Post by LACKLAN on Mar 15, 2018 14:51:53 GMT -5
~~Ce que nous faisons pour nos proches~~
Chaos.
Ruin.
Debris.
And in the middle of it?
Le Bord de Dieu.
The woman sits in a steel folding chair in the center of a wrestling ring, a collection of broken and used items surrounding her. A broken wooden table, splintered in the center. A baseball bat. A length of thin wooden staves wrapped together, a Kendo stick, broken and lifeless in one corner, shreds of the weapon scattered all throughout. The woman breathes heavily, her body moving up in down in deep movements, and is dressed in her wrestling attire, a full bodysuit of white and cold flames. The material is torn in several places, showing hints of pale white skin underneath, with the tears on her arms showing the lines of scars, both the even and the jagged, running up and down. Her brown hair hangs all around her shoulders, the streaks of grey jumping out in contrast to the darkness around her, and her face has dried blood smeared across it in random spots. And around her neck is a chain of thick metal with a heavy lock nestled in the line of cleavage swelling underneath her suit.
“I have a certain feeling for you, Mizore.”
The woman’s voice is scratchy and strained, as if the chaos around her has enveloped her, body and soul, to the point of running through her blood.
“Mind you...we have not met. Not really. You do not know who I am...or what I do…”
She smiles suddenly and a chuckle slips out. She looks around her, her tired eyes taking in the scene of the ring.
“Well...if you look closely...you can see EVERYTHING that I do. This...this...chaos? It is me. It is who I am. It is what I do. In fact, I should THANK dear Zane. THANK the champion with the sharp face. THANK the man who lost that Chaos championship, through little fault of his own, the same day that you and your compatriots lost to the Court of the Owls. Because of him...because of his money...because of his own desire to see chaos...the world...and you...got a taste of what I am here for.”
She smiles wider and laughs louder.
“Chaos! Some bring order to the world with chaos. And some bring chaos to the world with order. I do both, Mizore. I do both.”
She motions to the heavy lock around her neck.
“Ask...ask Fear! Ask Fear how this felt! Ask...ask the Vaughan girl! Ask her how it felt! Ask how it felt for FEEL the chaos! To FEEL the Ultraviolet!”
She giggles and sways in her chair.
“Ask them, Mizore. ASK THEM! Ask them how if felt to be slammed by this very chair. Ask them how it felt to be smashed again...and again...AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!”
Bordy stands up in a rush and picks up the chair, the badly dented seat coming to light.
“Ask them about the PAIN of my throne!”
She throws the chair out of the ring, the distant CLANK! of it falling to the floor below sounding as if a distant echo. She giggles again, bending over at the waist as she holds her stomach, and finally collapses to the mat on her bottom.
“But I suppose...I suppose...that I am getting ahead of myself. Because….you see...this is not about me. No...no no no...this is about YOU. You see, unlike people like you...I study my opponents. You? You will just take a cursory look at my silly little biography page on the company’s website. You might even go searching for some kind of ‘stat’ breakdown, as if I were some video game character.”
Bordy laughs even harder than before.
“But that is not me, Mizore! That is not ME! Just some silly group of words put together by one of Dexter’s peons. No...no...you want to know ME? You what to know the Blade...the Edge...of God? Then you must SEE. You must FEEL. You must EXPERIENCE. I cannot be summed up by a paragraph, Mizore! I cannot be confined to a page or a photo shoot! You want to know me? You want to know who I am? Then you have to watch. From the moment I poked my head into the hive of this Coalition, I have made it clear that you have to actually WATCH if you want to know what is going on...what the future holds and the NOW presents.”
She looks upwards towards the rig above the ring, the collection of lights bulbs and wires.
“You have to look inward and outward to understand me, Mizore. You have to...taste...the wind. Feel it...on your skin. Breathe it in. You have to run your...fingers...through the water. Take in the colors of the flowers and internalize their scents. You have to experience the WORLD to even begin to understand you I am.
“But you? I know who you are. You see, unlike most you run across in this business, I study. I watch. I learn. And for you...that feeling I have? That feeling that, even though we have never truly met outside of perhaps passing each other in the halls...I have for you? That certain feeling?”
She pauses, looking back toward the camera, and wets her lips.
“Empathy.”
