Post by bia6160 on Jul 16, 2024 10:12:02 GMT -5
Summer is here and has turned the heat on high in Gulf Breeze, Florida. As such, both locals and tourists alike have flocked to the beaches in an attempt to get some sort of respite from the oppressive weather. Amongst those is one of a slew of signings to Florida Prestige Wrestling over the past fortnight. Which one you ask? A quick glance through the heaving mass of beachgoers would tell you straight away. If the fire engine red hair didn’t give it away, I don’t know what will.
Lazily splayed out on a beach towel, under the shade of an umbrella which was doing its damndest to keep the sun at bay lay Beatrice Blythe aka Bia. The West Australian native was no stranger to oppressive conditions such as this. In fact, it often got even worse where she was from. Which could explain why she was clad in a pair of distressed jean shorts and an AFL Fremantle Dockers guernsey instead of skimpy swimwear like most of the other ladies on the beach. Her eyes, hidden behind a pair of Rayban Wayfarers casually people watched as she nursed the bottle of Corona in her hand.
Bia: “Ya know…I kind of get it, right? Thirty seven degrees is pretty bloody hot. And then to top it off you have the humidity which you can literally swim through out here. You get in the shower and you’re sweatin’ again no sooner after dryin’ off. Matter fact, I’ve got me own Gulf of Mexico formin’ under me tits as we speak.”
Bia says to no one in particular as she reaches up, pressing the fabric of the guernsey up under her boobs in an attempt to do something about the rapidly collecting and thoroughly disgusting pool of sweat. It did little to ease the annoying condition.
Bia: “Could be worse though…try having weeks of forty plus days with eighty percent plus humidity. You want to go to the beach? Yeah, sure mate, load up the eskie with a slab of beer…grab a few mates and off ya get. Just be careful of the Great Whites…and the box jellyfish…and the blue ringed octopus, and stonefish, lionfish, bluebottles, urchins, stingrays, and about a half a dozen other things that can get ya. Yeah nah mate…I’ll sizzle out here thanks.”
She chuckles taking a swig of her beer, the copious condensation dripping off the bottle.
Bia: “Pretty crazy though…this whole independent booking thing. I’ve been bouncing around like a damned pinball lately. San Diego, here in Florida, then off to a warehouse in the midwest somewhere and then I don’t even fuckin’ know. Dunno how I’m gonna keep it all straight, should be flat out tryin’ tho.”
She says with a snort.
Bia: “Course, that’s then…and this is now. And now? Now it's all about Becky X. You know what? Ima just call her Bex. No sense in wasting any more time or energy than I need to eh? Too bloody hot for that shit. Seems like a bit of an odd duck, ol Bex. A pro wrestling rapper ex con if what I hear is correct? I mean, I can’t say I’ve ever been tossed in gaol…though there were a few late night escapades at the South Terrace Hungry Jacks where I came real close.”
Bia lets out a hearty laugh as she shakes her head.
Bia: “Man, that place was well and truly iconic for a 3am feed after a night on the piss lemme tell ya. So…we got the gaol thing. Then we got the rapper thing which was never my bag darl’. I’m a bit harder than that when it comes to music love. But the fightin’? Now there’s something your girl knows a thing or two about.”
Bia gives a wide, toothy grin as the prospect of a good scrap always tended to bring out of her. She polishes off her beer, sticking the empty bottle in the sand beside her and its emptied friends.
Bia: “There’s nothin’ like a good bash up Bex…I love the sensation. So if youse want to take this thing between us down into the gutter, by all means. You’ll find I don’t mind gettin’ meself dirty. Pubs, clubs, parking lots, footy fields…I’ve fought in’em all Bex. Men and women both, so don’t go thinkin’ I’m blowin’ smoke up me own arse or somethin’ yeah? For your own health and the future of your budding career? I’d kind of advise against it. Keep it to the ring.”
Bia pops open the small cooler next to her, and brings out another bottle which she twists open.
Bia: “I don’t harbor any ill will for ya love. It’s just business, see? I told the FPW faithful they were gettin’ a show ... .and I always keep to me word. So let’s go out there and tear the house down. Show me what you got. Show me that you actually take this seriously because there ain’t no fallback spot for me. Wrestling is it. It’s what I love, and I’m damn bloody good at it Bex. You’ll see first hand soon enough. Unless you decide to take this wrestling match and turn it into a fight in which case I’ll have to hurt ya, and I don’t want to do that. Think about it mate…”
Bia taps the bottle against her temple before taking another long swig. She sighs, leaning back and relaxing on her towel as she resumes her lazy people watching.
