Post by Mercedes Vargas on Jun 11, 2013 20:45:34 GMT -5
«Music fill the room as we watch a stack of three pancakes being placed on a table. A fork stabs into the top pancake before a serrated knife saw through the pile.»
Mercedes: I can’t believe that actually happened. Amazing.
«The pancake is dripping in syrup, powdered sugar and a morsel of whip topping, a confection of heaven.»
Mercedes: Damn it, I almost had her. She was dead to rights, and I let her off the hook.
«We recognize the energetic voice, the slight thick Latina accent, too.»
Mercedes: La semana pasada era un revés, esto es todo que era. No habrá ninguna rabieta de carácter de mí porque al final de día...
«Another stab of the fork brings a sliver of pancake and we follow it up to the face of Mercedes Vargas.»
Mercedes: Soy la última competencia que tienen.
«Pausing, she daintily places another piece of pancake into her mouth, savoring the buttermilk flavor. This wasn't where she wanted to be, but she was hungry and IHOP was the only place that was open. The location was only fifteen minutes out of her way to the airport.»
«Sitting across from Mercedes is her brother, Jorge.»
Jorge: Are you going to eat the rest of that?
Mercedes: Aaargh! Did you even listen to a word I said?
Jorge: Hey, just because I looked like I was paying attention, doesn’t mean I was really paying attention.
«Mercedes is visibly annoyed, but continues anyway.»
Mercedes: See that’s your problem. I give you a little piece of what I have to go through in my professional life, my trials and tribulations, and you space out on me. [Jorge puts a big grin on] Sometimes, I feel like I’m talking to a deaf person. [Jorge's grin fades] Do you even care? No, because all you think about is food.
Jorge: [leaning back in his chair] Hashbrowns? [Mercedes surrenders these, placing them on his plate]
Mercedes: What time is it?
Jorge: It’s one-thirty in the morning. Why?
Mercedes: I’m just tired. Can we just get the hell out of here? If the loud music doesn’t kill me, the sight of hillbillies will. The best part of Richmond, Virginia is actually leaving Richmond, Virginia.
Jorge: But you've been here before.
Mercedes: I know. That’s why I don’t plan on coming back to this sewer, it's the worst.
Jorge: You can say that again. Pass the syrup?
«Mercedes sighs deeply, then pushes her plate of half-eaten pancakes away, sliding a bottle of syrup along with it.»
Mercedes: Knock yourself out.
«She walks away, leaving Jorge dumbfounded.»
«Fade.»
Is this some kind of cruel joke? As if what happened last week wasn’t bad enough, this is one consolation prize that I’m not too happy about. I am teaming with Crystal Hilton, Williams, whatever last name she has now a days, against the two people who will be fighting over the title this week.
Well, I never said the booking team didn't have a sense of humor.
This is real cute, CPW. But you know what? It’s alright, it’s all good. I’m not too worried. This is just a tag match. No pressure. Being saddled with Little Miss Perfection doesn’t bother me at all. I wish my life was a comic book. That way, I wouldn’t have to deal with cold hard reality that is called life. If only wrestling was about panels and splash pages, life would be grand, wouldn’t it? As your body grows bigger, your mind must flower. It's great to learn, ‘cause knowledge is…Sorry, got a little carried away there. Anyway, we now return to your regularly scheduled promo.
Oh, hiya Roxi! Don’t get me wrong, I respect the fact that you enjoy books with little pictures in them. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. A little escapism isn’t such a bad thing, and reading comic books is your way to escape life. Actually thinking of yourself as a real life superhero must be swell. Mild mannered geek by day, wrestler by night. Is that what’s on the docket, hmm? Because you fight for truth, justice, and the American way, right. I bet you see me as some kind of super villain, right? Kind of like Kandi Washington? “The First Lady of CPW” suffered her first loss in CPW. It kinda makes you think.
And then think again.
I almost feel bad for her. Almost. Kandi had a lot of potential. Now that she’s gone, I guess we’ll never know just how good she could have been. But you wouldn’t care, would you, Roxi? That’s just one evil doer you can cross off your list, right?
Well, see, this week’s episode finds our caped crusader not getting past her newest foe quite that easily. Because you’re dealing with a real threat, not just another baddie of the week that you can just vanquish as you strike another victory pose. But then that’s always been the same storyline. We’re all so used to hearing about the hero saving the day, triumphing over the bad guys, justice is served, and the hero walks away with a smile.
It’s said that a hero is only as good as their enemies. What I want you to know, Roxi, is that I’m far from any bad guy. I’m no bad guy, criminal, goon, miscreant, gangster, mook, perpetrator, and I’m certainly no villainess – I’m just the change in the status quo. And while you mean well, while you will fight the good fight, while you will have your moments just as you have against Kandi Washington and Cynthia Warren, I’m afraid that you won’t be saving the day. As a matter of fact, no amount of heroics is going to be saving you from me.
Hasn’t anyone ever told you? The bad guys win. Sorry to let the wind out of your sails there, but it’s true. After all, what’s a hero without a villain to challenge them?