She reaches up and touches her face, and then scratches it at, some of the dried blood coming off with her fingers. She looks at her hands with a face of pure confusion, as if not sure how the blood got there. She gives herself a rough shake and looks around the ring, her eyes darting seemingly without reason.
“I know what it is like to have a loved one be in pain. I know what it is like to see them crumble. To see them stand strong...proud...and become little of what they were before. I know the heartache it brings. I know how it tears you apart. I know how you spend your nights watching over them...your body shaking with worry...and guilt...and shame...because there is nothing you can do to help them. I know…”
Her eyes continue to dart around the dark arena, from the empty seats to the carnage of a Chaos match followed by a night of no contests and brawls.
“I do not...agree...with your union, Mizore. It flies in the face of God...it laughs with disdain at the order that He wishes. But I understand your pain. I understand your sorrow. And so...I have empathy. And...if you will permit me a moment...a bit of advice.”
She looks at the camera, her eyes stopping and staring through it, dark orbs surrounded by tiny lines.
“Call in sick, Mizore. Take the day off. Go to Disneyland or an anime convention. Invent a third aunt or fifth grandmother to pass away for which you need to grieve. Whatever it takes. Stay home. Because what happens on Monday...just like what happened tonight...is what awaits you.”
She looks around at the ring again, at the collection of broken furniture and impromptu weapons, before looking back, still with the steel gaze.
“Maya’s life depends on you, Mizore. She needs you for everything. To see. To move. To live her life. She needs you. And if you show up on Monday...and you find yourself in the middle of the torrent of chaos the Ultraviolet with create...then I can offer you no guarantee on your health. I can offer you no promise that you will not be maimed. I cannot, in good conscience, guarantee that you will walk out of this ring in one piece. Because nothing is going to stand in my way of taking the title which should already be mine. Nothing shall keep God’s grace from the UGWC. And if you DO show up on Monday...then you and Maya may well be...in a very literal sense...the blind leading the blind.”
She smiles for a moment and then falls into giggles once more.
“Stay away, Mizore! Do NOT let my empathy to turn apathy! Do not let my care for your situation fall into entropy!”
The giggles fall away and the steel look returns.
“Save Maya’s quality of life before I ruin yours.”
She smiles again, bright teeth piercing the darkness.
“Light be with you!”
~~Les rêveries en ligne~~
Redmaine stood in the corner of the forgotten warehouse, arms corded with muscle folded before him, the skin of his shaved head shining brightly in the light coming from the row of small windows running along the top of the building. He breathed slowly through the mask around his face, the piece of technology that let him live a good life after the accident which took away a large chunk of his jaw, which he had fashioned to appear as if it was the maw of some hungry land worm. He stood and watched as eight of his men, nearly identical men in black uniforms with silver pins and lapels, ran drills on the distant side of the warehouse, keeping themselves prepared, but also split his attention to the woman sitting on a milk crate and clicking away at a laptop.
“What does ‘GLUG GLUG GLUG’ mean?”
Ava sat nude on her makeshift seat, though he was still uncertain if that was her complete lack of shame or her simply not being aware of her nudity, and fooled around online. There had been major advances in computers since she was last in the open world five years ago, and while she had spent much of the last year studying the world, there was much she didn’t understand. Redmaine was not exactly sure how helpful these little study sessions of hers were-
“What does ‘checking’ mean and why is that Perry person so obsessed with that Gordy person? Is that some kind of love tryst I don’t know about?”
-but Redmaine understood Ava’s need. She had been alone in that room for four years with nothing and no one to be with outside of the drugs being forced her by some so-called ‘doctor.’ With only but a few messages brought to her by loyal people, she had been cut off from much. Cut off from what was important.
“Why does Eden put up so many pictures of her breasts? If I can see your nipples through through the black lace, then you might as well be a porn star! At least that Gabrielle woman has the decency to advertise the fact!”
Redmaine chuckles at that. Ava’s fight against promiscuity was fun to watch, particularly when he knew so much of her before she met with HIM. How different she was then. Drugs. Drinking. Worse. But HE saved her. Just like HE saved him.
“You would not BELIEVE the ‘Dear Bordy’ questions I am receiving in my electronic mail! Just listen to this:
Dear Bordy:
Lately during threesomes I feel a little jealous that my man does the other girl first. He still finishes in me, of course, but is it normal to want to be both first AND last? Please help!
