Post by Cherry Vega on Jan 9, 2022 7:35:08 GMT -5
"Ms. Wiśniewski?" asked a soft voice, a brief disturbance in the taut silence of the lobby. Cherry's ears perked up at the mention, a smile concealed behind the floral print pattern of her mask as she turned her head, coming face to face with a pencil-necked dweeb with bushy eyebrows. "We're ready for you, now."
"Oh, cool," Cherry shot back in response, peeling herself out of the fabric chair she'd been melting into for the past half-hour. Her hands clenched for a second as she rolled her neck, before her eyes once more shot towards the man. She couldn't help but grin once more as her eyes caught the sight of the Action Wrestling logo in the corner of his mask. This is it, she thought to herself. The fucking big time.
"You can call me Cherry, by the by."
"All due respect, I'd prefer to keep things formal."
She rolled her eyes, following as he led her through the twisting maze of hallways. "Whatever you say."
"And you're aware of what's scheduled for today, yes?" her guide asked as the pair pressed through the hustle and bustle of the narrow halls, on a beeline towards AW HQ's in-house studio.
"Something about media prep."
"Right, we find it helpful for some of our newer talent acquisitions, particularly those lacking in experience, to engage in a more controlled environment rather than throw them to the wolves right away."
"Oh, come on!" Cherry exclaimed. "I did not break my collarbone on Stephen Golch's trampoline when I was twelve to be called inexperienced!"
The guide simply nodded, turning his head to obscure his eyeroll. "Right, and is that the extent of your professional wrestling 'experience'?"
"Well, yeah! But I mean—"
He nodded once more. "Very well."
His eyes darted back down towards the clipboard in his hand.
"And it says here you're part of a tag team, Ms. Wiśniewski? Your partner is…?"
"Oh, I don't think Alice is gonna make it; she thinks this whole side of things is phony as hell and is just gonna introduce herself to the world on her own terms."
The guide stopped, turned towards the woman, and blinked — hard.
"And you?"
"Truth be told, I'm sorta in the same boat, but I thought it'd be a tough look if we both ghosted this. Plus I'm kind of a sucker for camera equipment, this guy I know, Brendon something-his-last-name-isn't-important owed us a favor once and 'borrowed' a C100 from his school to shoot one of our sets—"
The guide cleared his throat, coming to a stop in front of the entrance to the studio. He sighed, relieved.
"And here we are."
"This feels like school picture day," Cherry Vega muttered as she stood, mask-off in front of a drab gray backdrop. Her lips curled into a smirk. "Would I get suspended if I just, like, flipped you guys off right now?"
"We'd prefer it if you didn't," the camera operator responded. "Just wait for your mark."
"Okay, I get it. Serious time." She waved a hand in front of her face, her expression souring.
"Camera rolling!"
"Sound speeding!"
"And, action!"
Off-screen, the bland, disinterested voice of one of the shoot's PAs called out: "Are you confident in your team's ability to pick up a win in your debut?"
Cherry guffawed.
"Am I confident we can do this? Of fucking course I am! It'd be a real winning strategy to come in and be like 'oh no we're gonna get creamed', yeah? That'd surprise some people. But nah, everyone hates the opening band, and we didn't come here to be someone else's warm up act.
"Especially not a ragtag duo of misfits like Team Extreme. Oh sure, they coulda been contenders back in 1998 when people knew what AOL was and the most savage form of insult was just straight up throwing around slurs but — and I dunno if they've checked their calendars lately — but it's 2022. New year, new me, and adding a little dude to hang around with you ain't gonna wipe that painfully outdated stench off ya.
"Real talk though Mini Beefer is adorable and my favorite boy ever please answer my fan mail.
"But that's beside the point. I mean sure, you look at the two guys who make up Team Extreme and you think this is a duo that should be doing some damage but then you blink and they're getting their lunch money taken by Moneybags and his two large adult sons.
"Beefer will no doubt be the largest human being I have ever seen in person, but does it really matter if he's the most King Hippo-ass motherfucker since the man himself? Time and time again all he's proven is that if you put him down once, he'll make like a turtle put on its back and just fuckin' stay there. It's goddamn brutal to watch, too. You almost just want something to go right for the big guy but nah, it's turtle time.
"And don't even get me started on Shane Striker, the Face of Violence. The only thing this dude's the face of is 'wearing flame patterned bowling shirts at age forty'. This is the fucking guy who corners you at a house party he's way too old to be attending in the first place, trying to lecture you about the Eagles. It's like, cool, I get it man. I understand Hotel California — I'm living it right now. I can check out of this conversation any time I like, but I can never fucking leave.
