Post by Kris on Jul 20, 2009 0:14:20 GMT -5
Name: Nymira D'Aubergine.
Nickname: Flare.
Gender: Female.
Age: 26 (11/07/1980).
Height: 5'10".
Weight: 172 lbs.
Alignment (Heel/Tweener/Face): Face.
Home Town: Gatineau, Quebec.
Gimmick: A storm of insanity, sex, and good intentions with brief periods of sanity.
Entrance Music: Buckcherry - 'Crazy Bitch'.
Entrance Description: 'Crazy Bitch' hits the speakers and the fans all hit their feet, cheering for the blond that comes bouncing out from behind the curtain amidst orange and yellow flashing lights. Arms raised high above her head, Nymira jumps up and down as she waves energetically at the crowd before heading down the rampway, eagerly slapping any hands that are reached out to her. Only making her way to the ring after a production assistant gently guides her to the squared circle, she ascends the steps and gets into the ring in relatively short order, doing all sorts of either provocative or just plain silly-looking stretches as she readies herself for her match.
Poser: Anastacia.
Ring Attire: Shiny black wrestling boots are worn beneath a pair of painted-on-tight black leather boot-cut pants with crosses studded in silver upon each of her butt-cheeks. Her top is a cropped halter of the same material, criss-crossed leather straps covering the tops of her breasts in a manner that would suggest a fondness for bondage.
Fighting Style: As grab-bag as you can get. She's such an unpredictable competitor, in fact, that any moveset I could come up with would be inaccurate. The only things that are set in stone? Her signatures and finishers, which are...
Signature Move(s): Hard Ride (Bronco Buster)
Rejection (Jumping Calf kick)
Pussybuster(Inverted Atomic Drop)
Finishing Move(s): Lucky Bitch (Fameasser)
Bukkake (Bakatare Sliding Kick)
Deep Throat (Mandible Claw)
Short Bio: The youngest of six girls, Nymira (Nym, for short) was brought up in a household that would make the Jerry Springer show look tame. Between her father's constant drinking and womanizing and her mother usually beating the shit out of the D'Aubergine patriarch for being a philandering pig, a day of peace was rare for the blond and her sisters. Not surprisingly, the rocky marriage between her parents came to an end when her mother walked in on her father one time too many. Uprooting her children whenever Nym was twelve, America was her mother's solution to her ex-husband's behavior - Pittsburgh, to be precise.
It was in seventh grade that she found herself sharing a locker with a dark-haired girl that was already too serious for her own good, be it when it came to academics or sports. Somehow, the bubbly (but still somewhat sane) Nymira became close friends with this alphabetically-convenient young lady; those that are familiar with the wrestling world know this friend as 'The Scourge', Allison Detorre.
Briefly taking the vacant position that Allison left behind after the death of Ol' Man Detorre, Flare was too… unpredictable to keep it for long. While her predecessor had been the picture of precise control one would equate with a sniper rifle, Nym herself had all of the accuracy of a shotgun blast - and about the same amount of collateral damage to boot. Upon finding herself unceremoniously dumped on her ass, the blond did as she always had - keeping in contact with her best friend, she did whatever struck her fancy. That modus operandi carries through to current day. Fun? Adventure? Sex? Chaos? Destruction? Sure - so long as it keeps her entertained.
Previous Feds: VWA, PSW.
Previous Titles: N/A.
Sample RP: "Nym?"
"Yeah?"
"Hi, it's Jordan. I was wondering if maybe… you'd like to go out for dinner?"
----------------------------------------------------------------
Lights, camera, action~! The scene opens with Allison's close friend sitting on the edge of the bed in a standard hotel room. Leppard would probably faint upon seeing our favorite crazy Quebecois; holding true to her philosophy of leather or nothing, the only thing that Nym is wearing is a pair of black leather thigh-high boots. Legs crossed just so and blond hair moved in front of her breasts to keep her from being fined for indecent exposure, the woman known as Flare regards the camera with a slightly confused expression.
