Post by LACKLAN on Jan 17, 2018 23:35:19 GMT -5
1/10/2018
The fat man sits in a swivel chair, his bulk making it creak with every small move. His long black coat falls to the ground, a rough swishing sound accompanying the chair’s creak. A clipboard rests in his hands, moving with him as he sways, two pictures sitting atop a stack of paper. On the left, a brunette woman with a golden smile; on the left, the same woman, but hardly recognizable, with streaks of grey running through her curls and a hint of madness in her dark eyes.
“The hell happened to you, Ava?”
The large man’s scratchy voice is weary and tired. He shakes his head, shaggy brown hair brushing against his forehead. He scratches his chin, the brown and grey beard there in dire need of a trim, and sets the clipboard down. He turns to his left and looks into a small, dingy mirror on his desk, and issues a resigned sigh.
“Like I can talk. Been a rough eight months.”
Hands rub his grey blue eyes, the tiredness within him plain by the dark purple surrounding them. Fingers touch the lines of worry which have crept up on him over the years and then slammed home at the finish line once he turned 40. He sighs again and turns to his right. Stubby fingers find and caress the glass of a picture frame, the picture within being of himself and a raven-haired beauty with a bold red streak down both sides of her long hair and who could well be half his age.
“You’re not the only one to lose a spouse, ya know. Zoe di-GAH!”
He bolts upright with a shocked cry as a telephone rings to life. He scrambles as it rings, finally finding it after shoving a stack of papers aside, and yanks it off the hook.
“Hello?!”
His greeting was a bit more harsh than he intended in his surprise.
“You did? Are you sure?”
His lips turn up in a small smile.
“Where?”
Mouth drops open and his eyes widen.
“What? At a WRESTLING show?! Give Elaine the details NOW!”
He slams down the phone and turns his wide eyes back to the dual pictures of the woman and the madwoman.
“Well, fuck my goat ass.”
-------------
“Madame Veto avait promis,
Madame Veto avait promis!”
The woman sings a jaunty tune as she dances around the abandoned warehouse, her voice full of life, love, and happiness.
“de faire egorger tout Paris,
de faire egorger tout Paris,”
She spins around and around, the rags on her body flying, every swirling movement of her body showing glimpses of the multitude of scars on her arms, some lines perfect and need, others harsh and jagged.
“Mais son coup a manque
grace a nos cononniers.”
Again and again she spins, her voice rising and falling with the happy tune. A group of chickens, the newest inhabitants of her lair, scatter in all directions, their panicked clucking fitting in nicely to the lyrics of red coats and the ill fate of Antoinette. She giggles as she stops before a particularly stupid chicken, a chicken which stopped to feed upon a discarded piece of corn rather than flee in safety.
“Ah! The revolutionary!”
The chicken clucks in surprise as the woman bends down and scoops up the chicken in her hands.
“Ah! The failed revolution! I shall name you! I shall name you…”
She giggles and her laughter turns to a raspy guffaw.
“JEM! Oui! Oui! From now on, petit poulet, you shall be JEM. Because JEM! Yes, JEM! JEM is the name of failed revolutions the world over!”
She collapses down to the ground onto her back, her rags falling away from her to show her scarred arms fully, and holds the chicken up into the air at full arm’s length.
“Faites attention! That is the problem with declaring revolution! That is the problem with saying that you are the new face of a generation! That is the problem with demanding and deciding ultimate victory! When you LOOOOooooooooOOOOOOSE!”
Her sing-song voice at the end turns shrill and she laughs hard as she shakes the confused chicken.
“YOU FAIL! YOU FAIL!”
She shakes the poor chicken even harder and as her laughter suddenly cuts off.
“Vous êtes un échec! Your revolution is already over, JEM! You attempt to change and challenge fate...Fini!”
She rolls up and into a sitting position, the chicken suddenly pulled into a warm embrace, her dirty fingers gently brushing the feathers atop her head.
“Oh...oh...I understand, dear JEM. I understand what it is to want to rule the world. I understand what it is to tell the entire business that YOU will be the few face of the world. I understand what it is to tell the entire business that your revolution will be unstoppable. But...oh but...BUT!”
She giggles as she squeezes the chicken tight.
