Post by LACKLAN on Dec 8, 2018 14:04:49 GMT -5
I can’t believe this.
Nikita Dolore looks into an ornate standing mirror and casts a critical green eye over the clothes she was wearing, a long black dress that fell to the floor, the shoulders open to show the black and green tattoos on her pale skin.
What am I doing here?
She shakes her head and the tinkle from the bells in her hair makes her scrunch her face up in a grimace.
God. These stupid clothes. This stupid mirror. Damnit, Jean! Why couldn’t you ever have anything NORMAL?!
She fiddles with the dress and her bright green eyes rise up to the top of the mirror where an ornate golden lion’s head stood out proudly. She sighs and shakes her head again as she looks at the fine detail of its mane and chin, at the proud set of its jaws, at the shine in its eyes as if it were looking into the future.
You and your dumb tastes. God!
Her mind drifts to the day years ago when he had invited her to his home for the first time. They had been competitors in SIN Wrestling, a warren for bandits and criminals if there ever was one, and she had been the World Champion at the time. He had held a title or two within the company, but most of his time spent there was facing off against Stevie Swing in that useless blood feud of theirs.
Gah! Feuds! What a waste of time!
Like everyone else, Nikita had assumed that everything about Jean-Paul had been smoke and mirrors. Sure, he was this creepy goth dude, but that whole “God wants me to unify wrestling” thing had to be just a gimmick, right? Just had to be something that he could put on t-shirts and mugs and posters and every other damned thing, right?
But then I came to dinner.
She remembered that day well. She had been flown in and met at the Bangor Airport by a towncar where she was served wine in the back and briefed on her agenda by JPL’s personal assistant, Jenna. She had seen the woman before backstage at some show and figured she was just some groupie, but upon speaking with her, learned that she was far more intelligent and poised than she had assumed. They went over what was expected of her for the visit, as well as what they were going to do. Apparently, this “compound” of JPL’s was large and she was going to take a tour.
Wasn’t prepared for that.
Her eyes had bugged out in shock when they drove through the land owned by her peer. She knew he came from money, or at least put up the airs of it, but she found out first hand how accurate that was. Jenna gave her a detailed history of his family and their businesses, but she hadn’t bothered listening, instead preferring to take in all of the colors outside her window. She was from above the border from here, a born and bred Canadian, and she had little of the color in her hometown that Maine offered during the summer like this. A green forest followed by the pale blue spots of what turned out to be blueberry fields.
Nothing compared to the people, though.
Yet another assumption of hers was blasted away as they drove through “town,” a collection of farm houses on either side of the road. Men. Women, Children. Entire families. JPL had often spoken of his “Minions,” of people who had flocked to him, but she never believed it. But now she had seen it for herself, had seen that he was far more Koresh than charlatan.
And that fucking BAND!
It turned out that there was a private school system and the high school marching band was there to greet her upon her arrival, as well as “dignitaries” of JPL’s camp at the foot of a massive red carpet. She had shaken her head at the pomp and circumstance of it all, had figured she was just being ribbed.
I was wrong. And right. Jeez…
Taking her arm in his, her large peer had given her a tour of the grounds, fed her meals prepared by a wait staff that had been better than anything she had had in a long time, and showered her with gifts of praise and admiration for her skills.
He even taught me how to waltz.
That he had. And in the end, the invitation and hours of conversation had lead to the true purpose of the meeting:
An offer to train his daughter to wrestle.
The spoiled brat.
The 16-year-old Sarah Lacklan WAS a spoiled brat. She could have anything she wanted, enjoyed abusing her power and influence over others, and never forgave anyone for anything. But she was also an ambitious athlete and, as she found out, a massive fan of hers. It turned out that Nikita was her favorite wrestler and idol, and was more than willing to forcibly shelve her arrogance and demand for deference for an opportunity to work with her.
I tried, Jean.
Nikita put the girl through her paces for the next two years, and was able to mold the budding powerlifter into a well-rounded athlete. She pushed her to incorporate her cheerleading tumbling skills into the way she moved around the ring, taught her to use her cardiovascular skills from swimming in ways to last during submission moves, and how to maneuver around a sea of larger men. But she also taught the girl how to socially navigate the male-dominated business and how to ascend to the highest levels.
And now she is THIS.
She was not pleased to appraise her student after two years as a pro. She was not pleased at all. But she had spoken to her about that, spoken to her about how she needed to show her who she REALLY was at Horizons.
And until then…
She finally finished with the fiddling of the dress in the mirror.
I have a psycho to work with.
Hello, dear children
As we approach the end of 2018, I have found myself thinking back upon the events of the year and how far we all have come. When I first came to UGWC and reentered the world of professional wrestling, I did so with unclear ambitions. In fact, it would be a lie to say that I even knew what I was doing, or why, or perhaps even where I was any given day. I need not speak of what came before January, need not speak of adventures which may or may not have happened. We do things, dear children, which we do not always find pride in. We do things which may well even bring shame into our lives. But if you strive for more, if you strive to be what God wishes you to be, then you will find what you truly deserve. And you will find that what you deserve is what you want.
