Post by LACKLAN on Jun 22, 2018 17:15:07 GMT -5
~~Tuesday, June 19th, 2018~~
Redmaine stood before the doors to the Circle Television Network studio with pure hesitation in his stance. The large man wore his usual attire, that of brown corduroy pants and a matching sleeveless lined with white fox fur, regardless of what had been a hot California day which had given way to a warm evening, and he knew he stood out on the street even in the odd world that was Hollywood. Indeed, even on streets inhabited by transients playing flugelhorns for spare change on major street corners, the man with the massive arms was a sight to be seen. His head was shaved clean, his skin brightly reflecting the lights of the city, and the majority of his face was covered by a mask patterned after the maw of a sandworm torn straight from the imaginations of the damned. He was not overly tall, at least not for a former wrestler, but he seemed to be as wide as a house, the building muscles of his arms fully accompanied by a torso and legs to match.
“‘We do what we must...’”
His voice, spoken to the empty night air before him, was muffled by the mask. It was a necessity, one that he hated, but it helped him speak even with his ruined jaw. Memories of that long-ago night, of the accidental explosion of his most recent creation, flooded his mind, but he quickly pushed them aside. Far better to remember that happened after. Far better to remember HIM. Far better to think of HER.
“...even if we must wade into the depths of Hell itself.’”
He cocked his head to the side so that he could take in the men behind him, men in the matching black uniforms of the Lacklanland guard. Each wore a silver pin on the collar to denote their rank, and more importantly, a red pin next to it to proclaim their devotion to the Red Queen.
“Never forget the words of Lord Lacklan. Never forget his lessons.”
He turned his head back to the front and, with a purposeful stride to push away his trepidation, walked through the doors of the building. Not many were inside at this late hour, but he knew that his target would be. He knew her schedule better than perhaps she did herself, knew her tendencies, knew her likes and dislikes. He knew how much of a workaholic she was, knew how she put her full 100% attention into her projects. It was admirable the way the girl gave her everything, even if she seemed to flit from project to project as a hummingbird would a set of flowers, but he intended on using that overwhelming passion of hers against her.
Through the halls he moved, knowing the outlay of the building even without ever having been in it before, until he stood before a door with a nameplate proudly stating: GREY-LACKLAN. He rose a large hand, knocked loudly three times, and pushed his way through. The dark girl was at her desk, as he knew she would be, busy at work on your latest project, the silly show about pole dancers. But from the knitted lines on her large brow, he knew that her mind was actually elsewhere, on a tense conversation she had had with Necron throughout the day. Just as he had hoped. He cleared his throat as he came to a halt before her desk.
“Duchess.”
Kenzi seemed to be so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn’t immediately look up or respond, probably didn’t even recognize that the person walking in wasn’t one of the office regulars. When she did look up at him, however, panic filled her eyes, but then was quickly gone so fast that Redmaine wasn’t even sure if he saw it. She SHOULD be worried, SHOULD be panicked. He was, after all, the man who had nearly choked the life out of her in Aveline’s hospital room. He might even have, had it not been for that Angie girl. Of course, it was more about stopping her at the time, anyway, and he had at mostly only desired to render her unconscious.
Kenzi sat back in her chair and her face told him nothing helpful. For someone as passionate and fiery as she was known to be, the girl was quite schooled in nonchalance when it warranted her.
“I don’t know what you think gives you the right to bust up in here unannounced, but I’ll tell you right now, it’s NOT good enough! I banished you from Lacklanland for laying your hands on me, and if I need to take it a step further, we will see about that next!”
Redmaine saw Kenzi’s hands shaking on her desk, a tell belying her calm face, but then she put them under the desk and out of sight. A flash of light filled the air for a moment as her ring reflected brightly, the band around the second finger on her left hand carrying the massive black diamond that Sarah had given her for their wedding. Redmain sneered under his mask and then looked away so as not to lose control and throttle the girl right then and there. He let his eyes climb over the walls, take in the potted plant in the corner, look out the window.
“So this is the famous office.”
He didn’t bother keeping the sardonic mirth out of his voice.
“Believe me when I say that the debriefing of your personal security detail from last year was quite..”
He turned back to face her.
“...detailed.”
A blush rose into Kenzi’s cheeks. Good. What she and Sarah had been up to for the last year and a half, public and widely publicised displays of affection and drunkenness, had been an embarrassment to the compound and their name. He let the silence stretch out for a moment.
“I am in need of a favor, Duchess. Or rather, Ava is. If you are willing to listen.”
Did she hear his change of tone? Did she feel the power shift between them? She seemed to sit up straighter, stronger. Perhaps even...dominant? Good.
“A favor? So...that means that I...the infamous inhabitant of this famous office is in a position to grant you nothing, should the mood strike me?”
