Post by Emma Danielson on Feb 1, 2016 5:49:54 GMT
I keep getting blown away just how stupid people can be sometimes.
I’m nobody’s servant. I’m nobody’s tool. I helped my friend. That’s it. I’m not a puppet, I’m not a pawn, and I’m not a stooge. Anyone needs clarification, they can meet my friends Jab and Haymaker to sort out the confusion.
Three women in front of me. The greatest damn prize in the company landing right in front of my face. And the expectation that I’ll do everything the same that I’ve done before.
That I’ll fail.
That I won’t be able to measure up.
I hear their voices when I sleep, the fucking chorus of the damned trying to tear me to pieces, and I’m sick of it. I’M SICK OF IT!
It ends. They end. Sunday, Metamorphosis, I cut the strings and I stand tall. Beaten, brused, scarred…but I throw all of the shit that’s been heaped on my shoulders off and I walk away with redemption, shiny and golden, hanging from my fist.
Crystal Millar…you’ve renamed yourself, Crystal. Trying to reinvent yourself, trying to stay in the spotlight, trying to change without changing a goddamn thing. Story of your life, isn’t it?
You slap a new coat of paint on, but it’s all the same under the hood. You used to be a friend, Crystal. You used to be one of the people I thought I could trust in this world. But it wasn’t ever about us. It was always…about…you.
It was about the princess and the giant, the elf and the ogre, the beauty and the beast. Drunken Perfection. You made yourself seem like a paragon and tried to make me a damn pariah. That’s what you do. You try to use the hearts and hopes of others as fuel to keep your fire lit.
But it’s not working anymore. Everyone around you’s learned better. You’re trying to find your hook again, but it’s not there. You can’t pull yourself back out of this one, Crystal. Your star’s fading, and you can’t light it back up.
You live for that attention. You need it like a plant needs water, you need it so bad it hurts. The best thing you can do is realize that someday, someday sooner than you want, it’ll all go away. The love doesn’t last forever, Crystal.
I remember a time when I had arenas screaming my name. Now, it feels like I’m lucky if they make noise at all. I thought I needed it too…but I realized I was stronger than that. I realized I could live without them. The question is, can you live without them?
Because they can live without you.
We open on Emma Danielson sitting across a table from one of IWF’s photographers, their surroundings clearly suggesting a photo studio. The photographer steeples his fingers, addressing Emma with what can only be described as a patronizing tone of voice.
”Now, Emma, I approached Ms. Conway with the idea of doing a Diamonds photoshoot some time ago. She’s been resistant to the idea. Something about it seeming degrading, I don’t know. But, it seems she’s finally relented. Now, she suggested you as the first subject of the photo series, and I must admit, I was eager to accept. I always love a challenge.”
Emma cocks her eyebrow, her voice already dropping closer to a growl as she cautiously regards the photographer.
”What do you mean, a challenge? Afraid you don’t know how to point the camera anymore when you look at me?”
The photographer shakes his head, chuckling dismissively again. He waves Emma off, drumming his fingers on the table’s top.
”No no no. You must understand, normally I work with models. You are a…unique case. It’s like being handed a piece of twisted wreckage and being told to make the Venus de Milo out of it.”
Emma’s nostrils flare briefly before she closes her eyes, exhaling slowly and nodding.
”That sounds like an analogy you would draw. Okay, I’ll bite. What do you want me to do?”
The photographer’s crocodile-like grin nearly splits his head in two. He chuckles to himself, nodding, and looks to a partition standing near the photo area.
”Check back there. The outfits are laid out in the order that I want you to wear them. Once you’ve got the first on, we’ll do your makeup and go from there.”
Emma stands up, stalking over to the partition. She looks around it, staring at the outfits laid out for a long, annoyed moment. The moment her eyes alight upon the chainmail bikini, however, her eyes narrow to murderous slits. She spins on her heel, heading for the door. The photographer’s eyes go wide, and he leaps to his feet.
”Wait! No! You can’t leave! I’ve got so many plans! Where are you going?!”
Emma doesn’t pause in her tracks, replying as she boots the door open and strides from the studio.
