Post by queenmyst on Jul 19, 2023 14:25:16 GMT -5
Here she was again.
Driving through the desert as she had done so many times before to clear her mind. She had snapped at Revival, snapped like she never had before. Sure, she wasn't the one who attacked Damien, but it was her idea. Her plan. Her scheme. Her brainchild.
She hurt a young up and coming wrestler when she didn't need to. All she had to do was win, and she took it to the next level.
God, was she a monster.
Yes, she was.
But she was a made monster, she wasn't born this way. This business has a habit of making monsters out of even the best people. But as the desert sun blasted her through her Oakley shades, she thought about what she was truly in this game for. Why did she partake in this hustle, and was her heart still in it?
Yes, it was.
But it was in it for different reasons. She used to want to mean something to someone for once. She wanted to be something more than eye candy who spun around on a pole to a bass line and picked up singles with her ass cheeks. She had accomplished that. Then, she wanted to be more than just a plastic barbie who accompanied a hall of famer to the ring. She accomplished that. After that, she wanted to be a champion, and that, too, she accomplished. The check list was filling fast. Now, however, she wanted to hurt people. That, too, she would accomplish. All of the spiritual anguish that flooded her veins was pumping like a tank engine, and she didn't have an avenue. Sure, she had her diary, but those were just words.
She needed to show the world that she deserved respect. Maybe this was the wrong way to go about it? Perhaps. But it was the only way she knew. She would hurt more and more people until she felt better.
Was she a monster?
No, she was a product of a chaotic environment and a broken past. She never had to have morals, why start now? She had made money money in a year than most people make in a lifetime, and all she had to do was wiggle her ass a little. The most powerful men in the world crumbled at her beauty, and the OCW was next. As her heeled shoe hit the clutch, she downshifted.
The music was fuzzy, the reception wasn't great out here. She meant to flip it over to Sirius, or perhaps even her Bluetooth with Apple Music, but something didn't let her take her hand off the wheel. Not until she got to familiar territory.
A place she knew, a place she didn't want to love but couldn't help coming back to.
She didn't love OCW, she loved the paychecks. She loved the spot lights. She loved the fresh meat. She loved that it gave her an avenue to vent her frustrations without a second thought. She loved that this business made her into something more than just another pretty face in a business full of them.
Was she selfish?
Absolutely.
You had to be selfish in this game. She had bent over backwards her entire life to make sure people thought of her in good standing. She was inherently selfish from jump street, doing whatever she needed to do in order to be liked. Bend over, both ways, open her legs, or her mouth, and bat her eyes, flip her hair. Smile.
There is so much behind a smile that you can't see.
But now, she was done bending over, at least backwards anyway. She was going to make sure that the rest of her time here, people did that for her. She would make sure of it.
In the distance, she could see the colors. Like a shot of absinthe, it cut through the wavy air like a kaleidoscope.
The land of sun, fun and thieves. Sin City.
That is all she was, a sinner. Nobody ever expected her to be a saint.
She didn't expect herself to be. But as she got closer to the only home she ever knew, she thought about what she could be. She thought about what her options were at this point.
You have to fall to truly find yourself sometimes.
She could turn this thing around 180 degrees. She could be the role model that modern day society expects a woman in her position to be. She could be the model on a poster in every little girls room around the country. She could be the pixie dust girl who always smiled and always did the right thing.
She could even picture her entrance. All of the little girls cheering and clapping with their midget sized hands as the music, something corny from Disney hit. She pictured herself donned in blue with a smile as big as Nevada itself.
She smiled a bit, before wincing as the bruise on her cheek from Damien's brutality was inhibiting her from fully moving her face muscles.
Could this be her?
As the Vegas lights got closer, the said to herself, no. It didn't feel right. She had nothing to smile about, not until the job was done. The little girls would have to wait.
OR
She could be the worst possible version of herself. She could be the anti-hero, the villian that everyone hated to love, but loved to hate. More fitting, right? She could be a complete bitch, because, think about it........those little girls are only a few years away from their first pubes, their first blood, and a decade of being a total cunt to everyone with the same genitalia and using the ones with different genitalia for their own twisted games. No little girl stays little for ever. Elsa is fun when you're 8, but at 13 she is nothing but a bitch with bug eyes and a tacky dress singing a song about letting shit go. There wasn't letting anything go......because there was so much left to finish.
