"I am an old soul which craves the innocence, the spontaneity, and thelonging for life that comes along with youth. I am far too jaded to ever taste this zest, but that doesn't stop me from trying." -Delia, darling if you must
"Delia Darling, world class couture slash shock model, the Donatella of our generation, one of the main draws to the Mean Girls clothing brand, and... professional wrestler?"
The excited feminine voice goes unknown to the viewer for a moment until the camera finally fades inside of a news studio with the Fox 11 logo behind the raven-haired entertainment reporter. After a moment of staring at her bewildered face, the name "Julie Chang" appears at the bottom of the screen. She shakes her head with a baffled laugh as she turns to the side, where the camera switches angles. She clasps her hands together in front of her, neatly manicured nails gleaming in the light, clearly Nails by Liz quality. Her black hair cascades down her shoulders like finely feathered fountains against her white blouse. She takes in a deep breath before continuing.
Julie: This elusive model has slipped through our fingers many times before, but after her recent appearance at the RuPaul's Drag Race pre-screening party, which Darling is confirmed as a guest judge, we were able to get a few words with her...
The feed switches to catch Delia, Angelica, Mercedes, Veronica, and Amanda walking away from the Belasco Theater in Los Angeles, the spotlight of the camera shining brightly on the group of Mean Girls. Each one places a hand in front of their face as they walk by.
Veronica: Hunty, you don't get a shot of this mug for free. Sorry bout it...
The cameraman finally stops on Delia as Julie Chang comes on screen, trying to shove a microphone in Delia's face. Delia pulls her hand down to her side and growls.
Julie: Ms. Darling, could I get a few words...
Delia's eyes widen as she stares daggers through the Oriental beauty standing before her. She clinches her jaw, and her eyes closed as her nostrils flare out. She shoots her eyes open and flips her long chestnut curls over her shoulder.
Delia: Get z'e *BEEP*ing camera out of my *BEEP*ing FACE! Z'ere, a few words for you to choke on, Julie...
Delia sneers as she turns on her stiletto heels, walking off with the rest of the Mean Girls.
Back in the studio, Julie shows a hint of disdain as she pauses, pursing her lips as she rubs them together. She plays it off with a chuckle and a pearly white smile that dismisses any hard feelings to anyone who doesn't read deeper into things.
Julie: After many attempts like that one, we were finally able to get Ms. Darling to sit down and dish! Please welcome, Delia, darling if you must!
She smiles sweetly as she turns to her left, where Delia is sitting in a black bob cut wig, a deep V-cut dress with a stuffed crow sewn onto the left shoulder, as well as her signature sunglasses, and a cigarette between her fingers. Julie looks off screen as if asking someone why she hasn't been reprimanded for this. After a second of nothing, she shrugs her shoulders and continues on.
Julie: Delia, thanks for sitting with us today. We've got so many... *cough*
Delia blows a plume of second hand smoke right into Julie's face, causing the reporter to hack as she waves her hand in front of her face. Delia rubs her black lips together, seemingly pleased with the reaction she's received here. She turns to face the camera now, plastering the most fake smile she can muster.
Delia: S'ank you... If you have not made it on Fox news, you simply... have not made it, no? Ha! I told you I would say it, Mercy!
Delia chuckles heartily as she points off camera, clapping her hands together as a wicked smile comes over her face. She sighs as she looks back over toward Julie, while not directly acknowleding her, as she sighs in delight.
Delia: I'm a b*eeeeeep*ch, but z'at one... she's a true c*beep*t z'at one... No, if you are on Fox news, you are eis'er a rape victim, or you robbed a liquor store. Consider z'is my charity for z'is mon's. I'm... so nice...
Julie: Yes, thank you for being here. You have been rather elusive to all media. Why? And why change this now?
Delia continues to stare past the camera, nodding her head as she listens to a voice coming off camera, but the words are indistinguishable to us. She takes another puff of her cigarette before placing it inside of a nearby coffee mug, the sizzling sound resonating in the microphone as she gently exhales a stream of silvery smoke.
Delia: When one is Delia Darling, or even someone of z'e caliber of Veronica Taylor, one simply does not stop to talk to someone representing a company one step above public access. We are not some Midwestern Playboy models. We're national treasures. We must be choosy about who we allow to represent us on television. Some news sources chop and edit us to make us look bad. Can you believe z'at?
Julie: Not at all, Ms. Darling. Sometimes, what you see is what you get. But that's doesn't answer the latter question. Why here? Why now?
Delia runs her tongue across her top lip as she thinks about her response ever so carefully.
Delia: I was bored today...
Julie: Oh... We were expecting some sort of brilliant revelation.
Delia: Oh? Well, I am ever so sorry to disappoint. If I had some brilliant revelation to make, it would not be to some two bit Asian Barbie doll reporting for Fox News, I assure... No, I would talk to Diane Sawyer or Barbara Walters, because z'ey carry tout, much like I do in bo's industries I am involved wi's.
Julie is clearly fuming, but the professional that she is, she refuses to show it. She takes a deep breath, forcing her smile ever harder than before as she waits for Delia to finish insulting her before she continues delicately.
Julie: Yes, we all know that you have appeared on countless fashion magazines, including seven centerfolds for Italian Vogue...
Delia: S'ree of which, I also graced z'e cover. Z'e top s'ree best selling issues to date.
Julie: You have taken Paris, London, Milan, New York, AND Los Angeles runways by storm, so much so that you've decided to take your talents to... Las Vegas?
Delia nods her head as if Julie were simply stating well known facts. Julie looks a little confused, of course, playing it off despite her knowledge of Sin City Wrestling. For the sake of continuing to uncover the "scoop", she feigns intrigue, very convincingly.
Julie: And in a much different form as you literally go straight from the runway to a wrestling ring?
