Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

Jenny Myst · **03-11-2018, 09:42 PM**

CONTINUED FROM ORIGINS 1

"So we are planning on moving the Raiders here in 2020", Raiders owner Mark Davis said, puffing on a cigar in his VIP booth. Megan sat there, scribbling down notes in her composition pad. She wasn't going to lie, she felt a bit weird sitting here with a billionaire, an owner of a storied football franchise, and having it be "the norm". Was this the life she was signed up for now?

There was a small table set up in front of him with a Ciroc bottle, various juices she assumed were for mixing, fruits, and a raiders helmet.

She looked at how he carried himself, like there wasn't a thing in the world that could bring him down. A sense of pride, arrogance, confidence, all mixed into one. This is exactly how she expected rich people to act--like a dick, but understandably.

Hell if you had the money to literally buy other human beings....you would too. Was that a weird thought to have? Considering the colors of Mark and the players---

No, Megan, stop that.

She sat there, almost idolizing this man, but simply because he was the only person of "power" she had ever known.

"Vegas is getting a hockey team, why not football? The NFL is the highest grossing revenue sport in the world, why not bring it to the highest revenue city? The mecca of sports gambling, the money town?"

This man spoke with such authority, but she could see in his eyes a weakness. He was almost begging while selling his point. He didn't have a firm belief in his eyes, but rather fell back on the prospect of his wallet getting him by. His last five sentences had had something to do with money.

"When Al [Davis] brought this team to the promise land, Vegas was different than it is now. The sports betting market is higher than it has ever been outside of boxing. Think about it.......we could be the first stadium to have gambling machines inside the stadium......"

She was respecting him less and less. He blew smoke in her face constantly, and this annoying slurp when he sipped his over priced Vodka was starting to grate her nerves.

As time went on, she heard him reference the city of Oakland as being a "dump" and the stadium as "a cess pool with actual sewage leaks." Plus, even though she wasn't super well versed in sports, heard him mention something about "not having to share a stadium with a fucking baseball team". This man was only in it for the money, but had no loyalty to the people who supported him. It was only about the money to him, and that is all it will ever be about.

She left the interview feeling sick, telling him she would have the paperwork over to him in the morning but planned to change her number and forget this night.

Damn morals.

She would never put herself and her interests over those of someone who had relied on her, like the people of Oakland relied on their team.

Had she made a mistake?

THAT SAME NIGHT

Jennifer Sambuca, known to many around the club simply as Myst, spun around on the pole through the aura of the strobe lighting. The fog machine gave a good effect to her platinum hair and the lights cut through it like bullets on a battle field. She had a smile on her face, real or not, and the music banged through the speakers like thunder on the open plains. She was a metal chick, always had been and always will be.

Jennifer has found her niche, or so she thought. Something she was good at, something that could take all the pain of daily life away. These men that sat there, watching her, and flicking dollar bills onto the cold metal platform were nothing but dollar signs to her, and she was the succubus that made them feel special for a few moments. She never let herself care for these men, or any man for that matter, because all men had done was hurt her. So now she took their money, potentially ruined their home lives--because all men were pigs and ultimately bad liars, and would get caught being there eventually--and now she had a chance for her revenge on all the men who had hurt her. All in all, no matter what her motive was, they were there to see her.

She couldn't lie if asked, she loved the spot light. She had always felt like she was an attraction. From the men at the mall who would turn their heads and look to the women she walked by at Victoria's Secret that did the same. Everyone wanted to see Jennifer, because she brought light to every room she entered.

When her set ended, and the music changed, she thanked the man she was rubbing up against for the generous tip (she had milked him for over $200 dollars and didn't even need to solicit a private dance), and she gave one more hair flip and smile before exiting the stage.

She went to walk upstairs to change her outfit--the mixture of sweat and arousal usually caused her to change her outfit at least twice per night--when the manager of the club called her over. Confused by this, as he wasn't even scheduled to be there that night, she strolled over, dollars still hanging from her g-string and bra as she slid on her over-skirt. When she got to his office, located on the side of the stage by the bathrooms, she noticed the owner was in there as well. She gulped, though not noticeably, and put on her best smile before walking in and sitting down, plucking a $5 out of her crotch as she did.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

