Post by Ciara O'Connor on Dec 12, 2018 19:17:28 GMT
The camera comes on to Ciara sitting at a glass table with a glass of red white on her left as she is dressed in a pair of heels and short black skirt and a Best Friends Club T-Shirt.
“At least booking has gotten over their hate and started booking me more frequently. I was beginning to think I was only going to be pulled out of the back once every lunar cycle like some kind of ‘in case of cunt break glass’.”
Ciara makes clear how unimpressed she is.
“But here I am.”
Ciara gestures to herself.
“We all know management has some kind of hate-boner for the Age of Gods and The Pack hate-fucking all over the place. Not that’s over can we actually focus on the women with talent in this division? I mean, honestly. The BFC is just sitting here waiting to be used.”
Ciara taps her foot.
“Do you know what the definition of insanity is? Doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.”
Ciara pauses and a wide smirk grows on her face.
“Kinda like who management has chucked at me this week, yeah?”
“Look,” Ciara paused in the hallway, turning back to Charity. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“You invited me.” Charity crossed her arms. “Why the change in heart now?”
“Nerves.” Ciara shrugged, gesturing around. “You shouldn’t be in a place like this.”
Charity smiled at her, “You said it was important.”
Ciara nodded once and turned back around to where the guard was waiting at the end of the hall feeling Charity just behind her. She hadn’t been here since she was a teen. That visit had gone tits up without much of a need of needing to say anything else between them. But she sat on one side of the glass with Charity sitting on her right.
The room was empty. She wasn’t sure if it was empty because of the inmate’s tendency to insight riots or simple the time, effort and money she’d poured into making this visit possible had given her an extra level of privacy beyond the two guards standing behind her.
Ciara nodded at the guard once across the way and the door opened, he looked just as she remembered him all these years later. He still held himself like he was a general in a war parade than a man who had spent most of her life behind bars. He sat down on the other side of the glass and gave her a once over.
“Well?” He asked, tilting his head.
“Hi Da.” Ciara greeted.
“What are you doing here?” He asked.
“Been an age. Thought I’d stop by.” Ciara lied.
“Did you now?” He glanced around them. “Bit of effort just to chat, little one.”
“Don’t be a cunt.”
“Whose money did you spend to get this little setup? Not Seamus’ I hope?”
“Like he’d waste his money on getting me to see you. There’s a thousand and better uses for it.”
“Then what do you want?” He seemed to look over at Charity for the first time, a look that was longer then Ciara liked, the urge to break the glass and hit him in the face for it was uncontrollable for a moment.
“Da.”
“Is that it?” He asked, gesturing to Charity. “Who's the whore?”
“Oi.” Ciara’s tone took a dangerous tone.
“What?” He was daring her to do something stupid.
“Patrick O’Connor, this is Charity. Charity, the cunt who donated half my DNA.” Ciara said briskly.
“Charmed.” Charity replied with the level of fake sincerity that Ciara always admired her for.
“You always find new ways to disappointment me, little one.” He looked appalled.
“How?” Charity asked taking Ciara’s hand in her own.
“Because you’re English.” Ciara said softly. “And a woman.”
“Ah.” Charity nodded.
“I think it’s more the English part, am I right, Da?” Ciara asked, feeling slightly emboldened. “I mean we could talk about what God and the church feels about it but funny that, it’s even legal here, isn’t it?”
“You’re not too big for me to put you in your place.”
“Mm,” Ciara poked the glass. “Seems I am though, aren’t I?”
“Why are you here?” He gave her that cold glare that used to make her eyes hit the ground but she lifted her chin.
“To look you in the eyes and tell you.” Ciara motioned to the guard who marched over and manhandled the man in front of her.
He didn’t give her the satisfaction of even acknowledging she’d spoken, simply marching out of the room with the loud bang of the steel door behind him.
Ciara didn’t breathe easier until they were outside of the building.
“What was all that about?” Charity asked.
“Petty vengeance.” Ciara replied with a shrug.
“What were you telling him in person?”
“You’ll find out in Japan.” Ciara kissed Charity’s cheek. “Come on, we got a plane to catch.”
“Fiona fucking McFly. Wow. I mean honestly? Wow.”