She flipped her hair out of her eyes, her pink extensions fluttering down along her shoulder. She could be a worse version of herself, that would really relate to these girls. Why the hell not?
Most girls were like her anyway, whether they knew it yet or not. Girls were terrible people, and anyone with a sister can relate to that. They know that their bodies are the most sought after object on this planet, and they know how to exploit that.
But......
She just didn't feel this way right now either. Sure, she was pissed off and angry, but she felt evil. She felt like she needed to haunt her opponents to the point they saw her in their dreams. She needed to make sure the girls who watched the program knew that a strong woman doesn't smile with glitter, or put on three pounds of makeup with a sarcastic smirk, but a real woman takes what she wants, despite her look. Looks are material, looks can change. Heart, passion, evil........
She knew what she needed to be.
As the desert began to give way to civilization, and the buildings began to get larger and larger by the block, she felt a tear roll out from under her sunglasses.
A black tear.
A single mascara drop that rolled down her bruised cheek and off her chin. It splashed on her black leather seat.
She was home. A broken home, but a home nonetheless.
As the strip became visible in the distance, she whipped around the corner. Her purple sportscar was like a bullet cutting through the wavy air. She didn't care anymore. If she got pulled over, she got arrested, she hit someone. She just didn't care.
She actually wanted to hit someone.
Oh god, was she a monster?
Yes, she was.
And she accepted it.
After another 20 minutes of exploiting Vegas's loose speed control laws she pulled into the empty parking lot of the place she used to think her future resided in. The only place she was every truly respected.
Respected by being disrespected, if that made sense.
She was home.
"Welcome to my world, bitch" she said as her high heeled shoe touched the cement beneath her.
"I have recieved a lot of backlash on what happened to poor Damien at REVIVAL. Some people think I am despicable. Some people think that I am cowardly, that I stole the title, that I was getting dominated by Calaway and panicked.
Please, dominated by a Calaway? If ever.
A lot of people think that I should be stripped of the title, and that it should be vacant until he is ready to come back yadda yadda. What I think? People are soft these days. Business is business. Just because I out-smarted everyone's favorite cuck in a designed suit and played Eric Drake like a ukelele at the company luau doesn't mean I am a bad person. You know what it means? It means I am smarter than you. Smarter than him. Smarter than this game. I sit here now adding to my resume, putting some more shiny on my mantel, and furthering my case of being the best female wrestler on this space rock. Thanks to Tamika Strader I am the highest paid. Britlyn didn't dare cut that salary. Could she afford to not have Chaos OR Myst on her little experimental company's roster?
Let me answer that.
No, she couldn't.
Jenny Myst is box office. Whether I am broken, Queen, in between, I put asses in seats. I drive people through those turnstyles. I take their hard earned money and spend it on massages and Bubble Tea while laughing at them.
I. Win. Championships.
Now Britlyn has been so kind to inform me that this belt is defended on every show. She thinks she got one up on me, that she has her ace in the hole. Her trump card. Wrong again, toots. She wants me to be a fighting champ and I get that, but she could at least test me with some talent. It's not my fault that her top talent on Anarchy all have titles already, two of them only wish to compete as tag-teams, her monster among men is on the shelf thanks to moi, and the rest is a smaller number than the square root of 3. It's not my fault RISE has a larger, more competitve roster. It's not my fault her airhead sister has more bodies to throw at her champions.
So she gives me Axis. The 'original' OCW member who sucked there and suddenly is supposed to suck less? A man who didn't do jack shit for Welsh or Strader, fumbled his chance against Mandii, and now gets yet another shot to embarrass himself--this time on national television. He has a chance to lose to a woman in back to back matches and further cement himself as the absolute swill at the bottom oif the OCW barrell. Maybe this loss will send him to rise? Though, I am not sure he'd fare well over there either.
