Post by Eden Morgan on Sept 26, 2015 2:57:46 GMT -5
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
September 21, 2015: Chicago
Travis Pierce stares across his desk, expression bewildered as he beholds the woman before him. It's far from the first time he's experienced this reaction because of her, and in all likelihood it won't be the last. Eden Morgan rolls her eyes and crosses one leg over the other, the length of her black slacks only serving to highlight the black patent stilettos hugging the curving arch of her feet.
“Really, Travis, close your mouth, you're starting to attract flies,” she remarks scathingly, Pierce's forehead furrowing in confusion.
“Why would you--- What could you possibly--- What the hell are you up to, Eden?” Travis finally settles on a question, Eden giving him a wide-eyed innocent look.
“Can't I just do something nice for some people I care about?”
Travis blinks at her and then gives a derisive snort.
“You can barely stand to be near Barnes and you've been turning Killian into the next me for months,” he quips, Eden glaring at him.
“You forgot Ichabod,” she snaps. Travis leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head.
“That is a puzzle isn't it, you and Ichabod. If I'm not mistaken, the two of you hated each other up until a couple of months ago--”
“You're not wrong; we still hate each other,” Eden supplies, Travis' eyes narrowing.
“For two people who hate each other, you're both awfully chummy-”
“Look Travis, I wasn't aware that I had to undergo an interrogation to use my purse, so unless there's some new rule that I don't know about, just take the money out and be done with it. I'll announce it at the beginning of the show,” Eden says as she gets to her feet. She hesitates, looking off for a moment. “Except for Killian.”
Travis raises an eyebrow.
“Oh? And how is he to find out he's been sponsored for the High Rollers match? Will you send him a cordial invitation?” Travis responds mockingly, Eden scowling at him.
“No. I have every reason to believe he'll be in here at some point tonight to cash in. When he does, just tell him... tell him he's already paid for. That's all. Don't tell him who did it, just tell him that,” she turns to leave again.
“We're not done here, Eden,” Travis says, his authority clear in his voice. Eden's shoulders stiffen, but she turns around and takes a seat, watching Travis icily. Travis waits for her to say something, sighing when she doesn't. He taps a finger against his upper lip as he studies her.
“People don't usually surprise me. I've been in this business for a while and I know how to read just about everyone. But you... you're something different, you always have been,” Pierce starts out, Eden giving him a mocking smile.
“It's because with me, you think with your dick,” she responds cattily, Travis chuckling, neither confirming nor denying her allegations.
“This though... this makes absolutely no sense. Have you thought this through, I mean really thought it through? It's not just some whim, is it? Make me understand this play, Eden, because for the life of me I've got nothing for this. You're bankrolling three entertainment professionals who may well walk out with what you and 'Vain' are set to fight for. You're paying for your own potential defeat and no matter how I look at it, it doesn't make sense,” his words echo sincerity, Eden shrugging with indifference.
“Would it explain it to you to say that 'I'm all in'?” she asks sarcastically, Travis stiffening to hear his words from last year thrown back at him. He starts to say something, Eden cutting him off. “Would you believe that I'm doing it as a favor?”
Travis' lips compress into a thin line.
“If you're going to sit there and lie or feed me more bullshit, you can just leave," he bites out bitterly. He glares at her and she gives him an exaggerated pouty face with her lower lip sticking out.
“Aww, poor baby. Bad memories, Trav?” she asks, putting emphasis on the shortened version of his name she once used. “You want answers? Here you go, sweetheart: I could have financed anyone on this roster, but I chose those three. It wasn't random, it wasn't who I happened to be fucking with at the time. What it is, is that none of them will have any problem with taking me or Alan out if they win and choose to cash in. It's that simple,” she answers him.
“Bullshit. It's stupid and completely ridiculous to set up your own failure--”
“Or maybe I'm just that arrogant that I feel that I can beat not only Alan Wallace in a Last Man Standing match, but also Quentin Barnes, Ichabod, or Killian King, and anyone else who gets thrown in, should it come to that,” Eden finishes, giving him a smile to match her statement. Travis watches her a moment and shakes his head.
