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Gia Rose vs. Marina Trent
Topic Started: Mar 19 2012, 09:04 PM (88 Views)
Kassie Khane
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Admin and Second in Command of the Nation of Moderation
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SWC PRESENTS: Breakdown March 28, 2012

Gia Rose vs. Marina Trent

RP Limit: 3 RP each
Deadline: Noon EST Tuesday, March 27, 2012

~Good Luck Everyone!~
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Marina Trent
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The Black Swan
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OOC: For no specific reference, the following events take place preceding Shilo Valiant’s roleplay for Breakdown.[align=center]


--United We Stand--


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The stone smelt sickly--cold, and the pressure of it against my cheek made my eyes water and my jaw clamp hard. A heartbeat later, my body was pushing off the ground and my knees scraped where my face had laid. Little more could be felt other than a rich, singing pain that gave me cause to regret not going about to find a training mat. There wasn’t the time, however, and neither did I feel to have the patience.

There was little of that left in my capacity.

Standing up, I grit my teeth and stared down at the gravelly stone that betrayed my feet before turning away towards my water bottle to wash away the bitterness gathering in my throat. As I took a swig, throwing back the liquid into my mouth, I choked slightly and held the back of my hand to my mouth out of instinctive courtesy. Not that it mattered, I was the only one residing in the dank hell.

The cavern echoed loudly as I cleared my throat and even as I gathered my black sweater and stretch-band, it still resounded around me. The crude haunting of it stayed within my hearing as I exited the cavern myself and Shilo used predominantly for our training. After falling and kissing the ground as a result of treading on a loose piece of rubble, I figured it was enough to indicate enough was enough. I was too tired to even think, let alone continue to refine that which seemed impossible to make a difference to.

Each match was a constant battle; a nightmare. Whether is were the whispers at my back or the full-frontal snarls of those who belittled my presence in SCW, there was no purchase or relief. The relentless misses had unfailingly butchered at my resolve and it only seemed now I was passing through the days - the shows - as little more than a shadow of my former self. The projected ideal was lost and the raw corpse of what had been functioned in my place when neither my heart or my mind were able to see any joy, passion or innovation. The latter being most dehabilitating.

Where was there any sense anymore? The federation had become a joke and at every instant I could only not laugh due to the overwhelming bitterness and, dare I admit to my pitiful self, the despair that came with how frail the state of it all was. The entertainment was lost; withered and absent. Every notion of spectacle and splendor was left in ghostly remains. The entire travesty that was the state of every division only fueled the despair, the frustration - the fury.

It made me lose concentration, such anger. Every wave of it as I watched each match and feature shook my resolve ever more and made me grab at my hair - the feathers within it - asking “why?” What was it that was still driving me if that which inherently gave me my passion was now compromised? The return of old superstars, the rise of mediocre ones and the emergence of characters who were less than competent; what was this? A circus? Another factory of idiots to satisfy the audiences in the most simpering and lackluster of ways? A sick, moronic joke.
It was not simply the Women’s Division anymore, either. From the United States to the Adrenaline Championship, the structure had become rotten and brittle. Where was the drive that I remember from those first days? When everyone and all took so much pride and energised excitement to make a power struggle worth of the masses? Even the Tag-Team Championship, though it was not surprising, had become virtually extinct. The entire framework of what was ‘the entertainment’ had suffered greatly and yet, those who were seeking to inject life back into SCW were being smothered, pushed aside. I knew my Soulmate was at the forefront of those trying with all their might. The House of Ruin wrote their manifesto through each and every event, composed by the same key of that veteran notion.

Rubbing at my eyes with my free hand than the one holding my belongings, I tried to push the thoughts to the back of mind as I walked up through the last of the narrower tunnels before the familiar turns and stone corridors of the West Wing. My bones felt the same weariness that leadened my mind and my muscles, a lethargy that made me wonder if my body would ever feel lifted and light again. Each and every time I failed to mark and claim a place within the ring that would fuel and elevate my vision, I became heavier. The weight made me exhausted and even breathing became a conscious effort knowing that the next week would be no different to the belittling state of serving as a one to christen those unknowing and naive. I wanted the freedom to act and empower the innovations I have long imagined; to take height where those like Katie, Zoe and now Madelyne had made petulant fools out of the people by taking a standing that remained unchallenged, proper. There was little more I could do to muse on or influence the matter after these last years of doing so. It had led to nothing under the reign of these infantile girls. And it had also become a vicious cycle.

Rusty
Hola! I was just looking for you.

I frowned suspiciously.

Marina
What’s up?

She slowed her steps to a stop before turning and re-tracing them to walk adjacent to me along the tunnel way.

Rusty
Gwyn is looking for you.

Marina
She should be at class today. Where is she?

Rusty
On her way to your rooms. She said she’s not well. And to find you.