Axis, I don't expect much out of you, I'll be frank. I expect to do to do what I did to Milk Mason in WGWF last week. Badda bing, 1-2-3. Job squad. In-and-out. The true dominance of a champion against someone who only has a main roster contract because Britlyn didn't sign over Tamika's enhancement talent. Wanted 'competition', and all that jazz.
So I'll see ya in that ring and I'll do what I do best. The question is, Axis......
Are you ready?
Of course not."
The music was on, the bass was thumping enough to knock a toupee off. There were bottles popped, liquid over flowing onto the bar. Girls in less clothes than the average Haitian citizen walked around with dollar signs in their eyes. A girl on a 10 by 10 stage spun around in slow motion, as if she were part of an old film reel, and a bartender with tits who cost more than a night at the Ritz Cartlon on the Strip was shaking a drink with a smile faker than Donald Trump's tan.
This was home.
The smut, the depravity, the world of sex workers. Girls who used their bodies to get what they wanted, and what they wanted was money. The route of all evil.
This was a special event, however, because Myst was back. The girl who put this place on the map, a little club off the strip who was ready to close their doors before she walked in. The top stripper to ever grace this sticky floor.
Everyone was welcoming her. Shaking her hand, hugging her, rubbing her shoulders. People were groveling at her feet, for the most part. Myst, who was now one of the top names in the top wrestling promotion on the planet was back to show her support for the place she built.
If only they knew, this place built her too.
All of her confidence, her wonderful people skills.
They all were created here. Her first home. Her world.
As she sat there, the first life she ever knew going on around her, she stared straight ahead. She knew who she was now......she knew the life she wanted to live. She knew what she had to do at Anarchy. She knew that word never had a more literal meaning as it does right now.
This was her world, and her world is war.
Welcome to her world, bitches.
3x XWF X-Treme Champion
1x XWF and Longest Reigning Shooting Star Champion (101 Days)
2x XWF Bombshell Champion
3x XWF X-Treme Champion
3x XWF Television Champion
X- Title Briefcase Holder
War Games Captain
1x RLF True Champion
1x (Current) OCW Rebellion Champion
Sex, Metal, Barbie, CHAOS
Driving through the desert as she had done so many times before to clear her mind. She had snapped at Revival, snapped like she never had before. Sure, she wasn't the one who attacked Damien, but it was her idea. Her plan. Her scheme. Her brainchild.
She hurt a young up and coming wrestler when she didn't need to. All she had to do was win, and she took it to the next level.
God, was she a monster.
Yes, she was.
But she was a made monster, she wasn't born this way. This business has a habit of making monsters out of even the best people. But as the desert sun blasted her through her Oakley shades, she thought about what she was truly in this game for. Why did she partake in this hustle, and was her heart still in it?
Yes, it was.
But it was in it for different reasons. She used to want to mean something to someone for once. She wanted to be something more than eye candy who spun around on a pole to a bass line and picked up singles with her ass cheeks. She had accomplished that. Then, she wanted to be more than just a plastic barbie who accompanied a hall of famer to the ring. She accomplished that. After that, she wanted to be a champion, and that, too, she accomplished. The check list was filling fast. Now, however, she wanted to hurt people. That, too, she would accomplish. All of the spiritual anguish that flooded her veins was pumping like a tank engine, and she didn't have an avenue. Sure, she had her diary, but those were just words.
Sticks and stones..............
She needed to show the world that she deserved respect. Maybe this was the wrong way to go about it? Perhaps. But it was the only way she knew. She would hurt more and more people until she felt better.
Was she a monster?
No, she was a product of a chaotic environment and a broken past. She never had to have morals, why start now? She had made money money in a year than most people make in a lifetime, and all she had to do was wiggle her ass a little. The most powerful men in the world crumbled at her beauty, and the OCW was next. As her heeled shoe hit the clutch, she downshifted.
The music was fuzzy, the reception wasn't great out here. She meant to flip it over to Sirius, or perhaps even her Bluetooth with Apple Music, but something didn't let her take her hand off the wheel. Not until she got to familiar territory.
A place she knew, a place she didn't want to love but couldn't help coming back to.
