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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Snow Job RP Boards 2023
Trees.
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
01-28-2023, 09:17 PM

[Image: FpqCsGE.png]

You couldn’t ask for a more gorgeous day. The sun was radiant in the ice blue sky. There was a slight breeze, just enough to gently ripple your hair. Birds chirped in perfect unison, and a dog barked somewhere in the distance. The road below her was soft on her feet, as the soles of her Converse squished with every step. She wore one white and one black sneaker. She called them Yin and Yang.

Perfect harmony.

The wheels of the pack-and-play stroller crunched quietly on the pavement below, a slight hum as they rotated on their axel.


There were trees lining each side of the road. They looked like palm trees, but they didn't have coconuts. Instead, an assorted variation of fruits. All colors, shapes, and sizes. They were low hanging, too. Low hanging fruits were the best kind! Hers for the taking.

“Look! Fruits!” she said to nobody in particular. Monkey’s scampered around like tiny butlers, handing out fruits. The squirrels were pink!


Rows upon rows of low hanging fruit. Jenny plucks one off the vine, and takes a bite. Juice splatters all over her face, but she smiles with delight. Low hanging fruit is delicious!

She sits Indian style next to the stroller and wipes her face with her arm, the liquid from the low hanging fruit dribbling down her skin and making it shiny in the sunlight.

"I always wanted to be a ballerina. So elegant, so beautiful. Ever since I've been a little girl. I wanted it more than I wanted anything else. It consumed me for a good portion of my childhood. I was small enough, for sure. I thought I was pretty enough. There were plenty of little girls, plenty of which were talented. Some were more talented than me. Shit, most. But did they have my drive, my want, my desire, my primal need to be one? No, that they did not. They wanted it for the stupid tiara and the sparkly tutu. I hated every single of them with a blinding rage, especially Melissa. With her stupid over-done hair and toothy smile a mile wide. The parents loved her, the school loved her, and the community loved her.

I loathed her.

But I wanted to take the high road, ya know? Be confident in myself and such.”

She takes another bite of the juicy fruit, slobbering it on her face before tossing . the core behind her and reaching up to pluck another.

“So I saved up money, right? In my pretty pink piggy bank. I named it Clarence. Broke my heart to break him open, but if you’re gonna play the game you need to wear the uniform, right?

I had just enough for an outfit, and one or two classes. I was excited. I was living my dream, feeling like I was accomplishing some, yaknow?!”

BITE. SQUISH. DRIBBLE.

“......I get there, feeling like a million bucks, right?! I get there, and whose there? Melissa. Fucking Melissa. With her over-done hair and that mile wide smile, talking to all the instructors beforehand–making them laugh. Outgoing, too? She had it all.”

BITE. DRIBBLE. WIPE.

“Turns out…..she couldn’t dance for shit. About as coordinated as an ostrich after a keg stand. About as graceful as Jell-O. Made me all warm and tingly inside to see, you bet. The hours and hours of videos I watched until I felt like my eyes would bleed, studied until I gave myself migraines, practiced until I couldn’t put weight on my feet anymore. I had given my all for this because if you don’t, what really are you worth?

We went to the same class for months on end, and I got my jollies by trying my ass off, improving everyday, and watching her do literally nothing but be pretty. Sounds like someone else we know, huh?”

She nudged the stroller with her elbow.

“Atara, Atara!” the birds squealed from above.

“.......and after some time, there was a contest to pick Little Miss Nevada. Ballet was part of it and we had to make our own routine. Sounds cool, right?”

A small monkey riding on the back of a galloping zebra. She squealed in delight. This place is truly magical! It was like Disney World without the antisemitism.

“So more months of grueling videos, studying, practice and I thought I had a killer routine, right? Hell, I’d been working on it day and night, always tweaking it here and there to make it just a bit better at every turn. I went there, and I did my thing. I killed it. I got a standing ovation. To this day it still makes me cry to think about it.”

*SNIFFLE*

A golden snub nosed monkey walked out from behind a tree, holding out his palm and offering her another low hanging fruit.

BITE. SQUIRT. WIPE.

The breeze blew again and the birds squawked from their perches.

“CRRRAA…..Long winded, long winded.”

She paid them no mind.

“So after all of that……all of that……….who did they choose?”

There was a pregnant pause. The breeze ruffled her hair a bit and swayed the delicious fruit trees.

“You’re damn right. MELISSA FUCKING CUMMINGS.”

