Post by Deleted on Jan 30, 2022 23:27:30 GMT -5
Rocket Fieldhouse
Cleveland, Ohio.
Last Proving Ground episode
The celebration enjoyed by Sonya, Giovanni, Levy and their associated entourages was short lived, for as soon as they exited the building a swarm of irate fans from the overfill section had converged. Security was already having a task trying to keep them at bay, but when all eyes locked on the trio, the barrier was breached. Giovanni and Levy initially thought they were fans wanting autographs, but the rage in the eyes told them otherwise.
And the chase was on.
Bottles, rocks, food, drinks, all manner of items both hard and soft came upon the group like a storm. All the hateful things that could be said were yelled at them as the mass of angry basement dwellers gained ground on them at an alarming rate. The sparkling pink and silver limo belonging to Sonya waited just up ahead, but it felt like a mile away for the fantastical crew in jeopardy.
The limo driver, Jeeves, stood with the door opened and his eyes were so wide and round that they overtook his face. A nervous fart escaped him as he quickly deduced this was wholly unsafe and dashed back to the driver’s seat. Smith, who’d been carrying Sonya the entire time due to her being hurt from the match, noticed Giovanni pick up Calliope for carry too only to get dinged by a bottle and drop her. Not wasting a moment, Smith yanked Calliope up also and dual carried as Giovanni lagged behind the rest.
”CLEVELAND SUCKS! NO WONDER LEBRON LEFT!” Norris yelled back at the assembly of hate mongers, only after realizing he was the safest and dove headlong into the refuge of the vehicle. The rest of the group crashed into the open door in a human traffic jam of sorts. Giovanni, the last arrival, knew he wasn’t gonna have time to make it into the door so he leapt onto the trunk then made a headlong artistic dive into the sunroof.
The sunroof was closed, however, causing him to land awkwardly on the roof just as Smith’s massive bear paw of a hand swallowed a fan’s face and head.
”DRIVE YOU IDIOT! DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE!!!!” Sonya screeched with all the ear piercing of nails upon a chalkboard.
The limo lurched and sped up, allowing Smith to power dunk the fan on the pavement before finally shutting the door.
”NOOOOO! GIOVANNI! MY GIOVANNI!!!! STOP! STOP!” Calliope cried out, wild with fright.
”HE WAS A GOOD MAN! HE’LL BE MISSED! DRIVE DRIVE!!!!” Sonya replied, quelling Calliope’s plea.
The vehicle gained speed and a furious knocking overhead put them on higher alert. Levy balled his fist and rolled the sunroof back, prepared to blast any fans off of the roof. To his surprise it was Giovanni, who fell into the limo looking as though he’d been through a war. His clothes were tattered. One of his shoes was gone. And a fan had bitten him on the ankle. Calliope wailed with tears of joy and cradled him in her buxom bosoms. His gorgeous bottom lip quivered and his eyes had a 1,000 yard stare in them like the combat war veterans get when they’ve seen too much horror on the battlefield.
"Well all of that was very dramatic, wasn’t it?" Giovanni remarked dryly. "Also, dear muse, you can let go now…”
She released her voluptuous vice grip on Giovanni’s head, allowing him to sit down normally and make his best attempt at recomposing his tattered attire and the frayed locks of hair on his head into something slightly more representable.
”I said it from the start, they should honestly just give Ohio to those Canadians instead.” He said, taking off his one remaining shoe and tossing it out of the sunroof and into the wilds.
“I don’t know, guys. I think they’re starting to really appreciate the work we’re doing on this middling brand. I mean, sure, they were throwing stuff at us NOW, but that’s probably just some kind of friendly local tradition in this shithole.” Levy, ever the delusional optimist, seemed to actually believe the words he spoke. Like he’s convinced himself that the three of them are the true heroes of Proving Grounds, and the fans from this dead-end city were simply showing their appreciation in their own unique way.
”And anyway, my rabbi always says there’s no such thing as bad publicity!” He added.
”Didn’t you two have a lawyer with you?” Norris remarked suddenly.
The gang looked back with grim yet aloof expressions as “Triple L” Larry Livingstone did the Platoon pose in the background (on his knees, hands to the sky) while the angry mob swallowed him up in their rage.
”I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Levy declared nonchalantly.
It only took one night, but the trio had made it big, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. The masses would tune in just to watch the trifecta get destroyed every episode. The ratings would be through the roof. Yes indeed, something special had happened this night.
Approximately one fortnight later...
