Post by Gabriela Luna on Feb 20, 2017 5:22:52 GMT
Sara Garcia. One step from the top. One heartbeat away from the woman who thinks she rules this place. Sara...Sara, Sara, Sara. How much must it hurt? To be so deep in your sister's shadow that you don't remember what the light is like? Shit, girl, I dunno about you, but that'd eat a hole in me. I don't like feelin' second-best to nobody, least of all someone like Paige. God, that must just be...terrible.
Fuck, I'm glad I'm not you.
Fact of the matter is, I ain't got anyone holding me down. I ain't got nobody's standards to deal with but me and mine, and you know what that's done for me? It's freed me. Es mi paz. Yeah, I said I have peace. Don't believe me? I'll punch your fuckin' nose in.
Because I don't have to be the "and". I don't have to be the accessory, the plus-one. I get to write my own damn story. It's all I've ever wanted in life, and if you've been listening and haven't picked up on that...fuck, what have you been listenin' to? I ain't exactly subtle. Nah nah nah...I don't wait for anyone else. I don't let anyone pick my path. No pidas permiso.
Quiero. Tomo. Tengo.
I want a title. I take my opportunity. I have my moment. All I need is for that opportunity to present itself...and for fuck's sake, if I win this week, I think the only women in this whole goddamn division I wont have put down will be the women with the belts. Sara, you're a warm-up. I've watched you in the ring. You're almost exactly like your sister...but just different enough to fuck with things. Unfortunately for you, it ain't different enough to save you from the beating of a lifetime. Ain't anything on God's green Earth could save you.
Li'l hint for you, Sara: it ain't All About You. It's All About Paige. You done made it all about her the moment you thought you could share glory like that. Only one queen, bitch, and it ain't your ass. Tell you what, though: since I'm feelin' like savin' a little bit for when the time really calls...how about you stop, drop, and pray? Why pray? 'cause you're gonna need some fuckin' deliverance from God Himself to stop me.
But on from new business...to old business. The rematch that I don't know who was fuckin' calling for. How you doin' over there, Amber?
I know how I'm doing. I'm still pissed off that I flipped into some bitch superkicking me in the fucking teeth. And even though I planted your ass into the ground, that wasn't enough to scratch that particular itch. I want another piece of you. And hey, I got it! Life is good when you're me.
Life ain't gonna be good for you, though. Don't think for a fuckin' heartbeat that just because Sara's over there bein' all strutty and catty and kickin' people in the head doesn't mean you're gettin' off easy. I got speed to whip the both of you at once, so I just gotta pick which one I do first.
...hijo de puta, esta lengua es una pinche zorra. You fucking know what I mean.
Amber, I know I can beat your ass. I done it before. I can do it just as easy as breathing. You ain't got no surprises in your arsenal anymore. I got to knowin' you in the ring, and all the things you could count on don't work no more. I fight faster than you can think, and you try to step to me again I'ma put you on the canvas faster than you can blink.
I'm gonna cut you bitches into ribbons for being in my way, 'cause make no mistake: You. Are. In. My. Way. You got in my way the moment you signed that match contract, you got in my way the moment you decided to mouth off about the women of this division, you got in the way the moment you decided to screen for your sister and play gatekeeper so she could keep her hands on that fucking championship.
We're on the highway to the danger zone now, ladies. Time to back those words up. I been doin' it ever since the ball dropped on 2017. Y'all gonna join me? Or are y'all gonna drop the fuckin' ball? Guess we just got the one way to find out, and it ain't gonna happen if all we do is sit around and talk.
Playtime's over. Bring it.
Fuck, I'm glad I'm not you.
Fact of the matter is, I ain't got anyone holding me down. I ain't got nobody's standards to deal with but me and mine, and you know what that's done for me? It's freed me. Es mi paz. Yeah, I said I have peace. Don't believe me? I'll punch your fuckin' nose in.
Because I don't have to be the "and". I don't have to be the accessory, the plus-one. I get to write my own damn story. It's all I've ever wanted in life, and if you've been listening and haven't picked up on that...fuck, what have you been listenin' to? I ain't exactly subtle. Nah nah nah...I don't wait for anyone else. I don't let anyone pick my path. No pidas permiso.
