The Fallout
Copenhagen, Denmark; Post Blaze of Glory IV</color>
The crowd is still roaring in approval after Delia Darling's first loss. Yep, you heard it right. She... lost! I know it sounds impossible, but whatevs... The point is that she got pinned, and no longer has her title. Obviously, she is furious. After a wonderful rendition of the classic Steam song "Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye", Delia might possibly have steam shooting out of her ears and nostrils. As she walks backstage, she is met by the Mean Girls, headed by a hopeful Angelica, holding her arms out for a hug. Instead, Delia shoves Angelica out of the way as she lets out an ear shattering shriek. She knocks over a few lights set up near the entrance before ripping some cords off of the wall. She whips them around wildly, barely missing her friends and a few stagehands. Security comes shortly after her, making sure Delia keeps her distance from Amy, but now they are more concerned for SCW's equipment as Delia is going to town knocking things over while throwing her tantrum.
Delia: No, no, no, no, NO NO NOOOOOOOOO!
Delia pays them no mind as she begins storming down the hallway. She flips over the catering table, spilling punch and snacks all over the floor as she moves on, looking for more mayhem to unleash. She walks right up to a stagehand and rips his clipboard from his hand. She flings the papers behind her before beating the poor guy over the head with it.
Delia: STUPID, STUPID, STUPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID!!!
Security catches up to her and they grab onto her arms, holding her back as the poor geeky looking stagehand adjusts his glasses and stares at her wide-eyed. Delia kicks her legs back, trying her best to kick the guards so that she can break free, but they are prepared in their stance. She whips out of their grip and spin around as she huffs and puffs.
Delia: Don't FUCKING touch me again, or I will have your BALLS on my mantle in a New York minute...
Security 1: Ms. Darling, if you don't calm down, we're going to have no choice but to ask you to...
Delia: I will NOT leave until I have been given back my property. If you wish to go after a criminal, why don't you go after z'e woman z'at stole my title from me like two seconds ago?!
Security 2: She defea...
As Delia's eyes go wide, and threats of more mayhem are silently made, Angelica steps between Delia and the security. She gives them a sweet smile, something that is rarely seen from one of the founding members of the Mean Girls, and she holds a hand up as a sign of peace. She turns to Delia and gently holds onto her shoulders.
Angelica: We need to get you to the nurse to get those wounds taken care of. If they aren't properly cleaned and exfoliated soon... they might...
Angelica looks around before holding a hand up in front of her mouth, so that any deaf person in the general vicinity wouldn't be able to read her lips. She gets very secretive as she leans in against Delia's ear.
Angelica: ... scar...
As she pulls away, her face shows worry and disgust all at the same time. The threat of a scar seems to catch Delia's attention and she does her best to bottle up her anger. She bites onto her bottom lip as Angelica strikes while the iron is hot. She walks with Delia down the hallway as Veronica is seen behind them. She is clearly seething but trying her best to keep quiet with her boyfriend, Giani Di Luca, following closely behind her with his arm around her waist. Amanda doesn't seem thrilled, but she's a bright sunshine day compared to her fellow stable mates. Mercedes hides her anger the best as she follows closely behind, but there is a clear elephant in the room, and tensions are thick enough to cut with a knife. As they reach the nurses station, Angelica opens the door and lets Delia in first. The rest file in after her for support.
Giani: Ey, you want me to wait outside er somethin'?
Angelica: Ugh, it's not like they're going to give her a pap smear or something...
Veronica: He's just trying to be nice.
Delia: Yes, well z'at would be a first, no?
Mercedes: Unless you count the time he was pretending to be nice, only to turn on Equinox...
Amanda: Who?
Angelica: As if it even matters! Giani, get us some waters or something...
Giani's eyes widen as he simply laughs at this request. Angelica takes a step forward as he folds his arms over his chest.
Giani: Whadda I look like, ya slave? I ain't tucking my balls to my ass and puttin' couch cushions in a bra. I ain't in ya posse.
Angelica: Well I don't want to see your busted face right now, kay?
Veronica: Angie, I suggest you back off. You act like you're the one who got robbed out there tonight.
Angelica: No, I'm acting like I lost... wait, I'm not acting, because I did lose. Four fricken times! Every time you losers lose a fucking match...
Delia: EEEEEEEEEEEEEENOUUUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHH!
