"In the blink of an eye, everything can change. You might not realize it at that exact moment. You might not see the wheels beginning to turn, but every action has an effect." -Delia, darling if you must...
S.C.E.N.E. O.N.E. -- Oh My GAWD!
LOCALE: Jose Maria Martin Carpena Arena - Malaga, Spain
There is a loud ringing of the ears along with the sound of a quickening heartbeat. There are scarce sounds of fans cheering, but it sound much like it is coming from the other side of a very long tunnel, fading in and out along with the heartbeat. After a few seconds, we see what appears to be hands parting from over out view. We are met with an eyeful as we see Veronica Taylor and Amanda Cortez looking around as if they have no idea what to do. Next up, we see Mercedes Vargas shouting and nudging what appears to be the camera. Her words go unheard, but the urgency is written all over her face. We turn slightly, just enough to see Mad Maxxine kicking the holy hell out of Angelica. The camera pans out slightly to see Delia Darling from behind. She looks to the scene, and then to her Mean Girls sisters, as if she were just as clueless as they are. She tries to speak, but it seems that nothing comes out as her jaw hangs open. Her glossy pink lips shimmer in the light as she silently pleads with Maxxine to stop. Her silent words are met as such as Maxxine continues to shout, hammering away at Angelica who looks up at Delia as if she has felt the deepest betrayal. Delia reaches out to grab onto Maxxine's shoulder, but she narrowly misses. Maxxine looks over to Veronica, Amanda, and Mercedes, shouting something. Delia's hearing slowly returns, and Maxxine's words are finally heard.
Maxxine: I only work for THIS STUCK UP BITCH! I WON'T take ANY of your SHIT!!! Are we FUCKING CLEAR?!?
Delia almost doesn't know how to respond to this. Part of her is flattered, and feels safer than ever, but the other part of her realizes that her sisters might not feel the same sentiment as Delia in this situation, especially Angelica. She looks at her sisters who are not writhing in agony on the ground, and as they nod in response to Maxxine, they slowly shoot daggers over at Delia. This is when any sign of flattery has fallen from Delia's face. Maxxine lays one final boot to the back of Angelica's head, crashing it against the ground, knocking her out cold. Veronica, Amanda, and Mercedes wince a bit as Maxxine storms off in a huff. Delia looks back at them, refusing to tuck her tail between her legs. Another failed attempt at speaking causes the verbalization from her sisters.
Veronica: What the hell was that, hunty?
Delia: I, ummm...
Amanda: That's seriously fucked up, Delia. I feel it was a bit excessive.
Delia winces a bit, her stone-like structure starting to show some cracks. She runs her hands through her blonde hair, brushing some of the colorful peacock feathers from it as she tries to come up with a response.
Veronica: That psycho is supposed to protect you from other psychos? That BITCH just laid out Angelica, my BEST friend!
Veronica, the normally even toned one of the group, looks as if she is on fire right now. The Cubana side of her is shining through as she shakes in anger. She leans down to check on Angelica, seeing that she's out cold. A gentle touch is the only sign of mercy as she leans up and shoves Delia clear across the hall and into a wall. Amanda quickly grabs onto her, holding her back.
Amanda: Please calm down, Ronnie. I am sure she will be okay.
Veronica: It... doesn't... MATTER! That fugalicious jungle freak just knocked out my best friend while Ms. Darling practically cheered her on over there!
Delia is still stunned, to the point that she can't even argue the fact that she was frozen in fear. Or, perhaps she didn't want to admit to that. Either way, she just bows her head as Veronica tries to get out of Amanda's grip.
Veronica: What should I expect from someone who has been trying to rule the Mean Girls since the day she joined? She thinks she can do whatever she wants. She thinks she can walk all over each and every one of us, using us to further her own agenda. Well, that stops right now. Delia, you can't sit with...
Mercedes: I agree this is a messed up situation, but this seems a little extreme to me. Shouldn't we calm our heads before making any decisions?
Delia: Excuse me, Veronica, but I do not have to try to rule anys'ing. Open your eyes, darling... I already do!