"I don't get it! I didn't move my hands fast at all, I didn't make like I was gonna hit her, none of that… and Dog wants to bite me!"
Maybe you shouldn't be comparing her to a canine? The narrator's voice earns a quirked eyebrow.
"But I don't want to associate her with New Jersey! I still have nightmares about what happened there…"
The blond hugs herself; the narrator? Isn't impressed. All that happened was you getting ketchup on your-- Nymira covers her ears much like a four-year old would.
"Lalalalalalala - I can't hear you~!"
One could swear that they just might be able to hear a sigh as the narrator gives up on the matter. After a moment or two more of Nym's childlike (yet effective) means of silencing that voice, the blond returns to the matter at hand. It seems that Jerse - err, Dog has made the mistake of assuming that Allison and Nymira were friends because they were similar when it was the reverse that was true.
"Yeah, I'm friends with Maire, but we wouldn't get along if we were the same. Hello~! It's called opposites attracting. You know, like handcuffs to a magnet. Anyway, I'm not trying to be like anyone but me... and how could I ever try to be like her? Being that serious hurts my head."
Good Lord, does it ever! I thought she'd never shut up about how bad of a migraine she ha-- Nym seemingly glares at nothing for a moment before returning to a more cheerful expression.
"You didn't seem bored to me when I met you! If you were bored, you would've yawned and looked off into the distance… instead, you blasted me in the face with what smelled like cheap Mexican food and got all red and blotchy in the face. It could be that you come from a faaaar away planet where that is how one expresses boredom, but I doubt it. You don't have enough nifty alien gadgets for that."
Well, unless that kitten was really a spaceship that expanded into humongous proportions like in that cartoon she saw once--nah, can't be. Tigerlily wasn't eating a carrot. And then we get to the portion of her opponent's shoot where Maire would've laughed her ass off. Flare? Dominate? She wears leather all the time for a reason.
"I'd truly dominate you, but then Tinsley'd get mad. And I don't feel like having to dodge shotgun blasts. ANYWAY! All biting Dogs have to be punished, so that's what I'm going to do to you. But you don't need to worry about me injuring you permanently… PETA would chase after me with buckets of red paint if I did!"
Considering the blond's rather obvious fondness of leather, it's surprising that she isn't already getting harassed by that particular animal rights group. The camera zooms in to a tight shot of Nymira's face, the background moving behind her to indicate that she's standing up and moving around her hotel room. The sound of a suitcase being opened can be heard.
"After I'm done bopping you on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper, we'll have to go to the vet… and then the groomer! Yeah! Maybe we'll even get them to put one of those cute little bows in your hair after they've given you a bath…"
The scene fades to black as the camera pulls back; the blond is wriggling her way into something. All the more that can be seen is that whatever she's wearing is tight… and is a brilliant red in color.
----------------------------------------------------------------
"--and then, as Fagula was begging for mercy, I kicked him as hard as I could! And then I did it again, then again, and then again..."
The scene opens in an upscale restaurant; more specifically, on the corner table for two that the announcer and the crazy blond occupied. We've clearly caught them mid-conversation; judging by the plates in front of them, they're rounding the corner between entree and dessert. Most would look tacky dressed in nothing but tight red leather; it was all in how Nym carried herself that enabled her to pull it off. Then again, the outrageous curves that she possess do most of the work for her, preventing the mini-dress from wearing her. It's no surprise that Jordan looks almost shabby in comparison, even though he's done everything he can to dress to the nines - it's just hard to compete with a beautiful woman in a red dress. But while he's losing the battle of appearance, it looks like he's winning the war; just look at how Nym is leaned forward in her seat, absolutely enraptured.
"And then I grabbed a handful of that greasy hair of his and I made him look up at me before I slapped him across the face for even thinking of coming near my girl."
"Aww… you're so sweet, Jordan."
