Post by LACKLAN on Oct 5, 2018 22:54:49 GMT -5
Aveline Lacklan sits.
The Queen of Red looks good, for those dear Watchers and Readers who often find themselves riding the wind to the “Castle by the River,” as she would call it. Her hair has been freshly dyed by her handmaidens, the blonde a bright platinum, without a hint of her natural brown, even at the roots, and the streaks of grey turned to an odd yet striking shade of silver. Her hair is pulled up into a hive, a net of sparkling emeralds woven within to seem a crown, with a translucent red veil clipped into her brow and hanging down over her face. Through the veil, we can see the green eyes that shine with madness, but they look far more well-rested than they have been before. The tired lines of worry spreading out from her eyes seem smaller and fewer in number. Her skin is as pale as ever, but there is a hint of flush. She is rested.
“Hello, Dynamo.”
Her voice is scratchy and raw as she sits upon her throne. She moves slowly and places her chin in her hand, the fingers of her free hand moving to absently caress the silver stitching on her dress. The lines of silver running up and down of each arm, some neat and clean while the others are jagged, are the only relief against the see of fluffy red, the dress full of lacy pleats that is suitable for her title.
“Do you know what it is like to be me? To be so filled with the Light as to be its incarnate? To be God’s very force on this Earth? I do. I know what it is like. I know the weight of it on my shoulders. I know the breadth of it in my very breath in my body. I know what it is to have the hopes of the world at my fingertips. And as such, I have gained an insight of divinity to go along with my manifest destiny. I know a liar when I see one.”
Emerald eyes look around the room, and we take this time to look with her. The throne she sits in is a gaudy affair, something made of stone and covered in soft pillows which was clearly built for someone much larger than her. The monstrous seat sits in a room lined with marble statues, each chiseled by a block from a master, the statues well-defined faces of men and women lost to time. The walls are lined with the purple and red tapestries seen most recently at the gala for the “charity” of Eden Morgan, including wall hangings depicting great moments in the life of the House of Lacklan.
“Many of the people depicted in the statues within this room were liars. Men and women who fought against God, who fought against His vision for wrestling and for the world. They scoffed at my husband, Il est ressuscité, and his proclamation to being the Voice of God, to being the Savior of Professional Wrestling. And one by one, each of them fell to him, each of them liars in the end. Every one of them laughed and said they would take him down, send him to the Abyss, but he was always proven right when the bell rang.”
She gestures to the statues for a moment with a hand ending in green nails before coming back to rest under her chin.
“Our experience with THEM prepares me for my experience with YOU, Dynamo. You are a liar.”
The Queen of Red absently strokes her chin.
“I do not make this proclamation based upon the tired charge of ‘Which version of Kem will we get today?’ which you have heard over and again. This is not based upon your silliness on social media where you play with the other children in sad and embarrassing ways. No, I make this statement, this assurance, based off something very specific you have said recently. A statement which you have repeated often as of late and something which I have been thinking upon.”
She pauses again, face full of thought.
“‘I have been handed nothing.’”
She pauses again, clearly reflecting on the quote.
“We both know that is a lie.”
Another pause.
“Due to your exuberant and unending need to be known and loved by everyone you have ever met, your story, your path to this moment, is well documented. One does not even need to do much in the way of research on the subject, since you demand to shove it down the throat of everyone you meet. And that path has included a very specific thing, something which many in this business understand and appreciate: You are a second generation wrestler. While your parentage is admittedly a disaster, and no doubt a source of eternal embarrassment for you, it HAS allowed you a start at an early age that someone NOT a second generation wrestler would have.
“Tell me: If you were NOT ‘handed’ the mask that allowed you to enter that tournament, then NOTHING is handed to ANYONE. Because anyone who was NOT a second generation wrestler, ANYONE else who was some out of shape teenager, would have been shown the door instead of being allowed to place their name onto the roster. May as well say that some child wizard was NOT handed something when his name mysteriously popped out of the triwizard cup! And to say otherwise! To say otherwise! It is a lie, Dynamo. It does NOT matter if your paternal relationship was strained, at best. It does NOT matter that you were later spurned in favor of another. It does NOT matter that you found yourself setting up the ring and feeding on the bottom of another company. What MATTERS is that you WERE ‘handed’ an opportunity, an advantage, a break, that you otherwise would not have earned. And I ask this:
“If you are willing to LIE about your very FIRST experience in the ring, about your very FIRST advantage afforded you, what ELSE will you lie about which might otherwise be holy or sacred?”
