Post by LACKLAN on Mar 30, 2018 0:09:31 GMT -5
Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen
We here at Circle Television Network shall be conducting a four-part docuseries on one of our newest on-air talents, the woman known in the wrestling world as Le Bord de Dieu. Bordy, though she has made it QUITE CLEAR that she hates that name, came onto the UGWC wrestling scene in January very quietly, even in such a way that not only did no one know who she was, but they did not know what to expect. Since then, she has picked up five wins, which only top stars Eden Morgan, Lucy Wylde, Jet Somers, and World Champion Zane Scott, have been able to do thus far, and that includes winning the Chaos championship at Lord of Trios. Bordy has outraged, annoyed, and confused everyone in the business with her antics, including high-pitched screams, sweet smiles, and massive and sudden mood swings, and proven herself to be worthy of being at the top of the card in her company.
But who IS Bordy? She has taken CTN’s own Kenzi Grey-Lacklan’s offer of airing her faithful position with the call-in relationship radio show “Dear Bordy,” joined the Lingerie Football League to the utter confusion of the likes of former Future Stars of Wrestling Champion Maggie Lockheart to the point that she is, in the words of our own dear, sweet Angelica, #TotesTriggered, and made a shocking claim to the Lacklan fortune, the estate left by the late eccentric wrestler and gold tycoon Jean-Paul Lacklan, father of injured UGWC wrestler Sarah Grey-Lacklan. And while we did contact Mrs. Grey-Lacklan on the matter, all we received was a recording of a high-pitched sob squealing about “new glasses” or something.
So we must ask in regards to Bordy: Is she all of those things? Is she none of them? Is she just some raving street preacher with little more than a megaphone and a corner? It is the intent of this docuseries to discover these truths and more as we interview people close to her, those who have found themselves rivals, her LFL Hitgirl teammates, and ultimately, in the conclusion, the woman herself.
Here we present Part I of our docuseries...Le Bord de Dieu: Savior in the Streets...Ultraviolet in the Sheets
Um...hi...is this thing on? Like, was does the red mean go? You counted down but you didn’t say “one...go!” or anything. Oh, we ARE going? Crap! Okay okay, let me start over.
Um...hi! Um...my name is Mike, but you all probably know me as Jet. I’m not exactly sure why my boss calls me Jet, and every time I ask or try to correct her, she just screams at me about how she saw it on twitter or something and how everything on twitter is, like, true. I guess?
Er...I should probably back up.
A couple of months ago, I was looking for work after I ran out of money (so much for those shares of stock in hotgoths.fuckyeah), and I saw an ad on Twitter for a personal assistant. It was placed by a wrestler, and even though it was in French...which is weird...I figured it would be a cool experience. I mean, I figured I would have to, like, haul bags and stuff, but maybe I would get to see the world, right? Because that is what wrestlers do now? They travel the world in 1st class without ever having to actually pay for things? The 2010’s are AWESOME that way!
Well, while I HAVE traveled a bit as part of my duties (even went to France for a couple of days last month!), most of the time has just been spent in this weirdo warehouse. Its really freaking cold way out in *LOCATION REDACTED* and being in a nearly empty building all the time SUCKS. I mean, there are more people there NOW, but when I first got hired, it was just the two of us, and she made me sleep on the floor upstairs. The ventilation is TERRIBLE up there. But I got a bonus recently for agreeing to grow my hair out, because she says that “all bag boys named Jet need to have soccer mom hair,” or something, and so that means I actually get a mattress now, too.
So...what was the question? Oh, what is it like working with her? Its...I guess “weird” is the right word? Kinda covers it all, I suppose. For sure, you have to step lightly around her, because you are never quite sure of which Le Bord de Dieu (contractually obligated to NOT call her “Bordy”) you are going to get at any time. Like, there are times when she is looking up into the sun and smiling, singing little French nursery rhymes...and then the next second she is screaming at some random person for getting too close to her. And that whole walking around naked thing! What IS that?! I mean, she’s hawt and all, well, except for all those scars on her arms, but, like, wow, right?! And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even realize she’s naked! Just walks around like its nothing...and then wears clothes that doesn’t show an inch of her skin! It is so weird. And believe you me, I am SO tired of Ashley Marie Chase asking me to take a pic of Bosslady’s butt and send it to her.
And don’t EVEN get me started on the zombie chicken!
