Post by Eden Morgan on Aug 22, 2015 10:14:01 GMT -5
What have I become, my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know goes away in the end
Everyone I know goes away in the end
I knew. Before the mask ever fully left his face, I knew. I'd seen enough, the curve of his jaw, the stubble on his cheek. Deep down, I knew who Cemetery Man was.
But as always...
I had to throw off the lid of Pandora's box.
Cemetery Man, he called himself; I'm not sure if that's a reference to the skeletons in my closet or the death of my career.
I fail to see where it matters. Being born gives everyone a death sentence. What's the point in fearing the inevitable?
Los Angeles
Without stopping, Eden grips the doorknob and swings the door before her open, flowing smoothly through the doorway and into the room, the conversation taking place prior to her arrival halting as two pair of eyes focus on her entry.
“Have you ever heard of knocking?” Bryson asks, every part of his demeanor radiating irritation. Zane stiffens visibly as Eden gives a mocking smile.
“I would apologize, but by the way everyone enters my office, I assumed knocking was nothing more than a nasty myth,” she remarks snidely, taking an uninvited seat in a chair before Bryson's desk, her chair seated directly beside Zane's. She looks from him to Zane and then back to Bryson. “So, what did I miss?”
Zane's jaw sets, a muscle ticking visibly. Eden relaxes in the chair, crossing one leg over the other and kicking a foot with some rhythm only she can hear in her mind. She looks expectantly at Bryson who appears less than pleased.
“This time, Eden, you've gone too far--” Bryson starts, stopping as Eden rolls her eyes and gives a very audible snort.
“Yeah, like I haven't heard that before,” she mutters not-so-under-her-breath, poking an elbow out to Zane in a conspiring manner, Zane glaring at her. Eden catches the look, drawing her arm back in. She raises her eyebrows. “O-kay... someone's a grump. I'm so sorry, Bryan, you were saying?” she focuses intently on Bryson who appears to be doing his best to maintain some semblance of control.
“What you did cost The Syndicate the Co-Operative titles,” Bryson growls, managing to keep his voice level, if gruff. Eden shakes her head and makes a particularly loud smack with the gum she is chewing.
“Nope. You two cost The Syndicate the Co-Operative titles, just like I told you you would. I was just there to see that my prophecy turned out to be right. You know I hate to be wrong,” she finishes the last bit on an exaggerated whisper and then blows a bubble, popping it loudly. When neither of the two men respond, she continues, mocking them. “'Take on the fucking world,'he says,” she indicates Bryson sitting across the desk from her, “'It'll be fun,' he says,” she indicates Zane with the latter part before leaning in closer to him. “So tell me, Zane, how fun was it? Did you have fun? When did the fun start? Was it before or after I left you high and dry--” She stops as Zane is immediately to his feet, his chair shooting out behind him. He stands over her, leaning down and causing her to press into the back of her chair as he grips the arms of the chair so tightly the wood starts to creak. Eden quietens, not breaking eye contact with her former partner.
“Zane,” Bryson's voice comes from behind, sounding weary, and not at all worthy of breaking the tension. “As much as she deserves it, we need her this week. Outlast.”
Zane glares down at the woman in the chair before him, Eden continuing to not avert her eyes. Zane presses closer.
“Had I known when I made those choices for my team what you were planning, you wouldn't have been on it.”
“Instead you chose me first. I feel so loved. But yeah, I see what you mean, fucking hindsight is a bitch, isn't it Zane-y? Sucks to feel like you got played, doesn't it?” she grins and then blows a bubble, popping it in Zane's face. His expression unchanging, Zane's hand moves up from the arm of her chair to her neck, his fingers wrapping around her throat.
“I'm fairly certain we could make do with only three members on the team,” he says menacingly, Eden able to feel the restraint shaking through his body as he squeezes lightly. She gives another mocking smile.
“Sure, you and Killian could do well together, but what do you think Travis is going to do when you tell him I won't be making it because you decided to choke the life out of me? Will he celebrate and give you a high-five, or will he remember the good times and be unable to compete, refuse to compete on your team? Do you truly think, Zane, that you can defeat Risa, Barnes, Dirge, and Forewell, just you and Killian? Then by all means... use me as your stress ball.”