Delia: Mmm-hmm. Yes, I am actually a champion wrestler in Las Vegas, and z'e surrounding territories. Independent wrestling has such a broad range of fans, especially in z'e Sou'swest. You know, it started out as a joke? Like, my friend Angelica dared me to spar wi's her one day or whatever... z'at is when you fight in a controlled environment. Yeah, I kicked her ass, and she claims she let me, but... if anyone has ever seen one of her matches, a falling broomstick could knock her out... sorry bout it, darling...
Delia tilts her sunglasses down long enough to wink off camera before blowing a kiss. Delia waves sweetly before bringing her glasses back up her nose as she composes herself once more. She folds her hands together in front of her as she looks toward the camera.
Delia: It was such an exhilerating experience. Gawd, you couldn't even imagine. Z'e savage beauty in beating z'e ever living f*beeeep*k out of anos'er person wi'sout z'e fear of going to jail? Ugh, unmatched by any chemical found in all of Los Angeles, I assure. So, I decided... why not? Like, z'e pay is horrible, but I'm already rich, so why not?
Julie: Aren't you afraid of breaking a nail?
Julie sneers as she asks in a passive-aggressive manner, playing it off as a friendly joke, but both ladies know the true aim of it. Delia claps her hands together as she chuckles, gently pushing Julie, who returns the forced laugh.
Delia: Darling, I wouldn't know. I have been wrestling for just short of a year now, and I have not been pinned, or forced into submission, or os'erwise eliminated. If you pay attention to Twitter, which I'm sure you don't because z'is is not TMZ... you would hear everyone laugh at me. Z'ey tell me z'at I am some Barbie doll plastic, talentless... I don't even know because I lost track of all z'e basic insults z'ey s'row at me on z'e daily. Yet, not one of z'em has defeated me. Each one s'inks z'ey will end my career, and z'ey simply cannot. Sorry bout it.
Julie: Well, I don't understand wrestling, but I would assume that they find you a hard pill to swallow, and... I just can't figure out why. You're so charming.
Delia: Ugh, right?! I used to spend a lot of time on Twitter, giving FREE fashion tips to z'e less fortunate. I took a coworkers daughter for ice cream once. I did Amy Marshall's make up z'e first day I was in Sin City Wrestling. Oh, and I recommended a good plastic surgeon for a girl who suffers from a little bit of a man jaw... Roxi Johnson. I'm so nice, but whatever... Z'ey're just jealous because I'm a champion, and z'ey aren't. Like, work b*tch, get it like I did... Z'is mentality of wrestlers attacking champions to get shots instead of actually earning shots is ridiculous.
Julie nods her head, though she lost interest in Delia's words, and imagining the horror she put people through, justifying that horror with the excuses she's dishing out now. Once Delia's voice stops scratching at her ears, gnawing at her mind, she realizes it's time to talk again.
Julie: I can imagine. Now, we're being told that, for all of the wrestling fans out there, your promotion of Sin City Wrestling is hosting a tournament called Blast From the Past, which honors one man and one woman from wrestling's past. This year is the Fabulous Moolah, and "Nature Boy" Buddy Rogers?
Delia: Whatever... I just want to pick my next challenger. I want someone wor's my time for once el oh el.
Julie: I don't know much of the industry, but isn't that disrespectful to those who paved the way before you?
Delia: Z'ey are in z'e past, hence z'e name of z'e tournament. I am happening now. Surely in twenty years when I retire, z'ey will honor me in one of z'ese tournaments, and some hot young star will take my place when I'm ready to give it up. Moolah would not mind if I show z'e world how it is really done.
Julie frowns a bit as she watches Delia sink into herself even further than she already was. She shakes her head, but tries not to show her disgust too much. She takes a deep breath before continuing once more.
Julie: I'm sure you will do great. Now, this is a tournament that pairs one male and one female together. Tell us about your partner. Is he dreamy?
Delia's face sours into pure and utter disgust as she sneers at Julie. She waits for some hint that Julie is joking, but she doesn't give this hint. Delia shakes her head slowly as she looks past the camera where a light amount of chuckling can be heard. She juts her thumb out at Julie as she silently asks if she's serious before turning back to Julie.
Delia: Ugh, no! Not even close. He's like almost s'irty, yet he looks well into his sixties. He has long hair, and I'm pretty sure it's a grown out mullet, and don't EVEN get me started on z'e chest hair... ugh! No, I'm pretty sure he has a daughter my age anyway. Of course, looking s'ree times your age could run in z'e family because he looks like an in bred cousin kisser.
Julie: Will you be distracted by some stud standing on the outside of the ring?
Delia: If you are referring to my opponent, Trenton Nelson Andre or whatever the f*beeeep*k his name is, z'en probably not. I don't even know who he is, but he sounds boring. Trenton? What kind of a name is z'at anyway? He's clearly a masic...
Julie looks curious as she peeks down at her notes, thumbing through them before looking up to Delia with a bit of confusion on her face.
Julie: But his name...
Delia: Masic...
Julie: His name is...
Delia: Uhhh, masic...
Julie: His name is Travis Nathaniel Andrews.
Delia: Oh? Hmmm, he still sounds pretty masic to me.
Julie looks off camera as if she's begging for mercy, but she is given an off screen cue to keep going for a few more minutes. She sighs and clasps her hands together again.
Julie: Please tell me that you at least know who you're facing.
Delia: Uhh, of course I do. I'm not retarded.
Julie: That's not politically correct...
Delia: I don't recall asking you if it was, Tricia Takanawa. Im facing z'at... one girl... wi's z'e... s'ing. Okay, I don't know, but once you've defeated z'e entire roster, you start forgetting names and faces because z'ey all blur toges'er. Whatever, I'm bored talking about z'is now.Watch RuPaul's Drag Race, debuting...
Julie: I'm done... I'm seriously f*beeeeeeeeeep*ing done. I'm done with the abuse. I'm done with sucking up to prima donnas. I'm done. I'm just done...
Julie stands up from her seat, on the verge of shouting angrily as she stares right at Delia, who has an amused smirk on her face the whole time. She gives a half smile as she stares at Julie. Julie notices the smirk and she clinches her fists at her side. She raises her hands toward the camera before censor bars come over her fingers, letting us know exactly what she thinks of this situation. Delia giggles lightly as she covers her mouth. Julie then exits the shot and Delia scoots her seat toward the middle, lowering her sunglasses and clasping her hands together professionally as she sighs to compose herself.