“Where do I even START with that?!”
Redmaine chuckles again as he regards the woman from her side. Her bare chest was pleasing to the eye, of course, but he did not even notice that. His eyes were drawn to the scars up and down her arms, both the fine and jagged which gave a physical representation of her inner odd duality, as well as the chain that hung around her neck and the lock that was nestled between her breasts. That hunk of metal meant more than just the makeshift weapon it had been and was now a talisman of her declaration. He was proud of her, both as a follower of HIM and as her old friend. She had declared herself on Monday after Synergy, had told the world of her crown, though she had not yet decided to leave the dilapidated warehouse and instead sit upon her throne. She was close, he thought, close to being in the place she deserved to be. Close to fully being the Ultraviolet.
He was also proud of the training she had been doing, and not just with him. Her moveset had always been...limited...more akin to that of a wild beast stuck in a corner, but she had now begun to master legitimate wrestling moves. And in preparation of fighting for the title she craved, she had visited a homeless encampment, one of those “tent cities” filled with beggars, whores, and vagrants, and washed their feet. She said it was to “adapt to that Ingalls stench,” but he knew better. She did it because HE did it. HE knew his flock from the ground up, rooted through muck and mire to find gems worth saving, and she was doing the same. And judging by the smiles on the faces of those washed, the rapture in their eyes, they understood the blessing which they had received.
A pecking sound above him catches his attention. He looks up to see a small puff of white outside one of the windows, a tiny bird trying to gain entrance to the building. He shakes his head and smirks beneath his mask. The pigeons have been trying to get in contact with him for days now, ever since he disappeared from his station in the North East. But they would not make contact on this day, either.
“And what in GOD’S NAME is ChristianMingle.com and WHY is that Vaughan woman on there?!”
Redmaine’s attention returned to Ava and his curiosity was engaged. He walked over to her, his gait the seemingly lazy swagger of a cat, ready to pounce without seeming to be, and stopped short when he saw the image on her computer screen.
The world was an odd place, indeed.
~~Se tenir à côté de Dieu.~~
“It is not a feeling of empathy that I have for you, Lockheart.”
Le Bord de Dieu still sits in the rubble that resulted from the carnage of a Synergy featuring a Chaos triple threat match and a night of unresolved brawls. She rocks slightly, her knees pulled up and her arms hugging them, her eyes staring down at the mat below her. She gives her had a small shake as she ponders her own statement
“No...no empathy...not like I hold for Mizore. Mind you, I find her as morally repulsive as I find you, for you are both living in a way which is an affront to God, but at least in her case, she has the benefit of caring for a loved one in pain. At least for her, she shows a level of compassion to which saints might aspire. But you? Nothing but ugly sin.”
She shakes her head again, more strongly this time, the face still covered in dried blood scrunching up.
“You know, people ask me questions all the time. They ask for help in their relationships. They ask for guidance in their lives. They see the shining ray of light that I am. But some people are confused and seek answers and clarification about me personally. What is my name? Where am I from? Where is my husband? Does Mathis’ revolution really taste like chicken? Why do you call Lockheart ‘the Hunchback?’ She’s so pretty!”
She cackles suddenly, a sound as much screech as anything else, and her face breaks out into that smile that makes her seem the angel.
“Pretty! Such a falsehood! Such a lie! The lie of the serpent, himself!”
She cackles more as she scrambles to her feet. She starts pacing in rapid movements, left and right, back and forth, her arms starting to flail as her words grow incensed.
“Magdalena! The woman, more creature than fille, who is so vile and twisted on the inside that her ugliness spreads to the surface! A soul so steeped in glaring sin that it ripples to the skin! Hair of the darkest night...which must be hidden by colors which would shame the horse of Oz! Indeed, even that mythical beast would shy away from the cacophony of colors that she must employ to hide her ugliness! Magdalena! Who wears the hat of the witch in order to hide her horns! Magdalena! Who must defile not just her own body but that of others with her vile inks and colors! Magdalena! Who writes poetry below that of even Jennings from Essox!”
She stops suddenly, her face fully twisted into disgust, and lets out a sound as filled with aversion as that on her face.
“No! No empathy for Magdalena! No feelings of understanding! Instead?”
She breaks out into a smile, that disgusted demon quickly replaced by the dimpled cherub.
“Hope.”