I think that’s a question best left for you to answer.
"Whatever you do, don't...move. Stay right there, and put your hands where I can see them."
"But I didn't do anything...yet."
«The black, beady eyes, the pointy nose, whiskers that seem to go on for miles, and a curled up tail. It was affirmative that the uninvited guest which stares back at its two attackers was done for. Jorge is within arm’s length of Mercedes, who has a broom in hand. And she wasn't afraid to use it on the mouse found inside the empty greasy pizza box left on the floor. She holds the stick high and winds up while Jorge walks towards it.»
::Jorge:: Uh, I think it’s dead.
::Mercedes:: I’ll be the judge of that!
::Jorge:: [grabbing hold of the broom handle and pulls it away from her] Yeah, you've lost this case already.
«Wearing gloves, he crouches and picks up the deceased rodent by its tail and walks past Mercedes, who cringes at the sight of it. She gives her brother a death glare when he threatened to throw the rat on her. She pinches her nose as the smell nearly knocks her out. Jorge promptly drops it in a plastic bag and opens the front door, taking the bag to the nearest dumpster outside before coming back in as he moves towards the kitchen.»
::Mercedes:: [to Jorge's back as is washing his hands] Dear brother of mine, do you know how a mouse got in MY apartment? Sharing my place with pests isn't something I'm comfortable with. And before you answer, you had best choose your words carefully.
::Jorge:: Wait, hold on. I can explain.
«Mercedes watches him return into the living room. She leans against the kitchen door frame, one hand resting on her hip.»
::Mercedes:: Well, I'm listening.
::Jorge:: [raking his fingers through his disheveled hair] Well, I may or may not have invited a couple of friends over for a game of poker and the big game Monday night, and we may or may not have ordered a couple of pizzas, and, uh, I guess there may or may not have been an empty pizza box lying around. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but something tells me that maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all.
«Jorge grins, adding some merit to his heartfelt explanation and moving ever so cautiously as he picks up the empty pizza box.»
::Jorge:: Like I always say, "Littering is rash, so please throw out your trash." [Mercedes gives him a withered look] Well, OK, I don't always say it, but I do say it.
::Mercedes:: Jorge?
::Jorge:: Yes?
::Mercedes:: How fast can you run?
::Jorge:: Pretty fast when I'm motivated.
«Jorge vaults over the back of the couch just out of reach of Mercedes and bolts for the door as the scene fades with him being chased by her.»
«Fade.»
Wherever Zelda goes…
Crystal follows.
I don't know why I didn‘t see this before. You don’t have to be Stevie Wonder to see where this is going. Start with a tag match; add equal parts Zelda and Crystal, a little bit of tension and a wildcard (Roxi, in this case), and voila! You get Every Man’s Fantasy finding some way to screw me over yet again.
A recipe for disaster.
I don’t know if they’re psychic, or Crystal found a little map inside a box of Cracker Jacks and used it to follow her BFF to CPW, but you have an idea on how this one is going to play out: Crystal will find something in my promo about her that she doesn’t like, she’ll probably have some excuse to leave me high and dry, and she and Zelda will do their finisher and they go off into the night laughing like little prima donna at my expense.
I can't help but feel like this might be a, oh, let me pick the words carefully, 'conspiracy'? Yeah, pretty much.
It's probably tempting fate to say so, but I have no plans of trusting my supposed tag team partner. Why should I care? Me and tag team matches are like oil and water – they don’t mix. I find myself having to play Russian roulette – because I don’t know which side of Crystal is going to kill me first, I don’t know which side of her I’m going to get. Am I going to get the complete bitch Crystal with added ego – mirror sold separately? Am I going to get the kiss ass Crystal who is going to shower respect for everyone involved in the match? Am I going to get the woe-is-me, down on her luck Crystal? Perfection never fails, but she always fails to deliver perfection. Talk about irony. Talk about how it always fails to amaze me why no one takes her seriously as a performer, as a threat, as a dangerous opponent.
At least some of us are smart enough not to put a limit on ourselves. Some of us know that lurking behind perfection is failure. You won’t catch me wearing a t-shirt that says “I’m with Perfection” with an arrow pointing at you. When you pull off the rose colored glasses, even I know I’m not perfect, but I sure as hell am a lot closer than you.
You always seem to find a way to have drama, whether it’s with others, or with your own, though I get why you’re not the smartest member of your illustrious family. What is it going to take to end all this, a game of Family Feud?
The last thing I need right now, Crystal, is hearing about your sob stories, because they won’t help me in this match, and they damn sure won’t help you in this match. You want some advice? I don’t know if anyone has told you this, or maybe if you have you’re in a state of delusion, but you are a terrible actress. I can’t say I ever saw any of your movies. I don’t think anyone else did either, but that’s not the point. The point is, not only are you a god awful actress, but you’re an even worse pop artist. Now, now, don’t get angry just yet. Believe it or not, and I can’t believe I’m really owning up to this, but I actually have one of your CDs from about three years ago. Remember that “Veronica Who?” single? Against my better judgment, I gave it a listen and not only was my neighbors unhappy, but the police nearly threw me out of my apartment for disturbing the peace. Now, I’m not quite sure what I did with it. Oh, right, I remember now. I used it for firewood in my fireplace.
