| CassandraAvery | Date: Friday, 2011/07/01, 10:02 PM | Message # 1 |
 Development
Group: EWA Roster
Messages: 12
Status: Offline
| Long slender fingers tracing down a pristine white wall iin a dimly lit hallway. Cassandra Avery lays her palm flat and let's it drag down the smoothly painted surface. The only illumination is the few small decorative ceiling lights, in thick etched glass coverings. The glow is orangey and would feel friendly if it didn't add to the feeling of desertion. Cassandra passes heavy doors of dark wood every few feet. The space feels like a commercial building clearly past hours of operation. Cassandra muses that it reminds of her of her teenage years working as a receptionist for a car dealership when she was asked to run some papers down to the company's lawyers office. The building had the same cold feeling and large, unwelcoming doors that signaled what was inside was bigger and more important than anything she was doing. Cassandra wobbles in her progress down the hall. Held loosely in her hand is a half empty bottle of Vodka. She does seem to know precisely where she's going, though. Cass rounds a corner while taking a healthy swig from her bottle, eyes set firmly (if unfocused) on a door at the end of the carpeted hall. Digging inside the back pocket of her low-slung jeans for her small ring of keys. Cassandra approaches the door and the end of the hall and leans against it, resting her forehead against the cool surface and taking a deep breath. After clumsily working the lock for a minute, she pushes the mahogany door open and into a plush office. The colors are all the deep rich brown of expensive wood, from the book cases to the large executive style desk, and cool silver and white. Someone with means clearly inhabits this space. It remains so pristine because it is also obviously not put into frequent use. A place for conducting business, an office tucked into a nice corporate building, business does not seem to be high priority for the person who calls this space a second home.
Cassandra plunks the bottle of vodka down on the almost too-clean surface of the large desk, drops of condensation slowly slipping in their descent down the cooling glass. Surrounding where the bottle rests are nicely framed family photos; a handsome brown-haired man with perfectly white, square teeth with his arms around an older man and woman, his parents. Cass takes a seat in the plush black chair, kicks up her flip-flop clad feet and leans back. She stares at the framed photograph for a moment before her eyelids become heavy and she quickly drifts into a light sleep, the air conditioning in the room providing a soothing white-noise lullaby....
~~~~
A parking lot in the dead of night. The sound of tennis shoes softly shuffling gravel on their track across the asphalt. A young Cassandra Avery with light blonde, waist length hair approaches her '94 Ford Escort hatchback with her key in hand, quick to leave the nearly empty parking lot and the eerie glow from the few flourescent streetlights. Behind her looms a large hotel with a glowing red light; a famous chain. Cass wears the wine-red colored polo embossed with the hotel's logo that is required of all front desk employees. She has just clocked out of her late shift and is prepared to go home. The car door lock gives a small sigh as its opened, and Cass moves to yank the handle, when she feels a large, firm hand settle on her shoulder. She starts, but doesn't utter a sound. Cass turns and looks up into the face of the brown-haired young man from the desk photograph. The shadows cut his face into dark, harsh angles, and his mouth is set in a firm line.
Cass: Jason.....w-what are you doing?
Jason's last name is the same as the one illuminated on the top of the building behind them. He's a lawyer and an all-around piece of shit. He came to this particular chain location on a visit a few months ago, saw Cassandra smiling happily from behind the front desk, and has conveniently yet to be called to another location for other lawyerly duties. His grip tightens. He exhales; his breath smells like Jack Daniels.
Jason: Fuck, just....talking a walk, Cassandra. I'm allowed to do whatever the fuck I want. My parents own all of this shit....the shit that allows for you to have a paycheck.
Cassandra rolls her eyes slightly. They've had exchanges like his before apparently. Jason moves forward slightly and Cass attempts to move back a step, but butts up against the side of her car. Jason places his mouth next to her ear. Cassandra eyes shut tightly and Jason's grip increases, his knuckles growing white with the strain. Suddenly, the loud scrape of a trash can being dragged across the black-top. Jason instinctively moves away from Cassandra and turns toward a maintenance man towing away garbage toward the large dumpsters. Cassandra and Jason lock eyes, unsure of what happens next.
