Post by Brooklyn on Jan 8, 2024 1:30:27 GMT
The camera flickers on, revealing the backstage area at the SAP Center in sunny San Jose, California where Brooklyn paces with visible frustration as she watches on the backstage monitors as Jennie Fenix and Zasshu II match begins to wind down towards its conclusion. The Women's World Championship belt, a symbol of her dominance, hangs over her shoulder like a constant reminder of her vexation, especially as the sound of the ring bell echoes through the arena.
(sarcastically) “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise? Here I am, thinking I'd get a fresh face, a new challenge, a chance to elevate someone from the shadows. But no, fate has a twisted sense of humor, and what do I get? Jennie Fenix. Again.”
She scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief as if the universe had conspired against her desire for change.
(rolling her eyes) “How many times is this now? One, two, three… (pauses, counting on her fingers) oh, this will be the fourth glorious encounter with Jennie. Can you feel the excitement building? No? Well, join the club.”
Brooklyn stops her pacing, fixing an intense gaze on the camera.
“Now, don't get me wrong. I'm all for competition, and Jennie, she's proven herself. She’s now officially won the Heiress tournament; she’s faced some stiff competition; and somehow still come out on top. But you see, that's not the issue here. It's not about whether she deserves a shot.
It's about what I deserve.”
Absentmindedly she taps her fingertips against the championship belt, her frustration mounting with each passing moment.
“Since the day I became the Women's World Champion, my goal was clear. I wanted to push this division forward, to be the driving force behind the rise of new talent. I wanted to sculpt the future, be the catalyst for change. But what do I get? The same faces, the same challenges, and the same. damn. matches.”
A cynical chuckle escapes her lips as she glances at the championship belt.
“Jennie, you’ve won the tournament fair and square. Congrats. But I was hoping for a breath of fresh air, a new opponent to test my mettle against. Instead, I'm stuck in this neverending Groundhog Day loop with you.”
She tilts her head, a wry smile forming on her lips.
“It's almost poetic though, isn't it? The Heiress to the Throne faces the Big Bad Wolf for the fourth time. You'd think I'd be excited, thrilled even. But no, I'm just here, wondering when, if ever, I’ll get to fulfill my own wishes, the chance to face someone I haven't beaten into submission already.”
Brooklyn paces again, her frustration intensifying.
“Jennie, don't take this the wrong way. You're talented, there’s no denying that. But we've danced this dance three times before. This isn't about you; it's about me and what I set out to achieve. I wanted to create a legacy, a Women's World Championship reign that would be remembered for elevating the entire damn division.”
She runs a hand through her hair, a deep sigh escaping her.
"Our locker room is full of hungry, talented women itching for a shot; the Heiress tournament went ahead and proved that fact. And yet, here I am, locked in this repetitive cycle with you until the end of time. S’funny - I wanted to be the bridge between the past of our division and the future, but it seems the universe has other plans."
The frustration gives way to a simmering determination in Brooklyn's eyes.
"So, Jennie, congrats on your victory, and I'm sure this one’ll be another instant classic. But don't think for a second that this changes anything. This isn't the revolution I had in mind. This isn't the fresh start I craved."
She rubs her fingers over the Women's World Championship belt, her thumb tracing its way across the embossed name as the gold gleams in the low light.
"I'll face you, I'll beat you, and I'll continue carrying this damn division on my shoulders. But mark my words, the revolution I started won't be complete until I get what I damn well deserve – a shot at the future, not a repeat of the past."
Brooklyn glares into the camera, the intensity of her frustration burning through her eyes.
Let the countdown begin, Jennie. One, two, three, four… Here's to hoping the fifth time's the charm.
The camera lingers on Brooklyn's determined expression as she leaves the room, the weight of her expectations evident in every step.
