Post by SGAkrista on Feb 5, 2013 9:42:50 GMT -5
It's early morning in Wilkes-Barre, cloudy and freezing. Outside the N.A.W headquarters, the A.M. maintenance crew is just starting their shift. One of the "veterans" is cleaning trash from the parking lot, when he hears the distinct rumble of a big-block engine in the distance and glances up from his duties to see what's happening. Cresting over a hill and grabbing some air is an old-school muscle car, but it's not one the man recognizes. Landing with a thud on the pavement, the car comes flying into the parking lot and across several spaces, before finally coming to a stop on a line. A beautiful machine, if the man had to judge. Pearlescent black and red paint job, with a subtle castle design on the back quarter panel. As the car idles, the man walks around the car, admiring the details. The engine is killed, and out steps a young woman with black, blue, and green hair, wearing urban camo pants, a "Rancid" shirt, and a gray trenchcoat. Looking at her parking job, the young woman shakes her head and grins briefly, grabbing a small gym bag from the back seat.
Woman: Damn...about half a foot off. This ice is a pain. Hey guy. How are you? This the N.A.W. headquarters?
Maintenance Guy: That it is, Miss. Nice car, but I gotta be honest, I don't recognize it. Thought I knew my muscle cars.
Woman: I'd be surprised if you did recognize it, most people don't, even gear heads. 1970 Oldsmobile 442, with the W-30 package. Indy 500 pace car that year. Anyways, I'm Akrista, nice to meet ya. Is the boss in?
Maintenance: Jack, the pleasure is mine. By boss, I assume you mean Mr. Morgan? He might be in, but he tends to start his day a little later than this. Hey, if you're gonna talk to him, maybe you can get us working stiffs a raise? I can barely afford a pack of smokes. Ha!
Jack barks out a harsh laugh that belies his complaint, and Akrista just smiles. Tugging off her fingerless gloves, she reaches in her coat pocket, pulls out a pack of Red Apple unfiltered cigarettes and tosses it to the man, who snatches them out of the air and nods in thanks. Akrista chuckles, and makes her way into the headquarters building. Once inside, she wanders around the fairly small space, getting a feel for the layout. Modest locker rooms for the talent during home shows, basic editing room, and a "main stage" which would look at home at a high school or mid-sized college , it's all pretty standard for the smaller independent promotions the young woman has been working recently. Finally she finds Mr. Alex Morgan's office, takes a breath, and knocks loudly. After a minute without an answer, Akrista tries the handle and finds the door, unsurprisingly, locked. She takes a quick glance down the corridors, and pulls a small toolkit from out of her pants pocket. Kneeling down, she fiddles with the door knob for a bit, before finally...
*snick*
The tumblers fall into place, and the boss' office door opens. With a soft chuckle, Akrista quickly steps inside, closing the door quietly behind her, and goes to Mr. Morgan's desk, where she finds a standard contract. Filling it out and signing it, she leaves it front and center, with a note at the bottom:
I know these smaller promotions aren't rolling in dough, but even a small raise for your staff would go a long way to keeping them happy. Just an idea from your new wrestler.
Having finished that, Akrista leaves the office locking up behind her, and heads to the locker room area. Finding an unclaimed locker room, she goes in and looks around, sighing.
Akrista: More like a closet...but it'll have to do for now. Let's see here...
Muttering to herself, the young woman begins to unpack, taking out some clothes, a small deflated speed-bag, a bottle of Jameson's, a framed picture of, presumably, herself and her father, a small CD player with desktop speakers, and a cordless Makita with a box of screws. Turning the music on, "Golden Brown" by the Stranglers fills the small space as Akrista begins to set up the bag. After a few minutes, a loud knock on her door causes the young woman to pause, before yelling...
Akrista: The hell do you want?! Whoever it is, can't you hear I'm busy?!
To Be Continued by anyone
Woman: Damn...about half a foot off. This ice is a pain. Hey guy. How are you? This the N.A.W. headquarters?
Maintenance Guy: That it is, Miss. Nice car, but I gotta be honest, I don't recognize it. Thought I knew my muscle cars.
Woman: I'd be surprised if you did recognize it, most people don't, even gear heads. 1970 Oldsmobile 442, with the W-30 package. Indy 500 pace car that year. Anyways, I'm Akrista, nice to meet ya. Is the boss in?
Maintenance: Jack, the pleasure is mine. By boss, I assume you mean Mr. Morgan? He might be in, but he tends to start his day a little later than this. Hey, if you're gonna talk to him, maybe you can get us working stiffs a raise? I can barely afford a pack of smokes. Ha!
Jack barks out a harsh laugh that belies his complaint, and Akrista just smiles. Tugging off her fingerless gloves, she reaches in her coat pocket, pulls out a pack of Red Apple unfiltered cigarettes and tosses it to the man, who snatches them out of the air and nods in thanks. Akrista chuckles, and makes her way into the headquarters building. Once inside, she wanders around the fairly small space, getting a feel for the layout. Modest locker rooms for the talent during home shows, basic editing room, and a "main stage" which would look at home at a high school or mid-sized college , it's all pretty standard for the smaller independent promotions the young woman has been working recently. Finally she finds Mr. Alex Morgan's office, takes a breath, and knocks loudly. After a minute without an answer, Akrista tries the handle and finds the door, unsurprisingly, locked. She takes a quick glance down the corridors, and pulls a small toolkit from out of her pants pocket. Kneeling down, she fiddles with the door knob for a bit, before finally...
*snick*
The tumblers fall into place, and the boss' office door opens. With a soft chuckle, Akrista quickly steps inside, closing the door quietly behind her, and goes to Mr. Morgan's desk, where she finds a standard contract. Filling it out and signing it, she leaves it front and center, with a note at the bottom:
I know these smaller promotions aren't rolling in dough, but even a small raise for your staff would go a long way to keeping them happy. Just an idea from your new wrestler.
Having finished that, Akrista leaves the office locking up behind her, and heads to the locker room area. Finding an unclaimed locker room, she goes in and looks around, sighing.
Akrista: More like a closet...but it'll have to do for now. Let's see here...
Muttering to herself, the young woman begins to unpack, taking out some clothes, a small deflated speed-bag, a bottle of Jameson's, a framed picture of, presumably, herself and her father, a small CD player with desktop speakers, and a cordless Makita with a box of screws. Turning the music on, "Golden Brown" by the Stranglers fills the small space as Akrista begins to set up the bag. After a few minutes, a loud knock on her door causes the young woman to pause, before yelling...
Akrista: The hell do you want?! Whoever it is, can't you hear I'm busy?!
To Be Continued by anyone