Post by LACKLAN on Feb 23, 2018 23:30:42 GMT -5
A bright light blinds Le Bord de Dieu, but she does not even blink her brown eyes. They are dazed, full of a haze, and she rocks gently. Her brown hair falls down her body, slick with sweat, and her pale skin is even brighter than normal.
“Can you follow my finger?”
Bordy does not listen to the nurse in front of her, does not bother trying to track the extended forefinger with her eyes. Her mouth is open and she does not even notice that. She rocks back and forth, sweat on her brow, and stares blankly. The nurse turns to her assistant with a grimace on her face.
“She definitely has a concussion. Go inform Mr. Hastings imme-”
Bordy snaps from her daze with a shake of her entire body.
“No!”
The Frenchwoman clings to the nurse’s arm with a grip of iron, her nails digging into the flesh.
“I...I am fine. Do NOT tell Donovan ANYTHING!”
The nurse gives her an odd look as Bordy shakes her head and her lips curl up into a grimace, as if she had just taken a mouthful of lemon juice.
“You have NO idea what that man is capable of. The things he sends me…”
She shivers in disgust as the nurse changes her instructions to her assistant and a man in a pressed suit slips into the room.
“Miss de Dieu? Do you have time for that interview?”
Bordy looks up and sees Jason Reeves, the officially interviewer from the Consortium who had been trying to track her down for the last six weeks. She gives him a weary nod and a deep sigh. Reeves, whether missing her lack of desire or ignoring it, pulls out a pad of paper and a pen and begins.
“Miss de Dieu, how do you feel after winning what was probably the biggest match of your time in UGWC thus far?”
Bordy shakes her head and immediately regrets it as spots fill her vision. She holds a hand to her head for a moment to steady her wits.
“Um...wonderful, I guess? Is that what you want me to say? Or what I am expected to say?”
She looks back up at Reeves, her eyes still clearly dazed.
“I am not in this business to feel good about victories, Monsieur. I am here to CHANGE it. Though I would rather do so without being kicked in the head by my own partner…”
She holds her head and closes her eyes again, trying to bring an end to the swirls of color and dots of light. Reeves makes a note on his pad.
“About that...how did it feel for Lucy Wylde to hit you with the Keep Your Chin Up and then drape your practically dead carcass over Jessica Mathis?”
Bordy doesn’t bother to respond, instead simply groans into her hands. Reeves makes another note.
“Well, to be fair, you DID badger her all week about fake children.”
She lowers the hands from her eyes and shoots daggers at the intrepid reporter with them.
“I would rather not talk about it. Besides, she needs to be worried about her missing grandfather now! Besides, teaching Lucy how to win again was a beautiful thing. She need not cower in shame in the Loser’s Circle any more. No! Now she may accompany me to the Winner’s Window! She-”
She groans and her hands go back to her head, clearly in pain.
“Any chance you have a concussion?”
The nurses behind Bordy nod emphatically. The assistant even pulls down a chart behind Bordy to show that, on the scale of 1 (No Concussion) to 10 (Holy Fuck You Need To Retire), she was about a 7 or so. Maybe even an 8. But Bordy shakes her head...slowly...and waves her hand dismissively. Reeves makes another note and presses on.
“Tell me, what do you think of the big Trios tournament starting next week? You are not involved, but-”
“That tournament can burn in the Lake of Fire!”
Bordy’s sudden vehemence catches the reporter and nurses off guard. She stares at them, the face of the angel again suddenly the harsh lines of a demon, eyes aflame. Her hands raise up into fists and flail through the air, making the reporter have to duck and weave, and occasionally fall into the Milquotes of legend.
“That so-called ‘tournament’ is filled with nothing but sluts and pathetic children who have not mattered in any room larger than the thimble which holds Sam Tolson’s credibility! NO ONE cares about cartoon characters from Carnage! Or even the OTHER TWO TEAMS from Carnage! NO ONE cares about that trio of disgraceful sluts from the Cool Kids! NO ONE cares about a failed talk show host teaming with someone that I have pinned TWICE in Chicago and someone who only wins a match every six shows! NO ONE cares about a team of supposed ‘monsters’ from a laughingstock of a company! And absolutely NO ONE cares about the random grouping which includes my student Lucy teaming with someone who ONLY beat me because of a damned EARTHQUAKE!”
Spittle flies into Reeves’ face as Bordy rages. He casually wipes it off as he makes notes on his pad.
“...sounds like someone is mad that they aren’t in it because they don’t have any friends…”
He recoils as a small pillow blasts him in the face.
“I HAVE LOTS OF FRIENDS! I HAVE SO MANY FRIENDS THAT EVEN MY FRIENDS ARE SICK OF SEEING HOW MANY FRIENDS I HAVE!”
The screech of the Woman Occasionally Referred to as ‘That Psycho French Chick’ hits a pitch so high that, somewhere in the world, Amanda Cortez and Gabrielle Montgomery raises their heads in hound curiosity.