“That's not it. What are you really after, Edie? What do you get out of all of this?”
Eden stares at him a moment, the smile from earlier gone.
“Everything,” she responds finally before walking out, leaving Travis Pierce with his fingers steepled and watching the empty doorway.
September 23, 2015: New Orleans
Despite it being mid-late September as well as later into the afternoon, the humid Louisiana heat remains cloying and sticky, heavy in the lungs. Sunlight filters through the branches of trees older than anything living in the area, the leaves moving feebly on the faltering strands of a light breeze that does nothing to relieve, only circulating hot air. Jezebel Saint sits with her long legs, encased by ripped and faded jeans, extended, her feet propped one on top of the other. She frowns and narrows her eyes as she wiggles her toes, noticing the dark blue polish chipping from one. With a sigh, she leans back and digs in a pocket, pulling a pack of cigarettes out and lighting one, tossing the pack haphazardly down on the grass beside her. Reaching over, she thumbs through her phone for a moment and then stares straight ahead, before thumbing through her phone some more and tapping the screen.
Audra Mae's “Forever Young” breaks the stillness, the heartfelt words resonating and seeming to vibrate through the openness before her. She listens to the words a moment before speaking, a smile on her face.
“Remember the first time we heard this? Five years. Five years, and I haven't killed him yet,” she says with a grin, ashing her cigarette on the grass beside her. She inhales, blowing smoke out with her words. “I knew it was trouble when Cyp put you in charge of the music. It's why I insisted that Jet help you out. I thought he'd keep everything straight, I never expected you assholes to work together. I guess I should have,” she gives a little laugh. “I don't have a fucking clue what criteria Cyp gave you to work out, but I told Jet we didn't want any of that bullshit wedding crap. We wanted something special. Something that wasn't just for us, but for our friends and family who were there too,” she shakes her head, a wry smile on her face. “Instead we got 'The Cuppycake Song', 'Hot Patootie' and 'The Safety Dance.' I know those were Jet. But 'California Love' and 'Cherry Pie'? Really? It would almost have been better had Klaus done the music,” she rolls her eyes, inhaling once more as she considers her next words, exhaling smoke from deep within her lungs.
“Probably for the best then that my Mom snuck this in, right? As usual, she knew exactly what I was looking for, even when I didn't,” she rolls the cigarette butt between her fingers, studying it. “I just remember when it played how right it felt. Me and Cyp there on the happiest day of our lives, surrounded by the ones we loved most in this world. It was perfect,” she trails off, her voice lowering. She raises a tattooed hand, wiping unshed tears from her eyes.
“But you took it to heart, didn't you? I know you didn't choose it, but I don't believe you ever planned or wanted to grow old,” she stops, looking off and away, gathering her thoughts as the song continues to play. Finally after several long moments, she turns back to stare at the gravestone before her as she speaks. “What did you do? What made you so different that only a couple of months with you changed so much? What did you learn about her in that time you lived in the apartment with her? What did you see that no one else did? You were there with her, talking to her and listening when she had blocked almost everyone else out. You were there with her when she wouldn't allow anyone else to be. I know that--” she pauses, lighting another cigarette, “I know everything she's done, and I've hated her for it. I've hated her for the pain she's caused her own family and Jet. But I can't hate her anymore. Not when it feels too much like something I started. Everything that's happened is directly related to one little action- the day I called Jet and told him we had to do something. That call destroyed so many futures,” she says softly, letting a tear trail down her cheeks before quickly wiping it away. "But maybe her future doesn't have to be as permanent as yours. I know you wouldn't want it to be," she stops as the song finishes, getting up to her knees and kissing her fingers before touching them to the tombstone.
“Most men don't find their wives in a cemetery on their anniversary,” Cypress calls gruffly from her right, Jez grinning, her prior sadness forgotten. She beckons him over, Cypress' keys jangling as he walks. He places a hand on top of the tombstone, staying quiet for a moment, lost in thought, then turns to his wife, still kneeling in the grass.
