Post by bonnieblue on Jan 28, 2018 23:27:12 GMT
Blue Moon
Darkness lies over Chinatown like a blanket. A chill breeze off the waterfront sends wispy clouds scudding across the face of a full moon, already shading to orange as it passes into shadow. Air filled with the tantalizing scents of cooking from the nighttime market, drawing her through the crowd of late-night shoppers. Conversations ring out in a dozen dialects, all equally foreign to her ear, all ultimately meaningless. Something calls to her, something at the heart of the City.
With sinewy grace, she threads her way among the throngs until, at last, the alleys widen and she finds herself clear of all but a few pedestrians. Swift feet carry her across broad avenues and up side streets, as instinct propels her along her path. Long, loping strides shorten to a quick trot, then give way to a casual walk. Furtive sounds from somewhere off to her right draw her attention. She slows, stalking quietly beneath the orange sodium lights behind a liquor store. Raised voices give way to the noise of a scuffle as she rounds a corner to see two bulky figures advancing on a third, cornered. Some corner of her mind notices one of the men is wearing white Adidas sneakers.
The electric tang of fear saturates the air.
Terror-stricken, the victim screams; and she launches into action.
A savage snarl rises from her throat as she pounces one man from behind, driving knees into his back as clawed fingers close around his neck. Distracted from the intended prey, the other turns to face her, eyes wide in shock. Without hesitation, she leaps up and wraps an arm around his neck, then twists, pulling him down as she drops to the glass-strewn pavement.
Sea-blue eyes flash crimson beneath the light of the blood moon as she turns her gaze to the would-be victim -- who edges past her with a fearful whimper, then turns on her heel and runs off. A sharp-fanged smile crosses her face as she turns her focus now to the two men at her feet....
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A single bulb hangs from the ceiling of a nondescript room. Seated beneath the light, dressed in her ring gear, and her UCI Tag Title over her shoulder, is Bonnie Blue. She looks up, sea-blue eyes blazing with determination.
Bonnie Blue: This moment -- is my moment. Tonight is my night. You think I fear the cage? You think I'm the least bit worried about Onslaught? Oooh, I'm steppin' in there with a literal monster. Yeah, been there, done that. Sold the T-shirt.
If Vincent Pryde was half the promoter he thinks he is, this match wouldn't even be necessary. See, this business thrives on innovation. You can't have some backward-ass moron stuck in his nineteenth century mindset running a company and expect it to live up to this improbable hype. The fans are only gonna put up with the circus sideshow for so long before they get bored. Especially the UCI Faithful. Especially the SyFy execs.
Let me put it in the simplest possible terms for ya, Vinny, sugar.
Bonnie Blue is hype. Bonnie Blue is money. Bonnie Blue is buyrates an' ticket sales an' merchandisin' out the ass. An' it ain't strictly 'cause the way I look.
But you, Vincent -- you and your New Blood Thirsty -- you want a beast, eager to shed that blood.
She hesitates a moment, frowning slightly.
Bonnie Blue: Have ya -- have ya never seen a match I been in? I mean, aside from the one where I took the UCI World Title off Kevin Bishop. Everyone's seen that one. How about Black Mass, when I destroyed the Brixton Brawler on his own turf, more or less, in that "London" Street Fight -- to take back my UCI Intercontinental Title? What about Killing Floor Twenty-Seventeen, when I defended my UCI Intercontinental Title against not one, but TWO opponents -- in a Monster's Ball match?
What about all the times I beat the one an' only real Monster, Oblivion?
How am I s'posed to be afraid of your boi Onslaught when I've gone toe to toe with Death himself?
The young blonde shakes her head.
Bonnie Blue: Nah, man, it takes more than your boogeyman to worry Bonnie Blue. You hear me, Onslaught? Any of this penetratin' that tiny peanut brain of yours? When they lock that cage behind us, boi, you best pray to whatever unspeakable horror you believe in, 'cause Bonnie Blue is comin' fast an' comin' hard an' we ain't even nekkid yet.
The second that bell rings, it is ON, motherfucker, an' it don't end until I say so! Once that cage is locked, there ain't no escape for you. Blood's gonna flow, y'all best believe that, but not a drop of it's gonna be mine.
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Echoes of a shrill scream lingered like fog in Bonnie Blue's drowsy mind. Why was she awake?
Oh, right. Alarm clock.
Man, what a trippy ass dream.
Rubbing her eyes, Bonnie sat up, throwing back the TARDIS comforter and sapphire-hued sheets as she did. With a yawn, she stretched, easing the tension out of sore muscles.
Yeah, definitely overdid in the gym yesterday. Have to take it easy until the cage match. Don't wanna risk an injury... this is too important.
She slipped bare legs out from under the covers and promptly regretted it, shivering in the chill morning air. The furnace serving the Drunken Dragon was hardly new, sluggish to start and only warm enough to keep everything from freezing. Never a problem during business hours, when the place was packed, it made getting out of bed an ordeal. Pulling on a fleece robe, Bonnie grabbed folded clothes from a laundry basket and stumbled tiredly into the bathroom.
A flip of the switch gave bold testament that something untoward had happened. Strewn across the tile floor, torn and bloodied, were one of Bonnie's favorite pairs of jeans and a Mustache Brothers sweatshirt someone had gotten her as a gag at Christmas. Crimson fingerprints smeared the mirror as she glanced up, startled to see the same red streaked across her lips. Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to figure out what it meant.
Had she gotten into a fight?
Yes, that must be it. She'd gone out on a routine patrol and busted some heads, probably broke a nose or two, that would explain it. And satisfied with that rationale, Bonnie set about tidying the mess, reluctantly tossing the ruined clothes into a wastebin, before she started the shower.
Once clean and dressed, Bonnie felt much more secure in her reasoning. Down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she put the coffee on and laced up her running shoes. A couple of laps around the block would clear her head. As she took off through the Drunken Dragon's back door, she didn't notice a torn and bloodstained Adidas sneaker lying on the pavement beneath the Dumpster.