Post by Charity Crowne on Jul 30, 2018 4:53:52 GMT
This wasn't supposed to be like this. It really wasn't. I was supposed to get my one-on-one shot at Brooklyn Madrox, I was going to claim the title that has eluded me during my time in this company, and I was going to make something MORE of this division, this sodding CAREER than I had before. But then, a traitorous little shit had to come along and try to ruin everything. Christina Rose wanted to swing her weight around, remind the world who really ran the Best Friends Club...and so she gave me a chance to do just that. She put you into this match, Pandora. And I put her in her place.
I suppose you think that this is just another elaborate Best Friends Club plot to cheat someone out of what's rightfully theirs. After all, you seem to think that I've never lifted a finger in my life to achieve anything, that I've just had people to cheat and scheme and interfere on my behalf forever and a day. It couldn't be farther from the truth. I'm here to win what I've been destined for ever since the Diamond in the Rough competitors were announced. I'm here to take the Women's World Championship for myself and finally still all the scornful, traitorous tongues that insist I've neither the skill nor the tenacity to represent this company as its champion.
I loathe you, Pandora, because of the hypocrisy you represent. You scream from the heavens about how we should be ourselves, how we should all find our truth, and yet when I finally come to who I am, when I finally find who and what makes me feel whole again, everyone turns on me and rips me apart. If I fail, it's on my own merits. If I succeed, no matter the scenario, it's clearly because SOMETHING had to be helping me, greasing the wheels, making it easier. What a load of tripe.
It's fine, though. Really. I'm not bothered. Do I look bothered? Nah. Naaah. I just know that when I take that Women's World Title, when I snatch it from your fingertips, the frustration you'll find will be so, so sweet. Because I don't pretend about you, Pandora. No matter what you do or don't do, it's not about anyone else but you. Maybe that's why you're so upset? Is it because you know you've got nobody to blame for the state of your career but you? I think it just might be. You know that it's not Spike's fault, or Astrid's. It's yours. It's. Always. Yours.
It's to your credit when you accomplish something. The Iron Maiden? Your credit. Winning the World Title? Your credit. Losing it to Rowan after you talked such a big game? Your fault. Never sniffing the success you had before? Your fault. And d'you know what? It's about time I realised just how much of this is up to me as well. I haven't lived up to my success. I haven't been the star I've been meant to be. But that changes. Here. Now. Tonight. You'll have to wait for your chance. Maybe it'll be on the back of something you actually earned, yeah? Not something handed to you by a disobedient subordinate?
I'd say some trite line about how you wouldn't want to earn it like that, but let's face it, you don't give a damn about that. You've never been about sportsmanship or trying to do things "the proper way". You care about victory, you care about recognition, you just want people to recognise your greatness. I suppose in that regard we're not so different. Where we ARE different is just how hungry we are. You've people that still say you're great. Nobody has ever been able to acknowledge the beauty and value of the Crowne Jewel, no matter how many times I show them. I'm done giving them the chance to turn me down. Drop down, kneel before your ruler, and...what's the line again?
Oh, yeah. All. Bloody. Hail.
Charity twirls around on her heel, giggling to herself as Ciara watches, leaning against the wall, and Marilyn checks something on her computer. "I won! I wonnn! Put her in her place, didn't I? Showed Christina-Crystal-whatever what happens when you step to me, and now she knows who's in charge. Right?"
"Hm?" Ciara looks up, cocking his head to the side. "Right. Yeah. You're in charge." A brief smirk flits across Ciara's face, and she checks her nails as Charity shoots her a quick glare. "What? Y'are."
"Course I am." Charity smirks, kicking back on the bed with a smile. "So, now all I've got to deal with is this title shot. Shouldn't be any issue with that, right?"
"Absolutely not." Ciara shakes her head. "Shouldn't be an issue." She straightens up, slowly walking out from the wall. "You've got this, yeah?"
"Yeah!" Charity sighs, grinning. "It's simple, yeah? Just gotta beat Brooklyn and Pandora." She pauses, tilting her head to the side slightly. "Brooklyn Madrox of the Pack, Pandora Freeman of the Age of Gods kind of sort of. And the Age of Gods aren't banned from ringside, so I might have to deal with Spike's chain-waving psychotic daughter, or his white trash born-again sister." She pauses, a rictus smile frozen on her face. After a few moments, her eye twitches slightly. "...I'm gonna die again, aren't I?"
Marilyn stands up from the table, taking a few worried steps forward. She looks to Ciara, wringing her hands, and Ciara nods back at her, almost imperceptibly. The two women move to flank Charity, one on each side of the bed. Charity looks back and forth at them, blinking in bewilderment. "Hang on, what's going on here?"
Marilyn looks back at Ciara. "Now?"
