Post by Roxy Cotton on Dec 10, 2018 14:19:25 GMT -5
PART ONE – BUNNY HOP
“Come on girl, where are you…”
Roxy Cotton was sitting at a small table in a busy bar area in McCarron Airport, outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. The shin of her left leg, crossed over her right, is bouncing up and down frantically, the toes painted deep purple to match the form fitting mini dress she wore were pointed in impatience. In her hand is a bedazzled cell phone, which she swipes at furiously with her perfectly manicured fingers.
“Angie… where… the… fuck… are… you…”
Roxy spoke the texted words under her breath through gritted teeth. She finishes her text and closes the app, pulling up the huge digital numbers on the phone face showing the time in pink font over a background picture of herself.
Upon seeing the time displayed on the screen, Roxy’s eyes widens and she makes a guttural, growling, sound of annoyance with her nostrils flaring. She opens another app and presses a few icons, her nails tapping loudly on the glass, then brings the phone to her ear while a mojito is delivered to her table.
After a few seconds she speaks again in a highly animated tone.
“Angie! I’m sitting here waiting at a bar for you in a disgusting airport… where are you? Did you get the Uber like I told you? You didn’t did you… I bet you got in some nasty yellow cab and are sitting in the back seat smiling and flirting with a 60 year old Middle Eastern cab driver. God damn it, Angie! They’re going to board in like 30 minutes! These tickets are non-refundable! You want to get to the Bunny Ranch before afternoon, trust me. Things change. Call me!”
Roxy slaps the phone down onto the tabletop and grabs her drink in one fluid motion.
“Fuck.”
The straw goes between her red lips, and they press together as the alcohol flies up the plastic tube and into her mouth. She doesn’t ignore her phone for long, though, quickly checking her various social media accounts for any sign of her seemingly-vanished Cool Kid friend.
Nothing on Facebook, nothing on Instagram… she pauses for a bit longer on Snapchat, smiling into the selfie-facing camera to send out images of herself in various crowns of flowers or butterflies. Finally, she checks Twitter and finds a tweet from Angie Vaughn, confirming exactly what she’d expected.
“Fuck me sideways… what is wrong with this girl? Seriously?”
She says it to herself, but as usual she has attracted the attention of several young men sitting at a nearby table who take the opportunity to cut into to the bombshell’s one sided conversation.
“Hey there sweetheart… someone get lost?”
“Yeah. You. Hopefully within the next five minutes.”
“Oooh, feisty. You like things a little spicy?”
Alcohol. A prime example of spirits emboldening a young man already filled to the brim with adrenaline and sex hormones. He and his two friends look young enough to be drinking on fake ID’s, not that anyone in Sin City would give a damn. You could buy a bottle of whisky at Chuck E. Cheese in Las Vegas. The three young men chuckle, and Roxy notices the three of them are wearing matching USC tank tops.
“You boys from LA?”
The guys stop laughing and the one who spoke first leans toward Roxy and smiles again.
“We go to Southern Cal, yeah. TROJANS!”
The hyped-up shout is followed by exchanges of high fives and tens between the three college guys. They pound their fists on the table and share some sort of unintelligible chant in unison while Roxy finishes off her mojito, watching the trio with a thoroughly nonplussed expression.
“What are you… cheerleaders?”
The three fall silent, their pride wounded by the Perfect Ten, and the smiles run away from their faces. The boldest of the three once again leans forward, this time with a sneer.
“No way baby… all three of us are ALL man.”
“You sound pretty sure of that. You’ve seen for yourself?”
“How about YOU come see for YOURself? You, me, Chad and Todd here can all fit into that elevator together. You’ll NEVER forget Vegas after that.”
Roxy laughs. She puts her oversized sunglasses on and leans back in her chair, switching the way her legs are crossed. Like a hawk, the head honcho of the USC Trojans’ eyes dart between her thighs, peering up her extremely short skirt. Roxy’s eyebrow raises in recognition and she leans her head to the side.
“See something you like, sugar?”
“I like them little pink panties. I’d like ‘em more around your ankles in that elevator, though.”
Roxy chuckles again and digs through her purse, eventually pulling out a pack of American Spirits.
“Baby, I’m not here to turn you little boys into men. I’ve got shit to do, and making three virgins cum in their shorts in a Las Vegas elevator is nowhere on the list. What I WILL let you do though, is light my fucking cigarette. So… who’s got a light?”
