Post by DCGAS on Sept 25, 2021 13:03:43 GMT -5
The light of the sun was dying out, those last few rays looked foreboding as they reached out across the park as dusk took the place of the day that was becoming a past tense with each tick of the clock’s hands. Time was always running out, it seemed, when it came to Johnnie Sinnz. Time was something that she was all well acquainted with; always scrambling for more of it, always fighting it and yet finding herself adapting to it rather than winning her constant conflict with it, and today didn’t seem to be any different.
Pause. Beat. Exhale.
The cherry of that cigarette she held precariously ‘tween her trigger an’ bird finger glowed bright red, as red as the fading sun in the back drop, as she sucked hard on that filtered end to fill her lungs with the cancer an’ nicotine packed within the stick itself before dropping it and snuffing it out on the bench of the picnic table she was perched on. Her boot twisted, just to make sure she fuckin’ killed it before looking up and ahead, fingers steepling between her knees as those arms came around.
“Time’s a mother honker, isn’t it? We always think we got more of it, but we don’t. We think we have forever to do the things we keep putting off. It never occurs to any of us that we’re all on a timer, that we have a limited run of things. One day you’re at the top of your game, you’re going across the country to punch Sarah Sorlie in her stupid honkin’ face because she said something about the woman you were dumb enough to fall in love with, and the next? The next you’re getting slammed neck first into an entry ramp and being told that after you’ve spent a week fighting for your life that career is over with.”
Sigh. God, did she sigh. She let it out of her with a heavy shrug of her shoulders.
“‘Course, I’m a honkin’ Goose. I’m one of the Gooses. I’m the same Goose that’s squared up with everyone that’s stepped to her, from WCWA to Yamashi Pro. I’ve been in MMA bouts, flat out shoot fights, death matches, and technical spectacles that went on in cages. I’ve broken bones, I’ve watched my life go by from a hospital bed that I had to finally crawl out of and defy every expectation those shitbird doctors had, just like I did the expectations of every opponent I ever had.”
Snort.
“Fuck is Viktor ‘Hazard’ Fontenot gonna do to me that Jacob Kuntz and Johnny Vachon couldn’t during the Blood Bowl in Yamashi? He gonna break my neck on the live stage then make the entire honkin’ world forget me like the final nights in Underground? Or is he gonna get run the fuck through like nearly every tag team did in Revival? Young Rook is bold, and he’s got heart, but he’s also got inexperience. He wants to take me down, then he’s gonna have to reach down deep with those long ass, gangly ass, I’m a spider monkey pretending to be a human ass arms of his and tug something out of himself that he didn’t know was even there.”
Johnnie was finally gettin’ to her feet before stepping off of the bench seat to that picnic table and hitting the ground boots first before she cut a look to the camera.
“Keep in mind though, takin’ me down, and keeping me honk down are two different honkin’ things, Buddy.”
Cue her pullin’ that pack of Red Apple Cigarettes out of her jacket pocket, brows raised.
“With that said tho'? As much as you aren't any of those people? Action Wrestling isn't any of those people. We're both debutin' here, so good luck and welcome to the shit show, Hazzie. You’re gonna honkin’ need it.”
Pause. Beat.
“Honk.”
She walked passed the camera she’d set up on the ground, kneeling by its side to extend her bird finger to it before cutting the feed.
How very honkin’ dramatic of her.
Pause. Beat. Exhale.
The cherry of that cigarette she held precariously ‘tween her trigger an’ bird finger glowed bright red, as red as the fading sun in the back drop, as she sucked hard on that filtered end to fill her lungs with the cancer an’ nicotine packed within the stick itself before dropping it and snuffing it out on the bench of the picnic table she was perched on. Her boot twisted, just to make sure she fuckin’ killed it before looking up and ahead, fingers steepling between her knees as those arms came around.
“Time’s a mother honker, isn’t it? We always think we got more of it, but we don’t. We think we have forever to do the things we keep putting off. It never occurs to any of us that we’re all on a timer, that we have a limited run of things. One day you’re at the top of your game, you’re going across the country to punch Sarah Sorlie in her stupid honkin’ face because she said something about the woman you were dumb enough to fall in love with, and the next? The next you’re getting slammed neck first into an entry ramp and being told that after you’ve spent a week fighting for your life that career is over with.”
Sigh. God, did she sigh. She let it out of her with a heavy shrug of her shoulders.
“‘Course, I’m a honkin’ Goose. I’m one of the Gooses. I’m the same Goose that’s squared up with everyone that’s stepped to her, from WCWA to Yamashi Pro. I’ve been in MMA bouts, flat out shoot fights, death matches, and technical spectacles that went on in cages. I’ve broken bones, I’ve watched my life go by from a hospital bed that I had to finally crawl out of and defy every expectation those shitbird doctors had, just like I did the expectations of every opponent I ever had.”
Snort.
“Fuck is Viktor ‘Hazard’ Fontenot gonna do to me that Jacob Kuntz and Johnny Vachon couldn’t during the Blood Bowl in Yamashi? He gonna break my neck on the live stage then make the entire honkin’ world forget me like the final nights in Underground? Or is he gonna get run the fuck through like nearly every tag team did in Revival? Young Rook is bold, and he’s got heart, but he’s also got inexperience. He wants to take me down, then he’s gonna have to reach down deep with those long ass, gangly ass, I’m a spider monkey pretending to be a human ass arms of his and tug something out of himself that he didn’t know was even there.”
Johnnie was finally gettin’ to her feet before stepping off of the bench seat to that picnic table and hitting the ground boots first before she cut a look to the camera.
“Keep in mind though, takin’ me down, and keeping me honk down are two different honkin’ things, Buddy.”
Cue her pullin’ that pack of Red Apple Cigarettes out of her jacket pocket, brows raised.
“With that said tho'? As much as you aren't any of those people? Action Wrestling isn't any of those people. We're both debutin' here, so good luck and welcome to the shit show, Hazzie. You’re gonna honkin’ need it.”
Pause. Beat.
“Honk.”
She walked passed the camera she’d set up on the ground, kneeling by its side to extend her bird finger to it before cutting the feed.
How very honkin’ dramatic of her.