Post by alexyin on Nov 14, 2015 19:34:33 GMT -5
We open on a small community baseball field out in the middle of nowhere. There are no teams playing, no-one in the stands and no game advertised. What there is, is a lone figure standing on the home plate, dressed in street clothes and holding a bat. A close-up reveals that it is one half of The Sisterhood, Dana Machowski-O’Connell. Licking her lips for a moment, she then yells in her distinctive New Zealand accent.
Dana: Throw!
Suddenly a watermelon, not a baseball but a watermelon, careens through the night sky towards Dana. As the melon gets close, Dana swings her metal baseball bat, shattering the fruit. She barely even registers the debris that covers her face and torso as she lets out another yell.
Dana: Throw!
Another watermelon flies towards Dana, another swing from the bat, another spray of fruit-based gore. Again without missing a beat, Dana calls for another.
Dana: Throw!
As the watermelon sails towards Dana, she shows off by lightly tapping the end of it, throwing it skywards and then smashing it as it plummets. As the third watermelon disintegrates, Dana’s non-identicle twin, Dinah O’Connell steps forwards, dusting her hands.
Dinah: Guess my throwing’s getting better.
Dana: Yeah, well, all to serve my batting skills.
Dinah: Better watch out for that bat, sis. My guess is our opponents this week will have plans for it. At least something long and hard…
Dana: You seriously couldn’t be more disgusting right now.
Dinah: Oh, I could. Believe me. Our opponents are some kinky dominatrix and her gimp or something.
Dana: What is wrong with this company? We come along and intend to take people down, no-nonsense, smash-mouth style and we get two Attitude Era rejects? See, this is why we need to win more matches.
Dinah: Win, lose, all the same to me. I just live to see the next match. The next chance to break someone’s nose, knock out someone’s teeth. Man, it’s been a while. I can’t even remember the last femur I broke.
Dana: That indie match we had in Kalamazoo, two months ago.
Dinah: Damn! I swore to that slut that I’d come back in a few weeks and either break the other leg or smash on her cast. Might have to postpone that.
Dana: Postpone? Look who’s using words with more than one syllable.
Dinah: Yeah, well, I’ve not been drunk since the day before yesterday. Gets the brain cells back. It also makes me grouchy. Maybe I should go sober before facing the lace and leather twins. Nah.
Dana: *checking her phone* It says here they’re called, “The Naughty Girls”.
Dinah: Ooooooooh! They’re “Naughty”? Oh, no! How can we compete with that? I mean, maybe you can Dana since you’re barely worse than a goody-two-shoes.
Dana: Well, not according to that girl in Salt Lake City. At least, not when she gets out of that coma. But, yeah, relatively good. You’re just a psychopath.
Dinah: Guilty as charged. That’s what I tell the judges anyway. By the way, I watched their promo earlier. Seems they don’t know who we are.
Dana: Well, here I was thinking our reputation preceded us, but go on.
Dinah: Apparently we do what we do feeding off of the audience or some cliché bull like that.
Dana: What!?
Dinah: Yeah, apparently we love to hear them cheering us. I never really notice. I usually can’t here the crowds for the opponent screaming underneath me. Then, by the time they pass out, it’s just dead silence in the crowd. Sometimes you might hear a cry or a scream, but usually it’s just shock.
Dana: Remember the show in Louisville? We opened the show and the crowd didn’t seem to move the rest of the night after you damn near pulled that girl’s eye out.
Dinah: I’m an artist. One of those whores said we didn’t see ourselves as wrestlers. I mean, you probably do…
Dana: Damn right.
Dinah: Me, I’m a thug. A stone cold, straight-up thug. Let me just clear this up for my opponents. When that bell rings, I don’t tie up. I don’t go for a headlock or a sleeper hold. I go for the throat or the crotch and I take you down like a lioness taking out a wounded gazelle. I don’t stop until your blood has covered my fists and the cops come and drag me away. After that, you better pray I don’t find out what hospital you’re staying at. You girls have no interest in making anyone your slave? Well, guess what? You’re going to be my slaves come match time. No safe-words, no kinky fun, no. I am going to beat you until your eyes swell shut and you can’t move for a month because that’s what I do and that’s what my sister does. We’re about to do things to you that will stop you thinking of pain as pleasure. We are going to ruin your lives in a matter of minutes. I hope you look forward to that. Anything to add, sis?
Dana: Just to mention that whatever you girls get up to in the privacy of your own bedrooms is not anyone’s business. But in the ring, you’re ours because the ring is our business. We love what we do, we’re good at what we do and we do it hard. See those watermelons? If you even look at us the wrong way, those will be your skulls smashed on the canvas. Even if that means losing, we don’t care, just so long as we send a message and we will send a message. Naughty Girls, just be warned. Come time for our match, we will make you our bitches.
