The Ballad of JayBird and SareBear, Part II: Teamwork
Sept 14, 2017 11:44:04 GMT -5
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Post by Deleted on Sept 14, 2017 11:44:04 GMT -5
The Ballad of JayBird and SareBear, Part II: Teamwork
The grounds were all atwitter, as was the usual on this day, for the birthday of the Blood Princess was at hand. Her father, the Voice of God and Savior of Professional Wrestling, Jean-Paul Lacklan had arranged a massive gala to be held at the old Lacklan mansion, the house originally built by his father. The masked man walked slowly through the large house as servants moved to and fro with nearly frantic energy. Lacklan smiled,, thought it was hard to tell behind the alabaster mask, as it only showed his chin, but he was pleased with the activity of the staff. They performed well.
“…SO HELP ME GOD!”
He walked toward the high pitched scream with the same level of grace and slowness, not worried or concerned in the slightest. He even shook his head a little, his long hair brushing against the shoulders of his suit jacket as he did so. He knew that voice, knew the tone, knew what was going on, more likely than not. His large frame dominated the doorway when he got to the origin of scream, his 230 pounds of muscle on his six foot, three inch frame making him wide and solid, and his grey eyes filled with love and mirth as he saw the scene before him, a scene which was nearly exact from what he had in his mind:
His 8-year-old daughter Sarah, the girl of platinum hair and moonlight skin, was in a rage. Her eyes, that rarest of rarities in an albino which meant that even they lacked melatonin and thus reflected red in the light, were filled with rage and passion. Servants run from her out the small servant’s door, a newly hired maid even in tears, as his daughter lashed about with a whip in her hands. He chuckles as they flee, even guffaws as Sarah catches one on the rump with her whip and eliciting a yelp. With the servants having run for their lives, Sarah turns at the sound of that guffaw and offers a sweet smile.
“Hello, Father!”
Lacklan shakes his head at the sound of his daughter’s voice. The girl was born and raised in Maine, but she insisted on speaking with the Londoner accent that her mother had had. She never got to meet her mother, his dearly beloved Selena, but there were videos and audio recordings of her. Adventures of the two of them together, even a few voicemails from her high school friend Dexter, who would later become Sarah’s godfather. She had studied them, obsessed over them, learned from them in a way that no 8 year old should be able to do, and copied her mother’s accent and diction perfectly.
“Hello, Daughter.”
Lacklan’s own voice was a harsh thing, a guttural sound that seemed as if he had been gargling rocks every morning for years. Sharp rocks. He smiled again as Sarah took her skirts in her hands and gave him a very deep curtsy. She was a touch wobbly as she dipped, but he appreciated how hard she tried to be the perfect daughter. He gave her a small nod of his head as she came back up, the gesture making her face light up.
“What did you get me for my birthday?!”
She was excitable, always was, ever jumping back and forth from anger and rage to giggles and jests. Nothing ever seemed to bother her long, which is why he did not care to ask what had set her off with her team of servants, for her knew that she had probably already forgotten. He had her seeing Creature’s psychiatrist, Resnik, every week, but he was not truly worried. Both he and the good doctor were certain that her erratic behavior would fade in time.
“What did I not?”
He moved away from the doorway and gestured out of the room. The birthday girl clapped her hands in glee and ran out of the room with a burst of energy, her skirts flying behind her. She would find a party like she had never seen, one even larger than the party the prior year, a party filled with gifts, sweets, and games. He followed her as she ran throughout the manner, her home when they were not on the road together, and was filled with joy as she reveled in her new toys. Several dolls, a painting set, a new piano, new ballet shoes. She could have those things at any time, of course, but they were made special by the occasion.
“Delightful as always, my Lord.”
Lacklan turned at the sound of the voice of his right-hand man, Sebastian. The lean man had been with him for a few years and had, though rare dedication and flawless execution, been an invaluable asset. He and his wife, with their young son, had made many travels with him across the country to see him wrestle or preach, and he was even thinking about giving the man more duties on the next overseas trip he took. Lacklan was curious to if that accounting degree of his was worthwhile.