BITE. DRIBBLE. BITE. SQUIRT. DRIBBLE. WIPE.

There was a rumble in her voice, a disturbance in the peaceful tranquility.

“WHY? Because she had influence. Her parents knew the right people. She had 'tremendous upside'. They said her routine was fresh, invigorating, entertaining, even. UGH! Are they there to be entertained or there to judge a winner? Quality over quantity, but there’s always that underlying issue of human error. Human error and the ugly word ‘opinion’ just sitting there like a puss filled zit, waiting to be pop–”

"CRRRAA Get to the point, get to the point."

“---I was hurt. They said my routine looked as though it had been cut and pasted from someone else’s. That it wasn’t unique enough, wasn’t my own. I mean, DUH, I only spent 4,380 hours studying how to do something the best way from the best people—”

“CRAAAAA getting pretty long.”

“Well, my poooint here (fucking birds), is that I didn’t just lay down, ya know? I didn’t let it get to me. I could have packed it up, ya know? Days of twirling and bouncing on my toes in a tutu in front of a crowd could have been over. Done with.

Dead.

But no…..do you know what I did?”

There was another pause, but Jenny listened intently for the response, even raising her eyebrows from what she “heard.”

“Ummmm……no. Shake hands, say good job? You’re off your rocker. I broke the bitches leg, of course. Cornered her at park, took a screwdriver to all three of the major ligaments in the knee, snapped the femur clean in half and even a couple of toes for good mesaure. Made the entire thing look like an accident! But the best part about all of it?

Her screams, her pleads, her gut wrenching sobs.

The blood.

She cackles as more monkeys come out, all holding fruits.

BITE. BITE. SQUIRT. BITE. DRIBBLE. WIPE. DRIBBLE MORE. SLURP NOISE.

“I slashed her parents' break lines. They got into an accident on the way to the park…..hehehehehe, they couldn’t visit their little girl in the hospital, or in rehab……..hehehehehe……….because they were dead.”

All the animals begin to laugh and make noise . The monkey’s chatter. Even the birds were cooing.

“And the instructors, judges, anyone who kept me from my dream……they all were severely injured or died in violent ways. Some by my hand, some by my idea. HAHAHAHA but you see I have these asshats Jack Sparrow and Kangaye West questioning if I am really as X-treme as I claim……”

“CRRRRRAAA calling you a liar, craaaaaa liar.”

“They both think I am some chump, some poser, some fake. I think I showed Goth already, and Lupe Fellatio gets to find out tomorrow night. This entire company has been like my ballerina quest. It truly has. The difference is……I DID win, and I will CONTINUE to win. See, the monkey gets its.”

The stoller was empty.

She thumb-points over to a gorilla in sunglasses sitting again a tree, smoking a fake cigar.

The gorilla takes off the sunglasses and looks at her.

“Mam.”

“Mam. Excuse me, mam.”

“Mam! We’ve landed, you need to wake up.”

Jenny startled awake. She had been asleep on the plane. Apparently, they were on the ground in Milwaukee. She could feel the cold air seep through the planes exterior. Ugh.

++

[Image: Zl2aAaV.jpg]

It was a straight shot up I41 for about 2 hours. Her rental car was nice enough, but she took the damage insurance on it just in case.

The hotel in Green Bay was the closest to Lambeau Field that she could find. She made sure she had a room overlooking the south parking lot, where the brawl would be. The Queen wanted to look over the battlefield the night before the war.

There would be blood in the snow. It would run rampant. The parking lot would be red wit the blood of her enemies in just 24 short hours.

She pulled in and parked the car, locking it. Wheeling her travel bag behind her, she could see her breath. Of course, she would have an outdoor match. The sacrifices she made for this prize.

She thought to herself as she walked across the parking lot, was she really crazy? She remembered just a few hours ago, standing in line for baggage claim. She remembered looking at all of the people waiting to grab their luggage. She wondered to herself how each of them tasted, and how stretchy their skin was–could she make a new purse out of their leather? She quickly bit down those thoughts and grabbed her bag, heading to the rental center.

No, she wasn’t crazy. Manic depressive and bipolar, probably. But crazy?

Crazy is an interpretative word used by scared people who don’t understand. Morgan Seaman hinted at her being crazy, but he’s exhibit A for an ignorant fool who would rather point a finger and dismiss than truly try to understand

He would, soon enough.

She made her way up to the front desk to check in.

“HIYA!”

Jenny could tell it had been a long day already. The lady behind the desk had an expressionless face. People, and XWF staff, had been checking in all day.

