Post by Deleted on Oct 23, 2020 13:47:12 GMT -5
The first part of the morning had been good, waking up next to Cross with not a whole lot of memory of the movie the night before. What had happened after that had been simply too good for Francis Ford Coppola's masterpiece to take any place in front of it. Now, however, Dakota found herself a sweaty mess, in pain and sorely regretting this idea she'd had of hitting the gym at stupid o'clock in the morning.
The exercise bike, with its decidedly suspect seat wasn't what was causing her pain, however, it was more so the punching bag that hung from the ceiling, feeling, for all intents and purposes like it was full of concrete, rather than sand.
Indonesia was a beautiful place, that went without saying, but it didn't offer Dakota the creature comforts as The Sands did, there were her private gym and her more than private pool, here was a shared gym that seemed to be frequented by apes, huge, hairless apes and there wasn't one moment where somebody had tried to hit on her, not realizing that she was a wrestler, the very same wrestler who was in the final of the End of Days tournament, the very same wrestler who had, metaphorically, blown up. The fan support was ridiculous, especially the young girls who recognized her, coming over to ask for her autograph, which she was only so happy to give over. The shame was, if she didn't get this exercise in, she was going to blow up again, this time literally.
As her fists hit the bag, each giving a slight moan as she hit the contraption sent straight from Hell, her thoughts began to speak to her again.
Dakota hit the punch bag even harder, hurting her hand in the process, the fucker was right, her mind was what had been holding her back, she had gotten so caught up in her own self-perceived weakness that she'd forgotten exactly who she was.
Well, there it was, the massive elephant in the room. Dakota could not deny that all through this whole experience, she had harbored deep thoughts about becoming a mother, even becoming a wife would have sufficed at that moment in time. She'd harbored thoughts about retiring again and becoming the happy, stay at home wife, in servitude of one Cross Recoba, all the while that he provided her with a promise of a lifetime's devotion. Since then, everything had changed. She'd entered a new era, long-dead were the #Trendsetters. An argument could be also made that the era of the Chairwoman was a dying thing, pathetically cowering in a corner, trying to grasp onto one semblance of relevance while the new Dakota, like a phoenix from the flames, had risen.
That's what I wanted to hear. I'm proud of you.
There it was, the admission. She was proud of herself and right now, she had every right to be. Dakota Jennings had not so much turned a corner, she had leaped around the fucking thing, middle fingers blazing as she did so. Dakota, completely inspired by her own thoughts and her own belief in herself, continued to leather the punch bag, the concrete suddenly beginning to feel like Jello.
Dakota Jennings........” Morales, I spoke a little about what could happen in this match. I spoke of how it could affect both of us, being locked in that casket and then, in the push of a button, a potential career being destroyed. I don't care what anyone says, an explosion could cause effects, whether it be scorched hair, burned limbs, hell, it could even cause career-ending injuries. But what I didn't speak about was, the mental damage it could cause. I mean, I'm a thirty-one-year-old woman, a lot of people would say I'm already passed my prime, but you? You're a twenty-year-old man who seems to be starting out in this business. What would it do to your burgeoning career? I'd hate to be the woman who put pay to your career, but after what you did to Adam Sanders, I'll do it, I'll look on your suspiciously older looking face and I'll end you, might even do some of that Assassin's Creed shit where I close your eyes and all that.”
Dakota was stood in front of the handicam, Red hair pulled back into a French plait, ruby red lips finishing the look, Her new attire was black and white, the initials D.K and O emblazoned across her chest and her bottoms plain black. The boots, complete with kick pads had the word “DAKOTA” down them, akin to Chris Jericho or Rob Van Dam. Next to her was a chiller bag, filled with Budweiser beers, she'd obviously given up walking to the fridge every time she cut a promo.
Dakota Jennings........” Everything up to this final has been your destiny, hasn't it, Morales? You've done well and an argument could be made that this perhaps is your match, perhaps old Dakota Jennings is out of her depth, perhaps she waded too far out and is now facing the grim reality that this could be the match that hurts her. But guess what! I've proven everybody else wrong on this path and trust me, it ain't gonna end with you.”
