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Dolly Waters · (10-06-2016)

OOC: This RP is a continuation of: The relative plotting.

Peering out from the window on my plane, my head rattling while it rests upon the glass; I could see the storm as it bellowed and brewed on the horizon… It was like a dog howling in the nothingness of night; unaware of what she opposes, she knows well her natural intent.

Sunday, May 24th, 2015
Frankfort, Kentucky, USA
Broadway Street
...Inside of the Coffeetree Cafe...

“That’ll be two dollars and nine cents.”

Looking down through my dark shades, I struggle pulling out three wadded up dollar bills from the small pocket on the front of my tight bluejeans. The barista looked fairly irritated as I slapped the money on her countertop, and she sure did take her sweet time unraveling the money, but my attention was drawn to the small television on the wall behind her:

The Television Said:Hello everyone! This is Mary Slobbins with TMZ, coming to you live from outside of the Scott Wieland Rehabilitation Center in outer Los Angeles County, where just moments ago, XWF Superstar Muddy Waters was court ordered to check-in per a District Judge's ruling.

This ruling coming after his rental car smashed into, and through the front of a 5th/3rd Bank in Downtown Dallas, TX, just hours after the Bad Medicine Pay-Per-View last Saturday night. This crash was caused by an alleged, acute alcohol and hydrocodone overdose.

Not quite sure how I pulled it off, but I was able to downplay my interest in what was airing, but that’s the beauty of sunglasses I suppose; they’re the big black curtains to the proverbial windows of my soul.

“Well would you look at that dumbass? 'Scuse my language sweetie, but can you believe somebody piss erry’thang away like that? I sure do feel sorry fer’ his children if he’s got any”

With my hands fumbling around like a crack addict who just spilled his sack, I slide my change from the countertop back into my pocket as I grab my large mocha latte; responding to the barista with a halfhearted chuckle and a slight smile from one side of my mouth.

From out of the dimly lit shotgun style cafe, I push through the exit out into the cozy, lush little southern town; seven dollars and ninety-one cents in my pocket, a mocha latte in my hand and all of my earthly possessions, what few there are, in my backpack. The majority of the money I had, ahem, PROCURED from Bruce Blingsteen was spent on a plane ticket that flew me into Lexington just this morning and after a cab from there to wherever, and from wherever to here, plus the train ticket that would get me close to Morbidonia, Maine, I was flat broke again.

In-between myself and the old State Capitol building that predates the Civil War is Broadway Street, a two lane street with a railroad track going down the center. The rail leads north to a bridge crossing the Kentucky River, and from there to infinity and beyond. Along the perimeter of the Capitol lawn is an old cobblestone wall where all of the hipsters would sit to share their socialist ideology and plans for saving the world, but only when the weather permitted such behavior of course.

I walk over and perch myself on top of the wall, sliding my backpack from my shoulders and onto my lap pulling my train ticket from the front pocket… Train is due at nineteen hundred, roughly fifteen minutes. Back across Broadway at the Coffeetree I noticed what appeared to be a girl and her father setting up some musical equipment on the side walk as a small crowd gathers to listen. Nothing out of the ordinary, acts would regularly play outside of the cafe when it was warm, nothing outside of the ordinary except for the girl.

She had these glowing cat-like hazel eyes accompanied by her beautiful caramel skin, both being essentiated by the emotive sun as it settled into a pink blanket of clouds. The girl began to strum on her banjo while singing into her microphone, her father beating on the drum box where he was sitting. The two did a few dittys; one in particular about a man who had lost his hide gambling in New Orleans struck me as necessary:

Jack of Diamonds, Jack of Diamonds, I know you of old
You’ve robbed my poor pockets of silver and gold.
It’s whiskey you villain, you’ve been my down-fall
You’ve kicked me, you’ve cuffed me but I love you for all.
If the ocean was whiskey and I was a duck
I would dive to the bottom to get one sweet sup.
But the ocean ain’t whiskey and I ain’t no duck,
So I’ll play Jack of Diamonds and try to change my luck.

Now I’m sure you all are getting sick of this by now, but I couldn’t help but think of my father. I mean why in the fuck wouldn’t I be thinking of him? I’m almost certain that this girl was singing about her father too, but I could hear a certain triumph in her cadence; she had plucked her strings to a place beyond the hurt.

So here I am, sitting on a wall built by the battered hands of slaves, starring at a photograph of my father and I, feeling all sorry for myself. Does anyone else see the absurdity in all of this? Well no more! No longer am I going to bathe with the self-loathing of the world. I have my name to necromance. I have my own legacy to construct, and it’s at this exact moment that I know being second best, being nothing but nothing is not an option.

The screaming train rolls up and I hop aboard, leaving the picture of my father on wall, and all the cause for pity in my rear view for good. I’m leaving this place, never to return again.