Ciara nods. "Now." With that, the two women dive atop Charity, wrapping their arms around her and sandwiching her between their forms.
Charity lets out a panicked yelp, and is halfway to curling into a tight ball before she realises what's going on. She slowly cracks an eye open, looking around. "Um...wha's going on here?" She reflexively squirms a little against the two women's grips, looking up at them as they look down at her.
"Emergency cuddle pile." Marilyn speaks up, muffled by Charity's side. "Ciara discussed it with me a few days ago. We figured you might need it, in case you had another panic attack."
"I do not have panic attacks!" Charity protests halfheartedly, grumbling as she snuggles into Ciara, who just chuckles and pats her head. She pouts a little, rolling to her side. "You thought I was going to have a panic attack about this?"
"Yeah." Ciara replies bluntly, shrugging. "'s alright though, isn't it? You're going to walk up to that rainbow nonce and the Satanic brat, right? You're gonna stare them down, you're going to wind back, and you're going to kick them right in their fucking cunts!"
Marilyn has the decency to look horrified. "CIARA!"
"Whaaat?" Ciara tilts her head to look over at Marilyn. "Am I not supposed to say that word?"
"NO!" Marilyn has the decency to look mortified, while Charity just snickers, trying and failing to look digniied. "That's an awful word! We shouldn't call people that!"
"'s a good thing they're not people then, isn't it? Besides, we've always got options." Ciara shoots a meaningful look at Charity, who looks up and nods with a brief smile on her face. "We've got this down."
Charity nods, shifting up and wrapping her arms around both Marilyn and Ciara. "Y'know what? I like this. I like having a little calm before things go cross." She smiles up at the ceiling, beaming. "This is going to be fine! Everything's fiiine. We're fine. The Best Friends Club is fine."
"The Best Friends Club is fine." Ciara nods, ruffling Charity's hair with a grin.
After a moment, Marilyn joins in softly. "The Best Friends Club is fine." Charity beams even wider, and we fade out on the three huddled together in the middle of the bed, safe and content.
Right, then. Said my piece about the interloper. On to you, Brooklyn. The Little Bad Wolf, isn't that what you call yourself? So obsessed with Rowan that you need to snatch nicknames from her, don't ya? See, here's the thing, Brook. Can I call ya Brook? Too bad, gonna do it anywaaaay! Here's the thing: I know you want her to, let's say...notice you, but Rowan-senpai just doesn't really caaare, no matter how much you make yourself not like most girls. Sorryyyy, sorryyyy, not sorry. Not at all, no.
I'm not going to pretend you're the same woman I barely got to know in the Diamond in the Rough tournament. Clearly, you're not. I mean, the person you were was this peppy, punky, blowing-up smack-talker, not this desperate half-goth tart. But you're so quick to defend your choice. After all, nobody reached OUT TO YOOOU, you were SOOO NEGLECTED! Feh. Nobody reached out to me either, ya whiny git, and I didn't go sign up with a demon wolf cult. Y'know what that tells me? It tells me you've never really HAD any confidence in yourself. It's why you got bounced out by a walking advertisement for Beverly Hills plastic surgery in the first round and I won the whole bloody thing.
You've got nothing deep down, Brooklyn. You live your entire life for other people. Family, figures of worship, doesn't matter. I've never needed anyone's approval. Adoration is nice, don't get me wrong, but I can live without it as long as I'm rich and successful. You don't feel complete unless you've got someone sitting there, telling you that you're a good puppy and a pretty puppy, that they're proud of you and that you're needed. The only place you're needed is the shite strip joint down the road, because you're up for your routine in ten.
Not that you've had issues making your shifts, have you? Certainly been taking your sweet time since Night of the Immortals. Typically speaking, champions have to, y'know, defend their titles, not just say "that one tuckered me out, I'm just going to kip off for a rest." You've been so busy with all those matches, beating up Kimberly and Kate with Rowan right there to make you look good and...losing to the Age of Gods? That can't be right, can it? Hang on, I'm going to have a quick chat with my statistician. Marilyn!
Yes, Miss Crowne?
Has Brooklyn Madrox really only had two matches since Night of the Immortals? Has she really not defended her title in two sodding months?
That's accurate, Miss Crowne.
Bloody hell! Thank you, Marilyn.
You're welcome, Miss Crowne.
Right. Big hand for Marilyn Yamazaki, everyone. Lovely girl, isn't she? Such a hard worker. Much unlike you, Brooklyn. Say what you will about me, but I work my arse off every single time I step into the ring, every single time I walk in front of a camera, because if there's one thing Charity Crowne does, it's ensure that the money that's spent on me is money well-spent. I take pride in my work, because pride? Pride is important. Pride saves lives, pride builds empires...and the Imperial Wrestling Federation needs more than a queen. It needs a Crowne Jewel. It needs an empress. It needs me. When I'm done with the two of you, the IWF and its Women's World Championship will be Simply. Flaw. Less.
