Post by Robert Daniels on Feb 9, 2021 19:50:28 GMT -5
BACKSTAGE...
CARTIER: Catch, Ammut…
Cartier sits in an elegant settee, her bare feet up and crossed at the ankles. She dangles a piece of food from a fork over an obediently sitting rottweiler nearby. The dog, Ammut, does not budge even though its stomach loudly groans at the sight and smell of the food. Only when Cartier flicks the treat over to her does the massive hound snap its head up and catch the food in mid-air, swallowing it in an instant.
CARTIER: Good girl.
Upon a closer look, it can be seen that the bits of food Cartier plucks from her golden plate are shaped into human forms. Baked like cookies, they resemble both of Cartier’s opponents in Houston for Mainstream, JT Saint and Penelope.
She peels another limb off of one of the cookies, showing strands of hair baked into the treats.
CARTIER: You’d think these people would be more careful, leaving their avatars lying all about backstage after every show, wouldn't you, Ammut? Wouldn’t you, if you knew there was a black magic queen gunnin’ for you, take extra precautions? Throw away the nasty tufts of hair from your hair brush instead of tossin’ ‘em into the trash where anyone could come an’ grab it an’ use it for any number of curses an’ incantations in her grimoire? Wouldn’t you do that shit, Ammut?
Ammut licks her mouth, staying rock steady with her eyes locked on the little cookie arm of Penelope.
CARTIER: I know I would.
Cartier tosses the arm to Ammut, who again snatches it straight from the air and swallows it without hesitation. Cartier then pulls a leg off of the JT Saint cookie, with a tiny scrap of fabric wrapped around it.
CARTIER: Wouldn’t you make sure you wasn’t just leavin’ your bandannas of handkerchiefs out in the open, if there was a woman communion’ wit’ the ancient s comin’ up on your schedule? Don’t you think that might be the very least amount of effort you might put into self defense, Ammut?
Ammut’s stomach growls, and her nose twitches as Cartier brings her hand close to the beast’s mighty jaws. Cartier lays the treat across the top of the dog’s muzzle, watching intently as Ammut stays motionless.
CARTIER: Now.
The dog snaps its head upward and back, flipping the treat into its mouth. In a fraction of a second, the little cookie leg is gone.
CARTIER: But I suppose if either Penelope or JT Saint thought they had anythin’ to worry about, then they wouldn’t be walkin’ around as clueless as they are. Obviously, each of them has the hubris of a Roman Emperor, fiddlin’ while the world around ‘em burns. They don’t see the agony flyin’ at they faces because they walkin’ around willingly blind… eyes closed… rather than admit the truth that they both so unwillin’ to admit… that they about to get into a ring wit’ somethin’ they can’t handle. That they about to get swept aside by fate, tossed into the gutters of history’s footnotes like all of the people who have fallen before them. The forgotten people of the Serengetti who were assimilated to the Maasai. The way the Berbers absorbed the people of the Sahara and TOOK their destinies and made them their own… that’s what’s about to happen in the ring in this Grand Prix match. Because Penelope… JT Saint… they woke up today both thinkin’ that they had the destiny of enterin’ the finals for the US Title. But that destiny belongs to CARTIER. It’s been taken by force. They’ve been conquered, enslaved, and soon? Forgotten.
Cartier tilts the plate over somewhat, and the remaining bits of broken cookies fall onto the floor where they are eagerly gobbled up by the salivating hulk of Rottweiler, Ammut. Within seconds, not a crumb remains.
CARTIER: History is written by the winners, Penny an’ JT. You don’t get to write your own legends tonight… because like the epic genesis of Eridu, my fate is written in stone.Carved into history. Destined for eternal permanence. Find your knees and fall upon them, Penelope an’ Saint.
Cartier smiles.
CARTIER: I’m only gonna ask nicely one time.
CARTIER: Catch, Ammut…
Cartier sits in an elegant settee, her bare feet up and crossed at the ankles. She dangles a piece of food from a fork over an obediently sitting rottweiler nearby. The dog, Ammut, does not budge even though its stomach loudly groans at the sight and smell of the food. Only when Cartier flicks the treat over to her does the massive hound snap its head up and catch the food in mid-air, swallowing it in an instant.
CARTIER: Good girl.
Upon a closer look, it can be seen that the bits of food Cartier plucks from her golden plate are shaped into human forms. Baked like cookies, they resemble both of Cartier’s opponents in Houston for Mainstream, JT Saint and Penelope.
She peels another limb off of one of the cookies, showing strands of hair baked into the treats.
CARTIER: You’d think these people would be more careful, leaving their avatars lying all about backstage after every show, wouldn't you, Ammut? Wouldn’t you, if you knew there was a black magic queen gunnin’ for you, take extra precautions? Throw away the nasty tufts of hair from your hair brush instead of tossin’ ‘em into the trash where anyone could come an’ grab it an’ use it for any number of curses an’ incantations in her grimoire? Wouldn’t you do that shit, Ammut?
Ammut licks her mouth, staying rock steady with her eyes locked on the little cookie arm of Penelope.
CARTIER: I know I would.
Cartier tosses the arm to Ammut, who again snatches it straight from the air and swallows it without hesitation. Cartier then pulls a leg off of the JT Saint cookie, with a tiny scrap of fabric wrapped around it.
CARTIER: Wouldn’t you make sure you wasn’t just leavin’ your bandannas of handkerchiefs out in the open, if there was a woman communion’ wit’ the ancient s comin’ up on your schedule? Don’t you think that might be the very least amount of effort you might put into self defense, Ammut?
Ammut’s stomach growls, and her nose twitches as Cartier brings her hand close to the beast’s mighty jaws. Cartier lays the treat across the top of the dog’s muzzle, watching intently as Ammut stays motionless.
CARTIER: Now.
The dog snaps its head upward and back, flipping the treat into its mouth. In a fraction of a second, the little cookie leg is gone.
CARTIER: But I suppose if either Penelope or JT Saint thought they had anythin’ to worry about, then they wouldn’t be walkin’ around as clueless as they are. Obviously, each of them has the hubris of a Roman Emperor, fiddlin’ while the world around ‘em burns. They don’t see the agony flyin’ at they faces because they walkin’ around willingly blind… eyes closed… rather than admit the truth that they both so unwillin’ to admit… that they about to get into a ring wit’ somethin’ they can’t handle. That they about to get swept aside by fate, tossed into the gutters of history’s footnotes like all of the people who have fallen before them. The forgotten people of the Serengetti who were assimilated to the Maasai. The way the Berbers absorbed the people of the Sahara and TOOK their destinies and made them their own… that’s what’s about to happen in the ring in this Grand Prix match. Because Penelope… JT Saint… they woke up today both thinkin’ that they had the destiny of enterin’ the finals for the US Title. But that destiny belongs to CARTIER. It’s been taken by force. They’ve been conquered, enslaved, and soon? Forgotten.
Cartier tilts the plate over somewhat, and the remaining bits of broken cookies fall onto the floor where they are eagerly gobbled up by the salivating hulk of Rottweiler, Ammut. Within seconds, not a crumb remains.
CARTIER: History is written by the winners, Penny an’ JT. You don’t get to write your own legends tonight… because like the epic genesis of Eridu, my fate is written in stone.Carved into history. Destined for eternal permanence. Find your knees and fall upon them, Penelope an’ Saint.
Cartier smiles.
CARTIER: I’m only gonna ask nicely one time.