The One Lord God put me on a path which I desire, a path which allowed me to be what He wanted and what the world NEEDED. The world NEEDED a guiding light. The world NEEDED someone to aspire to. The world NEEDED His edge, His blade. The world NEEDED me. But not as I was. Not as the woman wrangling zombie chickens, eating revolutions, or deftly avoiding the affections of our Lord Creative Director. The world needed the Queen of Red, the Champion of Chaos. The world needed the rise of the House of Lacklan. And through His grace, I have given the world what they wish, and resolve to give them even more going forward.
Resolutions are an interesting thing, dear children. They are promises to oneself to change something, or grow in something, or DO something. I resolved to embrace the chaos of the world and use it, craft it, manipulate it to help me bring order. I resolved to be the most important and prestigious person in this company. I resolved to be what everyone wishes they could be. And while I was successful in my resolutions throughout the year, I am loathe to rest upon my laurels like others around me, and instead continuously create new hopes, new dreams, new aspirations for others.
Across the year, I have been THE person to look upon as the example of what professional wrestling can be. I, and I alone, fought on every UGWC Synergy and Pay Per View event. I and I alone did not allow my failures to impede my later successes. I and I alone had what it took to PROVE to the world of wrestling that not only can what HE wants be attainable, it WAS attainable.
When I was victorious in matches and captured the most important championship in the business, the Chaos Championship, I fought on the next show. When I LOST my championship, I fought on the next show. When I was defeated by Necron, I fought on the next show. When I lost to Vaughn, I fought on the next show. Again and again, I represented God’s wish for His children and taught the lessons which few wish to learn but all must embrace. Not one other champion within this company can say the same. Not Zane, who disappeared after his failure at Outlast. Not Wylde, who disappeared after her failure at Day of Reckoning. Not Pierce who fought less than three quarters of what God wished. Not the various Cooperative champions who pick and choose when they fight, and even then find themselves walking out of matches in the middle of them. NONE of them can hold onto the claims I can!
And it is with THAT authority that I speak to my opponents at Horizons, those who have both the fortunate position of learning from me directly and the misfortune of being crushed by the weight of His glory, that I tell them what resolutions THEY should be making moving forward. It is with the authority that I, who fulfilled all of HER resolutions placed down by God Himself, direct them onto the path which will lead to the Light and their own salvation.
They will thank me later.
Dave Rydell, I gift you the resolution of being able to stand on your own two feet.
Yes, you have been a champion! Yes, you have been lauded in the past for being a pinnacle of this business! Yes, you have earned accolades to make lesser men swell with pride! But in this year, in a business which must always beg the question of “What have you done lately,” you have found yourself somewhat less than successful when it matters most. Make no mistake, I applaud you for your recent efforts alongside the Vaughn girl. Few had hopes high for you when you and the girl faced off against the Cooperative champions in September, but you were able to silence the doubters, able to show Thomas the falsehood of his doubt by the holes in your hand, but still the questions remain. Can you be who you want to be without Angie? Can you stand tall, chin tilted to the horizon with your eyes upon victory, without her there?
I do not hold much faith in that.
When we first faced one another in February, I stated that you only win matches when facing the likes of Deimos and Pierce. And when we faced again in April, I pronounced you to be like many within the company in 2018: Lost. In both cases, I was wholly correct, as was proven in your recent victory over me in Cooperative combat. I have recently lost twice when aligned with Fear, as the two of us seem incapable of working well together, which proves my point about your limited ability to win matches against different opponents. And your string of championship victories prove the point over you being lost, for it is with only the guidance of the Vaughn girl that you have found your way, that you are no longer lost.
But you will be on Monday.
You will NOT be able to walk out of Horizons with my championship, Sir. You will NOT be able to uphold the resolution to win without the aid of your partner. For your history within the last year presses down upon your shoulders with a weight too strong to bear for any man who does not have the support of God: You have won exactly two matches which did not involve Fear, Pierce, or Vaughn. And lost sixteen others. That has been your legacy for the year, and recent successes or not, that will be the legacy you end the year with.
Phrixus Deimos, I gift you the resolution of facing your fear.
O, but you are the face of fear!
O, but you are the embodiment of fear!
O, but you ARE fear...INCARNATE!
Silly, that.
The reality for you, my friend, is that you are afraid of the mirror as much as any other. Time and again, I have held up that mirror for the Entertainment Professionals of UGWC to look at themselves, to assess themselves, to face themselves, and time and again I have seen people shrink away from what they see.
Mathis! Afraid of the truth of her failed resolution!
Dynamo! Afraid of the truth of the lies she tells!
Grey! Afraid of the truth of who she truly is!
Payne! Afraid of the truth of her own mediocrity.
Unfortunately, I believe that you find yourself more akin to the departed Mizore than you do anyone else. Yes, you are the scalpel. Yes, you are the librarian. Yes, you are the figure who outlasts the falsehood that was the Harvester. But it is with a personal and intimate observation of you that I find your mirrors, your reflections, and your mask, to be as false and misconstrued as any other. Monday shall be the eighth time we find ourselves in a UGWC ring together, with the only person being moreso the Vaughn girl, and it is with that level of familiarity and intimacy that I know you will NOT be able to fulfill the resolution of no longer being afraid of yourself.
