Post by Deleted on Oct 15, 2021 4:39:13 GMT -5
Benson Estate
Atlantic City, New Jersey
In the weeks since joining OCW, the anti pro wrestling activist turned pro wrestler against her will had made million dollar offers to anyone on the roster willing to be her personal trainer, tag partner, or contractor. Only Ross Hanson was brave enough to align himself with such a blight upon the land of professional wrestling. He agreed to be her trainer, and even more shocking he told her to keep her million dollar offer since he would keep her at the monetary rate he has with everyone else.
She took him up on it. Informally of course. After pondering it more, she decided to make the deal legal and binding just so all understood what they were getting into, by inviting him to her estate for the officiality of it all and to give him a tour of the facility he will be using.
Tick tok on the clock..
Ross sat in the large room twiddling his thumbs. The meeting with Sonya Benson was set for one o’clock yet the aristocratic woman was already thirty minutes late. Having grown bored, Ross stood up to stretch his legs and gave her seemingly mute sentry, Rex, a nod.
Ross: Man, you’re talking my ear off over there. What’s going on, is she usually this late?
The massive man grunts.
Rex: Ms. Benson is never late. She is always precisely on time. You are simply expecting her early.
Ross was about to show him evidence to the contrary he had on his phone but decided against wasting his time on the man.
Rex: But you can tour the room. Just don’t touch anything.
Ross: Right. Wouldn’t want to activate any ancient curses…
Ross nodded and perused the confines, noting the art and relics affixed to the walls.
Ross: I’m not one of those appraiser guys, but I’m pretty sure this is first or second century Roman…
He then made his way to a wall covered in plaques of recognition for the services her family had done for communities and charities.
Ross: How did you wind up in this business, Rex?
Ross continued on his trek, stopping at a wall of memoriam for Sonya’s deceased little brother, Benjamin - The death that sparked her crusade against professional wrestling.
Ross: ...oh…
A huge singular portrait of Benjamin stood dominant on the wall, surrounded by smaller pictures of the Benson family with him in various locations across the world. Ross noticed in every picture Benjamin was clung to Sonya like an extra appendage.
Ross: ...oh, man…
One frame particularly caught his attention. It was a grinning Sonya decked in graduation attire inside a lab. To her other side was Benjamin, who was looking up at her with wonder and awe. Ross strained his eyes to make out an item being proudly displayed in her hands.
Carnegie-Mellon University awards Sonya Benson th-
The door opened, pulling his attention from the wall to the stunning woman who’d plunged scores of wrestling promotions into oblivion. Her strides were marked with purpose as she took to her desk and sat down, offering no apologies for her extreme lateness. A few more bodyguards filed in for safety purposes. And of course Norris and Smith trailed in her wake.
Sonya: Sit please, Mr. Hanson.
He sat across from her and afforded her a polite smile.
Ross: That’s not a bad idea. I can’t afford to replace any of this stuff if I break it.
She no-sold him and pulled out a thick stack of neatly organized contractual papers bearing his. After briefly thumbing through it, she sat it on the surface of the impeccably glossed oak wood desk separating them.
Sonya: Mr. Hanson, although you are the only candidate for this position I still need to interview you. I believe in total transparency and honesty. I don’t like you, ok? I don’t like the sight of you. I don’t like the smell of you.
Ross’s expression hardened.
Ross: Me either. You can’t hate me more than I hate myself, I assure you.
Sonya: BUT, you do have a service that I unfortunately need and you’ve expressed willingness to offer it to me. This is great, but we need to sort out a lot of specifics. That’s why we’re here and that’s why I’ve got this legal and binding contract. Is this understood, Mr. Hanson?
Ross: Yeah. I’m no stranger to signing my life away. You don’t mind if I read it first, do you?
Sonya: Not at all. Some of the questions I’m about to ask are in there.
She slid it over to him.
Sonya: Ok, so, as you’ll see in the contract, all training between you and I will be done here at my estate’s training facility. I’m in the process of refitting it with equipment to suit any training aids you may need. I’ve already got a wrestling ring set up in it. Is this understood?
Ross: That's more than I had when I got started.
Once again the woman no-sold him and moved on.
Sonya: Have you ever privately trained anyone one-on-one in the *sarcastic tone of voice incoming* exquisite art of mindless violence and massacristic weapon use?
Ross: Not for one second. Don't believe in it. Only a fool trusts their life to a weapon. Besides, there isn't much to learn there other than don't close the chair on your fingers.
His remark only registered a small shrug from her.
Sonya: So, no. Okay. On a scale of one to ten, how attractive do you find me?
Ross: 7.12 until I figure out more about your personality. But Chelsea has to sign off on it first. It's only fair since she asked me permission to sleep with another woman.
Her brow arched.
Sonya: It’s a shame you weren’t man enough to completely satisfy her, but at least she slept with another woman instead of a man. Just don’t catch feelings for me.
