Post by LACKLAN on Jun 28, 2018 14:39:37 GMT -5
~~Monday, June 25th~~
Le Bord de Dieu sits in a dark room deep within the bowels of the Synergy Arena. Still dressed in her wrestling attire, she stares down at the ground, her elbows holding her weight on her knees. Two women, each dressed smartly in the black and silver livery of House Lacklan, attend her, both with wet cloths rubbing the wrestler’s face. The dark ink had mostly been scrubbed away, leaving her normally pale skin red from the rough treatment, just about all of Necron’s attack on her wiped away.
“Please, Madame.”
The voice from one of the handmaidens was small yet still loud in the room. Her face scrunched with the effort of her work but her small voice was strong.
“Please, Madame.”
The voice of the other handmaiden matched her partner’s.
“We need you.”
“You miss you.”
“Please.”
“Soit silencieux!”
Her sharp command did indeed silence the two women, though their hands continued to move as they scrubbed away the tar. She rocked gently back and forth and their care moved her left and right, each in succession, as they scrubbed away Necron’s filth. The clearing of a throat made the necks of the handmaiden’s snap to the side as Redmaine walked into the room, his body nearly as wide as the doorframe.
“Leave us.”
The man’s voice was muffled behind the mask, but each handmaiden clearly understood as they made a deep bow of their heads to him. They then turned and curtsied low and deep to Le Bord de Dieu, though she paid them no mind. After a few moments, the two had gathered their cleaning supplies and vacated the room, leaving only the man and woman.
Silence hung in the air for a great moment, as heavy and deep as the masked man’s own muscled chest seemed to be.
“Ava-”
“Do NOT start with me, Redmaine.”
She puts her head in her hands and rubs her temples, trying to push away the sudden loss of balance. Being home, embracing accueil in its full context, had brought her a lot of healing, but she was still in bad shape from the series of concussions across the year. She feels her protector, her rock, make his way next to her before she feels his large hands lay gently on her shoulders. So gentle. It belied his strength.
“They yearn for you, Ava.”
She tried to shake her head without making it swim again, tried to push away his insistence, but he persisted.
“They call for you. They NEED you. They need his words. They need his strength. They need YOU. They need you to save them from the path the child has lead them down. They need to be reminded of what the Path of the Light stands for. They need to be reminded of how God wishes the world to be and NOT what the mockery that the child has turned it into.”
She feels his finger touch her cheek. Her body tingles from the touch. So gentle. Her gentle rock. A small amount of pressure makes her look up at him, makes her look into the mask resembling that of some carnivorous worm out of fantasy, makes her look into the dark eyes below the shiny shaven head.
“Please.”
She has no words for him.
~~Saturday, June 30th~~
The section of Maine off the Penobscot had been mostly uninhabited forest, as was wont for the Mainers to do, but had seen much in the way of development over the last decade. Only the old Lacklan Manor, built thirty years ago when the successful canning family of the same name moved out of Kennebunkport, had been in the area until the development began, and all of the surrounding area has seemed to grow from the odd and misplaced Gothic architecture style to seem like a body with the manor as it’s head. The patron of the family after the sad deaths of John and Lorelea in that famous plane crash in January of ‘91, the young Jean-Paul, had attracted a large following of people with his ultra conservative sermons, and the people had begun to not only follow him around the world, but to come to his home. First in a trickle, then in a wave, his “Minions” had become “Denizens” as forest was cleared away and houses built with the wood.
House after house was added over the years, and the Mainers tried not to think of it too much as a bother. Sure, they whispered to themselves about the odd preacher who fought in one of those crazy combat sports, but they would never make a scene. Lord no! Nothing more than a few grumbled oaths over a pint of Mean Old Tom from the Maine Beer Company over at the Reverend Noble Pub. Perhaps a few raised voices about all those “strange people” from different states setting up shop in the forest like they were proper Mainers, ayuh. But the shouts became whispers as the preacher grew darker. One of his fights had a horrible accident and he was burned, his head set on fire. Lord knew how many surgeries were needed to save his face, but they weren’t enough; no, his whole head was nothing but a mass of scars and he wore a mask to protect his face. His hair, a natural platinum blonde of long locks that made him stand out even more than his large size, was all gone, and he looked like Freddy Krueger come to life, or perhaps even the Devil made flesh.
Mainers grumbled as the hot wind blew through Bangor on that Saturday. It wasn’t a Lacklan Mystral like it would have been in the wintertime, a wind so cold that it bit into flesh, but it still FELT the same. Something was going on up at the old manor, something that even the animals could feel. Something old. And, perhaps, something new.