She looks up at the camera, her grey-streaked hair flying from her face, and her twinkling eyes seek out her opponent.
“Hello, Magdalena.”
Her head turns to the side, a motion eerily familiar to viewers, though just out of the ability to give the recognition a name.
“I am not like the good Doctor Baal. I will not take all of your accomplishments and throw them in the trash with that old mentality of ‘Well, if it did not happen here, it is not real.’ No. No! I applaud you, Magdalena! I applaud you! So young! So much accomplished! I know well what it is like to burst from the gate in my rookie year and bring home championship gold. I know well what it is to have those around me discount my aspirations and accolades as but the dreams of a silly girl. But just as you, I shook them off and showed the world what the Ultraviolet is. Mind you, I won my debut match in this industry, but I suppose that we cannot have too many parallels.
“But you! Yes, you! A champion in your own right! A face, even if covered in three pounds of foundation in order to hide how ugly you are, that is all over this business! Flying around, winning titles, slamming your boot onto the back of your detractors’ neck and stomping them into the mat! I will NOT take away those victories. I will NOT discount your accomplishments. I will NOT be the one who says that you, taking up the challenge of the aforementioned Good Doctor, was some simple fluke. No. No!
“Just as I will not take away your successes across this world! While that odd woman with three names has seemed to make a habit of challenge people in their home feds and then losing to them, you defeated Otaki when she was a dominant champion. Over 200 days as champion and you did exactly what you said you would do and you ripped away from her. And now you head into Stranglemania with Reid on your tail with his silliness. And that leads us to the feeling I do indeed have for you:
“Hope.”
She pauses for a second, wetting her lips and turning her head to the other side.
“I hope that you are triumphant at Stranglemania, child. I hope that you rush in there and slay your contender in such a fashion that the whole world recognizes you for the talent that you are. I hope that you put him through that table, sending glass shards all throughout that Georgia arena, and create such a scene of carnage that everyone in the building stands and cheers for you. I hope that your victory resonates in such a way that yours is the only name whispered on the lips of the fans. I hope that your match is lauded by the pundits with more stars than even in the great cosmos. I hope that even our Good Doctor finally looks at you, his face slacken with awe, and falls to his knees, and proclaims your greatness. I hope that the entire WORLD sees you for the champion you are.
“I hope that they all look at you and cry out ‘There she is! There is Lockheart! The champion! There she is! Look at the grace with which she moves! My God...she is beautiful!’”
She turns her head fully upright, licks her lips again, and smiles brightly.
“And then when they look at me...they say…’And there is Le Bord de Dieu...the woman who BEAT her!’”
She cackles, a laugh coming from so deep in her body that it makes her shake.
“‘There she is! The Blade of God! The woman who Magdalena ran from when having to face her again! There she is! The Edge of God! The woman who Magdalena was so afraid of facing again that she begged and pleaded to be taken off the card so fast that no one even knows she was supposed to face her! There she is! The woman whose terrible beauty is so powerful that even the Future Stars of Wrestling Champion will do ANYTHING to avoid fighting her again!’”
She falls down to the mat amidst the debris of chaos and takes a moment to let all of her laughter out. Tears stream down her face, forcing the dried blood to soak up the liquid and run down her face like the streaks of a mad clown. Her eyes shine with her tears of mirth as she looks back to the camera.
“I hope you win, Lockheart! I hope that you achieve everything you ever wanted in this business! Because that way, everyone will recognize just how great I am. They will recognize just how powerful I am. They will recognize that I am the slayer of champions, that I am the righter of wrongs.”
She wipes away the tears from her face, the streaks of the blood smearing across her cheeks.
“I am not God, Lockheart. But next to you? I might as well be.”
She falls into giggles again, but then forces them away.
“I wish you all the hope in the world at Stranglemania, child. I wish you all the best as you become the face of the EWC and show up on multiple brands. I wish you the respect of the Good Doctor. Because every single one of your successes fuels my own, both my victory over you at Infinity and this coming Monday at the Trios. Win, Lockheart. So that my victories over you will mean so much more.”
~~Mères et filles~~
L'Enfant Démon groans as it looks up to the very top of Selena’s Spire, the spectacles on its face pressing heavily onto its eyes. The tower at the end of the square attached to the manor was more flights up than it cared to think about, and made a perfect foil to it’s condition. Le Bigot Ivre had chosen well when she was given the license to choose the venue of their meeting. Still, it was not ITS problem. The stairs were the problem of its guards.
