Post by Fiona McFly on Feb 27, 2017 6:06:58 GMT
25 February 2017 - 12:30 PM
Inside Jack and Fiona's kitchen...
...we find that the place is relatively quiet, and rightfully so. On this sunny and chilly Saturday, the only thing we're seeing now happens to be Fiona McFly mopping up the floor, slowly dancing along to a Sia tune softly playing from her iPhone 7. For the most part, she felt relatively peaceful, even if it had been two weeks since finding out that her mentor, Regina Kimble, had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and given six to eight months.
Yet life still went on as normal--after all, as the proud teacher would always say, it's better to continue living than to let death conquer a living soul.
Without warning, the musical ambience was interrupted when we hear the Westminster Chame doorbell going off. Fiona laid the handle of her Swiffer sweeper gadget on the side of the bar and answered the front door. Indeed, we see Kimble standing in the doorway, wearing a non-revealing blue dress...as well as a pissed-off expression on her face.
FIONA MCFLY: You rang Miss Kimble?
MISS KIMBLE: Uh-huh...I don't mean to bother you but I need your help.
Fiona nodded her head, noting Regina's terse voice.
FIONA: It's alright, come inside. Earl Grey?
MISS KIMBLE: Please.
FIONA: Be careful--I'm tidying the kitchen here.
Kimble strolled inside, taking a seat at the bar. Her flowling blonde hair was starting to thin out just a tad due in large part to the treatments she has been taking, but otherwise the Beckham Elementary headmistress still had lots of life left in her. On cue, a teapot on the electric stove started to whistle, and Fiona poured two piping hot mugs of Earl Grey, handing one to her guest.
MISS KIMBLE: Ahhh...much appreciated. Where's Jack?
FIONA: Getting pizza...he should've been back by now. You seem a wee bit...uhhh, edgy this morning, what's wrong?
Regina shook her head and sighed, trying not to lose her normally docile temperament.
MISS KIMBLE: Let's get to the point. Some guys burglarised my school overnight, and I just got back from surveying the scene.
Fiona's jaw dropped as she plunked herself down on the other barstool.
FIONA: Oh God's sake! What was taken?
MISS KIMBLE: That's the strangest part...they didn't take any of our tech equipment--no computers, flash drives, none of it.
FIONA: So what'd they steal then?
MISS KIMBLE: Two framed photographs I had in my office, one of them being my first class photo from winter 1987--both of whom feature your fiancee when he was five years old.
Fiona gritted her teeth, taking off the reading glasses she was wearing before placing them firmly on the bar.
FIONA: How could they...?! The bloody ignorance of some people...taking advantage of a woman with a terminal illness...
Kimble frowned slightly as she took a sip from her beverage.
MISS KIMBLE: Fiona, I know that you and Jack have a lot on your minds with your wedding, but I'm afraid...I must impose on you a "small" favour. I'd like those photographs found and returned...I planned on giving them to Jack as a gift. They were some of the most sentimental moments in his life, and as I'm probably the last link to his childhood...they would mean so much to him.
Fiona closed her eyes and nodded, determined to fulfill Regina's wish.
FIONA: I'll do all I can to help you.
The proud principal lovingly patted McFly on the arm.
MISS KIMBLE: Thank you--you have no idea how much those momentos mean to me...AND him.
FIONA: That's what friends do, right? Anyhoo...is there anything else?
MISS KIMBLE: Actually, there is.
Regina pulled out her Android smartphone and pulled up its voice message menu, tapping on the screen to play its contents.
MISS KIMBLE: The day before the break-in, I got a...weird voicemail message on my phone, from an unknown number. It was nothing more...than music. I'll play it for you, see if you recognise the song.
Fiona listened intently as a song began to play; she sighed to herself, bobbing her headwhile taking in the lyrics.
The music stopped before the chorus, but Fiona, slightly creeped out, recognized the tune as the theme to the TV classic "The Wonder Years."
FIONA: Joe Cocker. "With A Little Help." It's on a programme I watch on Netflix a ton, but more importantly, it's Jack's favourite tune...but why would somebody play it on your phone?
MISS KIMBLE: I don't know...but this seems like an episode of Days of our Lives...
