Post by dsb on Dec 19, 2018 21:26:13 GMT
After opening with the video of Jenny Jacobs’ interview, the Cold November Pain broadcast switches to a live feed of the FAWN Arena. A pair of folding chairs are set up in the center of the ring, though one is empty while the other is occupied by Maria Alves, the young Brazilian judoka making her reappearance after a year-long absence. Though she appears dressed for action in her typical ring gear, the microphone in her left hand indicates she wants to address the crowd.
MARIA ALVES
Having just watched the Innovator’s encounter with the ladies of Wicked play out over the FAWNtron along with the rest of the live audience, Maria purses her lips and slowly shakes her head in disapproval and mutters something irritable in her native Portuguese. A voice in her earpiece reminds her that the cameras are now focused on her, however, and that prompts Alves to perk up considerably.
“Greetings and salutations. I am Maria Alves and this is MariaTV, the latest ploy by our fearless leaders to increase interest and revenue,” she says as she looks directly into the nearest lens with a winsome smile. “On a personal note, I am pleased to be back in our federation. Evidently Bethany Christian was somewhat displeased that I borrowed her automobile, her yacht, her bank account, her ex-husband, and her ex-husband’s left kidney, thus I was sent on an overseas tour to the great countries of England, Australia, Japan, and Saudi Arabia. My odyssey is ended, however, and I shall not be leaving again, for I am now an enemy of the state in the great countries of England, Australia, Japan, and Saudi Arabia.”
The audience doesn’t quite know how to respond to that news, offering nothing more than a few confused murmurs and a smattering of polite applause. Their less-than-enthusiastic response doesn’t dampen Maria’s spirits, however, and she addresses the crowd with a regal wave from her seat.
“Now that I have said my piece, it is time to bring out my guest for this initial episode of MariaTV,” Alves continues. “Making her return to the ring after a year spent recovering from a gruesome injury --”
With that, the crowd collectively gasps before exploding into cheers just a moment later. Anticipating the return of one of their favorites, the FAWNatics begin to chant WEL-COME BACK! WEL-COME BACK!
“-- she is a woman who requires no introduction, but for whom I am compelled by the script to provide an introduction regardless --”
WEL-COME BACK! WEL-COME BACK!
“-- she is the one --”
WEL-COME BACK! WEL-COME BACK!
“-- the only --”
WEL-COME BACK! WEL-COME BACK!
“-- Bianca Simpson.”
The cheers abruptly stop, giving way to crushing silence as if someone had cut the cord on the radio. A beat later, the woman in question bursts through the curtains at the top of the entrance ramp dressed in sweatpants, sneakers, and her first ever FAWN t-shirt bearing the slogan This looks like a JOB for Bianca Simpson.
BIANCA SIMPSON
“Oh! You guys LOVE me! You REALLY love me!” Bianca gushes as her eyes well with tears of joy, too overcome with emotion to realize that the crowd had been expecting someone else entirely.
Making her way to the ring for the first time since an ill-fated challenge against Trisha Belle for the Intercontinental Championship, Simpson alternates between waving and blowing kisses to the still-silent audience. She makes her way to the announcer’s table to pick up a felt-tipped marker, then she leans over the barrier to sign her autograph on an unsuspecting and unfortunate fan’s collectible, limited edition Ivy Armstrong t-shirt. Bianca turns to the ring, and after taking a couple of steps to build momentum, she attempts to leap from the floor to the four-foot high apron as she had seen so many wrestlers do before.
To her credit, Simpson only comes up short by a foot and a half, and she squawks in pain as she smashes her shins against the thinly covered plywood.
“Ahhhhhh geeeeeez… missed it by that much…” Bianca sheepishly groans to the crowd, holding the thumb and forefinger on her right hand an inch apart while rubbing her bruised tibia with her left hand. “Gosh, they must’ve made that higher while I was gone…”
The bubbly blonde takes a little more time to gather her wits, then she gets to her feet and enters the ring in a much more humble fashion by sliding under the bottom rope. Her modesty is short-lived, however, and she immediately pops back up, punches a fist into the air, and unleashes a WOOOOOOOOO! that echoes from every wall in the deathly still arena. Bianca hops, skips, and jumps a lap around the squared circle before finally approaching Maria and extending an arm for a handshake.
For her part, Alves rises to a stand, gives Simpson a stiff, formal bow, and sits back down, all without saying a word. Feeling awkward after being left hanging, Bianca runs her hand through her blonde hair and pretends to scratch the back of her neck, then she takes a seat in the steel chair opposite of the Brazilian.