“I’M JENNY MYST!”

Sigh from the woman whose hair was pulled back way too tight.

“Ms. Myst, yes, we have the room for you. Room 406, the King Suite.”

“Queen.”

“Pardon?”

“I prefer to call it Queen suite.”

“Okay, I am just telling you what type of bed it had, miss.”

“So say a Queen suite with a king bed in it.”

A deeper sigh.

“Fine, that. Here are your electronic keys. Checkout is 1130 am Monday.”

Jenny smiled at the cranky woman. Looking to the right of the woman, she saw a small wicker basket of dog bones. PEANUT BUTTER it said.

Jenny gabbed a handful, shoveling them into her handheld. She took 2 for herself.

“You ever had these?” she asked. The woman looked up at her.

“Have I ever what?”

“Have you ever had these?”

“I have not.”

“You should.”

The woman looked up at the weird woman at the desk. She clearly wanted conversation. Maybe if she just gave in, this woman would go away quicker. Another sigh.

“You have a dog then, I presume?”

“Sure do.”

“What breed?”

“He’s a king.”

The woman’s face softened.

“I have two king cavaliers actually. What kind?”

“He’s black.”

“Those are rare.”

“Yeah, and he's been a naughty boy.”

“They usually are.” She smiled. Apparently dogs, black kings in particular, are her soft spot.

“Yeah, so its cool if I take these?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re delicious”, Jenny takes a bite, crunching the dog treat between her teeth and chewing. The woman looked both disgusted and horrified. Jenny stood there for a moment, staring at the woman and chewing.

“Okay. BYE!”

She waved at the woman with child like vigor, and pulled her suitcase to her room, crunching the whole way to the elevator. The woman cringed with each one until she was almost out of earshot.

DING.

“Oh thank god” she whispered.

“HIYA! You ever had these—--”

DING.

“I need a new job.”

If you listen well you will hear the faint whisper of hope even in the darkest times. Find it. Grasp it. Share it.

The truth is in the trees.

Jenny was back on the road again, but she didn’t recognize it. The breeze felt harsher, it was cold. The sky was a bleak gray, covered in clouds. Drizzle.

The road under her converse felt hard, as she splashed through the dirty puddles. She walked, shivering in the cold. When she got to the trees, she gasped. They were barren, nothing like they were earlier. The fruits, where were the fruits!

Shriveled up and decaying. White puss seeping from their rotten wounds. Maggots. The beautiful array of red, orange and yellow were dark brown and maroon, wrinkled. She reached up to touch one, wincing. It was soft to the touch. She recoiled.

Where were the monkeys? They would make her feel better. Surely.

The monkey’s were no better. Many of them sat in the trees, some of them sat against them. All of them had their throats cut, the blood now hardened on their fur. Their eyes were milky white. Some had been dead longer than others. Some had various broken bones. One had its lower jaw ripped off.

Legs of zebras and horses were scattered around the wet ground. She felt a gag coming. She bit it back.

She stepped back into a puddle of floating blood. Her white converse was stained pink. She continued on, the sights getting more and more graphic with each new tree. When she got to the last tree, she saw the pack and play stroller. In it sat the doll. Her doll. The one that looked like her, with the shiny silver belt.

It was staring at her.

There was a stench of rotting flesh in the air, and sulfur. She stared back at the doll. DID IT DO THIS?!

She felt her palms closing and looked down. In her right hand was a large knife. She looked at it, then looked back at the doll. There was a golden snub nosed monkey approaching her. It looked beaten and battered, but it was alive. It reached out for her, as if for help. Jenny looked back at the doll, then back at the fuzzy creature that so recently brought her so much happiness.

She reached towards it, signaling it in for a hug. It complied. When she embraced the fuzzy ball of cuteness, without saying a word, she plunged the knife into its back. The monkey squealed, but crumbled. She pushed it to the handle, then ripped it out. She was shaking as she looked back at the doll. It had a smile on its face.

Then, it blinked.

Jenny startled awake again. She had dozed off in the chair in her room, overlooking the lot where she would successfully defend her legacy tomorrow. She felt the hair stand up on her arms. She liked it.

She knew what the dream meant. She knew the mindset she needed to be in tomorrow. She knew that she would have to hurt someone, and badly. She would have to do things to the human anatomy that weren’t meant to be done to it. She would have to do whatever it took, because what other choice did she have.

