[Christian Underwood]

 First RP Period Deadline:
United States: 11:59pm EST Saturday 11/01/2014
England: 03:59am Sunday 11/02/2014

[Christian Underwood]

 We are now in the second RP period.

Second RP Period Deadline:
United States: 11:59pm EST Friday 11/07/2014
England: 03:59am Saturday 11/08/2014

[Delia Darling]

 <img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v674/GXWSpikeStaggs/110914DeliaScene1_zpsea3f106a.png>

”As much as people try to deny it, image is everything.  How people see you is your true identity.  Therefore, you must make sure your image is worth a thousand words, because you may not get enough time to convey that many words to those who view you.” –Delia, darling if you must


As embarrassing as being “Carrie’d” in front of the men and women in the armed forces in Fort Bragg was, it was a true blessing in disguise.  The Mean Girls were not known for their tact by any means, but they… Delia in particular… had truly crossed a line on October 26th, 2014 on Climax Control.  The other four were simply guilty by association.  Or perhaps it was a culmination of their clear bullying tactics over the last several months that made it easier to throw chairs, batteries, military issued boots, and there was even a popcorn machine that had caught the Bombshell Champion in the left side of her abdomen, and various other random and quizzical objects at them.  One thing was very clear after the Halloween edition of Climax Control… The Mean Girls wanted to be hated.  They wanted to draw heat.  They learned a hard lesson in wishing, because they got exactly what they had wished for, and oh so so much more.

At this particular moment, we find ourselves backstage as the Mean Girls are being escorted off of the military base in a rather rough fashion.  Despite the embarrassment and pain they had endured tonight, they are focused on one thing and one thing only.  Revenge.  Cold, hard, revenge.  Frustrations abound as Delia simply shrieks angrily.

Delia:  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRGH!!!!!

She sounds like a wounded banshee as the security team shoves them about the backstage area.  Superstars stare at the scene, but they can’t even taunt them.  The consequences for their despicable actions didn’t even earn a satisfied chuckle, or taunt from those they sought to torture.  No, they simply got a shake of the head, and looks of pity.  Delia plants her feet firmly against the ground as the crimson tinted corn syrup drips from her curvy frame.  She shakes her head, refusing to be carted off like this.  The guards shove her along, causing her to leave a red streak on the ground as she slides with relative ease.

Delia:  NO!  I am NOT finished! I have s’ings to say about America z’e UN-Beautiful!  I had a song to sing!  I wanted to read every asshole in z’is building to fil’s!

Security Guard 1:  I think you did more than enough, lady…

The burly bald man who looks more like a bouncer in a skeezy east side strip club than an SCW security guard, continues to shove her along forcefully.  Veronica continues to fling the fake blood off of herself as she scoffs at seemingly every drop.  Mercedes simply laughs as Tessa and Angelica stay silent.  Delia shoves at the man, but doesn’t make a single bit of an impact.

Mercedes:  Oh! Oh this is rich.  How, oh HOW can this night get anymore… fabulous?

As if right on cue, the girls are shoved out of the door, having it slammed in their faces.  Before they can even turn around and shake the handle furiously, there is a soft laugh.  Delia has her jaw clinched as she turns and stares right into the innocent doe eyes of Holly Wood… Mz. Wood if you nasty, darling.  It only now seems possible for her expression to sour even further as her eyebrows furl, and her eyes narrow even more.  She points at Holly, shaking her finger before digging it into Holly’s fake breast plate.

Delia:  You… you… TRAITOR!  I bet you are z’e one who orchestrated z’is entire s’ing!  And now what?  You want to come and rub it in all of our faces?  Huh?

Delia begins rubbing her crimson soaked hand in Holly’s face, smearing it up with the fake blood.  Holly has every right to be angry, but she only laughs in response.  Her make up is a mess, and her top is now stained, but for the first time in a very long time, she doesn’t have to care!

Holly:  Honey, if only I could take credit for it, I damn sure would!  But, I’m more of an upfront and personal type.  I’d rather slap you with a bucket of fake blood from right in front of you so I could see the look on your faces when I ruined your Gucci and Prada.

Angelica:  In case you didn’t notice, we’re dressed like Jealous Janis girls, so you only ruined disposable Walmart clothes. Sorry bout…

Holly:  Don’t you even steal MY catchphrase right in my face, baby girl.

Delia:  Consider it stolen, hun-TY!  Now, I assume you want an interview so you can show z’e fans z’at we have in fact not been defeated?

Holly cocks her head to the side and laughs sweetly as she looks down to the microphone in her hand.  She shrugs her shoulders before showing off a cigarette in her hand, dropping it to the ground before putting it out with her black pumps.

Holly:  No, I just wanted to laugh at you, cause it looks like you girls finally got what you deserved.  If *I* couldn’t even handle your shit anymore, you know it had to be bad.

Delia smirks sweetly, shaking her head from side to side as she moves in closer, getting right in Holly’s face.

Delia:  We haven’t gotten a damned s’ing, darling, I assure… We’re not broken.  We’re not defeated.  We still have s’ree pieces of gold in our possession.  We’re still z’e talk of z’e show.  You can try to cover us in fake blood, and run us out, but we’ll be back in two weeks.  So, why don’t you run and tell z’is disgusting cesspool z’at we are not beaten.  We’re only more driven.  Go ahead, jump on your horse, and try to warn z’em all… Z’E MEAN GIRLS ARE COMING! Z’E MEN GIRLS ARE COMING! Z’E MEAN GIRLS ARE COMING!…..

Delia pats Holly’s cheek once more before walking past Holly.  The rest of the Mean Girls follow suit, giving Holly a glare, pronouncing her a failed Benedict Arnold as they each nail a perfectly executed hair flip for good measure.  Though, their looks are not only shrouded in fake blood, but also in pure doubt.  Their faith in the unofficial “leader” in Delia has faltered some, in different ways.  Surely she was leading them into a slaughter, and not at the hands of the Jealous Janis clique, but one that would ruin them in every way imaginable. Where is their shiny beacon of hope?  Where is their deliverance from the clearly egomaniacal Delia Darling?  Be careful what you wish for, ladies…

Man:  Excuse me?  Excuse me! HEY!

The smooth southern accent cuts through the chilled wind, hardening the fake blood covering them, causing them to feel a bit encapsulated.  They slowly turn to find a dark haired, blue eyed man standing against a silver Lexus, with a clove cigarette pressed between his fingers.  He takes a single drag from it before dropping the black flaming stick to the ground, extinguishing it as he slides his foot casually against it.  Delia rolls her eyes, but a smirk comes across her face.

Delia:  Autographs are $25 each, or a group package for $75.

Man:  Oh, don’t I get a discount for being ravishing?

Delia looks at him, up and down.  She might be an ice queen, but she still knows how to appreciate a stunningly handsome man when she sees one.  She flips a matted strand of hair over her shoulder as she looks back to the other four Mean Girls.

Delia:  Z’at is wi’s z’e discount, darling…  I assume you have your own photographs in hand?

Delia gestures down to the manila envelope in his hand.  He looks confused for a slight second before uttering an “Oh!” followed by a chuckle.  He opens up the envelope as he glances from each one of the Mean Girls.

Man:  Why yes, I do believe I got one of each of y’all, and one as a group.  Why I even got one of y’all, with me in the shot too. It’s one-uh my favorites I must say…

He chuckles once more as he distributes the pictures to the appropriate Mean Girls.  They each whip out a salmon pink sharpie pen, ready to scroll their signatures on them until sour looks befall each of their faces.  They are stuck staring at the pictures like they were a train wreck, until finally peeling their eyes off to stare at the smiling man who is holding out a candid photo of himself, making a goofy face, with the Mean Girls standing in the ring, covered in fake blood and pieces of trash.  This was when the latest incident was fresh.

Angelica:  Ummm, why the fuck would you show us these?  Is this some kind of sick joke?

Veronica:  Yeah, no photos like these should ever exist. I mean, I do NOT look like a deformed space cow. Clearly photoshopped.

Man:  Clearly not, ma’am.  Each photo, a P.R. disaster that coulda easily been avoided.

Delia crumples her photo up and tosses it in the man’s face as she grabs onto Mercedes’ hand, pulling her along, who in turn grabs onto Veronica, starting a chain.  The man turns around and continues to smile as he pulls his hat off, holding it to his chest as he bids them farewell.  But, of course, not without saying one last piece.

Man:  I am Gavin Davenport, Image Consultant Extraordinaire, and you ladies are exactly what I need to prove my talents.

Delia:  Well, Gavin… Your parents must have had problems to rhyme your names… Not… interested…

Delia pauses only to turn and let him know of her intentions before turning to walk off once more.  He speeds up, coming to head them off by standing between them and their destined vehicle.  Delia growls as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out five business cards.  He fans them out in their direction.

Gavin:  And don’t crumple those up as they cost me a mighty fine penny apiece.  Their embossed, and the number is worth, oh… a million dollars.

Delia cackles as she defies him by crumbling the card and tossing it in his face.  The others take the card, almost caught by his southern charm.  He shrugs his shoulders before reaching into his pocket.  Before he can pull anything out, Delia places her hand on his wrist, stopping him.

Delia:  Oh, no need, Gavie… I assure you, Delia Darling does not change her mind… ever…

Gavin:  No?  Why don’t we make ourselves a friendly little wager here?  I know Veronica owns the Mean Girls brand name, but you run the show…

Veronica:  I do own it, but there is no leader…

Gavin:  *Chuckle* Oh… how naïve.  It’s cute, but cut the bullshit.

Delia:  Excuse yourself…

Gavin loosens his tie a little, taking the southern hospitality bit down a notch as he clasps his hands together.

Gavin:  I’m a fan of Vegas, even though I’ve only been a handful of times.  I’m a bettin’ man, and I will give you a million dollars if I lose a bet with you lovely ladies.

Delia:  Yeah right.  As if a man wearing a cheap last season Alfani suit even has a million dollars to wager… Please don’t insult my intelligence, Mr. Davenport.

Gavin:  I do have other talents I can use to repay my debt, I promise you.

Gavin glances down at his hand as it traces down his stomach and toward the nether… Delia laughs out loud as she rips the wig from her head, exposing the only clean spot on her entire body, before flinging it at the man simply for such an absurd assumption.

Delia:  Please!  Z’at talk is better suited for Amy Marshall…

Gavin:  Then I will work for free.  You lose nothing.

Delia glares at him, waiting for him to falter in the slightest.  When he doesn’t she begins stroking her chin as she looks back to the other Mean Girls.  They all have a minute long silent conversation before Delia returns her calculated gaze upon the man.

Delia:  What are your terms, Gavie?

Gavin:  Well, after tonight’s debacle, I’m willing to bet that you see a significant drop in merchandise sales, royalties, and various other personal gains, totaling at least one million dollars combined.  Excluding Ms. Flannigan’s, considering she is only worth roughly $10,000…

Tessa:  Ohhhh my gawd!  I’m worth that much?!

Delia glares at Tessa, motioning for her to be quiet.  She bites onto her bottom lip, but bounces happily.  Delia continues to think it over as Gavin continues on.

Gavin:  Image is everything in the business you ladies are in.  I guarantee after you made that speech about Michael Brown, and the US Government, you will lose significant amounts of money.  But, if you accept my services, I can earn it back tenfold.

Delia:  Promises, promises… As if we haven’t heard a million of them.

Gavin:  Not a million, Ms. Darling… TEN million promises.

Veronica: We accept!

Delia and Mercedes both look over to Veronica in shock, questioning her as she tucks the business card into her pocket.  She shrugs her shoulders and walks over to Gavin, ready to shake his hand.  Delia steps between them, looking right at Veronica.

Delia:  What do you s’ink you are doing?

Veronica:  I’m doing what I do best.  I’m making money, and making us look good in the process.

Delia:  But we don’t know him from Adam, and…

Veronica:  This isn’t a dictatorship, Delia, and I see dollar signs.  We’re doing it.  Welcome aboard Mr. Davenport.

Gavin laughs as he hugs onto Veronica.  He nearly picks her up off of the ground, ready to spin her around when she tenses up and breaks free from his embrace.  He clears his throat, regaining a professional composure as he pulls a black book from inside of his jacket.  He begins dictating to himself.

Gavin:  Make a dry cleaning appointment for Monday morning…

Delia: Ugh, like what do you even do?  Veronica, you’re not s’inking z’is s’rough all z’e way…

Gavin:  I’m going to sit down with each of you individually, and then as a group, and we’re going to put together a plan to improve your public images all around.  Do what Veronica is doing, and just trust me!

Delia rolls her eyes and sighs.  Of course, she isn’t losing anything, but she still doesn’t fully trust the man standing in front of her.  She pinches the bridge of her nose as Gavin slides another business card to Delia.  She gently accepts it, but she is nowhere near convinced.  He nods his head as he bows quickly in each of their directions before heading back to his silver Lexus.  The rest of the Mean Girls are ready to get inside of the pink Hummer, opening the doors which causes alarm for Delia.

Delia:  No!  NO!  Put towels down first!  Z’at is genuine leas’er interior!

But, she is one second too late as the doors close, leaving her to glare around her in a “What the hell just happened” sort of manner, in regards to the entire night.  She throws her hands up in surrender before storming over to the driver’s side door.  She flings it open, stepping inside before she slams it shut.  The engine roars to life as it is thrown into “drive” and the vehicle speeds off and into the distance.
[*Fade*]


<img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v674/GXWSpikeStaggs/110914DeliaScene2_zps8a1a5109.png>

”Trust is a five letter word.  Yet, we have so much trouble giving it away.  We can write it so easily, but it is our most treasured gift we can give to someone.  When someone gives you theirs, you should not take it for granted.” –Delia, darling if you must


The music is pounding heavily against the walls of The Monster, nightclub in West Village as the many red and black lights reflect off of the disco ball hanging from the middle of the dance floor.  Shirtless men are scattered throughout the club for “Shirts or Skins Saturday”.  Their bare chests glisten in the lights as they move in closer to one another, feeling the music as it forces it’s rhythm into their bodies.  We scan the dance floor, seeing one man leaning into another as a third kisses on his neck, swaying his hips to the music.  A few feet away, there are two women, dressed in typical club clothing of glittery vinyl skirts, and yellow tube tops.  One pulls a lollipop from her mouth as she circles the other one before going in for the hottest kiss imaginable.  Lust is on everyone’s mind tonight… well, except for SCW’s resident Ice Queen, Delia Darling, who is seated at the bar, nursing a virgin banana daiquiri.  She stirs the frosty yellow drink with her straw as she looks out onto the dance floor, admiring step up from the dive bars she had visited in South Carolina.  She sighs as she places her hand against her cheek, swiveling in the chair to smirk at a few guys who are rubbing on one another’s chests in a very open display.  A rough looking woman strolls up to Delia, holding up two fingers as she points to Delia.