Quiero. Tomo. Tengo.
I want a title. I take my opportunity. I have my moment. All I need is for that opportunity to present itself...and for fuck's sake, if I win this week, I think the only women in this whole goddamn division I wont have put down will be the women with the belts. Sara, you're a warm-up. I've watched you in the ring. You're almost exactly like your sister...but just different enough to fuck with things. Unfortunately for you, it ain't different enough to save you from the beating of a lifetime. Ain't anything on God's green Earth could save you.
Li'l hint for you, Sara: it ain't All About You. It's All About Paige. You done made it all about her the moment you thought you could share glory like that. Only one queen, bitch, and it ain't your ass. Tell you what, though: since I'm feelin' like savin' a little bit for when the time really calls...how about you stop, drop, and pray? Why pray? 'cause you're gonna need some fuckin' deliverance from God Himself to stop me.
But on from new business...to old business. The rematch that I don't know who was fuckin' calling for. How you doin' over there, Amber?
I know how I'm doing. I'm still pissed off that I flipped into some bitch superkicking me in the fucking teeth. And even though I planted your ass into the ground, that wasn't enough to scratch that particular itch. I want another piece of you. And hey, I got it! Life is good when you're me.
Life ain't gonna be good for you, though. Don't think for a fuckin' heartbeat that just because Sara's over there bein' all strutty and catty and kickin' people in the head doesn't mean you're gettin' off easy. I got speed to whip the both of you at once, so I just gotta pick which one I do first.
...hijo de puta, esta lengua es una pinche zorra. You fucking know what I mean.
Amber, I know I can beat your ass. I done it before. I can do it just as easy as breathing. You ain't got no surprises in your arsenal anymore. I got to knowin' you in the ring, and all the things you could count on don't work no more. I fight faster than you can think, and you try to step to me again I'ma put you on the canvas faster than you can blink.
I'm gonna cut you bitches into ribbons for being in my way, 'cause make no mistake: You. Are. In. My. Way. You got in my way the moment you signed that match contract, you got in my way the moment you decided to mouth off about the women of this division, you got in the way the moment you decided to screen for your sister and play gatekeeper so she could keep her hands on that fucking championship.
We're on the highway to the danger zone now, ladies. Time to back those words up. I been doin' it ever since the ball dropped on 2017. Y'all gonna join me? Or are y'all gonna drop the fuckin' ball? Guess we just got the one way to find out, and it ain't gonna happen if all we do is sit around and talk.
Playtime's over. Bring it.
Gabriela walks through the aisles of the Walgreens, mentally ticking notes off of a list as she reviews the contents of her basket. As she mumbles under her breath in Spanish, she reaches the end of an aisle, and only a glimpse out of the corner of her eye stops her from plowing into the woman coming down the intersecting aisle. Gabriela looks up at the woman, a bottle-blonde who appears to be in her late thirties with two children in tow, and the woman looks back from behind her sunglasses, clearly embarrassed.
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—wait...don't I know you?"
Gabriela looks back at the woman, clearly puzzled by her inquiry.
"I...probably not? I'm, uh, not exactly from around here."
The woman nods to herself, clearly convincing herself of something as she speaks.
"No, no, I do recognize you! You're that Mexican woman from that wrestling show! The one you really like, Joey!"
One of the woman's children, a boy about the age of eight, nods enthusiastically, staring fixatedly at Gabriela. The woman assumes a posture which your average observer might call the "let me see your manager" posture, the feathered edges of her hairstyle ruffling with her movement.
Perhaps unfortunately for Gabriela, she didn't recognize the warning sign.
"Well, I must say, I remember you now, and I am shocked by you! Shocked!"
Gabriela blinks, eyes narrowing as if by reflex.
"Shocked why?"
The woman snorts, waving her hand dismissively.
"You know why! Coming up here, flaunting yourself in front of all those people, cursing and being such an unwholesome person! Listen to me, mamacita, you have NO RIGHT to be like that on national television! My CHILDREN are watching! You're exposing them to such...such...ungodly behavior!"
Gabriela grits her teeth, breathing through her nose heavily. She takes a few steps forward, and suddenly the woman takes a corresponding number of steps back, the height disparity immediately forgotten. Gabriela stabs her finger at the woman, practically growling.