Ciara rolled her eyes.
“What more is there even to say about you?”
Ciara looked down at her nails.
“I suppose I could start my mentioning that your Holier-then-thou attitude has alienated everyone whose even bother to try to be your friend, eh? The fact the very way you talk makes everyone consider ripping their ears off then have to listen to one more insipid word out of your mouth.”
Ciara shakes her head.
“Maybe if I kick you in the head hard enough your fake little accent will finally disappear. Yeah, I haven’t fuckin’ forgot about that. Whatever vocal coach your spoiled little ass is paying so you can fake your way to luck o’ the irish needs to be dragged out inot the streets and shot. How your little plastic paddy bullshit hasn’t been beaten out of you by this point is shocking to me but I guess I’ll have to handle that myself.”
Ciara cracks her knuckles.
“Even the fucking demon doesn’t play up her fucking accent despite calling herself the Irish nightmare. But no, no you do it, didn’t you? You’ve been in the united states since you were a toddler you fucking cunt. No one keeps their accent that strong that long.”
Ciara glares.
“Oh but I’m sure you’ll sew a sob story about your dead grandfather or your dead husband and some hillbilly take on keeping true to yourself.”
Ciara makes a face.
“You disgust me.”
Ciara drums her fingers on the glass table.
“Everyone else at least acknowledges their flaws. Makes distance between themselves and scandal when they are trying to play the good card. Not you though, huh? No, no, you would be willing to sell every other person in this company up the river for a fucking crisp unless it was James Gilmore. Tell me, Fifi, does he really have the tattoo on his dick? Did you wait for dear old Jack to reach room temp before you jumped the half blind idiot’s bone?”
Ciara picks up the wine glass.
“Yeah, yeah, he got himself a mail-order bride but honestly? It’s the only thing that makes sense. You have to be getting on your knees for him. He treats every other women on this company like they are whores but you are the only nun in the bunch? You? Has to be because you’re doing the beat of two backs. Is he better than Jack? Does he do a John Wayne imitation while he’s rutting into you? Does he make the mail-order watch him?”
Ciara smiles over her wine glass.
“You want the whole world to believe your some flawless perfect being. I don’t know if it’s your narcissism or your delousion that makes you actually buy into your own hype that bad. You’re worthless. You’re nothing. You do nothing but drag down the collective IQ of the whole world every single time you open your mouth.”
Ciara took a sip of her wine.
“You’re unworthy to even be in the same division as Charity Crowne, the current Luchadora Champion. But you are meant to be her number one contender? You? All you had to do was beat Christina-or-Crystal-or whatever she’s calling herself this week. Beating her? Not something I’d brag about if I was honest. She’s been downgraded to local talent, the poor bitch.”
Ciara pours a little of her wine on the ground.
“You don’t deserve to be facing Charity at Diamonds are Forever. God, you don’t even deserve to be here. The demon set you on fire. You’ve had your blood knocked out of you more times than anyone in this company. But that’s meant to be admirable, yeah? Like those old clown toys, hit it and it just pops back up with a stupid smile on its face. You keep charging at the biggest and baddest in the division isn’t an admirable trait, it’s a mental illness.”
Ciara mimes shooting herself in the head.
“You know what the definition of insanity is, yeah?”
Ciara sighs.
“What are you going to do about it? Cry? Have your fuck buddy go on twitter calling me a slut? Wow, like that’s the first fucking time a random ugly piece of shit has said something about me on the internet. Get fucked. Maybe if he cum shots a baby into your useless body you’ll find something you’re actually good at.”
Ciara laughs.
“Oh, who am I kidding?”
Ciara shakes her head.
“You’d be worse if you had a child. You already brag about all the stupid money you have and I have no doubt you would post 12 million photos of your fuck trophy all over social media. And the idea of either of you breeding actually makes me vomit a little bit in my mouth.”
Ciara gags.
“So here is how this is gonna fucking go, Fifi. I’m going to kick your ass. I’m going to knock that fake accent out of your worthless mouth. I’m going to leave you a wreck on the mat. Then at Diamonds are Forever I’m going to watch actual perfection in Charity Crowne defeat you and maintain her belt reign.”
