Post by LACKLAN on Mar 3, 2018 0:07:16 GMT -5
~~Monday, February 26th~~
L'Enfant Démon glides.
It is an odd thing to watch L'Enfant Démon move throughout the halls of the building. The creature of blinding white, that sheet of snow to which our eyes cannot become accustomed, the bright white which our minds cannot wrap themselves around, is low to the ground, gliding along smoothly. L'Enfant Démon had never been tall of stature, a being who found success as much through manipulation as physical might, but its current situation brought it even closer to the ground, made it crane its neck that much higher in order to see. It did not need to be so low to the ground, could indeed travel at its full height, but the day was more about manipulation than pride.
So along the ground it glides, La Déesse Sombre at its side, the two juxtapositions of color jarring to the eye. La Déesse Sombre was the darkness to the light of L'Enfant Démon. Caramel complexion that was as easy on the eyes as L'Enfant Démon was hard, a ready smile to fight off the constant anger from its partner. Indeed, that smile warmed the insides of L'Enfant Démon in ways that it never thought was possible, was a ray of shine from the sun that it never thought could reach it. La Déesse Sombre gave it power and strength, gave it hope and joy. And above all else, it gave L'Enfant Démon heart.
The two traveled the halls of the building, a dark hand reaching down to hold a light, and a smirk came to the ruby lips of L'Enfant Démon. It was home! In a way. It was not the vessel upon the river, nor the castle in the snow, but it was still home. A building which had accepted it, had taken all of the admitted oddness of the L'Enfant Démon entity and opened its arms. L'Enfant Démon had traveled across the world over its long life and had never felt truly accepted until it found this building, and now returning to it, felt a warmth it was rarely allowed. People, nameless and faceless, passed by and offered a wave or voiced a salutation. The dark hand in its own would squeeze it in encouragement and love whenever that happened, a physical reminder that, yes, this WAS home. And, yes, it WAS welcome.
An odd feeling filled L'Enfant Démon when a woman of bright hair entered its vision down the hallway. A feeling of...love? Respect? Admiration? Rare feelings for L'Enfant Démon. But then those odd feelings were replaced by a deep and searing anger, an anger of red that was part of its core and welcomed like an old friend, filled it when the blonde was joined by a head of brilliant plumage, unnatural streaks of blues and purples all throughout.
Rage filled L'Enfant Démon as it saw La Némis.
But the hand of La Déesse Sombre squeezed again, a reminder that this was neither the time nor place. Of course, if it were up to La Déesse Sombre, there would be nothing but understanding and forgiveness, but that was impossible for L'Enfant Démon. L'Enfant Démon never forgave. Never.
La Némis and that blonde, that creator of those odd feelings, slipped away into a room and the rage began to fade. The creatures of light and dark moved ahead, gliding down the hall, letting the rage slowly slip away. There were other reasons for them to be there that night. More important reasons.
Before long, and with an appreciated lack of further fanfare, the two were seated at the front of the building’s venue. Refreshments were supplied, including a small bowl of peeled grapes that made La Déesse Sombre’s hackles rise for some odd reason, and the night’s entertainment began. L'Enfant Démon groaned at the farce of the opening contest, with eyes rolling hard at the cardboard cutout of the Creative Director, though it appreciated seeing the hen owl. And then it was filled with a thrill of delight as it saw the blonde from the hall become a victor over the odd woman with at least three names. It giggles, truly an odd sound coming from the angry monstrosity of light, as THE REVOLUTION lost. Again. And then it smirked its ruby red lips with smugness as the Embodiment of Fear, who it had always liked, gained momentum towards his title shot.
But the heart of L'Enfant Démon was seized with joy and concern as the main event began. Its friends, or at least two and that other one who La Déesse Sombre cheered for, were aligned tonight. They fought a group of heroes, one of which it knew and liked to tease about parentage, and they fought well. L'Enfant Démon was worried that it would be embarrassed by its friends, but it needn’t have had that worry. Its friends shown like bright stars and lights in the building and proved the worth of the entire group.
L'Enfant Démon was proud.
As the cheers erupted at the end, when a friend who seemed so personally similar to it gained victory with its disgusting move, L'Enfant Démon did not stand with La Déesse Sombre and hoot and holler. L'Enfant Démon simply sat and watched, the smug smirk on its face, as it enjoyed part of its plan coming to fruition.
L'Enfant Démon was always planning.
~~Saturday, March 3rd~~
Le Bord de Dieu walks through the halls of the Circle Television Network, her bag boy Jet behind her carrying three suitcases, two hand bags, and a purse, and tries not to shiver in disgust. Founded by Catherine Jones and run by Alicia Sinn, the subsidiary of Sinn Enterprises International known as Circle TV had run an operation which hosted sports, reality shows, in-depth news programs, a plethora of wrestling content, failed band known as Guilty Pleasure, coverage of the LFL team Hit Girls from Cincinnati, and their most famous show, HEXX, which had broken every media-related record in history in South Africa. The cast of characters who worked both behind the scenes and on air was a collection of miscreants, outlaws, mysterious businessmen who keep their names withheld, $2 hookers named Millar, and a particularly daft Italian woman who only remembered her mobster heritage when it was convenient.
But the worst part for The Woman Who People Call Bordy Even Though She Hates Being Called That was walking by a door, prominent in its markings, with the name GREY-LACKLAN written across. She shivers greatly, her body wracked by convolsions. It is as if sin, living and breathing, monstrous and dense, is right behind that door. As if everything dark and sad, everything that could ever or will ever be an affront to God, was waiting like a thick cloud, prepared to consume her. But Bordy, that Paragon of strength and virtue, perseveres and makes it past the door.
So what IF that was the woman who suggested this call-in show in order for her to be able to spread the Word? So what IF that was the woman who pitched and “went to bat” for her to the executives at the network? So what IF that woman was the daughter of the person who signed her to the Lingerie Football League? It did not excuse or pardon her from her sins, which were great and varied. But that was a battle for another day.
