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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
Welcoming Party Part 1
Author Message
Jenny Myst Offline
The Queen of X-Treme



XWF FanBase:
Very random

(heel alignment but liked by many; has earned respect despite breaking the rules often)


#1
04-06-2018, 01:17 PM


EVIL BRAIN ANGEL HEART



Here she was again.

Driving through the desert as she had done so many times before to clear her mind. She had snapped on Savage, snapped like she never had before. She hurt a young up and coming wrestler when she didn't need to. All she had to do was win, and she took it to the next level.

God, was she a monster.

Yes, she was.

But she was a made monster, she wasn't born this way. This business has a habit of making monsters out of even the best people. But as the desert sun blasted her through her Oakley shades, she thought about what she was truly in this game for. Why did she partake in this hustle, and was her heart still in it?

Yes, it was.

But it was in it for different reasons. She used to want to mean something to someone for once. She wanted to be something more than eye candy who spun around on a pole to a bass line and picked up singles with her ass cheeks. She had accomplished that. Then, she wanted to be more than just a plastic barbie who accompanied a hall of famer to the ring. She accomplished that. After that, she wanted to be a champion, and that, too, she accomplished. The check list was filling fast. Now, however, she wanted to hurt people. That, too, she would accomplish. All of the spiritual anguish that flooded her veins was pumping like a tank engine, and she didn't have an avenue. Sure, she had her diary, but those were just words.

Sticks and stones..............

She needed to show the world that she deserved respect. Maybe this was the wrong way to go about it? Perhaps. But it was the only way she knew. she would hurt more and more people until she felt better.

Was she a monster?

No, she was a product of a chaotic environment and a broken past. She never had to have morals, why start now? She killed the POTUS for god sakes, and all she had to do was wiggle her ass a little. The most powerful man in the world crumbled at her beauty, and the XWF was next. As her heeled shoe hit the clutch, she downshifted.

The music was fuzzy, the reception wasn't great out here. She meant to flip it over to Sirius, or perhaps even her Bluetooth with Spotify, but something didn't let her take her hand off the wheel. Not until she got to familiar territory.

A place she knew, a place she didn't want to love but couldn't help coming back to.

She didn't love XWF, she loved the paychecks. She loved the spot lights. She loved the fresh meat. She loved that it gave her an avenue to vent her frustrations without a second thought. She loved that this business made her into something more than just another pretty face in a business full of them.

Was she selfish?

Absolutely.

You had to be selfish in this game. She had bent over backwards her entire life to make sure people thought of her in good standing. She was inherently selfish from jump street, doing whatever she needed to do in order to be liked. Bend over, both ways, open her legs, or her mouth, and bat her eyes, flip her hair. Smile.

There is so much behind a smile that you can't see.

But now, she was done bending over, at least backwards anyway. She was going to make sure that the rest of her time here, people did that for her. She would make sure of it.

In the distance, she could see the colors. Like a shot of absinthe, it cut through the wavy air like a kaleidoscope.

[Image: eLwZj7A.jpg]

The land of sun, fun and thieves. Sin City.

That is all she was, a sinner. Nobody ever expected her to be a saint.

She didn't expect herself to be. But as she got closer to the only home she ever knew, she thought about what she could be. She thought about what her options were at this point.

You have to fall to truly find yourself sometimes.

She could turn this thing around 180 degrees. She could be the role model that modern day society expects a woman in her position to be. She could be the model on a poster in every little girls room around the country. She could be the pixie dust girl who always smiled and always did the right thing.

[Image: MeOH1BZ.jpg]

She could even picture her entrance. All of the little girls cheering and clapping with their midget sized hands as the music, something corny from Disney, hit. She pictured herself donned in blue with a smile as big as Alaska.

[Image: 1qVlB2M.gif]

She smiled a bit, before wincing as the bruise on her cheek from her brutal Shove It match was inhibiting her from fully moving her face muscles.

Could this be her?

As the Vegas lights got closer, the said to herself, no. It didn't feel right. She had nothing to smile about, not until the job was done. The little girls would have to wait.