Delia growls, letting it linger in a dominant tone. She rubs her temples as she begins doing breathing exercises to calm herself quickly. After a second, with all eyes on her, she stands up and walks over to the door. She opens it and motions for everyone to leave. Mercedes kindly obliges, with Amanda contemplating trying to stay behind with her closest friend in the Mean Girls. However, the look on Delia's face says otherwise. Angelica taps her foot as she looks at Delia. However, Delia doesn't budge, nodding her head as if to let Angelica know that this is also for her. They engage in a stare down for a moment before Angelica flips her hair.
Angelica: Whatever...
Angelica scoffs and then she walks out of the room. Veronica gives Angelica time to walk out as the two have had their first ever almost argument. She starts to walk out, but Delia holds her arm out for a second.
Delia: You and I have not always seen eye to eye... but out of everyone in z'is room... I s'ink you and I are on z'e exact same level... Let's talk later...
A wicked smile comes over Veronica's face, cutting through the annoyed expression that was there mere seconds ago. She nods her head and then reaches her hand back for Giani's. He doesn't take it right away, but when he does, he brings her hand up to his lips, kissing it softly, bringing a bit of a blush to Veronica's face.
Giani: Babe, gimme a second in here. I'll be right out.
Veronica: Just come on. I don't think Delia wants to be bothered right now.
Giani: It ain't nothin' bad, I promise.
Veronica nods as Delia places her hands on her hips, giving Veronica glare that begs her to have him follow her out. However, she walks out of the room and closes the door behind her. Delia rolls her eyes and walks across the room, sitting down on the medical bed. She laces her fingers together as she refuses to look at Giani. Giani, however, walks closer to Delia, standing in front of her as if beckoning for her to look up at him.
Giani: It ain't the end of the world, dollface...
Delia: It's just some stupid piece of leather and gold z'at never matched a single outfit I've ever created. It's hideous... but it's mine. It's like z'e time I lost my six's favorite earring. It sucks, but I will live.
Giani nods his head as Delia's scornful eyes search past Giani, beyond the door, as if she were trying to visualize hurting someone. A good bet would be Veronica, for not pulling Giani out of the room, but at this point, almost anyone would do. Giani turns and sits down on the bed next to Delia, keeping a safe distance from the natural brunette.
Giani: It's aw'right. I been there before, Deelz. I know what ya goin' thr...
Giani goes to place a friendly hand on Delia's shoulder, but she immediately deflects it, brushing it aside as annoyance comes back over her face. She twitches as if to tell him to never touch her again.
Delia: You know nos'ing, Giani. You never went over one year wi'sout being defeated. You never held a title for six mon's. When you did lose your belt, you lost it properly. I was robbed by a jealous he-bitch who, as you so delicately stated earlier, tucks his balls to his ass, who wears stuff from like four seasons ago. Ugh, does she even realize stripes make her look fat?
Giani isn't quite sure how to respond to the latter portion of that as his eyes widen slightly. He tries not to be too obvious, but his jaw hanging slightly ajar gives him away as Delia shakes her head, returning to her cold demeanor.
Giani: I know we ain't never been friends. I mean, I checked out ya ass a couple times back in the day, but that's about as friendly as we ever got.
Delia: I am not, and will never be some piece of... meat, which you can drool over.
Giani: That ain't my point here, Deelz. Look, believe it or not, I fell for ya friend. V is my... how do I say this without soundin' like a fa....
Delia jabs him in the stomach, cutting him off. He brushes it off, but takes note of the gesture.
Giani: I care about Veronica. A lot. What's important to her, is important to me. You girls is what's important to her. Not just the branding, but you as people. That kinda means I gotta give a damn about ya's too.
Delia: Oh please... save z'e bullshit for when Ronnie is in here. At least z'en, it might have some sort of effect...
Giani: It ain't bullshit. If it was just about the sex, I wouldn't put myself out there for her the way I do. I wouldn't-uh put my career on hold to support her. Do ya know what I left behind for her? Everythin' I did since before my return to SCW, was for her.
Delia sneers as she shakes her head. She is clearly holding something back, which is a new experience for her. She looks down, and he senses exactly what she's thinking. However, he does his best to veer back onto the original topic.
Giani: Look, the point is that you might be doin' a good job of bottlin' up that anger inside. I mean, after ya took out half of the backstage area... but I ain't buyin' that ya suddenly calmed down.