Delia: Before we move on to z'e depressing news, lets check in wi's Maria Quiban for z'e weas'er... Maria?
The camera pans over to the lovely Latina standing in front of the weather map, looking completely stunned at what has just taken place. Her eyes are still planted firmly to her right as her jaw hangs open in surprise. We quickly cut out to commercial break.
[*Fade*]
"Sometimes, doing the right thing doesn't make sense. Sometimes being completely selfless, expecting no recognition for your good deeds, just makes sense. It isn't always about you, you know?" -Delia, darling if you must
After the events of Sin City Wrestling's Inception, the Mean Girls had taken their time in celebrating, or stewing in their own hatred and anger, respectively. There were many champagne bubbles tickling their cute, perfect noses and numbing them to the words of hate being spread about them all over social media. Despite the fact that Mean Girls managed to keep the Bombshell and Bombshell Roulette Championships within the stable, a feat that should have been celebrated by all five members, there was still a dark, ominous feeling in the room any time the five ladies convened. It was almost too much for Delia to bare as she booked a separate flight from Los Angeles to Glasgow. Her and Mercedes had something in common, gold which they both retained at the show... by winning matches. But, Veronica and Amanda had lost, and Veronica especially has been going on and on about conspiracy theories that not even Delia's self-aborbed mind could justify, and it had been wearing thin on her. When Delia heard that referee, and former Mean Girl, Holly Wood would look like a British man if her hair were cut off, Delia couldn't take it anymore. She had to get out of the Mean Girls LA Clubhouse, and fast.
This is where we find Delia driving through down town Los Angeles, alone. She is in her natural state, her long, curled chestnut locks are blowing through the wind as she puts on a "Golden Oldie" from... get this... 2012! "Summertime Sadness" by Lana Del Rey plays as her dark eyes scan the smog-filled city for something that speaks to her. Something that calls her name, beckoning her to come closer. She has a few hours before she has to be at LAX for her flight, and she is in one of the most lively cities in the country. She seems to fall into a trance as the mild air blows across her face, through her hair, and the pink lace scarf. She runs her tongue across her cherry lips as she stares into the setting sun. What should call her name comes as a surprise as she begins to follow signs leading east.
"What am I doing? Driving into z'e night like I was Misty or somes'ing... Obligations, darling... obligations. Take z'e next exit, and turn back around..."
Delia begins to merge to the next right lane, when a loud horn startles her. A semi truck zooms past her as the driver shouts out obscenities. She swerves back into her lane, growling under her breath. However, the music seems to sooth her again, bringing her back into a thoughtful lull. She rests her elbow against the window frame of her car, gently tucking her fingers into her hair as she uses her other hand to steer the car.
"Okay... maybe I will just go to z'e next exit and turn back toward z'e airport..."
"Are you certain, cherie?"
Delia's eyes narrow as she slowly looks over to her right. Sitting in the driver's seat with a Super Gulp from 7-11, and a variety of snacks spread out on his lap, is Delia's first love, Guillaume. She rolls her eyes and then turns back toward the road, narrowing her eyes as she tenses up heavily.
"Who asked you, Guillaume. Why don't you find anos'er fifteen year old to corrupt?"
"Ma petit, why must you aim for z'e heart wi's z'e first shot, always?"
"Z'e better question is... why must I always miss? Bad luck, I suppose. C'est la vie, no?"
Delia sneers as she stares over at Guillaume. He uses his free hand to clutch at his chest before reaching into a bag of Twizzlers, pulling a stick from it and placing it to his lips. He grips it with his teeth as he speaks through gritted teeth.
"Direct hit, cherie. At least I have owned up to my mistakes. I've learned to accept z'at I am not perfect. I have even allowed you to place all z'e blame on my shoulders, because I know z'ey are broad enough to carry z'e load. But, don't you s'ink it is more z'an just a little pas'etic?"
"But you laid your hands on me, Gui!"
Guillaume looks as if he wants to respond to this with just as much urgency as she had dished out to him. She glares over at him with a hint of tears in her eyes, losing focus of the road. She starts to swerve, until Guillaume veers her back on course. She sucks in a deep breath while returning her eyes to the road, but her attention is still firmly on Guillaume. He sighs as his dark eyes look down to the floor of the car. After a second, they slowly look back up to Delia, pangs of regret ever present.
"As I said, I am not perfect. I made mistakes, and z'at, ma cherie, is one of z'em. Nos'ing compares to z'e soul of a tortured artist. You are ageless, timeless, a classic beauty rivaled by no os'er. It was not my intention to corrupt you. I only wanted to love you wi's everys'ing I had."
Delia chuckles as she once again rolls her eyes, though she doesn't give Guillaume the satisfaction of looking directly at him.
"So, I suppose you tripped, and your penis fell into z'at os'er girl's vagina? Or did you go blind for a moment, and s'ink she was me? Please do explain. Z'is should be good..."
"Anos'er mistake. Z'e way you tried to control my artistic integrity by telling me who to work wi's, it caused a lot of frustrations. You don't understand...
"You're right, I don't... Clearly she wanted to fuck you, and guess what she did? Oh wait, you already know. No matter what words fell from my mou's, I did not deserve z'e abuse you dished out to me."
"Nor did I deserve what you gave me. I will accept z'e blame for our ending, but I will not do you a disservice by allowing you to make yourself out to be completely innocent, petit. It does you no favors."
Delia continues to glare at the road, her headlights gradually glowing brighter as she puts distance between herself and the city. Time and distance is a blur to her as she keeps going. However, Guillaume places his large hand over hers delicately. He rubs the back of her hand with his rough, slightly calloused hand. She slowly begins to melt into it, softening as her breaths become shallow and forced. She slowly turns her hand over to lace her fingers between his, but before she can fully fall into this, she growls and rips her hand away.