But the weirdest thing is probably that whole “I’m a happily married woman” thing of hers. Like, she talks about having a husband all the time, right? She’s always “He is risen” and stuff...but I have NEVER seen the dude! Like, at first I thought she was talking about The Big G, right? Like, she’s married to G-Man or whatever? But then she comes back from this ninja excursion to *LOCATION REDACTED* and comes back with this weirdo white mask that she wears to bed every night. And so I’m, like, “Oh! She’s a widow!” But THEN those dudes showed up! Like, a bunch of them are, like, some kind of military? I guess? But there is this buff dude who wears this weirdo mask thing (because wrestling?) and he and Bosslady talk about her husband as if he’s alive. So...I guess he’s real? And alive? Or something?
Oh! So! This week? REALLY weird! I guess that she made some kind of lowkey statement about something a few weeks ago, but then didn’t release it for another week, and it has a bunch of people going “Say whaaaaaaaat?” Like, we’re getting letters at the warehouse, people are stopping by, the size of the military dudes, like, tripled. It’s crazy! But Bosslady? Nowhere to be found. She won her match at Synergy, disappeared for a week, won the Chaos title at Trios (catering was BOMB at that show!), and then went back underground. Know where she has been?
On the streets.
Like, literally.
Washing the feet of bums with scented oil.
Like, literally.
So, other than the whole “weird guys showing up all the time and my boss being kinda pyscho and preachy and walking around naked all of the time” thing...my job is pretty cool. I mean, I get to see parts of the world, and I am getting REALLY good at carrying tons of bags. But other than that? Pretty cool.
Aveline Lacklan walks the streets of Bangor, Maine at night, but she is not afraid of any terrors, is not bothered by even a moment of worry. The slight woman is dressed in a ragged cloak, the torn and patched grey cloak she has been known to wear these months under the eye of the world of wrestling, though glimpses of silver-lined red silk can be seen underneath. Her dark eyes shine brightly as she looks around her, taking in several people bundled up in rags and coats and laying upon the street. A small smile comes to her mouth as heads turn towards her as she passes, as bodies begin to move as she glides by.
“I do not disagree with the intentions of the Court of Owls, dearest Jet.”
The Frenchwoman’s voice is light, far lighter than we have seen before, as if a great weight or worry has been removed from her strained tones. The scratch in her throat is still there, that husky feel of age and time, the clear evidence of her time spent in the padded walls that Lucy Wylde so jokingly mentioned.
“I might even agree with it, though the true purpose of my own mission in life is too nuanced for the likes of you to fully grasp. You wish to bring order to chaos, wish to take the destruction that the Engine caused last year and bring a semblance of normalcy. Of course, that order would only come under the crushing foot of the Court of Owls, naturally, as only you understand what ‘real’ order is. Again, I understand your intentions...and quite well agree with them...but I do not, in any way, agree with your techniques.”
She approaches a large building in the 200’s section of Main and stops, her eyes rising up to the large sign atop it, proclaiming the name “Bangor Area Homeless Shelter.” We see that, behind her, the men and women on the street have risen and followed her, becoming a small group in her wake. They stare at her with eyes full of adoration and, in such a rareness for their ilk, a ray of hope.
“The three of you, discounting the departed Monsieur King, have attempted to take over this company from the top down. You attacked the top of the card while in your masks, from verbally abusing the dashing Monsieur Ooley to laying waste to any and all, including the Good Doctor in order to cause doubt. And while you had initial success, things were not grand after the masks came off, and you allowed my dear partner to gain a stranglehold on the Coalition, albeit brief. Your mistake, dear Jet, was that you did not build a foundation. You did not start where you needed to. You did not start at the bottom.”
She walks towards the doors and one of the dirty group runs forward to open it for her. She gives the rough man a small smile in thanks as she passes him, and his face breaks out into a grin so grand that it nearly takes up his entire face. Into the building she glides and we see row after row of cafeteria tables, each filled with bodies much akin to those following in her wake. Bodies with worn faces and hands which, regardless of how many times they have been cleaned, are still dirty with a grime that seems soaked to the bone. But those dirty bodies shine with an aura which is matched by the eyes of those just entering the room, an aura of warm colors filled with adoration and hope.
“True change, dearest Jet, is not caused by smashing a hammer down upon a building. It is not caused by destruction. It is caused by building support, by filling a strong foundation, by taking the very dregs of society and hoisting them up into the light. It is about taking people out of the muck and mire caused by Adam’s sin and not pushing them down, as your Court likes to do. And over the past few weeks, I have not only been preaching that, but I have been proving that.”
She makes her way down the aisle, pausing as she goes to offer a small pat on the back to one person, a dimpled smile to another, a pinched cheek for a small child. The eyes filled with adoration, nearly to the point of mania, grow as she does so, every syllable of talk ending as they watch her.
