Post by EmmaWoods007 on Apr 9, 2020 18:52:07 GMT
YOU CAN'T BE TRUSTED WITH TWITTER
There were few things in this life that Summer Hopkins enjoyed more than ice-cream.
SUMMER HOPKINS
It was with guilty indulgence then, that the Supergirl of Sheffield enjoyed her very own small bucket of such delights in the seating of the empty, Orlando Arena. Sat snugly in the upper tiers, with long legs tucked up against her chest, the former Wallflower enjoyed her moment of what had become rare isolation, the British Bombshell 2.0 savouring her treat.
The vast arena was surprisingly serene when it was empty, waiting for the visitors, and the squared circle far below at its centre waited for its occupants, deceptively calm. Summer enjoyed it, these small moments of privacy, smiling to herself as she indulged in another spoonful of strawberry flavoured delights.
“There you are,” an intruder announced herself, striding down the isle with all of the self-assurance of someone who owned the place. She didn’t, but the Cross-Brand Media Sensation, Susan Style, hadn’t yet found a stage she couldn’t make herself the centre of.
SUSAN STYLE
Summer almost chocked on her ice-cream, having been oblivious to her sponsors arrival, “Sorry, I didn’t…”
Susan waved off any explanations that might have been forthcoming as she traded her attention between her phone and her pet project, “Never mind, already not caring.” She paused for a moment, peeking over the top of her sunglasses, giving her protégée one hundred percent of her regard, “I hope you’re planning to wear something more flattering once the camera’s start rolling?”
Summer, feeling increasingly self-conscious, looked down at her clothes and wondered what could be wrong with them before nodding, pointing in the general direction of the back stage as though those were helpful directions. “My gear is in my locker,” she revealed, the attire she wore as one half of the incredibly popular Sensationals, “I didn’t want to get a stain on it.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Susan looked down at the seat beside Hopkins, eyeing it critically before opting to bite the bullet and sit down. “I didn’t go through all the trouble of booking you a solo, PPV appearance so you could appear looking like a hobo.”
Mildly hurt, Summer opted to say nothing in response, instead healing her wounded pride with another spoonful of ‘oh so delicious’ ice-cream.
“And were did we get that?” Susan queried, not looking up from her phone as she continued to text away on some manner of business.
“Concession man,” Summer admitted, immediately concerned that she was about to have her treat removed from her possession. She briefly considered eating all the faster, so that eventuality couldn’t happen.
“And let me guess,” Susan flashed a grin, as disarming as it was unexpected. “All it cost you was a smile.”
Summer nodded, feeling sheepish.
“Don’t apologise,” Style returned her attention to her overworked phone. “It’s a useful discount. Here, hold still for a moment.”
Like a Doe caught in headlights, Hopkins did exactly as she was told, a spoonful of ice-cream in her mouth, Susan taking her picture with a flash of her handheld device. After a few moments of tapping the keypad rapidly, Susan looked pleased with her handiwork.
“There we go,” she declared, letting Summer see the screen. “I posted it on your Facebook. Just like that, we have increased tonight’s concession sales by at least, I’d say, forty percent, and that’s being conservative.”
“We did?” Hopkins queried, openly curious.
“Easily,” Susan stuck to her narrative. “You’re stunning. You’re eating our ice-cream. People want to be stunning like you. People will eat our ice-cream. Marketing can be shockingly simple when you boil it down to its base elements.”
Not really being an expert on the situation, Summer opted to just nod in agreement. That is, until she saw the forest for the trees, and she was overtaken by genuine confusion. “Wait, I have Facebook?”
Susan, realising what she had just revealed, didn’t answer immediately.
“Yes,” she ultimately confessed, regardless of the fact that she had been caught red handed. “You actually have a great deal of Social Media, I set it up for you after taking you under my wing. For a published author, your online presence is shockingly shallow.”
“Can I go on it?” Summer reached out a tentative hand for her Sponsors mobile device, now intensely curious, before Susan swatted her digits away with a tap.
“No,” Style was adamant, giving the blonde a ‘stern’ look over. “You can’t be trusted with Twitter.”
Summer, looking wounded, returned to her ice-cream.
Susan released an ever so small sigh of exasperation.
“Fine,” she conceded, “we’ll discuss it after the PPV.”
The Supergirl of Sheffield perked up immediately, smiling and feeling pleased as punch.
“First things first,” Style wrangled her budding protégée back on track, the two of them looking down upon the squared circle far below them. “Bring you’re A Game tonight and, no matter what happens, look great doing it.”
Summer nodded, inhaling deeply to steady her growing excitement, helping herself to some more ice-cream, “I will.”
“You better,” Style stated flatly, returning her attention to her mobile device. “Because if she didn’t already, I’ve been making damn sure that Carla Crash really, really hates you.”
