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Words of a lunatic


League Member
Dec 28, 2014
Knoxville, TN
[Timestamp: 5:00 PM CST inside of the Stastias apartment building, which was dark, but always smelling of peaches. One light shone through the hallway, as if there was a second coming of a savior or a deity.]

Emevlas, in a professional voice-over: “It’s time. Battlemania’s the place, though the town ain’t specified. When I win Battlemania, it’ll be the end of the norm for every extrinsic being on God’s green and blue Earth.”

As if on cue, the lights in the apartment turn on to reveal the painted-up Emevlas, all ready to go wrestle the 30-person Royal Rumble expy, but not before heading to the cabinet to get a glass to pour some Pepsi into. She wiped some of the paint off her lips so as to not ruin the glass. Knowing a better camera than her ever-trustly Camileo was playing behind her, she began to speak with her southern twang.

"Every competitor keeps talking about what they’re doing in Battlemania, whether it be someone who’s bored of everything and is in it because he wants to be like twenty-eight others, or someone who wants to test herself but only sounds boring doing even that. I even saw that someone respected me as a being, and I appreciate that and give it in return. Outside the ring, anyway. I’m in Battlemania because I have a chance to avenge my previous experiences in such an event. I've never won an event like this. However, despite never winning those rumbles...”

She looked for and found her wall of replicas of her material accomplishments from her past promotion and a red Sharpie.

“I’ll let that wall speak for itself as I alter it up.”

Mevy jumped up and made a straight line, dividing her past promotion, which was THE top one (think Wonder Wrecking Entered, and do some subtraction) with her current one, Red Line Wrestling, both of which were indicated clearly and prettily at the bottom of the wall. Afterwards, she took a swig of her Pepsi.

“I went from sister of a perennial fuck-up to a self-made champion, defeating a guy who only knows five moves, throws his hat to the crowd, and claims his time is now.”

She slowly waves her hand back-and-forth in front of her face twice.

"But I won’t brag, he wasn’t that good. Any competitor in Battlemania could lift a finger... and that guy would be knocked out. My main focus now is three people by the names of ol’ Mikey Best, eBay Stevens, and Ms. Stacy Marie Jones.”

Emevlas inhales so viciously that you could mistake it for pain, as she prepares to speak again.

“MIKEY LEE BEST! Your skill is nearly unmatched, no doubt. But that mouth of yours is loose and unfiltered much like a certain Cult of Personality from my native Chicago. I’ll tell you much the same thing I told him: Words don’t affect me, and I have no problem skewing your views of reality, punk.”

She takes another larger swig of Pepsi.

“Your views consist of yourself being the absolute best in the universe, and no one being able to touch you. While that is partly true, there are other people who as just as good as you, if not better. Namely ME.”

Emevlas’s right side of her neck twitches as she viciously inhales, though nowhere near as severely as last time.

“EBAY STEVENS! Your Texan pride leads you to believe that women belong in the kitchen or in the bed, and don’t deserve an equal chance in a wrestlin’ ring, much like a cowboy hat-wearin’ Wall Street millionaire who calls matches now instead of actually competing in those matches he calls. I guess I’ll make a case for the opposing side with a shot of my wall.”

The camera guy walks over to the wall and pans all over the wall, bottom-to-top.

“Do you see all of that, eBay? Or should I say, SCOTT? That wall is the result of hard work, and proving that I am equal and better than most every wrestler from everyone’s oh-so-precious era of Attitude, and you’re running yo’ punchable mouth to Stacy Jones that that lovely woman should be making you filet mignon? Boy, you’re just ASKING for an ass whoopin'.”

Emevlas takes a deep breath. In. Out.

“Which brings me to the aforementioned STACY JONES. Girl, I’ve nothing but good things to say about you outside of the ring. But, inside?”

The Stastias-trademarked smirk that Equinox used to have now crosses Emevlas’s mouth.

“I said it twice, and I’ll say it again, I pray for you deeply. Your so-called ‘final judgement’ isn’t worth much if you aren’t able to prove it in the ring. Before you have the chance to say ‘JUDGEMENT,’ I’ll have already dropped the bomb on you, and you’ll be out of the ring like everyone else I eliminate. I like and respect you, Stacy, but I’ll be the last wrestler standing in Battlemania.”

Mevy took another swig of her Pepsi, finishing it.

“I almost forgot there were twenty-six others, but many of them are irrelevant. I’ll name a few, though. There’s Amber Ryan, the most sarcastic girl on the planet. Ian Bishop, who is your typical Canadian narcissist. Shawn Hart, who, while a great competitor, can’t keep his cock in his tights and still can’t rap as well as Zach de la Rocha. Duh-RAITCH-o, who don’t give a crap because he feels that he's a god. Madeline-June Bell, who bores me and everyone else into a coma. Aidan Mow-rag, who reminds me of Chris Benoit, and not in a good way, and Blue Suede Bruce, who isn’t worth Auntie Emevlas’s time, because Auntie Emevlas don’t care about Blue Suede Bruce. Other than the wrestlers I’ve mentioned and ME, everyone involved in this train wreck is irrelevant. I, along with a few others, will thrive, while everyone else withers away to nothingness.”

Emevlas got up from her chair, which was embroidered with the old ‘scratch’ logo for her former promotion back when it was still a ‘federation.’ The camera zoomed in on the chair’s logo as it faded out to black.

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