“Welcome, Bianca Simpson,” Maria greets her fellow wrestler.
“Thanks, Maria! I’m happy to be here at… err…” Bianca hesitantly responds. “Wait, what did you say this was again?”
“MariaTV,” Alves promptly answers. “As you may have surmised, the ‘Maria’ in ‘MariaTV’ stands for Maria, which is my name. Do not ask me what the ‘T’ or ‘V’ stand for, it was Edward Wayne Thomas who thought of the title and the concept. In all his wisdom, Edward felt it would be greatly amusing for me to interview my colleagues at FAWN. In fact, he spent the next several minutes giggling immediately after suggesting the idea.”
“Well, ya couldn’t have picked a better subject!” Simpson says as she pops the front of her t-shirt. “I’ll have you know that I’m on the top half of the second page of results when you Google ‘Bianca Simpson.’ Not to brag or anything, but that kinda makes me a big deal. My comeback is something of a medical miracle, y’know. Dr. Vannacutt told me I should NEVER wrestle again after that match with Trisha, but I busted my butt rehabbing that jaw contusion for a year. Not gonna lie, those were some dark days, but I started from the bottom, now I’m here! So let’er rip, Maria! No softball questions, gimme the heat so I can knock it outta the park!”
“I neither understand nor care to understand anything you just said,” Maria flatly replies, then she dramatically clears her throat, pulls a stack of cue cards from her sleeve, and reads her first question. “Why are you so terrible at everything?”
Bianca blanches, and caught off-guard by her interviewer’s bluntness, she can only stutter, “Excuse me, w-what?”
“A most eloquent and incisive answer,” Alves says, then she tosses the first card over her shoulder and moves onto her next query. “Which of your myriad of humiliations was most humiliating?”
“What -- What the hell are you --”
“Fascinating,” Maria interrupts, discarding another card without even bothering to look up at her purported interview subject. “If you were to wrestle a small, sickly child with no arms, no legs, and no will to live, how do you envision yourself losing?”
“Alright, Maria…” Bianca growls. “...you’re making me angry. You wouldn’t like me when --”
Paying the blonde’s threats no mind, Alves blithely continues to ask, “Assuming a westbound train leaves New York City at fourteen hundred hours Greenwich Mean Time traveling one hundred thirty kilometers per hour, and an eastbound train leaves San Francisco at sixteen hundred hours Greenwich Mean Time traveling one hundred ten kilometers per hour, at what time do you notch your first victory?”
“I’LL NOTCH MY FIRST VICTORY RIGHT-GODDAMNED-NOW IF SOMEONE COMES DOWN TO --”
“You are incorrect. That was what is colloquially known as a ‘trick question,’” Maria interrupts once more. “You will never notch your first victory because the train tracks are parallel, and parallel lines do not inter --”
“ALRIGHT, THAT’S IT!” Simpson screeches as she hops to her feet and snatches the microphone out of her interviewer’s hands. “I’M DECLARING THE FIRST EVER BIANCA SIMPSON OPEN CHALLENGE! I’LL OPEN A CAN OF WHOOPASS ON ANYONE, ANYTIME, ANYWHERE! ANYONE WHO WANTS TO GO FOR A RIDE ON THE B-TRAIN, NOW’S THE TIME TO COME DOWN HERE AND GET… THESE… HAAA -- AAAAIIIIIEEE!”
Ever the opportunist, Maria suddenly clasps one arm across Bianca’s chest, then she pivots on a dime and sends the blonde hurtling through the air with a wicked Uranage that results in the back of Simpson’s skull crashing into the seat of the steel chair.
URANAGE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4s_dYqMDIkw
The audience OOOOOH’s at the sickening impact that leaves Bianca unconscious and the chair twisted and bent. Alves remains unperturbed and unconcerned as she picks up the microphone and gingerly rises to her feet, then she gives another formal bow to the broken form of her interviewee-turned-opponent.
“I accept your valiant challenge,” she dutifully announces to Bianca before she turns to address the announcer’s table. “I require the services of an official.”
With the crowd still murmuring in shock at the unexpected turn of events, Maria crosses her arms and taps her foot expectantly. When a referee still has not arrived after a full minute, both she and the FAWNatics start to grow restless, though the Brazilian wrestler sees another chance to grab the brass ring.
“I shall regale you all with humorous witticisms while we wait,” she blandly informs the crowd immediately before launching into her stand-up comedy routine. “What speaks like a man but gallops like a horse?”
Unprepared for another sudden shift in programming, the fans in the building collectively let out a flat, confused WHAAAAT.