An intern at the network, no doubt penniless, lead her and Jet though a few doors and into a small studio. The room held a desk with a pair of headphones, a microphone at face-level, a multi-line telephone, and another small room behind a large window. A woman she had met earlier waved at her from behind the glass and motioned for her to sit. The woman, whose name Bordy hadn’t cared to learn, would be her producer and call-screener. Bordy did as she was instructed ahead of time, taking a seat and pulling the headphones over her head and fitting the into place.
“Welcome!” The voice of the producer was bright and cheerful and made the (pro?) wrestler jump. “I cannot WAIT for the first episode of ‘Dear Bordy.’ I hope that-”
“WHAT?!” Bordy stands up as she shouts, the face of the angel morphing to the devil. “That is NOT the name I agreed upon! My show is to be called ‘Slut-Shaming with Bordy’ because that is what I will be doing! Shaming sluts for their slut behavior!”
The unfortunate engineer tries to get a word in, but the Frenchwoman’s ranting overrides her.
“This is about God’s truth! This is about God’s vision! This is about helping people live their lives the way they are SUPPOSED to! This is about having healthy relationships, the way GOD intended, and not the sinful SHAM that most of the people around me have!”
The engineer tries to interrupt again but makes no further headway. She does, however, hold up her five fingers and make exaggerated motions as she silently counts down.
A chord from a piano, pleasing to the ear, plays across the airwaves and in Bordy’s headset. A soft voice speaks the name of the show, “Dear Bordy,” and the odd Frenchwoman slams her hands down on her desk.
“No! No! This is NOT the name of the show! This is ‘Slut-Shaming with Bordy!’”
The engineer’s eyes go wide and she mouths “WE. ARE. LIVE.” but Bordy continues her ranting.
“I am HERE because the entire WORLD needs to know how to live their lies correctly! I am HERE because the entire WORLD needs to be taught what is important to God! And that is functional and loving relationships the way He designed them to be!”
She lets out a scream, the feedback causing the engineer and countless others listening at home to turn away from their radios in pain, but then calms, her face settling and a broad smile rising from her lips. She turns that sweet smile to the engineer and, with a twinkle in her eye, asks her for the first caller. Stunned by the sudden change in demeanor, the engineer stammers for a moment and then presses a few buttons.
“Um...I...uh...the first caller...is Jodie from Arizona.”
“Wonderful! What is your question, Jodie?”
“Dear Bordy, I am a chaste virgin who is saving her virginity for the man that I love.”
“Wonderful to hear!”
“Thank you, Bordy. Um, I am too young to be married, but my boyfriend has been pressuring me for sexual relations and threatening to leave me if I don’t give in to him. My friends are telling me that if I we do it in the butt, that doesn’t count. Is this true?”
Bordy blinks several times.
“I...wait...what?”
“In the butt. It doesn’t count, right?”
Bordy’s eyes go wide.
“SODOMY!”
Her scream into the microphone is like the keen of a banshee.
“THAT IS SODOMY! NO! NO! NO SODOMY!”
She slams her hands down on the desk with each exclamation.
“ANY kind of sexual relationship with a man BEFORE marriage is a SIN, Jodie! ANY KIND. And ESPECIALLY THAT KIND! My GOD! You tell your HEATHEN friends that they should all jump into the LAKE OF FIRE WITH SATAN and then go tell your boyfriend that, if he cannot WAIT for YOU, then he can JOIN YOUR WHORE FRIENDS!”
She smiles sweetly at the engineer.
“Next caller!”
“We have Colin from New York on the line. He has a question about his ex-wife.”
“Hi Bordy. I was married to the woman of my dreams…”
Bordy smiles widely at this.
“...but we never consummated our marriage.”
The smile turns upside down.
“She left me and fell in love with a woman.”
She rolls her eyes so hard that even the winners of last week’s main event would give her props.
“She has been living in sin for nearly a year, but I want her back badly. Can she ever be redeemed if I manage to lure her away from the sinful woman who has been holding her hostage?”
“Okay. A couple of things. First of all...have you tried not being a sissy?”
“Uh...what?”
“A sissy. You are clearly one of those ‘girly-men’ so popular in Asia and South America.”
“I-”
“Be a man! A man like God intended you to be! Fight! Kill! Provide! THAT is what women want! Not some silly child! BE A MAN! As for the other thing...I am not sorry to say that, no, there is no redeeming her. Once you go into the lesbian territory, there is no saving you. Mind you, I am personally TRYING to help bring my student Lucy back into the Light of God, but she is SO enthralled by Quasimodo that I fear she already has one foot in the Lake of Fire. And it sounds like your wife has both feet in. So, my advice is to forget about the trollop and go lift something heavy or throw a ball, or something. Next!”
“Oh! Speaking of lesbians, we got a question from twitter! @totesnotjet asks: 'Why are there suddenly so many gay women wrestling in UGWC? I accept everyone's life choices, but did I miss a trend? Are they inspired by Holden and PKA's coming out parties?'
Bordy makes a voice in her throat that is better left undescribed.
“Uh. Lesbians are the WORST thing that happened to this business since I left. When I was first fighting, we were all normal and acceptable people. You know, like Nazi’s, terrorists, and cult leaders. But now? Good God! It seems like everywhere I turn, there is nothing but sluts and whores showing their bodies because of some rule regarding the pound sign on their phones! I would not care so much if that mentality did not bring itself into the ring, but it does! EVEN MY COMPANY! While it is clearly established that Angie Vaughan is the biggest whore of them all, this company is also the alma mater of a ‘BJ Black Belt,’ whatever THAT is, and more lesbian fake hair than I thought existed! Even the special guests with three names are guilty of that sin! UGH! Next caller!”
“This is Alan from Alantown. I just wanted to know, how many mannequins can you sexually harass without knowing you have a problem?”
Bordy blinks.
“Um...none? Go to church. Next!”
“We have ‘RWG’ from the Hamptons with a serious family planning question.”
“Oh! Wonderful!”
