Shitty rp
Jun 19, 2016 7:38:07 GMT -6
via mobile
The Polar Phantasm, Crow McMorris, and 1 more like this
Post by Bonnie Blue on Jun 19, 2016 7:38:07 GMT -6
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Begin transmission: The camera pans through the crowded barroom of the Sloshed Pit; across a broad stage where a band tunes unconventional instruments; and settles, at last, on a round booth in one shadowed corner, occupied by the lone figure of Bonnie Blue. A fitted v-neck UCI shirt clings to every curve like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination; less, as she leans forward, gaze fixed intently on the camera.
“Let me begin by sayin’ what an honor it is to be included in Crow McMorris’ first match as the inaugural UCI World Champ. Lotsa folks seem to reckon me an’ my fellow Guardians got bigger things on our minds than what goes on in our little corner of Chicago. Heard some of the shit that scumbag Taylor Wright's been sayin’ -- an’, y’know, even Chase Jackson has had a comment or two to the effect -- which is fine. Y'all are welcome to y'all’s opinions, no matter how wrong they may be.
Appearances can be deceivin’, though. F’instance, take my opponent last week…”
Her expression darkens as her thoughts turn to him.
“The Dark Timekeeper’s twisted lackey, Nathan von Liebert -- he don't look like much. Fits the standard punk-sociopath mold, right?
Yet this is a man obsessed by power. More subtle an’ cunnin’ than he would seem, yet so blinded by his own ambition that he traded away his last vestige of humanity for mastery over time an’ space. For all of that, what is he except the button man for a deranged time god?
Them powers availed him nothin’ at Lazarus last Sunday. He shouldn't’a been able to defy the Precepts, but somehow he did -- an’ I overcame them offs, stacked against me as they was.”
At this point, a waitress in an impossibly short skirt delivers a cowboy boot full of liquor to the table. Bonnie watches her fade right back into the bustle, a mildly lascivious gleam in her blue-green eyes. After a moment, she seems to recall the camera and returns her attention to it with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry, got distracted. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Appearances. Deceivin’. I gotta wonder at the folks who say our concerns are too vast for UCI; that our attention is focused on such important things, we got neither the time nor inclination to take this organisation seriously.
What's that say about your opinion of UCI? That you find it small an’ insignificant compared to galaxy-spanning empires? Because the Guardians don't; I don't. We been here every single week, ‘zactly on time, without missin’ a show yet…
It's all interconnected. Up there, down here. Ripples. Waves. What affects one, affects all. Sometimes ya gotta broaden your scope to see it.
Y’oughta hang out with us sometime, Chase. Give ya a chance to do just that. Ya seem like a pretty sharp guy. It can't’a ‘scaped your notice there's somethin’ jus’ a little bit… off about Chicago. That vaguely sinister vibe ya can't quite shake. That sorta jamais-vu feelin’, where things are familiar when ya know for a fact they ain't.
I get it, man. This shit is overwhelmin’ for me -- an’ I was raised in space! Look, I mean, in the long run, all that other stuff is just… stuff. What happens here, in Chicago -- in the ring -- that's what's important. An’ that is where my focus is at. Don't you ever doubt that for a second, Chase Jackson.
What you need to remember is that I am the daughter of a man who lived for this sport, whose defining moments came in the squared circle; not outside of it. A legend, thrice World Champion, four times a tag champion. I am the daughter of Johnny Reb -- an’ I'm better’n he ever was.”
Bonnie leans back in her seat, a confident smile tugging at her lips. In the background, an accordion plays counterpoint to a bagpipe, while a drum synthesizer keeps the beat. The resultant sound is anything but pleasant, yet the establishment’a patrons sway back and forth in time to the ostensible music.
“Of course, there's the matter of the champ -- a man my father was never able to defeat: Crow McMorris.”
Cockiness and resolve are tempered now with respect.
“Crow… What can I say? Well, first an’ foremost -- congratulations. I dunno anyone who deserves the honor more, or who worked harder to get to the top. Few men -- livin’, dead, or...otherwise -- have toiled so diligently for so long, with nothin’ to show for it but a new collection of scars.
You're in a tough spot, Crow; ya carry this company on your shoulders, now -- an’ I don't envy ya that. Everyone’a gonna come gunnin’ for ya, lookin’ to take what ya fought so hard for. Includin’ me, one day.
I hope this is but the first of many encounters between us, Crow. I like ya. More, I respect the hell outta you. An’ it's my fondest wish that someday I might face you for that belt; to possibly become the second UCI Champion.
Today ain't that day. Next week ain't looking promising, neither. But one day… an’ ‘sides, at least if’n I gotta get pinned…”
The young blonde leans a little closer to the camera. Tracing her lips with the tip of her tongue, she smiles seductively, and her voice lowers about half an octave.
“If I gotta get pinned, ain't nobody I'd rather have on top of me than you, Sugar.”