---
The room was dimly lit, the flickering light casting shadows that danced across the walls. The cold Chicago night pressed against the windows, creating a barrier between the trio and the outside world. Rowan, the matriarch of The Pack, settled into an aged leather chair, her features etched with the wisdom of years spent navigating the tumultuous world of professional wrestling. April, sister third-wheel to this pair, stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the city below, the glittering lights juxtaposed against the somber mood in the room.
Brooklyn paced restlessly, her footsteps echoing in the confined space. The air was thick with the weight of recent events, the aftermath of a match that transcended the boundaries of competition. The trio, bound by blood and a shared legacy, found themselves grappling with the complexities of relationships, rivalries, and the unyielding pursuit of greatness.
Brooklyn sighs, “This match with Jennie... it feels like history repeating itself. I’m tired of having to prove myself against her - I’ve already shown that I’m the best there is in that ring. I mean … right?”
The room seemed to tighten around Brooklyn, the memories of recent struggles encircling her like a relentless storm. The flickering light played on her face, revealing a mix of frustration and determination.
Rowan looked up, “Brooklyn, you have proven yourself time and again. You don't need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Rowan's gaze, deep and penetrating, held the assurance of a leader who had weathered countless storms. Her eyes, like pools of amber reflecting moonlight, but also the wisdom acquired through decades of triumphs and tribulations.
There’s a pause before Brooklyn answers. “It's not just about the match, Ro. It's about what happened with Dean. That loss... it stings more than any other. I had a chance to put everything behind us, to finally move on, but I couldn't.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, each word hanging in the air like a delicate thread. April, still by the window, observed the dynamics between the two, her eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and empathy.
April, raising an eyebrow, breaks the silence. “Dean? You still on that? You can’t keep blaming …
“Yeah, I can. That match was more than just a random encounter. It was a chance to close a chapter, to heal old wounds. And I blew it.”
As Brooklyn spoke, the cityscape outside the window transformed into a mosaic of distant lights, each flicker mirroring the complexities of her emotions. The room became a stage for the unfolding drama, a space where past and present collided.
When Rowan next spoke, her voice was soft as silk. “Brooklyn, you're only human. We all make mistakes. What happened with Dean was beyond your control and I know that I do not find you to blame at all for …"
Brooklyn, clearly frustrated, “I know, Ro. But every time I close my eyes, I see his damn face. I see the disappointment on yours, whether you realize it or not. And now, I have this match with Jennie, and it's like the universe is forcing me to confront everything, everywhere all at once.”
April remained silent, absorbing the heavy atmosphere in the room. She had yet to fully grasp the intricacies of the relationships within The Pack, but the tension was palpable.
Rowan leaned forward, “What has Ms. Jennie said about the match?”
Brooklyn grimmaced. “I don’t know, but I know she's ready, Ro. More than ready. There’s history there between the two of us, she knows the score and where she sits. She’s got no room for excuses - I proved that I was the better fighter.”
The dim light accentuated the lines on Brooklyn's face, the weariness of a champion who carried the weight of expectations. The room felt like a sanctuary for confessions, a space where vulnerabilities could be laid bare.
April cocked an eyebrow curiously. “That's... unusual, isn't it? I mean, I know I’m still relatively new but if I had a nickel for every time I heard someone make an excuse for a loss or something …”
“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Brooklyn continued, “With Jennie, she's not looking for shortcuts or claiming she was wronged. She's gonna embrace this challenge. It's not just about the match for her.”
The shadows in the room seemed to dance to the rhythm of Brooklyn's words, an intricate choreography of emotions unfolding in the muted light.
Rowan, thoughtful, “She's not just focused on the title. She wants to redefine your rivalry, change the dynamics."
“Exactly. She's not just a contender; she’s like my stupid nemesis … looking beyond the immediate goal of just winning the title. It’s weird … I mean, if feels like she’s the type who would look at this match as a turning point for both of us.”
April, with a newfound understanding, shifted her gaze from the city lights to the dynamics playing out before her. The room became a canvas, and the trio, the artists crafting a narrative of resilience and redemption.
