Post by kris on Sept 2, 2011 23:16:04 GMT -5
While I could be disappointed that I didn’t win the Rumble, throw a fit and stomp my feet and all of the… the useless ingredients one finds in a temper tantrum, I refuse to go down that road. It'd serve no purpose, to put it plainly, and I would rather focus on what I accomplished instead. Eliminating Misters Boleno and Roberts is no small feat, after all-- and when you add how I entered at number thirteen and outlasted quite a few members of the roster to make it to the final five, there's plenty for me to be proud of. It's a performance that is worthy of some respect, I think… but I can't go putting my feet up just yet. Before I entered the Rumble at Scars and Stripes, I thought it was the most important match of my career so far. The more I think about it, though? This match right here, with Mister Ashen, has trumped it in importance. My reasoning's simple enough, really-- if I fall short here, then all of the doubters that would rather write me off as nothing but a pretty face will be able to say that strong showing, that forty or so minutes of hanging with the best that the EUW has to offer, was nothing more than a fluke. And that… that is something that I cannot allow to happen. As a matter of fact?
I will not let it happen.
I have given more pounds of flesh to this business than I can count-- Heck, it's a wonder I've got any left!-- to fall short now. My performance at the Rumble is just the foundation for the legacy that I hope to build around these parts, and the fact that I am forging ahead on untouched ground only serves to make it all the more noteworthy. My successes or failures will help to color the future of other women in this company, and if ever there was something to motivate me… it's in helping those little girls watching at home know that there is more options that are open to them in this business than evening gown matches and pulling hair. And if it ends up being that I must pay the price for them to have that hope in blood?
Then I will pay it… and I will pay it gladly.
How does that make you feel, Mister Ashen-- knowing that you're going up against an opponent that not only has more drive and passion in her little finger than in the rest of her body, but that also has no interest whatsoever in being bought out? That's the issue with how you've chosen to look at your career in this business--Heck, with how you've chosen to look at life itself. While money can buy you a great many things, there are some things that are just plain beyond reach of the almighty dollar no matter how many times you try to make that hard bargain you seem to be so fond of. Love is one of them, obviously, and another is the ability to make someone agree to one of your… dare I say, underhanded deals. Now certainly, there are crooked individuals out there that you can coerce into doing your way with your billions upon billions of dollars, but for every one of them? There's ten honest, hard-working, just plain good people that wouldn't hesitate to tell you that you can take your money and stick it where the sun doesn't shine.
It's just your bad luck, Mister Ashen, that I'm one of the latter.
I've got more money than I could ever possibly need thanks to the career I've built before I made it here to EUW-- and to be perfectly honest, I'm in no hurry to accumulate more. Since that is likely a concept you'll have a hard time understanding, allow me to put it in words that you will have no choice but to understand. My soul isn't for sale, Mister Ashen…
And neither is a victory in our match.
Oh, and one more thing… Mister Cripate, I'm not certain why you felt it necessary to falsely say that I am sleeping with Mister Young. Your excuses-- since there is never a reason to reduce anyone to anything more than a sex object-- mean little to me, either. All the more that matters is that taking such a cheap shot at me suggests that you feel threatened by me… to which I say that if that is the case, then say it outright instead of resorting to outright lying about me in order to gain some semblance of an upper hand. It's a right shame you resorted to that… but ultimately, if that’s all the more you see me as after all I've accomplished?
Then the surprise will be yours when you find yourself staring up at the lights.
There was a time, a time that Natalie remembers all too well, when the idea of going out on a rainy day didn't fill the Southern Belle with dread… and if she's going somewhere that was within easy walking distance, then that is still the case, her only concern that she snags an umbrella. With her career choice being jam-packed with the need to travel long distances, however… it is no small wonder that she hasn't caved in and purchased sedatives to help keep her calm. As the sky unloaded its payload over the parking lot in front of her, it takes all of the blond's nerve to not just retreat into the airport behind her and wait it out. If it wasn't for her fondness of traveling abroad, she probably would have; however, the urge to explore the centuries-old streets of Moscow is proving to be quite the adversary for the near-phobia she just can't seem to shake. Her hand gripping the handle of her wheeled suitcase behind her, the blond takes a deep breath before she steps forward, black high-heeled boots paired with equally-dark dress slacks and an elegant blue dress-blouse that is close to her frame without revealing too much. Ignoring how her curls are beginning to frizz, she turns toward the nearest taxi--
Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit, I'm gonna be late!