”Getting into character.”
With that, the door slowly begins to swing shut, leaving a bewildered photographer in her wake.
Fiona…don’t mistake what happened at Diamonds are Forever. I won’t hesitate to rip you apart if it means I become the Diamonds Champion.
That was different. Eternity…Eternity didn’t need my help to beat you. I didn’t think that you needed the extra help to learn the lesson that was being taught. Apparently you needed more, because you haven’t learned jack shit.
This isn’t about having fun. This isn’t a goddamn game. This is life or death, and if you keep taking things lightly, it’ll be death for you. I like blood on my hands, but it’s a renewable resource if you do it right, and you’re doing it so, so wrong.
See, your problem is you think that extremes are what matters. You tried the Spock act, and it got your ass kicked in sideways. Now, you think that you can just run around with a smile on your face, and say “Haha, I’m having fun, I love it!” as if that means suddenly your fortunes are gonna change.
But…now, instead of shitting on people for being illogical, you’re doing it because you think they’re not having fun properly. Get fucked, Fifi. No matter what face you’re wearing, you’re just a moralizing piece of shit, and I can’t stand people like that.
I don’t need Kathy’s encouragement to want to whip your ass. See, truth of the matter is, when I stomped you into the mat like the piece of trash you are, it felt damn good. It felt cathartic. You were toying with that whip, and I got to remind you that I am the goddamn weapon. Now, here we are again, and it’s even explicitly my job to beat you down. Ain’t life grand?
Get off your high horse, Fiona. You’re not fooling anyone. The Diamonds Division doesn’t need anyone trying to enforce their idea of the law. We’ve already got the law in place, and you need to stop trying to play vigilante.
Can you live without that high horse to ride on? When you get dragged down into the muck and the filth with the rest of us, when you realize that all of the moralizing you’re doing is worthless and that you’re just as rotten as anyone else…can you live without that blanket shielding you from the world? You’ll have to learn how.
You may call me harsh, but it’s a harsh world out there. Time you realized that.
The photographer is pacing back in forth in the studio, tapping his foot impatiently and checking his phone. Upon seeing the time, he unlocks his phone and dials a number, grumbling. The person on the other end of the line picks up, and immediately the photographer begins ranting.
”She’s impossible! …Danielson, that’s who! She saw the outfits and stormed out an hour ago! What an affront to my artistic vision! Can you believe it? She said something about getting into character, but I think that she really just meant going out and getting utterly blitzed. God, I hate working with alcoholics.”
As he says that, the door swings open. He looks up, facing away from the door, and his eyes flutter in irritation. He hisses into the phone, breathing heavily.
”I’ll call you back. I think the ogre has finally returned.”
He hangs up, closing his eyes and haughtily turning around with a smirk on his face.
”Well well, returned? Good, I’d hate to tell your employer that you skipped out on this meeting. With a reputation like mine, I’m sure that you’d find yourself out of luck in no time. Then again, with a face like that, you’re already out of luck. I’ve seen softer jawlines on woodpeckers. Now then, if you’d be so kind as to…”
He opens his eyes, and his words die in his throat, horror choking them silent. Emma stands inside the door, arms and face covered in blood. She advances slowly on him, blood dripping from a broken bottle in her hand as she advances on the photographer. He puts his hands up, babbling at lightspeed as Danielson advances on him.
”I-I-I-I-I didn’t mean any of it! I swear, it was all in good fun! You know what, you don’t have to wear the outfits! You can wear whatever you want! Tell me what you want to do! I love trying new things, and you’re s-such a versatile person, I-I’m SURE we could do anyth—“
Emma’s hand shoots out, wrapping itself around the photographer’s throat. She backs him up a few steps, hissing at him in a low, wicked snarl that seems more feral than anything as she yanks him in by his throat.
”Understand THIS, you miserable pile of shit. Kathleen Conway doesn’t want you taking cheesecake pictures. She doesn’t want the Diamonds to be considered a joke. You’re mocking her, and you’re mocking me, by even laying those out in front of me. Now, I suggest you go home and reevaluate your shit before I wreck it.”