“Thank you, Sebastian.” It was not lost on Lacklan that he referred to the man by his first name and not simply as “Minion,” as he did to the others. He looked on his daughter, now wearing the crown of firedrops and emeralds that he had had made, and smiled under the mask again as she was joined by a dark-haired boy her age. “Nice to see that Jacob was able to attend.”
Sebastian turned to join his master as he viewed the two children. Sarah and Jacob were vastly different, both in appearance and pedigree, but they had become close friends since he had first brought his family to live near the Lacklan manor a few years ago.
“Indeed, my Lord. My son has become quite fond of your daughter. He just about begged that I bring him.”
Lacklan gives a thoughtful nod.
“Good. Good. Sarah needs friends outside of this world. As gilded as this cage may be, it is still a cage. She needs to be free, Sebastian. Free to fly. And she will need friends for that.”
Lacklan did not notice the small smile creeping up on the face of his devoted follower, a smile speaking of conspiracy and greed as much as his eyes shone of reverence and devotion. He does notice the nod his follower gives him, though.
“I understand fully, my Lord. Perhaps I should bring him around more often? Make their playdates a regular thing?”
Lacklan nods in return.
“That would be wise, Sebastian. Make it so.”
Again unnoticed, the accountant’s smile grows larger.
‘Sup, Fang Gang!
This is your reason for being, the hope and light of the world for which you rise from slumber, that shining bastion of all things kickass that makes your boring, dreary lives worth living, Sarah Selena Grey-Lacklan here, and it is a SPECIAL DAY!
Why is it special?
Because my wife’s…church…has called on her to do a wondrous thing in providing help and aid to victims of natural disaster, and I asked to come along. The two of us MAY have SOMEWHAT different theological views at the present time, but nothing will stop us from being a part of each other’s lives at all times. Unfortunately for me, this included a HORRENDOUS issue:
Expected attire is jeans and a t-shirt.
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.
Jeans and a t-shirt. As if I have EVER worn something as pedestrian as JEANS! But I shall do what I must for my Beloved, the light of my life. Thus, one of my best friends and I are off to purchase these…jeans…so that I may have the proper attire and assist with the disaster relief. I chose this particular friend because of her ghastly tastes in clothing and knew that her anti-fashion sense would be helpful.
So! Before she and I buy these…things…I figured now would be a wonderful time to update all of my dear fans on a few things. Yes, I know that my Fang Gang has PLENTY of my podcasts to view, as I continue to battle in multiple companies in my fight across the world (five, presently!), but I feel the need to make a very specific one. So, allow me a moment here…
‘Sup, Coalition!
Wow! I haven’t vlogged my way into your hearts in AN AGE, ya know? Been doing other kinds of media and whatnot, so I KNOW that you are jonesing for a nosefull of DRIVE right about now.
So, how ya been? How’s the world of cheating on your spouses, getting cuckolded, having the people you thought were on your side not be there when you are getting jumped, and making your entire promo for a match I’m not in about me and then jobbing out like a little bitch? I wouldn’t really know what that part of the world is like, because I don’t cheat on my wife, don’t let anyone totes obvs take her to their bed, am not dumb enough to align myself with the dude who totes legit thinks the Sorting Hat yelled out “SLYTHERIN!” before it touched down on his head, or jobbed out to what is essentially a part-timer in a curtain-jerking triple threat.
Man, I hope all of you people are listening to this!
N-E-Ways! As everyone here knows, I was unsuccessful in my bid to rip away the Cross-Hemisphere Championship from Lucy but! Oh holy hell, but! My overall performance (which may or may not have something to do with the fact that while, yes, she put me on my back for three seconds, I was the one NOT in the hospital until the following day!) impressed the Gracious and Wondrous Coalition Championship Committee (shit up, we totes have one) to the point that they BEGGED me to be a team captain for the Outlast Whatchamacallit. Now, for those nimrods **coughcoughwhoruntattooparlourshackwheeze** that do not know what the Outlast Thingymajig is, let me lay it out
Three matches in 4-person teams.
Total Elimination for the finish.
Survivors go on to be included in some kinda clusterfuck against Baal for the title.
Pretty coolio, right?
