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Madelyne McTaggart vs. Gigi Steward
Topic Started: Jan 25 2012, 10:34 PM (166 Views)
Kassie Khane
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SCW PRESENTS: FRIDAY NIGHT AMMO: FEATURING:

Madelyne McTaggart vs. Gigi Steward

Deadline: Noon EST Thursday, February 9, 2012
RP Limit: 3 RP per person for singles.

~~Good Luck Everyone!~~
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Madelyne
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[align=center] Posted Image

“Unacceptable!”

The glass vase shattered against the wall, only missing Clark DiSantio by virtue of him leaping to the floor. His hands immediately covered the back of his head in an effort to shield it from the small shards reigning down upon him. Another crash caused him to look up, and it caused his heart to sink; the glass vase was one thing, but the television was another! The 66-inch flatscreen lay facedown upon the floor, a wisp of smoke trailing up from the back. Clark loved that tv, but his client, in her infinite rage, had just destroyed it. He crawled to his feet, his jaw hanging open, eyes wary for yet more thrown objects.

“Complete and utter NONSENSE!”

Clark followed the voice into the next room, where Madelyne McTaggert, heaving with anger, was trying with all her might to knock over all ten feet of the mahogany book shelf, only succeeding in slipping and landing on her rump. She scrambled back to her feet and tried to budge the extremely heavy piece of furniture again, with little change in the results. In frustration, she began kicking it… which only exacerbated her frustration, as it did a vast amount of nothing. Clark rushed over to her, trying to restrain the Brit before she did any more damage to the yacht… or herself.

“Madelyne, Madleyne! Calm down! I know a loss to Marina Trent is infuriating, but-“

“Loss to what-now? Clark, you are so DENSE!”

Clark blinked in confusion, clearly not understanding what had upset McTaggert so.

“But… if it isn’t Marina’s victory…”

“They CHEERED, Clark! Those idiots in the crowd, the ones who constantly berate my name out of some rightly-placed concept of jealousy… they CHEERED for me! A bunch of sorry, redneck no-names were in MY corner, as if they belonged there! What gives them the right, Clark? What on God’s green Earth makes them think they can root for the great Madelyne McTaggert?!”

Again, Clark was at a loss.

“Maddie… they wanted you to win. What’s so wrong with people wanting you to win?”

“They’re not people! They’re a conglomeration of less-than-average intelligence! They haven’t earned the right to chant my name or jump on my bandwagon! They should have been cheering for Darkwing Duck over there; she’s more their style. Nonsensical, thinks she’s some deep dark baddy… it goes right in line with the emo vampire twits of today. So why would they root for someone who is better than them, Clark? What thought-process could possibly have led them to that conclusion?!”

Clark thought for a moment, but the fuming Madelyne took the momentary lapse in conversation to attempt another tipping of the bookshelf. Her diminutive manager had to stifle a laugh at her efforts; even Redeemer wouldn’t be able to move that thing. It was attached to the floor. Even so, he needed to calm his client down; the flatscreen had been the worst casualty of Madelyne’s rage, but it could always get worse.

“That may not be the case, Maddie.”

She looked over her shoulder at Clark, eyes full of fire. Clark had to tread carefully, here; telling Madelyne McTaggert she was wrong was never a good idea, regardless of whether or not she was. He took a deep breath, organizing his thoughts.

“Perhaps… perhaps the crowd did not assume it was worthy to cheer your name. It could be possible that… um… they thought themselves too good to chant the name of Marina Trent.”

Madelyne paused, considering this. Of course! It was so painfully obvious now! Her lips curled into a smile and she released her tenacious hold on the bookshelf, turning to face her manager. Clark was tense, not quite sure if that smile meant she agreed, or was imagining hurling him overboard. She reached out a hand, and he flinched, but all she did was give his domed head a little pat.

“Good thinking, Clarky. Now be a darling and clean this mess up… we’ll be having company in an hour.”

Clark sighed as the blonde walked out of the room.

He wasn’t being paid nearly enough for this.



