Post by Claire Hawkins on Sept 12, 2019 3:15:27 GMT -5
The camera fades in to reveal a scene that was as completely alien as it was familiar. There, sitting on a wooden barstool underneath a lone illuminations source, was the incorrigible rebel of the Sports Entertainment titan that was Action Wrestling; Claire Hawkins. However, that is where the predominant sense familiarity became that of something unfamiliar. For instead of her usually preferred garb of choice, her in-ring attire or some sort of Metal inspired fashion, the Witch sat atop the barstool wearing something more akin to that of stereotypical sportswear; a pair of black leggings with a black sports bra.
"Greetings and salutations you brain dead flesh bags. As you are all aware by now, the mythical event known as Thirteen is quickly approaching and that I have been placed into this so-called Final Girl Battle Royal alongside nine others. Each of these nine women has their own goals and ambitions as to why they agreed to take part in this certifiable clusterfuck of a match. Yet, these nine do not realize that those goals and ambitions that they cherish are nothing more than baseless delusions that their minimally functioning minds have conjured up so that they can feel like they are en route of accomplishing more than their pathetically meaningless lives have wrought."
Hissing softly as she straightened her posture, Claire kept her crimson gazed firmly fixated upon the camera.
"Anicka Swan, you can call yourself a Beast; you can call yourself A Soul Enterally Damned/ However, the fact is that you're nothing more than an insecure little cunt that desperately seeks out attention in a pitiful attempt to escape from this shit situation that you have found yourself in. As if that wasn't enough, you also have this woefully misguided notion that you're a bonafide badass who is the undeniable favorite in whatever match you're booked in. However, the reality is that YOU are stuck in the ring with ME and this Friday you will be receiving an overdue wake-up call when I eliminate your wannabe-gothic, Odin-obsessed Barbie ass.
So tell me Ani, Do YoU gOt A mInUtE?
Britney Caldwell and Miss Michelle, the First Ladies of Action Wrestling. Tell me, for I would really like to know, have either of you recovered from last our encounter? Don't be afraid to admit that you haven't. The beating that Oblivion and myself administered to the two of you was as swift as it was brutal. In fact, nobody would fault either of you if you decided to tuck your tails between your legs and run. However, in the event that you sickening pair of bimbos show, be prepared for more of the same.
A public thrashing followed by humiliating eliminations.
Geri Miller, the Goddess of Ganja; tell me, how does it feel knowing Derrick Vayden has smoked every claim you have ever made for the Cruiserweight Championship faster than you have smoked a bowl? Better yet, how does it feel knowing that YOU have done the least in that not-so-merry band of whores you like to call the Royal Family? Don't worry too much. You're going to be joining Estrella in the hospital soon enough.
Just as soon as I dump your silly shill of an ass out of the match.
Juanita Juarez, the purported member of MS-13; the one discarded by Gravedigger as if she were a used condom. To be completely honest, I have never heard so much the faintest of whispers in which you are mentioned. Yet, when I did a little digging I discovered that you are as criminally incompetent as I suspected you might be. Word of advice Chika, trying to stick it to Gravedigger isn't worth getting run over by me. Cause THAT is EXACTLY what is going to happen. You stand in my way and you'll find out firsthand that any punishment your shitty gang ever came up with pales in comparison to what condition I'm going to put you in prior to your inevitable elimination.
The Dark Queen Karma Bishop, the one that lays claim to the match itself. I admit that I find that to be quite fitting; neither have any relevance save for an appearance once or twice a year; something that your shill of a husband must have taught you. Fear not Karma, for nobody shall be privy to just how poorly you perform once I've eliminated you and your remarkably weak resolve from the match that you so proudly call your own.
Miss Miyamoto, even though I have yet to witness you actually compete in the ring, I am fully aware of your work within Shadowlove's promos. Which, in complete honesty, will not keep me from eliminating you. After all, if all it took to be truly successful was a string of synonyms and painfully shallow points then he would have been World Champion several times over.
Pandora; I suggest you run along back to your HAVEN, take refuge amongst your sisters, and pray to whatever you worship that I decide not to end you. I have already met your FRIENDS; I have already defeated them. You? You're nothing of note by comparison. However, should you decide not to heed my advice, I am not going to hesitant in my mission of dismantling and eliminating you and the other eight shit covered sows that dare step up to me.
Last, and certainly least, Zoey Sixx; I hate you, I hate your fraudulent religion, but most of all I hate how you blindly did as you were told by stepping into the wrestling business. MY business. Therefore, I have no choice other than to teach you just how BADLY you fucked up. I'm going to beat you. I'm going to eliminate you. Most of all, I am going to destroy the very foundation of your being.
I am the only competent one in this match.
I am the WRESTLER.
I am the WITCH.
This Friday, I am the FINAL GIRL!"
As the Banshee shrills, the scene ends.