Post by Deleted on Apr 8, 2017 17:17:43 GMT -5
The camera opens up to an exterior shot of The Mouses' Ear tavern then moves passed a pair of gruff smokers, taking a few final drags on the stubs of dying cigarettes. Into the tavern itself, there’s hardly a soul in the place and the beats of Marcy’s Playground resonate throughout, pumped from a jukebox near the door. Nearby, a few of the patrons play the video lottery terminals. They seem totally ignorant of the camera probing their actions, as they mindlessly pump more and more money into the always hungry machine, hoping for their lucky break.
Near the bar, the grizzled bartender sits with several of his older customers, carrying on a conversation begun eons ago and likely never to finish satisfactorily. Near the mid-point of the establishment, a young couple sits alone, sipping cheap draft and anxiously awaiting the awkward fumblings that are bound to ensue before this night concludes. Far in the back, an old fellow, in a suit that matches his years, runs palsied hands through his thinning hair, stares at the young couple and weeps for the loss of time and what once was. Someone decides to cue up Tom Petty…
The operator of the camera is on the move again and makes a left turn, going straight to the other end of the bar, where he finds Missy Sippy sitting on a stool staring blankly at a half full shot glass of whiskey. Like many times before, she is adorned in denim daisy duke shorts, a flannel top that ends at the midriff, and a pair of brown snakeskin cowboy boots. Though not an eye of her's swing the camera's way, she speaks up, her voice lacking the usual boomtastic confidence in it.
Missy: "You were right, Susie."
Missy downs the drink and winces as the fluid burns at her throat and chest. She slams down the glass and motions for another.
Missy: "I said I was going to learn you a lesson, beat your ass, do this and do that to you, but naw... I haven't. You on the other hand, you said what you were going to do and have done it to me. You've been doing all the lesson teaching, not me. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to admit that?"
The barkeep slides her another and she grabs it up in one swoop and downs it, her mind racing as she relives the beatings she's taken from Susie - the only ones that matter anyway. Slamming the glass again, she slides it back to the bartender, who raises a brow at her.
Missy: "When you did the unthinkable to me on Primetime, domi.. (she pauses, it's painful to admit) dominating me like that, then getting your shots in afterward as I lay comatose, it really sunk in. You can't be taught, learned, loved, hated, bargained with, bribed, appeased with gold, disciplined or made to respect bigger and badder bitches than you. You're too far gone, off your rocker, without any hint of the mental facets one would need to process any of those things. I was such a fool, such an imbecile to think I could knock some sense into that reservoir of hot air you cart around on your shoulders."
She extends her hand and catches the next shot of her good friend Jack. This time she halts mid lift and just stares ahead, still having not turned to look at the camera.
Missy: "So now I realize what I must do. I am gonna have to actually, literally kill you. I mean, as in, the first execution on live television. I mean, fuckin' Christ girl, I've left you humiliated in a parking lot, I've taken your car and had it smelted into jewelry that I've since pawned for a good price, and other things but you're too blonde and therefore dumb to realize what type of flames you're playing with here. It's a Three Stages of Hell match. The first fall is a Bull Rope Match, which goes entirely in my favor. You have no chance, sugar, but I'm not going to make the same mistakes I did before. See, I thought you were some stupid ass prissy city slicker who woke up one day and decided she wanted to be a wrestler, out of boredom most likely. I know you can bring it now, you've left me knocked out several times, so I'm not going to go into it blindly, beech. You have my full attention. I'm going to hang you from the ring post and if you somehow survive that, we will play your silly little arm twisting submission only I Quit game."
Sippy finally looks into the camera, her sea-blue orbs a little glossy, her lips thin and full of disdain.
Missy: "Let me tell you something quick, fast, and in a hurry. I've had my tits knocked in the dirt a time or two. It's not often but it happens, so I'm not too proud to take an ass whoopin'. However, I ain't ever, no not one dayum time, EVER quit at anything. That's one thing you WON'T be able to do, I guaran-damn-tee it. Those words are so foreign to me I feel like I'm speaking Arabic when I said them just now. I kit? I sip? I quip? See, elfy girl, I done went and forgot how to say it already. How you even gonna put me in one of them there tek-knee-cal holds? My arms and legs are bigger and thicker than your itty bitty wittle body. Better yet, how you even going to put me in them so-fist-acated holds when I'm fist raping your overrated face? Think about that for a moment, and also realize that the knuckle sammiches I'm going to be feeding you aren't the type of food you can vomit back up to keep your coat hanger thin frame the way it is. As for me, well, I ain't no mat rassler so I think I'm just going to make you say those two weird words by shoving my arm up your ass and using you as an ass puppet. I'm sure that's a 'move' you ain't been trained for nor know a counter too huh lil miss prissy piss?"
Missy cocks her head and bellows a hearty chuckle at the atrocities she's going to commit on a woman who desperately needs it.
Missy: "Haha.. and.. and.. haha.. and then you, if you've somehow got one over on me, are going to have to knock me down and out for the 10 count. Now I know you're relishing that one, given that Slice Up kick you like to clobber the shit out of me with, but if I know you like I think I do, you don't have a lick of sense. I'm going to throw you a bone here, darlin'. I want this fall to be fair so you can't holler foul. Those times you've left me laying out cold were done in environments where I didn't have a weapon in my hands. And in this fall, there's no fuckin' rules at all. I can use whatever I want. Hell, I have half the mind to bring my lawn mower to the ring, turn it on it's side, crank her up, and give you a hair cut with it just for shits and giggles. That pretty sparkle-mane you have has got to go, because I know how prideful you are of it, you rotten little mile long nosed beech. I think I might actually go the comedic route for this fall, and just knock you out by grabbing your Cheerio size wrist and make you punch yourself into a ten count. Yeah. Fuck yeah. Damn Missy, you're a brilliant beech!"
Turning away from the camera, Missy holds up her shot glass to the mirror behind the bar and toasts herself. She downs it in record time but keeps the glass with her this time, apparently done with her intake... for now.
Missy: "When this is all said and done, and you're somehow still living, I want you to realize, hopefully, that this could have all been avoided. All you had to do was let bygones be bygones, but you just had to show up at the battle royal and blind side attack me. That was your biggest mistake. Think about it, twerp. Right now you or I, or hell even both of us, could by rasslin' those pack of fish-farts in the Vixen's Championship Match. But noooooo, you in your infinite rich girl hair-brain idiocy had to go off and poke the bear, and now you're gonna get mauled. But hey, I guess cheer up? At least you're going to look good in blood red, right?"
Missy hurls the shot glass carelessly behind her, letting it have no claim or aim, and shoots up to a stand as the glass shatters somewhere off camera, followed by displeased shouts from men. Missy doesn't care; she's too busy looking dead-set into the camera, moreso Susie, while beating her chest HARD with a balled fist and belting out feral hoots only born of a true wild child from the south.
The scene then fades to black, her blue orbs maddened and unsettling being the last clear image.