Post by Roxy Cotton on Jan 15, 2019 14:48:49 GMT -5
BLOOD SUGAR SEX MAGIK
The scene opens to reveal Roxy Cotton sitting among a circle of flickering candles. She is clad in a purple velvet robe that flows in waves over her body, an embroidered hood casting a shadow over her face and obscuring her eyes, revealing only cherry-red lips curled into a smile. She titters a high-pitched laugh as she crouches down onto the floor, crossing her legs beneath her Indian style, and looming over a pentagram drawn on the hard concrete with ash. She pulls an athame from her sleeve, the twin blades carved into writhing serpents. Roxy's pink tongue flicks out from between her crimson lips and she licks the tip of the ceremonial knife, and then she reaches it down to a velvet sack resting just in front of her knees, right at the center of the pentagram.
Cutting the gilded rope that holds the opening of the bag closed, Roxy sets the knife aside and slides out a weathered-looking wooden plank covered in various letters and symbols along with a small viewing lens laid into a teardrop-shaped glider. A Ouija board. Roxy sets the board down on the floor and places the glider on top of it, tossing the velvet bag aside and gently touching her manicured fingers to the edges of the planchette and leaning forward.
"Are you there, baby?"
She chuckles as she asks the empty room. She shakes the planchette and taps her fingernail onto the wooden board as if knocking door.
"Helloooo? Don't you have, like, call waiting in the afterlife? I didn't get all dressed up in this dumb Halloween witch costume like Zoey always wears just to get stood up! You gt your dead ass right swiping on this séance or whatever right now! NOW!"
Roxy shakes the planchette across the board again, then settles down a bit and closes her eyes.
"Oh! Right! The stupid incantation or whatever. Double double, told and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble... this is Roxy Cotton and I need to talk to Drake Madigan. Like today. Thanks baby."
Roxy settles back in again and gingerly touches the planchette with her fingertips once more. She closes her eyes and waits... and then the planchette moves. The bombshell's eyes pop open and an audible gasp escaped her lips as she watches her hands move across the board to where one word is spelled out.
HELLO
"Oh my god! Is it you? Drake? Zoey's super inspirational and really important figure in her history and like personal story and stuff?"
The planchette slides again, this time to another entire word written out in a corner.
YES
"Oh good! I have to beat up your ugly sister and her stupid partner really soon, so I wanted to ask you some stuff... is that okay?"
YES
"Yay!"
Roxy lifts her hands and does a little dance, tossing the hood off of head and revealing her platinum blonde hair.
"Okay, so, like, you probably don't know a lot about it because you got, like, beheaded and stuff by the Taliban. But Zoey and her wacky lesbian BDSM tag team partner Farrah are kinda good at wrestling and stuff. Seriously, if you want to hear about how good they are, just ask them. They LOVE telling people. Oh, they're super undefeated and totally better than everyone else. They win all. The. Time. I even tricked them into fighting each other once and it still didn't screw them up enough to take a tag team loss. They even added the Rose City Tag Titles, not like anything from that company is worth a shit. But they won and they won and they won and they keep on winning and they are just SO annoying. So Drake... like, what is she bad at? Tell me some dirt. Give me something to work with. She's pretty much untouchable in promos, you know? What can I really say about someone who doesn't ever lose? I can call her ugly, because she is, and I can make fun of her creepy domme/sub lifestyle with Katalina and Pet and Amy Jo... because all that stuff is really weird and icky. But I want MORE. That's why I called you. So hit me with it. Tell me how scared she was of the boogeyman or that it took her until she was eight to bee potty trained. Tell me she wets the bed. Tell me she has a birthmark shaped like a dick and balls. Tell me she HAS a dick and balls. Or at least a third nipple. SOMEthing. ANYthing. Okay? Okay. Your turn to talk. Go."
Roxy closes her eyes again and waits with anticipation with her fingers on the planchette, but nothing happens. For thirty seconds Roxy just sits and waits with no movement on the board, until finally she pops one eye open to cheat and see if anything is happening.
"Um... Drake? You didn't answer me. Please hurry up, I'm like, very important and busy. Okay baby? Okay, go now."