Emma pauses, flashing a killer grin at the photographer as he trembles in her grasp.
”Don’t worry. I’ll lock up behind me.”
With that, she roughly shoves him away, letting go of his throat. He staggers back, coughing, before bolting for the exit, wild-eyed and hysterical. Emma watches him go, setting the broken bottle down and smirking as he yanks the door shut behind himself. She shakes her head, glancing down at her hands and forearms with a smirk.
”I love fake blood. Best five bucks I ever spent.”
She sighs, looking around at the photo studio, and idly kicks the empty bottle to the side, walking over to a sink mounted in the wall. Emma casually begins washing the “blood” off her hands and arms, humming tunelessly to herself as we fade to black.
And then there’s the champion. I’ve run out of Gollum cracks, I’ve run out of ways to belittle you for how possessive you are of that Diamonds Championship, and frankly I’m glad I have.
Why? Because you care about it. You need that title to make yourself whole. It’s part of the Jenga tower that is your psyche, and it’s the one that’s holding the whole crazy quilt together. Yank that out, and you just…
Collapse.
You’ve put all this weight on that linchpin, so much investment in this one thing, that if you lose it, you’re dead. You won’t know what to do with yourself. Well, you will. You’ll try to scramble and pull it back to yourself before you lose your mind even more.
You’re…fixated…on the title. With it, you’re empowered, you’re amazing, you’re invincible. Without it, it’s like someone reached into your chest and ripped your heart out. I’ve had my heart ripped out before, Alexis. I know how much it hurts.
So I can imagine how much it’ll hurt to rip it away from you.
I can hear the screams of anguish, of denial. It’d be even worse if I broke Fiona or Crystal to do it, wouldn’t I? All of that hard work, undone because they couldn’t help fucking up. It’d be their fault then, wouldn’t it? All their fault…
Nope. Wrong, jackass. It’s all your fault, no matter what. And when you have to stare in horror at the sight of me holding the title that you thought was yours forever over my head, when you feel that hole forming in your chest sucking at who you were…when you feel that dread creeping in of “is this it?”, when you start questioning if you can live without the title…trust me. You can.
You’ll have to.
I’m nobody’s servant. I’m nobody’s tool. I helped my friend. That’s it. I’m not a puppet, I’m not a pawn, and I’m not a stooge. Anyone needs clarification, they can meet my friends Jab and Haymaker to sort out the confusion.
Three women in front of me. The greatest damn prize in the company landing right in front of my face. And the expectation that I’ll do everything the same that I’ve done before.
That I’ll fail.
That I won’t be able to measure up.
I hear their voices when I sleep, the fucking chorus of the damned trying to tear me to pieces, and I’m sick of it. I’M SICK OF IT!
It ends. They end. Sunday, Metamorphosis, I cut the strings and I stand tall. Beaten, brused, scarred…but I throw all of the shit that’s been heaped on my shoulders off and I walk away with redemption, shiny and golden, hanging from my fist.
Crystal Millar…you’ve renamed yourself, Crystal. Trying to reinvent yourself, trying to stay in the spotlight, trying to change without changing a goddamn thing. Story of your life, isn’t it?
You slap a new coat of paint on, but it’s all the same under the hood. You used to be a friend, Crystal. You used to be one of the people I thought I could trust in this world. But it wasn’t ever about us. It was always…about…you.
It was about the princess and the giant, the elf and the ogre, the beauty and the beast. Drunken Perfection. You made yourself seem like a paragon and tried to make me a damn pariah. That’s what you do. You try to use the hearts and hopes of others as fuel to keep your fire lit.
But it’s not working anymore. Everyone around you’s learned better. You’re trying to find your hook again, but it’s not there. You can’t pull yourself back out of this one, Crystal. Your star’s fading, and you can’t light it back up.
You live for that attention. You need it like a plant needs water, you need it so bad it hurts. The best thing you can do is realize that someday, someday sooner than you want, it’ll all go away. The love doesn’t last forever, Crystal.
I remember a time when I had arenas screaming my name. Now, it feels like I’m lucky if they make noise at all. I thought I needed it too…but I realized I was stronger than that. I realized I could live without them. The question is, can you live without them?
