Justice, Retribution, and Pizza Bagels.
Oct 10, 2021 9:09:39 GMT -5
Trey Bouchet and Johnny Bacchus like this
Post by CVO on Oct 10, 2021 9:09:39 GMT -5
“Ceevee! Ceevee! Did you fuckin’ see that!?” It was the voice of a young man that was heard long before anything was even seen, but when the screen came into focus? The gym was easily identifiable: it was the same one that CVO could often be seen at. It was Connor MacNamara’s personal facilities. It was The Feeding Pit, the place where The Unblooded of Na Fianna tended to train until they were ready for their trials, and where they trained even after if they so chose. It’s where CVO was now, with close to four hundred pounds stretched across her broad, muscular shoulders as she went up and down. Those squats went deep, until her backside was so low that she could have swept the floor with it while her teammates stood on either side of her, spotting her as she brought up her burden only to take it back down. Slow, rhythmic, almost trancelike, a fact made even more readily apparent when the young wolf ran forward to spill out those words, excitement nearly resonating from him.
“Fuckin’ hell, Ian. She’s workin’, what is it?” The first one to speak wasn’t at the squat rack, but from his graying red mane and the cigar shoved between chapped lips and rattled teeth? It wasn’t hard to figure out that it was Piper MacNamara, the man who trained Connor himself. Gritty, grizzled, he cut off the young man before he got to CVO who was currently racking those weights as it was.
“Tr-- Trey Bouchet called her out!”
“Who?”
“Trey B--”
“That’s not a real fuckin’ name, Lad. Someone’s having fun with you.”
“No, he seriously is. His name is T--”
“I FUCKIN’ HEARD YA! NOW SOUND IT OUT. TREY. BO--”
“He’s not lyin’, Pip. Trey’s a real person. Good guy. No fuckin’ clue why he wants smoke with me, though.” Grunting as CVO came up from the side, using the towel draped over her shoulders to wipe the sweat from her face that her headband missed. Meanwhile, Pip just stared, looking from one, to the other, before walking off and cursing in Irish about the ridiculousness of modern fighters and their names.
“I.. Well, he want’s callin’ you out, callin’ you out, he just kinda.. Announced he’s askin’ you to be his partner.”
Pause. Beat.
“Well, fuck me sideways and call me a Loosie-Goose, first time a man’s ever asked me to kick the shit out of someone with him in public. Huh. Kinda feels like I’m being asked to prom. Never had a guy put forth this much effort forth before, it's kinda sweet.” Snort! She lifted and dropped those shoulders of hers all the same. “Guess I better go get dressed then and give him an answer before the poor guy goes and thinks he’s being stood up.”
“What? Right now? In person? You're not gonna send a text? Not gonna call him or anything?”
CVO just winked at the young’un who was redder than a beet in the moment from it before she patted his shoulder and walked by him all the same, glancing at the cellphone camera before giving a thumbs up to it. “I’ll give you the answer when I show up at your mom’s house, Trey-Bae.”
You would think that the Bostonian Amazon would be out of place in a quiet, happy, home and you know what? You’d be a fucking asshole, but you’d also be right. No work out clothes, no thot gear, nah. Black Doc Martens that were laced with yellow on her left foot, and purple on her right; tight and shined, the tops hidden by those those cargo pants that just barely hugged her lethal legs from her sculpted calves to the tree trunk thighs she’d become famous for before those hip huggin’ dickies were lynched to her waist by that leather belt with the buckle that read “ACAB” across the front of it. Miss Anti Establishment was engrossed in a conversation with another woman who’s back was to the camera, her hair down while CVO’s was pulled back in a ponytail that showed the semi circular bald spots here and there on her temples. Shaved? Bald? Designs, or something else entirely? Still, for once, she wasn’t hiding it, her headband had even been used to tie that glorious mane back.
“..You asked for a solution to protect your boy, Mrs. Bouchet, and I’m here to answer that. You want him to be protected? I’ll make sure he gets that protection.”