Ciara crosses her legs.
“Want to prove me wrong?”
Ciara smirks.
“Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”
“At least booking has gotten over their hate and started booking me more frequently. I was beginning to think I was only going to be pulled out of the back once every lunar cycle like some kind of ‘in case of cunt break glass’.”
Ciara makes clear how unimpressed she is.
“But here I am.”
Ciara gestures to herself.
“We all know management has some kind of hate-boner for the Age of Gods and The Pack hate-fucking all over the place. Not that’s over can we actually focus on the women with talent in this division? I mean, honestly. The BFC is just sitting here waiting to be used.”
Ciara taps her foot.
“Do you know what the definition of insanity is? Doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.”
Ciara pauses and a wide smirk grows on her face.
“Kinda like who management has chucked at me this week, yeah?”
“Look,” Ciara paused in the hallway, turning back to Charity. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“You invited me.” Charity crossed her arms. “Why the change in heart now?”
“Nerves.” Ciara shrugged, gesturing around. “You shouldn’t be in a place like this.”
Charity smiled at her, “You said it was important.”
Ciara nodded once and turned back around to where the guard was waiting at the end of the hall feeling Charity just behind her. She hadn’t been here since she was a teen. That visit had gone tits up without much of a need of needing to say anything else between them. But she sat on one side of the glass with Charity sitting on her right.
The room was empty. She wasn’t sure if it was empty because of the inmate’s tendency to insight riots or simple the time, effort and money she’d poured into making this visit possible had given her an extra level of privacy beyond the two guards standing behind her.
Ciara nodded at the guard once across the way and the door opened, he looked just as she remembered him all these years later. He still held himself like he was a general in a war parade than a man who had spent most of her life behind bars. He sat down on the other side of the glass and gave her a once over.
“Well?” He asked, tilting his head.
“Hi Da.” Ciara greeted.
“What are you doing here?” He asked.
“Been an age. Thought I’d stop by.” Ciara lied.
“Did you now?” He glanced around them. “Bit of effort just to chat, little one.”
“Don’t be a cunt.”
“Whose money did you spend to get this little setup? Not Seamus’ I hope?”
“Like he’d waste his money on getting me to see you. There’s a thousand and better uses for it.”
“Then what do you want?” He seemed to look over at Charity for the first time, a look that was longer then Ciara liked, the urge to break the glass and hit him in the face for it was uncontrollable for a moment.
“Da.”
“Is that it?” He asked, gesturing to Charity. “Who's the whore?”
“Oi.” Ciara’s tone took a dangerous tone.
“What?” He was daring her to do something stupid.
“Patrick O’Connor, this is Charity. Charity, the cunt who donated half my DNA.” Ciara said briskly.
“Charmed.” Charity replied with the level of fake sincerity that Ciara always admired her for.
“You always find new ways to disappointment me, little one.” He looked appalled.
“How?” Charity asked taking Ciara’s hand in her own.
“Because you’re English.” Ciara said softly. “And a woman.”
“Ah.” Charity nodded.
“I think it’s more the English part, am I right, Da?” Ciara asked, feeling slightly emboldened. “I mean we could talk about what God and the church feels about it but funny that, it’s even legal here, isn’t it?”
“You’re not too big for me to put you in your place.”
“Mm,” Ciara poked the glass. “Seems I am though, aren’t I?”
“Why are you here?” He gave her that cold glare that used to make her eyes hit the ground but she lifted her chin.
“To look you in the eyes and tell you.” Ciara motioned to the guard who marched over and manhandled the man in front of her.
He didn’t give her the satisfaction of even acknowledging she’d spoken, simply marching out of the room with the loud bang of the steel door behind him.
Ciara didn’t breathe easier until they were outside of the building.
“What was all that about?” Charity asked.
“Petty vengeance.” Ciara replied with a shrug.
“What were you telling him in person?”
“You’ll find out in Japan.” Ciara kissed Charity’s cheek. “Come on, we got a plane to catch.”
“Fiona fucking McFly. Wow. I mean honestly? Wow.”
Ciara rolled her eyes.
“What more is there even to say about you?”
Ciara looked down at her nails.