OR

She could be the worst possible version of herself. She could be the anti-hero, the villian that everyone hated to love, but loved to hate. More fitting, right? She could be a complete bitch, because, think about it........those little girls are only a few years away from their first pubes, their first blood, and a decade of being a total cunt to everyone with the same genitalia and using the ones with different genitalia for their own twisted games. No little girl stays little for ever. Elsa is fun when you're 8, but at 13 she is nothing but a bitch with bug eyes and a tacky dress singing a song about letting shit go. There wasn't letting anything go......because there was so much left to finish.

She flipped her hair out of her eyes, her pink extensions fluttering down along her shoulder. She could be a worse version of herself, that would really relate to these girls. Why the hell not?

[Image: PrAW110.gif]

Most girls were like her anyway, whether they knew it yet or not. Girls were terrible people, and anyone with a sister can relate to that. They know that their bodies are the most sought after object on this planet, and they know how to exploit that.

But......

She just didn't feel this way right now either. Sure, she was pissed off and angry, but she felt evil. She felt like she needed to haunt her opponents to the point they saw her in their dreams. She needed to make sure the girls who watched the program knew that a strong woman doesn't smile with glitter, or put on three pounds of makeup with a sarcastic smirk, but a real woman takes what she wants, despite her look. Looks are material, looks can change. Heart, passion, evil........

She knew what she needed to be.

As the desert began to give way to civilization, and the buildings began to get larger and larger by the block, she felt a tear roll out from under her sunglasses.

A black tear.

A single mascara drop that rolled down her bruised cheek and off her chin. It splashed on her black leather seat.

She was home. A broken home, but a home nonetheless.

As the strip became visible in the distance, she whipped around the corner. Her pink Nissan GTR like a bullet cutting through the wavy air. She didn't care anymore. If she got pulled over, she got arrested, she hit someone. She didn't care.

She actually wanted to hit someone.

Oh god, was she a monster?

Yes, she was.

And she accepted it.

After another 20 minutes of exploiting Vegas's loose speed control laws she pulled into the empty parking lot of the place she used to think her future resided in. The only place she was every truly respected.

Respected by being disrespected, if that made sense.

She was home.

"Welcome to my world, bitch" she said as her high heeled shoe touched the cement beneath her.


[Image: DOCMDFD.jpg]

"So here I am again. Another Bombshell Title qualifying match after getting screwed by Madison Dyson AGAIN. It is like Madison doesn't have anything better to do than to prevent my advancement. I had the Universal Title shot in my grasp, and she did her damnest to make sure that didn't happen. I don't know, honestly, what would be more pleasing. Winning that belt and showing the world that I am the best female wrestler in this business and Mandii is nothing but a flash in the pan who got hot at the right time, or watching Finn Kuhn fall flat on his face in the biggest moment of his life yet again. He is making failure a habit, and its not a good look. Madison will get hers, but I have no choice but to focus on this week.

I have two opponents this week, one is a returning has been who is trying to give the wrestling world a reason to give a shit again, and the other is a rookie with cheap tattoos, a second grade mental capacity and a split personality excuse she uses to hide the fact she sucks ass in the ring. This female version of Danny Imperial is a real whack job, but you can have all the medical diagnosis in the world it doesn't hide the fact that true talent is always going to show through in the ring. True talent, which she has proven to this point she has none of. Maybe if this were Candyland, she would have a shot to be the best gummy bear of the bunch, but since it is the real world, MY world, I am going to give her a more than rude welcome.[

I see both of these two scuttle butts opened their mouths already. Good. I love listening to people talk shit they can't back up. Ms. Hyde, who seems to think she is a know-all in this game because she has seen two weeks worth of tape, stumbled through a promo through her fake grill and confused us all with her good vs. bad promo. One talks tough, the other wants to eat me out. The truth is, both can get their heads kicked off their shoulders with relative ease. The talkitive one of her seems to be confused as to why I am getting a title shot when I have lost to Mandii twice now. Let me fill you in, sister. THERE IS NOBODY ELSE BUT ME. I have build this division from the ground up, that is why I lay claim to it. You've been here long enough to list XWF as an employer, I've been here long enough to see it transcend. I have made women's wrestling what it is. Mandii Rider has pidgeonholed herself as Bombshell Champion and is now stuck running through the same quicksand I was. Where can she go? She is in a dead end division with hopes and dreams of making it into something, but she didn't heed my warning about girls not sticking around here. Every single one of the sign ups that she mentioned before, not a single one of them has even promo'd yet, and the other one I put on the shelf for good. You're no different, Hyde. Sure, you have shown you are worth more than a squirt of piss in front of a camera, but even you can get flushed. You've beaten Tommy Wish, oh yippee. Tommy Wish is among the biggest jokes on this roster. You're 1-0, great job. I'd clap for you, but my hand is busy at my mouth trying to hold the puke back. You have no idea what you are talking about. If you are lucky enough to eek out this win, Mandii will beat you too. Mandii, as much as I think she is a cunt-supreme with a side of fries, is a veteran who can hold her own in the ring. You, heh, you haven't proven shit. You're the type of bitch who does one thing right at work, gets acknowledged for it, then asks for a raise. You have no clout, no merit, no say. The only thing you have is pink hair, your arm sleeve and your messed up teeth. You have nothing going for you, and you want to throw shots at me like you've been here for 20 years.

