Quoth these balls, you dumb, goth, bitch.
Sept 19, 2021 13:44:16 GMT -5
Spencer Adams, Karlie Nash, and 4 more like this
Post by CVO on Sept 19, 2021 13:44:16 GMT -5
The faint whir of a projector running in the background filled the air and effectively killed the notion of dead space long before it even became a concept, the light from its lens keeping alive what might otherwise be a dark room. The picture was grainy, and shaky, and had no reason to be either considering it was CVO’s match against Harry ‘The Hippo’ Diderot. The small theatre room was comfy, with an overstuffed chair dead center of it accompanied by a small end table on either side of it. In the middle of that chair? Was none other than one Catherine van Owen, rockin’ grey sweatpants that hugged her tree trunk legs and a Boston Red Wings hoodie that was entirely too damned big on her. Still, the attention of the camera soon went off of her and focused on what was being projected onto the roll down screen: the opening salvo, the way her knee strike felled the big man right out of the gate, only to ground and pound the colossus of a warrior with her fists and elbows before the ref pulled her off of him.
She played it again.
And again.
And again.
As soon as she was pulled off, she hit rewind, just to watch the carnage that she’d opened that match up with.
“Insanity has a lot of definitions.” She said suddenly, not even breaking her attention from the screen in front of her, those doe like eyes narrowed in scrutiny, in concentration, as she kept her watch. “My favorite definition of it is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a change. Guess it hits a little different for me considering that’s what I’m doing, right? Going back to wrestling when it didn’t work out the first time. It didn’t work out the first time, the second time, but the third time’s supposed to be the charm, yeah? Or is it just me solidifying that I don’t belong here, maybe the people were right, maybe I don’t belong. Maybe this is a passing phase that I just can’t seem to get from under.”
Pause. Beat. The woman slid up a leg only to cross it over the other, locking those massive thighs as she straightened up her posture, shovin’ those stone solid back muscles into the plush feel of that overstuffed chest. Those eyes never once left the screen, finally progressing passed the initial salvo of the match, the sight of Harry locking his arms on her, overpowering her, reflected against the whites of her eyes for just a moment.
Of course, we all know that moment would be in her eyes even if they weren’t open.
“You get that though, don’t you Claire? You know all about the insanity that comes with repetitious violence. You know it, because you’re afflicted with the same obsession I am. The hurt in your heart that comes with seeing everything that you’ve earned come crashing down, and it came down for you almost as it did for me, yeah? Jesus Girl, what I saw was a fuckin’ mess and a half, and I’m someone who knows something about being messy.”
As if to illustrate, she nodded to the screen, right as it showed Harry picking up the win. It was a brutal, hard fought, intense match between a returning legend and a woman who’d never actually had a full on Rookie year. A nerveless hand grabbed the nearby remote and killed the feed, the faint whirring of the projector remaining right up until it died as the crowd was cheering, the commentary making notes of how CVO did, in fact, belong here. It was intentional that she cut it off at that note, a fact made relevant by the smug little grin starting to form on her pouty lips.
“Whaddaya know, maybe i was wrong. Maybe for me, this isn’t insanity, Claire. Maybe for me, this is me clawing my way outta my own personal hell. Fuckin’ wicked, right? Everyone out there loves a redemption story, gets’em wet in the knickers, you know what I mean? The people love to see a fallen hero get to her shaky fuckin’ feet and pound the shit out of anyone in their way because fallibility makes a fighter more relatable. makes the people love’em, even. I know what you’re thinkin’ though, right? You’re thinkin’ ’this bitch isn’t a hero that fell, I’m the hero that fell! I lost my title!’ Now Claire, I’m gonna ask you to shut the fuck up and listen to me for a moment because I’m gonna talk about that title later; you’re the hero of this story, you’re the washed up champion who’s finding out the hard way about how tunnel vision can fuck up your whole goddamn day.”
Her “top” leg lifted and uncrossed itself, planting her bunny slipper wearin’ foot down on the hard ground as she leaned in and put her elbows on her knees, palmin’ one of her cheeks.