…only to just barely avoid being bowled over by none other than the Young Gun himself. Wearing his own travel attire of broken-in jeans and a t-shirt which proclaims that 'Everything is better with bacon!', Brandon gets as far as hurling his duffel into the trunk of the waiting cab before he even realizes just who it is he nearly ran down in his attempt to get a cab. His eyes go wide.
Ah shi---er, crap! Sorry about that...
Natalie can't help but chuckle weakly, a slight smile tugging at her lips.
It's alright, Mister Young. I can understand wanting to get inside and out of this weather.
Eh, I don't mind the... what'd ya call it? "Rain?" I'm not used to this 'water falling from the sky' thing, living in Hell and all.
He gives a lopsided smirk before chuckling at his own lame joke, shaking his head. The Southern Belle finds herself chuckling along despite herself before she sighs, shaking her head.
I wish it wasn't raining, but… well, one does as one must, I suppose.
True. Well ah, speaking of gettin' outta the rain and all... wanna share the cab?
Sure, why not? Just don't mind me if I lean across you to look out the window. I am admittedly a bit of a typical tourist that way, eheh.
Oh, ah, I wouldn't mind that at--
Catching himself, Brandon smiles sheepishly and nods.
I mean, yeah, s'all good. I'm still like that in a lot of places, too. Never been to Russia myself, so this is still pretty, like, whoa for me too.
Natalie chuckles a bit.
How very… Keanu Reeves of you.
Well, I've always thought it'd be fun to start a tag team called the Wyld Stallions...
Brandon shakes his head, snapping himself out of the tangent before he reaches down and takes the handle of her suitcase.
Here, lemme get that for ya.
Natalie blinks, blushing a bit as she is caught off-guard by the surprisingly thoughtful gesture coming from a young man that saw fit to throw an impromptu, one-person wet t-shirt contest the day that she met him.
Oh! Ah… thank you, Mister Young.
He surprises her even more when he pulls open the door for her to get in.
Hey, don't gimme that look! I can be a gentleman when I wanna be!
He grins, even going so far as to hold out his arm to help shelter Natalie from the rain as she steps down from the curb. For her part, Natalie quickly gets into the cab, scooching over across the faded blue upolstery to make room for her impromptu travel partner. Buckling in, she leans forward as Brandon settles in beside her.
Oh, all, hello! To the Hilton, please.
What she said.
A non-committal grunt is the only response the duo of Americans receives as the driver pulls away from the curb, merging in with the traffic leaving the airport. As he does, Natalie sighs softly, fidgeting with her sleeve as she tells herself to keep taking deep, even breaths. The gentleman behind the wheel does this for a living, after all, so surely he will take great care in taking her to her destination-- and the car sharply veers right, no heed given to the conditions whatsoever. Biting her lip to stifle the bit of a whine that escapes her lips, the Southern Belle wraps her arms around herself tightly. Brandon catches her fidgeting, but decides to try to take her mind off of it.
So ah, you have any sight-seein' plans while we're in Moscow?\
The blond forces herself to take a deep, steadying breath.
N-Nothing official… I, ah, I tend to wander on my own.
Aha! A wanderer, eh? I know how that is.
Natalie nods, grasping on some level what Brandon is trying to do… and doing her best to let it distract her.
M-Most tour guides I've encountered either focus on things I'm not interested in, or pump up the fake happiness to the point that it makes me want to screa--oh God!
The taxi swerves erratically for a moment, the Southern Belle winding up clinging to the Young Gun around his waist and holding on for dear life, her eyes closed and her face buried in against his side. It seems personal boundaries aren't something that she is concerned with, at the moment-- and understandably so. Brandon jumps in slight surprise... but after a few seconds, he puts his arms around her.
Whoa! Hey- Hey... s'okay. I gotcha.
