Post by TIA Promotions on Sept 10, 2023 15:34:46 GMT -5
CHERRY ON TOP
"Oh, how thoughtful of them," Cherry emotes, her eyes catching the gleam of the golden envelope with embossed letters on the front. She picks it up with manicured nails and cherry red tips. She digs a finger under the end of the flap and tears open the paper. A piece of alabaster card stock slides out. She flips the card over, pretending to blush, and reads it aloud as if it were addressed to her. She runs her fingers over the gold embossing, and holds back proud laughter.
~~~~~~~~
Welcome to Paradise
R A G N A R O K
~~~~~~~~
Cherry Cola lounges in her work/vacation bungalow, sipping on a blue wack-a-doo cocktail with a wedge of pineapple and a double shot of Tito’s. The rim is adorned with crystallized sugar and a little pink umbrella. A tropical breeze wafts in the open patio doors, smelling of ocean mists and opportunity, rustling the curtains, kissing the petals of the fresh cut flowers on the kitchen island. Cheryl Cole, more commonly known as the foul-mouthed trouble-seeking pro-wrestling succubus, admires the sounds of palm trees rustling from the cozy spot she’ll be squatting in for the next few months.
The impulsiveness that’s landing in jail, in half a dozen states, inevitably strikes. Glossy lips curl into a mischievous grin, and the mental gymnastics of justifying deplorable actions as a means to an end flood her memory in a moment of pride. She did what she had to do to get here. It was either this, or back to Onlyfans and Doordash.
She reads the letters on the invitation and amuses herself. “Rag-na-rok? What kind of name is that anyway? What were you thinking when you invited this guy, Saucey? Good thing you have ole Cherry Berry in your pocket to keep things interesting.” Nobody officially named her the bestie to the organizer of this mysterious event (which she can’t remember the name of), but she most definitely was. Dispute that at your own risk.
She sits upright on the musky loveseat and announces to her imaginary audience. “Dear… Ragnarok…” An acrid taste punches her tongue. She crosses out the name. “No… That won’t do… Dear… CHERRRRRY…. welcome to the Last Man Standing Compound! Okay, I… LOVE… that. I’ve always wanted to lord over a compound. Tell me more… We hope you enjoy your stay in our luxurious accommodations, surrounded by crystal-clear waters and swaying palm trees. If you’re wondering exactly where you are, rest assured that you are exactly where you should be. Your every desire is our command. Please explore our grounds and have an awesome time. With love and admiration, your host… ~Saucey." The loins froth.
Cherry bats her eyelashes, her own reflection winking back at her from a beach-themed mirror. "Oh, you, ARE too kind, Saucey," she cooes dramatically. "Of course, I deserve the best that the world can offer." With an exaggerated sigh, she flicks the card and relaxes her throat to finish her cocktail. “I hope they have a shit-ton of Tito’s in this bitch.”
~~~~~~~~
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting an orange glow across the sky, the starlight on the backside of Cherry’s phone flickers and a notification chimes. She smirks at the screen, a text from her mentor, part-time crush, and boss… the Sauce Boss.
Sauce Boss: Hey Cher. Have you arrived at your room yet?
Cherry Cola: Sure did, Boss Man. And I’m feeling myself already.
Sauce Boss: Great. Please stay sober until you meet the rest of the team. You know, first impressions and all.
Cherry Cola: Aye aye, Captain.
Sauce Boss: The rest of your group is slated to meet at the ARM BAR at 8pm. Try not to stab anyone right away.
Cherry Cola: No promises. Lol.
Cherry Cola: So, am I supposed to go as myself, or in-character as this Ragnarok dude?
Sauce Boss: Remind me again how you convinced him to take your place on the show.
Cherry Cola: To be honest, I slid into his DM’s, as Cher Bear is known to do. We got to know each other(No we did not smash). He told me how much of a fan of my work he is. We played some Animal Crossing together and traded some nudes and I smoked some Incredible Hulk and then he started telling me how sad he was that we weren’t going to be able to meet in person because the World Series of Wrestling was canceled. He was really torn up about it. So, honestly, I met that fuckboy in Carlsbad (and then we did smash) and then I kind of ghosted the dude. But then, out of the blue, Ragnacock comes riding in like my white knight, says he’s having some kind of family emergency and offers me his spot in an underground show set to replace the World Series. I can’t believe you hid that from me.
Sauce Boss: Sorry, Cherry. I wanted to tell you, but we kept it hush hush for a reason.