* * *


The wiry man was typical of the executive type; garbed in a light grey business suit, off-white button-down shirt, and red tie, the man oozed all the appeal of a weasel, especially given his short, curly haircut. His jaw was weak, nose was big, and forehead was practically nonexistent. Madelyne had to resist the urge to punch him each and every time he entered her vision… which was quite often, considering he was sitting across from her. This was all very mundane to the Brit. Then again, paperwork always was.

“So, Miss McTaggert, everything looks to be in order. You do realize that you will be responsible for your actions, however, and RichTech, Entertainment will not be held liable for any impending lawsuits, correct?”

Madelyne rolled her eyes; Mr. Burke had been going over the terms of the contract for two and a half hours now. She had thumbed through his paperwork, had Clark re-check it, examined the clauses and the red tape. All of it was rather boring to her, truth be told; she could play politics like few others, but it was just so… boring. She absently reached up to rub a spot on her forehead, the very spot that had met the steel turnbuckle at Body, Heart, and Soul. Oh, it was sore; there wasn’t a soul alive that could take a hit like that and not feel it. A year previous, the very same spot had been bitten by Nicole Kinneck, alias Ducky. The irony was not lost on McTaggert. She had been overconfident, expecting the same from Marina Trent as she had experienced before. She scowled to herself; that fight was far from over, whether Trent knew it or not.

“Miss McTaggert?”

Madelyne glanced up at Burke. His nasally voice reminded her of that bespectacled boy on the black version of Full House, which annoyed her. She hated that show. The world was not as loving or fluffy as it portrayed; in point of fact, the only thing that mattered in life was grabbing what you could before somebody else beat you to it.

She glanced down at the contract again.


“You know, I don’t think we need your services, Mr. Burke.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your services. They are not needed.”

Burke’s face flushed red in anger, and it was all Madelyne could do to keep her laughter in; the poor soul looked exactly like a red chili pepper! He rose to his feet, planting his shaking hands on the desk.

“You call me out here, an hour-and-a-half’s worth of a drive from my office, to go over these documents personally, and now you say you don’t want the deal at all?!”

Burke spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes nearly bulging. Madelyne smiled sweetly, leaning back in her chair. She had determined three days ago that she did not want this contract, but the prospect of toying with this pipsqueak had proved irresistible. The look on his face served only to justify it, in her mind.

“Look here, Burkey… Barky? Whatever. Do you see this yacht you are on? Do you see the lavish comforts I surround myself with? If I truly wanted a television broadcast, I could simply buy a transmission dish. But I wouldn’t need to do that, would I? I could just grab a webcam and blab away, then post it on youtube. Your industry is dying, Mr. Burke. Now, if you’d please, I must ask you to vacate my yacht.”

Clark, who had been watching over the proceedings, opened the door, seeing the irate Mr. Burke out. A moment later, the misshapen manager returned, shaking his head in bewilderment.

“Madelyne… what is it with you?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You wasted the time and money of one of the top stations in the industry for no better reason than to appease your own boredom.”

It was more than that, really; Madelyne’s frustration at her loss ran deep. It wasn’t so much the fact that she lost… it was who she lost to. It was an embarrassment, one she would not let pass.

“It’s Marina, isn’t it?”

The harsh glare Clark received at the mention of her name told him everything he needed to know.

“Madelyne, forget Marina Trent! Ignore her existence. The delusional tart had to pull every dirty trick in the business to put you down. She was an established veteran of the ring, whereas you’ve been out of it for over a year, and she was barely able to pick up the win. What does that say, Madelyne?”

“It says I need to schedule a rematch, and show the duckbilled derp-derp what it means to anger a McTaggert.”

If ever there was the manifestation of a facepalm, Clark’s reaction was it.

“No! Forget her! Despite the loss, management has put you up against someone who matters far more than her… someone you’ve never faced before.”

Madelyne cocked an intrigued eyebrow. Clark saw that he had her attention now, and inwardly congratulated himself on the small victory.

