Post by Ayla St. James on Apr 19, 2014 8:51:33 GMT
Ayla St. James: Tell me why we're here again?
Words cannot describe the sheer amount of overall cuteness, a weird kind of sexyness, and the sheer ridiculousness of Ayla in this bunny suit. It's.. I don't even know what to say.
Desiree St. James: Because if we didn't do this, we'd be over at that event.. didn't figure you'd care since 'he's' there.
You don't need me to spell out who 'he' is, do you? Great, thanks.
Ayla St. James: What makes you say that? I'm totally over that.
Does she think she's fooling anyone? You think last week was an isolated incident. Trust me, it wasn't.
Desiree St. James: Right. We can still make it over there if you wanna ditch this.
The glare Desiree was given might have made her blood run cold, if it was ever warm to begin with.
Desiree St. James: That's what I thought. You think I can't see the anger in your eyes every time someone even mentions his name within thirty feet of you?
Ayla St. James: You don't know what you're talking about.
Desiree St. James: See? I can see it rising in your eyes right now, surging through your voice.
A young man poked his head in through a curtain.
Man: Five minutes, Miss...
He cut himself off midsentence from the ice cold stare she threw his way. He gulped visably, then retreated without another word.
Desiree St. James: The first step to relieving yourself of anger is to understand what makes you so angry. You can deny it all you want, but you'll never be rid of it, nor will you ever be able to be free from what's still holding you back.
Ayla St. James: Let it go..
Desiree St. James: No, I won't. You've got a ridiculously important match this week, and where are we? At some stupid kids easter party just so we wouldn't be somewhere else. You're letting this shit get to you and it's fucking up everything you should be working for.
Ayla St. James: .....
Desiree St. James: That dismissive stare may back off some kid or some dumbstruck twat in the locker room, but not me. Either you're gonna get over this shit now, or we.. are gonna come to blows.
Who'd actually pay to see that? Maybe naked in a pool of pudding or something. That would be the bees knees. They stared at one another a long moment, then Ayla turned on her heel and walked out of frame. A few seconds later, the bunny costume flew back into frame and landed on the floor. A door off camera, opened, and then closed.
Desiree St. James: Now that's better.
Desiree walked off camera in the same direction. The same door opened and closed once more, and shortly thereafter, the same young man poked his head back in.
Man: They're... ready.. for you. Where the hell they go?
Someone's gonna have some explaining to do.
-----------------------------------
Now, I can already tell what you're thinking. Man, Ayla is going to come out here and tell us all sorts of nasty things about us, when she just walked unprofessionally out of an appearance. And you'd be one hundred percent right, I turned tail and walked right out, completely unconcerned for the people who were waiting to see me. Someone give me a Helen Lovejoy, won't somebody think of the children. .....Thanks.
Of course, what you don't know is that it was a party for a teen boy who was graduating high school and I was in the costume so it would be more of a surprise. Of course, he wasn't even a wrestling fan, so he'd of had no idea who I was. His dad saw a blonde with a big rack and decided I must be a stripper. So, no, I felt no shame in just walking out. But I'd already been made out to be a barbie before, so not doing so again was just aces with me. Then again, you should already know that as you, in IWF, aren't suffering the same fate.
You're welcome, by the way.
Of course, most of you weren't there, so you'll simply laugh off that statement. Except Mercedes... She was there. Then again, she's one of those tramp tarts who wrestled in lingerie because she didn't care as long as she could win. The standard excuse that covers for the fact she'd sell her principles and appear in playboy if it even gave her an extra one percent edge in winning some meaningless title or whatever.
Congratulations Mercy, I see from Twitter that you are still a master of the fragile art of talking respect out of your mouth while talking ego out your ass, and not making sense from either hole.
Which is much harder than it looks, all told. Of course, Mercedes will just tell me I don't have room to talk because she's the Ruby champion, and as anyone with a brain stem knows that the title serves no purpose. You're either the best at something, or striving to be it. Whether it's wrestling like the Imperial or Diamonds championships, or some quirky stipulations like Man of Steel and Invictus, you simply are or you aren't, and pointing to something that just says you didn't reach high enough is like framing a participation ribbon. It just makes you forget what you're supposed to be doing.