You all saw the three most dangerous letters in the XHF show just how deadly they were because I will use them to deadly effect in prior matches, you all saw me hit the DKO Mk II on Bloodied Fox's knee en route to becoming the US Champion. You all saw me use the DKO Mk I on Bradley Swann, the false king and you all saw how those results went, but I want to talk about the most dangerous version of this maneuver, the DKO Mk III. Carner tapped out and if it hadn't been for some very timely distraction, that would have been it, I would have walked into this final as a United States Champion, but Morales, ask yourself a question.”[/color][/i]
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a Budweiser, opening it and taking a sip, at least three gulps before she put it back down with a smile.
Dakota Jennings........” In a match where there are no submissions, if I synch in that move, what is stopping me from wrenching on your arm so hard that it breaks? Can the ref break it at the ropes? Can you submit to it? Both answers are no. So I keep applying torque to that until guess what? Your arm breaks. How good are you when you've got a broken limb? Are you gonna be able to fight me back as I drag your pathetic corpse across the ring to your destiny? Your broken arm gonna be any good as you're trying to desperately open the casket as I make my way to that button?”
Another three sips and Dakota's feeling just a little balmy.
Dakota Jennings........” These fans will cheer me on, as they did through this whole final and trust me when I say, I'm going to give them more reason to support me when I become the little engine that could. The underdog that was supposed to go out in the first round, but let's not forget something here, Morales, I'm not the white knight in shining armor, I'm the shade of gray that these people decided to adopt as a hero. I didn't just turn into Judy fucking Garland, however, I want to hurt you, I want to make you regret ever getting to the final of this tournament. I want you to look up at me, with your broken limb as I win the End of Days tournament. I want you to look up as I herald in a new era to the XHF. ”
Finishing off the can, she smiled again, this time moving closer to the camera so that the conversation became a whole lot more “intimate”.
Dakota Jennings........”Morales, ask yourself two questions.....Is this what you really wanted? Is this what you really deserved?”
Revenge, it seemed to be the topic of the day. Dakota Jennings wanted revenge on the Revenants and Seth Dillinger, Fox wanted revenge on Seth Dillinger and Adam Sanders wanted revenge on “The Mexican” Pepe Morales, but he was hospitalized, thanks to a stabbing attack and then attempted immolation.
Dakota had already spoken to her boss, Cross Recoba, who after an intense session of alcoholism, drug-taking and sex, had allowed her to seek revenge on “The Mexican”, a gangster who wore a mask, a twenty-something man who weirdly looked like he might have been closer to his fifties.
Gangland New York was a vastly different place to the New York that we now know. Protection rackets ruled the streets, people in little take-aways were living in fear of hoodlums, but more so in fear of the gangsters that protected them. People like Ron Hamilton, people like James Mueller, and people like her boss, Cross Recoba.
Dakota Jennings was different, she knew she had the favor of Cross Recoba, after all, she was his trophy wife/sex toy and she knew that she could get away with certain things while New York was under his rule.
Seth and his gang of Revenants were a group that was somehow getting a grip on New York, on account that they were a young group but they knew brutality. They would subject a target to the worst torture they could find and that sat just right with Seth. They would play truly unbearable music while waterboarding their victims. It was something that had been working very well, until.
The Revenants had wandered into territory that belonged to Dakota Jennings and subsequently Cross Recoba and this had somehow merged with an issue between Dakota and “The Mexican”
They'd stolen Dakota's property and although she was Cross Recoba's trophy moll, she was still a very threatening person, having killed numerous people on her way to becoming one of New York's elite players. She wanted it back but first, she was going to deal with the Mexican. Then the issue with The Revenants would be sorted, but she knew she needed some help.
Sitting at her desk, she picked up the phone from its cradle. Dialing each number in carefully and watching the dial spin back, she contacted The Fox. His answer was a very unsure “Yes.”
Her next call was to a guy only known by one nickname, “The Guillotine.”
Dakota woke from the dream, knowing that she was one day closer to the beatdown with Pepe Morales, wondering what the fuck had just gone down.
The exercise bike, with its decidedly suspect seat wasn't what was causing her pain, however, it was more so the punching bag that hung from the ceiling, feeling, for all intents and purposes like it was full of concrete, rather than sand.
