Post by Bonnie Blue on May 1, 2016 13:32:31 GMT -5
Silence dominates the wide and empty halls of Nikola Tesla's vast laboratory, broken only by the occasional scuff of a Converse sole against the crystalline floor as Bonnie Blue paces back and forth in front of the doors to a makeshift operating room. She'd been shooed away by Tesla himself less than ten minutes ago, but already she grows impatient. That Time seems only tangentially relevant in this place is, to her mind, of secondary consideration. She wants her friend; whole, healthy, and ready to fight.
Bonnie Blue: This should never have happened. Not to DeMarcus. If Rabid wanted to confront me, there were simpler ways. I coulda understood outright assaultin' me, for whatever obscure reason. Orderin' a potentially career-endin' attack on my friend, just to lure me into an ambush -- that's unforgiveable. An' we gonna settle up one day. But since Mr. Lerch seems reluctant to let me seek justice directly, I'll have to made do with a proxy.
The young blonde looks up at a small drone camera hovering nearby, streaming the video to WCF.com via a transdimensional relay.
Bonnie Blue: Startin' with you, Mr. Kemp. I reckon I got a pretty good idea what you're thinkin' about li'l ol' me. Perhaps that I'm a waste of your valuable time; you've already beaten Grayson Pierce, an' he's a far more accomplished competitor than I. Not to mention the fact that he's wearin' one of them tag titles, an' you ain't no more. But that ain't really relevant to the situation in which we find ourselves this week, is it?
Then again, does it matter what I say? You ain't got enough respect for me as a wrestler to spend any time gettin' to know what I may or may not be capable of. You ain't even gonna watch this promo. So you're gonna miss it when I tell ya that my entire plan involves makin' an example outta you -- an' your worthless partners.
Looks to me like team #RebelScum is stuck with the two members of Beach Crew who have been surpassed in both importance an' ability by Andre Aquarius, of all people. That guy was a joke less than a month ago; now the court jester has become the heir apparent. An' where does that leave you, Mr. Kemp? Nothin' but a disgraced former champion. A champion who spend his entire tag title reign bein' carried by an obviously superior partner. The same partner who refuses to face me one-on-one; without havin' the advantage of, say, slippin' me a roofie beforehand. So what does that say about you, Kyle?
A subtle smirk plays at the corner of Bonnie's lips.
Bonnie Blue: Now we go from the Pete Rose of your generation to... well, I don't rightly know what you call a man who goes from being a successful Hollywood actor, to a less-successful Hollywood actor, to an even-less-successful professional wrestler. Other than John Gable. I mean, the fact that you immediately hitched your wagon to Beach Crew speaks volumes about your character, sir -- an' none of it good. Outside of that, I got no personal beef with ya... but as a member of Beach Crew, that's really all the excuse I need. Don't blame me for what happens in that ring tonight.
The responsibility for the ass-whoopin' you're about to receive, Mr. Gable, is squarely at the feet of Johnny Rabid; an' to varyin' degrees, Jared Holmes, Wade Moor, an' Dustin Beaver. But mostly him... the Serpent... the master of deceit... I don't expect he'll have much sympathy for ya, but that ain't the point. The point is to send a message. A warnin' shot, if ya will; right across the bow.
Tonight's our chance, mine an' DeMarcus', to get a little bit of payback for what Beach Crew has put both of us through. Our chance to prove ourselves worthy members of Rebellution. Our chance to shine under the spotlight of the Trios Tournament.
It is my great honor, my privilege, to stand shoulder to shoulder with these men -- DeMarcus Jordan an' Jay Omega -- against these lesser representatives of Beach Crew. Y'all are probably wonderin' how it's possible, bein' as Wade an' Dustin shattered DeMarcus' knee; he had weeks yet to go in physical therapy, an' whether he'd ever again be cleared to step into a WCF ring -- well, that might've been a foregone conclusion.
But... we can rebuild him. Make him stronger.
Bonnie gestures at the set of double doors behind her.
Bonnie Blue: There are advantages to havin' a friend like Mr. Tesla.
From the makeshift operating theater behind her, there is a sudden commotion; raised voices and the sound of stainless steel clanging to the floor. She smiles at the camera.
Bonnie Blue: Sounds like our patient's awake, so I'm gonna have to cut this short, fellas. I look forward to our rendezvous tonight, gentlemen. And while I'd like to say it ain't personal... it is. It really is. Y'all have run roughshod over this fine organization for long enough. I'll tear ya all down singlehanded, if I have to -- an' be damned sure I'm gonna enjoy every second of it.