The two lesser jocks start digging through their pockets, fumbling around looking for a lighter. The main guy, the quarterback most likely, shakes his head though.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
Roxy ducks her face downward, peering over the top of her sunglasses at the smirking jock, making sure he can see her eyes roll back in her head.
“No shit, Detective. Over there.”
She points to a small alcove with an outdoor terrace, a “smoking area” sign nearby. To the excitement of the three college bros, it is also near a grouping of elevators.
“Calm down. Follow me and hurry up, I don’t have much time.”
The bombshell stands after stretching her long, tan legs, watching three sets of eyes follow every shift of her figure in the process. She grabs her purse and drops a twenty dollar bill on the table, then saunters past the pack of Trojans with her wheeled suitcase in tow.
The three bros hesitate only a moment before hopping up and following behind Roxy’s swaying hips all the way to the smoking balcony. Roxy walks to the railing and turns, leaning back onto it and producing a cigarette and placing it between her lips and then standing and waiting.
“Well?”
Frustrated, she raises her hands in the air and once again the two lesser jocks scramble to find a lighter. Before they produce anything though, the original Trojan man grabs a pack of matches from the railing and drags one across the back of the pack, sparking a flame.
He holds the match up and watches with a smile as Roxy leans forward, her bosom nearly spilling out from her low cut dress, and puffs her cigarette to life from his match. The cocksure young man shakes out the match and drops it, stomping on it with one flip flopped foot. He looks impatiently at Roxy while she sucks in a long drag and then blows out a plume of smoke with a hiss.
“What do you want? A thank you?”
“I want you bent over in the elevator, like I said.”
“Not happening, sweetheart. Don’t you have a test to study for? I’ve got work to do. I’m a busy lady.”
“Yeah… I know who you are. Roxy Cotton, right? Biggest bitch in wrestling? Twitter’s Queen of the Cunts? Me and my boys scored last night at roulette. I’ll give you a thousand to blow me.”
Roxy laughs so hard she actually chokes and coughs, taking a few seconds to compose herself before lowering her glasses and wiping a tear from her eye.
“You can’t afford me. Keep your money. You need it way more than I do, baby.”
At this point, the bulky football player crowds Roxy against the rail, invading her space. Instinctively she draws her arms close together in front of her, leaning backward.
“Oh, looks like the bitch gets scared sometimes after all. How about this, bitch… how about I keep that money after all, and I still get exactly what I want right here?”
The two other jocks look uncertain but they still fall in line behind their alpha, blocking the view of the airport terminal to what’s going on out in the smoking area. Roxy turns her face away as the pack leader moves even closer, his mouth almost touching hers.
“What are you gonna do? Ruin your career going after some good college boys on an assault charge? My dad would have you ruined in court and in the public eye. He’s got twice the money you do. Your best bet is to relax… spread it open… and give me my autograph…”
He leans in closer, his tongue sticking out millimeters from Roxy’s face. When he reaches out for her chest, he suddenly comes to a complete stop. Rigid and shaking his eyes roll back into his head and he starts to bite his tongue.
“Dude? DOUG!”
“What’s happening to him?!”
The two betas start stressing out as Doug convulses in place, only seeing the taser in Roxy’s hand after he finally drops to the floor twitching with a burnt hole in the crotch of his khaki shorts. Both of them back up as Roxy steps over their seizing leader, one stiletto heel on either side of his face while he foams at the mouth and cries.
“Here baby. This is better than an autograph, don’t you think?”
She reaches under her skirt after dropping the taser back into her clutch, dragging down her tiny pair of pink lace panties and letting them fall onto Doug’s face. She steps out of them and walks back toward the airport entrance, directly between the two second stringers.
“Tell him to clean himself up with those… pretty sure he pissed himself.”
She leaves them behind while they panic and scramble, trying to help their fallen friend. Roxy’s shaken up but hides it well, only allowing a quick shiver down her spine before composing herself and walking back to the bar… where she finally sees Angelica Vaughn looking around for her.
“Angie! Over here, bitch!”
Not a sign of the assault from moments before. Her façade is as on fleek as her skin and her hair. Angie grins and waves, excitedly walking over. Roxy stops in her tracks with a look on her face like she smelled some roadkill.