Indonesia was a beautiful place, that went without saying, but it didn't offer Dakota the creature comforts as The Sands did, there were her private gym and her more than private pool, here was a shared gym that seemed to be frequented by apes, huge, hairless apes and there wasn't one moment where somebody had tried to hit on her, not realizing that she was a wrestler, the very same wrestler who was in the final of the End of Days tournament, the very same wrestler who had, metaphorically, blown up. The fan support was ridiculous, especially the young girls who recognized her, coming over to ask for her autograph, which she was only so happy to give over. The shame was, if she didn't get this exercise in, she was going to blow up again, this time literally.
As her fists hit the bag, each giving a slight moan as she hit the contraption sent straight from Hell, her thoughts began to speak to her again.
Oh hi, Kota.
Go fuck yourself, thoughts. The last time we spoke, you tried to convince me I was an embarrassment.
Yeah, and did it spur you on? Did it cause you to win the United States Championship?
Dakota hit the punch bag even harder, hurting her hand in the process, the fucker was right, her mind was what had been holding her back, she had gotten so caught up in her own self-perceived weakness that she'd forgotten exactly who she was.
You gotta ask yourself, what does this match mean to you? C'mon Dakota, what does this match mean to you?
Everything.
Well?!? Elaborate.
This is the match where I prove everyone wrong, everyone from Valor Pro and their owners who deemed me not good enough. The dickhead that cheated on me and got his balls kicked, the little bitch who got her nose broken. This is the make or break. This is the match that solidifies me as exactly what I keep saying I am, The greatest female athlete in the XHF! This is the match that solidifies me as one of the guys that should be going for the X Crown. Fuck, you know how important this match is!
Even moreso than motherhood?
Well, there it was, the massive elephant in the room. Dakota could not deny that all through this whole experience, she had harbored deep thoughts about becoming a mother, even becoming a wife would have sufficed at that moment in time. She'd harbored thoughts about retiring again and becoming the happy, stay at home wife, in servitude of one Cross Recoba, all the while that he provided her with a promise of a lifetime's devotion. Since then, everything had changed. She'd entered a new era, long-dead were the #Trendsetters. An argument could be also made that the era of the Chairwoman was a dying thing, pathetically cowering in a corner, trying to grasp onto one semblance of relevance while the new Dakota, like a phoenix from the flames, had risen.
You damned right! I ain't ready to hang those boots up, why the fuck do you think I'm in this Godforsaken gym right now, preparing to put it all on the line in a match that could kill me? Motherhood can wait.
That's what I wanted to hear. I'm proud of you.
There it was, the admission. She was proud of herself and right now, she had every right to be. Dakota Jennings had not so much turned a corner, she had leaped around the fucking thing, middle fingers blazing as she did so. Dakota, completely inspired by her own thoughts and her own belief in herself, continued to leather the punch bag, the concrete suddenly beginning to feel like Jello.
Dakota Jennings........” Morales, I spoke a little about what could happen in this match. I spoke of how it could affect both of us, being locked in that casket and then, in the push of a button, a potential career being destroyed. I don't care what anyone says, an explosion could cause effects, whether it be scorched hair, burned limbs, hell, it could even cause career-ending injuries. But what I didn't speak about was, the mental damage it could cause. I mean, I'm a thirty-one-year-old woman, a lot of people would say I'm already passed my prime, but you? You're a twenty-year-old man who seems to be starting out in this business. What would it do to your burgeoning career? I'd hate to be the woman who put pay to your career, but after what you did to Adam Sanders, I'll do it, I'll look on your suspiciously older looking face and I'll end you, might even do some of that Assassin's Creed shit where I close your eyes and all that.”
Dakota was stood in front of the handicam, Red hair pulled back into a French plait, ruby red lips finishing the look, Her new attire was black and white, the initials D.K and O emblazoned across her chest and her bottoms plain black. The boots, complete with kick pads had the word “DAKOTA” down them, akin to Chris Jericho or Rob Van Dam. Next to her was a chiller bag, filled with Budweiser beers, she'd obviously given up walking to the fridge every time she cut a promo.
Dakota Jennings........” Everything up to this final has been your destiny, hasn't it, Morales? You've done well and an argument could be made that this perhaps is your match, perhaps old Dakota Jennings is out of her depth, perhaps she waded too far out and is now facing the grim reality that this could be the match that hurts her. But guess what! I've proven everybody else wrong on this path and trust me, it ain't gonna end with you.”
