OOC:  Apologies for the rushed work.  It's been a really rough week, and motivation was fleeting with everything going on.


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Predictions
#NP "California Girls” by The Beach Boys
The Waterfront; Long Beach, California


The sea splashes against the shore as I lean back in my lawn chair, just watching, just thinking.  Usually this time of year, there are plenty of people speed boating here, but right now, it is surprisingly peaceful. The seagulls are even fairly quiet as I soak in the last bit of the sun of the evening.

Reflection is the theme of the evening.  Inward reflection, to be exact.  I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the future.  My future in SCW is bleak at best.  I’ve said it before, but like the… trooper that I am… I’ve stuck it out.  I’ve waited for the hard work to be rewarded in some way.  Even a slight nod that what I’ve done has been noticed.  Nada.  It’s fine, though. I worked my ass off, and literally got nowhere.  This isn’t my first rodeo with Amy Marshall, and I’ve defeated her every time we’ve faced one another.  Yet, here we are again. Nothing to gain, and nothing to lose.  It’s a safe match to gain “momentum” leading into Summer XXXTreme.  Sorry, I need a second to laugh about that.  Give me a second.

*Break for a momentary laugh*

Okay, now that I’ve got THAT out of my system, let’s return to the topic at hand.  The Mean Girls are currently engrossed in a feud with a new person, a no-name, and a false legend, but since the no-name found a way to smuggle a title, a different no-name gets to step in, instead of… I don’t know, giving me my owed fucking rematch for the title that the original no-name smuggled.  The one I haven’t gotten since I lost the title back in December.  Instead, you take another pointless face and stick it into this already pointless battle.

Look, I guess I need to get off of my soap box here, and get down to what everyone is actually wondering about.  If I paid attention to what people actually said these days, I’d imagine they are wondering why I’ve been phoning it in with not just my on-screen appearances in matches and promotional videos, but in my Mean Girls dealings.  Here’s why.  We have been turned into a joke, lumped in the same category as in the Delia Era.  We’ve been made into the joke of the day.  Before being given a chance, people set us up to fail.  Even when we (Mercedes and I, anyway) weren’t failing, we kept getting shoved into positions where we were expected to fail.  But now, I’m stuck in place.  My motivation to prove people wrong has disappeared entirely.  That hasn’t changed since the last time I wrote in.  Nothing has, except mommy refused to give me the money to buy out my contract.  Something about commitments or something like that.  Whatever…

So, I guess I should say something to Amy.  I despise you.  I despise almost every single person on the Bombshell roster, so don’t take it too personally.  You’re not special enough to truly earn my ire.  But, I don’t need to pull out my tarot cards to read your future.

See, Delia and I have one thing in common.  Well, two if you count being bitches that headed this stable.  We See, we both beat Amy numerous times until we just finally said “What’s the point?”  The only difference is that Delia thought laying down for Amy might inspire her to be better.  I’m not that delusional.  I just don’t give a flying fuck anymore.  I don’t think I’ve been to the gym in about two months.  I haven’t practiced any moves since my match with Crystal one month ago.  I’ve given up hope of ever making something of my career, so Amy can have this.  She can gain the momentum going into our six woman tag match on the cruise ship.  You’re going to need it when we get to the cruise ship.

Now, please go away so that I can enjoy the tie at the beach.  So rude of you to drop in like this...

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Chapter One
Lonely Little Girl…

Once upon a time, in a land not all that far from yours, there lived a little girl, trapped inside of the body of a young woman.  She never wanted for naught, and the world was provided for her upon a silver platter.  The only price to pay for all of the riches provided in this world was to respect the Mother Earth and all of her creatures.  This was a price was one that she could not afford to pay, however.  For one thing not mentioned previously, was that she came from a practitioner of white magick, a woman who held favor in the eyes of Gaia herself.  Mother Moon smiled upon Crystalline North, and her bounty was bestowed upon her and her daughter.  However, Crystalline North’s purity was not enough to battle the blood of the demon of her life partner, Jared O’Keefe.  Everything that she stood for, he stood against.  Peace versus Chaos.  Virtue versus Vice.  Pacifism versus Violence.  The battled curse of their unholy union was passed down upon their daughter, Celeste.  One must give credit where credit is due, because Celeste fought the chaos, the vice, and the violence throughout her entire life, and the majority of the battles were won. However, a few key victories were won by the shadows.  The young girl found herself in constant war within herself, to the point that she was locked away as punishment for her daily torment, on more occasions that just once or twice.  Celeste was a miserable girl, but she tried her best to constantly war the demons to remain basking in the light with her mother.

However, one day, the shadows started to win.  Celeste fought harder, tooth and nail.  She found herself leaning on the friends who struggled to fight these same demons, and they banded together, through thick and thin.  The true saviors fought by one another’s side, through the darkest and the brightest of times.  The Nobodies would some day become the Somebodies.  It was the motto that they lived by.  Celeste, who had once given up hope of remaining in the light, had found her purpose.  The destiny that Gaia had intended for her was being carried out as not one, not two, and not three, but four of her teammates had fallen.  The one known as Kristopher Halich had abandoned their fight, despite desperate pleas to remain in the battle, by their side.  With sad eyes, The Nobodies let him go with the promise that should he ever want to fight at their side once more, he could.  This would never come to be, and shortly after, one Johnny Tsunami had decided that the vices outweighed his yearning for virtue, and he fall to this demon with no signs of turning back.  Celeste found herself growing stronger, fighting for her friends, tooth and nail.

This is where I come into play.  And old… acquaintance… if you will… had grown quite fond of the ginger fellow known as Timothy Staggs.  His innocence and purity of light had drawn Brother Grimm to him, and not only because the Hawkes boy all but fed him to Grimm, but because his determination to stay of such purity was so strong.  It was a cold and wintry December night, as I recall, the supposed birth of the greatest farce of mankind was drawing near.  Thankfully, the Staggs family had placed a wreath of fern and bindweed, which made it much easier to locate the young boy.  He struggled with this fight, but Grimm never loses sight of his prize, or his dinner.  He had the Staggs boy exactly where he wanted him, until Crystalline and Celeste showed up to aid him.  I was quite surprised, but the mud witches were able to banish Grimm temporarily, which is no easy feat for a mere mortal witch.  Of course, I brought him back, and we shared a few words about my not intervening.  The truth is, I wanted to see them do it.  I wanted to see Celeste do it.  I wanted to see what she was made of, and did I ever…

The Staggs boy fell to the same vices as Johnny, while Alexis fell to a much different demon.  I got in touch with Celeste by inviting her into my home so that she might see the fruits that Mother Yaga had to offer.  I toyed with her, tortured her, and watched her squirm as she continued to fight the righteous battle, but the demon blood within her had helped the small seeds I planted within her to grow.  Envy, rage, pride, gluttony, lust, sloth, and greed were tearing apart that righteousness inside of her, and I simply sat back and watched as it began to devour her.  A little whisper in her ear at the right time was like raindrops upon the wicked seeds.  One day, an opportunity arose, and it was one that I could not afford to pass up.  The Staggs boy, the one Celeste had dedicated her time to watching after, had found his way back to the vice that threatened to put him six feet under her feet, and he went a little too far.  The poison coursed through his veins rapidly as he shook on the ground.  Celeste was knelt by his side, tucking a pillow beneath his head as the white foam poured from his mouth.  She wept, because, having brushed with this demon herself, she knew that this was the goodbye.  She cried out for all that was holy...

“Oh, Goddess!  Goddess, please save him!  Please?  Somebody?!  HELP!!!”

I watched this go on, and I knew deep down inside that young Timothy would not make it.  I knew that the torture of Celeste would bring her within my very grasp, and that I might finally get what I wanted, all while that insufferable Grimm would get nothing.  If Timothy died on this night, there is a good chance that I would get everything that I had vested my time into getting.  Chance is not something Baba Yaga deals in.  I came when called, because I knew the Goddess wouldn’t appear to save Timothy.  I knew that no one would come and save this tainted child.  By all rights, he deserved to die.  However, I showed up, and Celeste looked up to me with the sweetest of tears in her eyes.  I run my finger across her cheek to scoop one up, bringing it to my lips to savor.  She reaches up to my rags, and she tugs lightly.

“Help him…?  Please?”

I don’t say a word to the young girl.  I stare down at Timothy as he prepares to take what could be his very last breath.  I smile wickedly at Celeste before looking back down to the boy.  He tried so hard to defile himself with the inane tattoos and the drugs, but he was still the most pure child in Sin City.  Brother Grimm still wanted him, and while I am not obliged to helping any being without something of my own to gain, I am going to save him.  What happens next, surprises me.

“I’ll owe you one, Baba Yaga.”

I chuckle softly, just loud enough for her to hear me.  She doesn’t know it, but she will owe much more than “one” when I am finished with her.  I lean down to the child, and I open his mouth.  I reach my wretched finger into his mouth as I mutter the words.  They get louder and louder as I summon all of the poison from his veins, and the foul black tar is vomited out of his mouth like a glorious fountain from the pits of hell.  I scoop a small amount of it into a vial for later.  Tim rolls over onto his side as he lets the remainder fall from his lips, and his body goes limp.  If not for the faint breaths, he would appear to be dead.  Celeste drags him from her room, as I disappear from the room, but not so far as to not be able to see what happened next.  She bathed the boy in the light potion that flows within her house, blessed by her mother, and by proxy, the Mother Moon.  The healing begins, but the real work was done by me, and Celeste knew it.

Our story doesn’t end there.  It doesn’t even quite begin there, either.  Celeste had fallen further away from me than she had ever been.  It clawed at me deeply, for Baba Yaga has only lost once, to those insufferably gluttonous children of the Black Forest.  I watched as she mothered the Staggs boy, and his soon to be wife.  I watched her dedicate herself, and finding the light magick within her growing stronger every day.  I watched the woman grow happier and happier.  Her professional life had grown to be something, as she won the Bombshell Roulette Championship.  Her love life had heated up too, as Daxton Oliver Beckett entered the picture.  Not to mention, her new friend, Delia, had taken her under her wing.  The mean, but God fearing woman, took Celeste to new heights.  I nearly vomited, until I watched as Delia dropped her from these new heights, and I watched her hit the ground, broken into a thousand pieces.  I smiled as she struggled.  I laughed as I watched her writhe on the ground, trying to put herself back together.  I savored every second of it… until I saw every single person in her life abandon her at her lowest point.  I watched her beg and plead for help, only to be turned away.  The poor girl fought so hard to maintain her righteousness, as each and every person left her lying on the ground.  The only person who stood by her was her lover.  But Celeste felt so dejected by all of this, that she found it hard to believe that he was sincere.  She pushed away the only person who was truly there for her.  While I found myself pitying her, I knew what this meant for me, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before she called out to me…

Celeste had found herself in the bathtub, naked and vulnerable.  In one hand, she held a straight razor, and in the other, she held onto a brittle twig.  Many thoughts crossed her mind as she sobbed in the water.  None of them were righteous.  She had demons whispering in her ears from both sides, and their voices were telling her only one thing...

”Do it… End it all… The pain will not compare to the pleasure of nothingness.”

The deception of it all… The pains of this world are but a fraction of what would await her.  However, I had to wait for her to make a choice.  Of course, it was the most obvious of choices, and was one of the few reasons that I was drawn to this little girl, who found loneliness in all of the bountiful pleasures given to her throughout life, as she always yearned for more.  Inside of the righteous shell, was a vile woman, born of the demon seed planted by her father, with all of the magickal power of her mother… a woman after my own heart.  She sat up in the bathtub, and she dropped the razor to the ground.  She clutched onto the twig, and she began to call out for me.

Celeste:  Baba Yaga… Baba Yaga!

“Yes, child?”

Celeste:  I’m ready…

“Come, child…”

I opened the door of her bathroom, and through it, are the gates surrounding my home.  The black wrought iron burns the hand of any intruder, but Celeste has the ability to open it without any harm done to herself.  She walks up to my home, staring up at the stilts of two chicken legs.

Celeste:  Baba Yaga… I’ve come to talk to you!

She speaks with such impatience, that of the spoiled child that she is.  Far be it from me to give in to such demands so quickly.  I wait a few moments, as she taps her foot, not phased by the desolate land of dead trees, seemingly scorched by the fire within the darkness of the dense woods.  Though, eventually, the legs lower down, bending at the knee, before resting in front of her.  It turns slightly, stirring up the dust, but Celeste again seems unphased.  She steps onto the porch of my humble abode, and goes to knock on the front door.  However, the door slowly creaks open before her.  She looks inside at the darkness.  The only thing she sees is my silhouette as I knit with the bones of past victims.  She reluctantly steps inside as she sits down in the chair directly across from me.  She props her wet feet on the table between us, and my eyes rise, squinting at her as the flare of a nostril sends her feet flying off of my table.

Me:  Your mother hath taught you many things, but manners doesn’t seem to be amongst them.

Celeste:  Holy fuck, B Y…

I continue to knit, waiting for her to say something of value to me, but conversation doesn’t seem to be her best suit.  I sigh as I knit a bit more furiously.

Me:  Your mother hath taught you many things, but manners doesn’t seem to be amongst them.  I’m assuming that you didn’t call for me to praise me for my foot off tables, otherwise known as manners, skills?

Celeste:  Oh… yeah.  You’re right.  Ummm...

She pauses, as she’s trying to figure out the best way to justify what she’s about to say, without coming across as untrue to the values her mother has taught her.  Throwing caution into the air, the young woman folds her hands in front of her as she looks right at me, and tries to demand my attention.

Celeste:  I’ve had a lot of time to consider your offer to teach me, and I’m ready to become your… acolyte, I guess?

Me:  And what makes you think that I’m still interested in teaching you a thing, child?

Again, she pauses, confused.  The girl is brighter than I had imagined, given her life choices.  She bites at her bottom lip, but not out of fear for me, but in a way that attempts to impress me.  I have to admit that it appeals to the humanity I once felt centuries ago, so I set my needles down on my lap and give her my undivided attention.

Celeste:  I’ve tried my entire life to be something that I am not.  I’ve tried to be liked, and I’ve constantly gotten shit on by friends, family, and life in general.  Damn it, I’m fucking sick of it already.  I’ve devoted so much time to trying to be the good guy, casting aside anything remotely selfish, and when I needed someone… anyone… to listen to me… to guide me… they couldn’t be fucked to help me.  It’s time to do what’s best for me.  I want to learn how to be the villain they so desperately want me to be.

Me:  Welcome to my world, dearie.  I can’t promise that I will keep you, because you’ve got so much to prove, but your bravery speaks volumes to me.  As long as you promise to be loyal to me, and me only… I can give you the world.

Celeste:  Before I pledge myself to you, I need to see some kind of gesture of good faith from you.  Forgive me if I have become a bit jaded by the world around me lately…

She crosses her arms over her chest as she stares at me, the foolish child actually making demands of me… the great Baba Yaga.  She’s lucky she doesn’t find herself locked in my oven for such a stunt, but like Grimm had found an unexplainable favor in the Staggs child, I’ve found favor in her.  I lean forward in my rocking chair and I stare at her with the fire reflecting in my eyes, or perhaps a fire I had created in them, but the girl refuses to back down.  My soiled hands and chipped nails grip onto the arms of my chair as I stare deep into her tormented soul that oh so resembled mine once upon a time.

Celeste:  I want to make Delia Darling pay.  I want to see her humiliated so badly that she doesn’t ever want to show her face again.  I want to take everything she’s ever held near and dear to her heart, and I want to steal it or destroy it.  I want my fucking moment to bask in the sunlight instead of having to constantly stand in other people’s shadows.

Me:  Oh… *chuckles*  child.  Here I thought you were going to ask me for something challenging, or something that you couldn’t do all on your own...

I stand up from my chair as I walk over to a cabinet of potions and elixirs, vast and too many to count.  I squint my eyes as I look through them, one at a time while Celeste grows impatient.  She scoffs as she crosses her legs, wagging her foot as if she were in a hurry.  This makes me take even more time to locate what I am looking for.  I finally pick up a bottle and I walk over toward Celeste.  She glares at it, and then to me.

Celeste:  Ummm, what the fuck is that?

Me:  Why, it is your wish, child.  You honestly think that you’re the first one to hunt me down to ask for something like this?  I haven’t got enough fingers or toes, human, newt, or otherwise, to count them all.

Celeste:  But...

I grip her jaw, and as she gasps from the slight pain, I pull her mouth open.  I pull the dropper from the bottle, but she willingly sticks her tongue out for me, making this much easier than I had anticipated.  I stare at her, taking a slight mercy on her as I let go of her jaw.  I give her time to take it back, for just like any magick… this one has a price.  She only further extends her tongue, blinking those sad, lonely eyes at me, knowing that she has nothing left of value to lose.  I gently squeeze, as the dropper allows but a single drop of the murky elixir to fall from it, and right down the center of her tongue.  She gasps, and nearly gags at the taste, as I close her mouth for her.  She fights it, but is unable to fight my power as I wrap my arms around her to stop her.  She whimpers as her eyes roll into the back of her head, and her body tightens up.  She flings herself to the ground as she begins to vomit a pile of neon green from deep within her, and the sound of a wicked beast roaring escapes her, as her body contorts in a manner that doesn’t seem physically possible for a human being.  I smile wickedly as I watch her endure the torture, and I cackle.

Me:  You can’t say that I didn’t warn you, dearie…

(((TBC)))


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Can We Hang On?
#NP "Can We Hang On?” by Cold War Kids
Taj Boston; Boston, Massachusetts


It’s been one fucking wild ride.  I’ve never felt so good in my entire life, and I used to be a heroine addict.  This new high is one that no one can take away from me.  It’s called not giving a single fuck.  Between my new friends, and my mom’s limitless credit card, life is good.  Drinks, clubs, shopping like daily… this is how the .01 percent really lives, and it’s my fucking birthright to live like this.  Not to mention the fucking beautiful man lying in bed next to me.  Now, now… I know what you’re thinking.  Wow, she moved on really fast.  Not exactly…

Dax:  Fuck, bombie… you’re so hot.

He paws at my clothes like a dog digging for a bone, and I’m his bitch in heat as I lean back, letting him practically rip the clothes off of me.  This new Bad Boys attitude has me all kinds of hot.  I have to bite back, so I wrap my arms around him as I pull him into me, the pangs of passion executed only by our lips, and the sweat pouring off of his body as he feels the heat between us.  His hazel eyes almost turn green as he begins kissing down my neck and toward my chest.  I groan as I toss my hair back to let him go wild and take what’s his.

Me:  I have to admit, Dax… I’ve never slept with a married man before.  I see why the bold homewrecking sluts do it now.  Maybe I should have broken off a piece for Timmy…

Suck on that, Lexi… His eyes look up at me like a sad puppy dog.  His bottom lip quivers as he raises up from my bosom.  He takes a deep breath and raises an eyebrow at me.

Dax:  Fuckin’ gross, bruh…

Me:  Oh yeah, because Mickey is so much better, right?

Dax doesn’t say anything with his words, but instead raises his hand, holding it about a foot apart.  I get confused for a second, until he shakes his head and keeps going, slowly, but giving me a directional map to his point.  I groan in disgust as I shake my head and push his head back between my breasts, as he attempts to unlatch it with his teeth.

Me:  Mickey smells like pub cheese and cigarettes, like has he ever heard of Preferred Stock, or you know… a shower?

Dax (Muffled by my bra between his teeth):  It’s not that bad.  He had to stop drinking because of that Taylor prick nosing around.  He even got a trendy new haircut.

I shake my head and wrap my leg behind him back to shove him back where he needs to be right now.  Though, a little lower would be a much better use of his tongue and mouth.  But, instead of spending our very limited private time together by doing what we do best together, he decides to be a bitch and want to talk, as I feel the vibration of words coming from him against my chest.  I scoff as I put my neatly manicured toes under his chin and gently lift him off, and then flick him like an ant.

Dax:  It’s so weird living like this.

Me:  Why?  It isn’t the first time you’ve been married to a guy, and apparently it’s not the first time you’ve been sexual with a guy…

Dax:  You don’t actually think that Mickey, Gi, and I are… Do you?  Gross, no.

Me:  Ugh, I’m not talking about them, though sometimes you even have me fooled.  Or maybe it’s just a freaky kind of wishful thinking.  I’m talking about that Almasy guy.  Posting old pictures of you guys hanging out naked and in bed and hugging and shit.

Dax looks confused, but what the fuck is new about that?  He shakes his head as he tries to explain it to me.  But the only thing that comes out is a bunch of incoherent groans and sputtering.  I roll my eyes as I lean over to grab a cigarette from the pack on the table.  I lean back on the fur pillow as I light it up, giving up on his “explanation”.

Me:  Yeah, you can’t come up with anything, because even you aren’t that stupid.  Look, I get it.  He’s fucking hot.  A little too hairless for my tastes, but I would pay to watch you two go at it.

Dax:  Look, I did a lot of shit back then that I’m not proud of.  Coming back to the US was supposed to be my fresh start to escape all of that.

Me:  Yet you find yourself running back to it… for a reason!  Only this time, one isn’t enough for you, and neither is two.  The way you smile when you’re texting Alexander is a dead giveaway to how you feel.  Have you ever thought that there is a reason you constantly find yourself in situations like this?

Dax:  Fuck you… No, seriously, fuck you for that.

Dax pushes himself off of the bed, and I have to admire that tight little ass of his in those new cover undies, like the ones that no straight man would ever wear, with mesh and baby blue tones that leave a clear opening right at the middle of the crack for the easiest of access.  He pulls his pants on over them, cutting me off from the little bit that is left for me to enjoy of him until this whole investigation is over.  He picks up his shirt, a tight white Madonna shirt, and he pulls it over his head as he slicks his greased hair back in one impressive swoop of his hands.  He tugs at his beard, because he knows it’s a shot right through my heart.

Me:  Dax, there’s no cameras around.  There’s no Twitter.  You can stop acting like a little bitch.

Dax:  FUCKING… drop it, C.  You’re the one who convinced me to do this in the first place.  If anything, all of this is your fault.  I’m under a GODDAMN microscope that I wasn’t expecting to be under.  I can’t take a shit without Nicky boy asking for proof that Mickey and Gi’s dick prints are in it!  The other day, I choked on a banana, and Taylor was in the cafe staring at me like I should be able to tame my fucking gag reflex!  No, I’m not being a smartass either.  That last one actually happened.  IT FUCKING ACTUALLY HAPPENED, C!!!  IT HAPPENED!!!

Because it wasn’t enough, he actually mumbled “It happened” under his breath as he searches for his socks and shoes, that he only wears because I taught him that nobody wears sandals all year around!  Me!  I did that!  I sit up as Dax pulls his sock on his left foot.