She shakes her head, the hive of platinum hair waving slightly atop her head.
“Your penchant for making up utter and complete falsehoods about your opponents is as famous as your ‘Woe is me’ tactics. Your insistence on lying about everyone so that you can feel special or be held in a bright light is becoming legendary. And while a handful of fools have been guiled into believing you, most likely due to their own need to be accepted, everyone within the UGWC knows better. They know that you pray to whatever heathen god would take pity on slutty lesbians such as yourself and hope that no one brings you to task on your lies, and they know that when you ARE brought to task, you run away and hide, crying into the arms of some other amoral whore. And as your record and respectability within the UGWC has shown us, there is not one person who cares any more for your routine of guilt tripping, slander, and shameful begging for forgiveness and acceptance.
“All those months ago, when you and I went to war and I beat all three members of Shakedown to the ground in my chaos, when we gave all of the UGWC a main event worth watching and one in which Pierce and Lockheart could never hope to follow the next week, I challenged you to change and evolve. I told you THEN that if you did NOT change, if you did NOT evolve, if you gave me your usual brand of song lyric fluff or Bible passages to mock you, you WOULD lose. But just as I predicted, that is EXACTLY what you did and you DID lose. You REFUSED to change and evolve, REFUSED to be more than what you were, and all these months later, you are STILL just some sniveling child hoping that an adult doesn’t dress them down for putting their hand in the cookie jar and lying about it.
“But I AM that adult. I AM the mother hen for this company and this business. And I WILL dress you down for your unending litany of lies developed so that you can show the world a false face to hid the sniveling toddler underneath. No pyrrhic victories will save you from losing this week. No missed opportunities will save you from losing this week. No game of positioning yourself to be some martyr will save you from losing this week. Because LAST time we found ourselves in one of these matches, I correctly predicted that you were desperately seek out Mizore to defeat while Eden and I felt one another out, but THIS time...YOU are Mizore. YOU are the oblivious and obese child floating on the inner tube that the sharks will feast upon. YOU are the one who will be taking the fall. Because NO ONE believes your lies anymore. NO ONE believes your false face and positioning. EVERYONE has seen you for who you are:
“A failure.”
The Queen of Red sits up straight in her oversized throne, the visage of stern regality.
“You have tried so many things across the months to find an angle of success. Hate crowd. Be cheered by the crowd. Embrace body positivity. Dancing to a beat which differs from the norm. A victim complex. Inspiration from a band. So many things. So many lies. But your lies are stripped away and everyone knows who you are, and everyone will SEE on Monday. With all of your falsehoods stripped away? You are just a desperately weeping child who finds solace in food because she cannot find happiness elsewhere. And as I begin my proclamation to reclaiming my Chaos Championship before year’s end, you will be put in your own rightful place on Monday:
“Your shoulders pinned to the mat, your eyes staring at the lights.
“Embracing your truth as a failure.”
The Queen of Red stands up suddenly, her red silks falling to the floor, and she strikes forward off the dais and down the walk. Her arms raise, the silver clashes flashing, and gestures toward the statues.
"Liars, whores, thieves. All stood against what God wanted of this sport and of this world. And each one was put down into the ground by my husband, Il est ressuscité, and each was afforded a place of honor, of reverence. Enemies from across the years, from the very beginnings against Maximum Violence, to the very end and Miss Dolore. Each a figure to be thought of in the moments of the night where courage is lost."
She stops suddenly, emerald eyes rising up into the face of a tall statue, his face clearly that of a dragon's mask.
"Liar or not, YOU will never be here. This hall...it is only for those who are worthy of being nemesis. And you?"
She shakes her head.