Four of it’s strongest and most muscular guards held it atop their shoulders on a palanquin, with another two behind them carrying it’s chair. Up and up they went, turning as the stairs wound, its red gaze inspiring them to shake off their tiredness, to push away the ache of their muscles, and climb ever higher. It was only when they reached the summit and stood before the door that they were able to set it down and stretch out pained backs and wipe sweat from brows.
L'Enfant Démon was transferred from the palanquin and to its chair with ease and, with a small smile in reward for them, it sped off into the room where the mother of La Déesse Sombre sat. Once the door was closed behind it, leaving only two of them in the room, it looked up at the aging beauty with a stern and cool face.
“Mother Grey.”
Le Bigot Ivre wasn’t surprised that L'Enfant Démon was there on time, the creature was not only maddening, but it was determined. If nothing else, she respected that.
“Daughter! You look so...much like you!”
L'Enfant Démon rolls its eyes hard enough for another county to feel them move.
“Nothing seen nor heard in this room leaves this room. Agreed?”
Le Bigot Ivre stared at L'Enfant Démon, unsure if it was yanking her chain. When she saw it was serious, she threw up her hands and sat down.
“This better be good!”
L'Enfant Démon reaches underneath its chair and pulls a hidden cane out of its sheath, a black affair with a bright white pigeon for a handle. Placing it upon the ground, it braces herself and pushes upward, lifting itself out of the chair until it is standing at its full height, though with much of its weight being balanced by the cane. L'Enfant Démon takes a moment to compose itself and steady its stance, and then turns its attention back to Le Bigot Ivre. Its face is serene and calm for a moment, that of an angel, but then contorts into that of a demon.
“What in the BLOODY NINE HELLS is Aveline doing on my team?!”
Le Bigot Ivre stared at L'Enfant Démon, her mouth hanging open. She’d barely heard a word of what L'Enfant Démon had said...but after she got over the initial shock, she let her words sink in.
“Aveline?”
L'Enfant Démon’s eyes go wide with shock and its mouth drops open like a gaping fish.
“OH MY GOD!”
It reaches up with one hand and tugs on a bright white braid in anger.
“You don’t even know her NAME! How do you sign someone to the team when you don’t even know their NAME?!”
It paces suddenly, back and forth, steps uneven.
“Oh my God...you have NO IDEA what she is like!”
L'Enfant Démon throws up its hands into the air, nearly losing its balance as the cane leaves the ground fully.
“Always telling me what to wear and how to act.”
It puts on an affected French accent.
“Child, your breasts are falling out of your shirt again. Child, your bottom is falling out of your skirt again. Child, did you even REMEMBER to wear panties today? Child, stop sleeping around with half of your bodyguards.”
L'Enfant Démon stomps its foot onto the ground and lets out a high-pitched scream.
“I SWEAR! She was HORRENDOUS! She was WAY more cool before she married Father, but then she turned into...well...THAT!”
It shakes its head and stomps its foot again, fully in a tantrum.
“That’s why I had her committed! So she would stop telling me how to live my life! Well, that and the estate.”
L'Enfant Démon places the cane back into its place, hands shaking slightly on the pigeon. Its face is full of angry lines, its thin glasses having come askew, and it seems on the verge of tears.
“Cinderella has NOTHING on MY story.”
Le Bigot Ivre nearly erupts into laughter at the thought.
“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS?!”
She blinked,
“You mean to tell me that she is your evil stepmother?”
L'Enfant Démon DOES break out into tears now, its glasses fogging.
“YES! SO EVIL!”
It wipes a tear away and it slumps back into its wheeled chair.
“You had better not let her even get a WHIFF of YOUR sexual history, Mother Grey. She’d set you on fire! Literally!”
It shakes its head and looks away.
“You have NO idea how many of my plans this louses up.”
Le Bigot Ivre is ready to rub it in, but she pauses as a terrible thought crosses her mind.
“Child...does that woman have a claim on your father’s fortune?”
L'Enfant Démon scuffs its foot into the ground in sheer petulance.
“All of it.”
It shrugs its shoulders as it lifts its glasses off its face to wipe away more tears.