Cheers!
I suppose you think that this is just another elaborate Best Friends Club plot to cheat someone out of what's rightfully theirs. After all, you seem to think that I've never lifted a finger in my life to achieve anything, that I've just had people to cheat and scheme and interfere on my behalf forever and a day. It couldn't be farther from the truth. I'm here to win what I've been destined for ever since the Diamond in the Rough competitors were announced. I'm here to take the Women's World Championship for myself and finally still all the scornful, traitorous tongues that insist I've neither the skill nor the tenacity to represent this company as its champion.
I loathe you, Pandora, because of the hypocrisy you represent. You scream from the heavens about how we should be ourselves, how we should all find our truth, and yet when I finally come to who I am, when I finally find who and what makes me feel whole again, everyone turns on me and rips me apart. If I fail, it's on my own merits. If I succeed, no matter the scenario, it's clearly because SOMETHING had to be helping me, greasing the wheels, making it easier. What a load of tripe.
It's fine, though. Really. I'm not bothered. Do I look bothered? Nah. Naaah. I just know that when I take that Women's World Title, when I snatch it from your fingertips, the frustration you'll find will be so, so sweet. Because I don't pretend about you, Pandora. No matter what you do or don't do, it's not about anyone else but you. Maybe that's why you're so upset? Is it because you know you've got nobody to blame for the state of your career but you? I think it just might be. You know that it's not Spike's fault, or Astrid's. It's yours. It's. Always. Yours.
It's to your credit when you accomplish something. The Iron Maiden? Your credit. Winning the World Title? Your credit. Losing it to Rowan after you talked such a big game? Your fault. Never sniffing the success you had before? Your fault. And d'you know what? It's about time I realised just how much of this is up to me as well. I haven't lived up to my success. I haven't been the star I've been meant to be. But that changes. Here. Now. Tonight. You'll have to wait for your chance. Maybe it'll be on the back of something you actually earned, yeah? Not something handed to you by a disobedient subordinate?
I'd say some trite line about how you wouldn't want to earn it like that, but let's face it, you don't give a damn about that. You've never been about sportsmanship or trying to do things "the proper way". You care about victory, you care about recognition, you just want people to recognise your greatness. I suppose in that regard we're not so different. Where we ARE different is just how hungry we are. You've people that still say you're great. Nobody has ever been able to acknowledge the beauty and value of the Crowne Jewel, no matter how many times I show them. I'm done giving them the chance to turn me down. Drop down, kneel before your ruler, and...what's the line again?
Oh, yeah. All. Bloody. Hail.
Charity twirls around on her heel, giggling to herself as Ciara watches, leaning against the wall, and Marilyn checks something on her computer. "I won! I wonnn! Put her in her place, didn't I? Showed Christina-Crystal-whatever what happens when you step to me, and now she knows who's in charge. Right?"
"Hm?" Ciara looks up, cocking his head to the side. "Right. Yeah. You're in charge." A brief smirk flits across Ciara's face, and she checks her nails as Charity shoots her a quick glare. "What? Y'are."
"Course I am." Charity smirks, kicking back on the bed with a smile. "So, now all I've got to deal with is this title shot. Shouldn't be any issue with that, right?"
"Absolutely not." Ciara shakes her head. "Shouldn't be an issue." She straightens up, slowly walking out from the wall. "You've got this, yeah?"
"Yeah!" Charity sighs, grinning. "It's simple, yeah? Just gotta beat Brooklyn and Pandora." She pauses, tilting her head to the side slightly. "Brooklyn Madrox of the Pack, Pandora Freeman of the Age of Gods kind of sort of. And the Age of Gods aren't banned from ringside, so I might have to deal with Spike's chain-waving psychotic daughter, or his white trash born-again sister." She pauses, a rictus smile frozen on her face. After a few moments, her eye twitches slightly. "...I'm gonna die again, aren't I?"
Marilyn stands up from the table, taking a few worried steps forward. She looks to Ciara, wringing her hands, and Ciara nods back at her, almost imperceptibly. The two women move to flank Charity, one on each side of the bed. Charity looks back and forth at them, blinking in bewilderment. "Hang on, what's going on here?"
Marilyn looks back at Ciara. "Now?"
Ciara nods. "Now." With that, the two women dive atop Charity, wrapping their arms around her and sandwiching her between their forms.
Charity lets out a panicked yelp, and is halfway to curling into a tight ball before she realises what's going on. She slowly cracks an eye open, looking around. "Um...wha's going on here?" She reflexively squirms a little against the two women's grips, looking up at them as they look down at her.
