Post by Charity Crowne on Jul 3, 2017 4:56:41 GMT
"I don't want to look."
We open on an iPhone recording, broadcasting a Snapchat story from inside an unfamiliar apartment. A familiar head and form are turned away from the camera, tucked into a corner, and Charity Crowne's voice has just come from it. Another voice, posh and bubbly, comes from behind the camera. "Chare, come on. You've been avoiding reflective surfaces for weeks. Ever since...y'know. You've got to look at some point. I promise it's not a problem."
Charity shakes her head, head tucked down firmly as she pulls her knees closer to her chest. "No. Can't make me. Shan't." she huffs. "Tabs, I...thank you. I'm glad you've been here, I'm glad you've let me crash with you, but no. I don't want to see what that bitch did to me. I don't want to." She tucks herself into a tighter ball. "I can live without looking at it."
The camera's holder sighs, walking over and grabbing Charity's shoulder. She pulls Charity slowly up to her feet, Charity struggling every inch of the way. "No. You're not gonna hide. You know why? Because you can't. You can't, because that lets her win. You wanna let Rowan win, Chare? You wanna let that facemasked freak have the last laugh? Nuh-uh." She begins to walk towards what appears to be a bathroom, feet falling purposefully.
Charity staggers to her feet, still hiding her face from the camera, and whines in protest as she's dragged along. "Tabitha, I told you once and I'll tell you a thousand bloody times: I don't have to deal with reality, I'm rich. If the sodding President of the United States doesn't have to, neither do I!" she struggles as she's dragged into the bathroom, grabbing at the doorframe before she's hauled inside.
Tabitha shakes her head, pointing the camera at the mirror. In the reflection, we see Charity struggling to remain hidden, Tabitha holding her by the collar of the hoodie she's wearing. "Chare. I'm not letting go until you look up. And none of this eyes closed nonsense. You're going to look yourself in the mirror, for your own good. Understood?" Charity lets out a mumbling whimper of acknowledgement, and Tabitha reaches over, tipping her chin up slowly.
As Charity's gaze rises to meet her reflection in the mirror, her eyes widen as she sees...herself. Exactly as she had been. No scars are visible, no lasting marks, nothing that would show the outside observer that she had changed at all. Tabitha leans over her shoulder, speaking quietly into her ear. "Now. I want you to tell me what you see in the mirror, Chare."
Charity pauses, swallowing nervously. "...I see myself." she replies shakily.
Tabitha shakes her head, taking Charity's hand and squeezing it. "Right. You know what I see? I see Charity bloody Crowne. I see the woman who waltzed into a gaggle of the biggest and nastiest women in wrestling, and handed them all their arses on a platter." Tabitha grins. "Let's have another go. What do you see?"
Charity nods, voice growing in confidence as she looks at herself in the mirror. "I see Charity Crowne. I see the Diamond in the Rough. I see..." A twinkle flashes in her eyes. "I see the Heiress to the Throne."
Tabitha pumps her fist in triumph. "YES! See? I told you you were alright. And to prove it, I've got the whole thing on Snapchat. Flawleeesss!" Charity pauses mid-grin, eyes hardening for a moment, and she spins to lunge after Tabitha. Tabitha laughs, dropping her phone on the counter, and we fade to black on the sound of the two women fighting in the background, mixed with a sound we haven't heard from Charity in a while...laughter.
No. No, no, sodding no. D'you think this is funny? Are you having a laugh? I heroically come back from a savaging at the hands of that brute Rowan MacDonnough which would have ended the career of any other, lesser Diamond in an instant—oh hello there, Patricia Powers, didn't see you over there on injured reserve—and the thanks I get for coming back to save them from their doldrums, for coming back to assume my rightful mantle as Heiress to the Throne, is to be fed to the Norwegian Numpty herself, Astrid Hall? You're joking.
...you're not joking. Dammit.
Alright. Well, once more unto the breach. Astrid, I remember you. You're a tough one. Tough like a slab of granite. About as interesting as one too. I have no idea why they let a giant who thinks Renaissance Festivals are a good time into this company, but whatever. They have no admissions standards in this company. I had to accept that a long time ago. What I don't have to accept is the idea that anyone writes my path but me. I'm Charity Crowne, dammit. I'm the Diamond in the Rough...and if it takes me reminding everyone else in this company what that means, I'll gladly do it.
Astrid, it doesn't matter that you're taller than is really reasonable and so muscular your abs have abs. It doesn't matter that you've got all this sound and fury at your back, and it doesn't matter that you're crazy enough to ask Maxine Valentine to go to bloody war with you. You can ask her yourself: the Diamond Cutter is one size fits all, and that means it'll fit you. They'll have to haul your arse off to Valhalla when I'm done with you, because I'm going to make sure you fall in battle.
That's what you want, right? Live fast, die glorious, leave a messy corpse? Now, I'm not the kind of freak that'll do the last thing, but I can make sure this is fast, and I can make sure you go down in glory. I've had harder than you and I haven't cracked. But...I will say one nice thing about you. Be sure to remember it, 'cause I won't say it twice: you're tough. You survived that psycho bitch Rowan trying to put you out of action, and here you are. Back at it.
Here WE are, really. If there's one thing we agree on, Astrid—and there may only ever BE one thing we agree on—it's that we're not letting that phantasmal freak own us. I'm the bloody Crowne Jewel of the Diamonds Division. I've won one of these tournaments this year, there's no damn reason I can't win another. First step is you, Astrid. I'm going to climb you like the mountain you are, and when I summit you and I stand atop you victorious, you'll know who the real royal is here. You may be a warrior...but even someone like you has to bow down to the queen.
