The Ballad of JayBird and SareBear, Part I: Leadership

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The Ballad of JayBird and SareBear, Part I: Leadership

~~September 1st, 2017~~

Sebastian Hargrave was a patient man.

For fifteen years, the man had made moves to ensure his posterity. For fifteen years, the man had plotted and planned, had pushed and prodded, to put people in place to get his just rewards. For fifteen years he had lived the life of zealot and administrator, of nomad and denizen. For fifteen years, he had been the right-hand man of Jean-Paul Lacklan.

Sebastian did not smile often, not these days, but he smiled at the memory of his departed Savior. Sitting at his desk deep within Lacklan Manor in Maine, the cherrywood monstrosity a gift from his previous master, the memories of that long-ago night were fresh to his mind’s eye. Lacklan was already wearing the mask by then, had already been forever scarred by the flames of an extreme match gone haywire, but his voice had been strong, his back straight.

”Does your pain control you as much as the rest? Do you cower in dark corners as you consider what is coming in the future?"

It had seemed like the massive man was speaking directly to him. He was not, of course. Oh no, Jean-Paul Lacklan was speaking before a gathering within the pit of some long-forgotten club, some music venue in California. Lacklan was preaching of a coming dawn, of a change that was going to happen to the world, and it all began, of all places, within the world of the fighting arts. Mixed Martial Arts were still in small bars back then, but this man was different, this man fought across the world on the brightly-lit stage of professional wrestling.

”The time of reckoning is coming, my dear Minions.”

Minions. The name he used so long ago for those who would choose to follow him.

“The warmth of God is yours, friends. His blanket of understanding is for all. All you need do to be together...to bleed together...to breathe together...is bow. Bow to me. Bow to the Voice of God.”

He had. He was one of the first. And certainly the most fervent. He understood exactly what the massive man was saying, knew exactly what his message was about. And as Lacklan said that things would be ”...beautiful.” Sebastian believed it. Internalized it.

Thus began the career of Sebastian the Exhorter. He had taken his wife and toddler, a boy the same age as Lacklan’s own daughter, and not only followed the wrestler on his career, but spoke of his mission and his words. He hit the road with him, spending time in the car singing hymnals with his wife and child, to watch Lacklan fight and take down infidels all across the country. And when Lacklan went overseas to fight the world? Sebastian was there to help grow his power at his base. His accounting degree helped immensely on that front, his internal knowledge of not just numbers but their manipulation, as well. It was HIS mind that helped Lacklan International grow from “old money” to a massive fortune. It was HIS mind that allowed Lacklan the financial security on Earth so that he could continue his spiritual fight.

He was compensated well, of course. His position as Steward was a high command, second only to Lacklan, himself. And not just a position of power and authority, oh no, but a position of influence. He had Lacklan’s ear like no other. Lacklan asked his advice when he decided to grow the Manor and buy much of the land surrounding. He asked his advice when he concocted the plan to buy off a local politician to become part of the Republican Sweep in 2010 and become Governor of the state, the plans which ultimately allowed the Lacklan-owned land to become Lacklanland. He shared with him the secret of the island off the Pacific, an odd find due to a cruise liner crashing, which housed a gold mine.

Sebastian smirks at this memory. The secret gold mine was how Lacklan International had turned from a million dollar company of plastics and canning started by his Savior’s grandfather into a billion dollar company. At last audit, the total worth, including the land, was approximately $5 billion. But his smirk falls as he remembers more. He remembers how Lacklan’s body had deteriorated due to cancer. Radiation had done nothing outside of remove all of his hair, and some believed that the destruction of his lungs was due to the treatment. He remembered the final year of his life and the adoption of a complicated mask, one of wires and tubes, which helped him breathe and talk. He remembered telling him that his love for Nikita Dolore, the woman principally responsible with training his daughter Sarah for wrestling, was unrequited.

The fallen face sneers at the thought of Sarah. Fifteen years of planning and manipulation had fallen to dust when the freak had gone off to Hollywood. Years of subtly making sure that his child and the ghostly girl were together, years of making sure that they had what are now called “play dates.” Years of making sure that his son was in position to be her confidant and best friend. Years of gaining her trust. Years of gently pushing his son to make romantic moves with gently prods like, “The Blood Princess seems to fancy you.”