She laces her fingers and a wicked smile touches her lips.
“What favor would you have YOUR Duchess consider?
The urge to reach over the desk and strangle the child reared up in Redmaine again, but disciple held it down. He instead put himself through a mental calming exercise, not too dissimilar to the routine of physical forms he put his students through, until he knew he could speak without his anger coming through.
"Ava is in pain. She has not taken any time to rest at all this year and with the way she fights..."
He pauses for a moment.
"...well, you have seen it first hand. She fights with reckless abandon. I have tried to get her to slow down and incorporate actual technique, but she is who she is. And because of that, she has taken many blows to the head. Too many. She has hidden the concussions from the Chicago Athletic Commission, and even the Consortium medical staff, but she cannot hide them from me. Last week, she spent days raving maniacally about some fantasy adventure and made no sense. And ever since her fight last night, she has been searching everywhere for her old cat."
He pauses again, shaking his head, and trying to take the measure of the girl.
"Ava needs to rest. And not in some forgotten warehouse. She needs to rest...at home. She refuses to discuss the subject with me, but if it came from you..."
He lets silence finish for him and the silence that stretches between them was a good sign. The girl’s reputation for giving second chances to people who had wronged her was so well known as to be that of legend. Friend after friend had stabbed her in the back only for her to open her arms to them. Redmaine resisted the urge to smile as her cool exterior suddenly turned to obvious concern.
“OF COURSE! SHE’S FAMILY!”
The concern on her face was now in her voice and it was clearly legitimate. Kenzi settles herself down, her face calming, and regarding him with an even eye.
“Regardless of what you think of me, and in particular…what I think of you, I will always put family first! Tell me where she is. I will go there…”
She pauses, and he can hear the venom slipping into her tone. She did NOT like him, and that was fine, as long as she didn’t suspect.
“…alone…let us not forget, you are banished and that includes from my presence! Aveline will return to Lacklanland…but you…I suggest you make other arrangements, and this is no negotiable!”
Redmaine nearly bursts out into laughter. She WAS as foolish as he believed. Instead, he gives her a small bow of his head.
"I obey those who speak for the Lord."
He reaches into his coat and pulls out a paper with the location to Ava's warehouse and sets it on the desk. He turns to leave but holds still for a second.
"You have only an inkling how how great he was. If nothing else, I hope that the Blood Princess teaches you more history."
Redmaine made a hasty exit before his usage of Sarah’s lesser title could register, all the while doing his best to hold back a victorious laughter.
~~Friday, June 22nd, 2018~~
Aveline Lacklan strolled.
Two full days since the surprising visit from the idiot black girl. Two full days since her even more surprising offer to move into Lacklan Manor. Two full days of servants bowing and scraping to her, of meals prepared by the best chefs money could buy, of every one of her whims taken care of.
She hated it.
She had refused Greys offer, of course. Screamed at her to get out of her home. Was furious with her for somehow finding out where she was, even after all of the trouble she had gone through to have her location redacted in every bit of UGWC documentation. Had been extremely offended by even the idea that she would be “allowed” to return to the home which belonged to her in the first place. But then her head hurt. And her vision swam. And the next thing she knew, she was staring up at the idiot girl and her idiot look of concern on her idiot face.
Perhaps some time in comfort wasn’t the MOST terrible idea anyone had ever had.
She did not receive any kind of grand entrance. There was no red carpet. The Citizens were not assembled at the border check. The marching band was not there. No one sang the national anthem, “O Lacklanland.” with fists pressed into chests, as she exited the car. No, no grand festivities for the return of Aveline. No gala ball held in her honor. Just her and the idiot girl in the late night hours slipping through the border and a stern order from the girl to the guard to not ask any questions.
She strolled the halls of the mansion at the late hour mostly to be alone with her thoughts. Even with Redmaine’s insistence on her having a small security detail the last few months, she had forgotten what it was like to have servants around at all times. Women to make sure that her clothes were clean and her hair was combed. Men in the stark black uniforms with purple accents for relief, the colors of the Lacklan house for many years, bringing her an endless array of food options, each seemingly more decadent than the last. Musicians playing simply-made string instruments and various chimes adding soft tones into the air wherever she went. It had been overwhelming at first, just like before when she first met her future husband, but just as it was then, she quickly stopped noticing them. The servants might as well be furniture or wall-hangings, after all.