“That’s gonna hurt, that’s fine. If you take nothing else away from this? I want you to take away the fact that you’re the real asshole responsible for all those Ls you;ve been takin’ lately, Snickerdoodle. I mean first some rookie straight up rolls you for your gold like a bully snatchin’ your choccy milk on the playground and then some asshole hitting with the ol’ roll up on the same night that I lost to Hippo’s big brolic ass? Christ, girl, I don’t know if I’d have been ready for the next ass whooping if that happened to me, but here you are, prim and proper, ready to fight me for the chance to prove that you’re ready for the next merry go round chasing a mid card belt.”
Cue those manicured brows lifting up before she lowered her hand to just hang in front of her as she mouthed ’yikes’ to the camera.
“Just.. Oof, girl. How did you become obsessed like this? Trying to elevate a belt that no one cares about outside of the company itself? Like, you’ve put in serious work, Baby Girl. If anyone ever fuckin’ remembers the title in twelve years? They’re gonna see your name mentioned SO MUCH in the wikipedia that they’re actually gonna give you a google! Seriously, Claire. That’s what you can look forward to in twelve years. It’s not a legacy you’ll have built, it’ll be a reason for some young wrestling fan to look you up because they think having obscure favorites is the new it thing to do. You’re like NIMH, you’re entry level hipster garbage at best, and at worst? You’ll be a footnote just like everyone here that didn’t chase the belt that an absolute fuckin’ rookie walked through like they were made out of paper.”
Pause. Beat. That smug little grin? Became a full blown toothy smile, one that stopped well and short of those almost cold eyes.
“Speaking of what you’re made out of though? You’ve got a better chance of successfully being a paper cat chasing an asbestos mouse through the fires of hell than you do of beating me, bitch.”
Snort. She shook her head, shiftin’ her body to rest her forearms against those knees. Fidgety. Restless. So anxious to show that her debut was a fluke, a bad day, something she could brush off and keep ticking.
“I know, I know. You’re thinkin’ ‘this dumb bitch lost to a has been, she can’t take me on, she ain’t got it like that’. You’d be wrong too, Claire-Bear. See, the only title I ever had? Was because I got so deep into my opponent’s head that she lost her shit and made our match a title match, full on anarchy rules. I stomped a mud puddle in her ass and then walked it the fuck out, breaking what would’ve been the longest reign of that title in the company’s history. I fuckin’ reset it for her. So, just like my boy Phil Leotardo? I know a couple or three things. I didn’t do twenty years in the can, jack off in a napkin, or make a grilled cheese on a radiator, but a couple or three things about life? About this situation? That much I fuckin’ know. Just like Iknow what it’s like to spin your wheels and go absolutely nowhere in life.”
Finally, she released that breath she didn’t even realize she was holding back, pulling a hand up to run those calloused fingertips through her dark mane, incidentally flexing the muscles of her biceps and triceps of that arm as a direct result, cradling the back of her skull as she forced herself to pretend that she wasn't amused by her own bullshit.
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again just so you can hear it up close an’ personal, directly from me: I’m here to make Action Wrestling a better place. I’m here to put everyone on notice, to show them what a wrestler can actually do instead of the same song and dance with the same people squabbling over what they think they have a claim to because they’re there. The era of participation trophies is done, Claire. The era in which you could get to where you wanted by just being patient is done. You want to take me down? You wanna climb out of your personal hell and get to where you wanna be? You gotta work for it. You’re not comin’ out like this is business and usual and beating me. You’re gonna face an animal that you can’t see at the zoo or the circus.”
Cue her risin’ up to her feet then, standing with the kind of fluidity that usually only dancers had, intentionally rolling those defined hips that those low riding grey sweats lovingly clung to, just to show’em off.
“I wanna see the real Claire Hawkins, the black metal bitch that at least caught someone’s attention. I want to see the you that’s dangerous, that’s hungry, the one who’s pussy tastes like brimstone and sulfur, that had mother fuckers in the crowd thinking that she was legitimately about to bring about the season of the witch every time he music cued up. I want THAT Claire Hawkins. I want the chick who I was seein’ in the tapes of her matches early on because.. This Claire?”
Liftin’ her arms up, she shrugged before folding them beneath her chest.