Me:  I’m sorry that this has turned into such an inconvenience for you.  Who knew that it would be so hard for a non-Arabic or non-Latino to get citizenship under the Trump Administration?  I didn’t.  But, you did get stupid involving Giani into this whole thing.  I didn’t tell you to do that.

Dax:  YES YOU DID!!!  Every last bit of this was your idea!

Me:  I was fucking hung over!  Give me a damn break here!

Dax:  Oh, you wanna ask for fucking breaks?  Awesome.  I’ll get right on that, C.  I’ll ask the universe to make life so much easier on the girl who has everything she could ever want, because her mom is fucking Crystalline NORTH!  Yeah…

Celeste:  Oh fuck you, too!  Mister I Want A New Life So I Go Back To Doing The Same Fucking Shit I Did Before And Bitch That Things Are Still The Same the third!  You’re an asshole, and you’re lucky that you’re such a good fuck, or else I would throw you to the side for all the shit that your bad decisions have laid at my feet!

Dax’s eyes fire up big time as he huffs and puffs, ready to just scream at me.  And, in a way, I wish he would have, because he’s so hot when he’s all aggro.  But, before he can, there is a knock at the door.  He stands up immediately and walks over to the door.  I pull my shirt back on and fluff my hair as I stand up.  As Dax opens the door, I am surprised to see who is there.

Nicholas:  Excuse me… Oh, hello Mr. Beckett-Carroll-Di Luca.  I’m surprised to see you here.

The immigration officer stares inside of the room, and immediately I began looking around for any kind of hint at what was about to take place.  However, nothing seems to catch his eye except for me.

Nicholas:  It’s late, and I have a lot of work to do tomorrow, and I was going to kindly ask you as a neighbor, to keep it down.  But, now that I’m here… I’m thinking I can get a jump start on the work, if you’ll excuse my lack of formal clothing.

I stare at his almost comical suburban blue and white striped pajama set, and can’t help but think that the only thing he is missing is a Grandpa Joe nightcap.  He stands in the doorway as Dax groans and rolls his eyes, but Nick only focuses on me.

Nicholas:  Do you mind if I come inside for a short interview, Ms. North?

Me:  Uh, yeah I do… Dax was just leaving so that I could get some rest before I train tomorrow.

Nicholas:  Gold’s Gym?

Me:  Uh, yeah…?

I stare at him confused for a second, and he seems to completely understand where I’m coming from.  He laughs in a polite and formal kind of way that just pisses me off without him actually having to say a fucking word.

Nicholas:  Oh, my apologies.  I was just wondering where I might be able to present the subpoena to bring you down to the local precinct for questioning.  I have a local judge on speed dial, as he and I dated briefly.

Me:  Oh… Well, I just want you to know that I’m a huge fan of the song “Born This Way”.  It was my anthem through my senior year of high school when I was going through my kissing girls phase.  I’d be happy to do anything I can to assure you that my ex is madly in love with his husbands.

Nicholas:  Huh… Well, I’m sorry to intrude at this hour, but it seems we are all up and awake.  Now, law requires me to inform you that our conversation will be recorded for your safety and my own.  Do you consent?

I nod my head as he pulls a tape recorder off of a lanyard with his government badge, and it becomes obvious that Dax’s paranoia is kinda justified.  I rolls my eyes as I approach him.  However, he doesn’t move.  He just holds the recorder toward me.

Nicholas:  I’m afraid that you’re going to have to speak up for the recorder, Ms. North.

Me:  Yes… Come inside and let’s get this over with.  I have a match against Gothika this Sunday, and I need to pretend to give a shit about it, so I have to get one day of training in.

He shrugs to let me know that he doesn’t care about my predicament.  We walk in toward the couches in the center of the room.  He takes a seat and places the recorder in the middle of the table, facing me.  I curl up on the couch as Dax sits on the arm of the couch.  Nick looks at him and waves him away.

Nicholas:  Mr. Beckett-Carroll-Di Luca, you don’t actually have to be here for this.

Dax:  I’m not going to let you talk to my friend without being here, when you’re going to try to trick her into some shit.  I’m sitting right here.

Nicholas:  Right then… Ms. North, can you please state your name for the record?

Me:  Celeste Calliope North.

Nicholas looks at the roll of papers he pulls from inside of his jacket, and then shrugs his shoulders as Dax giggles at my middle name.  I lean over and kick him right in the ribs, just hard enough to make him wince in pain, groaning as he glares at me.  Nicholas clears his throat as he looks directly at me, eyes narrowed.

Nicholas:  Thank you, Ms. North.  I don’t want to waste your time, so I’m going to skip right to the heart of the questioning process.  What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Beckett-Carroll-Di Luca?

Me:  We dated for a few months.  He knew from the first time that we attempted sex that he was… not into women.  We were emotionally close, much like that of a pair of platonic friends would be.  I didn’t want to be responsible for forcing him to come out to everyone sooner than he was comfortable with.

Nicholas:  May I remind you that you are under oath?  Any false information given in this case constitutes as fraud, and could land you in jail?

Me:  I understand.  I had become aware of his first marriage, to a man, in the first month that we were dating.  I stood by him like a friend would.  On occasion, he tried to prove his heterosexuality by having sex with me, and I’d hoped that maybe it could help sway him in either direction, so that he could make up his mind.  His inability to maintain an erection due to alcohol was the first warning sign, but then the Viagra and the closed eyes sealed it for me, and I began to encourage him to follow his heart.

Dax:  Yeah, I needed Viagra to get up in that hot piece!  I’m obviously totally for the scrotally, bruh!

Me and Nicholas both look at Dax for a minute as he nods his head.  He stands up and he flips an end table to show off.  I sigh as I look over to Nicholas, who engages in a wicked kind of stare down with me.

Nicholas:  And you attest to these things under oath?

Me:  Did I not just say that I understand that I’m under oath, and the penalties for lying under oath?  I get it.

Nicholas:  So, you admit that you and Dax are sexually active together?

Me:  Yes… No… Not since his marriage was made official.  We’ve hung out on a number of occasions, but nothing sexual happened.

Nicholas chuckles as he pulls his phone out and pulls up a video taken by SCW cameras after the Climax Control in Philadelphia.  Dax and I are pawing at one another, and I can’t help but stare at it with a bit of contempt on my face.

Me:  As you can see, there is a Sin City Wrestling logo in the corner, meaning that it was taken at a show… which is exactly what that was.  A show.  The Mean Girls are supportive of our Bad Boys friends, and I knew Dax wasn’t ready to fully be seen as himself.  I offered him an easy out.  The nature of our friendship is at times quite affectionate, but sex is not part of it, as sad as I am to say.  As I stated before, our relationship ended once he got married, and if not being a bitter, vindictive ex makes him look bad, I’m sorry… But, as you’ve reminded me twice now, I am under oath.  I’m only telling the truth.

Nicholas:  From your perspective, do you believe Daxton is in a lawful marriage, meaning one built on love, affection, and abiding by the US Constitution?

Me:  Yes.

I narrow my eyes at him, right back.  This prick is on my last nerve, and I’m done trying to get him off my back.  If it’s a war he wants, then it’s a war he’s going to get.  I pour a small glass of water from the pitcher as I take a small sip, getting comfortable.

Nicholas:  During the course of your relationship, was Dax ever unfaithful to you?

Me:  Not to my knowledge.

Nicholas:  Do you think that Dax is safe in his home environment, not being threatened physically or sexually into participating in immigration fraud by Michael, and or Giani?

Me:  Yes, he is safe.  No, he is not being bullied into a marriage.

Nicholas:  Have you been threatened or bribed into withholding information from the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services?

Me:  â€¦ No…

Nicholas:  Do you know anything specifically about his previous marriage?

Me:  He was married to a Japanese citizen whose name I haven’t cared to memorize.  But I do know that he was a Pisces who enjoyed long walks down the aisle, and long cuddles with a drunken idiot on cold nights.  The marriage lasted for almost two years, I believe Dax said.  They had a Shitzu named Kasumi that Dax lost in the divorce, but he can visit on odd weekends of every third month should he be in Japan.  He also lost all of his underwear to his husband, who cries into them nightly and sends him Face Time videos of it, begging him to come back in Japanese.

Nicholas slams his fist down on the table, causing the recorder to bounce slightly.  I can’t help but giggle at this as Nicholas leans forward even more to try to intimidate me.

Me:  Mr. Taylor, was it?  You never gave me your name.  I’m afraid that I can’t answer any more questions, because I’m beginning to feel as if you are intimidating me in an effort to coerce false answers from me, while I am only trying to help the situation.

Nicholas:  Stop playing games, Ms. North!  I still need to ask about your knowledge of Dax’s past with Alexander Alm…

Me:  You are more than welcomed to have one of your colleagues continue this conversation with me at a later time, but I’m done talking to you, sir.  Your conduct is highly unprofessional, and I don’t feel comfortable with you in my personal space.  One more word from you that isn’t “Good” or “day” and I’ll contact your superiors…

Nicholas grits his teeth as he swoops up his recorder and his papers.  He stuffs them back into his pockets as he mutters “Good day, Ms. North…” under his breath.  He clicks the button and steps to the door while Dax gladly shows it to him.  But, before Dax slams the door, he has one last thing to say.

Nicholas:  Do me a favor and keep down the noise.  Not everyone stays up until 6am partying and engaging in sexual intercourse.

Dax:  Then you’re not living right, bruh…

Dax slams the door in Nicholas’ face and then turns around and laughs, clapping his hands together  He rushes over to me and wraps his arms around me as he plops down on the couch next to me, kissing at my cheek frantically.

Dax:  Shit, C!  You almost had me fooled.  You’re a great fuckin’ storyteller.  I mean, I didn’t realize how good you were at lying under pressure…

I lean away from Dax slightly as I look down at the ground in disappointment.  I take a deep, regretful sigh as I slowly turn back to facing him, shaking my head slightly.

Me:  I didn’t lie about anything, Dax… None of it.  I’m sorry if the truth hurts, but it’s about time that you faced it…

With that, I stood up from the seat and I walked over toward the bathroom.  I can’t be around him right now.  I really can’t.  I lock myself in the bathroom, and slide down the door as tears roll down my cheeks.  I place my hands on my face as I bury it all in my knees, for the first time since my meeting with Baba Yaga a couple months ago.  I just can’t right now… excuse me…



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The Art of Giving A Shit
#NP "I Am Electric” by Heaven’s Basement
Undisclosed Location; Boston, Massachusetts


So much has been going on since I became a Mean Girl.  Well, not really.  I’ve just been learning how to truly be myself.  It’s a lot harder than I thought, but hey… I’m fucking beautiful.  However, today, I nervously await my cue to begin as I sit on this hard wooden throne on the opposite end of the studio.  In the background, I can hear the sound of phones ringing, as Veronica and Mercedes give their whole “Why does everyone hate us when we’re so nice” gag in front of the teleprompter.  I roll my eyes at their Delia Era Mean Girls routine as a stagehand comes by and touches up my make up, and looking over my hair to make sure not a single strand is out of place.  I look down at my lines as another stagehand walks up to me and whispers.

Stagehand:  Ms. North… You’re on in 5… 4… 3… 2…

He points at Mercedes who looks into the camera with that mean smile she gets when she’s being a complete and total bitch AKA the reason I love her so.  I set the papers down on a table nearby me as I look to Mercedes.

Mercedes:  Our entertainment for this evening comes in the form of a tutorial from an actual Mean Girl.  But, please don’t forget to keep the pledges coming, folks.  Now, let’s join Celeste North, as she teaches us how to pretend to give a shit.  Celeste?

Me:  Thank you, Mercedes…

The camera switches over to me, and I can see my face on the many large screens in the background.  I turn my head ever so slightly so that I can demand the attention of everyone watching.  I pause as I pretend to be preparing myself, even though I’m fucking flawless right now.  Finally, I bat my lashes and smile before continuing.

Me:  Have you ever been in the middle of a conversation, and you just totally checked out after the first few seconds?  Have you ever had to sit through the most boring, drawn out moments that make you wish you were having your fingernails pulled off slowly by an old Bulgarian woman?  Have you ever been up for a promotion, and you really don’t care what the boss is saying, plus he’s got rancid breath that leads you to believe he added sauerkraut, garlic, onion, and bleu cheese to the shit sandwich he ate earlier for lunch?

I pause and show off my lashes with a slight turn of the head from one side to the other, because they are totally on fleek.  I let the corner of my mouth curl up into a smile as I return my focus to the cameras.

Me:  Well I know I have!  Sorry for the damning revelation, Mr. Ward.  But the first two instances applied to the one time I tried to hold a conversation with Gothika.  It was like trying to talk to a female Blade, like gross…  But seriously, I checked out half way through.  However, I didn’t let it show, so she didn’t realize I was thinking about what kind of margarita sounded good that night, and whether to just eat the free salsa, or spring for queso?  No, seriously, there is an art to it.  You wouldn’t believe how easy it could be for you to learn to pretend to give a shit, too!  Here, let’s start with step one.

I adjust myself in my seat as I lift the corners of my lips slightly into a smile.  I hold my fingers up just above the creases of the corner of my mouth and turn slightly to give different perspectives of the first example.

Me:  The smile.  It’s probably the most essential part to a believable act of giving a shit.  I used this one when I was watching Mark Ward run his mouth about how Veronica Taylor doesn’t deserve a one on one title shot at… Sorry, just let me take a second to look at my teleprompter, because I can’t remember who has defiled the Bombshell Roulette title since me and Veronica were robbed of it…

The teleprompter reads “Jessie Salco” and I snap my fingers as my eyes light up.

Me:  Jessie Salco!  That’s right.  So, the smile was present on my face as Mark Ward went on about how Veronica doesn’t deserve a title shot, one on one against the heilobeast, when in fact, anyone who has an attention span larger than that of a brain damaged puppy could tell you that Veronica was never given her return match for the title, yet Amy and Jessie had a month and a half long war over it, passing it around more than, well, Amy Marshall.  I can take the fact that I’m not going to be awarded a title shot, but damn it!  Veronica has waited far too long for her shot at the title!  Okay, never mind that.  The point of it all is that the smile is the best way to fake giving a shit.  In some cases, it is enough to keep your secret of not giving a shit, safe.  However, if you’re going to commit to pretending to give a shit, then you need to learn these next few tips.

I slowly bring my neatly French manicured tipped nails back from my mouth, showing off my enter head as it nods very slightly, but very surely.  But wait, the smile is still there…

Me:  The head nod.  Now this part can be pretty tricky.  You don’t want to nod too quickly, or too far in either direction, because then?  It’s a total dead giveaway.  Now, if you go too slowly, or not far enough?  Then they don’t even realize your head is moving.  Then, what good does that do?  Fucking none.  Just follow my lead.  Pivot back, then tuck the chin slightly as you come down.

I give a momentary pause for observation before I walk people back through it.

Me:  Up… and down… Up… and down…  This came in handy when watching the voodoo queen, Diamond, trying to prepare some kind of potion in the women’s locker room sink with unicorn tears and cotton candy fart dust.  Girl, I’ve been a witch since birth.  Don’t try to school me on magick.  But, I am not a rude person, so the head nod came in handy.  It also came in handy when I heard people saying that Jeremiah Hardin deserves to be the World Heavyweight Champion after “all these years”.  Now, now, I’m not refuting or agreeing with the statement.  I just simply don’t give a shit, even if my close friends are sporting the “#RageGotScrewed” merch.  I don’t care, not even a little, if Magic Jerry has it, or if the angry cue ball has it.  If it’s not Dax, then hmph… I’m not interested.  But this nod though…?  You wouldn’t have any idea that I didn’t give a shit, when coupled with this half smirk.  But, if you have your doubts, allow me to give you the final touch to this whole pretending to give a shit ensemble.  I’m not going to tell you.  I’m going to invite the live audience members to try to guess it.  Come on, tell me your favorite moment about Gothika?

I watch as a stagehand brings a microphone over to a young woman, wearing a black and red corset, with fake vampire fangs in her mouth.  She sees herself on the screens and she nearly faints, thinking it is Gothika herself standing there.  I mean, this girl is ugly, but not that ugly.

Girl:  I… am Gothika’s biggest fan.

Me:  I’m sorry to hear that, but please, continue.

Girl:  If I had to pick one moment that really changed my life, was the time that she got away with biting into Misty’s neck at the Climax Control I attended way back when.  I mean, that’s practically attempted homicide, but she didn’t even get a slap on the wrist for it.  I’d been having some very internalized self harming thoughts, but it was only because society doesn’t deem it proper to hurt others.  I then realized that I could bite people’s necks if I wore all black clothes from L.L. Bean and Hot Topic combined, and wore sparkly body glitter when I go out into the sun, because then I look like a Twilight Vampire, and people practically stick their necks out for you to bite.

Me:  Hmm… So, in case the rest of the audience couldn’t tell, I was sitting up here, still not giving a shit, especially when it came to Gothika.  But, could I ask if you guys believed that I gave a shit?

Collective Audience:  YES!

Me:  Exactly!  And what was it that made you believe that I actually gave a shit about Gothika?

The audience murmurs different answers, but I do not hear one single correct one.  I continue to scan the audience as they all begin shouting even more loudly, which doesn’t make it any easier to distinguish, just louder than before.

Girls:  Your undying love for Gothika?!

Me:  Fuck no!  None of you are even remotely close.  See, not only was I smiling and nodding as Beefy the Vampire Slayer was going on and on about the most worthless piece of trash on the entire Bombshell Roster… next to Jessie Salco… and Amy Marshall… and Mikah… and Polly Playtime… and Chelsea Payne… yeah girl, I hear you lurking beneath me, trying to get my scraps, trying to throw shade my way.  I just don’t care.  But, I bet you thought I did!  It’s all because I knew where the light was, to give an interested twinkle in my eye.  You have to be able to curl the corners of your eyes slightly, because you have to be able to give off the impression that you’re actually listening.  To fool even the most hearty of attention payers, you must perfect this.  If you get too much light in your eyes, then you look like you are confused, which causes then to drag on even longer with their stories, or it forces you to say something related to the story they’re telling.  I have more tips for pretending to give a shit, but unfortunately, you’re going to have to buy my book.

I hold up a copy of a book with my face on it, and it looks as if I’ve just taken the cover photo second ago, because we have the same exact looks on our face.  I even gently force the book to nod in rhythm with me own nodding.  Un-fucking-canny!  Even the audience gasps!

Me:  For the low, low, low, low, low…. Hang on, I’m trying to get to a 10k word count here… low, low, low, low… Ahhh, I have about a hundred more to go, so, low, low, low price of only $59.99, you can learn all of my best kept secrets on how to fake giving a shit.  It’s fool proof, as I’ve also included ways of getting out of botched attempts at giving a shit, such as the “You’re forced to say something, so you just give a random, unrelated compliment, and they totally forget they asked you a question.” technique that is sure to work in any and all occasions.  In a room full of undeserved egos, such as the Bombshells and Fallen’s private locker rooms, it works like a motherfucking charm!

A dramatic re-enactment of me and Beefy Gothika girl talking plays, and then she speaks.

Beefy:  Hey, do you remember the time Gothika, I mean *I* bit Misty’s neck and didn’t get punished at all for it?  Or, how about the time I won the Bombshell Championship for almost five months.

Me:  No, and no does anyone else.

Beefy:  But…?

Me:  Has anyone told you that your corset really hides your second set of back rolls?  Like super well, girl…

Beefy:  No, they haven’t.  Oh my gosh, thank you so much.  So, anyway, I also won the Bombshell Tag titles a bunch of times, and…

The dramatic re-enactment ends and I nod my head at my performance.  I mean… I fucking nailed that shit.  Anyway, I turn back in my chair to face the cameras again, as my cherry red lips form another smile, only this time… nope, still not giving a shit.

Me:  See, the total package was used when I was informed that I would have a match this Sunday at Climax Control.  It doesn’t mean anything for me.  If I lose, nothing happens.  If I win, nothing happens still.  It’s super pointless, and I’ve already proven that I’m worth more than the shitty fucking treatment I’ve gotten since I got back here in Sin City Wrestling.  I mean, I have been flat out screwed over from both ends, like my ex Dax on a typical every night.

*Bada boom tsssssssssssssssssssss*

Me:  I’ve been shit on and spit on.  I’ve been cursed at, and I’ve been treated like a dog.  I’ve been ignored, and skipped over.I’ve beaten people who have gone on to become champions, or are in line for title shots.  I’ve beaten legends, I’ve beaten future legends.  I’ve beaten the cream of the crop, and I’ve beaten the trash of the heap.  I’ve proven myself time and time again, only to get skipped over, and booked in pointless FUCKING matches against people like Gothika, who is hardly a legend.  Couldn’t you at least give me Raynin?  Whose actually fucking done something?  No.  That’s too much to ask from the future of the Bombshell Division.  But, is it an earned title opportunity to the winner?  No… If Gothika wins, her friend or whatever, doesn’t get the hammer dropped on him.  If I win?  Nothing that I give a shit about.  So why should I even try?  Why should I give a shit?  Because a wind of change is coming around here, and I’m not going to be accused of half-assing a single fucking thing I do to get to the top.  Even if it means grinning it, baring it, and pretending to give a shit.  I’ve already proven once that I am above the Gothika’s and Chelsea’s of this company, yet here I go once again, going to prove that I’m just that damn good.  I even tried to lose to Chelsea, and I couldn’t do that.  Well, I’m done trying to lose.  I’m ready to continue my winning streak.

I speak with such conviction in my voice as I go on and on about why I’m as good as I am, and what makes me that good, even though I know everyone else is using my tips to pretend NOT to give a shit.  I shrug though, because…

Me:  No, I’m just kidding.  I still don’t give a shit.  Just like the world when it comes to anything Gothika is involved with, I don’t care.  But I put on a pretty convincing act.  That, was my free gift to the viewers of this telethon.  Speak with conviction and confidence, even if you are bored A. F. with it all.  I’m not angry that I’m not getting pushed, because people are still speaking my name, and the Mean Girls name.  They are still feeding the brand that I’m involved with by letting our name fall from their putrid lips every time I turn around.  Every time they speak of me, or us, I get a paycheck.  So, it’s actually less work to play the mid card bullshit game.  If I walk out there and deliver a sub-par performance, I make the same amount of money as I would if I went out there with one hundred and ten percent, because win or lose, I’m still not getting anywhere near a title because of all the politics.  I’m trapped as somebody’s punishment, and nothing more.  Basically, I’m the Twisted Sister of the mid card.  Even though I’ve beaten Polly Playtime, our World Bombshell Champion.  Beating Gothika does nothing for me, because I’ve fried much bigger and badder fish than her.  Why should I care about some vague threat written by a desk jockey at Sin City Headquarters?  Jeremiah Hardin doesn’t affect me.