"Naught but the dust of life, naught but a piece of flotsam to be pushed away in the wake of my greatness. You have been exposed, Dynamo, for both your lies and your failure. And I am done with you."
She looks forward, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"I think...that I would like to go for a walk."
She strides away, heels clacking with purpose, along the path lined with marble statues and to the door.
Doors burst open and the Queen of Red strides through with her head back straight and head held high, the hulking beast that is Redmaine holding her arm in his. Her heels clack against the stone floor of the hallway, just as her masked companion’s heavy boots offer a dull clunk, and they are followed by several members of her usual retinue, including four members of the guard and two handmaidens dressed in white.
“Do you appreciate history, Somers?”
Aveline’s scratchy voice fills the hallway and gives it a small echo to mix with the clacking and thudding of respective heels and boots.
“History is important to God, in case you did not know. He expects you to know what has come before, what happened millenia ago, and learn from the mistakes of those who have rebuked him. On the subject of His word, there are those who believe that anything which happened in the Old Testament to be unnecessary, as the New Testament trumps all. Those people are foolish, of course. Those people do not understand that God wants you to know everything that happened before He showed us His love by giving up His only begotten son, so that was would appreciate the sacrifice of the Christ. History is important.”
She raises her free hand, gesturing towards the walls of the hallway. We see many of the tapestries and hangings glimpsed during Necron’s introduction to the Manor during the “charity” event for Eden, tapestries which showed important events in the Lacklan family. Lithe finger show us the long-haired patriarch winning his first World Championship a generation ago. They show us the masked face and burned head standing tall with another World Championship, this time with what is clearly a younger Aveline on his arm. Still another shows the man in a new mask, his entire head hidden, beaming with pride as the little ball of red and white anger that was his daughter debuted.
“There are so many people in this sport who act as those Christians who discount the value of the Old Testament. They believe that what came before does not matter, because THEY are the new standard. There are those who care not for what an opponent has done before, as they only care what they will face upon the morrow. There are those who would rather not even learn about the business as a concept, because they believe that being young and athletic means instant success. But we both know the idiocy of these thoughts. What you have done, and why it matters to the present, is as important as anything else.”
She stops for a moment before the tapestry of herself and the masked man standing tall.
“Did you love Eden?”
Her voice is suddenly far off, dropping in both pitch and volume.
“She is an odd one, to be sure. There have been so many suitors for her, so many people who have believed that THEY would be the one to hold her close and reign her in. All the while, never once thinking themselves to be her equal, but her superior. I was my husband’s equal, Il est ressuscité. We stood strong together. All of the battles you have had...all of the wars...to stand together...and then betray her.”
She shakes her head as true sadness finds its way to her face.
“The Betrayer of Hope, the Good Doctor called you. A hint to me that he is well-read, and quite likely someone who would have enjoyed a cigar, whiskey, and long talk with the Mountain King, Il est ressuscité. And I believe those words to be true. You betrayed the trust of someone who had earned it from you in the most powerful and intimate of ways. To go to battle with someone, again and again, changes you, brings you closer, makes you as lovers would be. That is why I think you truly did love Eden: Your betrayal could only come from the heart.”
She shakes her head again and her eyes find their way to the tapestry across from it, the hanging depicting Lacklan at the end of his life and the rise of the ball of rage.
“I wonder if your visits to this house will become an annual thing? My immediate thought is no...because you WILL be betrayed at some point. Such is the nature of this business among the children. And you ARE a child, Somers. Oh, I am sure you believe yourself to be matured and a statesmen of both this company and this business, but I know better. I see the petulance in your actions. I see the way your eye twinkles with mischief. I see how you allow yourself to be sidetracked by silly endeavors instead of staying on task for an important goal.”
Her eyes float away and rest upon the older tapestry of herself and the Mountain King.
“Will you appreciate my history? Will you delve into it? Or will you dismiss it like those Christians foolish enough to push away the Old Testament because they do not like the truths they must face? Will you stand face-to-face with me and appreciate what stands before you, and face your judgement, or will you pair up with someone like Kem and lie in order to avoid the painful reality?”