“I suppose I could start my mentioning that your Holier-then-thou attitude has alienated everyone whose even bother to try to be your friend, eh? The fact the very way you talk makes everyone consider ripping their ears off then have to listen to one more insipid word out of your mouth.”
Ciara shakes her head.
“Maybe if I kick you in the head hard enough your fake little accent will finally disappear. Yeah, I haven’t fuckin’ forgot about that. Whatever vocal coach your spoiled little ass is paying so you can fake your way to luck o’ the irish needs to be dragged out inot the streets and shot. How your little plastic paddy bullshit hasn’t been beaten out of you by this point is shocking to me but I guess I’ll have to handle that myself.”
Ciara cracks her knuckles.
“Even the fucking demon doesn’t play up her fucking accent despite calling herself the Irish nightmare. But no, no you do it, didn’t you? You’ve been in the united states since you were a toddler you fucking cunt. No one keeps their accent that strong that long.”
Ciara glares.
“Oh but I’m sure you’ll sew a sob story about your dead grandfather or your dead husband and some hillbilly take on keeping true to yourself.”
Ciara makes a face.
“You disgust me.”
Ciara drums her fingers on the glass table.
“Everyone else at least acknowledges their flaws. Makes distance between themselves and scandal when they are trying to play the good card. Not you though, huh? No, no, you would be willing to sell every other person in this company up the river for a fucking crisp unless it was James Gilmore. Tell me, Fifi, does he really have the tattoo on his dick? Did you wait for dear old Jack to reach room temp before you jumped the half blind idiot’s bone?”
Ciara picks up the wine glass.
“Yeah, yeah, he got himself a mail-order bride but honestly? It’s the only thing that makes sense. You have to be getting on your knees for him. He treats every other women on this company like they are whores but you are the only nun in the bunch? You? Has to be because you’re doing the beat of two backs. Is he better than Jack? Does he do a John Wayne imitation while he’s rutting into you? Does he make the mail-order watch him?”
Ciara smiles over her wine glass.
“You want the whole world to believe your some flawless perfect being. I don’t know if it’s your narcissism or your delousion that makes you actually buy into your own hype that bad. You’re worthless. You’re nothing. You do nothing but drag down the collective IQ of the whole world every single time you open your mouth.”
Ciara took a sip of her wine.
“You’re unworthy to even be in the same division as Charity Crowne, the current Luchadora Champion. But you are meant to be her number one contender? You? All you had to do was beat Christina-or-Crystal-or whatever she’s calling herself this week. Beating her? Not something I’d brag about if I was honest. She’s been downgraded to local talent, the poor bitch.”
Ciara pours a little of her wine on the ground.
“You don’t deserve to be facing Charity at Diamonds are Forever. God, you don’t even deserve to be here. The demon set you on fire. You’ve had your blood knocked out of you more times than anyone in this company. But that’s meant to be admirable, yeah? Like those old clown toys, hit it and it just pops back up with a stupid smile on its face. You keep charging at the biggest and baddest in the division isn’t an admirable trait, it’s a mental illness.”
Ciara mimes shooting herself in the head.
“You know what the definition of insanity is, yeah?”
Ciara sighs.
“What are you going to do about it? Cry? Have your fuck buddy go on twitter calling me a slut? Wow, like that’s the first fucking time a random ugly piece of shit has said something about me on the internet. Get fucked. Maybe if he cum shots a baby into your useless body you’ll find something you’re actually good at.”
Ciara laughs.
“Oh, who am I kidding?”
Ciara shakes her head.
“You’d be worse if you had a child. You already brag about all the stupid money you have and I have no doubt you would post 12 million photos of your fuck trophy all over social media. And the idea of either of you breeding actually makes me vomit a little bit in my mouth.”
Ciara gags.
“So here is how this is gonna fucking go, Fifi. I’m going to kick your ass. I’m going to knock that fake accent out of your worthless mouth. I’m going to leave you a wreck on the mat. Then at Diamonds are Forever I’m going to watch actual perfection in Charity Crowne defeat you and maintain her belt reign.”
Ciara crosses her legs.
“Want to prove me wrong?”
Ciara smirks.
“Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”