So, last week (or yesterday, actually), all six of the team captains faced off in a fight to see who could secure the first draft pick for their team. This was UBER important, right? Nearly EVERYONE on the roster was up for grabs as part of the drafting process, and we could even bring in people outside of the company for a One-Shot if we got it approved. Unfortunately, lolLucywins was in effect and freakin’ Killian got beat. Lucy gets the win, gets the first pick, and we have our teams.
Pretty cool, right? I mean, like, I have to say, this whole “274848348 GIMMICK MATCHES” thing in the Coalition is badass. I mean, like, it may have sucked that Lucy beat me (clean! No excuses!) in the dog collar match at In Your Hands, but the fact that we had to do something like weave in a specific song into our promotional video was pretty freakin’ hip, ya know? No doubt, I will remember that match fondly, even if it didn’t end the way I had envisioned.
And now, NOW, in part of the preparation for the Outlast Thingamahoo, all of the captains have been paired off in some sort of tossed together tag team scenario. Again, pretty cool, right? But you know what the BEST part about this is?
I get Eden.
I get to put my boot in her wrinkled, mottled, well-preserved face.
But more on that later.
And while it DOES SUCK DONKEYBALLS that I am paired up with King, I’m not worried about our cohesion. I mean, like, I’ll get to that in a moment, but his presence isn’t really what is important. What is important?
Liv.
‘Sup, Liv! How ya doin’? How are you? Are you okay? You warm? You get enough sleep? All good? Feel good? Great! Let’s bust out the tea set and chat, k?
Truth be told, I had assumed from the moment you showed up that you would just be another one of THOSE people, ya know? Like, the people who just show up on twitter or something and post random crushing hashtags, pics of their tits, try to hook up with someone as soon as possible so that they felt relevant and, in general, just look and sound like 90% of the models, dancers, managers, nightclub owners, etc who pretend to moonlight as wrestlers. I wonder why I thought that?
Oh! That’s right! Because your very first announcement to the world was something that you would figure someone named Greggory or Night would post! But! Oh…but! Reality is that you did exactly what you said you were going to do and won your first match in the Coalition. That’s great! Fantastic! Awesomo-3000!
Shame you didn’t do shit in your second one.
Now, yes, I may be a little harsh with that. Because (I think?) that was only the second match of your career, and, yes, perhaps the Kid Gloves need to be wielded with you. But I myself jumped into this wrestling world as a professional in January, and my own second match was against a former world champion who, to this very day, drops promotional bombs the likes of which would make your hair turn as stark as mine. There were no Kid Gloves for me, just as I refused the notion of giving them to Magdalena, just as there will be none for you.
There are many similarities between the two of us, at least for those who would only skim the surface. Same age. Surface attitudes are similar. Hell, from what I have seen, our temperaments may not be far off. But those who only skim the surface would fail to notice the important things. Yes, they would notice the size difference between us; that is, your height and reach versus my density and legs, but they would miss all the things which matter. For instance, our wrestling styles are not too dissimilar, but my execution is so far superior that it is akin to I teaching a Master Class whilst you are taking the 3rd grade for the sixth time. From the way I grapevine an opponent with these massive legs for my own chickenwing to the way I spike them with my own reverse DDT, you and I might as well tell Annie to go get her gun.
Oh…wait…your education is probably not rounded or deep enough to understand that reference…
Um…allow me to dumb that down a touch:
“Anything you can do I can do better.”
See, whilst you are defeating the likes of Hayleigh, a wisp of a girl whom a strong breeze might well turn into a kite and hasn’t won a match since May hawtdamn 22nd for your first match in the Coalition, I was doing things like winning the WrestleStock Cup and bringing prestige back to the massive trophy with my grace, style, and that downright vicious execution.
Oh, real quick: Did YOU know that Hayleigh hasn’t won a match since May hawtdarmn 22nd? Like, do you know that research is a legit important part of succeeding in this business? That its important to know where your opponent comes from, who they have defeated and lost to, where and how they train? Do you understand how important doing things like watching tape and learning counters to probably moves or styles is?
My immediate guess is no. I mean, hell, we’re talking about someone who thinks that Cockney counts as a London accent. Mind you, I am sure YOU think it counts, what with you being a penniless, lowborn commoner and all, but you probably also think that the hesitation in your step and sloppiness of your kicks are commonplace.