Her thoughts went to Redmaine as she passed a wall featuring pieces of art from the 1920’s Expressionists. Her rock had never been fond of art, though he was surprisingly delicate with a pen, and she felt some sadness. When she had broached the subject with him about moving into the mansion, he had steadfastly refused to join her on account of his banishment. She had, of course, waved off that idiocy, but he was being stubborn. Stupid stubborn man! His influence was everywhere, of course, whenever members of the guard would walk by. Stiff backs, chins held high, gaits seeming to be relaxed yet ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, the guard were a reflection of Redmaine himself, so the odd ball of mixed emotions in her heart was not too lonely in these halls.
Outside of one secret trip months ago to retrieve her husband’s mask, she had not been in her home in many years, but her feet knew what they were doing. To the untrained person, the halls of Lacklan Manor were a maze so complex that it would have filled the hearts of Daedalus and Icarus with equal parts pride and shame. No one could walk through the halls and get a measure of the place, a deterrent for thieves from before the compound was made sovereign, and it had certainly confused her in the beginning. But not after she became Aveline. And certainly not now.
She passed more doors than one would thought possible, the lay of the manor hiding how many rooms there actually were. She had forgotten most of their functions, but they were starting to come back to her as she roamed the last couple of days. Rooms dedicated to staff and servants, rooms dedicated to the various projects that had made up her husband’s time, rooms dedicated to the Path of the Light Church. Why, if her memory served her correctly, there was even a room dedicated to all of Sarah’s awards from high school!
Her bright face darkens at the thought of her step-daughter. Sarah had been in her junior year of school when they had had their massive break. She was on the swim team, was head cheerleader, doing great in school, better than SHE had ever done, and still made time to lift weights with her father every morning. She had been perfect. But she just wouldn’t listen. Why didn’t she listen?! Aveline was trying to HELP her. Trying to get her to NOT make the mistakes that SHE had made. Don’t drink. Don’t smoke. Don’t do drugs. Don’t have sex. Don’t have ANY fun at all. NONE! She should have THANKED her for being the mother she didn’t get to have.
“Why didn’t she thank me?!”
Aveline’s voice is booming in the quiet hours of the night, the sudden sound startling the small group of servants traveling in her wake. She shook her head, both at herself for losing her composure and at the girl from years ago. Such an ungrateful BRAT! But perhaps she HAD been too hard on her. Perhaps she had pushed too far, too fast. But didn’t she see that she was straying from the Path of the Light? Didn’t she see that she was doing everything AGAINST what her father preached about every day? Didn’t she see that she needed a strong, firm, LOVING hand to keep her in place? Everything Aveline did was for Sarah’s own good! EVERYTHING.
“She’ll thank me later.”
Aveline tried to put the girl out of her mind as she strolled along. Her head hurt, had been hurting for a long time now, and thoughts of the demon child, her idiot wife, their slut friends, and their whole existence of throwing her husband’s virtuosity in the trash would just make her angry and her head spin. Thinking about how her husband’s daughter had turned into the worst thing imaginable, a homosexual, would just make her too angry and disgusted to think. So she tried to calm herself by looking at all the art her husband had collected over the years. Paintings. Sculptures. Books on stands. All original works brought in to please the aesthetic taste of a great man.
She came to a halt before a large bust of him in a place of honor in one of the halls. Local artisans had made several pieces in honor of him over the years, each depicting his beauty in the different forms he had taken. The bust in the foyer was of him as a young man, many years before they had met, where his face was smooth and his bright white hair long. The bust in the Grand Hall was of him in the last years of his life when he wore the black mask which helped him breathe. But this bust, the one in the east section of the mansion by the library, was of the Jean-Paul she knew. The one she fell in love with, who changed her, and who she secretly wed. A head full of burn scars. A face covered by a white mask. Her Jean-Paul.
“I hope that you have found comfort?”
The sudden voice made her jump. Aveline turned to see the owner of the voice, a tall and wiery man with gray hair and a severe face. He stood straight and with his hands folded behind his back, and looked quite lean in his black coat. There were no pins adorning a collar, no slashes of color to add relief to his livery, but this man was as much a part of the compound as even the stones that made the foundation:
Sebastian Hargrave.
Aveline gave him a small nod of her head. Truth be told, she didn’t even need to go that far, but he had earned as much. He and her husband went back many, many years, and Sebastian had been a pivotal force in the founding of the compound as both a licensed accountant and a full believer in the Path of the Light.
”Comme ci, comme ca.”
It would be silly to expect people to have learned French just for her benefit, even with the odd coincidence of Sarah having been tutored in the language from a young age, but everyone within the manor knew a few of the phrases she was known to say. Sebastian smirked at her response which could be interpreted as “meh” and gave her a small shake of his head.
“We can provide whatever you require, Madam, during your...stay.”
His hesitation at how long she would be within the manor was clear. She herself was not sure. Was this home? Was this where she belonged? Without him…
“Just space. And time.”
