Post by Fiona McFly on Sept 2, 2018 14:51:27 GMT
Chapter IV
“BRING ME A DREAM”
31 August 2018 + 2330 GMT
@fifimcfly2018 (TwitLonger) Today, I am officially announcing my retirement from professional wrestling effective immediately. I would like to express nothing but love and warmth to the people that have supported me through the bad times as well as the good…
The stars on this Friday night in Arlington were, indeed, big and bright.
Yet Fiona McFly stared solemnly at her laptop computer screen at the house on Wolf Cree, sighing to herself as she perused through the message she was planning on writing for her Twitter feed. She had been relatively quiet for the last several months since her last match, and there was quite a good reason for her being like that. For once upon a time, she had taken great pride in her work as a wrestler, and she was a personality that loved the thrill of competition more than anything else.
Yet the sport she loved had become nothing more...but a sideshow.
”People coming in from the future...people who act like they’re God...people that are ethereal demons...what a pile of rubbish!,” Fiona muttered to herself upon watching the most recent IWF YouTube clips. It was a far cry from the fair and honourable competition she had been promised upon signing the dotted line, and as a result...it left her completely unsure of where she wanted to go with her career. The whole Pack/Age of Gods saga had left her feeling emotionally strained, almost to the point of having a mental breakdown over what is going on around her.
She felt disillusioned with the product.
She felt left out with nowhere else to go and nobody to talk to.
Who did she want to trust? Who could she trust? Those questions were stuck inside her consciousness as Fiona rolled her mouse’s pointer over to the button marked “Tweet.” She scanned the retirement message she had written frontwards and backwards, checking for any errors in spelling as the Four Aces’ version of “Mr. Sandman,” a 1950s-era pop tune heard prominently in the first Back to the Future film, began playing from the computer’s speakers.
It was truly reminiscent of a time that had long since passed, where everything felt pure and innocent.
”Mr. Sandman,
bring me a dream.
Make her complexion,
like peaches and cream.
Give her two lips like roses and clover.
Then tell me that my lonesome nights are over.
Sandman, I’m so alone.
Don’t have nobody to call my own.
Please turn on your magic beam,
Mr. Sandman bring me a dream…”
Fiona smiled, admiring the song. She had developed a love for “oldies” music--from the 50s to the 70s--after listening to her late husband Jack’s own playlist. She had started to branch out a bit after years of being a Queen mega-nerd--although she will still go gaga every time she recounts her memory of meeting Brian May and Roger Taylor in Las Vegas a few months ago.
”The happy times,” she thought whilst inspecting her message.
Indeed...it all seemed so long ago yet so far away.
Her mind began racing with memories of some of her best moments in the ring. She had been going over several digital photos of her matches with the intention of placing them in a special folder on her flash drive, never to be seen again. ”Only after,” she muttered in reference to sending her last tweet. Yet just as she was about to click on the “tweet” button and end her career, she was greeted by an unexpected, yet all-too-familiar, sound.
The Westminster chime doorbell.
As a general rule of thumb, Fiona hadn’t gotten much in the way of visitors these days. Arlington High School sophomore Sarah Dawkins, her wrestling student, was more than likely asleep after a long day studying algebra and all that other hot mess. Yet on this night, whoever was ringing the doorbell at 11:30 must really have had something important on her mind; as a result, Fiona shook her head before deleting the Twitter message and closing out her Firefox window.
”Perhaps another time…,” she muttered under breath before answering the door. She opened it to reveal an elderly woman looking mighty fit in her authentic Western “cowgirl” attire, complete with white leather boots.
FIONA MCFLY:
Can I help you? I normally don’t take visitors at this time of night...
The guest smiled as she looked down upon her own tablet, nodding for the fact that she had gotten the address correct.
‘DEBBIE FISHER’:
The name’s Fisher, Debbie Fisher. I never thought I’d meet y’all in person after all these years! May I...ya know…?!
Fiona mustered an awkward grin, for she normally didn’t get any fans from afar to stop by her own house. Yet she felt connected to this “fan”--as if the pair had met before at some point in time. The pair shared a rather ginger embrace that felt just as awkward as the younger woman’s smirk.