"These are the dudes thrown in front of us and you're wondering if I think we can pull it off? Yeah, we can. SFG baby, we're fuckin' built for this. You'll see."
"Right," the PA calls out in the same unenthused tone. "And what does SFG stand for again?"
"Oh, cool," Cherry shot back in response, peeling herself out of the fabric chair she'd been melting into for the past half-hour. Her hands clenched for a second as she rolled her neck, before her eyes once more shot towards the man. She couldn't help but grin once more as her eyes caught the sight of the Action Wrestling logo in the corner of his mask. This is it, she thought to herself. The fucking big time.
"You can call me Cherry, by the by."
"All due respect, I'd prefer to keep things formal."
She rolled her eyes, following as he led her through the twisting maze of hallways. "Whatever you say."
"And you're aware of what's scheduled for today, yes?" her guide asked as the pair pressed through the hustle and bustle of the narrow halls, on a beeline towards AW HQ's in-house studio.
"Something about media prep."
"Right, we find it helpful for some of our newer talent acquisitions, particularly those lacking in experience, to engage in a more controlled environment rather than throw them to the wolves right away."
"Oh, come on!" Cherry exclaimed. "I did not break my collarbone on Stephen Golch's trampoline when I was twelve to be called inexperienced!"
The guide simply nodded, turning his head to obscure his eyeroll. "Right, and is that the extent of your professional wrestling 'experience'?"
"Well, yeah! But I mean—"
He nodded once more. "Very well."
His eyes darted back down towards the clipboard in his hand.
"And it says here you're part of a tag team, Ms. Wiśniewski? Your partner is…?"
"Oh, I don't think Alice is gonna make it; she thinks this whole side of things is phony as hell and is just gonna introduce herself to the world on her own terms."
The guide stopped, turned towards the woman, and blinked — hard.
"And you?"
"Truth be told, I'm sorta in the same boat, but I thought it'd be a tough look if we both ghosted this. Plus I'm kind of a sucker for camera equipment, this guy I know, Brendon something-his-last-name-isn't-important owed us a favor once and 'borrowed' a C100 from his school to shoot one of our sets—"
The guide cleared his throat, coming to a stop in front of the entrance to the studio. He sighed, relieved.
"And here we are."
***
"This feels like school picture day," Cherry Vega muttered as she stood, mask-off in front of a drab gray backdrop. Her lips curled into a smirk. "Would I get suspended if I just, like, flipped you guys off right now?"
"We'd prefer it if you didn't," the camera operator responded. "Just wait for your mark."
"Okay, I get it. Serious time." She waved a hand in front of her face, her expression souring.
"Camera rolling!"
"Sound speeding!"
"And, action!"
Off-screen, the bland, disinterested voice of one of the shoot's PAs called out: "Are you confident in your team's ability to pick up a win in your debut?"
Cherry guffawed.
"Am I confident we can do this? Of fucking course I am! It'd be a real winning strategy to come in and be like 'oh no we're gonna get creamed', yeah? That'd surprise some people. But nah, everyone hates the opening band, and we didn't come here to be someone else's warm up act.
"Especially not a ragtag duo of misfits like Team Extreme. Oh sure, they coulda been contenders back in 1998 when people knew what AOL was and the most savage form of insult was just straight up throwing around slurs but — and I dunno if they've checked their calendars lately — but it's 2022. New year, new me, and adding a little dude to hang around with you ain't gonna wipe that painfully outdated stench off ya.
"Real talk though Mini Beefer is adorable and my favorite boy ever please answer my fan mail.
"But that's beside the point. I mean sure, you look at the two guys who make up Team Extreme and you think this is a duo that should be doing some damage but then you blink and they're getting their lunch money taken by Moneybags and his two large adult sons.
"Beefer will no doubt be the largest human being I have ever seen in person, but does it really matter if he's the most King Hippo-ass motherfucker since the man himself? Time and time again all he's proven is that if you put him down once, he'll make like a turtle put on its back and just fuckin' stay there. It's goddamn brutal to watch, too. You almost just want something to go right for the big guy but nah, it's turtle time.
"And don't even get me started on Shane Striker, the Face of Violence. The only thing this dude's the face of is 'wearing flame patterned bowling shirts at age forty'. This is the fucking guy who corners you at a house party he's way too old to be attending in the first place, trying to lecture you about the Eagles. It's like, cool, I get it man. I understand Hotel California — I'm living it right now. I can check out of this conversation any time I like, but I can never fucking leave.
"These are the dudes thrown in front of us and you're wondering if I think we can pull it off? Yeah, we can. SFG baby, we're fuckin' built for this. You'll see."
"Right," the PA calls out in the same unenthused tone. "And what does SFG stand for again?"