Woman: Buy you a drink, hot stuff?

Delia rolls her eyes as she turns around, staring at the very butch woman standing in front of her.  The woman gives her a seductive (or we can only assume that’s what it is meant to be) sort of look.  Delia licks at her top teeth as she tries to think of a delicate way to handle this.

Delia:  Yes, I’m not interested, s’ank you.

Woman:  Ah, so lipstick girls must be your type?

Delia:  Wrong gender, darling, I assure…

The woman stares at Delia as she runs a hand up and down her faded cut before fixing her faux hawk.  Delia has so many things running through her mind, but bitchiness wasn’t on the agenda for the evening, so she tries to leave it at that.  However, the woman doesn’t leave it alone.

Woman:  Don’t knock it ‘til ya try it, sweetheart.  Say, what kinda accent is that?  It’s sexy as fuck.

Delia:  Ugh, really?  I said I wasn’t interested.

Woman:  Look, girls don’t just waltz in here by themselves, not lookin’ for a lickin’, so…

Delia hauls back and slaps the woman across the face, widening her eyes in anger as she stands up to the woman.  Despite the woman’s stature, Delia still towers over her by about five inches.  She stares at the woman, seething as she finds a way to intimidate the formally confident woman.

Delia:  No one talks to Delia FUCKING Darling as such!  Many women have tried to bully z’eir way into my panties, and you won’t be z’e last.  Why don’t you go and find someone wi’s no self esteem who want some Giani Di Luca wannabe to lick z’eir loin raw, because it certainly is NOT FUCKING ME!!!

The woman holds her hands up in surrender as the men around her applaud, whistling and shouting in approval.  Delia flips her hair to emphasize her point as she turns back to her drink.  She places the straw to her lips as a sweaty gentleman does a half circle around her, sliding the drink away from Delia, sending it falling down to the ground.  Delia scoffs as she turns and glares at the man.

Delia:  What z’e fff…

Man: Jersey Turnpike Dyke slipped a roofie in there, so unless you’re the dominant type that likes to be conquered, you might wanna thank me instead of taking my head off.

Delia thinks it over for a second as she spots a small white speck on the spilled drink, and she slowly nods her head as she sits down on the stool next to the man.

Delia:  S’ank you, darling.  It’s been… such a hard week.  Ugh, I can’t even…

Man:  My name’s Stephan.  I recently broke up with my hag.  She wasn’t quite as beautiful and stunningly fashionable as you, but what can I say?  I aim high.

Delia:  Obvis… I mean, I would be flattered if I wasn’t z’e only straight woman in here tonight.  I’m Deee…

Stephan:  Delia *air quotes* FUCKING… Darling, wasn’t it?  Yeah, I think they heard that in Buffalo, sweet thing.

Delia chuckles as she lightens up quite a bit.  She looks over as he pushes his hand over his blonde spiked hair, taking a deep breath as he seems to spot a few delightful hunks dancing on the floor.

Delia:  Coke whore, ecstasy junkie, and small penis.

Stephan:  Wait, really?  Which is which?

Delia points them out left to right, and he tilts his head to the side, inspecting them carefully for signs of each, before his mouth gapes open and he laughs in surprise.

Stephan:  How did you…?

Delia:  You’re… British, right?  London, I’m guessing?  Obviously a rough bottom, 6.5… Maybe 7 with a booster?  Honey, this is not my first time in a gay club.  Besides, Coke’s ribs are showing, Stacy’s obviously tripping balls right now wi’s z’e way he’s going at z’e water bottle, and humping everys’ing z’at walks by, and Tiny Tim is wearing loose pants.  No one wears loose pants to a club.  Tops want to show off z’eir members while bottoms want to show of z’eir bubble butts, no?

Stephan opens his mouth, contemplating this as he stokes his stubbled chin.  He is ready to object to the size assertion when Delia holds up a hand in his face, snapping her fingers three times, waving it around before finally dropping it down to her side with an accusatory expression on her face.

Stephan:  Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell, Delia.  I fooled everyone tonight by saying I come from a small town in Mississippi…  You know me so well.

Delia:  Don’t flatter yourself.  I’ve been to London many times, and I can spot a London Queen from a meter away, bitch… And I’m not talking Charli XCX.

Stephan:  My personal theme song, bitch…  I’m falling in like with you.  Will you have my surrogate babies for me and my stupid but sexy American husband?

Delia laughs as she slaps his arm playfully.  She looks down at her size zero slim fitting black dress, and scoffs sarcastically.

Delia:  And ruin z’is beautiful figure?  You might as well ask me to eat like a bunch of Twinkies or somes’ing.

Stephan:  No, leave that job to me, honey.  But seriously, we’re plutonic soulmates, I think.  And you’ve obviously broken up with your fag.  It’s written all over your face.

Delia:  No, but close.  My boyfriend and I just broke up.  I racked him in z’e middle of a wrestling ring in front of like s’ousands of fans and stuff.  I’m such a bitch…

Stephan cackles in an almost nasally, flamboyant laugh as he brings two daiquiri’s around, handing one to Delia.  Delia takes a small sip, her eyes lighting up when she sees that it is virgin.  However, Stephan has more pressing matters to discuss.

Stephan:  No, you got the look of a hag who just lost her boy.  What was he like?  Was he pretty?

Delia:  I have not lost such a s’ing…  I have never been exclusive to one fag, el oh el sorry bout it…

Stephan:  I bet he was blonde, and tall, with impeccable fashion.  Oh, maybe even a drag queen?

Delia tilts her head to the side as she thinks it over.  Alex Jeffries, AKA Holly Wood, springs to mind.  She sighs as she thinks of the times she and Alex dressed one another up. As quickly as the smile comes to her face, it leaves just as quickly.

Delia:  He was a traitor, like he was way too nice to hang wi’s me and z’e Mean Girls.

Stephan:  Who?

Delia:  Ugh, you’re so cute.  You’re like a martian…

She reaches over and pinches Stephan’s cheek before patting his face.  He smirks and sinks his head down, beaming with joy as Delia wraps an arm around him.  She pulls him in for a side hug as she sighs.

Delia:  I’m a wrestler for Sin City Wrestling.  We’re on some stupid military tour, and our big show is at West Point Academy.  I’m z‘e Bombshell Champion, and I run wi’s a group of z’e best wrestlers z’ere, called Mean Girls.  We’re also like a name brand around z’e world.

Stephan:  Oh, I thought it was only the best movie ever made, but…

Delia gasps and pulls Stephan in to plant a kiss on his cheek.  She ruffles his hair as she reaches in to take another sip from her drink.

Delia:  Oh, it seems so impulsive to find my plutonic soul mate in a New York gay club, but… Our hearts beat as one, I feel.

In a dramatic display, Stephan stands up from his stool.  He looks around for something, anything that fits the occasion, pulling a rainbow necklace from around his neck.  He bends down on one knee in front of Delia as dramatic music plays in the background.  Delia places her neatly manicured hand over her chest as she gasps, her face showing signs of tears of joy as Stephan looks up into her deep, dark eyes.

Stephan:  What do you say, sweets?  Let me be your gay life partner?  Make me the happiest queen in New York… nay… the world?

Delia:  Oh, Stephan… do… do you really mean it?

Stephan:  Is the sky blue?

Delia:  Actually, z’e sky has no color.  It is transparent, but…

Stephan looks at Delia as if she were crazy.  He thinks it over for a second, and then waves it off as he extends the seven ring necklace out toward Delia.

Stephan:  Don’t complicate this more than it needs to be.  By accepting this necklace, you are promising to tell me when I’m doing something stupid like wearing black socks with sandals, or dating a jerk.  Babycakes, I’m asking you to be my hag for life, through thick and thin.

Delia:  Yes… Yes!  I will be your hag until death do us part!

Stephan smiles as he places the necklace around Delia’s neck.  The music gets even more dramatic as Stephan stands up from his kneeling position.  He wraps his arms around Delia, looking to lift her for the most romantic spinning hug imaginable.  However, he strains his back and winces in pain as he grabs onto his back, groaning.

Delia:  As my first official act as your hag, you’re getting a gym membership, darling… ugh, even *I* could kick your ass…

Stephan:  I… deserve that… ughhhh…

Delia rolls her eyes as if to say “Duh!”  She lifts Stephan over her shoulder as she carries him over to a booth so that he could lie down and rest his back.  As she does, the music continues to boom all around her.  Soon, the crowd envelopes them, and the camera goes back to a birds eye view of the club.
[*Fade*]


<img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v674/GXWSpikeStaggs/110914DeliaScene3_zps9314e943.png>

”People are so easily swayed.  From the beginning of my wrestling career, I’ve learned how to play people like an instrument.  The only difference between then and now?  Now, I admit it.  I relish in it.  I do as I please, and I still elicit the reaction I’m after.  You can hate to love me, or you can love to hate me, but you will always think of me…”–Delia, darling if you must


Egomaniac

…

Sycophant

…

Narcissist

The words appear, handwritten on cue cards that take over the entire screen.  We pause on each for about five second or so before a well groomed male hand switches it over to the next for our viewing pleasure.

Self-Aggrandizer

…

Braggart

…

Blowhard

…

The camera switches view after about five seconds of the last word.  We see Delia Darling sitting in a black office chair, about seven feet away from a desk where Gavin Davenport is holding up the cards.  Delia slowly absorbs each word, nodding her head as Gavin licks at his bottom lip in a bit of frustration before switching to the next card.

Gascon

…

Wind Bag

…

Bitch

…

The last word causes a chuckle to erupt from Delia’s throat, though it is rather abrupt.  He places a hand over her mouth, though she doesn’t seem too concerned with discontinuing her laughter.  She leans over, placing her elbows on her knees as her eyes light up.  Gavin blinks his eyes slowly, letting his nostrils flare out as he takes in a deep breath, sighing as he drops the rather large deck of remaining cards down on the desk.

Gavin:  Is there something funny about people seeing you as an egocentric bitch?

Delia purses her lips, letting out light laughter through her nostrils as she tries to contain the laughter now.  She shrugs her shoulders as she can’t keep it in any more.  She bursts out into laughter as she brushes her chestnut tresses out of her face and tucking them behind her ears.

Gavin:  You honestly find this funny, don’t ya?

Delia:  Ummm… no?

Delia bites onto her bottom lip innocently as she continues to convulse with her attempts at choking back her laughter.  The sad part is that she is trying, honest to God, she really is.  Gavin shakes his head again and picks the cards off of the desk before reaching around to drop them right into a waist basket next to his desk.

Gavin:  I really did think this would be some sort of a wake up call for you, but instead of trying to better yourself, you’re cackling like a giddy little school girl who heard her parents cuss for the first time.  You’re so naïve, it’s disgusting…

Delia:  I beg your pardon?  I am not naïve.  I am not Liz Smalls.  I don’t need a vocabulary lesson, and I don’t need you to tell me what people s’ink of me.  I’m not stupid.  I have ears, and I have my finger on z’e pulse of all s’ings z’at matter, from SCW to Twitter to z’e entertainment world…

Gavin:  That’s even worse, Ms. Darling.  You know that people think you’re the Devil incarnate, and you still find way to sink to new lows?  That’s fucking disgusting.

Delia rolls her eyes as she reaches into her Prada handbag, pulling out a gold cigarette case.  She opens it up and draws out a cigarette as she fumbles around for a lighter.  She gently lights her cigarette, puffing on it elegantly as she crosses her legs the opposite way, letting the cigarette hang out to the side.

Gavin:  Seriously?  Inside of my office?

Delia:  Yes, seriously darling…  In case you didn’t notice, I’m Delia F. Darling.  I do what I want, when I want, where, to whom, and how I want.  I invite anyone who takes offense to my actions to address it wi’s me.  If my win-loss record in SCW is any indication, I can be ras’er persuasive.  Or, z’ey agree to disagree.  It’s simple, really. I’m incapable of tasting true defeat, and I intend to prove it against my next challenger, whoever it may be.

Gavin:  You’re supposed to take on Misty, right?

Delia chuckles as a simple pleasantry, disregarding his statement entirely as she presses the cigarette to her glossy lips.  The flaming ember burns prominently as she takes in a deep, long drag.  She gently removes the cigarette from her lips, breathing in before releasing a large cloud of smoke into the office.

Delia:  I’m facing z’e next best challenger.  I mean, if z’ere is one.  Roxi Johnson is busy wi’s some nobody, but if she is open for a second match…

Gavin:  No, the card still says that you are defending your Bombshell Championship against Misty.  I don’t think they have any intentions of changing th…

Delia:  Z’en I will have my lawyer make anos’er phone call.  I will not defend my championship against some has been who makes her only claims to fame by attacking me from behind.  It’s ridiculous, it’s unfounded, it’s sad… just so, so sad…  I expected people to step up z’eir game to face me, but what can I say?

Gavin rolls his eyes as Delia touts herself.  He laces his fingers together as he leans back in his chair.  Delia rolls her ankle slowly, showing off her neatly manicured toenails in her Alexander McQueen toe-less strapped heels.

Gavin:  Perhaps we should start coming up with plans for you to find another avenue to reach out to the fans, because after this coming Sunday, you won’t be a champion.

Delia:  *Chuckles*  Oh, you can’t be serious.  How stupid would it be of SCW management to actually strip me of my championship?  Z’ey haven’t had a champion wor’s z’eir weight in like forever…

Gavin:  That Erik Staggs seems to have a hard on for dethroning you, so I’m sure it’s a lot more likely than you’re bettin’ on sugar.

Delia presses the cigarette to her lip once more, drawing in a good amount of smoke as her eyes rest firmly on Gavin, not letting up for the life of her.  Even as a bird flies into the window, causing a loud thumping noise to echo through the office, she only narrows her eyes at him.

Delia:  If management wants to see z’eir company sink wi’sout me as z’eir champion, z’en let z’em.  Z’ey need me a lot more z’an I need z’em.  I’ve had companies pounding down my door, and I would happily move along, and I’m sure my sisters would agree.  Let z’em make z’eir bed…

Gavin:  Let’s just cut the bullshit, Ms. Darling.  No matter where you go, your in-ring promo from last week has spread all over the wrestling world thanks to Twitter, so you’re going to have the same fucking problem.  Instead of telling me how important you are, why don’t you zip your fucking lips and listen to me for a moment, hm?