FIONA:
Come on in, what’s on your mind?
The old woman, her Texas twang being very distinctive, stepped inside the house and widened her eyes in shock. It felt…familiar...to her somehow; it was is as if she knew about the place from sometime in her own life. Yet “Debbie” couldn’t help but muster a chuckle, knowing damn well that Fiona was simply playing off of her reaction, preserving her cover for as long as she could.
So...what was Debbie’s cover story?
She had been wrestling throughout the Southeastern territory from 1960 to 1978, and even in retirement, she kept her body in shape and her mind occupied as an inventor of varying degrees of success. This meeting, however, wasn’t about her retirement.
‘DEBBIE’:
Oh, I ain’t gonna beat ‘round the dad-gum bush here. I’ve come here to take you on the road...to a championship!
Fiona raised her right brow, thinking on whether or not to accept the elderly woman’s offer. After all, wrestling hadn’t exactly been priority number one on McFly’s list--getting her own head on straight after Jack’s death was.
FIONA:
A’right...we don’t we go for a drive in the Niro. We’ll talk about this further.
“Debbie” smiled before bringing in her briefcase and rolling bag.
‘DEBBIE’:
Would y’all mind if I left this stuff here?!
FIONA:
Not at all, not at all. I’ll take these and put them in the den.
‘DEBBIE’:
And I’ll set my tablet on the counter.
As “Debbie” did just that, Fiona took her belongings and placed them on the couch inside the Den of Memories, which served as the de facto guest bedroom of the house. The old maid waited outside the door as Fiona walked towards the open doorway, but not before noticing something cryptic on the former wrestler’s tablet.
”ERROR - FILE(S) NOT FOUND!: The folder ’AUGUST 31, 2018’ does not exist.”
Fiona stood shocked for a moment, her eyes widening at the error message as “Debbie” honked the Niro’s horn.
Something felt wrong in the house on Wolf Creek Drive--not to mention inside her brain.
FIONA:
Bloody fucking hell…!?!
Indeed, the young woman’s mind began to ponder one simple question:
”Who WAS this ‘Debbie Fisher’?!”
~TO BE CONTINUED~
“BRING ME A DREAM”
31 August 2018 + 2330 GMT
@fifimcfly2018 (TwitLonger) Today, I am officially announcing my retirement from professional wrestling effective immediately. I would like to express nothing but love and warmth to the people that have supported me through the bad times as well as the good…
The stars on this Friday night in Arlington were, indeed, big and bright.
Yet Fiona McFly stared solemnly at her laptop computer screen at the house on Wolf Cree, sighing to herself as she perused through the message she was planning on writing for her Twitter feed. She had been relatively quiet for the last several months since her last match, and there was quite a good reason for her being like that. For once upon a time, she had taken great pride in her work as a wrestler, and she was a personality that loved the thrill of competition more than anything else.
Yet the sport she loved had become nothing more...but a sideshow.
”People coming in from the future...people who act like they’re God...people that are ethereal demons...what a pile of rubbish!,” Fiona muttered to herself upon watching the most recent IWF YouTube clips. It was a far cry from the fair and honourable competition she had been promised upon signing the dotted line, and as a result...it left her completely unsure of where she wanted to go with her career. The whole Pack/Age of Gods saga had left her feeling emotionally strained, almost to the point of having a mental breakdown over what is going on around her.
She felt disillusioned with the product.
She felt left out with nowhere else to go and nobody to talk to.
Who did she want to trust? Who could she trust? Those questions were stuck inside her consciousness as Fiona rolled her mouse’s pointer over to the button marked “Tweet.” She scanned the retirement message she had written frontwards and backwards, checking for any errors in spelling as the Four Aces’ version of “Mr. Sandman,” a 1950s-era pop tune heard prominently in the first Back to the Future film, began playing from the computer’s speakers.
It was truly reminiscent of a time that had long since passed, where everything felt pure and innocent.
”Mr. Sandman,
bring me a dream.
Make her complexion,
like peaches and cream.
Give her two lips like roses and clover.
Then tell me that my lonesome nights are over.
Sandman, I’m so alone.
Don’t have nobody to call my own.
