Post by Charity Crowne on Mar 19, 2017 20:01:19 GMT
Listen. D'you hear that? It's the sound of tryin' too hard.
I've been listenin' to all the Diamonds in the Rough, and I have to say...is that it? Really? This is the best that the world of women's wrestling has to offer? No wonder Riley Gordon reached out the way she did if this is all you've got. I mean seriously, how many freaks in masks and paint can you put in one place before they've got to legally declare it a circus? God, it's like the Gathering of the bloody Juggalos in this place.
You know what? I think we need to bring a touch of class to the Imperial Wrestling Federation, something that has been SORELY lacking. You've women who shoot off on Twitter tirades at the drop of a hat, you've psychotic, bloodthirsty lunatics, you've people who've just been gettin' soft on their heels, and you've the desperate for attention "I'm not like other girls!" contingent. Pfft. Clearly.
But what you haven't had is someone who's been able to take advantage of the finest things life has to offer. You don't have someone who's trained with the finest trainers money can buy, who was a natural athlete from the moment she could walk...you don't have someone who succeeds at anything she turns herself to. Put simply? You don't have a winner. You don't have me. You don't have Charity Crowne. Not yet.
You've people that win, yeah, but that's not the same now, is it? There's a reason the most dominant women in this company have been the Cosplay Queen and relegation Harley Quinn. You simply haven't had the chance to truly experience flawlessness. But don't worry about it. It's going to be alright, darlings. Things'll get better.
I'm here now, after all. I'm here to show the world a higher grade of Diamond. Don't know me yet? That's alright. You'll learn. I'm not someone you're going to find on the Internet, wrestling in community centres. I don't spend time toying around with the small things. If I want something, I want the best and boldest. I live on the top shelf, and for all I've said about the cast of characters here, I did my homework. This is the place to be. This is the biggest stage and these are the brightest lights, and they were made for someone like me.
You've had pretty girls before, but they've never had my athleticism. You've had athletes before, but they've never had my style. I'm the ideal, yeah? I'm who you want to be, and who you'll never be. And the best part of that for me is knowing. I love knowing that when I succeed, someone else fails. I love taking triumph from them, because...well, they don't deserve it. I was born for success, and none of the women...if you can call yourselves that...of this company, much less this tournament, can stop me.
I succeed when I don't even try. What chance do any of you have of winning when I put myself to it? Better just go back over that rope, walk back to the locker room. Save yourselves the embarrassment of being shown up by someone who is...simply...flawless.
6th March 2017
New York, New York
Charity Crowne paces back and forth in the living room of an opulently-decorated flat in New York, eyes locked intently on the television in front of her. Riley Gordon is on-screen, making her announcement regarding the Diamonds in the Rough Tournament, and as she speaks, Charity's expression goes from one of intent to one of murderous rage. She exhales slowly through her nostrils, picking up her cellphone and dialing a number. She resumes her pacing, eyes fixed on the screen as the phone rings. A bored-sounding voice picks up on the other end. "You have reached the office of Riley Gordon, co-head of the IWF Diamonds' Division, how may I assist you?"
Charity's voice is seething as she stares at the screen, finally stopping in her tracks as a target for her anger is found. "Hello, yes. You can assist me by asking your supervisor what manner of MADNESS has wormed its way around her brain that she thinks putting her most valuable asset in competition with a masked mountain of a woman is a viable business plan! Has she lost her faculties? Is she going off in the head?! Maxine Valentine is a certifiable madwoman! Then again, I suppose this company has no problem with the mentally ill, or Eternity would have been made redundant an age ago."
She huffs angrily, and the assistant on the phone sighs, the tone of his voice indulging a spat of anger before becoming a dead ringer for an exasperated nanny trying to address a child in the middle of a tantrum. "Somehow I had a premonition you'd call...Ms. Crowne, I understand your concerns, and believe me, so does Ms. Gordon. The matches have been set, and unfortunately we can't rearrange the entire tournament on a whim. This is supp—"
Charity cuts the assistant off, exploding down the phone again. "WHIM?! This is not a whim, little man, this is concern for the future of this company! I'm doing this with your future in mind too! If that titantic tart injures me, who does that leave to bear the standard for this tournament? Violet Madeira? Rowan MacDonnough, I suppose? Right, because this company doesn't already have enough psychotic micks as it stands. Maxine Valentine can go fall on top of someone else. Give me...I don't know, Keira Hunter. Let Maxine turn Yulia into a paste instead."
"Ms. Crowne." The assistant's voice is more forceful this time. "Ms. Crowne, I understand your concerns, but the answer is no. And, I would like you to know, if you continue to provide this much trouble over your position within the tournament, we do have alternates lined up in case a competitor is unable to perform. And rest assured, they would love nothing more than the opportunity to prove themselves on this stage. You are replaceable. That's not a threat, Ms. Crowne. That's just a fact."