“It’s not that Trey can’t protect himself. He’s always been a strong boy, he’s always been able to fight. I--”
“You’re his mother.” Catherine finished the sentence, sliding a hand over to grip the older woman’s, giving it a light squeeze. The woman’s head nodding just confirmed what she said. “..And he’s always going to be your baby boy.”
Before anything else could be said though, that front door opened, and an excited ‘Trey!’ ripped through the open air as the older woman turned, the camera once again missing her face entirely as she threw her arms around her son, nearly bending the poor man down to her level in her embrace. Meanwhile? Cat couldn’t help the grin on her own mug as she leaned down into her seat, liftin’ a hand to bite at her thumb nail, her other hand resting on her toned tummy, the washboard adjacent cobblestone road made flesh entirely hidden by that magenta colored tank top; waiting for that brief reunion to be over.
This was not what Trey had plexpected.
He had been almost certain Catherine Van Owen would agree to be his tag partner. He felt he was a pretty good judge of character; who was legit in this business and who was not. It was why he tendered the offer in the first place, and why he did so in such a public manner. Trey hadn’t seen much risk in either embarrassing her or himself by an equally public rejection.
Of course, he hadn’t envisioned the young woman would make the trip all the way from- Boston was it?- to Houma; to his grandparents’ home, where they and his parents and a few other members of his plextended family were cooped in the aftermath of the recent hurricane.
He certainly appreciated it, though.
“Hey, Ma,” Bouchet reciprocated his mother’s warm greeting with a kiss on the cheek. Straightening from his crouch he gave Cat his full attention. He took note of the crescent discolorations that ringed her brow, his mind immediately jumping to the worst possible conclusion as to their origin. His eyes quickly darted downward, to the young woman’s mirthful eyes and wry smile. He addressed her warmly, holding out his hand. She’d taken that hand, even if she hadn’t gotten up from her seat. It wasn’t a thing of disrespect so much as it was.. Well, her being blatantly lazy! Well, that and awkward.
“Hey, partner.”
“Hey yourself.”
Mercedes insisted on feeding her guests. Leftovers smothered chicken over rice, whipped potato salad, and green bean casserole. All had been prepared in that traditional Southern style; that is to say over-cooked; so much so it was hard to discern where entre’ ended and side began on the plate. Trey devoured all ravenously though while making small talk about the details of Van Owen’s trip to the parish, and the effects the storm in general had had on the area. Once lunch was over Mercedes got down to brass tacks.
“Before Catherine arrived I hadn’t heard from anyone at all about my email. Did you?” she asked her son.
“No, Ma. Sorry. Remember, though; Torture is a busy guy. Busier than usual.”
“Did any of your co-workers give you a hard time about it?”
“Not at all.”
“Good,” Mercedes was relieved about that much, “I didn’t want to embarrass you. I know I was overstepping my bounds, acting like a helicopter parent, trying to manage your career.”
Trey shrugged, “Well, there were plextenuating circumstances in this case, right? We should talk about them.”
“Well,” The woman’s eyes looked to their guest, “Maybe we shouldn’t be taking up so much of Catherine’s time? Maybe you should be talking about your match, or heading off to train?”
“With the short notice? Changing up our training regime isn’t going to do much. I’ve seen Trey wrestle, he’s seen me wrestle. We’ll go over things soon enough, but honestly? I think this might be a liiiiittle more important.”
“See? It’s all good, Ma. Besides, I’d like her to hear this too.”
Trey paused to dump more sugar packets into his tea, using the action to bide time and organize how he wanted to plexplain himself to both women.
“Everything you said in your email was true. It is dangerous to face Todd again. It will be Monday when I’m tagging with Cat, and it will be at Plexecution when it’s just him and me. And yeah, you are right it’s about the money. Wrestling is a job. I’m lucky enough that it’s a job I love doing, but I still want to get paid for it.”
“For true, we all need the money. Your house is wrecked. There’s the wedding bills, and Fabunni and me need to find a place for us afterwards. FEMA checks and insurance payouts aren’t going to be enough. But it isn’t just about the money.”