I shrug my shoulders as the stagehand begins to run his fingers across his throat to tell me to wind down.  Instead, I pick up my book and I fling it right at his head, knocking him out cold as the audience gasps.  I stand up from my throne and I take two steps… just two… closer to the edge of the stage.  I stare out into the audience with such sour indifference, that it nearly sickens them.

Me:  Gothika is the most overrated piece of trash ever produced by Sin City Wrestling.  She’s a sour footnote in the history books of Sin City Wrestling.  She’s of little to no importance.  It’s not just me who thinks so.  It’s everyone.  Literally, nobody but my friend Beefy gives a shit about her.

Beefy:  GOTHIKA! I LOOOOOVE YOOOOOOOUUUUUU!!!!!!

Me:  Damn it, I wish I had another book.  Anyway, Gothika is who people watch when they are up at 4am and can’t sleep, and they don’t have the energy to go to Walgreen’s and get a pack of Zzzquil.  I, on the other hand, am someone who draws heat, and gets attention.  Christian Underwood, or whoever signed this match, is shit out of luck if they expect me to give a shit about this match.  I’m putting Sin City Wrestling on notice, right here, and right fucking now.  I don’t give a shit, and I won’t give a shit, nor will I pretend to give a shit, until I’m given something worth giving a shit about.  If Gothika is your idea of that, then perhaps you need to re-evaluate your business structure and plans.  But, when you are ready to reward me, like you’ve been rewarding the half-ass hacks who bitch and moan all over the shows, promos, and social media to put pressure on you to gain undeserved title opportunities, then don’t count on me giving a single shit.  That includes giving a shit about the health and well-being of my fellow Bombshell competitors.  I will break Barbie’s arms.  I will snap Skipper’s neck.  I will snap Gothel’s spine.  I will dislocate Stacie’s shoulders.  I will knock Jazzie’s brain into a Liz Smalls style concussion, and I will even rack Ken’s nuts so hard, that they pop out of his mouth like a couple of Nerf balls.  And you can’t do a single fucking thing about any of it, because you’re too occupied with pleasing the masses.

I look over to the corner of the stage where Mercedes and Veronica are pleading with me to end this thing.  I glare at them and shake my head, because I’m not finished yet.  However, they begin to not-so-silently beg me to stop, and it’s ruining the whole vibe I got going on.  I roll my eyes and turn back to the crowd, giving the “I actually give a shit” look.  They all forget what I’d just said, and they cheer loudly, even going as far as to practice it on one another.  I have but one last piece of business.

Me:  Keep those pledges coming, ladies and gentlemen.  Now, for those in attendance today, I’ve placed a copy of my New York Times Bestseller under each of your seats.  And Gothika, I’m going to give you a copy in person on Sunday.  I’m going to smack you so hard with it, that you’re not even going to be able to see anything but bats flying around your head for weeks to come.  Then, once I’ve taken out all of my inner rage out on you, and make an example of why you’re STILL not on the same level as the Mean Girls, I might put my foot on your chest and cover you for the one, two, three instead of ripping those fake fucking fangs out of your mouth, and shoving them in your own neck just to show you how it feels… Nah, I’m starting to think that the second option is way better.  See you on Sunday, doll…

The fans begin to mutter about their missing books.  That’s when it hits me.  I never got around to putting them under the seats.  I hold up a finger as I walk behind the curtains, bringing out a cart full of them.  I begin chucking them one at a time, until they’ve reached every single audience member’s faces.  The onslaught of heavy books causes a panic as the cameras quickly fall back on Mercedes and Veronica, worried looks in their faces.

Veronica:  We’ll be right back after these sponsored messages...

[FaDE]



Word Count: 10,556… Including this explanation of my word count… But not this portion...

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The scene opens up just outside of the Tropicana Ballroom in Laughlin, Nevada on a brisk January afternoon.  There are a few clouds in the sky, but the sun peeks out from behind them every now and then.  There is a camera set up just outside of the door, where a cameraman waits impatiently.  While he taps his foot, it is no match for the pacing of resident interviewer Pussy Willow.  She is wearing a pair of furry ear muffs, and a jacket that shines underneath the light of the wavering sun.  She shivers at the cold temperatures as she looks over to the cameraman.

Pussy:  Jonathan, I think we should just pack up and go home.  I don’t think she’s showing.

Jonathan:  It’s probably a safe bet, considering she was supposed to be here two hours ago, and not a single call or text to either of us.  Talk about unprofessional.

Pussy:  After the treatment from the Mean Girls, I can’t say that I’m all that surprised, though.  Oh well, she wouldn’t be the first one to half ass work around here.  If she just shows up, she’ll be doing better than half the talent that comes through here.

Jonathan shuffles around the bag for his camera, getting it ready for the soon-to-be dismantled pieces of the camera and tripod.  Pussy walks over toward the SCW logo van where she opens the door to take a sip of hot chocolate.  She turns the engine on to start warming up the vehicle.  She shivers in the cold of what should soon be the heat blasting from the vents.  She steps outside, holding her hot chocolate tightly in her hand as she closes the door.  Suddenly, her phone rings.  She looks down at it and then holds it out for Jonathan to see.  The name of the incoming call reads “Celeste North”, so Jonathan halts the dismantling of the camera, leaning on it out of frustration.  Pussy answers the call and brings the phone to her ears.

Pussy:  Hello?  Pussy Willow speaking…

She pauses for a moment, trying her best to change her tone to a much less annoyed one, despite the shivers running throughout her entire body.  She nods her head as she places her free ear against her shoulder to block out the wind.

Pussy:  Yes, Celeste.  I’m standing outside of the Tropicana right now…  Well, I have been for the last two hours now.  Where are you?

Pussy nods her head as she listens to Celeste speak.  Seconds into it, she opens her mouth and gives Jonathan a look of sheer disbelief.  Once this fades, she can no longer hide her annoyance as she throws her hot chocolate to the ground.

Pussy:  Wait, did you say Beverly Hills?!  Obviously you didn’t forget that you had an interview set up, so… No, I won’t put you on speaker phone!  The camera isn’t even rolling.

Jonathan:  Um, actually it is.  I figured I could work on a time lapse video in the time that we were left waiting.

Pussy:  This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard…

Pussy pulls her phone away from her ear as she presses the speaker button, and holds it a reasonable distance from her ear, resting her elbow against the inner side of the other elbow, rolling her eyes in a grumpy display that is unusual for her, but very much warranted.

Celeste:  … but it’s called making a statement, Pussy.  Just press the fucking button and let's get this over with.

Pussy:  Alright, you’re on the air.  Say your peace.

Celeste:  Talk about unprofessional.  It’s like the kettle calling the cauldron black.  No proper introduction?  How typical.

Pussy sighs as she shakes her head, looking over toward the camera.

Pussy:  This is Pussy Willow, your resident SCW Punching Bag… er, Interviewer.  I’m here with Celeste North, who couldn’t be bothered to show up for her scheduled interview, so she’s coming to you from the comfort of her own home in Beverly Hills, California.  How’s that for an introduction?

Celeste:  Salty, but I kind of like this side of you, Pussy… And that is the only time I will ever say that about pussy…

Pussy should be used to this by now, given her choice in stage name, but it still causes an annoyed sigh to escape her lips, which brings about a chuckle from Celeste on the other end.

Celeste:  Let me start off by saying that it is a pleasure to not be there in chilly Laughlin, Nevada.  Ten degrees makes a world of difference.  I thank you for taking time away from your schedule to help me with making this point.  Your patience is very much appreciated, and in a moment, you will see why I’ve done things the way that I have.

Pussy:  It’s going to take a lot of convincing, I assure you.

Celeste:  Hey, I’ve got nothing but time, baby.  I don’t have anywhere to be today.

Celeste chuckles once again, but Pussy doesn’t find the same humor in it.

Celeste:  I really enjoy showing the world every aspect of my life.  I’ve enjoyed allowing them to witness the craziness of going from a Nobody to… well, a former champion who got screwed out of her title, and then denied her rematch clause… Okay, I gave up my rematch against Veronica, because there is no way in Hades that I’m going to open myself up to that kind of shit again.  But, there were two options.  Option one, I could go back to being a bottom feeder, a curtain jerker with a few solid wins to legitimize all of the assholes who pass through the revolving roster of Sin City Wrestling.  Option two, I can step it up and go after bigger and better things.  Wait, I’m sorry.  There was only ever one option, and that’s the easy one.

Pussy:  Which option are you referring to, because I’m kind of confused here.

Celeste:  I worked my ass off when I first got here.  I gave the fans something they don’t see every day.  I gave them one hundred percent transparency into my life.  I showed them my faith.  I showed them my family.  I gave them some laughs, and I gave them a good cry now and then.  I gave everything.  And what happened?  I got nothing, but some pretty fucking impressive wins.  Sure, I lost to Jessie Salco, but everyone has an off week now and then, and I proved it when I beat her ass after the fact.  I defeated Mercedes Vargas, a Grand Slam Champion, and a fucking legend in her own right, as much as it pains me to say it.  I still got overlooked, except when it came to feeding us to motherfucking Team Hero, as another cog in the machine.  When I had to take personal time away from SCW, I did get that.  I came back and I took out every person that they put in front of me.  I wasn’t supposed to win the Bombshell Roulette Championship, and I wasn’t supposed to keep it.  I took what I wanted, what I deserved, and the higher ups just couldn’t fucking stand it…

Pussy goes to speak as Celeste’s voice takes a grim turn.  However, Celeste doesn’t allow her to speak.

Celeste:  I beat Veronica, and I would have beaten her without Delia sticking her fucking busted ass nose in my face.  It was clear that I had it won, but one of the higher ups decides that he needs people to believe that he’s an asshole now that he Superkicked Ward in the face, so guess who he chooses to lash out at?  Any guesses.

Pussy:  Um… you?

Celeste:  Veh-hery good, Puss.  Me.  Not Little Miss Sunshine who shits rainbows and blows the World Heavyweight Champion.  Not Mr. Self Help and the talking Teddy.  Not anyone who had established themselves, and actually stood a chance at rebounding.  No, he chose me, and not only did it cost me my career.  Not only did it cost me my Bombshell Roulette Championship.  Not only did it cost me the ability to give a shit anymore, but it also cost me the last piece of sanity that I had been clinging on to for dear life.  No… if you thought Twisted Sister was unstable, you haven’t seen a Goddamn thing yet, sister.  Twisted Sister is unpredictable, but so am I.  The only difference is that I haven’t lost my ability to calculate the fucked up shit I’m going to do.

Pussy:  Um, Celeste, would you mind talking a little about this Sunday?  It’s pretty cold out here, and…

Celeste:  Yes!  Let’s talk about this Sunday.  We have a pretty “darn wacky” card ahead of us, don’t we?  Some real exciting stuff.  Real edge of your seat shit.  Title matches, and oh, let’s not forget about that stellar Main Event quality Ten Man Battle Royal to figure out who's going to be fed to J2H next…  Hey, at least all ten men earned their place in that match.  James Tuscini has had a bit of an impressive run in SCW.  I suppose he could be rationalized for this opportunity.  Blade Alexander made some huge waves in SCW… back in 2012.  Five years ago now?  Yeah, he definitely deserves to be in that match.  Steve Ramone just lost last week to Ryan Keys, losing his Roulette Championship, and suddenly he’s put in the running for the World Heavy?  Who’s dick is he sucking?  And let's talk about Jeremiah Hardin.  The wild card of this match.  He’s the wild card, because who the fuck knows if he’s even going to show up?  He disappears in and out of here like his contract if a fucking hot potato.  Let’s give him a chance to get in on this when he literally just fucking got back.  Joshua Acquin just lost to the champ two weeks ago or whatever.  Samuel Devereux, because… well, I can’t even try to rationalize this one.  Xander Bishop… yeah, I don’t understand that one either.  Right place, right time?  What the actual fuck has Jamie Dean done since the tag titles where he rode Ben Jordan’s coattails?  Samuel McPherson blows a former champion, so by proxy, he paid his dues… or collected them straight down his throat.  And don’t even get me started on Calvin Harris.  True, he has a couple wins under his belt, one of which is over one of the men in this match.  But one man who has done more recently than pretty much anyone in this match, isn’t included?  The only person in SCW to give a loss to Calvin Harris, isn’t included?  Yeah… this match was meant to be a load of horse shit, and it’s shaping up to be just that.  I hope Tuscini wins, because he’s the only somewhat deserving person in this match.

Pussy:  That’s not exactly what I was talking ab…

Celeste:  No?  How about the actual Main Event?  My friend Crystal Millar, the most dominant force in SCW, so dominant that the fans can’t even try to hate her anymore.  So unstoppable that not even fucking Mikah could knock her off of her pedestal.  Up against the only person who seems to stand a chance of derailing her, Melody Grace.  The woman who loves unicorns, rainbows, and blow pops, but blows the pop of the biggest heel in SCW, and surrounds herself with the likes of Mikah, Rage, and J2H, but also loves kittens, and sweet, soft, cuddly feely stuff.  Basically, the biggest confusing wreck in SCW next to myself.  Melody deserves her shot.  She is one of the few who shows up to work, even if I don’t see eye to eye with her techniques.  Crystal is a true Goddess in wrestling, but so it is written in the stars, so it shall be done.  No one beats Melody.  It just doesn’t happen.  So, unless Melody misses her flight, or gets distracted by the shiny unicorn I’ll be waving around from the front row, in every effort to help prove my own self wrong… Crystal will find her reign coming to an end.  Not because she didn’t fight hard enough, but because the powers that be see Melody as more marketable.  And, who knows… maybe those powers that be will associate Crystal with the company she keeps, and stack the odds against her.  I can’t keep quiet any longer, and I just hope that I’m Snowden paranoid.

Pussy just blinks in confusion.  Not that she doesn’t understand what is being said, but she doesn’t understand where all of this is coming from.

Pussy:  What I was trying to say before, is that you have a match, which is supposed to be the focus of this interview…

Celeste:  I know.  And, no offense to Chelsea Payne, but I don’t really care about my match.  It doesn’t matter if I beat Chels, or if Chels beats me.  It doesn’t matter how well we wrestle, or how well we work the crowd.  I don’t have any real feelings toward Chelsea, one way or the other, so there is no reason to do what she’s likely to do, and tear me apart.  Whoever wins is irrelevant, just like my career.  The higher powers will pick who they think is more marketable to the fans, and that’s who they will push forward.  Chelsea is a second generation star with huge knockers and a big, round ass, that she’s not afraid to show off.  She’s the more obvious choice.  Besides, she’s facing off with Sam Marlowe, who is far more relevant than I am.  Apparently, a blase attitude and lack of a work ethic is what gets you places around here, so… meh.

Pussy:  Jonathan, please cut the camera.  I don’t think Celeste wants to air this to the fans, because…

Celeste:  Because the truth will get out, and there will be backlash?  What the fuck else do I have to lose, besides my contract?  I’m not going to spend my family money to buy out my contract.  I’ll show up, put someone over, and go home for a few extra bucks until my six months are up in March.  Maybe I’ll even ask Azz n’ Class how they do it.  Or Justice League.  Anyway, Pussy, it’s been nice to do this little thing we’re doing, but I’m bored now.  I’ll see you for two minutes on Sunday…

There is a clicking sound that comes over the phone before Celeste’s picture fades from the phone.  Pussy stares at it for a second, and then sighs as she puts her phone back into her coat pocket.  Jonathan does a slow clap as the camera slowly fades out.

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Sisters of the Moon
Surveillance video from the North Residence...




Every year, mom gathers our sisters inside of our home to feel out the spiritual energy for the upcoming Samhain holiday.  Mostly, we drink liquor while mom looks into a glass ball, trying to make sense of the reflections.  It’s not nearly as exciting as it sounds, but it’s become a bit of a tradition for us.  We gather in the study, around a large black table with a pentagram drawn in pure sea salt, candles at each of the five points.  It is my job to light the burdock and bramble leaves, so I grind them together in a stone mortar bowl as my ginger sister, Thistle, begins to recite the protection chant.


Thistle:  We trust in the protection of our coven through spirit, body, and mind as we now hold a shield unlike any other kind.  Our aura is strong with white light defined from our divine energy and spirit combined… Celeste!  You’re not in sync with our energy, sister.


Me:  Does it even fucking matter, Thistle?  I’m just here for the Cognac anyway.


Raven:  Yeah!


Thistle’s mother, Raven, the mature, buxom, raven haired bombshell of the group raises her glass, clinking it with mine as we laugh.  Agatha and my mother look at us disappointedly, but I just shrug my shoulders.  It’s not like they are gonna do anything about it anyway.


Mom:  Peaches, this is serious.  Take a deep breath, find your center, and then join us.  Do you need to smoke something…?


Me:  Yeah, because a recovering drug addict who is just returning to her job that drug tests regularly should smoke a bowl to get centered…  Thanks mom.


Agatha:  You sound like such a conservative, homophobic republican right now.  You really do need to align your body better to stop the constipation of blood flow to your brain.


Me:  For fuck’s sake, Aggie!  If I was ever going to do that, I would do it when I wasn’t around people who already make me want to rip their heads off.  Sorry bout it…


Everyone in the room gasps as they turn to me.  They stare at me as if I had just said my first word, glancing at each other to see if I’d say “mama” again or some lame shit.  I roll my eyes as I continue to grind the bramble leaves together.


Mom:  That Delia is such a sweetheart.  I’m so glad that she’s starting to rub off on you.


Raven:  Where is she, anyway?  Didn’t you invite her?


Me:  You mean the inspiration for Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young”?  Yeah, I’m sure she is just dying to come to a Wiccan spiritual ceremony…


Delia:  Ugh, yaaasssssss! Hey witches!


I freeze.  I admit it.  I did not expect her to show up.  I purposely didn’t tell her about tonight, instead telling her that my mother and I were going to a thrift shop to look for deals on 80’s plaid skirts.  Yet, her voice lets me know that she’s not as dumb as she looks.  At least until I turn around.  Standing there, Delia is dressed in the most offensive outfit I could have ever imagined.  Her skin is gently painted green.  Her hair is raggedly feathering out from under her black pointy hat.  She is wearing a tattered black robe thing, revealing a bikini bottom, fishnet stockings, and hooker boots.  I about died here, because… well look at it!


Me:  That’s… just…


Mom:  Gorgeous!  How inspired.  You haven’t lost your step since you left the runway, hunty.


Me:  Mom?  Don’t.  And Delia?  That’s just…


Raven:  I need you to design my next ceremonial gown.  It’s just so ingenious.


My mouth hangs ajar as I stare.  I mean, look at her!  She’s dressed up, not just as a witch.  Not just as a bad witch of the black arts, but as a Disney version of what is fucked up about eclectic witches in today’s society.  Not only all of that, but she’s a slutty wicked witch of the west!  And my sisters are eating it up!


Me:  Am I the only one who finds this extremely offensive?


Agatha:  Pull the stick out of your ass, Celeste.  She looks stunning.


Me:  Fine!  Then I’m being a slutty Mother Theresa for Halloween!


Delia:  I swear I’m working on her wi’s what is good taste, and what is bad taste.  It’s a work in progress.


Everyone in the group nods their heads as they look at me.  I get pissed off at the idiocy, and before I know it, the herbs are ground to almost a powder.  I push it away from me as I look over to Delia.


Me:  Are you fucking serious?


Delia:  Why, whatever do you mean, darling?


Me:  You can’t seriously be that vapid.  This is offensive!  It’s not even Halloween.  It’s like you dressed up like this to mock us, and apparently I’m the only one who sees that.  You play the idiot on screen, but I know better than that.


Delia:  An idiot?  I play nos’ing of z’e sort!  I have an intelligence quotient of one hundred and forty-five.  I am practically a genius.  However, I do not understand your religion.  When your mos’er invited me over, I looked at it as a chance to learn.  If my outfit is offensive, I will leave...


I shake my head as I look over at her.  Playing the drama queen as always.  She even stands up from the table, smoothing out her dress as she pushes her chair in toward the table.  I shrug my shoulders, letting her throw her little fit.


Mom:  Ohhh, Delia.  Please don’t go.


Thistle:  Yeah!  We’re glad to have you here.  It isn’t often that people ask to learn about what we do.  You have such a positive attitude, and frankly, we could use that here tonight, in this circle.


Me:  Gee, thanks for that.  I guess that makes me the cousin that everyone just tolerates because they feel like they have to instead of being a sister.  Whatever…


I pull a long match stick from my satchel and I place it to the flame of the center candle.  It ignites, and I close my eyes as I bring it down to the herbs in the bowl.  Much to my surprise, they burst into flames, nipping at my hand as I retract it with a pained hiss.  Everyone looks over at me, as if accusing me of doing something wrong.  I just take a deep breath as I look over to Thistle.


Thistle:  We trust in the protection of our coven through spirit, body, and mind as we now hold a shield unlike any other kind.  Our aura is strong with white light defined from our divine energy and spirit combined.  Thanks be to Gaia, Moon Goddess, Mother Earth.


Everyone:  Thanks be to Gaia, Moon Goddess, Mother Earth, for it is by your…


The lights in the room flicker out, as a chilling breeze rolls throughout the completely closed off room.  Delia gasps as she looks around.  Besides me, everyone else looks around in excitement.  Maybe it is because I’ve dealt with this exact feeling before, and they haven’t.  My body tenses up as I lean over the table, looking for the protection from the harmful spirits.


Everyone Else:  … for it is by your protection that we gather here tonight.


Female Voice:  You filthy tree witches, insignificant as an ant.


We all look around, but we see nothing.  The light of the candles burns brightly, like we don’t even need light.  The wind is so cold that it lets us all know that this is not just a draft coming through the house, but something malevolent. Delia, however, doesn’t pick up on it as she leans back in her seat and claps her hands.


Delia:  Marvelous!  Z’e special effects are to die for.


Female Voice:  If you do not quiet down, you will be more right than you could ever imagine…


The wind dies down, but the air is so cold that we can see our breath.  I notice that Delia is all smiles, taking it in as if it were all part of the show.  She slaps the table, breaking the salt circle in the process.  My blood runs cold as my eyes roll into the back of my head.  According to the security tape, I had a seizure, but I remember nothing of the sort.  I felt as if I had been transported to another place.  Everything is a shade of red.  The rickety wrought iron fence surrounding a small plot of land that looks as if the most vile of spirits would refuse to set foot upon.  The house appears to be up on stilts, glowing from behind the glow of a wicked blood moon.  I can’t stop myself from walking up to the fence.  The gate creaks open slowly as I find myself staring up at the house, hearing the screams of children from inside.  As I look up, I notice the stilts are actually chicken-like legs.  They bend at the knee as the house lowers down to the ground.  I step onto the stoop and enter to find a rather pleasant appearance to the decor.  Aside from the cat skeletons hanging from the ceiling, I can’t help but notice the candy coated accents.  I know I should be freaking out right now, but I’m not.


