Post by Fiona McFly on Mar 13, 2017 3:52:42 GMT
11 March 2017 - 9:30 AM
On Highway 67...
...we find Fiona McFly behind the wheel of her fiance Jack Gaither's banana-hued 1973 Chevy Vega, cruising through Cedar Hill as she heads toward the "Pleasantville" relaxation establishment that was, according to Jack himself, located "in the middle of nowhere." After driving around the North Texas roadways in her Aston-Martin for a couple of years now, this was the first time in a car with left-hand drive, much less one with an automatic transmission.
But it didn't matter what car she would take on this cloudy Saturday.
After all, a week had passed since Fiona's meltdown, one that ended with her prized coffee table being destroyed. She sighed to herself as she turned on the car's satellite radio, trying hard to not remember that moment in time. Picking out a station she liked, she smiled, nodding her head along with the music that was playing from the stereo's speakers. It was a heavy metal tune from the glory days of 80s "hair bands," something that the Northern Irishwoman could appreciate, being from a region that prides itself on hard rock.
Fiona grinned from ear to ear, partaking in the song's words when she spotted a large, nondescript building off the exit to Lake Ridge. It truly was out in the middle of the country, in the the shadows of several cement plants and various other industrial businesses. Gazing her eyes upon the large sigh that read "PLEASANTVILLE - Est. 2004," she calmly slowed down at the exit before pulling into the gravel parking area and turning off the engine. Upon exiting, she looked up at the skies above as a single-engine vintage World War II-era flew overhead, prompting her to slowly shake her head as a woman in a white outfit strolled up, speaking with a heavy twang whilst lighting a cigarette.
WOMAN: That's the owner of this here massage joint.
Fiona perked up her left brow.
FIONA MCFLY: Pardon me, but...this IS Pleasantville, right?
WOMAN: Sure is, l'il darlin'. Ya got a membership?
FIONA: No ma'am, I'm just here 'cos my fiancee Jack recommended I try something to help me keep a level mind.
The smoker, around 45 years of age, chuckled before dropping her cigarette to the gravel and stomping on it.
WOMAN: Did ya just say "Jack?" As in Jack Gaither?
FIONA: Uh-huh.
The stranger laughed out loud before motioning Fiona to come inside the establishment. Once inside, we find that the place has a bit of a charm to it, in spite of its simplistic decor of large plants and a small HD television that hung on a wall mount. Fiona walked up to the front desk and handed her ID over to the woman, who entered the appropriate information onto a computer screen, producing an American flag-themed membership card.
MARY SUE: I'm Mary Sue, and you just earned yourself a FREE lifetime membership.
FIONA: Free?
MARY SUE: Yes ma'am...Jack just happens to be one of our most loyal customers, and ANYONE that's friends with him, much less his fiancee, doesn't have to pay a gawl-dern dime. Wait in the waitin' area, we'll get ya up to speed on what we got to offer.
FIONA: I...I'm flattered. Thank you very much.
Fiona smiled before walking into the smallish waiting area and plunking herself down on the leather couch. She watched as a basketball game unfolded on the TV screen, but her eyes began to drift on a large painting that hung over the receptionist's desk. The painting featured an F-14 in action over a desert landscape, fighting its way through flak amidst a clear, blue sky. What really got Fiona's attention, however, was the caption underneath the portrait that simply read "SKYFALL -KG."
It was then, at that moment in time, when Fiona McFly began to realize that something wasn't quite right with "Pleasantville."
But she had to stay relaxed, playing her part in a drama that would be larger than life itself.
On Highway 67...
...we find Fiona McFly behind the wheel of her fiance Jack Gaither's banana-hued 1973 Chevy Vega, cruising through Cedar Hill as she heads toward the "Pleasantville" relaxation establishment that was, according to Jack himself, located "in the middle of nowhere." After driving around the North Texas roadways in her Aston-Martin for a couple of years now, this was the first time in a car with left-hand drive, much less one with an automatic transmission.
But it didn't matter what car she would take on this cloudy Saturday.