She would break bones, rip flesh, cut tendons. She would spill blood.

Oh yes, there would be blood on the snow.

She would show up at Lambeau Field tomorrow night, and she would arrive violently.

A tree blew outside her room, the branches cracked in the Wisconsin wind.

She never felt more dangerous.


[Image: QU4DixO.gif]

“Holy jumping fucking shitballs they said I WAS CRAZY. Gerrit von whatever the fuck over there is less stable than a banister in the Slayton house. One minute his chest is pushed out in brash arrogance, next he is taking us down an emotional memory lane, then he gets mad, then he cries. No wonder that Elizabeth Ashe cunt tortures you so badly Goth, you’re a total pushover. Whatever she says, whenever. You have the spine of an amoeba. No wonder it had been so easy for my hundred pound self to turn you into a human pin cushion. You’re a total cuck for anything with a set of tits and a vagina, alive or otherwise. It’s almost sad to watch.

I’m in a generous mood today though, so I’ll let you in on a little something. Are ya ready? Come here, come closer.”


WHACK!

“Real Goth’s don’t go around saying their goth, they just do it. They certainly don’t name themselves that. Out of all the social subcultures you could have mimicked, you chose the one that literally nobody wants to be. Then you rub it in our face like a toddler with play-doh. You look like you have 16 pronouns, and identify as a mistake. Your mustache looks like an eyebrow of a fat woman with thyroid disease. There is literally not one redeeming quality about you other than the fact that you had the balls to sneak into my dressing room and steal what wasn’t yours. You wanted my attention? Well, you got it, big guy. You’re on my radar for the second time. This time, a parking lot brawl in the frozen tundra at Lambeau, where I can finally put you down like the sickly dog you are.

Bullet to the head.

But that would be too easy for ya, wouldn’t it? Based on your soft-core erotic novel of a promo, it's clear you like pain. Pain, bondage and……tentacles? If a little droplet of blood gets you that worked up, then perhaps you should do something more suited to your comfort level. I heard the conference room at the Embassy Suites needs a food runner. The local Nissan dealership by my house needs a service tech. But not someone who works on the cars but one of those insufferable losers with the deadpan expression that type up the service order, then have an attitude when you ask why an oil change is $85. IT’S A SIMPLE QUESTION DOOOOD! Anyways,  I’ll put a word in for ya!

Goth I am going to end your delusional dream at Snow Job. I am going to bring you back to the realm of reality with brute force. I am going to prove once and for all that you’re nothing but a waste of time and money, and that you don’t belong on the main stage. After this loss, maybe Vinnie can grant you some sympathy and let you try your luck on Anarchy. Tommy Wish is probably more your speed, anyway.


[Image: feV0PY1.png]

Isaiah King wants to talk about heirs and usurping thrones. He wants to talk about being the next in line to hold the keys to the castle.

He can’t even reach the gates.

We’re different, King, that’s for sure. Cut from a different cloth, built from a different mold. You don’t have what it takes to do it like I do, you admitted it yourself. This whole X-Treme thing is not your vibe. Don’t blame ya, it's not for everyone, just ask Goth.

Pain kink or not aside, you don’t even seem interested in being in Green Bay Sunday Night. You spent the first half of that ‘promo’ bitching about your home city. Did we know that 15 people die in a city of 8 million from winter related causes, but losing a title from a wrestling promotion is ‘inconsequential’?

I can’t believe what I am hearing. Me, of all people, can’t believe the words that left your mouth and I still get excited for the Easter Bunny and believe in Bigfoot.

All this talent, all this god-given natural ability, and it's being pissed away like the punch after a frat party. That’s your biggest problem, King, you don’t want this bad enough. You don’t even want it bad enough to pay attention to what show you’re wrestling on (the final Warfare ever?). Go back to being a community activist and leave the destruction to us. Me.

You’ve been here for six whole months, yet you have the audacity to ask me how much blood is on my hands? I’ve done things Quenten Tarrantino couldn’t wet dream about. You don’t pay much attention to anything, do you? That’s obvious. If it doesn’t involve Isiah King, his team of publishers don’t bother to wake him up. Do you not know the unmitigated carnage that needed to be inflicted to even hold this title? I had to damn near kill two people. I had to choke the life out of Aphrodite Incarnate with barbed wire. She may never be the same again. I basically burned down Santa’s Village, threw a man off a monorail and then beat two large men to the very brink of their existence to defend this title. Even before that, I have been involved in some of the most brutal match stipulations in this company and more times than not, I come out on top. Your title defense at Bad Medicine was a damn singles match. A singles match against Marv Swaysons, the company's punching bag, I may add. Even the dipshit commentators we have snarkily commented on how your TV Title match at the Halloween Savage was rather, how did Heather phrase it, ‘ordinary’? But I’ll bet you’ll blame Graves there, huh? He dropped the ball, he missed his chance.