"GET... OUT! Get out of my car, get out of my life, and get out of my FUCKING HEAD!"
"But.. petit?"
"NOW!"
Delia speeds up as she notices a bit of a desert terrain drowning out the city lights as the stars light her way in the dry abyss. Guillaume lowers his eyes once more as he takes a deep breath. He wipes at his face, and as he does, a five o'clock shadow, and a few extra years of wear come over his face. He looks back over to Delia, and she has to do a double take. "Guillaume" looks up to her, raising a dark brown bottle to his lips, rather than the Super Gulp, which seems to have disappeared.
"Oi, Delia! Must've gotten pretty pissed, cause I don't remember getting in a car with ya."
The French accent has faded entirely as the slightly older, rougher looking version of Guillaume becomes apparent as former SCW star, "Exile" Ethan Brody. He reaches up, pulling the skull cap from his head as he tosses it out of the window, showing off his close buzz cut, shaking his head as he watches the hat flutter through the wind in the distance.
"Aren't you going to bat those pretty little eyes at me again? Melt me like butter and spread me out?"
"Guh-ross! I already told you, Es'an... we were tag team partners, and nos'ing more. I carried you to victory after victory until you became too much dead weight for even me to handle. And, it looks as if I'm going to have z'e same problem z'is year. Ugh, I swear I'm done carrying weak men and making z'em look good..."
"Always liked them with a bit of attitude. The look in your eyes says otherwise, love. I can play along though. Say, where are we going?"
Delia looks around, finally taking notice that she is no longer in Los Angeles. The darkness settles in as she sees the glowing city lights off in the very far edges f her rear view mirror. She looks down at the clock on her dashboard, seeing that it is now 7:15pm, nearly an hour and a half later. She growls as she merges over to the right, nearly cutting someone off as she goes. She ignores their honking as she looks over at Ethan in annoyance.
"Back to LAX. I have a flight to catch so I can go repeat history. Hopefully he is lighter z'an you so we can actually win z'e tournament..."
Ethan clutches at his chest, but in a much more joking manner. He chuckles a bit before emptying the remainder of the pint into his mouth. He tosses the bottle out of the window as it crashes into a thousand pieces behind them.
"Ouch. It doesn't feel so nice when it's aimed at me. I always liked your cheeky attitude, and look where it's gotten you. You didn't need to win some tournament to get that Bombshell Championship around your waist. It might have taken some extra time, but you did it all on your own. You proved everyone wrong by keeping it for four months and counting, too. You're really something, love..."
Ethan reaches over, brushing a lock of hair from Delia's face tenderly. He runs his rough fingers to her cheek, feeling her warmth on his fingertips. There is something comforting about this as she briefly closes her eyes. Her head falls onto his shoulder, while still paying attention to the road. He places his chin firmly on the side of her head in a comforting manner. The mood is broken when a voice comes from the back seat.
"Oh yeah..."
The voice comes off much like that of a pervert, getting his kicks while watching someone else have something that he cannot. Delia lifts her head to look into her rear view mirror to find Eric Paisano leaning over to stare directly at them.
"Don't let me interrupt. I'm just happy to watch you two. I won't ask to join... unless you two are into that sort of thing?"
Ethan reaches back and punches Eric in the shoulder. Eric narrows his eyes, but respectfully lets it go, rubbing his shoulder.
"Terrible timing, bruv."
"I couldn't help it. She just turns me on so much..."
"Enough! Bo's of you! I didn't sleep wi's eis'er of you, and I don't ever intend to...
"Yeah, guys... she left that all for me."
Delia glares into her rear view mirror, and sitting next to Eric is Drake Green. He shrugs his shoulders apologetically as he takes a sip from a glass fo scotch. Eric and Ethan begin bickering while Drake seems uninterested at this point, but before he even has a chance. Delia screams loudly. She clinches her eyes closed as she shouts.
"ENOUGH! I don't need a man in my life!"
Delia's tires screech as she slams on her brakes. As her eyes open, she sees no one in the car with her. However, cars around her swerve, honk, and shout as they avoid hitting her. As she slows, she pulls onto the dusty shoulder of the road. She takes a few deep breaths, feeling extremely tense from the mind tricks being played on her. She grips the steering wheel firmly before looking back up to see red and blue lights behind her. She rolls her eyes as she reaches over to her purse in the passengers seat. She digs through it, pulling out her lisence, and then goes to her glove box to pull out her registration papers. She places them firmly in her lap as the big, broad officer slowly walks along the side of her car. He taps on her window with his flash light, prompting Delia to roll down the window. She looks up at him, but he shines the flash light right in her eyes.
"Evening ma'am. Have you been drinking?"
Delia clinches one eye closed as she tries to focus on the face through the blinding light. The voice sounds very familiar as she tries to piece it together...
"Des... Despy?"
"What? Lisence and registration ma'am..."
Delia obediently hands the papers over as she shakes her head a bit, knocking such a ridiculous idea from her head. As the beam of light leaves her face and focuses on the papers in her hand, she looks at the face, and while it does not match the body, it is clearly Despayre, with a buzz cut. She smirks at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation as she leans her head back, chuckling heartily as the officer stares at her with concern.
"Let me run these through my super secret police car computer thingy, and I'll be right back."
Delia winks, knowing that she's officially lost her mind. She finishes laughing with a long winded sigh as she turns over to look around for any sign of more familiar visitors. None appear, and after a moment, she is brought back to the present when the flashlight taps her window once more. She rolls the window down again as the officer hands her the paper back. She tosses them onto her seat as she looks back to Officer Despayre.
"Your prosthetic stomach is so realistic, Despy..."
"I beg your pardon? My name is not 'Despy', it is Officer Richard Lickey."
"HAAAA!"
Delia continues to poke at his stomach until she hears his name. She then leans forward, slapping her knee as she laughs hard at this. However, the officer doesn't find the humor in any of this as he scowls at Delia.
