Post by Isabella Maldini on Jun 6, 2013 16:59:07 GMT
I remember the first bullet.
BANG
And the second, and the third, even the fourth…things get a little hazy after that.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
My parent’s lives were snubbed out quickly, and painlessly, I was so eagerly informed by the Sovrintendenti. That’s Super Intendant for those you who’re incapable of using Google. It’s ok, I’ll wait for you. Keeping up?
Good. Let’s move on.
In five seconds I went from enjoying an ice cream on an idyllic summer’s day beside the Bay of Naples to an orphan laying in a hospital bed surrounded by men who looked like they should have been rescuing Princess Peach instead of trying to comfort a child who had failed to reach double digits in age.
“Your-a Mama, she-a feel no pain.”
Please. I was a kid, not an idiot.
I’ve been unable to play Super Mario Bros. ever since. I don’t think I can ever trust a pixelated plumber again who attempted to fool me into believing a gunshot wound to the spine wasn’t an unpleasant way to die.
But I digress.
Life is tough for an orphan. Life is even tougher for an orphan with a bullet lodged in her shoulder. Then, because fate obviously determined I’d not been kicked in the ovaries enough already, being chased by the Camorra for having the audacity to get shot and not die really doesn’t do your adoption prospects many favours.
People are funny about placing themselves, or more specifically their heads, between a stranger and a bullet.
Or, you know, being eaten by rats or something equally inventive. There’s not a lot to do in Napoli.
People get bored.
Regardless, by the age of nine I was alone in the world, left to fend for myself with no guidance. I had no father to do that awfully cheesy “dance atop his feet” schtick or mother to discuss boys with…
Although on second thoughts, all things considered, that is probably a good thing.
So, what is a girl to do?
Sit on her ass and cry and become consumed by a world designed to devour vulnerable young girls?
No thanks. The whore house or the white picket fence and 2.5 kids are all the same to me.
We can save the touchy feely emotional stuff for another time. There’s plenty more to tell, so all of you who’re in touch with their feminine side will be well catered for, but for now?
Now we’re at the end of the previous chapter, ready to enter a new one.
The Imperial Wrestling Federation.
BANG
And the second, and the third, even the fourth…things get a little hazy after that.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
My parent’s lives were snubbed out quickly, and painlessly, I was so eagerly informed by the Sovrintendenti. That’s Super Intendant for those you who’re incapable of using Google. It’s ok, I’ll wait for you. Keeping up?
Good. Let’s move on.
In five seconds I went from enjoying an ice cream on an idyllic summer’s day beside the Bay of Naples to an orphan laying in a hospital bed surrounded by men who looked like they should have been rescuing Princess Peach instead of trying to comfort a child who had failed to reach double digits in age.
“Your-a Mama, she-a feel no pain.”
Please. I was a kid, not an idiot.
I’ve been unable to play Super Mario Bros. ever since. I don’t think I can ever trust a pixelated plumber again who attempted to fool me into believing a gunshot wound to the spine wasn’t an unpleasant way to die.
But I digress.
Life is tough for an orphan. Life is even tougher for an orphan with a bullet lodged in her shoulder. Then, because fate obviously determined I’d not been kicked in the ovaries enough already, being chased by the Camorra for having the audacity to get shot and not die really doesn’t do your adoption prospects many favours.
People are funny about placing themselves, or more specifically their heads, between a stranger and a bullet.
Or, you know, being eaten by rats or something equally inventive. There’s not a lot to do in Napoli.
People get bored.
Regardless, by the age of nine I was alone in the world, left to fend for myself with no guidance. I had no father to do that awfully cheesy “dance atop his feet” schtick or mother to discuss boys with…
Although on second thoughts, all things considered, that is probably a good thing.
So, what is a girl to do?
Sit on her ass and cry and become consumed by a world designed to devour vulnerable young girls?
No thanks. The whore house or the white picket fence and 2.5 kids are all the same to me.
We can save the touchy feely emotional stuff for another time. There’s plenty more to tell, so all of you who’re in touch with their feminine side will be well catered for, but for now?
Now we’re at the end of the previous chapter, ready to enter a new one.
The Imperial Wrestling Federation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They say a fresh start can be so reinvigorating. But then they also say a bunch of other touchy feely crap too so maybe I shouldn't place too much faith in whimsical sayings that are bette suited for tumblr and reddit.
Regardless, it is good to be here to face a new challenge.