“I have personally washed feet for weeks, dearest Jet. I have personally tended the sick and cared for the forgotten of society. Because that is what God wants and demands. That is what brings true change. There are those in this world who have been cast out due to a vast sea of reasons, and those people needs a family, they need a home. And it is through me, and through the vision of my husband, the Voice of God himself, that these people find what they are looking for. They find hope. They find family. They find love.”
She pauses and smiles, taking them all in in her sweeping gaze.
“They find me. They find…”
Seeming to appear out of the Abyss itself, four of the men we have seen in the black military garb with the silver pins arrive and remove her coat, the brown rags giving way to a high-necked dress of brilliant red, bright lines of silver running down the long sleeves that catch the meager light in the room and make it shine in a myriad of colors, as if her arms were a prism.
“...the Blade of God. They find salvation and understanding through me and the message of my house. The Voice of God speaks, even from the very right hand of God, and calls out to those who need our help. ‘Come!’ they hear us cry. ‘Come! Find hope! Find acceptance! Live for us! Bleed for us!’ And they flock, dearest Jet. They flock to us in a way which your Court of Owls will never understand, much less achieve. Whereas the three of you flounder throughout the year with only a hardfought Trios championship to elevate your antics beyond what has thus far been no more but a pyrrhic victory, the power and outreach of my house lifts off the foundation of those I have picked up and brought to the Light.”
Her face brightens even further as the men in matching uniforms melt away with her rags and a light of what could only be mischievous glee fills her eyes.
“Did you know that a little song from my youth has been going through my head all week? A children’s song which I have found myself humming again and again whenever I think of the next chance to spread the warmth of God on Monday. That song? I would like to sing it, if you will allow, and I do apologize for not having the golden throat of others within my house.”
She clears her throat with small grunt and then sings, her scratchy voice rough to the ears.
One of these things is not like the others
One of these things just doesn't belong
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?
One of these things just doesn't belong
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?
She giggles as her song ends.
“On one side, you have the World’s Heavyweight Champion, not to mention a holder of the Cooperative titles, and the Champion of Chaos. And on the other? The Cross-Hemisphere Champion...and then you. Champion...Champion...Champion...Jet.”
She gives another giggle.
“Again, dearest Jet, I do not besmirch the cause of the Court of Owls. I am intrigued by the Good Doctor, and I rather enjoy Eden, even IF she could do with posting a little less of her flesh, but I fear that you have found yourself in the position of ‘fall guy.’ Yes, I know of your past and pedigree, and yes I understand that you may well be the next person to loss to my lovely partner at No Holds Barred, but I believe that you have no choice BUT to lose on Monday. Zane’s beautifully sharp face is undeniable, as he has proven all off this year, and I am...well...let us say...unbound...since Zane’s money showed the world just how powerful I truly am. And I think that, as part of your problem, you have a partner which is nearly just as lacking.
“I have no personal hatred or aversion to Monsieur Pierce, but he is far removed from the capability of being at the top of the card. You see, your partner has a very serious problem and it is something that even your vast array of skills will not be able to overcome. His greatest weapon, I am afraid to tell you, is the actual, literal, worst thing in professional wrestling: The talk show segment. That Vaughan woman believes it to be wrestlers who blog, and Mademoiselle Cotton, while quite successful in making me money off my #BitchCoin investments, believes that the worst thing in the world is poolside video packages, but both of my...teammates...are incorrect. No, it is the talk show segment that is the scourge of everything we hold dear in this sport.
“Here is a sneak peak, dear Jet, at what Travis is going to do: A humorous comment or two on today’s political environment, perhaps an overplayed shot at your Court of Owls that everyone in Reign in Blood has already done in every video for the last two months yet still think is witty, and then a mention of me which is going to be so poorly developed that even Mizore’s mere glance at my online bio would seem a doctoral dissertation by comparison.
“That, dear, is all he is going to be able to offer you in support. He may well be the Cross-Hemisphere champion right now, but I believe that we both know that he has risen above his station and will soon be back to where he belongs. Water always finds itself level, after all. And while I do congratulate him on being the best of his Trio, this week will just be the beginning of him finding himself back to the middle of the card, and perhaps even back down into the depths populated by the Mathises and Paynes of the company.”
She puts on a wide smile and gives a small nod of her head.
“Well, if you will allow me, dear Jet, I wish to bid you adieu. It is against my wishes and desires, but I have much to do this weekend. A few things shall be grand, such as the Ted TALKS program I am attending, as well as the quiet reflection of Easter Sunday, but I also have a birthday party to attend. And lucky for that particular child, I have the perfect gift for her. So until Monday…”
She gives another small nod of her head.
“Bonne nuit.”
We fade.
x2