Delia licks at her bottom lip in a facetious manner, ready to let out one of her infamous quips, but Gavin reaches forward with a hand, clinching his fingers together as he forcefully signals for her to keep her mouth shut.  She scoffs as she leans back in her chair, obviously taking offense to this, but before she can object, he continues.

Gavin:  I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, Delia.  I’m proving to the world that I’m the best image consultant there is.  If I can make you girls look good, just imagine what I could do.  So, instead of wasting my time, how about you listen, and take my pointers to heart.  Earn yourself some money in the process.

Delia:  I don’t need money.  Z’at, I have.

Gavin:  Then why don’t you retire and live the lavish life you’ve always dreamt of?  What is it that makes you put your body through hell in an independent promotion?

Delia taps the butt end of her cigarette as she stares at Gavin, intrigued by his question.  She had never given it much thought before.  She tilts her head to the side as she continues contemplating it, thinking aloud.

Delia:  Z’e fame?  Boredom?  Z’e level of competition is far superior to any os’er company I’ve considered.  Perhaps I just want to prove I can do it, and in doing so, I can make my mark on z’is business… z’e world?

Gavin:  Do you really want the chance to create a legacy?

Delia thinks it over carefully as she continues to nibble on her bottom lip.  She slowly begins nodding her head as her eyes light up, finding it more and more true as she reflects upon it.  Finally, she speaks, more sure of this than anything else in her entire life.

Delia:  Yes. Yes I do…

Gavin:  Then you need my help, because the next time you step out in front of a crowd, you’ll be lucky to escape with your life, let alone an opportunity to leave a legacy.

Delia:  Z’en what do I need to do?

Gavin smiles, having finally gotten through to Delia.  She picks up a Styrofoam cup sitting to her right, and she drops the half finished cigarette into it as she leans forward, ready to hang on Gavin’s every word.  He taps his fingers against the desk as he prepares to get right to the point.

Gavin:  Well, moving forward, you need to suck it up and face Misty.  Hiding behind that restraining order is only going to make you even more unlikable.

Delia:  Ugh, do I really have to?  I mean, I’m trying to prove a point z’at she is unstable and doesn’t belong in z’is business.  People like her and Chris Shipman are just beyond help, so z’ey need to go…  It’s unsafe.

Gavin stops tapping his fingers against the desk as he look over at Delia with a warning look.  Delia’s gaze sinks a bit as she takes in a contemplating breath.  She clearly doesn’t want to lift the restraining order, especially after what Misty just did about a week ago.

Gavin:  Yes, you need to lift it by Sunday.  Now, I’m thinking we need to really get down to the root of the problem to get the fans on your side.  They find you completely unrelatable.  Not in the way they can’t relate to rappers and actors, because they idolize them… but in a way where they would rather cheer for the Devil over you.

Delia:  You know, when you put it z’at way, it sounds very unflattering.

Gavin:  You’re even worse than Hitler in their eyes.  They need to see that you’re a human being.  I’m thinking we need to do PSA’s for all of you ladies, but especially you.  We need them to see you as relatable so that they can start to sympathize with you. It will do wonders for the brand, making you plenty of money, but also spreading the word.  That’s exactly what you need.

Delia thinks it over for a second before nodding her head.  She slides the golden case from her lap, back into her purse.  She scoots the chair closer to the desk as she tries to get more involved, showing her interest now more than ever.

Delia:  Money is money. I have enough to last me a lifetime.  But you really s’ink a public service announcement will help our brand spread?  Like, enough to make us really famous?

Gavin:  I do.  We need to make it sincere, and show people that you’re just like them in some ways.

Delia:  Even z’ough we’re so much better z’an z’em like seriously…  If it helps z’em to feel better about supporting us, z’en I’m willing to try it out.

Gavin:  Good.  Now, you also need to keep your Bombshell Championship around your waist.  I’m thinking we need to find someone to train you.  Maybe even someone who has had experience with Misty?

Delia rolls her eyes as she thinks it over.  She flips her hair over her shoulder as she scoffs at the idea.

Delia:  Really?  If Misty is z’e defining Bombshell of z’e division, do you really s’ink anyone can show me somes’ing useful?  I mean, z’e closest one around is Odette Ryder, and she’s like knocked up right now or whatever.

Gavin:  There’s got to be someone who knows Misty.  What about that Staggs kid’s mom?

Delia:  Ugh, she would kill me if I ever asked her.  Z’e last time we were around each os’er, I smashed a mirror over her head.  Face it… it’s hopel…

Delia takes a deep breath suddenly as her face lights up.  Her trademark wicked grin comes over her face as she reaches into her pocket, pulling out her phone.  She fumbles through it until Twitter starts to initialize.  Gavin looks at her with a strange expression.

Gavin:  Who are you thinking of?

Delia:  Excuse me for a minute. I need to get in touch wi’s someone.  It’s very important, and z’ere is no time to waste!

Delia uncrosses her legs as she quickly stands up.  She flings her purse over her shoulder as she continues to fidget with her phone.  Bowing her head, she is focused on the phone as she heads toward the door.  Gavin wants to object, but if she can manage to find results, then it is worth cutting the meeting short.  Delia opens the door and disappears through it as Gavin kicks his feet up on his desk, shaking his head slowly.
[*Fade*]


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”Secrets are like the web of spiders.  They hide in the darkest recesses of the mind, clouding it to the point that you weave a totally separate web of deception in order to keep your secrets safe.  The sad part is that you are not the spider weaving these webs. You are the fly that gets caught in the web.”–Delia, darling if you must


” If you were smart, you would show up at Balthazar at 2pm sharp… 80 Spring St. Be there or be sorry bitch”

Delia stares down at the direct message feed on her phone.  She chuckles at her rather direct approach on this one.  She glances up slightly to look at the time, seeing that it is 1:58pm, and the lunch rush of Balthazar Restaurant has cleared out for the most part, leaving a quaint, but more importantly QUIET atmosphere for this meeting.  When Delia had informed Gavin of her plan, he was skeptical and let this be known right away.  Delia assured him that she knew what she was doing, and despite the time, she was calm as she sips on her sparkling water, waiting for some sort of excuse as to why her guest couldn’t make it.  She runs a finger through her blonde hair as she puffs it up some, shaking it out to leave her best impression.  The nippy air trickles through the open doorway as a ringing of the bell can be heard.  Delia smiles wickedly without even looking up.  Instead, she places her phone into her pocket, grinning as she looks up.  Her guest I kept a secret for now as she offers them a kind chuckle.

Delia:  I see you had no problem finding z’e place?

Guest:  This isn’t my first in in New York City, bitch.  It might be impossible to find anything around this place, but there are two things you’re sure to find on every corner of the city… Smack and Bistro’s.

Delia winks as she picks up her flute glass of water once more.  She takes a sip as she motions politely for her guest to take a seat.  The sound of the chair being pulled out is heard, and the guest presumably takes a seat.  The voice of the past sounds so familiar, yet it leaves us wondering a little longer as Delia gently hands a menu across the table.

Delia:  S’ank you for joining me.  As a token of my appreciation, lunch is on me, darling, I assure…

Guest:  It better be.  I don’t take too kindly to orders, so it’s the least you can do in exchange for me not beating the fuck out of you right here, right now.

Delia tilts her head to the side before forcing another friendly laugh, reaching across the table to pat a feminine hand that rests near a beige cloth napkin.  The hand quickly withdraws and goes out of view of the camera.

Guest:  Don’t fucking… touch me…

Delia:  My, my… such language.  Didn’t your mos’er teach you better manners z’an to curse in public like z’at?  It’s very unbecoming of a lady.

There is a light growl, followed very quickly with a giggle.  This intrigues Delia much as she crinkles her nose in a cute manner.  She raises her menu up and begin scanning the selection with a proud look upon her face.  The moderately priced French cuisine makes her feel at home, in a warm manner.

Delia:  I hear z’eir salade nicoise is exquisite.  And z’e macaroni au gratin… My stomach is rumbling just s’inking about it…

Guest:  Oh, yeah.  Hey, you know what else sounds good?  You telling my why the fuck you dragged me away to have lunch with you when you’re probably the last person on earth I’d want to have lunch with.  Maybe we could get that with a side of “hurry the fuck up” to split?

Delia giggles in a friendly manner once more, despite the very serious and urgent tone in the guest’s voice.  Delia reaches across the table and picks up a piece of French bread, placing it on a small plate as she fumbles around for a small packet of butter.  She opens it up and begin basting the bread with the spread, seeming more interested in that than what she’s about to say.

Delia:  Why, isn’t it obvious?  I mean, even someone as mentally deficient as yourself should be able to figure it out, darling.  It isn’t exactly rocket science.  You and Misty have a past wi’s one anos’er.  One I wish to exploit in any manner possible.

Guest:  You know, I really should have expected that.  I feel like a real dumb shit right about now.  What if I told you that I couldn’t give two shits… no scratch that, one shit about your little battle?  It’s your business to handle, not mine.

Delia:  But, I assumed wi’s your past involving Misty, you would love an opportunity such as z’is…

The guest can be heard scoffing, and we can only assume there is an eye roll with their reaction.  The hand reaches onto the screen again to pick up a spoon, which is lifted to presumably where their mouth is before a gagging noise can be heard.

Guest:  You can’t be serious right now.  Who hasn’t that bitch pissed off at some point or another?

Delia thinks about it for a second, tapping her chin as if she weren’t already locked and loaded with a response.  She hums in a sing-song manner as she looks up at the ceiling, feigning innocence.

Delia:  True, but… I mean, she’s made up for z’at by apologizing to most of z’em, and kissing z’e asses of z’e fans.  Well, all except for you and another Sins affiliate.  I mean, obviously she doesn’t respect you enough to seek you out to make amends.  It’s sad, really.

With this clue narrowing down the possibilities of who the guest is, and the lack of an Aussie accent, we’re left with only one option.  The camera pans around to see the Sin of Envy herself, Kittie, sitting in the chair across from Delia with a less than enthused look on her face.  She shrugs her shoulders, lacking all charisma in her posture as her bright, blue green eyes glance back down at the menu as a distraction.

Kittie:  Like I said, I couldn’t give half a shit if Misty ever talks to me again.  I wasn’t exactly innocent in our last falling out either.  But, I have more important things to worry about than SCW’s own Gothic Alanis Morrissette…

[Delia Darling]

 Delia:  *Chuckle*  Oh, z’at is rich.  Consider it stol-en hun-ty

Delia snaps her fingers as she chuckles once more, this time in a very genuine manner.  Kittie closes her eye, wishing she could fast forward through this free meal and get out of here.  She raises her eyebrow as she continues to look over the menu.

Delia:  And what important s’ings have you got going on at z’e moment?  Managing SCW’s own resident jobber clobberer?  He’ like two steps away from being a maintenance man around here…

Kittie:  Oh fuck you, Deelz…  He does clean this place up though.  He keeps undeserving assholes away from championships.  It’s too bad there isn’t a female version of him for the Bombshell Division or you wouldn’t be shitting over the one thing I ever did right in my career…

Delia should be offended by this comment, but the puppet master seems to have elicited the exact response she was hoping for.  However, a gentle stroke of her finger through a loose strand of hair lets us know that she is going to put the final nail in this coffin.

Delia:  It is too bad no one even remembers z’at you are a former Bombshell Champion.  No one remembers z’at, and no one remembers z’at you also inaugurated z’e championship z’at Mercedes Vargas currently holds.  I mean, of course z’e Mean Girls do, but everyone else?  No, z’ey only see Misty as z’e be-all end-all of z’e division.  So sad really.

Kittie wants to object, but the snarl forming on her face keeps her silent as she stares daggers into Delia.  Her nostrils flare out as she is getting visibly angry.  She pounds her fist against the table, rattling the glasses and the silverware in the process, only causing Delia’s smile to widen.

Delia:  I mean, aside from myself, you were z’e prettiest, most deserving Bombshell Champion, like, ever.  People don’t realize z’at you were one of s’ree Bombshells z’at started off z’e division.  Z’ey don’t give you z’e credit you deserve, because you were z’e one z’ey hated.  Do you see z’e similarities?

Kittie:  Fuck!  There’s this scale I use to judge people and their manipulation skills.  At the beginning, there are people who couldn’t convince a starving man to eat a free sandwich, and then there’s those who I admire, who could sell ice to an Eskimo.  And then, at the very end, there are people who I want to go ape shit on because they are disgustingly twisted to the point it’s just sad… and that’s where you stand.  I actually had to create a new depth to this mental chart just for you…

Delia sighs in desperation as she looks at the blonde former Bombshell.  She pouts as she looks down at the menu once more.  The waitress is seen coming over toward them, but Delia waves her off discreetly.

Delia:  So, you’re not going to help me?

Kittie laughs out loud at this suggestion.  She shakes her head, trying to catch her breath from the hard laughter erupting from within.  She tries to talk, but it only comes out as broken syllables at first until she takes one last deep breath, replying in the hilarity of it all.

Kittie:  Ha!  NO!  Oh GOD NO!  No, no, no, noooooooooo… Nope, nuh-uh, fuck you for even asking… Heh, um… no, not a chance, bitch.  It’s just not going to happen.

Delia stomps her foot angrily under the table as she tries her best to stop herself from giving in to a total melt down temper tantrum that would rival a spoiled two year old.  She bites hard onto her bottom lip as she curse in her mind, vocalizing as a deep growl.  Kittie takes her turn in torturing Delia, winking in response as she waves the waitress over.  She prepares her order mentally, but Delia isn’t done.

Delia:  And why not, exactly?

Kittie:  I might be the Sin of Envy, and I might believe about ninety percent of what you said, but I couldn’t live with myself if I agreed to help you.

Delia:  You seriously sympas’ize wi’s Misty?

Waitress:  What would you ladies like to…

Delia’s eyes widen in anger as she holds a hand up in the waitress’s face while keeping her glare locked on Kittie.

Kittie:  I’ll have the Grilled Chicken Paillard Sa…

Delia:  You will have nos’ing until you explain to my why you actually feel sorry for Misty.  Why are you willing to let her get away wi’s hijacking z’e division for like a million’s time?

Kittie: … lad, can you make the chicken blackened, like this bitches eyes are about to be in five seconds?

The waitress slowly scrolls the order down on her pad, though her jaw hangs open as she stares at Kittie.  Kittie lunges forward menacingly as if to tell her to mind her own business.  The waitress steps back before walking away, and Kittie looks back to a seething Delia.