If someone thought that the cocky grin that Leppard had on his face was incapable of being any larger before, then they'd be shocked at just how much wider it gets. Acting nonchalant, he casually slings an arm around the blond's shoulders.
"Don't thank me, babe. I can't help that I'm dangerous - both in and out of the ring, if you know what I mean."
"Oh really..?"
His grin grows wider.
"Mmhmm…. the girls in back all call me Hoover, 'cause when they see me with my pants down, all they can say is DAMN!"
"Even Maire? Wow! Well, if that’s the case… "
Acting upon one of the few shreds of propriety that the Quebecois possessed, Nymira leans over and cups her hand around his ear before whispering her response to that challenge into it. Whatever it is she's murmuring is enough to make Leppard's eyes go wide; it's no surprise that he responds as he does, his left hand raising in an attempt to get the waiter's attention.
"Check please!"
Leaving a sizable tip behind, the pair makes their way out to the car; since it's rented in her name, she's the one that gets behind the wheel. After driving around and conversing for a little while, Flare guides the rental car into the parking lot of a deserted warehouse. While the surroundings may not be the most romantic, they're certainly secluded enough for what - or, rather, who - she plans to do next. Reaching over Leppard's lap, the blond pulls the lever which forces his seat back all the way. Once that's done, she unbuckles both safety belts and crawls over to straddle his lap.
"Ahh... tes mots sont grandes; es-tu?"
Even if one doesn't speak French, the blond's meaning is clear; 'Your words are big; are you?' By now, the lucky bastard pinned beneath her has gone stiff, both because of nervousness and out of desire. That duo of emotions war as he stammers incoherently - ultimately, it's Jordan's nerves that win out. When he speaks, his voice is shaking with the uncertain fright only one new to the horizontal mambo can possess.
"I-I've never done this before. Nym, I'm a vir--"
Jordan's panicked words are cut off by a single tanned finger pressing itself to his lips. There's no vocal answer from the blond; instead, she shifts her position in a way that makes his eyes roll up towards the back of his head before leaning in, her hand moving out of the way for her mouth to press itself against his...
Nickname: Flare.
Gender: Female.
Age: 26 (11/07/1980).
Height: 5'10".
Weight: 172 lbs.
Alignment (Heel/Tweener/Face): Face.
Home Town: Gatineau, Quebec.
Gimmick: A storm of insanity, sex, and good intentions with brief periods of sanity.
Entrance Music: Buckcherry - 'Crazy Bitch'.
Entrance Description: 'Crazy Bitch' hits the speakers and the fans all hit their feet, cheering for the blond that comes bouncing out from behind the curtain amidst orange and yellow flashing lights. Arms raised high above her head, Nymira jumps up and down as she waves energetically at the crowd before heading down the rampway, eagerly slapping any hands that are reached out to her. Only making her way to the ring after a production assistant gently guides her to the squared circle, she ascends the steps and gets into the ring in relatively short order, doing all sorts of either provocative or just plain silly-looking stretches as she readies herself for her match.
Poser: Anastacia.
Ring Attire: Shiny black wrestling boots are worn beneath a pair of painted-on-tight black leather boot-cut pants with crosses studded in silver upon each of her butt-cheeks. Her top is a cropped halter of the same material, criss-crossed leather straps covering the tops of her breasts in a manner that would suggest a fondness for bondage.
Fighting Style: As grab-bag as you can get. She's such an unpredictable competitor, in fact, that any moveset I could come up with would be inaccurate. The only things that are set in stone? Her signatures and finishers, which are...
Signature Move(s): Hard Ride (Bronco Buster)
Rejection (Jumping Calf kick)
Pussybuster(Inverted Atomic Drop)
Finishing Move(s): Lucky Bitch (Fameasser)
Bukkake (Bakatare Sliding Kick)
Deep Throat (Mandible Claw)
Short Bio: The youngest of six girls, Nymira (Nym, for short) was brought up in a household that would make the Jerry Springer show look tame. Between her father's constant drinking and womanizing and her mother usually beating the shit out of the D'Aubergine patriarch for being a philandering pig, a day of peace was rare for the blond and her sisters. Not surprisingly, the rocky marriage between her parents came to an end when her mother walked in on her father one time too many. Uprooting her children whenever Nym was twelve, America was her mother's solution to her ex-husband's behavior - Pittsburgh, to be precise.