After all, a week had passed since Fiona's meltdown, one that ended with her prized coffee table being destroyed. She sighed to herself as she turned on the car's satellite radio, trying hard to not remember that moment in time. Picking out a station she liked, she smiled, nodding her head along with the music that was playing from the stereo's speakers. It was a heavy metal tune from the glory days of 80s "hair bands," something that the Northern Irishwoman could appreciate, being from a region that prides itself on hard rock.
When I see what I want
I'm going to take it
If it's against some law
You can bet I'll break it
My need to feed
Gives me the will to survive
I gotta find it fast
To keep me alive
I can't believe my hunger
Hunger
I want it so bad I can taste it
It drives me mad to see it wasted
When I need it so bad that it's burnin' me
I'm hungry...
I'm going to take it
If it's against some law
You can bet I'll break it
My need to feed
Gives me the will to survive
I gotta find it fast
To keep me alive
I can't believe my hunger
Hunger
I want it so bad I can taste it
It drives me mad to see it wasted
When I need it so bad that it's burnin' me
I'm hungry...
Fiona grinned from ear to ear, partaking in the song's words when she spotted a large, nondescript building off the exit to Lake Ridge. It truly was out in the middle of the country, in the the shadows of several cement plants and various other industrial businesses. Gazing her eyes upon the large sigh that read "PLEASANTVILLE - Est. 2004," she calmly slowed down at the exit before pulling into the gravel parking area and turning off the engine. Upon exiting, she looked up at the skies above as a single-engine vintage World War II-era flew overhead, prompting her to slowly shake her head as a woman in a white outfit strolled up, speaking with a heavy twang whilst lighting a cigarette.
WOMAN: That's the owner of this here massage joint.
Fiona perked up her left brow.
FIONA MCFLY: Pardon me, but...this IS Pleasantville, right?
WOMAN: Sure is, l'il darlin'. Ya got a membership?
FIONA: No ma'am, I'm just here 'cos my fiancee Jack recommended I try something to help me keep a level mind.
The smoker, around 45 years of age, chuckled before dropping her cigarette to the gravel and stomping on it.
WOMAN: Did ya just say "Jack?" As in Jack Gaither?
FIONA: Uh-huh.
The stranger laughed out loud before motioning Fiona to come inside the establishment. Once inside, we find that the place has a bit of a charm to it, in spite of its simplistic decor of large plants and a small HD television that hung on a wall mount. Fiona walked up to the front desk and handed her ID over to the woman, who entered the appropriate information onto a computer screen, producing an American flag-themed membership card.
MARY SUE: I'm Mary Sue, and you just earned yourself a FREE lifetime membership.
FIONA: Free?
MARY SUE: Yes ma'am...Jack just happens to be one of our most loyal customers, and ANYONE that's friends with him, much less his fiancee, doesn't have to pay a gawl-dern dime. Wait in the waitin' area, we'll get ya up to speed on what we got to offer.
FIONA: I...I'm flattered. Thank you very much.
Fiona smiled before walking into the smallish waiting area and plunking herself down on the leather couch. She watched as a basketball game unfolded on the TV screen, but her eyes began to drift on a large painting that hung over the receptionist's desk. The painting featured an F-14 in action over a desert landscape, fighting its way through flak amidst a clear, blue sky. What really got Fiona's attention, however, was the caption underneath the portrait that simply read "SKYFALL -KG."
It was then, at that moment in time, when Fiona McFly began to realize that something wasn't quite right with "Pleasantville."
But she had to stay relaxed, playing her part in a drama that would be larger than life itself.
~TO BE CONTINUED~
~~
Dear Kate...
You know lovely, sometimes I just don't understand you. I mean, for God's sakes, you were a former Shieldmaidon, poised to make sure you brought your career back from the dead. You labeled yourself as IWF's biggest underdog, wanting to desperately attract attention to the notion that you wanted to reestablish yourself as a dominant force within the Imperial world. But last week...last week, when it mattered the most, you went out to that ring and ONCE AGAIN proved to the entire planet that you love making a mess out of your life! And yet, deep down...deep down, I STILL don't understand "why."
Is it 'cos you're truly afraid to stand up for yourself amidst a growing swamp that is Imperial?
Or is it 'cos you only specialise in singing absolute garbage that would make Freddie Mercury himself roll over in his fucking grave instead of taking this wrestling gig seriously?!
Think about it for a moment...about that 47-second tapout I laid on you. THAT should answer those questions for you.
