Petite chouette: La fertilité, Sagesse, Décès
Feb 15, 2018 23:43:38 GMT -5
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Post by LACKLAN on Feb 15, 2018 23:43:38 GMT -5
~~La Fertilité~~
Twin brown circles in a field of white.
The eyes of Le Bord de Dieu stare up at the ceiling of her warehouse. Her eyes dart around from under the mask of her late husband which lies on her face, a fixture of rigid alabaster high-density polyethylene, a proprietary blend of a certain manufacturer in New England, like two wolves zig-zagging across the snow of the tundra. Hands with thin fingers reach up and touch the mask on her face, feel the contours and sharp angles of the hellish design carved into it. Nails scrape against the points where it had been broken and recast.
“I am cold, husband.”
The Edge and Blade of God shivers. She wears nothing but a thin sheet atop her body as she lies upon a cot on the floor of her barren space, alone except for the clucks of the coup of chickens in one of the far corners, and the skin of her arms is pimpled in gooseflesh. Those arms, pulled up and away from the sheet, are bare, the lines of scars along them visibly bright against the pulling in of the cold flesh. Half of the scars are neat and clean, as if made by the loving perfection of a physician, with the other half being rough and ragged, the touch of madman inspired by Pollack.
“Warm me.”
A purr comes from deep in her throat as her hands move from the mask and instead caress either arm in a hug. She smiles underneath the oversized mask and her eyes finally end their restless darting as she closes them. She hugs herself, lost in the memories of years ago, lost in a time love and comfort.
DING!
Her entire body jumps as the sound of a digital notification rips through the air of the warehouse. Her eyes flash open and a raspy “Gah!” is ripped from her. She sits up in a flash, the sheet falling to her waist to reveal her pale nudity, and the truth of the collection of scars being spread about the full canvas of her form, and her head snaps to the side. Her eyes turn down to the milkcrate next to her, a dusty piece of dark plastic, and the new cellphone sitting atop it. She reaches up and removes the mask from her head, fingers unconsciously caressing the hellish contours, and gently sets it next to her on the bed. She rubs her face, eyes tired and full of lines, and stares down at the phone.
“Probably Donovan again.”
With a sigh, she picks up the phone and sees the most recent activity.
She shakes her head as her fingers flash in their oddly stiff pecking style.
Non, non, monsieur. Mon mari n'approuverait pas. Il est ressuscité.
She sets down her phone and rubs her face again.
“Good Lord, that man. Grant me strength, Father.”
She shakes her head and rises from her cot, unembarrassed by her nudity. Hers is a body of lean muscle, the body of a dancer who has found themselves fighting for a living. Pale skin filled with those odd scars and stretched tight on her frame, little to nothing in the way of fat, with hips clearly untouched by childbirth. Her hair falls to her shoulders, a brown mop far cleaner today than when first glimpsed five weeks ago. She stretches, hands up high in the air, and groans as her joints pop and muscles relax. She looks around and settles her eyes on the stuffed chicken known tongue-in-cheek as JEM and gives it a sad smile.
“Do you know what it is to lose the light of the world, little zombie chicken?”
She shakes her head slowly and her hands come to rest on her stomach. Fingers lightly caress the taut skin and her dark eyes shine with a sudden wetness.
“I do. I know what it is like to have the light...to hold it...to embrace it...and to lose it.”
A tear springs forth from the growing wells and makes its way down a bony cheek.
“Its my own fault, of course. I didn’t know what I was doing, JEM. I held that child hostage. I smoke in front of my dear husband. I drank. I held him and his hopes of an appropriate heir in the palm of my hand. I tempted God. And I paid for it.”
The other well lets loose of a river.
“The doctor said that I ruined it. Not just the baby...not just my light...but everything. Never again would my body…”
She looks back at the chicken and lets out a pained laugh.
“Like you need to worry about that. All you did in life was pass out egg after egg and let someone else worry if there should be a chick or not. So easy for you.”
She walks a few steps towards the closest wall of her warehouse where a mirror, broken with shards dangling, the glass fogged with imperfection, rests at an angle. She looks at herself in the mirror, from her collarbone down her chest and to the hands over her barren stomach.
“I wonder if Wylde knows what it is like?”
She laughs suddenly, a sad sound to echo in the desolate room.
“The Court are funny. Pairing me with the Esmerelda to Lockheart’s Quasimodo. While Lockheart is truly to ugly on the inside so that her outside is so deformed, Wylde seems...better. A little. Still a slut, though.”