"Is there something funny about the proud Lickey family name? Do you know who my father and grandfather are? Peter and Johnson Lickey?"
"Yes, Amy Marshall and Jessie Salco, at least z'at is what z'e os'er Bombshells call z'em behind z'eir backs, I assure...
Delia winks as if she is letting her best buddy in on the secret. However, he doesn't seem to get it. He shakes his head and places his hands on his waist.
"Ms. Darling, please step out of the vehicle. I'm going to need you to perform a few field sobriety... test... thingies..."
"Oh... Oooooooooooooh-kay..."
Delia winks once more as she opens the door, stepping out of the pink Corvette. She closes the door slowly to see another officer step out of his vehicle. His light brown hair blows in the wind, while his hat rests between his ears. Delia snickers at the sight of "Officer Angel" as he saunters over to the back end of the police car, leaning against it for back up.
"Okay, Ms. Darling. I need you to walk in a straight line toward Officer Oliver Klozof, and then back to me."
Delia chuckles wildly in an immature manner as she walks the line as if it were a runway presentation. She does so very authorative, causing Officer Lickey and Officer Klozof to snap their fingers at her demanding walk. She turns on the balls of her heels, leaning back to bat her eyelashes at Officer Klozof before walking over to Officer Lickey, spinning her hair around as she turns to face him.
"Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get to LAX to catch my flight..."
"Oh... Ohhhkay then. You do that, ma'am. When is your flight, in seven hours?"
Delia chuckles, thinking it to be another of Despayre's jokes as she gets back into the car. Officer Lickey tips his hat at Delia and then rolls his eyes behind his black frame glasses as he juts a thumb out at Delia. Officer Klozof shakes his head at this as the two step back into their car. They drive off slowly, passing Delia as they roll down their window.
"Welcome to Arizona, Ms. Darling. I hope you enjoy your stay."
Delia's stomach churns at the thought of being in Arizona, until she sees the emblem on the side of the state trooper's vehicle. She looks around, noticing the familiar cactus that looks like comedy actress Octavia Spencer spanking Oprah Winfrey, and the realization comes to pass that she is, in fact, in Tucson, Arizona. She blinks, before noticing the sun starting to rise off in the distance. She places her forehead in her hands as she groans, wondering why she woke up from a dream, into a nightmare...
[*Fade*]
"When one has acheived a level of success such as myself, everyone comes for you. It doesn't matter if you have gold or not, they will come for you. Success is like nectar to the vicious hornets." -Delia, darling if you must...
"No!
The single word cuts through the air like a whip, with it's venomous tone. It gives us a small taste fo what we are in for, but it pales in comparison to the look of anger on Delia's face as she sits in a booth with her hands clasped around a virgin strawyberry dacquiri in a small coctail glass. Her mouth sits ajar as she glares across the table, looking from her left to her right. A masculine hand reaches across the table to clasp onto one of her hands, but she quickly withdraws it, resting it on her lap as her angry look intensifies.
Chris: Petit, please...
Delia takes in a deep breath, as if she were thinking of a more clever way to say what she's about to say, but it is all for naught as she practically hisses once more at her father.
Delia: No! No fricken way, papa...
Chris: I'm... I'm so sorry I gave you z'e impression z'at z'is was a request. I was, however, hoping z'at you would be more open to z'e idea...
Delia seems to throw a fit like a three year old as she crosses her arms and begins shaking her head from side to side rapidly. Her father groans before running his hands through his feahered grey hair, all in an attempt to hide his frustration.
Delia: I am not a toddler, papa, and I refuse to have a babysitter...
Chris: Babysitter? Don't be ridiculous, darling. Z'at is not at all what I was suggesting.
Delia sneers as she looks over just a touch to his right, staring a hole through whatever, or whoever, is next to her father. She narrows her eyes and clinches her jaws as if she is trying to whis[er a secret to her father.
Delia: It's... hideous... No, I will not accept z'is. I am a grown woman, and I can make my own decisions.
Chris: Like hell you can! I allowed z'is, and you literally died because of it... TWICE! S'ank z'e Heavens z'at you were able to be revived. I am putting my foot down on z'e matter, Cordelia...
Delia unclinches her jaw, but her eyes don't leave her target as we pan out slightly to see a rough looking ebony skinned woman who is staring just as angrily back at Delia. However, she remains much better composed, though her messy curls flow over her face just enough to cover the wicked intent from behind her eyes.
Delia: No. Z'is...
Delia extends her hand, pointing right at the woman sitting next to her dad. She holds out her finger as if she shouldn't have to explain any further what she means by "this", before rolling her eyes.
Delia: ... z'is is unacceptable. Couldn't you find a strapping young man to compliment my beauty? I mean, it... it is a "she" is it not?
Chris: You're being ridiculous. I s'ought you told me you were an adult...
Delia: Ugh, whatever! *Air quotes* SHE... is hideous. Z'ere has to be some sort of pretty girl who could watch my back, right? But it's disgusting!
Woman: I have a name...
Delia: "It"... will suffice, I assure...
Delia glances over at the woman before returning her glare over to her father finally. She closes her eyes, rubbing at her temples as her blonde locks flick around her fingers. She opens her eyes once again, as if to settle with her father.
Delia: I mean, what is her name anyway? Raggedy Anne? Basic Betty? Even Natalie McKinley is prettier z'an z'is mess... Couldn't you hire her instead?
Chris: Who?
Delia: Right? But still, at least she could add some make up and get her hair done and look somewhat of a woman... Z'is looks like somes'ing you would find on bumfight dot come. Urrrrrgh!
Delia growls as she brings her drink up to her lips, chasing the straw with her tongue. She sucks at it as if it had copious amounts of alcohol in it, despite the fact it has none in it at all. She continues sucking it in as her father places a hand on the woman's to calm her down.
Chris: Your attitude brings out z'e worst in os'ers, you know, darling? Maxxine here is a lovely person.
Delia: You... you fucked her, didn't you?
Chris: What? I don't see how z'at is...