“I am the scalpel!” you cry. Yet not once have you been able to defeat Zane. Oh, there may have been that lifeless husk who meandered around for a few weeks, but that was no Zane. Larry was no Zane. But the Zane that I faced in May, a Zane but a scant few weeks removed from losing his World Championship and on the path to defeating you at the Melee, was a Zane that I defeated. Over the course of the year, I have proven that the Queen of Red, the very Voice of God in this world, is superior to the embodiment of fear in every way, from victories to championships to fulfillment of resolutions, and I will prove that again in a very visceral way at Horizons. And that is something which you will truly find fear in.
Roxy Cotton, I gift you the resolution to find relevance in a sea of greatness.
Make no mistake, you have found success against me in our pairings in recent weeks. From the 58 Muff Divers while Raab suffered in his dreamless coma to your dissection of Deimos last week, you have been able to muster up a strong sense of hope for yourself.
Hopefully! You can win when the stakes are high for the first time since No Holds Barred.
Hopefully! You can wash away the taste of failure which coats your mouth from the Melee.
Hopefully! You can leave behind the boast of being a “forever” champion of a dead federation where your competition consisted of anime enthusiasts who gorge on cake and poolside bloggers who find chewing gum disgusting.
Hopefully! You can finally find a second Pay Per View victory after eight attempts!
Hopefully! You can establish even SOME semblance of truth to being the “leader” of your little circle of friends.
I have spoken before of how your trajectory within this company has been on a constant decline since your unfortunate loss to Dynamo all those months ago. You rose quickly at the side of your friends, but your inability to get important things accomplished has been the constant thorn in your side which has shown the lie of your leadership boast. While you have held onto your victories over listless peers and those above your station who are too bored and disinterested with you to stay in the match and not get counted out, those who came with you leave you behind. Since finding a more capable and dependable partner, the Vaughn girl has won three times the amount of Cooperative Title matches than she ever did with you. Grey has ascended mountains while you toil away in an endless field, earning opportunities at the World Championship without your help or support.
Yet still, you find yourself in the ring with me once again, and this time for something far more important than any of the pride, bragging rights, or Consortium eyeballs we have had before: My Chaos Championship. You find yourself once again vying for something beyond your grasp, beyond your capabilities, beyond your skillset. But at least in this scenario, you will be able to hold onto a pyrrhic victory of making it past the elimination round, something which I have full faith in you doing, which is far greater than you have been able to hold onto before.
O! How it must wrankle and bother to know that I succeeded where you and the Vaughn girl failed so spectacularly! To dethrone Pierce for my championship!
I will enjoy seeing you after the initial round of the Carnage match at Horizons, Cotton. I would also enjoy seeing you all the way into the final round. Because I would very much like to enjoy making you realize that you will not be able to fulfill this resolution, making you realize that you are the bottom of the pecking order in your little group. Because at the end of Horizons, Vaughn will be a Cooperative Champion, and either she or Grey will be the number one contender at Infinity; Sarah may well have her own UGWC gold; but you?
You?
You will have the same thing that you have had at every Pay Per View event since Prison Break.
Loss.
The Massive Melee: Loss.
WrestleStock: Loss.
Day of Reckoning: Loss.
Outlast: Loss.
Battleground: Loss.
Horizons: Loss.
Travis Pierce, I gift you the resolution of change.
Back in May, I challenged Dynamo to change, to evolve. She did not. She fell to me. And while she has had moments, small spots, of change, she mostly has not, and thus has found all of her brightness and upward mobility fall and crash before her. You find yourself in a similar position, I would say. A year of bright spots, of moments where peers and fans alike open their eyes in wonder at your victories and applaud those successes.
Victory over Mathis!
Victory over Rydell!
Victory over Necron!
Victory over Vaughn!
Victory over Cotton!
Victory over-
Nothing else?
Is that accurate? Is that TRUE? Have you not had any other victories of significance outside of those? Sadly, this is the case. Finding success in under a third of your matches across the year is indeed a case for sadness, a case for tears, and your championship successes find themselves stretched too thin to hold up the weight of that weeping. Certainly, there are those who would hold you up, their eyes shining with rapture at hearing their name mentioned by you, and cry out that these success are good enough, but I know better. Because I AM better.
Much like with Dynamo, I challenged you in October to change, to grow, to do and be more than what you have shown me all year. Be what God wanted! Be what the industry needs! Be a hero for the world to rejoice in! Because if you did not, if you REFUSED to grow and change, if you REFUSED to be more than a man who brings up names from the past, who falls upon the successes of yesteryear, who relies upon the hopes of Once Upon a Time, then you would be crushed. And, as we all know, you DID refuse to change. You DID refuse to be better. You DID give me the same rehashed, lazy, boring, half-hearted nonsense that you gave Rydell and Necron, and as a consequence, I sent you to sleep and ripped away my championship.
But at least you gave me more than just pointing to a television screen and pressing “play” on old footage.
Be thankful for tiny victories.