Veronica's jaw opens as she points to Delia, looking to Amanda and Mercedes, but before she can ask them if they are seeing this, Delia holds a hand up. Her confidence has returned full on as she takes a step forward. This time, Mercedes wraps her arms around Delia, holding her back, but her and Veronica come nose to nose and Delia lets out an arrogant chuckle.
Delia: You do not have to ask if z'ey see anys'ing, because z'ey have eyes. Z'ey signed on knowing I run z'e show. Z'ey are not blinded by z'eir own arrogance as you are, darling.
Veronica: Ohhh, I don't think s...
Delia: Clearly, hunty, because if you were so concerned about working for me... z'en you would have stayed under whatever rock you disappeared under right before your best friend had her career ended because you weren't z'ere for her. I have been ruling z'e show since I came to SCW. If you don't like it, z'en I beseech you to step up and do a better job z'an I have done.
Veronica sneers, trying to wiggle free from Amanda's iron clad grip. Delia holds her hands up in surrender and Mercedes lets her go. She takes a step backward, laughing as not even Veronica can argue what Delia just said. Delia places her hands on her hips as she looks directly at Veronica.
Delia: But you cannot, because you lack vision. Angelica was z'e face of z'e Mean Girls. You have improved greatly under her, but you will never be on my level. Now, I suggest you fall back in line like a good little soldier, or else.
Veronica: Or... else... what?
Veronica glares right at Delia, pure contempt written all over her face. If looks could kill, Delia would have been dead about ten times over by now. Delia stares back, arrogance written across her face as she leaves Veronica to hang on her response for a moment. She licks playfully at her bottom lip before she points down at Angelica, who is just now beginning to move on the ground. She then narrows her eyes at Veronica.
Delia: Or else, you wind up like our dearest Angelica. Or perhaps worse. I have not decided yet...
Delia gives a light, yet sinister giggle as she smiles sweetly to cover up the bitterness. Veronica uses Amanda's shock to break free from her arms. However, Veronica remains composed as she straightens out her blouse and skirt. She looks back to Amanda, muttering something to her to assure her that she won't try anything. Amanda nods and steps back, and Veronica tilts her head to the side, her eye twitching slightly as she sizes Delia up.
Veronica: Do your worst, Delia. Come on, I dare you.
Delia stares at her, her wicked smile growing as she watches the confidence in Veronica's eyes grow. She almost commends it, but she wouldn't dare let it be known right now. Instead she shrugs her shoulders, causing Veronica to laugh, turning around to look at Amanda, all while taunting Delia with her back wide open. She practically shimmies away, looking to Amanda and Mercedes.
Veronica: Come on ladies. Let's leave the former Queen think about that for a minute.
Amanda reluctantly turns around to follow Veronica while Mercedes stands still. She looks to Veronica and Amanda for a moment, and then over to Delia. As the other two leave, Delia's arrogant glare fades to a look of pure worry. She looks to Mercedes with an apologetic look on her face.
Delia: I'm... I'm so sorry, Mercy. I... I do not really s'ink I am z'e Queen of Mean. She just, she knows how to get under my skin sometimes, and I've had enough of it. You are friends to me, not subjects.
Mercedes: I know, Delia. It isn't our fault that you and I stand out above the rest. Here, I know exactly what will cheer you up right now.
Mercedes walks closer to Delia, and she clears her throat, fully straightening her posture as she reaches into her jacket pocket. She acts as she she has pulled something out, despite her hand being empty. She takes a quick breath, exhaling it as she looks into Delia's eyes.
Mercedes: I'm sorry that every other Mean Girl is so jealous of us. We can't help that we're pretty and popular.
Mercedes does an airheaded style curtsy before she turns around. Delia smirks as Mercedes falls directly into Delia's grasp as she hooks her arms under Mercedes. Mercedes bounces back, wiping a few invisible beads of sweat from her forehead.
Mercedes: For a minute there, I wasn't sure you would actually catch me. You know, because you're such a bitch and all.
Delia scoffs playfully as Mercedes snickers. Delia folds her arms across her chest, pretending to pout as she turns away. She looks back with a sly smile on her face.
Delia: If I got ass hurt every time someone called me a bitch, I'd be on suicide watch by now.
Delia turns back around, leaning against the wall she was just recently pushed into. She looks at Mercedes, the worry still ever present in her eyes.