Now it was Trey whose attention turned to Cat, as though what he was saying was meant for her ears as much as his mother’s, “It’s about doing a job right. ‘The most important thing you can give to someone besides your love is your labor.’ James Carville said that, and whatever else one thinks about him on this he’s spot on. When I faced Todd Metzger in the Elimination Chamber, he humbled me and that’s my fault. I was not prepared to face him, or Ash Blake or Corey Black or any of the others in there. After Timebomb, I was given a chance to make up for that failure, and spit the bit again., despite having all the incentive in the world. He and his Devil’s Gate masters were goofing on me beforehand, issuing phoney injunctions against me using German suplexes in our match, making light of the whole thing. People forget about that stunt, because of what he did to me after the bell, but I didn’t.”
Trey brought his eyes back to Mercedes. He was smiling fondly, “You were right when you wrote there’s no hate in my heart, Ma. That’s because of how you and Dad raised me. But there is pride. I plexpect big things of myself in that ring, against Todd, against anyone. You only get so many matches to make your name in wrestling, to build your legacy. I’m happy with most of my reputation so far. I’m the ‘funny suplex guy’ who is always going to be punching up and not just because he’s five foot nine. And that’s fine; I got no problem being the eternal underdog.”
Again he looked over to CVO who simply gave him a thumbs up so he’d continue on, “But an underdog’s got to deliver. He’s got to subvert those plexpectations. Otherwise he’s just a loser. And Ma, I was not brought up to be a loser.”
“I know these are all just words, Ma, and maybe that’s not enough to make you feel better. But I promise you, I’m done losing to Todd Metzger. Me and Cat are going to put the wood to him and his partner Monday, and at Plexecution I’ll do it again. Just like Cat’s going to take care of her business.”
When Mercedes looked to her, as if to ask what CVO’s own business was? The woman released a sigh, her body language probably speaking to everything more than her words. She just stepped forward, gently brushin’ the back of her knuckles against Trey’s shoulder as she stood in front of him, between him and the camera almost like a shield, her eyes on the lens, focused on what was in front of him. Mostly because there was no way in hell that she wanted Mama Bouchet to hear. Maybe that’s why she gestured for the older woman to plug her ears so CVO could speak aloud.
“And my business? My business is making AW a better place. My business is to make people accountable for their bullshit. My business is to put foot to ass until I claw my way to the top. The kinda people who want to backstab their friends and sell their souls to get to the top? I’m gunning for every damned one of them, I’m not going to stop until every name is off my list. Not likely to fuckin’ happen, mind you, considering how it seems like every time that I make an inventory of all the assholes in this place, the number just grows. I get it, being decent was too fucking hard for some of you, and you just didn’t have it in you to make it on your own; or in the case of some of you, you couldn’t reach out to people with a soul because they’d never get why you’d pimp yours out. Bet your mothers fucked for the bricks to build the whorehouse you keep those things in.”
Sneering, curling back her lips briefly to show those chompers, those dark eyes all the more intense.
“Speaking of whoring out, though? I don’t have a personal stake here, but Trey’s a good guy, and the two assholes that we’re about to dogwalk like they’re little inbred anklebiters at a park in Beverly Hills aren’t. They’re not good guys, they’re the kind of chucklefucks that I was talkin’ about. Anyone left that actually loves you? They’re fuckin’ wrong. These guys are every part of what I was talkin’ about. They’re terrifying when they’ve got every advantage in the world, but they still can’t beat the fight out of Trey. He’s STILL over here calling you out. Imagine that, you tried to drag him through the mud, and instead of suffocating him in the mire and muck? You sharpened the dull edges he had and just made him all the more dangerous on some near biblical iron sharpens iron and so man sharpens man type shit like we’re rewriting proverbs. You mean to tell me that I got this guy,” turning to gesture at Trey before lookin’ back to the camera. “Asking me to have his back in what’s gonna wind up looking like a brand new horror film, ‘cept it’s you fucks playing the barely legal coeds and Trey-Bae over here is coming back time and time again like the terminator turned slasher? You’re damn right I’m gonna throw in for a front seat to this shit.”