We are the time-rendin', reality-bendin', an' always trendin'.... team #RebelScum -- an' tonight marks the beginnin' of the end for Beach Crew.
Bonnie points a small device at the camera, and the screen goes black.
Bonnie Blue: This should never have happened. Not to DeMarcus. If Rabid wanted to confront me, there were simpler ways. I coulda understood outright assaultin' me, for whatever obscure reason. Orderin' a potentially career-endin' attack on my friend, just to lure me into an ambush -- that's unforgiveable. An' we gonna settle up one day. But since Mr. Lerch seems reluctant to let me seek justice directly, I'll have to made do with a proxy.
The young blonde looks up at a small drone camera hovering nearby, streaming the video to WCF.com via a transdimensional relay.
Bonnie Blue: Startin' with you, Mr. Kemp. I reckon I got a pretty good idea what you're thinkin' about li'l ol' me. Perhaps that I'm a waste of your valuable time; you've already beaten Grayson Pierce, an' he's a far more accomplished competitor than I. Not to mention the fact that he's wearin' one of them tag titles, an' you ain't no more. But that ain't really relevant to the situation in which we find ourselves this week, is it?
Then again, does it matter what I say? You ain't got enough respect for me as a wrestler to spend any time gettin' to know what I may or may not be capable of. You ain't even gonna watch this promo. So you're gonna miss it when I tell ya that my entire plan involves makin' an example outta you -- an' your worthless partners.
Looks to me like team #RebelScum is stuck with the two members of Beach Crew who have been surpassed in both importance an' ability by Andre Aquarius, of all people. That guy was a joke less than a month ago; now the court jester has become the heir apparent. An' where does that leave you, Mr. Kemp? Nothin' but a disgraced former champion. A champion who spend his entire tag title reign bein' carried by an obviously superior partner. The same partner who refuses to face me one-on-one; without havin' the advantage of, say, slippin' me a roofie beforehand. So what does that say about you, Kyle?
A subtle smirk plays at the corner of Bonnie's lips.
Bonnie Blue: Now we go from the Pete Rose of your generation to... well, I don't rightly know what you call a man who goes from being a successful Hollywood actor, to a less-successful Hollywood actor, to an even-less-successful professional wrestler. Other than John Gable. I mean, the fact that you immediately hitched your wagon to Beach Crew speaks volumes about your character, sir -- an' none of it good. Outside of that, I got no personal beef with ya... but as a member of Beach Crew, that's really all the excuse I need. Don't blame me for what happens in that ring tonight.
The responsibility for the ass-whoopin' you're about to receive, Mr. Gable, is squarely at the feet of Johnny Rabid; an' to varyin' degrees, Jared Holmes, Wade Moor, an' Dustin Beaver. But mostly him... the Serpent... the master of deceit... I don't expect he'll have much sympathy for ya, but that ain't the point. The point is to send a message. A warnin' shot, if ya will; right across the bow.
Tonight's our chance, mine an' DeMarcus', to get a little bit of payback for what Beach Crew has put both of us through. Our chance to prove ourselves worthy members of Rebellution. Our chance to shine under the spotlight of the Trios Tournament.
It is my great honor, my privilege, to stand shoulder to shoulder with these men -- DeMarcus Jordan an' Jay Omega -- against these lesser representatives of Beach Crew. Y'all are probably wonderin' how it's possible, bein' as Wade an' Dustin shattered DeMarcus' knee; he had weeks yet to go in physical therapy, an' whether he'd ever again be cleared to step into a WCF ring -- well, that might've been a foregone conclusion.
But... we can rebuild him. Make him stronger.
Bonnie gestures at the set of double doors behind her.
Bonnie Blue: There are advantages to havin' a friend like Mr. Tesla.
From the makeshift operating theater behind her, there is a sudden commotion; raised voices and the sound of stainless steel clanging to the floor. She smiles at the camera.
Bonnie Blue: Sounds like our patient's awake, so I'm gonna have to cut this short, fellas. I look forward to our rendezvous tonight, gentlemen. And while I'd like to say it ain't personal... it is. It really is. Y'all have run roughshod over this fine organization for long enough. I'll tear ya all down singlehanded, if I have to -- an' be damned sure I'm gonna enjoy every second of it.
We are the time-rendin', reality-bendin', an' always trendin'.... team #RebelScum -- an' tonight marks the beginnin' of the end for Beach Crew.
Bonnie points a small device at the camera, and the screen goes black.