Like Joanne Canelli, who seems to think that re-enacting the Sopranos scene for scene will make her appear intimidating.
Look honey child, it's quite simple. If you're gonna insult me for things, at least be fuckin right. I didn't take Desiree under anything, nor did I teach her shit. She's perfectly capable of being mean on her own, and since it seems this is "bring up the past week", let me remind you that Desiree was the one who stood up to Zelda.. no training.. no backing.. just a grit load of determination. But I guess Miss Captain Badass over there was too busy pouring Tequila on her cheerios to notice. Make all the excuses you want..
You had the chance to keep fighting, and you just quit and walked away. So much for the ever present fighter huh? Little girl playing in the big yard and yet we're the ones who are worthless, give me a fuckin break Sister.
So far you haven't broken or destroyed a fuckin thing. Just another random chick with a massive inferiority complex and a million excuses to justify everything. I'd rather be a mean girl bimbo than a Jersey back alley gutter trash. Only thing you empower is this idea that you can be stupid and still run a business, no great accomplishment there. Go down to the store and buy yourself a medal.
Speaking of medals, have they delivered your #1 Modest medal yet, Caffrey? I ordered it specifically for you.
No, no thanks needed. It just warms my heart to see a wrestler who has it all together, you know. Random nonsensical talking points? Check. Caked with fake modesty so as not to appear too much like the others? Check. Random snippy outbursts to make sure the audience is still awake? Check. All the perfect character traits that make the average person on the street want to choke the life out of you for what seems like no reason at all.
Gonna go out on a limb here and say that you were the one in the group that people stopped telling where they were gonna be after school.
I'll admit, it's a great act. Modesty with naivety thrown in, the wishful thinking of why can't everyone get along with just a few snarky insults to make everybody giggle. You'd easily be the most hated character on any sitcom you like, winning award after award for your wonderful acting performances, lining your mantle with trophies. But, like the medal I sent you, the only purpose they'd serve is letting your outer appearance reflect your inner appearance.
Fake.
In short, I don't believe a single thing you say.
No, Eternity, I'm not dead.. clearly. But thanks for your concern. One day we can meet over a cup of coffee and I can tell you all the juicy little details of my life that you've missed. Like how Kyle and I are no longer on speaking terms and you could go do all the consoling of him that you like. Of course he'd probably slam the door in your face, but hey, crazier things have happened.
I'll let that sink in for a moment.
Good? Ok. See, Eternity, the problem is not that I don't understand you, it's that I understand you all too well. You need something to chase, something that's always just outside your reach, something to stare at with covetous eyes. First, it was Conway, something she had, whether it was her life, or her husband, I don't really know or care, but something about her made you target her. Had it been for a reason other than just some intangible thing to grasp, you wouldn't have cared about Amber at all.
But no, they dangled a "diamonds title shot" in front of you and you started chasing that instead. Something else that you thought you shouldn't have, and so you wanted it with a vengeance. Then you didn't get it, and now you're just going through the motions, looking for the next thing to latch onto. Thankfully it wasn't me, seems I escaped that trap, but mark my words, it'll be something. Trust me, I know the type.
Frankly, I'm hurt that you'd think me incapable of understanding you. Hurts my feelers.
Last and certainly least, Amber Richards...
Mean Girls? Comedy routine.. Oh, I'm so sorry..
DIDN'T MEAN TO ACTUALLY HAVE A FUCKING PERSONALITY!
I haven't even seen fucking Mean Girls, yet everyone throws out that comparison like it's going out of style. Here's Amber, who's apparently reliving the movie Enough.. and telling everyone else their life is like a fucking movie. Grow up you vapid twat, you got into bed with the devil, and now you're burning alive. Instead of making excuses and running to people to save you, how about you take some responsibility for your own actions?
Nope, rather just sit there and call me names from your judgmental high horse? I kinda figured.