It was in seventh grade that she found herself sharing a locker with a dark-haired girl that was already too serious for her own good, be it when it came to academics or sports. Somehow, the bubbly (but still somewhat sane) Nymira became close friends with this alphabetically-convenient young lady; those that are familiar with the wrestling world know this friend as 'The Scourge', Allison Detorre.
Briefly taking the vacant position that Allison left behind after the death of Ol' Man Detorre, Flare was too… unpredictable to keep it for long. While her predecessor had been the picture of precise control one would equate with a sniper rifle, Nym herself had all of the accuracy of a shotgun blast - and about the same amount of collateral damage to boot. Upon finding herself unceremoniously dumped on her ass, the blond did as she always had - keeping in contact with her best friend, she did whatever struck her fancy. That modus operandi carries through to current day. Fun? Adventure? Sex? Chaos? Destruction? Sure - so long as it keeps her entertained.
Previous Feds: VWA, PSW.
Previous Titles: N/A.
Sample RP: "Nym?"
"Yeah?"
"Hi, it's Jordan. I was wondering if maybe… you'd like to go out for dinner?"
----------------------------------------------------------------
Lights, camera, action~! The scene opens with Allison's close friend sitting on the edge of the bed in a standard hotel room. Leppard would probably faint upon seeing our favorite crazy Quebecois; holding true to her philosophy of leather or nothing, the only thing that Nym is wearing is a pair of black leather thigh-high boots. Legs crossed just so and blond hair moved in front of her breasts to keep her from being fined for indecent exposure, the woman known as Flare regards the camera with a slightly confused expression.
"I don't get it! I didn't move my hands fast at all, I didn't make like I was gonna hit her, none of that… and Dog wants to bite me!"
Maybe you shouldn't be comparing her to a canine? The narrator's voice earns a quirked eyebrow.
"But I don't want to associate her with New Jersey! I still have nightmares about what happened there…"
The blond hugs herself; the narrator? Isn't impressed. All that happened was you getting ketchup on your-- Nymira covers her ears much like a four-year old would.
"Lalalalalalala - I can't hear you~!"
One could swear that they just might be able to hear a sigh as the narrator gives up on the matter. After a moment or two more of Nym's childlike (yet effective) means of silencing that voice, the blond returns to the matter at hand. It seems that Jerse - err, Dog has made the mistake of assuming that Allison and Nymira were friends because they were similar when it was the reverse that was true.
"Yeah, I'm friends with Maire, but we wouldn't get along if we were the same. Hello~! It's called opposites attracting. You know, like handcuffs to a magnet. Anyway, I'm not trying to be like anyone but me... and how could I ever try to be like her? Being that serious hurts my head."
Good Lord, does it ever! I thought she'd never shut up about how bad of a migraine she ha-- Nym seemingly glares at nothing for a moment before returning to a more cheerful expression.
"You didn't seem bored to me when I met you! If you were bored, you would've yawned and looked off into the distance… instead, you blasted me in the face with what smelled like cheap Mexican food and got all red and blotchy in the face. It could be that you come from a faaaar away planet where that is how one expresses boredom, but I doubt it. You don't have enough nifty alien gadgets for that."
Well, unless that kitten was really a spaceship that expanded into humongous proportions like in that cartoon she saw once--nah, can't be. Tigerlily wasn't eating a carrot. And then we get to the portion of her opponent's shoot where Maire would've laughed her ass off. Flare? Dominate? She wears leather all the time for a reason.