She didn't love OCW, she loved the paychecks. She loved the spot lights. She loved the fresh meat. She loved that it gave her an avenue to vent her frustrations without a second thought. She loved that this business made her into something more than just another pretty face in a business full of them.
Was she selfish?
Absolutely.
You had to be selfish in this game. She had bent over backwards her entire life to make sure people thought of her in good standing. She was inherently selfish from jump street, doing whatever she needed to do in order to be liked. Bend over, both ways, open her legs, or her mouth, and bat her eyes, flip her hair. Smile.
There is so much behind a smile that you can't see.
But now, she was done bending over, at least backwards anyway. She was going to make sure that the rest of her time here, people did that for her. She would make sure of it.
In the distance, she could see the colors. Like a shot of absinthe, it cut through the wavy air like a kaleidoscope.
The land of sun, fun and thieves. Sin City.
That is all she was, a sinner. Nobody ever expected her to be a saint.
She didn't expect herself to be. But as she got closer to the only home she ever knew, she thought about what she could be. She thought about what her options were at this point.
You have to fall to truly find yourself sometimes.
She could turn this thing around 180 degrees. She could be the role model that modern day society expects a woman in her position to be. She could be the model on a poster in every little girls room around the country. She could be the pixie dust girl who always smiled and always did the right thing.
She could even picture her entrance. All of the little girls cheering and clapping with their midget sized hands as the music, something corny from Disney hit. She pictured herself donned in blue with a smile as big as Nevada itself.
She smiled a bit, before wincing as the bruise on her cheek from Damien's brutality was inhibiting her from fully moving her face muscles.
Could this be her?
As the Vegas lights got closer, the said to herself, no. It didn't feel right. She had nothing to smile about, not until the job was done. The little girls would have to wait.
OR
She could be the worst possible version of herself. She could be the anti-hero, the villian that everyone hated to love, but loved to hate. More fitting, right? She could be a complete bitch, because, think about it........those little girls are only a few years away from their first pubes, their first blood, and a decade of being a total cunt to everyone with the same genitalia and using the ones with different genitalia for their own twisted games. No little girl stays little for ever. Elsa is fun when you're 8, but at 13 she is nothing but a bitch with bug eyes and a tacky dress singing a song about letting shit go. There wasn't letting anything go......because there was so much left to finish.
She flipped her hair out of her eyes, her pink extensions fluttering down along her shoulder. She could be a worse version of herself, that would really relate to these girls. Why the hell not?
Most girls were like her anyway, whether they knew it yet or not. Girls were terrible people, and anyone with a sister can relate to that. They know that their bodies are the most sought after object on this planet, and they know how to exploit that.
But......
She just didn't feel this way right now either. Sure, she was pissed off and angry, but she felt evil. She felt like she needed to haunt her opponents to the point they saw her in their dreams. She needed to make sure the girls who watched the program knew that a strong woman doesn't smile with glitter, or put on three pounds of makeup with a sarcastic smirk, but a real woman takes what she wants, despite her look. Looks are material, looks can change. Heart, passion, evil........
She knew what she needed to be.
As the desert began to give way to civilization, and the buildings began to get larger and larger by the block, she felt a tear roll out from under her sunglasses.
A black tear.
A single mascara drop that rolled down her bruised cheek and off her chin. It splashed on her black leather seat.
She was home. A broken home, but a home nonetheless.
As the strip became visible in the distance, she whipped around the corner. Her purple sportscar was like a bullet cutting through the wavy air. She didn't care anymore. If she got pulled over, she got arrested, she hit someone. She just didn't care.
She actually wanted to hit someone.
Oh god, was she a monster?
Yes, she was.
And she accepted it.
After another 20 minutes of exploiting Vegas's loose speed control laws she pulled into the empty parking lot of the place she used to think her future resided in. The only place she was every truly respected.
Respected by being disrespected, if that made sense.
She was home.
"Welcome to my world, bitch" she said as her high heeled shoe touched the cement beneath her.
"I have recieved a lot of backlash on what happened to poor Damien at REVIVAL. Some people think I am despicable. Some people think that I am cowardly, that I stole the title, that I was getting dominated by Calaway and panicked.
