Post by Silver Eagle on Mar 1, 2017 23:12:53 GMT
"I listen and chase after a song without substance... yet my heart may not be satisfied. It pained me this day, Little Wing. But this was the first step in awaking you to the purest of truths. One day, I hope you understand why I took these measures, and why I did all I did.
It was for you, my child..."
It was for you, my child..."
==
January 26th 2016
Anastasia seemed quite nervous when she was called upon. She stood in front of the podium, her eyes constantly shifting to towards the exit where Ashley Sullivan and, most notably to her, Sophie El had stormed out. The questions she received were common to what everyone else had received.
“What do you think of your opponent?”
“What do you think of your opponent?”
“What are your chances of succeeding?”
“Do you have a game plan?”
“What is your game plan?”
“What are your opinions on your last match?”
“How did you burn salad?”
“How do you think the attack on Sophie El at SubVersion will affect your match?”
She plodded along through her answers short and sharply, quite unusual for the Little Songbird who was normally overly keen to go into far too much detail. She nibbled on some fluffy pink candy floss, a pair of oversized spectacles upon her face instead of her usual contact lens revealing her heterochromia effected eyes, one of them a deep jade whilst the other an icy cold blue.
“She’s great!”
“Someone’s already asked me that. Like, two minutes ago.”
“As much chance as any if I really try muh bestest, which I will be!”
“I has a very good game plan!”
“Not telling. Super-secret James Bond style plan. Double 0 Ana Banana!”
“What happened, happened. It wasn’t perfect, but I showed I can take everything and more and still get up. Imma here now, that’s the most important thing.”
“Imma the only one who has burnt salad, or something? Imma confused!”
“…Wait…wut?”
She tried to remain calm, she tried to remain professional, but she seemed to be quivering ever so slightly. Whether it was the nerves of what was at stake, the thought of facing her new friend or whether it was the constant stream of doubters. It was evident that many of the other entrees, whether still in the tournament or not, had raised serious doubts over whether she deserved to be in the tournament at this stage, especially seeing how dominant Levi Chambers had been during their last round matchup. This thought process, however, was broken by the next line of questioning.
REPORTER: Miss Starling, during these proceedings you have answered many questions about this tournament, quietly and admirably. But one question that has alluded you during these proceedings. You are not only member of your family that has competed in a professional wrestling ring, are you?
She stumbled over her response, a look of bewildered confusion and surprise at the questioning with the satin tongues reporter in black, who spoke so eloquently he seemed to have gathered the entire rooms attention, the fans, the press, the wrestlers and the staff.
ANASTASIA STARLING: Isaac…
REPORTER: Why of course. Many people here in attendance would be aware of the late Isaac Bongartz, a world renowned classical violinist who also had a quite storied career in professional. His career was most notable on the European scene, as a member of the famous ‘Silver Eagles’ group and that success transitioned over to the United States with some success in GDW and ECWF, although his crowning glory was winning GCW’s version of the World Heavyweight title.
The figure in black dramatically turns, his arms outstretched as he invites any and all to listen to his powerful, yet soothing voice, his mask masked by blackened curls.
REPORTER: Members of the Jury… This woman before you is not who she claims to be. She shows you all her playful exterior, an eternal child who simply wishes to have fun within a beloved industry, a girl who values friendship and hope above all else. Young fans label her as a role model, someone to aspire to be. And yet… she is far, far from it.
ANASTASIA STARLING: W-who are you?
He lifts the hair from his face, revealing handsome features with a Cheshire Cat grin framed by thick five o’clock shadow.
REPORTER: Members of the Jury, my name is Bobby B. Barabbas… And today I bring you the painful truth about the aforementioned Anastasia Starling, a relation to a tormented recluse, fuelled by his addiction to heroin spurned on by his own flesh and blood.
Anastasia is horrified to see Lady Magdalena’s manager before her, covering her mouth with her hand as she gasped.
ANASTASIA STARLING: W-wait… what? Yous lying…
BOBBY B. BARABBAS: This girl, this thing that stands before you is hiding the darkest of secrets, a devil dressed up as a lamb for you to worship as an image of purest innocence. I bring you exhibit A.
Barabbas pointed an accusing finger at her; the Pied Piper of Portland’s words seemingly gathered a murmuring mob behind him, his words so convincing that all in attendance glared at Starling with condemning looks in their eyes. This fact was doubled by the ‘evidence’ he held in his hands.
BOBBY B. BARABBAS: These selection of pictures show Miss Starling viciously attacking her former friend and trainer, Lady Magdalena, a world who was not only the love of Isaac’s life, but also the woman who took in a homeless and lost girl and welcomed her warmly into her own home out of the kindness of her heart…
ANASTASIA STARLING: S-stop it… yous don’t know what yous talking about!
The Clockwork Songbird could not get a word in edgeways, she voice failing under the power of Bobby’s, tears welling up in her eyes as she struggled to hide her emotions, the crowd beginning to turn into an angry mob with imaginary torches and pitchforks.
BOBBY B. BARABBAS: … and in return, in a probable toxin fuelled rage, evident by the glazed look in her eyes, tainted crimson red with poison, attacked the innocent Fair Lady and accused her, ACCUSED her FALSELY of having a link to the terrible and tragic passing of Isaac Bongartz.
ANASTASIA STARLING: That is not true! That is not true!
She tears were flooding down her face now, forming a waterfall of salt water streaked with black from her makeup. She didn’t know where to look, she darted right she saw devils, she darted left, she saw the same. The lynch mob getting louder and louder and the walls seemed to close in.
BOBBY B. BARABBAS: She sent a barrage of threats and insults across social media. Unfair, disturbing and unjustified. And this, this thing that stands before you attempts to blind you with false imagery. And not to mention her fath--
With that, she snapped, sprinting towards the would be judge and leaping off of the stage in a magnificent corkscrew and crashing down upon him before he had the chance to finish his sentence. She began wailing away upon him, to the gasps of the audience, constantly screaming “Shut up, shut up!” Fist after fist drove into him, her eyes bloodshot and distraught. She was eventually pulled back by a figure emerging from the back, another competitor from this tournament who had seemingly had seen enough. That man was Jackie Fowler. Bobby pulled himself up, blood smearing his smiling lips.
BOBBY B. BARABBAS: Members of the Jury… I rest my case.
The Pied Piper bowed and made his exit, as Fowler consoled his distraught friend who was curled up in a foetal position as she cried uncontrollably. Jackie looked up at the shocked crowd, who had seemingly snapped out of a trance. He then screamed out aggressively to the exiting Barabbas.
JACKIE FOWLER: Get t’fuck, you prick! What you think you’re playin’ at, eh? Jog on, son. You should be fuckin’ ashamed of yourself.
He then turned on the crowd as he scooped up Anastasia in his arms to carry her away from her this mess.
JACKIE FOWLER: And any of you that believed any of Bobby Ballbag’s bullshit should be ashamed as well.
He began to pace out of the room, carrying the small girl with him to the exit.