Delia: You did! Ugh! You have no taste! How are we even related? At least Tessa was somewhat pretty, but... Oh, I'm going to be sick.
Maxxine finally smashes her fist against the table, shaking everyone's drinks hard. This causes Delia to straighten her posture up. She tries to hide the fact that this startled her, but it doesn't seem to work on anyone else at the table, or beyond.
Maxxine: Listen up, princess! I will do my job, by keeping you safe from others, but if yu don't curb the attitude, I can't promise to keep you safe from me.
Delia gasps, followed immediately by a scoff as she points across the table. She looks at her father with desparation in her eyes as her lip quivers angrily.
Delia: She's s'reatening me! If you really want to keep me safe, you will fire her and find someone actually wor's a damn! Now, daddy!
Chris: It was sarcasm, darling. You're being quite unreasonable.
Delia: No, you are papa! You heard her s'reaten my life. Even if it were a joke, which it wasn't I assure... it is unprofessional, and I require everyone in my entourage to be professional at all times... No, z'is will not do at all...
Maxxine: The contract is signed, sweetheart. You're stuck with me whether you like it or not.
The sarcasm dripping from Maxxine's tongue is very apparent to Delia, but Chris seems to have missed this one. He crosses his arms over his chest in a showing of his authority. Delia stares at him, telling him otherwise, but he doesn't waiver. She tries her best to intimidate him, but it doesn't work whatsoever. Once she realizes she's losing this battle, she pushes her bottom lip out as she attempts to work over her father with the pouty routine instead.
Delia: I'm sorry, papa... I'm willing to look at os'er options. I bet Natalie could use employment after she fell from z'e face of z'e planet. I wondered if she might be pregnant wi's how quickly she disappeared... but z'en I remembered what she looked like, and yeah... I'll see if management still has her number.
Chris: I'm afraid not, petit. Maxxine comes wi's amazing credentials. I just have a gut feeling about her.
Delia: Yeah, me too... it's called nausea. I'm going to freaking puke all over her two dollar Goodwill blouse...
Delia points her finger at the back of her throat and makes a gagging noise as she looks down at her drink, finally admitting defeat. Maxxine chuckles at Delia's child-like behavior, something most people don't get to see from her. In a way, she sort of likes her in this state, mostly because she's not speaking. Maxxine picks up her pint as she sips on it. Chris looks around with an optimistic look on his face.
Chris: Darling, won't you dance wi's one of z'ese strapping young gays? It is what you enjoy, is it not?
Delia looks around, the weak house music playing in the background is almost nauseating as she sees the less than fabulous gay men hitting on one another. Delia simply sighs and folds her arms on top of the table, resting her head on her arms as she groans, but otherwise remains quiet.
Chris: Underground is z'e highest rated gay club in Glasgow according to my my google application on my phone.
Delia: You sound like an old man, papa... Nobody admits to using google anymore, and z'e certainly don't say "application"... "App" is much lazier, and hence trendier. Plus, z'is place is boring. It's like z'e worst fricken day ever......
Delia whines as she lets her eyes wander over the mild crowd.
Chris: Come now, sweetheart... you love z'e gays.
Delia: Yeah, z'e pretty gays. Z'ese gays are like z'e rejects. Doesn't Wales have at least one or two pretty gay boys?
Maxxine: We're in Scotland.
Delia: Ugh same difference! Some feeble country which succumbed to England, which would collapse independently... Gross food, no fashion sense... we might as well be on z'e African safari again... Worst day ev-arrrrrrr, s'ank you papa...
Delia rolls her head over, burying her face in her arms as she murmurs. Maxxine snickers a bit at Delias misery as her father simply shakes his head. Her attitude is starting to draw attention from the patrons of this club. He holds his hand up apologetically to them before returning hus attention back to his daughter.
Chris: Chaque nuage a une doublure d'argent, petit. Look at z'e bright side. According to my Google "app"... your favorite singer is from Scotland.
Delia: He isn't a "singer" papa... Gawd, you're impossible! And even he had z'e sense to leave z'is God-forsaken place to sing wi's Rihanna and Ellie Goulding. Nobody admits to being from Scotland, just as I'm ashamed to admit I'm even visiting!
This draws plenty of attention from the patrons of the club as they turn and start to walk toward her all at once. Delia sneers as if telling them to bring it on. This only draws more hatred as a couple rather large women make their way over toward Delia. Without so much as a word, they pull her from the booth, raising their fists to give her a beat down. Delia swings her hand forward, slapping one, but the other catches her with a hard fist to the stomach. Her father looks stunned, but Maxxine immediately shoves the table a few feet to the right as she steps out of the booth. She grabs the one who is wailing on Delia, and she slams her into a nearby wall, so hard that it knocks a few pictures off. She then turns to the other one and delivers a Big Boot to the side of her head, knocking her to the side. A ballsy boy comes charging at her, but Maxxine lifts him up onto her shoulders. She disposes of him, right through the table as if it were nothing. She dusts her hands off, looking around at the others who are ready to come at her. She rubs her hands together and goads them, but they give in to caution. Chris walks over to Delia and helps her up to her feet. Delia looks around as if she doesn't even know what just happened. Once it all settles in, she puffs her chest out proudly as she catches her breath.
Delia: Z'at's right bitches! Nobody messes wi's Delia FUCKING Darling! Try waxing your chests, and you might be pretty enough to be in my crew...
Delia doesn't even waste any time as she walks off, acting like she handled this all on her own. Chris nods at Maxxine who quicly covers her on her way out the door. Chris follows, nodding his head in apology to everyone, backing through the door to join his daughter and bodyguard.
[*Fade*]
"When life hands you lemons, squeeze them into your opponent's eyes, and then bitch slap them into next week. Or, add some vodka, and forget all about your troubles." -Delia, darling if you must...
