-Respect- and the lack of it

“You wanna know what’s funny?”

Fade into Rihannon Hartwell sitting alone in a ring. Overlooking what appears to be an empty gym, she just takes a breath and shakes her head,

“People have been trying to get rid of me in PWN. Management seems to think that with every curveball, it’s just one more step for me to ‘take my leave’ but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Every shot you throw mat me, every chance you have to get rid of me?

Thwarted because I am just that damn good.”

A slow wicked smirk crawls along her face.

“I seem to be the red-headed stepdaughter of PWN, the one no one wants to be around and everyone wants to hate. Good, hate me, I don’t give a damn what you all think of me. I’m there to make that money, provide for myself and my loved ones and that is it. TRY and take my job from me. TRY and injure me if you must, but I will come out on top. Herncastle himself can shove it right up his pompous ass. He wishes I were not around and he wishes he could fire me. He knows he can’t. You know why?

I put asses in seats and make a hell of a lot of cash for the company and have since day fucking one.”

She shrugs, getting up and pacing the ring.

“Which leads me to Celes Dumont.”

She sits back in the corner of the ring, tapping her foot and smiling.

“You think this is respect based? Do you think coming out after my last match was about respect? You never earned the respect from me. You never once stepped in a ring and earned it. Reputation though, right Celes? You have one to uphold while I am trying to make my way. So you wanted this match no disqualification too, good job. Good fucking job making sure you no longer have a career. Ask Patrick Slayton what happens when you corner me like this...oh wait...you can’t. I put him out of commission when the bosses thought it cute to do this stupid shit to me. Keep the respect, keep the niceness. Don’t want it, least of all from someone like you.”

She jumps up, ready to hit something as her eyes narrow and her low growl shows.

“Trust me girl, I plan to send you out and home to your little ‘company’ on a stretcher. Do NOT EVER come to my yard and think you can play in it how you see fit, it does not end well for you. Go home, while you have the chance to hug your loved ones and smile pretty for cameras. Come Genesis? You play with matches, you get burned.

And as for the PWN ‘management’? Do me a favour. Next time you try and sick someone on me, make sure they have good insurance. You have just signed off on someone else going to the hospital.”

She marches off as the camera goes dark.