Zane's thumb rubs over the pulse in her throat, the two of them battling wills, daring the other to look away first.
“Zane,” Bryson's voice comes again, stronger this time. “Let her go. I hate to say it, but she may be right. She knows Travis Pierce far better than either of us.”
Zane squeezes tight for a moment, enjoying the flare of surprise he catches in her eyes before letting go. He stares at her a moment longer before retrieving his chair and taking a seat. Bryson gives Eden a serious look.
“I'm beginning to wonder if you have a death wish,” he makes the statement almost a question, Eden shrugging nonchalantly.
“You were right about Travis. He's a bit of a puzzle for our team, sure, but I've worked that particular puzzle out before. I broke him into a thousand pieces simply for the pleasure of putting him back together just to break him apart again.”
“How about we focus on our enemies instead of fighting each other, can we try that for a moment?” Bryson asks harshly, Eden giving him a feigned innocent expression.
“Welcome to dealing with Eden Morgan,” Zane mutters, Eden giving him a dazzling smile.
“Aww, Zane, you really do know me,” she practically purrs.
“Enough!” Bryson's voice rises in warning, Zane not looking away from the woman at his side.
“No, I have just one question for her before we move on. Why? Don't give me some smart-assed remark, Eden, because I may make you eat those words,” he warns, Eden's exaggerated smile fading, a different look moving into her eyes entirely.
“You know that story about the snake and the woman? The details change in it, but the basics remain the same. A woman picks up a snake that's been injured in some way and takes care of it, heals it. Then, after all her time and care, it bites her; as she's dying, she asks 'After all I did, why me?' Do you know what it says, Zane?” she asks. Zane doesn't answer. “The snake says 'You knew what I was when you picked me up.'” She looks pointedly at him, Zane nodding, understanding her message. The two of them return their attention to Bryson. Bryson rubs his forehead.
“Alright, so this team opposing you guys... thanks to Eden, and partly to you, Zane, it's going to be personal in some ways and a bit of a mess--”
“-- Excuse me, just uh... can we call it a 'pickle'? 'Pickle' sounds less scary than 'mess',” Eden interrupts, popping her gum again. When Bryson just glares at her, she shrugs. “No? Okay. Carry on, then. We're in a 'mess.'”
'“Seito Risa. Dirge. Quentin Barnes. Forewell Boding--” Bryson begins again, stopping as Eden interrupts again, this time with raucous laughter. A vein in his forehead starts to pulse, Eden stopping as she finally notices she's the only one laughing.
“My bad. I thought that was the punch line,” she makes an exaggeratedly apologetic face, completely destroyed as she pops a particularly loud bubble. Zane stares straight ahead, before getting to his feet.
“We'll have to do this later, Bryson. Someone doesn't seem to take anything seriously, lately,” he says as he walks out. Bryson gets to his feet, glaring at Eden before following behind him, leaving Eden alone in his office. Eden exhales heavily, studying her nails.
“Well, then.”
“About a month before the first appearance of 'The Cemetery Man'.”
I had to ask it. Even as the words left my mouth, I knew it was an answer I didn't want, and still I asked.
Another damned box.
The words he said... I wanted to take them in my hands and set them on fire, watch them burn until they stopped ringing in my ears. Those eleven words, more than any of the rest he said afterward, turned my blood to ice. It felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff.
Because I understood in that moment, that one moment that seems suspended in time, that while I had been concerned for him, while he remained in my heart, my mentor, my friend... he plotted my destruction.
Another betrayal.
I once had the living, beating heart cut from my chest. I survived that amputation, I'll survive this one.
Los Angeles
“We need to talk.”
Eden looks up from her cell phone as Killian speaks, barging into her office and closing the door behind him. She sighs, placing her phone on her desk. “Knocking really has become a lost art, can I help you, Killian?” she asks, Killian striding forward purposefully.
“You need to know about Hugh, what he is and what he's doing,” he says firmly, starting to pace. Eden raises an eyebrow.
