A Question of Stamina

[Deleted]

Presenting the Lacklan Saga Story of:

A Question of Stamina

Stamina is such an interesting thing. Some think of stamina as the ability to run for miles and miles without a falter. Some consider it the ability to perform one solitary task over and again, such as sit at a desk or stand upon your feet. Some would even consider the far more crass idea of the ability to fuck for long periods of time, pleasure a lover without the need to finish yourself. But I...I...I think of something different when I ponder the word “stamina.”

My name is Lacklan. There are some in this very company who know my name, though it would have been through my father’s efforts, may he have found peace at the Maker’s side. But the future of this business, the future of this very world, must understand what that name means due to my own efforts. In me, the name Lacklan means unyielding...unending..unforgiving...stamina.

I am fighting the world across the world, fighting any and all, ENDING any and all. I back down from no challenge, I hide from no competitor, and I lay waste to any man, woman, or even child who would dare be foolish enough to stare into my eyes.

But this statement? Of fighting any and all? Of fighting the world across the world? These are not catchphrases. These are not blurbs to be printscreened on an article of clothing to be sold to some ratty, tattered, unwashed heathen. No...these statements? They are fact. They are reality. They are the truth. Because I DO INDEED fight the world wherever that fight may be. All across the country. In Mexico where the sport is a religion. In the middle of the boom in the United Kingdom. In tournaments in Japan where I may kick the everliving hell out of anyone trying to pull that “flippy shit” on me. Making people tap out in middle of the ring, sending them through a flaming table, or driving them into the Abyss itself.

I do not falter.

I do not fall.

My steps do not slow.

I have the stamina to do what no one has ever done in this sport.

To be the very best that there has ever or will ever.

Last week, I fought in five matches across five days.

I was not given a loser’s purse in any of them.

THAT is reality, dearie. THAT is the truth.

I have the stamina to fight the world. And in few days, much to your chagrin, that means in the middle of a Coalition ring. And far sooner than expected because...well...because I have the stamina. The Melee...the Massive Melee...all those names...all those hoping to gain success and validation at the expense of nearly the entire roster. But those promoters...those wonderful, foolish promoters...cast all of your hopes into the Abyss with but one statement:

“...and more!”

The lights will go out.

Beethoven will flood the arena.

The Red Queen will make her way to the ring with her Consort at her side.

I will enter the ring.

And proceed to fuck up every single person in front of me.

Because that? That is what I do. That is what I was built for. That is what I was BORN for.

Fucking.

People.

Up.

Luck plays a role, yes. A late draw...it does wonders. But what is more important? What matters most in this match type?

Stamina.

History has shown that in staggered battle royals...stamina is key. Rare is the winner the final entrant. In fact, there are far more early-entry winners than late.

Stamina.

I...and I alone...possess the stamina to do what is needed. I...and I alone...possess the brutal efficiency to dismantle a ring full of warriors, to decimate them one by one until only the Firestarter is standing.

Part of me feels sorry for whoever walks out of Synergy with the World Heavyweight Championship. Morgan...Somers...whichever of you walks out with your head tall...will get it kicked right off. But more on that later!

As I look around this company...I shake my head in equal parts sadness and disgust. The One Lord God, the Creator Himself, loves this sport, loves wrestling. He created me, and my father before me, to save this business, even if it means burning it to the ground so that it may be built anew, and I see that this global coalition is slothenly as I have ever seen. This roster...this company...is as dead to the business as a limb which has lost all flow of blood and must be severed. And this roster...it must be severed to save the body...must be burned off to save the business.

...a woman who are more obsessed with their curves and filmography than being competitive...

...a man whose primary tactic is overwhelming you with nicknames so that you do not notice his complete lack of technique...

...men obsessed with the immaterial worries of their name value or trinkets...

...a...sandwich? Oh sweet Mother...

...and above all else...and I suppose this is most telling of all...man after man...woman after woman...with title after title...each one of them lost. There is little to be prideful of in being a 27 time world champion...as you are telling me that...within a 10 year career...you have had someone TAKE YOUR TITLE FROM YOU...27 times...