“Hello, Bordy. I am a young girl from a rich family. Every advantage has been afforded to me and my family has hopes that I will one day marry into a family a means and influence, but that is not what I want.”
Bordy nods solemnly.
“God’s plan is not always what is expected.”
“I know! I have fallen in love with a young boy that my family will certainly never approve of! He is poor and from a broken family, not to mention he is black and I am white…my parents would be mortified!”
Bordy grimaces.
“Your parents could learn some lessons from you. You seem brave.”
“Thank you, Bordy. I am pregnant with his child, but I am terrified of what will happen if I tell my family, what should I do?”
Bordy rests her head in her hands, her fingers lightly touching her chin, deep in thought. After a moment, she raises her head and gives herself a small nod. Yes, she knew exactly what this poor woman needed to hear.
“Tell me...have you tried NOT being a slut?”
“wut”
“Try that out and get back to me, okay? Try NOT being a slut in the future and you won’t end up with THE SPAWN OF SATAN IN YOUR BODY BECAUSE YOU CAN’T KEEP YOUR LEGS CLOSED YOU WHORE!”
She smiles sweetly through the glass.
“Next caller!”
The engineer shakes her head at the wrestler.
“Um...we have time for...one more call and one more tweet. This is ‘New in Miami.’”
“Heya, Bordy. How long should someone have to wait to take a hot girl to pound town if her husband just got murdered? I feel like 1-2 weeks is a long enough time, but others are giving me a hard time. What say you?”
Another blink and blank stare.
“Say that again?”
“You know...pound town! I wanna-”
“STOP!”
Bordy shakes her head.
“There is SO much wrong with that conversation that I cannot even start. I…”
She pauses for a moment.
“Actually, I do. In your sinful situation, there is something which has been circulating and I wish to comment upon. You see, my child, love is eternal. Love and marriage is forever. It is not simply something where you pledge yourself to one another until it is convenient or fun to break that pledge. It is a promise to God that you will honor the relationship He has gifted you. One of the major problems plaguing this world, and the business of wrestling specifically, is the trend of whores and sluts who meet on day one, marry on day seven, divorce on day ten, and then fall in love again on day twelve. Those are not marriages. That is not love. That is simple-minded children who are only playing house. To those people, I saw leave the games for the children and embrace the warmth of God’s plan.
“My husband is my life. His love is my warmth. His belief in me is my food. And there is not a moment which goes by where I do not thank God for the embrace of my husband. He is with me always. Even in-”
Bordy cuts off here suddenly. Her eyes moisten. Her fingers tremble. She licks her lips nervously. But then she smiles and closes her eyes.
“He is risen.”
Pure affection and joy fill her voice at that statement. Her smile is wide and genuine, lighting her face, as she opens her eyes. They sparkle with the same joy which filled her voice.
“So, miss New to Miami, I shall say this: Death is no bar to the call of love. The girl’s husband should forevermore fill her heart and you should cast aside your desires for her. That husband can never, and should never, be replaced.”
She looks through the glass at the engineer.
“Any further questions?”
“Just a final one from Twitter. @dac0urtbl0ws asks: How does Eden still get men to fall into her thrall after years of devouring them? Is it the boobs? The eyes?”
Bordy’s face scrunches into annoyance.
“Eden Morgan, at least from my experience with the woman, is far less of a Jezebel than people make her out to be. I mean, she is certainly no slut like Angelica Vaughan! And while...yes...men do seem to flock to her over the years, it is most likely by their own carnal sins than anything she does. After all, she...typically...only posts tasteful pictures of herself, unlike the other sluts in the company. And thus, I do not blame her. No...no...I blame the men. I blame men like Jason Ingalls.
“The unshaven beast is like so many other men who have failed to learn from the sins of Adam. The flails around life, finding little joy in the treasures of God, and instead looks for the carnal pleasures of Satan. And while Eden is certainly no Eve, is certainly no woman of questionable integrity, Ingalls is certainly Adam. He chooses mistakes, he chooses failure. Even was tricked by the Great Falsifier into eating from the Tree of Knowledge, but Adam chose it. He chose his damnation because he wished to make Eve happy. And we ALL know that he only wanted to make Eve happy so that she would lay with him. And Ingalls is the same way. He was led around by the promise of maybe of Eden’s, led around in hopes of laying with her, in hopes of being her partner. But he is not her partner. He would not, and could not, ever be her partner. Because while she is of a high pedigree, a being worthy of renown, though certainly in need of a trip to church or two, he is little more than mediocre swine.
“Now, I know what all of you are thinking. You are thinking that I am not someone who knows anything, or that I do not deserve the ability to talk. After all, Dave Rydell made it clear last week that my presence was meaningless because he was going to be too busy being pinned by Deimos to pay attention to little ol’ me, I have only won a few matches thus far within the UGWC, and that Ingalls has been around for years. But the truth of the matter is that I know FAR more than one would assume. My comments on the mediocrity of Rydell and Deimos last week were not shots in the dark, or even just me piggybacking on jokes said by others, as Rydell would have you believe. No...no...I have STUDIED this company for nearly a year. The why...does not matter...not yet...but the reality is that I HAVE. And THAT is why I am not only unafraid to unapologetically call Ingalls mediocre swine, but I do not fear the repercussions. Because I know that Ingalls will not win. Because I know that winning is not what he is good at.
“Oh, I know that he has won plenty of matches in his career. Wins! Titles! Tournaments! Accolades which bring the applause of his peers! But what I question is what he is able to do NOW. What has he been able to do in the year I have studied this company for reasons which would be redacted if I said them? Truth be told...practically nothing. Loss after loss in the later half of last year...not a win to be seen after his glorious capture of the Cooperative Championships with B-Pac at Wrestlestock...but even then, not a single successful defense before handing the titles over to two far more capable men.