So you stood up for yourself when they told you to go shake your ass to get ahead? Gee, where have I heard that before...? Oh, that's right.. I lived that already. You may think your some cynical badass with an edge on life, but you aren't singing any new songs, just poorly done covers. Rayne version 2.0, half the age and charisma. You must hate the mirror, because you ARE everything you claim not to like. Jess Reed may not have been what you thought a wrestling champion should have been, but night after night in the ring she brought it. Yea, I thought outside the ring she was kind of a smarmy bitch too, but I didn't make it a selfish vendetta to destroy her. I didn't intentionally fuck a couple of guys in the heart because a known manipulator asked me to.
You may have been "champion" but you're a shitty human being. Yea, I talk my shit, but at the end of the day you can just shrug off my words, and the bruises from wrestling heal, but the shit you pulled, people will never forget it.
In summary ladies, we can jargon all day about who's better at this or that, who won this match or that match, but in the end, we're gonna be locked inside a giant cage, and not let out until there can be only one. So bring it on, let's hear what you got to say. As a song most of you have probably never heard goes..
You can talk your shit, just get your fucking story straight. Your path to Ana goes through me, and with whatever respect you think you're due..
Fuck you, that's why.
tl;dr
Go to hell, all of you.
Love, Ayla.
-----------------------------------
We're back at the charity event, the man they call Falcon is standing amidst a group of people, signing various things because that's the kind of things he does. The side door was yanked open, causing all the heads to turn. Ayla stormed in, and walked right up to the group. The people parted, leaving her a clear path to Falcon.
Falcon: Fancy meeting you..
He was cut off. Ayla balled her little fist and threw all of her body weight into a right cross, nearly taking herself off her feet in the process. Falcon wasn't even close to being ready and the sheer force of her weight and momentum knocked him against the wall where he slumped down to his knees.
Falcon: Nice to see you too..
He managed to mutter from the floor. Through tear filled eyes, she glared down at him.
Ayla St. James: That's for not fighting for me...
She turned and stormed off. Falcon watched her go, as he pulled himself up off the floor.
Falcon: .....You asked me not to...
Words cannot describe the sheer amount of overall cuteness, a weird kind of sexyness, and the sheer ridiculousness of Ayla in this bunny suit. It's.. I don't even know what to say.
Desiree St. James: Because if we didn't do this, we'd be over at that event.. didn't figure you'd care since 'he's' there.
You don't need me to spell out who 'he' is, do you? Great, thanks.
Ayla St. James: What makes you say that? I'm totally over that.
Does she think she's fooling anyone? You think last week was an isolated incident. Trust me, it wasn't.
Desiree St. James: Right. We can still make it over there if you wanna ditch this.
The glare Desiree was given might have made her blood run cold, if it was ever warm to begin with.
Desiree St. James: That's what I thought. You think I can't see the anger in your eyes every time someone even mentions his name within thirty feet of you?
Ayla St. James: You don't know what you're talking about.
Desiree St. James: See? I can see it rising in your eyes right now, surging through your voice.
A young man poked his head in through a curtain.
Man: Five minutes, Miss...
He cut himself off midsentence from the ice cold stare she threw his way. He gulped visably, then retreated without another word.
Desiree St. James: The first step to relieving yourself of anger is to understand what makes you so angry. You can deny it all you want, but you'll never be rid of it, nor will you ever be able to be free from what's still holding you back.
Ayla St. James: Let it go..
Desiree St. James: No, I won't. You've got a ridiculously important match this week, and where are we? At some stupid kids easter party just so we wouldn't be somewhere else. You're letting this shit get to you and it's fucking up everything you should be working for.
Ayla St. James: .....
Desiree St. James: That dismissive stare may back off some kid or some dumbstruck twat in the locker room, but not me. Either you're gonna get over this shit now, or we.. are gonna come to blows.
Who'd actually pay to see that? Maybe naked in a pool of pudding or something. That would be the bees knees. They stared at one another a long moment, then Ayla turned on her heel and walked out of frame. A few seconds later, the bunny costume flew back into frame and landed on the floor. A door off camera, opened, and then closed.