Roxy again closes her eyes and again waits, though not nearly as patiently. She clears her throat loudly and wiggles in place, frustrated with the lack of an answer from the great beyond. Finally, she growls in anger.
"Fine! You don't want to play along? You don't want to tell me about your dumb sister? I can do it without your help, Drake, since you were never good at anything other than getting your neck hole fucked by a bunch of dirty ISIS Terrorists and crying in proof of life videos begging Obama to come and save you. Here, let me answer for you..."
Roxy starts angrily moving the planchette around the board, scraping gouges into the wood as she pushes it from one letter to the next rapidly.
"Zoey... is... a... fat... cunt... Zoey... is... a... dumb... bitch... Zoey... is... AFRAID... OF... ROXY... COTTON."
Roxy breathes deep, centering herself, and then tosses the planchette over her shoulder. She grabs the Ouija board and frisbees it across the room, then leans forward and blows out several of the candles around her. She swipes at the ash pentagram with one hand, scattering and destroying the image. Then she stands and drops the robe from her shoulders. Underneath is her nubile frame in her workout gear, and she walks across the room laughing, heading for a door.
"See Zoey? Magic is bullshit. It's all for show. There aren't any ghosts, there aren't any abra cadabras or hocus pocuses that you can say to wish me away or make me disappear. Your whole life is a sham. A show. You're a joke of a stage performer living out of a bag in a shitty Las Vegas hotel room, definitely not the penthouse, trying to make people believe you can really pull rabbits out of a hat. It's lame. It's boring. And most importantly, it's not going to work. Let me show you where REAL magic happens, Zoey. Follow me."
Roxy then strides to the door and opens it wide, walking through. Following along, the scene inside is not what one would expect from having watched the Chaos Champions many previous promo videos. There is no bed, no webcam, no makeup, and no vanity dressers. Instead, just a simple gym. A wrestling ring set up in the center of a room, surrounded by workout machines and free weights.
She walks to a corner of the room where a speed bag hangs and slips on a pair of boxing gloves after tying her hair back into a tight high pony. Then, she begins to rhythmically bat at the bag as it hums back and forth in its mooring, moving faster and faster with a level of skill and timing that most would not assume the blonde to possess.
"Don't you get it, Zoey? This is the magic. This is where someone can transform themselves from a regular person to a warrior. This is where a bombshell can morph into a monster. This is where the only spells and incantations that matter take place... counting reps... pushing harder and harder... longer and longer... taking our bodies to new limits every single time."
Roxy finishes off with one hard punch and then turns away from the bag, a sheen of sweat glowing on her chest.
"You and Farrah are so used to winning... you're so over hyped in your own minds that you just assume no one is out there who's hungry enough to outwork you. Who's willing to do more than you are to get to the finish line just a half second faster. You think you know everything you need to know about me. You think you know everything you need to know about Alicia Lukas. But you don't know a damn thing about me, her, or anyone else, Zoey. You don't even know anything about the people under your own roof, figuratively speaking. You thought you were close with Stacy Jones, but where is she? She had the opportunity of a lifetime to go for the Marque Title, an opportunity that should have been mine, and she flushed it away like a used tampon. Then she left. Some friend of yours she was, huh? And Crystal... Crystal Hilton would rather go get her toenails painted with me than spend any time watching you and Farrah double-sided dildo each other and take turns patting each other on the back for how great you think you are. Crystal is having the time of her life hanging out with me and running the show in YOUR OWN WIFE'S boxing company. Your WIFE puts my name on the marquee and trips over herself to promote me and Crystal as the #ANTISOCIALITES rather than giving you another place to run into the ground with your boring, predictable, uninspiring fighting style. You and Farrah are so caught up in being the best tag team ever that you don't even realize that NO ONE ELSE CARES. Not your friends, not your wife, not Lucas Dupree in LAW or Stacy in RCW. No. One. Cares. The use you to fill a roster spot and to give some sort of imaginary credibility to their tag divisions because you managed to make a relevant name for yourselves over a year ago and no one has bothered to knock you off of your high horse since. Kudos, I guess. No one's impressed anymore. Especially not me. Here."