Bonnie gives the camera a flirtatious wink.
“Although I do like it better when I'm on top….”
End transmission.
Begin transmission: The camera pans through the crowded barroom of the Sloshed Pit; across a broad stage where a band tunes unconventional instruments; and settles, at last, on a round booth in one shadowed corner, occupied by the lone figure of Bonnie Blue. A fitted v-neck UCI shirt clings to every curve like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination; less, as she leans forward, gaze fixed intently on the camera.
“Let me begin by sayin’ what an honor it is to be included in Crow McMorris’ first match as the inaugural UCI World Champ. Lotsa folks seem to reckon me an’ my fellow Guardians got bigger things on our minds than what goes on in our little corner of Chicago. Heard some of the shit that scumbag Taylor Wright's been sayin’ -- an’, y’know, even Chase Jackson has had a comment or two to the effect -- which is fine. Y'all are welcome to y'all’s opinions, no matter how wrong they may be.
Appearances can be deceivin’, though. F’instance, take my opponent last week…”
Her expression darkens as her thoughts turn to him.
“The Dark Timekeeper’s twisted lackey, Nathan von Liebert -- he don't look like much. Fits the standard punk-sociopath mold, right?
Yet this is a man obsessed by power. More subtle an’ cunnin’ than he would seem, yet so blinded by his own ambition that he traded away his last vestige of humanity for mastery over time an’ space. For all of that, what is he except the button man for a deranged time god?
Them powers availed him nothin’ at Lazarus last Sunday. He shouldn't’a been able to defy the Precepts, but somehow he did -- an’ I overcame them offs, stacked against me as they was.”
At this point, a waitress in an impossibly short skirt delivers a cowboy boot full of liquor to the table. Bonnie watches her fade right back into the bustle, a mildly lascivious gleam in her blue-green eyes. After a moment, she seems to recall the camera and returns her attention to it with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry, got distracted. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Appearances. Deceivin’. I gotta wonder at the folks who say our concerns are too vast for UCI; that our attention is focused on such important things, we got neither the time nor inclination to take this organisation seriously.
What's that say about your opinion of UCI? That you find it small an’ insignificant compared to galaxy-spanning empires? Because the Guardians don't; I don't. We been here every single week, ‘zactly on time, without missin’ a show yet…
It's all interconnected. Up there, down here. Ripples. Waves. What affects one, affects all. Sometimes ya gotta broaden your scope to see it.
Y’oughta hang out with us sometime, Chase. Give ya a chance to do just that. Ya seem like a pretty sharp guy. It can't’a ‘scaped your notice there's somethin’ jus’ a little bit… off about Chicago. That vaguely sinister vibe ya can't quite shake. That sorta jamais-vu feelin’, where things are familiar when ya know for a fact they ain't.
I get it, man. This shit is overwhelmin’ for me -- an’ I was raised in space! Look, I mean, in the long run, all that other stuff is just… stuff. What happens here, in Chicago -- in the ring -- that's what's important. An’ that is where my focus is at. Don't you ever doubt that for a second, Chase Jackson.
What you need to remember is that I am the daughter of a man who lived for this sport, whose defining moments came in the squared circle; not outside of it. A legend, thrice World Champion, four times a tag champion. I am the daughter of Johnny Reb -- an’ I'm better’n he ever was.”
Bonnie leans back in her seat, a confident smile tugging at her lips. In the background, an accordion plays counterpoint to a bagpipe, while a drum synthesizer keeps the beat. The resultant sound is anything but pleasant, yet the establishment’a patrons sway back and forth in time to the ostensible music.
“Of course, there's the matter of the champ -- a man my father was never able to defeat: Crow McMorris.”
Cockiness and resolve are tempered now with respect.
“Crow… What can I say? Well, first an’ foremost -- congratulations. I dunno anyone who deserves the honor more, or who worked harder to get to the top. Few men -- livin’, dead, or...otherwise -- have toiled so diligently for so long, with nothin’ to show for it but a new collection of scars.
You're in a tough spot, Crow; ya carry this company on your shoulders, now -- an’ I don't envy ya that. Everyone’a gonna come gunnin’ for ya, lookin’ to take what ya fought so hard for. Includin’ me, one day.
I hope this is but the first of many encounters between us, Crow. I like ya. More, I respect the hell outta you. An’ it's my fondest wish that someday I might face you for that belt; to possibly become the second UCI Champion.
Today ain't that day. Next week ain't looking promising, neither. But one day… an’ ‘sides, at least if’n I gotta get pinned…”
The young blonde leans a little closer to the camera. Tracing her lips with the tip of her tongue, she smiles seductively, and her voice lowers about half an octave.
“If I gotta get pinned, ain't nobody I'd rather have on top of me than you, Sugar.”
Bonnie gives the camera a flirtatious wink.
“Although I do like it better when I'm on top….”
End transmission.