He had cackled in glee when his spies had gotten him word that, at the tender ages of twelve, the two had shared a kiss, the first for both. And he had fallen into fits of outright victorious laughter when those spies reported two years later that his son and the girl had become intimate. His plans had succeeded. His future, and that of his family, would forever be tied to the Savior. And while the trollop had turned out to be a whore, her ravenous sexual desires becoming a joke in quiet corners over the years, he had always remained secure in the knowledge that, when it came time to wed and produce and heir, his son, her best friend, would be there.

The death of Lacklan had hit Sebastian hard. He had believed every word the man had said. He had believed in his mission of a pure world. A world where “their” kind was supreme.

The fact that the whore child had returned to Lacklanland for her father’s wake with that negro had been galling and made him want to puke. To dishonor her father so! It was bad enough when the two had so brazenly been together before, but this?! Terrible. He was not the only one to think so, of course. He was not the only to think so, of course. He had many allies who believed in his vision of the future of Lacklanland. Allies who missed the days of crucifying Jews and kicking out the negroes and all of those those slant-eyes who thought they were better. He missed the days of one color. A pure color.

He was delighted when, a few months later, his son was called away to work for the now Red Queen. The duties were for something dealing with the negroes whore mother, but he was confident that his son was being called away for a different reason. The albino trollop’s hunger for her first lover and best friend in the compound would no doubt push past this “relationship” with the negro girl.

But his son had failed him.

The anger Sebastian felt at the wedding of the trollop and the negro was so intense that he could not speak for most of it. Even seeing that his son had allowed the negro to touch him, much less beat him to a bloody pulp, over some odd fight between the two “brides” was not on the level of rage and disgust he felt.

Lacklan’s vision was spat upon.

The Hargrave fortune was lost.

Until today. Until a certain piece of information was brought you him.

“You are certain of his, Jacob?”

Sebastian could feel every one of his 45 years in his voice, could feel his age pushing him to rest. But this piece of information was enough to bring his tired soul a shot of happiness.

“Yes, Father.”

His son’s demeanor was a respectful as always, a spirit forged in the cold Maine climate and tempered by the ancient fashions of the Lacklan family. The paper Jacob had given him, a copy of a marriage certificate from Vegas with the negro’s name on it, felt like finely-spun gold from the mine in his hands. There was a drawing, messy and full of broken loops and lines, of a man and woman together, the woman saying “I’m so happy!” was more likely than not crafted by the very hand of the negro. Drunk...sober...high...clear...it did not matter. The negro knew what she was doing when she did this a year before.

“Thank you, Jacob. You may go.”

His son gave him a deep bow before going to his duties as a member of the guard. Sebastian began to cackle as a plan formed in his mind, a plan to forever separate the trollop and the negro, bring his albino queen back into the arms of his son, and ultimately move the fortune back into his own hands.

He was near to the point of joyful tears as he began to search for the contact information of Sidney Grey.

~~September 6th, 2017~~

So that we are clear: I am sorry I hurt you and made it seem like I was dumping on your path. I DID NOT mean to do so. I love you, Ken, and would never choose to hurt you. I hope that you believe me on that.

I will be attending bible study at the Calvary Chapel on 59th with Angie at 7:00 PM, if you wish to join us.

I love my wife.

yes. no. me too

Sarah stares down at those text in anger, frustration, and sadness as and she and Angelica Vaughn walk into the church on 59th street. She and Kenzi had had a massive fight across the day and it was, in her opinion, equally their faults. Sarah had made a TINY joke about Kenzi’s Scientology and one would have thought that she had taken her wife’s fictitious puppy, kicked it down the street, skinned it, roasted it, and ate it out of a bowl made from it’s skull! Kenzi had gone COMPLETELY batshit crazy and someone SARAH was the bad guy.

Well, damnit, Scientology WAS sci-fi comedy!

She brings her head up as Angie pulls on her elbow. Her friend, a fellow “Cool Kid,” looked so much like her that they could have been sisters. While not an albino like her, Angie still had skin the color of cream and hair a pale yellow. The two had often joked that Sarah was the only person whiter than Angie...and that was buy way of cheating!

