Post by Fiona McFly on Mar 6, 2017 5:33:34 GMT
4 March 2017 - 8:45 AM
We find Fiona McFly standing inside the living room of the Texas home she shares with fiancee Jack Gaither, closing her eyes for a moment while wielding an aluminum baseball bat in her hands. She sighed to herself, trying to conjure up the images that had been creeping into her mind as of late...
...all the while, a small fuse was alight in her soul.
Her thoughts drifted toward her mentor Regina Kimble, the one she owed her life to for guiding her ever since she was a preteen, whose terminal cancer and the subsequent dealings with burglars in her school have been overtaking her own conscience for the past few weeks. She gritted her teeth, knowing that the proud principal was more than just a mentor to her--she was a friend...a loyal, loving, honest friend in need. Yet all the while, Fiona started to realize that she couldn't be there for everybody, that she couldn't possibly DO everything in her power to fulfill Kimble's dying wishes...
...that caused the fuse to grow even brighter.
Clutching onto the bat, Fiona started breathing heavily as her mind began to focus on her looming wedding with Jack. While she imagined a happier time, underneath it all lied a sobering notion--that she was about to marry her love of nearly twenty years yet, deep down in her heart, both his and her families weren't "complete." After all, Jack had no parents to talk to, and Fiona...well, with her mother firmly entrenched in the IRA, everything around her was, for lack of a better term, fucked up beyond any recognition whatsoever...
...and that, in turn, prompted the internal fuse to sparkle ever brighter by the second...
...that is, before it blew.
And it did! Fiona's trembling became more pronounced, her breathing becoming more erratic, her face beet red as she let out a blood-curdling scream. Instantly, she took the baseball bat and bashed the glass coffee table, turning it into nothing but broken shards and sending other objects crashing toward the center. Still snarling from ear to ear, she didn't even care to watch as Jack Gaither, awakened by the moment, rushed into the living room...only to muster a slight facepalm as he gazed upon the remains of their beloved coffee table.
On this cloudy Saturday morning, the vibes in the house weren't peachy-keen at all.
JACK GAITHER: I can see you're all...pissed off.
Jack, trying his best to make light of the situation, is immediately shot back as Fiona stared daggers and pointed the bat at him.
FIONA MCFLY: Wha--did your fucking fake-Spidey sense tell youse that?!
JACK: Ummmm, that...and our coffee table.
Jack, to his credit, stayed behind the couch, where he'd be out of the way of Fiona's temperament.
FIONA: You know I've got a temper, you've known for years...
JACK: Pffft...and I see that hun. May I make a suggestion before ya start tearin' more shit up?
Without warning, she swung the bat hard, nailing the already-busted coffee table once more and shattering it even further.
JACK: I'll take that as a big, fat "no."
Fiona's voice was icy, cold as she shook the shards of broken glass off the bat.
FIONA: If it's fucking counseling with that bald guy Dr. Billy Jack, forget it.
JACK: Actually, it's somethin' better than that--but ya oughta put that bat down first. Trust me...I feel what you're goin' through, tryin' to keep things patched together on all sides. I really do. But ya gotta chill, okie-dokie?
Fiona sighed, realizing the extent of the damage she'd caused, before gently placing the bat on the carpeted floor and plunking herself down on the sofa, tears in her eyes.
JACK: There's a place out in the country, between Midlothian and Cedar Hill off 67, called "Pleasantville." It's a massage therapy-relaxation joint that's outta place in the midst of cement plants and shit like that--I go there every other day to keep my mind in check when somethin' ain't right. And besides...I don't want ya thinkin' about burnin' the house down, right?
Fiona eked out a slight scowl, but otherwise she was calmer than she had been a few minutes ago. "Perhaps," she thought to herself, that the idea of a massage would calm her down, even if the establishment her fiancee was talking about was, truly, in the middle of nowhere...
...but she still nodded, knowing that she could truly use some help herself.
We find Fiona McFly standing inside the living room of the Texas home she shares with fiancee Jack Gaither, closing her eyes for a moment while wielding an aluminum baseball bat in her hands. She sighed to herself, trying to conjure up the images that had been creeping into her mind as of late...