“Part of me gets all that because when it comes to people who have actually elevated me to higher echelons in the past, Jennie is near the top of that very short list. She’s a huge pain in my ass, but unlike some of the others -”
“Fiona”
“Caroline”
“Virginia”
“Yeah, unlike them she’s not a pain in the ass in a bad way … I guess? I mean, there’s no going through the motions with her - and I’ve always got to be on my toes because, frankly, I never know what bat-shit crazy idea is going to pop into her head. Other than you, Ro, I’ve never faced someone so willing to put their own body on the line.”
As Brooklyn spoke, the room seemed to contract, the walls closing in on the trio engaged in a delicate dance of words and emotions.
Rowan calmly nodded. “Well, regardless of her intentions, you need to focus on yourself. Don't let external factors cloud your judgment.
“I know, Ro. It's just... it's a lot to process. Dean, the recent loss, and now this. It's like I'm caught in a whirlwind."
The room fell into a contemplative silence as the trio absorbed the weight of Brooklyn's emotions.
April, ever the one uncomfortable with silence is the first to break it. “What do you want, Brooklyn? Beyond the match, beyond the rivalry. What do you want for yourself?”
“Closure, I guess. With Dean, with this chapter of my life. I want to prove to myself that I can overcome these challenges, that I can be the champion I aspire to be.”
The room, once a witness to turmoil, became a sanctuary for self-discovery. The subdued light hinted at the possibility of redemption, a journey illuminated by the flicker of hope.
Rowan smiled at her saying, “You will, Brooklyn. You always do. But don't rush it. Take the time you need to heal, to confront your demons. And remember, we're here for you.”
“Yeah,” April continued with a nod, “The past may shape us, but it doesn't define us. You have the power to write your own future.”
“Thanks, guys. It means a lot. Now, let's get ready for Diamonds Are Forever. Jennie may want to redefine our story, but I'll make sure it ends on my terms.”
As they prepared to leave the room and join their sisters, the cold wind of Chicago howling outside, the trio found solace in the unspoken bond that connected them, a bond forged through the trials and triumphs of The Pack, and now the Murder.
The city below continued its restless journey through the night, unaware of the intricate narratives unfolding within the walls of the room, where champions and legacies intertwined in the dance of shadows and light.
(sarcastically) “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise? Here I am, thinking I'd get a fresh face, a new challenge, a chance to elevate someone from the shadows. But no, fate has a twisted sense of humor, and what do I get? Jennie Fenix. Again.”
She scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief as if the universe had conspired against her desire for change.
(rolling her eyes) “How many times is this now? One, two, three… (pauses, counting on her fingers) oh, this will be the fourth glorious encounter with Jennie. Can you feel the excitement building? No? Well, join the club.”
Brooklyn stops her pacing, fixing an intense gaze on the camera.
“Now, don't get me wrong. I'm all for competition, and Jennie, she's proven herself. She’s now officially won the Heiress tournament; she’s faced some stiff competition; and somehow still come out on top. But you see, that's not the issue here. It's not about whether she deserves a shot.
It's about what I deserve.”
Absentmindedly she taps her fingertips against the championship belt, her frustration mounting with each passing moment.
“Since the day I became the Women's World Champion, my goal was clear. I wanted to push this division forward, to be the driving force behind the rise of new talent. I wanted to sculpt the future, be the catalyst for change. But what do I get? The same faces, the same challenges, and the same. damn. matches.”
A cynical chuckle escapes her lips as she glances at the championship belt.
“Jennie, you’ve won the tournament fair and square. Congrats. But I was hoping for a breath of fresh air, a new opponent to test my mettle against. Instead, I'm stuck in this neverending Groundhog Day loop with you.”
She tilts her head, a wry smile forming on her lips.
“It's almost poetic though, isn't it? The Heiress to the Throne faces the Big Bad Wolf for the fourth time. You'd think I'd be excited, thrilled even. But no, I'm just here, wondering when, if ever, I’ll get to fulfill my own wishes, the chance to face someone I haven't beaten into submission already.”