“What are you wearing?”
“Huh? For the plane! It’s comfy!”
Angie twirls around playfully in her sundress and tights, her feet in fluffy slippers.
“No. No no no. Angie, are you wearing a tank top under that?”
“What? No! It’s a sports bra.”
“Take it off.”
“What?”
“Take. It. Off. And the tights. Come on, let’s go.”
“Roxy! Right here? There’s people…”
“They aren’t looking. My god, you don’t even have makeup on. I’ll save you on the plane. Now, kick off those nasty slippers. NOW!”
Roxy doesn’t wait for a reply, instead she kneels in front of Angie and yanks down her tights. Her skirt covers everything, but Angie blushes anyway as Roxy gathers up the lycra fabric into a ball and tosses it into a wastebasket. The slippers follow.
“The bra. Give it.”
“Roxy!”
The look on Roxy’s face shuts Angie up though. She timidly looks around but then pulls her arms inside the arm holes of her dress and works the straps of her sports bra off, then pulls it out and hands it over.
Roxy’s nose wrinkles.
“Ew. Just throw it out. What’s your shoe size?”
“I'm…”
“Whatever. You’re a seven today.”
Roxy unzips her luggage as Angie drops the sports bra into the trash can with her yoga pants and slippers. A second later, she pulls out a sparkly pair of shoes with heels that rival Roxy’s own.
“Put these on.”
“Roxy my feet will hurt!”
Roxy doesn’t hear her, though, as she’s already gotten down on her knees again and started jamming Angie’s bare foot into the Christian Louboutin heel.
“Are you Roxy Cotton?”
A male voice sounds from behind the two girls, but Roxy waves it off.
“Fuck off, fanboy, no time for meet and greets.”
Angie’s face turns apple red as she mouths a silent apology to the older man.
“No… I’m your chartered pilot? We need to go take off now. Five minutes or we miss our window.”
“Oh! Great! Come on, Angie, let’s go!”
Roxy grabs Angelica’s hand with one of her own, leaving Vaughn with still only one shoe on her feet. The two blondes hurry after the pilot, Angie practically hopping on one foot, with their wheeled luggage bouncing unsteadily behind them.
PART TWO – RABBIT PUNCHES
In the air between Las Vegas and Carson City
Aboard the plane, Roxy has Angelica facing her while she applies various cosmetics to her youthful face. Vaughn is already wearing long, fake eyelashes, dark colored eye shadow, fierce red lipstick, and has a sheen of what appears to be glitter covering her throat and the cleavage revealed by her lack of a bra.
“You look SO good, Ange! I am SO great at this!”
Roxy grins and traces a ruddy line across Angie’s cheekbone, then rubs it in and blends it with her thumb. Indeed, Angelica Vaughn looks nothing like the innocent girl who was standing in the Las Vegas airport only a little while before. Instead, she has the face of a woman straight out of the Maxim Hot 100.
Roxy taps a little more golden glitter into her palm and holds her hand out in front of Angie’s face.
“Close your eyes!”
“Why?”
Roxy blows the glitter all over Angie’s face. Luckily Vaughn gets her eyes closed in time, but some of the specks go into her open mouth and she coughs a bit.
“Oops! You look great, Angie. You’re totes a nine right now, a HARD nine. If anyone said otherwise they’d be lying or just jealous AF.”
Angie smiles a bit, timidly, though she doesn’t maintain eye contact for long and quickly looks down at her hands, wringing them together.
“What’s wrong, baby? Why have you barely been smiling? What are you down about?”
Angie scowls, and answers in a low voice without looking up.
“I let you and the Cool Kids down, Roxy. I lost to Sam.”
Roxy pouts out her bottom lip and tilts her head, then reaches her hand out and grabs Angie’s chin, making her look up into her eyes.
“Angelica… listen to me. Never think that way again. You were OUTSTANDING at Queen of the Ring. Sam Tolson is supposedly one of the best and toughest opponents in the business, and you’re still wet behind the ears! You were within a half-second of beating a reigning champion several times, and it took absolutely everything she had to finally put you down. You didn’t let ANYone down last night, baby… you opened eyes and shocked the world. You helped let everyone know that the Cool Kids are here, and that we aren’t going anywhere. Sure, Mil and I won our matches, and sure, Kenzi and Sarah both got pretty close to winning the QOTR tournament… but that doesn’t mean you did bad, sugar. You’re amazing. You’re special. Do you think bitches like Kate Steele or that waste of a main event Mackenzie Roberts would have done more?”
