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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.
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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.
