”What the hell was that?”
Kittie is seen walking down the hall, immediately after securing the Bombshell Roulette Championship for herself. She looks back, and she literally feeds off of the envy of all of the other Bombshells that are looking out of Christian Underwood’s office. Even though she is not looking at them, she can feel their eyes clawing at her back and it feeds a large, greedy grin as it overtakes her entire face. She tilts her head back and lets out the loudest, most ferocious “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” imaginable. As she is walking away, she kicks her leg up cheerleader style and raises the belt high above her head, ignoring that nagging voice in the back of her mind as it repeats the question over and over until she can no longer ignore it.
”What the hell was that?”
Kittie: What? Do you mean to say, ‘Congratulations on being the first ever Bombshell Roulette Champion?’ If so, then thanks…
Kittie rolls her eyes as she drapes the new and shiny belt over her shoulder. She pulls at her black tank top lightly as she continues walking on down the hallway. As she passes a stagehand, she stops and points to the title belt proudly, still wearing that wicked smile.
Kittie: Hi, I just won this. Nine other women tried for it, but I walked away with it. No one can take away my inaugurating this belt…
The young, bald, and tattooed man nods his head as if conceding to a young child. She grabs onto his face and plants an obnoxious kiss on his cheek as she strolls off. But before she leaves, she reaches back and smacks him on his backside, which brings about a look of complete and utter shock. Kittie smiles with satisfaction as she continues on. That voice just will not stop, though.
”No… I mean, “What the hell was that, in the office with Brooklyn?”
Kittie almost looks dumbfounded as she rounds the corner and heads toward the Women’s Locker Room. She taps her chin curiously, and then her eyes widen as if she has suddenly stumbled upon the answer. She gently pats the belt.
Kittie: Well, what that was in the office with Brooklyn Carter was that I just won a fucking championship belt against a girl that I can’t fucking stand. I’m failing to see what the problem is here…
”Are you mocking me, bitch…? I guess I’ve taught you well. See, the problem is that I worked really, really hard to get you and Brooklyn teamed up after the Swimsuit Contest.”
Kittie: WHAT?!? Why the hell would you do that? I want nothing to do with that junkie, nappy-headed little girl!
”Well, if it weren’t for me and Brooklyn, you never would have made it close to that office. The whole time, she came and saved your ass.”
Kittie: No, Tamara! She saved YOUR ass because you don’t know what the hell you are doing in that ring. If I were in control, BROOKLYN never would have made it that close to the office, and neither would any of those other wannabe’s! So, I’m going to borrow a line from Drew here. ‘Don’t hate, congratulate.’
Kittie does a head bob gesture before snapping and resting her hand on her hip. She chuckles at the fact she just cut up like that. After a long silence, she just shakes her head with self satisfaction. She suddenly stops and crashes into the wall. Without being able to control herself, she reaches up and begins choking herself.
”Do yourself a favor, honey… Do NOT test me. I’ve had enough of your crazy fucking shit, and I’m about two seconds from taking you over. We’ve been playing nice lately, but I will not be trapped in this loser’s body for much longer. So, I’m giving you a choice here. Continue being bat shit crazy with Brooklyn Carter at your side, or fade into the background while I mend things with Brooklyn Carter, and we go on to being successful together. Do we have a deal, sunshine?”
Kittie’s eyes are bulging out of her skull as people pass by, watching her choke herself. Rather than stop to help her, they simply scurry off in every which direction. Kittie slowly sinks down to a sitting position until a pair of perfectly crafted, milky white legs clad in knee high stiletto heeled boots comes next to her. The owner reaches down and yanks Kittie’s hands from around her throat and pulls her back up to her feet. As they do, Roxanne’s face is in full view. She pins Kittie’s hands down against the wall. Kittie closes her eyes and begins growling curses under her breath. She clinches her eyes closed and begins repeating some sort of chant over and over again. Just then, a hand comes crashing across her face and her eyes shoot open.
