Post by Deleted on Jul 1, 2016 4:26:06 GMT
stop being a little bitch ♥ooc: This was supposed to go up like, ages ago. I figured I'd still do it anyway. Note: Genevie is used courtesy of her handler, annnnnnd does not appear ever in RSW except for off camera. lol
June 10th, 2016 / 11:45 a.m.
Washington Middle School, Grade 7 Language Arts Classroom
Camera: • OFF
She'd been thinking about it for quite some time. The urges to rise once more into a flurry of fists in the squared circle that had been part of her life since her younger years hadn't stopped. They never quit, even though she forced herself as much as she could to step away and desperately try to stop thinking about it. She'd made choices, and she needed to stick to them. She told him that, anyway. But it was hard not to - especially given the life choice she'd made this time.
Aaron O'Hanlon, known to the wrestling world as Aaron Asphyxia, decided to "retire". As she approached twenty-eight years of age, she felt at that time that she'd had enough bumps and bruises on her 4'11" body to fill the rest of her life. She retired to her second career, the stable one, the one she could always count on: teaching English in a middle school. Sitting at the head of the classroom, leaning over cart with a projector showing a blank worksheet that the summer school class was currently working on, and her head resting on her palm, Aaron was left to think about too many things that didn't involve prepositions.
The (currently) red-haired woman couldn't give up the sport entirely, and was hired as a trainer at Battle Arts Pro for the next of the brightest stars to rise into the wrestling scene. Gavin Masterson and she had gone quite a-ways back, having never wrestled with one another, but always knew of each other's achievements and status. He, along with the head of the school in Seattle, asked her specifically to come in and train the new girls. And she'd done her job well, to the best of her ability. But it was nothing like being in the ring herself.
"Ms. O'Hanlon . . ." a student approached her. His name was . . . well, let's call him Kevin, for today's purposes. He had the worksheet in his hand was looking immensely confused. "I can't figure out the preposition in this subject . . . there's too many nouns . . ."
Aaron sighed to herself. At least this child knew what a noun was. Personally, she was astonished by the lack of intelligence the American school system produced. In an age of technology, kids didn't bother remembering shit for themselves. Every year, she knew the lower grades taught the information, but when they hit her class, she might as well be teaching third-graders because she always had to go back to the parts of speech.
Oh, how her life had been reduced to the parts of fucking speech.
A long time ago (if you would count a year or so as "long"), she hit a plateau. She won her matches, but emotionally, they did nothing for her anymore. It was all the same, every single time. Every promotional video she rolled felt forced -- words had always come to her easy, but shit-talking her co-workers for the benefit of people with an IQ average of seventy-five just started getting old. Yeah, she won championships, but the glory of attaining gold wasn't important to her anymore. She became burned out. Burned. The. Fuck. Out. What was seriously the point of wrestling anymore? She'd faced the people in the network she was in a thousand times, and she was tired of it. Nothing was new. Nothing could be gained. The only fun she had was antagonizing a lousy, dipshit bodyguard who thought she was top shit, but didn't bring any sort of valor to the world around her.
But what did she have now? Prepositions. Parts of Speech. Gerund clauses. The syntax of the English language was interesting when you looked at the history of if -- not when you taught it to people around you.
As the dutiful teacher she was, Aaron helped Kevin with his worksheet. And when he was done, she sat up straight and started going over the answers, asking the kids for their input, correcting when they got it wrong (in the sweetest voice she could muster), and praising when they did it right. This was her life now -- appeasing little kids who got their feelings hurt the second you said anything relatively snarky to them. Regardless of her desire to return, the wrestling world had no place for her now. Not if she was burned out and tired of the bullshit.
Maybe one day.
As the kids filed out of her class, Aaron tugged at her jeans pocket and pulled out her iPhone. It had been incessantly buzzing for the last half hour, and she was already over it. At first, she thought perhaps someone was calling her, but it wasn't quite the waking hour for any of her associates, and since she declined all of the talent scouts for other companies, she knew it couldn't be them either. A slew of texts decorated the home screen of her phone, and luckily, the kids weren't looking at it, as there was a plethora of curses all over it.
