Post by Addy A on Mar 12, 2022 18:05:07 GMT -5
“Battlebowl?” Addy A lazes on her couch, uncrossing her legs, she reveals more under her tight skirt than one right rightfully should. She continues her motion leaning forward and grabbing a cigarette from the ashtray on the coffee table in front of her, the process exposing her ample bosom. Taking a long luxurious drag of nicotine, the Baddest Bitch of Action Wrestling collapses back into the lounge. “The match that signifies we are entering the season of shit gets real in Action Wrestling. Well I guess shit is about to get fucking real then ain’t it?” Wrapping her arms around her daughter, Adelaide draws Neveah into her chest and holds her tightly against her bosom. The tears are streaming both the checks of both mother and daughter at this moment. Adelaide takes a second to break the embrace, but remains holding onto her daughter, creating just enough separation to look her in the eye. “Baby girl,” Adelaide pauses, “It’s best you stay with Aunty Sav for a bit yeh.” Savannah was Adelaide’s former best friend, now merely an associate of convenience when it comes to taking care of Adelaide’s daughter. They are cordial but they are not warm with each other anymore. She stands in the background unobstrively not interrupting the mother and daughter moment. “I don’t fuckin’ want to.” Neveah protests. “Please don’t swear.” Adelaide pleads. Neveah rolls her eyes with more attitude than is rightful for a young girl of her age. “You need to, baby girl.” Adelaide half-smiles as she brings her closer one more time. “It’s for the best.” Savannah steps in, grabbing Neve’s arm and walks away as Adelaide watches with a sadness that only a mother can have. “The prize is that coveted fucking spot at the end of Havoc. Nice fucking endgame. And when it comes to it, I can already hear the whispers of the fucking neanderthals that don’t understand the relationship of The Swallowing. I ain’t bothered and I know my sister ain’t bothered by the noise.” “But let when tell them fucking fools something, me and Lissie - we know when it’s business and we know when it’s pleasure. We know what fucking happens in Battlebowl. We ain’t gonna cry or spit shit at each other if we gotta do what needs to be done, needs to be fucking done.” “Sooooo…” “If I’m willing to do what I need to do my family to get my hands on the brass fucking ring, what the fuck ya think I’m willing to do six other fuckwits that I barely know, have no fucking tolerance for, or just think are worthless pieces of shit on the bottom of my shoe?” Addy A nods. "Yeh…” “You know.” “They know.” “And more importantly I fucking know.” She pulls her back off her face and ties it back into a ponytail. Adelaide Ainsworth in most of her glory is standing on the table of an unknown dive bar, somewhere in Washington. Her matching purple lingerie is all that is preventing her from exposing the pieces of her that would make God blush. In her left hand she carries a quarter full bottle of tequila. She intermittently takes gulps from the bottle in between her drunken dance moves. The few patrons in the crowd around her seem to be deliberately ignoring her antics, treating her as a peice of the furniture. Adelaide jumps off the table, and finds her way to the bar. Taking the last swing from her bottle of Tequila, before dropping in on the bar, letting it fall and roll away. She reaches for a small silver canister, bringing it to her nose and inhaling its contents with a fervour. Turning around to face her audience she looks out across the dance floor. She cackles wildly, before grabbing a blue dress of the wooden stool next to her and slipping it back on. “Let’s dance motherfuckers!” She squeals at the top of her lungs to no one in particular. Eyes turn towards her with disdain before returning to their own worlds. “Come on, cunts. This is lumberjack country right? Where’s this big wood I’ve heard so much about. Can’t you pussies handle a girl with balls of steel?” Adelaide cackles some more, dropping a wad of bills on the bar she gets herself another bottle of tequila handed over and doesn’t bother with change. Cracking the seal, she takes a long scull from the bottle, before the large burly hands of a man dressed in flannel and denim land on her shoulders. “We choppin wood?” she mumbles with a drunken giggle. He nods silently. Adelaide smiles stupidly, and grinds her ample ass against his crotch and they walk out of the bar. “Each one of us in this clusterfuck of madness that is Battlebowl, we all carry our own fucking burdens. Each of us has got something akin to concrete boots weighing down against the ocean currents… Each one of us is gonna have to overcome to stand tall at the end of night to stand in some kind of Napoleonic Victory.” Addy twirls a loose strand of her that was resting on her face. “Let’s take Ash Blake. Forever tied to the failing of Philidor Holdings. Former World Champion. Former Television Champion. Current Hardcore Champion. But do we really think of those when it comes to her lithe little body? I don’t. All I remember is her trying to take over with her band of merry men that once included Derrick Vayden (Ha fucking Ha!). I remember the collapse of her empire. Sure, I didn’t worry myself too much with the shenanigans of Philidor and that’s too my own fucking detriment. But, I got enough fucking infomation to know that no matter what Ash Blake looks to achieve in the future she’ll always be considered a failure. She was the face of Philidor and they fucking collapsed faster