Post by Emma Danielson on Jul 26, 2015 22:57:04 GMT
I know this dance.
I've heard the music, I've hit the beats, one-two-step, one-two-step for the rest of eternity. Honestly, Mercy...what can I say that's new? Can I even say something that's new? Or are we just going to be sitting here and trading the same "I'ma win!" "No, I'ma win!" crap back and forth until we fall over?
I...Jesus, I just don't know anymore. Everything seems like routines and reiterations at this point. Week in, week out, we do the same things and make the same accusations. Christ, I'm so bored with it. I wish we could just skip the shit-talking and fight. I don't know what else to do besides just...shout.
I'm angry. I'm frustrated. I want more, I want something different, but I don't know HOW to get it. Is...is this it? Is this how I do things? Beat the crap out of two other women, win the Heiress to the Throne tournament, become Diamonds' Champion...is that where it all changes?
I hope so. That's what makes sense, that's what the wrestler in me says is the right way. If it isn't, I...I'm not sure what I'll do. Mercedes, what do you want out of this? What's your angle? Money? Prestige? Power? Is this about respect for you too? I'm not sure, and I don't know if I care. I just...I want violence. I want pain. I want to bring the hurt.
And Mirsada, you're going to get the same thing. I'm not in the mood for sob stories, I'm not in the mood for whining, I'm not in the mood for "it's my time" like everyone else seems to be rambling on about. No, it's not your time just because you say it is. You earn it, you make that happen on your own merits.
You've been fighting, I give you that credit. But you've never fought someone like me. You've never fought someone as mean, as nasty, as ruthless as me. 'cause make no mistake, I get pissed off and I lose this chipper, friendly demeanor I walk around with most of the time.
Mercy, you left me laying on the outside. I'm going to leave you laying on the inside, staring up at the lights. That's the end of the story, that's how it goes. I wanted vengeance. I didn't get it...so now I get a redemption.
We open on a lonely country bar. Emma sits at one end of the bar, sighing as she looks down into her beer with a forlorn expression on her face. In the background, the sound of Alan Jackson's "Everything I Love" floats mournfully over the speakers. She sighs, sipping her beer, and looks up at the mirror on the other side of the bar.
Emma takes in her reflection again. A weight seems to be pressing down on her shoulders, her features showing age beyond her years, and even the fire in her eyes has been tamped down to a dull ember. She snarls at the reflection, muttering "Who're you looking at?" as she sips from her beer...
...and the reflection just keeps its eyes fixed on her, evenly replying "You."
Emma looks back up, startled, as her reflection crosses its arms over its chest. She blinks, rubbing her eyes, and carefully addresses the reflection. "...me?"
The reflection nods, shoving its beer to the side. Emma hears a loud crash and looks around, but nobody else seems to notice the sound. Shakily, Emma looks back at the reflection, only to find it standing on the other side of the bar, someone freed from the mirror and casually polishing a shot glass.
Emma takes a deep breath, nodding to herself. "I'm hallucinating. I'm clearly hallucinating here. You're not real."
The reflection shakes its head, setting the glass down. "But you are. And you've got issues, girl. Issues you need to work out."
Emma nods, grumbling irritatedly. The reflection's head shoots out, grabbing her jaw and forcing Emma to look it in the eyes. "I mean this. You need absolution. You need purpose. Find it, or you're dead."
Emma glares at the reflection, hand reaching up and slapping its arm away. As she does, the reflection's arm shatters into shards of glass, ripping her hand open. Blood trickles down from Emma's hand as she stands, the pain ignored or suppressed. She snaps at the reflection indignantly. "Fuck you! You can't tell me anything! You don't know me! I...this isn't real." she trails off, confusion settling in again. "This isn't real. Why am I reacting?"
The reflection shrugs with its one good shoulder, staring her down again. "You tell me. You keep living in these dreams. Why don't you...wake up?"
Emma jerks her head up from the bar with a start, looking around confusedly. The bartender looks over, nodding and sighing. In the background, the same song is playing. The bartender chuckles good-naturedly.
"I was wondering when you were gonna wake up. You looked like something rough was happening there. You okay, girl?"
Emma nods, sighing as she looks back at her beer.
"Yeah...just a dream."
We fade on that statement, as Emma knocks her beer back and tries to wash away the confusion.