Cherry Cola: So, naturally, I accepted Raggie’s ticket, hopped in the Kayfabe Airlines Soul Plane, and ended up right here in Flavortown.
Sauce Boss: You like it so far?
Cherry Cola: Everything is perfect. Except, you left his name on the welcome card. A girl wants to see her name in gold. Boo on you…
Sauce Boss: Ah, crap. They were supposed to change that before you got there.
Cherry Cola: No worries, just have the staff drop off a bottle of Tito’s for Mama and all is forgiven.
Sauce Boss: I’ll see what I can do. Just behave yourself while you’re here. Yeh?
Cherry Cola stifled a laugh as she types out her reply, relishing her little charade, and aroused by her lies. She finishes her second drink (both of which were ordered at the same time), and with a satisfying release, clinks the ice in the bottom of the glass.
Cherry Cola: No can do, El Jefe. I’m about to raw-dog this beach party twice as hard as Raggie Rock could ever do it.
Sauce Boss: You're something else, Cherry.
Cherry Cola: That's why you love me. ♥‿♥
~~~~~~~~
The night wears on. Cherry has a shave, a shower, and a social media-scrolling dump session, before fading in her smokey eyeshadow, and squeezing the girls into a pushup bra. She sings the wrong words to the worst Cardi B song while taking high angle selfies of her butt in front of the mirror. It’s a no underwear kind of night. Eventually, her energy wanes, and she plops back down onto the couch, with a contented sigh, and still an hour left before the team meeting.
Just then, her phone buzzes again, a message from an unknown number.
Unknown Number: Hey, Cherry, it's Ragnarok! The Kayfabe Airlines vehicle just arrived. I can't wait to meet you at the compound. Can you provide the coordinates so I can give them to my driver?
Cherry's eyes widened as she read the message. “Oh shit balls!” Her heart races as a bead of sweat forms on her forehead. She'd been caught red-handed, impersonating a person who’s much more deserving of being in her position. She’s paralyzed.
She considers her options.
Option #1 - Ghost Mode - Do not answer the text. Turn your phone off. Remove the sim card. Unplug. Go radio silent. And when you’re caught by the persistent party, deny deny deny.
Option #2 - Tell the truth - Fess up to your suitor that you only used him to get invited to this secret event because you were jealous and broke and are secretly planning to wreck the home of a millionaire by seducing him and faking a pregnancy. Then spend the next few months in this bungalow giving sad handjobs to an elite and highly dangerous wrestler with an undiagnosed antisocial personality disorder.
Option #3 - Continue the lie.
Cherry Cola: Oh, hey BB! Can't wait to meet you too!
Unknown Number: Awesome! See you in a bit. Going to need those coordinates though.
Cherry decides to send the wrong coordinates, unaware of what false coordinates will do when plugged into a time/space machine like the Kayfabe Airlines vehicles.
Cherry Cola: 01311981.09081981
Unknown Number: Dope. See you in a bit.
“Not in your life, dipshit.”
As it turns out, Ragnarok is actually a decent guy with a bad reputation for being rough around the edges. But, If you grew up in urban Baltimore, after the drugs, and the gangs, and the riots, and the looting, could anyone blame you for being less than perfect? Turns out that poor leadership and bad politics are a poor recipe for raising honest contributing members of society, but Ragnarok is making progress. This competition could be the thing to help him turn the corner. In recent months, Ragnarok had made something out of himself. And the World Series of Wrestling/The Last Man Standing Competition was a real chance for him to prove to his detractors that he deserves to have his name mentioned as one of the elite in the game. Unfortunately, for Ragnarok, Cherry Cola is a hardened criminal and a serial liar who will use any tool at her disposal to survive. Should Ragnarok actually show up at the compound, the Cherry Bombshell is sure to find herself in a pickle. But who knows? Maybe she’ll get lucky and the coordinates she gave him, which happen to be the birthdays of her spirit animals, Justin Timberlake and Johnathan Taylor Thomas, will spit him out into a parallel dimension of fresh hell from which he may never return. Win some, lose some.
Cherry stares at the screen, a mix of panic and embarrassment washes over her. She had no choice. She did the right thing. Didn’t she? Fuck it. She’s getting intoxicated until she doesn’t care anymore.
She grabs her key card, stash, and purse and heel clops her way out the front door muttering to herself with a cigarette dangling from her lips.
“I guarantee, after I'm done pouring tequila shots into the stupid faces of these pussies, I WILL be the last (wo)man left standing.”