And almost on key? She grabbed a nearby chair, spun it around, and then dropped into it in reverse as she straddled it, arms across the back as she lifted her chin up towards the camera.
“By the way fellas, you’re no Final Girls, and this isn’t gonna have a happy ending for you two. It’s Spooky Season, and despite being the bad guys? You’re gonna be on the receiving end of this horror story; call me Wes Craven.”
From his spot behind CVO Trey grinned. His plexpression had been quite different at the start of his ad hoc partner’s speech; unsure of what she would say; especially when she had requested his mother not listen.
He shouldn’t have worried.
Cat once again proved Trey had made the right choice in an ally this coming Clash. Words were just words, but hers were pitch perfect, in choice and delivery. CVO saw the big picture as to the state of Action Wrestling, and she was going to make good on her earlier vow to make where they both worked better; one fight at a time.
The kind words she had for Trey were welcomed langiappe, and something his mother greatly appreciated once she heard the edited, non-plexplicit version of them.
CVO just snorted, slipping a hand up through her restrained mane, leveling those eyes at the camera.
“I hate bullies. I hate bullies who think they can come in, take a piss in the beer keg, and ruin the party for the rest of us. Trey’s a sweet boy, he’s not gonna call you cucks what you need to be called, he’s not going to do his best to humiliate you, but me? Oh, my fucking god. See, I’ve been doin’ my best to be a good person, to be gentle, to lead by example and all that other lame shit. It’s not goin’ great, I can’t cut a promo without cursing, I can’t be wholesome, I can’t be family friendly. Know what I can be though, guys? I can be a fucking nightmare for assholes like you. You wanna be some schoolyard bullies? Fantastic, call me Regina George, because I’m show you mother fuckers what a real mean girl looks like. Trey just wanted justice, that’s all he asked for. Me? I want a fucking reckoning, and it’s gonna be you fucks that’re going to act as kindling to start the biggest fire that this place has seen.”
And with that, she stood, almost glowering at the camera before..
“I made Pizza Bagels, if you two want some.”
“Pizza Bagels? Fuck YEA I want some pizza bag-- AHH!”
Annnnd CVO’s clumsy ass tripped over the chair, knocking over the camera, and cutting the feed in her pursuit of pizza bagels.
“Fuckin’ hell, Ian. She’s workin’, what is it?” The first one to speak wasn’t at the squat rack, but from his graying red mane and the cigar shoved between chapped lips and rattled teeth? It wasn’t hard to figure out that it was Piper MacNamara, the man who trained Connor himself. Gritty, grizzled, he cut off the young man before he got to CVO who was currently racking those weights as it was.
“Tr-- Trey Bouchet called her out!”
“Who?”
“Trey B--”
“That’s not a real fuckin’ name, Lad. Someone’s having fun with you.”
“No, he seriously is. His name is T--”
“I FUCKIN’ HEARD YA! NOW SOUND IT OUT. TREY. BO--”
“He’s not lyin’, Pip. Trey’s a real person. Good guy. No fuckin’ clue why he wants smoke with me, though.” Grunting as CVO came up from the side, using the towel draped over her shoulders to wipe the sweat from her face that her headband missed. Meanwhile, Pip just stared, looking from one, to the other, before walking off and cursing in Irish about the ridiculousness of modern fighters and their names.
“I.. Well, he want’s callin’ you out, callin’ you out, he just kinda.. Announced he’s askin’ you to be his partner.”
Pause. Beat.
“Well, fuck me sideways and call me a Loosie-Goose, first time a man’s ever asked me to kick the shit out of someone with him in public. Huh. Kinda feels like I’m being asked to prom. Never had a guy put forth this much effort forth before, it's kinda sweet.” Snort! She lifted and dropped those shoulders of hers all the same. “Guess I better go get dressed then and give him an answer before the poor guy goes and thinks he’s being stood up.”