“No…”
“Hell no. They’d have both been embarrassed by Tolson, but you weren’t! You proved you belonged in there with her! You definitely showed more than most of those girls ever show. Tolson should be ashamed of herself for underestimating you. She should be stripped of her title for the way she ducks and covers from any challenge, accepting a non-title match against pretty much a rookie on a pay per view of this magnitude. But you? You deserve every accolade thrown your way for standing in there and taking the fight to her. You didn’t even make it about the title, you just proved you were as good as we said you were. Bitches like Crystal Millar, Kate Steele, Abby Addiction, Sam Tolson, and especially Amy Jo Smyth should wake the fuck up and recognize that a new era is dawning in LAW, and it’s happening at a table they aren’t welcome at. And why is that, Angie?”
Roxy grins and prods Angelica to answer, practically dragging it out of her.
“Because… they can’t sit with us.”
“God damn right. We all proved that last night at Queen of the Ring, baby. And I’ll prove it again at LAW #68 when that wannabe Abby Addiction gets tossed out with the rest of the trash. Funny isn’t it? How many times have you heard someone try to make a joke out of my name and claim it was about drugs? Meanwhile we have some alleged ‘hardcore’ idiot who’s made her entire persona about addiction. Oooo, how edgy! She calls her move ‘detox!’ I bet she even has one of Amy Winehouse’s albums on CD! DID I MENTION HOW EDGY SHE IS?? My god, Angie… this girl is such a joke.
Let me tell you about addiction. Real addiction. Addiction isn’t some song by some shitty band, and it sure as shit isn’t a D-list wrestler whose only purpose on the card is to give someone like Gabby Camacho an easy quarter-final opponent. No. You know what an addiction is, baby? I am.
My skin.
My smell.
My touch.
My entire being is more addictive than anything Abby ever pretended to overdose on back in high school to get the attention of her chess club boyfriend. I’ve had men drive across the country in adult diapers just to bring me flowers at an arena. I’ve had stalkers find my address, even though it’s unlisted, or hack my cell. I’ve had to file enough restraining orders to keep fill an entire filing cabinet at the LAPD. Men and women alike have begged me for my attention. For my time. For even an acknowledgement. Men have left their wives for me. They’ve lost their jobs trying to have me. They’ve gone into debt, they’ve broken the law, they’ve ruined their LIVES… just to get my attention. THAT’s addiction.
Meanwhile, little Abby just sits and hides and plays pretend whenever her name is called in LAW like a good girl, never really trying too hard, never really doing too much, and never really mattering. Tell me, who’s ADDICTED to Abby? Certainly not the LAW fans. They barely notice her. She has, like, barely any followers on any of her media. Try to find a tee shirt or a poster with Abby on it on the LAW website… you won’t. Meanwhile, I have merch on back order and have since day one. I’ve got a hundred unheard voicemails from interviewers and promo guys, people throwing endorsements at my feet like rice at a wedding. I’ve got an inbox stuffed with DMs begging me for beauty tips and diet tricks. THAT’s addiction.
On September tenth in Boulder? I’m going to bathe in an unending wave of cheers and adulation from the Colorado crowd while they root for me every step of the way – the first time they’ve ever gotten to even see me – over someone they’ve had the chance to get behind for years. They’ll cheer when I walk to the ring, they’ll cheer when I humiliate Abby, they’ll cheer when I make her submit or knock her unconscious… and they’ll cheer when I raise my hand in victory. They’ll clap their hands raw and completely forget the name of the girl I just decimated in front of them, because next to me she won’t matter.
Angie… THAT… is… addiction.
Abby has spent over a year in LAW, and she hasn’t had gold in her possession once. She hasn’t done anything other than roll over and die when her superiors get in the ring with her. She doesn’t rise to occasion, she wilts like a potted plant that everyone’s forgotten to water, and she does it because the only thing Abby is addicted to is being mediocre and disappointing everyone that’s ever attempted to give a damn about her. Don’t worry, any remaining Abby Addiction fans are welcome to jump ship like the rats they are from the sinking wreck of the Abby experiment. Walk in with a homemade Abby Addiction shirt, walk out with an authentic Roxy Cotton one. Roll over doggie, play dead. Lay down and die, this one is already over… because I’m addicted to being better.”