There’s a wide array of, let’s call it talent, here on the roster. There’s a girl whose breasts are both larger than her own head, which based on her first foray into the spoken word is quite the accomplishment. A girl from the future with a dishevelled old man with a penchant for petting Tyrannosauridae and the virtue of the most noble of bloodlines in professional wrestling. A supernaturally aware daughter of a mortician, a goth, a rock chick…
And for some reason a collective desire to get inside the pants of Alysson Gardner.
I mean besides the bust and the fact she is a redhead.
Yet from this wide cast of mentally unstable women it seems that fate has once again pissed on my parade with controversy and lined me up opposite a woman who likes dressing up.
Well who doesn’t?
Jessica Reed, young, bubbly twin sister of the Head of Legal Operations who just so happens to want to ring my neck for, allegedly, seducing her boyfriend, the current Chief Operating Officer of IWF.
Who ever said the booking committee doesn’t have a sense of humour?
Whatever you may think, you don’t really know the half of it. Bernard can portray what happened that night in whatever way he likes, but there’s only two of us who really know what happened between the moment I yanked that well-proportioned Italian frame into my bedroom and the minute he left.
Listen, tush, there’s a lot you don’t know about Roberto Verona.
There’s a hell of a lot of layers to that particular onion and slicing into them a little too vigorously may induce tears. There’s a dark age in the history of that man which are best left in the shadows and left firmly out of your memory…
Well, not all of it. But I’d better keep those carnal secrets to myself considering Bernard is in the habit of sharing my illicit rendezvous to the entire world. I’m not a prude by any means, but a girl has to have her privacy, whose going to milk the cow if they’ve seen the whole dairy?
Capisce?
I know I’m probably not your favourite girl in the world here Jessy but I’d hate it if our relationship got off on the wrong foot, after all we’ve got an awful lot in common. I mean besides the fact we both own a set of breasts and don’t resemble a Blobfish, which seems to be the easiest way to categorize a woman in pro wrestling.
Your sister has climbed Mount Verona, I’ve climbed it on multiple occasions, believe me and no doubt so have you…
I mean, you have, haven’t you?
That is unless he really has changed…
Honestly, regardless of what I may, or may not, have done recently with your sister’s man I don’t mean either of you any harm, whether you believe that is to be left at your discretion. I’ve never even met the woman I have supposedly slighted with my behaviour, perhaps that just make me an even bigger home wrecker without a soul but trust me when I say this.
When I was in that hotel room with Roberto, the last person I had on my mind was Hannah Reed.
Trust me.
Although if she plays her cards right…
Oh, sorry, look at me, mind in the gutter again. I simply cannot control myself, at least, that’s the impression everybody else will have after last Monday. I’m the brunette tramp who rolled up on the scene and manipulated poor helpless Roberto…
Sorry.
Poor, helpless, reigning NCW World Champion and only successful revolutionary in wrestling history, Roberto, into my honey trap. I hate to break it to everyone, but the COO of IWF is more than capable of thinking with the sizeable organ inside his head, certainly enough to make any of my “snake charming” obsolete.
You can hate on me for what he did, or perhaps you can ask him…
Why did you go to that hotel room, Roberto? Was a stake in IWF really worth the trouble? I may not have filmed the episode myself, but for a man who is so calm and collected in his reasoning to claim he was incapable of comprehending the potential risks is…
Foolish.
He knew exactly what would happen if anybody caught a glimpse of our rendezvous, the implications of his actions…
Who he would hurt.
This week you get your opportunity to “get one back” for your sister, and kudos on you for giving that your best effort but believe me darling, however much it will upset the fairytale act of vengeance for a woman scorned, you’re going to be left laying on your back come Monday.
A little like I was a few weeks ago but nowhere near as satisfied.
I’ve never been handed anything in life, I’ve always had to take what I want and on this new journey they can be only one goal. To become the first IWF Diamond’s Champion. Naturally it is a dream I share with what will become seven other women after this week is through, but the first step on that road is beating you.
No hard feelings.
This is strictly business. I am here to prove myself as a professional wrestler just like you, just like Ryleigh, Eternity, Kate and the rest of the freshmen who’re dying to make a name for themselves by superseding the established names on the roster. I hold no personal feelings either way towards any of you, all I want is that leather and gold wrapped around my waist and you…
You’re the first act in a lengthy production that will finally culminate in that one moment of tangible glory. There’s no shame in being the stepping stone to greater things, just ask some of the guys backstage who’ve made a career of it.
Maybe this can be a lesson for you, to improve yourself. Think of it as my way of sorry for spoiling the early months of your summer. I’ll see you on Monday, Jessy.
Say hello to Roberto for me.
Well howdy there pardner.