“Perhaps you should have worried about Zane! Perhaps you should have worried more about winning and less about becoming the fictitious face of Synergy! Perhaps you should have been weary of a champion.”
She lessens her embrace as her voice turns down low and true affection fills it.
“But its okay, JEM. C'est d'accord...c’est d’accord. I am here for you. I am here...for you...and only you. Just as I promise to not let some small earthquake make me stumble into Rogan’s cheap rollup again...I promise that I shall take care of you. I shall bring you into the warm embrace of the Creator...and show you your place. Yes...yes...I shall show you will you belong. At the bottom of the card...losing to everyone you face...all year long.”
She pushes the chicken out to arms length again and her face contorts into rage.
“DO YOU HEAR ME, JEM?! COMPRENDEZ VOUS?! You and your revolution? You and your hopes and dreams of being anything more than gutter trash designed to warm up the crowd? I WILL END IT ALL!”
With a snarl, she rears back and throws the chicken across the room, the poor bird giving another confused squawk. She rolls backwards and snaps to her feet, suddenly giving chase to the chicken.
“I will cut you, JEM! I will tear you! I will make you bleed! Because I...I...I AM THE ULTRAVIOLET!”
She cuts and skids, matching the frantic running of the chicken, each movement causing the rest of the chickens to scatter even faster into hiding places.
“I will not be denied! My husband’s vision will not be denied! God will not be denied! Not by you! Not by l'Enfant Démon! She could not keep me held down forever...she could not keep me locked away forever...and NOW! NOW! I am free! Free to tear! Free to rip! FREE...TO...FULFILL...HIS...VISION!”
She slams her foot down on the chicken. She smiles as she feels a squish and crack, giggles as the chicken’s squawking turns from confusion and fright to pain and anguish.
“Your revolution FAILED, JEM! Échoué! Échoué! Échoué! And soon? SOON?!”
She raises her foot up and slams it down as hard as she can on the chicken.
“IT. DIES.”
She rubs her booted foot back and force, a shiver slicing through her body as she sees lines of red rolling down the cement floor of her warehouse. She snarls...growls...and then falls into giggles.
“Vive la révolution.”
The fat man sits in a swivel chair, his bulk making it creak with every small move. His long black coat falls to the ground, a rough swishing sound accompanying the chair’s creak. A clipboard rests in his hands, moving with him as he sways, two pictures sitting atop a stack of paper. On the left, a brunette woman with a golden smile; on the left, the same woman, but hardly recognizable, with streaks of grey running through her curls and a hint of madness in her dark eyes.
“The hell happened to you, Ava?”
The large man’s scratchy voice is weary and tired. He shakes his head, shaggy brown hair brushing against his forehead. He scratches his chin, the brown and grey beard there in dire need of a trim, and sets the clipboard down. He turns to his left and looks into a small, dingy mirror on his desk, and issues a resigned sigh.
“Like I can talk. Been a rough eight months.”
Hands rub his grey blue eyes, the tiredness within him plain by the dark purple surrounding them. Fingers touch the lines of worry which have crept up on him over the years and then slammed home at the finish line once he turned 40. He sighs again and turns to his right. Stubby fingers find and caress the glass of a picture frame, the picture within being of himself and a raven-haired beauty with a bold red streak down both sides of her long hair and who could well be half his age.
“You’re not the only one to lose a spouse, ya know. Zoe di-GAH!”
He bolts upright with a shocked cry as a telephone rings to life. He scrambles as it rings, finally finding it after shoving a stack of papers aside, and yanks it off the hook.
“Hello?!”
His greeting was a bit more harsh than he intended in his surprise.
“You did? Are you sure?”
His lips turn up in a small smile.
“Where?”
Mouth drops open and his eyes widen.
“What? At a WRESTLING show?! Give Elaine the details NOW!”
He slams down the phone and turns his wide eyes back to the dual pictures of the woman and the madwoman.
“Well, fuck my goat ass.”
-------------
“Madame Veto avait promis,
Madame Veto avait promis!”
The woman sings a jaunty tune as she dances around the abandoned warehouse, her voice full of life, love, and happiness.