Her face contorts into revoltion and her body shivers.
“Ugh! To first divorce your husband...and then...then...be with a WOMAN! Disgusting!”
She nearly gags as her body shivers again.
“I go away for a few years and come back to THIS! A business FULL of sin! A business FULL of sluts and whore spending more time posting profane pictures of their bodies and less time honoring God! A business full of lame excuses for MEN who are more worried about getting their beards trimmed JUST RIGHT so that they look good with their electronic cigarettes. What IS that nonsense?!"
Another shiver racks her body.
“Bah! It is no matter, I suppose. I will snatch victory from the mouth of Wylde’s defeat. Indeed, her sins against God will not be too strong! I WILL win for us! And perhaps show that silly little child what this sport is ABOUT!”
She looks at her face in the mirror for a moment and sighs, her hands still resting on her stomach.
“I may not have been strong enough to carry your line...but I will carry your sword, husband. I will save this business. I will-”
She jumps as the alarm on her phone rips into the air. Her eyes go wide and she spins and looks at the stuffed chicken.
“Come, JEM! We have a plane to catch!”
~~Sagesse~~
The **NAME REDACTED BECAUSE SECRET LOCATION OF WAREHOUSE** airport was busy on the day that Le Bord de Dieu walked through, but the sea of people parted like...um...the sea...as she made her way down the aisle. The woman who kids who are cool call Bordy was dressed smartly with an outfit of bright sunflowers and a large hat with a feather springing from the top, wide sunglasses hiding most of her face. Her stuffed chicken rests in her brown purse, the lines of stitches across JEM’s eyes visible to any who would care to look. Behind her, a man with sandy brown hair follows her with what must be a dozen or more suitcases on a rolling cart.
“Are...are...are we there, yet?”
“I didn’t say that you could talk, Jet.”
“My name isn’t-”
Bordy spins and her face turns from angel to demon.
“WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH THIS ALL BAG BOYS ARE NAMED JET AND SO YOUR NAME IS JET I READ IT ON THE INTERNET AND SO IT MUST BE TRUE!!!!!”
Poor “Jet” cowers before the sudden verbal onslaught from the slight woman. He shakes his head in submission and the face of contorted angles smooths out into the high cheekbones and adorable dimples of a cherub.
“Thank you for understanding. And if you could please grow out your hair? From what I understand, all Jets need to have dumb Soccer Mom hair.”
She spins again, her dress twirling around, and heads away from her befuddled personal assistant. Before long, Bordy is standing before a desk, having bypassed the mass of bodies waiting to board the flight from **LOCATION REDACTED** to Dijon-Bourgogne Airport. She pulls out her boarding pass and hands it to the lady behind the desk. The lady smiles as she reads it.
“Bonjour, Madam -”
“ZIP IT!”
The woman’s eyes pop open at the scream from her customer.
“P-Pardon me, Madam -”
“I SAID ZIP IT!”
The face of the demon is fierce but then it suddenly breaks into a sweet smile.
“They don’t know my real name, yet.”
The woman behind the counter looks at Bordy in confusion.
“What? Who doesn’t?”
“Them!”
Bordy motions behind her to the camera. The woman behind the counter takes a step back and, perhaps for the first time, notices the small camera crew behind Bordy.
“Um...may I ask why you have a camera crew...um...Madam?”
“Because ‘wrestler.’ Duh. How else do you think all of those private moments are known to everyone else. We always have cameras on us!”
“Um...I see. Well...I...um...here you go.”
The woman behind the counter hands back Bordy’s boarding pass...and suddenly the camera zooms in on it! We see where she is going! We see where she is currently, inside the **LOCATION REDACTED** Airport! We see her name! We see-
Bordy puts her finger over her name to block it, then gives the camera a shake of her head.
“Naughty children! Not until I am ready!”
The cameraman sighs in guilt and backs away. Bordy places her pass back in her purse and walks over to a chair to have a sit. Her poor personal assistant joins her but stays standing when an evil look from her pierced him as he tried to sit. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a dollar bill.
“Here. Go buy me some water. I saw a vending machine of Bling H20 with Roxy Cotton’s picture on it. None of that shitty Fiji crap! And make sure I get all of my change!”
Jet takes the dollar and turns, but stops in his tracks.
“Um...I...um...do you have any real money?”
“What are you talking about?”
“This...um...this isn’t real.”