To be continued...

We see Paul Heyman, and he's about to body this

Hunter and all of his worthlessness...

Suck my dick, Hunter.

Is this the way you decide to go about trying to insult my client? By sitting around and rambling about me with that half-witted Kardashian clone with half the tits, half the ass and two quarters the talent.

Pssst hey Joy, that also means half!

Hunter Said:poor Dolly is so young

Oh boy! Oh boy! You sure did bring out the big guns didn’t you?!? Good for you, Hunter!

Unoriginal Linings Playbook Said:Yes, the broke girl with daddy issues turns to a fat old man with a ponytail for career advice.

OOOOOHHHHH! That’s goddamned riveting work!

The Rock Said:When I show up to San Juan, Puerto Rico. Hear the roar of my people.

Paul is drooling and growling like a wild boar, ripping part of his button down shirt open, he’s licking his lips, salivating at what might be coming next...

HERE'S THE MONEY SHOT! Said:Besides, the whole company knows I have the best manager.

The only thing Joy is best at Hunter is popping the worlds tiniest tamale in and out of her mouth in record time, dumbass. You’re in line the for the biggest match of your miserable career and all you have to offer my client is the same bullshit we heard all of last week from Christopher Cross and Hello Kitty?

What do you think you’re really going to do to Dolly Waters? You wasted all of that time and you can’t even describe the ways in which you want to hurt her? The ways in which you ‘hate her’? You haven't got the spine, bitch, you haven't got the cojones to speak disparagingly, to speak violently against Dolly Waters, because you know it will end the exact same way it ended last time you thought you could skeet out a bunch of suave sounding shitter speak and still walk away from my client.

Oh, but you forgot to mention that didn’t you? I didn’t, I won’t forget to mention it again diffeldick.

My client, Dolly fucking Waters pinned your bitch ass on her first day back in the company, taking your precious little Federweight Championship away from you, ooohhh I know it hurts, and I know how hard you worked to earn that title Hunter, and I remember how you cried to Vinnie Lane like a little

after the match:

When Dolly bodied him, Joy and Hunter Said:Joy:This is bullshit...

Hunter: I thought this was America! But of course, this wouldn't be America if the minority didn't get screwed over by some manager--distracting, fast-counting bullshit! I bet if Brock Lesnar came though here with a manager you crackers would call it innovative! Not the brown guy though...

But I give you props Vince, because you're so bad at your job, that you made me realize something I'd never thought I'd say.

Joy: What's that?

Payne: I actually miss Paul Heyman running things around here.

Awww, I knew you loved me deep down.

Just to think, you had to watch it all slip away into the hands of a twelve year old girl, which is something you’ve yet to get through that dense Disneyland dreaming skull of yours DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER!

Age is no difference. My client was more talented than you when she was in the womb Hunter.

She was born for this, this moment right here. She was anointed by the powers of the Godly heavens and corrupted by the sadistically sinister sounds of Satan himself. Hunter you good sir are not only now first in line for an ass beating of the century, you are in line to have your blood spilled as Dolly Waters rips you apart limb from fucking limb you pathetic pebble packing pansy!!!

Hunter's pain Said:That means the only reason why she is champion right now is because the two best performers that night weren’t in her match.

Oh, that’s rich, really. You’re talking about Bearded War Pig? Who you caught napping because he was looking forward to his ACTUAL match next week against an ACTUAL competitor in Unknown Soldier, well Hunter if you're so superior to Dolly, then why couldn't you finish her off before? Your claims of Lane being racist and biased are just as shallow as your ball sack.

I get it Hunter, you're the imaginative type. You and Joy ride around living in a fantasy world where you actually believe that you're talented, where you actually believe that your baby gap promo work is explicit, and where you actually believe that you have a chance at knocking off Dolly Waters on Saturday Savage.

It doesn't matter how many fans you have in the crowd singing LaBamba, the only chance you have at winning is if my client for some reason grows apathetic, walks to the ring and lays the title on floor before taking a giant shit on it's face, leaving it for you to clean.

Guess what slugo, this isn’t the fucking PG Era WWE where the underdog wins and dreams come true, oh no, Saturday Savage is now known as Dolly's Play House, where big dreamers like yourself come to have their fucking lungs ripped out and their jaws knocked off.

Let me just make one final suggestion for you Hunter, outside of not being a little pussy whipped disgrace to the great Luchadors; go back to Disney World where you and Joy can audition to be live action mascots for Aladdin and Jasmine, and if that doesn't work out, just go back to playing Pokemon Go between your downtime of not having a job and being a drain on the economy.

Tsk, tsk, Hunter. I really was expecting more from you, I really expected that you would have learned what half measures avail you... NOTHING! That's exactly what you are, a big fucking nothing.

And that my friends, is how you body a bitch.

Take care homes.

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