You will not be able to uphold this resolution of change, Sir. You will NOT. You will, just as you have time and again, fall into the pit of needing a Judas bag boy star in your promotional videos in order to have some semblance of excitement. You will, just as you have time and again, hope that the innovation of a prior generation will be enough to fight what exists today. You will, just as you have time and again, think that basic, boring, pedantic, and irrelevant opinions and strategies will be able to defeat me in all of my glory. And because of that, because of your refusal to change, Horizons will end just as Synergy did nearly two months to the day ago:
With the Queen of Red standing triumphant, the one and only Champion of Chaos.
And so, dear children, we find ourselves at the very end of this year, a year which has seen the rise of both my name and my house. We find ourselves at the culmination of the Chaos Championship reigning supreme in the company, of the Champion of Chaos being the face of the company, of I being the beacon of light for all to find succor.
We find ourselves at Horizons.
At the end.
At this moment of finality.
Embrace everything I have taught you. Embrace greatness. Reject mediocrity. And forever fall to your knees in awe of the person ordained by God Himself to lead us all into a time of grace and happiness.
The Queen of Red.
Long live the Queen.
Mary Vaughn-
...sigh…
Hightower.
Was that who she was now?
Mary wonders that as she looks into the mirror and brushes her hair. Mary Hightower had been 20 years ago. Mary Hightower had a smooth face. Mary Hightower had found love, life, and purpose in Maine. Mary Hightower had found HIM, the Voice of God, the Hammer of His Will, Jean-Paul Lacklan. Mary Hightower had been given a gift from the messiah, a gift from God, a gift to the world.
Mary Vaughn had fled. Mary Vaughn had hid. Mary Vaughn had been abused and held down, held back, held captive by the ideals of a snake of a man. Mary Vaughn had allowed that precious gift from God, her beautiful daughter Angelica, to be kept away from her father, kept away from her greatness, kept away from her name. Mary Vaughn had made many mistakes, had held onto many regrets, until it was nearly too late.
Who was she?
The air in Texas at the IGADP Ranch that she lived in with her daughter was hot, even at night. She was from a cold climate, first Maine and then Vancouver, and it had taken some adjusting, but the reality that the stars at night were, indeed, big and bright, had helped make it feel like home. Angie had infected her with her enthusiasm for the state, and now that she was settled, she was feeling more and more like she belonged. She had even started to date a little! She didn’t particularly like her daughter’s scheme to have her spend time with her taggie team partner, but she liked that mailman well enough. He was cute. Cute boys were important. She wished Angie would realize that. It was nice of-
A slow knock pulls her from her thoughts. It was late to be having a visitor, but with her daughter in the crazy world of professional wrestling and entertainment, there had been more than one late delivery or package. Maybe it was her favorite mailman! Out of her room she goes, through the family room, and to the front door. She opens it with a smile, ready to great the visitor with the Texas drawl she had been working on and-
She freezes.
Her heart stops.
Her veins fill with ice.
She’s come for me!
Thoughts of twin burning eyes burst into her head as she sees the group of men outside her door, each wearing the black uniforms and silver pins of the guard she knew too well. Richard had been one of them, once. She had been escorted to many places by them once. She knew them. Knew what they meant.
The demon child!
Angie had tried hard to convince her that Sarah was not who she thought she was. She had tried hard to convince her that Sarah was human, that she was normal, that she was, of all things, one of her closest friends. But as much as she loved and trusted her only child, her darling baby who had eyes of a blue mixed between her own and her father’s, the words of the Oracle always came to her:
“....she will be...demon…skin of the moon...eyes of blood...she will be...demon…”
And now she was here. She had come for her. All of her fears of Sarah, the girl they had heard stories of, the girl they had feared would dispose of any rival to her name and throne, was here. She-
“Bonsoir Madame.”
The French accent and words coming through the air put a look of confusion on Mary’s face. Out of the darkness walks a figure in a hood, bright white hair falling out of the hood and down to her shoulders, and fear spikes through Mary. But then pale hands reach up and push the hood back to reveal the face of Aveline Lacklan.
“It is time we spoke, Madame.”
Mary cannot find words. She knew OF this woman. She had seen her from afar. She had discussed her with Angie. But she had hoped that she would never meet her. The wife of HIM all these years later. The person she could have been…
She opens her mouth to speak, to say SOMETHING to the woman, but nothing comes. However, the Edge of God does not even seem to notice.
“Are you a Vaughn?”
Maybe she doesn’t know who she was, after all. Maybe-
“Are you a Hightower?”
Mary’s confusion grows.
“Or are you a Lacklan?”
Still unable to speak, still overwhelmed by this situation, Mary’s mouth goes dry at these questions. What was going on?
“I have resolved, chère Madame, to bring my house together by this time next year. I have resolved to bring the blood of my husband, Il est ressuscité, together. I have resolved to make sure that the will of God is fulfilled. So tell me…”
She pauses for a long moment.
“Are you a Vaughn? A Hightower?”
She pauses again and then reaches out with her hand towards Mary.
“Or a Lacklan?”
Mary’s mind races. She can’t think. Her head is a cloud. Was this woman offering…?
Mary falls to her knees and kisses the hand of the Queen of Red.
