Post by codeapathy on Sept 12, 2021 15:22:41 GMT -5
“Careful where you step, princess, I wouldn’t want to see you trip over your boy toys coat tails.”
++One long stroke of the nail brush. The black lacquer being precisely applied to her coffin shaped nails. She splayed her fingers, wriggling and bending them, examining the final coat she had just put on. The hum and whirr of a fan was heard off screen, a fan. Respite from the warm temperature but also a handy tool to dry the polish. She shifted, getting settled in a velvet high back chair. She crossed her legs, dangling her leg limp as she rolled her ankle, cracking it++
“So you fancy yourself a Queen, eh? I mean of course, your meat puppet is the “King of the North” or some HBO style Game of Thrones bullshit, so clearly that makes you his queen. I mean the logic is sound enough. I’m only struggling with one real thing about this whole idea. Really it’s more of a personal observation, and forgive me Your Highness if I seem obstinate, but you calling yourself a Queen might have more impact if you weren’t using someone elses credentials to make it so.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but whatever strap is eluding you, or was robbed from you or whatever treacherous bullshit you are trying to spin, because you are clearly a bitch that makes up for what she lacks in clout, in static to try and deflect from the fact that if you have to call yourself a Queen, let alone use the current dick you are riding as basis for that lofty title. With that out of the way, lets get down to you and I cupcake.”
++She extended the fingers on her left hand, admiring the fine paint job and how it complimented the black diamond wedding ring. Casually she rested her arms on the arms of the chair, the palms of her hands cupping the ends of the hand carved chair++
“I. Don’t. Fall. In. Line. Not for you or anyone else. While you play it safe, trucking through your career playing second fiddle to a man, I’ve spent the majority of my career in this business, no perks or tails to ride, being asked to just fall in line. We’re the weaker sex after all. So pitiful and vulnerable. Imagine being so privileged that you forgot where you came from. How you got there? I’ll go ahead and tell you you’re welcome, for all that privilege you have. While you’re basing your identity on the man that clearly keeps you, I was in the trenches facing humiliation, harassment and the depths of hell, so you could be less of a woman, yet still act like you’re self made.”
“I said, what I said. I can at least say I can stand on my own. That I don’t need the safety of someone else's gimmick to stand out. Let me be blunt, I do NOT question your ability. That’s a fools venture to discredit your opponent's experience and talent. Your record clearly speaks for itself. You have every right to crown yourself the quintessential Queen of the Amazon’s division and whatever else you deem fit. I don’t question ANY of that. I am just trying to let YOU know, in the most certain of ways, that I don’t give a fuck. You? Are nobody to me. Who you are, what you have accomplished, who you are aligned with, everything about you, means exactly dog shit to me.”
“You puff your chest out and start posturing, talking about me as if I publicly declared MYSELF a Queen, thus targeting your ego and throne. What is a queen to a goddess? If history has taught me anything it’s that Queens are replaceable. Easily so. How many queens through time, have spent their last moments on this mortal coil, kneeling in the town square, head bowed in reverence to the omnipotent bladed monolith, and then swifty dispatched to be made the example, becoming a warning, a cautionary tale? What’s more, what threat do I pose to you? You act as if I’m this behemoth, a primal threat to your well being, but I just got here Sinclair. You don’t know me, yet you come out swinging with conjecture and assumptions. I’ve had ONE match, and it was a tag match. So either the weight of my name and the amount of respect it carries, has found you going on the defensive or you are so intoxicated by the wasping fragrance of your own brand of bullshit, that you ARE discounting me.”
“I don’t want your throne or crown, Sinclair. You can keep them. You need them far more than I do. Your ego is too fragile to exist without them. I’m not here to worry about a win loss record. I’m not chasing gold. I’m too old for that shit. While you’re sitting high and mighty sporting your cardboard Burger King crown, sitting upon your throne made of cinder blocks, I’m not impressed. I already built my dynasty. This? NPW? It is just one more chapter in an already long memoir. Kneel to you? Teach me how things work? Accept my fate? I’ve been hearing those same sentiments from my male counterparts my entire career. Spoiler, I didn’t kneel for them either. Respect forced by intimidation and threats is hollow. Hollow as the crown you put on your own head."