"Emergency cuddle pile." Marilyn speaks up, muffled by Charity's side. "Ciara discussed it with me a few days ago. We figured you might need it, in case you had another panic attack."
"I do not have panic attacks!" Charity protests halfheartedly, grumbling as she snuggles into Ciara, who just chuckles and pats her head. She pouts a little, rolling to her side. "You thought I was going to have a panic attack about this?"
"Yeah." Ciara replies bluntly, shrugging. "'s alright though, isn't it? You're going to walk up to that rainbow nonce and the Satanic brat, right? You're gonna stare them down, you're going to wind back, and you're going to kick them right in their fucking cunts!"
Marilyn has the decency to look horrified. "CIARA!"
"Whaaat?" Ciara tilts her head to look over at Marilyn. "Am I not supposed to say that word?"
"NO!" Marilyn has the decency to look mortified, while Charity just snickers, trying and failing to look digniied. "That's an awful word! We shouldn't call people that!"
"'s a good thing they're not people then, isn't it? Besides, we've always got options." Ciara shoots a meaningful look at Charity, who looks up and nods with a brief smile on her face. "We've got this down."
Charity nods, shifting up and wrapping her arms around both Marilyn and Ciara. "Y'know what? I like this. I like having a little calm before things go cross." She smiles up at the ceiling, beaming. "This is going to be fine! Everything's fiiine. We're fine. The Best Friends Club is fine."
"The Best Friends Club is fine." Ciara nods, ruffling Charity's hair with a grin.
After a moment, Marilyn joins in softly. "The Best Friends Club is fine." Charity beams even wider, and we fade out on the three huddled together in the middle of the bed, safe and content.
Right, then. Said my piece about the interloper. On to you, Brooklyn. The Little Bad Wolf, isn't that what you call yourself? So obsessed with Rowan that you need to snatch nicknames from her, don't ya? See, here's the thing, Brook. Can I call ya Brook? Too bad, gonna do it anywaaaay! Here's the thing: I know you want her to, let's say...notice you, but Rowan-senpai just doesn't really caaare, no matter how much you make yourself not like most girls. Sorryyyy, sorryyyy, not sorry. Not at all, no.
I'm not going to pretend you're the same woman I barely got to know in the Diamond in the Rough tournament. Clearly, you're not. I mean, the person you were was this peppy, punky, blowing-up smack-talker, not this desperate half-goth tart. But you're so quick to defend your choice. After all, nobody reached OUT TO YOOOU, you were SOOO NEGLECTED! Feh. Nobody reached out to me either, ya whiny git, and I didn't go sign up with a demon wolf cult. Y'know what that tells me? It tells me you've never really HAD any confidence in yourself. It's why you got bounced out by a walking advertisement for Beverly Hills plastic surgery in the first round and I won the whole bloody thing.
You've got nothing deep down, Brooklyn. You live your entire life for other people. Family, figures of worship, doesn't matter. I've never needed anyone's approval. Adoration is nice, don't get me wrong, but I can live without it as long as I'm rich and successful. You don't feel complete unless you've got someone sitting there, telling you that you're a good puppy and a pretty puppy, that they're proud of you and that you're needed. The only place you're needed is the shite strip joint down the road, because you're up for your routine in ten.
Not that you've had issues making your shifts, have you? Certainly been taking your sweet time since Night of the Immortals. Typically speaking, champions have to, y'know, defend their titles, not just say "that one tuckered me out, I'm just going to kip off for a rest." You've been so busy with all those matches, beating up Kimberly and Kate with Rowan right there to make you look good and...losing to the Age of Gods? That can't be right, can it? Hang on, I'm going to have a quick chat with my statistician. Marilyn!
Yes, Miss Crowne?
Has Brooklyn Madrox really only had two matches since Night of the Immortals? Has she really not defended her title in two sodding months?
That's accurate, Miss Crowne.
Bloody hell! Thank you, Marilyn.
You're welcome, Miss Crowne.
Right. Big hand for Marilyn Yamazaki, everyone. Lovely girl, isn't she? Such a hard worker. Much unlike you, Brooklyn. Say what you will about me, but I work my arse off every single time I step into the ring, every single time I walk in front of a camera, because if there's one thing Charity Crowne does, it's ensure that the money that's spent on me is money well-spent. I take pride in my work, because pride? Pride is important. Pride saves lives, pride builds empires...and the Imperial Wrestling Federation needs more than a queen. It needs a Crowne Jewel. It needs an empress. It needs me. When I'm done with the two of you, the IWF and its Women's World Championship will be Simply. Flaw. Less.
Cheers!
Well howdy there pardner.