Because they can live without you.
We open on Emma Danielson sitting across a table from one of IWF’s photographers, their surroundings clearly suggesting a photo studio. The photographer steeples his fingers, addressing Emma with what can only be described as a patronizing tone of voice.
”Now, Emma, I approached Ms. Conway with the idea of doing a Diamonds photoshoot some time ago. She’s been resistant to the idea. Something about it seeming degrading, I don’t know. But, it seems she’s finally relented. Now, she suggested you as the first subject of the photo series, and I must admit, I was eager to accept. I always love a challenge.”
Emma cocks her eyebrow, her voice already dropping closer to a growl as she cautiously regards the photographer.
”What do you mean, a challenge? Afraid you don’t know how to point the camera anymore when you look at me?”
The photographer shakes his head, chuckling dismissively again. He waves Emma off, drumming his fingers on the table’s top.
”No no no. You must understand, normally I work with models. You are a…unique case. It’s like being handed a piece of twisted wreckage and being told to make the Venus de Milo out of it.”
Emma’s nostrils flare briefly before she closes her eyes, exhaling slowly and nodding.
”That sounds like an analogy you would draw. Okay, I’ll bite. What do you want me to do?”
The photographer’s crocodile-like grin nearly splits his head in two. He chuckles to himself, nodding, and looks to a partition standing near the photo area.
”Check back there. The outfits are laid out in the order that I want you to wear them. Once you’ve got the first on, we’ll do your makeup and go from there.”
Emma stands up, stalking over to the partition. She looks around it, staring at the outfits laid out for a long, annoyed moment. The moment her eyes alight upon the chainmail bikini, however, her eyes narrow to murderous slits. She spins on her heel, heading for the door. The photographer’s eyes go wide, and he leaps to his feet.
”Wait! No! You can’t leave! I’ve got so many plans! Where are you going?!”
Emma doesn’t pause in her tracks, replying as she boots the door open and strides from the studio.
”Getting into character.”
With that, the door slowly begins to swing shut, leaving a bewildered photographer in her wake.
Fiona…don’t mistake what happened at Diamonds are Forever. I won’t hesitate to rip you apart if it means I become the Diamonds Champion.
That was different. Eternity…Eternity didn’t need my help to beat you. I didn’t think that you needed the extra help to learn the lesson that was being taught. Apparently you needed more, because you haven’t learned jack shit.
This isn’t about having fun. This isn’t a goddamn game. This is life or death, and if you keep taking things lightly, it’ll be death for you. I like blood on my hands, but it’s a renewable resource if you do it right, and you’re doing it so, so wrong.
See, your problem is you think that extremes are what matters. You tried the Spock act, and it got your ass kicked in sideways. Now, you think that you can just run around with a smile on your face, and say “Haha, I’m having fun, I love it!” as if that means suddenly your fortunes are gonna change.
But…now, instead of shitting on people for being illogical, you’re doing it because you think they’re not having fun properly. Get fucked, Fifi. No matter what face you’re wearing, you’re just a moralizing piece of shit, and I can’t stand people like that.
I don’t need Kathy’s encouragement to want to whip your ass. See, truth of the matter is, when I stomped you into the mat like the piece of trash you are, it felt damn good. It felt cathartic. You were toying with that whip, and I got to remind you that I am the goddamn weapon. Now, here we are again, and it’s even explicitly my job to beat you down. Ain’t life grand?
Get off your high horse, Fiona. You’re not fooling anyone. The Diamonds Division doesn’t need anyone trying to enforce their idea of the law. We’ve already got the law in place, and you need to stop trying to play vigilante.
Can you live without that high horse to ride on? When you get dragged down into the muck and the filth with the rest of us, when you realize that all of the moralizing you’re doing is worthless and that you’re just as rotten as anyone else…can you live without that blanket shielding you from the world? You’ll have to learn how.
You may call me harsh, but it’s a harsh world out there. Time you realized that.
The photographer is pacing back in forth in the studio, tapping his foot impatiently and checking his phone. Upon seeing the time, he unlocks his phone and dials a number, grumbling. The person on the other end of the line picks up, and immediately the photographer begins ranting.