Brooklyn paces again, her frustration intensifying.
“Jennie, don't take this the wrong way. You're talented, there’s no denying that. But we've danced this dance three times before. This isn't about you; it's about me and what I set out to achieve. I wanted to create a legacy, a Women's World Championship reign that would be remembered for elevating the entire damn division.”
She runs a hand through her hair, a deep sigh escaping her.
"Our locker room is full of hungry, talented women itching for a shot; the Heiress tournament went ahead and proved that fact. And yet, here I am, locked in this repetitive cycle with you until the end of time. S’funny - I wanted to be the bridge between the past of our division and the future, but it seems the universe has other plans."
The frustration gives way to a simmering determination in Brooklyn's eyes.
"So, Jennie, congrats on your victory, and I'm sure this one’ll be another instant classic. But don't think for a second that this changes anything. This isn't the revolution I had in mind. This isn't the fresh start I craved."
She rubs her fingers over the Women's World Championship belt, her thumb tracing its way across the embossed name as the gold gleams in the low light.
"I'll face you, I'll beat you, and I'll continue carrying this damn division on my shoulders. But mark my words, the revolution I started won't be complete until I get what I damn well deserve – a shot at the future, not a repeat of the past."
Brooklyn glares into the camera, the intensity of her frustration burning through her eyes.
Let the countdown begin, Jennie. One, two, three, four… Here's to hoping the fifth time's the charm.
The camera lingers on Brooklyn's determined expression as she leaves the room, the weight of her expectations evident in every step.
---
The room was dimly lit, the flickering light casting shadows that danced across the walls. The cold Chicago night pressed against the windows, creating a barrier between the trio and the outside world. Rowan, the matriarch of The Pack, settled into an aged leather chair, her features etched with the wisdom of years spent navigating the tumultuous world of professional wrestling. April, sister third-wheel to this pair, stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the city below, the glittering lights juxtaposed against the somber mood in the room.
Brooklyn paced restlessly, her footsteps echoing in the confined space. The air was thick with the weight of recent events, the aftermath of a match that transcended the boundaries of competition. The trio, bound by blood and a shared legacy, found themselves grappling with the complexities of relationships, rivalries, and the unyielding pursuit of greatness.
Brooklyn sighs, “This match with Jennie... it feels like history repeating itself. I’m tired of having to prove myself against her - I’ve already shown that I’m the best there is in that ring. I mean … right?”
The room seemed to tighten around Brooklyn, the memories of recent struggles encircling her like a relentless storm. The flickering light played on her face, revealing a mix of frustration and determination.
Rowan looked up, “Brooklyn, you have proven yourself time and again. You don't need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Rowan's gaze, deep and penetrating, held the assurance of a leader who had weathered countless storms. Her eyes, like pools of amber reflecting moonlight, but also the wisdom acquired through decades of triumphs and tribulations.
There’s a pause before Brooklyn answers. “It's not just about the match, Ro. It's about what happened with Dean. That loss... it stings more than any other. I had a chance to put everything behind us, to finally move on, but I couldn't.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, each word hanging in the air like a delicate thread. April, still by the window, observed the dynamics between the two, her eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and empathy.
April, raising an eyebrow, breaks the silence. “Dean? You still on that? You can’t keep blaming …
“Yeah, I can. That match was more than just a random encounter. It was a chance to close a chapter, to heal old wounds. And I blew it.”
As Brooklyn spoke, the cityscape outside the window transformed into a mosaic of distant lights, each flicker mirroring the complexities of her emotions. The room became a stage for the unfolding drama, a space where past and present collided.
When Rowan next spoke, her voice was soft as silk. “Brooklyn, you're only human. We all make mistakes. What happened with Dean was beyond your control and I know that I do not find you to blame at all for …"
Brooklyn, clearly frustrated, “I know, Ro. But every time I close my eyes, I see his damn face. I see the disappointment on yours, whether you realize it or not. And now, I have this match with Jennie, and it's like the universe is forcing me to confront everything, everywhere all at once.”