Charity sinks to a sitting position, eyes boring a hole in the image of Riley Gordon on her television. She speaks into the phone through clenched teeth, clearly attempting and failing to restrain her anger. "Let me make something perfectly clear to you, little man. You are replaceable. I am not. There are a hundred personal assistants out there that could have your job in a heartbeat, but there is only one Charity Crowne. You've made your point. I'll just have to make mine back. Cheers." She hangs up the phone, angrily tossing it into the corner of the couch and sitting back.
Charity stares at the screen for a few long moments, crossing her arms and pouting. She mimicks the assistant's voice mockingly, sneering. "You're replaceable, that's just a fact...lousy bastard wouldn't know his arse from a hole in the ground. I'm indispensable." She sighs, pulling her legs up on the couch and laying out across it as she reaches for the remote. "Oh well. At least it can't get worse."
14th March 2017
New York, New York
Charity rolls over in bed to the sound of an alert notification from her phone. She sleepily reaches out, grabbing it from the nightstand, and unlocks it, flicking through to her e-mails. Staring back at her from the screen in bold black letters is an e-mail with the subject "NOTICE OF BOOKING: 10-Diamond Battle Royal, Monday Night Sacrifice, Columbia, MS." The letters stare back at Charity for a long few moments, and all she can muster is a single word.
"What."
Monday night is supposed to be a showcase of the talent in this tournament, and what else would you want to display in a showcase of Diamonds but the Flawless one? Don't take your failure too hard, ladies. It's not really your fault. Just because you weren't born with my good looks, with my natural skills, with all the success in the world at your back, that doesn't mean you're hopeless. It just means you'll never be me. And, when you think about it, that's not so bad. There are lots of people in the world who'll never be me. Paige Garcia. Sara Garcia. Eternity. Jessica Reed. Theresa May. Heather, from accounts. Each and every one of you.
When you end up tumbling over that top rope, it's just the way of the world asserting itself. It's the natural order being reinforced. Your place in life is to fight, to claw and scrape for every scrap you get. My place is to win. Plain. Simple. Easy to understand, even for a brute like Maxine Valentine or an illiterate fanatic like Abigail Spencer.
After all, you can all be diamonds in the rough, and you can all sparkle and shine...but there's only room for one Crowne Jewel. And I don't like sharing. See you Monday, girls.
I've been listenin' to all the Diamonds in the Rough, and I have to say...is that it? Really? This is the best that the world of women's wrestling has to offer? No wonder Riley Gordon reached out the way she did if this is all you've got. I mean seriously, how many freaks in masks and paint can you put in one place before they've got to legally declare it a circus? God, it's like the Gathering of the bloody Juggalos in this place.
You know what? I think we need to bring a touch of class to the Imperial Wrestling Federation, something that has been SORELY lacking. You've women who shoot off on Twitter tirades at the drop of a hat, you've psychotic, bloodthirsty lunatics, you've people who've just been gettin' soft on their heels, and you've the desperate for attention "I'm not like other girls!" contingent. Pfft. Clearly.
But what you haven't had is someone who's been able to take advantage of the finest things life has to offer. You don't have someone who's trained with the finest trainers money can buy, who was a natural athlete from the moment she could walk...you don't have someone who succeeds at anything she turns herself to. Put simply? You don't have a winner. You don't have me. You don't have Charity Crowne. Not yet.
You've people that win, yeah, but that's not the same now, is it? There's a reason the most dominant women in this company have been the Cosplay Queen and relegation Harley Quinn. You simply haven't had the chance to truly experience flawlessness. But don't worry about it. It's going to be alright, darlings. Things'll get better.
I'm here now, after all. I'm here to show the world a higher grade of Diamond. Don't know me yet? That's alright. You'll learn. I'm not someone you're going to find on the Internet, wrestling in community centres. I don't spend time toying around with the small things. If I want something, I want the best and boldest. I live on the top shelf, and for all I've said about the cast of characters here, I did my homework. This is the place to be. This is the biggest stage and these are the brightest lights, and they were made for someone like me.
You've had pretty girls before, but they've never had my athleticism. You've had athletes before, but they've never had my style. I'm the ideal, yeah? I'm who you want to be, and who you'll never be. And the best part of that for me is knowing. I love knowing that when I succeed, someone else fails. I love taking triumph from them, because...well, they don't deserve it. I was born for success, and none of the women...if you can call yourselves that...of this company, much less this tournament, can stop me.
I succeed when I don't even try. What chance do any of you have of winning when I put myself to it? Better just go back over that rope, walk back to the locker room. Save yourselves the embarrassment of being shown up by someone who is...simply...flawless.