~~LA FIN~~
Nikita Dolore looks into an ornate standing mirror and casts a critical green eye over the clothes she was wearing, a long black dress that fell to the floor, the shoulders open to show the black and green tattoos on her pale skin.
What am I doing here?
She shakes her head and the tinkle from the bells in her hair makes her scrunch her face up in a grimace.
God. These stupid clothes. This stupid mirror. Damnit, Jean! Why couldn’t you ever have anything NORMAL?!
She fiddles with the dress and her bright green eyes rise up to the top of the mirror where an ornate golden lion’s head stood out proudly. She sighs and shakes her head again as she looks at the fine detail of its mane and chin, at the proud set of its jaws, at the shine in its eyes as if it were looking into the future.
You and your dumb tastes. God!
Her mind drifts to the day years ago when he had invited her to his home for the first time. They had been competitors in SIN Wrestling, a warren for bandits and criminals if there ever was one, and she had been the World Champion at the time. He had held a title or two within the company, but most of his time spent there was facing off against Stevie Swing in that useless blood feud of theirs.
Gah! Feuds! What a waste of time!
Like everyone else, Nikita had assumed that everything about Jean-Paul had been smoke and mirrors. Sure, he was this creepy goth dude, but that whole “God wants me to unify wrestling” thing had to be just a gimmick, right? Just had to be something that he could put on t-shirts and mugs and posters and every other damned thing, right?
But then I came to dinner.
She remembered that day well. She had been flown in and met at the Bangor Airport by a towncar where she was served wine in the back and briefed on her agenda by JPL’s personal assistant, Jenna. She had seen the woman before backstage at some show and figured she was just some groupie, but upon speaking with her, learned that she was far more intelligent and poised than she had assumed. They went over what was expected of her for the visit, as well as what they were going to do. Apparently, this “compound” of JPL’s was large and she was going to take a tour.
Wasn’t prepared for that.
Her eyes had bugged out in shock when they drove through the land owned by her peer. She knew he came from money, or at least put up the airs of it, but she found out first hand how accurate that was. Jenna gave her a detailed history of his family and their businesses, but she hadn’t bothered listening, instead preferring to take in all of the colors outside her window. She was from above the border from here, a born and bred Canadian, and she had little of the color in her hometown that Maine offered during the summer like this. A green forest followed by the pale blue spots of what turned out to be blueberry fields.
Nothing compared to the people, though.
Yet another assumption of hers was blasted away as they drove through “town,” a collection of farm houses on either side of the road. Men. Women, Children. Entire families. JPL had often spoken of his “Minions,” of people who had flocked to him, but she never believed it. But now she had seen it for herself, had seen that he was far more Koresh than charlatan.
And that fucking BAND!
It turned out that there was a private school system and the high school marching band was there to greet her upon her arrival, as well as “dignitaries” of JPL’s camp at the foot of a massive red carpet. She had shaken her head at the pomp and circumstance of it all, had figured she was just being ribbed.
I was wrong. And right. Jeez…
Taking her arm in his, her large peer had given her a tour of the grounds, fed her meals prepared by a wait staff that had been better than anything she had had in a long time, and showered her with gifts of praise and admiration for her skills.
He even taught me how to waltz.
That he had. And in the end, the invitation and hours of conversation had lead to the true purpose of the meeting:
An offer to train his daughter to wrestle.
The spoiled brat.
The 16-year-old Sarah Lacklan WAS a spoiled brat. She could have anything she wanted, enjoyed abusing her power and influence over others, and never forgave anyone for anything. But she was also an ambitious athlete and, as she found out, a massive fan of hers. It turned out that Nikita was her favorite wrestler and idol, and was more than willing to forcibly shelve her arrogance and demand for deference for an opportunity to work with her.
I tried, Jean.
Nikita put the girl through her paces for the next two years, and was able to mold the budding powerlifter into a well-rounded athlete. She pushed her to incorporate her cheerleading tumbling skills into the way she moved around the ring, taught her to use her cardiovascular skills from swimming in ways to last during submission moves, and how to maneuver around a sea of larger men. But she also taught the girl how to socially navigate the male-dominated business and how to ascend to the highest levels.
And now she is THIS.
She was not pleased to appraise her student after two years as a pro. She was not pleased at all. But she had spoken to her about that, spoken to her about how she needed to show her who she REALLY was at Horizons.
And until then…
She finally finished with the fiddling of the dress in the mirror.
I have a psycho to work with.
Hello, dear children
As we approach the end of 2018, I have found myself thinking back upon the events of the year and how far we all have come. When I first came to UGWC and reentered the world of professional wrestling, I did so with unclear ambitions. In fact, it would be a lie to say that I even knew what I was doing, or why, or perhaps even where I was any given day. I need not speak of what came before January, need not speak of adventures which may or may not have happened. We do things, dear children, which we do not always find pride in. We do things which may well even bring shame into our lives. But if you strive for more, if you strive to be what God wishes you to be, then you will find what you truly deserve. And you will find that what you deserve is what you want.