There were few things in this life that Summer Hopkins enjoyed more than ice-cream.
SUMMER HOPKINS
It was with guilty indulgence then, that the Supergirl of Sheffield enjoyed her very own small bucket of such delights in the seating of the empty, Orlando Arena. Sat snugly in the upper tiers, with long legs tucked up against her chest, the former Wallflower enjoyed her moment of what had become rare isolation, the British Bombshell 2.0 savouring her treat.
The vast arena was surprisingly serene when it was empty, waiting for the visitors, and the squared circle far below at its centre waited for its occupants, deceptively calm. Summer enjoyed it, these small moments of privacy, smiling to herself as she indulged in another spoonful of strawberry flavoured delights.
“There you are,” an intruder announced herself, striding down the isle with all of the self-assurance of someone who owned the place. She didn’t, but the Cross-Brand Media Sensation, Susan Style, hadn’t yet found a stage she couldn’t make herself the centre of.
SUSAN STYLE
Summer almost chocked on her ice-cream, having been oblivious to her sponsors arrival, “Sorry, I didn’t…”
Susan waved off any explanations that might have been forthcoming as she traded her attention between her phone and her pet project, “Never mind, already not caring.” She paused for a moment, peeking over the top of her sunglasses, giving her protégée one hundred percent of her regard, “I hope you’re planning to wear something more flattering once the camera’s start rolling?”
Summer, feeling increasingly self-conscious, looked down at her clothes and wondered what could be wrong with them before nodding, pointing in the general direction of the back stage as though those were helpful directions. “My gear is in my locker,” she revealed, the attire she wore as one half of the incredibly popular Sensationals, “I didn’t want to get a stain on it.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Susan looked down at the seat beside Hopkins, eyeing it critically before opting to bite the bullet and sit down. “I didn’t go through all the trouble of booking you a solo, PPV appearance so you could appear looking like a hobo.”
Mildly hurt, Summer opted to say nothing in response, instead healing her wounded pride with another spoonful of ‘oh so delicious’ ice-cream.
“And were did we get that?” Susan queried, not looking up from her phone as she continued to text away on some manner of business.
“Concession man,” Summer admitted, immediately concerned that she was about to have her treat removed from her possession. She briefly considered eating all the faster, so that eventuality couldn’t happen.
“And let me guess,” Susan flashed a grin, as disarming as it was unexpected. “All it cost you was a smile.”
Summer nodded, feeling sheepish.
“Don’t apologise,” Style returned her attention to her overworked phone. “It’s a useful discount. Here, hold still for a moment.”
Like a Doe caught in headlights, Hopkins did exactly as she was told, a spoonful of ice-cream in her mouth, Susan taking her picture with a flash of her handheld device. After a few moments of tapping the keypad rapidly, Susan looked pleased with her handiwork.
“There we go,” she declared, letting Summer see the screen. “I posted it on your Facebook. Just like that, we have increased tonight’s concession sales by at least, I’d say, forty percent, and that’s being conservative.”
“We did?” Hopkins queried, openly curious.
“Easily,” Susan stuck to her narrative. “You’re stunning. You’re eating our ice-cream. People want to be stunning like you. People will eat our ice-cream. Marketing can be shockingly simple when you boil it down to its base elements.”
Not really being an expert on the situation, Summer opted to just nod in agreement. That is, until she saw the forest for the trees, and she was overtaken by genuine confusion. “Wait, I have Facebook?”
Susan, realising what she had just revealed, didn’t answer immediately.
“Yes,” she ultimately confessed, regardless of the fact that she had been caught red handed. “You actually have a great deal of Social Media, I set it up for you after taking you under my wing. For a published author, your online presence is shockingly shallow.”
“Can I go on it?” Summer reached out a tentative hand for her Sponsors mobile device, now intensely curious, before Susan swatted her digits away with a tap.
“No,” Style was adamant, giving the blonde a ‘stern’ look over. “You can’t be trusted with Twitter.”
Summer, looking wounded, returned to her ice-cream.
Susan released an ever so small sigh of exasperation.
“Fine,” she conceded, “we’ll discuss it after the PPV.”
The Supergirl of Sheffield perked up immediately, smiling and feeling pleased as punch.
“First things first,” Style wrangled her budding protégée back on track, the two of them looking down upon the squared circle far below them. “Bring you’re A Game tonight and, no matter what happens, look great doing it.”
Summer nodded, inhaling deeply to steady her growing excitement, helping herself to some more ice-cream, “I will.”
“You better,” Style stated flatly, returning her attention to her mobile device. “Because if she didn’t already, I’ve been making damn sure that Carla Crash really, really hates you.”