The sky is dark and dreary for being mid afternoon, as the rain pitter patters against the grass, and concrete pathways as we find our way into the Glasgow Necropolis. The rain slowly picks up more as we hear the clicking of heels against the ground at the large stone entrance. Off in the distance, we see a mausoleum resting on top of the highest hill, with a large cross that threatens to tear at the sky itself. We turns to the large gate to see Delia Darling, dressed in a black business style dress suit. Her legs are covered in tasteful black pantyhose, tracing up her legs to the knee length black dress and blazer combo. Ruffles of her blouse stick out from her blazer, revealing a small amount of cleavage, just enough to get a good view of the silver and diamond encrusted snowflake charm of her necklace. She is hearing a blonde bob cut wig, and a black hat with a veil to shroud her face. Clutched in her right hand are three black roses as she wastes no time in walking along the pathway, toward her destination. She bows her head respectfully as she passes the many resting places for the deceased, something we wouldn't expect from her. She makes her way to a side path where a blue tarp is flutters in the wind a few yards in the distance, held up by four metal poles. It seems to be quite large, but she isn't surprised. She walks over to it, careful once she reaches the grassy part. The ground sloshes against her heels as she trends slowly. Once she reaches the tent, she lifts her veil and rubs her cherry lips together softly.
Delia: People would expect z'e Queen of z'e Go's, Misty, to be in a cemetery, but me? I assure you all z'at z'ere is a purpose to z'is...
Delia looks around at all of the no one who is surrounding her. She lowers her eyes in a fake showing of disappointment. She shrugs her shoulders as she walks past three open graves. Walking along the blue carpet set on the ground, she makes her way to a cherry wood podium that rests in front of several vacant chairs. She places a black book on the podium, as well as the three roses. She opens the book and then clears her throat as she stares at the empty seats.
Delia: Z'e following is from z'e second Maccabees, 12:43 s'rough 46... "And making a gathering, he [Judas] sent twelve thousand drachms of silver to Jerusalem for sacrifice to be offered for the sins of the dead, thinking well and religiously concerning the resurrection, (For if he had not hoped that they that were slain should rise again, it would have seemed superfluous and vain to pray for the dead,) And because he considered that they who had fallen asleep with godliness, had great grace laid up for them. It is therefore a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from sins."
Delia nods her head as she looks from one side of the seating area to the next. She flips the page over nd then clasps her hands together as she looks ahead toward the middle of the seating area.
Delia: We are gas'ered... er, I am gas'ered here today, to remember z'e careers of a star and a bombshell wi's potentially bright futures ahead of z'em, all brought to a halt much, much too early. Tru's be told, nobody really cares. I wouldn't, but I am paid to care... sorry bout it.
Delia shrugs her shoulders with a playful chuckles. She licks her index finger as she begins thumbing through a few pages of the black book. Despite the fact that it is shrouded in black, upon further inspection, we see that it is the Burn Book, hidden by a black book cover. Delia studies the many pages of the book that had been filled over the last year or so, before coming to a page with a new entry. There is a picture of Travis Nathaniel Andrews pasted into it. In pink writing next to the picture, it has his name printed, along with the word "Who?" Delia nods her head slowly as she holds the book up for the crowd to see.
Delia: Exactly. If you know who z'is man is, I beg you to inform me, because I haven't z'e slightest idea. Trenton Norman Anderson... I mean, are you new? It's a good possibility you could have been around for years, and accomplished fuck all, because SCW is filled wi's wastes of space such as z'is. Not one s'ing original about z'em. Masics by definition. Z'ey all make claims z'at z'ey are z'e best z'e world of wrestling has to offer, as if z'ey were some kind of wrestling God. Title reigns from promotions nobody has ever heard of to justify z'eir Napoleon complexes, yet when it comes time to back z'is up here, z'ey can't even get lucky enough to get z'e Roulette Championship, a belt held by so many no-namers and newbies. Z'e divisions have been saved wi's two excellent champions now, but fuck... it doesn't take talent to pin someone in pudding, or rip off a tuxedo...
Delia shakes her head in disgust as she groans in displeasure. She clicks her tongue once she is finished, just to add emphasis to her disappointment. She takes a deep breath and then clasps her hands together once more.
Delia: Let's assume you are new. As I said, I wouldn't know because you are a dime a dozen as z'ey say. You are no gift. You are a pest, a tumor on z'e very spine of z'is business. Your only purpose is to make real champions look better by comparison. Nobody would care if champions such as myself defeated z'e same people over and over again, or else I'd be facing Roxi Johnson and Derek S'orn or somes'ing... Sometimes we need fodder, and z'at, sir, is all you are, Mr. Ans'ony or whatever... Someone to make us look better. Sure, my partner fits in z'e same category as you, but...
Delia shrugs once again as she flips to the next page. She stops at a picture of Melody Grace. She chuckles as her eyes seem to sparkle in delight, however, she moves past it to an entry with a picture of Steve Ramone. She looks down at it, tracing her finger over the pink wording written next to his picture. "Proof that drugs are bad." She giggles as she holds the book up, showing it off to all of the people who are not there, acting as if there were hundreds of them. She takes her time showing it off before she sets the book down on the podium.
Delia: I'm one who saves z'e best for last. While Melody Grace is far from z'e best... which is me of course... she is better z'an Steve Ramone. She got a win at Inception, which is much more z'an Steve can boast. Of course, you can't account for biased refereeing, but a win is a win, isn't it Mel, darling? But, I am being nice and giving Steve his time to shine. Z'e mere mentioning of his name makes him somewhat relevant, or in his eyes, it will make him a star. Z'ere will be time for you shortly, Mel.
Delia winks and then sticks her tongue out slightly, biting onto it playfully before she looks back down to the page, being reminded of what she's meant to be talking about.
Delia: Steve Ramone... a man who faced a boy who barely has peach fuzz on his scrotum, a half retarded Italian, and a man who had all of s'ree matches in his year and a half of being in SCW... and still lost! You could have been partnered wi's a brick and a flaming bag of dog shit, and should have still won, yet... you still found a way, didn't you Steve? Bravo, z'at is an accomplishment. Let's not forget, just under one year ago... You drew z'e luckiest partner you could have hoped for in Odette Ryder. Everyone s'ought she would carry you to being a potential Heavyweight Champion. She could have to, but wait... Oh, does z'is seem familiar to you yet, Steven, darling?