Roxanne: Cut out the crazy shit for two seconds, Kitten. Things are getting very real here. I am real.
Kittie: Wait, how? How is this even possible? Either I am really losing it, or I missed something when I attended your funeral. Because, if memory serves, you’re supposed to be dead…
Roxanne: Well, we can talk about it, rationalize it and clarify every last detail… Or you could join me in doing what no one else here has been able to do, and put that loud-mouthed, over-inflated, deceitful little cu…
Kittie’s smile returns and she is instantly on board, even if she is most likely losing her mind. She nods her head rapidly, and Roxanne offers a gentle, comforting grin. She hugs Kittie closely to her before leaning down to pick up the Bombshell Roulette Championship. She inspects it carefully, offing a curious look before handing it back to Kittie.
Roxanne: Is this new? Congratulations.
Kittie nods her head rapidly again, very child-like as she pats the belt like her baby. The two travel off down the hallway together, and the rest is history.
<3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<>-{Friendly Advice}-<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3
Dear Presley,
I wanted to extend an apology to you for what my partner has done to you. I fully expect that you have a bone to pick with her over the altercation, and I don’t blame you for being pissed off. She humiliated you in the middle of that ring. I do mean H-U-M-I-L-I-A-T-E-D your ass! It was anything but funny, girl. Trust. She all but screwed your man in that ring, and then beat you down. You must wanna really prove something getting into that ring on Sunday. I mean, she touched your boyfriend! She said he was cute?! If I were you, I would beat her ass in every which direction. The nerve of her, right?
Let me tell you one thing though, baby doll. Brooklyn handled ya mothafuckin’ ass. She gave you the proper new girl welcome here in SCW. Instead of getting raw about it, girl… you need to march to that ring on Sunday and thank her. That’s right, I said THANK! You must be thinking “why the hell would I do that, you crazy bitch?!” Thank her because she did you a solid by being the one to welcome you to Sin C Dubz. Think what would have happened if I were the one to welcome you. You might be missing a limb, or half of your hair. You would probably not be able to make it to the ring this Sunday.
See, being the new girl sucks around here. At least you don’t have a cocky attitude like your partner, Trashy Trish Newborn. Take a look at her and learn from her mistakes. Do yourself a favor and do not tag her in, because you might as well just lay down in the middle of the ring and get pinned your own damn self. See, my girl Brooklyn and I got some business to attend to. We’re gonna prove to everyone why we are the top Bombshells in this company. She can talk all the mess she want, but when it comes down to it, she’s gonna be the next Bombshell Champion, and there isn’t anything you or Trish can do to stop us from proving to be the dominant females in SCW. Learn your place early on, and you might live to see the next week and fight another day.
Make sure when you thank Brooklyn, that she knows I encouraged you to. Then she might not give a repeat performance of what she did at Into the Void. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing to get your ass beat two shows in a row? Oh my god, I would so die. Almost as fast as I did when I saw the way Brooklyn tore you up in front of thousands in attendance, and twice as many watching from home. Really, have you googled it? I think there might even be a video loop of when she violently tossed your ass over the ropes! You bounced right off of the canvas like a basketball…
Anyway, I seriously wrote this to wish you luck in this upcoming match. Seeing what your boy, Lucas has done is pretty damn impressive. If he were teamed with any of the other bombshells besides you and Trashy Trish, I might be scared, and wouldn’t feel the need to wish you luck. The fact of the matter is that you are facing two tough as nails wrestlers, one of which is a champion. You need it, honey. You need all the prayers of the Sons, and as little time in the ring as you can possibly manage, just so you survive the night. Take Sunday as a lesson, sweetheart… Don’t fight back when you are dealing with the head bitches, because our bite is as vicious as our bark, trust that. Pass the message on to your loser ass partner, Trish…
Kisses,
Drew *scribble* Kittie
<3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<>-{It’s About To Get Ugly}-<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3<><3
The cameras pan around the outside of a suburban home in Henderson, Nevada. The moon casts a blue glow upon the perfectly clean white siding. Just then, the lights come on in the spacious, empty living room area, shrouded only by a sheer white curtain. It isn’t long before Kittie comes walking into the room, but something seems very different about her. Upon further inspection, she is actually wearing pink! She casts out a melodic humming as she carries another sheer white sheet, allowing it to dangle behind her. She gracefully spins with it, allowing it to waft and twirl delicately. She wraps it around herself, and then snuggles close with it. She stops when she spots the camera and she bats her thick eyelashes as she opens up the sheet. She holds it out and then after a moment, she allows it to drop down to the ground. She walks up to the curtain and opens it up, waving her finger at them, motioning to come inside. She walks over to the front door and opens it, turning gracefully as she beckons them to join her inside. She stops in the center of the completely empty living room and she takes in a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she enjoys the fragrant flower scent the summer breeze carries inside. She exhales gently as she runs her fingers through her long hair.