“This Claire is lookin’ a lot less black metal and a lot more Industry Plant. I mean girl, you might as well sign the dotted line with Philidor Holdings, because I don’t think FEMA could clean up the washed up mess you’ve become.”
With that, she leaned in, reaching over to put her hand on top of the camera, makin’ sure to get a close up of her face, lockin’ eyes with whoever was choosing to watch.
“Either show up ready to take my fucking head off, or don’t bother to show up at all, Hawkins. If you don’t like what I’m telling you? Then fuckin’ make me eat my words.”
Click.
Nothing more, not a damn thing more.
She played it again.
And again.
And again.
As soon as she was pulled off, she hit rewind, just to watch the carnage that she’d opened that match up with.
“Insanity has a lot of definitions.” She said suddenly, not even breaking her attention from the screen in front of her, those doe like eyes narrowed in scrutiny, in concentration, as she kept her watch. “My favorite definition of it is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a change. Guess it hits a little different for me considering that’s what I’m doing, right? Going back to wrestling when it didn’t work out the first time. It didn’t work out the first time, the second time, but the third time’s supposed to be the charm, yeah? Or is it just me solidifying that I don’t belong here, maybe the people were right, maybe I don’t belong. Maybe this is a passing phase that I just can’t seem to get from under.”
Pause. Beat. The woman slid up a leg only to cross it over the other, locking those massive thighs as she straightened up her posture, shovin’ those stone solid back muscles into the plush feel of that overstuffed chest. Those eyes never once left the screen, finally progressing passed the initial salvo of the match, the sight of Harry locking his arms on her, overpowering her, reflected against the whites of her eyes for just a moment.
Of course, we all know that moment would be in her eyes even if they weren’t open.
“You get that though, don’t you Claire? You know all about the insanity that comes with repetitious violence. You know it, because you’re afflicted with the same obsession I am. The hurt in your heart that comes with seeing everything that you’ve earned come crashing down, and it came down for you almost as it did for me, yeah? Jesus Girl, what I saw was a fuckin’ mess and a half, and I’m someone who knows something about being messy.”
As if to illustrate, she nodded to the screen, right as it showed Harry picking up the win. It was a brutal, hard fought, intense match between a returning legend and a woman who’d never actually had a full on Rookie year. A nerveless hand grabbed the nearby remote and killed the feed, the faint whirring of the projector remaining right up until it died as the crowd was cheering, the commentary making notes of how CVO did, in fact, belong here. It was intentional that she cut it off at that note, a fact made relevant by the smug little grin starting to form on her pouty lips.
“Whaddaya know, maybe i was wrong. Maybe for me, this isn’t insanity, Claire. Maybe for me, this is me clawing my way outta my own personal hell. Fuckin’ wicked, right? Everyone out there loves a redemption story, gets’em wet in the knickers, you know what I mean? The people love to see a fallen hero get to her shaky fuckin’ feet and pound the shit out of anyone in their way because fallibility makes a fighter more relatable. makes the people love’em, even. I know what you’re thinkin’ though, right? You’re thinkin’ ’this bitch isn’t a hero that fell, I’m the hero that fell! I lost my title!’ Now Claire, I’m gonna ask you to shut the fuck up and listen to me for a moment because I’m gonna talk about that title later; you’re the hero of this story, you’re the washed up champion who’s finding out the hard way about how tunnel vision can fuck up your whole goddamn day.”
Her “top” leg lifted and uncrossed itself, planting her bunny slipper wearin’ foot down on the hard ground as she leaned in and put her elbows on her knees, palmin’ one of her cheeks.
“That’s gonna hurt, that’s fine. If you take nothing else away from this? I want you to take away the fact that you’re the real asshole responsible for all those Ls you;ve been takin’ lately, Snickerdoodle. I mean first some rookie straight up rolls you for your gold like a bully snatchin’ your choccy milk on the playground and then some asshole hitting with the ol’ roll up on the same night that I lost to Hippo’s big brolic ass? Christ, girl, I don’t know if I’d have been ready for the next ass whooping if that happened to me, but here you are, prim and proper, ready to fight me for the chance to prove that you’re ready for the next merry go round chasing a mid card belt.”