“And this year? More of the same. Yes! Ingalls defeated Mathis! Yes! He was able to drop his foot onto the throat of her failed revolution. But it was I! It was I! It was I who killed Mathis’ revolution! It was I would took it...ripped off its head...and ate it. Not him! He did not but feast upon the dregs of plate. He did naught but eat the marrow from the bones of that revolution.
“And now he faces the true devourer. Now he faces me. His pitiable attempts at finding some sort of success, from his lousy attempts to woo Eden to the failings of his career, he is about to run into a wall of righteous fury. Unlike Ingalls, who has no doubt been wasting even more time by being his mediocre self, I have spent all week in hostile territory to work on my trade. Just like how I studied this company, and my opponents, for the last year, I have spent all week preparing to take my Chaos crown. I have-”
DING!
She cuts off as her phone goes off. Curious to who might be contacting her directly for Slut-Shaming with Bordy, she glances at it and whimpers when she sees the name and message.
Donovan Hastings: ‘Sup, hot mamma. I was thinking that, after you lay down in the ring for Zane on Monday, you could head backstage and lay down for both of us. Ya know...you...and me...and him...simultaneously...
With a screech, Bordy throws the headphones down and runs for her dear life.
~~Five Days Earlier~~
The wind howls.
Le Bord de Dieu stands atop a clearing, looking down into a valley opening up wide below her. The pale Frenchwoman is clothed in a massive black coat, the collar high and to her chin, with streaks of red flared throughout. The tails of the coat flail in the wind, as does the brown hair atop her head, but her eyes remain fixed and steady on what lays before her. We take a moment to sneak over her shoulder and look down, traveling with her gaze, to see bodies, like those of ants from his height, moving in ordered lines. Back and forth they drill, prepared for the moment they are called, prepared for the return of their mission in life.
“You are not supposed to be here.”
Le Bord de Dieu does not turn at the muffled voice. She knows who it is. She knows who would find her here. She knows who she MEANT to find her.
“I rarely do what people expect me to.”
A moment of silence, filled only by the cry of the wind.
“Are you here to take your throne?” asks the muffled voice. Le Bord de Dieu lets the question hang, lets it float on that horrible wind, before shaking her head from side to side.
“No. Not yet. I am here for something else.”
She turns away from the valley and takes in her companion. The man is large, though not overly tall, with a bald head and an odd mask on his face, latched behind his ears and giving his mouth the look of a vicious tapeworm. He wears a heavy fur jacket and long pants ending in thick black boots, and stands tall and sure.
“I need your help, Redmaine.”
The masked man takes her in for a moment and then shakes his head.
“You know that I cannot. If she were to find out-”
“Is THAT who you are loyal to?!”
Le Bord de Dieu’s sudden scream splits the frigid air, splitting the cold as well as that proverbial warm knife and butter.
“The Redmaine I know would not have given up on HIM! The Redmaine I know would not have given up on HIS cause! The Redmaine I-”
She cuts off as she swoons, her legs becoming like jelly, and her hand goes to her head. Redmaine moves forward to catch her, but she pushes him away and glares at him.
“Just...just a...small...concussion.”
She shakes her head slowly, trying to push away the lights suddenly in her vision.
“Tell me, Redmaine: Who are you loyal to? Are you loyal to the child? To me?”
Redmaine is silent as he regards her. But before he can respond, Le Bord de Dieu reaches into her coat and pulls out the white mask she had taken from its place of honor in late January. Redmaine’s eyes go wide as she tosses it to the icy ground and at his feet.
“...or to him?”
Silence.
“I had heard it...went missing.”
“It was liberated. He is risen. And so is his cause. Are you loyal to the child who has thrown away EVERYTHING her father stood for? Or are you loyal to my husband?”
Redmaine stares at the mask for several moments before looking up and into the serious gaze of Le Bord de Dieu.
“I am loyal to the man who gave me purpose. I am loyal to him.”
He gives a small nod.
“I am loyal to you. What do you need?”
“Training.”
Le Bord de Dieu looks down at herself and shrugs in the coat, feeling every bit of her compact frame.
“We both know that wrestling...ACTUAL wrestling...is not my strong suit. I was trained by watching a Nazi on television! And while that HAS been good for me, as I am the Ultraviolet, after all, I am in a situation where I need more than just my teeth and claws, more than just a neck snap.”
Redmaine grunts.
“And why do you need help now?”
“My opponent. I have two...but...well...only one truly worries me. His name is Zane...though he might as well be called the Conqueror. Over the course of the last two months, this man has slipped through the defenses of everyone in the business and come to dominate the company we are in. While other scheme and plan, he simply sneaks in and takes. Nothing seems to stop him. And while I am confident in who I am, confident in being the Ultraviolet, I am not filled with so much hubris to think that he will not be my greatest challenge since back.”
The masked man gives her a nod.
“I will help you. I cannot promise that I could bring you to the level of one of the Red Guard in a short time, but I can help.”
Redmaine walks forward and passed Le Bord de Dieu, stopping at the edge of the cliff and looking down into the valley. Le Bord de Dieu joins him after picking up the mask from the ground, and holds her coat tight against a sudden upswing in the wind. Far down below them, the ants move faster and faster, though with a precision befitting a military unit.
“I have never given up my charge, Mistress, not even in the abandonment of the mission. I train them daily. I push them. I break them. They are prepared for when the mission begins anew.”
He grows silent, content on watching his charges down in the valley be pushed through drills.
“We begin at first light. We will run. We will spar. We will work the mat. We will make you the most complete wrestler you have ever been. You will be ready for this Zane in ways that he could never imagine. I will do it for him.”
Another pause.
“I would do it for you...if you took the throne.”
Le Bord de Dieu stares down into the valley along with Redmaine for a long moment.
“Not yet.”
She gives a small shake of her head.
“First, my crown on Monday. Let them see the Ultraviolet be the Chaos Champion. Let them see what the ‘crazy French chick’ can do. And then?”
She gives a small shrug of her shoulders.
“And then maybe I will take the throne, too.”
A quick burst of wind makes her coat tails fly, but she smiles warmly.
“I feel you, Jean-Paul. You are risen.”