Delia: So, how long until Angelica and Veronica forgive me and we go back to business as usual?
Mercedes closes one eye, trying her hardest to come up with an accurate prediction. She turns and leans against the wall, next to Delia. She, too, crosses her arms over her chest as she slowly looks over to Delia with a disappointed look on her face.
Mercedes: It was pretty bad, Deelz. I hate to say it, but even I agree that they have the right to be pissed off at you. So... I would say it might be a while until things go back to normal with them. I'll try to smooth things over though.
Delia turns to Mercedes, letting her arms fall loosely to her side as she is hit by Mercedes sentiment.
Delia: Really? You would do z'at for me?
Mercedes: Of course I would. We're sisters, in all of our Mean Girl-dom. Besides, somebody needed to knock Angelica up a little. I don't trust her, with those eyes...
Delia chuckles a bit as Mercedes looks down at Angelica stirring on the floor. She leans in and cups her hand over her mouth as she whispers to Delia.
Mercedes: Seriously, they're kind of creepy. One is green, and the other is hazel. It's just freaky.
Delia playfully smacks Mercedes shoulder as she tries to hold back her laughter.
Delia: You bitch... stop it, she's right z'ere...
Mercedes: I imagine her bell is still ringing courtesy of Maxxine. Besides, it's more fun talking about people when they are right in front of you. I find it therapuetic even.
Delia giggles as she looks down at Angelica who is gently pushing herself up to her hands and knees, shaking the cobwebs out as she stares at the floor, confused. Delia purses her lips together, holding in the laughter as Mercedes places a hand on Delia's shoulder for a second. Delia nods her head and begins walking off as Mercedes kneels down next to Angelica to check on her. Delia turns the corner, looking around for Maxxine.
Delia: Maxxine? Maxxine??
She begins walking along, searching for her bodyguard. She passes a cameraman who steadies his camera to catch Delia walking along. She peeks inside of a room, not finding Maxxine. She sighs as she walks along, pulling a feather from her hair. She runs the feather along her arm out of boredom as she turns a corner, seeing the hallway empty.
Delia: Maxxine? Darling, where are you? Maxxiiiiiiiiiiiine?
She checks a few more rooms before entering the Bombshell locker room. She hears the shower running as she continues to call out. She walks inside and leans against the wall, deciding to wait for Maxxine to finish her shower, until the humming begins. She looks caught off guard as her nostrils flare up. The ringing returns to her ears, drowning out the demented nursery rhyme being hummed. She turn and pulls open the shower curtain and anger fills her entirely.
[*Fade*]
"Expect the unexpected. People will surprise you, especially when you doubt them. I've made a career of doing exactly that." -Delia, darling if you must...
S.C.E.N.E. T.W.O. -- I Hate Everything About You
LOCALE: Somewhere in Casablanca, Morocco
Darkness. A black abyss that leaves the viewer wondering what could be lurking in the deepest, darkest of shadows. We find ourselves waiting for something, anything, only to go moments in disappointment. That is, until we hear the sound of metal rattling. The sound is so light, an so vague, that it only proceeds to reignite our intrigue. Once our curiosity is piqued, the sound fades into the abyss, leaving us empty once more. In our disappointment, we almost don't hear the sound of shuffling. Paper of some sort, scratching against one another before the light tapping of wood can be heard. Second later, we hear a loud *SCRRRRRRRRRRRRATCH* followed by a failed spark of white that fizzles out just as quickly as it had appeared.
"Shit..."
The soft sound of Delia's voice trickles through the darkness, her French accent ever present. After another second, the *SCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRATCH* noise is met with a small flame that flickers on the tip of a match. We can see the neatly manicured fingers pinching it tightly, and the silky smooth skin that leads down into the darkness. As the match burns down slowly, we see a pair of lips as black as the shadows surrounding them, lean in closer, smirking. A hearty chuckle resonates from the light traces of the nostrils above the lips, until the lips pucker up, as Delia gently blows out the match, shrouding us in darkness once more.
Delia: You can't see me, for I am not me, you see?
The riddle is followed by a snorting laugh that trails off into the abyss. Her light riddle is uncharacteristic of her, but nothing about her current situation aligns with her usual behavior. Something has been off with Delia since Twisted Sister had burned her face, but until last week, she was in complete denial of this. However, these changes have exposed a darker side of Delia.