By now, Roxy has made her way to a heavy bag hanging in another corner of the room. She straps a set of kick pads onto her shins and begins sending hard kicks into the long leather bag, creasing it at its middle with every impact. The bag sways and swings as she continues to lay in harder and harder shots.
With each kick, Roxy lets out a shout of aggression, nearly barking with intensity. She kicks and she kicks, her leg swinging in a sharp arc with perfect accuracy every single time, landing in the precise same spot with each strike. Finally, with one last kick that Roxy brings around from all the way behind her, the bottom of the heavy bag splits at its seam. Sand begins to pour from the bottom of the bag and form a pile on the gym floor as oxy turns away, breathing heavily.
"You underestimate me just like everyone does. Even my own partner spent half of her time talking about me as if I were some sort of liability. But think about it, Zoey... Kate Steele underestimated me and I sent her to the hospital. Sam Tolson underestimated me and I derailed her career. Megan Treamon thought she could walk into LAW like it was a vacation and like she could get a free easy win, and I sent her home crying. Liz Blackwell thought I was her next stepping stone and I sent her to the back of the line. You and Farrah have gotten soft and complacent and secure in your own hype. You BELIEVE that no one can beat you. You BELIEVE that nobody is good enough. But baby... I'm good enough. I keep proving it over and over again. I have a title that I've won twice over. I have more main events in my LAW career than half the hall of fame. I prove it in LAW, I prove it in UGWC, I prove it in XWF, I prove it in the LFL... I am a star everywhere I go, and all you are is good. Nobody cares that you're good, baby. They care about me. They care about the bombshells, not the angels. Angels are only good for one thing... falling."
At this point Roxy has walked to a squat rack and started sliding on 45 pound plates to either side of the lift bar. By the time she slides her shoulders underneath the bar and lifts it off of the rack she's added enough to it to total nearly 500 pounds. Smirking into the wall mirror that circumnavigates the room, Roxy bends her knees and squats the weight effortlessly as she continues to speak.
"Everyone thinks I just lie around and rely on my good looks to have things handed to me... but you need to remember one thing before we get into the ring in a few days, Zoey. You need to remember that you don't know a god damn thing about me that I haven't told you myself... and I may have conveniently left out the parts about training six hours a day just to kick your head off of your shoulders. I may have forgotten to mention that I never forgot my first day in LAW, when you tried to pop my bubble and talk down to me like I was some dumb little girl in over her head. It may have simply slipped my mind to ever bring up the fact that one of my own personal goals since that day has always been to knock you down a peg and prove to you that you aren't as impervious as you think you are. Not as strong as you think you are. Not as fast as you think you are. Not as GOOD as you think you are. You've sat on the top of the mountain and you've gotten fat from all the hype you've swallowed. You and Farrah are long overdue, and I'm the one who's going to deliver you the one thing you thought just couldn't possibly happen... a tag tam loss in LAW, right in the center of the ring, you staring up at the lights and Roxy Cotton hooking your leg back... one... two... three."
She finishes counting and sets the squat bar back into position on the rack with a metallic clank. She admires herself in the mirror, catching her breath and patting away the beads of sweat on her chest with a hand towel hanging nearby.
As Roxy walks closer to the wall mirror she giggles and stares at her reflection as the perspective zooms slowly in over her shoulder until nothing is shown but a tight shot of the back of her blonde head and the smiling reflection staring back out at her. Then, she leans forward and kisses the mirror version of herself on the lips, leaving a perfect replica of her lips in bright red on the glass when she pulls back.
"Zoey... I've been waiting for this day for months. You're getting what you deserve for once. You're just lucky those shiny title belts of yours aren't on the line, because they'd be going with me if they were. But the belts aren't what matter to me anyway, baby... the only thing that matters is fulfilling a promise I made to myself back in August. I'm going to knock you out cold in that ring and embarrass you, and then I'm never going to let you forget about it. And... I'm dedicating the whole thing to your brother Drake. Isn't that so sweet of me?"
Roxy then turns around, facing the viewpoint fully.
"See you soon, Zoey. Get some rest. You're going to need it. XOXO."
Roxy blows the camera a kiss and everything fades away.
END
