Post by Bonnie Blue on Apr 17, 2016 12:32:45 GMT -5
Parting Shots
Gold-tinged, the Eastern sky kindles to fiery morning light. Dawn's rosy fingers caress the carousel shape of Montreal's Maruice Richard Arena, highlighting a solitary figure standing in front of it. Dressed in a button-down white blouse, tied at the midriff, and open just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse within; a pleated plaid skirt that just brushes the tops of her thighs; over the knee white stockings, and knee-high combat boots; her blonde hair bound in twin braids, Bonnie Blue leans on a barbed-wire baseball bat like a cane. Everything in her posture, her expression, radiates supreme confidence. Her smile outshines the morning sun.
Bonnie Blue: Y'all still don't get it. I dunno if'n it's simple ignorance, or willful stupidity, but y'all all seem to believe that Bonnie Blue ain't hardcore.
That somehow, I ain't cut out for a little of the ol' ultraviolence.
The smile dims slightly as she shakes her head.
Bonnie Blue: Whatever. Fuck all y'all. I can't figure out what y'all want from me. So sorry I can't sustain a drug-fueled ramblin' tirade about ... what the fuck ever, I don't even know what the hell that crackhead McMorris is on about. Ever. Last time, I just guessed. It's the same ol' shit everyone else spouts, he just got there first.
I'd lay down some rhymes, but I just ain't feelin' it. Not for some George A. Romero reject who ain't worth nobody's time. Fuck an internet champion. That's not a real title. Inspire me, I might give you what you want.
An' I don't mean this hot piece of ass.
Bonnie's hand sweeps over her slender form, lingering a split-second below the waist, the hint of a smirk on her lips.
Bonnie Blue: Ain't my job to entertain you, ya undead piece of shit. The fans have spoken, an' they love me. You, though -- you're like an overplayed mid-90's Cranberries song of the same name: long since eclipsed by much better music, but worth the occasional nostalgia value.
Very occasional. I'm done with you now. Bye, chump. Let's see, who's next on the list?
The Daughter of Time rubs her chin with her free hand, in an attitude of deep contemplation.
Bonnie Blue: Well, since we're on the subject of lists...
At this point, Don Jesus Luis de Guadalupe walks into the shot, wheeling in a classroom-sized whiteboard. Bonnie takes a marker from him and starts to write -- S - H - A - D - O - W - L - O - V - E. Beneath that, she writes Zombie McMorris. Then Scathe; and so on, until the name of every competitor besides herself is written on the board.
Bonnie Blue: I can make lists. And they're good lists. Great lists! Everyone likes a list. Lists are great!
Now, Bonnie begins to write another list, next to the first. She spells out "Shallowlove," "Zumba McMoron," "Scooby," "Vengie-poo," "Fawkes," "Lustin' 4 Beaver," and, last but not least, "Andre Holmes."
Bonnie Blue: See? Now I don't have to actually say anything of substance about anyone. I'll just say their names over and over again. Maybe... maybe if I'm real ambitious, I could list them in...
She pauses in an overly dramatic fashion.
Bonnie Blue: ALPHABETICAL ORDER!!!
She stares at the camera, wide-eyed with the enormity of such a challenge.
Bonnie Blue: But wait... do I go by first or last name? I guess first, because some people are so very unaccomplished that they only get one name. Except Vengeance, who was once also a Hardcore Champion; he's cool. Not for nothin', but of all y'all fuckwits, he's the one I'd sleep with.
Anyway, back to the list. Because repeating everyone's name ad infinitum is the bestest way to let people know how great you are. Wow. I'm so glad Shallowlove the Halfassed Halfwit came along to show me how I've been doing this promo thing wrong the whole time. You don't have to bother knowin' shit about your opponents, as long as you can say their name. Do you know how much research time that's gonna save me? This is the BEST innovation in professional wrestling EVER!
But y'all know what's even better? Gettin' someone else to do it for ya! Especially if they embody a racist stereotype! Chuy?
He is clad in a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, a black turtleneck, jeans, and thick-rimmed glasses. Chuy clears his throat, glances back at the whiteboard briefly, and begins to recite.
Don Jesus: Bernardo. Bernardo, Bernardo. Bernardo. Bernardo....
He makes a show of turning to look at the board again, adjusting his glasses as he does so.
Don Jesus: Ah, yes. And then Bernardo y Bernardo.
Both of them grin shamelessly at the camera.
Bonnie Blue: How simple was that? Thank you, Shadow, for making this business that much easier on all of us. Now, who's next?
Don Jesus: Um... Bernardo.
Bonnie Blue: Oh, yeah. That guy. Out of a stable of -- what? six? -- active wrestlers, he's seventh in order of importance. That's right. Dustin Beaver is now less relevant than Andre Aquarius. I dunno how that even happens, short of a catastrophic temporal paradox
Ooops. Probably my bad. Time travel, an' all. Real tricky.
Speakin' of tricks... Katherine Phoenix. In the hospital, still more relevant than Dusty. Kidding aside, though, we do all hope she gets better soon. But just in case she doesn't, I'ma send her some folks to keep her comp'ny while she recovers.
Scathe, f'instance. Ooh, boy, you sure lit into ol' Zombo the Clown, didn't ya? You hit him so hard, he's gonna crawl right back into his grave an' cry an' eat ice cream an' watch the Lifetime channel, like the dumb cunt that he is. Props for that.
I feel a teensy li'l bit left out, though.
Bonnie mock-pouts at the camera, and hefts the barbed-wire bat over one shoulder.
Bonnie Blue: You're prob'ly super busy with evil machinations. I get that. So I'll give ya a pass... this time.
Let's see... um. Oh, Vengeance. Right. What can I say? You somehow fail to be an annoying prick. Hmm. Do I make reference to James O'Barr's The Crow, or maybe to Alice Cooper? Meh. I just don't feel like being mean to ya, though. Not outside the ring, anyway.
Don Jesus: Don't forget about Bernardo...
The young woman heaves a sigh.
Bonnie Blue: Do I have to? Ok, fine.
Andre... I know there's a reason you're called "Relentless." I know it damn good an' well. We've been friends, teammates, for months now. We train hard, week in an' week out. We know each other better'n most married couples; our relationship, in some ways, more intimate.
An' I know you think you're a better wrestler than me. You got the advantage in size, in strength, in experience -- that's all true.
But you take me a li'l too lightly for my likin'. While I may be small, I'm anythin' but weak. An' I'm fast -- fast like Jay Garrick, like Barry Allen, like any Flash ...'cept Josephine.
Like the sayin' goes, talk is cheap. When we get in that ring tonight, when it inevitably comes down to you an' me, well... that's when the WCF Galaxy's gonna get a spectacle the likes of which they ain't never seen before.
I know the answer now, Andre, to the question of how far I'm willin' to go for that belt. 'Cause you're right... that is what this business is all about. All the effort; all the sweat an' blood we spill; those long hours at the gym. Gets to a point where the roar of the crowd ain't quite enough. The blazin' lights overhead seem just a little less bright. An' then ya start to question all them highfalutin' notions of honor an' loyalty.
As to the conclusion to which I have arrived... you just gonna have to wait until tonight to find out, sugar.
With a playful wink and a smile at the camera, Bonnie lifts the bat from her shoulder and gives it a few test swings. Then she winds up, adjusts her stance, and ...drives the bat completely through the whiteboard, sending pieces of it flying in every direction. For a moment, she surveys the damage, before walking out of the shot, Chuy right behind. Slowly, the scene fades out.