Kittie:  Don’t you fucking get it, dumbass?  This has absolutely nothing to do with Misty.  Hell, I might even help you if you weren’t… you!  Your friends Veronica and Angelica did their best to make my life a living hell when I wrestled, because I was a “fugly emo slut” among a hundred other generic insults.  They butted into every piece of my business even though they were never even close to being good enough to come near me competitively.  Misty can go to hell for all I care, but so can you Mean Girls.  So, I’m going to sit here and eat my Chicken Paillard Salad, which you are paying for, and you’re going to drop the issue.  Deal?

Delia furls her brows in defeat as she glares helplessly at Kittie, who enjoys ever second of it.  In a brash display of words, Delia snarls in response to Kittie.

Delia:  You might dress emo, but you’re too pretty to fall aside like z’is.  But, at least you have z’e sense to stay irrelevant, unlike your ex-bestie…  I mean, Veronica and Angelica are my friends, but sometimes z’ey have no idea what z’ey are talking about.  I just can’t believe you’re going to hold z’eir actions against me.  I mean… Ugh!  Maybe I should have asked Despy for advice before jumping in head first.  I just assumed you had more sense z’an z’is.

Kittie:  Well, I don’t, so fucking drop it, princess.  It’s done and over with now.

Delia:  Are you really going to let Misty get away wi’s z’is?  Just to spite me?

Kittie smiles sweetly, with no enthusiasm whatsoever as she nods her head with an “mmm hmmm” response.  Delia roll her eyes as she whispers her order to the waitress, who still look cautious of Kittie.  Delia folds her menu and hands it to the waitress as she sighs, staring right back at Kittie once the two are alone once more.

Delia:  Well z’en… I guess you don’t value your secret very much, do you?

Kittie:  Oh?  And what secret is that?  I’ve got so many, I’ve lost track of them all.  I don’t have anything that would keep me from respecting myself enough to tell you “no”.

Delia:  Maybe, but… what about Rage?  I mean, would he want me telling everyone about you two?

Kittie immediately looks up at Delia with a look of shock in response to Delia’s confident smirk.  Her face drains of all color as she gulps, sweat starting to drip down her face.  Despite her nervousness, she is also shocked that Delia knows about this.  She struggles to vocalize her concerns at first.

Kittie:  How… how did you know about that?

Delia’s eyes light up as she lets out a “HA!” that echoes throughout the empty restaurant.  She smacks the table in victory as she looks around the restaurant, unable to believe what she’s hearing.

Delia:  Nuh uh!  Oh my GAWD!  Z’at was totally a lucky guess!  I don’t believe it, you two actually…?  Priceless.

Kittie:  Um, no!  No we didn’t!

Delia:  Oh, darling… I’m not retarded!  Ohhhh… we need to get you a steak because you are looking ras’er weak since you’ve been out of z’e ring.  I need you in top shape to train me.

Kittie clinches her eyelids together as she growls loudly.  She is about two seconds away from flipping the table over in anger.  She takes in a deep breath as Delia clasps her hands together in front of her.  She looks incredibly proud of herself as she sighs.

Delia:  Okay, so dish it out, bitch… We’ve got so much to discuss!

Kittie tangles her fingers in her blonde hair, fumbling with the blue streaks as she slowly shakes her head, still in disbelief.  The waitress brings their plates out to the table as Delia quickly picks her fork up, ready to dig into the food as well as the juicy details.
[*Fade*]


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”Sometimes, you just have to trust your instincts.  When they tell you that, without a shadow of a doubt, you should do something, then do it.  Even if it makes you unpopular, or hated, stand up for what you believe in, because you are left with your conscience at th end of the day…”–Delia, darling if you must


”I know I said I would support you through this battle, but I’m not going to support this… I’ll wait in the car…”

Kittie’s voice is heard, speaking with pure conviction as Delia’s signature scoff is heard.  We fade in to see Delia collecting her purse in a huff as she places her Dior sunglasses on her face.  Kittie is begrudgingly wearing a pink Mean Girls ransom printed t-shirt with pink streaks in her hair to match.  She looks over at Delia who is still wearing her gym clothes underneath a beige waist coat which she pulls closed around her to hide the atrocious fashion faux pas.  She runs her hands over her recently styled, yet somewhat messed up, chestnut hair before she picks up a white rose.  She clutches it firmly in her hand, ignoring the sting from the thorns as she shakes her head.

Delia:  I s’ought somes’ing like z’is would be more your speed. I guess I was wrong.  Grow a pair of lady balls, hunty…

Kittie:  Rumor around the locker room is that you have plenty of balls for the both of us.

Delia rolls her eyes, throwing the door of the pink Hummer open as she steps out.  The camera stays close to her as she steps into the blustery wind.  Her tennis shoes tap against the pavement as she steps onto the grass.  Her face soon becomes devoid of any color, and she looks as if she is about to be sick.  In an effort to get past this, she takes a deep breath and begins walking across what appears to be a front yard.  The few trees in this yard have shed beautifully tinted leaves of radiant reds and gorgeous golds.  They fall slowly, and for a moment, Delia feels as if she is trapped inside of some sort of mediocre fall themed snow globe.  She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths as she comes to a black wrought iron gate.  She opens it and begins walking through the back yard, and we can’t help but feel that we’re somewhere quite familiar.  Delia stops and looks around, carefully taking in the swing set that is posted into the ground, and a trampoline that is about ten feet from it.  She walks between the two, cutting diagonally through the yard as she passes the back deck.  She takes a moment to look inside through the kitchen, finding no one there, and she feels a bit relieved. She continues on her journey until she reaches a marble slab that is posted in the middle of a Zen rock garden.  A hint of green comes over her face as she stares at the slab, and anyone who has figured out where she is has probably already thrown something at their computer screen, or stopped the video feed.  Delia turns around, with her back to the rock garden as she shakes her head, turning to walk away.  She takes about two steps before she mutters the word “no”, turning back around.  She marches right over to the marble slab, and she pulls out her pink bound Burn Book.  She takes a seat on a small bench just to the side of the slab, turning to face the slab as she continues to clutch the white rose.  After a few breaths, Delia finally acknowledges the camera’s presence.

Delia:  Z’is is not easy for me.  Some will look at me as z’e monster z’at z’e Jealous Janis girls try to make me out to be, but z’is is far from it.  Z’is is not a self-serving act, as I have nos’ing to gain from z’is, and everys’ing to lose. Z’is… z;’is is not easy for me…

Delia removes her sunglasses as a tear rolls down her cheek.  She runs her thumb across her cheek, sweeping it up immediately, followed by a sniffle.  She takes a few more deep breaths setting the Burn Book on the bench, next to her.  She looks down at the rose as she slowly spins it around between her fingers delicately.  She takes her time looking up to the marble slab.

Delia:  No one believes in me.  Everyone s’inks z’at I am some fluke champion, much like almost ever girl who has held the title before me.  Z’ey s’ink z’is match against Misty is just a formality, leading to her for’s reign as z’e Bombshell Champion.  It is to z’e point z’at I almost don’t believe in myself eis’er.  I mean, it is somes’ing z’at you and I have in common, petit… We are bo’s victims of Misty’s selfish drive to exact revenge.

Delia shakes her head, a hint of conviction finally finding it’s way to her voice.  She has trouble making herself continue to look at this marble slab.  The words written on it are hard for us to make out, but they keep Delia’s attention.  She purses her lips as she tries to hold back any further tears before continuing on.

Delia:  One would have s’ought z’at Misty would have learned when it cost someone z’eir life, no?  I mean, did she not feel remorse for killing someone?  And to s’ink, people call me a calloused, cold-hearted bitch, and z’ey boo me for it, yet I could never live wi’s somes’ing like z’at on my conscience, let alone continue to let my bloodlust get z’e better of me.  She is sick.  She is twisted.  She is incapable of feeling anys’ing for anyone but herself…  I will get revenge for you, petit. I will make sure z’at justice prevails when I defeat Misty at High Stakes IV.  I won’t just defeat her.  I will remind her of what she’s done.  I will remind her z’at your blood is still on her hands, even after two years, it is still dripping from her fingertips.

Delia is getting more and more intense with her words as she squeezes onto the rose.  The thorns pierce her hands, but she doesn’t even notice, even as small trickles of blood fall from her clinches fist.  Her breaths become shallow in her growing anger as she lifts her glasses to show the fire in her eyes.

Delia:  How many times did Misty tell me z’at I was a monster when I took her daughter for ice cream about six weeks ago? How many times did she make me out to be a monstrous bitch?  She made sure to tell everyone I *air quotes* kidnapped Eden.  If she cared so much, z’en why did she abandon her own daughter all z’ose years ago?  And why has she tried to do it yet again?  She shed z’e tears, and everyone felt sorry for her, and z’ey were ready to send z’e lynch mob after me.  She is a manipulator of z’e highest order.  At least I admit I’m a bitch.  At least I admit I can be vicious.  At least I can admit z’at I am a mean girl, but she runs around, playing z’e victim.  She shows off z’e scars on her wrist, self inflicted signs of hallow regret, simply for show.  She seeks attention.  She is like some gos’ic version of Alanis Morrissette.  Dark… brooding… strangely likable… Yet, she is a retired Suicide Girl wannabe who tramples on everyone around her, using people close to her as stepping stones and door mats.

Delia clinches her eyes closed as another tear rolls out of the corner of her eye.  She somehow finds it in her to force out a laugh as she looks over to her right.  There is an empty space on the bench, and Delia inspects it before shaking her head, and returning her gaze back to the slab of marble.

Delia:  I brought a friend wi’s me who can testify to z’is fact, but she insisted on staying in z’e car.  Misty does z’at to people.  No matter how badly she treats people, she still has a way of appealing to z’e human in z’em so z’at z’ey find forgiveness for her.  I’m not blind, and I refuse, but Kittie was one of Misty’s most notable victims.  Just s’ree years ago, she robbed Kittie of an opportunity to finally make somes’ing of her career, one z’at was barely hanging on to begin wi’s.  Misty was supposed to be her friend, but at z’e first ever High Stakes event, Misty entered a seven woman guantlet battle royal for MY Bombshell Championship.  She was number seven, while Kittie was number two.  Kittie fought s’rough many tough opponents such as Raynin, Angelica, and even Fantasia.  Kittie eliminated many women, and it came down to her and Misty in z’e ring.  Wouldn’t a friend who actually cared about someone maybe s’ink about taking a small tumble over z’e top ropes?  If it meant solidifying someone’s career, when yours has already been solidified long before?  Ugh, I know I would…

Delia nods her head, though some could speculate that she isn’t being one hundred percent honest, but this doesn’t stop her from claiming she would do something selfless.  She flips a strand of hair over her shoulders as she rolls her eyes.

Delia:  But Misty?  Noooo… are you kidding me?  No s’ought in Misty’s head ever puts someone before herself.  I had to rescue Drake Green from her, even to z’e point of compromising my own Christian morals.  He wouldn’t listen to reason, so I had to feed into his sin to make him see.  He had to see z’at Misty did not love him.  She loved his looks.  She loved his status, and how it matched her own.  Much like her relationship wi’s your fas’er, Spike Staggs… one day she would have realized she couldn’t s’ink of anyone beside herself, and she would have left anos’er one at z’e altar. She would have moved on past me, and found someone else who was younger, faster, better, prettier, or whatever os’er reason your mos’er is jealous of me, petit… and she would find someone else to hate, a bright star to snuff out, or a past rival who she wants to nearly kill.  Who will save z’at possible child from being murdered z’e way your mos’er murdered you?

Delia speaks harshly, but with more conviction that ever before as she holds the rose out toward the young unnamed, unborn Staggs child with tears rolling down her cheeks.  They are not just tears of sorrow, but tears of pure anger.  She nearly shrieks at the slab next.

Delia:  Who will stop your mos’er from risking anos’er innocent life to exact her meaningless revenge on someone else?  Let’s pray to GOD z’at she is not pregnant right now, because I have plans for her.  She needs a hard lesson, and I’m more z’an prepared to give it to her.  I’ve been busy training wi’s z’e Sin of Envy herself, and I have picked up a few tricks.  Very dangerous tricks.  I should petition SCW to administer a pregnancy test beforehand, because unlike your mos’er, I am not a child killer.  I am not a monster.  I am simply a woman who knows her own wor’s, and I don’t settle for less.  While your mos’er seeks attention, I command it.  I don’t have to feel irrelevant, and attack z’e next big s’ing, because I AM z’e big s’ing, and I will not be going anywhere, any time soon.

Delia narrows her eyes as she clinches her jaw, remaining quiet for a moment as if she were waiting for a response from beyond the grave.  She slowly nods her head, as if actually hearing something that we don’t.  She snarls with a bit of a residual laugh as she sets the rose down on the ground in front of the slab.

Delia:  I have stated many times before, z’at I am fine wi’s playing z’e villain. Just because I’m portrayed z’at way does not make it true.  It does not define me.  I define myself, and right now, I am defining z’e entire Bombshell Division.  Me and z’e Mean Girls, Mercedes Vargas and Veronica Taylor… we have worked so hard to take a division z’at was left in ruins from one too many selfish champions who didn’t give a shit about anyone os’er z’an z’emselves, and we’re adding dep’s to it.  I’ll be DAMNED if I am going to let some shriveled up bitch who is in denial of being a wannabe Mean Girl, come in and destroy z’e work we’ve put into z’e division.  I mean, people are actually talking about SCW’s Bombshells again.  Is z’at a coincidence z’at people start giving a shit while Mercedes, Veronica, and myself are champions?  I s’ink not!  Misty is old news.  She was a dominant champion, I can admit z’at.  But she was nos’ing new or exciting.  She was just some relic who people s’ought defined z’e world of Women’s Wrestling.  Z’at was until Mean Girls proved you can be beautiful and fierce.  We’re not done, and no Jessie Salco… no Cyns’ia Warren… no Zuri Chastain… and certain as FUCK no Misty is going to tear down our legacy before it has relly even begun…

Delia chuckles at the thought of these women dethroning Mean Girls.  She shakes her head as she forces the laugh to continue.  However, it is very obvious that her attention is brought back to the slab in front of her.

Delia:  Young Staggs… you deserve justice.  I deserve justice.  So, how about I make you a promise.  I WILL make your mos’er pay for being so wreckless.  She WILL s’ink twice before letting her own best interests take precedence.  If not, I will hang up my wrestling boots.  Z’at is right, petit… If I don’t beat your mos’er, I will give up, and I will not compete.  But I assure you… I will not lose.  I will not rest until your mos’er is destroyed.  I will break her at High Stakes IV, and who knows… maybe z’ere will be a little family reunion?

