Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 23:47:10 GMT -5
Hello Lockheart.
Why are we fighting? Why are we having this match? Because I triumphed in the WrestleStock Open and you did not? Because I detest Jan van der Roost, aside from his cooking? Because I called out your girlfriend, and all other singles champions within Ladies Allstar, for being a coward who never seems to show up unless it is convenient for them?
No.
So...why then? Why are we scheduled to do battle in the Coalition on Monday? Two words...one catchphrase:
Fight life.
The sheer idea that anything about who you are or represent could be synonymous with a fighting life is an insult to my very nature. *I* fight across the world. *I* fight all comers and challenges. *I* learn from every style, incorporating every theory, and weave a unique tapestry of pain and sorrow for those detractors who would stand before me. I take down champions and legends everywhere I go, from across the country, past the northern borders of Canda and Mexico, and across the pond into the United Kingdom.
Bear in mind, I see you for you who are. I see you for someone who, in one of their very first matches, took down a champion.
I applaud that.
A pity that it was the champion of a developmental fed.
Otaki is NOT the Firestarter.
I see you for who you...but I DO NOT BELIEVE in you. I am not some developmental fighter who still needs time in the oven. I am not someone barely out of wrestling school who, before just a few weeks ago, ran from life. Ran from realities. Ran from the world.
Your feet are tired from running?
I will make you run for the warm safety blanket of obscurity which the Future Stars of Wrestling provides. Because this stage? The Coalition? It is too grand for. Too large. Too exposed.
NO ONE can take away your victory in the WrestleStock Cup. NO ONE can rip away the idea reality that you won your very first match against two opponents who have more wrestling experience combined than you have years lived on this earth. NO ONE is going to take away the pluck and courage you showed.
That being said…
*I* am the one who took away the whole damned point of that match: The WrestleStock Cup.
*I* am the one who won it.
*I* am the one who has their name in the Coalition record books.
*I* am the one who will go on to defeat Lucy Wylde for her Cross-Hemisphere Championship.
Now, I AM aware that you are one of those people who think that winning matches is unimportant. Oh, you were happy to tout your win over Otaki and go have tea with her and share pants and stuff, but apparently me pinning you clean is, like, not important? Like, it didn’t matter? If it didn’t matter, then we would not be having this match. If it didn’t matter, then you would not have responded to anything I have said. If it didn’t matter, then you would not be leaving that security blanket of yours to face me in the land which is quickly beginning to become my domain. If it didn’t matter, then you would not be so ready to become my fifth victory in the Coalition.
That IS what is going to happen, dearie. Because beating people is what I do. Creating an overwhelming tally of wins is what I do. Proving people wrong and shutting them up is what I do. It is what I am going to do to your girl, what I am going to do to Smyth, what I am going to do to Wylde, and what I am going to do to you.
Now, I FULLY understand that you think you already have this won. After all, I’m just the delusional albino chick, right? I’m just the one who doesn’t know how to shit up on Twitter and spends all day talking shit? Unfortunately for your record and pride, I am FAR more than that. I am FAR more than some keyboard warrior chucking stones with no intention of every backing up their talk. Because, as I have proven over and over and OVER AGAIN since January, I walk to that ring, kick the everloving hell out of people, send them into the Abyss, and collect that winner’s purse.
My life isn’t about tattoo parlors or subpar schools whose students fade away into the Abyss. My life is about fighting and winning. My life IS that fight life you so wish to have. Your dream of learning multiple styles? It is what I do everyday with high rates of success. My life is, quite literally, a wonderland of which you can only dream.
Hmmm. Dream. Interesting. Makes me wonder…
How would you like for me to defeat you? See, I am giving you the option because I want you to learn as much as possible and get out of the minor leagues of your EWC brand. Yes, I WANT you to be able to join me in the wider world! I WANT you to be able to do more than just dream of being someone like me! So, I give you three options, the first of which you have already experienced a degree of intimacy:
The Abyss. Would you like to find yourself driven down into its depths again? See, jumping you before the WrestleStock Cup had NOTHING to do with beating you and EVERYTHING to do with making Tolson watch you get hurt, making her watch someone genetically superior to her show her dominance. But the Abyss at the end? That was purely for you. It was purely for your defeat and my chance to hold up the Cup. Would you like to feel the embrace of the void again? Or how about a second choice?
