Post by LACKLAN on Feb 23, 2019 12:58:02 GMT -5
Aveline Lacklan rests.
The Queen of Red is in full regalia today, with her silvery hair raised up into a hive, thin chains of gold weaving throughout, and her face shining with a light makeup. Emeralds the size of her thumbs hang from her ears, and her body is covered from ankles to the top of her chin by a gown of red and gold. A faint smile rests on her lips as her head moves slightly to the music played by a string trio, and the sweat on her brow caused by the encumbersome costume is cooled away by a servant, draped in the black livery of her house, waiving a large fan.
“I look forward to today’s sermon, la Reine Mère. It has been quite some time.”
With an accent thick in of the swamps of Louisiana, Janice Bergeron sits at Aveline’s side. Dressed in a sparkling gown of black and silver, the brunette with the lips seeming to always be on the edge of kissing has a fire in her light eyes.
“Connaissez-vous cette chanson, Mademoiselle Bergeron?
Janice closes her eyes at the question, listening to the trio of string players. She opens her eyes and shakes her head.
“Non, la Reine Mère.”
Aveline’s smile widens until it fills out her face and raises her hands into the air, her fingers moving as if she were the one with the bow against the strings.
“La Valse du Patineur. My husband, il est ressuscité, taught me to dance with this song. It speaks of...fun...in the snow. In winter. Both in the cottage where I was born, and the castle where I am now queen.”
Janice’s face breaks into its own smile.
“Mon oncle.”
Aveline opens her eyes at this, eyes which gleam in the light and take the emeralds in her ears to task for their lack of cleavage.
“Yes. He was wonderful, and I wish you had known him better. When was the last time you saw him?”
“Eight years ago.”
The Cajun’s answer is immediate.
“He and my cousin visited. My mother-”
Aveline’s eyes go wide.
“-my FORMER mother-”
Her eyes return to normal at the correction.
“-disliked him. Said that he stole away her sister. But I knew better. I saw what my cousin was. I saw what my uncle was. I saw the greatness of what I could be.”
Aveline reaches down and pats Janice’s hand.
“Very good, ma fille. You recognized God’s will. Just as you recognize His fist, now. Tell me: Have you succeeded in your mission yet? Have you gained the confidence of the Blood Princess?”
“Not yet.” The brunette shakes her head. “I have sent her messages since we ‘bumped’ into one another, but she seems even more flighty than when we were kids. She made it a point that I was to meet this...wife...of hers-”
Aveline’s face turns into the picture of disgust.
“-but she has yet to return any of my messages with anything more substantial than a...well...she has an odd word for them.”
Aveline’s disgust grows.
“‘Digital Pigeons.’”
“What IS that?! She sends me emoticons and fake words, but nothing beyond that. And now...well...did you see her vlog?”
The disgust smooths out to calmness and serenity.
“Far fewer people watch her little show than she imagines, but I did see that one. Left the company because she ‘doesn’t deserve to be an a Coalition ring any longer.’ Pretentious and melodramatic child. Still, this poses an opportunity for you. Follow her. Find out where she goes. What she does in this time of…’getting her shit together,’ as she stated in that idiot vlog of hers. Get close to her.”
The brunette nods her head with every word.
“Yes, la Reine Mère. She WILL be yours. She-”
Janice cuts off as a burst of trumpet fanfare can be heard, the sound drawing the heads of the two women to the side. The lips on Aveline’s mask of serenity turn up into a smile.
“It is time for me to speak, Mademoiselle Bergeron. You have your part in God’s plan. I have mine.”
Aveline rises to her feet from her chair, spreading her skirts away from her so that she may walk forward, and moves from the room, through the curtains, and onto the dais of Selena’s Square so that she may speak to the masses.
Hello, dear children
Today I wish to speak to you of perseverance, a trait which God wishes for you to have in abundance. We all fail, dear children, we all stumble and fall to the ground in our endeavors. And those that stay there, those that allow themselves to be overcome by the lies of the Enemy, to allow themselves to be worn down by the sins of this world, are those that will find themselves left out of the Lamb’s book of life. But those who stand up when they fall, those who brush away the weights of this world and reach upward into the heavens, those who embody perseverance, are those who shall wear the crown of life James promised the scattered twelve.
Such is the position I find myself.
As I trudge along to the goal of honoring God with being the greatest Chaos Champion of all time, as I near the entire WORLD being FORCED to recognize that I am the Champion of Chaos, I slipped and fell when faced with Zane Scott. My secondary goal, of forcing the World Champion to bow to me and my title, their eyes wet with tears of awe, at the Trios event, was pushed to the ground by the surging Zane. A lesser woman would stay there, where weep for her misfortunes, perhaps even raise an angered fist towards the Creator, in response to their position on the ground and in failure, but I am no lesser woman. I stand. I brush the gravel from my skirts. I raise my head to the horizon. And as my thoughts begin to come together in a way to prove to Zane the true measure of my worth, I persevere.
This week, I stand across from the ring with two opponents who make the need of perseverance loom larger than even the failure of Infinity.
I wish I could be hailed as the woman who was able to dam this company against the tide of the Cool Kids. I wish I could be praised and loved for destroying the foursome of rebellion which always seems to be at the genesis of the destruction of a company. While I have certainly tried in the last year, and have found varying levels of success in this endeavor,I am not able to lay claim to victory. Still, I will persevere.
Roxy Cotton recently offered the crude jest that we fight one another more times than she finds the birthing cycle, though she might wish to look into her own altered body for the reasons behind that. I have always found it odd, from the moment I find myself enveloped in the world of wrestling, footballing, and otherwise working with the Cotton woman, just how much she alters herself. Any question as why is deflected.
Cotton! Why must you cake twelve pounds of makeup on a face injected with bacterial toxins?