My point is I think you should find a new genre. In a way, you and country music are a perfect pairing. I mean, instead of the cheesy lyrics, you can instead succumbing to more epic warbling about heartbreak, turning to drinking again, and mourning the death of your dog, Roscoe.
I think it’s a fair trade, no? I'm getting too ahead of myself. This match is quite simple, Crystal. I don’t aim for perfection. I aim for success. I don’t confuse greatness with perfection, because greatness is at least attainable. You don't have to question where my priorities are, because you'll know as soon as the bell rings. I won't deny you your much needed fifteen seconds or photo-ops, but once that bell rings, you better know it's showtime.
«Outside of an apartment building lobby, a man stares at the Plexiglas of the vending machine, puzzled at how his selection didn't come through the chute. Fishing for more change, he comes up with the correct change, plunking it in....but nothing.»
Man: You gotta be kidding me.
« Irritated, he begins pressing frantically, cursing his fate. Leaning an elbow against the wall and watching this scene is Mercedes Vargas, who raises her sunglasses over her head. If anything, she could relate to the frustration the man was going through just now. In fact, she could even sympathize with him.»
Mercedes: Don't you just hate when that happens?
«Vending machines, as much as she loathed the devices, were vicious mistresses, and it was difficult to separate the good ones from the bad. It was up to chance whether that poor soul would get that refreshingly cold drink or sugary snack once change was put into their tiny slots. More often than not, as was the case here, they could also leave you showing nothing for it.»
«He turns around to see Mercedes.»
Man: Can you believe this? [pressing the select buttons and keypad frantically] The super said they got somebody to fix it three weeks ago. This is the second time this happened to me in a week. Crazy.
Mercedes: Want me to get him? He's just one floor below us -
Man: No! That won't be necessary. I've got this.
«He beats his fist a couple of times on the front of the machine, but to no avail. He then throws himself up against the vending machine, but it, too, was a fruitless task. Desperation soon gives away as starts to kick the front of it before finally giving up. Mercedes watches him walk away, dejected.»
«Mercedes shrugs and walks up to the machine, already producing the necessary change and promptly deposits it in the machine. Just as she was about to make her selection, she is suddenly shoved out of the way as the man returns, pressing himself against the machine.»
Man: NEED CORN NUTS!
«Clearly frustrated, Mercedes walks off, turning back to see the man still beating at the glass and yelling.»
Mercedes: This is worse than the time you rapped your order in the drive-through at McDonalds.
«Fade.»
You probably think I’m a tad upset about losing last week.
But, dot, dot, dot, you're wrong.
See, I’m not going to throw out excuses when I didn’t meet my expectations because let’s face it; at the end of the day if we had 100 matches, I would beat Zelda 99/100 times.
That time she did beat me was just one night.
Wouldn’t be surprised if she believed that the only reason why our match got “match of the night” honors - not bad for being the second-to-last match of the night, though personally it should have been the main event - was because she was in it. Now it takes two to carry a match, but she’ll probably even take credit for it for all we know. She can put whatever kind of spin on it on last week, because the truth is the match could have gone either way, and for one night, she wasn’t THAT good. She was just pretty good. The fact is for that one night, Little Miss “I’m The Best Ever” was more like “The Worst Ever,” and she sure wasn’t living up to her own hype, either. It wasn’t her best performance to date, and you had the sense that she was nigh invincible inside that ring, yet there were cracks exposed in her armor in front of a national stage, and you have me to thank for that. She probably won’t admit it, but then what do you expect from someone who has a superiority complex the size of, well, Texas?
Your personal life, as much as you make little mention of it, means absolutely nothing to me, and you know that I have never once brought it into question in the past. Sorry if I wasn’t one of the hundreds of NCW Starlets that had nothing better to do other than put your life under a microscope. What interests me is the claim that you’re the greatest female wrestler in the world. Is that debatable?
Is the sky blue?
Is the Pope Catholic?
Of course it’s debatable, and I’m calling your bluff.
I’m calling you out on it, Zelda.
You’re good, you may even be great, but I don’t see where you get off, where you find the nerve, to call yourself the best female wrestler in the world. Oh pray tell, Zelda, what world would that be, exactly? It certainly isn’t this one. Unless the world you're referring to is the plastic bubble that is NCW, the house that Leonard Fox built, the house to which Kelly Fox, your sister-in-law, was given the keys to, the company that put itself on the map and became an icon, a brand, and a household name in a short amount of time before its unfortunate closing. Your claim to being the best female wrestler in the world is highly questionable AT BEST, and I question if you really believe that or are just suffering from delusions of grandeur. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.