Both women chuckled, but in the eyes of the Northern Irishwoman, there was no laughing about, especially when it came to requests given by those she had respected.
She had an obligation to fulfill what could be her mentor's final wish...and she was going to do so, no matter what.
Inside Jack and Fiona's kitchen...
...we find that the place is relatively quiet, and rightfully so. On this sunny and chilly Saturday, the only thing we're seeing now happens to be Fiona McFly mopping up the floor, slowly dancing along to a Sia tune softly playing from her iPhone 7. For the most part, she felt relatively peaceful, even if it had been two weeks since finding out that her mentor, Regina Kimble, had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and given six to eight months.
Yet life still went on as normal--after all, as the proud teacher would always say, it's better to continue living than to let death conquer a living soul.
Without warning, the musical ambience was interrupted when we hear the Westminster Chame doorbell going off. Fiona laid the handle of her Swiffer sweeper gadget on the side of the bar and answered the front door. Indeed, we see Kimble standing in the doorway, wearing a non-revealing blue dress...as well as a pissed-off expression on her face.
FIONA MCFLY: You rang Miss Kimble?
MISS KIMBLE: Uh-huh...I don't mean to bother you but I need your help.
Fiona nodded her head, noting Regina's terse voice.
FIONA: It's alright, come inside. Earl Grey?
MISS KIMBLE: Please.
FIONA: Be careful--I'm tidying the kitchen here.
Kimble strolled inside, taking a seat at the bar. Her flowling blonde hair was starting to thin out just a tad due in large part to the treatments she has been taking, but otherwise the Beckham Elementary headmistress still had lots of life left in her. On cue, a teapot on the electric stove started to whistle, and Fiona poured two piping hot mugs of Earl Grey, handing one to her guest.
MISS KIMBLE: Ahhh...much appreciated. Where's Jack?
FIONA: Getting pizza...he should've been back by now. You seem a wee bit...uhhh, edgy this morning, what's wrong?
Regina shook her head and sighed, trying not to lose her normally docile temperament.
MISS KIMBLE: Let's get to the point. Some guys burglarised my school overnight, and I just got back from surveying the scene.
Fiona's jaw dropped as she plunked herself down on the other barstool.
FIONA: Oh God's sake! What was taken?
MISS KIMBLE: That's the strangest part...they didn't take any of our tech equipment--no computers, flash drives, none of it.
FIONA: So what'd they steal then?
MISS KIMBLE: Two framed photographs I had in my office, one of them being my first class photo from winter 1987--both of whom feature your fiancee when he was five years old.
Fiona gritted her teeth, taking off the reading glasses she was wearing before placing them firmly on the bar.
FIONA: How could they...?! The bloody ignorance of some people...taking advantage of a woman with a terminal illness...
Kimble frowned slightly as she took a sip from her beverage.
MISS KIMBLE: Fiona, I know that you and Jack have a lot on your minds with your wedding, but I'm afraid...I must impose on you a "small" favour. I'd like those photographs found and returned...I planned on giving them to Jack as a gift. They were some of the most sentimental moments in his life, and as I'm probably the last link to his childhood...they would mean so much to him.
Fiona closed her eyes and nodded, determined to fulfill Regina's wish.
FIONA: I'll do all I can to help you.
The proud principal lovingly patted McFly on the arm.
MISS KIMBLE: Thank you--you have no idea how much those momentos mean to me...AND him.
FIONA: That's what friends do, right? Anyhoo...is there anything else?
MISS KIMBLE: Actually, there is.
Regina pulled out her Android smartphone and pulled up its voice message menu, tapping on the screen to play its contents.
MISS KIMBLE: The day before the break-in, I got a...weird voicemail message on my phone, from an unknown number. It was nothing more...than music. I'll play it for you, see if you recognise the song.
Fiona listened intently as a song began to play; she sighed to herself, bobbing her headwhile taking in the lyrics.
"What would you do
if I sang out of tune?
Would you stand up
and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears
and I'll sing you a song.
I'll try not to sing out of key..."
if I sang out of tune?
Would you stand up
and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears
and I'll sing you a song.
I'll try not to sing out of key..."