A tanned hand gently strokes blond curls as Natalie clings to the Young Gun, trembling like a leaf in the wind. This close, she can hear his heartbeat… and that is the sound she focuses on, some primal connection to being so close to another human being slowly but surely soothing her nerves. He angrily glares at the driver while holding her close, something that helps… albeit only a little. After a moment, the Southern Belle pulls away, blushing to beat the band as she looks at the young Latino.
O-Oh Bless… I'm sorry, Mister Young, I--
H-Hey, it's alright, really. Happy to, ah... be of service?
Brandon chuckles, the sight of her blushing while being so close to him making him a bit nervous. As the Southern Belle withdraws to her half of the cab, the rain can be heard tapering off, combining with a congestion of traffic that forces the cab they are in to slow down. As her nervousness abates, Natalie sighs, leaning her forehead against the cool glass in front of her and closing her eyes. Brandon scowls at the driver, deciding to let the other man have it.
The Hell is wrong with you, man? Swervin' and shit like that! I thought you were a taxi driver, not an Indy car racer--
Natalie doesn't even open her eyes when she responds, her tone reproachful.
Mister Young...
And another thing-- huh?
Please… I do not think that this is helping anything.
Oh, er… sorry.
Managing a weak smile, Natalie glances over at Brandon.
I appreciate the sentiment, but…
Yeah, gotcha. My bad, don't know when to shut up sometimes, eheh.
The blond reaches over, gently patting his shoulder.
Better that than being afraid to speak up for yourself, right?
Heh, amen to that.
A few seconds of silence stretch between them, the tension partially gone from the near-blowup of before. It is with a thoughtful tone that Natalie attempts to restart the conversation, the tangent she chooses only loosely connected… but meaningful all the same.
That's something I never understood… just how it became considered polite to be someone's doormat.
Eh, those types of asshats ain't worth worryin' over. 'Sides... someone thought you had a good chance at winnin'.
The Southern Belle blushes.
A-Ahm, er… sorry about that.
Nay, you have wounded me beyond repair! Forsooth I shall never be able to trust aga--
Brandon shakes his head with a laugh.
I can't even get through that with a straight face. So uh, yeah, it's all good.
Unable to keep from giggling, Natalie idly reaches up and guides an errant bang from in front of her eyes. Two can play this particular game… and as it just so happens, she is just innately better at it. Her accent thickens to almost cartoonish levels.
Your forgiveness is most certainly appreciated, Mister Young. Why, I would be positively beside myself if I had tarnished my reputation beyond repair!
Well that just wouldn't be any good!
Both chuckle, Brandon smiling warmly as he looks over at the blond. As the scene fades to black, their conversation continues, gradually moving forward despite the occasional faux paux.
I will not let it happen.
I have given more pounds of flesh to this business than I can count-- Heck, it's a wonder I've got any left!-- to fall short now. My performance at the Rumble is just the foundation for the legacy that I hope to build around these parts, and the fact that I am forging ahead on untouched ground only serves to make it all the more noteworthy. My successes or failures will help to color the future of other women in this company, and if ever there was something to motivate me… it's in helping those little girls watching at home know that there is more options that are open to them in this business than evening gown matches and pulling hair. And if it ends up being that I must pay the price for them to have that hope in blood?
Then I will pay it… and I will pay it gladly.
How does that make you feel, Mister Ashen-- knowing that you're going up against an opponent that not only has more drive and passion in her little finger than in the rest of her body, but that also has no interest whatsoever in being bought out? That's the issue with how you've chosen to look at your career in this business--Heck, with how you've chosen to look at life itself. While money can buy you a great many things, there are some things that are just plain beyond reach of the almighty dollar no matter how many times you try to make that hard bargain you seem to be so fond of. Love is one of them, obviously, and another is the ability to make someone agree to one of your… dare I say, underhanded deals. Now certainly, there are crooked individuals out there that you can coerce into doing your way with your billions upon billions of dollars, but for every one of them? There's ten honest, hard-working, just plain good people that wouldn't hesitate to tell you that you can take your money and stick it where the sun doesn't shine.
It's just your bad luck, Mister Ashen, that I'm one of the latter.
