Dirge
Aug 14, 2015 16:13:51 GMT -5
Post by Black Adder on Aug 14, 2015 16:13:51 GMT -5
The sound of laughter can be heard bouncing off the walls of the dingy dive. This laughter isn’t from something humorous, it’s an angry, almost malicious laugh.
“I’m recording this,” comes the panicked, whispering voice from behind the camera, “for the sake of evidence. My name is Jacob Azinger, I’m the co-owner-slash-night manager of ‘The Alco-Hole’ pub…and what you’re hearing is…well…”
Coming into the empty bar floor proper the camera focuses on the lone figure sitting on the edge of the stage normally reserved for some crappy local bands wanting to get some exposure. The figure in question is adorned in all black, save for the striking bright red of lipstick and the red of her nails; holding a glass of amber liquid in her hand, Hana Song continues to laugh darkly, right up until the glass gets thrown at the wall and shatters to the floor.
“This recording is to show that I’ve not used any physical force.”
The laughter from Hana stops only upon hearing the arrival of Jacob. Hana curls her lips into a grin and speaks, her eyes staring dead into the lens.
“Oh good, you brought a camera. I was thinking I’d have to do things myself."
“You still owe me for-”
“Shut up, Jacob, you’ve been amusing and amenable but after I say my piece I’ll be moving on to a better place. Somewhere with more exposure and a more…attractive location and clientele; but if you keep rolling I’ll reward your hardship. Consider it a going away present.”
Jason meekly nods his head and the camera along with it while Hana rises to her feet, clears her throat, and begins.
“It occurs to me that I’ve been unusually silent since my most recent outing and some might think that it means that I’m humiliated or something; I didn’t even manage to respond to little orphan Annie…how cowardly, right? Ah, to be so blissfully feeble minded. Let me make one thing clear. I didn’t LOSE against Bree Nelson. I was INTERRUPTED over some lover’s spat or something equally as stupid. I don’t care what the records show…I. Did. Not. Lose. Bree Nelson escaped from my bite thanks to the unexpected arrival of others. She should consider herself lucky. I’ve had time to come to peace with that…and to laugh it off. Now’s not the time to be dwelling on fluke technicality victories from deaf girls.”
“No, instead I’m looking forwards, to someone who will not be so fortunate. I made my point, Annie, when I took you out backstage, and then I clarified my position for the idiots that didn’t understand my very simple motives. So what happens next, Annie, is on you. You wanted this. I was content to let my message speak for itself but if you want to try your hand against the Black Adder…you best b ready to get bitten.”
“What is it that you have to prove, Annie? That you’re ‘better’ than me? That the big time important FGA star can come down to the Den and stand up for herself? That someone had to handle the other big bad bully? Please. I’m no bully, Annie. Not like others milling about in the Den. I’m a hunter. And you’re the first to come willingly into my domain…I would be remiss not to entertain you. To you…this is about respect. To me? This is about making my statement of intent.”
“People love you, for a variety of ridiculous reasons I’m sure…and I’ve already made it clear that I relish in taking out the things people love, go ahead and talk to Prosac Bert and his snotty brat for evidence of that. But with you…it’s two birds. I’ve made it clear that the Den needs to recognize my presence and ability and by taking care of you not only do I show how serious I am in this endeavor…but I also give fair warning to those within FGA proper. A warning that at some point…The Black Adder will be slithering her way through your ranks…with the head of their beloved Annie Zellor on her waist.”
“There won’t be anyone to save you nor anyone to get in the way of my night. And don’t be fooled, despite the presence of the APEX Title match…the one to keep your eyes on is what I like to call…The Funeral of Annie Zellor. I nearly took your head off before; how do you think I’ll do this time? It’ll be quite the Second Impact, won’t it? My foot and your head is one. Your motionless body on the mat is two.”
“Goodbye, Annie Zellor. It could’ve been anyone…but I’m glad it’s you. Because I know you’ll scream. Music to my ears.”
“I’m recording this,” comes the panicked, whispering voice from behind the camera, “for the sake of evidence. My name is Jacob Azinger, I’m the co-owner-slash-night manager of ‘The Alco-Hole’ pub…and what you’re hearing is…well…”
Coming into the empty bar floor proper the camera focuses on the lone figure sitting on the edge of the stage normally reserved for some crappy local bands wanting to get some exposure. The figure in question is adorned in all black, save for the striking bright red of lipstick and the red of her nails; holding a glass of amber liquid in her hand, Hana Song continues to laugh darkly, right up until the glass gets thrown at the wall and shatters to the floor.
“This recording is to show that I’ve not used any physical force.”
The laughter from Hana stops only upon hearing the arrival of Jacob. Hana curls her lips into a grin and speaks, her eyes staring dead into the lens.
“Oh good, you brought a camera. I was thinking I’d have to do things myself."
“You still owe me for-”
“Shut up, Jacob, you’ve been amusing and amenable but after I say my piece I’ll be moving on to a better place. Somewhere with more exposure and a more…attractive location and clientele; but if you keep rolling I’ll reward your hardship. Consider it a going away present.”
Jason meekly nods his head and the camera along with it while Hana rises to her feet, clears her throat, and begins.
“It occurs to me that I’ve been unusually silent since my most recent outing and some might think that it means that I’m humiliated or something; I didn’t even manage to respond to little orphan Annie…how cowardly, right? Ah, to be so blissfully feeble minded. Let me make one thing clear. I didn’t LOSE against Bree Nelson. I was INTERRUPTED over some lover’s spat or something equally as stupid. I don’t care what the records show…I. Did. Not. Lose. Bree Nelson escaped from my bite thanks to the unexpected arrival of others. She should consider herself lucky. I’ve had time to come to peace with that…and to laugh it off. Now’s not the time to be dwelling on fluke technicality victories from deaf girls.”
“No, instead I’m looking forwards, to someone who will not be so fortunate. I made my point, Annie, when I took you out backstage, and then I clarified my position for the idiots that didn’t understand my very simple motives. So what happens next, Annie, is on you. You wanted this. I was content to let my message speak for itself but if you want to try your hand against the Black Adder…you best b ready to get bitten.”
“What is it that you have to prove, Annie? That you’re ‘better’ than me? That the big time important FGA star can come down to the Den and stand up for herself? That someone had to handle the other big bad bully? Please. I’m no bully, Annie. Not like others milling about in the Den. I’m a hunter. And you’re the first to come willingly into my domain…I would be remiss not to entertain you. To you…this is about respect. To me? This is about making my statement of intent.”
“People love you, for a variety of ridiculous reasons I’m sure…and I’ve already made it clear that I relish in taking out the things people love, go ahead and talk to Prosac Bert and his snotty brat for evidence of that. But with you…it’s two birds. I’ve made it clear that the Den needs to recognize my presence and ability and by taking care of you not only do I show how serious I am in this endeavor…but I also give fair warning to those within FGA proper. A warning that at some point…The Black Adder will be slithering her way through your ranks…with the head of their beloved Annie Zellor on her waist.”
“There won’t be anyone to save you nor anyone to get in the way of my night. And don’t be fooled, despite the presence of the APEX Title match…the one to keep your eyes on is what I like to call…The Funeral of Annie Zellor. I nearly took your head off before; how do you think I’ll do this time? It’ll be quite the Second Impact, won’t it? My foot and your head is one. Your motionless body on the mat is two.”
“Goodbye, Annie Zellor. It could’ve been anyone…but I’m glad it’s you. Because I know you’ll scream. Music to my ears.”