Delia: You see, I am not me, z'erefore, you cannot see me. Are you following?
*Pause*
Delia: Good.
We can hear the sound of high heels clicking against a hard, most likely concrete, surface. *Click, clack, click, clack* The sound echoes off of the walls, also very likely concrete by the sound of the acoustics. After a second, we hear the metal sound once again. It rattles as the footsteps come to a stop. The rattling is almost rhythmic, music to our ears.
Delia: I could go on a dreadfully boring rant about how I'm not weakened, how I am stronger z'an ever. I could tell everyone z'at I will walk out of Mayhem in Morocco as z'e victor. I could rip Twisted Sister to shreds, but... I'm not in z'e mood for it. I'm feeling a bit more... fiesty.
A light chuckle preceeds the sound of the matches rattling before scratching upon the rough surface to ignite it once more. The blackness continues to engulf everything but the fingers pinching the match. However, it rises up slightly to catch a glimpse of Delia's eye, surrounded by a black feathered mask. The flame dances in her eye, reflecting off of her dilated pupils as she watches it carefully and silently. The flame shimmies down the match until it nips at Delia's fingertips, causing a light groan of pain, followed by the quick flick of the wrist that puts it out. We see a momentary glow of the ember before it drops down out of our sight.
Delia: First off, Twitter seems abuzz lately. Apparently people see me as z'e underog of z'is encounter. Who could blame z'em? Shy of an occasional pink chair, or z'e swing of a pink baseball bat to Misty's skull, I have not much experience wi's weapons. I am a professional wrestler, not some insane backyard wrestling reject. I am, quite honestly, out of my league.
Delia pauses, tones of disappointment and humility present in her words, causing her to trail off at the end. After the brief pause, Delia retrieves another match, lighting is quickly. However, the flame dances upon the glass of a lantern. She brings the match through the door of the lantern, carefully igniting the wick. As the flame dances along the fresh white wick, it grows enough to see Delia standing in front of a work bench. She is wearing a strange, morose dress made of satin, lace, and oversized black feathers. Her dark locks are only known to our eyes by the gleam from the lantern. Atop her head is what appears to be a taxidery vulture. She looks down at the lantern as the flames once again dance in her eyes. Her jaw is ajar as she becomes intrigued by the flame.
Delia: Fortunately for me, I am also out of my mind. A few screws are clearly loose upstairs, and I'm sure people have gas'ered as much by now. I am not in z'e right frame of mind.
Delia's eyes finally part from the flame as she looks directly into the camera. Something dark dances behind the flames reflection as she stares silently at each and every one of us. Her dark lips come back together as she takes a deep breath through her nostrils.
Delia: Who can blame me? My entire world has crashed down upon me. I was once z'e top haute couture model s'roughout z'e entire world, gracing magazine covers such as Vogue and Italian Vogue. I lived on an airplane far more regularly z'an my own apartment. I was hot shit, and trust me when I say z'at is very humbly stated. I had it all. I was a queen who was feared by all. Only z'e craziest willingly stepped up to me. Most hid behind a microphone or a computer screen, but never once confronted me to my face. Z'ey knew it would be career suicide, because I had z'e looks. I had z'e power. I had everys'ing. But most importantly, I had z'e talent to back up every word I ever spoke, and I've proved it time and time again, against heroes such as Roxi Johnson, Vixen, Misty, Odette Ryder... Any top name in z'e business, I have put down. My confidence came from z'e power I commanded outside of z'e ring just as much as z'e power I commanded inside of it.
Delia's eyes narrow from behind her mask as she glares at us once more. A wide range of emotions trickles through the normally demur Bombshell. Anger, sadness, betrayal, fear, confusion.
Delia: Z'at was taken away from me when Twisted Sister put a FUCKING IRON to my FUCKING FACE!!!