~~FIN~~
L'Enfant Démon glides.
It is an odd thing to watch L'Enfant Démon move throughout the halls of the building. The creature of blinding white, that sheet of snow to which our eyes cannot become accustomed, the bright white which our minds cannot wrap themselves around, is low to the ground, gliding along smoothly. L'Enfant Démon had never been tall of stature, a being who found success as much through manipulation as physical might, but its current situation brought it even closer to the ground, made it crane its neck that much higher in order to see. It did not need to be so low to the ground, could indeed travel at its full height, but the day was more about manipulation than pride.
So along the ground it glides, La Déesse Sombre at its side, the two juxtapositions of color jarring to the eye. La Déesse Sombre was the darkness to the light of L'Enfant Démon. Caramel complexion that was as easy on the eyes as L'Enfant Démon was hard, a ready smile to fight off the constant anger from its partner. Indeed, that smile warmed the insides of L'Enfant Démon in ways that it never thought was possible, was a ray of shine from the sun that it never thought could reach it. La Déesse Sombre gave it power and strength, gave it hope and joy. And above all else, it gave L'Enfant Démon heart.
The two traveled the halls of the building, a dark hand reaching down to hold a light, and a smirk came to the ruby lips of L'Enfant Démon. It was home! In a way. It was not the vessel upon the river, nor the castle in the snow, but it was still home. A building which had accepted it, had taken all of the admitted oddness of the L'Enfant Démon entity and opened its arms. L'Enfant Démon had traveled across the world over its long life and had never felt truly accepted until it found this building, and now returning to it, felt a warmth it was rarely allowed. People, nameless and faceless, passed by and offered a wave or voiced a salutation. The dark hand in its own would squeeze it in encouragement and love whenever that happened, a physical reminder that, yes, this WAS home. And, yes, it WAS welcome.
An odd feeling filled L'Enfant Démon when a woman of bright hair entered its vision down the hallway. A feeling of...love? Respect? Admiration? Rare feelings for L'Enfant Démon. But then those odd feelings were replaced by a deep and searing anger, an anger of red that was part of its core and welcomed like an old friend, filled it when the blonde was joined by a head of brilliant plumage, unnatural streaks of blues and purples all throughout.
Rage filled L'Enfant Démon as it saw La Némis.
But the hand of La Déesse Sombre squeezed again, a reminder that this was neither the time nor place. Of course, if it were up to La Déesse Sombre, there would be nothing but understanding and forgiveness, but that was impossible for L'Enfant Démon. L'Enfant Démon never forgave. Never.
La Némis and that blonde, that creator of those odd feelings, slipped away into a room and the rage began to fade. The creatures of light and dark moved ahead, gliding down the hall, letting the rage slowly slip away. There were other reasons for them to be there that night. More important reasons.
Before long, and with an appreciated lack of further fanfare, the two were seated at the front of the building’s venue. Refreshments were supplied, including a small bowl of peeled grapes that made La Déesse Sombre’s hackles rise for some odd reason, and the night’s entertainment began. L'Enfant Démon groaned at the farce of the opening contest, with eyes rolling hard at the cardboard cutout of the Creative Director, though it appreciated seeing the hen owl. And then it was filled with a thrill of delight as it saw the blonde from the hall become a victor over the odd woman with at least three names. It giggles, truly an odd sound coming from the angry monstrosity of light, as THE REVOLUTION lost. Again. And then it smirked its ruby red lips with smugness as the Embodiment of Fear, who it had always liked, gained momentum towards his title shot.
But the heart of L'Enfant Démon was seized with joy and concern as the main event began. Its friends, or at least two and that other one who La Déesse Sombre cheered for, were aligned tonight. They fought a group of heroes, one of which it knew and liked to tease about parentage, and they fought well. L'Enfant Démon was worried that it would be embarrassed by its friends, but it needn’t have had that worry. Its friends shown like bright stars and lights in the building and proved the worth of the entire group.
L'Enfant Démon was proud.
As the cheers erupted at the end, when a friend who seemed so personally similar to it gained victory with its disgusting move, L'Enfant Démon did not stand with La Déesse Sombre and hoot and holler. L'Enfant Démon simply sat and watched, the smug smirk on its face, as it enjoyed part of its plan coming to fruition.
L'Enfant Démon was always planning.
~~Saturday, March 3rd~~
Le Bord de Dieu walks through the halls of the Circle Television Network, her bag boy Jet behind her carrying three suitcases, two hand bags, and a purse, and tries not to shiver in disgust. Founded by Catherine Jones and run by Alicia Sinn, the subsidiary of Sinn Enterprises International known as Circle TV had run an operation which hosted sports, reality shows, in-depth news programs, a plethora of wrestling content, failed band known as Guilty Pleasure, coverage of the LFL team Hit Girls from Cincinnati, and their most famous show, HEXX, which had broken every media-related record in history in South Africa. The cast of characters who worked both behind the scenes and on air was a collection of miscreants, outlaws, mysterious businessmen who keep their names withheld, $2 hookers named Millar, and a particularly daft Italian woman who only remembered her mobster heritage when it was convenient.
But the worst part for The Woman Who People Call Bordy Even Though She Hates Being Called That was walking by a door, prominent in its markings, with the name GREY-LACKLAN written across. She shivers greatly, her body wracked by convolsions. It is as if sin, living and breathing, monstrous and dense, is right behind that door. As if everything dark and sad, everything that could ever or will ever be an affront to God, was waiting like a thick cloud, prepared to consume her. But Bordy, that Paragon of strength and virtue, perseveres and makes it past the door.
So what IF that was the woman who suggested this call-in show in order for her to be able to spread the Word? So what IF that was the woman who pitched and “went to bat” for her to the executives at the network? So what IF that woman was the daughter of the person who signed her to the Lingerie Football League? It did not excuse or pardon her from her sins, which were great and varied. But that was a battle for another day.