Dana smacks the camera with her bat, shattering the visual as the promo suddenly cuts off.
Dana: Throw!
Suddenly a watermelon, not a baseball but a watermelon, careens through the night sky towards Dana. As the melon gets close, Dana swings her metal baseball bat, shattering the fruit. She barely even registers the debris that covers her face and torso as she lets out another yell.
Dana: Throw!
Another watermelon flies towards Dana, another swing from the bat, another spray of fruit-based gore. Again without missing a beat, Dana calls for another.
Dana: Throw!
As the watermelon sails towards Dana, she shows off by lightly tapping the end of it, throwing it skywards and then smashing it as it plummets. As the third watermelon disintegrates, Dana’s non-identicle twin, Dinah O’Connell steps forwards, dusting her hands.
Dinah: Guess my throwing’s getting better.
Dana: Yeah, well, all to serve my batting skills.
Dinah: Better watch out for that bat, sis. My guess is our opponents this week will have plans for it. At least something long and hard…
Dana: You seriously couldn’t be more disgusting right now.
Dinah: Oh, I could. Believe me. Our opponents are some kinky dominatrix and her gimp or something.
Dana: What is wrong with this company? We come along and intend to take people down, no-nonsense, smash-mouth style and we get two Attitude Era rejects? See, this is why we need to win more matches.
Dinah: Win, lose, all the same to me. I just live to see the next match. The next chance to break someone’s nose, knock out someone’s teeth. Man, it’s been a while. I can’t even remember the last femur I broke.
Dana: That indie match we had in Kalamazoo, two months ago.
Dinah: Damn! I swore to that slut that I’d come back in a few weeks and either break the other leg or smash on her cast. Might have to postpone that.
Dana: Postpone? Look who’s using words with more than one syllable.
Dinah: Yeah, well, I’ve not been drunk since the day before yesterday. Gets the brain cells back. It also makes me grouchy. Maybe I should go sober before facing the lace and leather twins. Nah.
Dana: *checking her phone* It says here they’re called, “The Naughty Girls”.
Dinah: Ooooooooh! They’re “Naughty”? Oh, no! How can we compete with that? I mean, maybe you can Dana since you’re barely worse than a goody-two-shoes.
Dana: Well, not according to that girl in Salt Lake City. At least, not when she gets out of that coma. But, yeah, relatively good. You’re just a psychopath.
Dinah: Guilty as charged. That’s what I tell the judges anyway. By the way, I watched their promo earlier. Seems they don’t know who we are.
Dana: Well, here I was thinking our reputation preceded us, but go on.
Dinah: Apparently we do what we do feeding off of the audience or some cliché bull like that.
Dana: What!?
Dinah: Yeah, apparently we love to hear them cheering us. I never really notice. I usually can’t here the crowds for the opponent screaming underneath me. Then, by the time they pass out, it’s just dead silence in the crowd. Sometimes you might hear a cry or a scream, but usually it’s just shock.
Dana: Remember the show in Louisville? We opened the show and the crowd didn’t seem to move the rest of the night after you damn near pulled that girl’s eye out.
Dinah: I’m an artist. One of those whores said we didn’t see ourselves as wrestlers. I mean, you probably do…
Dana: Damn right.
Dinah: Me, I’m a thug. A stone cold, straight-up thug. Let me just clear this up for my opponents. When that bell rings, I don’t tie up. I don’t go for a headlock or a sleeper hold. I go for the throat or the crotch and I take you down like a lioness taking out a wounded gazelle. I don’t stop until your blood has covered my fists and the cops come and drag me away. After that, you better pray I don’t find out what hospital you’re staying at. You girls have no interest in making anyone your slave? Well, guess what? You’re going to be my slaves come match time. No safe-words, no kinky fun, no. I am going to beat you until your eyes swell shut and you can’t move for a month because that’s what I do and that’s what my sister does. We’re about to do things to you that will stop you thinking of pain as pleasure. We are going to ruin your lives in a matter of minutes. I hope you look forward to that. Anything to add, sis?
Dana: Just to mention that whatever you girls get up to in the privacy of your own bedrooms is not anyone’s business. But in the ring, you’re ours because the ring is our business. We love what we do, we’re good at what we do and we do it hard. See those watermelons? If you even look at us the wrong way, those will be your skulls smashed on the canvas. Even if that means losing, we don’t care, just so long as we send a message and we will send a message. Naughty Girls, just be warned. Come time for our match, we will make you our bitches.
Dana smacks the camera with her bat, shattering the visual as the promo suddenly cuts off.