“Wow…”
Angelica looks positively star struck at Roxy, beaming after watching her soliloquy unfold. The plain lilts a bit.
“Oh, Angie! We’re almost there… let me paint your nails.”
PART THREE – WATERSHIP DOWN
Lunchtime
“Wow Candi you look smoking hot!”
“Thanks Rox, you too! What do you think, send out a selfie?”
“Oh for sure!”
The pair of delicious blondes huddle up and get a little frisky with each other, taking a few pouty mouth selfies for their various social media. In the background behind them, several different gorgeous women are wandering around in what appears to be a lounge area, milling about and talking to various well-dressed men.
“This place is poppin’ today… is business always this good?”
“Oh yeah, every girl here makes a ton of money. My friend made fifteen thousand for an overnight. You should give it a try, you danced before, you cam…”
“Nooo… haha, baby I make a ton of money without having to fuck any fat virgin rich kids from overseas or whatever. No offense, but I’d rather get paid to just be myself and occasionally beat the shit out of basic bitches like I did last night in LAW.”
“Excuse me…”
A male voice interjects, stopping Roxy’s friend Candi from making her reply.
“You…”
“Yes. Roxy Cotton, the wrestler. I’m famous, I know. And no, I’m not for sale.”
The man seems stunned, stammering for a moment before getting himself together.
“Uh… well, nice to meet you, Roxy, but… I was wondering if you were here with that girl over there? I thought I saw you come in together.”
He points to a couch where Angelica Vaughn sits nervously among a few scantily clad Bunny Ranch ladies. Her face is coated in makeup and her chest shimmers with glitter from Roxy’s mid-air makeover.
“Oh, Angie… yes, she’s my friend. She’s cool like me.”
Roxy smiles and bats her eye lashes, but the gentleman doesn’t move his gaze from Vaughn.
“Does she work here?”
“Angie?!?! My god, I’m pretty sure she’s a virgin…”
This gets the man’s attention. His eyebrows arch high on his forehead and he just about breaks his neck turning his head back to face Roxy.
“A virgin? Really?”
“I don’t know, probably. She’s really young.”
“Three thousand.”
“What?”
“I’ll give her three thousand dollars.”
“Are you crazy? Angie Vaughn is a fucking Cool Kid. She’s a celebrity. She isn’t going to let you pop her cherry for three grand, get the fuck out of here.”
“Okay, five.”
“Five thousand? Baby, I’m not letting you even talk to her…”
“Five for you too, then. Five each, all you have to do is get her to talk to me.”
Now it’s Roxy’s eyes that widen a bit and her sculpted brows arch into points.
“I get five and she gets five?”
“Yes. I have to have her. Here.”
The man pulls a wad of cash out of a blazer pocket, peeling off several hundreds and handing them to Roxy to demonstrate how much was in the roll. He hands the entire rubber banded roll over to Roxy’s who immediately drops it into her purse and then pulls out her cell.
Her fingers dance across the cell phone screen and across the room, Angie is startled by the phone in her own hand blinking to life. She puzzles over the screen and then sends a reply, and Roxy reads it over and then turns back to the man.
“Take her to lunch. Yes, you pay for that too, moneybags. I’m not a pimp, I’m not saying she’ll take you to a bedroom, but I’m not saying she won’t either. Go.”
The man nods and heads over to Angie, taking her hand and kissing it. Angie blushes and giggles, though they are far enough away that whatever they say to one another isn’t heard.
Roxy grabs a cocktail off of the platter of a passing waiter, then finds Candi again, who’d gone to her cell phone and started playing some sort of game.
“Maybe I can make money here without fucking anyone…”
“Did you just sell your friend?”
“God no. I just sold the chance for her to sell herself. She’s an adult, she’s got to learn this shit sometime. Every second of every day for a woman is selling yourself. Your hair, your looks, your smile… all we do is wait to find a buyer. I don’t care if it’s a street walking, crackhead hooker or Hillary Clinton, we sell ourselves. This is a man’s world, baby, but that doesn’t mean a girl can’t get rich off the suckers.”