I've got more money than I could ever possibly need thanks to the career I've built before I made it here to EUW-- and to be perfectly honest, I'm in no hurry to accumulate more. Since that is likely a concept you'll have a hard time understanding, allow me to put it in words that you will have no choice but to understand. My soul isn't for sale, Mister Ashen…
And neither is a victory in our match.
Oh, and one more thing… Mister Cripate, I'm not certain why you felt it necessary to falsely say that I am sleeping with Mister Young. Your excuses-- since there is never a reason to reduce anyone to anything more than a sex object-- mean little to me, either. All the more that matters is that taking such a cheap shot at me suggests that you feel threatened by me… to which I say that if that is the case, then say it outright instead of resorting to outright lying about me in order to gain some semblance of an upper hand. It's a right shame you resorted to that… but ultimately, if that’s all the more you see me as after all I've accomplished?
Then the surprise will be yours when you find yourself staring up at the lights.
-------------------------♥-------------------------
There was a time, a time that Natalie remembers all too well, when the idea of going out on a rainy day didn't fill the Southern Belle with dread… and if she's going somewhere that was within easy walking distance, then that is still the case, her only concern that she snags an umbrella. With her career choice being jam-packed with the need to travel long distances, however… it is no small wonder that she hasn't caved in and purchased sedatives to help keep her calm. As the sky unloaded its payload over the parking lot in front of her, it takes all of the blond's nerve to not just retreat into the airport behind her and wait it out. If it wasn't for her fondness of traveling abroad, she probably would have; however, the urge to explore the centuries-old streets of Moscow is proving to be quite the adversary for the near-phobia she just can't seem to shake. Her hand gripping the handle of her wheeled suitcase behind her, the blond takes a deep breath before she steps forward, black high-heeled boots paired with equally-dark dress slacks and an elegant blue dress-blouse that is close to her frame without revealing too much. Ignoring how her curls are beginning to frizz, she turns toward the nearest taxi--
Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit, I'm gonna be late!
…only to just barely avoid being bowled over by none other than the Young Gun himself. Wearing his own travel attire of broken-in jeans and a t-shirt which proclaims that 'Everything is better with bacon!', Brandon gets as far as hurling his duffel into the trunk of the waiting cab before he even realizes just who it is he nearly ran down in his attempt to get a cab. His eyes go wide.
Ah shi---er, crap! Sorry about that...
Natalie can't help but chuckle weakly, a slight smile tugging at her lips.
It's alright, Mister Young. I can understand wanting to get inside and out of this weather.
Eh, I don't mind the... what'd ya call it? "Rain?" I'm not used to this 'water falling from the sky' thing, living in Hell and all.
He gives a lopsided smirk before chuckling at his own lame joke, shaking his head. The Southern Belle finds herself chuckling along despite herself before she sighs, shaking her head.
I wish it wasn't raining, but… well, one does as one must, I suppose.
True. Well ah, speaking of gettin' outta the rain and all... wanna share the cab?
Sure, why not? Just don't mind me if I lean across you to look out the window. I am admittedly a bit of a typical tourist that way, eheh.
Oh, ah, I wouldn't mind that at--
Catching himself, Brandon smiles sheepishly and nods.
I mean, yeah, s'all good. I'm still like that in a lot of places, too. Never been to Russia myself, so this is still pretty, like, whoa for me too.
Natalie chuckles a bit.
How very… Keanu Reeves of you.
Well, I've always thought it'd be fun to start a tag team called the Wyld Stallions...
Brandon shakes his head, snapping himself out of the tangent before he reaches down and takes the handle of her suitcase.
Here, lemme get that for ya.
Natalie blinks, blushing a bit as she is caught off-guard by the surprisingly thoughtful gesture coming from a young man that saw fit to throw an impromptu, one-person wet t-shirt contest the day that she met him.
Oh! Ah… thank you, Mister Young.
He surprises her even more when he pulls open the door for her to get in.
Hey, don't gimme that look! I can be a gentleman when I wanna be!
He grins, even going so far as to hold out his arm to help shelter Natalie from the rain as she steps down from the curb. For her part, Natalie quickly gets into the cab, scooching over across the faded blue upolstery to make room for her impromptu travel partner. Buckling in, she leans forward as Brandon settles in beside her.