*****
*****
Pain still held residency in Sonya’s flawlessly formed body despite the nearly two week separation from TJ Thompson hurling his body atop hers from great heights. When you’re the real hero of a story but are being billed as the villain, well, you can’t afford to stay down and out no matter how much it hurts to move, to speak, to do anything. If anything, the affliction coursing her form emboldened her, so much that she found herself in the auditorium of UPMC Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Why?
She was advised of an event being held by folks within Project: Honor. It was a meet and greet with many of the superstars of Project: Honor who would give speeches, take pictures, sign autographs, and blow smoke up the poor little sick kids asses. Sonya hadn’t been invited of course. Understandable. But if Sonya was going to be forced to wrestle, then she was gonna force herself onto wrestling in return.
So, just like Maleficent crashing the party in the Disney fairytale, so would the wicked witch of professional wrestling.
”Hello dearest children.” Her words spilled out so kindly and honeyed that one could sweeten their tea with them.
She smoothed out her blue and white pin striped suit that looked like it came out of Hilary Clinton’s closet and hesitated a beat. Those captivating sea-blue orbs of hers slid across the room, watching as more children were wheeled into the expansive venue. Sonya had deliberately arrived thirty minutes before any persons from Project: Honor were set to appear. The last thing she needed was some of them confronting her and her entourage while she went about her business.
And what business was that?
A heaping helping of good old fashioned honesty. The kind that hurts. The kind that should be better left unsaid.
”I’m Sonya Benson. I can tell by the glares in your stares and the general disdain being shown that you know exactly who I am. I guess I can understand since the media and professional wrestling has painted me in such an ugly light, much like they did our great president Trump when he was making America great again.”
The mention of Trump’s name caused gasps from some of the nurses and parents tending to the sickly kids. One of them mentioned how that name was banned from being spoken in the building. Sonya ignored such buffoonery.
”Trump spoke the truth no matter how much it hurt nor who it offended. I’m here to do the same, because if anybody deserves the truth it’s you precious young ones. So, what truth is that? You’re being lied to by your parents, by nurses and doctors, by the media, and by the very professional wrestlers who will show up today with their fake smiles and scripted speeches. I’m sure at least one of my upcoming opponents, Lexi Gold, Brandon Hendrix, or Tara Fenix will be here today. Every one of them is cheered by the masses. They’re greatly respected. I even see some of their shirts being worn by a few of you. But let me ask you something, kids, why do you cheer for them?”
The children were all about that smoke and hurled all manner of answers at the stunning woman stationed at the podium. To Sonya’s credit, she did not clap back angrily nor interrupt. She allowed them to let her have it, then nodded.
”So, because they can hurt somebody? Because they say nice things into a microphone? Because they have nice smiles? Guess who else has those same traits? Serial killers and psychopaths. Let me tell you some TRUTHS about those very wrestlers you adore so much. Lexi Gold was such a crappy, ugly little fat baby that her parents gave her up for adoption along with her equally crappy, ugly little fat sister. They knew the moment she came out of the womb that she was a failure and they tried to remedy it. Unfortunately they didn't use a coat hanger, and Lexi wound up being adopted by some mongoloid wrestler and was brainwashed into this wretched sport.”
Things were starting to get dicey. Some nurses and parents covered the ears of a few of the children and were looking at the doors as if to start making an exit.
”Lexi was a monster to her sister. She made her eat worms. She bullied her. Only recently did Lexi make an effort to mend the wounds with her, but only did so because it would benefit her in the bid to repackage herself. She has a snake as a best friend, a literal snake.. That should tell you all you need to know about her. It doesn’t though, does it? Nope. How about this then; she isn’t a she at all. She was born a man. It’s true. Look at her manly shoulders. Observe her caveman forehead and manly jawline. Just look at it..”
Sonya motioned and Norris bounced up to the podium with a huge picture poster of Lexi Gold.
"Lois Einhorn revisited, kids." Norris exclaimed matter-of-factly.
A ruckus began. They weren’t liking the truth nukes. Too much devastation. But just like America in 1945, Sonya armed up another nuke and sent it out.
”If Lexi shows up here today, ask her if she wears underwear with scrotum holes in them. If her face turns red you’ll know I’m telling the truth. You don’t have to take my word on these things, kids. Just look at her actions. She’s such a terrible person that she had to bring it to everyone’s attention that she shakes her opponents hands after her matches now. It’s a simple act of respect that was so foreign to her that it’s actually a big deal now. That’s tantamount to someone recording themselves giving a few bucks to a homeless person and then posting it all over social media.”
Some of the nurses and parents began wheeling sick children toward the exit doors, but Sonya gestured to her behemoth bodyguard, Smith, who promptly blocked their egress.