An intern at the network, no doubt penniless, lead her and Jet though a few doors and into a small studio. The room held a desk with a pair of headphones, a microphone at face-level, a multi-line telephone, and another small room behind a large window. A woman she had met earlier waved at her from behind the glass and motioned for her to sit. The woman, whose name Bordy hadn’t cared to learn, would be her producer and call-screener. Bordy did as she was instructed ahead of time, taking a seat and pulling the headphones over her head and fitting the into place.
“Welcome!” The voice of the producer was bright and cheerful and made the (pro?) wrestler jump. “I cannot WAIT for the first episode of ‘Dear Bordy.’ I hope that-”
“WHAT?!” Bordy stands up as she shouts, the face of the angel morphing to the devil. “That is NOT the name I agreed upon! My show is to be called ‘Slut-Shaming with Bordy’ because that is what I will be doing! Shaming sluts for their slut behavior!”
The unfortunate engineer tries to get a word in, but the Frenchwoman’s ranting overrides her.
“This is about God’s truth! This is about God’s vision! This is about helping people live their lives the way they are SUPPOSED to! This is about having healthy relationships, the way GOD intended, and not the sinful SHAM that most of the people around me have!”
The engineer tries to interrupt again but makes no further headway. She does, however, hold up her five fingers and make exaggerated motions as she silently counts down.
5!
4!
3!
2!
1!
A chord from a piano, pleasing to the ear, plays across the airwaves and in Bordy’s headset. A soft voice speaks the name of the show, “Dear Bordy,” and the odd Frenchwoman slams her hands down on her desk.
“No! No! This is NOT the name of the show! This is ‘Slut-Shaming with Bordy!’”
The engineer’s eyes go wide and she mouths “WE. ARE. LIVE.” but Bordy continues her ranting.
“I am HERE because the entire WORLD needs to know how to live their lies correctly! I am HERE because the entire WORLD needs to be taught what is important to God! And that is functional and loving relationships the way He designed them to be!”
She lets out a scream, the feedback causing the engineer and countless others listening at home to turn away from their radios in pain, but then calms, her face settling and a broad smile rising from her lips. She turns that sweet smile to the engineer and, with a twinkle in her eye, asks her for the first caller. Stunned by the sudden change in demeanor, the engineer stammers for a moment and then presses a few buttons.
“Um...I...uh...the first caller...is Jodie from Arizona.”
“Wonderful! What is your question, Jodie?”
“Dear Bordy, I am a chaste virgin who is saving her virginity for the man that I love.”
“Wonderful to hear!”
“Thank you, Bordy. Um, I am too young to be married, but my boyfriend has been pressuring me for sexual relations and threatening to leave me if I don’t give in to him. My friends are telling me that if I we do it in the butt, that doesn’t count. Is this true?”
Bordy blinks several times.
“I...wait...what?”
“In the butt. It doesn’t count, right?”
Bordy’s eyes go wide.
“SODOMY!”
Her scream into the microphone is like the keen of a banshee.
“THAT IS SODOMY! NO! NO! NO SODOMY!”
She slams her hands down on the desk with each exclamation.
“ANY kind of sexual relationship with a man BEFORE marriage is a SIN, Jodie! ANY KIND. And ESPECIALLY THAT KIND! My GOD! You tell your HEATHEN friends that they should all jump into the LAKE OF FIRE WITH SATAN and then go tell your boyfriend that, if he cannot WAIT for YOU, then he can JOIN YOUR WHORE FRIENDS!”
She smiles sweetly at the engineer.
“Next caller!”
“We have Colin from New York on the line. He has a question about his ex-wife.”
“Hi Bordy. I was married to the woman of my dreams…”
Bordy smiles widely at this.
“...but we never consummated our marriage.”
The smile turns upside down.
“She left me and fell in love with a woman.”
She rolls her eyes so hard that even the winners of last week’s main event would give her props.
“She has been living in sin for nearly a year, but I want her back badly. Can she ever be redeemed if I manage to lure her away from the sinful woman who has been holding her hostage?”
“Okay. A couple of things. First of all...have you tried not being a sissy?”
“Uh...what?”
“A sissy. You are clearly one of those ‘girly-men’ so popular in Asia and South America.”
“I-”
“Be a man! A man like God intended you to be! Fight! Kill! Provide! THAT is what women want! Not some silly child! BE A MAN! As for the other thing...I am not sorry to say that, no, there is no redeeming her. Once you go into the lesbian territory, there is no saving you. Mind you, I am personally TRYING to help bring my student Lucy back into the Light of God, but she is SO enthralled by Quasimodo that I fear she already has one foot in the Lake of Fire. And it sounds like your wife has both feet in. So, my advice is to forget about the trollop and go lift something heavy or throw a ball, or something. Next!”
“Oh! Speaking of lesbians, we got a question from twitter! @totesnotjet asks: 'Why are there suddenly so many gay women wrestling in UGWC? I accept everyone's life choices, but did I miss a trend? Are they inspired by Holden and PKA's coming out parties?'
Bordy makes a voice in her throat that is better left undescribed.
“Uh. Lesbians are the WORST thing that happened to this business since I left. When I was first fighting, we were all normal and acceptable people. You know, like Nazi’s, terrorists, and cult leaders. But now? Good God! It seems like everywhere I turn, there is nothing but sluts and whores showing their bodies because of some rule regarding the pound sign on their phones! I would not care so much if that mentality did not bring itself into the ring, but it does! EVEN MY COMPANY! While it is clearly established that Angie Vaughan is the biggest whore of them all, this company is also the alma mater of a ‘BJ Black Belt,’ whatever THAT is, and more lesbian fake hair than I thought existed! Even the special guests with three names are guilty of that sin! UGH! Next caller!”
“This is Alan from Alantown. I just wanted to know, how many mannequins can you sexually harass without knowing you have a problem?”
Bordy blinks.
“Um...none? Go to church. Next!”
“We have ‘RWG’ from the Hamptons with a serious family planning question.”
“Oh! Wonderful!”