“Its...part...of why I sent her away. Damn judgy bitch getting all of my money.”
L'Enfant Démon looks up at Le Bigot Ivre.
“I have been keeping close tabs on her since she escaped last year. She is legitimately batshit nuts, not just, like, twitter nuts, and it’s folly to try to think of her in rational terms. I have made sure we kept our distance, even if my Beloved has taken some weird interest in her…”
It grumbles under its breath for a moment.
“...she was WAY off on who Ava’s husband was…”
It looks back up at the older woman.
“We have been headed towards one another since then. She has even been HERE. She has been SEEN. And there is absolutely a group of people within the compound who believe that SHE is the Red Queen and not I.”
It shrugs and looks away.
“Nothing I can do about keeping her out of sight, now.”
L'Enfant Démon is silent for a moment before looking back at Le Bigot Ivre.
“You have made wonderful strides in earning your place within my family again. Maybe even someday you might welcome the title of ‘Grandmother.’ Can I trust you to work with me about keeping Ava on the Crazy Train and away from Lacklanland? So that we BOTH can continue to enjoy our good fortune?”
Le Bigot Ivre is silent for a long time as she considers all the options. Things had been different since the tragedy that had befallen L'Enfant Démon, and though many of her views hadn’t changed...the fact that her daughter and the brat had clung together through it all was not lost on her. Perhaps there was something worth saving here after all...for her benefit if nothing else.
“You said she escaped, are you certain of this? If the woman is legally declared insane, any challenge she would mount against you could be countered just as Hargrave attempted, claiming her to be unfit.”
She shrugged, “...if she’s not an escaped inmate...we are probably all fucked.”
"Welllllllll..."
L'Enfant Démon looks away as pink spots rise in its pale cheeks.
"She MAY have been put into a hospital without the most THOROUGH examination in the world. And she MAY have been put in there without any ACTUAL paperwork. And the doctors maybe only have that title with heavy Milisandre quotes."
It looks back at Sid.
"Look, I doubt she is going anywhere. BUT! She has spent most of the last four years under more drugs to 'help' her than you and I combined! I seriously doubt how coherent she is or even aware of her surroundings. It's been nearly a year since she slipped out and she has not contacted anyone."
It pauses for a moment.
"We just need to keep her occupied for a time. Like, keep her distracted. This LFL thing may even be a boon. Thoughts?"
Le Bigot Ivre drummed her long nails in the desk as she considered the threat posed by this newcomer. She finally sat back, lacing her fingers.
“I may be a shit mother to my daughter, but I have nothing on you people. You make the fucking Cornett clan seem tame!”
Another sigh.
“Keep you friends close and your enemies closer. This truly is the best way to keep tabs on her.”
Le Bigot Ivre examined her nails absently.
“I’m assuming this is just between the two of us for now, since once again you’ve excluded Kenzi from our little come to Jesus meeting?”
“You would be correct, at least for the time being.”
L'Enfant Démon suddenly finds its own nails to be equally interesting.
“My Beloved has no idea who Ava is. Crazy McCrazyton has gone after her a couple of times through social media, but I do not think she even noticed it, really. Which is a good thing. After all, you know how she is: Once there is a bee in her bonnet, she goes all-in on that bee until she has honey. You do not EVEN want to know about this wolf thing of hers!”
Its cheeks redden again in clear embarrassment and it clears its throat while pulling out its compact and looking at itself. It scoffs in disgust at its ruined makeup.
“Gah! I look like a troll! No, worse: Roxanne."
It immediately goes to work to on fixing the tear streaks in its foundation.
“And my wife has never really delved into my family history. You know how she is, ‘It doesn’t matter what happened in the past, only what you are now, blah blah blah.’ She can even forgive the sins of blatant racists as long as they no longer feel that way! It's quite admirable, really. While it is MY job to NEVER forget, it is hers to always forgive. Well, except for you, anyway.”
It looks up from its mirror back to the older woman.
“Serious abandonment issues with her because of you, you know.”
Le Bigot Ivre doesn't bother to hide the middle finger she wags at L'Enfant Démon.
“My daughter has never demonstrated the ability to focus on anything at all for any appreciable amount of time...until she met you...as much as that pains me to say.”
She rolled her eyes.
“If you were a man...I wouldn’t be able to wipe the grin off my face. Hell, you two would have had a shotgun wedding as soon as I found out about the two of you...but you’re a woman! What future could you two possibly have together?!”
