Diva Championship (Promo) Nov 21, 2009 7:09:38 GMT -6
Post by Violet Rayne on Nov 21, 2009 7:09:38 GMT -6
Location: CWE Arena:
AKA: The Pressure Dome
AKA: Ground Zero
AKA: Not Venice
Date: Right now.
The lights in the Northwest Pressure Dome dim, sending a collective wave of collective Jolt through the mudboys and dirtgirls. A jolt that was that was soon strapped and ridden by Subbacultcha:
She was lookin' like an erotic vulture.
Cue Viole(n)t Rayne, who made her way to the ring with a punk rock sway that said she was way down in it.
You know when you grope for Luna.
The music cut abruptly, and the happening that was Rayne was now settled in the center of the ring with a microphone in her hand.
"'Mr. Johnson' is saying here comes the money."
There was no question about that. So it was stated as fact. She let it sink in before pointing down at the heels of her boots, behind her.
"I'm sayin' the line forms here."
She wasn't shy. She didn't bat an eye. That's what came from truly not caring what another person thinks about you. Her Mother. Her Output. A thousand or so Northwest Territory fallouts living on civ edge.
"You can ask 'Who are you?' and you can say 'You don't deserve it. You haven't paid your dues.' But you should save all that low-res noise for the Dirtgirls that are playing games like history, heritage, prestige and whole bunch of other deadline games my Grandmother used to mumble about before the big sleep."
She looked up the ramp, her attention obviously shifting from whole arena to the back.
"My name is Violet Rayne. The only reasons I am here in this pressure dome is to put as many digits as I can in the Christmas bundle and holding it all down until the gap is wide and I'm free to spill liquid."
She folded her arms across the top rope, the microphone still resting close to her violet lips.
"I'm not saying I'm the living Sierra Hotel. But that Diva Championship now coming into full res? That's added binaries to my bottom line. Everywhere I know, the jockey makes the most by the minutes and seconds. And I'm willing to play my chances against the solar wind I feel blowing this way from the few plastic joygirls 'Mr. Johnson' is storing in the back."
A streetwise smile crept to her face as she made eye contact with some emo-son of the rich and wealthy in the first row. She lowered her voice while keeping her eyes on him.
"What do you think Joyboy? Am I flying over your odds yet?"
She pushed herself up off of the ropes. Preparing for whatever reply might be making the Fed-Ex. Her attention back on the back.
"In other words, squids. As far as I see it. There's nothing out here stopping the man from the big, bad countdown and piping my account about 10 seconds from now."
And at least for that moment it was true. Because there was no one out there except her.