Post by Nausicaä Suzuki on Oct 18, 2019 0:18:38 GMT -5
"don't you see?" I'll never be just a memory |
“One, two, lace your boot… Three, four, you failed your chance… Five, six, try again… Seven, eight, too bad though… Nine, ten, The Tyrant comes…” Crawls into our ears as the scene opens in some kind of underground dungeon. With this corridor lined with walls of stone and softly burning torches we find a doorway. A doorway roughly carved out from this stone wall with a door made from steel bars, the rust possibly showing how old these bars are. Yet what is most noticeable are the hands holding onto the bars as staring back at us, with a slithering smile across her face, is a brownie blonde haired woman of seemingly youthful age. “Oh, why hello there. What was I singing about? Who said I was singing? I haven’t any singing…I’ve heard a warning though. A rather simple warning that was issued towards a special little star. A special white star. ‘The White Star’ if you will. For with how well Miss Alexia did at Cosmic Collision, and how close she got to becoming the first ever Phantomweight World Champion, I think it would be fair that she gets a warning of some kind about this match of the Shooting Star Cup. A tournament so suitably named that one could believe it is, well, written in the stars that Alexia rises up to get another shot at this Donny Deville…” While saying her words this woman’s grip tightens on the bars as she seems to be trying to press her face against the cold steel…to no success though as she let her words trail off before tilting her head to the left. “But if Alexia is so good that she could be the one to become Champion number two…then why is she the one encountering The Tyrant in the first round, instead of the one waiting for The Tyrant at Bronx Battle Mayhem? Could it be a slight size disadvantage? Could it be the mountains of muscles on his body? Yes, The Tyrant notices these things. Or maybe it could be because she wasn’t prepared for devilish actions? What if…neither of those things could be the reason? Perhaps…maybe perhaps…the reason for her defeat on that night was simply that this London darling was simply not good enough to become Phantomweight World Champion? What is that phrase again? Oh yeah…” The brownie blonde woman moves her right hand away from the metal rods…only to firmly press the index and middle finger against the side of her head in a manner similar to holding a small revolver as her fingers slowly slide down her face and roughly enters her own mouth. “When you aim for the king you better not miss and…on that very night in Scotland…she had the gun in her hand, she took aim…and she missed. Her one shot, her very best shot, was not good enough and, like in the wild west, you live and die by that one very shot. She may be ‘The White Star’ but white is the easiest colour to taint, change and remove. She may be ‘The White Star’ but stars are only at their strongest at the start and her start was not good enough then. And she may be ‘The White Star’ but while stars comes and goes, tyranny never goes away. Oh? Didn’t I warn you…of The Tyrant? Did you not listen to the warning?” Though muffled by her own fingers this prisoner seems highly enthusiastic, similar to that of a child in a sweet store, with her words. This joyfulness did nothing to hide the rough tone that seethes in her voice as the moment after she asked her question, about ‘the warning’, she slips her fingers out and mouth. “You’ve laced your boots to become Champion. You failed your chance at becoming the Champ. You seek to use this tournament to try again. However it is way too tragically bad for you though. Not tragic for the sake of tragic but proper Shakespearean tragedy for, in Montreal, The Tyrant comes. Comes to purge the white with red. Comes to remove the remaining strength. And comes to pluck that star out the sky, strap it down and watch it perish before The Tyrant turns these shootings stars into fallen stars and rule Phantom Star Wrestling with an Iron Fist. Hm? How do I know this? How rude of me…” Slowly trail out her mouth as her backward steps at a similar pace. The sound of her steps only stopping once there is no sign of her in this dark cell. Only for her to seemingly jump out of nowhere and punch the centre of the steel door…causing all the bars to collapse and push dust up into the air as this rather scruffy looking woman steps forward towards us in a manner that chills the atmosphere around us. “My name is Bellatrix Taylor, I am The Tyrant and ‘The White Star’ final fall shall begin my rise.” Confidently, calmly and surprisingly casually leave the Kiwi competitor’s lips, almost as if talking about the weather, before grabbing us by our neck and - to our surprise - kissing us rather forcefully before pushing us down to the ground in a rough manner. Pain shoots through our back as more dust fly up and somehow make the torches die out, plunging us into an unexpectedly silent darkness. |
@alexia + this was unexpected fun to write |