Le Bigot Ivre lowered her head, almost as if she were speaking only to herself.
“I said it wouldn’t last and soon she’d be on to the next thing, but she didn’t. I thought that you’d surely show your true colors as an insatiable whore and drive her away...but you didn’t. Even the hateful episode with...Jacob...”
She spoke his name like a curse, hands shaking with anger.
“...even through that, nothing has come between you two...nothing. I lie awake at night wondering if I’m wrong somehow...if maybe in-spite of all that is wrong with this, if maybe it really is meant to be.”
She looks up, capturing her ‘daughter’s' eyes.
“I still don’t think that it is...but how can I deny everything I’ve seen you two endure and not wonder if I might be wrong...if everything I know might be wrong?”
She stands up and walks up to L'Enfant Démon, looking it up and down.
“...why couldn’t you have been a man...?”
She put her hand to it’s cheek, then sighed and brushed past it.
“We will deal with your wicked stepmother...together...”
“I appreciate the discretion.”
It is silent for a moment and chews its lips as the older woman passes her. It chews on her lips nervously and its eyes move rapidly as it quickly mules over a decision.
“...damn it…”
L'Enfant Démon turns her head to look at Le Bigot Ivre.
“One more thing!”
It pushes itself out of the chair, leaning heavily on its cane, and turns to face the older woman. Even then, it waits, chewing its lips again, eyes going wild. Its hands trembled on the marble pigeon.
“I...um…”
It stammers for a moment and then takes in a deep breath to steady its nerves.
“May I have a hug, please?”
Le Bigot Ivre stood there with her back to L'Enfant Démon, her eyes rolling around inside her head like marbles. She had done everything in her power to distance herself from the creature, but the universe seemed determined to force them together.
She turned, and took a deep breath as she closed her eyes and put her arms gingerly around the child...the one who she had to admit, loved her own child even better than she ever had.
“...we will get through this...”
She quickly let it go and backed away, straightening her dress.
“I don’t know how you’ll be getting back down...the guards have duties they must attend to first...see you soon.”
Le Bigot Ivre walked off, smiling to herself as she sent L'Enfant Démon’s helpers away. It was the least she could do for it asking for a hug!
~~Il est ressuscité~~
“It has been an interesting couple of weeks, Mister Ingalls.”
Le Bord de Dieu still sits among the carnage of chaos and Synergy. She idly fingers the chain and lock resting against her chest, her fingernails flicking off flecks of dried blood. Her scratchy voice is low, her energy stores from the long evening clearly at their end.
“I will not discount your victory over me a couple of weeks ago. The chaos that ensues in our match was fitting for what it was, and while I was prepared to win my crown, I was not prepared for your most potent weapon. I speak of your hygiene, of course. That horrid beard of yours, filled with toxic oils no doubt meant to rob me of my oxygen and knock me unconscious. And if your beard did not do it, certainly your general lack of bathing would do it! One breath too deep and I was incapacitated and you were the knew champion. But then?”
She giggles.
“Zane spends his money. He changes my match last week. And what I can do was truly shown to the world. And we got...well…”
She motions towards the debris around her.
“When that match first started, there was this little girl near the front row who I could not help but notice. I like children. I wanted my own. So I notice them. And this little girl hard two cute little pigtails and she happily ate her popcorn. But as the match ensued, her enthusiasm changed. At first she watched...but then I started raining down chair shots to the Vaughan woman’s back, and she stopped eating her popcorn. The kendo stick shattered and she pulled at her daddy’s shirt. This lock came into play and she hid behind her daddy’s body. And then when I wrapped the Vaughan woman into God’s embrace and snapped her neck? I could hear the wails of the child.”
She looks up from the lock and into the camera.
“I was born for this, Ingalls. My first championship in my youth was this. I was the Ultraviolet. THIS is what I do. THIS is what I cause. THIS is what awaits you on Monday. What you have, the Chaos championship, is my crown. Ordained by God. And it is time for me to take it. Your advantage last time? It no longer exists. Starting tomorrow, I will be spending my time in a slum, washing the feet of beggars and infidels in the shadow of Jesus, so that I may become impervious to your stench. Your greatest weapon? Nullified. Mine? Not even revealed, yet.”