Female Voice:  Welcome to my humble abode, Celeste.  I’ve been trying to reach out to you for some time now.


Me:  Baba Yaga…


Baba:  In the flesh… so to speak.  Have a seat.  Dinner will be ready shortly.


The horrified screams of the children come to a slow stop as the wretched smell of burning flesh fills my nostrils.  Baba Yaga takes a long, hard smell, savoring the scent as it fills her nose.  She looks over to me, nodding her head.


Baba:  I’m happy that you’ve accepted my invitation.


Me:  Fuck you…  Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway?  How can you be stupid enough to think that I would buy this act?  You’re not happy to see me, because me and my coven have been a thorn in your side for almost a year now.


Baba Yaga tilts her head back, cackling as if I had told her the funniest joke she’s ever heard.  She looks directly at me, those cold dead eyes pinning me down into the chair behind me.  I struggle to fight it, but there is no coming back from this one.


Baba:  A mud witch is no match for me.  Dancing underneath the full moon and burning bramble leaves could never stop me.  You merely slowed me down a little.  I wanted to give you the option to save your friend, because I can no longer stave off the Boogeyman…


Me:  It’s obvious that you’re going to kill me, so why the fuck don’t you just get it over with?  Don’t act like you’re on my side, when it’s clear that you detest me and my kind.


Baba:  You have me all wrong.  When your ginger friend overdosed on opium earlier this year, it was I who purged the poison from blood.  I could never detest you, but never compare yourself to the others.  You are not like them.  You are simply inexperienced.


What the fuck is she talking about?  I stare at her, but she purposely doesn’t elaborate on it   Instead, she lifts her tea cup to her lips, made of a small skull, containing Goddess only knows what.  I struggle a bit to get free from her grip, but she finally gives in and allows me my freedom, even if only to show me that she can.


Baba:  I’m willing to share my bountiful supper with you as a peace offering.  I only wish to unlock the power that you hold inside.  The power of the true Salem tribe, bestowed upon you from your father’s side, inadvertently nurtured by your mother’s hand.


Me:  What are you talking about?  That dirty, potato-eating, Irish prick didn’t give me anything but a tendency to become easily addicted to booze and dope.


Baba:  His bloodline is pure, even if his spirit is not.  You don’t need to prance around, proclaiming “Blessed be” and “Thank you, Mother” to harness your power.  You can have… everything.  Everything that you have ever wanted… everything that you have ever dreamed of.  The darkest, most hidden desires, can all be yours.  All you have to do is take it.  I would gladly help you along the way, and your friend would be safe from Brother Grimm, who is quickly closing in on him as we speak, held off only by my own cloaking powers.


Me:  I would never… ever give in to the darkness.


Baba sets her cup down on the table in front of her as she clasps her hands together in her lap.  She smiles, but it is anything but calming to me.


Baba:  Not even to save your friend?


Me:  You can’t put that shit on me!  I’ve given up so much to protect Tim, but what you are asking me is where I have to draw the line.


Baba:  Are you sure?


I can feel my bones twisting inside of my body.  I groan in agony, trying to hide my pain from Baba Yaga, but she sees it.  She relishes in it, as a matter of fact.  Despite that, I nod my head slowly, letting her know that I will not bend to her will… mentally at least.


Baba:  Suit yourself… your dinner invitation has been revoked…


And with that, the pain stops, shy of a splitting headache as my eyes roll back down to look around the room.  I can’t talk as everyone gathers around me, checking to see if I’m alright.  I stutter, but nothing comes out other than a bunch of strange noises.  Delia has her arms around me, cradling my head against her chest.


Mom:  Peaches, are you alright, honey?


Thistle:  What did you see, Celeste?


Delia:  You will need to give her some space.  It appears she has just had a grand mal seizure.  I guess I’ll have to call z’e groundskeepers and tell z’em my surprise House On Haunted Hill dinner party has been cancelled.  If you see a pit of acid in z’e basement?  It’s real.  Do not fall inside…


Me:  Buh-buh-but ih-ih-ih-ih-it’sssssssss not eeeeeev-v-ven your h-h-h-h-h-h-h-howwwwwwssss-ssss-ssse….


Delia lays me out on the floor as everyone gathers around me to check on me.  It felt nice to see that these people actually have my back, but it does little to comfort me after the encounter with Baba Yaga.  What exactly did she mean by that?  I’ve been asking myself that ever since Wednesday night...




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A Chance at Glory
#NP "Werewolves of London" by Warren Zevon
Ultimate Terror Scream Park; Sacramento, California




Outrageous.  I hate crowds, and this is no different.  I’d much rather walk through a cemetery and chat with the dead, than stand in a line of hundreds of people to get chased around by a bat creature, or a demented tooth fairy with a rubber pick axe.  But, Delia says that this would definitely capture people’s attention.  After rave reviews from last week’s promo, I can’t see a good reason not to trust her on this.  I mean, aside from the fact that she’s Delia FUCKING Darling, of course.  True to my word, I dressed up as a slutty nun, which essentially means a habit, a set of rosary beads, fishnets, hooker boots, and a bikini.  The looks of horror spread across the faces of the masses is hysterical to me.  Delia, however, learned her lesson, as she is instead dressed up like a slutty scarecrow, using the blacktop as her runway in her editorial look.  As much as she hates to admit it, I’m stealing the show, between the disgusted looks, and the cat calls.


Delia:  I’m sorry, but I am not interested.  I’m abstaining from dating, s’ank you…


Random Man:  We’re not whistling at you!  We’re whistling at Our Lady of Perpetual Pole Waxing!


Delia:  I appreciate your attempt at protecting my dignity, but seriously…. Come on, now…


Delia waves her hand down her body, showing it off like a cool drink of water to a thirsty man.  However, I make a jerking motion with my arm as I take the compliment.  My friend Fabianna walks up to us, dressed as a slutty Waffle House waitress, with a fur-lined hood over her head.


Me:  What’s with the hood?


Fabi:  It’s October, duh… I’d get way too cold if I left it off.


Delia:  Fabi, darling!  You look *snap snap* sickening, darling.


Two airheaded models is just too much.  I stare at them as they go on for like five minutes of loud, high pitched compliments?  Maybe?  It’s hard to tell.  I spot “Stoner” Scott Oliver over in the corner, dressed up as a weed leaf.  As much as it sickens me, his stupidity, and obviously poor hygiene kind of turns me on a little.  I stare over at my two friends, but I decide I’d much rather do this alone.  I approach Scott, as I slap the oversized ruler against the palm of my hand.


Me:  Mr. Oliver!  To the Dean’s office right now!


Scott:  Whoa, what did I do now Sister Agnes?!  I mean… sexy costume, sha…


I can’t help but laugh as he tries to play it off cool.  I step up next to him as the cameraman gets ready to record.  Scott looks me up and down, nodding his head with a sly smile on his face as he readies his microphone.


Cameraman:  Aaaand… we’re rolling.


Scott:  Sup Sin City Wrestling fans?  It’s me, Scott Oliver.  I’m standing here with the sexiest nun alive, Celeste North.  Christian Underwood announced last week on Climax Control that there was gonna be a match to fill the SCW Bombshell Roulette Championship at the Halloween show this Sunday, at this very location.  I can’t remember where we are, because I had a little too much, um… yeah.  But we’re standing in it right now.  Some theme park with haunted houses and shit.  Oh, and lots of creepy fuckers running around.


Me:  For those of you who don’t understand Shaggy speak, we’re inside Ultimate Terror Scream Park here in Sacramento, California, voted scariest haunted house in California.


Scott:  Yeah, what she said.


Scott nods his head for kind of a long time as I smirk, waiting for him to catch up with me here.  It takes a moment, but eventually he gets there.  He clears his throat as he looks around, showing off the attractions to the fans watching, before turning back to me.


Scott:  Oh, yeah!  And Celeste is one of the five luscious ladies who will be fighting for that very title here in Sacramento.  Some people are saying that you haven’t earned this title shot.  How do you feel about being given a title shot so soon after returning?


Me:  Am I surprised?  Yeah, a little.  I was gone for so long.  I’ve had one match since I returned to SCW.  Do I believe that I don’t deserve it?  Fuck no, I don’t!  In my time with SCW, I never once received a title shot, and I’ve beaten plenty of people who have gone on to get title shots, and be featured in Main Events, while I was rarely booked.  It fueled my Nobodies fire, but I think the way I handled it showed the bosses that I was ready to step to the next level.


Scott:  But… you said it yourself.  You only had one match since your return.


Me:  Against an SCW Hall of Famer in Amy Marshall.  And I won!  Again, I respect Amy Marshall.  I look up to her, because she’s amazing.  Yet, I defeated her, and she is involved in the match this week.  I defeated her cleanly.  I deserve to be in this match, and I’m glad that people finally see that I’m trying to be serious in my return to the ring.  I’m going to give them no choice when I win the title on Sunday.


Scott and I begin to walk a little to show off the view.  We can see where they are beginning to assemble the ring for the show in just a few days, and we can also see the fans who bought their VIP entry tickets for the entire weekend.  Some are merely wearing their favorite star or bombshell shirts, while others are dressed up as their favorite.  I’m fairly sure that I saw a bearded Delia Darling cheering at me as we walk by.


Scott:  Speaking of Delia Darling over there, some people are saying that, like… you are relying too much on her, and that is why you are getting these title shots.


Me:  Unfortunately, part of wrestling is who you associate yourself with.  I came in here, wearing a black devil mask, under a hooded jacket, and once I removed the mask, I still carried the Nobodies banner proudly.  Since they’ve pretty much disbanded, I was offered the chance to team up with a Women’s Wrestling Icon in Delia Darling.  Part of that might come with perks from the upper management, I guess.  But largely, it has nothing to do with relying on her, and everything to do with learning how to market myself better to get more attention, which in turn, is what I would imagine got me the title shot on Sunday.  So, for those of you who are accusing me of selling out, I assure you that I haven’t started going to Mean Girls pajama parties, or kissing Delia Darling’s ass for extra pay and title shots.  I don’t look good in pink.


We stop for a moment, resting in front of the barricades, blocking off the crowd from interrupting the ring crew and the stagehands as they prepare the area.


Scott:  You would look good in anything, I bet.  Now, Delia was known for being the Queen of trash talk.  Would you care to drop a little truth bomb on your feelings about your opponents?


Me:  She might be the Queen, but I’m much more raw.  I won’t hide how I feel behind bullshit posturing.  Polly Playtime… I honestly have no idea who this is.  I mean, from what I understand, she’s had one match in SCW.  If anyone should be accused of favoritism, or not having earned the title shot on Sunday, it should be Polly.  From what I can tell, she hasn’t done shit in the wrestling world.  Her biggest claim to fame is some local game show model who occasionally locks on a body scissors or head lock onto contestants.  She attacked Amy Marshall, and suddenly she’s getting a shot at the Bombshell Roulette Championship?  That doesn’t make sense.


Scott:  I understand where you are coming from, but there’s other ways to look at it, I guess.  How about Samantha Marlowe?


Me:  Samantha doesn’t belong in this match, either.  But for an entirely opposite reason.  She’s way too qualified.  As a matter of fact, the same could be said for Amy Marshall.  Sam and Amy are amazing wrestlers, and they’ve accomplished so much in there time in SCW.  Sam has won the World Bombshell Championship, and fought in some very grueling and epic matches.  The Roulette Championships are to earn your way into the spotlight.  These two ladies have already done that.  Amy was one of the first Grand Slam Champions in SCW, and she sits in the Hall of Fame.  She’s above this, but I’m happy to prove my worth by going through the likes of Sam Marlowe and Amy Marshall.


Scott looks me up and down again, so I pull the habit closely over my chest as I glare at him.  He shrugs his shoulders and brings his stare to my face where it belongs.


Scott:  Now Veronica Taylor…


I stop him right there, putting my hand in his face.  Yeah, that’s totally a Delia move, and I see that now in hindsight.  He creepily sniffs the perfume on my wrist, but it silences him enough for me to continue on.


Me:  This is where the heat of this match really comes into play.  This match should be a one-on-one between her and I.  As much as I hate to admit it, she deserves to be in this match as the person Roxi beat before she vacated the title.  But, the hatred we have for one another is enough to make this match worthy of being high up on the card.  I’m ready to take her through hell and back to earn this title.  At this point, Amy, Sam, and Polly are just a distraction, a challenge to me to get in the way of beating the fuck out of Veronica.  She slammed a mirror over my head.  She’s the reason I have to wear a pound of makeup to cover the stitches I had to get thanks to her.  I’ll be paying her back sevenfold, trust me.  I have Delia Darling on my side, and who knows Veronica better than Delia?  I mean, she’s not the most complex personality in SCW, but somehow she’s made it to being a Bombshell Tag and Roulette Champion, so there must be just a little more to her than meets the eye.


Scott:  What is it about Veronica that gets you so fired up?  Why did you attack her when you made your return?


Me:  She’s an arrogant idiot.  She thinks she’s the hottest thing walking the earth, but she’s really a stone-faced beaver.  She thinks that she’s the best wrestler in SCW, when she’s mediocre at best.  I have a major issue with people who value themselves more than they should.  Arrogance is something that I don’t take well to.  Plus, she just asks for it.  If ever there was someone in SCW that needs the shit kicked out of them, it is Veronica Taylor.  She is the reason I stuck with The Nobodies for so long, because I was fighting that kind of culture here in SCW.  I don’t feel like I have to any longer, but Veronica is still standing, so I can take her on head to head.  I doubt anyone in this match has the nerve to get in the way of that.  Either way, I will break Veronica Taylor this Sunday, live from  the Ultimate Terror Scream Park in just a few days time.


Scott nods his head as he looks back to the camera.


Scott:  You heard it here, folks!  The match to fill the vacant Bombshell Roulette Championship is heating up!  It will be interesting to see how this one plays out, live on Sunday, from… where ever we are.  I’m Scott Oliver, signing off!


Cameraman:  And cut...


Scott lowers his microphone as the camera stops rolling.  He leans in as he begins to flirt with me, but that smell is just too much, almost like a wake up call.  I walk away from him as I catch back up with Delia and Fabianna, who apparently didn’t even realize I was gone.  We prepare to go inside of the 7 Deadly Sins themed Haunted House for a night of terror and screams...

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Don't Act Like You Care
The Story of Anti-Social Superstar, Jared O'Keefe

Motherfuck the rules.  That's the attitude that I like to have.  No, it's the attitude that I gotta have in this life.

I'm no better than you.  You're no better than me.  The difference is that I don't pretend to be better than you.  I got a ninth grade education cause my pops thought it was a wicked cool idea to make me pay rent at fourteen years old.  Fuckin' cool, right?  Yeah, so I ain't as smart as some people.  I don't talk like a fuckin' poet, and I ain't as smooth as some people.  Ma left us cause my dad was a fuckin' asshole.  That's probably why I ain't such a great dad to my kids.  Hell, I don't know how many kids I got, but the ones I do know about, I ain't been the best to.

My oldest is from the love of my life.  I will never get over Crystalline North.  How she used to treat me like some Northern gentleman, no matter how many fucks I dropped in any given sentence.  How we used to sit back, her resting on my shoulder, while I got the old Gibson in my hand, strumming some simple chords, while she made up some nice sounding words.  Even if none of it made sense, we understood...

We cut in to see the image of a much younger Crystalline North, and Jared O'Keefe, sitting down in front of an old video recorder, with a fire burning in the fireplace behind them.  Jared strums away at the guitar, and despite his well known presence in the punk rock scene, the soft rock sound is almost mesmerizing, and only outdone by the angelic voice of Crystalline rings in.

Crystalline:  Will she come, or will she go?  It's this feeling, I don't know-oh.  Is it wrong or is it right?  By your bong's early... light...

Jared:  Good one, babe.

Crystalline:  Breathe her in, and breathe her out.  Is this what love is all about?  Eyes as bright as the big blue sky.  By your bong's early... light...

Without missing a beat, Jared leans in and kisses Crystalline.  Though it would seem that it would only last a few seconds, the two lovebirds continue to kiss, as he strums softly on his guitar.

I never wanted to be a dick like my old man was, so I tried to be a good dad to my daughter.  I wasn't, but I tried.  I never made her give up her education.  I never told her not to hang out with her fairy friends.  If she was gonna get fucked up on something, her old man was gonna get fucked up on it too.  Looking back, I failed even worse than pops did with me.  If I had to name my biggest failure, it would be parenthood.  The rest of my kids are better off not knowing me.  Celeste could have been a somebody in this world, but instead, she's following in her father's footsteps in being a real nobody.  Instead of giving her freedom, I gave her an addiction that took years to get over for her, and one that I'm still not over all the way.  I gave her abandonment issues when I was so heartbroken by what he ma did to me and I couldn't look at her for years.  I gave her an easy way out of workin' hard, cause I never worked hard after I moved out from under the old man's roof.  The fact that her pansy ass boyfriend is ten years older than her tells me that I gave her some pretty messed up daddy issues cause I didn't hug her enough er somethin'.

With the same video recorder, twenty years later, we come inside of a dilapidated apartment.  The smoke stained wallpaper looks like it is slightly peeling from the walls as it curls outward.  The hardwood floor is covered in dirt and ashes.  Everything looks to be a mess, except a somewhat clean looking Celeste, in her late teens.  Celeste is wearing a Deftone's t-shirt, and skinny jeans with a wallet chain hanging from her belt look.  Her hair is dyed black, and her make up is much more harsh than it is today.  She glares up at the camera, as Jared speaks from behind it.

Jared:  Hey hunny bunny.  You excited to spend the weekend with ya pops in his home town?

Celeste:  When I arrived in Boston?  The whole city smelled like beer pisses and reuben sandwiches.  So, no.  No, I'm not looking forward to spending an entire fourty-eight hours here.  Give me drugs, like ten minutes ago...

Jared:  You know daddy is in recovery, princess.

Celeste laughs like he's just told her a joke.  She rolls her eyes as she waits for the punchline, only it never comes.  She sighs as she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a toothpick to chew on as she stims.

Celeste:  For, what?  The ninety-ninth time?  Please...  We're not all that stupid.  You've got to have something lying around here.  It looks like a crack dealers apartment, except with many more pizza box decorations everywhere.

Jared  Gee, thanks for having faith in ya old man.  Startin' to sound just like ya ma, if I'm being honest.

Celeste:  Shut up, you Mick bastard!  I do not sound like that crazy Wiccan bag lady!  I believe in God, now.  But not your Catholic God, the one where people speak like retards, and flop up and down on their stomachs like fish in the aisles, and cry.  Yeah, that God...

Even Jared can't help but laugh out loud, despite having just been hurt by his daughter, even in the same sentence.  His laughter quickly fades.

Celeste: I don't know much about the Bible, but that's not going to stop me from spouting off the three passages I do know to fit my current agenda.  That's right, I'm a real Christian!

Jared:  I got some emergency green in the top drawer of the dresser... knock ya'self out.  I guess I'll go set up the fouton er somethin'.

Celeste:  No, that won't be necessary.  I'll set up hotel accomodations later, because not even I could stay the night here, and I've slept in dumpsters outside of bars after shows...

"I thought about writin' a song about how I failed my children, but I'm not ready to go Southern Punk yet.  I still feel like I got a couple years in the limelight before I flush my career down the shitter.  I just sit back and think to myself... how did it all come to this?  How did I wind up becoming a Punk Rock sensation?  How did I wind up married to the most famous female vocalist of all time, with a kid that I actually spent time with?  How did my life get so good, and then get so bad?  I brought that shit on myself, I know... but how?  I could blame the drugs, or blame it on bein' a man, or bein' under too much pressure, or havin' a middle school education, or a hundred other things, but the truth is that there's somethin' inside of me that wrecks everything and everyone around me.  It all comes down to me, and I gotta fix it.  But, until then, my new album comes out April 18th, and you better believe I'm gonna be playin' every dive bar and shit club across the country, all the way up to CBGB's in Manhattan.  Maybe in that time away, I'll be able to figure it all out.  I might come back stronger and more determined than ever.  Or, I might come back, havin' fathered a kid in every state.  Either one would be wicked cool, bro..."



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Clear My Mind
#NP "Wings of a Butterfly" by H.I.M.
Long Beach, California... or Long Island, New York?!?


Things have been so crazy lately.  Our petition has really taken off for the Bombshells, but it's been made crystal fucking clear that no one cares about the Bombshells anymore.  The fans get up for piss breaks during anything Bombshell, unless it has Mikah being a bitch, or having a kind hearted playful moment with that little scamp, Despayre.  Yeah, in case you can't hear the sarcasm dripping from my tongue, that was meant to sound bitchy, not endearing.  Who does that?  Walking around on their high horse, waving their blonde hair around, and their pretty clothes, making snide comments to everyone, and then melts at the sight of a mentally unstable man child hugging on to a teddy bear?  Huh?  What's that?  No one?  So this hasn't been done before?  Hm?  Hm?  Oh, right, Delia Darling wore that suit over a year ago, ha ha... silly me.  I guess every Ice Queen has one soft spot guaranteed to melt their hearts.  Mine is... like I'm going to tell you...

Even Delia signed our petition.  Even Jessie Salco and I put aside our differences for a minute so that we could fight the many injustices going on.  Erik Staggs turned white as a ghost tonight during our little sit down.  Shit is serious!  But, since it doesn't involve us berating the crowd, or one another, no one cares.  No one cares that all but five current Bombshell roster members are ready to walk out that door, and picket the shit out of Sin City Wrestling as soon as My Bloody Valentine 2 starts!  Again, it's serious, but nobody cares.  At first, I took it personally that no one paid attention to me, but this is about way more than me.  Every big name on our roster signed on for this.  The Bombshell Tag Champions, and most of the Bombshell Roulette challengers in the six pack challenge have signed on.  Again, all but five Bombshells are signed on for this.  And still, no one cares!  Sad.  Fucking sad...

Of course, Alexis Edwards is the talk of the Bombshell Division.  She's off picking up on former Nobodies, and whining on Twitter about literally anything and everything.  But, she's got a presence that, I admit, I can be jealous of at times.  It would have helped to get our message out, if she would have signed on.  But, for whatever reason, she's too fucking good for me, or she likes to oppose anything and everything I'm involved with.  Whatever the case is, she refused to sign on, even to show some kind of solidarity for once.  She can say whatever she wants, but I've tried to be close to her.  I've tried to work professionally with her.  I've done everything that I can think of to make things right with her, but the moment I saw my best friend in the entire world cry because this bitch is too self absorbed to pay attention to what is going on with her?  I was done.  Finished.  The only reason I included her in this whole thing is because she is a Bombshell, and her involvement might actually make people pay attention to what is going on.  And... I guess a little part of me was hoping for a second chance with Alexis.  Well, more like a twelth chance, but let's not split hairs here.  If Jessie and I can call a temporary truce, then Alexis should be able to sign a fucking piece of paper.  Just saying.