“A man riding a horse,” Maria replies, taking a great deal of satisfaction in her own cleverness, even if the FAWNatics seem to disagree.
WHAAAAT.
Alves is not to be deterred, and she continues, “What is red and tastes like blue paint?”
WHAAAAT.
“Red paint.”
WHAAAAT.
“What grows like grass and has the heart of a lion?”
WHAAAAT.
“Grass. The statement about the heart of a lion was an intentional misdirection.”
WHAAAAT.
“What walks on four legs at morning, two legs at noon, and --”
Maria notices that Bianca has regained consciousness and is crawling to hands and knees, so she interrupts herself in order to violently bash her microphone into the base of the blonde’s skull. The jarring blow produces a loud whine of feedback, and Simpson collapses once more like a sack of bricks.
“-- twenty-three legs at night?” Alves finishes without missing a beat.
WHAAAAT.
“Nothing.”
WHAAAAT.
“What is worse than a bee sting?”
WHAAAAT.
“The genocidal murder of one-point-seven million people by the Khmer Rouge regime in the Cambodian killing fields.”
WHAAAAT.
“What is worse than the Cambodian killing fields?”
WHAAAAT.
Before Maria can respond, however, senior referee Nick Castle finally slides into the ring after getting confirmation from the executives and legal team that Bianca’s words could in fact be construed as a binding verbal contract. A short explanation convinces the timekeeper to ring the opening bell, after which Alves calmly rolls Simpson over and casually lays across the blonde’s chest.
Doing his best not to roll his eyes, Nick drops down and counts out…
ONE
TWO
THREE
...before he signals for the timekeeper to ring the closing bell, officially marking an inauspicious start and an ignoble end to the first match of the Bianca Simpson Open Challenge. Alves rises to a stand and bows to the referee before she makes her exit without another word, leaving Castle to clean up her mess. The man does his duty as always, calling for medical assistance before kneeling down next to the battered blonde and ruefully shaking his head.
“Oh, Bianca… what are we going to do with you…” he sighs, already sounding exhausted even though the show had just begun.
Nick turns his head to watch Maria stroll back up the entrance ramp, and just before she slips through the curtains, Castle’s morbid curiosity gets the best of him.
“Maria, wait!” he shouts, plainly audible in the eerily quiet arena and causing the Brazilian judoka to stop in her tracks. “What could be worse than the Cambodian killing fields?”
“TWO bee stings!” Maria calls back over her shoulder as she flashes a pleasant smile, then she disappears to the back, leaving a building full of very agitated and very confused people in her wake.
MARIA ALVES
Having just watched the Innovator’s encounter with the ladies of Wicked play out over the FAWNtron along with the rest of the live audience, Maria purses her lips and slowly shakes her head in disapproval and mutters something irritable in her native Portuguese. A voice in her earpiece reminds her that the cameras are now focused on her, however, and that prompts Alves to perk up considerably.
“Greetings and salutations. I am Maria Alves and this is MariaTV, the latest ploy by our fearless leaders to increase interest and revenue,” she says as she looks directly into the nearest lens with a winsome smile. “On a personal note, I am pleased to be back in our federation. Evidently Bethany Christian was somewhat displeased that I borrowed her automobile, her yacht, her bank account, her ex-husband, and her ex-husband’s left kidney, thus I was sent on an overseas tour to the great countries of England, Australia, Japan, and Saudi Arabia. My odyssey is ended, however, and I shall not be leaving again, for I am now an enemy of the state in the great countries of England, Australia, Japan, and Saudi Arabia.”
The audience doesn’t quite know how to respond to that news, offering nothing more than a few confused murmurs and a smattering of polite applause. Their less-than-enthusiastic response doesn’t dampen Maria’s spirits, however, and she addresses the crowd with a regal wave from her seat.
“Now that I have said my piece, it is time to bring out my guest for this initial episode of MariaTV,” Alves continues. “Making her return to the ring after a year spent recovering from a gruesome injury --”
With that, the crowd collectively gasps before exploding into cheers just a moment later. Anticipating the return of one of their favorites, the FAWNatics begin to chant WEL-COME BACK! WEL-COME BACK!
“-- she is a woman who requires no introduction, but for whom I am compelled by the script to provide an introduction regardless --”
WEL-COME BACK! WEL-COME BACK!
“-- she is the one --”
WEL-COME BACK! WEL-COME BACK!
“-- the only --”
WEL-COME BACK! WEL-COME BACK!
“-- Bianca Simpson.”