You should be glad he fucking did.

When I was Television Champ it was brutal stip after brutal stip, some of which I CHOSE. Hell, King, I lost my hair! I had my head shaved bald by Bobby Bourbon and I still came back to ask for a second helping.

Hell your defense against the byproduct of John Madison’s nuts was a CLEAN RULES match.

My head may be all over the place but at least I am not pretending to be something I am not. You’re pretending to be hardcore to woo the audience watching your overproduced garbage of a promo, when in reality you’re one sneeze away from shitting down your leg. If there is A-N-Y-O-N-E on this roster not qualified to talk about being hardcore, it’s you. You’re the epitome of bland, boring, vanilla. You’re talented in the ring and got a heart like Secretariat, but when the bones start breaking and the skin starts splitting, you’ll drop like a fucking rock.

I let my guard down and Marf exploited a loophole, but has he ever beaten me on-on-one? Have I ever LOST a MATCH for this title? I don’t need Maury Povich to reveal the answer to that one.

How much blood have I spilled? How much pain have I been through? King, you have no idea the horrors I’ve been through. The horrors I’ve put others through. Unlike you, King, I like pain.. So you aren’t sure I am still strong enough to do this? Good, keep that mentality up going into Snow Job, I beg you. It will give me that much more pleasure to tear you apart. I want to hear you scream through a blood filled mouth as I disembowel you slowly.

The only thing you said in your promo that wasn’t total horseshit was that I am not all there upstairs. Can someone get this guy a Nobel Peace Prize? Maybe offer him a scholarship to Oxford? He’s clearly got cognitive reception skills at a Bill Gates level. Brav-fucking-o.

You’re right, there’s a hotel in my head and it has a very high vacancy. Does that put me at a disadvantage? No. It makes me unpredictable. It makes me dangerous.

You claim there’s blood in the snow (which is stupid anyway because you’re claiming that it’s already there, implying someone else put it there because you’re too fucking incapable to do so yourself or understand the complexity of your own fucking metaphors), but  that’s… a lot isn’t it? How much blood have you had to spill, King? How many grotesque scenes have you had to endure? How much brain-damage will that… face have to endure? The face of the future?

Pssht.

A face attached to a head that didn’t even have the pistons firing for long enough to understand the very type of match you’re in. Did your PR people take a week off? You’re gonna spill me around the ring, are ya? Well that’s a novel concept, big guy, because it’s a parking lot brawl.

You absolute fucking donut.

Your friend Zeke’s blood was on the snow, wasn’t it? Bleeding like a stuck pig and what did you do? Stood there like a bumbling doofus with your thumb up your ass. When the shit hits the fan, King, you freeze like a popsicle. It’s in your nature, your DNA, it’s who you are.

Is it wrong of me to say I hope he dies? I’ll stay tuned for the cliffhanger, though I don’t have high expectations for an Emmy Award.

I’m not sure who is more of a cumstain, you or your bullet riddled bestie. There’s blood in the snow but you’re going to end to it? Jesus Christ, call Carnival Cruise Lines and get your people back, King, because trying to do this dance yourself is a total disaster. Like a complete abortion of an attempt at being even remotely competent.

I am so obviously slipping, though. Undefeated since claiming my prize and the most dangerous piece of ass on the roster, but I am slipping? I think you like to hear yourself talk a lot more than we like it. Only the strong survive the winter?

Only the strongest survive Jenny fucking Myst.

And in this kingdom of chaos, you’re the beetle crushed under my royal boot."


Isaiah King Corporation Said:"We regret to inform you that our client is the most ignorant incel we’ve ever had the displeasure of bottoming for, and from this point forward we are no longer taking any of the verbal diarrhea seriously. Thank you and sorry for the disappointment”


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 3x
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FORMER, 1x AND LONGEST REIGNING (101 Days)
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FOREVER AND ALWAYS
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2x
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2x XWF Bombshell Champion
3x XWF X-Treme Champion
3x XWF Television Champion
X- Title Briefcase Holder
War Games Captain 
Sex, Metal, Barbie, CHAOS
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