Pathetic.

But that all changes in a few days. That all changes when the melee does indeed become massive.

When the Firestarter...with her unbending stamina...burns this company to the ground.

~~Tuesday, May 30th, 2017~~

Hollywood, California was a town of equal parts decadence, flash, and degradation. One path lined with stars on the ground leads to Hollywood and Vine, leads to Pantages Theatre, the Palladium, Capitol Records, and all the culture Southern California has to offer. But even a stop away from that yellow brick road of stars leads away from the Wizard and into a Quadling’s den of panhandlers, street musicians high on whatever they could get their hands on, and schizophrenics arguing and punching at the air. It was with a deep worry that the late Jean-Paul Lacklan agreed to let his only offspring move from the cold environs of Lacklanland to the land of glitz and glamour, but he knew he had had no choice; indeed, his Blood Princess’ heart was set.

The Lido Apartments were two blocks away from that explosion of culture and gaiety and were the pinnacle of Hollywood indulgence. With a foyer filled with crystal chandeliers and waterfalls, the building featured rooms with every modern convenience imaginable, doormen and valets, staff trained at the most prestigious schools, all presented with a modern design and architecture seemingly created by Koenig himself.

The interior of the apartment 17 floors up belonging to Sarah Selena Lacklan and Mackenzie Michaela Grey was equal parts ordered opulence and messy chaos. As one walks through the front door, the left side is neatly arranged with three racks of shoes, a dozen parasols of different colors, and an equal amount of matching jackets. The right side after the thresh, however, looks as if a group of teenage boys had taken up residence and had a particularly rowdy party: Random articles of discarded clothing, half-eaten bags of potato chips, and Twinkie wrappers licked clean.

Sitting on a black leather couch is an ebony beauty known to many people, regardless of their media choices. With a head full of long braids, numerous piercings, and a multitude of small tattoos covering her body, Kenzi Grey is known as a wrestler for Ladies All-Star Wrestling, a television star in the show Hexx, and most recently a movie star with her first major project, All That Glitters, still in movie theatres. Her fingers flash like lightning on a large cellphone in her hand, her characteristic smirk on her face as she roasts some random troll on Twitter. She could already tell that it was going to be a great day.

She lifts her head as she hears a door open. Her brown eyes take in the door leading to the bedroom she shares with her girlfriend and, stumbling out of the room like Hatshephsut emerging from her tomb, is the Firestarter herself, Sarah Lacklan. The albino girl with the long platinum hair stumbles out of that bedroom, her feet shuffling, her eyes half closed, just a bit of her famous red irises peeping out. She bumps into the door frame as she moves, rebounding clumsily. There are deep purple circles around her eyes and the lines in her eyes are as red as those odd irises, but what really sticks out are the serious of bandages and bundles of cloth wrapped around her, different oils and tinctures pressed into wounds from a vicious weekend of wrestling matches. . She makes her slow way over to Kenzi, her movements akin to that mummy Pharaoh of antiquity, and falls to her knees, the twin thuds against the hardwood loud, her face plopping down on the couch next to her.

"I'm so tired!" she moans into the couch cushion. "Imma die."

Even with the wail muffled into the couch, her light and airy Londoner accent is music to Kenzi’s ears. She reaches over and gently pulls Sarah’s head up to let it rest in her lap, her fingers toying with platinum hair as fine as silk.

"I know it's been a rough couple of days, but let's just rest while we can, okay?"

Sarah makes some kind of sound into Kenzi's lap. A moan? A wail?

"Red Fighter is low on energy. Feed me?"

"How about some fruit? Or do you want some meat? I think we have chicken breasts.”

Sarah mumbles something unintelligible into Kenzi's lap, but the multi-media star is pretty certain "your sweet pussy" is in there somewhere. Sarah rolls over and plops her butt on the floor to lean back against the couch, wincing as she does so.

"Sweet Mother...I do not think there is a single part of my body that does not hurt."

