Post by hawkeye on Apr 18, 2020 16:24:43 GMT
The short-cropped, auburn bob of FAWN’s Boarding School Princess flashes into view as the cameraman tests his white balance.
“Are you almost ready?” a familiar Manchester accent calls from off lens left and the man points his device in the direction of a FAWN icon.
“Yep,” the man replies, focusing in on the former three-time World Champion.
Shea London
From off-camera right, the redheaded Scouser chimes in.
“So I see Bethany’s getting some use out of that ridiculous contract she gave to get you back over here in Swampland.”
Elizabeth Cromwell
“Aye,” Shea says, motioning Elizabeth Cromwell into the shot. “And wouldn’t ya know my first interview is with a brat from Liverpool.”
“Better red than…well…anything,” a smirking Lizzie replies.
“Be entertaining but be truthful,” London advises, “and we won’t ‘ave any problems.”
“And what if we did have, y’know, problems?” Elizabeth asks curtly.
“I may ‘ave a brace on my knee that weighs twenty pounds, but I'll be out of it soon and can still mop the floor with you, kid.”
Cromwell scoffs but doesn’t push the issue, allowing Shea to return her attention to the camera. The operator counts her down, pointing at the Sensational One after mouthing ‘ONE’.
“’Ey there FAWNatics of all shapes and sizes. ‘Appy to ‘ave ya back here in London’s Speaker’s Corner and, goodness me, aren’t we lucky to ‘ave one of my countrywomen with us to talk the lightweight title picture, underhanded tactics, and drastically short hairstyles.”
Cromwell reflexively scrunches her nose at the living legend, looking like she wants to load up a clothesline before one word comes from her lips.
“And women who’ve finally found their calling,” Elizabeth responds instead. “I always thought you were suited for the role of an interviewer, at least after you got your AARP card.”
Shea’s grin is as fake as Fox News, but she swallows hard and pushes on.
“I’d especially like to talk about the woman who’s owned you more than any other and we both know that encompasses a lot of people, Estrina Starfire.
“Did the fact you can’t seem to beat her in the ring prompt you to ‘elp another brat beat ‘er from outside at March to War?”
“Did you see what she did to me?” Lizzie angrily replies. “She chopped my freakin’ hair off. I had to go to my stylist three times before he could make something out of it.”
“I did, in fact, see that and it was glorious. Another Liverpudlian choking in the biggest moment. But dear. I believe that was part of the contract. What wasn’t was you going down to the ring last month and teaming up with Chrissy Daniel to get Chrissy’s Mini-me to a title match.”
“Kat Braddock, who I might add I couldn’t care less about, looked like she could use a shield against some type of cheating from Estrina. I was concerned Estrina would go nuts after someone kicked out after her weakass Solar Flare. I can’t control that Kat decided to use it for offense.”
“Uh huh,” London grunts.
“And did that Singaprorean sap get what she deserved. Everyone has their opinion.”
“And what’s yours?”
“My opinion is Estrina isn’t seeing a lightweight title shot for a long time, and not just because she’s at the back of the line thanks to some rookie. It’s because she’s demanded a Dumpster match.”
“Outstanding,” Shea interrupts. “Dress appropriately.”
“Yeah. She thinks since I inserted a garbage can lid into her match, quite innocently, I should be put out with the trash at Spring Break. What would you expect from such a low-class person? Of course, I agreed immediately. What better way to literally and figuratively put Estrina out for pick-up along with the rest of the garbage.
So whomever gets tossed into a dumpster filled with the most vile sludge FAWNatics provide earlier in the night will be the ultimate loser, every other previous result be damned.”
“The results that show Starfire up 3-1 on you?” London asks cheekily.
“I will say,” Shea continues, “I believe Starfire made a mistake in that any match where you can’t be pinned is in your favor, since it ‘appens in so many of your matches.”
“Shut your damn mouth you old hag. When you’re medically cleared. I’m SO going to put you in the stocks for one last going-away party.”
Lizzie turns to the lens.
“But for now, I’ve made it my mission to wipe the slate clean with that sweaty bytch and leave her laying with the rest of the filth. We’re done.”
Cromwell turns and head off stage, leaving Shea with a creased grin.