She looks back down at the lock, her body rocking back and forth slowly, and her voice remains calm, her words soft.
“I am quite aware that most people in this industry do not know what to think of me. I am quite aware of the questions they ask. Who is she? Where did she come from? Where is she going? Is she even sane?”
A small smile breaks out on her lips for a moment.
“Truth is far more strange than fiction or conjecture.”
She looks back up at the camera.
“You are wholly wrong about me, Ingalls, and I imagine you understand that, now. An ‘insecure girl,’ is what you called me, yes? Just hiding behind the...well...muchness...of what you see?”
She shakes her head slowly.
“You know better, now. The whole company does, I would wager. Additionally, the whole company probably understands that this match, this fatal fourway for the Chaos championship, is really just about you and I. I will not discount Mizore or Magdalena, not really. I have already spoken of them. But its really about us. Its really about you and I showing the company, perhaps even the entire business, what ‘chaos’ means. And it is about me taking what belongs to me. It is about my manifest destiny.”
She gets to her feet, a small groan slipping from her as she makes the slow move.
“I would like, if I may, to recite a poem about that very thing, Mister Ingalls. A poem of prophecy.”
She takes a moment to wet her lips.
”’The time has come,’ the Voice said,
‘To speak of many a thing
‘Of a Savior lost and a Truth beheld
‘Of a champion and a king
‘And of how the Savior shall return
‘And of the praises you shall sing.’”
‘To speak of many a thing
‘Of a Savior lost and a Truth beheld
‘Of a champion and a king
‘And of how the Savior shall return
‘And of the praises you shall sing.’”
She looks back into the camera.
“A poem written by a man who thought he would rise up and return the world to God’s path. A man who thought that, no matter how many times he fell, he would always be able to stand up again. He…”
She gives a small shake of her head.
“He was wrong. He was right. He was...both. There are those who thought that, perhaps, his prophecy was about his daughter. Perhaps the return of the Savior would be his blood which would set the world aflame. But that is not how the story plays out, Mister Ingalls. The savior was not risen in his daughter. Instead...he is risen...through me.”
She stands up straighter, the adrenaline returning to her and strengthening her voice.
“Next Monday night, my manifest destiny unfolds at your expense. Mizore will be thrust to aside so that she may tend to her partner, what little good that shall do them before they face the Lake of Fire. Magdalena will fall back into her comfortable role of losing in the show opener. And you shall hand me my title with a smile on your filthy face.
“The fans of this business will remember but ONE THING after Monday! It will NOT be Zane and Wallace retaining their titles! It will NOT be the Court of the Owls winning the inaugural trios tournament. It will be YOU! YOU! HANDING my crown over to ME! It will be YOU! YOU! Bowing to the invoker of destiny! It will be ME! The Ultraviolet! With my crown of Chaos around my head!”
She breathes deeply for a moment, the adrenaline spiking again, and now fading.
“Many people ask questions of me. Some have guess them already, those who do what I told them to do. They watch, they listen, they learn. But most others? They want resolutions. They want answers. I shall give them.”
She pauses, allowing the silence to fill the space.
“My title...my moniker...is Le Bord de Dieu...the blade and edge of God. But early in my career, my ring name was Ava Quinn, a play on my birth name. Some 28 years ago, after being born by my mother and held by my father in a small cottage in Merovingian in France, I was gifted the name of Aveline. But what is most important to you? To this division? This company? This business?”
A pause.
“I have already invoked the Good Doctor’s name tonight, but I wish, if you will permit me, to borrow from him.”
A pause.
“My legal name, Monsieur...my marital name...is…”
A pause, the little light in the empty arena shining duly on the smears of blood across her face.
“Lacklan.”
Silence.
“Please allow me to introduce myself.”
~~Epilogue~~
Across the land, heads rose out of dark holes, out of forgotten corners. They slipped away from their homes within the safety and under the cover of darkness, and met in seedy bars and clubs to discuss the rumors. It was true. It was false. It happened. It was just a story. The conversation is a hot debate, as is what the fallout would be, and whether or not now was the time to return. There would be many debates to follow, many decisions to be made, and perhaps a civil war as bloody as there had ever been, but as the days and weeks went by, the initial question had been answered.
The queen had declared herself.
The house of Lacklan is risen.
x2
2013, '18, '23 
2013 