Delia leans forward, shrieking. She has lost total control as she knocks a few items off of the tool bench she is standing in front of. Delia sucks in shallow breaths through gritted teeth as she tries to calm herself down. She picks up the lantern and then she holds it close against herself as she slowly sinks down to the floor. She hovers over the lantern as it casts an eerie glow over half of her face. She breathes in quick just short breaths as she slowly loosens her tense posture. She leans a hand on the ground, ignoring the pain of the fallen nails that dig into the palm of her hand. As it slowly scoots across the concrete floor, a trail of blood follows after it. She shoots an angry glare back up toward the camera as it looks down upon her.
Delia: She took everys'ing from me. She ruined my life, she's a life ruiner! Through all of the admittedly stupid s'ings I have done in my wrestling career, I should have suffered a career killing scar by z'e hands of Necra Octavian Kane, or Amy Marshall, or even Misty. Perhaps my luck had run it's course, but I s'ought I was invincible getting past z'ose s'ree unscas'ed. Twisted Sister found herself in my blind spot, and she exploited it. Bravo to her. She got me. It might be a bit delayed, but she's humbled me. Wis'out my exceptional good looks, my friends don't talk to me any longer. Z'e Mean Girls hold meetings behind my back. Z'ey pity me... Pity? Me? I'm Delia Darling. I... I pity os'ers. I do not garner pity. No. No!
Delia snaps out of her momentary trance, once again consumed by anger as she shakes her head, talking to someone off in the distance, or so it would seem. She continues to repeat the word "no" over and over again in different tones of urgency. After a moment of this, she stops and looks back over to the camera, having calmed down once more.
Delia: For z'e first time in a long time, people truly doubt me. Z'ey aren't just saying it to make me angry. Z'ey are saying it genuinely. Z'ey truly mean it, and for some reason, z'ey even understate it. No one actually believes I stand a chance. Not my enemies, not z'e fans, my friends, or even myself for z'at matter. You know, I was once in some midwestern city, like Cousinfucker, Missouri or somes'ing, and I heard a phrase z'at applies more now z'an ever. I am up a shit creek wis'out a paddle. No, it's true! Z'is match is z'e end of my career. It also puts z'e final nail in z'e coffin for any hope of one day returning to my modeling career. I will fade into obscurity after z'is... I'm done, finished...
Delia stands up, a nail protruding lightly from her palm, just enough to make us shiver a little. Like a stigmata, blood drips from the center of her hand as she raises the lantern, catching a glimpse of a series of chains hanging behind her.
Delia: Don't mistake z'is admission of defeat to mean I am going to lie down and let Twisted Sister make me bitch du jour. Oh fuck no... I might be a few mon's late for z'is, but if I'm going to go out, I am going out just as I came in... in a blaze of glory. My old friends might have left me in z'e dark, but it is exactly here z'at I discovered my new friends. Friends who accept me as z'e tragically scarred woman z'at I am. Z'ey do not discriminate me. Would you like to meet z'em?
Delia has a sweet smile on her face as she gently nods, as if hearing us say we'd love to meet these people. She gently turns around and looks at the chains before gently unhooking one. She hugs onto it for a second before holding it up in the air.
Delia: Making her offical debut is Charlize z'e Chain! Say hi, Charlize...
Delia (High Pitched, muffled voice, as Charlize): Hello darlings! I cannot wait to meet each and every one of you bitches. Especially Twisted Sister on Sunday!
Delia: Oh *chuckle* z'e energy wi'sin z'is one...
Delia places a kiss to each side of where she imagines a face would be, right before hanging the chain back on the hook it was hanging from. She holds the lantern out before placing her hand against her brow as she searches through narrowed eyes across the abyss. Her expression softens up as she turns slightly to her right and begins walking through the shadows until she comes up to the next new friend.
Delia: Barb Wire, z'e sharpest of my new friends, and is she ever tough.
Delia (gruff yet feminine, as Barb): I am ready to cut a bitch, just for you Delia, darling.
Delia places her hand against her chest thoughtfully as she turns to look at the camera with a playful eye roll before waving a hand at "Barb".
Delia: Darling, you make me blush so... Loyal to z'e end.
Delia hugs onto it tightly, letting the barbs tear at the fabric of her dress. Her bare arms feel the barbs tear at them lightly. As she pulls back, the wire sticks to her arm in certain spots as the blood gently flows from the punctures. She pulls them out methodically, holding onto the last bloody barb, studying it before dropping it.