“What? Right now? In person? You're not gonna send a text? Not gonna call him or anything?”
CVO just winked at the young’un who was redder than a beet in the moment from it before she patted his shoulder and walked by him all the same, glancing at the cellphone camera before giving a thumbs up to it. “I’ll give you the answer when I show up at your mom’s house, Trey-Bae.”
Cue the transition to the residence of one Mercedes Bouchet.
You would think that the Bostonian Amazon would be out of place in a quiet, happy, home and you know what? You’d be a fucking asshole, but you’d also be right. No work out clothes, no thot gear, nah. Black Doc Martens that were laced with yellow on her left foot, and purple on her right; tight and shined, the tops hidden by those those cargo pants that just barely hugged her lethal legs from her sculpted calves to the tree trunk thighs she’d become famous for before those hip huggin’ dickies were lynched to her waist by that leather belt with the buckle that read “ACAB” across the front of it. Miss Anti Establishment was engrossed in a conversation with another woman who’s back was to the camera, her hair down while CVO’s was pulled back in a ponytail that showed the semi circular bald spots here and there on her temples. Shaved? Bald? Designs, or something else entirely? Still, for once, she wasn’t hiding it, her headband had even been used to tie that glorious mane back.
“..You asked for a solution to protect your boy, Mrs. Bouchet, and I’m here to answer that. You want him to be protected? I’ll make sure he gets that protection.”
“It’s not that Trey can’t protect himself. He’s always been a strong boy, he’s always been able to fight. I--”
“You’re his mother.” Catherine finished the sentence, sliding a hand over to grip the older woman’s, giving it a light squeeze. The woman’s head nodding just confirmed what she said. “..And he’s always going to be your baby boy.”
Before anything else could be said though, that front door opened, and an excited ‘Trey!’ ripped through the open air as the older woman turned, the camera once again missing her face entirely as she threw her arms around her son, nearly bending the poor man down to her level in her embrace. Meanwhile? Cat couldn’t help the grin on her own mug as she leaned down into her seat, liftin’ a hand to bite at her thumb nail, her other hand resting on her toned tummy, the washboard adjacent cobblestone road made flesh entirely hidden by that magenta colored tank top; waiting for that brief reunion to be over.
This was not what Trey had plexpected.
He had been almost certain Catherine Van Owen would agree to be his tag partner. He felt he was a pretty good judge of character; who was legit in this business and who was not. It was why he tendered the offer in the first place, and why he did so in such a public manner. Trey hadn’t seen much risk in either embarrassing her or himself by an equally public rejection.
Of course, he hadn’t envisioned the young woman would make the trip all the way from- Boston was it?- to Houma; to his grandparents’ home, where they and his parents and a few other members of his plextended family were cooped in the aftermath of the recent hurricane.
He certainly appreciated it, though.
“Hey, Ma,” Bouchet reciprocated his mother’s warm greeting with a kiss on the cheek. Straightening from his crouch he gave Cat his full attention. He took note of the crescent discolorations that ringed her brow, his mind immediately jumping to the worst possible conclusion as to their origin. His eyes quickly darted downward, to the young woman’s mirthful eyes and wry smile. He addressed her warmly, holding out his hand. She’d taken that hand, even if she hadn’t gotten up from her seat. It wasn’t a thing of disrespect so much as it was.. Well, her being blatantly lazy! Well, that and awkward.
“Hey, partner.”
“Hey yourself.”
Mercedes insisted on feeding her guests. Leftovers smothered chicken over rice, whipped potato salad, and green bean casserole. All had been prepared in that traditional Southern style; that is to say over-cooked; so much so it was hard to discern where entre’ ended and side began on the plate. Trey devoured all ravenously though while making small talk about the details of Van Owen’s trip to the parish, and the effects the storm in general had had on the area. Once lunch was over Mercedes got down to brass tacks.