...all the while, a small fuse was alight in her soul.
Her thoughts drifted toward her mentor Regina Kimble, the one she owed her life to for guiding her ever since she was a preteen, whose terminal cancer and the subsequent dealings with burglars in her school have been overtaking her own conscience for the past few weeks. She gritted her teeth, knowing that the proud principal was more than just a mentor to her--she was a friend...a loyal, loving, honest friend in need. Yet all the while, Fiona started to realize that she couldn't be there for everybody, that she couldn't possibly DO everything in her power to fulfill Kimble's dying wishes...
...that caused the fuse to grow even brighter.
Clutching onto the bat, Fiona started breathing heavily as her mind began to focus on her looming wedding with Jack. While she imagined a happier time, underneath it all lied a sobering notion--that she was about to marry her love of nearly twenty years yet, deep down in her heart, both his and her families weren't "complete." After all, Jack had no parents to talk to, and Fiona...well, with her mother firmly entrenched in the IRA, everything around her was, for lack of a better term, fucked up beyond any recognition whatsoever...
...and that, in turn, prompted the internal fuse to sparkle ever brighter by the second...
...that is, before it blew.
And it did! Fiona's trembling became more pronounced, her breathing becoming more erratic, her face beet red as she let out a blood-curdling scream. Instantly, she took the baseball bat and bashed the glass coffee table, turning it into nothing but broken shards and sending other objects crashing toward the center. Still snarling from ear to ear, she didn't even care to watch as Jack Gaither, awakened by the moment, rushed into the living room...only to muster a slight facepalm as he gazed upon the remains of their beloved coffee table.
On this cloudy Saturday morning, the vibes in the house weren't peachy-keen at all.
~~
Dear lovely ladies...
I want you two to know one thing: ever since I've gotten myself into the Imperial Wrestling Federation, I've had countless amounts of our "esteemed champions," our sanctimonious preachers...tell me that I should control my emotions, my supposedly violent temper, one that I, unfortunately, have inherited from my mum. And as hard as it was for me to do...I tried to keep my composure in spite of the issues I've been dealing with back home. That's all that matters to me--suppressing my inner rage and be as passive and humble as they are, more than anything else in the whole, wide universe.
I tried. I really, really tried...
But when I see the elites of our organisation shoving their ideals down others' throats, without fear of reprisal or consequence, just 'cos they disagree with them...when I see the average man, woman, and child--such kindred, loving souls that have blessed me to become more than what I am in the Diamonds division--being talked down, lectured by these same elitist types about things like honour and humility when they don't practise what they preach. And when somebody laughs at these same common folk like, say, Donald, Daisy, or Dewey, winking at them after being put through the biggest hell of their lives, whilst pretending to move on with their careers in a manner of "forwards always forwards"...
...well I just...
...go...
...FUCKING BERSERK!!!!
Isn't that right, Kate?! HRMMM?!?!
See, the fact of the matter going forward is real simple--you have no concept of what it means to move forward in life, no matter how many times it'll slap you upside the SKULL in order to make you understand it. Truth be told, deep down in your mind...you haven't gotten past the fact that the LAST time you and I met, I outfoxed you. I outsmarted you when you tried to go for the frontal attack...and look what that got you, huh? Forty-seven seconds of sheer torture, followed by an eternity's worth of misery. And did you learn from the experience, like you've done in months' past, whilst you were Shieldmaidon?!
I don't think so...lovely. Instead you make the grave mistake of labeling yourself as IWF's biggest underdog--a moniker I haven't forgotten by the way--and thought that you were on some mystical path to a return to all that is glorious within the gig itself...
...but instead, you failed miserably.
'Cos the reality of it all is as concrete as the bangs on your fucking head--you seek revenge. You seek to prove to the world that you tapping out to me in less than a minute was nothing more than an aberration on a career that's seen you achieve lots of highs, only to take the piss in favour of some new, hot rock tune you've got going for yourself. They say vengeance is a dish that is best served cold, but right now? I'm hotter than shite, so you'd BETTER think twice before sauntering into that arena with that kind of mindset...
