Greetings, Future Lackeys!

[Frozen Atlantic]

*~*~*~*~*​

The Purple Sage opened his mouth and moved his tongue and so spake to them and he said:

"The Earth quakes and the Heavens rattle; the beasts of nature flock together and the nations of men flock apart; volcanoes usher up heat while elsewhere water becomes ice and melts; and then on other days it just rains.

Indeed do many things come to pass."

-Lord Omar Khayaam Ravenhurst, K.S.C., "The Book of Predications." The Honest Book of Truth

*~*~*~*~*​

Teresa:
Whaddya mean, "You're all out of creepy black robes"?

*Cut to our opening scene. It's a costume shop, and instead of the quality camera work typical to NFW, it's a bit fuzzy, and the camera angle's odd, like a local news crew's hidden camera setup. Teresa Q, the company's newest arrival, is in heated uh... negotiations with a chubby local purveyor of wares.*

Cashier:
I'm out! Really sorry, Miss Teresa -

Teresa:
No! You phail it! Hard! First of all, you're messing up my name - it's Ter-eh-sah, not Ter-ee-sah, I'm not the third Williams sister! Second of all... how the hell am I supposed to proliferate absolute chaos and strike terror into the hearts of my enemies without a creepy black robe? Minion #1 already mailed in my profile! I got the lipstick, I got this ridiculous eyeliner - Black Fingernails!

*She wiggles her hands at the cashier for a moment, then puts them back down.*

Teresa:
See? Rawr! Scaries! I can't be cool or myserious without a creepy black robe, or hoodie, or... what exactly did you put on the form, Minion #1?

*Minion #1, a burly man in shades and a tight suit who looks like an ultra low-budget Ving Rhames, steps forward and whispers.*

Teresa:
OK, a cloak? Do you guys...?

*The store owner shakes his head wearily.*

Cashier:
Do you have ANY idea how many wrestlers come in here every day looking for gothic crap to -

Teresa:
I AM NOT A DAMN GOTH! I'M A HIGH PRIESTESS OF DISCORDIA!

Cashier:
Ok, ok, whatever. Look...

*He digs under the counter and pops up a few seconds later.*

Cashier:
This is a green robe, it's kinda Celtic -

Teresa:
It's kinda garbage you sell to ignorant hippies! Do I look like some unwashed vagabond that fornicates with anything that passes me a dobbie?

*Minion #1 leans over and whispers something else*

Teresa:
I don't care how it's pronounced!

Cashier:
Listen, this is a costume shop. Authenticity isn't really -

Teresa:
SILENCE! The outrageous outrages that have outraged me shall not be... out.. rage... enated? Erm... MINION #1! Destroy this insolent fool!

*Minion #1 leans over, whispers yet again, and there's an awkward pause.*

Teresa:
What do you mean "destruction of the insolent" isn't in your contract? I could have swore I checked that box when I filled out your form, I mean, I run into a lot of insolence, so I made a special note to -

*More whispering. Teresa winces.*

Teresa:
OK, even if I checked "Obliteration of the Innocent" - WHICH I DIDN'T - isn't that the same... I mean, you're telling me that I can sic you on people who haven't pissed me off yet, but once they do, I have to to the whole smitey thing myself?

*Finally satisfied, he shrugs and nods.*

Teresa:
Maaaan, that's crap. The whole point of having minions is so I don't have to beat people up myself! You know, I had a buddy in Juarez who was gonna do tis for dirt cheap, but everybody was like nooo, go through the union, you'll get what you pay for! Trust me buddy, when I get famous enough for Minions Numbers 2 through 5, there all gonna be from Taiwan.

Cashier:
"Hey, do you want the green one or what?"

*Suddenly, she feints a backhand towards the cashier. He ducks under the counter.*

Teresa:
I'm gonna bottle it up. I'm gonna bottle it up and use it in the ring. You are sooo lucky I'm in a good mood, dude.

*The cashier says nothing. After a long pause, she sighs and grabs the green one.*

Teresa:
Next week. Black. Or I kick you... like... ultra hard.

*~*~*~*~*

​

*Cut To: A black screen. At least we think it's a black screen, until a voice speaks from the darkness.*

Teresa:
Greetings, future lackeys! It's time for a pop quiz! What's the difference between a skilled newbie and the overhyped, dark match cannon fodder of tommorrow?

*A lighter is struck, and the dim flame casts a shadow onto Teresa Q, face completely obscured beneath a... green hood. The rest of the room is black, but at least the view of nothing's on some digital film. She walks slowly, footsteps echoing against the stone floor.*

Teresa:
NOT by their words - every wrasslin fans knows these introductory promos are all the same. 'I'm new, I kick lots of ass, I'm coming for the title and nothing can stop me, I'll destroy you, grrr'. Or they'll tell you they're a former WTF / BBQ / OMG / LOL world champion, but really, who cares about all that? These days, anybody with five grand, two yardtards and a high school gym to roll around in can be champion of something. Yawn.

Teresa:
I know where you think I'm going - you think actions separate the great from the good from the average from the really friggin' terrible.

*She pauses. Slowly, a finger drifts upward. *

Teresa:
Nope. That isn't true either. Professional wrestling's chockful of roided up tardmonkeys who think laying somebody out after the bell makes "a statement", and hey, if the statement they're looking to make is "I have no freakin' talent, hopefully this totally original backstage beatdown idea I thought up last week keeps everyone from seeking what a half empty bottle of lamesauce I am," well, Mission Accomplished!

*A soft, sarcastic round of applause echoes through this cavernous room, the lighter, flickers with the vibration, sending distorted shadows across the room.*

Teresa:
So, what is it then? What tells you, from the moment that someone shows their face on camera, they're exactly what they claim to be, a person to be admired... respected... feared, even? What tells you that a guy is a poseur, a wannabe, a transient that will flutter upon the stage and soon...

*As she pauses, her voice, image, and the fire slowly become transparent...*

Teresa:
fade...

*... and merge with the darkness that sounds her.*

Teresa:
away?

*The camera stares into the void. Finally, there's a cleared throat and the sensation of movement. Teresa's has been behind us the whole time. Thanks, iMovie!*

Teresa:
Simple. You listen to their promises. For what is a promise but an attempt to impose order on your surroundings? A new person comes to a new place, with new scenery, new rules, new people with no reason to fear them or respect them, potentially new friends, certainly new enemies. Bottom of the ladder. And while they are lost in this wilderness of chaos, they seek to create order from the only source they can - themselves. If they can impose their will, keep a promise, make a statement, then the world is just a bit more comfortable. They've found a niche, shelter from the unknown. A little protection from the fear that defines their lives. Heh.

So tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to try something new.

I make no promises. I have nothing to prove to myself, nothing to prove to the locker room, no hidden fears about my skills that I need to fight with bluster and bravado. All things serve the Goddess.

*Finally, Q pulls back the cloak that's obscured her face for the entireity of the promo.*

Teresa:
You see, my debut match isn't about me, it won't be about my opponent, and it won't be about those wonderful guys and gals at home who'll be paying my bills in the near future. This is about the Goddess, and embracing the chaos that defines our existence. A little sacrifice, if you like. Scared? Don't be. Think of me as your spiritual guide, your patron saint, your tour guide on the road from ignorance to freedom. I won't even ask for a tip when I'm done.

Teresa:
But I will give that first lucky boy or girl a little free advice. When you step into the ring with me, the world you know will be transformed, configurated, changed into a world where you don't control the horizontal OR the vertical. So I'd strongly suggest you don't make any promises.

*The flame is extinguished, and again, a voice speaks from the darkness.*

Teresa:

Hail Discordia!​