I don’t know, maybe we’re in different circles, but I've never heard anyone call you the best ever. Four out of five doctors didn’t think so in clinical studies. This wasn’t brought up on the Senate House floor or argued in the courts, and I haven’t read anything about it being made into a theory. The only people who can lay claim to, well, your claim are the people you’ve beaten over and over and over again in your own backyard…No, make that your castle, your royal highness.
And of those 1,004 opponents you’ve beaten in NCW, which I’m sure must have taken painstaking effort to write them all down, I’m not ashamed to say my name has joined the list of great champions and hall of famers who has been utterly defeated by Zelda Marie Knite…Oh no, wait, my name wasn’t on it at all. I guess I'm one of the lucky few that got away, huh?
If anything, your claim to fame is not undeniable fact, it’s a matter of personal opinion. I’m pretty sure I can count on my fingers and toes a number of people who have won multiple World titles, been in classic matches, been inducted in hall of fames, and are every bit as good, if not BETTER than you in any category you can dream of. Running around and calling yourself the greatest female wrestler in the world is not only ridiculous, it makes people just want to have your head on a swivel.
Not like they’re still thinking that anyway.
What are you going to do? What are you going to do to make me feel inferior this time around, hmm? Are you going to bury me with your mountain of accomplishments, including the ones outside of NCW? Is that what you’re going to do, Zelda? Hindsight is 20/20 and from this distance, your mountain looks more like a molehill in comparison to me. And just as how I could mudsling with the best of them and pretty much throw the book at you with insults that would make you cry, I’m not like that former adult film star-turned wrestler or any of the other Starlets you left behind who couldn’t sleep at night without bitchily hurling offensive and sexists insults your way. This isn't high school. But then, you really wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?...Sorry, that was a bit rude. We're all adults here, and I'm above that sort of thing. In the same vein, you can call me whatever you want. Call me pretentious, call me asinine, use whatever ten-dollar word your little heart desires. It’s a good thing we know each other oh so well, sweetheart, so you should already know about our little secret by now...
This “pretentious asinine second rate excuse for a Siren”…
...knows how to push your buttons, and that’s without using the manual.
But, hey, you want to continue playing the "holier than thou" card, don't let me stop you. By all means, keep it up. Keep telling yourself that you’re the best ever and maybe someone other than your Zombies or part of the laundry list of people you've beaten will believe you.
I’m not one of them.
I’m your harshest critic.
Someone has to be.
«The pounding of her shoes slapping the asphalt as she ran did little to comfort her. Her breath came in short, breathy gasps as she jogs past the old Jackson Heights Post Office. Halfway up, her body gives out and she leans on a fire hydrant. Mercedes checks her stopwatch, noticing that it took her fewer than thirty minutes to reach from her apartment to her current location. Not bad for a three mile run. Closing her eyes at one point before re opening them, she turns the corner and continues down the sidewalk, picking up her pace as passerbys look back at her before tending to their own affairs. A young man walks exhausted, seemingly having ran a long distance and is just stopping. He joins her on her run.»
Random Stanger: Hey.
Mercedes: Hey.
Random Stanger: Saw you from the library. Do you always run that far?
Mercedes: Varies. What are you doing?
Random Stanger: The same thing you’re doing.
Mercedes: Jogging in the rain?
Random Stranger: Yeah, pretty much.
«Mercedes picks up her pace.»
Random Stranger: You know, we meet like this day after day and not once have you told me your name.
Mercedes: Really? Oh, I'm sorry. I'll tell you tomorrow, promise.
«He watches her until she turns into the entrance way of her apartment building and opens the door and is inside.»
«Fade.»
Let’s bring this back to where it should be.
Unlike your other rivalries, you and I sharing the same ring is a lot like Christmas – it happens just once a year. Expect that to change in CPW. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, Zelda Marie Knite, as long as you're here and still breathing, as long as I'm here and still breathing, as long as your cult-like Zombies are here and they’re still breathing, I’m afraid we’re going to be seeing each other a lot more often.
I call it a vicious cycle.
You probably call it reliving World 8-4 all over again.
This Wednesday is just the start.
You know, it’s a shame that this match has to happen, because even though Roxi will be challenging you for the Sirens Championship, we both know she's a bit player. And as far as Crystal goes, well, she was always in your shadow, this much is true. But considering that without me she would have never been a tag team champion and grand slam champion, let alone be inducted into another company's hall of fame, it’s only natural that in her CPW debut, she will be in mine’s.
What this really comes down to is me and you, Sydney. Let call it for what it is: It’s not a tag team match. Oh no, this is a singles match. And when – not if – I beat you, and you know damn well it is possible, I want the world to know I didn’t just beat Zelda Knite, but I beat Zelda Knite at her best. That’s all we can ask for in the end, isn’t it?
Am I boring you again? Have I lulled you to sleep yet?
Don’t worry; come Wednesday, you’re going to be in for a rather rude wake up call.
From The Gamer Girl to The Pixelated Princess to The Best Ever.
My, how they grow up so fast.
So, uh, yeah, I guess I’ll see you in New Jersey.