The One Lord God put me on a path which I desire, a path which allowed me to be what He wanted and what the world NEEDED. The world NEEDED a guiding light. The world NEEDED someone to aspire to. The world NEEDED His edge, His blade. The world NEEDED me. But not as I was. Not as the woman wrangling zombie chickens, eating revolutions, or deftly avoiding the affections of our Lord Creative Director. The world needed the Queen of Red, the Champion of Chaos. The world needed the rise of the House of Lacklan. And through His grace, I have given the world what they wish, and resolve to give them even more going forward.
Resolutions are an interesting thing, dear children. They are promises to oneself to change something, or grow in something, or DO something. I resolved to embrace the chaos of the world and use it, craft it, manipulate it to help me bring order. I resolved to be the most important and prestigious person in this company. I resolved to be what everyone wishes they could be. And while I was successful in my resolutions throughout the year, I am loathe to rest upon my laurels like others around me, and instead continuously create new hopes, new dreams, new aspirations for others.
Across the year, I have been THE person to look upon as the example of what professional wrestling can be. I, and I alone, fought on every UGWC Synergy and Pay Per View event. I and I alone did not allow my failures to impede my later successes. I and I alone had what it took to PROVE to the world of wrestling that not only can what HE wants be attainable, it WAS attainable.
When I was victorious in matches and captured the most important championship in the business, the Chaos Championship, I fought on the next show. When I LOST my championship, I fought on the next show. When I was defeated by Necron, I fought on the next show. When I lost to Vaughn, I fought on the next show. Again and again, I represented God’s wish for His children and taught the lessons which few wish to learn but all must embrace. Not one other champion within this company can say the same. Not Zane, who disappeared after his failure at Outlast. Not Wylde, who disappeared after her failure at Day of Reckoning. Not Pierce who fought less than three quarters of what God wished. Not the various Cooperative champions who pick and choose when they fight, and even then find themselves walking out of matches in the middle of them. NONE of them can hold onto the claims I can!
And it is with THAT authority that I speak to my opponents at Horizons, those who have both the fortunate position of learning from me directly and the misfortune of being crushed by the weight of His glory, that I tell them what resolutions THEY should be making moving forward. It is with the authority that I, who fulfilled all of HER resolutions placed down by God Himself, direct them onto the path which will lead to the Light and their own salvation.
They will thank me later.
Dave Rydell, I gift you the resolution of being able to stand on your own two feet.
Yes, you have been a champion! Yes, you have been lauded in the past for being a pinnacle of this business! Yes, you have earned accolades to make lesser men swell with pride! But in this year, in a business which must always beg the question of “What have you done lately,” you have found yourself somewhat less than successful when it matters most. Make no mistake, I applaud you for your recent efforts alongside the Vaughn girl. Few had hopes high for you when you and the girl faced off against the Cooperative champions in September, but you were able to silence the doubters, able to show Thomas the falsehood of his doubt by the holes in your hand, but still the questions remain. Can you be who you want to be without Angie? Can you stand tall, chin tilted to the horizon with your eyes upon victory, without her there?
I do not hold much faith in that.
When we first faced one another in February, I stated that you only win matches when facing the likes of Deimos and Pierce. And when we faced again in April, I pronounced you to be like many within the company in 2018: Lost. In both cases, I was wholly correct, as was proven in your recent victory over me in Cooperative combat. I have recently lost twice when aligned with Fear, as the two of us seem incapable of working well together, which proves my point about your limited ability to win matches against different opponents. And your string of championship victories prove the point over you being lost, for it is with only the guidance of the Vaughn girl that you have found your way, that you are no longer lost.
But you will be on Monday.
You will NOT be able to walk out of Horizons with my championship, Sir. You will NOT be able to uphold the resolution to win without the aid of your partner. For your history within the last year presses down upon your shoulders with a weight too strong to bear for any man who does not have the support of God: You have won exactly two matches which did not involve Fear, Pierce, or Vaughn. And lost sixteen others. That has been your legacy for the year, and recent successes or not, that will be the legacy you end the year with.
Phrixus Deimos, I gift you the resolution of facing your fear.
O, but you are the face of fear!
O, but you are the embodiment of fear!
O, but you ARE fear...INCARNATE!
Silly, that.
The reality for you, my friend, is that you are afraid of the mirror as much as any other. Time and again, I have held up that mirror for the Entertainment Professionals of UGWC to look at themselves, to assess themselves, to face themselves, and time and again I have seen people shrink away from what they see.
Mathis! Afraid of the truth of her failed resolution!
Dynamo! Afraid of the truth of the lies she tells!
Grey! Afraid of the truth of who she truly is!
Payne! Afraid of the truth of her own mediocrity.
Unfortunately, I believe that you find yourself more akin to the departed Mizore than you do anyone else. Yes, you are the scalpel. Yes, you are the librarian. Yes, you are the figure who outlasts the falsehood that was the Harvester. But it is with a personal and intimate observation of you that I find your mirrors, your reflections, and your mask, to be as false and misconstrued as any other. Monday shall be the eighth time we find ourselves in a UGWC ring together, with the only person being moreso the Vaughn girl, and it is with that level of familiarity and intimacy that I know you will NOT be able to fulfill the resolution of no longer being afraid of yourself.
