| Welcome to The Pitt. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| The Art of War; UVR vs JJ Brine | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 16 2015, 11:50 AM (76 Views) | |
| Post #1 Dec 16 2015, 11:50 AM | Deleted User |
|
CAMERA OFF -- Autumn 1996 – White Sands NM – WS Middle School -- It's a cool autumn day in the year 1996 where a thirteen year old Ursula Von Rossbach was seated at the White Sands Middle School break area. She looked far different from the woman she would later become; she was very thick bodied with some mild acne on our rounded face, braces on her teeth, and sported short dark ash blond hair. She wore a black dress shirt, black pants, and heavy work boots, clearly taking up the role of a semi-gothic social outcast. To complete her look, she was reading one of her newest books, the 1981 adaptation of “The Art of War” by Sun Tzu A boy with dark, punk spiked hair, wearing an acid wash denim jacket, corded cargo pants, heavy boots, a flannel shirt, and fingerless gloves walked up and sat down across from her. The boy snatched the book from her, immediately gaining Ursula's ire. Unlike the modern era, however, she sat back fuming at the boy. “Give me back my book, Johnny!” she demanded sternly, her youth showing in her higher vocal pitch. Johnny started flipping through a few pages, ignoring her. “Oooh, what's Fat slut got today?” he queried to himself. “Sun Tzu's 'Art of War',” she replied, only to quickly add, “If you knew how to read, you'd have figured that out.” “Oh that fat fucking smart mouth,” he snickered and then held the book up. “What if I were to set it on fire right now?” he pulled a Bic lighter from his pocket and flicked the flame, holding it just under the bottom corner of the book. “Please don't!” the younger, less assertive Ursula pleaded. Johnny thought about it for a moment and put the lighter away and replied, “Ok only because you said please.” She hated Johnny so much. It was all a power play to him, but she couldn't fight him. He was a blue belt in Karate and regularly beat people up in the school for fun. Ursula figured his teacher must have been the type that Sensei Stone from Karate Kid was patterned after. He bullied her constantly. She figured it was likely because he was so much shorter than her that he felt threatened by her unusually tall build. It was hard being five feet and eleven inches tall at thirteen years of age. “Would you suck my dick to get this back?” he asked, holding the book up with a wave. A couple other kids had gathered around the two. She just wanted to be left alone and this asshole always seemed to ruin her solitude whenever he could. Ursula wanted to punch him so badly, but didn't want to get into trouble. Her lip quivered slightly with anger. “No, just give it back Johnny,” Ursula very softly requested. “It's mine now, until you do what the fuck I tell you, Ursula Von Fatback!” Johnny called her by his favorite little insult. It always got a rise out of her when someone picked at her weight. The other kids around decided to do what they always did, gang up on the unpopular kid. “Fatback! Fatback! Fatback!,” they chanted in unison. She fought hard to keep her hormone fueled emotions in check. “Come on Fatback, it'd be just like a really big tootsie roll,” Johnny stated, his hand underneath the table. She didn't even think about the consequences of her words as she snapped back at him, “You mean more like one of these.” From her pocket, she produced a normal tootsie roll, which was barely an inch long. Johnny's eyes narrowed with anger and rage as pulled a switchblade from his pocket. Ursula's own widened as he then started to slash into the book repeatedly with the knife and tore out several precious pages from it. “JOHNNY NO!!!” Ursula cried out in anguish as her book, a precious gift from her grandfather, was mutilated right in front of her. The kids around started to laugh and point. She fucking hated them, each and every one of them right at this very moment. Her second thoughtless moment came in an uncharacteristic (for the time) explosion of rage. His Karate didn't matter, he didn't matter. She flung herself across the table, tackling him out of his seat. The knife and ruined book went flying from his hand as she bore her full weight down on his chest and proceeded to strangle him while smashing his head on the concrete over and over! “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! JOHNNY!! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!! RRRRAAAAAHHHH!!!,” she screamed at the top of her lungs as tears rained from her eyes. The kids chanted once more, “FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!!!” It was at that moment that a teacher finally showed up, breaking the two apart. Johnny would curl up with blood flowing from a fresh split in the back of his head. Ursula's only break was that Johnny was a known trouble maker. Otherwise when it came to trouble of any kind in school, the other kids usually practiced the teenage version of Omerta. When the teacher asked, nobody would say anything. A trip to the principle's office would land her in detention with him being suspended from school. The sad thing was, Johnny had no parental supervision. He did whatever he wanted, when he wanted. To make matters worse, Ursula lived close enough to be able to walk home from school everyday. Everyday, Johnny would ambush her on the way home and the two would fight. Ursula would come home bruised, battered, and in tears. Her mother and father would ask what happened and of course, she told them. It was that year that Ursula's father bought her a weight lifting set and began teaching her basic Army self defense training. --- CAMERA ON – Present Day – Ursula's Home – White Sands, NM --- We find Ursula with her back to the camera in most unusual surroundings. She stands before a table, surrounded by shelves of books in a modest den. A fireplace plays centerpiece, giving the room it's warm ambient glow. She's dressed in black pants, boots, and a buttoned vest, her muscular arms bare. Her blond hair hangs loose and free about her shoulders. On the near barren desk beside her resides an old, worn, and severely damaged book that appears to have been slashed and the pieces taped back together. The title reads “The Art of War” by Sun Tzu. Her fingers trail upon the damaged cover as she looks down upon it. UVR: There is more to me than mere muscle and the pain and devastation I can inflict on the bodies of others. People look at me and see an intimidating, powerful woman whose only purpose in life must be that of the destruction of others. The camera follows Ursula as she steps around the desk, her fingers trailing on works by Shakespear, Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Louis Stevenson, Jules Verne, Joseph Bell, and many other classic literary figures. You assume that I speak eloquently in an effort to mask an inability to comprehend, that I am merely a well spoken brute of a woman. Granted, I've done very little to dissuade this view as your underestimation of my intelligence often plays into my hand. As she rounds the desk, Ursula turns to face the camera, both hands behind her back. Ms. Brine you insulted both my intelligence and my pride, which lead up to our previous encounter. This time, the date has been made under more professional circumstances as a booked match. When we last met, you won because of interference and took full advantage of this. She tilts her head forward a bit. Subsequent events have made me realize that, to an extent, you practice the Art of War. You appear weak when you are strongest and strong when you are weakest, one of the many tenants of Sun Tzu. You also won your freedom without a true conflict, dodging and weaving through while others did the onslaught for you. A small, unnerving smile crosses Ursula's face. The same could be said in the case of your battle with me. By technicality, you won the match. In truth, you utilized an outside element to escape the real battle, though not unscathed. I can almost admire the tactical efficiency at work here, Ms. Brine. Almost. You are weakest in direct confrontation and it was proven when you were forced to stand your ground against Valkyrie Lange and the recognized and now former Pitt Champion. Ursula leans her rear upon the edge of the desk, her legs crossed as are her arms. If you play to your strengths, you stand a chance. Tackling me head on, will be a fatal error on your part. As the Art of War states, however; “All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.” We will see who has a greater grasp on the Art of War and for once, I will pay you the courtesy of being a respectable foe. ….Do not disappoint me... With that, Ursula shoves off of the desk and steps out of sight. The camera pans in on the worn and heavily taped book on the desk. |
Deleted User
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Archives · Next Topic » |






1:24 AM Jul 11