“Should I ask?”
Jezebel holds up her phone, showing him the song she had been playing. Cypress winces.
“Yeah. Happier times, then,” he mutters, Jezebel getting to her feet.
“Cyp you have to do something--”
“Not this again, not today,” Cypress complains, Jezebel placing a hand over her husband's mouth.
“Yes again, and you're going to listen to me this time because it is today and you're going to want some playtime later,” she finishes, giving him a warning look. Cypress rolls his eyes and nods, Jezebel removing her hand. “She can't go through with this, you have to do something--”
“Woman, I don't know what superpowers you think I have, but there's nothing I can do with this. Eden made her bed and she can damn well lie in it!”
“Cypress, please. You know what she's doing. Please,” Jezebel begs him, Cypress' frustration palpable. He runs a hand through his hair saying nothing. Jez holds her phone up, pressing a few buttons and then placing it on the the headstone beside them, the speaker phone echoing the ringing throughout the cemetery. Cypress gives her a questioning look, understanding dawning as he hears Jet's voice answering. He turns around and looks up as if asking for patience.
“Hey sis. Happy Anniversary.”
“Thanks. Did you get me a present?” she asks, watching her husband's strong back as she speaks with her brother.
“Well, I mean, not yet, but I--”
“No, that's okay. I've got something else in mind, we'll call it a gift,” she answers nonchalantly, Cypress turns around, watching her suspiciously.
“What's the scheme, Jez?” Jet jokes, chuckling over the phone.
“Stop Eden's match."
Jet's audible good humor cuts off abruptly.
“You have no right to ask him that, Jez--” Cypress starts, Jezebel cutting him off.
“Yes I do! She's your sister, and she was Jet's best friend, but I'm the reason she is what she is right now. I'm the reason she's about to walk into a Last Man Standing match with 'Vain' a year after he crippled me and ended my career in that same match. If I could do it myself, I would, but I can't. I would think her brother and the man who called himself her best friend would do it without me asking,” she finishes, waiting for their response.
“Jez-- it's what she wants, and I'm staying out of her life. That's it. I'm done, I learned my lesson and I learned it the hard way,” Jet's voice is serious over the phone, Jezebel staring at it.
“He's right. It's what she wants. Let her have it,” Cypress says with a shrug. Jezebel grits her teeth, refusing to accept defeat.
“Hey Jet- remember when I made that call?”
“Which one?” he answers carefully.
“The one where I told you I was tired of living like that and asked you to help me lose the Dragon. What did you say? 'No matter the cost' right? Well I'm standing here at Hanneman's grave, a grave we filled just as well as Dragon did, and I'm telling you that if someone doesn't do something about Eden she won't make it past that match with 'Vain'. And before either of you tell me I'm being hormonal or overly dramatic, consider this: She chose that particular match fully aware of the history of it, don't think she doesn't know; she chose that match knowing what happened between 'Vain' and I, knowing that the last match of that type 'Vain' was in ended a career. It could have been worse. I could have been paralyzed. It's not a stretch to say I could have died from injuries, you both know that.”
“Jez, I understand what you're saying and if I could--- I can't. I can't interfere again, not with her. But... if the time ever comes that she truly needs me, I'll be there. If that counts for nothing, then I'm sorry,” Jet says morosely over the phone. Cypress wraps his arms around his wife.
“Some people you can't save. All you got is to watch them and try to guide them as best you can. Or keep them in check. Do you really think for one minute I've left Eden to the wolves?” he asks her. Jezebel looks at him suspiciously, comprehension dawning. He covers her mouth with his hand. “You owe your brother an apology.” He removes his hand from her mouth, Jezebel wincing.
“Sorry, Jet, I--”
“Don't worry about it, Jez. You're not the only one worried. But hey, you two have a good rest of the day,” he says, hanging up.
Jezebel wraps her arms around her husband, resting her head against his chest as his hand passes over her shoulder length crimson locks. “What are you going to do?” she asks him, putting all of her faith in anything he says.