She takes a step forward and places her hand on the tapestry. Her fingers caress the bright white hair of her younger self, and a smile comes to her lips.
“I was the Ultraviolet. I still am...but then...I WAS. I was afraid of nothing. Of no one. And the only one who could tame me...who could both hold me tight and with gentle care, is you would a bird in hand...was my husband, Il est ressuscité. The World Champion. The Voice of God. We were unstoppable together. And I wonder…”
Her fingers find the depiction of the man in the white mask with the ugly burn scars.
“From what I understand, you formed the Court of Owls in an attempt to ward off the new rage of wrestlers, those who travel the world without a care in the world of their health or security. Would I have been one of those? No doubt my husband, Il est ressuscité, would have had your little group dancing upon his hidden strings, along with all of the other little groups within this company in your tiresome story of needing an Engine of some sort, but me? I would have been the driving force to CAUSE you to put on the masks in the first place. I turned the world on its head when I began, and did so again when I came back this year. And not in a way that all of these toddlers like the Dynamos, anime fans, and cool kids do or have. No...no...I brought true fear to those who have fought me both in the past and now, and made people even go so far as to beg and plead to be given the night off after they saw they were booked against me.
“This is what you are going to face on Monday, dear Mister Somers. You are going to face the Ultraviolet fully unleashed. You are going to face the person who is focused on reclaiming the Chaos Championship, the person who brought prestige to it to the point where it was, for a time, the MOST important title within the company. You are going to face the Queen of Red, the Champion of Chaos.”
She turns from the tapestry and begins her way through the hall again, her hulking protector at her side, her guards and handmaidens keeping their respectful and proper distance.
“And much as I told Dynamo before about how, unfortunately for her, there is no Mizore for her to defeat this time, there is no Travis for you to inexplicably win a match for you. Our one tossle before, with a pleasantly clean-shaven Zane at my side, you had with mind-boggling machine that is Pierce with you, who was able to use his skill to talk about anything BUT his match and still become victorious. But, unfortunately for you, there will not be any mysterious and eyebrow-raising wins. There will not be a Necron to destroy and dominate in a match he has no reason to be involved in while UGWC security oddly stands as mute statues who encountered the Medusa. There will not even be an unseasonal tremor to make me fall. No, there will only be the cold and calm assurance that you, along with the other two, are facing someone whom you CANNOT defeat. Indeed, this Monday, you will have the same thing handed to you in which you were handed on the first Synergy of the year for the last five years running:
“A loss.”
Aveline smiles as they slow to a stop before a tall door.
“Let us get some sunshine.”
A security guard appears and hurriedly opens the door, sunshine spilling into the hall, making the silver in Aveline’s hair and in the slashes on her dress flash and shine.
Clean streets, swept daily. Zero crime, constant patrols and stiff punishments. Zero pollution, green energy and travel by feet or bike. Cold and clear skies, the wintry existence of what was once a town in Maine.
“Welcome to Lacklanland.”
Avelines scratchy voice fills the air again as we watch people mill the streets, some heading to work, others to play, people living their lives. People of all shapes and sizes, though predominantly of one coloring, that of pale faces and dark hair. Tall, short, wide, thin. The family that Jean-Paul Lacklan built, starting from small gatherings to hear him preach against the hardcore trend in professional wrestling, to massive crowds filling his stadium, finally to an entire city dedicated to his cause, and to the devotion of his returned wife, the Queen of Red.
Aveline walks these streets in her full regalia, her bright red silks with the silver stripes up and down her arms flashing in the sunlight. She is not alone anymore, however, as she is surrounded by a dozen members of her elite squad, the militarized Denizens wearing their matching uniforms, with the hulking masked figure of Redmaine at their head. There is another oddity in the group, a woman we have seen once before, dressed in flowing robes of white, carrying a small box in her hands. Atop her head is a thin crown with a large plate that covers her forehead. Upon the plate is a cross surrounded by a sunburst, the symbol of the Path of the Light Church.
"I have done much in my career," says Aveline, her scratchy voice painful to the ear, "but nothing compares to the importance of this."