That hot wind blew into Lacklanland with a fury, sending blackbirds flying with an angry squawk, and forcing the odd family of albino carrier pigeons to hide in their aviary. It blew over the blueberry fields, making them sway, blew through the trees of the forest famous for their spiders, blew through the town which had grown from the manor. The wind blew through empty streets and discarded wares, however, finding no one to make sweat or worry, until it finally found itself in the very center of the compound. Until it found itself in Selena’s Square.
Aveline Lacklan felt that hot wind on her face and mentally forced herself to not sweat. It was not easy with the way she had been dressed, in a long red gown that fell to the floor, the slashes of silver down each arm as a reminder of the pain she had gone through in her exile. Her hair was smoothed out into locks of silk, her bangs woven into what might as well have been a cross atop her head. She looked every bit what she did the years prior when she was at her husband’s side and she knew that this moment was important, regardless of her decision.
The ground below her was full of people. Most were pale-faced and wore dark colors, even in this heat, and she loved them for it. They were the Denizens, the men and women, even the families, who had followed her husband over the years. What had begun as simply the cast out of society, those dregs who sought a place to belong and had found solace in his message, they were now a full community working on their second generation. Her heart filled with warmth when she looked down from her place in the spire and saw the section of people whom she had sent here personally, the homeless encampment whose feet she had washed and whose home had been destroyed by the madman that was Necron.
A loud gong brought the throng of men and women to a standstill, their whispers and murmurs coming to an end as they craned their necks up into the sky to look at the spire. When the message had been spread about, that Aveline was to speak atop the spire as Jean-Paul had done for so long, the excitement in the Denizens had steadily built, and now the crescendo was upon them, that excitement on the cusp of crashing down as a vicious wave from the North Shore. All heads in the square looked up, up into the heavens, to where Aveline stood upon a stage on the spire. She stood off to the side, her dark green eyes going from the crowd and to the microphone and podium placed for her, and then back to the crowd.
Even from this height, she could see individuals. Skeeter, the First Citizen, had come out of his cabin in the forest to attend. Rows and rows of the guard, tall and straight in their black uniforms with the silver pins, with Bruce at their head. Redmaine was not there, not with the banishment in place, but that did not bother her; after all, she knew right where he was. Sebastian Hargrave was in a place of honor, as he was warranted, his face looking gaunt even from here. Next to him was his political rival and equal, Sidney Grey, who had become such a powerful ally for her in numerous ways. And then Aveline’s eyes unconsciously narrowed at the three next to them, that of the Blood Princess, the idiot girl with the title of “Duchess,” and the Vaughn girl. Even from here she had an urge to rip out the girl’s eyes. Why?
She shakes her head as she turns her thoughts from the trio. It was good enough that they had done as they were told, done as they had been commanded. They had been summoned to this event earlier in the week, and while there had been much hemming and hawing, much “Er...well..we are TOTES busy, ubes, and I don’t know if we can make it…”, they had still come. Good. Let them be here. Let them witness what was to happen.
The silence grew, became nearly palpable, as Aveline walked across the stage and toward the podium. Her heels clacked on the wooden beams, amplified loudly through the entire square, drawing the attention and eyes of all. She looked over the crowd as she stood at the podium, dark green eyes dismissing the individuals and taking in the whole, as she allowed the tension to mount. She licked her lips, painted silver to match the slashes in her dress, and spoke to the crowd.
My name is Lacklan.
For too long I have allowed the silliness of the world bar my path of success. For too long I have allowed the goingson of children to pull me to distraction, to titillate my humor with games. For too long I have allowed the actions of toddlers to dictate what constitutes greatness or success. For too long I have allowed the world to phase me. But that day is over.
I am the Champion of Chaos.
When my reign began, most within this business looked at the Chaos Championship as a trinket for the unskilled. Most looked at is as nothing but a hunk of metal to be fought over by those who could do little more than throw themselves off a balcony or set themselves aflame. But those days are over! Those days are now beyond legend, never to be recalled clearly due to the fog of time! Now...NOW! NOW is the time when the Chaos Championship is held in the highest regard! NOW is the time when the Chaos Championship means excellence! NOW is the time when being the Champion of Chaos means more than any other title, for in order to be ME and to fight at MY level, it means having the tenacity and stamina to fight every week without fail! It means NEVER taking time off, NEVER stepping away, NEVER giving in.