Please, dominated by a Calaway? If ever.
A lot of people think that I should be stripped of the title, and that it should be vacant until he is ready to come back yadda yadda. What I think? People are soft these days. Business is business. Just because I out-smarted everyone's favorite cuck in a designed suit and played Eric Drake like a ukelele at the company luau doesn't mean I am a bad person. You know what it means? It means I am smarter than you. Smarter than him. Smarter than this game. I sit here now adding to my resume, putting some more shiny on my mantel, and furthering my case of being the best female wrestler on this space rock. Thanks to Tamika Strader I am the highest paid. Britlyn didn't dare cut that salary. Could she afford to not have Chaos OR Myst on her little experimental company's roster?
Let me answer that.
No, she couldn't.
Jenny Myst is box office. Whether I am broken, Queen, in between, I put asses in seats. I drive people through those turnstyles. I take their hard earned money and spend it on massages and Bubble Tea while laughing at them.
I. Win. Championships.
Now Britlyn has been so kind to inform me that this belt is defended on every show. She thinks she got one up on me, that she has her ace in the hole. Her trump card. Wrong again, toots. She wants me to be a fighting champ and I get that, but she could at least test me with some talent. It's not my fault that her top talent on Anarchy all have titles already, two of them only wish to compete as tag-teams, her monster among men is on the shelf thanks to moi, and the rest is a smaller number than the square root of 3. It's not my fault RISE has a larger, more competitve roster. It's not my fault her airhead sister has more bodies to throw at her champions.
So she gives me Axis. The 'original' OCW member who sucked there and suddenly is supposed to suck less? A man who didn't do jack shit for Welsh or Strader, fumbled his chance against Mandii, and now gets yet another shot to embarrass himself--this time on national television. He has a chance to lose to a woman in back to back matches and further cement himself as the absolute swill at the bottom oif the OCW barrell. Maybe this loss will send him to rise? Though, I am not sure he'd fare well over there either.
Axis, I don't expect much out of you, I'll be frank. I expect to do to do what I did to Milk Mason in WGWF last week. Badda bing, 1-2-3. Job squad. In-and-out. The true dominance of a champion against someone who only has a main roster contract because Britlyn didn't sign over Tamika's enhancement talent. Wanted 'competition', and all that jazz.
So I'll see ya in that ring and I'll do what I do best. The question is, Axis......
Are you ready?
Of course not."
The music was on, the bass was thumping enough to knock a toupee off. There were bottles popped, liquid over flowing onto the bar. Girls in less clothes than the average Haitian citizen walked around with dollar signs in their eyes. A girl on a 10 by 10 stage spun around in slow motion, as if she were part of an old film reel, and a bartender with tits who cost more than a night at the Ritz Cartlon on the Strip was shaking a drink with a smile faker than Donald Trump's tan.
This was home.
The smut, the depravity, the world of sex workers. Girls who used their bodies to get what they wanted, and what they wanted was money. The route of all evil.
This was a special event, however, because Myst was back. The girl who put this place on the map, a little club off the strip who was ready to close their doors before she walked in. The top stripper to ever grace this sticky floor.
Everyone was welcoming her. Shaking her hand, hugging her, rubbing her shoulders. People were groveling at her feet, for the most part. Myst, who was now one of the top names in the top wrestling promotion on the planet was back to show her support for the place she built.
If only they knew, this place built her too.
All of her confidence, her wonderful people skills.
They all were created here. Her first home. Her world.
As she sat there, the first life she ever knew going on around her, she stared straight ahead. She knew who she was now......she knew the life she wanted to live. She knew what she had to do at Anarchy. She knew that word never had a more literal meaning as it does right now.
This was her world, and her world is war.
Welcome to her world, bitches.
3x XWF X-Treme Champion
1x XWF and Longest Reigning Shooting Star Champion (101 Days)
2x XWF Bombshell Champion
3x XWF X-Treme Champion
3x XWF Television Champion
X- Title Briefcase Holder
War Games Captain
1x RLF True Champion
1x (Current) OCW Rebellion Champion
Sex, Metal, Barbie, CHAOS