“Giovani Steward.”

“Bless you.”

One step forward, two steps back. Clark nearly growled in exasperation.

“Giovani Steward is your next opponent! Gigi Steward!”

In her first tenure at SCW, Madelyne had pinned another Steward; this one going by the name of Madison, or Maddy. Admittedly, it had angered Madelyne that there was another using her name, and she had made her displeasure known when she defeated the younger woman.

“She’ll be out for blood, you know. I doubt she’s forgotten what you did to Madison.”

Clark didn’t quite say it, but he was worred for his client. Madelyne was tough, methodical, and dangerous… but he knew better than most the wrath of a loved one, and the Princess of Wrestling seemed the type to give in to that righteous outrage. The Back Cracker was his main fear; given the size difference between her and Madelyne, the deadly maneuver could be the endgame for the British blonde.


* * *


SPECIAL MESSAGE FROM MADELYNE McTAGGERT

To the teeming masses of stupidity,

There will be no blog this week. I know, I’m sorry to break your little insignificant hearts, but fear not! I have another treat in mind for you. So scroll on down, and you’ll be treated to a video by yours truly. Boys, put the tissues away… it’s not a striptease. That can be found on Syren’s website.

Sorry Zoe!

-MM

Static fills the imbedded window, the logo of MM Productions displayed prominently. Both slowly fade away to reveal a lavish throne room, set up in a style reminiscent of the medieval style; the walls were of heavy stone, but decorated with intricate tapestries depicting everything from legendary battles to family crests. A raised platform, connected to the lower floor via a set of five steps, completed the layout of the room. Centered upon said-dais is a golden throne, the cushions the same shade of crimson as the carpet that leads up to it. Sitting in this throne is none other than Madelyne McTaggert, a royal purple cloak draped about her shoulders. A diamond tiara sat atop her head, a golden scepter studded with jewels clutched in her right hand. A smile was on her face, a smile that spoke only of mirth and cruelty.

“Why hello, you lesser beings of an even lower class! You are here to bear witness, and bear witness you shall, to the demise of yet another member of the Steward family. The first, a boastful young whelp of a child, fared not so well. And now we have her avenger, here to right the so-called wrongs of the past: Giovani Steward. Or Gigi, as she likes to be called. There are many things I wish to say to you, Gigi… chief among them, a question: why bother defending the honor of little Madison? After all, who is she? Someone who shares your last name. Someone who can do nothing, get nowhere, in this company. Yet you’re going to come to her rescue, like some crusading knight on a mission of honor. A… savior, perhaps?

But before you begin your crusade, Gigi, let me remind you of one thing. You call yourself the Princess of Wrestling, correct? You see yourself as some form of royalty? How wrong you are, little Giovani. You are no royalty. You are a Steward; a position of lesser importance meant to be nothing more than a placeholder until the true royalty comes home. And come home, I have. Your services are no longer required, Giovani, and if you will not vacate willingly, I will have you removed.”

A smirk crossed Madelyne’s superior face; she was having quite a time with the play-on-words game she had begun, but it would take more than clever analogies to get her point across. She stood tall, removing the tiara before tossing the scepter away. She unclasped the cloak, letting it fall to her ankles, not giving it another thought. She sauntered down the steps, reaching a hand up to tuck a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“Now listen, Giovani Steward, and listen well. Do not show up on Ammo. Do not show your face, do not even tune in via television. I have no time for you or your petty vengeance; I have others to focus on at the moment, and I would leave our conflict for a time when I don’t have more important matters to attend to. But if you do show, by God, I will make you wish you’d stayed hidden under the covers at home. Young Madison will shed a thousand tears for the harm I bring you. Grandma Katie will stroke out at the failure of her esteemed apprentice. But me? I will laugh. I will stand over your broken form, plant a heel on your head, and laugh at the foolishness of your noble crusade… and its bitter end.”

The last image before static resumes is the glare of Madelyne McTaggert, a fire in her eyes the likes of which have never been seen in SCW.[/align]
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