...after all, you're digging your own grave whilst trying to plot mine.
And it won't do you any good, except make you out to be a fool.
Speaking of which...
~~
Dear lovely ladies...
I want you two to know one thing: ever since I've gotten myself into the Imperial Wrestling Federation, I've had countless amounts of our "esteemed champions," our sanctimonious preachers...tell me that I should control my emotions, my supposedly violent temper, one that I, unfortunately, have inherited from my mum. And as hard as it was for me to do...I tried to keep my composure in spite of the issues I've been dealing with back home. That's all that matters to me--suppressing my inner rage and be as passive and humble as they are, more than anything else in the whole, wide universe.
I tried. I really, really tried...
But when I see the elites of our organisation shoving their ideals down others' throats, without fear of reprisal or consequence, just 'cos they disagree with them...when I see the average man, woman, and child--such kindred, loving souls that have blessed me to become more than what I am in the Diamonds division--being talked down, lectured by these same elitist types about things like honour and humility when they don't practise what they preach. And when somebody laughs at these same common folk like, say, Donald, Daisy, or Dewey, winking at them after being put through the biggest hell of their lives, whilst pretending to move on with their careers in a manner of "forwards always forwards"...
...well I just...
...go...
...FUCKING BERSERK!!!!
Isn't that right, Kate?! HRMMM?!?!
See, the fact of the matter going forward is real simple--you have no concept of what it means to move forward in life, no matter how many times it'll slap you upside the SKULL in order to make you understand it. Truth be told, deep down in your mind...you haven't gotten past the fact that the LAST time you and I met, I outfoxed you. I outsmarted you when you tried to go for the frontal attack...and look what that got you, huh? Forty-seven seconds of sheer torture, followed by an eternity's worth of misery. And did you learn from the experience, like you've done in months' past, whilst you were Shieldmaidon?!
I don't think so...lovely. Instead you make the grave mistake of labeling yourself as IWF's biggest underdog--a moniker I haven't forgotten by the way--and thought that you were on some mystical path to a return to all that is glorious within the gig itself...
...but instead, you failed miserably.
'Cos the reality of it all is as concrete as the bangs on your fucking head--you seek revenge. You seek to prove to the world that you tapping out to me in less than a minute was nothing more than an aberration on a career that's seen you achieve lots of highs, only to take the piss in favour of some new, hot rock tune you've got going for yourself. They say vengeance is a dish that is best served cold, but right now? I'm hotter than shite, so you'd BETTER think twice before sauntering into that arena with that kind of mindset...
...after all, you're digging your own grave whilst trying to plot mine.
And it won't do you any good, except make you out to be a fool.
Speaking of which...
~~
JACK GAITHER: I can see you're all...pissed off.
Jack, trying his best to make light of the situation, is immediately shot back as Fiona stared daggers and pointed the bat at him.
FIONA MCFLY: Wha--did your fucking fake-Spidey sense tell youse that?!
JACK: Ummmm, that...and our coffee table.
Jack, to his credit, stayed behind the couch, where he'd be out of the way of Fiona's temperament.
FIONA: You know I've got a temper, you've known for years...
JACK: Pffft...and I see that hun. May I make a suggestion before ya start tearin' more shit up?
Without warning, she swung the bat hard, nailing the already-busted coffee table once more and shattering it even further.
JACK: I'll take that as a big, fat "no."
Fiona's voice was icy, cold as she shook the shards of broken glass off the bat.
FIONA: If it's fucking counseling with that bald guy Dr. Billy Jack, forget it.
JACK: Actually, it's somethin' better than that--but ya oughta put that bat down first. Trust me...I feel what you're goin' through, tryin' to keep things patched together on all sides. I really do. But ya gotta chill, okie-dokie?
Fiona sighed, realizing the extent of the damage she'd caused, before gently placing the bat on the carpeted floor and plunking herself down on the sofa, tears in her eyes.
JACK: There's a place out in the country, between Midlothian and Cedar Hill off 67, called "Pleasantville." It's a massage therapy-relaxation joint that's outta place in the midst of cement plants and shit like that--I go there every other day to keep my mind in check when somethin' ain't right. And besides...I don't want ya thinkin' about burnin' the house down, right?