He holds it up to Bordy and the camera takes the opportunity to zoom in on the note.
“Sure it is! This is what I received from my employer when I snapped Quasimodo’s head and pinned her! These are my earnings!”
“I...um…”
Jet shakes his head.
“How did you even buy a plane ticket?”
Bordy smiles brightly.
“#BitchCoin, of course! My initial investment in the cryptocurrency was my entire first month’s of matches pay, and #BitchCoin has gone through the roof since then! That Roxy person may well be the biggest slut I have seen since coming back, but she sure does know how to line the coffers, let me tell you. She probably does most of it from her back, but at least she is married. To a man. That is a good thing. Unlike just about all of the whores I have to deal with every day in the Coalition.”
Poor Jet shakes his head again.
“Um...not that it’s my place or anything...but do you think it’s wise to keep calling everyone sluts and whores? Or to keep reminding everyone that you beat your own partner’s girlfriend a couple weeks ago? Or-”
“Wise?”
Bordy moves her mouth in an odd way, as if tasting the word.
“Wise.”
She suddenly cackles.
“Wise! Ha! To be wise!”
She shakes her head and slaps the chair next to her in mirth.
“Wise! Is it WISE to romp through the world while posting half-naked pictures of yourself for all to see? It is WISE to blatantly defy God as so many do? Of course not! NONE of the people around me are WISE. NONE of the people in this business are WISE. That is why I am here! That is why I have been entrusted by God!”
She laughs loudly for a moment.
“Wise! Is it WISE to romp through the world while posting half-naked pictures of yourself for all to see? It is WISE to blatantly defy God as so many do? Of course not! NONE of the people around me are WISE. NONE of the people in this business are WISE. That is why I am here! That is why I have been entrusted by God!”
She laughs loudly for a moment and starts marking things off with her fingers.
“Was it WISE for my partner to be so enamored by her disgusting girlfriend that she lost sight of her beautiful children and they slipped out of sight? NO!
“And while it WAS wise for me to hire F. Alexander Quinn to look into the matter, it was NOT wise to keep him on the case after he showed his poor judgement by falling for her! My GOD, what a waste of my money! He can’t even FOCUS because of his carnal desires for her!
“Was it WISE for Mathis to declare that she would change the entire landscape of the UGWC knowing FULL WELL that she is little more than a water girl? NO!
“Was it WISE for half the roster to piss off and metaphorically on the Court when they KNOW how much collective power they have? NO!
“Was it WISE for that detestable Vaughn woman to let her Mary Sue furry fanfiction fall into the wrong hands? NO!
“But people still do these things, bagboy! People still do unwise things in this world. Because of Adam’s Sin. Because they are destined, if not designed, to make unwise decisions. But that is where I come in. That is where the Edge of God...the BLADE OF GOD….comes into play. It is MY JOB to bring wisdom to the world! It is MY JOB to show the world the correct path! It is MY JOB to take those who would stand against God in their idiotic sin and throw them into an eternity of fire and pain!”
The woman’s face matched her declaration of the famed Lake of Fire as her tirade ended, and Jet was taken aback.
“I...isn’ that...a little far?”
“NO! I AM THE ULTRAVIOLET! And I WILL take the sins of the world and shove them down the throats of the sinners. And NO ONE will choke on their sin as much as that wretched Vaughn child. Even AFTER I tell her the problems in her life, even AFTER I told her with the single most IMPORTANT and EFFECTIVE MEDIUM in wrestling, a blog, that she was a COWARD for sitting in the center of sin and doing NOTHING to save her so-called friends, she STILL does nothing to earn her salvation. NOTHING!
“THAT is unwise, bagboy! THAT is EVERYTHING that is wrong with this business and this very WORLD. THAT is what those within the Court are trying to fight. And, by GOD, it would be UNWISE to fight their winds of change. Because their winds, the winds holding up the majestic owl by the wings, is one of righteous fury. And I am on the side of righteousness. I AM righteous fury.”
The anger leaves her face as she falls into giggles, her body bending in half as her hands go to her stomach. The giggles turn into full on guffaws as Jet looks on in confusion. She finally sits up as her laughter subsides and she wipes away a tear with a finger.
“And a professor! A professor of class! That lovely Eden woman wants me to teach Wylde some class, and I shall do so on Monday. I shall teach her class and how to win a match. From the mouth of her failure, I shall rip out a victory!”