Delia smirks wickedly as she winks at the slab.  She giggles a little as she adjusts herself on the bench.  However, she gasps and covers her mouth, perhaps realizing that what she said was clearly in bad taste, or…

Delia:  Oh, silly me… I don’t s’ink she is going where you are.  Somes’ing tells me z’at her wicked ways will land her somewhere a little warmer.  Perhaps instead of z’e present I got for her, I should have gotten her some suntan lotion?

Delia fumbles around in her purse as she pulls out a small box with a bow around it.  Upon further inspection, we see that it is a pregnancy test.  Delia sets it down in front of the slab as she lowers her shades once more.

Delia:  I suppose I should get on before your fas’er comes home.  Somes’ing tells me he wouldn’t be too happy to see me…  I came here to do a Burn Book segment.

Delia reaches over and picks up the pink book.  She flips it open, passing people such as Roxi Johnson and Jessie Salco, before finally landing on a page with Misty’s picture on it.  We see the writing on the page from the previous encounter Delia had with Misty.  Delia stares at the page before pulling out a pink sharpie pen.  She bites the cap off, spitting it out to the ground as she thinks of exactly what she wants to write.

Delia:  Oh… what to add to z’e novel z’at has been written about your mos’er already?  What would do proper justice for her character… or obvious lack z’ereof?

Delia contemplates for a few moments longer before a smile crosses her face.  She places her finger behind the page as she steadies the book, the perfect thought having crossed her mind.  However, before she can write anything, she rips the page from the book altogether!  She stares at the page and snorts, spitting on it before crumpling it up and tossing it down in front of the slab.

Delia:  What better way to address Misty Waters, to really state z’e true dep’s of her character, z’an nos’ing at all?  She is irrelevant to z’e wrestling world.  Aside from her obvious hatred of me, she has nos’ing to make people talk about her.  Where her page once rested in my Burn Book, z’ere is an empty hole, much like her chest cavity.  I won’t even dignify her wi’s z’e likes of Roxi Johnson and Odette Ryder-Stevens, because unlike z’em, she is nos’ing… not anymore.  I will no longer feed her ego by mentioning her, or making her even remotely relevant, because z’at is doing you no justice, petit…  Much like her time in z’e Burn Book, her time in Sin City Wrestling will come to an abrupt end.  I will break her body, but I will also break her spirit.  High Stakes IV, will be where Misty’s miserable career finally comes to an end.  We will no longer be forced to cheer for a monster.  We will no longer be forced to stare over our shoulders, waiting for z’e jealous psychopa’s to attack us for being better z’an her.  Z’is is my solemn vow to you, young Staggs.  Who knows, your mos’er might even s’ank me for opening her eyes… Sorry bout it…

Delia shrugs her shoulders as she stands up from the bench.  She walks over to the slab and runs her finger across the top, making sure to show her morbidly honest intentions as she gives it a few gentle pats.  She turns and begins to walk away, scooping up her Burn Book.  She places it into her purse before flinging the purse over her shoulder.  She lowers her head as she walks with pure determination across the yard.  She stops just short of the fence, and turns back around to face the marble slab in the back corner of the yard.  She gives it a sweet, genuine smile before blowing a kiss toward it.  She turns back around and opens the wrought iron gate, disappearing through it on her way out.
[*Fade*]

[O Malley]

 Dream Crushed…Nightmare Awakened

Sunday October 19th
Parris Island

Before her match against Roxi Johnson to determine who would be going on to High Stakes IV to face Delia, Misty was forced to watch as her youngest sister, Dixie, ignored her warnings and confronted Delia in the ring.  Misty knew what would happen if Dixie met Delia face-to-face but Dixie apparently didn’t believe her, so she did what she wanted to anyway.  And Misty’s fears came true.

Dixie went on her little rant against the Bombshell Champion and leader of the Mean Girls, and this didn’t sit well with Delia.  After insulting the champion and calling her a slut, Delia wouldn’t stand for being insulted any longer and she attacked the defenseless Dixie.  Misty eventually came out from the behind the curtain and distracted Delia, but because Delia had a restraining taken out against her arch nemesis, there was nothing Misty could do to stop Delia herself.  

But Giani Di Luca did.  He ran out to the ring to the aide of his girlfriend, saving her from any more physical harm, but enough damage had already been done.  After helping her up the ramp and joining Misty’s side, the three made their way backstage.  And that is where we find ourselves at this moment.

Giani is right at Dixie’s side, helping her towards a chair so she can sit down.  Instead of concern and worry over her sister’s well-being, the look on Misty’s face actually shows something completely different.  Anger.  Frustration.  Annoyance.  Misty turns around just as Dixie takes a seat, holding her neck.  Dixie looks at her sister, noting the angry look on her face.

Dixie: What?  What is that…look for?

Dixie coughs, still feeling the effects of Delia pressing her throat against the ropes and choking her.

Giani: Babe, I think ya need to relax…maybe get looked at by a paramedic?

Dixie shakes her head, keeping her attention focused on Misty.

Misty: You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, Dixie?  I TOLD you to stay out of this!

Dixie: Wait…You’re blaming..me for what that french hag did out there?!

Misty: That’s exactly what I’m doing!  You knew that Delia has been making this war as personal as she could.  How could you not see that she’d have absolutely NO problem doing what she did to you?  Or have you forgotten that she used Eden as a way to get to me?

Dixie shakes her head and before she has a chance to respond, Giani stands up and defends his girlfriend.

Giani: Come on, Misty.  Calm down, dawg…

Misty glares at Giani.

Misty: Don’t tell me what to do, Giani!  You know she should consider herself lucky that you were here tonight to go out there and help her because I sure as hell couldn’t have!

Dixie: Oh come on.  That restraining order Delia has against you is crap and you know it.  She’s just afraid to face you!

Misty: It doesn’t matter, Dixie!  The fact is she still has it, and Mark, Christian and Erik are trying to find a way around it so I can face her.  

Dixie: Yeah, but you have to beat Roxi Johnson first.

Misty frowns and folds her arms.  Giani decides to step back and stay out of this fight, though he stays by Dixie’s side.

Misty: Yeah and you’re lucky Giani saved your ass, because if he hadn’t and I had gotten arrested for saving you, Roxi would have won by default!

Dixie: What the hell?!  

Misty: You heard me!  I’m so pissed off at you right now, Dixie, it’s not even funny.  You better hope that I can get my head focused before this match against Roxi tonight because—

Dixie: Oh would you shut the hell up and stop being such a bitch!

Misty seems surprised at her sister’s outburst, as does Giani.  Dixie normally shies away from any sort of drama or fighting, as well as swearing, but it seems she’s capable of showing a mean side every now and then.  She slowly gets to her feet and stands up to her sister.

Dixie: If you lose to Roxi tonight, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself!  Yeah I knew that Delia was making this war personal on every level that she could, but I won’t apologize for defending you and being on YOUR side!  It’s what family is for.

Misty: Yeah, I get that Dixie, but she could have done a hell of a lot more damage than she did out there!  You might be my sister and Giani’s girlfriend, but you’re clearly not trained to defend yourself.  And you fed right into Delia’s plan.  Don’t you think that everything that happened out there is exactly what she wanted?  

Dixie: She almost didn’t come out to the ring, Misty.  How can you say she had that planned?

Misty laughs and shakes her head.

Misty: Delia isn’t stupid, Dixie.  She’s been trying to avoid facing me for as long as this feud has been going on.  She had to do something to get me to break that restraining order so I wouldn’t get my shot against her. What better way than attacking my sister?  

Dixie frowns, having not thought about that.  She turns and looks at Giani.  He just gives her a nod, agreeing with Misty.  She turns and faces her sister again, but gives her an apologetic look this time.

Dixie: Look, maybe I didn’t think about that.  I’m sorry, but I stand by what I said.  I had to defend you.  You’re barely defending yourself these days.

Misty lets out a sigh and shakes her head.  She runs her hand through her long hair.

Misty: I’m just trying to deal with this as best as I can, Dixie.  None of this has been easy for me at all.  I’ve already been to jail once because of her, and I can’t let that happen again.  I’m trying to keep some sort of dignity and composure in all of this.

Dixie: So disappearing for a whole week was keeping dignity and composure?  You still haven’t told me where the hell you went.

Misty: Because it’s none of your business.  If I wanted you to know, you would know.

Dixie: I just…I don’t understand how you can let what Drake and Delia did—

Misty’s eyes suddenly narrow furiously and she points at Dixie, interrupting her before she can finish her sentence.

Misty: Don’t you ever speak his name in front of me again, Dixie.  Drake Green is dead to me and I’m done talking about him.  Do you understand me?

Dixie: Misty he’s—

Misty: I mean it, Dixie!  I won’t hesitate to slap the taste out of your mouth if you say that name ever again.  I’m moving on with my life MY way.

Dixie turns and looks at Giani as if asking him for help.  He shakes his head and holds his hands up, refusing to get involved any further.  She rolls her eyes.

Dixie: Whatever you say, sis.  I just hope you know what you’re doing, because this whole situation has gotten out of control.

Misty: Yeah, tell me something I don’t already know.  That’s why I’m trying to lay low for a bit.  Until I get Delia in the ring.

Dixie: You know she’s just going to keep doing stuff to push your buttons, right?  She’ll keep talking trash, trying to get you to break the restraining order.

Misty just laughs.

Misty: Let her.  That’s MY problem though, Dixie.  The fact is that I WILL beat Roxi tonight and there’s nothing Delia can do to stop me from getting my match against her.  

Dixie lets out a sigh, knowing in her heart that she can’t disagree with Misty again.  She suddenly winces, though, as a jolt of pain goes through her neck and Giani immediately jumps to her side.  Misty looks at Dixie and can tell the amount of pain she is in.

Misty: For God’s sake…Let Giani take you to get checked out, Dixie.

Dixie: I’m fi—

Misty: No, you’re not.  Now, go willingly or I’m sure Giani will have no problem tossing you over his shoulder and dragging you to the paramedics.

Giani is about to do just that, but Dixie holds a hand to his chest and shakes her head.

Dixie: There will be no need for that, baby.  I can walk myself.  Misty you want to wait around after the show and go grab some drinks?  I feel like we haven’t talked—

Misty: Maybe some other time, Dixie.  I just want to get this night over with.

Dixie doesn’t seem very happy with this excuse.  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head before she glares at Misty angrily.

Dixie: It’s just going to be one excuse after another with you, isn’t it?  You want to keep pushing me away?  Pushing your family away?  Fine…See if I give a crap anymore!

Giani tries to grab Dixie’s hand but she yanks it away and turns and storms off.  Giani goes to say something to Misty, but Misty just shakes her head and waves him off.  Giani looks at Misty apologetically before following after Dixie as she goes to get checked out.  Misty just takes in a deep breath and walks off in the opposite direction to go get ready for her match against Roxi.


“I know everyone is curious about where I went the week after I found out about what happened with Drake and Delia.  In all honesty, I probably would have told people, but I just needed time.  I needed to get away to clear my head and figure some things out.  I needed to deal with everything, and that is exactly what I did.  What I am still doing.”

“I didn’t tell anyone where I went, because I didn’t think they had any reason to know.  But, perhaps now is the time to reveal where I went and finally put everyone’s questions to rest so they’ll leave me alone.  The fact is that it’s my life, and what I choose to do with it is no one’s business.”

“But if you all must know, here is the truth.  I went to Ireland.  Yes, I flew halfway around the world just to get my distance and clear my head.”

“But a lot of people have been asking me ‘why Ireland?’  The answer is really quite simple.”

“When I was trying to decide on where to go, I grabbed a map of the world.  I closed my eyes and pointed my finger in the air before bring it down on the map.  When I opened my eyes, my finger was pointed directly on Ireland.  In a way, I think it was fate that brought me there.”

“I’ve always been a lover of beautiful scenery and what country has more beautiful sites and scenery to enjoy than Ireland?  Not many, I can imagine.  I’d heard so many great things about Ireland, but the one time I had been there, I was never able to fully enjoy all the great things it has to offer.  Not to mention, I met some amazing people during my stays there.”

“Some people might say that Ireland is overrated, but I couldn’t disagree more.  I could literally walk anywhere in that country and gaze at all the greenery and nature and instantly my mind was at ease.  My soul was at peace and I could just…smile.  After everything I had been through over the course of a couple of weeks, Ireland really was my peaceful place.”

“Until I met O’Malley.”

“It says something when you meet a man, and I use that term very loosely, in a pub and you’re walking to the rest room only to have a pint of beer spilled all over you by his drunken clumsiness.  The shocked and angry look on my face at that moment should have been enough to deter him, but was it?  Unfortunately not.”

“I tried and tried to avoid him that first week, but he just kept intruding on the time I wanted to be alone.  He found reasons to speak to me no matter how much I made it clear I was not interested.  Quite frankly I’m glad to be rid of him now.”

“I’m happy in knowing that I don’t need to worry about seeing him ever again.”


Sunday October 26th
Immediately After Climax Control

Misty knew she had made a big mistake.  For weeks she had done everything she could to avoid attacking Delia and breaking the restraining order the Bombshell Champion had taken out against her, but tonight she had had enough.  Tonight, all she wanted was for things to go smoothly and for Delia to finally sign the contract for their match against High Stakes IV, but Delia wouldn’t do it.  No, Delia was still flat out refusing to face Misty, citing the Original Bombshell as dangerous.  

Sad to say, that statement tonight was true.  Erik Staggs had tried to stop Misty from doing what she did, but she was too quick for him.  Misty dashed down the ramp and attacked the champion with a steel chair, and before she could really inflict any damage, she was promptly arrested and taken to the local jail.  

She’s currently seated in a jail cell, having just been processed and booked.  She has her arms folded and one leg crossed over the other as she waits, very impatiently, for an officer to come open the cell.  The longer she waits, the more frustrated she gets.

Misty: I’m supposed to get one phone call, ya know!

She shouts out to an officer seated at a desk.  He looks through a window, right at her.

Officer: You have to wait, Waters!  Now pipe down or you won’t get your phone call!

Misty sighs and rolls her eyes.  She starts fidgeting her leg impatiently and shaking her head.

Misty: Stupid, Misty.  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She looks around the cell, then down at the cot she is seated on, particularly at the pillow.  If she were disgusted at the thought of just what germs and other disgusting things were on the pillow, she would lay back and get as comfortable as she can, because she’s not sure just how long the officers will make her way.  

