Seriously, who planned it? I was still slightly nauseated even though I’d emptied my stomach and had a shower with a gorgeous chickah. My eyes were covered with dark sunglasses; my hair tugged back into a tail that left a few wisps astray around my cheeks and jaw line. After referencing my clothes to Demonica’s, I decided it would be best to not wear my schlep-like clothing to an international press conference.
So, instead, I’d traded in my baggy ol’ t-shirt for a tight, black corset that I had to get Demonica to tie me into. I was still able to breathe… barely. I had moved from black, faded, ripped-up jeans to a miniskirt that just scarcely made it passed the bottom of my rump at the back and about two inches below my groin at the front. Black fishnets adorned my pale legs. Christ, it had been nearly… yup, going on seven years since I’d last worn shorts. Why? No reason. Just don’t much like the way my legs look in shorts. That tribal tattoo of mine was clearly visible upon my naked arms, upper chest, neck and legs. I had once been asked how long it had taken to have the tattoo done in its entirety, as well as how much it hurt. My reply: “Well, it took about as long as your meagre life will take to be forgotten and it hurt about as much as me, say, kicking you in the balls with my steel-toed boots for half an hour straight, every five seconds.” I swear, some of the questions I got held no intellectual merit whatsoever. My trench coat was draped over one arm. I needed it only because it held my keys, my hotel card and my ciggies.
Anyhow, I followed Necron and Demonica out of the elevator and towards the stage. Already, I could hear the crowd, en mass, begin to turn up the volume. I winced faintly behind the black sunglasses as I settled to the right-side of Demonica. She had Necron on her left. What a sight we must have been. Necron had his face painted and accentuated with black markings; those blonde locks of his in tight braids that seemed to stick out of his head. Demonica’s black hair was in a tail, but crimped. Obviously she had foregone the blades for the conference. Good for her. Her black pants and white shirt was definitely not like her.
I was brought back to reality by the loud screech of feedback. My hands instinctively slapped over my ears. After years of Metallica concerts, you’d think I’d built up immunity to loud noises like that. Apparently not. I laid my trench coat over the back of a chair and waited.
“If we could all quiet down we will begin in a moment ladies and gentlemen.” A man said. I looked and he was fucking massive. I winced faintly. How anyone could let themselves go like that was beyond me. The crowd’s chatter dimmed into a dull roar. All eyes were on Demonica and I. Oooh, I was not liking this.
“Okay everyone we are ready to begin this press conference. If Demonica or Gwen have a statement they'd like to make I ask you to please refrain from trying to ask questions ‘til after.” Demonica and I moved forward, though I was perfectly happy with staying behind the conference podium. Demonica looked over at me. I shifted faintly, the fishnets brushing against each other.
“You got something?” She asked me in an offhanded manner. I shrugged my shoulders, drawing out my pack of cigarettes, ready to light one.
“Nope.” I replied, unenthusiastically. I drew out my lighter and lit a cigarette, returning to sit beside Necron, though a little bit of a distance away. I watched Demonica in silence, leaning against a small table that was set up. There were a few bottles of water and thankfully, an ashtray. Lovely people. Too bad they were trying to burn us at the stake. Lovely people until you up and had sex with one of them. Christ. It’s not like I cut off her limbs or anything.
“Okay I'll make a statement before we open up show and tell, or as you like to call it question and answer time. So here's my statement. I stand before you today looking almost like one of you. Wearing my little slacks and nice little dress shirt and normal hair.” Demonica started to speak. Damn her. Gwenivere never talked like that. Well, she tried, but usually her little spiel ended in a torrent of swearing and ‘fuck yous’. “Unfortunately my skin is pale and I like my makeup different than you do. So why am I dressed this way? You tell me. Apparently if I don't it will somehow make me more dangerous to keep on the street and will alter the facts of this case. Your fear of what is different is what your little laws and court systems are based on. Why when you people watch a trial do you need a fashion correspondent? For some reason looking like we like to makes us bad people, but if we change our clothes and try to look like the rest of you we are suddenly credible individuals who might not be capable of the crimes you've accused us of. So why am I dressed like you? Good question, glad I thought of it. Let's fix that.”
And with that, she tore open her blouse. I knew there was something making her breasts pull up against her chest, but I didn’t realize she had a completely different wardrobe on beneath. Well, I didn’t feel so much like a whore anymore. Go me. The gasps that went through the crowd made me giggle on the inside.
“Oh no how shocking. She's going to prison now. I'm going to be myself regardless of what you people think. No matter how we look or act we are still innocent. Those are the facts. So in closing I'd like to say if I had a dick I'd be inviting you to suck it right about now. Any questions?” She looked back at Necron and I smugly. I winked once at her and stood up, still holding my cigarette. I moved to stand beside her at the podium, drawing from my cigarette slowly. I had nothing to say, but it was about time that I stood up.
“Good job.” I whispered as I leaned over to her. I gently pat her back before regarding the media in front of us. My stomach clenched and that slight feeling of airplane nausea swept over to me. I steadied myself on the podium before butting out. I grasped one of the water bottles and took a deep swig of it. Okay, I felt a little better now. I winced as the crowd began to shout at us; asking questions though they were lost in the din of noise. The fat man that seemed to be leading the conference pointed at one of the reporters and the rest of the room quieted down save for the scratching of pencils and the occasional dull conversation.