The music stopped before the chorus, but Fiona, slightly creeped out, recognized the tune as the theme to the TV classic "The Wonder Years."
FIONA: Joe Cocker. "With A Little Help." It's on a programme I watch on Netflix a ton, but more importantly, it's Jack's favourite tune...but why would somebody play it on your phone?
MISS KIMBLE: I don't know...but this seems like an episode of Days of our Lives...
Both women chuckled, but in the eyes of the Northern Irishwoman, there was no laughing about, especially when it came to requests given by those she had respected.
She had an obligation to fulfill what could be her mentor's final wish...and she was going to do so, no matter what.
~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Pandora...
I want you to know something about me that I *think* you ought to know about.
When I was a child and even going into University, my heroes weren't wrestlers. They were some of the greatest communicators in modern civilisation--Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, Nelson Mandela, and my Granpapa Seamus. Each one of these figures dreamt of becoming successful in their chosen lines of work, and through the good and the bad, they succeeded. But they weren't motivated by things like money and power.
No, they were motivated by their desire to help their respective countries grow and prosper, helping inspire people to never be afraid of who they REALLY wanted to be.
After all, everybody wants to have a shot at success, right?
When you stop to think, the same things true in the grappling world, a small enclave that is permeated in the notion that veryone wants a chance to unseat a Champion. Come to reflect upon it, that is a given--that is all I know about the gig. But make no mistake about it...as much as it pains those who've worked their arses off inside a ring...I am NOT motivated by championships, money, or accolades.
My passion for this gig is what motivates me more than anything else in the world...
...but that passion, driven by the emotions I carry on my sleeve like a badge of honour, comes with a sense of duty, an obligation to fulfill my end of the contract, no matter if I disagree with something.
So the brass has only given you and I five minutes to dance, huh? Whilst I DON'T like the idea at all, which I'll have my reasonings in a little bit, I shall be primed and ready to go for our match, ready to expand my orizons and look BEYOND the Imperial realm. To this end...I see something GREATER than anything you can fully understand, the true nature of this athletic artform.
The reality of it all is that the business...is much like the globe in which we live in. It is a swamp, littered with crocodiles and other hazards that will KILL you if you let them--a cruel, unfortiving HELLHOLE rife with well-documented psychopathic liars, money-flaunting neoptists, and santimonious preachers who talk down to people instead of guiding them...
...and the thing is, you COULD argue that I fall into the third category, right?
I've got a newsflash for you, lovely...you're dead wrong.
I bet you a case of green tea that you're feeling great about winning that Diamond in the Rough award last year--as you should be and I respect that. But let's be real here...deep down, you're still quite naive to think that you can trust such a polarising figure like, dare I say, Spike Kane. I know, I know...you think you see something in him, like there's some sort of white-hearted saint within his soul that wants to be unleashed on the world like the second coming of Christ. I get the notion that you want to help him through his anger and grief over the loss of his son, but haven't you considered a balance between his current situation and his chequered past?
After all...it's well-documented, right under your pretty little face.
Of COURSE you haven't...'cos the fact of the matter is real simple. You are reckless, off your ROCKER to even believe that you can fully trust a well-known snake like Spike, much less help him. He's faked cancer, cut people's limbs off...the aggravating circumstances SURELY have to outweigh the mitigating circumstances. Oh SURE, he'll work with you in return for your services, but in the end...he will throw you into the fire much like Warren. There won't be anything you can do about it except lament your mistake, but you won't see it that way.
And you, like the others in IWF, will merely stop at nothing to silence me at all costs...
...which only makes you out to be more foolish than you truly think you are.
I don't ramble on Twitter for the simple sake of doing so. I do it 'cos I CARE for the Imperial world just as much as you do. I want to grow in-ring so I can take my experiences OUTSIDE the arena and share them with the world, and on the same token...I want IWF to grow, to transcened beyond their limited mindsets...yet I can't possibly do EVERYTHING. But people like YOU need to be able to fully comprehend three simple precpets:
I trust NOBODY but myself.
I am NOT wank-banking material.
I am NOT a "one-dimensional" submission material as everyone else claims me to be.