As I have fought week after week all across this year, as we reach the halfway point in season of wrestling in UGWC, it has become more clear than ever who is truly the force behind the company and whose face belongs on the marquee. It is NOT those who cross the hemispheres and hold “just barely good enough” on a pedestal. Its is NOT those who cooperate and have had more matches be ruled no contests or otherwise conveniently get themselves removed from them as to make one wonder if they are even wrestlers anymore. It is NOT those who sit atop the world and get into little arguments about who is more of the outsider than the other or have life-changing personal problems which seem to be forgotten a week later.
No! It is NONE of these!
I am the face of this company! I am the one who drives the UGWC to ever greater heights! I am the one who holds the roster to a higher standard of both professionalism and humanity. And it is this reality that has led Necron to spend all of his attention on me. It is this fact that has led Necron to make me a target of his filth. And as such, it has earned him the right to be spoken to directly.
This is not a game, dear Necron. It is not some fanciful tale of paladins slaying dragons or of some unrequited love story from the pen of Meyer. No, this thing between us, this emotional and physical battle, is real and raw, and is wholly placed upon your shoulders.
I have been your entire reality. From before you even walked into the Bradley Center in Milwaukee, to this very moment, I have been everything you have yearned for. Its in your eyes behind your masks. Its in your voice in your sonnets to me. Its in your hand in the letters you write. You want my body to ravage, my heart to string, my soul to ensnare. You want a partner in your rage and fires, want an equal in your quest to prove yourself better than Ichabod. But I am no equal to you, Necron.
Queens are not equals to peasants. Queens do not make love to serfs.
Every moment of your time in this company has been bent on attacking me in hopes that your boyish charms will win me over. Your entire existance has been to beat me, to strike me, to attack me and show your superiority. And while your constant success in attacking me and beating me to the ground raises questions about the UGWC’s security and capability of protecting the health of its employees outside of the ring, it is clear that your intent is a large orchestration on showing yourself to be better than me. To get success over me. To be the large, scary monster to my damsel in distress.
Unfortunately for you, we have already determined that your dragon’s fire is no match for the shield of righteousness.
Now comes the part where you tell me that my god is dead! Lo! Now is the part where you cackled about gnawing on the bones of Jesus while you crush the skulls of His twelve under your great weight! Now is the part where you repeat yourself 1000 times in hopes that your lack of quality will be obscured by your great quantity! Now is the time where a lesser opponent would determine your value based upon the words of Cash!
But I am not a lesser opponent, Harvester. I am the one true demarc on your record. I am the one who pinned you.
You have not only been off my mind and in the past, you are just one of the notches on my record for successful defences. All are you to me is the distinction of being the first failed attempt on my title. And now you will gain a second distinction: Being the first to fail to defeat me more than once. So, while you have spent all of your time before No Holds Barred planning your seduction, and all of your time planning your revenge, I have continued to be the bright light of life and righteousness that this world needs. I have continued to be the person the world can use as a searchlight, their boats lost in the sea of confusion with which to find guidance.
I knew that you would personalize my challenge to the roster at the Massive Melee. I knew that it would be you of all people who would devote themselves to throwing me over the top rope and earning this title opportunity. Even in the middle of the cage coming down and your tossing the roster into the bars at your leisure, yet another attempt to prove how big and strong you are, you could not help but be focused on me and what I represent. And unfortunately for you, that little display of yours in the Melee is a microcosm of your entire career thus far in the UGWC.
Lo! Look at the massive Harvester as he shows his strength!
Lo! Look at Grim as he shows how powerful and deadly he is!
Lo! Look at him go out of his way to show us just how unstoppable he is and then lose the match!
THAT is your legacy, Necron. Fighting that good fight, using sneak attacks and opportunities when people are already spent, to make yourself look as if you are some beast, as the dragon from legend, but then losing when it actually matters.
It DOES NOT MATTER how many tag matches you win on Synergy.
It DOES NOT MATTER how many times you have stood tall over my crumpled body in your attempt to show your superiority.
It ONLY MATTERS that you will NEVER beat me. Because you do not know how to win when it is important. You do not know how to win when it matters.
There are those who look at my record in the UGWC and scoff, those that say to themselves, “Heh...just flip a coin and see if she wins!” But those, like you, misunderstand the importance of winning the matches where everything is on the line. I am undefeated in the important matches, Sir, and that is something that no amount of backstage assaults can wash away. I have never lost on PPV or in a title match, and that is something that no amount of mid-match theatrics and mysterious attacks can defeat.
