Post by thewarchild on Jun 23, 2016 9:51:12 GMT -6
Static blares for only a moment before a dimly lit, scared, Opeare Shields appears on the screen. His breath is rapid and we can make out that he is duct taped into the chair he is occupying. As his eyes dart from the camera to behind it a shadow passes over his face, before glass shatters somewhere else in the room and we hear a cold, feminine voice order him to “Read it.”
Swallowing hard, Shields takes a breath and then begins to sarcastically do as he is told, clearly under duress. “Dear all Visionaries and VoW staff. My... patient, Joanna Thade, would like me to inform you that in lieu of what happened at Fate of the Gods she would like to congratulate all future opponents that face...War, in singles competition.” Taking a moment to look away from the camera Shields groans as a sickening hammer thrust makes contact with his stomach.
“Tell them why, Shields. Go on. You know better than to push me,” Joanna growls, making it clear she is holding back from what she wants to do.
Shields takes a few breaths to get through the pain as the hammer retracts from the frame. Once he continues his struggle for air becomes apparent by the strain in his voice. “Fore she will… willing... hand over meaningless victories… to those VoW management sends against… her in singles action. This pay-per-view only proved one thing… that management seek to unseat the horsewomen… through indecision and shell games. How else would you explain… pitting them in matches meant to lead to singles gold… and then throwing them into tag gold? No, the bloody cunt can tell you herself, I am no pup…”
His words die in his mouth as the hammer reappears from the right and knocks him out with a blow to the temple. A frustrated growl comes from behind the camera before a gothic combat boot shoves the unconscious psychiatrist out of the way, careening to the floor.
“Good help seems to be harder and harder to find.”
Joanna sits on what we can assume are Shields’ legs rubbing her temple with Hephty draped over her shoulder. Raising her eyebrows the Horsewoman known as War looks at the camera and grins.
“Well considering it’s just me now I guess I’ll get to the point. Emma and I didn’t lose because we don’t possess the skills needed, we didn’t lose because the Neon Brats out performed us. We lost because I wanted to honor Gaia and Emma wanted to climb a tree. We FAILED because we forgot what made us great! Spending every waking moment together worked for a while. It was what we needed, what we wanted, but then we focused on our individual idea of the mission. Our personal ways of sowing Chaos, and it WORKED, too well in fact.”
Joanna crosses her legs and fans flat the out of character skirt she is wearing. Coupled with the “Daddy’s lil’ Monster” shirt it’s clear her inspiration for the night. Moving Hephty from her shoulder to her lap Joanna giggles.
“All too well, we climb so high that we keep forgetting that Chaos doesn’t play favorites, and it’s a cruel force, one that likes to remind you how much so, at the worst time. So, the point my fellow visionaries, if it’s not a match where my Golden Death Princess and I get to practice the carnage that awaits the Neon Blood sacks at our next encounter, I simply won’t care enough to do more than walk down the ramp. So enjoy the easy W in your pathetic record book. I’m done playing games. I want blood. Neon yellow blood, and the longer I wait the worse it’ll be."
Joanna’s voice has no play, no childish glee, or manic joy Sanity’s mistress is known for. It’s cold, flat, and every word sounds like it’s poison. After her final word Joanna reaches slowly behind the camera and cuts the feed to black.
Swallowing hard, Shields takes a breath and then begins to sarcastically do as he is told, clearly under duress. “Dear all Visionaries and VoW staff. My... patient, Joanna Thade, would like me to inform you that in lieu of what happened at Fate of the Gods she would like to congratulate all future opponents that face...War, in singles competition.” Taking a moment to look away from the camera Shields groans as a sickening hammer thrust makes contact with his stomach.
“Tell them why, Shields. Go on. You know better than to push me,” Joanna growls, making it clear she is holding back from what she wants to do.
Shields takes a few breaths to get through the pain as the hammer retracts from the frame. Once he continues his struggle for air becomes apparent by the strain in his voice. “Fore she will… willing... hand over meaningless victories… to those VoW management sends against… her in singles action. This pay-per-view only proved one thing… that management seek to unseat the horsewomen… through indecision and shell games. How else would you explain… pitting them in matches meant to lead to singles gold… and then throwing them into tag gold? No, the bloody cunt can tell you herself, I am no pup…”
His words die in his mouth as the hammer reappears from the right and knocks him out with a blow to the temple. A frustrated growl comes from behind the camera before a gothic combat boot shoves the unconscious psychiatrist out of the way, careening to the floor.
“Good help seems to be harder and harder to find.”
Joanna sits on what we can assume are Shields’ legs rubbing her temple with Hephty draped over her shoulder. Raising her eyebrows the Horsewoman known as War looks at the camera and grins.
“Well considering it’s just me now I guess I’ll get to the point. Emma and I didn’t lose because we don’t possess the skills needed, we didn’t lose because the Neon Brats out performed us. We lost because I wanted to honor Gaia and Emma wanted to climb a tree. We FAILED because we forgot what made us great! Spending every waking moment together worked for a while. It was what we needed, what we wanted, but then we focused on our individual idea of the mission. Our personal ways of sowing Chaos, and it WORKED, too well in fact.”
Joanna crosses her legs and fans flat the out of character skirt she is wearing. Coupled with the “Daddy’s lil’ Monster” shirt it’s clear her inspiration for the night. Moving Hephty from her shoulder to her lap Joanna giggles.
“All too well, we climb so high that we keep forgetting that Chaos doesn’t play favorites, and it’s a cruel force, one that likes to remind you how much so, at the worst time. So, the point my fellow visionaries, if it’s not a match where my Golden Death Princess and I get to practice the carnage that awaits the Neon Blood sacks at our next encounter, I simply won’t care enough to do more than walk down the ramp. So enjoy the easy W in your pathetic record book. I’m done playing games. I want blood. Neon yellow blood, and the longer I wait the worse it’ll be."
Joanna’s voice has no play, no childish glee, or manic joy Sanity’s mistress is known for. It’s cold, flat, and every word sounds like it’s poison. After her final word Joanna reaches slowly behind the camera and cuts the feed to black.