My jaw clenched as a churn of worry turned my stomach.

Marina
Thanks.

Adjusting the water bottle and stretch-band to my right arm to hold, giving my left a break, I flexed out my hand and concentrated my eyes on the floor. This would be the second time this week Gwyn had missed her classes as a result of feeling unwell. I knew what it was about, however, and the quicker I returned to find her, the better to be assured she was not in the same state as last time.

Rusty
How are you goin’?

I kept my eyes down and forward, my face a mask. Out in my peripheral vision I could see Rusty inclining her head to me and I did not have to look towards her to know the concern upon her face that was written clear enough in her voice.

Marina
Fine, yes.

Rusty
You know, if you need anything-

Marina
I know.

Looking at her then, I painted on my best smile. She tentatively smiled back, somewhat of a tainted comfort, before pulling her gaze away and sighing heavily. She slowed and I did the same, turning to her.

Rusty
You helping with dinner tonight or you eating in?

Marina
Depends on how Shilo feels. We have to leave for Breakdown early tomorrow, so, it will depend.

She nodded and smiled shortly before inclining her head in the way she always did.

Rusty
Alright. Well, I’ll see you later then. Don’t be a stranger.

Marina
I try not to.

Rusty
Yeah, right.

Rusty’s eyes rolled sarcastically as she swiveled on her heels and disappeared down one of the main cavern ways leading to the epicenter of the Kings of Shadows, leaving myself and the growing worry for Gwynplaine to echo in the tunnel. The last couple of weeks had finally caught up on her; a young woman as intelligent as she was, it was only expected that the context and her understanding of recent events were taken up. Everything was becoming real to her and knowing death, loss and change for one so young... I could remember vividly what it had been like - what it was still like.

Hurried steps made the final distance in half the usual time and walking into Shilo and my room, I dropped my bottle and theraband on the bed before moving through to Gwynplaine’s room. It was a typical teenage girls habitat, with elements of her home her in the Kings of Shadows creating an edge that was very much atypical. Her bed was unmade - she got that from her parents - books were piled on her small, quaint desk and the chestnut trunk that was once my own looked to have barfed its contents of clothes over the floor. I made a mental note to remind her that the state of her room was very unacceptable, but that did not take precedence over the fact that there was no Gwynplaine.

Running a hand through my hair, I huffed heavily and closed my eyes, trying to collect myself. Where would she have gone? Looking for me? No, she had said she would be here--or did she? What did Rusty say?

Swearing under my breath, I turned around and the impact of another body connecting with mine without warning, threw me off balance. I stumbled backwards and regained myself while looking to apologise immediately to whomever it was that I had run into; literally.

Gwynplaine
Mom! I’m sorry, are you okay?

Marina
Fine, fine. Are you?

She nodded but her eyes betrayed her. Immediately, took her shoulders gently into my hands and jostled her once.

Marina
Gwyn. Are you okay?

Gwynplaine
Yes, I’m alright.

Marina
You don’t seem alright. What’s wrong? You’re supposed to be in class.

It was difficult to read her, huddling in on herself. She looked in that moment ever much more a child than a young woman.

Marina
Little one, what is it?

Gwynplaine
I can’t stop thinking about...

Joanna. Madison, the baby. Everything was welling up not only within myself and Shilo, but Gwynplaine. It was becoming a burden to us all and for our daughter, this was not something she should have to carry. She had snuck away home after convincing Femora she was unwell a few days before, which was surprising of the old woman, but not at all strange to have allowed it. It could only have been that Femora understood what was troubling Gwynplaine and exercised lenience for once. It wasn’t until the early afternoon that I had found her wandering through the Western tunnels. The vision still shot deep, arresting despair within me.

Enveloping my daughter into my arms gently, I held her quietly and remained that way until she gently shifted and put a slight distance between us.

Gwynplaine
Could we go for a walk?

Marina
Of course, dear one. Have you had something for lunch, though?

She shook her head.

Marina
Then lets.

Gwynplaine
I’ll need to change my clothes.

I frowned as she moved out of my embrace and behind me to pull a purple sweater from her bed.

Marina
You don’t need to change, you are dressed fine.

Gwynplaine
For the surface, mom? It’s cold.

Marina
What? Hold on, no. We--okay, Gwyn, that’s not an option at the moment.

She straightened the sweater around her, fixing the sleeves before bounding around to pick up her satchel and sling it over her shoulder - as if she were completely undeterred and suddenly in no state of distress.

Gwynplaine
Why not?

Her voice was so innocent in the inquiry that I had to bite the inside of my mouth and stare at her blankly before turning away to move into the master chamber.

Marina
We’re not going to the surface, Gwyn. It is not to be questioned. Not now.

