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Thread: BPPF (best pen pals forever)

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    BPPF (best pen pals forever)

    OOC: What's this CWA nobody doing invading our subforum? As will become obvious (if it's not already), this is a planned off-screen interaction with an FWA character, so this seemed like the most logical place for it. Feel free to move if necessary.




    001
    2nd January, 2016
    Los Angeles, California

    A Greyhound station at night was quite a thing. The people, at various stages of their journeys and thus varying stages of dilapidation, guarded their possessions watchfully and drank gigantic sodas from polystyrene cups. She stared down at her ticket, pages and pages of destinations between here and New York. A layover in Albuquerque, and then a few hours off the coach in Denver, Omaha, a night in Chicago and a final stop in Detroit before the home straight. It would take her almost ten days, all in, but it was better than flying. Anything was better than flying.

    She pulled her rucksack closer to her body and opened the zip. A near-empty bottle of Jameson's, two pairs of jeans (black), two baggy t-shirts (green), her ring gear. The usual fare. She pushed it all around in the bag, pushing her fingertips against the hard material of her knee pads, scratching a little at the label on the bottle. It made her consider many things. The pads; Adrenaline Rush and Jonathan McGinnis, and the kaiju that waited at 5-Star Attraction. The bottle; the sleep that still eluded her, a dog chasing its tail, a bird eating itself. It was only in her rucksack that these quite separate parts of her life were thrust together.

    She stared up at the clock and worked out the number of minutes she still had to wait (thirty two, if you want to know), before picking up a small, rectangular envelope and zipping her bag shut. She pulled out the card, her eyes tracing the image on the front cover. It was of a little girl lying in bed with a cast on her leg, and a fairy in a pink dress hovering above her with her wand. The yellow bubble writing across the top read 'GET WELL SOON'. Inside, she had scratched a short message in black ink; 'My sweet Bell. In commiserations of your brittle ankles. Regards, Michelle'. She pushed the card back into its envelope and checked the address for the office of FWA talent relations that she'd found online in the library.

    There was a mail box across the street, but she decided to wait and post it in Albuquerque, during daytime hours. Sitting inside a Greyhound station at night was grim. Walking around outside of one was hell on earth.

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    Re: BPPF (best pen pals forever)

    A few days later Michelle would find a massive crate in front of her apartment the next morning, with what appears to made with pink inside and and a large pile of what’s obviously seems to be glitter on top of the crate right beside a small note attached to it, in a childish scarl with what appears to be done in crayon “”Oh hey look a mysterious package, you should totally open it. It might be cookies”

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    Re: BPPF (best pen pals forever)

    002
    7th January
    The Dog Rock Motel, Albany NY

    Her head still rang, playing the foul song conjured up by her opponents and last night's drink, as she leafed through the pages of a magazine. One of the staff at the motel had approached her when she'd arrived that morning, speaking in a voice dripping with an accent from south of the border, shuffling uncomfortably like intimidated fans do. It was a copy of PWOutsider's Bi-Weekly publication, 'SLAM!' (exclamation mark compulsory). And now, she flicked through it bemusedly, skimming through an article entitled 'FEMME FATALE - The World's Best Female Wrestler'. She was mentioned precisely three times, usually in lists filled with other names, most she didn't recognize. The majority of the article was about Shannon O'Neal, Gabrielle, and - of course - Bell Connelly. She inwardly fumed with each glowing complement, each unnecessarily grandiose adjective, each fawning re-declaration of her already-declared genius. Michelle wouldn't call it resentment, nor was it jealousy, but rather incomprehension at the injustice of it all. She slammed it shut and hurled it towards the waste paper basket, just as the door was knocked.

    The same adorably uncomfortable Mexican boy was standing there, in front of a giant, pink, glittery crate.

    Connelly!

    "This package arrived for you, Ms von Horrowitz," he said, hands in his pockets and staring at the ground. "I don't know what it is but it's very pink."

    She thanked him (for some reason) and dragged the thing in, proceeding to pace around it a number of times, all the while regarding it mistrustfully. Eventually, she opened it up. A confetti cannon blasted in her face and, in the full-length mirror in front of her, an unrecognizable glitter-clad face stared back at her, like a drag queen in a flamboyant version of blackface. She wiped the shit away from her eyes and burrowed through the tonnes of confetti to find a small book buried inside. It was a scrapbook. She opened it and read through, regarding each picture of two female wrestlers that had been painstakingly glued into it. Around the edges, there were doodles of unicorns or balloons or unicorn-shaped balloons, and occasional comments had been scrawled across it in glitter pen. Beneath a picture of Michelle (face scrunched up in fatigue and a belligerent dislike) holding Bell in a headlock, the childish handwriting read 'AW LOOK HOW ADORABLE! "ME SO MEAN! ME GIVE YOU HEADLOCK!'

    She flicked through the rest of the pages (the last was a giant sketch of Michelle and Bell watching a parade complete with trumpeters, drummers, wand-spinners (whatever they're called), steam engines, floats, elephants, and a sad-looking white tiger being wheeled along in a cage) before leaving the apartment. She went to the hardware store and packed a moderately large box with her purchases before taking it to the post office. She scribbled the address of the FWA Headquarters onto it and wrote 'FAO Bell Connelly' in large font. Then she went back to the bar.

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