She turned back to the bust of her husband and touched the granite mask, her fingers gliding over the hellish contours of the mask which had caused so much fear for so many opponents.
“And a space to stretch. I do not wish to laze about like so many other people who have spent time here recently.”
She could not help to keep the derision out of her voice. Her ungrateful step-child had brought in a gross assortment of people, those sluts she spent time with, and each had carved some form or another of sin into the halls of her spouse. She turned her head back to Sebastian when she heard him chuckle.
“If nothing else, Madam, I am glad to see that you are more...well...YOU...than you were when we first saw each other again. Tell me: What do you plan to do on Monday?”
Monday. A fight with the Vaughn girl. One of the many to laze about in the halls of her husband.
“Win.”
She turned back to the bust, her fingers now tracing along the lines of burn scars all along her husband’s head.
“I am the Champion of Chaos, Sebastian. I take all that this flawed and broken world has, smash those pieces into naught but dust, and then breathe new life into it. The who and what of my next fight rarely matters. Friend or foe, adult or child, all fall before the chaos.”
She turns back to Sebastian.
“The Vaughn girl is both, I think. She is a child emotionally from what I have been able to gather, and understands little of the world around her. She flies about seeming without a care for anything but her cats and her soccer, and is oblivious to just about everything else. Yet, she is also successful. Oh, I know that others within the company we fight in think of her as nothing but a fool, but those people have shown themselves to be fools. She and Cotton did not become champions on accident, nor through the actions of Wallace and his obsession with Eden. She did not become a champion in Mexico but luck or gift. She has worked hard to be where and what she is.”
She pauses and chews her lip in clear thought.
“It is somewhat serendipitous, actually. As if she were born to do this but has no idea why she is doing it. As if it is in her blood but not in her head. As if-Are you okay?”
Sebastian’s face had gone pale suddenly but he coughed into a hand and waved off her concern. She shrugged and looked back to the bust of her husband.
“She needs to be taught a lesson, I believe. Needs to be taught that there is a REASON why we are here, there is a REASON why God has made us this way. He gave us strength to fight! He gave us strength to burn away sin! He gave us strength to build HIS vision! He gave us the Path of the Light!”
She takes the bust into both of her hands, leans forward, and gently places her forehead against that of the bust.
“I will do what I must, husband. I will do what you always preached. I will hurt her. I will tear her. I will make her bleed, make her cry, make her beg. I will punch her...bite her...slam her...HURT HER!”
She rubs her forehead against the bust softly and slowly, letting herself feel the cool marble. The sculptor had been quite talented; indeed, it nearly felt like her husband. She nearly felt like she was here, over four years ago, being swept away into this magical land.
“The Vaughn girl has so much potential. So much ability! But she is bogged down by terrible life choices. Weighed down by being trained by a glutton. Slowed by making friends with sluts and whores. Held down by a woman who spits in God’s eye by not being wedded to her lover. She just needs to be shown the Light. She just needs to be set upon the Path. And that is what I will do.”
She moves away from the bust and turns back to Hargrave.
“I will save the child, Sebastian. It might break her to do it, but I will save her. I shall tear her apart, remove her limbs, rip away her soul, and build her anew. Because that is what I do, Sir. Create order from chaos. I will take Angie Vaughn, burn away the sins the world has given her, and show her who she truly can be.”
She blinks tiredly at him, feeling every bit of the last few weeks to her very bones.
“I grow tired, Sir. Bonne nuit.”
Did you know?!
So! Prepare to be SHOCKED by these ABSOLUTELY TRUE Angie facts:
- Angie almost NEVER allowed Sers Bobby and Alex play with their cousin "Lil Has" Hasenpfeffer Grey-Lacklan, the cutest dwarf bunny ever.
- Angie spent MOST of her time treating the "SERVANTS" like they were FURNITURE!
- Angie CONSTANTLY complained about how her profile on ChristianHookup.com NEVER got ANY hits from "legit hawt DTF guys"
- Angie was caught THREE TIMES trying to take selfie pictures of her OWN BARE BUTT in the bathroom for her profile on the CoolTube app
- Angie's browser search history includes items SO PROFANE that we cannot even SPEAK of them here! Trust me, you'd want to bust out that gif of Homer pouring bleach into his eyes and putting YOURSELF in it!
- Angie's forgotten bank account statements show SEVERAL submissions to caterotica.com. So much EW!
- Angie left her room a PIG'S STY filled with NOTHING but wrappers from cheeseburgers. Makes one WONDER how she keeps so "naturally" thin
- Angie knew EXACTLY what to do with that contra bassoon!
- Angie also knows EXACTLY how to get the rocket launcher but REFUSES to tell Kenzi! And finally:
- Angie was known to sing songs CONSTANTLY about how much she LOVES rain!
x2