And to top this all off, Chad and I have been on some weird sort of disconnect lately.  I mean, I was basically done with him, but I had him by the balls.  I thought it would be so fun to mess with him, but lately, even that's been boring.  He doesn't fight it anymore, and I can tell that his head just isn't in it anymore.  It's almost like he's got someone else on his mind.  He never goes out, so I can't think of who that could be.  He just sits at home, being a lazy bastard, so unless it's the butch Domino's girl, I can't see him having any kind of contact with anyone.  It's just weird.

And then, there's the whole thing going on with Tim.  He's trying to go at it without the Xanax, and I have to give him credit for that.  It's not easy, but he's doing it.  He even talked to Alexis earlier tonight.  She probably assumed he was still on the drugs, but he was just so distant to her to show her how it feels.  But, I can tell that this thing with Grimm has been bothering him.  Now that he knows Grimm isn't done with him, and this Belladonna chick is coming after him since Grimm can't touch him, he's just been edgy.  I told him that me and mama have him protected, and the nightmares he's been having aren't because of Grimm, but because of the damage done to his psyche.

Yeah, there's just so much going on. and I've been so out of it lately, I didn't even notice that Chad booked the wrong fucking flight.  His middle name is Einstein, obviously, because I was supposed to fly out to Long Beach from my mom's family reunion in Arkansas, because I've been so fucking sick of driving, but I wound up on the other side of the damned country!  Yeah... But, can I really claim to be that much more with it, when I got on the plane without checking my ticket?  I was so consumed with what was going on in my own head that I didn't pay attention.  That world tour really got to me, I guess, where city names just blur together, and become nothing more than a number.

So, I'm standing in front of the window of the fairly small airport, looking out at what appears to be a fucking field, with the New York skyline visible off in the very far distance.  I can't believe it.  No joke.  This... actually happened.  Once the disbelief wears off, anger hits me like a freight train, and I shriek.  Part of me wants to grab my cheeks and go at it Kevin McAllister style, but it's the wrong airport, so I settle for stomping around like an angry child.  I fling my duffel bag to the ground as I kick it across the lobby, causing a woman and her young child to gasp in shock.  I'm seeing red, so I literally walk over to the kid and rip his sucker from his mouth and throw it to the ground, crushing it with my heel.  I look to his mother and growl at her.

Me:  Don't you know that high fructose corn syrup is the number one most deadly food?  Why don't you just open up one of his veins and shoot him up with some beef lard?  Oh, of just sucker punch him as hard as you can in his chest?  You're shit!  Shit, lady!  SHIT!

Once I've made someone feel bad, my mission is complete and I storm back over to the window, staring out at the abysmal view.  I see my own reflection in the window, and as I kneel down on the chair, resting one arm on the back of the chair, I can see how red my face is.  I dial up Chad's number, and place the phone to my ear.  I shake with anger as I wait for him to answer.

Chad:  Hey, honey.  How was your flight?

I am so ready to tear him a new asshole right about now.  Oh, get ready for it.

Me:  Ohhh... you know.  It was a flight.  I slept a lot, ate some crappy food, watched part of some movie with a chick and a guy who love each other, but are too afraid to admit it...

Chad:  That's... good?

Me:  Yeah, it was.  It gave me time to think, and unwind, and... YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!  Goddess, you're such a dumbass!

Chad's voice comes out as a quick, light squeak as he tries to adjust to that mindfuck.  He doesn't know what to say, or where this change in attitude comes from.

Me:  So, I'm eating my soy "chicken" a la king, watching the lame chick flick, when I notice New York... FUCKING NEW YORK... is right underneath me!  Yeah, not WeHo, not Venice Beach... NEW... YORK!  New York.

Chad:  Um... aren't you booked this show?  I thought you wanted to get there early, and.

Me:  Uh, yeah!  I did want to get there early, but guess what?  I'm on the other side of the country.  Guess what, Sherlock?  I don't compete outside of the Pacific or Mountain time zone unless I'm on a tour.  So, what would confuse you to the point that you would send me to New York?

There is another pause, followed by whispers of "Not now." and a light shushing sound that he hopes I won't notice.

Chad:  In my defense, Long Beach, and Long Island are pretty easy to get mixed up.

Me:  How?!  They are on totally different sides of the country!  Not to mention, by fundamental English definitions, a beach and an island are not the same thing!

Chad:  An island has a beach!  Watch Gilligan's Island before you come at me with your bullshit logic!  

I'm literally gobsmacked.  I don't even know how to come back to that one as I slap my forehead.  I look around me, seeing the woman I yelled at moments ago, talking with a security guard and pointing at me.  I walk across the lobby quickly, picking up my bag as I walk out of the terminal.

Chad:  Instead of having me book your flights, why don't you do it yourself?  I'm not your slave, and it's about time that you realize that.

Me:  That's it!  Pack your bags and go back to whatever project you crawled out of before I picked your sorry ass up.  We... are done.  Understood?

I don't even give him the chance to answer as I hang the phone up.  Beyond finished at this point.  I look around at everything, and all I see is a few cars sitting outside in the lot, and a taxi driver standing outside of his cab.  He's like Indian or whatever.  Foreign, stereotypical New York taxi driver, and as I approach him, I swear, he's wearing a name badge that says his name is Mohinder.  I'd have made a Heroes reference, but I'm far too man.  He opens the door for me and I jump inside, slamming it behind me as I put my bag in my lap.  He climbs inside the drivers door, and closes it behind him as the snow falls all around us.  The lonely light above us reflects off of the melting snowflakes in the dark curls of his hair as he looks back at me.

Driver:Where to, miss?

I think long and hard about it.  Do I want to go back home to my infuriating boyfriend?  Fuck no!  I look right at him as a half smile comes across my face.  I lean forward and mutter just one word...

Me:  Boston...

Like, to go see my dad.  I gently toss my bag to the side as I lean back in my seat, ready to enjoy the ride.  I lace my fingers together behind my head, already daydreaming about what it will be like when I get there, seeing my dad after being away for so long.  I take a deep breath and sigh it out slowly, waiting for the car to set itself in motion, when the driver clears his throat.

Driver:  I don't go that far, miss.

Me:  Oh...

I purse my lips together as I think about it.  I usually just tell someone where I want to go, and they take me, so... I'm not really sure what to do here.

Me:  Okay... So, how far do you go?

Driver:  Any part of New York City, the suburbs... New Jersey if you tip well enough.

Me:  Take me to the edge of New York City, where I can find a way to Boston...

I lean back in my seat with a look of satisfaction.  Yeah, the whole fingers laced behind the head, and sighing bit as well.  This time, the driver begins driving, though he looks kind of annoyed.  This is going to be one long fucking drive across New York City...



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Even The Odds
Never Saw This Coming... Did Ya?


There is a screen of silky smoke waving throughout the limousine, as laughter rings from within.  Crystalline North is seen sitting along the back row, with three other women around her, with glasses of red wine in their hands.  One woman appears to be older than Crystalline, long locks of gray hair, wavy and wild as it cascades down her shoulders.  The other two are younger, a raven haired woman who looks to be only a few years younger, and a ginger woman who looks to be half her age, at most.  They are all dressed in black, looking toward what appears to be an altar, adorned with crystals of various types, candles, and a pentagram drawn in a red chalky material, most likely brick.  The smoke comes from a bowl of sage burning in the center.  Crystalline takes a deep breath as the others continue to laugh almost uncontrollably.

Crystalline:  I hate to be a real stick in the mud, sisters, but... do you really think it's wise to use our powers for a laugh?  Seems kinda, I don't know... wrong.

The gray haired woman leans forward, still laughing as she rests the stem of her wine glass on her knee.  She stops laughing only long enough to respond, but her voice still shows off her jovial mood.

Agatha:  Crys, baby... when are you gonna let go of that Pentacostal outlook on religion?  Gaia wouldn't give us a sense of humor if she didn't 'spect us to use it once in a while.  It's not all fire and brimstone punishment, so why must you be so serious all the time?

Raven:  The only punishment comes from our own actions.  Besides, what's the use of having the power we have if we can't cut loose?

The raven haired woman cracks a smile at Crystalline as she leans over with a golden spoon, stirring a small bowl in the center of the altar, closing her eyes as she tries thinking of something.  A hush comes over the circle as they look at Raven.  She opens her grey eyes and looks around at her sisters, an almost grim look on her face as she taps the edge of the spoon against the bowl, and places it face down next to it.  Everyone takes a deep breath as Thistle grabs onto her mother's hand, smiling gently as if having a quick and silent conversation with her.

Raven:  Will my baby ever learn to perfect a love spell that will help Johnny Depp fall in love with her, and give me a grandbaby...?  Just so I can steal him away after?

Thistle's pale jaw falls open as she gently slaps her mother's arm, as the four ladies crack up into laughter once more.  Crystalline's laughter doesn't last very long as she downs the rest of the wine in her glass, before pouring another.  Raven picks up a candle and holds it gently above the bowl of liquid.  Her hand shakes, while the true intention of her question remains pure.  Her daughter's wolf-like eyes almost seem to glow in the light as she stares intently at the bowl.  Finally, a wind comes from nowhere, blowing the flame almost completely out.  Once the wind ceases, the women look down into the bowl to see a perfectly sculpted wax image depicting a swaddled baby held tightly against a mother's bosom.  As the image floats to the side, the reflection on the water shows Thistle, holding the baby close to her, as an unknown man with a beard and neatly styled hair walks up to them, wrapping his arm around her, and the laughter turns to a warm hearted reception.  Raven hugs her daughter closely before picking the small wax piece from the water, and holding onto it firmly.

Thistle:  Okay, my turn now... This is gonna be real good.

Thistle holds the candle with both hands, firmly, as she looks right at Crystalline.  She concentrates hard on her question, as her bright red lips part into a half smirk.

Thistle:  Will Celeste get her act together, so we can raise kids together?

Raven: Thistle?!

Thistle:  Oh come on, mom.  We was all thinking it.  Come on y'all, back me up her.

Crystalline:  Goddess knows I was, sweety!

Another roar of laughter comes across the four ladies, before a sharp breeze blows through the limo, blowing every candle out in the process.  Embers of burning sage whirl around in an eerily slow manner, as the water begins to glow.  The image coming through is simply.  Celeste is lying on the cold ground, a blue aura around her dissipating as she gasps for breath.  Fear is written across her face as she crawls across the snowy ground, gripping onto it with everything she has.  One of her fingernails snaps off as we can hear her cry off in the distance.

Baba Yaga:  Your daughter's undoing is only a matter of time.  She will find herself on death's doorstep, sooner rather than later.  Not that I owe a kindness to a menial hedge witch such as yourself, but consider this a favor...

Baba Yaga's image comes across the liquid in the bowl, and she is hunched over Celeste.  Her fingers tangle in the back of Celeste's hair, and she is quickly dragged across the ground as Celeste's scream rings through the circle's ears, freezing them all in place.  Celeste's blood stains the snow, and the pieces of her fingernails stick out before the bowl tips itself over, turning to blood as it crawls toward Crystalline as she shrieks.  Like a hand, it threatens to choke the life out of her as Thistle crawls back in her mom's arms, much like a small child, shrieking loudest of them all as she points.

Thistle:  What the Holy FUCK is that?!

Raven  Water?  Or blood?  We need to get out of here, DRIVER!!!

Crystalline watches as the blood evaporates, but not after leaving an ash covered print on her bare ankle.  She takes a deep breath, a bit of sweat coming from her brow as she looks over to Agatha.  Agatha's boney face drains of all color, as she gives a simple nod of her head.

Crystalline:  How is that possible?  She's couldn't possibly still be alive, for real...

Raven:  Who?  Because that looked pretty fucking alive to me!

Thistle:  Was there something in that sage, because I can't even...

Agatha:  Baba Yaga transcends the deepest depths of the craft, so deep that she is the pit of black sourcery.  Any dark craft was perfected by Baba Yaga, and all that is dark since, comes from the witch of the Black Woods.

Crystalline looks down at the broken pentagram on the table, having been dissolved by the spilled water.  Her breaths pick up as she tries to figure out why her daughter is the target of the most powerful witch to ever walk the earth.  She picks up a handset phone to her side, and pressed a single button.

Crystalline:  Jackson?  I need you to make the next possible legal U-Turn, and take me back to the airport.  Thanks.

The calm in her voice is very deceiving as she places the receiver back on the hook.  She takes a few very deep breaths as she looks around to her sisters, who all have a look that screams "Oh hell no, girl!"  She sighs and shakes her head as she feels the vehicle cut quickly to the left as it makes a sharp U-Turn.


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Witchy Woman
#NP "Cupid Carries a Gun" by Marilyn Manson
Salem, Massachusetts



So I got this match coming up against Jenny Tuck.  Alexis, of all people texted me to tell me about it.  I told her I was on my way back a little early, and that we could have some kind of talk.  It's probably some kind of break up talk, like "We're never going to be best friends ever, C.  You're such a bitch and I hate you.  You always blame me for (insert cunty, condescending situation she's made up in her head here) and I'm so innocent, so it couldn't possibly be my fault I'm so miserable all the time."  Had that talk like twenty times, but if it gives her some kind of closure, and gets her off my nutsack, then I guess we'll have it again.  But, in the meantime, I decided it might be kinda cool to stop off in Salem.  It might be why some visit the Lincoln Memorial, or a Holocaust museum.  A reminder that I am of a persecuted people, because in this day in age, everyone is a victim.  But if I'm going to be a victim, I'm going to be an educated victim.

I'm actually kind of disappointed to see that it's basically just some shitty, semi modern town.  It looks like any other New England small town, run down, and kinda dilapidated.  But there is a charm to it, and no, I'm not talking about the fact that literally, I'm looking at a woman who looks just like Elliot's mom from E.T. and expecting Sheri Moon Zombie to come around the corner looking like the Antichrist Mother Mary... Haven't seen Lords of Salem?  You suck... Anyway, it looks a lot like it does in the movie.  I think the people are kind of stuck back in the 70's, and there's lots of Pagan shops spread around.  The West Coast in me wants to complain about the lack of, well, anything hip and trendy to make fun of, but it actually is kind of nice.  Oh!  There's a Starbucks.  Perfect place to make fun of people.  I start to walk toward it when I feel like something is pulling me away.  I turn slightly, and I can see an old woman, in black haggard style clothes, standing next to a corroded brick building.  I walk toward her, hearing in my head a voice.  The voice is old and feminine, but it calls to me, beckoning me closer. Soon enough, I can't hear anything but that.  The scarf over my head, keeping me warm in the frosty evening, blows softly in the wind as the woman hums in a deep tone.  I step out into the street, just in time to hear the sound of tires squealing to a halt.  A horn blares at me as I slowly step back onto the sidewalk, staring at the man, who is clearly from Boston.

Man:  Ey ya cunt bag!  Watch where ya goin'!  Whatcha got a death wish er somethin'?

I flip him the bird in a calm, California bitch manner.  He continues to spew vulgarities at me as he rolls his window back up and speeds off.  I look back over to the haggard woman, but she's not there anymore.  I place my earbud back into my ear and crank my music as I look both ways.  Crossing the street, I walk over to the Starbucks that the woman was standing in front of, and I walk inside.  Hipsters, hipsters, everywhere.  So much flannel and beard and skull caps, I can't even take it.  I walk right up to the register, and realize there's so many different ways to mask the shitty dirt taste of coffee that I never took the time to appreciate.  As I read over my options, an overly perky bald girl walks up to the register, and talks, but I don't hear her thanks to Marilyn Manson blaring in my ears.

Me:  Venti soy mocha latte with extra mocha sauce.

I don't even wait for a total, because I can't hear her anyway, and I pull out my credit card.  I swipe it, and step to the side as I look around.  I feel like I'm in a sea of pseudo sexuality and angst fueled by caffeine and Adele singles as I stare a piece of cheesecake in the raspberry white chocolate chip face.  My mouth salivates, but being vegan makes it impossible to give in.  Like, I'll be sick for days, so I turn away and look out of the window to see the sun setting behind the woman.  She has a hood over her head, and people pass her as if she weren't even there.  Am I going insane?  Am I?  Oh shit, I can feel someone poking me in my back.  I turn around to ease my mind, when I'm met with the creepy bald chick again.  She mouths something, but I just take my coffee, and put a few bills into the tip jar.  I take a sip and walk outside where I look to see the woman is gone again.  Yeah, I must be going crazy.  I pull my scarf tighter as I walk down the street, not sure where I'm going, but it has to be better than where I'm at now.

After walking for a while, I find my way to the Salem Willows park.  It's getting dark, and the yuppies walking their ridiculously small or large dogs with coats that look like they cost more than my entire outfit, slowly begin to thin out, and the shadier characters begin to file in.  I guess that's why I feel like I fit in better.  The junkies, thieves, homeless, and general ruffians walk around, in search of their next fix.  Neo Nazi punks walk around with baseball bats, running into the Neo Skinheads with pink laces on their boots.  One wouldn't be able to tell the difference between them, aside from their shoe laces, yet they are far from the same.  They beat the shit out of each other, but no one in the park pays any kind of attention.  I figure it's best I don't either, and I walk along the path, going deeper into the park.  The willow trees offer a calm solace as I move along the path.  I remove my headphones, and the sound of the pinks versus the swats seems to fade out, as the humming picks back up again.  It seems like it's coming from all around me.

"Celeste?"

"... Celeste..."

......Celeste..."

My name is whispered from all around me, and it sounds like Ursula from Little Mermaid almost.  I look around, and I see nothing. As I walk along the path, I begin to see the beach, and the gravel on the bank.  at the edge of the water, I see her again.  The darkness seems to creep upon us, covering her in even more mystery.  I walk closer, even as the wind blows hard, trying to keep me back.  I try to swim through it, but to no avail.

Teen Girl:  Death awaits you.  Walking along the gallows, the daughter of Mary Johnson, you will meet the same fate!

The girl pulls out a Tarot death card and tucks it in my front pocket, patting my boob before whispering in my ear.

Teen Girl:  Don't go to her, for she is death.

Me:  For fucks sake, lady... the Death card represents new beginnings.  It's a good thing.  Why don't you read that manual that comes with the starter deck you got from Spencer's?

I pull the card out and shove it back into her chest.  I shake my head, expecting to see nothing once more, but this time I'm wrong.  There she stands.  I take a step closer to her, and the wind blows the scarf off of my head, and my hair waves behind me as the teen girl laughs behind me.

Teen Girl:  I told you...  She's the beginning, and the end.  She's way more powerful than you could ever know.  You would be best to do whatever she says.

I'm so generous with the bird tonight, as I throw it back at her, double time.  She laughs as I walk along.  As I get closer, I see the water bubbling around her as if it were the black fires of Christian Hell itself.  The smell of rotting meat should turn me away, but the lullaby lures me closer.  As I get close to her, I see that she has a staff in her hand with the skull of a large bird on top of it.  She reaches into her cloak, and she pulls out the shiniest red apple I've ever seen in my life.

Woman:  I've come with a peace offering, young North.

Me:  Peace offering?  For what?  Do I know you?

Woman: I'm afraid if anyone is at a loss of information, it would be me.  You've heard all about me, but I know very little of you.

I'm pretty sure I've never met the witch from Brave before, so I'm at a real loss here.  I scratch my head as I'm overcome by the warmth coming from the boiling tar beneath her.  I look down to see a snake dart out from the water, whipping its body around as it passes me.  It is followed by another, and another, and they just keep coming.

Me:  You're a dark witch, and a very powerful one at that.  Tell me why I should trust anything you have to say.

Woman:  Trust me, or don't trust me.  It's irrelevant to me.  I've come in peace, to ask but a simple favor.  In return, you and your mother will be safe.

Me:  Yeah, you clearly don't know me, because threatening me and or my mother is not the way to get me to cooperate.

I reach into my pocket to pull out a small satchel.  Rosemary, dill, sage, and clove, ground together into a dust, and I throw it at her as I open my mouth to speak, however, the wind simply blows it back into my face.  I close my eyes and turn to the side, sputtering as she simply chuckles.

Woman:  You have the nerve to speak of threats, as if you even knew what a threat were?  Child, I do hate to repeat myself, and that is why I will not do it again.  Take the peace offering, and give him the child.

She hands me the apple... which is now a fig.  She reaches forward, and her ice cold hand lifts the fruit to my mouth.  I look down at the juicy fruit, as I see the serpents crawling up my body, their tongues flicking, and their eyes glowing yellow.

Serpents:  Eat of the true fruit of knowledge.  Do it.  Do not shame the hag.  Eat it, and know the truth.

Me:  I feel like Eve in the Garden of Evil.  Bitch, tell me who you are, and what child are you talking about?  Mine?  Have her, I didn't even want it to begin with...

Woman:  EAT!

She slaps the back of my hand, burying my face in the fruit.  The taste hits my tongue, and I can't help but chew, lick, and suck like I was Jessie Salco in a @DavesCharacters gangbang.  A real hungry bitch.  It tastes like fig, ice cold water on a blistering hot day, wine, bourbon shooters, sugar, and unicorn jizz, and I can't stop until I'm gnawing at my own fingers.  The moonlight glares off of the white teeth like a Chesshire smile from under her hood.  She pulls back her hood, and her long gray, wavy hair blows lightly in the wind.  Her face looks like a mummy, and her eyes are as dead as Alexis' happiness.  I have never seen this woman a day in my life, but I know her.

Me:  The Black Wood Witch, Baba Yaga...

Baba Yaga:  In the flesh, hedge witch.

I look to the boiling water, and under the water, I see flashes of so many things, I can barely even begin to grasp them all.  They hit me like bolts of lightening, but the serpents hold me in place.  The thunder is her voice.

Baba Yaga:  I've come as a courtesy to your bloodline, to ask you to lower your shield of protection from the Staggs boy.

I see the candy house, and the lederhosen, but the candy turns to human bones.  The lederhosen stays, which is just as scary honestly.  The dark haired children relish in delight as they shove the old hag into the fire, and escape the hut.  Because, you know, burning witches is acceptable.  Dark or not, it doesn't matter, right?  But why should I give up Tim for her sake?

Me:  Why would I give up one of my best friends?

Baba Yaga:  What makes you think he wouldn't be so quick to burn you?  A descendant of Hansel, and Cotton Mather?  Such is not mere coincidence.

I laugh at the idea, no matter how insensitive it might seem.  She's got to be making it up.

Baba Yaga:  He's betrayed you, and doesn't deserve your protection.

