Post by heavenstobetsy on Dec 6, 2020 3:49:58 GMT -6
December 5th, 2020
Unknown Location
The scene (being recorded by the best camera crew GCWA has to offer) opens in a large, intricately designed outdoor garden. In its glory during the spring, this garden is in full bloom with the most vibrantly colored flowers the eye could behold. Their fragrance could be smelled from miles away. Trees with newborn leaves, buds beginning to flower, and the promise of fresh fruit were planted all over the place. The grass, which had a habit of growing quickly under the famed April showers, was always kept freshly mowed, immaculate. Stone pathways led in many different directions. Benches were placed in discreet places; maybe under the branches of a weeping willow so lovers could share a private moment or the smooth, round stone under the cherry blossom for the daydreamers. Perfectly trimmed hedges create an almost maze-like sensation to the entire place, adding to the magical details of this Utopia.
Alas, we’ll have to wait until spring for such exquisite beauty. What the cameras show us now is a haunting, almost desolate view. The garden was very much in hibernation for the winter. The snow was falling gently, creating a new beauty to the place. The trees, now long devoid of their foliage, stand as silent, snow-covered sentinels. There’s no sign of the vibrant flowers or fresh glass to be found. Everything remains untouched, save for some tracks in the snow from small, woodland critters. Even with the empty, almost dead feel of the garden, the sun shining down is cheery and creates a diamond effect on the snow. Everything, even the snowflakes floating lazily in the sky, look like diamond drops falling softly to gently to earth.
The camera crew spends a moment taking in the beauty of the location. It seemed the woman who had requested they meet her here hadn’t arrived herself. One of the camera operators checks his watch and finds that she was only a couple of minutes behind schedule. No big deal and it wasn’t like they were going to freeze. She had warned them of the fact that they would be outdoors and that there would be snow. Everyone had come prepared, right down to the steaming hot canisters filled with coffee and hot chocolate. Sipping on the former, the young man begins looking around, taking in the scene again…
Then she appears.
They swivel the camera and zoom in the form of a woman dressed in a thick, white cloak. Though the hood is over her head at the moment, it’s obvious by the figure that it’s a female. Thick, loose locks of golden hair escape from under the hood. The lining of the hood, around the neck, and about the shoulders are layered in white fur. The cape is full-length, lightly brushing the snow, and around her feet. Delicate looking crystals are threaded through the entire garment. Underneath, she dons a pair of white pants and white, fur-lined snow-boots. Her hands are protected by thick, white gloves. Slowly, she reaches up and carefully pulls the hood down, revealing Betsy Granger at last.
Her hair is pulled up in a half bun, the loose locks threaded with silver tinsel. Her face had been coated with an opalescent foundation, giving her an ethereal glow. Silver crystals framed her green eyes. Her lips were bright red with a thick coating of diamond gloss. She holds out her arms regally.
“Welcome to my happy place.”
Betsy closes her eyes and holds the pose for several moments, perfect as a picture. Finally, she opens her eyes and smiles becomingly.
“I’d love to tell you where exactly we are right now… But I’m not going to. This place is rather special to my heart. I only just brought James here recently, and he understands how sacred this ground is to my family and me.”
On silent feet, Betsy turns and begins to walk down one of the snow-covered stone paths. The camera crew follows, mesmerized by the bleak beauty of the garden in its current state.
“You should see it in all its glory. Perhaps, if I’m feeling magnanimous enough come spring, I’ll bring you back here. This little piece of paradise once belonged to my grandparents. My family would come here every spring and summer for vacation, and it was always what I looked forward to the most out of the year. When my grandfather passed, he named me the inheritor of this land in his will. He knew how much I love this place, I think he’d always planned on leaving it to me… My private haven. My Fortress of Solitude, if you will.”
She sighs and finally turns back towards the camera. Snow continues to fall playfully all around her.
“But I’m afraid today’s musings aren’t very pleasant. I find myself in another high profile challenge with high stakes attached to it. Bookers seem to enjoy watching me throw bodies around in the multiples.”
She seems to be gliding above the snow as she walks towards one of the benches. Spreading out the cape of her cloak, she sits gracefully down. As if on cue, a pair of cardinals fly across in front of her and perch on the branch of the tree behind her. Betsy looks up at them thoughtfully.
“A perfect pair of lovers, having a casual flight through the snow. It’s too perfect, it’d make a perfect Christmas card. Flying around free, without a care in the world. I envy that about them.”
She finally sweeps her eyes back to the camera.