Fiona eked out a slight scowl, but otherwise she was calmer than she had been a few minutes ago. "Perhaps," she thought to herself, that the idea of a massage would calm her down, even if the establishment her fiancee was talking about was, truly, in the middle of nowhere...
...but she still nodded, knowing that she could truly use some help herself.
~~
Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy...
You want to make me believe that you're some rich, spoiled lass from the Hollywood Liberal capital of the planet, Beverley Hills. You want me to firmly establish a notion that you're a part of some grand swamp, whose money and power-grubbing ways will lead you into the realm of success and prosperity. You have this feeling in your mind of perceived injustice by claiming to the ENTIRE globe that you should've been in a Diamonds title match against Paige instead of Crystal, whom you beat a while back. And you expect a simple-minded gal like ME...to believe that the Diamonds division has grown stale?!
Sweetie-pie...with the upcoming Diamond in the Rough series, I'd say you're wrong.
Dead wrong.
You should know that by now, you're new yourself despite never having REALLY worked a day in your life. But quite frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn what your ego is telling you, 'cos as far as you oughta be concerned, behind that rich girl facade you so eloquently carry like a badge of honour, there lies you...a scared little soul who has LITTLE clue as to what you're about to get yourself into, 'cos you lack the necessary tools in your proverbial shed that will help you survive. Here's the deal...you can earn shot after shot at whatever title you wish, you can live our your biggest dreams and fantasies, but when it all boils down to it...the IWF is a swamp, littered with personalities that you EAT YOU ALIVE so fast, it'll make you wish you never signed up...
After all...it takes more than private jets or gold bullion to grow as a person.
You need to learn that lesson the HARD way.
For people like you, Kate, whatever...try as you might, but if there's one thing you WON'T be able to do, that's keep me silenced. I speak with the people, the forgotten men, women, and children who wish to learn what it's REALLY like to work hard at whatever it is they want to do in life; I want them to transcend, to rise above the sum of their biggest fears--no matter what the big-shots might think. Despite beliefs to the contrary, I INTEND to stand for what is right and just, utilising my emotions to great effect as I march out to that ring...
...and drain the swamp.
Cheers!
Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy...
You want to make me believe that you're some rich, spoiled lass from the Hollywood Liberal capital of the planet, Beverley Hills. You want me to firmly establish a notion that you're a part of some grand swamp, whose money and power-grubbing ways will lead you into the realm of success and prosperity. You have this feeling in your mind of perceived injustice by claiming to the ENTIRE globe that you should've been in a Diamonds title match against Paige instead of Crystal, whom you beat a while back. And you expect a simple-minded gal like ME...to believe that the Diamonds division has grown stale?!
Sweetie-pie...with the upcoming Diamond in the Rough series, I'd say you're wrong.
Dead wrong.
You should know that by now, you're new yourself despite never having REALLY worked a day in your life. But quite frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn what your ego is telling you, 'cos as far as you oughta be concerned, behind that rich girl facade you so eloquently carry like a badge of honour, there lies you...a scared little soul who has LITTLE clue as to what you're about to get yourself into, 'cos you lack the necessary tools in your proverbial shed that will help you survive. Here's the deal...you can earn shot after shot at whatever title you wish, you can live our your biggest dreams and fantasies, but when it all boils down to it...the IWF is a swamp, littered with personalities that you EAT YOU ALIVE so fast, it'll make you wish you never signed up...
After all...it takes more than private jets or gold bullion to grow as a person.
You need to learn that lesson the HARD way.
For people like you, Kate, whatever...try as you might, but if there's one thing you WON'T be able to do, that's keep me silenced. I speak with the people, the forgotten men, women, and children who wish to learn what it's REALLY like to work hard at whatever it is they want to do in life; I want them to transcend, to rise above the sum of their biggest fears--no matter what the big-shots might think. Despite beliefs to the contrary, I INTEND to stand for what is right and just, utilising my emotions to great effect as I march out to that ring...
...and drain the swamp.
Cheers!
Well howdy there pardner.