“Before Catherine arrived I hadn’t heard from anyone at all about my email. Did you?” she asked her son.
“No, Ma. Sorry. Remember, though; Torture is a busy guy. Busier than usual.”
“Did any of your co-workers give you a hard time about it?”
“Not at all.”
“Good,” Mercedes was relieved about that much, “I didn’t want to embarrass you. I know I was overstepping my bounds, acting like a helicopter parent, trying to manage your career.”
Trey shrugged, “Well, there were plextenuating circumstances in this case, right? We should talk about them.”
“Well,” The woman’s eyes looked to their guest, “Maybe we shouldn’t be taking up so much of Catherine’s time? Maybe you should be talking about your match, or heading off to train?”
“With the short notice? Changing up our training regime isn’t going to do much. I’ve seen Trey wrestle, he’s seen me wrestle. We’ll go over things soon enough, but honestly? I think this might be a liiiiittle more important.”
“See? It’s all good, Ma. Besides, I’d like her to hear this too.”
Trey paused to dump more sugar packets into his tea, using the action to bide time and organize how he wanted to plexplain himself to both women.
“Everything you said in your email was true. It is dangerous to face Todd again. It will be Monday when I’m tagging with Cat, and it will be at Plexecution when it’s just him and me. And yeah, you are right it’s about the money. Wrestling is a job. I’m lucky enough that it’s a job I love doing, but I still want to get paid for it.”
“For true, we all need the money. Your house is wrecked. There’s the wedding bills, and Fabunni and me need to find a place for us afterwards. FEMA checks and insurance payouts aren’t going to be enough. But it isn’t just about the money.”
Now it was Trey whose attention turned to Cat, as though what he was saying was meant for her ears as much as his mother’s, “It’s about doing a job right. ‘The most important thing you can give to someone besides your love is your labor.’ James Carville said that, and whatever else one thinks about him on this he’s spot on. When I faced Todd Metzger in the Elimination Chamber, he humbled me and that’s my fault. I was not prepared to face him, or Ash Blake or Corey Black or any of the others in there. After Timebomb, I was given a chance to make up for that failure, and spit the bit again., despite having all the incentive in the world. He and his Devil’s Gate masters were goofing on me beforehand, issuing phoney injunctions against me using German suplexes in our match, making light of the whole thing. People forget about that stunt, because of what he did to me after the bell, but I didn’t.”
Trey brought his eyes back to Mercedes. He was smiling fondly, “You were right when you wrote there’s no hate in my heart, Ma. That’s because of how you and Dad raised me. But there is pride. I plexpect big things of myself in that ring, against Todd, against anyone. You only get so many matches to make your name in wrestling, to build your legacy. I’m happy with most of my reputation so far. I’m the ‘funny suplex guy’ who is always going to be punching up and not just because he’s five foot nine. And that’s fine; I got no problem being the eternal underdog.”
Again he looked over to CVO who simply gave him a thumbs up so he’d continue on, “But an underdog’s got to deliver. He’s got to subvert those plexpectations. Otherwise he’s just a loser. And Ma, I was not brought up to be a loser.”
“I know these are all just words, Ma, and maybe that’s not enough to make you feel better. But I promise you, I’m done losing to Todd Metzger. Me and Cat are going to put the wood to him and his partner Monday, and at Plexecution I’ll do it again. Just like Cat’s going to take care of her business.”
When Mercedes looked to her, as if to ask what CVO’s own business was? The woman released a sigh, her body language probably speaking to everything more than her words. She just stepped forward, gently brushin’ the back of her knuckles against Trey’s shoulder as she stood in front of him, between him and the camera almost like a shield, her eyes on the lens, focused on what was in front of him. Mostly because there was no way in hell that she wanted Mama Bouchet to hear. Maybe that’s why she gestured for the older woman to plug her ears so CVO could speak aloud.