Cue those manicured brows lifting up before she lowered her hand to just hang in front of her as she mouthed ’yikes’ to the camera.
“Just.. Oof, girl. How did you become obsessed like this? Trying to elevate a belt that no one cares about outside of the company itself? Like, you’ve put in serious work, Baby Girl. If anyone ever fuckin’ remembers the title in twelve years? They’re gonna see your name mentioned SO MUCH in the wikipedia that they’re actually gonna give you a google! Seriously, Claire. That’s what you can look forward to in twelve years. It’s not a legacy you’ll have built, it’ll be a reason for some young wrestling fan to look you up because they think having obscure favorites is the new it thing to do. You’re like NIMH, you’re entry level hipster garbage at best, and at worst? You’ll be a footnote just like everyone here that didn’t chase the belt that an absolute fuckin’ rookie walked through like they were made out of paper.”
Pause. Beat. That smug little grin? Became a full blown toothy smile, one that stopped well and short of those almost cold eyes.
“Speaking of what you’re made out of though? You’ve got a better chance of successfully being a paper cat chasing an asbestos mouse through the fires of hell than you do of beating me, bitch.”
Snort. She shook her head, shiftin’ her body to rest her forearms against those knees. Fidgety. Restless. So anxious to show that her debut was a fluke, a bad day, something she could brush off and keep ticking.
“I know, I know. You’re thinkin’ ‘this dumb bitch lost to a has been, she can’t take me on, she ain’t got it like that’. You’d be wrong too, Claire-Bear. See, the only title I ever had? Was because I got so deep into my opponent’s head that she lost her shit and made our match a title match, full on anarchy rules. I stomped a mud puddle in her ass and then walked it the fuck out, breaking what would’ve been the longest reign of that title in the company’s history. I fuckin’ reset it for her. So, just like my boy Phil Leotardo? I know a couple or three things. I didn’t do twenty years in the can, jack off in a napkin, or make a grilled cheese on a radiator, but a couple or three things about life? About this situation? That much I fuckin’ know. Just like Iknow what it’s like to spin your wheels and go absolutely nowhere in life.”
Finally, she released that breath she didn’t even realize she was holding back, pulling a hand up to run those calloused fingertips through her dark mane, incidentally flexing the muscles of her biceps and triceps of that arm as a direct result, cradling the back of her skull as she forced herself to pretend that she wasn't amused by her own bullshit.
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again just so you can hear it up close an’ personal, directly from me: I’m here to make Action Wrestling a better place. I’m here to put everyone on notice, to show them what a wrestler can actually do instead of the same song and dance with the same people squabbling over what they think they have a claim to because they’re there. The era of participation trophies is done, Claire. The era in which you could get to where you wanted by just being patient is done. You want to take me down? You wanna climb out of your personal hell and get to where you wanna be? You gotta work for it. You’re not comin’ out like this is business and usual and beating me. You’re gonna face an animal that you can’t see at the zoo or the circus.”
Cue her risin’ up to her feet then, standing with the kind of fluidity that usually only dancers had, intentionally rolling those defined hips that those low riding grey sweats lovingly clung to, just to show’em off.
“I wanna see the real Claire Hawkins, the black metal bitch that at least caught someone’s attention. I want to see the you that’s dangerous, that’s hungry, the one who’s pussy tastes like brimstone and sulfur, that had mother fuckers in the crowd thinking that she was legitimately about to bring about the season of the witch every time he music cued up. I want THAT Claire Hawkins. I want the chick who I was seein’ in the tapes of her matches early on because.. This Claire?”
Liftin’ her arms up, she shrugged before folding them beneath her chest.
“This Claire is lookin’ a lot less black metal and a lot more Industry Plant. I mean girl, you might as well sign the dotted line with Philidor Holdings, because I don’t think FEMA could clean up the washed up mess you’ve become.”
With that, she leaned in, reaching over to put her hand on top of the camera, makin’ sure to get a close up of her face, lockin’ eyes with whoever was choosing to watch.
“Either show up ready to take my fucking head off, or don’t bother to show up at all, Hawkins. If you don’t like what I’m telling you? Then fuckin’ make me eat my words.”
Click.
Nothing more, not a damn thing more.