Post by kristinablackwell on Dec 16, 2010 2:08:27 GMT -4
Dim lights open on the center of a ring in an empty arena, Titantron dead and dark, rows of seats folded up on themselves. In the ring is Kristina Blackwell, sitting in a steel folding chair quietly, sucking down a cigarette. Emrys was inching toward her silently, trying not to disrupt the mood and motioning to his camera man to do the same. Finally he softly spoke.
"Kristina..."
She jerked her head up sharp. "The fuck are you doing?"
"Well," he was hesitant. He knew how to tip toe around the Blackwells better than most. "You're just sitting in the middle of the arena, I figured you might want to say some bits for the camera about your upcoming match. Am I wrong?"
"Hm. Oh." She seemed not to realize her strange environment. "This is just where I go to think when I'm not high."
Emrys took a breath, not bothering to wonder anything further. "Well, maybe since I'm here..."
"Right, right. That's how we do things, right? Vent out all our energy *before* we fight each other. Definitely makes sense."
He stared at her in silence. It was probably for the best, I mean, what can you say to that? She's set in her ways.
"Alright look," she saw reason, I suppose. "Let me tell you what I think. I think I'm ready for this shit now."
"Care to elaborate?"
"I sure fucking do. I just got my ass kicked by another lame-ass feminist bimbo. It was good. It felt good. I haven't gotten my ass kicked in over a year. It needed to happen. I needed to get the pain back. And now it's back. And I am ready to be back in this game."
She puffed her cigarette and Emrys cleared his throat. "Kris, I feel that I have to tell you that you can't smoke in here."
"You're damn right." She agreed, as she continued to smoke. "So now I have a real match, against real fighters. Well...one real fighter. So it seems."
"Branden Harvey had a...tiny bit to say about you. Did you hear?"
"I did." She flicked her cigarette out of the ring into the empty seats. "Yeah. That dickwad made me look pretty good, I thought. I'm a Blackwell. I'm literally a physical *part* of IWC. And I don't care about the Gold. That seems to be his point. Apparently not caring about a gold plated piece of plastic and the "respect" of the fucking mass of southern cows that watch this crap makes me less able to kick his ass in a fight. Oh really? Is that what the bullies who kicked your teeth in during high school would shout at you? 'Take that nerd! This is totally going to get me a medal!' No. They kicked your ass because you probably sucked. And because they probably liked it. And whatever their reasoning was, mine is sound. I love the feeling of stressed bone, bruising muscle, a straining heart beat underneath my grip. And the sound of someone suppressing the desire to give up, holding on to their pride even when they've already lost it all...that is my favorite part. Branden, I don't care about gold. But I am going to take it away from you anyway. Because your misfortune will make me giggle."
And she did. She giggled. Her scary, weird, haunting giggle. Emrys shudders a bit, and he's used to it. "Well," he clears his throat. "What about your other opponents."
"Yeah, exactly. What about them? Rico thinks I care about winning a title, or getting out of Trevor's shadow." The last part made her almost spit laughing. "Oh, God, Trevor's shadow? Trevor and I run in a pack, yes. But we have ENTIRELY different motivations, and way different goals. He cares about this business, about titles and shit. And sometimes I humor him, put in the effort. I can't be in his shadow, we play by different rules. Some things you are right about, Rico? Branden and what's his face have no chance beating either of us. And that is what makes me excited. You might be the only reason I'm excited for this match at all. You have some real stuff. You're a little self-righteous maybe, but who cares. You seem to be a worth-while fight. And if you take me down I will smile a bloody smile up at you. But most likely I will not. Most likely I will get so caught up that they will have to pull me off of you and give you the title on a technicality. Because the better you are, the more I want to see you bleed. And as far as this match is concerned, you're the best." She winked. "Side from me, of course."
Kristina takes a new cigarette out of her back pocket and lights it. The moment of quiet gives her and Emrys both a moment to realize what has developed out in the arena near them. Apparently one of the seats, the one Kristina previously flicked her cigarette at, had caught on fire. Emrys' reaction was to shout "Oh Shit!" and run toward the nearest fire extinguisher. His camera man followed, dropping the camera backwards to capture the upside down image or Kristina, still in her chair, still puffing away, giggling.