And they are.
Unfortunately for you, you are not facing a fellow commoner. Unfortunately for you, you are not facing someone with limited resources, intelligence, drive, or capabilities like you are used to seeing in the mirror. You are not facing yourself, your friends, your family, or even your future self that you totes probably write letters to.
You are facing the Firestarter.
You are facing your genetic superior.
I was born to wrestle, dearie. And not just wrestle…not just engage in graps...but to dominate and change the business. To raise the entire industry up into the Heavens by shining down His light upon it. I was born to take middling nuggets of waste product such as yourself and either shine them to sparkle like diamonds or toss them into the very Abyss for all time. That is what I do, that is what I am.
But you already know this stuff, right? Because you will have undoubtedly done your research? Because you will have, without question, spent time watching tape and reading promotional video transcripts and studied whatever you can find about your opponent, right? Especially since, in your third match in the Coalition, you are facing two people who are kind of a big deal? And teaming with the most recent former champ?
I wonder if you knew that?
My guess is no. My guess is, when making silly little statements like how you think you are going to pin me, you have not the foggiest idea what you have unwittingly signed up for.
But it is not the end of the world, dearie. Because your ignorance? I shall cleanse it. Your education? I shall finish it. Your sloppy moves and spotty skills? I shall give you a hands-on lesson in how to move and act, that aforementioned Master Class.
And at the end of this battle?
You will thank me.
You will fall to your knees, prostrate before me, and, with tears streaming from your eyes, raise your voice up and out to the Heavens, screaming your thanks to the One Lord God that He sent His reckoning to the Earth.
You are welcome.
~~Tuesday, September 12th, 2017~~
“OMG THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE”
Millisandre Crowthorne rolled her eyes…again. The brunette walked through the department store with her shoulders slumped, trying to avoid looks from the random people around her, each wearing one form or another of shock on their faces. They were staring, of course, at her best friend Sarah, and she couldn’t really blame them. The albino was hating every minute of this shopping trip, hating the fact that she had to wear blue jeans for the very first time in her life and she apparently wanted everyone to know. Millisandre wasn’t surprised, not really, since it seemed that Sarah wanted to do nothing BUT cause a scene wherever she went, wanted to be the center of attention. She typically was, of course, with the odd way she looked and dressed, but then there were times like this.
“MY LIFE IS OVER I WILL NEVER LIVE THIS DOWN”
Another eyeroll as Millisandre tries to make herself even smaller. The three of them, which included Sarah’s wife Kenzi, were off to go help victims in Florida…or something…Millisandre hadn’t really paid attention...and since the work required a “uniform” of t-shirt and jeans, an outfit that Millisandre could confirm that Sarah did not own, here they were. But Sarah had cried the entire way, actually CRIED, and shrieked in a mixture of horror and terror as soon as they walked into the store. The worst part was her reaction to when Millisandre had picked out a cute pair of jeans and, upon touching the fabric, Sarah had screamed out for all to hear:
“OMG MY SKIN ALREADY FEELS LIKE HOW KILLIAN KING'S FACE LOOKS HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH THIS STUFF”
That was another issue that annoyed Millisandre. Sarah had said that she needed someone with terrible choice in fashion and clothes to help her with the shopping…and that meant her. So what if she loved t-shirts and jeans? So what if she didn’t faun over the crazy gowns that Sarah wore? Bruce liked what she wore, and that was what mattered.
Millisandre’s eyes glaze over for a moment as she thinks of her boyfriend. One of Sarah’s guards…and the fact that Sarah legitimately needed a private security force due to her family’s wealth was already pretty nuts…Bruce had been assigned on what Sarah called “Permanent Mil Duty,” which meant he was all hers. Bruce still had a job to do, of course. He was a few years older than them, in his mid 20’s, and had a career as a member of that security team, but the man with the yummy muscles was always read to be hers for everything, from long walks, to watching Netflix, to letting her have “Yoda Rides” both through the forest and throughout the mansion.