Desiree St. James: Now that's better.
Desiree walked off camera in the same direction. The same door opened and closed once more, and shortly thereafter, the same young man poked his head back in.
Man: They're... ready.. for you. Where the hell they go?
Someone's gonna have some explaining to do.
-----------------------------------
Now, I can already tell what you're thinking. Man, Ayla is going to come out here and tell us all sorts of nasty things about us, when she just walked unprofessionally out of an appearance. And you'd be one hundred percent right, I turned tail and walked right out, completely unconcerned for the people who were waiting to see me. Someone give me a Helen Lovejoy, won't somebody think of the children. .....Thanks.
Of course, what you don't know is that it was a party for a teen boy who was graduating high school and I was in the costume so it would be more of a surprise. Of course, he wasn't even a wrestling fan, so he'd of had no idea who I was. His dad saw a blonde with a big rack and decided I must be a stripper. So, no, I felt no shame in just walking out. But I'd already been made out to be a barbie before, so not doing so again was just aces with me. Then again, you should already know that as you, in IWF, aren't suffering the same fate.
You're welcome, by the way.
Of course, most of you weren't there, so you'll simply laugh off that statement. Except Mercedes... She was there. Then again, she's one of those tramp tarts who wrestled in lingerie because she didn't care as long as she could win. The standard excuse that covers for the fact she'd sell her principles and appear in playboy if it even gave her an extra one percent edge in winning some meaningless title or whatever.
Congratulations Mercy, I see from Twitter that you are still a master of the fragile art of talking respect out of your mouth while talking ego out your ass, and not making sense from either hole.
Which is much harder than it looks, all told. Of course, Mercedes will just tell me I don't have room to talk because she's the Ruby champion, and as anyone with a brain stem knows that the title serves no purpose. You're either the best at something, or striving to be it. Whether it's wrestling like the Imperial or Diamonds championships, or some quirky stipulations like Man of Steel and Invictus, you simply are or you aren't, and pointing to something that just says you didn't reach high enough is like framing a participation ribbon. It just makes you forget what you're supposed to be doing.
Like Joanne Canelli, who seems to think that re-enacting the Sopranos scene for scene will make her appear intimidating.
Look honey child, it's quite simple. If you're gonna insult me for things, at least be fuckin right. I didn't take Desiree under anything, nor did I teach her shit. She's perfectly capable of being mean on her own, and since it seems this is "bring up the past week", let me remind you that Desiree was the one who stood up to Zelda.. no training.. no backing.. just a grit load of determination. But I guess Miss Captain Badass over there was too busy pouring Tequila on her cheerios to notice. Make all the excuses you want..
You had the chance to keep fighting, and you just quit and walked away. So much for the ever present fighter huh? Little girl playing in the big yard and yet we're the ones who are worthless, give me a fuckin break Sister.
So far you haven't broken or destroyed a fuckin thing. Just another random chick with a massive inferiority complex and a million excuses to justify everything. I'd rather be a mean girl bimbo than a Jersey back alley gutter trash. Only thing you empower is this idea that you can be stupid and still run a business, no great accomplishment there. Go down to the store and buy yourself a medal.
Speaking of medals, have they delivered your #1 Modest medal yet, Caffrey? I ordered it specifically for you.
No, no thanks needed. It just warms my heart to see a wrestler who has it all together, you know. Random nonsensical talking points? Check. Caked with fake modesty so as not to appear too much like the others? Check. Random snippy outbursts to make sure the audience is still awake? Check. All the perfect character traits that make the average person on the street want to choke the life out of you for what seems like no reason at all.
Gonna go out on a limb here and say that you were the one in the group that people stopped telling where they were gonna be after school.
I'll admit, it's a great act. Modesty with naivety thrown in, the wishful thinking of why can't everyone get along with just a few snarky insults to make everybody giggle. You'd easily be the most hated character on any sitcom you like, winning award after award for your wonderful acting performances, lining your mantle with trophies. But, like the medal I sent you, the only purpose they'd serve is letting your outer appearance reflect your inner appearance.