“Hello, Bordy. I am a young girl from a rich family. Every advantage has been afforded to me and my family has hopes that I will one day marry into a family a means and influence, but that is not what I want.”
Bordy nods solemnly.
“God’s plan is not always what is expected.”
“I know! I have fallen in love with a young boy that my family will certainly never approve of! He is poor and from a broken family, not to mention he is black and I am white…my parents would be mortified!”
Bordy grimaces.
“Your parents could learn some lessons from you. You seem brave.”
“Thank you, Bordy. I am pregnant with his child, but I am terrified of what will happen if I tell my family, what should I do?”
Bordy rests her head in her hands, her fingers lightly touching her chin, deep in thought. After a moment, she raises her head and gives herself a small nod. Yes, she knew exactly what this poor woman needed to hear.
“Tell me...have you tried NOT being a slut?”
“wut”
“Try that out and get back to me, okay? Try NOT being a slut in the future and you won’t end up with THE SPAWN OF SATAN IN YOUR BODY BECAUSE YOU CAN’T KEEP YOUR LEGS CLOSED YOU WHORE!”
She smiles sweetly through the glass.
“Next caller!”
The engineer shakes her head at the wrestler.
“Um...we have time for...one more call and one more tweet. This is ‘New in Miami.’”
“Heya, Bordy. How long should someone have to wait to take a hot girl to pound town if her husband just got murdered? I feel like 1-2 weeks is a long enough time, but others are giving me a hard time. What say you?”
Another blink and blank stare.
“Say that again?”
“You know...pound town! I wanna-”
“STOP!”
Bordy shakes her head.
“There is SO much wrong with that conversation that I cannot even start. I…”
She pauses for a moment.
“Actually, I do. In your sinful situation, there is something which has been circulating and I wish to comment upon. You see, my child, love is eternal. Love and marriage is forever. It is not simply something where you pledge yourself to one another until it is convenient or fun to break that pledge. It is a promise to God that you will honor the relationship He has gifted you. One of the major problems plaguing this world, and the business of wrestling specifically, is the trend of whores and sluts who meet on day one, marry on day seven, divorce on day ten, and then fall in love again on day twelve. Those are not marriages. That is not love. That is simple-minded children who are only playing house. To those people, I saw leave the games for the children and embrace the warmth of God’s plan.
“My husband is my life. His love is my warmth. His belief in me is my food. And there is not a moment which goes by where I do not thank God for the embrace of my husband. He is with me always. Even in-”
Bordy cuts off here suddenly. Her eyes moisten. Her fingers tremble. She licks her lips nervously. But then she smiles and closes her eyes.
“He is risen.”
Pure affection and joy fill her voice at that statement. Her smile is wide and genuine, lighting her face, as she opens her eyes. They sparkle with the same joy which filled her voice.
“So, miss New to Miami, I shall say this: Death is no bar to the call of love. The girl’s husband should forevermore fill her heart and you should cast aside your desires for her. That husband can never, and should never, be replaced.”
She looks through the glass at the engineer.
“Any further questions?”
“Just a final one from Twitter. @dac0urtbl0ws asks: How does Eden still get men to fall into her thrall after years of devouring them? Is it the boobs? The eyes?”
Bordy’s face scrunches into annoyance.
“Eden Morgan, at least from my experience with the woman, is far less of a Jezebel than people make her out to be. I mean, she is certainly no slut like Angelica Vaughan! And while...yes...men do seem to flock to her over the years, it is most likely by their own carnal sins than anything she does. After all, she...typically...only posts tasteful pictures of herself, unlike the other sluts in the company. And thus, I do not blame her. No...no...I blame the men. I blame men like Jason Ingalls.
“The unshaven beast is like so many other men who have failed to learn from the sins of Adam. The flails around life, finding little joy in the treasures of God, and instead looks for the carnal pleasures of Satan. And while Eden is certainly no Eve, is certainly no woman of questionable integrity, Ingalls is certainly Adam. He chooses mistakes, he chooses failure. Even was tricked by the Great Falsifier into eating from the Tree of Knowledge, but Adam chose it. He chose his damnation because he wished to make Eve happy. And we ALL know that he only wanted to make Eve happy so that she would lay with him. And Ingalls is the same way. He was led around by the promise of maybe of Eden’s, led around in hopes of laying with her, in hopes of being her partner. But he is not her partner. He would not, and could not, ever be her partner. Because while she is of a high pedigree, a being worthy of renown, though certainly in need of a trip to church or two, he is little more than mediocre swine.
“Now, I know what all of you are thinking. You are thinking that I am not someone who knows anything, or that I do not deserve the ability to talk. After all, Dave Rydell made it clear last week that my presence was meaningless because he was going to be too busy being pinned by Deimos to pay attention to little ol’ me, I have only won a few matches thus far within the UGWC, and that Ingalls has been around for years. But the truth of the matter is that I know FAR more than one would assume. My comments on the mediocrity of Rydell and Deimos last week were not shots in the dark, or even just me piggybacking on jokes said by others, as Rydell would have you believe. No...no...I have STUDIED this company for nearly a year. The why...does not matter...not yet...but the reality is that I HAVE. And THAT is why I am not only unafraid to unapologetically call Ingalls mediocre swine, but I do not fear the repercussions. Because I know that Ingalls will not win. Because I know that winning is not what he is good at.
“Oh, I know that he has won plenty of matches in his career. Wins! Titles! Tournaments! Accolades which bring the applause of his peers! But what I question is what he is able to do NOW. What has he been able to do in the year I have studied this company for reasons which would be redacted if I said them? Truth be told...practically nothing. Loss after loss in the later half of last year...not a win to be seen after his glorious capture of the Cooperative Championships with B-Pac at Wrestlestock...but even then, not a single successful defense before handing the titles over to two far more capable men.
“And this year? More of the same. Yes! Ingalls defeated Mathis! Yes! He was able to drop his foot onto the throat of her failed revolution. But it was I! It was I! It was I who killed Mathis’ revolution! It was I would took it...ripped off its head...and ate it. Not him! He did not but feast upon the dregs of plate. He did naught but eat the marrow from the bones of that revolution.