“I am the scalpel!” you cry. Yet not once have you been able to defeat Zane. Oh, there may have been that lifeless husk who meandered around for a few weeks, but that was no Zane. Larry was no Zane. But the Zane that I faced in May, a Zane but a scant few weeks removed from losing his World Championship and on the path to defeating you at the Melee, was a Zane that I defeated. Over the course of the year, I have proven that the Queen of Red, the very Voice of God in this world, is superior to the embodiment of fear in every way, from victories to championships to fulfillment of resolutions, and I will prove that again in a very visceral way at Horizons. And that is something which you will truly find fear in.
Roxy Cotton, I gift you the resolution to find relevance in a sea of greatness.
Make no mistake, you have found success against me in our pairings in recent weeks. From the 58 Muff Divers while Raab suffered in his dreamless coma to your dissection of Deimos last week, you have been able to muster up a strong sense of hope for yourself.
Hopefully! You can win when the stakes are high for the first time since No Holds Barred.
Hopefully! You can wash away the taste of failure which coats your mouth from the Melee.
Hopefully! You can leave behind the boast of being a “forever” champion of a dead federation where your competition consisted of anime enthusiasts who gorge on cake and poolside bloggers who find chewing gum disgusting.
Hopefully! You can finally find a second Pay Per View victory after eight attempts!
Hopefully! You can establish even SOME semblance of truth to being the “leader” of your little circle of friends.
I have spoken before of how your trajectory within this company has been on a constant decline since your unfortunate loss to Dynamo all those months ago. You rose quickly at the side of your friends, but your inability to get important things accomplished has been the constant thorn in your side which has shown the lie of your leadership boast. While you have held onto your victories over listless peers and those above your station who are too bored and disinterested with you to stay in the match and not get counted out, those who came with you leave you behind. Since finding a more capable and dependable partner, the Vaughn girl has won three times the amount of Cooperative Title matches than she ever did with you. Grey has ascended mountains while you toil away in an endless field, earning opportunities at the World Championship without your help or support.
Yet still, you find yourself in the ring with me once again, and this time for something far more important than any of the pride, bragging rights, or Consortium eyeballs we have had before: My Chaos Championship. You find yourself once again vying for something beyond your grasp, beyond your capabilities, beyond your skillset. But at least in this scenario, you will be able to hold onto a pyrrhic victory of making it past the elimination round, something which I have full faith in you doing, which is far greater than you have been able to hold onto before.
O! How it must wrankle and bother to know that I succeeded where you and the Vaughn girl failed so spectacularly! To dethrone Pierce for my championship!
I will enjoy seeing you after the initial round of the Carnage match at Horizons, Cotton. I would also enjoy seeing you all the way into the final round. Because I would very much like to enjoy making you realize that you will not be able to fulfill this resolution, making you realize that you are the bottom of the pecking order in your little group. Because at the end of Horizons, Vaughn will be a Cooperative Champion, and either she or Grey will be the number one contender at Infinity; Sarah may well have her own UGWC gold; but you?
You?
You will have the same thing that you have had at every Pay Per View event since Prison Break.
Loss.
The Massive Melee: Loss.
WrestleStock: Loss.
Day of Reckoning: Loss.
Outlast: Loss.
Battleground: Loss.
Horizons: Loss.
Travis Pierce, I gift you the resolution of change.
Back in May, I challenged Dynamo to change, to evolve. She did not. She fell to me. And while she has had moments, small spots, of change, she mostly has not, and thus has found all of her brightness and upward mobility fall and crash before her. You find yourself in a similar position, I would say. A year of bright spots, of moments where peers and fans alike open their eyes in wonder at your victories and applaud those successes.
Victory over Mathis!
Victory over Rydell!
Victory over Necron!
Victory over Vaughn!
Victory over Cotton!
Victory over-
Nothing else?
Is that accurate? Is that TRUE? Have you not had any other victories of significance outside of those? Sadly, this is the case. Finding success in under a third of your matches across the year is indeed a case for sadness, a case for tears, and your championship successes find themselves stretched too thin to hold up the weight of that weeping. Certainly, there are those who would hold you up, their eyes shining with rapture at hearing their name mentioned by you, and cry out that these success are good enough, but I know better. Because I AM better.
Much like with Dynamo, I challenged you in October to change, to grow, to do and be more than what you have shown me all year. Be what God wanted! Be what the industry needs! Be a hero for the world to rejoice in! Because if you did not, if you REFUSED to grow and change, if you REFUSED to be more than a man who brings up names from the past, who falls upon the successes of yesteryear, who relies upon the hopes of Once Upon a Time, then you would be crushed. And, as we all know, you DID refuse to change. You DID refuse to be better. You DID give me the same rehashed, lazy, boring, half-hearted nonsense that you gave Rydell and Necron, and as a consequence, I sent you to sleep and ripped away my championship.
But at least you gave me more than just pointing to a television screen and pressing “play” on old footage.
Be thankful for tiny victories.
