I'm Thinking You're Weak; I'm Seeing the Cracks in the Logic
Apr 5, 2016 13:23:44 GMT -5
Post by Black Adder on Apr 5, 2016 13:23:44 GMT -5
The sound of breaking glass draws the attention and the panic of the other Song sibling. Tiffany, hearing the glass shatter and a loud thump, quickly rushed to the source only to find her sister, Hana Song, on the floor with a shattered glass of wine on the table in front of her.
”God dammit, Hana, this is too much.” Tiffany lifted Hana to the couch with a frown. ”You can’t keep this up.”
”I’m fine,” Hana muttered out like someone trying not to wake up in the morning, ”I was just having a drink.”
”Which you’re not allowed to have right now. You need another shot.”
”You said no more drinks.”
”Not that kind of shot.” Tiffany began to root around in her bag for the familiar needle and tubing while Hana just squirmed on the couch. ”Why were you drinking anyway?”
”Because I always drink when a plan comes together.”
”Hana...Hana you lost.”
”One battle. Not the war.”
”Remind me to hide the wine if you do lose the war. Or win it. Now, hold still, you’re about to feel a little prick.”
Hana merely offered a grunt in response; she was too far gone now and was more fortunate than she would admit to have a doctor in the house.
~
”I suppose the question on the minds of the masses is what will I say about the match at the last Pride...because of course it must throw a wrench in my plans or somehow invalidate the months of work that I’ve put in or some other such nonsense to make the people feel better. My thoughts on the matter are rather simple. Every dog has its day.”
Hana smiles dead on with her eyes narrowed, her heavy makeup making it seem as if there are no whites in her eyes. She speaks with a trace of annoyance, or anger, to her voice; the loss of the tag team match stings more than she’ll admit.
”And those two are nothing if not dogs desperately barking for attention. Greener pastures are ahead of me and the pieces are slowly coming into place. The pawns in motion and the queen scheming. But let’s not get ahead of myself here...because before I can worry about more important matters...I have a bit of housecleaning to do.”
“When, I wonder, did the Lion’s Den turn into a kindergarten? I can’t help but feel as if I’m being punished for some sort of transgression I’m not responsible for. Why else would I have to concern myself with someone that believes all it takes to make it in this Den is being a fan. I’m a fan of rap music, but you don’t see me freestyling on stage.”
“Her name, such as it is, is Wayward Nymph which sounds more like the name of a creature in a poor man’s fantasy play than anything else. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, does it? It brings to mind the idea of a little lost creature hoping someone will take pity on it. She, that is the supposed Nymph, is an irreverent child who doesn’t seem to understand where exactly she is.”
“I need not look any further than how she ‘handled’ Keegan Hightower. Which is to say that for all her grandstanding about her own abilities...it amounted to little other than a fizzling failure. Maybe if she spent less time on the useless dance floor she might’ve fared a tiny bit better.”
“Everyone wants to be the best, everyone wants to say how great they are, but the fact of the matter is, Nymph, you’ve a long, long way to go and no amount of dancing or being ‘bubbly’ or whatever you call it is going to help you. Nepotism will be the death of you, Nymph, because this is no place for a child. And that’s what you ARE if you think you’re destined for greatness or anything of the sort. Wrestling is no joke, so why, then, do you wish to treat it as one?”
“Keegan was an appetiser and you wound up choking at the table. Now you’re about to meet the main course...and I don’t go down easy. Poor little Wayward soul...wandering into the one place where being ‘cute’ gets you absolutely no favors. If there’s one thing I do so relish...it’s making the cute, naive ones like you cry. I've gotten quite good at it. But you...you think that you're owed a free meal because you know a guy that knows a guy...but you're hardly worth the scraps on my plate. Where will you be in six months, I wonder, when your next flight of fancy gives you grand delusions? But you want this so badly...fine...I'll give you a seat at my table.
“And I’m going to eat you alive.”
”God dammit, Hana, this is too much.” Tiffany lifted Hana to the couch with a frown. ”You can’t keep this up.”
”I’m fine,” Hana muttered out like someone trying not to wake up in the morning, ”I was just having a drink.”
”Which you’re not allowed to have right now. You need another shot.”
”You said no more drinks.”
”Not that kind of shot.” Tiffany began to root around in her bag for the familiar needle and tubing while Hana just squirmed on the couch. ”Why were you drinking anyway?”
”Because I always drink when a plan comes together.”
”Hana...Hana you lost.”
”One battle. Not the war.”
”Remind me to hide the wine if you do lose the war. Or win it. Now, hold still, you’re about to feel a little prick.”
Hana merely offered a grunt in response; she was too far gone now and was more fortunate than she would admit to have a doctor in the house.
~
”I suppose the question on the minds of the masses is what will I say about the match at the last Pride...because of course it must throw a wrench in my plans or somehow invalidate the months of work that I’ve put in or some other such nonsense to make the people feel better. My thoughts on the matter are rather simple. Every dog has its day.”
Hana smiles dead on with her eyes narrowed, her heavy makeup making it seem as if there are no whites in her eyes. She speaks with a trace of annoyance, or anger, to her voice; the loss of the tag team match stings more than she’ll admit.
”And those two are nothing if not dogs desperately barking for attention. Greener pastures are ahead of me and the pieces are slowly coming into place. The pawns in motion and the queen scheming. But let’s not get ahead of myself here...because before I can worry about more important matters...I have a bit of housecleaning to do.”
“When, I wonder, did the Lion’s Den turn into a kindergarten? I can’t help but feel as if I’m being punished for some sort of transgression I’m not responsible for. Why else would I have to concern myself with someone that believes all it takes to make it in this Den is being a fan. I’m a fan of rap music, but you don’t see me freestyling on stage.”
“Her name, such as it is, is Wayward Nymph which sounds more like the name of a creature in a poor man’s fantasy play than anything else. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, does it? It brings to mind the idea of a little lost creature hoping someone will take pity on it. She, that is the supposed Nymph, is an irreverent child who doesn’t seem to understand where exactly she is.”
“I need not look any further than how she ‘handled’ Keegan Hightower. Which is to say that for all her grandstanding about her own abilities...it amounted to little other than a fizzling failure. Maybe if she spent less time on the useless dance floor she might’ve fared a tiny bit better.”
“Everyone wants to be the best, everyone wants to say how great they are, but the fact of the matter is, Nymph, you’ve a long, long way to go and no amount of dancing or being ‘bubbly’ or whatever you call it is going to help you. Nepotism will be the death of you, Nymph, because this is no place for a child. And that’s what you ARE if you think you’re destined for greatness or anything of the sort. Wrestling is no joke, so why, then, do you wish to treat it as one?”
“Keegan was an appetiser and you wound up choking at the table. Now you’re about to meet the main course...and I don’t go down easy. Poor little Wayward soul...wandering into the one place where being ‘cute’ gets you absolutely no favors. If there’s one thing I do so relish...it’s making the cute, naive ones like you cry. I've gotten quite good at it. But you...you think that you're owed a free meal because you know a guy that knows a guy...but you're hardly worth the scraps on my plate. Where will you be in six months, I wonder, when your next flight of fancy gives you grand delusions? But you want this so badly...fine...I'll give you a seat at my table.
“And I’m going to eat you alive.”