Delia places her hands on her knees, gently rubbing them out of necessity to keep them occupied. She keeps her eyes focused on the floor for a second before looking up with a shockingly sweet expression on her face.
Delia: No. I'm fine. Injustices happen every day. Mean Girls will be finished, and z'e Bombshell division will return to shit. It's okay, we've had a great run...
Delia chuckles kindly as she reaches up and places a hand on Giani's face. Her kindness almost comes as a shock. Giani pulls away, giving her an odd expression, not sure if she is coming onto him.
Giani: Uhhhhmmm...
Delia retracts her hand and rolls her eyes.
Delia: Don't flatter yourself, darling... Despite what everyone keeps saying, I am not a whore. I am not a slut. But, none of it will matter, because I'm sure I will be moving along to anos'er company. I can have a new set of women shouting z'e same boring, inaccurate insults at me. It will be great.
Giani: Ya gonna give up because ya lost? That's retarded, dawg...
Delia: Well, I am taking a page out of your book. Having a stronghold on a title. Oh, but z'ere is a difference. Delia Darling does not crawl back. Once I am gone, z'ese bitches can s'row a big fucking party...
Giani shakes his head, as if he hadn't picked up the insult on him. He folds his arms across his muscular chest.
Giani: Nope.
Delia: Ummm, nobody tells Delia Darling "no" and gets away wi's it.
Giani: Well I just did. Ya not goin' nowhere. I won't let ya make the same mistakes I made. I won't let ya give those two bit, disease infested, leaky-crotched, fish-market smellin' bitches the satisfaction of ending you.
Delia abruptly shrugs her shoulders and looks toward the door, waiting for the nurse to finally come in. She sighs loudly and rubs her forehead, causing some of the dried blood to flake off, causing the wound to reopen.
Delia: Well, you can give z'ese little speeches, your pas'etic excuse of a pep talk, and for what reason? Because now z'at you no longer have your buddies to back you up, you need your girlfriend to do it instead?
Before Giani can respond, Delia holds a hand up in his face. If he wanted her trust, he was going to have to work a lot harder than this to earn it. She studies his eyes, focusing on the few specks that look like amber shards, but it is as if she is reading his soul.
Delia: I don't trust you, Giani. Someone once called you a snake... and it's true...
Giani: Right, because ya Mother Theresa, right?
Delia: I am far from it. I am a sinner, amongst sinners... but z'e difference between you and I, is z'at I am honest wi's myself. I don't talk myself into wanting somes'ing one minute, and totally disregarding it wis'in z'e next. You are fickle, weak-minded. You seek out what benefits you at z'e moment. No friends to have your back. No one who trusts you wi's z'eir life. Z'e one shred of decency wis'in me z'at stops me from slapping sense into Veronica to ditch you before she becomes z'e next Dixie Waters... is because it is a cold and lonely life you live.
Giani: Coming from the Ice Queen herself, eh?
Delia chuckles and brings her hand to her messy hair, pushing the chestnut locks from her face as she studies the building anger within Giani's face. It is almost as if she is feeding off of it. She sighs and looks over toward the door.
Delia: And my point is proven. We have nos'ing furs'er to discuss, Mr. Di Luca. But, if it helps, I will tell Veronica you cheered me up so she will fuck your brains out tonight. She needs z'e release, I'm sure...
Giani: You gotta be...
Delia: YOU... can go now, Giani. Just like your wrestling career... you are finished.
Giani glares at Delia in a sour expression. He clinches his jaw, but before he can respond, the door opens and the nurse walks in, looking completely flustered.
Nurse: I'm sorry Ms. Darling, it's been a hectic night. Your friends told me you may need stitches?
The nurse sees the tension and holds her clipboard down at her side. Giani quickly stands up and walks over toward the door. He takes one look back at Delia, who simply responds with a gentle wave of her hand, and a convincingly sweet smile as she sees Veronica peeking from around the corner. Giani narrows his eyes at Delia, but makes the wise decision to turn and walk out of the room. He closes the door behind him as the darkness overtakes the screen.
