The Crimson Baroness: Six Man Tag

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The honeyed vocals of Torre Florim can be heard emanating from an old portable stereo system sitting somewhere out of sight as, in her usual brown wing back chair, The Crimson Baroness is sitting. Dressed in her red leather bodysuit, her legs crossed, her hands toying with her cane as it’s held in front of her chest. “Wasn’t that fun? Didn’t we all enjoy the climactic showdown at the last episode of Pride? And, more importantly, are you all finally going to get the message?” The Baroness spits her stream of acid-laced questions, using her most mellifluous tones.

“Because, for the life of me, I just can’t understand the mindset behind some of you,” she starts, smirking at the camera, “as to why you would ignore me when I reach down to the bottom of my black, black heart and search for the last remaining semblance of human decency, Donnie…” the name is said with venom, “…and try to warn you of what’s to come.”

“Have I not been brutally forthright up until this point?”

“I told you all that I was going to drive The Girlfriend out of the Lions Den, and I did exactly that at 2nd Impact. And it’s taken her nearly four months to pick herself up by those bootstraps of hers, and re-emerge on the other side of the Atlantic…” The Baroness rolls her eyes, scoffing at the notion that the Kensington girl is willing to try again.

“I told you all that I was bringing something special to LDFC; so I unveiled the Carolina Cup, and I won it too! That will forever be my legacy around these parts,” she smirks again, “and in five or ten years time when people still remember me for that, I’ll be ready to say I told you so.”

“So when I warned you, Donnie, that you were playing with fire. That you were dabbling with forces beyond your understanding – why would you doubt the veracity of my claims?” The Baroness sighs in an exaggerated manner, tapping the top of the cane against her palm as she shakes her head. “I don’t regret sicking Valcone and Brody on you; I’ll do the exact same thing again on Wednesday night. Because this seems to be the only way I can get through to you. It’s the only way you can see the depth of the trouble you are in; the trouble I have started.”

“And do not get me started on that pathetic display of chivalry, Donnie. When you crawled on top of your precious Bree,” she snarls; the name itself evokes painful memories for Katie, but she maintains the appearance of professionalism. “Endearing as it was; the fans truly idolise you for your actions that. But at 3rd Strike you won’t be able to protect that dainty little wallflower you call a partner from the wrath, the brute force, the pain she’ll taste at our hands.”

“But she won’t get the worst of it…”

“No, Bree is but a pawn, much like Cass Rowley was. And I have little interest in the pawns on this board.”

“If I’m to win, then I must capture their Queen. To subjugate her, and bring her to heel. So this Brat will no longer foil my plans; she will no longer be able to save the likes of Terrence Tillman from my fury. She won’t be able to save Sydney Christensen from my wrath.”

“The Brat won’t even be able to help herself.”

“Two weeks ago on Pride you got another taste of what your future holds, Brat. For I am nowhere near close to being done with you. What I did to The Girlfriend, what I did to Terrence, to Sydney, to anyone else – they will pale in comparison to what lies ahead in your future.” She states, boldly. “And after I’m done with you, your body and spirit will be broken.”

“The only thing you can feel will be hate…"

“For the one whose name rhymes with witch…” The Baroness giggles to herself, smirking all the while.

“And where I once had high hopes for you, Brat, your decisions have lead you down this path. So this Wednesday when I tear your shoulder from its socket, when I leave you incapacitated and vulnerable on that mat…” she pauses, “…who am I kidding, I won’t leave you like that.”

“I won’t leave you until they cart you to the ambulance, because you deserve nothing less than my unfiltered hatred. Then maybe you will learn not to drag my name through the mud, not to sully my reputation with lurid tales of sexual conquest, and maybe – just maybe - you’ll learn to respect your superiors!”

“So, Valcone, Brody, let the fun begins, boys…”

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