I've heard the music, I've hit the beats, one-two-step, one-two-step for the rest of eternity. Honestly, Mercy...what can I say that's new? Can I even say something that's new? Or are we just going to be sitting here and trading the same "I'ma win!" "No, I'ma win!" crap back and forth until we fall over?
I...Jesus, I just don't know anymore. Everything seems like routines and reiterations at this point. Week in, week out, we do the same things and make the same accusations. Christ, I'm so bored with it. I wish we could just skip the shit-talking and fight. I don't know what else to do besides just...shout.
I'm angry. I'm frustrated. I want more, I want something different, but I don't know HOW to get it. Is...is this it? Is this how I do things? Beat the crap out of two other women, win the Heiress to the Throne tournament, become Diamonds' Champion...is that where it all changes?
I hope so. That's what makes sense, that's what the wrestler in me says is the right way. If it isn't, I...I'm not sure what I'll do. Mercedes, what do you want out of this? What's your angle? Money? Prestige? Power? Is this about respect for you too? I'm not sure, and I don't know if I care. I just...I want violence. I want pain. I want to bring the hurt.
And Mirsada, you're going to get the same thing. I'm not in the mood for sob stories, I'm not in the mood for whining, I'm not in the mood for "it's my time" like everyone else seems to be rambling on about. No, it's not your time just because you say it is. You earn it, you make that happen on your own merits.
You've been fighting, I give you that credit. But you've never fought someone like me. You've never fought someone as mean, as nasty, as ruthless as me. 'cause make no mistake, I get pissed off and I lose this chipper, friendly demeanor I walk around with most of the time.
Mercy, you left me laying on the outside. I'm going to leave you laying on the inside, staring up at the lights. That's the end of the story, that's how it goes. I wanted vengeance. I didn't get it...so now I get a redemption.
We open on a lonely country bar. Emma sits at one end of the bar, sighing as she looks down into her beer with a forlorn expression on her face. In the background, the sound of Alan Jackson's "Everything I Love" floats mournfully over the speakers. She sighs, sipping her beer, and looks up at the mirror on the other side of the bar.
Emma takes in her reflection again. A weight seems to be pressing down on her shoulders, her features showing age beyond her years, and even the fire in her eyes has been tamped down to a dull ember. She snarls at the reflection, muttering "Who're you looking at?" as she sips from her beer...
...and the reflection just keeps its eyes fixed on her, evenly replying "You."
Emma looks back up, startled, as her reflection crosses its arms over its chest. She blinks, rubbing her eyes, and carefully addresses the reflection. "...me?"
The reflection nods, shoving its beer to the side. Emma hears a loud crash and looks around, but nobody else seems to notice the sound. Shakily, Emma looks back at the reflection, only to find it standing on the other side of the bar, someone freed from the mirror and casually polishing a shot glass.
Emma takes a deep breath, nodding to herself. "I'm hallucinating. I'm clearly hallucinating here. You're not real."
The reflection shakes its head, setting the glass down. "But you are. And you've got issues, girl. Issues you need to work out."
Emma nods, grumbling irritatedly. The reflection's head shoots out, grabbing her jaw and forcing Emma to look it in the eyes. "I mean this. You need absolution. You need purpose. Find it, or you're dead."
Emma glares at the reflection, hand reaching up and slapping its arm away. As she does, the reflection's arm shatters into shards of glass, ripping her hand open. Blood trickles down from Emma's hand as she stands, the pain ignored or suppressed. She snaps at the reflection indignantly. "Fuck you! You can't tell me anything! You don't know me! I...this isn't real." she trails off, confusion settling in again. "This isn't real. Why am I reacting?"
The reflection shrugs with its one good shoulder, staring her down again. "You tell me. You keep living in these dreams. Why don't you...wake up?"
Emma jerks her head up from the bar with a start, looking around confusedly. The bartender looks over, nodding and sighing. In the background, the same song is playing. The bartender chuckles good-naturedly.
"I was wondering when you were gonna wake up. You looked like something rough was happening there. You okay, girl?"
Emma nods, sighing as she looks back at her beer.
"Yeah...just a dream."
We fade on that statement, as Emma knocks her beer back and tries to wash away the confusion.
Well howdy there pardner.