“True that.”
Candi clinks her cocktail glass off of Roxy’s, and they both take a drink.
“So what’s next for you, Rox? Whose face are you going to smash in?”
“Some girl named Abby. Calls herself an ‘addiction,’ but probably has, like, no idea what that even means. Thinks being tough and trying really hard gets you somewhere in life… Elle Oh Elle. This girl is so basic, Candi… she couldn’t draw a dime with a pen and paper. She puts the bare minimum effort into her brand, and spends all day in the gym or the ring practicing or whatever. Basically no social media presence. Can you imagine? Like, she might as well be on a desert island, right? She’s seriously tweeted maybe ten time in the month of August and wonders in one of them why LAW wants her as a part timer? Uh, bitch, maybe because you don’t make them any money? Maybe because you don’t sell a single ticket? Maybe because your contract isn’t worth the cost of the paper it’s written on? Please. I don’t even have to win this match to be the real winner coming out of LAW #68. Because, regardless of how hard Abby trains and takes her supplements and does her yoga or whatever, she’s a box office flop. The world won’t remember if she wins or loses. They won’t even remember she was there. What they WILL remember is that Roxy Cotton and the Cool Kids were there, and they might even wonder who I faced that night. They’ll be Googling ME, Candi, not Abby. Not the match. I get the hits on the websites. I get the ad dollars and the merch sales. Have you seen what my Hit Girls jersey goes for, even on the first day? It JUST came out, and then sold out, and then tripled in value. Where’s Abby’s jersey? Where’s her revenue? Nowhere. My entire life is a stock market ticker pointing straight up, leaping over worthless, basic bitches like Abby Addiction.”
“Damn girl. You sound like you don’t even care if you win…”
“What? Of course I care, Candi. And I WILL win. Abby will scream and cry and tap out just like Morocco Hai or whatever that China Doll from last night was named. I bet we never even see that on again. Sweet little snowflakes who think that WANTING equals DOING… they think they matter worth a shit because they have SO MUCH HEART! Please. Yes, Candi, duh, I’m going to win… because I’m BETTER than Abby Addiction. Not because I have the most spirit or did the most training or worked the hardest. Because I’m just BETTER. Abby thinks this world is designed for every kid to get a participation trophy or for standing ovations for the ones who REALLY TRIED but couldn’t get it done. Wrong. All wrong. The world is a cold fucking bitch and the real, simple truth is that sometimes you can try as hard as you possibly can, work as hard as you possibly can, do everything right, do everything exactly the way they say you should in the pages of every motivational book ever written… and you still… fucking… lose. And that happens when you run into someone who’s just better. I’m the wall that Abby Addiction is going to crash into, and the smear she leaves behind will wash right off of me. I’m going to win. I want to win. What I said was that regardless of the winner, the one who’ll be remembered is me. I don’t need the win, I’m on a rocket ship to the Chaos Title either way. I made the statement I needed to make last night and I sent Sam Tolson limping into the locker room bruised and bloodied and with my chewing gum stuck in her hair. You think it matters if Abby Addiction gets lucky? No. I’m the star. I’m the focus. I’m the one Tolson has to get ready for no matter what, because I’m the one who’s got her sights set on her Chaos Title. Abby Addiction is just a speed bump on my way.”
“I guess you aren’t worried!”
“As if.”
That’s when Roxy’s phone chirps in her hand… she swipes it open and sees she’s been @’ed by Angie.
“Ohh fuck…”
She frantically tweets back, then waits a second until she gets another notification. She replies again and then hurries off toward a back hallway and into a small room to the side, where Angie stands shivering over an unconscious version of the man who paid Roxy just a half hour or so prior. He’s curled into a fetal position with his hands clutching his family jewels, and shattered porcelain surrounds his head.
“Jesus… Angie did you break a vase on him too?”
Angelica looks like she might cry, but manages a frantic nod.
“Well this is messy. Go, get to the rental. I’ll be right behind you.”
Angie’s knees shake like crazy but she starts to head for the door.
“Angie! Wait!”
Angie freezes in place, staring with unblinking eyes at the bombshell.
“Get the money!”
Angelica blinks finally, then leans over the snoring playboy and grabs a roll of cash off of the nightstand. She leaves the room quickly with Roxy right behind her, shutting the door.
~END~