“Well. There’s a first time for anything ladies and gents. We’ll see if Elizabeth can finally win a big one.”
Fade to black.
“Are you almost ready?” a familiar Manchester accent calls from off lens left and the man points his device in the direction of a FAWN icon.
“Yep,” the man replies, focusing in on the former three-time World Champion.
Shea London
From off-camera right, the redheaded Scouser chimes in.
“So I see Bethany’s getting some use out of that ridiculous contract she gave to get you back over here in Swampland.”
Elizabeth Cromwell
“Aye,” Shea says, motioning Elizabeth Cromwell into the shot. “And wouldn’t ya know my first interview is with a brat from Liverpool.”
“Better red than…well…anything,” a smirking Lizzie replies.
“Be entertaining but be truthful,” London advises, “and we won’t ‘ave any problems.”
“And what if we did have, y’know, problems?” Elizabeth asks curtly.
“I may ‘ave a brace on my knee that weighs twenty pounds, but I'll be out of it soon and can still mop the floor with you, kid.”
Cromwell scoffs but doesn’t push the issue, allowing Shea to return her attention to the camera. The operator counts her down, pointing at the Sensational One after mouthing ‘ONE’.
“’Ey there FAWNatics of all shapes and sizes. ‘Appy to ‘ave ya back here in London’s Speaker’s Corner and, goodness me, aren’t we lucky to ‘ave one of my countrywomen with us to talk the lightweight title picture, underhanded tactics, and drastically short hairstyles.”
Cromwell reflexively scrunches her nose at the living legend, looking like she wants to load up a clothesline before one word comes from her lips.
“And women who’ve finally found their calling,” Elizabeth responds instead. “I always thought you were suited for the role of an interviewer, at least after you got your AARP card.”
Shea’s grin is as fake as Fox News, but she swallows hard and pushes on.
“I’d especially like to talk about the woman who’s owned you more than any other and we both know that encompasses a lot of people, Estrina Starfire.
“Did the fact you can’t seem to beat her in the ring prompt you to ‘elp another brat beat ‘er from outside at March to War?”
“Did you see what she did to me?” Lizzie angrily replies. “She chopped my freakin’ hair off. I had to go to my stylist three times before he could make something out of it.”
“I did, in fact, see that and it was glorious. Another Liverpudlian choking in the biggest moment. But dear. I believe that was part of the contract. What wasn’t was you going down to the ring last month and teaming up with Chrissy Daniel to get Chrissy’s Mini-me to a title match.”
“Kat Braddock, who I might add I couldn’t care less about, looked like she could use a shield against some type of cheating from Estrina. I was concerned Estrina would go nuts after someone kicked out after her weakass Solar Flare. I can’t control that Kat decided to use it for offense.”
“Uh huh,” London grunts.
“And did that Singaprorean sap get what she deserved. Everyone has their opinion.”
“And what’s yours?”
“My opinion is Estrina isn’t seeing a lightweight title shot for a long time, and not just because she’s at the back of the line thanks to some rookie. It’s because she’s demanded a Dumpster match.”
“Outstanding,” Shea interrupts. “Dress appropriately.”
“Yeah. She thinks since I inserted a garbage can lid into her match, quite innocently, I should be put out with the trash at Spring Break. What would you expect from such a low-class person? Of course, I agreed immediately. What better way to literally and figuratively put Estrina out for pick-up along with the rest of the garbage.
So whomever gets tossed into a dumpster filled with the most vile sludge FAWNatics provide earlier in the night will be the ultimate loser, every other previous result be damned.”
“The results that show Starfire up 3-1 on you?” London asks cheekily.
“I will say,” Shea continues, “I believe Starfire made a mistake in that any match where you can’t be pinned is in your favor, since it ‘appens in so many of your matches.”
“Shut your damn mouth you old hag. When you’re medically cleared. I’m SO going to put you in the stocks for one last going-away party.”
Lizzie turns to the lens.
“But for now, I’ve made it my mission to wipe the slate clean with that sweaty bytch and leave her laying with the rest of the filth. We’re done.”
Cromwell turns and head off stage, leaving Shea with a creased grin.
“Well. There’s a first time for anything ladies and gents. We’ll see if Elizabeth can finally win a big one.”
Fade to black.