“JUST BECAUSE MY FRIENDS ARE NOT ON SOME DUMB SOCIAL MEDIA SITE DOESN’T MEANT THAT THEY ARE NOT REAL!”
She falls into silence and breathes heavily, nostrils flared, spittle dripping down her chin. Reeves looks at the mad Frenchwoman with surprise and then (wisely!) moves on.
“I don’t know if you saw the board, but the schedule for next week is already posted. You are going to be facing Dave Rydell and Phrixus Deimos in a triple threat match. How do you feel about that?”
The enraged Frenchwoman rolls her eyes so hard that even Sarah Lacklan would be green (instead of, you know, white? I guess?) with envy.
“How do you expect me to feel? That wretched Hastings man has handed me an easy win! Just ANOTHER attempt to gather my affections!”
Reese shakes his head in confusion.
“Wait...what?”
“Hastings! He HOUNDS me! Day and night! I am a MARRIED WOMAN, Random Interviewer! And STILL! He hounds me.”
She shakes her head, her angry face twisting into disgust.
“And now THIS. He HANDS me a victory. I do not NEED free wins! I defeat the Mathises and Lockhearts of the world with ease!I do not NEED unearned handfuls of apparently useless cash from the Consortium! I have more money from my #BitchCoin investments than I could ever need! But I am in this match anyway. And I have NOTHING to fear or worry about in this match. NOTHING to even TRAIN for!”
“Well, Deimos is-”
“The Embodiment of Fear, yes yes. I know. I know FAR more than what anyone would believe. People assume that, since I was not ‘trolling’ on twitter or competing in underwear football for the last year that I do not see things. But I KNOW! I have SEEN! I KNOW...that Phrixus is to the concept of fear what Sasha Grey is to chastity! I KNOW...that Phrixus is to danger what Stephenie Meyer is to literature! I KNOW...that Phrixus is to success what...well...Rydell is to success!”
She suddenly breaks into a cackles, her scratchy voice painful to the ears of Reeves and the medical staff.
“Rydell! Only wins matches when facing the likes of Phrixus and Pierce! Rydell! Who is laughed at by the entire BUSINESS as he not only brings the honor of the Global Challenge down into the depths of Miles Blake-level credibility...but then PROVES THE POINT by losing in the first round in record time! Rydell! Who will probably bore the world into the depths of tearful slumber by going to ANOTHER BAR and lamenting his FAILED career...again!”
She suddenly leans forward and grabs a surprised Reeves by his shirt in both hands and she pulls him toward her, her face less than an inch from his.
“How many times must we suffer through the SAME Rydell promotional video?! HOW MANY TIMES, REEVES!”
She pushes him back and then closes her eyes, her hands going back to her head, a groan issuing from her again.
“...this is a waste of my time. A waste of my talent.”
She looks back up at him.
“I am the in between, Random Interviewer. Neither the good or bad...neither the white or black. I am the in between, the edge. The Blade! The Blade of GOD! I am the Ultraviolet! I have PROVEN that within this company from the moment I arrived! I am NOT some silly child who can only blog! I am NOT some ‘dark’ and ‘mysterious’ figure who produces 20-minute introspective videos week after week where they don’t actually SAY anything! I am NOT one of those children who believe that the path to victory is by ignoring the fact that they have an opponent or are even wrestlers! I bring the fight TO my opponent! I bring them pain! I bring them agony! I bring them GOD!”
She stands suddenly, though falters for a moment with a near swoon, before looking back up at the latter Reeves.
“I am NOT afraid of standing up for my beliefs and calling down those who would wish to bring me down. I am NOT afraid to name my opponents and address them for their sins. Phrixus Deimos and Dave Rydell are has-been wrestlers whose best times in this business were when I was in high school over a decade ago! They were CHAMPIONS because they fought men and women who might as well be ANTS next to people like me! They were WINNERS because they fought men and women who didn’t last more than a year or two before becoming examples of why this business is not for everyone! They were CREDIBLE because this company was the minor bush leagues!”
She jabs a finger into Reeves’ chest.
“But NOW! They fight people like ME and my student Lucy! But NOW! They are like toddlers playing with action figures! But NOW! They are old and fat sheep chewing their cud in a field while the wolves stalk them. But NOW! They-”
DING!
She cuts off as her phone gives its notification. She glares at the man and then looks down at her phone.
And whimpers.
A message and picture sent from Donovan Hastings.
“THAT MAN!”
She wails into the air.
“I...I need to get out of here…”
Bordy flees from the room, pushing past the surprised nurses. She slips into the hall and stops in her tracks as, of all things, a small pigeon flies by. Confused and interested, Bordy cranes her neck to follow its path and sees it stop before a door with the image of an owl carved into it. The Frenchwoman shakes her head.
“Wretched pigeons. They are only good when served with potatoes and carrots. This American food is TERRIBLE.”
She shakes her head at the pigeon again.
“That thing better not end up with a Twitter. That stupid cat and chinchilla are bad enough.”
She shakes her head again as she disappears in search of her bag boy Jet and a way away from her hopeful admirer.
x2