“Nothing,” Cypress utters the one word with finality.
September 24, 2015: Los Angeles
The camera flickers to life on a well-lit stage, hardwood floors shining and resplendent. Lavish curtains dangle tastefully while a plush couch strewn with fashionable pillows sits beside a pristine, hardwood desk. An elegant frame sits atop the mostly empty desk, a picture of UGWC World Heavyweight Champion 'Vain' Alan Wallace within. The camera zooms in, focusing on his sculpted cheekbones and the twinkle in his eye, the beatific smile worshiped by so many in evidence. The camera begins to pan back as the hardwood floors echo from the sound of a pair of high heels walking slowly across them. The camera continues to pull back away from the picture on the desk until Eden Morgan steps in front of it blocking it fully. She wears a black, fitted, sleeveless dress, a cutout slashing across from her left collarbone to the swell of her right breast. A wide gold belt hugs her slender waist, her dark hair falling in waves around her. She smiles briefly at the camera before speaking.
“Hello and welcome to an extra-special edition of 'The Vain Vault', and if you hadn't guessed, I'm the extra-special,” she flashes a wide grin at the camera as she leans back against the desk. She moves her hip over just a bit to reveal the framed photo of Alan Wallace once again, taking it and lowering it face-down on the desk. She gives the camera a smile and a conspiratorial wink. “But we won't tell Alan that.”
She straightens back up, at ease in front of the camera, her expression considering.
“Maybe we don't have a choice; maybe, just maybe Alan is watching this right now. Well, Alan, if that's the case then you're in for a treat because I'm here to talk about your most favorite person in the entire world: you. Before I get into the subject of 'Vain' Alan Wallace, I suppose it's only fair that I devote some time to myself. It's what Alan would want, after all.”
She leans against the desk, clasping her hands in front of her.
“If you were in any doubt as to who I am, allow me to introduce myself: I am Eden Morgan and Sin City is the birthplace of all that I am. At any and all times, this game we play is no more than one of chance, a roll of the dice. It's a gamble, all of it, and there are jackpots as well as bankrupts. I have not only experienced the jackpots, I am the jackpots made life. Every time I have taken a chance, I have won. My successes against seemingly insurmountable odds give life to the reason gambling is a vice,” she tosses her hair over her shoulder.
“I rolled the dice when I decided to follow in the footsteps of Cypress Morgan and Jezebel Saint; I became more of a success than they ever hoped to be. I rolled the dice when I stepped into the ring for my first and second Massive Melee; I won both. I rolled the dice when I took on Jet Somers in a Valhalla Burial match barely three months into this business; another win. I rolled the dice at WrestleStock that same year when I faced down contender after contender who were after the World Title, all before Chaos and Zane found themselves in the ring with me. Guess what happened there? I rolled the dice on the formation of The Syndicate; I rolled the dice when I trusted Alan, Killian, and Zane not to betray me; I rolled the dice with every move I made with our esteemed Creative Director; I rolled the dice at Sin City last year in the High Rollers match; I rolled the dice when I turned my back on everything and everyone I had known; and do you know what happened? I won each and every time. So when I say that I am the benefits of risk made life, it isn't an idle boast, it's one that can be proven and has been proven again. And again. And again.”
She stands straighter, cold eyes staring into the lens of the camera.
“I am the woman who gambled not only a cash-in on the man, the myth, the legend, 'Vain' Alan Wallace for his World Title--- I also dared to wager on the actual match itself, dared to name what match he would have to defend his title in, and then I bet myself on a match that 'Vain' Alan Wallace is very familiar with. Alan handled it as a true champion should, he embraced the challenge set forth, knowing the risks he takes when rolling the dice with me at Sin City. He knows the risks involved in walking into that arena with me, the gamble he's making, because it isn't just a ring at Sin City, the entire arena is our gameboard. We are the pieces and we will move where ever we goddamn well please. And at the end of it all, at least one of us won't walk out again.”