Kittie: Mmmm, I love the smell of roses. It reminds me of… home.
She opens her eyes and there is a very different presence standing in front of the camera than the one we have come to know as Kittie. She is determined, driven, and ready to do what has to be done, while her demeanor is cool as a cucumber. She offers a gentle smile before standing in the exact center of the living room area.
Kittie: I have asked you to come here tonight to get my thoughts on this match coming up at Climax Control. Let’s be quite honest here. This match… is bullshit. Plain and simple. Brooklyn and I have already proven that we are more than capable of functioning as a team when we shut out all of these other tramps to ensure than one of us walked out as the first ever Sin City Wrestling Bombshell Roulette Champion.
Kittie glances over to the bay window where we first witnessed her dancing around. The championship belt is resting there, sparkling in the moonlight. Kittie winks as she walks over to it, staring down at it silently for a moment. She gently runs her index finger over the lettering, stopping just above the name plate. She turns her head to look back at the camera.
Kittie: The point has been proven when Trish Newborn did, in fact, NOT walk out as the champion. It proved that every single *FUCKING*…
Kittie covers her mouth as if she had just burped, looking equally as embarrassed. She starts to open her mouth to speak again, but her face twists into a sort of uncomfortably angry expression and she bangs herself against the head.
Kittie: Trish Newborn is a disgusting whore who talked all kinds of trash about how she is better than me. Look at me! LOOK AT ME! Shut up, Kittie. NO YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP! I’M talking here! Trish Newborn wanted to walk right over me, acting all big and bad, but who is the champion? Hm? Is it you? *AHEM!* Pardon me… Ummm, as I was saying, Trish Newborn did, in fact, not walk out as the champion and I proved that I am nothing to laugh at. SUCK ON THAT, TRISH!
Kittie stops, her eyes widened, and her facial expression is rapidly changing back and forth between calm and furious. She shakes her head, whispering to herself as she tries to control herself, but the whispers turn to angry sputters as she begins pacing back and forth. Her hands are clinched tightly until she slaps herself as hard as she can across the face. She lets out a shocked gasp, expressing the pain. Soon she takes another deep breath and all is back to normal. She looks apologetically to the camera and then continues on.
Kittie: I do apologize for that. I’m adjusting my medications and it’s taking a bit… The point I was trying to make is that Trish Newborn talked a lot of trash on me, specifically. She targeted me above all of the others because she saw me as the biggest threat in that match. As much as she wanted to deny the reasoning, it was rather transparent, much like that curtain. She was living in the Sin of Envy. All of her words meant nothing to me. She wanted to sling shit at me, so I slung it right back. What drove me to make sure she didn’t win that title was the fact that she was trying to steal my light. She wanted to be where I am at so badly, that the envy just ate her alive. Envy is my thing, and I assure you that I won’t let some disgusting bag of trash like Trish Newborn touch my leftovers, let alone my championship or my sin, without being shown up. It looks like I get to show her up yet again.