"Kristina..."
She jerked her head up sharp. "The fuck are you doing?"
"Well," he was hesitant. He knew how to tip toe around the Blackwells better than most. "You're just sitting in the middle of the arena, I figured you might want to say some bits for the camera about your upcoming match. Am I wrong?"
"Hm. Oh." She seemed not to realize her strange environment. "This is just where I go to think when I'm not high."
Emrys took a breath, not bothering to wonder anything further. "Well, maybe since I'm here..."
"Right, right. That's how we do things, right? Vent out all our energy *before* we fight each other. Definitely makes sense."
He stared at her in silence. It was probably for the best, I mean, what can you say to that? She's set in her ways.
"Alright look," she saw reason, I suppose. "Let me tell you what I think. I think I'm ready for this shit now."
"Care to elaborate?"
"I sure fucking do. I just got my ass kicked by another lame-ass feminist bimbo. It was good. It felt good. I haven't gotten my ass kicked in over a year. It needed to happen. I needed to get the pain back. And now it's back. And I am ready to be back in this game."
She puffed her cigarette and Emrys cleared his throat. "Kris, I feel that I have to tell you that you can't smoke in here."
"You're damn right." She agreed, as she continued to smoke. "So now I have a real match, against real fighters. Well...one real fighter. So it seems."
"Branden Harvey had a...tiny bit to say about you. Did you hear?"
"I did." She flicked her cigarette out of the ring into the empty seats. "Yeah. That dickwad made me look pretty good, I thought. I'm a Blackwell. I'm literally a physical *part* of IWC. And I don't care about the Gold. That seems to be his point. Apparently not caring about a gold plated piece of plastic and the "respect" of the fucking mass of southern cows that watch this crap makes me less able to kick his ass in a fight. Oh really? Is that what the bullies who kicked your teeth in during high school would shout at you? 'Take that nerd! This is totally going to get me a medal!' No. They kicked your ass because you probably sucked. And because they probably liked it. And whatever their reasoning was, mine is sound. I love the feeling of stressed bone, bruising muscle, a straining heart beat underneath my grip. And the sound of someone suppressing the desire to give up, holding on to their pride even when they've already lost it all...that is my favorite part. Branden, I don't care about gold. But I am going to take it away from you anyway. Because your misfortune will make me giggle."
And she did. She giggled. Her scary, weird, haunting giggle. Emrys shudders a bit, and he's used to it. "Well," he clears his throat. "What about your other opponents."
"Yeah, exactly. What about them? Rico thinks I care about winning a title, or getting out of Trevor's shadow." The last part made her almost spit laughing. "Oh, God, Trevor's shadow? Trevor and I run in a pack, yes. But we have ENTIRELY different motivations, and way different goals. He cares about this business, about titles and shit. And sometimes I humor him, put in the effort. I can't be in his shadow, we play by different rules. Some things you are right about, Rico? Branden and what's his face have no chance beating either of us. And that is what makes me excited. You might be the only reason I'm excited for this match at all. You have some real stuff. You're a little self-righteous maybe, but who cares. You seem to be a worth-while fight. And if you take me down I will smile a bloody smile up at you. But most likely I will not. Most likely I will get so caught up that they will have to pull me off of you and give you the title on a technicality. Because the better you are, the more I want to see you bleed. And as far as this match is concerned, you're the best." She winked. "Side from me, of course."
Kristina takes a new cigarette out of her back pocket and lights it. The moment of quiet gives her and Emrys both a moment to realize what has developed out in the arena near them. Apparently one of the seats, the one Kristina previously flicked her cigarette at, had caught on fire. Emrys' reaction was to shout "Oh Shit!" and run toward the nearest fire extinguisher. His camera man followed, dropping the camera backwards to capture the upside down image or Kristina, still in her chair, still puffing away, giggling.