This time he no-sold her. Ross flipped through the paperwork, studying it with keen eyes. He took his time as anybody would smartly do in his position. Sonya grew impatient though, eventually tapping her immaculately manicured fingernails on the desk.
Ross kept reading.
More fingernail tapping.
Ross gestured airily but continued reading.
She resorted to small talk with Norris mixed in with some exaggerated sighs aimed at Ross.
Then, Ross’s phone beeped and he checked it. His expression became one of uncertainty, then a frown.
Ross: I’m sorry, Sonya. I don’t think I can be your trainer at this time.
He slid the contract back across her desk. Sonya’s eyes were large angry saucers. As quickly as her fury rose, it tempered. Her gaze pinned him in his chair but she was speechless. Norris, on the other hand, wasn’t. He bolted to a stand from the chair next to Ross, fists doubled at his sides.
Norris: YOU LITTLE SHIT!!!!!!
Sonya shot Norris a warning glance and he sat his ass right back down in his chair. He wasn’t gonna bite the hand that feeds him.
Sonya: Mr. Hanson, how dare you, sir! How dare you!
Ross stood up, didn’t say a word, and gave her a parting nod to make his exit as non hostile as possible. The guards blocked him at first but Sonya, angry but understanding that this had been a possibility, waved them off. They parted and Ross went about his way.
A long silence passed. Ghost quiet. Sonya sat at her desk rubbing her stressed temples with her hands. Norris opened his yapper to speak but she shushed him with a gesture.
Sonya: I can’t even right now. I can’t even deal with this right now. Just…. Lets just adjourn for now and reconvene in a few hours. I need to be alone.
They agreed and left. When they were all gone, the poise Sonya had held vanished quicker than President Biden’s cognitive abilities, and she burst into tears.
_____________________________________________________
The scene opens to Sonya sitting at a desk in one of the business suites at Benson Plaza. Gone is the scintillating Sherbrooke pantsuit she’s been renowned for wearing, it has been replaced by attire that lends to her current predicament.
A pink prison inmate uniform.
Despite the uniform being a mark of despair, the magnificence of her beauty makes it look too stinkin cute on her. She’s even shackled her hands into cuffs to complement it.
Sonya doesn’t mince words when the camera rolls.
”Are you happy, OCW? Pleased to see me imprisoned and left to suffer a terrible fate this Monday at the hands of Clubbin Man? Oh I bet you are. I bet all twenty chins that reside on the collective fanbase of OCW are just jiggling with glee over seeing this booking. Finally the Clubbin Man will get a win. He’ll wrestle someone who knows less about this misbegotten ‘sport’ than he does. His reprehensible body will come into contact with my pristine body and you people will revel in it.”
She dry heaves.
”You’ll cheer it and overlook the fact that the head-honcho of this goat-rodeo screwed one of you fans out of a chance to beat me up as per my open challenge issued during that Macabre PPV Mr. Welsh limped to the barn with. I bet you gum-brained twits also overlooked the news that Ross Hanson backed out of his offer to train me. He couldn’t pull the trigger on it, probably because you poop rolling, booger eating fans scolded him hard when news broke that he’d train me. But yeah, go ahead. Be merry and full of mirth this Monday in Florida’s toilet bowl - The OCW Arena. Laugh as every tear rolls down my cultured cheek. Cheer at every scream that tragically escapes these lettered lips. Savor the flavor, you dour creatures. Just know something….”
The camera dramatically zooms to an up close of her face, which after 25 years of unblemished beauty has finally seen a besmirchment; stress and worry mingled with contempt.
”Those who laugh last, laugh loudest. I have 24 more wins to go to get out of this prison sentence in pro wrestling; eventually I’ll have the last laugh. I’ll be the one laughing in all of your faces when that final win happens. Because where there’s a will, there’s a way. I willed myself to victory over that third generation trashcan Bianca McGarbage in XWF. I might even will myself somehow this week, even without a trainer, who knows? But alas, in the end? Verily I will surmount you all. I will sit as queen and see no sorrow. I don’t care who I have to screw over. I don't care who I have to blackmail. I don’t care who I have to bribe. I’ll even make shadetree deals with XWF if I have to. Now, may all the bad things that can happen to someone in life happen to all of you. May all of you die before the sun comes up, and may you rot in hell.”
She looks off screen for only a moment before realizing she’s forgotten something.
”OOOOH, and I am NOT a ‘novice singer’. After I sang London Bridge at the PPV, America’s Got Talent AND also Britain's Got Talent reached out to me for appearances on their shows. I had to decline due to my current predicament though. But, since you people think it’s oh-so-funny to mock me, allow me to sing a song..”
She clears her throat. Music comes on from out of frame, and she regales with her rendition of “Whatever It Takes”.
When the "break the chains" lyrics hit she breaks free of the toy cuffs. Fade.