The two shared a bond that Kenzi could not grasp or understand, and one that had nothing to do with their similar appearances. The taller girl had had an upbringing much akin to her own: A deeply religious father who preached of hellfire and brimstone, of salvation and sins. But, much like her friend and Maid of Honor Kitty Galore, the relationship Angie had with her father was not a loving one. Angie hadn’t gone into detail while on their trip to New York those months ago, or even in the time since when they had truly become close, but Sarah was sure that Angie’s father had some sort of resentment for his daughter and, though Sarah would never say so to her face, she was certain that Angie was a bit too much the dullard to know the difference.

“We are going to be late for Bible study,” her friend says with wide eyes. Of the six Cool Kids, only Angie shared her deep Protestant Christian beliefs, though they did disagree on a few points. She herself was a Baptist, though she ALSO disagreed with a few points within the Good Book, particularly in the same-sex relationship category, but the core of their beliefs were the same. And her anger with her wife over the pure and utter bullshit that was Thetans, Xenu, and “clarity” gave her a flaming want to visit a proper church, and thankfully, the Vermont native happened to be in town for the week.

“Right behind you!”

The two slipped into the chapel as quiet as they could, what Sarah would call “ninjaing” if she was in a better humor, but the dozen or so people couldn’t help but notice them. Angie was striking in her own right, decently tall for a young woman, and with the sharp cheekbones of a model. But Sarah herself would make even the most schooled church-goer pause their studies. Red eyes blazing out from the black wings painted on her white face, platinum hair pulled back into a bun so intricate it took three of her servants to craft, long black and red robe falling to the floor. Most, particularly those who would thump their bibles in indignation, would immediately label her as some “Gothic” miscreant, but the truth of the heiress to the Lacklan fortune was far more complicated than someone with an affinity for coffins or blacklights.

“Hello there,” says the man behind the translucent pulpit. “Welcome!”

Sarah had done her research when looking for the closest Calvary Baptist church to the apartment she shared with Kenzi, affectionately referred to as Lacklanland West, and knew that the Senior Pastor of the church was Reverend Dr. Virgil Jones. The dark-skinned man had a booming voice and might well have caught her eye even a few weeks ago, but she had found that marriage with Kenzi had taken all of her attention. She couldn’t even FLIRT with anyone any more, and it wasn’t even an issue of getting in “trouble” with her wife; instead, she simply did not have the desire any more.

“Hello, Reverend. My friend and I were hoping to listen tonight.”

The man’s wide smile split his face in two at the Londoner voice.

“Of course! Of course! Come sit.”

The two Cool Kids find spaces and listen closely as the good doctor launches into a fiery sermon on leadership, jumping back and forth from verses in Galatians, Hebrews, and Isaiah. Sarah noticed Angie nodding quite a bit, her eyes lighting up at the power in the preacher’s voice, and she had to agree with her friend’s enthusiasm. The reverend was quite good. But as he came to a close and began instructions on the congregation breaking up into groups for study, she could not help but raise her hand. The reverend looked at her over his glasses.

“Yes...Miss…”

“Mrs,” Sarah corrects him, making sure the black and red ring on her finger shined as she stood up. She was quite short, only 5’2”, but her entire demeanor demanded respect and notice. “Mrs. Grey-Lacklan. I just would like to mention that this service is incomplete and should be finished before you retire.”

The reverend opened his eyes wide.

“Pardon?”

“You are missing an important passage from James, Sir. Chapter One, Verse Twelve.”

The reverend looks down at his bible and begins to flip to the mentioned chapter, but stops as the light voice raises into the air again.

“No bother, Sir. ‘Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.’”

She finishes her recitation with a smile.

“My favorite, Sir. For it promises rewards to those who fight and refuse to give up.”

The reverend chuckles.

“Well spoken. Perhaps I should retire and let you take over the church.”

The congregation laughs at this, as does the reverend. But Sarah takes him literally and she takes measured steps forward.

“Perhaps I should.”

Before Dr. Jones knows what is happening, he is gently pushed away by the Firestarter, with the platinum-haired young woman turning to face those sitting in the pews, placing her hands upon the clear pulpit made of a strong plastic. Sarah smirks when she sees the small cross resting inside a sunburst along the bottom of the pulpit: This plastic had been created in her own factory.

“Ladies and gentlemen, being a leader means more than just a few words on taking care of one another, or of being amenable to suggestion, or any other such drivel as you might hear in this world poisoned by millennials. Leadership is about fighting, about fighting from the front lines and within the warroom, both. About never giving up until your enemies are crushed and your failings are forever forgotten in the wake of your successes.