You will not be able to uphold this resolution of change, Sir. You will NOT. You will, just as you have time and again, fall into the pit of needing a Judas bag boy star in your promotional videos in order to have some semblance of excitement. You will, just as you have time and again, hope that the innovation of a prior generation will be enough to fight what exists today. You will, just as you have time and again, think that basic, boring, pedantic, and irrelevant opinions and strategies will be able to defeat me in all of my glory. And because of that, because of your refusal to change, Horizons will end just as Synergy did nearly two months to the day ago:
With the Queen of Red standing triumphant, the one and only Champion of Chaos.
And so, dear children, we find ourselves at the very end of this year, a year which has seen the rise of both my name and my house. We find ourselves at the culmination of the Chaos Championship reigning supreme in the company, of the Champion of Chaos being the face of the company, of I being the beacon of light for all to find succor.
We find ourselves at Horizons.
At the end.
At this moment of finality.
Embrace everything I have taught you. Embrace greatness. Reject mediocrity. And forever fall to your knees in awe of the person ordained by God Himself to lead us all into a time of grace and happiness.
The Queen of Red.
Long live the Queen.
Mary Vaughn-
...sigh…
Hightower.
Was that who she was now?
Mary wonders that as she looks into the mirror and brushes her hair. Mary Hightower had been 20 years ago. Mary Hightower had a smooth face. Mary Hightower had found love, life, and purpose in Maine. Mary Hightower had found HIM, the Voice of God, the Hammer of His Will, Jean-Paul Lacklan. Mary Hightower had been given a gift from the messiah, a gift from God, a gift to the world.
Mary Vaughn had fled. Mary Vaughn had hid. Mary Vaughn had been abused and held down, held back, held captive by the ideals of a snake of a man. Mary Vaughn had allowed that precious gift from God, her beautiful daughter Angelica, to be kept away from her father, kept away from her greatness, kept away from her name. Mary Vaughn had made many mistakes, had held onto many regrets, until it was nearly too late.
Who was she?
The air in Texas at the IGADP Ranch that she lived in with her daughter was hot, even at night. She was from a cold climate, first Maine and then Vancouver, and it had taken some adjusting, but the reality that the stars at night were, indeed, big and bright, had helped make it feel like home. Angie had infected her with her enthusiasm for the state, and now that she was settled, she was feeling more and more like she belonged. She had even started to date a little! She didn’t particularly like her daughter’s scheme to have her spend time with her taggie team partner, but she liked that mailman well enough. He was cute. Cute boys were important. She wished Angie would realize that. It was nice of-
A slow knock pulls her from her thoughts. It was late to be having a visitor, but with her daughter in the crazy world of professional wrestling and entertainment, there had been more than one late delivery or package. Maybe it was her favorite mailman! Out of her room she goes, through the family room, and to the front door. She opens it with a smile, ready to great the visitor with the Texas drawl she had been working on and-
She freezes.
Her heart stops.
Her veins fill with ice.
She’s come for me!
Thoughts of twin burning eyes burst into her head as she sees the group of men outside her door, each wearing the black uniforms and silver pins of the guard she knew too well. Richard had been one of them, once. She had been escorted to many places by them once. She knew them. Knew what they meant.
The demon child!
Angie had tried hard to convince her that Sarah was not who she thought she was. She had tried hard to convince her that Sarah was human, that she was normal, that she was, of all things, one of her closest friends. But as much as she loved and trusted her only child, her darling baby who had eyes of a blue mixed between her own and her father’s, the words of the Oracle always came to her:
“....she will be...demon…skin of the moon...eyes of blood...she will be...demon…”
And now she was here. She had come for her. All of her fears of Sarah, the girl they had heard stories of, the girl they had feared would dispose of any rival to her name and throne, was here. She-
“Bonsoir Madame.”
The French accent and words coming through the air put a look of confusion on Mary’s face. Out of the darkness walks a figure in a hood, bright white hair falling out of the hood and down to her shoulders, and fear spikes through Mary. But then pale hands reach up and push the hood back to reveal the face of Aveline Lacklan.
“It is time we spoke, Madame.”
Mary cannot find words. She knew OF this woman. She had seen her from afar. She had discussed her with Angie. But she had hoped that she would never meet her. The wife of HIM all these years later. The person she could have been…
She opens her mouth to speak, to say SOMETHING to the woman, but nothing comes. However, the Edge of God does not even seem to notice.
“Are you a Vaughn?”
Maybe she doesn’t know who she was, after all. Maybe-
“Are you a Hightower?”
Mary’s confusion grows.
“Or are you a Lacklan?”
Still unable to speak, still overwhelmed by this situation, Mary’s mouth goes dry at these questions. What was going on?
“I have resolved, chère Madame, to bring my house together by this time next year. I have resolved to bring the blood of my husband, Il est ressuscité, together. I have resolved to make sure that the will of God is fulfilled. So tell me…”
She pauses for a long moment.
“Are you a Vaughn? A Hightower?”
She pauses again and then reaches out with her hand towards Mary.
“Or a Lacklan?”
Mary’s mind races. She can’t think. Her head is a cloud. Was this woman offering…?
Mary falls to her knees and kisses the hand of the Queen of Red.
~~LA FIN~~
x2
2013, '18, '23 
2013 