“... and how do you know Hugh?”
Killian shoots a reproachful look her way.
“You're smarter than that, love. Surely you already know at least some of it. Did you think it was coincidence that he showed up like he did?”
Eden looks from side-to-side. “Considering there was absolutely no way our meeting could have been predicted as it was in Graber's half-ass coffee shop... yeah, I'm pretty sure it was conincidental.”
Killian stops pacing and frowns.
“Alright, so I haven't figured that part of it out, yet. But you have to understand, I need you to understand that--” he pauses, giving her a sympathetic look, “he's using you.”
Both of Eden's eyebrows shoot up.
“Is he?” she asks, surprise in her tone. Killian nods.
“I'm afraid so. You see, Hugh and I are of an age, and we've known each other for years, grew up together, in fact. Attended the same academy, were friends and rivals-- I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that it was a continual competition between us. The competition ended up becoming far more serious than it started out--”
“Killian, I don't care,” Eden interrupts him in the midst of his speech, Killian stopping dead in his tracks.
“What's that?” he asks, unsure he had heard her correctly. Eden shakes her head.
“I don't care what history the two of you have or had; I don't care if you think he is 'using me' or if he even calls himself using me, because at the end of the day I'm still having fun. I enjoy what we do together. If you came in here to save me from some lovestruck folly, rest assured, my relationship with Hugh is nothing like that. I learned long ago, emotions have no place in a relationship of any sort,” she finishes, her tone far more simple than the words she speaks. Killian appears stunned for a moment.
“You really don't care--”
“He's a fuck, Killian, nothing more. If you like, call him the newest shiny that's 'caught my fancy.' Isn't that how you Brits say it? No? I do have to admit, I adore that accent of his. I had often thought it was very similar to yours... and now I know,” she smiles and winks at him. “Thanks for that.”
Silence hangs heavily for a moment before Killian speaks again.
“One more thing, Eden.”
Eden looks up again.
“Yes?” she asks, prompting him to speak. Killian watches her fiercely.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Eden gives a little laugh, shaking her head.
“No need for all that, Hugh does a far better job than I could, anyway. Where are you off to now?” she asks as Killian moves swiftly toward her door.
“To get my shit together,” he snaps back at her. Without saying another word, Killian slams out of her office.
ColinZalePPW (@cemetarydance): UGWC Staff @fallofedenugwc I'm sorry this is how it worked out. It didn't have to be this way. I can help you if you'll let me.
It's always the same. The apologies. The false sympathies. The offers of aid.
Lies. All lies.
Sometimes I think they fill me up like ghosts in a haunted house. If you stare at me long enough, you can see the shades of all the lies floating just beneath the surface. Whether they're my own property or belong to those who supposedly cared is a coin toss.
I don't know how to exorcise these demons, how to make them leave me. Though if I were completely honest, there are times when I don't want them to go. I want to wrap myself tightly in them and let them suffocate me.
But I always gasp for air at the last second.
Because I'm a coward.
Miami
Eden's heels sound off noisily against the marbles floors, white with gold and gray-black veins running throughout, the sound made even louder by the vast openness of 'Vain' Alan Wallace's Miami play palace. Her steps echo as she follows behind a particularly buxom blonde in scant clothing leading the way to the outdoor patio. They emerge out into the beaming Florida sun, the sounds of splashing and laughter greeting her ears. The blonde rushes forward to a lounge completely swarmed by a mob of women, hovering like butterflies over a particularly hardy garden. Her words mix in with all of the others, but at the sound of a few masculine words, the women scatter, Eden noting with amusement the state of undress of several of them. Some of the women cast a reproachful look her way, none of them daring say a word as they move past her, Alan Wallace finally visible to her as he reclines on a comfortably-cushioned chaise lounge. His evenly tanned skin practically glows in the heat of the sun, nothing but naked flesh meeting her gaze. A white towel lies draped across his hips, a haphazard attempt at modesty.
“Ms. Morgan, what a surprise. As you can see, you've caught 'Mr. Ego' unawares,” he gives her an entirely unapologetic grin, Eden giving a half-smile back.