“I myself face this. I myself am a leader who must constantly prove their worth by picking myself up after losses and driving my detractors into the Abyss. Why, in my career and life, I have had to lead all those around me, from being the center of a group of friends…”

She smiles at Angie, who smiles back at her. This was no boast; indeed, while not one of them would call anyone the “leader” of the Cool Kids, Sarah was the genesis of the relationships.

“...to being an indomitable tag team wrestler, to leading an entire movement, a revolution, if you will, that is designed to change not just my chosen profession, but this world as a whole. And, for those of you who know who I am, let me say that my battles over the next few days are those trying times that James spoke of with such faith in the One Lord God. Just as James spoke, I shall receive my winnings and riches, receive the crown from the One Lord God, and fulfill His plan for me.

“Very soon, I face men and women in a fight for true leadership, and those that face me are those high and low in life. One of those men goes by the name of Rydell, a man who most would say is only in this position by pure luck, or perhaps by the serendipity of facing people who would not even bother showing up. Those people would certainly not be the type to persevere, to EARN God’s crown, and so him representing those people, he being the ‘victor,’ if I may sully that word, is laughable at best."

Sarah smirks, the lips painted to match her eyes curling up with mirth.

“There is another Rydell in this business with whom I am acquainted. I call her the Paragon of Mediocrity...and perhaps I should look into if the two are related somehow. My perfectly matched nickname for Kenzie Rydell certainly seems to be familial with the Dave Rydell I soon face.

“Of course, I also face the Buffoon, the man who would well serve me as jester if I were to offer him the position. Mister Hastings fashion himself the type of leader who can bring love, passion, humor, understand...hell….he probably believes that he could lower the ocean level and reverse global warming! He is silly...but he is no idiot. Reality is that, no matter how much they wish to fight or ignore the truth, he and I, though my own superior leadership, of course, have a team victory over the two most dominant wrestlers within our company. He is no buffoon...but he is no leader. He is an amazing follower, yes, but not leader.”

She smirks again.

“Of course, one of those dominant wrestlers was someone who...well...means much to me. A woman who represents much that I aspire to become. A woman who has something that I desperately want. And for three seconds...three DAMNED SECONDS...she was better than me. But in this? In leadership? In controlling the masses and crushing my foes with a righteous army? I am almost sorry for her in that she must once again face the Abyss. And in this avenue, those three seconds will not matter. But the three seconds before then? The three seconds that it took for me to slip on the Hail Mary and send her into the sweet caress of unconsciousness? THOSE three seconds matter the most.

“Additionally, I also face a man who calls himself King, though the idea of any royal lineage is laughable. Outside of issues dealing with Miss Wylde, I am untouchable in the Coalition, and that includes an encounter with King. The Crucible fashions himself one who would hand out beatings to the proverbial left and right, but the poor man cannot even lead the world champion, the most dominant man in the company, to a victory. I do not worry overmuch for a defeated foe who is, as even the Buffoon himself has called, simply ridiculous.”

She pauses as she looks over the crowd, a crowd full of faces not sure what to make of this odd little woman.

“But most of all, I do not worry about a woman who lost the faith of an entire company. I told Miss Morgan the same thing that I told Mister Baal, that I was just getting started in their little world, and in my time here, I have seen her not only fall to the Snake, but to be laughed at in dark corners by the rest of the lockerroom. Oh, few would do it to her face, of course. Respect and all. But what I have seen? The mockery and snide comments? Signs of mutiny, signs of a leadership which as deteriorated at its core. Indeed, the ship that is the Coalition is looking for a leader to not only right the sails...but raise a banner worth following and worshipping.”

Sarah’s eyes go wide, the red orbs blazing.

“And I raise that banner! I hoist the colors! The Red! The Black! I will BURN THIS WORLD WITH MY REVOLUTION!”

The members of the congregation turn and mutter to themselves as Sarah suddenly begins to scream.

“MY LEADERSHIP! THE WORLD BEGS FOR MY LEADERSHIP! AND BY GOD, THE WORLD WILL COWER IN FEAR OF MY FLAMES...OF MY FIRE...AND THEY SHALL LOVE ME FOR IT!”

The explosion of the small woman would go down in history within the church on 59th street. It took police being called to pull her out of the building, her screams of fire and pain not stopping until she was led down the street by the bewildered policemen.

~~FIN~~