~~~~~
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Cassandra slowly opens her eyes to see the same man from her dream and the picture standing in front of her. Well...almost the same man. His breath still smells like Jack Daniels, but his eyes are droopier, his skin is sallow and dull, and his clothes looks like they could be washed in boiling hot water 10 times before they stopped appearing greasy. Cass narrows her eyes, not moving from her comfortable position.
"What ever the fuck I want."
Jason shrugs and pulls up the hard backed chair on the other side of the desk. He fishes a flash from his pants pocket and takes a few pulls. He extends his hand to Cassandar and she cocks her head to indicate the bottle of vodka. Jason nods as if to say "suit yourself" and continues to drink in silence.
Cass: Well...aren't we a fucking pair of class-act drunks. I take that back, I'm better looking than you and I don't smell like I slept in a fucking campground bathroom last night or maybe all day. Jesus, you go home to your frigid wife like that?
Jason: Not really. She kicked me out a few months ago. Been living the high life and sleeping in my car since the folk don't want me around my office here anymore....say I bring the look of the place down. And to that I give a resounding... 'EH'.
Cassandra nods, seeming to be familiar with this story. Jason takes another hard swallow and squints.
Jason: You only come here when you want to feel like less of a shit yourself. What's the deal, huh? Wreck your car? Get a DUI? No match this month?
Cassandra smiles and little and scoffs.
Cass: Not quite that, though you *are* a bigger shit than me. I got beat by a couple of fucking rookies, Jason. Idiot, green CARPS. Irritating as shit.
Jason: HAH....wouldn't that have been a sight to see?
Cass: Yeah well, you'd have to dry up for a window of longer than 10 minutes in order to make it to a show, Mr. Lawyer Man.
Jason smacks his lips and lets his head loll to the side. Cass throws her hands behind her own and leans back farther in her seat.
Cass: It's got me thinking about what the fuck being a rookie means anyway. I mean, in this instance...*I* am the rookie, right? I'm goddamn wrestling in curtain jerk matches against the functionally retarded. For all intents and purposes, that's rookie shit right there. But I have to break it down and look at useless dolts like Ruthless Aggression and Thrax and redefine what it means to be a rookie in this business. I could spout off about my many title runs and I suppose that would make a point, but maybe that's not even it, you know what I mean?
Jason begins to snore loudly. Cassandra barely pays attention.
Cass: I....I subject myself to listening to someone like Ruthless Aggression and I find myself thinking "fuck....THIS is what is looks like to be REALLY green." I mean...am I supposed to be scared of you, Ruthless? Am I to believe that you are more capable? More deserving of a win? Better than me? Faster than me? Fuck no. FUCK the fuck no. Who...who the hell would be worried about YOU? Me and my presence in this business? Well-oiled machinery, my dear. A complete puzzle. You're more like one of the 1,000 piece jigsaws of shit you pick up at a garage sale and half the little cheap-ass cardboard peices are missing. You are so monumentally uninteresting that I find myself pitying what'll happen to you after important people like me aren't on your agenda and you have to go on pretending like you're more relevant than you are. You say you're not going to brag about winning this match because that's not who you are? Good. Please don't say anything about coming out of this on top because I guarantee you that you won't.
Jason's flask falls out of his loosely clenched fist. Cass turns to the noise, smirks and shakes her head at the sleeping mass of dirty laundry in front of her. She rises to her feet and grabs the bottle of vodka from the table, circling around to approach Jason, mind still elsewhere, talking to herself.
Cass: And Thrax? It actually pisses me off that I have to keep talking about your ass. I think that EVERYONE can agree, when it comes to you the resounding response is "WHO GIVES A FUCK". Truly...I couldn't muster up one shit to give about you if I tried. I think it's almost a given that you're falling to the wayside on this one, little Thraxy. And you know what? It's not even about getting an IC title shot. It's about moving past the career SPEED BUMP that you two TRUE rookies represent to me so I can break out on the open highway of the bigger and better.
Cass sets the bottle down carefully by where Jason dropped his flask. She leans over and gives him a few too-harsh pats on the cheek. Jason hardly moves.
Cass: Thanks. I always feel better knowing you are a perpetually bigger worthless turd than me. Sleep well, shitbag.
She leaves Jason in his alcoholic catatonic coma and softly shuts the door behind her. The sound of his snoring fades with each step she takes, around the bend in this hall, through the back entrance into the building, and out into the blissfully empty parking lot.
Beyond you. Utterly.
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