I work for The People who pay to see you and I compete in a ring, ESPECIALLY when it's an Open Fight Night submission match with a guest referee that I could particularly care less about--except that she's obsessed with me in some capacity. But going back to the topic at hand...we all live our lives differently, that much is certain. It is not, however, a query of WHAT we do for a living; rather...it's HOW we choose to live that matters more than anything else in the world. And when it all boils down to it, the fact of the matter remains as simple as learning how to hold onto a rock guitar properly...
I take grappling VERY seriously.
For this is MY life now. This industry is what I love--for it has blessed me in ways that you will NEVER fully understand. This is all I know, an expansion of the things I wanted to learn whilst taking self-defence as a University elective...and I when I see people just like you, acting lackadaisical about their work and taking the piss when they ought to go out there and put food on the table for their families...
...well darling, I just...
...GO FUCKING CRAZY!!!
Face it Kate, you've lost your edge, your LOVE for this business ever since you lost your precious Shieldmaidon. You don't have it anymore, you're not HUNGRY enough to step forward and tell the masses that you've got what it takes to succeed! And until you rediscover the fire that burns beneath all that musical "genius" or lack thereof, that feeling you get whenever you've done something remarkable...then quite frankly my dear, and allow me to be blunt...you need to pack your shite and go home. 'Cos truth be told, there are more important things in life than learning how to knock somebody arse over tit...
...ya know, those "little things" like looking deep within your soul to find answers to questions you've been given. Those are the things that can't be taught be anyone--you have to learn them yourself. I could help you if I wanted...
...but in the end, it'll cost you--big league, as President Trump would say--for I will make you tap once again.
Cheers!
Dear Kate...
You know lovely, sometimes I just don't understand you. I mean, for God's sakes, you were a former Shieldmaidon, poised to make sure you brought your career back from the dead. You labeled yourself as IWF's biggest underdog, wanting to desperately attract attention to the notion that you wanted to reestablish yourself as a dominant force within the Imperial world. But last week...last week, when it mattered the most, you went out to that ring and ONCE AGAIN proved to the entire planet that you love making a mess out of your life! And yet, deep down...deep down, I STILL don't understand "why."
Is it 'cos you're truly afraid to stand up for yourself amidst a growing swamp that is Imperial?
Or is it 'cos you only specialise in singing absolute garbage that would make Freddie Mercury himself roll over in his fucking grave instead of taking this wrestling gig seriously?!
Think about it for a moment...about that 47-second tapout I laid on you. THAT should answer those questions for you.
I work for The People who pay to see you and I compete in a ring, ESPECIALLY when it's an Open Fight Night submission match with a guest referee that I could particularly care less about--except that she's obsessed with me in some capacity. But going back to the topic at hand...we all live our lives differently, that much is certain. It is not, however, a query of WHAT we do for a living; rather...it's HOW we choose to live that matters more than anything else in the world. And when it all boils down to it, the fact of the matter remains as simple as learning how to hold onto a rock guitar properly...
I take grappling VERY seriously.
For this is MY life now. This industry is what I love--for it has blessed me in ways that you will NEVER fully understand. This is all I know, an expansion of the things I wanted to learn whilst taking self-defence as a University elective...and I when I see people just like you, acting lackadaisical about their work and taking the piss when they ought to go out there and put food on the table for their families...
...well darling, I just...
...GO FUCKING CRAZY!!!
Face it Kate, you've lost your edge, your LOVE for this business ever since you lost your precious Shieldmaidon. You don't have it anymore, you're not HUNGRY enough to step forward and tell the masses that you've got what it takes to succeed! And until you rediscover the fire that burns beneath all that musical "genius" or lack thereof, that feeling you get whenever you've done something remarkable...then quite frankly my dear, and allow me to be blunt...you need to pack your shite and go home. 'Cos truth be told, there are more important things in life than learning how to knock somebody arse over tit...
...ya know, those "little things" like looking deep within your soul to find answers to questions you've been given. Those are the things that can't be taught be anyone--you have to learn them yourself. I could help you if I wanted...
...but in the end, it'll cost you--big league, as President Trump would say--for I will make you tap once again.
Cheers!
Well howdy there pardner.