"I'd truly dominate you, but then Tinsley'd get mad. And I don't feel like having to dodge shotgun blasts. ANYWAY! All biting Dogs have to be punished, so that's what I'm going to do to you. But you don't need to worry about me injuring you permanently… PETA would chase after me with buckets of red paint if I did!"
Considering the blond's rather obvious fondness of leather, it's surprising that she isn't already getting harassed by that particular animal rights group. The camera zooms in to a tight shot of Nymira's face, the background moving behind her to indicate that she's standing up and moving around her hotel room. The sound of a suitcase being opened can be heard.
"After I'm done bopping you on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper, we'll have to go to the vet… and then the groomer! Yeah! Maybe we'll even get them to put one of those cute little bows in your hair after they've given you a bath…"
The scene fades to black as the camera pulls back; the blond is wriggling her way into something. All the more that can be seen is that whatever she's wearing is tight… and is a brilliant red in color.
----------------------------------------------------------------
"--and then, as Fagula was begging for mercy, I kicked him as hard as I could! And then I did it again, then again, and then again..."
The scene opens in an upscale restaurant; more specifically, on the corner table for two that the announcer and the crazy blond occupied. We've clearly caught them mid-conversation; judging by the plates in front of them, they're rounding the corner between entree and dessert. Most would look tacky dressed in nothing but tight red leather; it was all in how Nym carried herself that enabled her to pull it off. Then again, the outrageous curves that she possess do most of the work for her, preventing the mini-dress from wearing her. It's no surprise that Jordan looks almost shabby in comparison, even though he's done everything he can to dress to the nines - it's just hard to compete with a beautiful woman in a red dress. But while he's losing the battle of appearance, it looks like he's winning the war; just look at how Nym is leaned forward in her seat, absolutely enraptured.
"And then I grabbed a handful of that greasy hair of his and I made him look up at me before I slapped him across the face for even thinking of coming near my girl."
"Aww… you're so sweet, Jordan."
If someone thought that the cocky grin that Leppard had on his face was incapable of being any larger before, then they'd be shocked at just how much wider it gets. Acting nonchalant, he casually slings an arm around the blond's shoulders.
"Don't thank me, babe. I can't help that I'm dangerous - both in and out of the ring, if you know what I mean."
"Oh really..?"
His grin grows wider.
"Mmhmm…. the girls in back all call me Hoover, 'cause when they see me with my pants down, all they can say is DAMN!"
"Even Maire? Wow! Well, if that’s the case… "
Acting upon one of the few shreds of propriety that the Quebecois possessed, Nymira leans over and cups her hand around his ear before whispering her response to that challenge into it. Whatever it is she's murmuring is enough to make Leppard's eyes go wide; it's no surprise that he responds as he does, his left hand raising in an attempt to get the waiter's attention.
"Check please!"
Leaving a sizable tip behind, the pair makes their way out to the car; since it's rented in her name, she's the one that gets behind the wheel. After driving around and conversing for a little while, Flare guides the rental car into the parking lot of a deserted warehouse. While the surroundings may not be the most romantic, they're certainly secluded enough for what - or, rather, who - she plans to do next. Reaching over Leppard's lap, the blond pulls the lever which forces his seat back all the way. Once that's done, she unbuckles both safety belts and crawls over to straddle his lap.
"Ahh... tes mots sont grandes; es-tu?"
Even if one doesn't speak French, the blond's meaning is clear; 'Your words are big; are you?' By now, the lucky bastard pinned beneath her has gone stiff, both because of nervousness and out of desire. That duo of emotions war as he stammers incoherently - ultimately, it's Jordan's nerves that win out. When he speaks, his voice is shaking with the uncertain fright only one new to the horizontal mambo can possess.
"I-I've never done this before. Nym, I'm a vir--"
Jordan's panicked words are cut off by a single tanned finger pressing itself to his lips. There's no vocal answer from the blond; instead, she shifts her position in a way that makes his eyes roll up towards the back of his head before leaning in, her hand moving out of the way for her mouth to press itself against his...
