Post by Jessica E. Mathis on Sept 19, 2016 14:40:13 GMT -6
Rain. Dreary, Northeast US rain. It pelts the ground in a gentle, single pitch concerto. A large truck pulls up. Two men exit the cab, dressed in rain suits. They both walk to the back of the truck and unsling a tarp. From underneath, they begin to work at a large plate of glass, attaching suction cup carry handles. Traffic rolls by them at a sedate pace. As they begin to dislodge the glass from its spot, a trio of men in dirty blue jeans and gray hoodies emerge from the building they are in front of and begin to remove a large piece of plexi-glass that has been duct taped into place by what looks to be between 30 and 50 rolls of the silvery adhesive stuff. From out of visual range of this scene, a sedate, subdued female voice speaks. VoW fans might recognize the voice as that of the recently injured Jessica E Mathis.
Jessica: "Sometimes, we can get so caught up in our own personal tragedies. Our own dramas. We tend to shut out the world around us, as if the world is sterling perfect aside from our own little problems. God knows, I'm guilty of that. Especially of late."
The scene pulls back. Jessica stands alone on a street corner, somewhere in New York. She has her back to the camera, wearing a light jacket and her right hand holding an umbrella up, covering her blond hair, which looks a little matted from the rain, despite her efforts to prevent this. She turns around to face the camera, the white line of the sling keeping her left arm at bay visible across the black t-shirt she wears beneath her jacket, the left sleeve swings around, empty.
Jessica: "First, my inability to get a break through win. I've been close. Isn't that right, Katie?"
She pauses as a cab rolls by, deep base blaring loud enough to shake the windows of other vehicles parked along the street.
Jessica: "Then the issue with Vee. Vivian. Suggesting maybe I should look for people to learn from, not back in Carolina, or here in The Big Apple, but here in VoW. Dazi has shown a little willingness to let me brain pick, so maybe, just maybe, I have a place to start there."
She turns back again to the scene behind her, in a profile look now, as the plexi-glass is slowly removed and lowered, then carefully carried aside. A slight gust of wind blows the rain into the men's faces, causing them to let loose with a New Yorkese train of curses that, if the rain weren't being whipped around, likely would curdle it. The wind slowly dies down, Jessica's left sleeve blowing in the wind as the scene retightens, this time on her as she turns back.
Jessica: "Speaking of whom. I have her, and the other three, to thank for this."
She nods her head, motioning to the sling and her left arm.
Jessica: "But don't worry. This won't keep me down for long. I'm expecting to be cleared this weekend to return to action. Which, as I just found out, is going to be most interesting."
Jessica begins to walk, the sound of boot heels clicking on cement joining the patter of rain in puddles. The scene falls back before her, so she stays in frame center.
Jessica: "My old friend, Ace. I'm not sure exactly what the people in the front office are thinking. It's either a compliment to me, or, more likely, an insult to you, that we are paired up this week for a tag team match. It will be the first time I've worked in the ring as part of a team. It should be interesting, assuming I can resist the urge to belt you across the chops, since you have something that, as I've been sitting here in New York, I've decided I want. Then again, I already warned you about that, didn't i?"
She pauses, for two reasons. First to give a pretty smile to the camera. The other to let a minivan playing "Low Rider" at top volume to pass by. As the van turns and passes down the road the way Jessica has just walked, we see the minivan has, indeed, been lowered. Jessica turns to watch this odd little sight flow by, then turns back and continues her walk.
Jessica: "Add to that, Matt 'I bleed everywhere I go' Slater and Valerie 'The Limper' Beasley as our opponents and it seems I'm the odd one out. Not due to injury...how is that knee doing, Val?..but due to the fact I'm not the only crusty veteran in this match. That can work two ways."
Jessica turns and walks to the right, the scene following her from distance now, showing the ripped blue-jeans with black tights through the rips and tears. She stops near a New York Times paperbox and turns to look at the camera.
Jessica: "Either my lack of experience costs me and I stand out like a sore thumb, or the fact I'm young and vibrant carries me through. Don't think I'm taking you two lightly, guys. Matt Slater has taken beatings that would make most grown men run home to Mommy and beg to crawl back in her womb and peeled himself up from the mat, floor, straw or whatever and make his way out on his own feet. That's impressive, and something to be respected for. Even if the reason you look like you've just pulled your face out of a sausage skin is that you just lost a really physical match."
She stands there, talking, as a man with a deck broom sweeps by. He's an older fellow in blue coveralls. When he realizes there is a camera aimed at him, he lifts the grungy New York Knicks cap from his bald head and waves it, calling out 'Hi, Mom!'. Jessica sighs, but lets the man have what he thinks is his moment of glory before he shuffles off, whistling happily to himself.
Jessica: "As for you, dear, sweet Valarie. You looked good in your return match. Having been in the ring as her opponent, myself, I can tell you Dazi is no easy mark. That you beat her is, in itself, noteworthy. Especially in a comeback match. Just as you two will be homing in on my shoulder, I'm sure you know I will be looking for that tender leg of yours, Val. And if any of three of you don't think I'm coming to Pennsylvania prepared to fight, then..."
She pauses before steps down to the New York subway.
Jessica: "Then you don't know a damn thing about New Yorkers."
As she says this, a pair of younger men in Derek Jeter Yankees jerseys emerge. She puts her hand out and high-fives each of them as they pass.