The cheers abruptly stop, giving way to crushing silence as if someone had cut the cord on the radio. A beat later, the woman in question bursts through the curtains at the top of the entrance ramp dressed in sweatpants, sneakers, and her first ever FAWN t-shirt bearing the slogan This looks like a JOB for Bianca Simpson.
BIANCA SIMPSON
“Oh! You guys LOVE me! You REALLY love me!” Bianca gushes as her eyes well with tears of joy, too overcome with emotion to realize that the crowd had been expecting someone else entirely.
Making her way to the ring for the first time since an ill-fated challenge against Trisha Belle for the Intercontinental Championship, Simpson alternates between waving and blowing kisses to the still-silent audience. She makes her way to the announcer’s table to pick up a felt-tipped marker, then she leans over the barrier to sign her autograph on an unsuspecting and unfortunate fan’s collectible, limited edition Ivy Armstrong t-shirt. Bianca turns to the ring, and after taking a couple of steps to build momentum, she attempts to leap from the floor to the four-foot high apron as she had seen so many wrestlers do before.
To her credit, Simpson only comes up short by a foot and a half, and she squawks in pain as she smashes her shins against the thinly covered plywood.
“Ahhhhhh geeeeeez… missed it by that much…” Bianca sheepishly groans to the crowd, holding the thumb and forefinger on her right hand an inch apart while rubbing her bruised tibia with her left hand. “Gosh, they must’ve made that higher while I was gone…”
The bubbly blonde takes a little more time to gather her wits, then she gets to her feet and enters the ring in a much more humble fashion by sliding under the bottom rope. Her modesty is short-lived, however, and she immediately pops back up, punches a fist into the air, and unleashes a WOOOOOOOOO! that echoes from every wall in the deathly still arena. Bianca hops, skips, and jumps a lap around the squared circle before finally approaching Maria and extending an arm for a handshake.
For her part, Alves rises to a stand, gives Simpson a stiff, formal bow, and sits back down, all without saying a word. Feeling awkward after being left hanging, Bianca runs her hand through her blonde hair and pretends to scratch the back of her neck, then she takes a seat in the steel chair opposite of the Brazilian.
“Welcome, Bianca Simpson,” Maria greets her fellow wrestler.
“Thanks, Maria! I’m happy to be here at… err…” Bianca hesitantly responds. “Wait, what did you say this was again?”
“MariaTV,” Alves promptly answers. “As you may have surmised, the ‘Maria’ in ‘MariaTV’ stands for Maria, which is my name. Do not ask me what the ‘T’ or ‘V’ stand for, it was Edward Wayne Thomas who thought of the title and the concept. In all his wisdom, Edward felt it would be greatly amusing for me to interview my colleagues at FAWN. In fact, he spent the next several minutes giggling immediately after suggesting the idea.”
“Well, ya couldn’t have picked a better subject!” Simpson says as she pops the front of her t-shirt. “I’ll have you know that I’m on the top half of the second page of results when you Google ‘Bianca Simpson.’ Not to brag or anything, but that kinda makes me a big deal. My comeback is something of a medical miracle, y’know. Dr. Vannacutt told me I should NEVER wrestle again after that match with Trisha, but I busted my butt rehabbing that jaw contusion for a year. Not gonna lie, those were some dark days, but I started from the bottom, now I’m here! So let’er rip, Maria! No softball questions, gimme the heat so I can knock it outta the park!”
“I neither understand nor care to understand anything you just said,” Maria flatly replies, then she dramatically clears her throat, pulls a stack of cue cards from her sleeve, and reads her first question. “Why are you so terrible at everything?”
Bianca blanches, and caught off-guard by her interviewer’s bluntness, she can only stutter, “Excuse me, w-what?”
“A most eloquent and incisive answer,” Alves says, then she tosses the first card over her shoulder and moves onto her next query. “Which of your myriad of humiliations was most humiliating?”
“What -- What the hell are you --”
“Fascinating,” Maria interrupts, discarding another card without even bothering to look up at her purported interview subject. “If you were to wrestle a small, sickly child with no arms, no legs, and no will to live, how do you envision yourself losing?”
“Alright, Maria…” Bianca growls. “...you’re making me angry. You wouldn’t like me when --”
Paying the blonde’s threats no mind, Alves blithely continues to ask, “Assuming a westbound train leaves New York City at fourteen hundred hours Greenwich Mean Time traveling one hundred thirty kilometers per hour, and an eastbound train leaves San Francisco at sixteen hundred hours Greenwich Mean Time traveling one hundred ten kilometers per hour, at what time do you notch your first victory?”