"Awww Mandii cakes, did I upset you? Yelling in promos now? Have I gotten under your skin that much? It seems like I have struck a nerve, a chord, found something you are actually passionate about. You seem to be really angry about something? Did I bring up something you've been trying to hide behind the KISS eyeliner and cauterized self harm scars? Did I throw you off your game? It seems like I did because the more you talk, the more it exposes the clear fact that you have nothing new and creative to say. All the same insults that every new bitch in here hurtles at me like a paintball gun, only to be soaked in by me with little to no effect. Good job, you're just as bland and boring as every other bitch to ink a deal here. Speaking of that, let me just address one of the issues I was able to decipher through your rambling......the idea of bitches signing up. Well, since you are the new Bombshell Champion you are going to inherit a lot of the same bullshit I did. Just because they sign up doesn't mean the division is getting stronger you vapid waste of oxygen. Just because a player is drafted, is he going to be good? No, they have to prove themselves. I have seen more women than you have razor marks show up in the XWF, only a small handful of them last more than a month. Bitches come and bitches go. Look at Miss Fortune. She had a lot of promise, but never showed up for more than one match. Shelby Cobra, Kim Anderson, Isabella Ravenwolf. They come, they go. No consistency. These new chicks, Ms. Hyde, Ortega, Claire Lloyd, Erica Rosso, Valkyrie....I don't bother to pay attention to them until they prove they aren't one and done's. One thing you will learn being Bombshell Champion, despite your reign being shorter than Samuel Madison's midget penis, is that you will have to sift through a lot of bullshit. Many of the women who showed up didn't last because they had to go through me to become something and decided it wasn't worth the record disaster. Same with you. I think by now we all know at this point that when Mandii gives a squirt of piss she can be a top contender. These women who think it will be cute to wrestle won't last with you either. So no, you casserole of afterbirth, things won't be any different with you. They will meander around the XWF community for a month or two then we will forget they ever even existed. So welcome, like I said, to a dead end division. The only reason I want it is because I created it. Kind of like a

child.....you know it is a lot of stress and work ahead of you but something in you still wants it, loves it, because you created it. You have done nothing but adopted the

child, MINE, and I will take it back when the moment presents itself. Let me ask you this since you think you are a wrestling rhode scholar, how was I supposed to build a division that only consisted of ME?! Riddle me that Batman. Not only that, but the women I forced out left because they couldn't hack it. They saw the light. Miss Michelle was very much like you....."I used to be good, look at all my accolades, I remember this place when I used to dominate, blah blah blah" and what happened? She lost to me and was never heard from again. Abigail told stories of stables past, how dominant she was, but it didn't matter because she lost to Michelle and vanished into thin air. Mercy was the insurance policy for Madison Dyson after I kicked her ass all over the arena on Warfare last July.......the match that, by the way, EARNED ME a Bombshell Title shot...and I retired her. Maybe I would build this place up if the competition was worthy. Mandii I am going to be honest with you--if you were here a few months ago, I wouldn't have said what I said. But I have seen this division, I lived it, and it was like riding a hover board through a mine field. There just wasn't any threat. There won't be for you either. You're welcome, and good look. Say hello to obscurity for me.

Also, since you want to be generic in your insults, what do you think the main one against me was? That I wasn't a real champion because I had faced nobodies. That I had no competition. I embraced it, but you seem to be optimistic that things will get better. This is a burn and turn business, and the roster probably won't even look the same by Easter. The fact I have been here as long as I have without rage quitting or choosing another profession out of bordem should say a lot. Mandii you will change your tune also when you are fighting for nothing every week....but you won't have the pride of having built the culture. That is the only reason I cling to this, because I AM the Bombshell Division. You'll understand soon enough.

I seem to have you really worked up. I seem to be under your skin. I have a habit of doing that. You see, I would rather be hated than loved. Call me weird, but this whole vigilante approach you are taking.....well, only the nice ones finish last, you've heard that before I assume Mandii? Or did James or Jason or whatever the fuck his name was keep you chained in the basement too long to have any sort of reference to popular culture? Either way, fuck you. Kay? Kay.

I don't need or want a pep talk from you. Trying to keep me on my feet? I suffered through disrespect for the very thing you are fighting for. I battled through the lack of anything worth while for far too long, and it hurt my rep far more than anything I could ever say or do. Being the Bombshell Champion, it meant everything to me. It was my world. I finally got my hands on the title and I was shit on left and right for it. People are cruel, Mandii, but I am sure you know this. They would praise Michelle, take her side, then when I beat her, say it didn't matter because she wasn't that good anyway. I struggled with self confidence for a long time. I didn't think me being a champion meant anything, but now, I know....I know that this division, this company, runs through me. People tune in every week to see Jenny Myst lose. It may sound bad, but I am the one they are tuning in for. If that is heat, so be it, but I am the center of attention. In some weird way, it means I matter. You, Mandii, you beat me, so you aren't fun to them anymore. You're old news. You beat Jenny already....they are already waiting for the next card after Warfare to see if I can survive again. Delusional? No.......spot the fuck on. You know it, too.

You'd be the first one on that train, Mandii. You see me as the cheerleader in high school that you could never be. The pretty, popular girl that made fun of you for your parachute pants and ball-choker. They do envy me, Mandii, they envy me because they can't be me. They can't go from a valet to a champion, and they knock me for it. They can't be in a relationship with a Top 50 All Time former Universal Champion and they give me shit for it. They can't get me to conform to what they want me to be, and they give me shit for it. No matter what I do here, I get shit for it. Your insults don't rattle me because I have heard them more times than you've heated up the spoon. Old news, now. Cracking? Psssht, if only. I am in a better mental state than I have ever been in, but great job reading me there, killer. I hope you're a better fighter than you are people reader, and mother.....but that's another story isn't it? You hate me for the simple fact that I am everything you're not. I represent everything you've resented your entire life because I represent success. Self made, self-paid. I am at the level where I don't need to "get my hands dirty". That is your job. I have the ability to get people to do what I want them to do and all I need to do is bat my eyes and stand seductively. You don't have that luxury.