Byeeeeeeee!
Mercedes: I can’t believe that actually happened. Amazing.
«The pancake is dripping in syrup, powdered sugar and a morsel of whip topping, a confection of heaven.»
Mercedes: Damn it, I almost had her. She was dead to rights, and I let her off the hook.
«We recognize the energetic voice, the slight thick Latina accent, too.»
Mercedes: La semana pasada era un revés, esto es todo que era. No habrá ninguna rabieta de carácter de mí porque al final de día...
«Another stab of the fork brings a sliver of pancake and we follow it up to the face of Mercedes Vargas.»
Mercedes: Soy la última competencia que tienen.
«Pausing, she daintily places another piece of pancake into her mouth, savoring the buttermilk flavor. This wasn't where she wanted to be, but she was hungry and IHOP was the only place that was open. The location was only fifteen minutes out of her way to the airport.»
«Sitting across from Mercedes is her brother, Jorge.»
Jorge: Are you going to eat the rest of that?
Mercedes: Aaargh! Did you even listen to a word I said?
Jorge: Hey, just because I looked like I was paying attention, doesn’t mean I was really paying attention.
«Mercedes is visibly annoyed, but continues anyway.»
Mercedes: See that’s your problem. I give you a little piece of what I have to go through in my professional life, my trials and tribulations, and you space out on me. [Jorge puts a big grin on] Sometimes, I feel like I’m talking to a deaf person. [Jorge's grin fades] Do you even care? No, because all you think about is food.
Jorge: [leaning back in his chair] Hashbrowns? [Mercedes surrenders these, placing them on his plate]
Mercedes: What time is it?
Jorge: It’s one-thirty in the morning. Why?
Mercedes: I’m just tired. Can we just get the hell out of here? If the loud music doesn’t kill me, the sight of hillbillies will. The best part of Richmond, Virginia is actually leaving Richmond, Virginia.
Jorge: But you've been here before.
Mercedes: I know. That’s why I don’t plan on coming back to this sewer, it's the worst.
Jorge: You can say that again. Pass the syrup?
«Mercedes sighs deeply, then pushes her plate of half-eaten pancakes away, sliding a bottle of syrup along with it.»
Mercedes: Knock yourself out.
«She walks away, leaving Jorge dumbfounded.»
«Fade.»
_______≈₪≈______
Is this some kind of cruel joke? As if what happened last week wasn’t bad enough, this is one consolation prize that I’m not too happy about. I am teaming with Crystal Hilton, Williams, whatever last name she has now a days, against the two people who will be fighting over the title this week.
Well, I never said the booking team didn't have a sense of humor.
This is real cute, CPW. But you know what? It’s alright, it’s all good. I’m not too worried. This is just a tag match. No pressure. Being saddled with Little Miss Perfection doesn’t bother me at all. I wish my life was a comic book. That way, I wouldn’t have to deal with cold hard reality that is called life. If only wrestling was about panels and splash pages, life would be grand, wouldn’t it? As your body grows bigger, your mind must flower. It's great to learn, ‘cause knowledge is…Sorry, got a little carried away there. Anyway, we now return to your regularly scheduled promo.
Oh, hiya Roxi! Don’t get me wrong, I respect the fact that you enjoy books with little pictures in them. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. A little escapism isn’t such a bad thing, and reading comic books is your way to escape life. Actually thinking of yourself as a real life superhero must be swell. Mild mannered geek by day, wrestler by night. Is that what’s on the docket, hmm? Because you fight for truth, justice, and the American way, right. I bet you see me as some kind of super villain, right? Kind of like Kandi Washington? “The First Lady of CPW” suffered her first loss in CPW. It kinda makes you think.
And then think again.
I almost feel bad for her. Almost. Kandi had a lot of potential. Now that she’s gone, I guess we’ll never know just how good she could have been. But you wouldn’t care, would you, Roxi? That’s just one evil doer you can cross off your list, right?
Well, see, this week’s episode finds our caped crusader not getting past her newest foe quite that easily. Because you’re dealing with a real threat, not just another baddie of the week that you can just vanquish as you strike another victory pose. But then that’s always been the same storyline. We’re all so used to hearing about the hero saving the day, triumphing over the bad guys, justice is served, and the hero walks away with a smile.
It’s said that a hero is only as good as their enemies. What I want you to know, Roxi, is that I’m far from any bad guy. I’m no bad guy, criminal, goon, miscreant, gangster, mook, perpetrator, and I’m certainly no villainess – I’m just the change in the status quo. And while you mean well, while you will fight the good fight, while you will have your moments just as you have against Kandi Washington and Cynthia Warren, I’m afraid that you won’t be saving the day. As a matter of fact, no amount of heroics is going to be saving you from me.
Hasn’t anyone ever told you? The bad guys win. Sorry to let the wind out of your sails there, but it’s true. After all, what’s a hero without a villain to challenge them?
I think that’s a question best left for you to answer.
_______≈₪≈______
"Whatever you do, don't...move. Stay right there, and put your hands where I can see them."