Kittie smirks with a twinkle in her eye as she lowers herself to the floor. She spreads out over the sheer sheet and wraps it around herself in a vulnerable display of beauty. The camera points down at her as her eyes flutter back open. She stares almost seductively at the camera for a moment in silence before parting her glossed lips to speak once more.
Kittie: “Trash” Newborn is an overly-inflated piece of crap that likes to toot her own horn, talking about championships that she holds, or has held in the past. She had a very strong message for me at Into the Void, but she failed to deliver on her threats. I almost felt bad for her, because she gave a very valiant effort to prove that I am nothing but a low-life, good for nothing, talentless suck. Instead of proving her point, all she did was prove herself to be even lower in the SCW food chain when she fell behind with the rest of the rubble like Bianca Solderini, Mean Girls, and that weird little Mohawk girl who I can’t even remember her name. That speaks volumes, Trish honey. I didn’t even sweat you, girlie. Call me cocky, but that tells you exactly where I am at in terms of worrying about her.
Kittie slowly turns over, twirling the sheet tighter around her like a cocoon. Once she is wound up, she slowly sits up, and her face is covered in a very childish expression. She blinks her eyes slowly as she looks up into the camera. Bashfully, she looks down to the ground before biting her bottom lip.
Kittie: Ummm… I’m a catapulter. I’m gonna come out like a, ummm, a butterfly. Do you wanna pl… *SHIT STOP IT!* …ay too?
Kittie tucks her head down into the sheet and then lets out a laugh that only a joyful child would make. She quickly rolls across the floor, coming unwound from the sheet. She giggles playfully before skipping off down the hallway.
Cameraman: What the..? They really don’t pay me enough for this shi…
Kittie: MOMMY SAYS THAT’S A RUDE WORD!
Kittie’s voice echoes down the hallway as the cameraman follows the voice around the corner and toward a door that is wide open. A light shines out into the dim hallway. As the cameraman enters the room, he spots Kittie sitting in the center of the room, two Barbie Dolls in her hands. One is dressed as Kittie would, and the other is dressed similar to how she is now, in a pink sundress. She sets the one down and picks up a Ken doll, dressed in a sweater vest and khaki pants. She turns around the face the camera with a grin spread across her face. She holds up the boy for the camera to see, in front of her own face.
Kittie: This one’s Uncle Drew, and Aunt Tamara, and the other one is Kit Kat when she’s all growed up. We use’ta play together until she was a wrestler lady. *NOOO!* But now I’m baaaack! HEE HEE!
She rolls onto her back and kicks her feet up wildly laughing. The cameraman can be heard muttering something to his self as he slowly backs toward the door. Kittie does a sloppy somersault over to the door and slams it shut before the cameraman can get out. She blocks the door, looking up at him with saddened eyes.
Kittie: You can’t leave me. I need a adult. It’s not safe to leave a kid in a house alone. Don’tcha wanna play dolls wif me? You can be any one you want…
The cameraman stands there for a minute as Kittie slowly pushes herself up to her feet, firmly against the door. The cameraman’s breath can be heard in his sort of panic as he tries his best not to show it.
Cameraman: I need to go outside for a minute and…
NOOOO!!!
Kittie stomps her foot angrily a couple of times, leading to a full fledged temper tantrum. She jumps up and down stomping wildly as she repeats herself just as loudly as the first time. The cameraman mutters a curse and Kittie stares at him from the corner of her eye, puckering up her lips in a sort of surprised, yet still angry expression.
Kittie: THOSE ARE RUDE WORDS! YOU GO TO TIME OUT! GO! GO! GO!!!
Kittie begins pushing the cameraman until he topples over backward. Kittie is seen stomping over in the direction of the camera before passing it up. He screams out in pain as a crashing sound is heard. Kittie is screeching until the camera jolts upward and flies toward a wall where static takes over the picture.