“And now he faces the true devourer. Now he faces me. His pitiable attempts at finding some sort of success, from his lousy attempts to woo Eden to the failings of his career, he is about to run into a wall of righteous fury. Unlike Ingalls, who has no doubt been wasting even more time by being his mediocre self, I have spent all week in hostile territory to work on my trade. Just like how I studied this company, and my opponents, for the last year, I have spent all week preparing to take my Chaos crown. I have-”
DING!
She cuts off as her phone goes off. Curious to who might be contacting her directly for Slut-Shaming with Bordy, she glances at it and whimpers when she sees the name and message.
Donovan Hastings: ‘Sup, hot mamma. I was thinking that, after you lay down in the ring for Zane on Monday, you could head backstage and lay down for both of us. Ya know...you...and me...and him...simultaneously...
With a screech, Bordy throws the headphones down and runs for her dear life.
~~Five Days Earlier~~
The wind howls.
Le Bord de Dieu stands atop a clearing, looking down into a valley opening up wide below her. The pale Frenchwoman is clothed in a massive black coat, the collar high and to her chin, with streaks of red flared throughout. The tails of the coat flail in the wind, as does the brown hair atop her head, but her eyes remain fixed and steady on what lays before her. We take a moment to sneak over her shoulder and look down, traveling with her gaze, to see bodies, like those of ants from his height, moving in ordered lines. Back and forth they drill, prepared for the moment they are called, prepared for the return of their mission in life.
“You are not supposed to be here.”
Le Bord de Dieu does not turn at the muffled voice. She knows who it is. She knows who would find her here. She knows who she MEANT to find her.
“I rarely do what people expect me to.”
A moment of silence, filled only by the cry of the wind.
“Are you here to take your throne?” asks the muffled voice. Le Bord de Dieu lets the question hang, lets it float on that horrible wind, before shaking her head from side to side.
“No. Not yet. I am here for something else.”
She turns away from the valley and takes in her companion. The man is large, though not overly tall, with a bald head and an odd mask on his face, latched behind his ears and giving his mouth the look of a vicious tapeworm. He wears a heavy fur jacket and long pants ending in thick black boots, and stands tall and sure.
“I need your help, Redmaine.”
The masked man takes her in for a moment and then shakes his head.
“You know that I cannot. If she were to find out-”
“Is THAT who you are loyal to?!”
Le Bord de Dieu’s sudden scream splits the frigid air, splitting the cold as well as that proverbial warm knife and butter.
“The Redmaine I know would not have given up on HIM! The Redmaine I know would not have given up on HIS cause! The Redmaine I-”
She cuts off as she swoons, her legs becoming like jelly, and her hand goes to her head. Redmaine moves forward to catch her, but she pushes him away and glares at him.
“Just...just a...small...concussion.”
She shakes her head slowly, trying to push away the lights suddenly in her vision.
“Tell me, Redmaine: Who are you loyal to? Are you loyal to the child? To me?”
Redmaine is silent as he regards her. But before he can respond, Le Bord de Dieu reaches into her coat and pulls out the white mask she had taken from its place of honor in late January. Redmaine’s eyes go wide as she tosses it to the icy ground and at his feet.
“...or to him?”
Silence.
“I had heard it...went missing.”
“It was liberated. He is risen. And so is his cause. Are you loyal to the child who has thrown away EVERYTHING her father stood for? Or are you loyal to my husband?”
Redmaine stares at the mask for several moments before looking up and into the serious gaze of Le Bord de Dieu.
“I am loyal to the man who gave me purpose. I am loyal to him.”
He gives a small nod.
“I am loyal to you. What do you need?”
“Training.”
Le Bord de Dieu looks down at herself and shrugs in the coat, feeling every bit of her compact frame.
“We both know that wrestling...ACTUAL wrestling...is not my strong suit. I was trained by watching a Nazi on television! And while that HAS been good for me, as I am the Ultraviolet, after all, I am in a situation where I need more than just my teeth and claws, more than just a neck snap.”
Redmaine grunts.
“And why do you need help now?”
“My opponent. I have two...but...well...only one truly worries me. His name is Zane...though he might as well be called the Conqueror. Over the course of the last two months, this man has slipped through the defenses of everyone in the business and come to dominate the company we are in. While other scheme and plan, he simply sneaks in and takes. Nothing seems to stop him. And while I am confident in who I am, confident in being the Ultraviolet, I am not filled with so much hubris to think that he will not be my greatest challenge since back.”
The masked man gives her a nod.
“I will help you. I cannot promise that I could bring you to the level of one of the Red Guard in a short time, but I can help.”
Redmaine walks forward and passed Le Bord de Dieu, stopping at the edge of the cliff and looking down into the valley. Le Bord de Dieu joins him after picking up the mask from the ground, and holds her coat tight against a sudden upswing in the wind. Far down below them, the ants move faster and faster, though with a precision befitting a military unit.
“I have never given up my charge, Mistress, not even in the abandonment of the mission. I train them daily. I push them. I break them. They are prepared for when the mission begins anew.”
He grows silent, content on watching his charges down in the valley be pushed through drills.
“We begin at first light. We will run. We will spar. We will work the mat. We will make you the most complete wrestler you have ever been. You will be ready for this Zane in ways that he could never imagine. I will do it for him.”
Another pause.
“I would do it for you...if you took the throne.”
Le Bord de Dieu stares down into the valley along with Redmaine for a long moment.
“Not yet.”
She gives a small shake of her head.
“First, my crown on Monday. Let them see the Ultraviolet be the Chaos Champion. Let them see what the ‘crazy French chick’ can do. And then?”
She gives a small shrug of her shoulders.
“And then maybe I will take the throne, too.”
A quick burst of wind makes her coat tails fly, but she smiles warmly.
“I feel you, Jean-Paul. You are risen.”
~~FIN~~
x2