“Alright, I suppose it’s time to get down to business. A lot is riding on this match. Not only will it be my first outing in GCWA without James, but it’s also a chance to show what I’m made of. Kylie Moore seems to think she has me figured out. Girl, you were quick to come out on Twitter and try to tell me what’s what. Honestly, do you think you’re the first to come around, belittling my skills and proclaiming that you’re the best?”
Green eyes roll so hard, it’s amazing they don’t fall right out of her head.
“Girl, if I had a dime for every person that claimed to be the best at what they do, I’d buy the world. When it’s your final bow, and the lights go fade… Will they even remember your name? Will you be revered as a legend, or will your name become a distant echo in empty halls? It is in my experience that whoever touts the fact that they are the best is compensating for the fact that they aren’t. It takes more than words to prove you are the best. I’ve admitted my ignorance on Twitter, recently admitting that I didn’t know who you are. My sincerest apologies, because my research has shown me that you are notable. You’ve made a name for yourself, it just happened to fly past my radar. But here’s the thing, darlin’: You aren’t all that great. You see me in two matches and claim you aren’t impressed. I’ve found most of your library, going back to the early 2000s, and you’re good. You’ve been impressive in the past, and you’ve done a lot of spectacular singular things. But your career as a whole? Oh, honey, I wouldn’t start boasting too much. People know your name now, but in 20 years, you’ll be lucky to be a footnote in the history of any fed you curse with your presence. You’ve coasted by this long as being in the right place, at the right time, with a dash of pure, dumb luck. Do you think you’ve got a chance against me based on the little you’ve seen? Please, keep thinking you and/or Raging Dead have got this one in the bag. You have your work cut out for you, and I love making people eat crow.”
Betsy finally shivers for the first time and rises from her rock. She begins walking back towards a quaint cottage, surrounded by grass that would be impossibly green and lush come spring. There was a wide river behind her, the shore slightly iced over.
“As for you, Raging Dead Sir. So, if I’m to understand you correctly, you are a relic that ‘died’ in the ring and magically popped back up? So, I’m going to take an educated guess here and say that you were defeated so soundly, you needed to disappear to recoup and count your losses? I’m close, right? Okay, look. I get it. You’re supposed to be big and scary, intimidation games at their best. I can appreciate that, truly. But man, you’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want to get under my skin. You don’t have a mother like mine and do not come out of it with thick skin and indifference to ‘scary’ folks. If you want to meet someone who would leave you trembling in their boots, visit the Women’s Correctional Center in mid-Iowa. I’ll introduce you to one gem of a woman who will send you screaming into the night.”
As she approaches the house, we see a single wooden swing hanging from a sturdy branch, swaying listlessly in the breeze. Wiping down the seat of the snow layered upon it, Betsy takes a seat and begins to sway herself.
“Honestly, it’s hard for me to make sense of either of you. Both of you have all this background and acclaim… But virtually nothing to show for it. I’m just some newcomer, jumping at an opportunity. If I’m the odd man out, why are the World’s Greatest and Walking Dead Guy even in this match at all? If both of you are so great at what you do, having that number 30 spot shouldn’t mean that much to you, should it?”
Betsy gives an exaggerated shrug and shakes her head. She waves her hand in the air, shooing away invisible pests.
“Neither one of you has as much to gain from that coveted thirtieth entry as I do. What do you have to fight for, truly defend? What motivates you to keep moving forward? What makes that thirty entry spot so important to you? I can think of a few off the top of my head. You’d be the freshest competitor. Statistically, the odds would be ever in your favor. At that point, you’d have fewer opponents in your way. It doesn’t matter who is in that ring, you just need to survive. You’ll bide your time and thank your lucky stars that you managed to enter the fray at the eleventh hour. It almost makes you a shoo-in to that World Heavyweight title match. Maybe, just maybe, if you get lucky enough, you’ll get to face off with the People’s G.O.A.T. himself.”
At this, Betsy’s entire demeanor changes into one of defensiveness. As if on cue, a cloud hides the sun, and Betsy is cast in a shadow.
“I fight for him. He, who not only carries the title you so badly desire but my entire heart and soul. I fight for what, and as it happens, who I love. You and the petty motivations that guide you. Such tunnel vision, one belt after another, furthering your own agenda. It only begins with you two. It’s not an option, I MUST win the thirtieth entry. At all costs, I must do my part to protect the Legacy.”
The overcast grows darker, and suddenly everything is dreary. Betsy finally snaps out of her thoughts and looks around, shivering. Lowering her hood, she turns once more towards the cabin. The crew begins to follow, but she turns and holds out a hand to halt them. She wags a finger and shakes her head no.
“We’re done here. Ragey, Kylie… Preparati per il tuo giorno peggiore.”
The camera cuts out and the crew looks around helplessly as Betsy enters the cabin and slams the door. /End