than Enron. She was the leader and she couldn’t even stop her underlings holding a World Title. Failure. Maybe a byproduct of a high fucking watermark, but when a cunt is a cunt they gotta stay a cunt to be on top. Ash Blake is the cunt that couldn’t do that. Dangerous psychotic cunt that she is - she will always be a failure forever no matter what she achieves now and into the future. She could break Dandy’s world title records and she would still be remembered as a failure. Winning Battlebowl, who cares? Philidor failed. That’s her weight to bear. Honestly, the best course of action for her is to beg Johnny Cedrone to take her head from her shoulders and put in the box next to Peter Garvey.” “Men in boxes, men in crates, failing to live up to expectations is something Odin Balfore understands unequivocally. The man has been trying to make his fucking father proud since he stepped in the ring twenty something fucking years ago. His father done went to Valhalla and Odin is still fucking simping like a cuck in his shadow. For all of Odin strength and longevity is fucking shit, he’s still fighting with demons that he ain’t ever had to fight with. He so insecure in his fucking being that he always needs something more because what he has is never e-fucking-nough. He ain’t in this for himself, no this is all about dead Daddy dearest. Fuck, Odin would wear Daddy like a coat if the cunt wasn’t burned on a funeral pyre. Winning Battlebowl isn’t going to help Odin because Daddy won’t ever see him smile. That’s his weight to fucking bear. I’d put him out of his misery, but I’d don’t the world would care about another methhead floating down the Ohio River on a burning raft.” “Truth is plenty of cats and cunts come into Action Wrestling thinking they can be something they not, just like Jessie Lee and Alice Gemini. Both proclaiming to be the biggest and the baddest fucking bitches EVAH! LOL! Both of these same fucking bitches big barking cunts that can’t back the noise with a fucking bite. Both these bitches been put down by the real Baddest Bitch in Action Wrestling.I’m flattered by these cunts, thinking ythey could come close to me, but neither got the stomach to carve their initials in my abdomen and neither got the fucking assets to pop boners and ratings the way I do. I’m sorry, they wanna be me and it’s been proven beyond any shadow they can’t fuckin be me. It’s weight when ya can’t measure up to ya fuckin’ idol. Ask Jeffrey about Michael. But they ain’t my problem, nah it’s their weight to bear it’s gonna drown in their own gurgling blood.” She snorts. “They ain’t the only ones drowning in the shadows of their idols. Little Senny Holmes, just try to escape her big Daddy’s shadow. Andre had himself some sort of career. A nut buster of victories and titles while his little daughter was watching him on the idiot box while her mother was fucking every man that came to the front door. Her choice is his choice. What the fuck ever really, shit he’s even trained her to be better than him. Fuck that. She’s had a fast in Action Wrestling already grabbing the fucking Women’s belt, but the girl just about to realise like he Daddy that their’s the Top Tier and then their fucking superstars like me. This bitch she thinks she’s gonna break off and become the next legend, but Senny is gonna get fucking broken. She’s gonna crash and burn like Challenger, taking the Holmes legacy with her to the grave. That’s her weight to bear. A crispy fucking body in the aftermath of an inferno. What a cunt.” “Well the only cunt left for me to deal with is Romeo Finet. The bad guy gone good or some fucking fairytale shit like that. This is Battlebowl, there ain’t no fucking time for feelgood shit like that. And there ain’t no time for a weakass cunt like him. Another one I’ve put down in the middle of the fucking ring when they thought I was easy pickings when they thought they fucking knew me. He didn’t know shit then and he ain’t know shit now. He’s got some fucking consience shit going on, he wants to make peace with God before meeting the maker or some shit. I will take pleasure in making that happen. But he dies with a dirty soul that's a weight he needs to carry to the afterlife. Ain’t shit to me.” “We’ve all got that weight to bear and chains to break. This is the season when dreams are formed and nightmares fucking true. New legends are made and old legends. This is Battlebowl the start of all…” “No fucking friends.” “No fucking family.” “All by myself.” “My weight to bear.” “My chains to break.” The mattress was dirty, her surroundings were damp, dim and cold. Where was she? She had no idea. Adelaide had woken in a fog, the sun was trying hard to battle through the solitary window but was fighting a losing battle against the overcast sky. The concept of time had deserted her. She was covered by a yellowed sheet that felt hard and crinkly like fresh potato crisps. Her skull was pounding in a way that hurt beyond anything she had felt before. Thump. Thump. Thump. Like jackboots beating against a reinforced steel door. In the gloom, she could see her blue dress was torn. She had no idea where her underwear had gone and her mouth was drier than a nun’s cunt as the saying would go. She had no recollection of she didn’t know how long. She was lonely. She was alone Reaching for her dress, she was overwhelmed with the sudden thought that she had no idea where her shoes were. Frantically scanning her dank and gunge accommodation she found herself, they couldn’t be seen. Uncontrollably, she cried. |