A New Challenger has Appeared!(Open AGAIN)
Nov 12, 2012 8:17:50 GMT -5
Post by sgakrista on Nov 12, 2012 8:17:50 GMT -5
As the cleaning crews are mopping down the floor, wiping the walls and making the arena presentable for tomorrow's show, the roar of a Detroit engine fills the space. It grows louder, slowly, until it sounds like the car is right inside the arena. Most of the crew shrug, and continue their duties.
The sound of the engine is soon overtaken by squealing tires, and one janitor, new to the federation, sticks his head out of the hallway he is in, looking into the garage. An older car, some kind of convertible, is idling in the parking lot, punk rock blaring out of the speakers. Its not an old Mustang or Camaro, or any other typical muscle car. Dark ebony, with a hint of sunburst down near the trunk. The paint job is amazingly detailed, showing a sunset by the ocean. A silhouette of a castle appears near the wheel well, with a flock of birds flying away over the water.
The young girl behind the wheel stands up, and hops over the door, her combat boots *thunking* against the concrete floor of the garage. She is wearing an open white trench coat over a Bad Religion t-shirt and urban camo pants. Her hair is dyed dark blue fading to black, and is blended so well it looks almost natural. Standing at about 5'4" and curvy, the young girl looks around and notices the janitor then smiles, but says nothing. The maintenance man is admiring the car and a small smile crosses the girl's face, accustomed to this reaction. When she speaks, it's with a thick South Boston accent.
Girl: Oldsmobile 4-4-2. I know, not the most popular muscle car. It gets me from hear to there. Speaking of hear....where's the manager's office, and is he in right now? Not likely, I know...if you could just point the way, that'd be wicked pissah...
Janitor: Sure thing girl. Head inside through these doors, follow the hallway and take your first right. Its the door that says Management on it.
Girl: Yeah? Thanks for the info. See ya around.
The janitor nods as the girl walks inside. The tired old man admires her backside for a little, before sighing and getting back to work. The girl follows the instructions, and finds her new boss's office pretty easily. After memorizing the location, and noting the light is off, she decides to wander around. Her eyes dart everywhere, taking in everything. Every turn, every dark corner, every pipe and table, the young girl sees it, and continues wander until she finds herself at the entrance ramp to the main stage.
She stands at the top of the ramp and slowly exhales, in the darkness, her trench coat providing a stark contrast. A short laugh, cold and harsh, echoes through the empty arena, before the girl heads back to the office.
She looks around furtively, slides something out of her coat sleeve, and quickly jimmies the lock. Inside, she pulls a small Mag light out and looks around the office quickly. Heading over to the big desk, the prowler curses, obviously not finding what she's looking for on top of the desk. Undaunted, the young girl tries opening some of the drawers, but finds that they are all locked, and none of them yield to her pick. Sighing in frustration, the girl looks around for pen and paper. She quickly writes out her proposal on company letter head, leaving it on the desk with her signature on the bottom left side. An X underneath make it clear what she expects. Done with her work, the girl heads back out, checking the hallway first to make sure she is alone. She leaves the office, closes and locks the door behind her and heads back to the garage. The same janitor is packing up for the night, and waves as the girl walks to her car.
Janitor: So, you find what you were looking for? Was the boss in? Don't suppose you suggested a raise for us working stiffs, huh? Name's Flynn, by the way.
The man laughs, a raspy sound that belies a two pack a day smoking habit. The young girl grins wickedly, and shakes her head.
Girl: Not this time, maybe in a couple weeks I'll have somethin' for ya killah. You should quite smoking, its a bad habit. But here ya go. Flynn eh? You from Boston? My cousin's name is Flynn. Funny guy, always throws the best keggers. Anyways, I gotta run. Seeyaround!
The young girl tosses a pack of Marlboro Reds at the man, chuckling. The custodian catches the pack awkwardly and laughs again, nodding his thanks before getting in his own beat-up truck and leaving the garage. The young girl stands in the garage for a few minutes, eyes closed. Then she gets in the Olds, revs the engines and peels out of the garage, blasting Black Flag over the stereo. As she drives away, she's confident that her proposal will be approved...
-----------------------------------------------------
SOME TIME LATER
Back at the arena, Akrista has settled in, as much as one can in an area like the current home of FGA. Having selected a locker room for herself, she briskly unpacks the few things in her bag, scattering them around the room haphazardly. Workout gear, a speed bag that needs to be inflated, various pointed instruments that look painful, a bottle of Bushmill's, and a tool box filled with everything needed to keep a 42 year old car running smooth and clean. These last two are treated with much more respect than anything else taken from within. With a satisfied sigh, Akrista pumps up the speed bag, and proceeds to install it in the ceiling of "her" locker room. Over the sounds of the high speed drill, and Bad Religion, it takes the girl a few minutes to realize the pounding on her door is real, and not just a weird echo effect. Grimacing, Akrista knocks back a shot of whiskey, and heads to the door to see what's up. She knows being the new face, this visitor could be friend or foe, but her abrasive personality and cynicism tend to insure people are at the least neutral towards the girl, if not outright hostile. Opening up, Akrista looks up into the face of her visitor, a smirk playing across her lips...
Akrista: What the hell do you want? Can't ya hear I'm busy?