6th March 2017
New York, New York
Charity Crowne paces back and forth in the living room of an opulently-decorated flat in New York, eyes locked intently on the television in front of her. Riley Gordon is on-screen, making her announcement regarding the Diamonds in the Rough Tournament, and as she speaks, Charity's expression goes from one of intent to one of murderous rage. She exhales slowly through her nostrils, picking up her cellphone and dialing a number. She resumes her pacing, eyes fixed on the screen as the phone rings. A bored-sounding voice picks up on the other end. "You have reached the office of Riley Gordon, co-head of the IWF Diamonds' Division, how may I assist you?"
Charity's voice is seething as she stares at the screen, finally stopping in her tracks as a target for her anger is found. "Hello, yes. You can assist me by asking your supervisor what manner of MADNESS has wormed its way around her brain that she thinks putting her most valuable asset in competition with a masked mountain of a woman is a viable business plan! Has she lost her faculties? Is she going off in the head?! Maxine Valentine is a certifiable madwoman! Then again, I suppose this company has no problem with the mentally ill, or Eternity would have been made redundant an age ago."
She huffs angrily, and the assistant on the phone sighs, the tone of his voice indulging a spat of anger before becoming a dead ringer for an exasperated nanny trying to address a child in the middle of a tantrum. "Somehow I had a premonition you'd call...Ms. Crowne, I understand your concerns, and believe me, so does Ms. Gordon. The matches have been set, and unfortunately we can't rearrange the entire tournament on a whim. This is supp—"
Charity cuts the assistant off, exploding down the phone again. "WHIM?! This is not a whim, little man, this is concern for the future of this company! I'm doing this with your future in mind too! If that titantic tart injures me, who does that leave to bear the standard for this tournament? Violet Madeira? Rowan MacDonnough, I suppose? Right, because this company doesn't already have enough psychotic micks as it stands. Maxine Valentine can go fall on top of someone else. Give me...I don't know, Keira Hunter. Let Maxine turn Yulia into a paste instead."
"Ms. Crowne." The assistant's voice is more forceful this time. "Ms. Crowne, I understand your concerns, but the answer is no. And, I would like you to know, if you continue to provide this much trouble over your position within the tournament, we do have alternates lined up in case a competitor is unable to perform. And rest assured, they would love nothing more than the opportunity to prove themselves on this stage. You are replaceable. That's not a threat, Ms. Crowne. That's just a fact."
Charity sinks to a sitting position, eyes boring a hole in the image of Riley Gordon on her television. She speaks into the phone through clenched teeth, clearly attempting and failing to restrain her anger. "Let me make something perfectly clear to you, little man. You are replaceable. I am not. There are a hundred personal assistants out there that could have your job in a heartbeat, but there is only one Charity Crowne. You've made your point. I'll just have to make mine back. Cheers." She hangs up the phone, angrily tossing it into the corner of the couch and sitting back.
Charity stares at the screen for a few long moments, crossing her arms and pouting. She mimicks the assistant's voice mockingly, sneering. "You're replaceable, that's just a fact...lousy bastard wouldn't know his arse from a hole in the ground. I'm indispensable." She sighs, pulling her legs up on the couch and laying out across it as she reaches for the remote. "Oh well. At least it can't get worse."
14th March 2017
New York, New York
Charity rolls over in bed to the sound of an alert notification from her phone. She sleepily reaches out, grabbing it from the nightstand, and unlocks it, flicking through to her e-mails. Staring back at her from the screen in bold black letters is an e-mail with the subject "NOTICE OF BOOKING: 10-Diamond Battle Royal, Monday Night Sacrifice, Columbia, MS." The letters stare back at Charity for a long few moments, and all she can muster is a single word.
"What."
Monday night is supposed to be a showcase of the talent in this tournament, and what else would you want to display in a showcase of Diamonds but the Flawless one? Don't take your failure too hard, ladies. It's not really your fault. Just because you weren't born with my good looks, with my natural skills, with all the success in the world at your back, that doesn't mean you're hopeless. It just means you'll never be me. And, when you think about it, that's not so bad. There are lots of people in the world who'll never be me. Paige Garcia. Sara Garcia. Eternity. Jessica Reed. Theresa May. Heather, from accounts. Each and every one of you.
When you end up tumbling over that top rope, it's just the way of the world asserting itself. It's the natural order being reinforced. Your place in life is to fight, to claw and scrape for every scrap you get. My place is to win. Plain. Simple. Easy to understand, even for a brute like Maxine Valentine or an illiterate fanatic like Abigail Spencer.
After all, you can all be diamonds in the rough, and you can all sparkle and shine...but there's only room for one Crowne Jewel. And I don't like sharing. See you Monday, girls.
Well howdy there pardner.