So come at me with your momentum, Sir! Come at me with your success on Synergy! Come at me with your mind games of “I beat you in a nontitle match with nothing on the line while you were focused on Eden so now I don’t care about you but I am still totally going to tweet you every day for three weeks even though I don’t care and I’m interested in Eden now oh wait let me tweet you again” routine. Come at me with everything you have. In fact, I invite you to bring every person from Steel City still sympathetic to your cause, every fan who buys your merchandise, even the next Cool Kid you try to corrupt out of the blue. You are going to need every weapon you have.
And you are still going to lose. Because in this story, you are Saul.
While with my second defense as the Champion of Chaos in my defense against Dynamo I became as David into the lion’s den, clothed in the armor of God, for you I will always be David. I slew the giant that was Goliath just as I said I would, taking you down to be nothing more than large bravado while seemingly armed with naught but a sling and stone. The story has grown, Sir, progressed.I am still David but you are now Saul. And in place of your senseless blather about how God is dead, do yourself a favor: Close your mouth and learn a lesson.
Saul was the king who brought the tribes together. In the name of God, and with His blessing, he brought true statehood to the tribes of man. He was King, Sir, of Israel. Of Judah. None were more blessed than he. But he allowed his bravado to consume him. Like so many other figures in antiquity, he turned from God and took up the pleasures of the world, the lie of Satan, and became not even half of what he was underneath His light. God tried again and again to save him, tried again and again to bring him back to the Path, but Saul stayed turned away. Saul would not listen.
Saul died.
And not just any death, Necron. His sons, his very progeny, wiped from the Earth as efficiently as the world washed away by the Great Flood. Himself, his own sword thrust through his chest, fallen. And his throne, his kingdom, granted to the one God truly loved:
David.
Just as I slew the giant at No Holds Barred, I will make you fall upon your sword at WreslteStock. I will show the world, again, why I am the Champion of Chaos. I will show the world that you, Sir, are no Ichabod. You, Sir, are no Chaos. And my dreams of usurping their reigns, of being the greatest Champion of Chaos that there has ever been, will become the reality which makes you quiver with fear. All of your strength, all of your manufactured success over me, will end the same way on Friday in New Orleans that it did in Michigan:
My arm raised high, my title in hand, after pinning you to the mat.
“So Saul died for his sin against the Lord, because he did not keep the Word of the Lord...So the Lord killed him, and gave the nation to David…”
My name is Lacklan.
The Champion of Chaos.
The Queen of Red.
Long live the Queen.
~~Epilogue~~
Aveline Lacklan sits.
The throne room of Lacklan Manor was filled with marble statues of those who had been enemies of her husband. Not just anyone he fought, of course, only those who important to him. Maximum Violence. The Ashtons. Stacy Sterling. It is lonely in the room, the Queen of Red sitting among the cold marble, with but her thoughts. Was this wise? Was this what He wanted? Was this what the Path of the Light demanded?
She had openly declared herself. Not just as Jean-Paul’s wife. But as his successor. As the rightful ruler of the compound. As their leader. As their queen. The hush that had fallen over the crowd when she declared herself the Queen of Red was powerful. Not all knew what that meant, not all understood the full consequences of the change, but enough did. Even from her vantage point above the square, she could see the fury in the Blood Princess’ beady rat eyes. She could see the confusion in the Duchess’ face. She could see Sidney’s color first blanch and then turn green at the realization that the money, and her lifestyle, had just stopped. She was sure that she and Sidney could come to an understanding, of course. She liked the woman with the insufferable daughter.
She is brought out of her internal dialogue by the loud scraping of the wide double doors opening. Two of her guards in their smart uniforms march in, feet locked in step, with a round little man in his middle years, hair full of grey, behind them. They stopped many feet away from Aveline and slammed their fists to their chest.
“My Queen,” one spoke up, voice full of reverence. “Someone has come to see you.”
Aveline looked at the rotund man with a dismissive eye before looking at the guard.
“Why bother me with such things?”
“The Master said to send him right in.”
The Master. Redmaine. She looked at the man again and gave them all a small nod. The man moved past the guards, closer to the Queen, and did his best to stand up straighter. He still shook, clearly nervous, but had a strong voice when he spoke.
“M-My Q-Queen.”
“Speak, as a man! Who are you?””
“V-Vaughn, my Queen. Richard V-Vaughn.”
“Vaughn?” She rose an eyebrow at him. “As in-?”
“Yes. I come to you because...because...I have information that you might find useful.”
The Queen of Red leaned forward and vicious smile rose from her lips.
“Tell me. Everything.”
~~LA FIN~~
x2