"But I didn't do anything...yet."
«The black, beady eyes, the pointy nose, whiskers that seem to go on for miles, and a curled up tail. It was affirmative that the uninvited guest which stares back at its two attackers was done for. Jorge is within arm’s length of Mercedes, who has a broom in hand. And she wasn't afraid to use it on the mouse found inside the empty greasy pizza box left on the floor. She holds the stick high and winds up while Jorge walks towards it.»
::Jorge:: Uh, I think it’s dead.
::Mercedes:: I’ll be the judge of that!
::Jorge:: [grabbing hold of the broom handle and pulls it away from her] Yeah, you've lost this case already.
«Wearing gloves, he crouches and picks up the deceased rodent by its tail and walks past Mercedes, who cringes at the sight of it. She gives her brother a death glare when he threatened to throw the rat on her. She pinches her nose as the smell nearly knocks her out. Jorge promptly drops it in a plastic bag and opens the front door, taking the bag to the nearest dumpster outside before coming back in as he moves towards the kitchen.»
::Mercedes:: [to Jorge's back as is washing his hands] Dear brother of mine, do you know how a mouse got in MY apartment? Sharing my place with pests isn't something I'm comfortable with. And before you answer, you had best choose your words carefully.
::Jorge:: Wait, hold on. I can explain.
«Mercedes watches him return into the living room. She leans against the kitchen door frame, one hand resting on her hip.»
::Mercedes:: Well, I'm listening.
::Jorge:: [raking his fingers through his disheveled hair] Well, I may or may not have invited a couple of friends over for a game of poker and the big game Monday night, and we may or may not have ordered a couple of pizzas, and, uh, I guess there may or may not have been an empty pizza box lying around. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but something tells me that maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all.
«Jorge grins, adding some merit to his heartfelt explanation and moving ever so cautiously as he picks up the empty pizza box.»
::Jorge:: Like I always say, "Littering is rash, so please throw out your trash." [Mercedes gives him a withered look] Well, OK, I don't always say it, but I do say it.
::Mercedes:: Jorge?
::Jorge:: Yes?
::Mercedes:: How fast can you run?
::Jorge:: Pretty fast when I'm motivated.
«Jorge vaults over the back of the couch just out of reach of Mercedes and bolts for the door as the scene fades with him being chased by her.»
«Fade.»
_______≈₪≈______
Wherever Zelda goes…
Crystal follows.
I don't know why I didn‘t see this before. You don’t have to be Stevie Wonder to see where this is going. Start with a tag match; add equal parts Zelda and Crystal, a little bit of tension and a wildcard (Roxi, in this case), and voila! You get Every Man’s Fantasy finding some way to screw me over yet again.
A recipe for disaster.
I don’t know if they’re psychic, or Crystal found a little map inside a box of Cracker Jacks and used it to follow her BFF to CPW, but you have an idea on how this one is going to play out: Crystal will find something in my promo about her that she doesn’t like, she’ll probably have some excuse to leave me high and dry, and she and Zelda will do their finisher and they go off into the night laughing like little prima donna at my expense.
I can't help but feel like this might be a, oh, let me pick the words carefully, 'conspiracy'? Yeah, pretty much.
It's probably tempting fate to say so, but I have no plans of trusting my supposed tag team partner. Why should I care? Me and tag team matches are like oil and water – they don’t mix. I find myself having to play Russian roulette – because I don’t know which side of Crystal is going to kill me first, I don’t know which side of her I’m going to get. Am I going to get the complete bitch Crystal with added ego – mirror sold separately? Am I going to get the kiss ass Crystal who is going to shower respect for everyone involved in the match? Am I going to get the woe-is-me, down on her luck Crystal? Perfection never fails, but she always fails to deliver perfection. Talk about irony. Talk about how it always fails to amaze me why no one takes her seriously as a performer, as a threat, as a dangerous opponent.
At least some of us are smart enough not to put a limit on ourselves. Some of us know that lurking behind perfection is failure. You won’t catch me wearing a t-shirt that says “I’m with Perfection” with an arrow pointing at you. When you pull off the rose colored glasses, even I know I’m not perfect, but I sure as hell am a lot closer than you.
You always seem to find a way to have drama, whether it’s with others, or with your own, though I get why you’re not the smartest member of your illustrious family. What is it going to take to end all this, a game of Family Feud?
The last thing I need right now, Crystal, is hearing about your sob stories, because they won’t help me in this match, and they damn sure won’t help you in this match. You want some advice? I don’t know if anyone has told you this, or maybe if you have you’re in a state of delusion, but you are a terrible actress. I can’t say I ever saw any of your movies. I don’t think anyone else did either, but that’s not the point. The point is, not only are you a god awful actress, but you’re an even worse pop artist. Now, now, don’t get angry just yet. Believe it or not, and I can’t believe I’m really owning up to this, but I actually have one of your CDs from about three years ago. Remember that “Veronica Who?” single? Against my better judgment, I gave it a listen and not only was my neighbors unhappy, but the police nearly threw me out of my apartment for disturbing the peace. Now, I’m not quite sure what I did with it. Oh, right, I remember now. I used it for firewood in my fireplace.