“I see you're preparing for Outlast as only you can, Alan.”
He gestures to the paradise around him. “You have to prepare more than your body for battle, as you well know. The mind must also be prepared. A massage is a perfect tool to loosen up the physical muscles, and this? It's a massage for the mind,” 'Vain' finishes, closing his eyes and inhaling the fresh air deeply.
“I don't disagree,” Eden responds, 'Vain' cracking an eye open.
“But you don't agree, either, do you? You should try it, Ms. Morgan. Say the word and I'll have one of my harem fetch a suit for you. I'm sure one of them is your size--”
“Thank you, Alan, but I didn't come here to frolic in your pool, as inviting as it is.”
'Vain' opens both eyes now, giving her an appraising look.
“Is this where you make your bid for my title, Ms. Morgan? You'll forgive 'Arrogance Personified' if he isn't surprised, of course.”
Eden gives him a frosty smile.
“Wrong, Alan. In fact, I may be the only ally you actually have right now, because everyone else, other than me, is coming for your title at Outlast. My only goal in getting to that final round is protecting you and helping you keep that title.”
'Vain' narrows his eyes.
“Why should I believe you?” he asks seriously, Eden shrugging.
“Believe what you like. But know that if Zane or Killian make it to the final round, they won't help you; I will be the only one on your side. You're skeptical, and I don't blame you, but I think you'll find that you can trust me far more than the other two. Especially Zane. He's particularly gold-hungry at the moment,” she smirks, turning away.
“You came quite a way just to assure 'The Money Maker' of your pure intentions, and after you've already turned on another teammate,” 'Vain' tsks, Eden. “Am I really supposed to believe you don't want any title?”
Eden laughs, not turning around.
“I never said I don't want your title, Alan, but when I take it, I want it to have more meaning behind it than just a bunch of Mainstreamer and Klaus defeats. I've beaten the both of them, so your wins over them, especially as narrow as they have been, mean little to me. What I'm waiting for is for you to prove yourself the champion everyone already thinks you are. You haven't done that yet, but at Outlast, if you retain, you will. There's a lot more prestige to beating a champion who's retained at Outlast than one who's only beaten the former President and Vice-President of his fan club,” she faces him as she speaks, 'Vain' studying her as she speaks.
“So you intend to aid 'The Vain Lord' in order to elevate him to a level you find acceptable to challenge him? And they call 'The Intellectual Adonis' arrogant,” he finishes with a laugh, Eden giving him a small smile before walking away, his laughter following her out of the opulent mansion.
All these people so concerned over redemption, almost every one of my possible competitors, including those I will face first, and even my own team.
I don't understand the need, their obsession with redemption. It's a weakness, a cancer that eats at them and consumes them. It's darkness, and their need for it is the night light.
I wonder what it's like to be afraid of your own soul?
Can you tell me, Zane?
Chicago
“Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to speak?” Travis Pierce watches the dark haired woman seated before him. When she doesn't give a response, he sighs and gets to his feet, coming around the desk as he loosens his tie. He leans back against the desk, crossing his arms.
“Look, Eden, I didn't ask to be pulled to your team, that was just luck of the draw. Zane chose my letter, that's how it happened. Nothing was rigged, I assure you.”
Eden finally glances at him, smirking.
“Not even in some pitiful, failed attempt to get close to me again?”
Travis rolls his eyes.
“I learned my lesson the last time. Getting close to you means walking through fire, stepping on glass, and crawling through hell. I don't care to repeat my experience.
“Are you sure about that?” she responds flirtatiously, winking at him. Travis stares back at her, not rising to the bait.
“You're here to do 'The Piercing Truth' with me. Well, a part of it. I have parts for Zane and Killian as well--”
“Aww, and here I thought I was special,” she pouts, Travis sighing.
“Juvenile comments now?”
“I try to stick to the level of my audience. You're the only one here, so... juvenile,” she finishes simply. Travis runs a hand through his hair.
“What are you doing, Eden? Are you trying to turn your entire team against you?”
Eden shrugs.
“If I say yes?”