Delia sneers directly at the camera as she cackles wickedly. She relishes in this memory, knowing that Steve is as well, but she wants to let everyone in on their little inside joke.
Delia: I ended z'at dream, didn't I? I got into Odette's head. I conspired wi's Gabriel to move past you two like a stepping stone, all while screwing you over in z'e end. Sure, I didn't know I was playing you at z'e time, but it does make for interesting conversation during our strategy meeting, doesn't it? How I knocked you out of z'e tournament last year, and how I ended z'e only chance you could have had at z'e SCW Heavyweight Championship? You were so confident z'at you would walk past z'e drunk and z'e new girl, but... it was not to be. And here again, fortune smiles upon you as you've drawn z'e best possible option for a partner in z'e tournament. A woman who carried a talentless drunk to z'e finals last year. And guess what? I have improved, and I have a championship reign of over four mon's to prove it now. Who knows, I just might carry you to a trophy, and a shot at z'e SCW Heavyweight Championship, which you will inevitably botch in true Steve Ramone fashion, no doubt?
Delia winks and then looks down at the picture. She shakes her head in disgust as she looks at what should be considered a handsome smile from Steve Ramone. She literally shudders as she places her hand over her eyes.
Delia: No... no, I can't do z'is. Steve, don't even get in z'e ring at all during z'is tournament. If my female opponent tags out, do z'e smart s'ing and tag me right back in. Don't wrestle, because you are not good at it. Stay out of my way, because I was robbed of z'e trophy last year, and I refuse to be robbed of it again. Be smart about z'is, because we only get one shot, and I won't let you fuck z'is up for me. I've given you enough mention, it is time to move on, because... yeah... you're useless.
Delia turns the page back to the picture of Melody Grace, but before she can say anything about Melody, she immediately places her hands over the page in the book. She looks up and into the camera with narrowed eyes.
Delia: Before we get on to our C-List version of a Main Attraction, I want to take a moment to ask a genuine question to SCW management...
Delia tilts her head to the side, sucking in a sharp breath as she looks to be a mixture of hurt and angry at the same time.
Delia: Why do you hate me so much?
Delia gives pause, as if she is waiting for a response. She tilts her head to the other side, softening up her eyes a little.
Delia: No, it is a legitimate question. Why do you hate me? Why do you take every opportunity to sabotage me? I assumed z'is was because I single-handedly drove Vixen and Spike Staggs from SCW, but no... z'is has been going on since z'e day I signed my contract to compete. I was given Es'an Brody as a partner last year in you *air quotes* random pairings. Am I just unlucky, or do you hate me? I've been given z'e gift of true beauty and talent, so I know I'm not unlucky, or else I'd look and wrestle like Jessie Salco or Amy Marshall. No, so why do you pair me wi's people such as Es'an Brody and Steve Ramone? At least Es'an had an excuse for being a piss poor competitor, but Steve? He's not on drugs, according to his Wikipedia page anyway... It is debatable... No, I bet I pulled a good partner like Caleb Houston or Andrew Watts, or even Alex Kaelin, but you couldn't stand z'e fact z'at I would win z'e tournament wi'sout a doubt. So yu reached to z'e very bottom of z'e bag and z'e SCW roster, and you pulled out Steve Ramone... I bet you got even took a break from pulling names to pull your pas'etic, flaccid cocks to my expected misery. You sick, twisted fucks... Well, guess what? I'm still going to win, just to spite you ungrateful bastards... Sorry bout it...
Delia spits venom at the camera as she glares down at Melody's picture. She goes silent for what seems like hours, though it is only about a minute of intense staring. She sucks in a deep breath through her nostrils as she studies the picture, organizing her thoughts.
Delia: Melody, you cunt...
Delia quickly covers her mouth up as she gasps. She looks around as if she were embarrassed by what she'd just said. She slowly removes her hand from her mouth as her head sinks down a bit. She shakes her head as an apologetic look crosses her face.
Delia: I'm... I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. Z'at was completely uncalled for. It was honestly ignorant of me to say, and quite inaccurate. I apologize for my mix up, Mel. Forgive me? I mean, to be a cunt, you have to be smart...
Delia's apologetic look slowly drains from her face as she once again sticks her tongue out, biting onto it as she tries to stifle her own laughter. She slides her tongue tenderly back into her mouth as she bites onto her bottom lip, groaning as she does her best to hold her laughter back. With a slow breath, she looks back to the camera, her eyes sparkling with devious intent.
Delia: Let's face it, Mel... you're not smart. Z'e last book you read was Doctor Suess. And, I'm not talking about somes'ing as complex as Green Eggs and Ham or Cat in z'e Hat... I'm talking somes'ing as simple and basic as One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish; a concept z'at you can at least grasp... debatably of course... No, you see... you are nos'ing but a cliche, and a boring one at z'at. You are an unintelligent version of Odette Stevens. At least she can be proper cunty and fun to argue wi's. But you? You started out at her biggest fan. Decent enough taste, I suppose, but you decided you wanted to be just like her... How is z'at working out for you?
Delia reaches under the podium and pulls out the SCW World Bombshell Championship. She places it on her shoulder, looking over to it with a smile that goes from ear to ear.
Delia: Not so good, I see... But, to argue in favor of you, Odette never had to go s'rough someone such as myself, except when I knocked her from z'e tournament. You won a tag match due to partial calls from a referee who is mad z'at she cannot sit wi's us any longer. Odette won z'e Bombshell Tag Team Championships... twice. You defeated Necra Octavian Kane, a woman who had a shot at my belt just two weeks ago. Odette won z'e Bombshell Championship... twice. Do you catch my drift, Mellie? You are no Odette Stevens, nee Ryder. You will never be in her league, and you most certainly will never be in mine. Z'e only benefit you have is z'at you aren't going into z'is match alone like I am.