My point is I think you should find a new genre. In a way, you and country music are a perfect pairing. I mean, instead of the cheesy lyrics, you can instead succumbing to more epic warbling about heartbreak, turning to drinking again, and mourning the death of your dog, Roscoe.
I think it’s a fair trade, no? I'm getting too ahead of myself. This match is quite simple, Crystal. I don’t aim for perfection. I aim for success. I don’t confuse greatness with perfection, because greatness is at least attainable. You don't have to question where my priorities are, because you'll know as soon as the bell rings. I won't deny you your much needed fifteen seconds or photo-ops, but once that bell rings, you better know it's showtime.
_______≈₪≈______
«Outside of an apartment building lobby, a man stares at the Plexiglas of the vending machine, puzzled at how his selection didn't come through the chute. Fishing for more change, he comes up with the correct change, plunking it in....but nothing.»
Man: You gotta be kidding me.
« Irritated, he begins pressing frantically, cursing his fate. Leaning an elbow against the wall and watching this scene is Mercedes Vargas, who raises her sunglasses over her head. If anything, she could relate to the frustration the man was going through just now. In fact, she could even sympathize with him.»
Mercedes: Don't you just hate when that happens?
«Vending machines, as much as she loathed the devices, were vicious mistresses, and it was difficult to separate the good ones from the bad. It was up to chance whether that poor soul would get that refreshingly cold drink or sugary snack once change was put into their tiny slots. More often than not, as was the case here, they could also leave you showing nothing for it.»
«He turns around to see Mercedes.»
Man: Can you believe this? [pressing the select buttons and keypad frantically] The super said they got somebody to fix it three weeks ago. This is the second time this happened to me in a week. Crazy.
Mercedes: Want me to get him? He's just one floor below us -
Man: No! That won't be necessary. I've got this.
«He beats his fist a couple of times on the front of the machine, but to no avail. He then throws himself up against the vending machine, but it, too, was a fruitless task. Desperation soon gives away as starts to kick the front of it before finally giving up. Mercedes watches him walk away, dejected.»
«Mercedes shrugs and walks up to the machine, already producing the necessary change and promptly deposits it in the machine. Just as she was about to make her selection, she is suddenly shoved out of the way as the man returns, pressing himself against the machine.»
Man: NEED CORN NUTS!
«Clearly frustrated, Mercedes walks off, turning back to see the man still beating at the glass and yelling.»
Mercedes: This is worse than the time you rapped your order in the drive-through at McDonalds.
«Fade.»
_______≈₪≈______
You probably think I’m a tad upset about losing last week.
But, dot, dot, dot, you're wrong.
See, I’m not going to throw out excuses when I didn’t meet my expectations because let’s face it; at the end of the day if we had 100 matches, I would beat Zelda 99/100 times.
That time she did beat me was just one night.
Wouldn’t be surprised if she believed that the only reason why our match got “match of the night” honors - not bad for being the second-to-last match of the night, though personally it should have been the main event - was because she was in it. Now it takes two to carry a match, but she’ll probably even take credit for it for all we know. She can put whatever kind of spin on it on last week, because the truth is the match could have gone either way, and for one night, she wasn’t THAT good. She was just pretty good. The fact is for that one night, Little Miss “I’m The Best Ever” was more like “The Worst Ever,” and she sure wasn’t living up to her own hype, either. It wasn’t her best performance to date, and you had the sense that she was nigh invincible inside that ring, yet there were cracks exposed in her armor in front of a national stage, and you have me to thank for that. She probably won’t admit it, but then what do you expect from someone who has a superiority complex the size of, well, Texas?
Your personal life, as much as you make little mention of it, means absolutely nothing to me, and you know that I have never once brought it into question in the past. Sorry if I wasn’t one of the hundreds of NCW Starlets that had nothing better to do other than put your life under a microscope. What interests me is the claim that you’re the greatest female wrestler in the world. Is that debatable?
Is the sky blue?
Is the Pope Catholic?
Of course it’s debatable, and I’m calling your bluff.
I’m calling you out on it, Zelda.
You’re good, you may even be great, but I don’t see where you get off, where you find the nerve, to call yourself the best female wrestler in the world. Oh pray tell, Zelda, what world would that be, exactly? It certainly isn’t this one. Unless the world you're referring to is the plastic bubble that is NCW, the house that Leonard Fox built, the house to which Kelly Fox, your sister-in-law, was given the keys to, the company that put itself on the map and became an icon, a brand, and a household name in a short amount of time before its unfortunate closing. Your claim to being the best female wrestler in the world is highly questionable AT BEST, and I question if you really believe that or are just suffering from delusions of grandeur. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.