“Well it would make a hell of a lot of sense considering your actions of late-- Wait, are you serious? You're doing this on purpose?” he stares at her incredulously. Eden shrugs again.
“It's not like I'm lying or doing anything I don't want to do, I'm just not using any filter, either. What easier way to make sure I get myself to the finals than by ensuring my team wants nothing more than to get all of us to the finals if for no other reason than to beat my delightful ass?”
Travis closes his eyes and breathes for a moment.
“Something wrong, Travis?” Eden asks, an innocent quality to her voice. Travis keeps his eyes closed.
“I'm currently imagining a few creative ways of causing you extraordinary amounts of pain,” he responds, Eden giving him an impish grin.
“Stop flirting, you know we don't have time for that.”
Travis' eyes snap open at her words, narrowing.
“Do you know what an impossible task you've set for yourself? You have not only our opponents against you, but also your own team. Well, except me. For now, anyway.”
Eden rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, because we know how well Risa does at Outlasts. Last year was a complete flop and the year before that she actually died afterward from a heart punch by my brother. Speaking of Cypress, you're a dick.”
Travis appears confused.
“Me? Well, that's probably true, but what's the reason this time?”
“Cypress as one of the surprise roster? Really? And don't tell me that wasn't rigged, his landing on Chaos' team with Jet was way too convenient,” she grumbles, Travis shaking his head.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yes, let's add more lies onto the thousands you've already told. What's one more?” she mocks him, Travis not rising to the bait.
“It's not just Risa, and you don't have the heart punch in your arsenal--”
“Do too, Cypress taught me over a year ago. Family traditions, and whatnot.”
“Right. And I suppose Dirge is another family tradition? Because he's going to be gunning for you and probably wanting to rip your head off for everything you've done involving his family,” Travis shakes his head, Eden pulling a serious face for once.
“Yes, Dirge. I can think of a few places on him I'd like to shove a certain cane. I'm sure it'll be a breeze after the hobo bukakes he's been a part of.”
“I hope you can retain that humor during Outlast... and during your part in the show. Mostly during your part of the show, though. I can see you laughing at Barnes in the ring going badly. For the love of everything, don't ask the man how his family is.”
Eden raises an eyebrow.
“Was that a dare?”
Travis remains straight-faced.
“Why yes. Yes it was.”
Los Angeles
It's an odd sort of restriction, and at the same time liberation when one of your senses is taken from you. The echoing silence of being deaf, an almost blank white noise of nothingness haunting your mind, a sense of surrealism as you watch actions take place before you and you imagine the sort of sounds they might make that fail to reach your ears. You begin to insert sounds you've heard before and after a time, you're not sure if what you're hearing is in your head or if it's real, if it even matters any more.
Vision is far more restrictive. Your hearing is far sharper than it would otherwise normally be, and you can almost imagine your ears perched atop your head, like a wild animal, flicking in the direction of the slightest sound as your imagination runs wild, painting a picture to match that sound. Sometimes, that sound creates the most beautiful scene for you, other times a nightmare.
Sometimes, they're the same.
“Breathe, love.”
My skin tightens and I feel goosebumps raise as his words breathe across my shoulder and whisper into my ear. He had moved quietly, I hadn't even heard his approach, placing the barest of touches on me. Breathe, he had said. I know what he wants. I take the air in through my nose and pull it into my stomach before exhaling out through my mouth. The breaths are meant to relax me, to take the edge off of any nervousness I may have, and there is some, it's unavoidable. They lull me and I allow them to; they help me slide ever closer into that safe place the mind goes while the body is elsewhere. If for no other reason, I'm thankful to Hugh for showing me how to breathe. There's another reason for the breathing, I know there is even if he's never said it. He told me to do it.
In this moment, even the air that goes into my lungs does so at his command.
I feel my body start to melt with the breathing and I float away in a sea of tranquility, so easy to forget everything.
Grief: burning, aching, stinging, bruising.
If I can name my feelings, number them and label them, I can distance myself from them and make them objects completely separate from me. Another lesson from Hugh.
Sorrow: irrational, stupid, weak.