Please turn on your magic beam,
Mr. Sandman bring me a dream…”
Fiona smiled, admiring the song. She had developed a love for “oldies” music--from the 50s to the 70s--after listening to her late husband Jack’s own playlist. She had started to branch out a bit after years of being a Queen mega-nerd--although she will still go gaga every time she recounts her memory of meeting Brian May and Roger Taylor in Las Vegas a few months ago.
”The happy times,” she thought whilst inspecting her message.
Indeed...it all seemed so long ago yet so far away.
Her mind began racing with memories of some of her best moments in the ring. She had been going over several digital photos of her matches with the intention of placing them in a special folder on her flash drive, never to be seen again. ”Only after,” she muttered in reference to sending her last tweet. Yet just as she was about to click on the “tweet” button and end her career, she was greeted by an unexpected, yet all-too-familiar, sound.
The Westminster chime doorbell.
As a general rule of thumb, Fiona hadn’t gotten much in the way of visitors these days. Arlington High School sophomore Sarah Dawkins, her wrestling student, was more than likely asleep after a long day studying algebra and all that other hot mess. Yet on this night, whoever was ringing the doorbell at 11:30 must really have had something important on her mind; as a result, Fiona shook her head before deleting the Twitter message and closing out her Firefox window.
”Perhaps another time…,” she muttered under breath before answering the door. She opened it to reveal an elderly woman looking mighty fit in her authentic Western “cowgirl” attire, complete with white leather boots.
FIONA MCFLY:
Can I help you? I normally don’t take visitors at this time of night...
The guest smiled as she looked down upon her own tablet, nodding for the fact that she had gotten the address correct.
‘DEBBIE FISHER’:
The name’s Fisher, Debbie Fisher. I never thought I’d meet y’all in person after all these years! May I...ya know…?!
Fiona mustered an awkward grin, for she normally didn’t get any fans from afar to stop by her own house. Yet she felt connected to this “fan”--as if the pair had met before at some point in time. The pair shared a rather ginger embrace that felt just as awkward as the younger woman’s smirk.
FIONA:
Come on in, what’s on your mind?
The old woman, her Texas twang being very distinctive, stepped inside the house and widened her eyes in shock. It felt…familiar...to her somehow; it was is as if she knew about the place from sometime in her own life. Yet “Debbie” couldn’t help but muster a chuckle, knowing damn well that Fiona was simply playing off of her reaction, preserving her cover for as long as she could.
So...what was Debbie’s cover story?
She had been wrestling throughout the Southeastern territory from 1960 to 1978, and even in retirement, she kept her body in shape and her mind occupied as an inventor of varying degrees of success. This meeting, however, wasn’t about her retirement.
‘DEBBIE’:
Oh, I ain’t gonna beat ‘round the dad-gum bush here. I’ve come here to take you on the road...to a championship!
Fiona raised her right brow, thinking on whether or not to accept the elderly woman’s offer. After all, wrestling hadn’t exactly been priority number one on McFly’s list--getting her own head on straight after Jack’s death was.
FIONA:
A’right...we don’t we go for a drive in the Niro. We’ll talk about this further.
“Debbie” smiled before bringing in her briefcase and rolling bag.
‘DEBBIE’:
Would y’all mind if I left this stuff here?!
FIONA:
Not at all, not at all. I’ll take these and put them in the den.
‘DEBBIE’:
And I’ll set my tablet on the counter.
As “Debbie” did just that, Fiona took her belongings and placed them on the couch inside the Den of Memories, which served as the de facto guest bedroom of the house. The old maid waited outside the door as Fiona walked towards the open doorway, but not before noticing something cryptic on the former wrestler’s tablet.
”ERROR - FILE(S) NOT FOUND!: The folder ’AUGUST 31, 2018’ does not exist.”
Fiona stood shocked for a moment, her eyes widening at the error message as “Debbie” honked the Niro’s horn.
Something felt wrong in the house on Wolf Creek Drive--not to mention inside her brain.
FIONA:
Bloody fucking hell…!?!
Indeed, the young woman’s mind began to ponder one simple question:
”Who WAS this ‘Debbie Fisher’?!”
~TO BE CONTINUED~
Well howdy there pardner.