Eden relaxes a bit, a small smile turning up the corners of her lips.
“Alan is no stranger to a Last Man Standing match. In fact, it was when he took a gamble on that previous match, when he tossed a blind throw to become the man he once was, that I saw in Alan Wallace everything he could and would be. I knew what kind of champion he would be and the risk it would take to get him there, but at the same time, what it would accomplish was worth so much. I knew once Alan took hold of the World Title, it would take something equally brutal and amazing to make him relinquish it. Klaus couldn't retain it, and Graber and Fear couldn't take it; and then at Outlast, he retained, proving that none on the roster could stand against him.”
She smirks at the camera.
“Except me. I wanted Alan to retain at Outlast, I needed him to. It was yet another throw of the dice and yet another win for me. Because once Alan stood to the best the UGWC roster had to offer, I knew the seed that had been planted a year ago had sprouted, grown fully, and finally born fruit. Alan would call them the fruits of his labor, but more than his, they are mine. I took the risks and I will take the payoff. Just one more win to add to the list; it's all but written, Alan. Your part in this is, sadly, coming to an end. And I am sorry; you were everything I had hoped and knew you could be, you were everything I bet on. But it's time for the ultimate gamble to pay off, and at the end of the night, we'll see just who Lady Luck favors. Here's a spoiler for you, Alan: it won't be you.”
Eden turns back to the desk and picks up a sleek black remote, pressing a button that lowers a flat screen over one of the curtains.
“You see, while I've embraced every chance that has come my way, thrown myself fully into it and let it use me as it would, you've forced your way into everything, using your overpowering personality to make your way. I rely on the odds that seem to never be in my favor and yet are more in my favor than anyone else's. I am an enigma, an anomaly in this business; by all accounts I never should have lasted the first six months, but oh how the gamble pays off.”
The screen flares to life, the date at the bottom displayed as June 17, 2014. On the screen is Jezebel Saint, battered and already bruised as she holds up a steel chair over Alan Wallace's head which had been placed on a set of steel stairs. Blood pours from his busted nose, Eden watching a Jezebel brings the chair down and connects with... the steel steps. Eden grins and speeds the film up to show Alan with one of Jezebel's arms locked under his as he pries brass knuckles from her hand, breaking her fingers in the process. Eden pauses the scene on 'Vain's' face, his look of sadistic glee one that is rarely seen.
“The ultimate gamble is one we both make, and we'll make it together, Alan, because the prize at the end is worth more than anything either of us have done before. When I beat you, I'll have re-taken the World Title from someone who was actually worthy to hold it; when I beat you in a Last Man Standing match, I'll know exactly what I am-- invincible. And when you step back in the ring for that particular match and you remember all of the pain and agony that you and Jezebel put each other through, all the near-misses, and how it felt to destroy her and her future completely, I don't want it to turn your stomach or make you pull back. I want exactly what you gave to her, but you're more than that now Alan, and I'm a greedy bitch. I want it all. When I beat you, I want it to be when you've given everything and it just wasn't enough, because that is my jackpot. The title is just an added bonus at this point, and do you know why that is, Alan? It's because I've seen the level of violence and skill you're capable of with nothing on the line; I am betting with everything that I am that you will surpass that when your World Title is at stake. I won't just beat you, Alan; I'm going to beat you and destroy everything that you think you are, and I'm going to cash out on your dime.”
She presses play on the video again, fast forwarding to a point where 'Vain' is atop Jezebel, wrapping an electrical cord around her neck and pulling it tight. He suddenly ceases in the strangulation of his victim when she hits him several times in the chest with a staple gun. Eden presses her lips together in amusement as she fast forwards again to 'Vain' spearing Jezebel through a plate of glass. She watches the aftermath with fascination, fast forwarding through the match once more, stopping abruptly as 'Vain' appears with a sledgehammer, driving it first into the stomach of Jezebel and then down across the back of her neck. Eden places the control gently back on the desk as she watches the remainder of the match. 'Vain' pulling a forklift with an empty pallet forward; 'Vain' lifting the still downed Jezebel up by the hair, screaming at her and then kissing her just before he powerbombs her on to the pallet. 'Vain' then taking the forklift and its occupant into the parking lot, dragging Jezebel off the pallet and across the asphalt. Jezebel regains what would be a final surge of energy, forcing 'Vain' to hit her with a 'Money Maker' and two 'Curtain Calls'.