Technical knockout. See, you have a slight height advantage on me. Just an inch. But! Oh, holy hell, but! I outweigh you by thirty points. Thirty! And it is not because I am some fatty like Lucy. Oh no, no no. These legs? They have been squatting and deadlifting since the day I turned fourteen. In fact, one of my favorite memories is Father allowing me to life with him that very first time, guiding me through the proper forms, just as he would later in life with wrestling holds. But my kicks? That was all Nikita Dolore, all my Sensei. She taught me how to take these powerful legs of mine and chop down giants as if I were Jack tearing into that beanstalk of legend. I have used these legs and kicks to take down men twice my size on my path to victory, but I have NOT been able to knock someone out with them. Much like my original dream to set someone on fire, I shake with the desire to do so. I quake with the need to launch off my back leg and sweep with my right, connect with my tibia to some poor fool’s head, and send them into dreamland. You and your plastic face would be a prime candidate. But, speaking of dreamland…
Your third choice...and perhaps my favorite…
Would you like to go to sleep? Would you like pass out in the middle of the ring so fully, so completely, that Mister Charteuse needn’t even bother lifting your arm three times?
Would you like to go to sleep...just like Lucy?
This is my favorite option because that feeling…
...when I circled around her body…
...when I hooked my arms around her head…
...when I synched it in…
...when I felt her breath leave her and she slipped into the Abyss by way of my Hail Mary…
...I came.
Sweet Mother...it was truly orgasmic.
I cannot wait to do that to you, Lockheart. I cannot wait to wrap my arms around your neck and squeeze the life out of you.
Send you to dreamland.
And let you dream of being me.
See you soon.
~~Wednesday, August 9th, 2017~~
~"Lacklanland," the Lacklan compound outside Bangor, Maine.~
Sarah giggles as she sends Kenzi a sound message to her phone of that weird noise she makes with her throat. She didn't know if it was the Maine air or something, but she wanted to provide her fiance with fair warning:
The Predator was on the prowl.
Kenzi listens to the message and she instantly knows what it means: One of their many sex games. One in particular that typically lead to Sarah biting the shit out of her, often deep enough to draw blood. She secretly loved it, had loved the kinky secret of biting, since their very first date, even though she didn't admit it to anyone outside of their relationship. But, The Predator and the Prey was indeed a game, a game she enjoys losing, and she needs to make it fun and put in a legitimate effort to escape.
She pulls the sheet from the bed and runs through the rooms until she finds the relative safety of the library. She jumps onto one of the reading chairs and covers herself completely. She sits still, hoping to avoid detection...if she can.
Sarah walks softly on slippered feet through the halls of her floor located high in her family's mansion. She had discarded her skirts in order to avoid noise, stalking in just her underwear. She had dismissed the staff so that only the Predator and her prey were on the floor they lived in when they were in Lacklanland. She takes out her phone, wondering if, in her haste to find safety, her prey thought clearly enough to silence her phone. She smiles in anticipation as she hits send.
#txt Gonna make you scream my name
The sound of Sarah's moaning in pleasure, the notification Sarah had ninja'd onto her phone during the third week of their relationship nearly seven months ago, erupts from Kenzi's phone. She grumbles as she fumbles to silence her phone, cursing under her breath.
"...shit..."
She looks at the message, and can't help but to smile...assuming she found her.
The Predator smiles as her ears perk up as the high-pitched sound echoed through down the hall. She quickly headed in that direction but then took a sudden left and climbed a bit of ladder you had to know was there to see. Outside of the last year, she has lived her entire life in this house, mostly on this floor. Kenzi has been shocked in December to realize that Sarah's "room" was bigger than a warehouse, but it felt small to someone that knew every inch of it. And every secret.
Before long, she is atop one of the tall bookshelves that Belle would be envious of and her red eyes immediately see the thing which doesn't belong: A sheet covering something lumpy on a chair. She pads down the ladder and across the shelves to be above the lumpy sheet. Was this a trick? A pile of books under the sheet to be a diversion? She pulls out her phone from her bra again.
#txt Whatever you do...don't look up and behind you!
The message flashes on Kenzi's screen, and she can't help but to foolishly do as the message says, despite being 'hidden' from view. This was an obviously stupid mistake. She jumps up, tossing off the blanket as she runs for safety, throwing open the massive doors to the balcony and running outside with only her sheer nightwear to cover her. Fortunately the day is rather comfy...which makes up for her foolishly cornering herself.
Sarah takes her time climbing down the rest of the bookshelf and after her prey. It was warm as she stepped out onto the balcony and momentarily lost her focus on her prey as her eyes went to Lacklan Forest in the near distance.
"So much green."
There was awe in her voice. She loved the life of glitz and glamour she had with Kenzi in California, but the vibrant woods and fields of a Maine summer called out to her heart. A lifetime of summers spent adventuring and riding horses. She silently joins Kenzi at the balcony railing, the odd couple standing in their underwear at noon, and takes her hand, her eyes locked in the green.
"How committed are you to staying in L.A.?"
Kenzi hugged Sarah close, looking out over the lush view.
"Not particularly married to it at all. We travel so much that home is wherever you are."
Sarah smiles.