”Nuh-uh. You’re gonna listen to this. That fugly she-male, Lexi Gold, has no life skills, children. She barely grasps the English language. She doesn’t know how to cook any food; the only thing she knows how to make are dinner reservations. She’s nothing but a wet hole for males to stick their manhood into. If life as a whole was an airplane and she and I were on that airplane, I’d be the pilot and she’d be a passenger in coach. That’s how far apart we are in the grand scope of life. I know how to cook. I know how to clean. I have a college degree. I can speak multiple languages…. Je suis une meilleure femme qu'elle … Soy mas hermosa que ella …. У меня попа больше, чем у нее…. Ich bin schlauer als du.“
After insulting her in different languages, Sonya eased off the pedal. Smith’s intimidating presence was causing some alarm among the parents and nurses.
”Okay, fine. I can see the truth about Lexi is upsetting. I think I made my point and that you brave little kiddies will understand in the long run, thanks to me. So, how about I expose the truth about the beloved Brandon Hendrix now?”
They protested but she motioned airily in disregard.
”Children, I can sympathize with a blind man, yes, even I can. But I can’t sympathize with a man who has two perfectly good eyes but fails to see. Brandon doesn’t see that he was placed in this match in a Hail Mary bid by the brass to net him a win. Lord knows they can’t trust him in a singles match after his failures to be their needle mover previously. He fails to see that a win in a six person match does nothing for his career, especially against three non-wrestlers like myself and my bestest friends Giovanni and Levy. He can’t see that the biggest impact he could make in this match, is to get even with Tara Fenix. After all, it was she who bested him in battle and was the catalyst for his downfall. A downfall that led him out of Project: Honor, whereupon he traveled the world getting his head dribbled into other canvases. If he’d shove a dagger in her back this Friday, the fourth night of February, in the year of our lord twenty and twenty-two, at 8pm inside the PPG Arena, it’d send shockwaves through the organization and put him on the map.”
The indescribably beautiful woman heaved her hands up in exasperation.
”It’s so simple. Brandon could be Tara’s downfall in this match by turning on her at the most opportune time. Such a thing would warrant a match between the two, and in said match he could beat her and be in the driver’s seat for an immediate title shot. He’s Brandon Hendrix though. He’s not going to see it that way. He’s in the middle of repackaging himself at your expense just like Lexi Gold. He needs the easy wins. Who knows, he may even believe he’s a changed man. He’ll be cured of his blindness eventually though. Once he starts losing matches again he’ll shed the mask he’s put on and the real Brandon Hendrix will resurface. Remember what I just said. Mark my words, children, and know that I tried to save you from his lies! He’s a fibber face AND a liar mouth, I tell you!”
She emphasized those last words with a single balled fist slamming atop the wooden surface of the podium. It hurt the dainty young beauty and she shook her fist. Her sudden outburst was enough to finally send some of the ill children over the edge, and the crying began, loud wailing ones.
”I know, children, I know. The truth is painful. It’s harsh. It’s brutal. Every tear you shed is a victory, you brave little warriors!”
If only she knew their tears were of panic and fear of her increasingly loud voice and Smith’s continued presence at the exit door, preventing anyone from leaving.
”I guess since we’ve made it this far, I might as well drop the truth nukes about the most despicable woman in this misbegotten sport. Tara Fenix. She’s evil. Fru-its of the dev-il… EEEEEEEVIL! Yet, she’s respected and sometimes even cheered. Last year she held a charity cruise that featured mindless wrestling matches. Guess what happened? A murder. Someone literally murdered someone else on that cruise ship. Instead of pulling into port and letting law enforcement do a proper investigation, she kept the cruise going, and kept the show running. The murderer has never been caught by the way. Children, imagine if someone brutally murdered your mom or dad and the cops came but were like ‘meh’ and left. Would you applaud them? Would you hold them in respect? Tara was more concerned with her product and the end result of all the matches. Even her peers criticized her on social media. She didn’t care though. Oh and that charity money? HA! A good portion went into her pockets.”
Verbalizing these truths felt so good to Sonya. It was like confessing at mass or something. Like a weight was being lifted. It was the only thing she could do to hurt Tara in all honesty. Sonya most certainly couldn’t beat her up.
”For six months I’ve been forced to go to war in the ring. Week after DAMN week I go in without shield nor sword, armed only with my cunning and my intelligence. I can’t punch my way out of a wet paper bag even if it has holes in the sides. I don’t know the difference between a wrist watch and a wrist lock. Nevertheless I courageously compete without ANY of the tools I desperately need. I rise and I fall. I rise a lot more than I fall. And all anybody can do is throw insults, food, drinks, trash at me. Yet, there’s Tara Fenix. Abetting murderers. Stealing charity money. Oh and let’s not forget how she won the right to face the flea market Bane for the grand championship but was too much of a COWARD to challenge him for it. She waited until Emmanuelle, whom she’s beaten countless times, fluked a win over Bane Lite to want a crack at the title. Cheer for that? Respect that? LOLWUT?!?!”