She shakes her head at the thought of the mansion. Sarah lived in a mansion in Maine, the centerpiece of a religious compound established by her late father, and Millisandre had gone to live when her. Okay, TECHNICALLY she had gone over to spend time with them and train with them for big matches in Ladies All Star, the company that just about every member of the “Cool Kids” worked for, but she had just never actually left. She just kinda hung around…and so Sarah had had a room made up for her. Well, actually, Sarah had had THREE rooms made up for her. And a room in their apartment in Hollywood, the home they used when Kenzi had television stuff to do. She never thought she would have such close friends in the business, but here they were.
“OMG I CAN’T EVEN GET THESE THINGS OVER MY BUTT”
Millisandre was drawn out of her thoughts by the loud high-pitched voice and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. She and Sarah were in a dressing room and Sarah had hung up her dress on a hook and was trying pull a pair of jeans up over her butt and failing. Along with the bugging eyes, Millisandre’s cheeks heated up when she saw Sarah’s pale ass, a butt built in the gym from years of squats and deadlifts and only covered by a small string splitting her cheeks, staring right back at her. Sarah was her best friend…Millisandre was dating (and probably in love with) one of her employees…
And she would give her right tit to bone her.
Millisandre felt guilty thinking that…but she still felt it. She and Sarah had gravitated toward one another from the moment she signed with LAW, and even though she freakin LOVED how much Sarah and Kenzi were in love and were so adorable together, there was still a level of attraction between the two. Hell, just last night the two had flirted online through gifs. It was silly and in good fun, and she would NEVER do something like make a move on her, but nevertheless her she was, helping Sarah buy a pair of jeans and make sure they both look and fit good.
“DAMNIT MIL HELP ME PULL THIS HORRENDOUS THING OVER MY SQUAT BOOTY”
Millisandre took a deep breath, repeated the mantra of “…I love my Bruce…I love my teddy bear…” over and over in her head, and helped her best friend pull the jeans up…and cop a feel at the same time. Sarah didn’t seem to notice…she never noticed stuff like that…but Millisandre felt the need to talk about something other than her hottie best friend.
“So, like, what’s your next match?”
Sarah rolled her weird red eyes as she turned around to look at her butt in the mirror.
“The usual for me. Random tag match that I’m going to dominate in. How does my butt look? Totes spankable?”
Millisandre had to bite the inside of her lip to not scream out something like “I don’t know, let me try!”
“Um, yeah, it looks, like, really good.”
She lets out a cough to try to keep the subject on task.
“Why do you think you’re, like, so good at tag matches, anyway?”
Sarah rolls her eyes again.
“Teamwork, Mil. I’m a natural born leader, right? Literally born to do stuff like lead the revolution, and all that. And part of leadership is knowing when to take the lead and when to guide by allowing the other to do so. My very first match was a random tag match with Melissa Reeves, a veteran of the sport. I took the lead that match, which surprised her, and we dominated. But the next time? When we had more formidable opponents? I allowed her to take the lead and did more of an assist. We dominated again.”
She smiles, a gesture which somehow made her even more beautiful.
“It has been the story of my career thus far, though this includes teammates of my choosing. Melissa and I have never been defeated as a team. And I have teamed in one-off situations with men and women of different styles, from El Meido’s lucha libre in HELL to Trixie’s ‘Glam Style,’ whatever that is, in the EWC, to Hastings and Zane in the Coalition. Of course, the greatest of my partners has been my Beloved, as she and I have never been defeated and recently won those championships in Canda.”
Millisandre smirks. “Canda.” Sarah never let any of her “things” go, even in private conversations.
“My father was a wonderful tag team wrestler, particularly in his youth. He understood adaption of style and circumstance, and he taught me much about the tenants of teamwork. It has been a pleasure seeing how well those lessons work in life both in and out of the ring. Just as I understand how to lead at the Compound, from when to be harsh or kind to what orders to hand out and which to attend myself, I have understood how to be an effective leader within the business.”
Millisandre could do nothing but agree. There was no “leader” in the Cool Kids, the group of like-minded wrestlers who had come together to work, train, and watch each other’s back in what was a cutthroat business, but Sarah was the genesis of most of the relationships. It was Sarah that reached out to her, and to Angelica Vaughn, and while Roxy Cotton came around later, Sarah was the one who also reached out to Sativa Nevaeh in 4CW. She lead them without having the title of leader, regardless of what some people outside of the group tried to claim, and that made her the greatest leader of all.
