Post by Lissie Hope on Sept 30, 2019 12:10:43 GMT -5
Ali Walker
AKA Persephone, The White Rabbit
5'7"
165 lbs.
St. Louis, MO (London, England)
2 Wins
2 Losses
3rd Member of Haven
Television Champion (2X)
And that stupid fuckin' grime text.
AKA Persephone, The White Rabbit
5'7"
165 lbs.
St. Louis, MO (London, England)
2 Wins
2 Losses
3rd Member of Haven
Television Champion (2X)
And that stupid fuckin' grime text.
Elisabeth Hope
AKA Lissie Hope, The Dreamer, The Duchess
5'5"
135 lbs.
New Orleans, LA (Conroe, TX)
13 Wins
4 Losses
3rd Member of Royal Family
Miss All-Motherfuckin'-In 2019
She just beats bitches up.
AKA Lissie Hope, The Dreamer, The Duchess
5'5"
135 lbs.
New Orleans, LA (Conroe, TX)
13 Wins
4 Losses
3rd Member of Royal Family
Miss All-Motherfuckin'-In 2019
She just beats bitches up.
The parallels speak for themselves, don't they?
The scene opens with Lissie Hope strolling along Beale Street in Memphis, the small camera crew backpedaling with every step, framing her against the colorful backdrop of neon signs. She's sipping a caramel macchiato, discreetly spiked with Bailey's, the effects of the painkillers numbing her aching limbs.
My team, and my physicians, asked me not to take extra matches in other companies. They want me to stay fresh and healthy when I inevitably cash-in my greatest achievement and become the World Champion of Action Wrestling. They want me to prepare myself for the spotlight, of being the pinnacle, the zenith... the main event. I'm going to be the biggest name in the wrestling world... and they said I'd be an idiot if I jeapardize that by taking insignificant matches like this one, just days after UCI's Civil War.
But you know what I say to that?
Fuck it.
Lissie Hope pulls out a stool at a nearby bar and leans back, bracing herself on the wooden banister with her elbows. Though it's night-time, her dark sunglasses conceal her dilated pupils.
No match is meaningless.
No victory: futile.
No triumph: hollow.
You'll serve a purpose, Persephone.
You don't know it now, but you'll be another latch on my belt.
Another dutiful protege who'll try to knock down the heroine you aspire to be.
And you'll fail miserably.
You've watched my epic climb to the summit of the mountain and you may think to yourself that it's in the cards for you, too. Our stories are so fuckin' similar -- the third wheel in a strong female faction, only to outshine the two who recruited you. The quick results, the championship reigns, becoming the face of an entity.
But unlike you?
I've got that in me.
You?
You'll sink under the weight of your own potential.
I'll tie the stones to your ankles myself and kick your ass overboard.
I'll concede one fact, girl. You've got promise. It's not beyond the scope of imagination that you'll become one of the best in Trinity. But you'll be learning the lesson the hard way when I'm across the ring from you, when I show you what a real fuckin' champion looks like. I'm not Duncan Aries; I'm not all bark and no fuckin' bite. That cum-stain managed to get into your head on your first defense, and you faltered under the bright lights of expectation. That's not a good look, Perse-phony. That just shows that you aren't ready for the Big Time, no matter how many ladder matches you win and how many Television Championship reigns you've got to your credit.
Because -- and I can't believe this actually happened -- but you did it again.
Fuckin' fraud.
You put that belt up once again... this time to a debuting clown who throws herself off buildings... and you failed.
You've got no honor.
No integrity.
No capability of assuming the throne.
Maybe you've got the ability to become the face of Trinity, but you're missin' the heart that would propel you forward. You need the total package, honey, one that invokes a championship mentality along with an goddamn arsenal of talent and balls of motherfuckin' steel. You've got to have the desire to go against the very best and do whatever it takes to come out victorious. To shoot out of the cannon and make that imprint on Trinity Wrestling.
I'm giving you that opportunity, Persy-baby.
I'm giving you a chance to own a victory over a growing legend.
To cement your status as one of very few who have claimed that on their resume.
Unfortunately for you?
I'll dangle that carrot, give you that glimmer of hope, that chance of a lifetime!
And I'll snatch it away, just as fast.
You'll be consumed.
Fuckin' cunt.
Fuckin' cunt.
Don't bother showin' up.
I know a coward when I see one.
I was asked who I wanted when I agreed to bringin' star potential to Trinity Wrestling
God knows your cardboard, vanilla-ass champion ain't doin' it himself.
And I wanted you, Persephone.
I thought I saw a unique challenge.
I thought I saw a future champion.
All I'm seein' now is a wimp without a killer instict, shakin' in her boots. Piss running down your leg every time you have the world at your fingertips.
You won't shine.
You won't bloom.
You won't win.
I'm shovelin' the dirt back in the hole you poke your head out of.
I'm buryin' the White Rabbit for good.
All that potential you've got?
Any accolade you've earned up until this point?
Any vague similarity that compares favorably to me?
Eradicate it from your memory.
Erase it from your expectation.
Because you're not me.
You'll never be me.
You fuckin' stan.
You'll never be...
Lissie...
Motherfuckin'...
Hope.
"Your takin' another match in Trinity?" Robbie Hope asked, unsure of her decision. He'd had reservations about many of them lately.
"Since I won the 'case, they aren't bookin' me as often, brother," she answered back. "Just stayin' fresh."
"You need to stay healthy," he lectured. "You're seeded seventh, you know."
Wrestler of the Year.
And Dandy DiVito, the World Champion, was staring at her in the second round.
"I might be the champion by then," she said, twirling the locket in her hand. She held a thumb over the face of her friend and ally, Kennedy Matthews, who was slated to compete for the Championship next week.
The thoughts of cashing in, and stealin' Kennedy's opportunity? It consumed her.
What a fuckin' story that would be.