Post by Brenna Gordon on Feb 13, 2017 16:39:50 GMT -5
No matter how hard they tried, there was no such thing as a hotel chain that could exactly duplicate their rooms.
Days Inn was as close as Olivia has managed to find in her years of travel, but even then? There's always something that threw her off, some addition or absence or repositioning that was just enough to remind her that she's laying down on an unfamiliar bed... and that was enough to keep her awake. In this case, it was the absence of the usual small round table and semi-comfortable office chair that stuck out like a sore thumb. That metaphorical digit ground into her mind, forcing her to stay awake no matter how many times she closed her eyes and tried to ignore it, to force her mind to remember the familiar surroundings of her own bedroom. The well-worn cotton sheets wrapped around her, the distant sound of the traffic that never quite stopped going by-- even the busses that announced their route number and destination loud enough to be heard clearly from the third floor made their way into the illusion she tried so very hard to believe in. Inevitably, though?
That damnable thumb prodded her medulla oblongata (or whatever part of her brain is responsible) to remind her that it isn't real.
A frustrated sound escaped the redhead as she swatted blindly at the wall beside the headboard, feeling around until she finds the cool metal of the wall-mounted lamp. Her fingers trailed over the faceplate, claiming the awkwardly-small little knob that seemed to be standard issue before she's turning it to turn the bulb on. Blinking in the seemingly-bright amber light, Olivia groaned in frustration before she spilled onto her back without much grace to stare up at the ceiling. Even if it was only approaching hour number twenty of being awake, already she could feel her weariness settling in anew... and it was the ultimate tease, denying her something more vital than any orgasm one could ever experience. She could live with sexual frustration, after all. Sleep?
Not so much.
Olivia's head turned to look at the gaudy gift basket that had somehow made its way into her room. She hadn't so much as bothered to untie the bow holding the cellophane together around it. It was almost like she was afraid of catching tacky off of it, considering the DayGlo pink and cartoonish heart print and--well, what the Hell was the stuffed thing in the middle of it? Morbid curiosity had her scooting bare skin along the fitted sheet to sit up, a calloused hand reaching out to retrieve the whole garish affair and haul it onto her lap. A tug of the ribbon later and she found herself face-to-face with what... she thought was a honey badger? Well, whatever it was, it's sitting in a pile of pink Easter grass along with what she assumed to be various wardrobe choices for the oversized plushie sitting front and center. And were those the Valentine Hearts from that one wafer company that taste like chalk? Making a face, the redhead continued to sort through the stuff (Read: junk.) that was in the basket, eventually coming away with a small packet of Hershey Kisses... and a note, written in a cursive script that bordered on cartoonish.
To Liv:
For my favorite "arm-breaking" beauty--have a beary good day!
~ Dan Fierce
For my favorite "arm-breaking" beauty--have a beary good day!
~ Dan Fierce
"Dan Fierce?" A brow quirked at that last part, her head tilting to one side in puzzlement. She had expected the whole tone-deaf and tasteless affair to be something that Kyle Shane had come up with--after all, he'd proven himself to be utterly clueless as to how to deal with a woman when he tried to pick her up despite her obvious absence of interest--but why would the World Champion be sending her...
Wait, Liv.
To the best of her knowledge, Dan Fierce was a Friend of Dorothy--and possessed of actual taste besides. Not only that, but wasn't he spoken for? There had to be an explanation for this somewhere. Olivia grabbed her phone, pulling up the On Demand replay of Trauma 206. It didn't take her all that long to find out what had happened, a faint frown tugging at her lips. So not only had Kyle committed identity theft on live TV, he'd outright declared himself to be 'Chaotic Good' before trying to cover his tracks by throwing out another man's credit cards? A low sound of irritation left her lips as she put the basket aside, leaning over to retrieve the t-shirt she had worn before ultimately shedding it before she tried to get some sleep. In the couple of minutes it took to put that on and apply just enough DermaBlend to cover her face and neck, her irritation had gone away for the most part. Unfortunately, it had been replaced by something far worse for the Underground Champion.
Anger.
---------------------
"How fucking clueless are you, Kyle?" The question is posed point-blank as the redhead looks square into the lens of her cell phone, the picture a little grainy in the harsh light of the generic hotel lamp. Thanks to the camera she's using, all that can be seen of the contender to the Underground Championship is from the neck-up... and even if her hair is tousled in a way that could easily be misconstrued by the ignorant objectification of a man that clearly cannot get it through his head that she is a person and not a fantasy made flesh for him to play with? The cold fury in her gaze and the disgust in her tone are undeniable and beyond the realm of being willfully misconstrued. Olivia wears anger well--though then again, it's hard to imagine anything she wouldn't wear well. A deep breath inward comes out as a harsh exhale as she reaches up and pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to contain her emotions so she can steer them in a direction she can use. "I mean, I know you sent over the gift basket I'm going to be donating before either of us knew that we would be facing for the Underground Championship at Trauma 207, but really? Really? This atrocity of pink shit that I'm pretty sure Kelli Starr would be horrified to receive--"
Reaching off to one side, the gift basket in question is hauled into sight--the camera tilting down briefly to show the whole wretched, gaudy mess before it returns to Olivia's face. Unfortunately for any that would want to use that quick clip as stroke material, her t-shirt is high-collared enough to deny the chance to see even so much as a bit of cleavage.
Sorry not sorry, you fuckboy son of a bitch.
"-- couldn't have ran more than fifty dollars, yet your cheap ass had to steal Dan Fierce's credit card in order to pay for it? Like it was worth it to send the wrestler that wasn't impressed with your smarmy little smirk and your inexperience in dealing with an actual woman with a pulse something that'd be more appropriate for a twelve-year-old, but not worth it enough for you to pay for it yourself? I'd ask if you were for real, but it's clear that you're just real fucking clueless. Alicia Silverstone in Clueless has more of an idea of how the world works than you do, for fuck's sakes--and that's an understatement!" A scoff, derisive and caustic coming from such pretty lips--or so's the hope. She hopes she's burning Kyle's masculinity to the ground at this point. "I mean, how can you have expected this to go anywhere but sideways? In what crevice of your rectal passage did you get the idea that I'd enjoy anything to do with this? How could you have thought that this was a good thing to do that'd win me over? Oh, wait--you didn't think. You didn't consider anything but the outcome you assumed would happen, which would've been me dropping my panties in front of you and begging for you to have your way with me. Well you know what?"
Leaning in closer to the camera--which doesn't take much--those jade-colored (thanks to the light) eyes narrow, further focusing her displeasure into a point that she seeks to drive through to her opponent's heart.
"I am going to have my way with you... but you're not going to like a single, solitary second of it." Olivia nods. "You see, my idea of a good time has now become wrenching each and every last one of your limbs out of socket as many times as I can before you tap out and I take the only thing of value that you've got from you. You might be talented in that ring, but you can't outspeed me if I take the use of your legs from you--and trust me, pudding pop, I know how to do it. As for your arms, well... how cruel would it be of me to take away your ability to rename your hand 'Olivia' and stroke it furiously after my body was situationally so close to your own? I'd almost say that would kill your ego outright by itself, but I know how unfortunately resilient the ego of a jackass like you is. Taking your title too, though... that should do it. And if it doesn't?"
She chuckles to herself.
"Then I imagine that Dan Fierce will finish you off. You know, after he presses charges for identity theft."
Everything fades to black as she smirks faintly, the expression filled to the brim with the grim satisfaction of what she will do come Trauma 207.