Aaron! I'm flying in
SERIOUSLY WHY AREN'T YOU
ANSWERING YOUR FUCKING CELL
Shit, are you working?
You're fucking working aren't you
Finnnnnne, I'll drive myself
We're going partying tonight <3
And no, you can't just stay home
with your cats.
Fucking cat lady."Oh Genevie . . ." Aaron breathes out, sighing slightly. True, it was Friday, and it had been at least a month since Genevie punched her way through Aaron's barriers (again) and pushed her to go out with her. Genevie was, after all, volatile and voracious. She'd trained the girl herself, years ago, when she was additionally a trainer for the company she was working for. Somehow, after her training was complete, the two had befriended one another -- despite being complete polar opposites. Whereas Genevie was more inclined to bang her way up and down the east coast, drink like a fish, and flaunt her assets, Aaron was much more reserved. Well. Mostly, anyway. She was able to keep her head during alcoholic affairs, and most of the time, had to keep Genie from getting into trouble. It was more than one time that she'd had to bail Genevie out of jail for one thing or another.
Well, at least her evening was going to go better. Maybe.•••••••
June 10th, 2016 / 9:45 p.m.
O'Hanlon Residence, Seattle, Washington
Camera: • OFF
Giggling echoed in the rather spacious three bedroom apartment within Seattle's downtown metropolis. A rather tall and buxom ombre-haired woman stood in the center of the living room, gazing at the black, modern leather couches and out the floor length windows at the bright lights that decorated the darkened night-life below. Taking a few steps in her Louboutin pumps around the counter leading into the white, almost perfectly kept kitchen, she tapped her manicured nails on the counter. She had impeccable makeup, and was dressed quite scantily in a tight, little black dress. She lifted an eyebrow, and pursed her lips, her giggles fading. There was a bowl filled to its brim with cat kibble, and accompanied by it were two more bowls with various amounts of the same stuff.
Clicking her tongue against her teeth, she turned to the opposite side and grabbed a wine glass from the hanging rack on the counter. She opened the refrigerator, grabbed one of the cans of soda, and reached above the refrigerator to grab one of the numerous bottles of Smirnoff. Letting the refrigerator door slam shut, she poured a generous helping of vodka into the glass and chased it with a smaller helping of coke.
Walking around the counter island with her glass in hand, she went and sat down on the leather couch, taking a sip at the same time. She winced as the burning of the alcohol entered her throat, but continued that sip into a rather large gulp. However, as she leaned back into the couch, she sat up quickly and looked behind her. With her eyebrow rising once more, she pulled a crocheted cat toy from behind her, one that had several bells all over it. "Oh my god, for fuck's sake, Aaron." She groaned, flicking it away from her in disgust. It knocked into an empty china bowl, of which looked like it had day-old popcorn from the few kernels that lay in the bottom.
"For fuck's sake, what Genevie?" Aaron questioned, coming out from the master bedroom. She, herself, was dressed in a cute little black and white polka-dotted dress, and her rather glamorous hair was styled with a lot of volume and a lot of curls. Because why the fuck not? She had her hands at her ear, placing a dangling earring into her silicone-gauged lobe.
"Nothing," she replied, taking another gulp of her mixed concoction.
"I thought we were waiting until we got down to the club?" Aaron raised her eyebrow herself, grabbing a pair of heels and sliding them onto her feet as she hopped into the kitchen.
"And then you took for fucking ever," came the snarky reply that she should have expected. A cat, a rather furry white and grey mix, rubbed up against her leg and she jumped slightly. "Let me finish this."
"Okay, yeah," absentmindedly, Aaron waved off her friend, disappearing behind the counter for one moment, and reappearing with a bag of treats in her hand.