My breathing halts in my throat as the air before me changes and I know he's standing in front of me. My head is jerked back tightly by a fist in my hair and I clench my teeth against the the sound that almost emerges unbidden. I flinch away, squeezing my eyes shut at the sudden invasion of light as the blindfold drops from my face, opening them a little at a time to grow accustomed to the new sensation. Hugh does indeed stand before me. He's trying to hide it, but I can tell he's worried.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks, and not for the first time.
He should know better. I'm more than okay; I need this to happen. I nod slowly, afraid my voice will betray me.
Anxiety: fast, sharp, overwhelming.
He looks away, stepping away from my hanging form, my arms crossed over my head and held in place by cuffs. The leather had looked soft, at first, but after being in the same position for so long, my arms have started to go numb. I wiggle my fingers as I watch him, hoping he isn't about to back out.
Hope: Useless.
Finally, he picks it up. The cane. Identical to the one Colin carried with him, the one Dirge had returned to him.
The one I never could.
He turns it over in his hands, studying it, and shaking his head. He looks up at me and starts to say something then stops, coming closer and slipping a hand along my cheek. He presses his forehead against mine and remains silent. Killian says the man is using me, but I think I'm the one using him.
“This... this is insane, you know that? Especially with what you have coming up, I don't know how it will effect--” Hugh stops his rambling that I know is only leading to him refusing to do this.
It pains him as much as I want it to pain me. I need it to, and I have to make him understand that.
“Please, Hugh,” I whisper breathlessly, letting my eyes fill with unshed tears. “I'm broken... and I want to forget.”
Hugh shakes his head before me, but I can see in his eyes he's made his choice.
“You're the least broken woman I know,” he mutters, sliding a hand through his dark hair.
“Broken love, then. It's the most dangerous anyway, it cuts you with every movement,” I respond even though I didn't mean to, and a tear, a real tear slips down my cheek. I hate that tear. Hugh reaches up to wipe it away.
“There's no shame in forgetting for a night what you know you'll remember in the morning. Alright, love. Alright.” He gives me a reassuring smile and my heart does a backflip.
Anticipation: sweet, shivering, giddiness.
He moves around behind me, the cane in his hand. I close my eyes, returning my self to the darkness as I continue to focus on my breathing.
“You know that this can not only permanently scar you, but if I fuck this up, I could cripple you,” the caution in his voice is palpable. I can't help but laugh.
“So don't cripple me, then,” I murmur between breaths, and I hear him snort behind me.
“What about the scarring?”
I consider his words for a moment.
“Scar tissue is the strongest tissue, remember?” I throw his words back at him, and know he's weighing them.
“You already have a couple of scars from when Dirge attacked you,” he observes, delaying the inevitable.
“Then add your own, Hugh. I'm ready,” I assure him, waiting.
“How many?” he asks, and I can feel the tension radiating out of him at my naked back.
“Six. Five across, one down. Bar the gate for me. And Hugh? Don't act like you don't enjoy this. We both know that isn't true.”
I can't resist throwing out a challenge, a barb, anything to make it worse. I don't want him to go easy. I want it all. I always was greedy.
The first blow comes without warning, probably because of the last words I spoke. The air explodes from my chest, a knife edge of fire and lightning blotting out every other sensation around for me. For a time, I'm nothing but that one line across my back, that line that feels as if it runs down to the bone.
“Count,” Hugh's voice comes harsh behind me and I fight back a smile, managing to garble out the word “One.”
I hear the cane before it hits me this time, the sensation the same as before, only... more. It takes me longer to swim back up through the murky fog to reality again, but each time my head breaks the surface, I feel the weight bearing down on me. Before the pressure becomes too much, I count again.
“Two.”
The number is his signal that I'm ready for the next, and I'm amazed at what each blow does to my body, the agony that lights up my nerves, sending signals to my brain. My nails dig into my palms and I don't recall clenching my hands. As I become more aware this time, I realize I hear laughter, and as consciousness fully returns, I understand that it's mine.
I continue to count, he continues the strikes.
Until the gate is barred.