Oh, all, hello! To the Hilton, please.
What she said.
A non-committal grunt is the only response the duo of Americans receives as the driver pulls away from the curb, merging in with the traffic leaving the airport. As he does, Natalie sighs softly, fidgeting with her sleeve as she tells herself to keep taking deep, even breaths. The gentleman behind the wheel does this for a living, after all, so surely he will take great care in taking her to her destination-- and the car sharply veers right, no heed given to the conditions whatsoever. Biting her lip to stifle the bit of a whine that escapes her lips, the Southern Belle wraps her arms around herself tightly. Brandon catches her fidgeting, but decides to try to take her mind off of it.
So ah, you have any sight-seein' plans while we're in Moscow?\
The blond forces herself to take a deep, steadying breath.
N-Nothing official… I, ah, I tend to wander on my own.
Aha! A wanderer, eh? I know how that is.
Natalie nods, grasping on some level what Brandon is trying to do… and doing her best to let it distract her.
M-Most tour guides I've encountered either focus on things I'm not interested in, or pump up the fake happiness to the point that it makes me want to screa--oh God!
The taxi swerves erratically for a moment, the Southern Belle winding up clinging to the Young Gun around his waist and holding on for dear life, her eyes closed and her face buried in against his side. It seems personal boundaries aren't something that she is concerned with, at the moment-- and understandably so. Brandon jumps in slight surprise... but after a few seconds, he puts his arms around her.
Whoa! Hey- Hey... s'okay. I gotcha.
A tanned hand gently strokes blond curls as Natalie clings to the Young Gun, trembling like a leaf in the wind. This close, she can hear his heartbeat… and that is the sound she focuses on, some primal connection to being so close to another human being slowly but surely soothing her nerves. He angrily glares at the driver while holding her close, something that helps… albeit only a little. After a moment, the Southern Belle pulls away, blushing to beat the band as she looks at the young Latino.
O-Oh Bless… I'm sorry, Mister Young, I--
H-Hey, it's alright, really. Happy to, ah... be of service?
Brandon chuckles, the sight of her blushing while being so close to him making him a bit nervous. As the Southern Belle withdraws to her half of the cab, the rain can be heard tapering off, combining with a congestion of traffic that forces the cab they are in to slow down. As her nervousness abates, Natalie sighs, leaning her forehead against the cool glass in front of her and closing her eyes. Brandon scowls at the driver, deciding to let the other man have it.
The Hell is wrong with you, man? Swervin' and shit like that! I thought you were a taxi driver, not an Indy car racer--
Natalie doesn't even open her eyes when she responds, her tone reproachful.
Mister Young...
And another thing-- huh?
Please… I do not think that this is helping anything.
Oh, er… sorry.
Managing a weak smile, Natalie glances over at Brandon.
I appreciate the sentiment, but…
Yeah, gotcha. My bad, don't know when to shut up sometimes, eheh.
The blond reaches over, gently patting his shoulder.
Better that than being afraid to speak up for yourself, right?
Heh, amen to that.
A few seconds of silence stretch between them, the tension partially gone from the near-blowup of before. It is with a thoughtful tone that Natalie attempts to restart the conversation, the tangent she chooses only loosely connected… but meaningful all the same.
That's something I never understood… just how it became considered polite to be someone's doormat.
Eh, those types of asshats ain't worth worryin' over. 'Sides... someone thought you had a good chance at winnin'.
The Southern Belle blushes.
A-Ahm, er… sorry about that.
Nay, you have wounded me beyond repair! Forsooth I shall never be able to trust aga--
Brandon shakes his head with a laugh.
I can't even get through that with a straight face. So uh, yeah, it's all good.
Unable to keep from giggling, Natalie idly reaches up and guides an errant bang from in front of her eyes. Two can play this particular game… and as it just so happens, she is just innately better at it. Her accent thickens to almost cartoonish levels.
Your forgiveness is most certainly appreciated, Mister Young. Why, I would be positively beside myself if I had tarnished my reputation beyond repair!
Well that just wouldn't be any good!
Both chuckle, Brandon smiling warmly as he looks over at the blond. As the scene fades to black, their conversation continues, gradually moving forward despite the occasional faux paux.