So she does the next best thing.  She pulls her legs up to the cot and sits indian style.  She leans her head back against the way and closes her eyes, quietly regretting everything that happened tonight.  Before this feud with Delia, she had never seen the inside of a jail cell, and she disgusted with the fact that she let Delia be the reason this was all happening.

Well…that and her complete stupidity in handling the situation with any sort of class.

The minutes pass by and before Misty knows it, she’s been sitting in that jail cell for two hours.  She wasn’t able to get herself to get some rest, as the noise and commotion of the police station was too much to ignore.  Her eyes only open when she hears an officer walk inside with his keys and unlocking the jail cell.

Misty: It’s about time I get my phone call…

The officer shakes his head.

Officer: Nope.  No phone call.  You’re free to go.

Misty looks at him, completely confused.  He swings the door open, allowing her to step out, but she stands there for a moment, frozen.

Officer: Didn’t you hear me?  You’re free to go.

Misty: But…how?  

Officer: Your bail was posted.  It took a little while to get everything processed, but you’re good to go.

Misty scratches her head before she steps out of the cell and looks at him.

Misty: Do you know who bailed me out?

The officer shakes his head and closes the jail cell again.

Officer: Sorry, no clue.  You can grab your things from the front desk.

Misty nods thankfully before she heads off to the front desk.  She signs some forms and is handed the few things she had in her pockets when she was booked.  Once she is done checking to make sure everything is accounted for, she heads out the door and then down a hall leading to the entrance.  When she exits the building, she finds out exactly who bailed her out, because he’s leaning against a car parked out front.  Misty stops dead in her tracks and looks directly at O’Malley, who has his arms folded and is smiling up at her.

Misty: O’Malley?!  

O’Malley: In the flesh, love.

Misty: Wh..what are you doing here?

O’Malley pushes himself away from the car, sporting a bit of a frown on his face now.

O’Malley: Gee, Misty, it’s good to see ye, too.  

Misty: You…You were the one who posted my bail?

O’Malley nods as Misty walks down the steps and stops just a few feet in front of him.

Misty: Why?

O’Malley: What?  Did I make a mistake in bailing ye out?  Should I have let ye stay in that filthy cell overnight?  

Misty rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

Misty: You know what I meant, O’Malley.  I’m just shocked to see you here.

O’Malley: And ye still haven’t thanked me…

Misty: Thank you.  Now, will you start giving me some answers?

O’Malley thinks for a moment, lightly tapping his chin.  Misty seems annoyed at his reluctance and just as she is about to say something, he finally answers.

O’Malley: I’ll make ye a deal, love.  I’ll answer yer questions if ye agree to join me for dinner.

Misty raises an eyebrow, confused.

Misty: Dinner?  O’Malley, do you realize what time it is?  

He nods.

O’Malley: So a late dinner.  I’m famished and I’m sure ye must be hungry, too.  What do ye say?

Misty folds her arms, giving O’Malley’s offer some thought.  She wants to say no, but she knows that O’Malley will not take no for an answer.  Even still, she tries to make an excuse.

Misty: Look, O’Malley, it’s late.  I’m tired and I just want to—

O’Malley: Want to what, love?  Want me to take ye back to yer hotel room and tuck ye in for the night?

O’Malley chuckles to himself, but Misty just glares at him, unamused.  She closes her eyes, doing her best to keep calm.

Misty: You just think you’re so funny, don’t you O’Malley?  

O’Malley: You tell me.  Yer not laughing, so I must be doing something wrong.

Misty tries to hold back a laugh, but fails.  She lets out a slight laugh before calming herself and standing up straight, remaining as calm as composed as possible.  She dusts herself off, as if getting rid of any dust or dirt that might have stuck to her in the jail cell.

O’Malley: Come on, love.  Ye owe me…

Misty tilts her head to the side, glaring at O’Malley with a little smirk on her face.

Misty: That might be true had I asked you to bail me out, which I didn’t.  

O’Malley: True, but either way, ye still owe me.  

O’Malley takes a step forward, getting just inches away from Misty’s face.  He stares down at her, and she turns her eyes away, refusing to look up at him, and he just grins, knowing the effect he is having on her.

O’Malley: What are ye so afraid of, love?  It’s not like I’m asking for a steamy night of hotel lovin’ afterwards.  It’s just dinner between two people.

Misty glares up at him, trying not to smile at the clear joke he made.  She places a hand on his chest and gently pushes him away and getting her personal space back.

Misty: Even if you did ask that question the answer would be most definitely no.  But fine, if you’re really as hungry as you say you are, I’ll go with you.

O’Malley: There.  Now was that really so hard, love?

Misty shakes her head and holds up a finger.

Misty: On one condition.  No alcoholic drinks…

O’Malley: What?  That’s an odd—

Misty:  I’m serious, O’Malley.  I know you’re from Ireland and you Irish men love to drink, but you’re not going to try and get me all boozed up to take—

O’Malley: Is that what ye think this is about, love?  That I would take advantage of ye?  Please…I’m just thankful it’s not the other way around!

O’Malley cracks another grin, as does Misty.  He extends his hand for a shake in agreement, and the deal is made.

O’Malley: Those are reasonable enough terms.  I’ll behave meself and I expect you to do the same, love.  No spiking me drink when I run off to the bathroom or somethin’.  

Misty: Please…as if I’d need to do that.  You and I both know I wouldn’t have to do that to get into your pants if I wanted to.

O’Malley: And trust me, love, yer gonna want to one day soon.

O’Malley winks at Misty but she just rolls her eyes.  She walks around to the passenger side door and before she can open it, O’Malley is right there to do it for it.  She looks at him with a smirk.

Misty: What do you know?  Chivalry really isn’t dead…

O’Malley: Not completely anyway.

He winks again and Misty gets into the car.  He closes the door gently so as not to hit her and then he walks around to the driver’s side, getting inside.  Misty looks at him curiously.

Misty: Are you sure you’re okay to drive an American car, O’Malley?  I didn’t—

O’Malley: There’s a lot ye don’t know about me, love.  

He grins again before starting the engine and backing out of the parking space.  Moments later he drives off down the street, in search of some place he and Misty can go to get a bite to eat and continue their conversation.

********************

Hours later, Misty and O’Malley have finished their meals at a local twenty-four hour café.  It was a nice little place that the two could sit and chat without being interrupted, and the two are still deep in conversation about various thinks.  Both have a cup of coffee in front of them, and surprisingly, Misty even seems to be enjoying herself, letting out an occasional warm-hearted laugh.  O’Malley clearly enjoys seeing this side of her.

O’Malley: I have to admit, love, this is a side of ye I didn’t even get to see back in Ireland.

Misty: Yeah, well, that’s what talking about my daughter does to me.  I’ve got so many stories about her.

O’Malley nods and then leans back in his side of the booth.  He messes with his half-empty cup of coffee, looking down at it, before he looks back up at Misty seriously.

O’Malley: If that’s true, love, then why have ye stayed away from her for so long?  I don’t mean to pry—

Misty: Yes, you do.  It’s what you always do.

O’Malley smiles for a moment, as does Misty, before the look on his face returns serious.

O’Malley: It’s clear ye love yer little girl.  I can see that in the look on yer face when ye talk about her, so why stay away from her?  

Misty frowns and looks down at her own coffee cup which is now empty.  The waitress returns, offering to refill it, but she politely shakes her head, saying she doesn’t want anymore.  She, too, leans back in the booth then looks up at O’Malley, sadness overtaking her face now.

Misty: I’m protecting her, O’Malley.  As her mother I have to do everything in my power to make sure she is safe, and that is what I am doing.  This war with Delia…it’s going farther than I ever thought it would and I won’t allow my daughter to be thrown into the middle of it anymore.  She’s safer now than she was before.

O’Malley nods, letting every word process in his mind.  He studies Misty’s expression, knowing there is more that he doesn’t know, and he leans forward, placing his elbows on the table.

O’Malley: And this…Delia…she’s done a lot more, ya?  

Misty nods.

Misty: We both have, honestly.  But I’m to blame for everything she’s done in this war.  That’s why I have to put an end to it.

O’Malley: What else happened?  

Misty looks up at O’Malley, shaking her head.  She’s been trying so hard to avoid talking about everything that happened and the pain it caused her, and she’s not ready to talk about it.  O’Malley can sense this and he pushes her to speak, but in a caring way.

O’Malley: Come on, love.  Ye can talk to me.  I’m not here to judge, but I can see ye need to get stuff off yer chest.  She had to do something horrible if ye got yerself arrested tonight.

Misty sighs and nods.  She folds her arms across her chest and takes in a deep breath.

Misty: I don’t have many dreams that I could see actually coming true, but one I had earlier this year…it just felt different to me.  And Delia crushed that dream.  

O’Malley remains quiet, allowing Misty her time to speak.  Before Misty knows it, she’s rambling on, revealing a secret she hadn’t told anyone…including Drake Green.

********************

**THE FOLLOWING IS A DREAM SEQUENCE**

It’s a bright and sunny day.  Picture perfect, really.  A pair of clouds wanders their way across the sky overlooking this beautiful mountain scene.  Never once do they pass in front of the sun, and the temperature is seasonably warm.  Simply put, today couldn’t get any better.

As we get a closer look at the setting for today’s special event, we see that it is none other than the mountain home belonging to Drake Green.  Several cars line the long driveway leading to the house and people are seen swarming in and out the front door.  The atmosphere is over all filled with excitement and anticipation.

Inside the large house, last minute details are being finalized, making sure everything is perfect.  Everything needs to go off without a hitch, and so far, so good.  Florists carry various arrangements, setting them up around the house as well as heading out back where the ceremony will take place, but the most activity and excitement seems to be coming from upstairs.

Several voices are heard coming from one of the guest rooms and once inside we find all the women in Misty’s family feverishly getting ready.  Misty’s younger sisters, Dixie and Desiree, are wearing blue strapless ankle length bridesmaids dresses.  Vixen is wearing a similar dress and Eden is wearing a white flower girl’s dress with a blue sash wrapped around at the waist.  Drake’s sister, Jenny is also there, helping in any way she can.  Misty is nowhere to be seen, but Dixie looks at the time and almost panics before she shouts into another room.

Dixie: Misty!  Hurry up!  We’re already running behind!

Misty can be heard laughing from inside the other room before the door opens just a crack and Misty peeks her head out.

Misty: Relax, Dixie, we’ve got plenty of time.  I’ll be out in a second.

Dixie rolls her eyes impatiently but the others encourage to relax.  A few minutes later, the door opens and out walks Misty, with her mother behind her.  All eyes immediately fall on her and they all are in awe as they stare at her in her wedding dress; an all over lace trumpet gown with a deep v neckline.  Her hair is pulled back in a half up-do with the rest of her long hair, flowing down past her shoulders, and she has passed up wearing a veil.  She waits for someone to say something, and grows nervous when they don’t.

Misty: I knew I should have had someone come with me when I bought the dress…It doesn’t look right, does it?

Dixie shakes her head, immediately putting off that thought.

Dixie: Are you kidding, Misty?  You look amazing!  

Misty: You think so?  I didn’t want anything too…flashy.  

Vixen smiles as she and Eden step forward.

Vixen: I think it’s perfect for you.  Right Eden?

Eden smiles brightly and nods.

Eden: You look beautiful, Mommy!

Jenny: You really are beautiful, Misty.  My brother would be crazy not to love that dress on you.

Misty smiles a very warm and happy smile.  She is about to respond, but Desiree beats her to the punch.

Desiree: I think we all know he’ll like it better on the floor…

All the women share a laugh, but young Eden looks around, confused.  She touches the bottom of her mother’s dress and with a sad expression asks the curious question that popped into her mind.

Eden: But it could get ruined on the floor.  Why would he—

Misty: Nevermind what Aunt Desiree said, Eden.  She’s just being silly.  

Desiree laughs again, but she realizes she should have said that a bit quieter with Eden in the room.  Misty looks around the room and smiles as she takes in a deep breath.  She looks around at all the women in her family.

Misty: So…this is really happening, isn’t it?  

Desiree: Not unless—

Misty glares at Desiree, shaking her head and glancing down to Eden.  Eden, however, finishes the sentence for Desiree.

Eden: Not unless you do to Drake what you did to Daddy.  You’re not going to, are you Mommy?

Eden looks up at Misty, almost afraid at the answer.  Misty immediately shakes her head and kneels down to Eden’s eye level.

Misty: Absolutely not, Eden.  This time, it’s for real.

Eden smiles excitedly and doesn’t say another word.  There is a knock on the door and Misty’s father’s voice is heard a few moments later.

Andrew: Is it safe to come in?

Misty: Come on in, Dad!  

The door then slowly opens and Misty’s father walks in dressed in his suit and tie.  He looks at his second born daughter and smiles warmly as he walks up to her, giving her a hug.

Andrew: You look beautiful, Misty.  Really beautiful.

Misty: Thanks, Dad.

Misty almost chokes up and starts crying, but Dixie freaks out and points at her.

Dixie: No crying!  Not yet!  

Misty: Really, Dixie?  Relax.  I thought I was supposed to be the bridezilla here.

Dixie gives Misty an apologetic look when their father looks around the room at all of the women.

Andrew: You ladies about ready?  I think they’re all set to get this show on the road.

Misty takes in a deep breath and looks around the room.  Dixie scrambles and hands everyone their bouquets, including Misty.  She smiles and nods.

Misty: Ready as I’ll ever be.  

Dixie: Okay ladies.  It’s time for a wedding!

Misty’s mother heads out first with her oldest daughter, Jackie and Drake’s sister Jenny following behind her.  Vixen, Desiree and Dixie follow suit with Eden at the back of the line.  This gives Misty and her father a moment alone before they head downstairs.  Andrew turns to his daughter, placing his hands on her shoulders.

Andrew: I hate to ask this but—

Misty immediately shakes her head, but she keeps a smile on her face.

Misty: No cold feet, Dad.  There won’t be a repeat performance of what happened with Spike.  

Andrew: Good.  I’m proud of you, sweetie.  

Misty: It was a long road coming, I know.  But, let’s not get into that.  Ready to walk me down the aisle?  A real aisle this time?

They share a laugh and Andrew nods.  Misty wraps her arm around his and he leads her out of the room.  They carefully walk down the stairs; Misty’s father helping to ensure she doesn’t trip.  Once they are downstairs, they make their way towards the door leading to the backyard.  They can hear the music playing and pause by the door, waiting for their cue.