Cheers!
We open on an iPhone recording, broadcasting a Snapchat story from inside an unfamiliar apartment. A familiar head and form are turned away from the camera, tucked into a corner, and Charity Crowne's voice has just come from it. Another voice, posh and bubbly, comes from behind the camera. "Chare, come on. You've been avoiding reflective surfaces for weeks. Ever since...y'know. You've got to look at some point. I promise it's not a problem."
Charity shakes her head, head tucked down firmly as she pulls her knees closer to her chest. "No. Can't make me. Shan't." she huffs. "Tabs, I...thank you. I'm glad you've been here, I'm glad you've let me crash with you, but no. I don't want to see what that bitch did to me. I don't want to." She tucks herself into a tighter ball. "I can live without looking at it."
The camera's holder sighs, walking over and grabbing Charity's shoulder. She pulls Charity slowly up to her feet, Charity struggling every inch of the way. "No. You're not gonna hide. You know why? Because you can't. You can't, because that lets her win. You wanna let Rowan win, Chare? You wanna let that facemasked freak have the last laugh? Nuh-uh." She begins to walk towards what appears to be a bathroom, feet falling purposefully.
Charity staggers to her feet, still hiding her face from the camera, and whines in protest as she's dragged along. "Tabitha, I told you once and I'll tell you a thousand bloody times: I don't have to deal with reality, I'm rich. If the sodding President of the United States doesn't have to, neither do I!" she struggles as she's dragged into the bathroom, grabbing at the doorframe before she's hauled inside.
Tabitha shakes her head, pointing the camera at the mirror. In the reflection, we see Charity struggling to remain hidden, Tabitha holding her by the collar of the hoodie she's wearing. "Chare. I'm not letting go until you look up. And none of this eyes closed nonsense. You're going to look yourself in the mirror, for your own good. Understood?" Charity lets out a mumbling whimper of acknowledgement, and Tabitha reaches over, tipping her chin up slowly.
As Charity's gaze rises to meet her reflection in the mirror, her eyes widen as she sees...herself. Exactly as she had been. No scars are visible, no lasting marks, nothing that would show the outside observer that she had changed at all. Tabitha leans over her shoulder, speaking quietly into her ear. "Now. I want you to tell me what you see in the mirror, Chare."
Charity pauses, swallowing nervously. "...I see myself." she replies shakily.
Tabitha shakes her head, taking Charity's hand and squeezing it. "Right. You know what I see? I see Charity bloody Crowne. I see the woman who waltzed into a gaggle of the biggest and nastiest women in wrestling, and handed them all their arses on a platter." Tabitha grins. "Let's have another go. What do you see?"
Charity nods, voice growing in confidence as she looks at herself in the mirror. "I see Charity Crowne. I see the Diamond in the Rough. I see..." A twinkle flashes in her eyes. "I see the Heiress to the Throne."
Tabitha pumps her fist in triumph. "YES! See? I told you you were alright. And to prove it, I've got the whole thing on Snapchat. Flawleeesss!" Charity pauses mid-grin, eyes hardening for a moment, and she spins to lunge after Tabitha. Tabitha laughs, dropping her phone on the counter, and we fade to black on the sound of the two women fighting in the background, mixed with a sound we haven't heard from Charity in a while...laughter.
No. No, no, sodding no. D'you think this is funny? Are you having a laugh? I heroically come back from a savaging at the hands of that brute Rowan MacDonnough which would have ended the career of any other, lesser Diamond in an instant—oh hello there, Patricia Powers, didn't see you over there on injured reserve—and the thanks I get for coming back to save them from their doldrums, for coming back to assume my rightful mantle as Heiress to the Throne, is to be fed to the Norwegian Numpty herself, Astrid Hall? You're joking.
...you're not joking. Dammit.
Alright. Well, once more unto the breach. Astrid, I remember you. You're a tough one. Tough like a slab of granite. About as interesting as one too. I have no idea why they let a giant who thinks Renaissance Festivals are a good time into this company, but whatever. They have no admissions standards in this company. I had to accept that a long time ago. What I don't have to accept is the idea that anyone writes my path but me. I'm Charity Crowne, dammit. I'm the Diamond in the Rough...and if it takes me reminding everyone else in this company what that means, I'll gladly do it.
Astrid, it doesn't matter that you're taller than is really reasonable and so muscular your abs have abs. It doesn't matter that you've got all this sound and fury at your back, and it doesn't matter that you're crazy enough to ask Maxine Valentine to go to bloody war with you. You can ask her yourself: the Diamond Cutter is one size fits all, and that means it'll fit you. They'll have to haul your arse off to Valhalla when I'm done with you, because I'm going to make sure you fall in battle.
That's what you want, right? Live fast, die glorious, leave a messy corpse? Now, I'm not the kind of freak that'll do the last thing, but I can make sure this is fast, and I can make sure you go down in glory. I've had harder than you and I haven't cracked. But...I will say one nice thing about you. Be sure to remember it, 'cause I won't say it twice: you're tough. You survived that psycho bitch Rowan trying to put you out of action, and here you are. Back at it.
Here WE are, really. If there's one thing we agree on, Astrid—and there may only ever BE one thing we agree on—it's that we're not letting that phantasmal freak own us. I'm the bloody Crowne Jewel of the Diamonds Division. I've won one of these tournaments this year, there's no damn reason I can't win another. First step is you, Astrid. I'm going to climb you like the mountain you are, and when I summit you and I stand atop you victorious, you'll know who the real royal is here. You may be a warrior...but even someone like you has to bow down to the queen.
Cheers!
Well howdy there pardner.