[*Fade*]
Life Support
Rechts der Isar Hospital in Munich, Germany; 19th of March, 2015
We quickly scan the outside of a block style building of white, with black frames around the windows. The sidewalk is lined with Volkswagen vehicles galore, as well as a few emergency vehicles. However, today, we are focused on one Volkswagen Passat, in a sleek and elegant silver tone. The door opens, and a single black heel steps out onto the pavement, with proper black sheer hose leading up to a pleated black skirt. The other long leg swings out of the car, showing a quick glimpse of a tasteful silver charm anklet with the letters "M" and "G". As the female slowly exits the vehicle, her face is blocked out by a bouquet of red roses, and baby's breath sprigs fluttering in the light breeze. Leading up to this is a fancy black blazer with white and black floral print lapels leading up to the neck line, with a tasteful white blouse underneath. The woman has dark hair in big waves, done up beauty queen style. She places the keys into the pocket of her blazer as she reaches her neatly manicured nails into the car to retrieve her hand bag. She turns her wrist slightly to get a look at the time before putting a move on it. Her heels click against the pavement as she walks up to the building, bypassing the first cube structure and on to the next one with a red arrow pointing, and the words "Notaufnahme" and a red cross. She walks through the automatic doors where she spots a nurse. Without seeing her face, we see her lean in to whisper to a nurse. The nurse nods her head as she leads the woman back toward a set of doors. They weave through triage and toward the numbered rooms. Once we reach number 7, the nurse opens the door, giving a nod toward the woman who mutters.
"Danke schoen, fräulein..."
As she turns, we see it is none other than... Mercedes Vargas? She walks over toward the temporary bed, where a table sits, and she places the bouquet down. She sits down on the edge of the bed as she looks down at Delia, who looks as if she's seen much better days. Delia is wearing a mint green hospital gown, with tubes sticking out of her arms, and wires connected all over her body. However, the most notable "accessory" to her ensemble is a breathing mask that is wrapped around her jaw. Her brunette locks give a solemn tone to the scene as they are matted to her head. There are visible cuts on her face, even more than the last time we saw her. Mercedes purses her lips angrily as she reaches down and brushes a few locks of hair from Delia's face.
Mercedes: Those bitches...
The low toned words come out with a slight sharpness to them, filled with about a thousand metaphorical subtitles to express the anger, hurt, sadness, and everything else she was feeling at that point in time. However, there is only one emotion that is strong enough to stop this momentary war within, and it takes over within a second of silence.
Mercedes: Those bitches! How is it that they are able to get away with this? They practically got away with murder. Is there some unwritten rule that says killing is okay if it is against the Mean Girls? First Necra, and now....
Mercedes closes her eyes tightly as she begins to rub her temples. She breathes in sharp breaths through her nostrils as she tries to keep herself calm. She shakes her head as she can't believe she's sitting in this position, again!
Mercedes: People don't die when being robbed of their possessions, but when they are robbed of their lives... No, I won't stand for this any longer. Murder is not okay! It's not!
Mercedes looks down at Delia. Most would see a subdued demon lying there, but to Mercedes, it is like watching an angel being slowly drained of it's essence. She fights back what appears to be a tear as she gulps. In the hopes that Delia is still able to hear her, she does her best to keep her emotions in check, to stay strong for her friend.
Mercedes: Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to murder, pillage, and destroy? Oh, that's right. You write us off as morons who have no business inside of the ring. You call us cheaters, liars, harlots, and just about every other name under the God given sun. Because you don't like us, it's okay to pick us off one by one? If that were the case, there would not be a Bombshell Division. It would have become the Mean Girls division. But we have something that you don't have, ladies. And I use that term in the loosest of ways, sort of like Jessie Salco's disgusting band tees with puke stains from Headbanger Harry in the circle pit... or Amy Marshall's vagi... no. No, I'm not going to stoop that low, even though I want to so badly right now...
Mercedes clinches her fists together as she tries her best to remain classy, despite the hard times she's had over the last few weeks. She turns away from Delia, because the sight of her in this state seems to make Mercedes want to go ape shit in two seconds flat. She looks up at the ceiling instead.
Mercedes: We are clearly the victims here. We stood by while we were robbed of our titles. We turned our heads while people defamed every single accomplishment we've made over the last year. We have class, which is something you ladies will never have. And now, because of you...
Mercedes doesn't even look to Delia as she points at Delia with her scarlet nail. Her hand shakes with anger, despite how hard she fights to maintain her composure.
Mercedes: Call it what you will, but I'm done standing by and letting you lie to yourselves, ladies. This is murder. This isn't some honorable crusade like you're making it out to be. It's bullying at it's finest. It's jealousy. No... that is not completely true... Do you know what it really is, ladies? Oh, don't hurt your tiny little minds too badly trying to come up with and answer, because after a dramatic pause, I'm going to tell you...