“I’LL NOTCH MY FIRST VICTORY RIGHT-GODDAMNED-NOW IF SOMEONE COMES DOWN TO --”
“You are incorrect. That was what is colloquially known as a ‘trick question,’” Maria interrupts once more. “You will never notch your first victory because the train tracks are parallel, and parallel lines do not inter --”
“ALRIGHT, THAT’S IT!” Simpson screeches as she hops to her feet and snatches the microphone out of her interviewer’s hands. “I’M DECLARING THE FIRST EVER BIANCA SIMPSON OPEN CHALLENGE! I’LL OPEN A CAN OF WHOOPASS ON ANYONE, ANYTIME, ANYWHERE! ANYONE WHO WANTS TO GO FOR A RIDE ON THE B-TRAIN, NOW’S THE TIME TO COME DOWN HERE AND GET… THESE… HAAA -- AAAAIIIIIEEE!”
Ever the opportunist, Maria suddenly clasps one arm across Bianca’s chest, then she pivots on a dime and sends the blonde hurtling through the air with a wicked Uranage that results in the back of Simpson’s skull crashing into the seat of the steel chair.
URANAGE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4s_dYqMDIkw
The audience OOOOOH’s at the sickening impact that leaves Bianca unconscious and the chair twisted and bent. Alves remains unperturbed and unconcerned as she picks up the microphone and gingerly rises to her feet, then she gives another formal bow to the broken form of her interviewee-turned-opponent.
“I accept your valiant challenge,” she dutifully announces to Bianca before she turns to address the announcer’s table. “I require the services of an official.”
With the crowd still murmuring in shock at the unexpected turn of events, Maria crosses her arms and taps her foot expectantly. When a referee still has not arrived after a full minute, both she and the FAWNatics start to grow restless, though the Brazilian wrestler sees another chance to grab the brass ring.
“I shall regale you all with humorous witticisms while we wait,” she blandly informs the crowd immediately before launching into her stand-up comedy routine. “What speaks like a man but gallops like a horse?”
Unprepared for another sudden shift in programming, the fans in the building collectively let out a flat, confused WHAAAAT.
“A man riding a horse,” Maria replies, taking a great deal of satisfaction in her own cleverness, even if the FAWNatics seem to disagree.
WHAAAAT.
Alves is not to be deterred, and she continues, “What is red and tastes like blue paint?”
WHAAAAT.
“Red paint.”
WHAAAAT.
“What grows like grass and has the heart of a lion?”
WHAAAAT.
“Grass. The statement about the heart of a lion was an intentional misdirection.”
WHAAAAT.
“What walks on four legs at morning, two legs at noon, and --”
Maria notices that Bianca has regained consciousness and is crawling to hands and knees, so she interrupts herself in order to violently bash her microphone into the base of the blonde’s skull. The jarring blow produces a loud whine of feedback, and Simpson collapses once more like a sack of bricks.
“-- twenty-three legs at night?” Alves finishes without missing a beat.
WHAAAAT.
“Nothing.”
WHAAAAT.
“What is worse than a bee sting?”
WHAAAAT.
“The genocidal murder of one-point-seven million people by the Khmer Rouge regime in the Cambodian killing fields.”
WHAAAAT.
“What is worse than the Cambodian killing fields?”
WHAAAAT.
Before Maria can respond, however, senior referee Nick Castle finally slides into the ring after getting confirmation from the executives and legal team that Bianca’s words could in fact be construed as a binding verbal contract. A short explanation convinces the timekeeper to ring the opening bell, after which Alves calmly rolls Simpson over and casually lays across the blonde’s chest.
Doing his best not to roll his eyes, Nick drops down and counts out…
ONE
TWO
THREE
...before he signals for the timekeeper to ring the closing bell, officially marking an inauspicious start and an ignoble end to the first match of the Bianca Simpson Open Challenge. Alves rises to a stand and bows to the referee before she makes her exit without another word, leaving Castle to clean up her mess. The man does his duty as always, calling for medical assistance before kneeling down next to the battered blonde and ruefully shaking his head.
“Oh, Bianca… what are we going to do with you…” he sighs, already sounding exhausted even though the show had just begun.
Nick turns his head to watch Maria stroll back up the entrance ramp, and just before she slips through the curtains, Castle’s morbid curiosity gets the best of him.
“Maria, wait!” he shouts, plainly audible in the eerily quiet arena and causing the Brazilian judoka to stop in her tracks. “What could be worse than the Cambodian killing fields?”
“TWO bee stings!” Maria calls back over her shoulder as she flashes a pleasant smile, then she disappears to the back, leaving a building full of very agitated and very confused people in her wake.