A DING! from the loud speaker and following announcement tells them that First Class is boarding. Bordy claps her hands in glee and gets to her feet. She pulls out JEM from her purse and shakes the zombie chicken.
“Come, JEM! But I get the window seat!”
She walks past her assistant and gives him a dismissive wave.
“I could not afford three seats, though. You travel with the luggage!”
She slips into the hall leading to the plane as Jet starts to weep.
~~Décès~~
The church of Notre Dame of Dijon, France was a beautiful Roman Catholic construct. Built in the 1200s, it is famous for playing host to a Black Madonna, a sculpture depicting Mother Mary and Baby Jesus as Ethiopian, and, of all things, a corner with the carving of an owl. Added to the edifice during a restoration by an unknown artist, it is viewed as both an affront to the church and an honor to the pagan lifestyles which came before. And such is the setting for the very Blade of God to skip into. Indeed, Le Bord de Dieu wears a dress of black lace as she skips across the lawn of the church, a wide-brimmed hat upon her head, and a song in her voice.
“Alouette, gentille alouette”
Her sing-song voice is equal parts angelic choir and scratched record.
“Alouette, je te plumerai.”
She skips to the front of the building and stops before the carving of the owl in the side and stops her song long enough to laugh. She reaches up and touches the owl, her fingers caressing the feathers and beak.
“Je te plumerai la tete...je te plumerai la tete…”
She laughs heartily for a moment and slaps the owl hard enough for the sound to echo through the night.
“Tell me, little owl! If I were to take your head...would you die? Tell me, little owl! If I were to remove you beak...would you die? Would you be unto death?!”
She slaps the owl again.
“Death! Death everywhere! Death! Death to chaos...as deemed by the Court!”
She slaps the owl.
“Death! Death to mediocrity...as deemed by my husband!”
She slaps the owl.
“Death! Death to false revolutions...as deemed by the Ultraviolet!”
She reaches up with both hands and lovingly caresses both sides of the owl’s face.
“Do you know what it is like to reach for the stars and get nothing but death, little owl? Mathis does! Oh yes! Yes!”
She steps back from the side of the church and looks up into the night sky, the stars sparkling brought against the black.
“Look at them, little owl! Look at the sky! Look at the stars! Oh, to reach for them! To reach for the stars as does Mathis! To hope against hope and reach for things out of reach. To lay awake at night, perhaps with your back on the cool grass, dew soaking into her clothes and moistening her back, and stare into the sky for hopes of grabbing a star as it shoots by. To grab the lights! To hold hope and possibility in your hands.”
She reaches up into the sky, hands grasping at air.
“But no! No stars! No hope! No success! The only lights Mathis finds filling her eyes are the lights in the rafters! The only ground pressing up against her back is the unforgiving canvas of a wrestling ring. No singing of nightbirds for her...just the sound of the referee slamming his hand down to count her fall! No stars for Mathis! No victory! Only the feeling of loss after loss after loss.”
She looks back at the owl, her hands still high into the sky.
“And guess what, little owl? Guess what! Her most recent loss! Her most recent defeat! Once more into the breach of death for her! And at the hands of her own partner! At the hands of Ingalls!”
She looks back up into the sky and laughs at the stars.
“Her revolution! Her conversations filled with naught but an audience of blank walls and an imagination’s figment! Dead! Dead before it began! Dead on its arrival! Dead as it came to my feet. DEAD BY MY HAND!”
She rushes forward and places her hand on the owl, her eyes filling with the manic light which is becoming so well known.
“Death, little owl. Death to the chaos! Death to the mediocrity! Death to those who would stand before me! Death to those who would think that they can do NOTHING that has to do with this business and still somehow become successful! Death to the models and actresses! Death to the video bloggers and amateur writers!. Death to those who produce the same nonsense again and again and expect success! LET THEIR CAREERS BE UNTO DEATH!”
Her voice falls to nothing, the silence filling the air with a palpable blow, and her eyes shine.
“...the end comes…”
A raspy whisper.
“...it comes...because I come for it. It comes...because I am here. It comes...because I am here to rid the business of those who are not worthy of God’s grace. I am here to rid the business of those who are too afraid to actually fight. I am here to rid the business of those who do not care about every match...every fight...they have. I am here to rid the business…”
She gives the owl a bright smile.
“...I am here...I am the Blade of God...and I am death…”
She raises herself to her tippy toes and plants a sweet kiss on the owl’s beak.
~~FIN~~
x2