Mercedes keeps true to her word, closing her eyes as she retracts her hand. She looks right in the direction of the camera, letting us study the perfect make up that covers her face, flawless in its execution. After she is satisfied with her pause, her fiery Latina eyes burst open, with the cruelest of intent before she slams the dagger into the heart of the matter.
Mercedes: It is fear. Plain and simple. My friends, no, my sisters, are too kind to sugar coat it by labeling it as jealousy. Jealousy is when you call a girl a slut behind her back because you wish you had her top, or her Jimmy Choo's, or her slender thighs. Fear is the number one motivator for murder. Fear causes otherwise decent human beings to do things they never thought they were capable of doing. Greed is another, but you ladies aren't smart enough to be greedy. This is fear, pure and primal, and...
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep
Mercedes is caught off guard as the machine next to Delia goes off, signifying that her heart as stopped. Mercedes looks back at Delia, her face draining of any color as she shakes her head. She walks over to the door, ready to call for help, but they don't come fast enough. The machine goes off louder and louder, ringing through Mercedes' ears. She looks around the room and finds something that doesn't belong there... a difibrillator. She flicks the switch on and places the pads together. Hoping that she doesn't botch it up, she says a soft prayer to herself in her native tongue before placing the paddles to Delia's chest. Delia's body jolts, but the beeping still continues. Mercedes tries it once more, but still nothing more than a violent jolt of Delia's body. Hoping the third time is the charm, she goes to try it once more, when Delia's hand reaches up and grips onto Mercedes' wrist. Mercedes drops the pads as relief overtakes her face.
Delia: Alright, I s'ink we've taken z'is analogy to z'e limits, don't you darling?
Mercedes: Well, I do find electrocuting you to be strangely theraputic...
Delia clears her throat as she slowly stands up from the bed. She picks up the pads of the difibrillator and places them to her temples, showing them to be but a mere prop. The camera turns to show that this was an elaborate set in an abandoned wing of the hospital. Delia and Mercedes both look pleased with their acting skills, but the purpose behind it is much greater, and it is not like Delia to not address such matters for herself. She pulls the face mask off of herself so that she can be heard more clearly. The loud beeping stops now as Delia looks back down to the bed, where "Mean Girls" is spray painted onto the sheet. Delia places the oxygen mask between the "n" and the "G", as if she imagined this is where the face of this metaphorical person would be. She turns back to the camera in all of her raw, untouched glory.
Delia: You see, people have been celebrating for two solid weeks now, and I've heard many times over z'at z'e Mean Girls are on life support.
Delia waves her hand with panache, as if she were a certified hand model, showing off the life support devices surrounding the bed. She looks over to Mercedes, and the two share a sinister glare as if plotting something big. Delia gives a half smirk as she slowly turns back to the camera.
Delia: I've heard it more z'an once. As a matter of fact, I have heard it so much z'at I... I almost believe it. I mean, we did lose z'e top two female titles in SCW at Blaze of Glory, no?
Mercedes: Indeed we did. It was a...
Delia: A travesty? No, it was much more z'an z'is, Mercy, darling. It was, as you said, first degree murder of z'e Bombshell Division. It was meant to demoralize us, but z'ese short-sighted fools didn't not realize one s'ing... When you take out z'e heart of somes'ing, z'e rest dies wis'in minutes. Z'e Bombshell Division was hanging on by a s'read called Misty for far too long. She could not handle z'e pressure, and z'e division was clearly falling apart. Enter one Delia Darling, a woman of refined taste, and not some overplayed dark, dead girl or some heavy metal bullshit. Not some "Punk Whore", but a real lady. Somes'ing z'at SCW had only one of at z'is time.
Delia winks over at Mercedes who smirks and winks back at her while turning her head to fake blushing. Delia shrugs her shoulders before turning back to the camera once more.