She spreads her hands wide, inviting us to take in the scene. The myriad colors of the people along those clean streets go about their business, to and from work or play. The street is filled with shops, some with signs hanging, others with portable carts out front manned by proprietors hawking their goods. Everything from brilliantly colored cloth to jewelry to fresh vegetables and meat pies.
"There is a growing trend in this business, this most holy of ventures known as professional wrestling, to ignore both the rules and the traditions of our forefathers. There are, of course, the rules we must live by, the rules of the ring, of the company. For instance, we must participate in the promotional period of any given card. Oh, certainly there are those more adept than others, some production values higher or lower. From independent videos such as the ones shot by the Circle Television Network, to the lauded press conference. But possibly more important are the traditions which bind us together, traditions such as addressing your opponent by name, or by showing that his business matters to you."
Aveline pauses, slowing to a stop.
"There are those in this business, even within this very company, who are only here for money. For a paycheck. What little good that will do them. There are those who would rather subject us to inane adventures, drunken conversations, both reality and scripted television shows, and dance classes. Highly produced? Certainly. Maybe even modern cinematic art. But relevant? Hardly. It is an insult to the ignored opponents and the business as a whole."
Aveline raises her arms, the silver relief in the red sleeves catching the light, and again invies her audience to see the town.
"Yet I, sometimes seemingly alone, stand against that tide, that trend. Everything I have done for the UGWC, everything I have produced, has been with one purpose: Reshaping wrestling into God's vision, just as my husband did before me, Il est ressuscité. Every torture captured on film, every fight with family members and the declaration of enemies, all for this expressed purpose. This town lives as I live, and my husband, Il est ressuscité., lived before me -- perfect. It is a testament to what can and will be once I again stand as both the Champion of Chaos AND the Chaos Champion within UGWC. The perfection of this town, a town worthy of the name of my husband, Il est ressuscité., will be the model for the world. And the world shall follow."
Aveline pauses as a mob of children run by with screeches and peals of laughter. She chuckles, reaching out to them.
"Come to me, children."
The mob of children stop, looking to one another, and without further hesitation run to the woman in red. They envelope her, each tugging at her silken robes, trying to be nearer to her. She takes them in her harms as a mother hen, hugging them, her hands patting some on the head and rubbing the hair of others.
"Every drop of blood I have spilled, every bone I have broken, every life I have brought to ruin, has been for them. Has been for this. An ultimate good."
The scene becomes disturbed as our attention is drawn to raucous sounds to our side. All the gazes of the group turn towards the sound, as well as our camera, and take in what is rapidly becoming a dangerous situation: A woman, clothes torn, is crawling down the street. A dozen people, men and women both, follow her, voices raised.
"Harlot!"
"Infidel!"
"Banished-Lover!"
The sound of stones hitting the pavement accompany the cries. As does the sound of stone meeting flesh, joined by grunts of pain from the woman.
"Come, children."
Aveline’s voice is dark, full of intent, as she heads to the group, though still at a slow and plodding pace. The children follow, each still trying to clutch to her robe. The soldiers follow, as does the woman in white carrying the long box. The crowd comes to a silent halt as Aveline’s retinue approaches them, hands filled with sharp rocks lowering.
"And what is the meaning of this?"
No one answers right away as Aveline’s emerald gaze flows across them. After a moment, one of the men speaks up.
"She...she has defiled commandments, my Queen."
Aveline allows the statement to breathe in silence.
"Has she, now? And which commandment may this be?"
"She has a picture of the Banished!" cries another member of the crowd. "She is a Kenzi Grey fan!"
This riles up the crowd again, mutters being muttered, fists being shaken. The children clinging to Aveline raise their voices in boos and hisses and she silences them with a wave of her hand. She then turns and gestures to the woman.
"Rise, child."
The woman shakily gets to her feet, gasping for breath, hands vainly attempting to cover parts of her body revealed by the torn clothes.
"Is this true, child?"
She shakes her head, tears glistening.
"No, my Queen! I-"
Aveline’s sudden backhand sends her flying backward into one of her security guards, the blow silencing her.
"No lies, child."