“de faire egorger tout Paris,
de faire egorger tout Paris,”
She spins around and around, the rags on her body flying, every swirling movement of her body showing glimpses of the multitude of scars on her arms, some lines perfect and need, others harsh and jagged.
“Mais son coup a manque
grace a nos cononniers.”
Again and again she spins, her voice rising and falling with the happy tune. A group of chickens, the newest inhabitants of her lair, scatter in all directions, their panicked clucking fitting in nicely to the lyrics of red coats and the ill fate of Antoinette. She giggles as she stops before a particularly stupid chicken, a chicken which stopped to feed upon a discarded piece of corn rather than flee in safety.
“Ah! The revolutionary!”
The chicken clucks in surprise as the woman bends down and scoops up the chicken in her hands.
“Ah! The failed revolution! I shall name you! I shall name you…”
She giggles and her laughter turns to a raspy guffaw.
“JEM! Oui! Oui! From now on, petit poulet, you shall be JEM. Because JEM! Yes, JEM! JEM is the name of failed revolutions the world over!”
She collapses down to the ground onto her back, her rags falling away from her to show her scarred arms fully, and holds the chicken up into the air at full arm’s length.
“Faites attention! That is the problem with declaring revolution! That is the problem with saying that you are the new face of a generation! That is the problem with demanding and deciding ultimate victory! When you LOOOOooooooooOOOOOOSE!”
Her sing-song voice at the end turns shrill and she laughs hard as she shakes the confused chicken.
“YOU FAIL! YOU FAIL!”
She shakes the poor chicken even harder and as her laughter suddenly cuts off.
“Vous êtes un échec! Your revolution is already over, JEM! You attempt to change and challenge fate...Fini!”
She rolls up and into a sitting position, the chicken suddenly pulled into a warm embrace, her dirty fingers gently brushing the feathers atop her head.
“Oh...oh...I understand, dear JEM. I understand what it is to want to rule the world. I understand what it is to tell the entire business that YOU will be the few face of the world. I understand what it is to tell the entire business that your revolution will be unstoppable. But...oh but...BUT!”
She giggles as she squeezes the chicken tight.
“Perhaps you should have worried about Zane! Perhaps you should have worried more about winning and less about becoming the fictitious face of Synergy! Perhaps you should have been weary of a champion.”
She lessens her embrace as her voice turns down low and true affection fills it.
“But its okay, JEM. C'est d'accord...c’est d’accord. I am here for you. I am here...for you...and only you. Just as I promise to not let some small earthquake make me stumble into Rogan’s cheap rollup again...I promise that I shall take care of you. I shall bring you into the warm embrace of the Creator...and show you your place. Yes...yes...I shall show you will you belong. At the bottom of the card...losing to everyone you face...all year long.”
She pushes the chicken out to arms length again and her face contorts into rage.
“DO YOU HEAR ME, JEM?! COMPRENDEZ VOUS?! You and your revolution? You and your hopes and dreams of being anything more than gutter trash designed to warm up the crowd? I WILL END IT ALL!”
With a snarl, she rears back and throws the chicken across the room, the poor bird giving another confused squawk. She rolls backwards and snaps to her feet, suddenly giving chase to the chicken.
“I will cut you, JEM! I will tear you! I will make you bleed! Because I...I...I AM THE ULTRAVIOLET!”
She cuts and skids, matching the frantic running of the chicken, each movement causing the rest of the chickens to scatter even faster into hiding places.
“I will not be denied! My husband’s vision will not be denied! God will not be denied! Not by you! Not by l'Enfant Démon! She could not keep me held down forever...she could not keep me locked away forever...and NOW! NOW! I am free! Free to tear! Free to rip! FREE...TO...FULFILL...HIS...VISION!”
She slams her foot down on the chicken. She smiles as she feels a squish and crack, giggles as the chicken’s squawking turns from confusion and fright to pain and anguish.
“Your revolution FAILED, JEM! Échoué! Échoué! Échoué! And soon? SOON?!”
She raises her foot up and slams it down as hard as she can on the chicken.
“IT. DIES.”
She rubs her booted foot back and force, a shiver slicing through her body as she sees lines of red rolling down the cement floor of her warehouse. She snarls...growls...and then falls into giggles.
“Vive la révolution.”
x2