April remained silent, absorbing the heavy atmosphere in the room. She had yet to fully grasp the intricacies of the relationships within The Pack, but the tension was palpable.
Rowan leaned forward, “What has Ms. Jennie said about the match?”
Brooklyn grimmaced. “I don’t know, but I know she's ready, Ro. More than ready. There’s history there between the two of us, she knows the score and where she sits. She’s got no room for excuses - I proved that I was the better fighter.”
The dim light accentuated the lines on Brooklyn's face, the weariness of a champion who carried the weight of expectations. The room felt like a sanctuary for confessions, a space where vulnerabilities could be laid bare.
April cocked an eyebrow curiously. “That's... unusual, isn't it? I mean, I know I’m still relatively new but if I had a nickel for every time I heard someone make an excuse for a loss or something …”
“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Brooklyn continued, “With Jennie, she's not looking for shortcuts or claiming she was wronged. She's gonna embrace this challenge. It's not just about the match for her.”
The shadows in the room seemed to dance to the rhythm of Brooklyn's words, an intricate choreography of emotions unfolding in the muted light.
Rowan, thoughtful, “She's not just focused on the title. She wants to redefine your rivalry, change the dynamics."
“Exactly. She's not just a contender; she’s like my stupid nemesis … looking beyond the immediate goal of just winning the title. It’s weird … I mean, if feels like she’s the type who would look at this match as a turning point for both of us.”
April, with a newfound understanding, shifted her gaze from the city lights to the dynamics playing out before her. The room became a canvas, and the trio, the artists crafting a narrative of resilience and redemption.
“Part of me gets all that because when it comes to people who have actually elevated me to higher echelons in the past, Jennie is near the top of that very short list. She’s a huge pain in my ass, but unlike some of the others -”
“Fiona”
“Caroline”
“Virginia”
“Yeah, unlike them she’s not a pain in the ass in a bad way … I guess? I mean, there’s no going through the motions with her - and I’ve always got to be on my toes because, frankly, I never know what bat-shit crazy idea is going to pop into her head. Other than you, Ro, I’ve never faced someone so willing to put their own body on the line.”
As Brooklyn spoke, the room seemed to contract, the walls closing in on the trio engaged in a delicate dance of words and emotions.
Rowan calmly nodded. “Well, regardless of her intentions, you need to focus on yourself. Don't let external factors cloud your judgment.
“I know, Ro. It's just... it's a lot to process. Dean, the recent loss, and now this. It's like I'm caught in a whirlwind."
The room fell into a contemplative silence as the trio absorbed the weight of Brooklyn's emotions.
April, ever the one uncomfortable with silence is the first to break it. “What do you want, Brooklyn? Beyond the match, beyond the rivalry. What do you want for yourself?”
“Closure, I guess. With Dean, with this chapter of my life. I want to prove to myself that I can overcome these challenges, that I can be the champion I aspire to be.”
The room, once a witness to turmoil, became a sanctuary for self-discovery. The subdued light hinted at the possibility of redemption, a journey illuminated by the flicker of hope.
Rowan smiled at her saying, “You will, Brooklyn. You always do. But don't rush it. Take the time you need to heal, to confront your demons. And remember, we're here for you.”
“Yeah,” April continued with a nod, “The past may shape us, but it doesn't define us. You have the power to write your own future.”
“Thanks, guys. It means a lot. Now, let's get ready for Diamonds Are Forever. Jennie may want to redefine our story, but I'll make sure it ends on my terms.”
As they prepared to leave the room and join their sisters, the cold wind of Chicago howling outside, the trio found solace in the unspoken bond that connected them, a bond forged through the trials and triumphs of The Pack, and now the Murder.
The city below continued its restless journey through the night, unaware of the intricate narratives unfolding within the walls of the room, where champions and legacies intertwined in the dance of shadows and light.