A few seconds later, when the bridal march begins to play, Misty takes in one last deep breath and the door opens.  She looks at her father, and they share a smile as they slowly make their way out the door, down the “aisle” leading to a special arch, where Drake is standing waiting for her, with a loving smile on his face.  

Misty is too busy focusing on her husband to be to even care about all the eyes on her.  She’s not worried about her mother or her sister’s or friends that are all watching her as she and her father make their way down the aisle.  She only cares about one person as today is about them.  Misty and her father finally make their way to the arch and before he gives her hand away to Drake, her father hugs her and gives her a kiss on her cheek.

But the dream ends just as Drake takes Misty’s hand in his…



“Some people think that I reacted a lot worse than I should have when I found out about Drake and Delia sleeping together.  Maybe there is some truth to that, but I think I was trying to figure out what hurt worse.  The fact that Drake slept with someone else after he told me he loved me, or that the other woman was Delia.  That first week after I found out I tried so hard to figure out the answer to that, but I think I finally just gave up.”

“I never told anyone about that dream I had of marrying Drake, and there was a reason for that.  I didn’t want anyone to think I was crazy or had any hope of our relationship, if you want to call it that, going in that direction.  It was no secret that Drake was…Sorry, IS, the eternal ladies man.  He sleeps with any woman willing to drop her panties, which honestly, who wouldn’t?  Drake is a very attractive guy.  Women just get weak in the knees over him.”

“But Delia…Delia always prided herself on her modesty and the fact that she had only slept with one guy in her life…a guy that she had deep feelings for.  She always made sure to point out that she wouldn’t sleep with Drake, but look at what happened?  She brought out the side of her that I knew was buried deep inside of her and she slept with him.”  

“Oh…and let’s not forget the fact that she had to get him drunk to do it and she only did it because she hates me so much.”

“And even after all of that…even after telling myself I would move on and never speak about what happened ever again, there I was pouring my heart out to O’Malley.  I was telling him something that I was too afraid to tell Drake, because honestly, I didn’t want to scare him off.  I wanted Drake to change for himself…to get help because he really wanted it.  Not because I told him to or because I wanted him to change.”

“I wasn’t expecting O’Malley to understand.  I figured he would have just laughed at me and called me crazy.  Hell, everybody does.  So why should he be any different?  I had only known him a short time and knew nothing about him, so his curiosity about my life and my problems was a bit…strange to me.”

“Maybe it is just my sudden inability to trust anyone, but no matter how interested in me O’Malley is, I can’t shake this feeling there is something off about him.  And it’s why I refuse to go there with him.  Aside from the fact that I’m not just going to search for the quickest rebound and really give people a reason to call me a slut…”

“But for now…I’m just going to take my time and get to know O’Malley, and I’ll let him in on things about me.  There’s no harm in that, I guess.”



After Misty finishes telling O’Malley about her dream, she stares at him, waiting for him to say something.  A big part of her is expecting him to laugh at her and point out what a fool she is, but he doesn’t.  He leans back in the booth, nodding his head.  Misty takes a drink of water and takes in a deep breath as the awkward silence falls between the two for a while until Misty breaks it.

Misty: I don’t know why I told you about that dream.  I never told anyone.  And yes I realize now it was just a dream and not some weird premonition about the future.

O’Malley: Maybe ye told me because ye trust me?  

Misty laughs and shakes her head.

Misty: Trust you?  I’m not sure I can trust anyone these days, O’Malley.  And besides, I barely know you.  For all I know, you could be some spy for Delia and you’ll go run off after we leave and tell her about our long conversation.  I don’t really know, and quite honestly, I don’t really care anymore.  

O’Malley cracks an amused smile.

O’Malley: Now yer just sounding paranoid, love.  

Misty shrugs, looking away from him.  He takes a second to think about his next response.

O’Malley: If I was working with that Delia woman—

Misty: Now that’s funny…actually calling Delia a woman…

O’Malley: Let me finish.  If I was working with her, do ye think I would have actually bailed ye out of jail?  Pretty sure she would have wanted me to just let ye rot in that cell.

Misty laughs, knowing he has a point.

Misty: Stranger things have happened, O’Malley.  Like I said, I don’t really care honestly.  She can do whatever the hell she wants to me.  She can’t break me anymore than she already has.  She’ll only continue to make herself look like the heartless bitch she is and once I get her in that ring in two weeks…all bets are off.  

O’Malley: I understand all of the horrible stuff she’s done to ye, love, but why is it so important to ye?  Why couldn’t ye just walk away before it got this far?  

Misty: That would not have solved anything, O’Malley.  It doesn’t work that way in this business.  Sure I could have stayed retired and let her rule the roost in SCW, but she’s shitting all over everything I did for SCW and the Bombshell division.  She’s destroying everything I built and tarnishing it.  I can’t let that continue.  Not to mention, as soon as she went after my family, there was no way I was going to just sit back and let it happen.  I’m not that kind of woman.  I’m not a coward.

O’Malley offers Misty a sincere smile.  The waitress walks up to the table to check on them again, but they insist they are fine and she walks away.  O’Malley turns his attention back to Misty, staring at her with almost a loving look in his eyes.

O’Malley: Ye know what I think, love?

Misty tilts her head and looks at him.

Misty: I’m not a mind reader, O’Malley.  So, no, I don’t know what you think.

O’Malley chuckles and leans forward again.

O’Malley: I think as hard as yer trying to get over all the pain ye’ve been caused recently, but yer struggling.  Ye’ve got people who want to help ye and be there for ye but ye won’t let them.

Misty: I don’t need them, O’Malley.  I’m not going to sit back and deny that, yeah, I was hurt by everything that happened, but who wouldn’t be?  I’m trying to find my way to deal with it all by myself.  That’s why I went to Ireland.

O’Malley: And ye met me.

O’Malley smiles and winks at Misty.  She laughs and when she turns her head away, she looks at the clock on the wall.  She hadn’t realized how long they had been there talking.  She shakes her head and grabs her jacket from its place next to her and then starts to scoot out of the booth.  O’Malley looks at her, confused.

O’Malley: What are ye doing?

Misty: I…I have to get back to the hotel.  It’s really late and I’m exhausted.

O’Malley: Yer doing it again…

Misty puts her jacket on and looks at him, returning the confused look.

Misty: I’m sorry?  Doing what, exactly?

O’Malley: Running away.  

Misty: I’m not running, O’Malley.  I’ve had a long night, and some of us need sleep.

O’Malley narrows his eyes, suddenly upset.  He takes some money out of his pocket and tosses it on the table before he, too, slides out of the booth and glares down at Misty.

O’Malley: Ye don’t fool me, love.  I see the dark circles under yer eyes.  I know ye don’t sleep as much as ye lead people to believe ye do.  

Misty: Don’t act like you know—

O’Malley: I’m not acting like I know.  I’ve been there, love.  Yer not the only one who’s been through a lot of shite in their life, but if ye want to deal with it alone, go right ahead.  

O’Malley then storms off leaving a shocked Misty standing there alone.  She blinks, and appears to be fighting back tears before she takes in a deep breath, calming herself down.  She thanks the waitress and heads out, trying to find a way back to the hotel.  After surveying the area, she knows that the hotel isn’t that far from where she is, so she decides to walk back, and in the process clearing her head.  

It takes her a while, but she finally arrives back at the hotel and heads to her room.  She was tired, she couldn’t deny that, but when she heads into the bathroom and flips on the light she just stares at herself in the mirror.

What has she done to herself?  What is she continuing to do to herself?  No matter how much concealer she put under her eyes, she couldn’t hide it any longer.  O’Malley had seen it and she could no longer deny it.  

As she stared at the dark circles under her eyes, she is disgusted by what she sees.  Tears start rolling down her face and she loses all control before she finally collapses to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.  She stays there for several minutes until she hears a soft knocking on the door.  She plans to ignore whoever it is, but the knocking continues and eventually, she hears O’Malley’s voice from outside the door.

O’Malley: Misty?  Can you open the door love?

Misty seems surprised to hear O’Malley and she slowly gets to her feet.  She looks in the mirror and quickly wipes her eyes, trying to look as normal as possible, but there will be no hiding her puffy red eyes.  O’Malley continues knocking and finally Misty goes over to the door, but she doesn’t open it.  Instead, she talks to him from inside.

Misty: How did you find me, O’Malley?

O’Malley: It wasn’t hard to find ye, love.  I was about to head back to the restaurant and I saw ye walking inside this hotel.  Can ye open the door, please?

Misty: No.  I think you made your point very clear a little while ago.

Misty’s voice is slightly shakey as she fights back more tears.  Judging by O’Malley’s next statement, he can sense this.

O’Malley: What’s wrong with yer voice?  Would you just open the door, please?

Misty narrows her eyes and she furiously opens the door.  She glares at O’Malley, who ust stares at her tear soaked eyes with concern.

Misty: Happy now?  I’m fine so you can just leave me alone.

O’Malley: Christ, Misty.  I…I didn’t mean to make ye cry.

Misty: Oh trust me, O’Malley, you didn’t.  This is all because of me.  Now please…just go.

She tries to close the door in his face, but he places his hand against it, keeping it open.  She glares at him as another tear rolls down her cheek and she sniffles.

O’Malley: No.  I’m not leaving ye alone like this.

Misty: Please, O’Malley…Just—

O’Malley: Dammit, love…I said I’m not going anywhere!  

Exhaustion suddenly just consumes Misty and she crumples back to the floor, luckily against the wall.  O’Malley rushes inside, letting the door close behind him and he kneels down in front of Misty who is a sobbing mess.

Misty: Just leave…leave me…alone.  I’m better of…alone!

O’Malley: Clearly yer not, love.  Come on, calm down.

His words aren’t enough to get through to her.  She just continues sobbing, and mumbling until he’s forced to pick her up off the floor and carry her over to the bed.  He places her down on the bed, but he scoots in on the other side, trying his best to comfort her.

O’Malley: Shhh, love…It’s okay.  I’m not going to leave ye alone like this.  Ye need to get some sleep and ye’ll feel better.

Misty shakes her head, trying to take in a deep breath.

Misty: No…I can’t…I can’t sleep…

O’Malley: Yes, ye can.  Now just be quiet and close yer eyes.

Her head rests on his chest and her sobbing starts to become less and less.  O’Malley runs his hand through her hair, comforting her and hopefully helping her drift off to sleep.  It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep, but O’Malley doesn’t leave.  He stays right where he is, his arm wrapped around Misty lovingly.

Eventually he, too, falls asleep sitting up but after about thirty minutes, he’s startled awake as Misty bolts upright and screams.

O’Malley: Wh-what is it?  What’s the matter?

Dazed and confused Misty turns and looks at O’Malley.  She shakes her head, getting rid of the stars she is seeing, then runs her hand through her hair.

Misty: You’re…still here?

O’Malley nods.

O’Malley: I said I wasn’t leaving ye alone, love.  Did ye have a nightmare?

Misty takes in a deep breath and looks away.  She blinks, not wanting to tell O’Malley about it but he leans forward and stares at her.

O’Malley: Come on.  Ye can tell me about it…

Misty looks down, ashamed.

Misty: That’s the thing, O’Malley.  I already told you…

He raises a curious eyebrow.

O’Malley: You mean…?

Misty nods.

Misty: I wasn’t lying when I said I had the dream earlier this year, but what I left out was the fact that it was the first time I had that dream.  Every time I sleep, O’Malley, I have that dream.  But now..now it’s just a nightmare.

O’Malley: I…I’m not sure what to tell ye about that one, love.

Misty shakes her head before she lays back down in the bed.  She rests on her side, facing O’Malley and places her hands under her head.

Misty: There’s nothing you can really say to that, O’Malley.  I’m paying for all the mistakes in my life right now.  Just when I thought I could finally have it all and not screw things up, it’s all taken away from me.  That dream…it’s just my constant reminder.  It’s all my fault.

O’Malley: No it’s not, love.  Ye just gotta stop having that attitude.  Don’t let what one selfish arsehole and slimey bitch did ruin everything for ye…

Misty laughs.

Misty: Trust me, it’s more than just what they did.  If you only knew everything—

O’Malley: How about you save that for another day then?  Just clear your mind and get some real sleep.  Think about something good before ye fall asleep.  That’ll keep the…nightmare…away.  Think about yer daughter.

O’Malley scoots in closer to her again.  She’s so tired, she honestly can’t fight it.  She’s afraid to sleep, but she listens to the sound of O’Malley’s voice seems to calm her.  She takes his advice and thinks about Eden as she closes her eyes.  She hadn’t seen Eden in a few weeks now, but hopefully after High Stakes IV, that would all change.  Once this war with Delia was over with, she’d head straight back to Eden and hug her little girl tight, never letting go.

That…that was a dream she could look forward to.



“I have only myself to blame for everything that has happened over the last several months.  Every decision I have made, whether good intentioned or not, the repercussions came back to bite me in the ass.  Over the last year and a half I’ve tried so hard to make up for all of my mistakes.  One step forward, two steps back it seems.”

“At the beginning of the year, I had such high hopes for how I would end this year.  I made the announcement that I would be retiring by the end of the year, but would not do so as long as I held a title.  At the time, Vixen and I were the tag team champions, and I wasn’t going to abandon a title, or the friendship that Vixen and I had built.  I’m not like that.”

“But then the second Blast From the Past tournament happened, and a feud that I thought was long over with was reignited.  At least…for me it was.  I know Odette had no interest in facing me ever again and restarting our feud, but when she came back and as my opponent no less…that fire in me returned.  But instead of doing the smart thing and sticking around, I did exactly what O’Malley said I do.”

“I ran.”

“I couldn’t face the fact that I lost to Odette…again.  Even after trying to make up for my mistakes against her, I was back to hating Odette because she did what I told myself I would never do.  She abandoned a title and she disappeared.  She walked out on SCW, and after that…people were saying I was doing the same.  I didn’t think I could hate someone more than I hated Odette.”

“Until Delia came along.”

“It’s no secret that she and the Mean Girls…or what’s left of them now…like to talk a lot of crap, and they have for some time.  It doesn’t matter what anyone says, they like to turn it around and act as though what they are speaking is the truth.  They put everyone and everything down for their own sick enjoyment and it pains me to admit that…after I found out the truth…after I finally opened my eyes to the lie that Drake and Delia were telling…I actually believed what they had been saying all along.”

“If I had just...stopped…none of this would be happening today.  I couldn’t put the blame on Delia…not really.  I almost married Spike, but I ruined that.  I walked out on our family, leaving him embarrassed and heartbroken in the middle of the ring.  I had made my daughter cry, countless times.  I had walked out on SCW, whether I was willing to admit it at the time or not, I did.”