You all saw the three most dangerous letters in the XHF show just how deadly they were because I will use them to deadly effect in prior matches, you all saw me hit the DKO Mk II on Bloodied Fox's knee en route to becoming the US Champion. You all saw me use the DKO Mk I on Bradley Swann, the false king and you all saw how those results went, but I want to talk about the most dangerous version of this maneuver, the DKO Mk III. Carner tapped out and if it hadn't been for some very timely distraction, that would have been it, I would have walked into this final as a United States Champion, but Morales, ask yourself a question.”[/color][/i]
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a Budweiser, opening it and taking a sip, at least three gulps before she put it back down with a smile.
Dakota Jennings........” In a match where there are no submissions, if I synch in that move, what is stopping me from wrenching on your arm so hard that it breaks? Can the ref break it at the ropes? Can you submit to it? Both answers are no. So I keep applying torque to that until guess what? Your arm breaks. How good are you when you've got a broken limb? Are you gonna be able to fight me back as I drag your pathetic corpse across the ring to your destiny? Your broken arm gonna be any good as you're trying to desperately open the casket as I make my way to that button?”
Another three sips and Dakota's feeling just a little balmy.
Dakota Jennings........” These fans will cheer me on, as they did through this whole final and trust me when I say, I'm going to give them more reason to support me when I become the little engine that could. The underdog that was supposed to go out in the first round, but let's not forget something here, Morales, I'm not the white knight in shining armor, I'm the shade of gray that these people decided to adopt as a hero. I didn't just turn into Judy fucking Garland, however, I want to hurt you, I want to make you regret ever getting to the final of this tournament. I want you to look up at me, with your broken limb as I win the End of Days tournament. I want you to look up as I herald in a new era to the XHF. ”
Finishing off the can, she smiled again, this time moving closer to the camera so that the conversation became a whole lot more “intimate”.
Dakota Jennings........”Morales, ask yourself two questions.....Is this what you really wanted? Is this what you really deserved?”
Revenge, it seemed to be the topic of the day. Dakota Jennings wanted revenge on the Revenants and Seth Dillinger, Fox wanted revenge on Seth Dillinger and Adam Sanders wanted revenge on “The Mexican” Pepe Morales, but he was hospitalized, thanks to a stabbing attack and then attempted immolation.
Dakota had already spoken to her boss, Cross Recoba, who after an intense session of alcoholism, drug-taking and sex, had allowed her to seek revenge on “The Mexican”, a gangster who wore a mask, a twenty-something man who weirdly looked like he might have been closer to his fifties.
Gangland New York was a vastly different place to the New York that we now know. Protection rackets ruled the streets, people in little take-aways were living in fear of hoodlums, but more so in fear of the gangsters that protected them. People like Ron Hamilton, people like James Mueller, and people like her boss, Cross Recoba.
Dakota Jennings was different, she knew she had the favor of Cross Recoba, after all, she was his trophy wife/sex toy and she knew that she could get away with certain things while New York was under his rule.
Seth and his gang of Revenants were a group that was somehow getting a grip on New York, on account that they were a young group but they knew brutality. They would subject a target to the worst torture they could find and that sat just right with Seth. They would play truly unbearable music while waterboarding their victims. It was something that had been working very well, until.
The Revenants had wandered into territory that belonged to Dakota Jennings and subsequently Cross Recoba and this had somehow merged with an issue between Dakota and “The Mexican”
They'd stolen Dakota's property and although she was Cross Recoba's trophy moll, she was still a very threatening person, having killed numerous people on her way to becoming one of New York's elite players. She wanted it back but first, she was going to deal with the Mexican. Then the issue with The Revenants would be sorted, but she knew she needed some help.
Sitting at her desk, she picked up the phone from its cradle. Dialing each number in carefully and watching the dial spin back, she contacted The Fox. His answer was a very unsure “Yes.”
Her next call was to a guy only known by one nickname, “The Guillotine.”
Dakota woke from the dream, knowing that she was one day closer to the beatdown with Pepe Morales, wondering what the fuck had just gone down.