"Listen to me, woman. I don't claim to be any damn role model. I'm just a wrestler, lady. And besides, they're your own damn children! You get to choose what they watch! Not me! I'm just doing my job! I'm living my fucking life, and—"
The woman begins to speak again, and Gabriela angrily cuts her off.
"NO! NO, DON'T YOU START TELLING ME WHAT TO DO! I'm just buying some travel supplies, and you're here, lecturing me about how I conduct myself! I have a right to some FUCKING PEACE! And no, you know what? I'm not going to apologize to you for cursing! I don't have to ask your permission to go shopping! It's my goddamn life!"
She sighs, shaking her head, and looks to the small child apologetically.
"Kid, I'm sorry your mom is stupid. Now if we're done? I need to get out of here. I have a job to do. Maybe you can do the job of being a goddamn mother?"
Gabriela's venom in the last sentence whips back around to the woman, and as she finishes the statement she walks towards the front, groaning as she drops her basket on the counter. She looks up at the cashier, a look of exhaustion in her eyes, and the cashier winces sympathetically.
"Hi there...did you find everything you were looking for?"
Gabriela looks back at her, thousand-yard stare boring a hole through the poor bastard behind the counter, and the cashier just nods quietly, beginning to unload the basket for her. Gabriela looks up at the ceiling, muttering to herself.
"Ayudame, Dios..."
She lets her head drop back down, sighing quietly as we fade to black on her depressed form.
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—wait...don't I know you?"
Gabriela looks back at the woman, clearly puzzled by her inquiry.
"I...probably not? I'm, uh, not exactly from around here."
The woman nods to herself, clearly convincing herself of something as she speaks.
"No, no, I do recognize you! You're that Mexican woman from that wrestling show! The one you really like, Joey!"
One of the woman's children, a boy about the age of eight, nods enthusiastically, staring fixatedly at Gabriela. The woman assumes a posture which your average observer might call the "let me see your manager" posture, the feathered edges of her hairstyle ruffling with her movement.
Perhaps unfortunately for Gabriela, she didn't recognize the warning sign.
"Well, I must say, I remember you now, and I am shocked by you! Shocked!"
Gabriela blinks, eyes narrowing as if by reflex.
"Shocked why?"
The woman snorts, waving her hand dismissively.
"You know why! Coming up here, flaunting yourself in front of all those people, cursing and being such an unwholesome person! Listen to me, mamacita, you have NO RIGHT to be like that on national television! My CHILDREN are watching! You're exposing them to such...such...ungodly behavior!"
Gabriela grits her teeth, breathing through her nose heavily. She takes a few steps forward, and suddenly the woman takes a corresponding number of steps back, the height disparity immediately forgotten. Gabriela stabs her finger at the woman, practically growling.
"Listen to me, woman. I don't claim to be any damn role model. I'm just a wrestler, lady. And besides, they're your own damn children! You get to choose what they watch! Not me! I'm just doing my job! I'm living my fucking life, and—"
The woman begins to speak again, and Gabriela angrily cuts her off.
"NO! NO, DON'T YOU START TELLING ME WHAT TO DO! I'm just buying some travel supplies, and you're here, lecturing me about how I conduct myself! I have a right to some FUCKING PEACE! And no, you know what? I'm not going to apologize to you for cursing! I don't have to ask your permission to go shopping! It's my goddamn life!"
She sighs, shaking her head, and looks to the small child apologetically.
"Kid, I'm sorry your mom is stupid. Now if we're done? I need to get out of here. I have a job to do. Maybe you can do the job of being a goddamn mother?"
Gabriela's venom in the last sentence whips back around to the woman, and as she finishes the statement she walks towards the front, groaning as she drops her basket on the counter. She looks up at the cashier, a look of exhaustion in her eyes, and the cashier winces sympathetically.
"Hi there...did you find everything you were looking for?"
Gabriela looks back at her, thousand-yard stare boring a hole through the poor bastard behind the counter, and the cashier just nods quietly, beginning to unload the basket for her. Gabriela looks up at the ceiling, muttering to herself.
"Ayudame, Dios..."
She lets her head drop back down, sighing quietly as we fade to black on her depressed form.
Well howdy there pardner.