TBC Anyone
The sound of the engine is soon overtaken by squealing tires, and one janitor, new to the federation, sticks his head out of the hallway he is in, looking into the garage. An older car, some kind of convertible, is idling in the parking lot, punk rock blaring out of the speakers. Its not an old Mustang or Camaro, or any other typical muscle car. Dark ebony, with a hint of sunburst down near the trunk. The paint job is amazingly detailed, showing a sunset by the ocean. A silhouette of a castle appears near the wheel well, with a flock of birds flying away over the water.
The young girl behind the wheel stands up, and hops over the door, her combat boots *thunking* against the concrete floor of the garage. She is wearing an open white trench coat over a Bad Religion t-shirt and urban camo pants. Her hair is dyed dark blue fading to black, and is blended so well it looks almost natural. Standing at about 5'4" and curvy, the young girl looks around and notices the janitor then smiles, but says nothing. The maintenance man is admiring the car and a small smile crosses the girl's face, accustomed to this reaction. When she speaks, it's with a thick South Boston accent.
Girl: Oldsmobile 4-4-2. I know, not the most popular muscle car. It gets me from hear to there. Speaking of hear....where's the manager's office, and is he in right now? Not likely, I know...if you could just point the way, that'd be wicked pissah...
Janitor: Sure thing girl. Head inside through these doors, follow the hallway and take your first right. Its the door that says Management on it.
Girl: Yeah? Thanks for the info. See ya around.
The janitor nods as the girl walks inside. The tired old man admires her backside for a little, before sighing and getting back to work. The girl follows the instructions, and finds her new boss's office pretty easily. After memorizing the location, and noting the light is off, she decides to wander around. Her eyes dart everywhere, taking in everything. Every turn, every dark corner, every pipe and table, the young girl sees it, and continues wander until she finds herself at the entrance ramp to the main stage.
She stands at the top of the ramp and slowly exhales, in the darkness, her trench coat providing a stark contrast. A short laugh, cold and harsh, echoes through the empty arena, before the girl heads back to the office.
She looks around furtively, slides something out of her coat sleeve, and quickly jimmies the lock. Inside, she pulls a small Mag light out and looks around the office quickly. Heading over to the big desk, the prowler curses, obviously not finding what she's looking for on top of the desk. Undaunted, the young girl tries opening some of the drawers, but finds that they are all locked, and none of them yield to her pick. Sighing in frustration, the girl looks around for pen and paper. She quickly writes out her proposal on company letter head, leaving it on the desk with her signature on the bottom left side. An X underneath make it clear what she expects. Done with her work, the girl heads back out, checking the hallway first to make sure she is alone. She leaves the office, closes and locks the door behind her and heads back to the garage. The same janitor is packing up for the night, and waves as the girl walks to her car.
Janitor: So, you find what you were looking for? Was the boss in? Don't suppose you suggested a raise for us working stiffs, huh? Name's Flynn, by the way.
The man laughs, a raspy sound that belies a two pack a day smoking habit. The young girl grins wickedly, and shakes her head.
Girl: Not this time, maybe in a couple weeks I'll have somethin' for ya killah. You should quite smoking, its a bad habit. But here ya go. Flynn eh? You from Boston? My cousin's name is Flynn. Funny guy, always throws the best keggers. Anyways, I gotta run. Seeyaround!
The young girl tosses a pack of Marlboro Reds at the man, chuckling. The custodian catches the pack awkwardly and laughs again, nodding his thanks before getting in his own beat-up truck and leaving the garage. The young girl stands in the garage for a few minutes, eyes closed. Then she gets in the Olds, revs the engines and peels out of the garage, blasting Black Flag over the stereo. As she drives away, she's confident that her proposal will be approved...
This contract is between Frontier Grappling Arts and Akrista "Gray Angel" O'Hare. She has one dark match at a show of Management's choosing, to prove that she will be a good addition to this federation. Once she proves herself, this constitutes a binding legal contract between her and the federation.
PS: You won't regret it, I promise you that.
Akrista O'Hare
X_______________
PS: You won't regret it, I promise you that.
Akrista O'Hare
X_______________
-----------------------------------------------------
SOME TIME LATER
Back at the arena, Akrista has settled in, as much as one can in an area like the current home of FGA. Having selected a locker room for herself, she briskly unpacks the few things in her bag, scattering them around the room haphazardly. Workout gear, a speed bag that needs to be inflated, various pointed instruments that look painful, a bottle of Bushmill's, and a tool box filled with everything needed to keep a 42 year old car running smooth and clean. These last two are treated with much more respect than anything else taken from within. With a satisfied sigh, Akrista pumps up the speed bag, and proceeds to install it in the ceiling of "her" locker room. Over the sounds of the high speed drill, and Bad Religion, it takes the girl a few minutes to realize the pounding on her door is real, and not just a weird echo effect. Grimacing, Akrista knocks back a shot of whiskey, and heads to the door to see what's up. She knows being the new face, this visitor could be friend or foe, but her abrasive personality and cynicism tend to insure people are at the least neutral towards the girl, if not outright hostile. Opening up, Akrista looks up into the face of her visitor, a smirk playing across her lips...
Akrista: What the hell do you want? Can't ya hear I'm busy?
TBC Anyone