++One long stroke of the nail brush. The black lacquer being precisely applied to her coffin shaped nails. She splayed her fingers, wriggling and bending them, examining the final coat she had just put on. The hum and whirr of a fan was heard off screen, a fan. Respite from the warm temperature but also a handy tool to dry the polish. She shifted, getting settled in a velvet high back chair. She crossed her legs, dangling her leg limp as she rolled her ankle, cracking it++
“So you fancy yourself a Queen, eh? I mean of course, your meat puppet is the “King of the North” or some HBO style Game of Thrones bullshit, so clearly that makes you his queen. I mean the logic is sound enough. I’m only struggling with one real thing about this whole idea. Really it’s more of a personal observation, and forgive me Your Highness if I seem obstinate, but you calling yourself a Queen might have more impact if you weren’t using someone elses credentials to make it so.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but whatever strap is eluding you, or was robbed from you or whatever treacherous bullshit you are trying to spin, because you are clearly a bitch that makes up for what she lacks in clout, in static to try and deflect from the fact that if you have to call yourself a Queen, let alone use the current dick you are riding as basis for that lofty title. With that out of the way, lets get down to you and I cupcake.”
++She extended the fingers on her left hand, admiring the fine paint job and how it complimented the black diamond wedding ring. Casually she rested her arms on the arms of the chair, the palms of her hands cupping the ends of the hand carved chair++
“I. Don’t. Fall. In. Line. Not for you or anyone else. While you play it safe, trucking through your career playing second fiddle to a man, I’ve spent the majority of my career in this business, no perks or tails to ride, being asked to just fall in line. We’re the weaker sex after all. So pitiful and vulnerable. Imagine being so privileged that you forgot where you came from. How you got there? I’ll go ahead and tell you you’re welcome, for all that privilege you have. While you’re basing your identity on the man that clearly keeps you, I was in the trenches facing humiliation, harassment and the depths of hell, so you could be less of a woman, yet still act like you’re self made.”
“I said, what I said. I can at least say I can stand on my own. That I don’t need the safety of someone else's gimmick to stand out. Let me be blunt, I do NOT question your ability. That’s a fools venture to discredit your opponent's experience and talent. Your record clearly speaks for itself. You have every right to crown yourself the quintessential Queen of the Amazon’s division and whatever else you deem fit. I don’t question ANY of that. I am just trying to let YOU know, in the most certain of ways, that I don’t give a fuck. You? Are nobody to me. Who you are, what you have accomplished, who you are aligned with, everything about you, means exactly dog shit to me.”
“You puff your chest out and start posturing, talking about me as if I publicly declared MYSELF a Queen, thus targeting your ego and throne. What is a queen to a goddess? If history has taught me anything it’s that Queens are replaceable. Easily so. How many queens through time, have spent their last moments on this mortal coil, kneeling in the town square, head bowed in reverence to the omnipotent bladed monolith, and then swifty dispatched to be made the example, becoming a warning, a cautionary tale? What’s more, what threat do I pose to you? You act as if I’m this behemoth, a primal threat to your well being, but I just got here Sinclair. You don’t know me, yet you come out swinging with conjecture and assumptions. I’ve had ONE match, and it was a tag match. So either the weight of my name and the amount of respect it carries, has found you going on the defensive or you are so intoxicated by the wasping fragrance of your own brand of bullshit, that you ARE discounting me.”
“I don’t want your throne or crown, Sinclair. You can keep them. You need them far more than I do. Your ego is too fragile to exist without them. I’m not here to worry about a win loss record. I’m not chasing gold. I’m too old for that shit. While you’re sitting high and mighty sporting your cardboard Burger King crown, sitting upon your throne made of cinder blocks, I’m not impressed. I already built my dynasty. This? NPW? It is just one more chapter in an already long memoir. Kneel to you? Teach me how things work? Accept my fate? I’ve been hearing those same sentiments from my male counterparts my entire career. Spoiler, I didn’t kneel for them either. Respect forced by intimidation and threats is hollow. Hollow as the crown you put on your own head."