I see it.  Plain as day, on the surface of the water, but my brain just can't seem to process it.  I feel the betrayal, but I feel no hatred, or malice, or anger, or sadness.  I simply watch the scene unfold before my eyes, and the hag seems to turn to watch it as well, as if it were the first she'd known of this.  I slowly shake my head, because I am a white witch.  I've made mistakes, and no matter how badly this betrays my trust, I'm not going to give Tim up to her.

Me:  That changes nothing, hag.  I would never give Tim up to someone like you.

The hag dares to laugh in my face.  Her breath smells of decayed flesh, burnt hair, and tar.  I cover my face as the humid breath almost feels suffocating.

Baba Yaga:  You think this is a favor to me?  Oh dear, no...  It is a favor to Brother Grimm, but I can't seem to locate the talismen to dismember it.

Me:  Good luck trying.

Baba Yaga:  I don't need luck, you filthy cur!  I didn't come to you out of desperation.  I didn't offer you knowledge because I am incapable of doing it myself.  You are not a threat.  You are simply a rabid dog that is in my way, leaving me with two options.  Throw the dog a bone, and she fetches me what I want, or I can put the flea ridden bitch out of her misery.  You have shown me that the second option is the way to go.

Baba Yaga raises her staff from the ground, and she begins chanting in, like... some other language.  It feels ancient, and grimey.  The serpents surrounding me begin to tighten their grip around me, as I feel fifty different forms of the same haggard laugh coming at me as my veins constrict.  I look down as they raise up my body, to my throat, squeezing the life out of me, literally.  I cough, choking as I try to tug at the snakes, but I'm frozen in place as they cover me.  I look into her dead blue eyes as I feel like my throat is about to give way, and the bones in my neck slowly begin to crackle.  There is a loud ringing in my ears as I can see the veins in my eyes bulging out, and then the lights start to go out as a hard pain throbs in the back of my brain...

Mama:  Nobody calls Peaches a flea ridden bitch but her own loving mama...

Baba's smile goes sour as she turns to see my mom standing there with a stick of burning sage in one hand, and a black powder in one hand.  The ringing takes over as she casts an incantation, just as she blows the dust at me, waving the sage around as a vacuum sucks us up, and I go unconscious.  I thought I was dead, but...



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Business As Usual
#NP "Our Truth" by Lacuna Coil
Homewood Suites; San Bernardino, California


It's one of those days where its cool outside, but only by California standards.  Mid eigthies... you know how it goes.  But, after spending a couple weeks in Boston, and then another couple days with my mom, healing from the attack by Baba Yaga, it's feels kind of warm out.  I put on my swim suit, and head outside to the pool to just relax.  As I'm walking toward the pool, I adjust my black bikini top, and pull up the hood on the back of it, Nobodies style.  I pull my shades down and walk to the gate.  I open it, and set my pool bag down on one of the lounge chairs.  The sun is shining bright this afternoon, and most of the bruising on my skin is gone, so I figure it's a good chance to get just a little bit of sun.  I sit down on the edge of the lounge chair, and pull out a bottle of sun block.  Pouring it into the palms of my hands, I rub them together and then smooth it over my left leg, giving it a delicate shine.  I run it along the right leg next, and then I go to my arms and shoulders.  As I'm looking around at all of the morbidly overweight midwest tourists, I spot an obvious local.  His skin is tattooed and bronzed over despite his big, bold blue eyes.  His goatee is neatly trimmed, not in some sort of hipster way though, and his black hair is slicked back wet.  He's got just the right amount of pudge to his stomach that says "I don't give a fuck, because I'm sexy no matter what" and I'm feeling it.  As a recently single woman on vacation, I look to my back with my bottom lip pushed out.  I grunt a few times as I "try" to reach my back, before I sigh.  He looks over at me and pulls his shades down to block out the sun.  Hook, line, sinker.  He gets out of his lounge chair and starts walking toward me.

Guy:  You need a little help there, sweetheart?

Me:  Why, yes I do... I mean, I'm just not so flexible with my arms, and I can't reach my back.  I'd hate to burn such smooth skin.

Guy:  If you wouldn't mind, I could help you with that.

I give a sweet smile and nod my head as I laugh through my nose.  He grins at me, showing off his silver tooth.  He picks up the bottle of sun block and he steps around me.  He kneels on the lounger, and begins to work it into my skin.

Guy:  I'm Jake, by the way.  I didn't want to be the nameless creep who randomly offers to rub lotion on your skin.

Me:  And I'm Celeste.  I wouldn't want to be the helpless damsel in distress who lets just any guy rub lotion on her back, but we are what we are, right?

He chuckles heartily as he works down my lower back.  There is this very surprisingly unawkward silence between us as he finished up.  Like a true gentleman, he doesn't linger unnecessarily long.  He stands up, and the light hair on his stomach and chest glistens in the sunlight.

Jake:  If you're available, Celeste?  I'd like to take you on a date sometime.  Maybe show you around town while you're here?

Me:  Oh my, do I look like a tourist?  I actually live in Beverly Hills.  

Jake:  Oh, uh... with the tone of your skin, I guess I assumed you were from like Alaska, or somewhere snowy like that.

I look down at my arm, seeing how pale I am, and I can see his point.  By comparison, I look as pale as porcelain.  It is what it is, and I just shrug it off, laughing.

Me:  I'm in town for...

Jake:  The SCW show, no, I know who you are.  Celeste North, the Nobody of the Nobodies.  I just know that you're only in town for a little while, and didn't want to miss my opportunity to take the hottest Bombshell out on a date.

Me:  Hottest?  Do you need your eyes checked?  I'm not the hottest by any means.  I'm pale, possibly the only pair of real breasts in the company, and it shows...  I'm no Jenny Tuck.

Jake looks at me, and a sort of cute blush comes over his cheeks.  He doesn't say anything at first, and I smirk a little from the corner of my lips.

Jake:  Well, that's not really my thing anyway.  I like real women.  Natural women.  The whole stripper model thing just doesn't work for me.  Besides, watching you kick her ass this Sunday is gonna be the best.  I got front row seats to the show.

Me:  First off, who says I'm going to kick her ass?  Don't get me wrong, I'm going to try my very best, but that's not a guarantee.  Secondly, what's wrong with her body?  She paid good money for the boob job, the trainers, the salons, and the boutiques.  I'm not into girls, but she's hot!

Jake looks baffled as I talk nicely about my opponent.  He waits for me to laugh, or give any sign of sarcasm, but I don't.  I just stare back at him over my shoulder as his shades hide the obvious shock in his eyes.  Seriously, if I was a dude, I'd bone her so hard.

Jake:  Aren't you supposed to hate your opponent, and talk all kinds of trash about them?  I'm sure that's exactly what she's going to do to you.

Me:  I'm not good at hating people just because I'm fighting them.  Do I like her?  Meh.  She comes off as stuck up, and conceited, but so does most of the roster.  If I hated stuck up bitches, I'd hate Alexis Edwards.  But I don't.  I love Lexi.  I don't know Jenny.  I hear so much about her, but you can't trust what people say until you've experienced it for yourself.  Could she be a raging cunt wad?  Yeah, she could.  Could she be the nicest person on the planet?  Yeah, she... well, no.  Not from what I've seen.  But no one is perfect.

I stare back as I sigh, and Jake is listening to every word I say, though he's probably put on enough sun screen to last me a year.  I stand up from the lounger and gently nudge my head toward to pool to invite him with me.  He picks up the raft from his seat and meets me at the edge.  Like a true gentleman, he holds onto my hand, while letting me step into the cool water first.

Jake:  I guess I just expected wrestling to be, well... violent.

Me:  Oh, it's going to be violent.  Trust that.  I'm not going to take it easy on my opponent.  But, I'm willing to let it start and end inside of the ring, if she is.  I went to some very heavy extremes with Jessie Salco, but we more or less do hate each other.  I find bullying to be childish, and hazing to be assonine, so I got under her skin to defend someone I thought was my friend.  But, ask Mercedes Vargas just how violent I can get when I beat her twice... Well, that's not a very good example, because I kinda hate her too, but you get where I'm going with this.  It doesn't matter whether I like or hate someone.  I'm still going to be violent in the ring  It's my release, and it's the name of the game.

As we wade further into the pool, the water turns my hair to chocolate colored strings, bobbing in the water.  His bronzed skin presses against mine, as he nods his head.  He helps me into the water, though I'm capable of doing it all on my own.

Me:  I mean, I figure Jenny will underestimate my intelligence by saying stuff like "I bet she's going to call me a whore because I've been a Playboy centerfold" but shit, I'd do the same thing if I had the body.  I'm not bound by some archaic Christian view of sexuality.  If you can get guys to make it rain fifties and hundreds, then get it, girl.  Get it.  I don't see anyone doing that for me, and that's just fine.  I'll dance in the singles at amateur night.  It's not like I need the money anyway.  But I can also see her saying "I bet Celeste is going to say that I'm dumb because I've got big boobs, but I own a huge company."  I don't know what she does, or what kind of company she runs, but she's getting it in more ways than one.  I applaud her.  The only way I will ever call her dumb is if she expects me to be just like these other bitches, dumb and self centered, and unprepared.  Win or lose, I always come correct.  No one will ever say that Celeste North doesn't do her homework.  I once stalked Jessie Salco for a month.  One long, boring fucking month.  But I learned what I needed to about her, and I beat her in the only singles match we've ever had.

Jake is smiling as we sway in the water.  Don't ever say that Celeste North doesn't go above and beyond for the fans.  It's nice as he helps hoist me onto the raft.  The cheap plastic feels weird on my skin, sticking to my wet skin as I slide into place comfortably.  Jake begins gently pulling me around the pool, and for a moment, I feel less like a Nobody, and more like royalty.

Me:  I take my job very seriously, because I need it if I'm ever going to be a Somebody.  A lot of these other girls are established in other companies, but this is it for me.  I don't come with a reputation, in the business.  Do you know what I'm saying?

Jake:  Yeah, I totally get that.  I just never expected this much depth from wrestling.

Me:  Jenny will be in for a fight on Sunday, because we both have something to prove.  She wants to prove that she's worth the hype, and I want to prove why I deserve any hype at all.  I've had a pretty damn good run here so far, and Jenny is the new girl on the block.  The stakes are much higher than we are on the card, and hardly anyone will pay attention, unless they are waiting for one of Jenny's tits to pop out of her top.  But those horny teenage boys, and the sexually curious women in the Bombshell locker room will get an unexpected surprise while waiting for that surprise.  I might even give Keira and Roxi a pair of binoculars to pay close attention.  I've been starting to feel left out with the lack of gold around my waist, and while they're waiting for a free show, they might just get the chance to see how serious I really am about becoming a Somebody.  I'm dead serious...

I nod my head as I look down at Jake.  He's listening as he wades through the pool.  I look toward the camera and wave, letting them know I'm finished with them.  They are probably fading out as I watch the light muscles in Jake's back work as he carries me along the rippling waves of the pool.  I am now in Shangri-La...

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North of Hell
Welcome Home (The Failed Pilot Episode)


Reality TV is the best way to get otherwise unnotable people... noticed.  People who look at least moderately attractive just seem to sizzle under the spotlight.  I should know, because I photograph moderately attractive people for a living.  A little dab of make up, the right lighting, and hours of editing can take any Schmoe and make them look like an A-Lister.  For me?  I'm already damn good looking, so half the work is done for them.  Some guy in Vegas was in talks with Crystalline about a reality show, but she didn't want her chicken bone voodoo displayed on television.  She declined, but I wasn't so easy to break.

Anyway, they decided to shoot things from the perspective of the outsider, and I wasn't about to turn down a promise of millions of dollars and millions of viewers.  If this is done right, I could be on VH1 like Flava Freaking Flav or Bret Michaels.  How rock star would that be?

The cameras are showing up, because they want to see a beautiful reunion between me and Celeste.  The bitch hasn't talked to me for like a month at this point, so I'm god dang struggling to find a way to secure my meal ticket... Alright, I actually love this crazy woman, but if you tell anyone, I'll beat you like a fool.  So, I'm for real with this, and I'm arranging roses by the driveway.  Full on bouquets shaped like hearts, with arrows through them and everything.  They have gay messages and stuff written on them too, so I'm gonna look like a real sweetheart on television.

Everything is coming along nicely as I stand there, waiting for things to get started.  That's when it hits me.  The fountain in the middle of the circular driveway in front of the house needs some rose pedals.  Money shot, baby.  I walk around, gathering up rose pedals from the bouquets as Crystalline comes rushing outside with a smile on her face.  The cameras aim right at her as she comes toward me.

Crystalline:  The limousine is just around the corner.  I can't wait to see the look on her face when she sees all this razzle and dazzle.

She hugs me.  This woman and the hugs.  Everything gets a hug.  One time when I came out of a bout of constipation... she hugged me.  I'm not even joking.  This time, I guess I can understand, so I pat her on the back.  The cameras aim at the gate, and Crystalline steps to the back, letting me stand there all alone.  I look around, and that's when the lump in my throat forms.  Fuck!  She always takes me back, and I always take her back... but what if that doesn't happen this time?  The doubts in my head become my worst enemy as I take a hard gulp, trying to work through it.  The limousine creeps up in what feels like slow motion.  The driver opens the door and steps out, walking like he's got a stick up his ass as he rounds the limo and opens the passanger door.  There it is.  Her hand.  The one with the black iron skull with ruby hearts for eyes.  I take a deep breath, waiting to see the love of my life's face for the first time since she left on the World Tour.  "Pleather and Frills" by Crystalline and some old guy nobody cares about anymore begins playing, or maybe that's just in my head.  I smile weakly, because she is my kryptonite.  The driver helps her out of the car slowly as Crystalline leans in to whisper to me.

Crystalline:  Go get the girl, son.

I take a few steps toward the limo as she turns around.  The wind flutters through her soft wavy locks, and I'm expecting to see that killer smile my girl wears when she looks at me, but...

Me:  Holy FUCK!  What the hell happened to your face, Peaches?

Celeste's face!  It's bruised and cut up like she received a real ass kicking.  But what's worse is that she has that ugly angry look on her face.  The one that makes you sleep with an electric chastity belt at night so that she doesn't castrate you like she did her last boyfriend.  Yeah, that really happened I found out.

Celeste:  What happened to my face?!  Why are you wearing make up like a WeHo prosti-dude?

Me:  You look like shit, babe.  I thought chick wrestlers just ripped each other's clothes off and pulled chunks of hair.  You look like a dude wrestler.

Celeste:  Hey, fuck you, Chad!  What are you even doing here still?  I broke up with you like a month ago.

Me:  No, I broke up with you, but...

Celeste shoves her bag into the driver's chest, and I know I'm going to look like a total pussy whipped bitch on TV, but I'm not about to feel her kick me in  the nuggets.  I cover them and shrink back like a coward.  She points at me as she follows quickly.

Celeste:  Then, you came back at me like "Oh, I screwed some girl while you were away, but I still love you." and I told you to get fucked!  So, maybe you're right, but I denied you, so it's actually worse.

She picks up one of the bouquets and begins bashing me with it.  It's flowers, so it's not that bad, and I smash through it and back pedal a little, but she follows and picks up another one.  Why did I have to get so many of these queer things?!

Celeste:  I want you to go up to MY room, and get YOUR shit and be out of here in an hour!

Me:  Have you seen your house lately?  It will take an hour just to walk to the room.  Can I borrow the golf cart or something?

Celeste:  Hmmm... no!

She knocks me on the ground as I crawl over toward the front door as Crystalline follows after Celeste, talking all calm and sweet like that's going to get through this Banshee's thick skull.

Crystalline:  Now, Peaches... he went through all kinds of trouble to set this up for you.  The flowers, the television show...

Celeste:  Television show?!

Her tone changes completely as she drops the golden colored frame of one of the bouquets, now bare because she's beaten all of the flowers off of it, using my body to do so.  I've got little trickles of blood from the thorns of the roses, but it stings at best.  Celeste catches her breath as a smile comes over her face.  She gently leans down next to me and wraps her arms around me.  This is the point where I feel like I'm the chick in the relationship.  Not cool.

Celeste:  I have low blood sugar.  I'm sorry for overreating, sweetie.

She pulls a tissue from her shirt and begins gently dabbing at the blood on my right cheekbone.  That smile though... I've seen it before, and she's got some serious hell in store for me.  But, as long as we can keep the cameras on us for a while, I might live to see tomorrow.

Crystalline:  Let me go make you bruschetta.  We don't need you tearing up the house because of low blood sugar.

Me:  Normal people don't do that, Crys!  She's...

Before I can go any further, Celeste kisses me so hard that I choke on my words.  Her tongue shoots into my mouth, holding mine down so that I have no chance in communicating at all.  With Crystalline headed inside, and the action hungry cameras surrounding us, I just stop fighting it.  Once she sees I've stopped resisting, she pulls that Slyvester Stallone from Rocky looking face away from mine, and I shudder a little.  She leans in with what the viewers will see as a sweet nothing, but it was a harsh something.

Celeste:  You're going to be bitch du jour, Chadsies.  I say jump, and you don't even ask how high, because you'd better damn well know how high.  Unless you want to go back to your apartment in the projects, of course...

The thing about Celeste is that, once she has even an ounce of power over you, you stand no chance.  And when she makes threats like that, they are anything but empty.  As a matter of fact, there's about fifty thousand unspoken meanings behind that.  She hugs me and gives a girlish squeal before kissing the side of my face as the cameras fade out.

[*Fade*]


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Nobodies and Somebodies
#NP "Never Never" by Korn
Location Undisclosed


So, after spending three weeks with Chad as my own personal bitch, and using lots of mother's witch hazel skin concoctions, I think I look pretty normal again, at least where it's visible.  My back still looks a bit like a motorcyclist tragic accident, but considering the shit I went through at December 2 Dismember last month, I have been doing pretty fucking good.  The hardest part of it all, was going through it without painkillers... like, the good kind I mean.  For a former opiate addict, I figured I should probably stick to over the counter stuff, as sparingly as possible, except the alcohol.  There was plenty of that to get me by.

Things have been so crazy lately, between my injuries, this Brother Grimm bullshit with Tim, and getting humiliated last week on Climax Control by those two brainless twats, Delia and Mercedes.  I would rather have dealt with twice as many injuries, than to deal with the other two.  First off, I've made it no secret that I am Wiccan.  I'm a child of the Earth and moon.  Yes, I cast spells, and dance with other witches in celebration of the different moon cycles, and I believe in Gaia, amongst many other gods and goddesses.  What I have not done up until two weeks ago, is deal with banishing dark forces.  I didn't even think I could do it.  Mama and I came together, and we both did something we never thought possible.  But, with the gift comes responsibility, and even if it didn't, I'll be damned if I'm going to tell Timmy, "Sorry kid, you're on your own."  That's not what friends do.  Hint, hint, Lexi-boo.

The least of my worries, and yet somehow the most angering at the same time, was putting everything I had on the line at December 2 Dismember, being out on a minor leave to be cleared just after Yule... only to not be booked.  I was outraged.  Sure, Lexi was pissing and moaning, but what's new there?  She acts like she's the only one who didn't get any recognition for winning at December 2 Dismember.  Hello, bitch!  I didn't either.  So, I went to Mercedes like a civilized human being... well, mostly.  I told her she should put me in a match, because I was ready.  She couldn't use my injuries as an excuse, because Little Orphan Salco was booked.  She couldn't say that I'm not an established name, because there were others like Sam Marlowe, Traci Patterson, Veronica Taylor, Kate Steele, and Zuri Chastain were all booked, and all five of those examples have done jack shit when you think about it.  Two of them held tag titles, but pft... no one gives a shit about them in either division.  Ask Tim.

So, that left me with one option.  Be forceful.  Yeah, that didn't work either.  I was literally used as a coat rack by a pompous French bitch.  Then, when I tried to fight her, she refused.  I was going to prove that I'm ready to be taken seriously by challenging Delia, but she couldn't be bothered to take me seriously.  I admit, that pissed me off a great deal, and I lost my head.  Every time I tried to attack her out of pure anger, she turned it around on me, slapping me, tripping me through the ropes, and just when I was about to go full on bat shit on her, Mercedes came out and had me escorted from the venue.  It's bullshit.  If I were some other Bombshell, any other Bombshell, I would have been cheered for, admired and praised, not ejected from the arena like a loser.  So, it's safe to say that the past month or so has sucked for me.

But, we're not looking at the past any longer.  None of the Nobodies are.  It's all about the future, baby!  We're sitting in this hotel suite my mom sprung for as a little moral booster, and it's pretty nice.  There's a hot tub with a flat screen television built into the wall, so many couches, like why would anyone need so many?  The softest carpet I've ever walked bare footed on away from home, and not to mention lots of Cristal from room service.  We're having a little party here tonight, with so many masked Nobodies running around.  Lexi was here, but she's probably off in a corner looking up how to be a better Suicide Girl or something.  Connor and Tessa are in the hot tub, with drinks in their hands, yeah, two each... and Tim is sitting on the edge of the hot tub in his swimming trunks, staring out of the window, over the city of Reno.  He just looks so dead inside.  Like, I'm not even joking.  His blue eyes are empty, and I'm not sure if it's from being stalked by fear itself, or if he's too doped up on anxiety meds.  He's always been more observant than he is talkative, but he doesn't seem to be doing either lately.  I walk up to him with a glass of Cristal in my hand, and I gesture toward him to take it.  He does, but he just rests his hands in his lap, holding the glass against his thigh as he nods his head in thanks.  I pull out a pack of cigarettes, and push one out toward him, but he just shakes his head once.  I mouth "Okay?" as I start to turn away, but you know what?  Fuck that.  There is a party going on here, and I'm not going to let my good friend sit there and be miserable while everyone shy of Lexi is having fun around him.  I shed my robe, revealing a black bikini top and torn jean short shorts.  I sit down next to Tim as I take a sip of my own glass, and stare out of the window as I press my shoulder in to Tim's.

Me: Great party, Celeste.  Oh, thanks, I worked really hard on it.  Yeah, I can tell.  Aww, you're so sweet, T-Bone.

Tim:  Hm?  Yeah, it's... fun.  Loads.

Me:  No smart ass comment back?  I'm offended, Timothy.

Tim shrugs his shoulders as he takes in a deep breath, slowly leaning his head against my shoulder.  He reaches up with one hand and rubs the celtic cross around his neck that he'd gotten from his mother.  Even if he hates the bitch, that necklace makes him feel safe.  I lean my head down and rest it on top of his head, ignoring the fact that his hair is kind of going into my mouth.  I try to softly sputter it out, without letting him realize it.  It kind of tastes like coconut... weird.