Gwynplaine
Some fresh air, that’s all I want-

Marina
No, dear one. I’m sorry. I am more than happy to walk and explore with you for a little while today, but not to breach the surface-

Gwynplaine
I don’t understand!

Marina
And it’s best you don’t. For the moment.

Gwynplaine
Fine.

Yanking her satchel off her shoulder, she stormed past me and out in the tunnels before I could take a breath. I had to rush out to catch her, but she had already started running.

Marina
Gwynplaine!

I swore, slamming my palm against the tunnel wall in frustration and the pain that resulted I could only be thankful for, since it broke my stunned state and propelled me forward to follow and chase her. Everything was falling apart... slowly. So much was unspoken, in the air and volatile, I could almost smell the storm. This unnerving, insecure calm that existed only hinted at its approach and I was almost sick as the fear of what was to come made its way into my blood. The injection fueled me to run faster and I kept my feet light to listen for Gwyn’s steps in front.

Everything--everywhere was a danger. The surface, even here in our own home, had been all but compromised. The state of flux that events were taking only gave more reason to ensure that we were united in facing all that was to come. Whether in SCW or in the Kings of Shadows - underground or in the light of day - a haunting that I had not felt for over a year had returned. What frightened me the most in regards to our home, however, was there seemed far more at stake... much more to lose.

Gwynplaine didn’t know the tunnels well enough to begin with and with old threats--enemies returned, I did not wish to risk anything. She had done this before and her escapist tendencies, while usually harmless, could cause her to become lost. The Children had found her last time and Shilo had been furious. Of course now, that would be treacherous. The vision of a not-yet-cold memory washed in my mind’s eye; a tight cage of solid metal, and I had to remember to breathe... I had to find her, find that she remains safe and in health, always - find the rose amongst the thorns.


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A different light, a different colour... a different scent. The elements in the air are changing and it is a bound process; unfit to comply to old systems and primed for those ready to make the cut. A very fine cut...

However... there is potential. An open opportunity for many who see to take it and be quick, swift with the way they make their mark. Without such impact, there is no presence. To be present is to provide the experience--the wonder. The light and the colours... the very aroma of excitation. It is somewhat charming that there still exists the stale and brittle, the dull, amongst the many fruits of all who labour. Who entertain.

There is interest in the passions of those who desire to follow them, truly. Why, without such desire, there is no passion, and vice versa. To uphold these is admirable, but to what purpose? Why, Ms. Rose? Where do you stand, here and now? There is quite a stench to you... a perverted desire that is unnamed. The animism that is inherent in you beginning here in wrestling is intriguing, but lost. You’re like those little packages of junk mail that plunder one’s letterbox; form without content. Or generally just another diva with too much on the outside and nothing going on realistically within whatever resides in that hard skull of yours - or fragile, that shall be an experiment for us on Breakdown. And like some roses, you have been fabricated and ‘cherry-picked’ for your outward saccharine qualities with a pungent scent and pretty colouring, but essentially, the wild and the brilliance has been lost. There is little substance remaining, but only the result of a methodical cultivation; a cultivation that produced the same stock as Zoe Sperling.

You may want to do a bit of your history, Gia. Your ‘soul-sister’ could teach you a thing or two about dealing with a real force of nature. Though I cannot imagine you would be wise or game enough to consider that in advance. I suppose it will be more entertaining for both of us as well as the people to see you learn the hard way. As Madelyne did.

Ha, you must have thought you were so savvy, so ‘in’ by jumping on Shilo and my band-wagon to get a piece of our prey. You were too blind to think that being a vulture would only lead to you making a fool of yourself. If you thought being adjacent to myself or anyone associated with me, you have much to learn. And learn you will.

Next time, think twice about trying to get your prickly self in my prey or you’ll be cut so fine, healing to your former self will be impossible. I know how to prune my roses, though also means I know how to terminate them. Let’s see how you fare against the one who drove a wench into the lame machinations of the Women’s Division, for Madelyne may seem quite the aficionado, but I suppose you haven’t known much more than when we last met and you rode on the coat tails of your tag members.

One on one, you know what that’s like, don’t you? Well, only by the standards of Madelyne, so I beg to wonder what you have in mind for this night. If anything, it will be healthy to dehabilitate you--to teach you what the scum of this division is like. To feel the dirt on your face and smell the stench of rank divas permeating every corner of this damned hell...

Can you smell it? The truth of it? Let me show you what little you have to prove, what little you have to offer for one who is just another in a long line of simpering and eager little roses.

For a rose to bloom, she needs careful attention and with one little severing, in just the wrong place, much can happen in a short moment, to last an eternity. Tonight, you are christened well and proper into this hellish garden. Happenstance I sharpened my knives before this Breakdown... especially... for... you.



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Gia Rose
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Heres my offering, best of luck Marina.

Rule #4 - "Old Habits Die Hard."
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