Delia: SCW was, and still is littered wi's psychos, ingrates, over used and poorly executed gimmicks z'at are a dime a dozen, s'ree for a quarter. One might even say z'e model gimmick is overdone, but z'ere is only one Delia Darling. Z'ere is only one Mercedes Vargas. Z'ere is only one Veronica Taylor, only one Amanda Cortez, and only one Angelica. Better yet, z'ere is only one collective Mean Girls, and like it or not, we saved SCW's Bomshell Division. Os'er z'an Misty, what Bombshell had ever Main Evented more z'an 90% of z'e male roster, hm? Was it... Jessie Salco? Was it Amy Marshall? Roxi Johnson? Kittie? Brandi Shotze? Dare I even say... Odette Ryder? No, it was us. S'e Mean Girls. I, alone, have been in four times as many Main Events in my one year here, z'an Amy Marshall and jessie Salco combined in all of your tenure in SCW. If you don't believe me, look it up. I implore you.
Delia folds her arms across her chest, giving a momentary break for anyone watching to do a little research... or throw whatever they have in their hand at the screen and shout obscenities. Once she is reasonably satisfied with the amount of time wasted, she continues.
Delia: Paint it any way you ladies wish. Make a name for yourselves by trying to destroy z'e Mean Girls name. It's okay, it's z'e latest trend, and probably z'e only one you would ever stand a snowballs chance in hell to ever pull off. If we didn't have your asses to kick, z'en people wouldn't see how dominant we were over z'e last year. We've done our part, but you still deny us. It's okay. Z'e world has seen what we're capable of. But, how quickly did we get z'ose titles around our waists, Mercy? As a collective unit?
Mercedes: Six weeks...
Delia: SIX WEEKS! Six weeks after we decided we even wanted to hold z'em, we had z'em in our grasps. You can say we cheated to get z'em, but z'e two of us?
Delia points quickly between herself and Mercedes to emphasize the obvious.
Delia: We won z'ose titles fairly. Look back at z'e replays. Fair and square. Now, some of our retentions might have been a little... ethically questionable... but if you are going to point z'e finger at me, Jessie Salco, take a look at your side, and see z'e woman who made a career out of cheating when she came here. Look at z'e woman who asked for a title match against Gos'ika, hearing z'at she was having trouble making it to bookings, and fighting a minor injury. Z'at move is as cheap as her eyeliner, hunty. Don't you dare bite z'e hand z'at feeds you, Jessie. Pass z'e note along to all of your friends, Amy, Roxi, Keira... We're war veterans now, so we know how to play z'is out. We might have had a slip up at Blaze of Glory, but we won't let z'at deter us from maintaining dominance in SCW. We are dangerous wi's z'e titles, but when we are wi'sout z'em? We're fucking les'al...
Delia points her index and middle finger at the camera, aiming them as if they were a loaded gun, and her words were the spark to send the bullet through the camera, shredding the minds of every person who thought for even a second that the Mean Girls were dead now. She brings her fingers to her lips and blows on them softly, as if blowing the smoke off of them.
Delia: Now, z'is is not just a response video to z'e claims z'at Mean Girls are a dying breed... We have a *air quotes* match on Climax Control. Z'e internet knows who will win, but for z'e sake of humoring people, let's discuss, Shall we?
Delia gives a nod to the camera as she steps forward, ready to get intimate with her thoughts.
Delia: Jessie... what can I say about you? Many s'ings... If you were to go into a hygeine contest wi's a bum, you would lose. If you were to go into a beauty pageant wi's a pile of dog shit... you would lose. If you were to compete against a paraplegic in an ass kicking match... you would lose. If you were to enter an intellectual decas'alon wi's a mentally challenged mute... you would? Hm? Lose! And do you know why? No, of course you don't... it is because you, darling, are a loser. No, I'm not s'rowing some generic insult your way. I am being honest wi's you. You lose, constantly. Z'e fact z'at you defeated Twisted Sister only speaks to how terrible she is. She won't last anos'er mon's in z'is company. But you? You are SCW's Bombshell Jobber. You win in tag team matches where your partners carry you to victory, unless z'ey are not quick enough to stop you from getting your ass kicked like z'e semi-finals of z'e Blast From z'e Past II tournament...
Delia covers her mouth, acting as if she had a slip of the tongue as she gasps. A soft chuckle escapes from behind her lips as Mercedes playfully smacks her arm as if to tell her to cut it out.
Delia: Oops, sorry bout it. No, not really. I've kicked your ass more times z'an I can count, and Mercedes has done z'e same. Z'at is because we are winners, Jessie, darling. Just as you sometimes slip up and win a match from time to time, we have slip ups too. Well, one to date for me, but still... You're shit. Shit in z'e ring. Shit backstage. Shit in your every day life. You're just bad... and z'e only reason you are Main Eventing z'is match is because z'ey needed anos'er name to put next to Amy's for when Mercy and I kick her ass for stealing my title. Don't shoot z'e messanger, darling. It is simply facts...