Tim:  I feel like I'm trapped in a loop, C.  It feels like, just when I think I'm going to be okay, I have a dream, or I feel a cold tickle on the back of my neck, or I hear a deathly whisper, and it all goes back to the beginning.  I don't like these pills, but it's the only thing keeping me from totally losing it.

I want to tell him, in a nice way, to stand up and fight back, but I'm not so good with nice words.  I just nod my head a little as I nuzzle him.  We have a weird chemistry like that, but whatever.  I whisper to him "I know"... and he just closes his eyes, feeling safe for a moment.  My eyes go over to Chad, who is staring daggers at Tim.  Guys are so cute when they get territorial, but it only makes me play it up more, grabbing onto Tim's hand and holding it close to my body.

Tim:  You shouldn't be focusing on me.  You should be having fun at the party.  I'm fine.

Celeste:  Well, I'm not going to just sit there and watch you going through this shit.  You need to get used to having A REAL FRIEND...

I look around as I shout the last part, trying to make sure Alexis heard it.  I'm not even confident that she's in the suite anymore, and many others are looking at me like I'm just a big bitch.  Whatever, if they feel that way, then they must know they're guilty.

Celeste:  Plus, between you and me?  I've been a bit bummed lately, myself.  I don't think I'm going to be table dancing to "Hypnotize" by Biggie Smalls tonight.  I just need to relax for a bit.

Tim:  If you insist...  But, maybe clue your boyfriend in on the fact that we're not screwing, because he either really wants to kill me, or he really wants to fuck me...

LOL!  Hey, it is an intense stare, and I've been confused by it in the same way before.  Though, to be fair, there were times I wasn't sure which one was happening.  I nudge Tim, who softly laughs for the first time in a long time.  This is when I hear a knock at the door.  I look at Chad, but he's too focused on wanting to rip Tim's head off to notice either event.  I scoff as I get up and walk toward the door.  On the way, I lean down and softly speak into Chad's ear.

Me:  If you're not going to get the fucking door, then you're going to go console my friend with cuddle.

Chad:  What the...?  No!

Me:  Bitch, did I stuh-stuh-stuh-stuhhh-s-s-stutter?  Go hold my friend close to your body, and if I don't believe that you're not enjoying it, then you better learn to suck a good dick if you want to get back to Beverly Hills before I burn your shit on my lawn...

I say it so soft and sweet, but he knows I mean every word of it.  He growls as he gets up and walks over toward the hot tub.  He pulls off his black tank top so not to get it wet, like it's a fancy shirt or something.  I watch as he awkardly tries to cuddle Tim, and it's right then that I feel like my bad mood is gone forever.  Then, someone knocks at the door again.  I turn around and fling the door open.

Me:  The music is NOT too loud, because...

Never mind, it's Mz. Holly Wood.  Great... Now, all I need is to bump into Liz Smalls randomly, and then I'll know that the universe is playing a big cosmic joke on me.

Me:  What?

Holly rolls her eyes and pushes past me as she walks right inside.  She sheds her fur trench coat, and flings it over the back of the chair near the door.

Holly:  Hell, if I'm gonna have to deal with this interview, I'm gonna need about three of thooooose, kay?

She points right at the glass in my hand as she walks over toward the ice bucket.  Rather than taking a glass, she just takes the whole bottle.  She wraps her lips around it and tilts her head back as I glare at her almost as wickedly as Chad was staring at Tim.  I'm pretty sure I snarled, because Holly nearly chokes on the champagne.  She leans over, trying to collect herself as she swallows.  She stands back up and wiggles a finger at me.

Holly:  That face, though... Sorry 'bout it.

Me:  I specifically asked for the skeeviest interviewer under employment by SCW.

Holly:  I'm sorry, but Pussy Willow was all booked up.

Holly winks at me, knowing I meant "Stoner" Scott Oliver.  Why... me?  I shake my head as the room seems to come to a stand still, all except for Chad, who is stroking Tim's head, while Tim looks petrified.  It's good for both of them, so I return to the matter at hand.

Me:  No, I probably should have asked for Scott myself, because now I see the error in my words.  Well, I can't get mad at them for actually listening to me for once, now can I?

Holly:  Once?  No, twice.  You bitched about not being booked last week, and King Despy has heard your grievences and shit, and he put you in a big match.  And what you got the nerve to do, hunty?  Cry about it on Twitter, while shaming your sister for doing the exact same thing.

Me:  Oh, bitch... No matter what everyone says about you... you were never the "Nice" Mean Girl, and I'm glad those bitches turned on your fake ass and knocked your front teeth out.  You have got some nerve coming in here, acting like you've ever known a damn thing about me, instead of... oh, I don't know... doing your fucking job?  That's why I wanted the simpleton, because at least he knows to just stand there and hold a microphone in your face while going duhhhhhherrrrrr......

I make the most fucked up, funny retard face I can manage to put on, and it must look pretty ridiculous, because the entire room busts out laughing.

Holly:  Good GAWD girl, getta grip.  No, better yet, let go of the past.  None of us is sweating you, so why are you so obsessed with ripping our heads off?

Me:  Now THERE'S a question I can respect.

I say this very sarcastically, even though I actually kind of mean it.  I pull the bottle out of Holly's hand, and top off my glass before handing it back to her.  I slowly walk off toward a less crowded portion of the room, and sit down on the couch.  I motion for Holly to join me, and she's reluctant.  I can't blame her, of course, because I wouldn't trust me either.  She sits down, keeping a small amount of distance between us as she takes a small sip from the bottle.

Me:  When you ladies denied me joining Mean Girls. I realized just how shallow and narrow minded you guys really were.  I used that negativity to build myself into something.  I found a cause that actually gives me something to care about.  You were all rude to me, and I hate rude people, so I dedicated myself to being everything that you guys are not, while destroying everything that reminds me of you.  That's at the heart of everything for us Nobodies.  To be honest, you bitches inspired us.  You gave us a reason to come together.

Holly:  It's what we do, baby.  Mean Girls, still bringing friends together, almost a year after our implosion.

Me:  Yeah, it's a real shame that you didn't stick around a little bit longer.  You would have had a perfect fit in Mikah.  See, you guys might have inspired us by showing us everything wrong in this company, but it's people like Mikah and Drake Green who keep us going.

Holly starts to say something when she suddenly understands where I'm going with this.  She doesn't like it much, but she at least gives me the courtesy of letting me continue uninterrupted.

Me:  Now, Alexis didn't seem to get that memo when she started being besties with her.  You can't account for intelligence in every member, but we do try to make up for it in violence and bloodshed that somehow always seems to go unnoticed.  I get tired of sounding like a broken fucking record, but I bet we could literally air lift the ring out of the building while blasting "Fuck You" by Cee Lo Green over the speakers, and no one would notice until someone tried to come out to the ring for a match.  Hmmm, I'll have to share that idea with Tim later...

Holly:  You must have a lot of money to take care of those kinds of fines.  How does that make you any different than, say, Mikah or Drake Green?

Me:  Because I don't pull up in fancy cars, wearing fancy clothes, and smelling like fancy baby prostitutes, rubbing my money in everyone's faces.  Truth be told, I'm an heiress to a fortune greater than most of the roster combined, including Drake and Mikah.  But, that doesn't matter in this sport.  At least it shouldn't.  Who cares if you can buy the best trainers and the best bodyguards, and surround yourself with protection.  That only goes to prove how assinine you are.  Have your fame and fortune, but leave it at the curtains, because it doesn't matter inside of the ring.

Holly nods her head, trying to be respectful, but I can tell she wants to ask me something so badly that it's eating her from the inside.  I sigh and nod my head.

Holly:  Mikah has proven to be more than just fame and fortune.  She even beat Delia's longest reign as the World Bombshell Champion.

Me:  That title became worthless when it landed around Delia's waist, regardless of the talent she may or may not have had.  She took a prestigious belt worn by the likes of Misty, Kittie, Raynin, and Vixen, and she wiped her ass with their accomplishments.  She told them exactly how she felt about them, right to their faces.  She paraded around like some kind of celebrity, who just happened to be able to work the ring.  It was never about the title, or the ability.  It was about being famous, and Mikah is a less interesting version of Delia, and yes, somehow that is possible...  So, really, this match is pointless to me.  Ever since Vixen lost the title to Delia, the title has been shit.  No one was worthy of what it was meant to be.  They only try to carry on the legacy of greed and corruption that Delia and the Mean Girls brought to SCW.

Holly:  According to Alexis, you're scared of fighting Mikah.  Is this all just a cover up for that?

Me:  Uh, fuck you.  No, it's not.  Alexis stopped me from bashing Mikah's brains in after costing her a match they had in the bag.  She obviously wanted some sort of immunity for Mikah, so I tried to force her to do it in the Going For the Gold tournament.  She chickened out, because she's afraid of fighting Mikah.  Do I want to fight Mikah?  Hell yes, I do.  I want to bash her face in with any and all blunt objects in existence.  I want to take her down a notch.  Make her fucking choke on a slice of humble pie.  I really want to smother her to death, but my psychiatrist says that's not an option, so I have to do a better job of making it look like an accident.  You see, this whole time, in avoiding facing her, the title has always been in the picture.  For some reason, SCW has a hard on for handing out title shots like Oprah hands out magazine subscriptions and kitchen gadgets.  Seriously, they give them to anyone.  I don't deserve it, and I don't want it.  I have half a mind to throw her over the top rope, and then eliminate myself.

Holly raises her eyesbrows at me in surprise, like she has to ask me if I'm being for real.  She snaps her fingers.

Holly:  You are telling me that you would throw away a chance at the World Bombshell Championship, just like that?

Me:  You're damn straight, I would.  Until that title is around the waist of a real wrestler, I want nothing to do with it.  I'm here to kick asses, and championships are meaningless to me.  So, thanks King Despy.  Thanks for throwing me in the middle of a hen house of bitches crawling from all crevices of the world to get their hands on the Bombshell Championship.  Who knows who will be participating, but according to Twitter, we will be seeing Jessie Salco. Ha!  It's her funeral "hunty".

Holly:  Natalie McKinley also mentioned on Twitter, that she will be taking the opportunity to step over Christian Underwood's ban to participate.

Me:  Yeah... This bitch is going to come in just like the rest of these opportunistic wenches,  She is just another obstacle inside of that ring.  But, don't worry... I think I've got a plan to get through this.

Holly goes to ask what that might be, but I take the bottle of Cristal from her hand, and I put it to my lips, taking the last few gulps down before handing the empty bottle back.  I smile like the true bitch I am, and I walk away from her, mouthing "Enjoy the party..."  I walk back over toward the hot tub, and Tim looks at me desperately.

Tim:  Help me?

I smirk and nod as I crawl along the edge of the enormous hot tub, showing off what I've got in the process.  I snuggle up close to Chad as I slither up his body.  I lean against his ear, and whisper something to him that horrifies him.  I move away, and wrap my hand around a pretend penis, as I jolt the air penis at my mouth, reminding him that he's going to have to get very comfortable with that move unless he obeys every word I say.  He shakes his head before leaning Tim back and kissing him right on the lips.  Everyone in the room cheers and laughs as I take a gracious bow.  Now the party has really started, but you don't want to see how Celeste North and Co party, so...


[*Fade*]

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Mudslide
The Story of Crystaline North, a Rock Goddess...

Crystaline V/O:  I hate it when people call me a "Rock Goddess".  I hate to equal myself to any of them.  But I am pretty damn close. *Elongated chuckle*

We fade into a shot of the woman who have spanned decades on the music scene.  The woman, in her mid sixties, comes into the view, sitting upon a black leather couch, laughing at her own quip before she runs her fingers through her perfectly messy blonde hair.  The camera drinks in every inch of her smooth, youthful face that defies her age by at least twenty years.  Black feathers line the collar of her lacy blouse, and a top hat rests upon her head.  As her laughter subsides, she looks back toward the camera as she smoothes out her Bohemian style black skirt, awaiting the actual start of the interview portion for the documentary.

Male Interviewer:  There have been many rumors flying around the gossip columns since the early seventies, that your song Rihanna, is about a Dominican Witch destined to haunt the Top 40 for fifty years with shitty music, but more importantly, brought you to explore alternative religion.  Some say Satanism, others call it Nihilism.  Would you care to clarify?

A look of almost pure annoyance comes over Crystalline's face, clearly offended by such a question.  She scoffs, but tries her best to regain her composure, as her raspy, seasoned voice squeaks out a bit.

Crystaline:  Don't you just love how those darn rumors get to flyin'?  First off, Satanism isn't all that it's cracked up to be.  It's actually kinda boring and very self absorbed, but that's my opinion.  No... I am a child of the Earth, and an avid Wiccan practitioner.  It's a new age, people.  Isn't it time to stop looking at the world in such black and white terms?

Male Interviewer:  How does one go from the daughter of a preacher man, to a polythiestic heathen?

Crystaline:  Okay, yer gonna hafta turn that fuckin' camera off, so I can come over there and shove my vegan pleather boot right up yer cornhole.

Anger overtakes her face as she slowly gets up from the leather couch, and lunges toward the camera.
BEEP
Cut to Crystalline, back to all smiles as she sits on the couch, all smiles and chuckles as she daintily crosses her legs, clasping her hands together on her lap as she continues.

Crystaline:  How did I discover Wicca?  Well, there was one night when I was out with Cher, and let me tell ya, there was lots, and lots, and LOTS of drugs involved.  I mean, it's Fuckin' Cher!  So anyway, we were sitting around a campfire, and I swore, I was Gaia starin' back at me, and she said, "Crys... puddin', you need to practice Wicca."  I though, you know what?  You're right.  Later on, I found out it wasn't actually Gaia, it was Cher, but by that time, I was already knee deep in it, and lovin' it.

Crystalline shrugs her shoulders as she makes a face that begs anyone to question her on the fact, awaiting her next question.

Male Interviewer:  Let's stray away from anything that could potentially get me beat down by a near seventy year old woman.  Now, I hear that you have a son?

Crystaline:  Daughter...

Male Interviewer:  Daughter... I swore it was a son.  Is this a Bruce Jenner situation?

Crystaline:  No, she's one hundred percent girl.  I'd say woman, but that lackadaisical little junkie is nowhere near womanhood.  The only womanly thing comes from her once a month.  Yeah, I'm talking about menstruation.  Seven days of pure hell.

Crystalline rolls her eyes as she mentally recounts every moment of said torture.  She raises her hand to the Goddess as she sways, her hair moving to the left as she makes a full circle with her head.  She scoffs before shaking her head.

Male Interviewer:  Are you talking about Celeste North from VH1's cancelled D-List Celebrity Rehab with Doctor Sue Johnson?  Oh! Okay, I'm still pretty shaky on the details.  Why don't you tell us a little bit about your niece.

Crystaline:  Well, my daughter is my world.  I mean, aside from being the Queen of Music, she is everything to me.  I wouldn't trade her for anything less than a twenty four month worldwide arena tour.  She does a lot of shameful things that make me wish I had adopted in my fourties rather than birthing that ungrateful little bitch, bringing one more miserable soul into this world, but we all learn from our mistakes, right?

For just a moment, we pause on the face of Crystalline for a dramatically slow fade out.  Like, very dramatically slow.  To the point where it takes almost two whole minutes before the screen is entirely black.


<img src=http://ak-hdl.buzzfed.com/static/enhanced/webdr03/2013/8/6/12/anigif_enhanced-buzz-14207-1375807872-19.gif>

It's Peaches, Bitch!
#NP "Stressed Out" by Twenty One Pilots
Locale: North Family Home, Beverly Hills, California


Ugh... what is that sound?  It's like whining or something?  I don't know, but it's totally pissing me off because I'm trying to sleep.  I'm so exhausted from having to lay a verbal smackdown on some skanks after some bullshit cage match.  I just want to sleep and dream about Henry Rollins' abs from season two of Sons of Anarchy or something, and forget about that night.  Total fucking waste.  But I can't, because I keep hearing this like loud crying?  I open my eyes, and the sun of high noon blinds me.  Why did I have to go with all white in my room?  Feeling his arms around me, I look over to my boyfriend, Chad.  He's cute, even when he's sleeping.  Well, especially when he's sleeping, because then he's not talking.  His short hair is a mess, and he looks like he just got over a five day bender, which he probably did, so it doesn't take much for me to pry myself from his arms to sit up in my bed.  The sound stops for a minute, but this bitch is already up, so I might as well get a start to my day... note the sarcasm.  I throw the covers off of myself in a pouty manner as I reach over to my nightstand.  I grab a silver cigarette case with a ruby heart shaped jewel on the outside, and I flip it open.  I pull out a light menthol cigarette and press it between my lips as I take the pack of matches clipped to the inside, and I strike it against the side of the pack, lighting the end of my cigarette.  I inhale deeply, closing my eyes as I feel the harh coolness trickle down my throat, and into my lungs.  Ghost that shit for a minute, and exhale.  I open my eyes as I walk across my bedroom floor like I was Jessica Lange in my cute sheer white robe.  It's seriously almost like a mile long walk to my vanity that's big enough for the set of RuPaul's Drag Race, but once I get there, I pull out the white velvet covered stool, and I sit down to take a look in the mirror.  My cigarette hangs from my lips as I stare at the damn birds nest on top of my head, and I can't help but growl.  My lipstick still looks cute, even after a night of catching up with Chad.  Gotta love Maybeline.  I reach across my vanity to my brush as I begin to work on the tangled mess.  That's when I hear that fucking crying again.  I turn toward my door, which is open, but my room is so big, you'd have to have a telescope to see anything, so it's whatever.

Celeste:  OH MY FUCKING GOD, MOM!  WHAT IS THAT NOISE?!?

Of course the geriatric bitch takes forever to come to my door.  I hate to wait... like... for anything.  I take like two patient drags from my cigarette before setting it down in the ash tray to work on my hair again.  It's not like I'm going to actually get up to ask again.  I just roll my eyes as I look at my long, two toned brunette hair that's actually already starting to look cute.  Of course when I'm already almost over it, and into making my hair look... not like a mess... that's when momma comes to the door, and she's holding a fussy two year old.  I stare at her, and trust me when I say I'm like "What the fuck, mom?"

Celeste:  What the fuck, mom?  Are you replacing me?  Kids are not like cats!  We've had this talk before.  If you're going to play Angelina, you need your Brad, kay?

Crystaline:  Trust me, baby, I know.  It's a lot easier to get away with drowning a cat.  I've been tempted, but then that crazy South Carolina woman went and spoiled it for the rest of us... No, this ain't my baby.

Celeste:  Okay?  Then what is that?  Some high tech Japanese doll?  Take the batteries out, because I barely got any sleep last night.

Momma didn't like that one because she literally laughed in my face... well, from across the room, because she's still carrying that kid toward me.  How rude!  Doesn't she see I'm smoking?  I pick my cigarette up, trying to give her a hint to keep that shit machine away from me, but clearly she doesn't get it.  Whatever, it's not my fault if the kid gets addicted to nicotine.  I tried, right?

Crystaline:  You barely slept?  It's Tuesday afternoon, baby.

Celeste:  No.  You mean Monday.  You forgot to take your Dementia medication again, didn't you?

Crystaline:  Noooo... you slept for an entire day, and then some.

I stop to think about it.  No way.  I haven't done that in ages.  I guess I'm pretty jet lagged, because I could probably sleep for another two days if that's the case.  I turn back to the mirror as I run the brush through my now only slightly tangled hair.  Hair spray time.  Pssst - pssst - pssssst.

Celeste:  Oh well.  It's not like anyone cares.  Did you watch that bullshit yester... two days ago?  I mean, total bullshit.  Why are you bringing me that kid?

Crystaline:  Because he's yours.

What?  Oh my god, I don't want a kid.  This woman is bat shit if she thinks I want a kid.  No, no fucking way.  Mmm mmmm, nope.

Celeste:  Oh... my... GODDESS, MOTHER!  See comment from like two seconds ago.  Kids are not cats.  They... are... not... pets!  Besides, if I wanted a pet, I wouldn't have forced that poodle to run away by kicking it out of a moving car in downtown L.A.

Crystaline:  Princess Jewel, named after pop folk singer Jewel?  You said... colored... drug dealers mugged you and stole her tiara and collar, and she got scared.  I felt so bad for her.  I mean, I still do, because road rash is a bitch, but at least I know she wasn't...

Celeste:  EM OH EM!  Hi, point!  Get to it!  Child plus smoke is illegal in some states.

The kid just keeps crying, and he smells like, I don't know, pickles and vomit.  I literally have to hold my nose, because I just puked a little in my mouth.  I pick up my Chanel Number Five, and relentlessly spray the kid.  He stops crying, because he's choking on clouds of smoke and perfume, but the bright side is he's too busy coughing to scream.  That's optimism, folks.

Crystaline:  Look, baby... when I say he's yours, I mean he's yours.  Like, he came from out of your mommy tube.

Cue revelation.

Celeste:  What?  Are... are you serious?

I'm almost shocked here.  I look from my mother to the kid.  He's actually kind of cute for a smelly, snot-faced antichrist.  But, he's apparently my smelly, snot-faced antichrist.  Motherly instinct kicks in as I put out my nearly finished cigarette and blow the smoke, not in his face, but to my mother's face instead.  I reach out my arms to the red faced child, and he reaches out for me.  I get closer, but I'm pretty sure he's poo'd in his pants, and I'm not getting poo and vegan tofu-chicken-like nuggets dripping with brown sauce all over my nightgown.  Only I'm allowed to stain my clothes with partially digested food and drink.  I retract my hands, and the kid begins screaming again, but this isn't over with my mother as I look back into her eyes.

Celeste:  You told me you were giving it up for adoption, mother!  You lied to me.  You lied, I can't believe it.  Well, you know that what you put out into the universe comes back on your tenfold, so...

Crystaline:  I thought you might change your mind, and we've got the means, puddin'...

I shoot up from my stool and I stomp right over to my mother.  Like five paces too, so you know it's serious.  I get about five inches from her face, because I believe in personal space... and I glare into her dark eyes as I'm sure she's getting totally jealous of my crystal blue ones.  Serves you right, bitch...  I even laugh a little in anger, because I'm seeing red!

Celeste:  Yeah?  Well I DIDN'T!  I still don't want it, so why don't you drop it off at the shelter or something?!  Get it out of my room before it starts to smell like rotten pickled skunk ass!

Crystaline:  Talk about two seconds ago.  You don't drop kids off at shelters.  There's a long, costly adoption process for rich people to get rid of unwanted children and to keep it out of the media.  Just ask Kristie Alley.  Everyone just thought she was fat, but she had an oopsy, and her publicist made her eat jars of mayonaise to keep up the illusion.

I'm so about to tear into her for this one, until I hear a weak voice coming from across the room.  I turn to see Chad walking up in his tight white underwear, and morning wood for days.