Bitch, please.

This is my world, you are just living in it. I will admit, it is refreshing to see someone else with a vagina besides Mandii who I can step into the ring with. It is refreshing to re stock the meat counter after all this time and actually break a sweat. I think you are going to fight your tail off, Hyde, but in the end you are going to come up shorter than Vern Troyer's scrotum. Poor little guy.

You're right. I did have crazy in my eyes, because I am crazy. You have no idea just how crazy I can get. When that title is on the line, I am a different person. I will do everything in my power to make sure than Mandii and I headline our second straight pay per view. We both deserve it. We both are the top female wrestlers in the world, but the difference between us is who is willing to go that extra mile. You, Hyde, you don't fit into the equation. Jenny Myst plus Mandii Rider for the Bombshell Title, solve for X.

This other thing that is in the match, he just shows that anyone who associates as female can get in. Is Roxy that desperate? I have run the rest of her part time fillers out of this business so now she has to give us some amorphus blob with an alien penis and claim they are genderless. Fine. They will be title-less, too, because Azrael may just be more useless than Ms. Hyde is. Alien may just be a gender now, and that is okay. I guess if you identify as anything these days it is acceptable. Azrael, I don't care if you are a returning superstar, I don't care if you have faced off with Mandii in the past, you haven't faced off with me. I will rip your alien dick off and gag you with it. I will take your weirdly proportioned body and bend it into shapes that haven't even been invented yet, at least on this planet. I know why you came back. You came back because you have nothing left. What other avenue is open to someone like you? Besides of course CNN, who seems to think gender is an opinion, where else can this situation you've made for yourself be brought to light? Where else can someone--something--like you be accepted?

I am not one of those people. I don't accept you, and I am going to send you back to wherever you came from. I don't care how you pee, I don't care what organs you have, all I care about is that bell ringing and me showing you that you're in over your head. Show you that you never should have come back, and wishing you were any place else. This is my world, my company, my division and Mandii is holding MY title. I have come back, also, to defend my world from intruders like you and I'll be damned if some creature from the cum lagoon is going to kill off the only dream I have left.

Welcome to my world, bitch.


The music was on, the bass was thumping enough to knock a tupee off. There were bottles popped, liquid over flowing onto the bar. Girls in less clothes than the average Haitian citizen walked around with dollar signs in their eyes. A girl on a 10 by 10 stage spun around in slow motion, as if she were part of an old film reel, and a bartender with tits who cost more than a night at the Ritz Cartlon on the Strip was shaking a drink with a smile faker than Donald Trump's fake tan.

This was home.

The smut, the depravity, the world of sex workers. Girls who used their bodies to get what they wanted, and what they wanted was money. The route of all evil, money.

This was a special event, however, because Myst was back. The girl who put this place on the map, a little club off the strip who was ready to close their doors before the walked in. The top stripper to ever grace this sticky floor.

Everyone was welcoming her. Shaking her hand, hugging her, rubbing her shoulders. People were groveling at her feet, for the most part. Myst, who was now one of the top names in the top wrestling promotion on the planet was back to show her support for the place she built.

If only they knew, this place built her too.

All of her confidence, her wonderful people skills.

They all were created here. Her first home. Her world.

As she sat there, the first life she ever knew going on around her, she stared straight ahead. She knew who she was now......she knew the life she wanted to live. She knew what she had to do Wednesday Night. She knew the Warfare never had a more literal meaning as it does right now.

This was her world, and her world is war.

Welcome to her world, bitches.


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