Some of the parents and nurses had formed an alliance to rid Smith from the exit doors, since calling for security hadn’t worked. Little did they know that Sonya had paid security a generous sum of money to take an extended lunch break off site. They picked up chairs and used items from their purses to converge upon the monolith of a man and launch an assault. Sonya was too lost in her passionate diatribe to notice though.
”Tara has only lost twice in Project: Honor and has probably lost less in the six thousand other promotions she’s in. I’m twenty-five years old and she’s held more titles than I’ve had birthdays. So why is it that someone so credentialed in the exquisite art of mindless clobbering is hiding out in a six person match against know-nothings like myself and my friends? Why has she been bullying jobbers like Rapture lately? I mean, I get it I guess. I think everyone wishes Rapture would live up to his namesake and disappear, but such bullying is beneath an elite like Tara, right? Since she’s so respectable? Well? Anybody have an answer for that? Anyone?”
The occupants in the room were split, with one half focused on attacking Smith and the other half mouthing back at the mean woman slandering their heroes. Their insolence had reached the tipping point for Sonya, and she turned her ire toward the children at last.
”Exactly! Nobody can answer it. Not even Tara. Let me address the most important truth though. If you’re a child in the room and are wearing an orange wristband, guess what? It means you’re terminal. That means you’re going to die. It means there’s no cure or magical sky daddy that is going to save you. If the nurses are feeding you all the milkshakes, ice cream, burgers and pizza you can handle, it’s not because you’re a good kid or have done something to deserve it. They’re doing it to add weight to you while your illness is taking it away, so that they can keep you alive longer and add more charges to the medical bills your parents will have to pay once you’re gone. I know this because my mom wore an orange wristband. Bless her soul!”
Her enthralling oculars pinned a few kids in their seats. They were looking at their orange wristbands while flashes of realization spread across their innocent little faces. Norris urgently tapped Sonya’s shoulder and edged her attention to Smith getting pelted with chairs and sprayed with mace. The mastodon took the blows like a champ and licked the mace from his own face as if it was a delicious treat.
Alarmed at the possibility of Smith going beast mode and assaulting them, Sonya bolted from the podium and sped through the crowd. She got his attention and ordered him to move so the people could leave. He did exactly as instructed, and a stampede followed in his wake as he approached Sonya.
”Let’s ge- AHHHHH!” A tsunami of pain flooded her left leg and she dropped to a knee. She’d been kicked by an eight year old body with a prosthetic leg. The blow hit so hard that his fake leg fell off and stopped next to Sonya. Smith sprung into action and snatched the boy up by his one remaining leg, holding him upside down as Norris helped Sonya to a stand.
”Don’t hurt him!” She screeched at Smith.
The boy growled and swung ill-aimed fists at Sonya while she sneered at him. The brave little boy boasted about how Tara was gonna kill her or how Lexi was gonna murderlize her.
”Why you little poop-stain!” She hissed at him. Oh how she wanted to bend him over her knee and spank him.
She picked up the boy’s prosthetic leg and noticed it’d been signed by sports stars and pro wrestlers in the past. Her brows narrowed in deliciously evil thought.
”Your parents and nurses left you high and dry just now and you hate me? Tell you what, kiddo, if Lexi, Brandon, and Tara are truly heroes and respectable then they should have no trouble reclaiming this leg from me at Proving Ground this Friday. That’s right, I’m keeping this. It’s up to your heroes to bring it back to you. If they can’t? Well, I’m sure there’s a bridge I can throw it off of.”
The boy’s defiance vanished quicker than Tara’s pitiful Warrior Rising title reign. He sobbed uncontrollably as Sonya wagged the leg mockingly at him. Smith put him down gently where he was reclaimed by terrified parents and nurses. As they sped away with the boy in tow, Sonya and her entourage took note of everything and nodded in unison.
”I think this went well. I think I reached some kids. I saved people here today. Let’s get out of here.”
Norris and Smith were all too eager and swiftly escorted the most gorgeous woman in the world to their up-armored luxury SUV and left. As they drove, Sonya took a black marker and blotted out all the autographs on the boy's prosthetic leg, and signed her name on it. She would later get Giovanni and Levy to sign it as well. She knew there was a very high chance that her team would lose the six person match, so even if their opponents were able to bring the leg back to the boy, she’d still have the last laugh.
What a detestable cunt, yeah?
End of RP.