Chad:  What's with the crying kid?

After a take a minute to shake my head at the fact that his morning wood has not decreased with the sight of my mother and a child in the room, because men totally have boner control, I actually decide to let him know I'm acknowledging him.

Celeste:  Apparently I still have a child that I thought went up for adoption two years ago.

Chad:  Oh. Okay.  Is it mine?

Ohhhhhh my gawd.... did he seriously just ask ME that?  I don't want my smelly child to think that violence is okay, so I'm not going to rip off his wood and choke him with it, so I just answer with what should be obvious enough for a retarded two year old to understand.

Celeste:  Really?  How can you seriously ask me that?  That fucking hurts, boo...

Chad:  Oh. Well, is it?

Celeste:  Ugh, I don't know, CHAD!  It was an experimental time for me.  Don't you have any cooth?

Chad scratches his crotch as he stares at me with those cute green eyes, which I sometimes think are the only reason I stay with him.  Well, that, and you see his morning wood.  He blinks a couple times as I guess he's trying to think of the most delicate way to handle the situation.

Chad:  No.

He leans on my vanity as he looks at the kid's face.  The smell doesn't bother him, probably because he smells like real chicken nuggets and Jim Beam.

Chad:  Well, he's got my skin color, and he's got your nose, Peaches.  We'll keep it, Crys.

He doesn't even ask me as he picks the kid up.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad he stopped crying and everything, but he probably should have talked to me about it before agreeing to keep it, so that I would have had time to say no first.  He plays with the kid a bit as they walk toward the door.  It's almost kind of cute, but let's not forget the matter at hand.

Celeste:  I can't believe you never gave up my kid.  You even told me you did.

Crystaline:  I didn't expect you to actually buy it, honey.  I thought for sure you'd see the signs like the loud cryin'...

Celeste:  I just thought you were going through a Bjork phase again.

Just then, my phone goes off with a text alert.  I walk away from my mother and my vanity as I go to my nightstand.  Again, this takes a while because my room is like a mansion by itself, so bare with me a minute.  I make it to my night stand and I pick my phone up as my mother just gives up and leaves the room.  I look at the screen to see like ten missed texts from Tim.  I scroll through them, but most of them are stuff like "Hey, did you know you have a match?" or "Did you see the card?"  or "Are you alive?" or "I'm really worried."  I guess I do owe him a call.  I press the call button in the corner and put it on speaker.  I lay down in bed again and put the phone on my chest as it rings like once before Tim picks up.

Tim:  Celeste?  Hey, are you alright?  I've been trying to tell you about some truly fucked up shit for a day and a half.

Celeste:  Yeah, I'm okay.  I just found out I have a two year old, and I guess I slept for thirty six hours or something.  I mean, I was so tired.  That cage match was rough, and then having to give some sort of meaningful mission statement afterward?  Scary stuff.

Tim:  Oh, tell me about it.  I have a mild Liz Small's style concussion from that mallet attack.  And the crushing feeling of loss, which I thank you for, and... wait, two year old what?

I roll over onto my side as the phone slowly slides next to my head.  I prop my arm under my pillow as I rest there for a second.

Celeste:  Child.  Focus here.  So, because you couldn't climb out of a cage door quicker than Steve Ramone could scale a fucking wall, it's my fault?  More like you suck, T-Bone.  I only lost because that bitch pulled my mask off and stunned me.  I was kicking her ass, like bad.  Besides, you shouldn't be as pissed as me, because your moment wasn't ruined.  I had this kick ass "I'm a bad ass warrior bitch" speech going, and I ended that shit strrrrrong!  Then, nobody even noticed, because you walked into a mallot shot to the face.  Thanks for that.

Tim:  Yes, how dare I... So, match, it's pretty interesting, and you're either really going to love it, or you're really going to hate it.

This oughta be good...

Celeste:  What?  I get a shot at Mikah, one where Alexis can't stop me, and I get to embarrass the Bombshell Champion?

Hesitant pause from Tim, so either I'm totally right, or I might not enjoy this as much as he might have thought.  He groans a bit.

Tim:  Nnnnnnot exactly...  I mean, you do get a chance at Mikah, but it's a tournament.  Your first round, you have to face off against Kate Steele, a...

Celeste:  Why would I give a shit about some newbie?  I don't get where you're going with this.  I mean, she's like a recycled Vitamin C of wrestling, so...

Tim:  *AHEM*  Aaaaaaaaaannnnndddd... because, you see, I wasn't finished... and Alexis.  It's a triple threat.

This... is...

Celeste:  Fuckin' awesome!  Edwards???  Oh, how I'd love to smack her around a little and call it good fun.  But, how cool would it be if I helped Alexis win, then she would have to face Mikah, and she'd probably shit her granny panties...

I'm such a bitch sometimes.  But it's true.  Alexis Edwards wears granny panties. like grey, saggy ones too.

Tim:  That's a terrible attitude to have.  You have a chance to advance in the tournament and take another title home to The Nobodies.  Then, they'll have to pay attention to us.

Is he for real right now?  I can't even.  Oh, wait, yes I can...

Celeste: So you're telling me that I should hurt Little Miss Sunshine?  That's going to be an awkward situation when you two finally mesh genitals, won't it?

Tim:  Mesh...?  Christ, Celeste... But anyway, it's not about malice here.  It's about getting your shit together and making an impact.  No matter what the circumstances were, you were pretty much at fault for losing, and to Jessie Salco no less.  Do you know how much shit the Bombshells are going to give you?  It's almost as bad as losing to Candy Overton!

Celeste: Okay, okay!  Fine.  I'll knock your little girlfriend around the ring a bit, take out Kate whatever her name is, and win the match.  How fucking hard could that be?

Tim continues talking, but then that fucking crying starts up again and I can't even focus on what he's saying.  I'd imagine it's something about how he's not totally crushing on Alexis, which is total bullshit, but whatever.  And then he's probably going on about how I should sieze the opportunity and bring glory to a group of lazy misfits.  I mean, I respect him too much to sit the phone down so I can go find my earplugs to drown out the sound of my screaming child.  I'm not that horrible where I'd yell at it until stops.  I'm such a good mom...

Celeste: Hey Tim, I gotta go.  I have to do laps around the ring.

Tim:  Laps?  What are you...?

Celeste: Laps, reps, whatever it is I'm supposed to do for training.

Tim:  You're supposed to come to my dad's gym, and...

Celeste: Bye!

I set the phone down on my vanity as I fling open my top drawer.  I rummage through my shit, but I can't find those ear plugs, and I'm NOT walking a football field's length to my nightstand to get my other pair.  Fuck that.

Celeste: HEY...! Uhhh... MOM DOES THE BRAT HAVE A NAME?!? I'M RYING TO TELL IT TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Nevermind, there they are... Ahhhhh, and silence.  Smiles.



What Lies Beneath
#NP "Little Sister" by Queens of the Stone Age
Locale: The past



I look down at her.  She's so beautiful... Despair is in her eyes, and all of her toughness seems to fade away.  Vulnerability in it's rarest form takes over her face, and it is almost angelic.  The redness of her lips... and, well, her entire face... as the blood pools under her skin.  It isn't to a state of bruising yet, the redness still fresh as I just stare down.  For a split second, I don't want to hit her anymore.  I just want to drink it in, savoring it.  Don't mistake this for some sado-masochist bullshit.  Alexis is my sister, and what she's going through right now is an honor.  I've trained for six months longer than her, but the powers that be feel that she's ready, so here we are... beating the fuck out of her so that she can show her face.  Right now, I can hear Tim shouting at me to continue, and I can't be the weak one.  If he sees weakness, it could be another five months before I'm unmasked.

Tim:  What are you waiting for?!  She can take it!  Come on, ladies!

I look at my other sisters as they continue to hammer away at Alexis.  In some way, I don't want to hit her anymore, because the harder she gets it, the higher in esteem she will be.  I didn't come here to fail, or play second best.  What does that say about me if I'm secondary as a Nobody?  Fuck me!  I ram my baton into her ribs before I grab her by her long, brunette hair.  Such a shame... She's one of those natural blondes.  I can tell it by her roots.  Who dyes their hair when they are blessed with the favored hair color?  This bitch!

*WHACK!*

I slam my elbow into the bridge of her nose.  I'm surprised at how quickly it begins to bleed.  It's gushing... Her blood is now on my gloves, seeping through to cover my hands.  I can feel the slickness of it, but I can't stop.  I can't get grossed out.  No judgment, but I don't know where this chick has been.  The Goddess knows where I've been.  I ram my baton into her ribs as she topples over.  My sisters stop and look at me as if telling me I'm going too hard on Alexis.  Under my mask, I smile at them, as Tim starts to look a little unsure of himself here.  I look down at Alexis, and she mutters through the crimson mask on her face.

Alexis:  Keep them coming, bitch.  I can take it.  Can you?

Me:  Ohhhh bitch, you don't even know right now...

I take the baton and crack her against the side of her head.  Tim begins to fidget his fingers as I hear the audience shouting out in disapproval.  Fuck them.  They don't know anything.  This is Alexis' time, and she says she wants more, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to deliver.  As she falls down to the mat, I begin to stomp on her.  I feel her body quivering underneath my boot, but her will is far from broken.  We just want to see the cracks.

Me:  You had enough yet, girlie?

Alexis sputters blood as she looks up at me.  Tim doesn't see what I see.  Her teeth are stained with her own blood as she gives me the most wicked grin I've ever seen.  She spits at me, whether intentional or not, and she says...

Alexis:  Don't take it easy on me, junkie bitch.  I could do this all night.

Me:  Alright little sister...

*CRACK!*

I could play the sadistic saint all night, but I've got to admit it... that one felt good.  There was no ulterior motive there. I just had to smack the bitch for that last comment.  I savored ever bit of it, too.  I can still feel the reverberation in the baton, or maybe my body is quivering from the pure satisfaction of that hit.  This shit is a real thrill, I can't lie.  Watching the bitch bleed seemed to soothe me a little bit.  She's starting to feel the effects, I can tell as she's not saying anything.  She just sinks down to the ground, almost curling up into a fetal position.  The other girls stop, but I'm not about to until I'm told to.  I continue to hammer away at Alexis before getting tired of the baton.  I didn't come to this world to hit people with street weapons.  I am, and always will be, a more hands on kinda girl.  And, as much as Lexi pissed me off with that comment, I know that this is for her own good.  This is her first appearance in the wrestling world, and people are watching, seeing what this girl is made of.  I'm not about to let her be known as something less than what she is.  As much as she gets on my nerves at times, we are one, and her weakness won't be mine.

As I continue to hammer away at her, she gives me a sick, bloody smile.  She's enjoying this way too much.  Not even I would smile at this shit.  But here she is, and that's when I knew she was legit.  I'd never tell her that, but it's true.  I go to hit her once more with my bare knuckles, but Tim grabs my arm and pulls me up.  He's shaking his head at me, and all I can say is...

Me:  Aww, Tim, seriously?

Tim:  That's enough, Celeste.  We've made our point.

Me:  Just because she's your little girlfriend.  You'd let these bitches bring me within an inch of my life...

Call it pouting, I don't care.  I stand up and adjust my mask.  No one is going to see me yet, because I've got plans, and this place won't even see it coming.  I stare down at Alexis as she weakly gets up, playing the damsel in distress for Tim, and he's eating it up.  Not me, I don't buy it.  Instead, I fall back and lean against the corner as Tim hands Lexi a towel.  She's about to go onto some boring speech about how we could have done better, because she's such a tough bitch.  I'm really not in the mood for that, because the last time I came face to face with a girl who thought she was a tough bitch, she would up with a shank in her stomach, and now she shits through a tube and into a bag she wears inside her purse.

Tessa:  Lass's got some fire in her, ey?

Me:  Meh...

Tessa:  Oh come now, luv.  Ye can't still be sore that she was voted to go first.  The others must see something in her.

Yeah, that big chest and ass, but whatever.

Me:  I guess you're right.  Hopefully she pulls her own weight. and has Tim's back, because what he's about to do is going to bring a lot of fuckin' heat down on him, and all of us.  Let's just hope Joan Jett and The Runaways can keep up...

And, as we all know... she didn't.  Because I had to force Tim's hand.  Well, technically Jessie did by taking off my mask, but here I am. ready to face my own initiation.  But, first things, first...




It's Peaches, Bitch!
#NP "Bittersweet Symphony" by The Verve
Locale: Palacio de los Deportes Virgilio Travieso Soto; Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic


Really?  THIS is what all the fuss is about?  I mean, I've wrestled one match at a Super Card, and the rest of the time, I've been backing other people up.  I've never noticed how low budget these shows are.  It's no wonder Sin City Wrestling shows always sell out.  There's like ten seats in this bitch... How do people ball so hard here?  Arriving in limosuines like rock stars, while making pennies.  They have to spend money to work here.  Fucking idiots.  I'm the daughter of a rock star, and I don't stay in five star hotels when I'm on the road.

Anyway, so I'm walking through the halls, getting a feel for the place.  I hear that's what you're supposed to do from Tim.  I didn't want to go by myself, but Tim had other business to attend to.  Probably working out his revenge on Kris Halich, so I talked Connor and Tessa into coming along with me for this stupid promo thing.  I walk down a long, narrow hallway as I watch Tessa making eyes at Connor, but he's either too drunk, or too oblivious to notice as he glances around at our surroundings.  She "accidentally" bumps into him, and he carefully catches her, stopping her from falling over her own feet.

Connor:  How many have you tossed back today, Tess?

Tessa:  None.  Apparently I'm just a bit of a clutz.  Thank God ye was there to catch me.

That smile.  Why don't we just have one big sweaty masked orgy already, because everybody is fucking everybody... sort of like Sin City Wrestling as a whole.  She wraps her arms around Connor as she takes her sweet time getting her balance back.  Meanwhile, that drag queen is waiting at ringside for my interview, but I'm stuck here watching High School Musical on mute.  Once she finally gets both feet back on the ground, she holds onto Connor's hand, and the two continue to follow after me.  Up ahead, there are some technicians messing around with wires in front of a huge black curtain.  This is the part I'm familiar with.  I walk up to the curtain, and I can remember that rush I felt for the first time just two weeks ago.  All of the flashing lights, the fans in the seats, and the adrenaline rush that reminds me why I'm even doing this, all rushes back to me. I reach out for the curtains, ready to pull them apart like I'm really making an entrance, when one of the technicians shouts out at me.

Technician:  Excuse me guys, but the venue is closed until Sunday.  No fans allowed.

Celeste:  Um, okay...?

I don't mean to sound like a Mean Girl, but I totally rolled my eyes at the pizza faced jack off.  Why would I care that fans aren't allowed at my promo video?  I go to take one step through the curtains when the man walks over and wraps his arms around me, and I can't move my arms.  He's pretty muscular for a dickless nerd with glasses.  I kick and grunt as I try to break free, if not because , what the fuck? ... then because he smells like Lubriderm and stale ass with cheetoh dust sprinkled on top!

Celeste:  Let go of me before I tell your mom, loser!

Technician:  I said no fans!  Todd, call security...

Celeste:  And I'm not a fan, virgin creature!  I'm Celeste North, and I'm supposed to meet Holly Wood out there.

He laughs at me because he obviously doesn't believe me.  Is this what I get for keeping that fucking mask on for so long?  People don't know who I am, and I'm subjected to the same old shit Tim and Lexi went through for like a month?

Technician:  Yeah, nice try.  Nobody has even seen Celeste North's face because she wears a mask.

Celeste:  NO SHE DOESN'T!  I mean, no I don't!  Didn't you see Jessie Salco take my mask off at High Stakes two weeks ago?

Technician:  You are such a terrible liar.  I would have noticed if that happened.  Why don't you just go back to the hotel and log on to scwrestling.net and buy your VIP passes like every other die hard fan?

Seriously?  I mean, like for real?  He's got to be joking.

Celeste:  My mother is Crystalline North for fuckssake!

Technician:  You're telling me your mother sings "Pleather and Frills"? Yeah, right.  This isn't match.com and I'm not falling for that one again...

GROWL!  This can't be happening!!!

Celeste:  Oh... my... SHIT!  Who do I have to fuck around here to go out there and do a damn interview?!?

Of course I should have known the virgin would let go right away.  He all but raises his hand... wait, he just raised his hand to volunteer.  Grossness.  I roll my eyes and shake my head as I grunt in his general direction.

Celeste:  It was a rhetorical question, dipshit!  I do have standards...

Before I can go any further into how short he comes of those standards, I notice a pudge in his jeans, and it's really not impressive.  I actually feel my gag reflex going into effect.  Is that he-she for pay too busy fluffing her Party City wig to hear the commotion?  You know what, I've had enough.  There's a camera going right now, and I don't need this kind of hassle.  I grab the front of it and aim it directly at me as I take a few steps back.  I shove white Steve Urkle mouth breather out of the shot, because nobody wants to see that honestly.  I don't even think about it as I go right into things.

Celeste:  Hey everybody, it's your favorite recently unmasked Nobody.  No offense, Tess.

I look over at her, but she's too involved in trying to capture Connor's attention to even notice.  I'm going to get dizzy from all of the eye rolling I'm doing.  I return my attention to the camera, a bit annoyed as I'm sure my joke will fall flat when people actually see this, if they even bother.


****OOC NOTE: If you're reading this, inbox me with your least favorite type of flower.  Personally, I think carnations are smug little bastards.  Return to the roleplay!****


Celeste:  I came here with a mission, and that mission was to give this place a reality check.  Since Miss Edwards likes to make things all about her, it was time Nobody took the Bombshell Division by storm to make all of you self absorbed little twats see what's really going on.  Ever since the era of Mean Girls, this place has been one huge fucking joke.  Women who are more concerned with the way their make up looks than how to actually hold on to a Full Nelson are running this place, while women who know their way around the ring are stuck on the bottom of the card, opening shows.  Movie stars are coming back between filming of Summer Blockbusters and winning World Heavyweight Championships simply by pissing off a boss.  Please tell me how that makes any fucking sense whatsoever?  Anybody?  Anybody?  That's what I thought.  It's fucking ridiculous.  Should I go put an angry badger in Christian Underwood's secret dildo drawer to get a Bombshell Championship shot in two weeks?  Should I put Ceyenne pepper in Erik Staggs' hand lotion next to the hole in the wall leading to the showers of the Bombshell Locker Room, so I can get a title match against Alexis?  No, because I'm a Nobody.  I'm not even an afterthought.

I'm pretty good at this promo thing.  My hairs are standing on edge over my entire body as I take one step forward, looking into the camera with an amused smirk on my face.

Celeste:  Maybe I should lose a couple more matches, and then run off and cry for a couple months, and then return and get a title shot because I have money, and can buy my way into it.  Or, I could get on my knees and blow Mark Ward.  I don't care enough to act like I'm upset about losses, and I'd rather not have anything to do with an appendage that's been inside of half the Bombshell and Female Inactives Roster.  Luckily, I have a better option.  I can mow through every stupid bitch that they put in front of me.  I can prove that I'm better than everyone on the roster, and show that, even though I've only been in training for two years, I can work my way around the supposed best in this company.  Then, when I prove why I'm better than these women, I will get a shot at the 19th victim, Mikah.  I'll be able to take that title off of her, and show everyone that the cheap Delia Darling knock off isn't worth half the credit they give her.

They already know it, but no one has the guts to step up to her.  Only, this time, Alexis won't be able to stop me from beating the living shit out of the bubbleheaded blonde bimbo.  These thoughts are very clearly written across my face as I take a step back from the camera.  It's now time to address my opponents for the opening round of this tournament thing.

Celeste:  Now, I hear this is the part where I talk about my opponents.  I mean, what is there to say?  I'm facing some orange haired "punk" named Kate Steele.  I mean, I tried to do my homework on this one, but most of what I found were youtube videos made in somebody's basement that looks like a scene from Heathers.  Really, it was like listening to Punk Goes Kid's Bop.  But, I was able to dig a little deeper to see that she won a few titles in a few other companies.  Impressive... well, not really.  Even if Sin City Wrestling books shows in night clubs and high school gymnasiums, the talent is above other places.  It might be why people come here and spend thousands of dollars, just to earn five hundred, a thousand if you're a champion, I hear.  My point is, Kathy, you might have been somebody in a few other places, but this isn't a pond.  This is the ocean, big fish, and there are plenty of other big fish here.  If I can hang with someone and prove I stand a chance in SCW, then you've already got your work cut out for you.  I'm not saying I'm going to beat you, because that would be pretty fucking redundant.  All I'm saying is, don't underestimate me because I'm new to the scene, and because I'm a Nobody.  Of course, you're probably like all of these other mouthy airheads, but trust me when I say that will be the biggest mistake you will make in this match.

Truth bombs.  I need to take a minute, because there's so much to say about the third person in this match.  After all, anybody who actually gives a shit about this match, which is probably only a handful honestly, will be waiting for this part.  Will I play nice with my stable mate?  Will I rip into her to show I am the dominant Bombshell?

Celeste:  Alexis... There's just so many options ahead of me.  I mean, we could team up and toss the Euro Trash from the ring, and thrown down like two hungry bitches, or we could just swing at anything that moves.  We could go in united, or we could put another rift in The Nobodies.  That one might seem a bit familiar though, since you're famous for causing rifts within The Nobodies.  You're like Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's, crossed with any sexy female lead in any Tarantino film... foul mouthed.  Don't get me wrong, because... I mean, I love that about you, but... it's not hard to see why you cause rifts in our little psuedo family.  You're always dramatic, and act like you don't care, but one wrong move, and you turn into Kittie.  Yeah, Seven Deadly Sins Kittie.  Lucky for you, I care about you enough to try to smooth over the messes you make.  As much as I'd love to rip any and every bitch apart inside of that ring over the next few weeks...  I'm not sure I'd actually be able to ruin your little streak you've got going on.  What have I got to lose?  Nothing.  You are like my little sister.  One that I'd like to hug with my hands, and your throat.  I only want what's best for you.  But, I do love kicking asses, and yours is one of the best I've kicked so far.  I guess what I'm saying is that I don't exactly know what I'm going to do yet.  But, on the bright side, you're in for a surprise on Sunday, Lexi Bear.

I'm all smiles as I give my best happy wave to the camera.  It's very sarcastic, but hopefully nobody notices.  I continue smiling for a while as the red light keeps flashing.  I give a light nod at the camera man as my smile intensifies.  However, the idiot keeps recording, and my patience and kindness are both wearing very thin right now.

Celeste:  Hey, idiot!  I'm finished! ... As in you can turn off the camera now...  Fuck it...

I walk on by, but not before ramming the palm of my hand against the side.  I'm pretty sure I've shut off the camera as I continue to walk off, and we fade back to your regularly scheduled program.