Mandii, you sound like a jealous twat. Sure, I am eye candy. I will admit that. Just because even the emo guys who have to brush their greasy black bangs aside to see you don't even look isn't my fault. BUT, I am so much more than just eye candy. I think I have proven that, and I really don't think there is a way you can refute that. You have said it yourself. I will be honest, it does feel good to main event a pay per view. It does feel good to main event the flagship show. The Bombshell Division needed that, but it doesn't make it any better.

In fact, I am going to show you on Savage just how much of a joke these new women are. How much they are regurgitated month in and month out, same bitches with different names. You see, Mandii, all you are is....how should I phrase this.....desperate. Yes, that's it, desperate, to show the wrestling world that this comeback story of yours actually matters. You want the wrestling world to care about you once again.......and how do you do that? You take down the face of oppression......Jenny Myst, moi. But Mandii what you fail to realize is that this is the number one federation in the world......look it up.....and to be successful here takes work. It takes patience. It takes dedication. It doesn't take a two year hiatus ala drug binge and battle with CPS to get noticed. You're a tabloid, that is it. You're an Oxygen network feel good story. You have boobs and a vagina and have suffered through abuse. My god, this has #MeToo and #Time'sUp written all over it. You're propoganda, Mandii. You're the champion XWF wants right now, not the champion it needs. You talk a big game....but at the end of the day, cop out or not, you still pinned Jessalyn. You still undercut the established order, rebeled against the plan, ultimately........FAILED, Mandii. Yes, you failed, because you didn't beat Jenny Myst 1.............2...............3. Now, sure, you have your shot this week. The lights are on, but are the question is are yours? Do you understand the magnitude of the situation? Win or loss, you're still the champion on the front cover the day after, but Jenny Myst is still the main attraction.

Every.

Single.

Time.

But I get it Mandii, I understand. You don't think very highly of me. Your words showed that. Useless? Nothing?

I worked on my backyard to hard already, I won't let some bitch with a bone run in and start fucking it up and chasing away the birds and the squirrels. I enjoy the fact the division is starting to thrive and I would hate for the disease known as Jenny Myst to step foot into my garden and make it barren once again.

I've got you so flustered and frustrated...so....nervous...that you can't even form a metaphor that makes sense anymore. Print that out, read it out loud. You are grasping at straws, trying to find anything to say to make me look dumb when, at the end of the day, there is always going to be a Jenny Myst in the XWF.........the question is, will there always be a Mandii Rider?

That is the sixy four thousand dollar question, Mandii. When will this all be too much again? When will the competition catch up to you, like it has to Chris and has to me, and how will you handle it when it does? Another meltdown? I'd bet on it. Because Mandii I am a glutton for punishment. I have faced my problems head on, with no respite, no bailouts *cough, cough* and nobody there to have my back and tell me it is all going to be okay. Where was Chris? Tough love, I guess? No......you see.......I got to the point where he knew he needed me a lot more than I needed him. Now, we operate as a unit, but I am the axel. I am the spark to the dynamite. If it weren't for my plan, we'd still have to listen to Jim Caedus's truck stop ramblings about anal fissure's and fucking men in the ass....metaphorically, of course. I am the lifeblood behind this all, and if you don't believe me just ask Cadryn. Tell him Mrs. Goodstuff sent you. He'll tell you all about it.

Long story short, I am the tracks and the XWF is the train. Without me, all of this ceases to exist. Think I am being cocky? Think I am being delusional? Perhaps I am....but until somebody proves me wrong, which hasn't happened yet, I am going to stick to my claims. You may beat me this week, next week, the week after, but I am the cockroach just never seems to die. I will be the thorn in your inked up side for a long time to come........

That earns respect and I am all about being respected now. It doesn't take much to ruin a division Jenny, I've done that too out of spite before, but it takes a real champion, or hero if you really want to call me your hero, to bring something back from the dead.

So, what you're saying is that I am, in some weird way, a hero? Because Mandii while you were kicking the shit out of lesser competition FOUR YEARS AGO, you suddenly poofed, vanished, disappeared like a queef in the wind. Now you are back and thrust head first into a feud with someone that has the XWF eating out of her freshly lotioned palms. Your feud with me has re-energized, rejuvenated, rescued, your dead and rotting career. In a weird way, based on your logic, Jenny Myst is actually your hero. You're welcome, and I charge by the hour. I am here to bring your career back from the depths of eternal sleep just long enough for it to get a pulse, before I shoot it dead for the final time........right....between......the eyes. A champion, a hero, the goddess......perfection. Mandii Rider logic, first hand.

I am here to ruin you by saving you. Consider me your suboxone.

Good luck, junkie."

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Origins 2
Author	Message