“The killing blow,” Eden whispers softly as a frustrated 'Vain' drags an already injured Jezebel to the roof of a car, planting her face into the roof with an ace cutter and then picking her up again and piledriving her into the roof. Eden pauses the video as 'Vain' rolls off the roof of the car and is lying on the pavement. She grins.
“Look at that smile, Alan, all bloody and beautiful. Have you ever felt more alive than you did during that match, knowing that your very career was on the line? That could have easily been you with your life basically over instead of Jezebel. You know that. And I know that, even if you won't admit it, it terrifies and excites you at the same time. Because while Jezebel had a family to fall back to, what do you have, Alan? You've got nothing. So will you pull your punches in order to preserve a tainted future for yourself, or will you give me everything you have? I hope it's the latter; I hope I've judged you correctly, and I hope what could be my final gamble pays off,” she finishes, staring off for a moment before turning back to the table and raising the picture of Alan Wallace and placing it back in an upright position on the desk. Eden turns back to the camera and winks. “I'll see you Monday, Alan.”
The video feed flickers to static and the scene fades to black.
Hugh moves out from behind the camera, giving a slow clap as he slides up behind Eden who has turned to watch the ending video playing on the screen. He wraps his arms around her from behind, leaning down to rest his chin on her shoulder. The video shows what wasn't shown to the public during the Synergy, EMT's swarming over Jezebel Saint and carefully loading her onto a spine board, a cervical collar clasped over her neck. Hugh averts his eyes from the horrific scene, instead setting his teeth into Eden's shoulder. She flinches only slightly, Hugh releasing pressure and sighing.
“That was the most brilliant pile of steaming bullshit I've heard delivered, love,” he says nonchalantly, Eden turning to give him a glare, but saying nothing. He sighs again. “You know this is going to hurt more than anything you've ever been through before.”
Eden stares at him a moment and then nods.
“Everything that matters hurts,” her voice comes cool and neutral. Hugh places a quick kiss on the back of her head and then pushes away from her.
“Then we need to build you up to take everything, don't we?” he crooks his finger at her, Eden allowing herself a half smile as she goes to him. He slides a hand along the side of her face and into her hair, slowly closing his fingers in the black mass until it tightens at her scalp. He leans down, speaking softly into the shell of her ear, his lips so close as to brush against the delicate, thin skin there. “If you forget everything else when you're facing him, remember this: All you need to do is to go wherever the pain wants to take you-- into your mind, into your past, into those dark dreams you harbor. Go as far away as you need to, and just know that I'll come for you, and I'll find you and bring you back.” He places a kiss on her ear, Eden nodding as she closes her eyes, taking his hand and following him out of the studio. He stops at the doorway, tilting her chin up so that she's looking directly at him.
"What do you do with the pain?" he asks her.
"I go where it takes me," she answers. He doesn't acknowledge her answer, asking the same question again.
"What do you do with the pain?"
Eden closes her eyes and lets herself fall away into the crucible of it all. She doesn't answer his question, prompting Hugh to ask another.
"What burns, love?"
"It burns and I burn," she responds, a tear slipping out between her thick lashes. Hugh moves his hand upward, his thumb catching the tear and rubbing it into her skin.
"And what do you do when it burns you?" his question comes out rough as he devours her pale beauty through hungry eyes.
"I walk barefoot through the fire, and I ignore the flames," she answers, her tone taking on one of calming repetition.
And as the world is consumed, the fire catches up all of the half-truths and burns them to ashes.
"I'll ask once more, Eden: what burns?"
She remains silent for a time, Hugh having to move closer to catch the one word, so softly does she utter it.
What burns?
"Everything."