As if by magic, four cats appeared and leaped onto the counter, awaiting to be hand given their fishy-flavored snacks. Genie couldn't even hide the look of disgust on her face as it happened -- however, Aaron didn't even notice. She was too fucking busy petting and cooing over her cats.
Genevie sighed to herself. Her friend was further beyond her reach than she thought. Maybe, just maybe, Aaron could come up with a valid reason as to why she had four cats, barely came out of the house, and why there was an enormous basket of yarn sitting next to the couch (next to, of course, a handheld video game system). The two had known each other for a couple of years now, and Aaron had always been one of the people that Genie would hang out with regardless of their complete and utter opposite activities. While Aaron did go clubbing, she was always more level-headed and often pushed Genie away from bitches she was ready to take out. Additionally, she was always willing to spend the cash she'd earned over the years to bail the volatile one out. She was also a wrestler that earned respect.
There was no reason for her to have become the crazy fucking cat lady. She wasn't even thirty yet, nor was she single and celibate.
"I guess we could go to Foundation first . . ." Aaron was saying, looking at her phone and flopping down onto the opposite chair.
"Do you miss it?" Genie asked, out of the blue.
Aaron's eyebrow shot up, and she paused in her phone searching.
"Do I miss . . . what?"
"Wrestling. Beating up the bitches, taking out the trash. The stuff you're good at?"
Aaron leaned back in her chair. It wasn't often that Genevie tried the whole deep-feeling, emotional question shit. Having her do so now, particularly, was not expected. "I mean, I guess I do." She responded. "But I don't know, I just don't feel like I have anything additional to give."
Genevie snorted.
"What?"
"You? Not having anything to give? Aaron, every time you've entered a promotion, you've gotten a championship within your first to second match."
"Genevie, it's not just about championships." Aaron tossed her phone down onto the couch. "I want challenge. I hate just coming into a company, having my name be surrounded by lights, and being a cash cow for the selfish ass promoter. I know I'm good, but . . . if I were ever to go back into any wrestling scene, I want to be in a place where no one knows who the hell I am. I want to work for something, be something other than the person who gets a shot at a championship. It's been too easy. And I'm over easy."
"So, find that place, and go to it."
"Everyone has heard my name."
"Aaron," Genevie sat forward, and sat her glass down on the coffee able. "You know I love you, because, let's face it," she flipped her hair over her shoulder, and laughed slightly, "I actually take time out of my week to come and see you."
Aaron rolled her eyes.
"But," she continued, "you're being a little bitch right now."
Both sat in silence. No, it hadn't been the first time such language was used towards one another. In fact, when Aaron was training students, the most whiny of them all would receive that treatment. But, it was kind of a shock at the moment.
"Look at you, twenty-seven years of age, and you're still able to do this job. You're awesome at what you do, you've always brought asses in seats, and you're sitting here whining about not having a challenge. You have the whole wrestling world at your fingertips, and you could pick fucking anywhere, and yet . . . here you are. Sitting in an apartment on most nights, eating popcorn," she flicked the bowl, "watching Netflix and not chilling --"
"In my defense, my husband is in Japan."
"Don't interrupt." Genevie held up her hand. "I know you miss Finn, too. But, you can't just sit here and," she leaned down and picked up one of the plethora of cat toys and pointed at the yarn, "cat lady it up and crochet like an old, fat slore." She gulped down the rest of her drink and set it back down with a firm clink. "You're wasting yourself here, and you're wasting the talent that you have. Stop complaining and just go back into the sport. Go somewhere, somewhere you don't know, and they don't know you. Somewhere new. Don't take this as a suggestion. I'm going to the bathroom, and while I'm there, you're calling whoever the hell you need to call to get yourself back in."
Genevie stalked out of the room, leaving Aaron sitting there staring at where she was seated. Somehow, she knew her friend was right. She was waiting for something that was never going to happen if she just sat around. She wanted challenge, and she knew . . . that if she stepped into the right place, she would have that. She picked up her phone and dialed. A few rings, and then, someone picked up.
"I need the name of every single promotion that's opening up and has sent you information. Stat."