"My great-great grandfather started a manufacturing plant in New York. Canning fish, mostly. His two sons diversified to plastics manufacturing, where the future trying lied, and the family became rich by another generation. Dinner with Rockefellers. Father became a wrestler instead of taking over the business, by my grandparents perishing in an airplane crash made him to finish college and take over. Split his time between the businesses."
She waves at the land before them.
"He is the one who had this built. Now it is up to me to grow it."
She turns to Kenzi.
"I do not ask this to question or test your resolve, but I must address one of the realities of our engagement: I will someday need to produce an heir. Will you be okay raising a child with me?"
Kenzi shivered, not from cold but the thought of children. She didn't like them, not in the least...but perhaps that had more to do with her upbringing that any real hatred.
"I'd be a terrible parent."
She took Sarah's hand and kissed it.
"But...we could be terrible at it...together."
Sarah smiles.
"Together."
She frowns.
"Sorry for killing the mood."
She turns back to the forest.
"Oh," she says nonchalantly. "And I own an island with a gold mine whose indigenous people think Father was God."
Kenzi rubs Sarah's back, then freezes at the mention of a gold mine. She looks at her, her face filled with wonder and shock.
"You own a gold mine...with actual gold?"
Sarah nods absently.
"It's how we went from being millionaire businessmen to billionaire royalty. Rub my glutes? Sore from squats."
Kenzi smirks.
"Oh! Cuz you a rich bitch you think I'm just gonna rub your ass whenever you want?"
Sarah smirks as she looks out over her land.
"Oh please. I have servants for that, if that was the case."
She curls her back to make her hips stick out and clenches her glutes.
"You're going to do it because you can't help yourself."
She looks over her shoulder with a coy expression.
"Do it."
"Rich Hoe!"
Kenzi grabs her ass and begins to massage it.
"Hey! I'm not mad that you have a gold mine...just...I don't know...that's like gold toilet bowl rich, you know? It's..weird."
Sarah moans in both pleasure and relief at the massage as she turns back to the land below. Pain and soreness were a daily reality for lifting.
"I was thinking about dressing you in nothing but jewels. Like, legit nothing but jewels. No clothes. Just some necklaces and belts covered in gems. And then screwing your brains out while you wear them."
She snorts as she enjoys kneading Sarah's buttocks.
"If you were poor, you could wrap me in newspaper and fuck me. I love Selena Lacklan...not Sarah's money, gold, or whatever!"
She sighs as she knows that if the true extent of her wealth is ever known, people will call her a gold digger...literally! Sarah reaches back to touch her arm.
"Thank you, baby."
Her eyes widen.
"Hey! Have you ever ridden a horse?"
She shook her head.
"I was gonna ride a Hinny with you!"
She burst out laughing, but Sarah spins around with her face scrunched up and puts a finger in her face. The idea of them "riding" Honey Smith was a joke that triggered her like few other.
"You stop that right now! Stop it! No really, stop it!"
Kenzi opens her mouth when she finally stops laughing and sucks on the finger Sarah shoved in her face. Winking at her, she licks around and around the digit. Sarah rolls her eyes with a huff.
"You are impossible."
She turns back around to look at the land below her again.
"But feel free to put that tongue to work."
Kenzi cackles.
"Don't threaten me with a good time!"
Standing on her balcony overlooking Lacklanland Forest, Sarah Selena Lacklan holds her robe tight against the Maine chill. Seven months living in Southern California had weakened her, had lowered her walls. Even something as simple as this, the icy wind that the Bangor locals referred to as the Lacklan Mistral, something she had grown up with, pressed against her painfully. Her breath escaped her lips with a visible cloud, spreading out before and rising slowly into the air. This is why she was here. This was why she returned home to train. Three days a week for the next month. Many important matches. Lockheart. Tolson. Wylde. Queen of the Ring tournament.
Sarah turns towards the entrance to her bedchambers and smiles. Her lover, her Beloved, rested in their bed, preparing herself for their next training session. Tomorrow...well, in but a few hours, anyway...they would train harder than they did that day. A very different training, for that matter. One of their friends, Ladies Allstar Wrestling rookie Milisandre Crowthorne, had joined them that evening, a full half of their group or stable together in one place. There was talk of two more of their number joining them before they left for Canda. Four of her team helping her to prepare for big matches on Friday and Monday.
Sarah turns back to the balcony edge and looks out at her land. It was her job to take what her father created and expand it. Her job to make him proud. Her job to change wrestling forever. Sarah reaches into her robe and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a matchstick. In one smooth motion, she places a cigarette in her mouth, strikes the match against the balcony to bring forth the flame, and brings it to the end. A few seconds later, she is blowing out a plume of smoke to chase after the frozen breath. She stares at the flame of the match, the flicker reflecting against her own odd red eyes and making them flash.
“I see you, Ichabod.”
She smirks and takes another drag.
“Be careful what you wish for. Something wicked...it comes. Mind the flames.
She leans in and blows out the match.