Using the guard to steady herself, she again faces Aveline, swallowing hard.
"I-it was just an old poster, my Lord. Just an old The World According to Ken poster from years ago. I promise, I-"
Aveline silences her with a wave of her hand, then turns back to the mob.
"And you, instead of bringing this up to your local member of the Church, decided to take it upon yourselves to punish her? You decided to COMMIT a punishable act in order to PUNISH someone?"
The crowd remains silent at her charge, and Aveline shakes her head.
"What did my husband, Il est ressuscité, teach? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone?"
The crowd stays silent, some heads dropping in condemnation. Aveline cocks her head slightly, her peripherals taking in the woman.
"And only I am without sin, Harvester."
Her voice is a whisper yet still enough to make the woman gasp in fear. In one smooth motion, Aveline turns towards the woman and flings out her body, launching herself at her. Fingers turn to claws, teeth to fangs, and the Queen of Red assaults the woman, pulling hair, choking throat, and fingers reaching for eyes. After what feels like eternity, a hard breathing Aveline stands above the downed woman who clutches at ruined eyes.
"THIS IS WHAT I DO, HARVESTER!" she screams down at the woman. She then picks up her foot and stomps down as hard as she can on a random body part, eliciting a groan from the poor woman.
"Everything I do, Harvester, I do for good. The good of this business, the good of God."
Aveline walks over to the woman in white, the high priestess of the Path of the Light Church, who proffers the small box. Aveline opens it, revealing a heavy lock attached to a chain.
"There is nothing..." she says, walking over to the woman and then, after kneeling, jamming the heavy lock down into the prone woman's body, the thunking sound in concert with her words. "Nothing...you...can do!"
The final blow has the distinct sound of bones being broken, and she walks away, placing her face directly into the camera.
"There is no hope for you, Harvester. No chance. No amount of backstage assaults or villainous abductions will stop me. Your quest of befriending both friends and foe, of attacking the supposed Children of Ichabod, and walking away with the UGWC championship came to an end. Because of me.
“Tell me: What is it like to know that all of your hopes were sent into the Lake of Fire because of me? All of your machinations, all of your plotting, ended and ceased, because of your own hubris in choosing me for Outlast? Did you truly think I would help you? Did you truly think that I would fight Eden and Gabriel with all of my power and guile so that you could win? You are foolish, Harvester, and that foolishness not only was your undoing, but it will continue to be so.”
Aveline pauses, cocking her head to the side.
"But our business has a tradition of the rubber match, a final of three. We cannot say when...when cannot say how...but when you and I face that final time...I DO promise you this: You...WILLl...lose...that rubber match. The memories of attacks gone by will not save you a second time. No amount of suspicious actions from within the Synergy arena nor the element of surprise shall allow you to walk away with your back straight and your head held high, as the victor."
Aveline brings the lock and chain into the shot.
"Salvation comes knocking on the door of everyone in our business, and that includes you, Harvester. As I told Dynamo before, I am rested and well. Moreso than I have been in many months. And in this rest, I have found clarity, and in that clarity, the remembrance of my mission for God, and for my husband, Il est ressuscité. To rid the word of idiocy. To rid the world of people like you.”
She cocks her head to the opposite side.
“There will be a time, before too long, where I take Mister Pierce to task and retrieve my Chaos Championship. There will be a time when the UGWC is filled with the Queen’s Processional, and the crowd bows in awe and reverence, and I take MY title, the title that I made the face and force of this company. There will be a time when I allow you an opportunity to fight me in that rubber match, to end this once and for all, and put you in the ground. But before then?”
She she closes her eyes and smiles wide.
“Oh...before then...I will allow you the opportunity to become rather intimate with this talisman of Chaos. Intimate with this lock. Again...and again...and again. And by God…”
She breathes in deep, smiles even wider, a smile of pure joy, and then opens her eyes once more.
“...it will be beautiful."
Aveline straightens, pulling away from the camera. She hands the lock and chain back to the woman in wight, the high priestess of her church, and turns back to the children. The children run back to her, clinging to her, joy on their faces.
~~FIN~~
x2