Lazily splayed out on a beach towel, under the shade of an umbrella which was doing its damndest to keep the sun at bay lay Beatrice Blythe aka Bia. The West Australian native was no stranger to oppressive conditions such as this. In fact, it often got even worse where she was from. Which could explain why she was clad in a pair of distressed jean shorts and an AFL Fremantle Dockers guernsey instead of skimpy swimwear like most of the other ladies on the beach. Her eyes, hidden behind a pair of Rayban Wayfarers casually people watched as she nursed the bottle of Corona in her hand.
Bia: “Ya know…I kind of get it, right? Thirty seven degrees is pretty bloody hot. And then to top it off you have the humidity which you can literally swim through out here. You get in the shower and you’re sweatin’ again no sooner after dryin’ off. Matter fact, I’ve got me own Gulf of Mexico formin’ under me tits as we speak.”
Bia says to no one in particular as she reaches up, pressing the fabric of the guernsey up under her boobs in an attempt to do something about the rapidly collecting and thoroughly disgusting pool of sweat. It did little to ease the annoying condition.
Bia: “Could be worse though…try having weeks of forty plus days with eighty percent plus humidity. You want to go to the beach? Yeah, sure mate, load up the eskie with a slab of beer…grab a few mates and off ya get. Just be careful of the Great Whites…and the box jellyfish…and the blue ringed octopus, and stonefish, lionfish, bluebottles, urchins, stingrays, and about a half a dozen other things that can get ya. Yeah nah mate…I’ll sizzle out here thanks.”
She chuckles taking a swig of her beer, the copious condensation dripping off the bottle.
Bia: “Pretty crazy though…this whole independent booking thing. I’ve been bouncing around like a damned pinball lately. San Diego, here in Florida, then off to a warehouse in the midwest somewhere and then I don’t even fuckin’ know. Dunno how I’m gonna keep it all straight, should be flat out tryin’ tho.”
She says with a snort.
Bia: “Course, that’s then…and this is now. And now? Now it's all about Becky X. You know what? Ima just call her Bex. No sense in wasting any more time or energy than I need to eh? Too bloody hot for that shit. Seems like a bit of an odd duck, ol Bex. A pro wrestling rapper ex con if what I hear is correct? I mean, I can’t say I’ve ever been tossed in gaol…though there were a few late night escapades at the South Terrace Hungry Jacks where I came real close.”
Bia lets out a hearty laugh as she shakes her head.
Bia: “Man, that place was well and truly iconic for a 3am feed after a night on the piss lemme tell ya. So…we got the gaol thing. Then we got the rapper thing which was never my bag darl’. I’m a bit harder than that when it comes to music love. But the fightin’? Now there’s something your girl knows a thing or two about.”
Bia gives a wide, toothy grin as the prospect of a good scrap always tended to bring out of her. She polishes off her beer, sticking the empty bottle in the sand beside her and its emptied friends.
Bia: “There’s nothin’ like a good bash up Bex…I love the sensation. So if youse want to take this thing between us down into the gutter, by all means. You’ll find I don’t mind gettin’ meself dirty. Pubs, clubs, parking lots, footy fields…I’ve fought in’em all Bex. Men and women both, so don’t go thinkin’ I’m blowin’ smoke up me own arse or somethin’ yeah? For your own health and the future of your budding career? I’d kind of advise against it. Keep it to the ring.”
Bia pops open the small cooler next to her, and brings out another bottle which she twists open.
Bia: “I don’t harbor any ill will for ya love. It’s just business, see? I told the FPW faithful they were gettin’ a show ... .and I always keep to me word. So let’s go out there and tear the house down. Show me what you got. Show me that you actually take this seriously because there ain’t no fallback spot for me. Wrestling is it. It’s what I love, and I’m damn bloody good at it Bex. You’ll see first hand soon enough. Unless you decide to take this wrestling match and turn it into a fight in which case I’ll have to hurt ya, and I don’t want to do that. Think about it mate…”
Bia taps the bottle against her temple before taking another long swig. She sighs, leaning back and relaxing on her towel as she resumes her lazy people watching.