She raises her arms and stretches, her muscles growing taut. She is surprisingly thick for her age and height: The small tanktop and shorts she wears to battle the Southern California heat show a lean upper body punctuated by a modest bust with arms showing smooth muscle. The real power behind her, though, and the answer to the question of how a lean girl of 5 feet and 2 inches can weigh over 140 pounds is in the legs resting on the floor. Those legs are full of thick muscle, hard cords built with a lifting regimen consisting heavily of squats and deadlifts for the last five years. And each and everyone one of those muscles hurt today.

After stretching out some of the soreness, she flings her head over to look at Kenzi with half-closed eyes.

"Beloved, the next time I sign up for five matches in seven days, you beat my ass, alright? Like, make it totes red."

She turns her head to look at the kitchen. Even that motion sends a jolt of pain through her neck.

"Grapes sound wonderful."

Kenzi leans down to kiss Sarah’s forehead before bounding from the couch, and setting to getting the requested fruit. Their kitchen is a modern gourmet setting with black and silver appliances, the room filled with sharp lines and stark contrasts. She returns in short order with black bowl full of seedless green grapes and plops down beside Sarah. She puts one arm around her and proceeds to feed her with one hand as she rubs her back with the other. Kenzi smirks as she feels the muscles there; while Sarah’s legs were large, she did not shirk at any of her routine and was fit all around.

"Sar, you did amazing! Not many, if anyone at all, could do what you did. That being said, I will still gladly paddle your bottom!"

Sarah purrs as she chews the grapes. She was occasionally embarrassed by the legitimately audible sound she emitted when she was being caressed or cared for, but she did not mind when it came to Kenzi. That fact was part of what led her to realize that her caramel-skinned lover was her soulmate.

"I AM due for a good paddling. It has been a while."

She was serious, of course. Sarah was strong, demanding, fierce. She gladly fought anyone in front of her, with both fists and words, but Kenzi was allowed to see an intimate side no one else was afforded. Kenzi got to see Sarah at her most vulnerable, when she needed to cry, when she needed a hug, and when she needed to be put in her place. Sarah demanded it of her; indeed, it helped her keep perspective. Sarah puts her head on Kenzi's shoulder and hugs her.

"I love you, baby. Thank you for being at my side for this whole thing. I know it isn't exactly what you want from your own career but...well...it's just something I NEED to do, if that makes sense."

"It makes perfect sense,” Kenzi says without hesitation. She feeds her another grape with a loving touch. “You're fighting for Jean Paul and I'm fighting for my mom...more or less. Probably more less."

Sarah closes her eyes as she swallows another grape.

"Will you love me if I fail?" she whispers. "Will you pick me up if I fall?"

"I'm with you forever and ever."

Another response without hesitation. Their love was strong, even desperate, and they needed each other. But her look of seriousness turns mischievous as she clenches a grape between her teeth and beckons for Sarah to take it from her. Sarah grins and again purrs over the answer. She leans over to press her lips against Kenzi's, letting her tongue pull the grape away from her lover. She cannot help but smile as their lips separate, her odd red eyes shining with wetness.

"I love you baby."

Her eyes go wide.

"Oh! Did I tell you that I signed up for this big ass rumble...thing? We are going to Boston on Monday! We are gonna be beat! Argentina on Sunday, Boston on Monday, and then immediately off to the UK for Tuesday!"

Kenzi's eyes go wide as she licks her lips and tries to act happily surprised.

"Wow!"

Sarah's tired eyes fill with a manic light, completely missing the feigned sincerity in her lover’s voice.

"I am going to fight the world." She turns and positions herself between Kenzi's legs, keeping their faces close. "WE are. The entire world. The Red Queen and her Consort."

She licks her lips.

"Do you promise to be mine forever?"

"I am yours already...always and forever!"

Again, no hesitation. She holds her baby's face and kisses her delicious grape-flavored mouth. Sarah moans into the kiss, crawling closer to take Kenzi's face in her hands. She has a devious smile on her face as she pulls off, biting down on Kenzi's lower lip as she does so.