Jessica: "We may quarrel among ourselves, but if you start something with us, by God, we finish it."
She desends into the 23rd street train station, where a trio of yellow ribbons stand fast against the rain, fluttering in the breeze. Below, the sound of a train breaking to a stop can be heard...
= = =
Autor's Note: This RP dedicated to the Linden Police, all First Responders in New York and New Jersey. (You can mess with Texas, but don't F*** With New York)
Jessica: "Sometimes, we can get so caught up in our own personal tragedies. Our own dramas. We tend to shut out the world around us, as if the world is sterling perfect aside from our own little problems. God knows, I'm guilty of that. Especially of late."
The scene pulls back. Jessica stands alone on a street corner, somewhere in New York. She has her back to the camera, wearing a light jacket and her right hand holding an umbrella up, covering her blond hair, which looks a little matted from the rain, despite her efforts to prevent this. She turns around to face the camera, the white line of the sling keeping her left arm at bay visible across the black t-shirt she wears beneath her jacket, the left sleeve swings around, empty.
Jessica: "First, my inability to get a break through win. I've been close. Isn't that right, Katie?"
She pauses as a cab rolls by, deep base blaring loud enough to shake the windows of other vehicles parked along the street.
Jessica: "Then the issue with Vee. Vivian. Suggesting maybe I should look for people to learn from, not back in Carolina, or here in The Big Apple, but here in VoW. Dazi has shown a little willingness to let me brain pick, so maybe, just maybe, I have a place to start there."
She turns back again to the scene behind her, in a profile look now, as the plexi-glass is slowly removed and lowered, then carefully carried aside. A slight gust of wind blows the rain into the men's faces, causing them to let loose with a New Yorkese train of curses that, if the rain weren't being whipped around, likely would curdle it. The wind slowly dies down, Jessica's left sleeve blowing in the wind as the scene retightens, this time on her as she turns back.
Jessica: "Speaking of whom. I have her, and the other three, to thank for this."
She nods her head, motioning to the sling and her left arm.
Jessica: "But don't worry. This won't keep me down for long. I'm expecting to be cleared this weekend to return to action. Which, as I just found out, is going to be most interesting."
Jessica begins to walk, the sound of boot heels clicking on cement joining the patter of rain in puddles. The scene falls back before her, so she stays in frame center.
Jessica: "My old friend, Ace. I'm not sure exactly what the people in the front office are thinking. It's either a compliment to me, or, more likely, an insult to you, that we are paired up this week for a tag team match. It will be the first time I've worked in the ring as part of a team. It should be interesting, assuming I can resist the urge to belt you across the chops, since you have something that, as I've been sitting here in New York, I've decided I want. Then again, I already warned you about that, didn't i?"
She pauses, for two reasons. First to give a pretty smile to the camera. The other to let a minivan playing "Low Rider" at top volume to pass by. As the van turns and passes down the road the way Jessica has just walked, we see the minivan has, indeed, been lowered. Jessica turns to watch this odd little sight flow by, then turns back and continues her walk.
Jessica: "Add to that, Matt 'I bleed everywhere I go' Slater and Valerie 'The Limper' Beasley as our opponents and it seems I'm the odd one out. Not due to injury...how is that knee doing, Val?..but due to the fact I'm not the only crusty veteran in this match. That can work two ways."
Jessica turns and walks to the right, the scene following her from distance now, showing the ripped blue-jeans with black tights through the rips and tears. She stops near a New York Times paperbox and turns to look at the camera.
Jessica: "Either my lack of experience costs me and I stand out like a sore thumb, or the fact I'm young and vibrant carries me through. Don't think I'm taking you two lightly, guys. Matt Slater has taken beatings that would make most grown men run home to Mommy and beg to crawl back in her womb and peeled himself up from the mat, floor, straw or whatever and make his way out on his own feet. That's impressive, and something to be respected for. Even if the reason you look like you've just pulled your face out of a sausage skin is that you just lost a really physical match."
She stands there, talking, as a man with a deck broom sweeps by. He's an older fellow in blue coveralls. When he realizes there is a camera aimed at him, he lifts the grungy New York Knicks cap from his bald head and waves it, calling out 'Hi, Mom!'. Jessica sighs, but lets the man have what he thinks is his moment of glory before he shuffles off, whistling happily to himself.
Jessica: "As for you, dear, sweet Valarie. You looked good in your return match. Having been in the ring as her opponent, myself, I can tell you Dazi is no easy mark. That you beat her is, in itself, noteworthy. Especially in a comeback match. Just as you two will be homing in on my shoulder, I'm sure you know I will be looking for that tender leg of yours, Val. And if any of three of you don't think I'm coming to Pennsylvania prepared to fight, then..."
She pauses before steps down to the New York subway.
Jessica: "Then you don't know a damn thing about New Yorkers."
As she says this, a pair of younger men in Derek Jeter Yankees jerseys emerge. She puts her hand out and high-fives each of them as they pass.
Jessica: "We may quarrel among ourselves, but if you start something with us, by God, we finish it."
She desends into the 23rd street train station, where a trio of yellow ribbons stand fast against the rain, fluttering in the breeze. Below, the sound of a train breaking to a stop can be heard...
= = =
Autor's Note: This RP dedicated to the Linden Police, all First Responders in New York and New Jersey. (You can mess with Texas, but don't F*** With New York)