On second thought? Hands OFF [Dresden RP #2 vs. Sexton Love]
Nov 23, 2021 13:30:31 GMT -5
Drag, bloodiedfox, and 1 more like this
Post by Kris on Nov 23, 2021 13:30:31 GMT -5
"Bitch bitch bitch... are you on the rag or somethin' there, sugartits? Cuz here I thought the entire point of all the bullshit you were spewin' was for me to touch you there, but now that I have, you're whinin' about how I did it." There's a sigh before Eli Dresden continues to speak... and boy howdy, her smirk can be heard even if it can't be seen. "There's no winnin' for you here, is there?"
The visual cuts in on the blond who will be victorious at Homecoming II, that smirk indeed in full effect. It's back to using her cell phone as a camera, it seems, Eli clad in what is likely one of Eddie Walker's button-down shirts left unbuttoned since... well, angles mean nothing X-rated can be seen. Dresden shakes her head, clearly amused.
"Of course there isn't. Not that you'd ever actually be smart enough to realize it, of course. I mean, this is the same guy that thinks he's got the room or the right to lecture anyone--much less me!--on what it takes to succeed in this business. About the only thing you can be an expert in is how to be greasier than a fry machine in a dive bar. Y'know, the one that hasn't been cleaned since before I was even thought of, much less born. Maybe I oughta pull a few strings, get Gunn to sign off on turnin' our match into an Inferno match... watch you burn while also makin' sure that I can't catch anything from your scuzzy ass while I'm at it."
A pause; Eli's expression turns thoughtful.
"Then again, with the particulates you'd put into the air, Gunn'd probably have to worry about millions upon millions of dollars in lawsuits on account of the fans gettin' somethin' or other from your nasty ass burnin'. I know black lung's a thing from asbestos, so what would they call whatever lung disease you'd give people? Though let's be real--it's probably burned every time you've pissed for a long time now."
Eli's smirk returns, more devilish and unapologetic than before.
"And there I go, aimin' at the obvious again. I'd say I'm sorry, Popcorn Shrimp, but I don't believe in lyin'. Never have, never will... which is why when I say that I'm goin' to humiliate you at Homecoming II, you better have whatever you use to soothe your ego handy because this isn't just about how you decided to fixate on me because I'm hot or how you thought that you were somehow worthy of me retirin' from in-ring competition when far, far better men have offered themselves to me without that caveat only to get shot down. Nah, it's about far more than that."
The blond's expression goes serious as she leans in, her gaze drilling into the camera's lens with the intensity that saw her dethrone Leon Chant for the NLW Heavyweight Championship.
"Y'see, you're the first man to come at me--at the women in NLW in general, of which there are precious few to begin with!--and openly show this level of disrespect, of dehumanization. The way I see it, I need to make it clear from the fuckin' jump that your bullshit doesn't fly here. I know exactly why it was my name that you shouted for instead of Keahi's. You want to prove, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you're better than the best woman to ever walk through those doors... but unfortunately for you, I don't get angry when I'm faced with that tired old bullshit. Instead?"
Eli's smirk returns, but it doesn't make it to her eyes... which is not a good sign for Sexton Love's chances of survival.
"I get bored, and when I get bored, I have to find ways to... entertain myself. And how do I do that? By punchin' out literal gods and beatin' the unholy Hell out of people--and whaddya know, you've just got the right kind of attitude to inspire me to get real creative. So talk your shit while you can, Popcorn Shrimp. Hire however many women you need to pretend to please, buy however many bottles of shitty hair gel... Hell, find yourself a priest if you're so inclined. At Homecoming, two truths will become abundantly clear."
Eli's tone sharpens, as does her smirk.
"I'm the only Daddy in our match, and I will take great pleasure in makin' you my bitch in every single way except the one you'd actually like."
Fade.
The visual cuts in on the blond who will be victorious at Homecoming II, that smirk indeed in full effect. It's back to using her cell phone as a camera, it seems, Eli clad in what is likely one of Eddie Walker's button-down shirts left unbuttoned since... well, angles mean nothing X-rated can be seen. Dresden shakes her head, clearly amused.
"Of course there isn't. Not that you'd ever actually be smart enough to realize it, of course. I mean, this is the same guy that thinks he's got the room or the right to lecture anyone--much less me!--on what it takes to succeed in this business. About the only thing you can be an expert in is how to be greasier than a fry machine in a dive bar. Y'know, the one that hasn't been cleaned since before I was even thought of, much less born. Maybe I oughta pull a few strings, get Gunn to sign off on turnin' our match into an Inferno match... watch you burn while also makin' sure that I can't catch anything from your scuzzy ass while I'm at it."
A pause; Eli's expression turns thoughtful.
"Then again, with the particulates you'd put into the air, Gunn'd probably have to worry about millions upon millions of dollars in lawsuits on account of the fans gettin' somethin' or other from your nasty ass burnin'. I know black lung's a thing from asbestos, so what would they call whatever lung disease you'd give people? Though let's be real--it's probably burned every time you've pissed for a long time now."
Eli's smirk returns, more devilish and unapologetic than before.
"And there I go, aimin' at the obvious again. I'd say I'm sorry, Popcorn Shrimp, but I don't believe in lyin'. Never have, never will... which is why when I say that I'm goin' to humiliate you at Homecoming II, you better have whatever you use to soothe your ego handy because this isn't just about how you decided to fixate on me because I'm hot or how you thought that you were somehow worthy of me retirin' from in-ring competition when far, far better men have offered themselves to me without that caveat only to get shot down. Nah, it's about far more than that."
The blond's expression goes serious as she leans in, her gaze drilling into the camera's lens with the intensity that saw her dethrone Leon Chant for the NLW Heavyweight Championship.
"Y'see, you're the first man to come at me--at the women in NLW in general, of which there are precious few to begin with!--and openly show this level of disrespect, of dehumanization. The way I see it, I need to make it clear from the fuckin' jump that your bullshit doesn't fly here. I know exactly why it was my name that you shouted for instead of Keahi's. You want to prove, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you're better than the best woman to ever walk through those doors... but unfortunately for you, I don't get angry when I'm faced with that tired old bullshit. Instead?"
Eli's smirk returns, but it doesn't make it to her eyes... which is not a good sign for Sexton Love's chances of survival.
"I get bored, and when I get bored, I have to find ways to... entertain myself. And how do I do that? By punchin' out literal gods and beatin' the unholy Hell out of people--and whaddya know, you've just got the right kind of attitude to inspire me to get real creative. So talk your shit while you can, Popcorn Shrimp. Hire however many women you need to pretend to please, buy however many bottles of shitty hair gel... Hell, find yourself a priest if you're so inclined. At Homecoming, two truths will become abundantly clear."
Eli's tone sharpens, as does her smirk.
"I'm the only Daddy in our match, and I will take great pleasure in makin' you my bitch in every single way except the one you'd actually like."
Fade.