”She’s impossible! …Danielson, that’s who! She saw the outfits and stormed out an hour ago! What an affront to my artistic vision! Can you believe it? She said something about getting into character, but I think that she really just meant going out and getting utterly blitzed. God, I hate working with alcoholics.”
As he says that, the door swings open. He looks up, facing away from the door, and his eyes flutter in irritation. He hisses into the phone, breathing heavily.
”I’ll call you back. I think the ogre has finally returned.”
He hangs up, closing his eyes and haughtily turning around with a smirk on his face.
”Well well, returned? Good, I’d hate to tell your employer that you skipped out on this meeting. With a reputation like mine, I’m sure that you’d find yourself out of luck in no time. Then again, with a face like that, you’re already out of luck. I’ve seen softer jawlines on woodpeckers. Now then, if you’d be so kind as to…”
He opens his eyes, and his words die in his throat, horror choking them silent. Emma stands inside the door, arms and face covered in blood. She advances slowly on him, blood dripping from a broken bottle in her hand as she advances on the photographer. He puts his hands up, babbling at lightspeed as Danielson advances on him.
”I-I-I-I-I didn’t mean any of it! I swear, it was all in good fun! You know what, you don’t have to wear the outfits! You can wear whatever you want! Tell me what you want to do! I love trying new things, and you’re s-such a versatile person, I-I’m SURE we could do anyth—“
Emma’s hand shoots out, wrapping itself around the photographer’s throat. She backs him up a few steps, hissing at him in a low, wicked snarl that seems more feral than anything as she yanks him in by his throat.
”Understand THIS, you miserable pile of shit. Kathleen Conway doesn’t want you taking cheesecake pictures. She doesn’t want the Diamonds to be considered a joke. You’re mocking her, and you’re mocking me, by even laying those out in front of me. Now, I suggest you go home and reevaluate your shit before I wreck it.”
Emma pauses, flashing a killer grin at the photographer as he trembles in her grasp.
”Don’t worry. I’ll lock up behind me.”
With that, she roughly shoves him away, letting go of his throat. He staggers back, coughing, before bolting for the exit, wild-eyed and hysterical. Emma watches him go, setting the broken bottle down and smirking as he yanks the door shut behind himself. She shakes her head, glancing down at her hands and forearms with a smirk.
”I love fake blood. Best five bucks I ever spent.”
She sighs, looking around at the photo studio, and idly kicks the empty bottle to the side, walking over to a sink mounted in the wall. Emma casually begins washing the “blood” off her hands and arms, humming tunelessly to herself as we fade to black.
And then there’s the champion. I’ve run out of Gollum cracks, I’ve run out of ways to belittle you for how possessive you are of that Diamonds Championship, and frankly I’m glad I have.
Why? Because you care about it. You need that title to make yourself whole. It’s part of the Jenga tower that is your psyche, and it’s the one that’s holding the whole crazy quilt together. Yank that out, and you just…
Collapse.
You’ve put all this weight on that linchpin, so much investment in this one thing, that if you lose it, you’re dead. You won’t know what to do with yourself. Well, you will. You’ll try to scramble and pull it back to yourself before you lose your mind even more.
You’re…fixated…on the title. With it, you’re empowered, you’re amazing, you’re invincible. Without it, it’s like someone reached into your chest and ripped your heart out. I’ve had my heart ripped out before, Alexis. I know how much it hurts.
So I can imagine how much it’ll hurt to rip it away from you.
I can hear the screams of anguish, of denial. It’d be even worse if I broke Fiona or Crystal to do it, wouldn’t I? All of that hard work, undone because they couldn’t help fucking up. It’d be their fault then, wouldn’t it? All their fault…
Nope. Wrong, jackass. It’s all your fault, no matter what. And when you have to stare in horror at the sight of me holding the title that you thought was yours forever over my head, when you feel that hole forming in your chest sucking at who you were…when you feel that dread creeping in of “is this it?”, when you start questioning if you can live without the title…trust me. You can.
You’ll have to.
Well howdy there pardner.