchadores flying around the ring and acting like soccer announcers while riding a sugar high, then consider it accepted. Just let me get a little cleaned up first.”
Andrew grins, handing her a room key.
”322. Don’t be too long, I might get started without ya.”
Emma rolls her eyes, punching Andrew in the shoulder, and he chuckles, turning and waving as he leaves the gym. Emma watches him go, smile slowly fading, and she sighs before turning and walking to where she left her water bottle as we fade to black.