Fake.
In short, I don't believe a single thing you say.
No, Eternity, I'm not dead.. clearly. But thanks for your concern. One day we can meet over a cup of coffee and I can tell you all the juicy little details of my life that you've missed. Like how Kyle and I are no longer on speaking terms and you could go do all the consoling of him that you like. Of course he'd probably slam the door in your face, but hey, crazier things have happened.
I'll let that sink in for a moment.
Good? Ok. See, Eternity, the problem is not that I don't understand you, it's that I understand you all too well. You need something to chase, something that's always just outside your reach, something to stare at with covetous eyes. First, it was Conway, something she had, whether it was her life, or her husband, I don't really know or care, but something about her made you target her. Had it been for a reason other than just some intangible thing to grasp, you wouldn't have cared about Amber at all.
But no, they dangled a "diamonds title shot" in front of you and you started chasing that instead. Something else that you thought you shouldn't have, and so you wanted it with a vengeance. Then you didn't get it, and now you're just going through the motions, looking for the next thing to latch onto. Thankfully it wasn't me, seems I escaped that trap, but mark my words, it'll be something. Trust me, I know the type.
Frankly, I'm hurt that you'd think me incapable of understanding you. Hurts my feelers.
Last and certainly least, Amber Richards...
Mean Girls? Comedy routine.. Oh, I'm so sorry..
DIDN'T MEAN TO ACTUALLY HAVE A FUCKING PERSONALITY!
I haven't even seen fucking Mean Girls, yet everyone throws out that comparison like it's going out of style. Here's Amber, who's apparently reliving the movie Enough.. and telling everyone else their life is like a fucking movie. Grow up you vapid twat, you got into bed with the devil, and now you're burning alive. Instead of making excuses and running to people to save you, how about you take some responsibility for your own actions?
Nope, rather just sit there and call me names from your judgmental high horse? I kinda figured.
So you stood up for yourself when they told you to go shake your ass to get ahead? Gee, where have I heard that before...? Oh, that's right.. I lived that already. You may think your some cynical badass with an edge on life, but you aren't singing any new songs, just poorly done covers. Rayne version 2.0, half the age and charisma. You must hate the mirror, because you ARE everything you claim not to like. Jess Reed may not have been what you thought a wrestling champion should have been, but night after night in the ring she brought it. Yea, I thought outside the ring she was kind of a smarmy bitch too, but I didn't make it a selfish vendetta to destroy her. I didn't intentionally fuck a couple of guys in the heart because a known manipulator asked me to.
You may have been "champion" but you're a shitty human being. Yea, I talk my shit, but at the end of the day you can just shrug off my words, and the bruises from wrestling heal, but the shit you pulled, people will never forget it.
In summary ladies, we can jargon all day about who's better at this or that, who won this match or that match, but in the end, we're gonna be locked inside a giant cage, and not let out until there can be only one. So bring it on, let's hear what you got to say. As a song most of you have probably never heard goes..
You can talk your shit, just get your fucking story straight. Your path to Ana goes through me, and with whatever respect you think you're due..
Fuck you, that's why.
tl;dr
Go to hell, all of you.
Love, Ayla.
-----------------------------------
We're back at the charity event, the man they call Falcon is standing amidst a group of people, signing various things because that's the kind of things he does. The side door was yanked open, causing all the heads to turn. Ayla stormed in, and walked right up to the group. The people parted, leaving her a clear path to Falcon.
Falcon: Fancy meeting you..
He was cut off. Ayla balled her little fist and threw all of her body weight into a right cross, nearly taking herself off her feet in the process. Falcon wasn't even close to being ready and the sheer force of her weight and momentum knocked him against the wall where he slumped down to his knees.
Falcon: Nice to see you too..
He managed to mutter from the floor. Through tear filled eyes, she glared down at him.
Ayla St. James: That's for not fighting for me...
She turned and stormed off. Falcon watched her go, as he pulled himself up off the floor.
Falcon: .....You asked me not to...
Well howdy there pardner.