Ta-da. Welcome to prison. Everybody’s got a first time for everything, I suppose. Well… I suppose it’s not really prison considering I’m just sitting in a holding cell. The two cops were nice enough to give me a pad of paper and a pen… after I signed a few autographs for them, as well as some of the other prisoners. That is the last time I agree to sign a “Louisville Slugger”. Give me a break… I’m French. Note to self, buy thesaurus.
Ew, just looked around the cell. There’s a sink where I can wash my hands from touching that dude’s… slugger… as well as from the black ink they used to fingerprint me by. But it looks like it will make my hands even dirtier. Christ. Just leave the criminals in these cells and they’ll be on the straight and narrow in no time flat.
I’ve already made my standard one phone call. I wonder if I couldn’t get through. Would they let me call again? I suppose it doesn’t matter. I got through and she is on her way now as I write this. At least the bail isn’t too much. The guards have informed me that the man, Pat Mathis, that I beat the shit out of, was pressing charges. Oh well. Guess I’ll fight him in court. After all, it was in self-defense.
I don’t understand the jail system here. It’s so much different in France. Hell, half the time you don’t get arrested unless you’ve killed someone or robbed a bank. Most of the time, the cops will just beat the shit out of both parties and leave you to lick your wounds.
A loud pound resounded on the metal door of her cell before the door opened wide. Gwenivere glanced up at the door, brow raised slightly in question. Within the doorframe stood a blue-shirted guard and Morgana. Gwenivere smiled faintly, getting to her feet and folding the piece of paper she had been writing upon for the past fifteen minutes. She stuffed the paper into the pocket of her jeans before following Morgana out of the cell.
Gwen sat back in Morgana’s car. Morgana had already taken Gwenivere’s car back to the hotel’s parking lot, and for that, Gwen was grateful. The passenger window was rolled down, Gwen’s hand hanging out of it, caressing a cigarette’s filter with her thumb. She was staring out that same window, watching the blur of the passing houses and businesses, alike. She could see Morgana glancing at her every so often. “What?” Gwen smiled faintly as she looked over at Morgana, finally flicking her cigarette away and rolling up the window.
“Why’d ya do it, Gwen?” Morgy asked, keeping her eyes on the road ahead of them. Gwenivere couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Why’d I do what, chéri? Kick the shit out of that guy? This coming from the bitchiest Ashton, I know? For laughs. Self-defense. To piss of his girlfriend. There were a few reasons.” Gwenivere chuckled again as she slouched down into the passenger seat a bit more, tapping the fingers of her right hand against her thigh. Morgy chuckled a bit. “Yeah. Well. Just wish I’d been there to see you take that fucker out.” Gwenivere chuckled softly, glancing at Morgy out of the corner of her eye.
“Did you hear what Vine, Acro and Kidman have been saying about you?” Gwenivere looked over at Morgy, then at the clock on the dashboard, then back again. “Chéri, I’ve been in the slammer for since yesterday night. I haven’t heard word from anyone but the drunks in the next cell and the guard asking me for autographs for every possible member of his family.” Gwenivere said with a soft laugh. God, she couldn’t wait to get home and have a shower. “Well…”
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Gwen had driven like a banshee to the arena. She had to find Katie Winter. She now stormed down the corridors, opening doors and barging in on people. Bobby Parks came out of a dressing room, followed by a camera crew. It wasn’t Winter, but it was close enough. She promptly grabbed Parks’ arm and stopped him from moving down the hall. “Interview. Now.” She ordered, without another word. The camera crew soon turned on their cameras, Parks taking his place beside Gwen with his microphone. He regarded the camera as Gwen paced quietly sort of behind him, cracking her knuckles.
“I’m here with the N.E.W. National Champion: Gwenivere Jordan. I… I don’t really know what she has to say but--” He began to speak, but was cut off by Gwenivere snatching the microphone from him. “I don’t ask for much. No really, I don’t. But when I go to jail, get bailed out and get told by a friend of mine that you bitches are talkin’ behind my back? Well, that doesn’t make me very happy. Acrophobia… how many times in the ring is this now? Twenty? And how many times have you been beat? Nineteen? The record is against you, my friend. Back out while you still can.”
Gwenivere took a deep breath, tapping her fingers idly against the stem of the microphone, chewing on the inside of her right cheek softly. She gazed calmly into the camera, brow raised a bit. “Kidd Kidman? Who the hell are you, anyway? Man, you’d think after winning a Belt a few weeks into my N.E.W. wrestling career, I’d get some better opponents.” She smirked a bit as Parks and the crew chuckled to themselves, trying to cover it up as much as possible.
“And finally, The Vine. I hear you been saying that I need to get out of your world… or into it. Whatever. I don’t care at this point. Yes. I have my own little world, but it is a world that contains my belt, me, myself and I. I took this belt from you after you had a reign of what? Two weeks? Come Downfall, it’ll be my fortieth day as National Champion. Hell, I may loose it at Downfall, but not after I take you all down with me. I will move onto greater things... while you all remain in the National Championship divisions.”
Gwenivere breathed out a sigh of relief, smiling faintly. She felt a bit better, but would soon unleash the anger at Downfall. She turned on her heel and walked down the hallway, hands sinking into her back pockets. Her thumbs curled into the belt loops of her jeans as she wandered off to fine some bloody, red meat.
The time I spent in jail really allowed me to think. I had nothing to think about, save for my own issues. There was no outside influence or higher-ups to annoy me as I tried to concentrate on a task. My court date is coming up soon. I’ve already filed a countersuit. This is ridiculous. This bastard is going down.
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