Delia: Ugh, so clingy... But z'ere are plenty more, such as...
Delia motions over to a large orange and silver ladder that is set up to her right. She looks at it in admiration before speaking her name.
Delia: Lacey Ladders. She stands at eighteen feet, wi's a maximum weight capacity of s'ree hundred pounds, so I know Twisted Sister couldn't climb her. Sorry bout it...
Delia (deep, neandrethal style voice, as Lacey): I will take you to new heights, Delia.
Delia even has to roll her eyes at this pun. She pats it gently, letting her fingers linger on one of the rungs near the middle before she moves along.
Delia: We also have, Batty Betty, Lexi Light Tube, Tarah z'e Table... ugh, she's more like a frenemy z'an a close friend, and Sally S'umbtacks, Beatrice Blowtorch, Glenda Glass, and my bestest friend of all...
Delia makes a full circle around the small room, filled to the brim with oh so many hardcore style weapons, until she comes back to the tool bench she started out at. She sets the lantern down, and she picks something up from out of the faint shadow. She holds it in her hand, bringing it closer to the light as she looks at it in awe, softly muttering the name.
Delia: Sandy Staple Gun...
Delia (slightly higher pitched voice, as Sandy): Oh come on darling, shall we get to z'e points?
Delia: Darling, your tone seems ras'er pointed right now. Save it for Sunday, bitch...
Delia winks and she holds the staple gun pointed out to her left, away from the camera. She gives it a few squeezes, sending silver staples flying out with a loud *click* noise. She smiles wickedly as she hears the sound.
Delia: I am not selfish. I intend to share every one of my new friends wi's you, Twisted Sister. I want you to get to know z'em up close and oh so personal. I want you to feel z'e many hugs and love taps as z'ey leave black and blue marks of z'eir undying friendship all across your skin, Twiz. Your bodies coming toges'er as one, and all you must do to gain z'eir loyalty is shed some blood in z'eir name.
With that, Delia presses the staple gun to her arm, and without hesitation, she squeezes the trigger. This is instantly followed by a loud, blood curdling scream that fades off into a whimper, and then a light, pained chuckle. She looks down at the staple in her arm, and the evenly spaces trickles of blood on the otherwise clean arm, matching the blood on the other arm. She hisses in pain before muttering that it will be alright. She sets the gun down on the table next to the ladder and then leans against the table, every bit of crazy that had been plastered across her now gone, and replaced by a pain induced reality check. However, the adrenaline is rushing through her veins now as she looks deep into the camera.
Delia: Twiz, you might have impressed all of z'e Jealous Janis girls in z'e back. You might have turned my friends away from me. You might have ruined my flawless face. You may have rendered me FUBAR'd, but each of z'ese was a mistake. You have broken me, yes... but you have also taken everys'ing away from me. Congratulations, because you've left me wi's nos'ing left to lose. A person who has hit rock bottom has no fear. Wi's no fear comes no regrets. You've turned me into somes'ing far more sinister z'an even yourself. Even if I am out of my element, I have no fear of ruining my already flawed looks, so nos'ing... NOS'ING is off limits on Sunday! If I'm going to hell, I'm going to drag you wi's me, bitch! Z'at is not a s'reat, but a fucking promise!
Delia slams her bloodied palms against the table, shaking it as she roars at the camera. She slams his palms a few more times before closing her eyes. Her nostrils flare out as she takes a long, deep breath. As she exhales it, she looks back to the camera with nothing but disdain etched across it.
Delia: Sorry bout it...
Delia snatches the lantern off of the table by the handle. She looks at it once more, only briefly, because she chucks it behind her. It collides with Tarah the Table, and immediately it goes up in flames. Delia turns on her heels, her black locks fanning out. She walks past the table, the lacy edge of her dress catching the flame. She walks along as the dress slowly goes ablaze, and as she goes, the flames catch something on the ground. Delia walks toward a door, opening it as the room is left illuminated for a brief moment before closing behind her. As it does, the camera slowly approaches the strange flame design on the ground, where a message is left.
3rd of May, 2015
The camera focuses on the message for a second longer as the sound of wood crackling in the fire is the only thing heard. Slowly, blackness begins to overtake the screen once again.
[*Fade*]