“And my business? My business is making AW a better place. My business is to make people accountable for their bullshit. My business is to put foot to ass until I claw my way to the top. The kinda people who want to backstab their friends and sell their souls to get to the top? I’m gunning for every damned one of them, I’m not going to stop until every name is off my list. Not likely to fuckin’ happen, mind you, considering how it seems like every time that I make an inventory of all the assholes in this place, the number just grows. I get it, being decent was too fucking hard for some of you, and you just didn’t have it in you to make it on your own; or in the case of some of you, you couldn’t reach out to people with a soul because they’d never get why you’d pimp yours out. Bet your mothers fucked for the bricks to build the whorehouse you keep those things in.”
Sneering, curling back her lips briefly to show those chompers, those dark eyes all the more intense.
“Speaking of whoring out, though? I don’t have a personal stake here, but Trey’s a good guy, and the two assholes that we’re about to dogwalk like they’re little inbred anklebiters at a park in Beverly Hills aren’t. They’re not good guys, they’re the kind of chucklefucks that I was talkin’ about. Anyone left that actually loves you? They’re fuckin’ wrong. These guys are every part of what I was talkin’ about. They’re terrifying when they’ve got every advantage in the world, but they still can’t beat the fight out of Trey. He’s STILL over here calling you out. Imagine that, you tried to drag him through the mud, and instead of suffocating him in the mire and muck? You sharpened the dull edges he had and just made him all the more dangerous on some near biblical iron sharpens iron and so man sharpens man type shit like we’re rewriting proverbs. You mean to tell me that I got this guy,” turning to gesture at Trey before lookin’ back to the camera. “Asking me to have his back in what’s gonna wind up looking like a brand new horror film, ‘cept it’s you fucks playing the barely legal coeds and Trey-Bae over here is coming back time and time again like the terminator turned slasher? You’re damn right I’m gonna throw in for a front seat to this shit.”
And almost on key? She grabbed a nearby chair, spun it around, and then dropped into it in reverse as she straddled it, arms across the back as she lifted her chin up towards the camera.
“By the way fellas, you’re no Final Girls, and this isn’t gonna have a happy ending for you two. It’s Spooky Season, and despite being the bad guys? You’re gonna be on the receiving end of this horror story; call me Wes Craven.”
From his spot behind CVO Trey grinned. His plexpression had been quite different at the start of his ad hoc partner’s speech; unsure of what she would say; especially when she had requested his mother not listen.
He shouldn’t have worried.
Cat once again proved Trey had made the right choice in an ally this coming Clash. Words were just words, but hers were pitch perfect, in choice and delivery. CVO saw the big picture as to the state of Action Wrestling, and she was going to make good on her earlier vow to make where they both worked better; one fight at a time.
The kind words she had for Trey were welcomed langiappe, and something his mother greatly appreciated once she heard the edited, non-plexplicit version of them.
CVO just snorted, slipping a hand up through her restrained mane, leveling those eyes at the camera.
“I hate bullies. I hate bullies who think they can come in, take a piss in the beer keg, and ruin the party for the rest of us. Trey’s a sweet boy, he’s not gonna call you cucks what you need to be called, he’s not going to do his best to humiliate you, but me? Oh, my fucking god. See, I’ve been doin’ my best to be a good person, to be gentle, to lead by example and all that other lame shit. It’s not goin’ great, I can’t cut a promo without cursing, I can’t be wholesome, I can’t be family friendly. Know what I can be though, guys? I can be a fucking nightmare for assholes like you. You wanna be some schoolyard bullies? Fantastic, call me Regina George, because I’m show you mother fuckers what a real mean girl looks like. Trey just wanted justice, that’s all he asked for. Me? I want a fucking reckoning, and it’s gonna be you fucks that’re going to act as kindling to start the biggest fire that this place has seen.”
And with that, she stood, almost glowering at the camera before..
“I made Pizza Bagels, if you two want some.”
“Pizza Bagels? Fuck YEA I want some pizza bag-- AHH!”
Annnnd CVO’s clumsy ass tripped over the chair, knocking over the camera, and cutting the feed in her pursuit of pizza bagels.