“I ran.”

“So who the hell was I to think that I could ever get my happy ending?  How the hell could I ever expect Drake Green…a player and a user…to change and actually want to be with me?”

“I don’t even know the answer to those questions, but I do know one thing.  If I’m not meant to have my happy ending, I’m sure as hell not going to let Delia be the reason why.  I’m going to finish this once and for all and move on, because I have to.”

“Any other outcome just isn’t acceptable.”



Thursday November 6th
Michie Stadium
West Point, New York

We’re just days away from High Stakes IV and the stakes have never been higher.  Each year, High Stakes definitely lives up to its name with the feuds finally coming to a head.  This year will be no different and perhaps the most talked about match on the card for Sunday’s supershow is the Bombshell Championship match when Delia defends her title against the first three time Bombshell Champion and her arch nemesis, Misty.  

It’s the moment they…well, at least Misty, has been waiting for for the past several months.  She’s wanted nothing more than to finally wrap her hands around Delia’s throat and choke the life out of her, amongst other things.  She’s had no problems getting through the Mean Girls to get to this point, and it is still yet to be seen if Delia will actually show.

But regardless, the show is still three days away and today…there are other events planned.  Today, Michie Stadium is buzzing with excitement for another reason.  A stage with a table and chairs is set up in the field and a large crowd is gathering.  After several minutes, and once every filters their way on to the field around the stage, SCW head reporter, Pussy Willow walks up the stairs on to the stage.  She receives a round of applause and several cat calls from the male population of the crowd.  She smiles and winks at some of the men in uniform before she takes one of the microphones from off the table and walks to the edge of the stage.

PW: Well would you take a look at this wonderful crowd.  Welcome everyone!  We’re just three days away from High Stakes IV and let me tell you, this is gearing up to be the greatest one yet!  

The crowd cheers and applauds her once again.  She walks around the stage, then stops.

PW: This Sunday we have thirteen…Yes THIRTEEN spectacular matches lined up for you, and all of the superstars and Bombshells have been hard at work making their promotional appearances as well as last minute training sessions in before the show begins.  

The crowd cheers louder.

PW: But today, we have something very special for all of you.  Our guest today has already solidified her place in Sin City Wrestling history, and she’s looking to further do that again this Sunday, but it’s about so much more to her as she faces the Bombshell Champion, Delia Darling.

The crowd boos at the mention of Delia.  Pussy Willow just nods but she remains neutral.

PW: As I’m sure you know by now, three-time former Bombshell Champion and our very own Original Bombshell, Misty, is waiting just at the bottom of those stairs, ready to answer your questions.  So please, without further delay, everyone please welcome…MISTY!

The crowd erupts in a huge pop as Misty makes her way up the stairs.  She has her hair pulled back and she is wearing a pair of dark jeans, her “Original Bombshell” T-Shirt and a light jacket over it.  She waves to everyone in attendance, before taking her seat at the table in front of the microphone placed there for her.  The crowd continues to roar in approval and she smiles  with appreciation.

Misty: Wow.  Thank you so much!

Their roars get louder again.  Pussy Willow has to signal for them to quiet down and they do a few moments later.  Pussy Willow looks around the crowd with a smile, as does Misty.

PW: Well, I think it’s clear who everyone is going to be rooting for this Sunday, right Misty?

Misty nods.

Misty: Well, they’d be crazy not to root for me, because I don’t plan on losing this one.

PW: Yes, I don’t expect you would.  Okay, so here’s how this is going to work, Misty, though I’m sure you’re familiar with this process by now.

Misty nods.

PW: We have a series of questions lined up for you today.  Nothing is off limits, and I mean nothing.  The fans may ask you anything that is on their minds.  Easy enough, right?

Misty nods, though she has a nervous smile.

Misty: Pretty much.  Now, whether I answer depends on what their question is.  Let’s keep the questions clean, shall we?

Pussy Willow laughs and she even receives some boos for her reluctance to answer any candid questions.  Pussy Willow turns to the crowd and smiles.

PW: Alright then.  Let’s get this thing started.  Let’s have our first question.

A young servicewoman steps up to the microphone set up for the crowd.  She’s dressed in her full uniform and Misty offers her a smile

Fan #1: I was wondering, besides your own match of course, what match are you most looking forward to at High Stakes IV and why?

Misty nods, thinking about her answer.

PW: That’s an excellent question.

Misty: Perfect question to start things off.  Well, there are so many matches to choose from and I’m sure all will be amazing matches, but I think my answer might surprise you.  I’m actually quite looking forward to seeing Chris Shipman face off against Steven Ramone and this secretive Shipman’s House of Fun match.

Fan #1: I was expecting you to choose a Bombshell match.

Misty: I think I would have, but honestly the mystery surrounding the stipulation in this match has me very curious.  Not to mention, Chris Shipman so far has proven to be quite the…interesting character.  I’d personally like to see him go toe-to-toe with Rage one of these days, but they’re both in the Seven Deadly Sins so that probably won’t happen.

The crowd quietly chatters amongst themselves at Misty’s answer as the first fan steps away from the microphone.  Pussy Willow looks around the crowd, signaling for the second question when another military person, this time a man a little older than the woman steps up to the microphone.

Fan #2: Some people are predicting all titles to change hands on Sunday.  Do you think that will happen?

Misty lets out a little laugh.

Misty: Well I know at least one title will change hands.  I’ll give you one guess as to which one?

The man laughs before Misty continues.

Misty: In all honesty, there is a good chance that five out of six titles will change hands.  As much as I like ROAR as a tag team, I think that the Bosom Buddies are just a little too strong for them to defeat.  

Fan #2: So you think that Sean Jackson will beat Drake Green for the Heavyweight Title?

Hearing Drake’s name leaves Misty temporarily unable to speak.  Pussy Willow looks in her direction, wondering how she will respond, as does the crowd in attendance.  Misty keeps her composure, however, and answers to the best of her ability.

Misty: It’s definitely not impossible, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it did happen.  Drake has been a fighting champion for as long as I’ve known him, so I know he won’t give up without a fight, but I’m not sure if I will be watching that match tonight.  I’ll be celebrating my fourth Bombshell Championship win.

Misty winks at the man.  He nods and walks away and Pussy Willow lifts her microphone to speak.

PW: I think it’s quite clear that there is no shortage of confidence coming from you, Misty.  Hopefully it’s not over confidence.

Misty: Pay close attention to the match on Sunday and you’ll find out.  Next question…

Another young man walks up to the microphone, but he is a civilian this time.

Fan #3: I was wondering if you had spoken to Drake Green since finding out the truth?

Misty: No, I have not.

Fan #3: Any plans on—

Misty: I have no intentions of speaking to Drake anytime soon.  Next question, please…

This clearly strikes a nerve with Misty, but she remains as polite as possible.  The fan walks away, disappointed when a teenage girl wearing an Original Bombshell T-shirt walks up to the microphone with an excited smile.

Fan #4: Oh my gosh…Hi, Misty.  I’m so excited, you have no idea!

Misty: I think I can get a little bit of an idea, sweetie.  But what’s your question?

Fan #4: Okay, so I hate to ask this question given the recent…events…but here goes.  Earlier this year there were rumors swirling around that you were pregnant.  Now, obviously you weren’t but…If you had been pregnant, who would you have wanted to be the father?  It’s no secret you were with that Seth guy, but you’d also been with Drake.  So…I was just curious!

Pussy Willow can’t help but chuckle at the young girl’s bubbly attitude.  Misty, however, takes in a deep breath.  She has no desire to answer that question, but she knows that she has to if she doesn’t want to disappoint the fans again.

Misty: Well…If I have to be honest, I would probably say I would have wanted Seth to be the father.  He’s just a little more…together…than Drake is.

Fan #4: So what do you think about all the pregnancies right now?  Odette and Gabriel are expecting and so are Vixen and Spike!

Misty: I think…I won’t be drinking the water in SCW anytime soon.  It seems once one person is pregnant, several more follow suit.

Fan #4: So you don’t have a bun in the oven now then?!

Pussy Willow again laughs but she looks at the young girl.

PW: Okay, sweetie, I think you’ve had more than enough questions.

Misty: Before you step away, I’ll answer that one.  No, I’m not currently pregnant and have no plans on being pregnant any time soon.

[O Malley]

 A few moments later, Misty raises her head and looks at the young woman.

Misty: As great a question as that is, I don’t really know how to answer it.  When all of this started, I was not expecting it to be for the Bombshell Championship, so even if I had still be…close…with Drake…I wouldn’t even be thinking about that.  Some people love to be the power couple within the company, but that’s not part of my agenda.  I’m trying not to focus on any relationship drama at the moment.

Fan #7: So you’re saying your mind is completely focused and where it needs to be to beat Delia?

Misty stops for a moment but then she nods slowly.

Misty: One hundred percent.  I’m focused and completely determined to beat Delia.  End of story.

The young woman is satisfied with Misty’s answers and she walks away.  Pussy Willow then raises the microphone.

PW: Well, that concludes our Q&A portion of today’s events.  Thank you all for some fantastic questions.  Misty will now be taking a while to sign autographs and take photographs.  

The fans cheer loudly as they are directed to form a line over to the side.  A security guard is already standing near a gate, waiting for instructions to start letting people through one by one.  Misty has a sharpie ready, as well as a stack of photos to sign as the first person is let through and on to the stage.



“Can you all feel it?  Can you sense the pressure building as we lead into High Stakes IV?  Can you all imagine in your minds the sheer brutality that my match against Delia is going to be?  If the answer is no, you’re making a huge mistake.”

“This match is months in the making.  I’ve been waiting for the moment when I step inside the six-sided ring, with Delia on the opposite side.  For months I’ve been anticipating hearing that bell ring and all hell breaking lose with absolutely no repercussions.  Delia is absolutely powerless in stopping what is going to happen to her on Sunday, and deep down, she knows it.”

“Right, Delia?  You’ll probably deny it until you’re blue in the face, but everyone knows it’s true.  Just the fact that you had to get some ridiculous restraining order against me proves it.  That was just a way to stall the inevitable.  I really hope you decide to show up for this match and prove you’re not the damn coward you’re making yourself out to be.”

“You’re finished after High Stakes IV, Delia.  Not only as the Bombshell Champion, but the way you act…the way you present yourself, you WILL have no choice but to just…STOP.”

“After all this time, I still don’t understand how you could do some of the things you have done and not feel an ounce of remorse.  You insult people day after day, putting them down for one reason or another and then call yourself nice?  Did your parents really raise you that way or are you THAT delusional?  Tell me, because I’m trying to understand.”

“You can insult me all you want, Delia.  You can say as many awful, hateful things about me, because I really don’t care anymore. Insults have no effect on me any longer.  They mean nothing coming from you.  I own up to my mistakes and I admit when I’m wrong, but you…you are just incapable of doing that.”  

“But you insulting and degrading me is not what any of this is all about.  What sealed your fate…what set this war in stone was the second you decided to use my family in your sick game; first using Timmy and your *air quotes* friendship with him.  That didn’t last long, did it?  You only have yourself to blame for that, because what kind of person actually uses a six year old little girl as a pawn in a war against her mother?”

“A despicable, evil human being…that’s who.  Stop with the claims that all you did was take her for ice cream and buy her jewelry.  Where do you get off thinking what you did was okay, when you’re not even a mother?!  I pray to God that you never have children, because that is where you made your biggest mistake.  Delia, hell hath no fury than an angry and protective mother!”

“No, I will not sit here and claim to be mother of the year or even mother of the decade material.  Yes, I’ve made mistakes in the past and hurt my daughter, but I’m doing everything in my power to make up for those mistakes and ensure that she’s not hurt ever again.  If that means bashing your skull against a wall and rendering you a vegetable for the rest of your horrible life, I’ll do it with pleasure and no regrets.  You don’t mess with my family and just expect me to walk away.”

“So, what I want you to do on Sunday Delia, is take a long look at me in that ring.  Look me in my eyes and see for yourself how serious…how determined I am, because you will NOT win this war!  Do you want to know how I know, Delia?”

“Because I’m still standing.  After all the crap you have pulled…after everything you have said and done, I’m still here and I’m not going anywhere.  I bet you thought you won when I found out about your *air quotes* steamy night with Drake, huh?  Sorry to disappoint you, but even that didn’t work.  I guess I’m a lot stronger than you and your Mean Girl trolls give me credit for, huh?”

“How’s it going to feel, Delia?  What is going to be going through your mind when I beat you on Sunday and take back what is mine?  You can say all you want that it’s not going to happen, but that is just your fear talking.  And I don’t just want to pin you, Delia.  I want to make you tap out, because then you won’t have any excuse.”

“I want YOU to give up, Delia.  I want to see the look in your eyes and see the absolute agony knowing you submitted to me, because it IS going to happen, one way or another.  Pinning you just isn’t enough.  There is just something more…satisfying…after an opponent taps out.”

“Just ask Ben Jordan.  After I tapped out to him, I tried for MONTHS to say that I didn’t tap out…that I didn’t lose that match by submission, but we all saw it was true, but I can’t deny it any longer.  There are simply no excuses with a submission victory.”

“You should feel honored about something, though Delia.  This match…going against you I’m sure will be my toughest match yet.  Not to mention the most important.  More important than the first time I challenged for the Bombshell Title, and won, by the way.  More important than either of the J-Cup tournaments I’ve been in.  This is simply a match that I can NOT allow myself to lose.”

“It’s not even about the title to me, Delia.  As I’ve said to people before, that is just an added bonus, but one I will not take for granted.  You may have gotten through your first defense, but you won’t get through the second.  I have to be the one to take the title from you.  I have to be the one to defeat you, Delia, because let’s face it…a loss to me is something you just won’t be able to bare.”

“And it’ll be that much sweeter for me, Deelz.  Once I defeat you…I will have defeated the Mean Girls.  I hope you’ve prepared them, Delia, because there is nothing you can do to stop me and I suggest you warn those clones of yours to stay backstage where they belong, because I’ll have no problem ending them as well.”

“I don’t care what it’s going to take, but this war WILL end after Sunday.  I’m not giving up.  I’m not walking away.  I will fight until my very last breath until I get what I set out to do…”

“…have my hand raised in victory while you walk away down your runway of shame.  Shine my title up real nice for me.”

“Whether you like it or not, Delia…I’ll see your ass in the ring on Sunday.”

**END FEED**