"I feel better. Thank you. Now...about that sweet pussy..." She nuzzles Kenzi's neck, teeth grazing her collarbone. Kenzi’s neck had a large bruise on it, an eternal hickie with the indents of what are unmistakably the perfectly straight teeth of her girlfriend. That fetish of theirs, that not only was Sarah viciously talented with her teeth but that Kenzi craved the mixture of pleasure and pain, had been discovered on the night of their first date in late February. The movement, and the promise of what it meant, makes Kenzi shiver. "Interested, Beloved?"

Sarah’s use of her pet name for Kenzi makes her shudder again. She shakes her head in wonderment and places the forgotten bowl of grapes down so that she can take ahold of platinum hair.

“You just went through three matches in two days, including two hardcore matches on the same day! How can you even be thinking of that?”

Sarah giggles, the sound odd coming from someone known for unrelenting rage and brutality in the ring.

“Because,” she says, breathing warm breath on Kenzi’s neck. “...because I have the stamina...”

With a snarl, she attacks Kenzi’s neck, teeth chomping down. Kenzi hisses in pain but is quick to fall back against the couch, lost in the pleasure of her Red Queen.

I would like to a moment of intimacy with Miss Morgan and Mister Somers, if I may.

I said before that I, at least in part, am sorry for you. I wish to that this moment of intimacy for you to understand, wholly, why I have that sorrow.

To be called World Champion is of great importance. Many in our business, particularly members of this specific Coalition roster who have gotten waylaid by worries of factions, dreams of movies, and the desire to get laid, seem to forget that the whole POINT of what we do is to be the best. To be considered champion. To BE champion.

I desire this...desperately...

I am young. Not even yet 20. But I grew up in this business, Miss Moran, Mister Somers. My father was a world champion who travelled the globe to fight any and all, to celebrate and spread God’s Grace. I spent my life at his side, his constant companion, and saw him fight that good fight. Saw him horribly burned. So him fail and fall. But, most importantly, saw him rise, stand tall, as a world champion.

I have yet to have that success. Oh, I can hear you now!

“You are young!”

“It will come in time!”

Silly, that. I have been lifting heavy weights with my father since the day I turned 14. My body? A mountainous work of art. My mind? Sharpened by private tutors in all subjects from history to journalism to economics. My heart? Trained by masters in piano, voice, and ballet. My technique in the ring? Exceptional...trained by former world champions who would not give me any quarter whatsoever.

This is why I have this, albeit small, sorrow for whichever of your walks into the festival as champion. Because that title...that World Championship...is MINE.

THAT is why I am here.

THAT is why I have entered the Melee.

THAT is what drives me.

I have had the opportunity before. A few months ago. Against a world champion with more age and experience. I lost...my first pinfall loss...and it haunts me. But what hurts more than the loss? I was THIS close from defeating him. I was THIS close to becoming a world champion and honoring my father’s legacy. And, by God, I will NEVER let myself come up THAT short again.

This is why I have the sorrow.

This is why my heart aches for you.

Because your doom...it is soon...and it will be crushing.

I will win the Melee and go on to wrestle for the World Championship on the final day of the Festival.

I will stand in the ring with whichever of you has the ability to walk out of Synergy the victor.

And then? As you stare down into these fire-filled eyes?

You will cower.

Your knees will grow weak...they will shake.

Your bowels will turn to water.

You will face God’s Reckoning, a woman filled with more passion and drive than you have ever seen in your lives, much less your careers.

And you will fall. Because...to bring this full circle...you lack the stamina to contend with the Firestarter.

THAT is reality, dearies. THAT is what awaits you. I will NEVER come up short again. And, unfortunately for you, that means that I must kick you down...drop you down into the Abyss...and take away from you what belongs to me.

My world championship...my legacy...my revolution...

Oh, Sweet Mother...it will be beautiful.

Hoist the banner.

Raise the colors.

The Red!

The Black!

Gotta burn in my revolution.