I don’t know, maybe we’re in different circles, but I've never heard anyone call you the best ever. Four out of five doctors didn’t think so in clinical studies. This wasn’t brought up on the Senate House floor or argued in the courts, and I haven’t read anything about it being made into a theory. The only people who can lay claim to, well, your claim are the people you’ve beaten over and over and over again in your own backyard…No, make that your castle, your royal highness.
And of those 1,004 opponents you’ve beaten in NCW, which I’m sure must have taken painstaking effort to write them all down, I’m not ashamed to say my name has joined the list of great champions and hall of famers who has been utterly defeated by Zelda Marie Knite…Oh no, wait, my name wasn’t on it at all. I guess I'm one of the lucky few that got away, huh?
If anything, your claim to fame is not undeniable fact, it’s a matter of personal opinion. I’m pretty sure I can count on my fingers and toes a number of people who have won multiple World titles, been in classic matches, been inducted in hall of fames, and are every bit as good, if not BETTER than you in any category you can dream of. Running around and calling yourself the greatest female wrestler in the world is not only ridiculous, it makes people just want to have your head on a swivel.
Not like they’re still thinking that anyway.
What are you going to do? What are you going to do to make me feel inferior this time around, hmm? Are you going to bury me with your mountain of accomplishments, including the ones outside of NCW? Is that what you’re going to do, Zelda? Hindsight is 20/20 and from this distance, your mountain looks more like a molehill in comparison to me. And just as how I could mudsling with the best of them and pretty much throw the book at you with insults that would make you cry, I’m not like that former adult film star-turned wrestler or any of the other Starlets you left behind who couldn’t sleep at night without bitchily hurling offensive and sexists insults your way. This isn't high school. But then, you really wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?...Sorry, that was a bit rude. We're all adults here, and I'm above that sort of thing. In the same vein, you can call me whatever you want. Call me pretentious, call me asinine, use whatever ten-dollar word your little heart desires. It’s a good thing we know each other oh so well, sweetheart, so you should already know about our little secret by now...
This “pretentious asinine second rate excuse for a Siren”…
...knows how to push your buttons, and that’s without using the manual.
But, hey, you want to continue playing the "holier than thou" card, don't let me stop you. By all means, keep it up. Keep telling yourself that you’re the best ever and maybe someone other than your Zombies or part of the laundry list of people you've beaten will believe you.
I’m not one of them.
I’m your harshest critic.
Someone has to be.
_______≈₪≈______
«The pounding of her shoes slapping the asphalt as she ran did little to comfort her. Her breath came in short, breathy gasps as she jogs past the old Jackson Heights Post Office. Halfway up, her body gives out and she leans on a fire hydrant. Mercedes checks her stopwatch, noticing that it took her fewer than thirty minutes to reach from her apartment to her current location. Not bad for a three mile run. Closing her eyes at one point before re opening them, she turns the corner and continues down the sidewalk, picking up her pace as passerbys look back at her before tending to their own affairs. A young man walks exhausted, seemingly having ran a long distance and is just stopping. He joins her on her run.»
Random Stanger: Hey.
Mercedes: Hey.
Random Stanger: Saw you from the library. Do you always run that far?
Mercedes: Varies. What are you doing?
Random Stanger: The same thing you’re doing.
Mercedes: Jogging in the rain?
Random Stranger: Yeah, pretty much.
«Mercedes picks up her pace.»
Random Stranger: You know, we meet like this day after day and not once have you told me your name.
Mercedes: Really? Oh, I'm sorry. I'll tell you tomorrow, promise.
«He watches her until she turns into the entrance way of her apartment building and opens the door and is inside.»
«Fade.»
_______≈₪≈______
Let’s bring this back to where it should be.
Unlike your other rivalries, you and I sharing the same ring is a lot like Christmas – it happens just once a year. Expect that to change in CPW. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, Zelda Marie Knite, as long as you're here and still breathing, as long as I'm here and still breathing, as long as your cult-like Zombies are here and they’re still breathing, I’m afraid we’re going to be seeing each other a lot more often.
I call it a vicious cycle.
You probably call it reliving World 8-4 all over again.
This Wednesday is just the start.
You know, it’s a shame that this match has to happen, because even though Roxi will be challenging you for the Sirens Championship, we both know she's a bit player. And as far as Crystal goes, well, she was always in your shadow, this much is true. But considering that without me she would have never been a tag team champion and grand slam champion, let alone be inducted into another company's hall of fame, it’s only natural that in her CPW debut, she will be in mine’s.
What this really comes down to is me and you, Sydney. Let call it for what it is: It’s not a tag team match. Oh no, this is a singles match. And when – not if – I beat you, and you know damn well it is possible, I want the world to know I didn’t just beat Zelda Knite, but I beat Zelda Knite at her best. That’s all we can ask for in the end, isn’t it?
Am I boring you again? Have I lulled you to sleep yet?
Don’t worry; come Wednesday, you’re going to be in for a rather rude wake up call.
From The Gamer Girl to The Pixelated Princess to The Best Ever.
My, how they grow up so fast.
So, uh, yeah, I guess I’ll see you in New Jersey.
Byeeeeeeee!