I'm Sorry (Part One)
Aug 10, 2015 19:50:55 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2015 19:50:55 GMT -5
"Where do I start?" The Crimson Baroness muses out loud as she drapes a red velvet cloth over a cardboard box that is sitting on her desk. She chuckles to herself, low and soft, before taking a seaton her wingback chair. Dressed, as usual, in her ring attire of red leather, The Baroness wears a devious smirk upon her face as she looks to the camera. "Ahead of my epic, climactic showdown with The Girlfriend, where oh where am I supposed to begin?"
There’s a moment of silent contemplation as The Crimson Baroness pushes some loose strands of hair from in front of her eyes; her gaze never leaving the camera for a second as she speaks again. "I guess I could start by saying two words that don't often pass my lips..." she pauses, "...I'm sorry.”
"I'm sorry that you felt it necessary to put in eighty hours at the gym – and boast about it on social media as if preparing for a big match is anything new, or even remotely impressive in this industry! That you felt the need to bust your ass for ten hours a day, for eight days, just so you felt you’d be ready to face Butcher. So you could try and attain the level I was at two months ago when I beat him clean in that ring on the fifth episode of Pride,” she pauses, “or did that little nugget of information escape your memory?”
“Because lately all I’ve heard from you is about how I cheated to win against your beloved. How Johnnycakes was defeated by a rookie such as myself,” she chuckles, “about how you had to lick his wounds and repair his damaged sense of pride. And I’m sorry, Katherine, that your zero fucks given attitude apparently doesn’t extend to using a chair. I’m sorry that you think I’d need to repeat that trick in order to defeat you.” She shakes her head whilst giggling, covering her mouth with one hand. “I won’t need to.”
"And, I'm sorry that I forced the rest of the LDFC roster to be subjected to your incessant bitching and moaning about losing too many matches. What with your appaling and dismal 3-3-1 record…” The Baroness rolls her eyes and sighs, “…I mean, seriously, who would think that a rookie wrestler in training might not win every single match? That when one of those defeats was a fatal fourway match, where you didn’t take the fall. A tag team match that ended in disqualification. A singles match where I screwed you over!” she exclaims, loudly, “And all we hear from you is about how you never win! I’ll repeat myself for your benefit – you are in training. A defeat here is not the end of the world; if Cordy Stevenson can pick herself up after losing another match for the FGA World Championship, this time against Chandler Scott, you should be able to lose a tag match by disqualification without bitching about it endlessly. All the things happening around you and your biggest concern is whether you won or lost a single match…” she scoffs, eyeing up the box on the desk.
“I pity you, Katherine. Those outside influences seem to affecting you too much – too much time around those feminazis up in Chicago, right? You see, not every loss is a tragedy – there are circumstances outside of your control. You are not personally responsible for every loss, so there really, really is no need to reconsider your career every single time. To go through that attention seeking cycle you girls do, where you question whether you’re cut out to be a wrestler. Even in my three months, I’ve seen enough of your type around to make me sick to my stomach. But, most importantly, not every loss should make you flip out, and change the entire basis of you personality!”
“You didn’t have that many redeemable features before; there was nothing sympathetic or empathetic about you, you’re an over educated ivy league snob, you’re snarky beyond the point, your wit is lacklustre, you bore people to tears with your diatribes, rub your friend’s faces in yours and Johnnycakes’s loving relationship, and you claim moral superiority over people without having any basis in fact…” she pauses, “…just a few observations on my part. But then you decided to say fuck this and you gave up all hope.”
“And for that, Katherine, I am truly sorry.”
“I thought breaking you would be a challenge.” She sighs with a heavy heart, as the scene fades to black.
There’s a moment of silent contemplation as The Crimson Baroness pushes some loose strands of hair from in front of her eyes; her gaze never leaving the camera for a second as she speaks again. "I guess I could start by saying two words that don't often pass my lips..." she pauses, "...I'm sorry.”
"I'm sorry that you felt it necessary to put in eighty hours at the gym – and boast about it on social media as if preparing for a big match is anything new, or even remotely impressive in this industry! That you felt the need to bust your ass for ten hours a day, for eight days, just so you felt you’d be ready to face Butcher. So you could try and attain the level I was at two months ago when I beat him clean in that ring on the fifth episode of Pride,” she pauses, “or did that little nugget of information escape your memory?”
“Because lately all I’ve heard from you is about how I cheated to win against your beloved. How Johnnycakes was defeated by a rookie such as myself,” she chuckles, “about how you had to lick his wounds and repair his damaged sense of pride. And I’m sorry, Katherine, that your zero fucks given attitude apparently doesn’t extend to using a chair. I’m sorry that you think I’d need to repeat that trick in order to defeat you.” She shakes her head whilst giggling, covering her mouth with one hand. “I won’t need to.”
"And, I'm sorry that I forced the rest of the LDFC roster to be subjected to your incessant bitching and moaning about losing too many matches. What with your appaling and dismal 3-3-1 record…” The Baroness rolls her eyes and sighs, “…I mean, seriously, who would think that a rookie wrestler in training might not win every single match? That when one of those defeats was a fatal fourway match, where you didn’t take the fall. A tag team match that ended in disqualification. A singles match where I screwed you over!” she exclaims, loudly, “And all we hear from you is about how you never win! I’ll repeat myself for your benefit – you are in training. A defeat here is not the end of the world; if Cordy Stevenson can pick herself up after losing another match for the FGA World Championship, this time against Chandler Scott, you should be able to lose a tag match by disqualification without bitching about it endlessly. All the things happening around you and your biggest concern is whether you won or lost a single match…” she scoffs, eyeing up the box on the desk.
“I pity you, Katherine. Those outside influences seem to affecting you too much – too much time around those feminazis up in Chicago, right? You see, not every loss is a tragedy – there are circumstances outside of your control. You are not personally responsible for every loss, so there really, really is no need to reconsider your career every single time. To go through that attention seeking cycle you girls do, where you question whether you’re cut out to be a wrestler. Even in my three months, I’ve seen enough of your type around to make me sick to my stomach. But, most importantly, not every loss should make you flip out, and change the entire basis of you personality!”
“You didn’t have that many redeemable features before; there was nothing sympathetic or empathetic about you, you’re an over educated ivy league snob, you’re snarky beyond the point, your wit is lacklustre, you bore people to tears with your diatribes, rub your friend’s faces in yours and Johnnycakes’s loving relationship, and you claim moral superiority over people without having any basis in fact…” she pauses, “…just a few observations on my part. But then you decided to say fuck this and you gave up all hope.”
“And for that, Katherine, I am truly sorry.”
“I thought breaking you would be a challenge.” She sighs with a heavy heart, as the scene fades to black.