“Do you think you two will be cellmates? You can't think you'll win. Especially after this display.” I glanced at Demonica and waved my hand, saying that I’ll handle the question.
“No, I don’t think we will be cellmates because we will not be going to prison to begin with. Francine Fern’s case will not fly. There is no evidence whatsoever about her being drugged or the like before the video was recorded. Miss Fern’s case has no grounds. If any of you haven’t seen our little tape, then at the very beginning before anything began, Miss Fern stated that she was ours to play with.” I had barely enough time to breath before the next question was laid on the table.
”Since when does play mean being beaten and raped with objects?” I winced faintly. Demonica got to the question before I could reply with a smart-assed remark like: ‘hey, how about you try it and see if you want us to stop or not’.
“At least since 7pm on the night of the supposed incident.” Demonica began. I watched her as she began to speek. A bit of conversation started before Demonica continued. “You people should really do your homework. There's a tape, how hard is it to figure this out. We kept asking, she kept saying yes and wanting more. Just like any of you would.” Indeed, they had not been doing their homework. Another question was asked through the conversation began once more.
“Did Miss Fern ever ask either of you to stop?” Apparently, they had not done their homework at all.
“Let me explain something to you. Submissives are given a ‘safety word’ before they are taken. Yes, Miss Fern did say she wanted us to stop, but not once did she give us the word. I dare you. Go through the tape and listen for a word that sticks out, blatantly. The word we used was ‘bluebird’. If you hear it, then we’re guilty.” I was confident. Francine had not once said the safety word. The press commotion began. They reminded me faintly of a kindergarten class. As soon as the teacher stops talking, all hell breaks loose. Indeed, bluebird was never said, but I’d do anything at this point to get these fuckers to get off our backs. Did I mention that I hate cameras?
“Are you two a couple? Or is it a love triangle of sorts with you two and that creepy guy back there?” I winced. I was embarrassed for everyone here at the sheer idiocy of the question. I glanced at Demonica curiously, brow raised. I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer the question. I heard Necron chuckling softly behind us and couldn’t help but smirk faintly. I saw the glimmer in Demonica’s eyes and smiled in a twisted manner.
“Only on Mondays. Monday is triangle day. The rest of the week we stick to your pets and homeless crack heads. Gotta pay rent somehow ya know.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The out-raged screams were just utterly hilarious. “Shut the fuck up! Now why did I answer that way?” Demonica shouted over the loud roar. They seemed to quiet down a little bit, but were still blatantly upset. “Oh that's right it was a stupid question. Necron and I are a couple and Gwen is our friend. This isn't Orgy Of The Damned or Zombies Gone Wild. I'm going to say something so that you can understand it and follow it. So let's make a rule.” I smirked a bit, crossing my arms over my chest, looking out towards the press who were in an almost revered silence. “Thaaaaat queeeestion baaaad. Nooo dooo iiiit. Baaad peeeoople aasssk agaaaaiiin, weee gooo byyye byyye. Got it figured out now? So give us your next question and make it about the case and it would help if it made sense. Can we try that?” I chuckled softly, running a hand along my hair to smooth the few wisps that had escaped the elastic behind my ears.
“Do you feel that you two were right in your doings? And if so, if you don’t go to prison, will you do it again?” I sighed faintly, rubbing my cheek in thought.
“Right in our own minds, perhaps, but obviously not within your conservative realm. We did nothing illegal.” I replied flatly. “Given the chance: yes, I would do it again. As for Demonica…” I looked over at her, signalling for my eyes that it was her turn. I didn’t want to answer for her at the risk of offended her or Necron.
“Well if we go to prison then of course it'll happen again. You accuse us of something that actually happens there. As far as if we don't, which we won't, we'll just have to wait and see. That's like asking me if I enjoyed eating a taco and if I'll ever eat a taco again. Who knows or cares? I'm not gonna get my address book out and pick a date to write taco in. How bout one more question and then we'll end this thing.” Oh thank god. One more question and then I can go take a nap. Or have sex. Or something relaxing. There was a loud boom of voices, all trying to get their questions in before we left. I glanced at the fat man, waiting for him to pick a reporter. He found one quickly, noticing the disinterested and slightly pissed off look on my face.
“Has this event in your lives affected your wrestling careers in New Era Wrestling at all?” I shook my head faintly, taking a sip of from my water bottle. It was a valid question that was about to get a cynical response.
“Nope, I’m boning the Boss, so we get perks.” I said sarcastically. The noise started again and I glared angrily. “Oh, for fuck’s sake... would you calm down and step out of your snivelling, conservative bubbles for two fucking seconds? It was a joke. Y’know? Funny, ha-ha?” I growled angrily. I took a breath and stepped one step away from the microphone, crossing my arms hotly over my chest.
“Why would your false charges affect our ability to beat people up? Anyway that's it. You can all pack your shit up and go home. Have fun, get into an accident. Bye bye.” I watched Demonica turn on her heel and walk away, clasping hands with her. I grasped my trench coat and slipped it over my shoulders, my hands sinking into the pockets as I followed after them. Who the fuck planned this shit? I didn’t have an agent so it was beyond me. It was probably Reno. Fucking bastard. He knew full-well how much I hated people, reporters and cameras.