And I will NOT be silenced--not now, not ever--for the day I stop tweeting is the day I stop caring for IWF and its fanbase, when I'll simply placate to the exploitative trolls, elitist sluts or sociopathic loonies that want me to partake in their brand of groupthink instead of being able to stand for what I believe in...
...integrity and honour in all things.
Cheers!
Dear Pandora...
I want you to know something about me that I *think* you ought to know about.
When I was a child and even going into University, my heroes weren't wrestlers. They were some of the greatest communicators in modern civilisation--Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, Nelson Mandela, and my Granpapa Seamus. Each one of these figures dreamt of becoming successful in their chosen lines of work, and through the good and the bad, they succeeded. But they weren't motivated by things like money and power.
No, they were motivated by their desire to help their respective countries grow and prosper, helping inspire people to never be afraid of who they REALLY wanted to be.
After all, everybody wants to have a shot at success, right?
When you stop to think, the same things true in the grappling world, a small enclave that is permeated in the notion that veryone wants a chance to unseat a Champion. Come to reflect upon it, that is a given--that is all I know about the gig. But make no mistake about it...as much as it pains those who've worked their arses off inside a ring...I am NOT motivated by championships, money, or accolades.
My passion for this gig is what motivates me more than anything else in the world...
...but that passion, driven by the emotions I carry on my sleeve like a badge of honour, comes with a sense of duty, an obligation to fulfill my end of the contract, no matter if I disagree with something.
So the brass has only given you and I five minutes to dance, huh? Whilst I DON'T like the idea at all, which I'll have my reasonings in a little bit, I shall be primed and ready to go for our match, ready to expand my orizons and look BEYOND the Imperial realm. To this end...I see something GREATER than anything you can fully understand, the true nature of this athletic artform.
The reality of it all is that the business...is much like the globe in which we live in. It is a swamp, littered with crocodiles and other hazards that will KILL you if you let them--a cruel, unfortiving HELLHOLE rife with well-documented psychopathic liars, money-flaunting neoptists, and santimonious preachers who talk down to people instead of guiding them...
...and the thing is, you COULD argue that I fall into the third category, right?
I've got a newsflash for you, lovely...you're dead wrong.
I bet you a case of green tea that you're feeling great about winning that Diamond in the Rough award last year--as you should be and I respect that. But let's be real here...deep down, you're still quite naive to think that you can trust such a polarising figure like, dare I say, Spike Kane. I know, I know...you think you see something in him, like there's some sort of white-hearted saint within his soul that wants to be unleashed on the world like the second coming of Christ. I get the notion that you want to help him through his anger and grief over the loss of his son, but haven't you considered a balance between his current situation and his chequered past?
After all...it's well-documented, right under your pretty little face.
Of COURSE you haven't...'cos the fact of the matter is real simple. You are reckless, off your ROCKER to even believe that you can fully trust a well-known snake like Spike, much less help him. He's faked cancer, cut people's limbs off...the aggravating circumstances SURELY have to outweigh the mitigating circumstances. Oh SURE, he'll work with you in return for your services, but in the end...he will throw you into the fire much like Warren. There won't be anything you can do about it except lament your mistake, but you won't see it that way.
And you, like the others in IWF, will merely stop at nothing to silence me at all costs...
...which only makes you out to be more foolish than you truly think you are.
I don't ramble on Twitter for the simple sake of doing so. I do it 'cos I CARE for the Imperial world just as much as you do. I want to grow in-ring so I can take my experiences OUTSIDE the arena and share them with the world, and on the same token...I want IWF to grow, to transcened beyond their limited mindsets...yet I can't possibly do EVERYTHING. But people like YOU need to be able to fully comprehend three simple precpets:
I trust NOBODY but myself.
I am NOT wank-banking material.
I am NOT a "one-dimensional" submission material as everyone else claims me to be.
And I will NOT be silenced--not now, not ever--for the day I stop tweeting is the day I stop caring for IWF and its fanbase, when I'll simply placate to the exploitative trolls, elitist sluts or sociopathic loonies that want me to partake in their brand of groupthink instead of being able to stand for what I believe in...
...integrity and honour in all things.
Cheers!
Well howdy there pardner.