“Additionally,” she continued, again looking in the mirror to make sure she approved of the jeans, “this match is somewhat of a preview of the much more important team event called Outlast. My team faces Lucy Wylde’s, naturally, and this is an opportunity to face someone who I may well meat in the finale of the event. I have been looking forward to this. Hey! Do you think Ken will want to rip these pants off as soon as she sees me?”
Millisandre almost said, “Hell, I would!” but is able to keep herself in check.
“Um, yeah. Definitely.”
Sarah smiles even wider.
“Wonderful.”
She spins to face Millisandre.
“Now go pick out half the store. Gonna buy them all for you!”
As Sarah marched past her, Millisandre knew that her best friend was not kidding. She really WAS going to buy half the store for her!
Hello Eden.
I have been looking forward to this. Truth be told, I had hoped that I would have faced you weeks ago. I had hoped that I would be the final person standing at the end of the Massive Melee. I had hoped to face you at WrestleStock.
Oh, what a different world it would be if that had happened! Magdalena would have won the Cup and none of our issues would exist. Gabriel would not be slithering through the grass.
Mind you, you would still not have a title this moment. That would not have changed.
But me! Oh, to have ripped the world championship away from you!
More’s the pity, I suppose. Instead, we find ourselves here. Instead, we find ourselves thrust against one another in a moment to create hype for Outlast. Instead, we find ourselves battling truly for the first time in a match style in which I dominate.
I do not need to go over my tag team success rate with you. At least, I hope not. You HAVE been paying attention, yes? You HAVE been watching my promotional videos? I hope so. I hope everyone is. I hope that everyone within the Coalition is “all in,” as they say, and understands exactly what stands before them in this little ball of albino rage. I hope everyone understands that, as I have previously told you and Gabriel, that I am just getting started in your little world.
Reality is that I am not going anywhere. Lucy being better than me for three seconds will not push me away. Magdalena being here to cry about me being a bully and “telling lies” will not push me away. Listless losers like Dave Rydell pulling the “zomg I don’t knows who you are even though you have been here for weeks and won one of our yearly events and I am not gonna do research so fear me lulz” card is not going to push me away. Unfortunately for you and your coalition kin, those things will only spur me on to stay her and press forward.
See, I dream of holding my first major championship within my first year of wrestling. Now, I HAVE won my first major tag team championship alongside my Beloved (Hint: Killer Tag Wrestler), but I also desire that singles gold. And while I have made it clear that I wish to win that first title within the confines of what is essentially my “home” company of Ladies All Star, I would also love to instead have that distinction here in the Coalition. I was THAT CLOSE to doing so at In Your Hands and, so help me God, I will do so at Outlast.
And I am just itching to kick you in the face along the way.
No shade. No disrespect. No ill will. I appreciate and respect you for what you have done, just as I do so for Lucy. No one in this world can take away what you have earned and created for our business. No one, not ex-husbands, former lovers, or agents of chaos, can take away the example you have been for women my age. No one can take away the who and what Morgan Eden has been.
But what she WILL be?
Entirely different story.
I told you that I was going to pay you back for that boot in my face. I might very well have won our little six person match last week after I dropped someone into the Abyss. But no…no no…you had to put your foot in my face and take me out long enough for Lucy to win. And that act changed my entire plan when it came to my draft choices, made me turn my list of names into a damned road map with all the crossing-out I had to do. That vexes and annoys me and I look forward to taking out some of that frustration on your face.
And that face of yours certainly is going to feel the brunt of my annoyance. That face of yours is certainly going to get kick after kick after damned kick from me until you are naught but a bloody pile of goo in the ring, a goo so unrecognizable that even my partner will not be able to identify you.
Man…that sounds like fun.
I get to do what I was born to do soon enough, dearie. I get to take Lil’ Liv and kick her so hard in the face that her Cockney accent straightens out into a proper Londoner. I get to put my foot in your face and in your mouth so much that you will start asking for a low fat option due to your caloric consumption. I get to improve my nearly flawless and spotless tag record at your expense and gain loads of momentum going into Outlast.
Oh, and Killian will be there, too.
See you soon.