“Three. Two One. Go! Go!.”
This battle was going to be a long one. Gruelling and debilitating. It created a bigger mess than shattered glass, and there was certainly no time for magic tricks. No, it was bubble-to-bubble, play-by-play, all pain, little gain and fucking dashing of senseless carnage on the eyes like the fields of Verdun.
Clap! No success…
“...Fuck, dude. Do you ever just, blink?”
"Not since the Battle of the Carrot." Saidin a scruffy gremlin voice.
Sitting in this chair, within a room on this ship, was something else. A staring contest with a rabbit was another yummy layer to this giving onion of a time. She’d fight over a body of water, with bleachers in the background, filled up to the brim. Top it all off, she had a drumstick, and she just reached the caramel. Sweet heaven is kind some days.
“Alright! Ya win this one ya fur-fuck.” Angelina leaned forward to the desk, petting the white rabbit on her back.
“Har-har-har, tough shit, Angie!”
“Since when ya swear?”
“Since a dreaded Tuesday when Stinky Butt stubbed her wittle toe on the toilet, hacking up that flammable tea-piss.”
“Wild. Anyway!”
Angelina popped up from her seat, deep-throating her drumstick and chomping done, reaping the brainfreeze she sowed. She scrunched her face and hopped around in a circle.
“Come oooonnnnn!” Then shivered,
“Alright, we good. Come come.” Angelina said, going to the end of the table. It took forever to make herself approachable to the furball. She got picking him up down pretty quick, fed, watered, and learned all the things to keep him a happy little camper. Shit after that got easier. It took some time, giving it space and just trying to get it to stop biting. But -- time flies, and Thistlebro and she had some understanding as he came clopping over. She picked him up and put him on the bed, just as she brought a guitar case from the floor and placed it down. She began rummaging through the odd contents. Her bat, the Nutcracka, some necklaces and paint spray, extra bearings, trucks and bushings, stickers, lots of stickers, handcuffs, a knife, some string she pulled out, along with two arm-length squirt guns.
“It’s almost time, Thistlebro. Gotta go kill ya mom just a tad. I know that might suck for ya to see soooo ya gonna have to stay here. Ya can, chew on the curtains for all I care.”
“Chewin’ on curtains is my favourite thing! Next to shitting pebbles everywhere for your minor inconvenience.”
“I'm going to pretend i didn't hear that.”
She grabbed a remote and turned the TV on for the PPV, then went to hold her room key and fed the thin rope through a loop, doing a double knot to put it around her neck, and then picked up the squirt guns.
“Hope she fights like hell. Kinda. Honestly, if she can take the key, then it’s worth the game. Fuck, she was pathetic, though. Rememba’ what she said when I nabbed ya? O’ Angie, don’t give him carrots. No cages, o’, o’ Angie, don’t-- Fuckin’ takin the piss out of ya-self, yo. Coulda’ had the brass to say ya gonna kill me, here. I mean, it’s like she doesn’t even want ya.” Angelina huffed,
“Ya… Maybe that’s a bit much. No, ya right. Second chances means a new face. Maybe it’ll be fun.”
Over to the sink, where she started filling up the squirt guns. “Here goes nothin.” She said once finished, now going for the door.
“Wish ya mum luck, she seems to believe in it.” And off she departed, locked door.
COME ON!
When it came to the end of Shimmer’s speech came the drop of electric guitar and that Nu-metal instrumental synonymous with one rabbit-knabbing, flip-trick-doing, horn-wearing, pirate-pirating child of a devil herself! Undercard city was such an underwhelming bitch of a moment. Who did done do them so wrong? After their last performance? She was hopin’ to break the ceiling on this one. But, when in Orlando, just take the fucking boat and sail on it.
She came out to soak in the August sun, her black shirt, donning a rabbit skull with horns as its centre crest, an inverted cross and key necklace, red and black skirt, thigh-highs, fishnets, and belts all over. Something about being a kleptomaniac fucking hipster, red-haired goth girl, riding bubblegum and blowing skateboards, though, she was out of skateboards this time around. Yeah, it sounded about right.
The crowd cheered what was a simple arrival. They knew what was up. It got her some jeers as Angelina walked forward, and the details of her shirt became crystal clear. When folks threw their thumb down, some, Angelina eyed, smirked, and walked to the edge of the pool.
“Don’t make me come ova’ there ya critical chris!” Then sprayed them with her long-range super-soaker. Though, in this heat? Anything was a relief. She threw the guns into the water, then when it looked like she was about to dive into the pool, with her body teetering off the edge, she sprang, flipped, and landed crisp on the floating platform, cartwheeling over and doing one more backflip for keepsakes to land on the apron. She grabbed the top rope and nodded to the song’s lyrical rhythm, stomping her boot and making way for the corner, climbing to plant her boot on the top.
“YOOOOOOOOOOO U-S-OF-FUCKING-AAAAAA!” Said through cupped hands, riling up the crowd more than before. She crossed her arms above her head for a duet of flipped birds, gaining a dose of it back herself, which made her laugh. She jumped into the ring itself, springing off the top turnbuckle and doing a roll to stand in the middle. The eyes she gave Shimmer were cordial, bearing a welcoming smile and loose posture, hopping foot-to-foot.
“Sup, pinky princess. Cuts all healed up yet? Well, I hope ya brought more than covergirl magic this time around. Ya gon’ need it to get this off me.” Angelina flicked her hand underneath her necklaces, key, and inverted cross.
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