Delia yawns, clearly bored of talking about Jessie. She sighs as she looks down to her waist. The title is no longer there, but the memories of that cruel night still linger freshly in her mind. A hint of anger washes over her, but quickly disappears.
Delia: Allow me for one moment, to talk about how closely knit z'e Mean Girls are. Z'ere is not a word to describe our bond more accurantly z'an to say we are sisters, but even z'is seems to not do our bond justice. We have each os'ers back always. For example, Mercedes and I could have taken each os'er on in September of last year when she nearly defeated Vixen for z'e title. If I were z'e jealous type, I could have sabotaged her. I did not. I was at ringside, cheering her on, helping her to her feet, and... well... you know. I wanted her to have a chance to hold z'e belt I eventually made famous. We support each os'er, and we've proved it time and time again. We're... sisters, best friends, heterosexual life mates. We are bonded by our trust and admiration of one anos'er.
Delia reaches over and takes hold of Mercedes' hand for a second. She squeezes it gently as Mercedes swings their hands back and forth.
Delia: I am honored to tag wi's Mercedes once more. If we had better opponents, I might even call it a dream match...
Delia lets go of Mercedes' hand and looks as if she has gone off on a tangent. She gasps and then brushes her hair from her face.
Delia: I have a point, I assure... You see, Mean Girls have proven we can be trusted. Amy, I can tell you from experience z'at being a champion can be very lonely. I was fortunate enough to have friends who were trusted enough to not have to worry, but you? I mean, you've done a lot of s'ings to people backstage in your time here. Z'e ones you haven't, still see z'e target on your back. You formed z'is cute little ensemble wi's Jessie a few mon's ago, z'e Metal and Punk Connection... oh em gee, z'at does not roll off z'e tongue like at all... Horrible, but anyway... Your questionable team has been toges'er a short time, wi's two short lived title reigns to your terrible name. What makes you s'ink you can trust Jessie?
Delia tilts her head to the side slowly as she holds her hands out at her sides, waiting for an answer before responding to what she expects Amy would say.
Delia: I'm being nice here... What kind of legendary Bombshell, and first to hold z'e World Bombshell, champion would I be if I didn't impart some wisdom to you, and trust me when I say you need it, hunty. If you honestly believe you can trust Jessie, z'en I hate to tell you z'at your title reign will be even shorter z'an eis'er of your Bombshell Tag reigns... Sorry bout it. Just make sure you keep your eyes on all sides of z'e ring, because if Jessie doesn't screw you over z'e way you screwed over Karina Koji, z'en Mercedes and I will be present to knock you z'e fuck out. My advice is z'e extent of my kindness toward you, Amy.
Mercedes: Are you done talking about our next victims? Say what you came here to say so that we can do something better with our time...
Delia shoots a momentary evil glare to Mercedes, but this fades quickly as she clears her throat.
Delia: Es ist nun , dass die Mean Girls erfüllen ihren Untergang ... aber sie werden steigen, stärker als zuvor! And true that is... You see, maybe people were right when z'ey said z'e Mean Girls were doomed. Maybe z'ey are truly dead. Perhaps we have met our demise. But, as the phoenix, we will rise from z'e ashes of defeat, and we will be stronger z'an ever! Amy and Jessie are not z'e only ones who need to watch z'eir backs. Every one of you bitches should, because just as Amy has a target on her back, each and every one of you have a bright pink bullseye on yours...
Delia looks over to Mercedes, who nods her head before stepping up to the camera.
Mercedes: Sorry... not sorry.
Delia and Mercedes high five as Delia pulls off the tubes sticking out of her arms. The blood that comes out shows that they were truly in her skin rather than just adhered to her skin for effect. She removes some of the wires as well as her hospital gown, revealing a short black skirt with stockings, and a Mean Girls t-shirt. Mercedes sheds her blazer, opening the blouse to reveal the same shirt. Delia kicks off the hospital slippers and gets into her Alexander McQueen's, pulling a blonde wig off of a nearby table. She quickly slides it on as she picks up a handbag, and the two ladies walk off of the set, laughing together.
[*Fade*]