She deflects.
Cotton! Why must you surgically alter your body instead of embracing the body God gave you?
She deflects.
Cotton! Why must you ruin your innards with the pseudo religion of vegetarianism instead of embracing the diet God provides in Leviticus and Deuteronomy?
She deflects.
I persevere.
I have had many matches with Cotton since the two of us met what seems a lifetime ago. Discounting silliness such as battle royal or company-wide tag team matches, she had I have faced one another six time, with victories square between us, but I have walked away from our encounters with far more tangible success than her. For in our matches, which include my successful defense of my Chaos Championship at Horizons and the proverbial nail in the coffin in her chances at winning the Round Robin, I have been able to gain her measure enough to say this in regards to all the questions I have had about her person:
I have come to the conclusion that she hates herself.
Why else would she hide the woman underneath? Why else would she try to kill what is inside? Why else would she attach herself to the financial institution she calls a faith? Because every time she looked into the mirror, she saw a broken woman, a child wishing to be more than what she was born to be, and found herself seething with anger. And she goes against God’s plan. She goes against what He wanted. She embraced the lies of the enemy to wholly that she injected them into her cheeks; she takes them in as the faithful take their sacrament; she hides from God’s truth under the weaves of lies because she hates the truth.
I once referred to Maggie Lockhart as Quasimodo, for she was someone who was so ugly on the inside that it infected her on the outside. Cotton is not that dissimilar, as I have come to conclude:
She hates that she is plain on the inside that she has ruined herself over it.
Make no mistake: Cotton has found success. She walked out of Infinity as the winner of the Global Challenge and earned one of three spots in the World Title Match at Trios. Unfortunately for her, everyone sees the truth of the matter, sees the truth of her lies, no matter how hard she tries to cover them:
She failed to earn that spot in a tournament owned by myself and Zane Scott and found victory by defeating a woman who cannot even defeat a man who has had one match in the last year.
I have said before that we should be thankful for small victories. Cotton should heed this advice.
After all, it seems that small victories are all that she can find.
Unfortunately for me, for all of my successes against Cotton, I found myself back on the ground and in need of brushing away the gravel of my skirts when I look at her partner.
I have faced the Grey woman many times, though only twice as far as this ring is concerned, and victory of any sort has been hard for me to hold onto. Dear children, we all know the battles that my step daughter-in-law and I have: We disagree on the direction of the Church of the Light. We disagree on the fact that lesbians are the worst. We disagree on manners and etiquette. Light preserve us, the foolish child would probably insist that the sky was green and the grass blue should I point out the opposite! As unfortunately for me, despite her terrible positions and opinions, that victory stays outside my grasp.
But it is a new year, dear children. While, yes, the Grey woman has had success in the ring with a man who cares so little about wrestling that he chooses to have another man take his place on many occasions, she only finds that victory either at the side of the admittedly indomitable Vaughn girl, or else also through proxy. Wallace found loss through the proxy silliness, as did our new transplant from Japan, but this tactic will not work against Zane and I. Indeed, the world of giant dinosaurs and feuds with administration assistants is far from that owned by my partner and I, and the Grey woman will have to reach into a whole new world of ideas for the Clear Connection to find another victory here.
And I suppose that is something which truly beckons question this week: Will the Grey woman actually find something new? Or will she simply rehash a week’s worth of pedantic banter from across twitter and pretend like any of it matters? Will she actually show up, her actual self, with her eyes full of the fire I brought out in her on Chill all those months ago, or will she simply be the social media star of style and absence of substance?
Unfortunately for the team of Clear Connection, I believe that the Grey woman will find as much success playing the game of distraction and proxy as Wallace has found recently. And whereas I will continue to show the pure embodiment of perseverance, I believe that the Grey woman will, in the end, show her true colors, grow bored with the grind of God’s preferred combat sport, and go back to making movies which no one will watch.
Do not let yourselves stay upon the ground when you fall, dear children. Stand up. Brush away the dirt. Look towards the horizon. Keep your goals in your mind. And remind the world, with a hand clenched into a fist and driven into the jaw, that you WILL succeed in your endeavors.
Even when the jaw belongs to your partner.
Bonne nuit.
The Queen of Red is in full regalia today, with her silvery hair raised up into a hive, thin chains of gold weaving throughout, and her face shining with a light makeup. Emeralds the size of her thumbs hang from her ears, and her body is covered from ankles to the top of her chin by a gown of red and gold. A faint smile rests on her lips as her head moves slightly to the music played by a string trio, and the sweat on her brow caused by the encumbersome costume is cooled away by a servant, draped in the black livery of her house, waiving a large fan.
“I look forward to today’s sermon, la Reine Mère. It has been quite some time.”
With an accent thick in of the swamps of Louisiana, Janice Bergeron sits at Aveline’s side. Dressed in a sparkling gown of black and silver, the brunette with the lips seeming to always be on the edge of kissing has a fire in her light eyes.
“Connaissez-vous cette chanson, Mademoiselle Bergeron?
Janice closes her eyes at the question, listening to the trio of string players. She opens her eyes and shakes her head.
“Non, la Reine Mère.”
Aveline’s smile widens until it fills out her face and raises her hands into the air, her fingers moving as if she were the one with the bow against the strings.
“La Valse du Patineur. My husband, il est ressuscité, taught me to dance with this song. It speaks of...fun...in the snow. In winter. Both in the cottage where I was born, and the castle where I am now queen.”
Janice’s face breaks into its own smile.
“Mon oncle.”
Aveline opens her eyes at this, eyes which gleam in the light and take the emeralds in her ears to task for their lack of cleavage.
“Yes. He was wonderful, and I wish you had known him better. When was the last time you saw him?”
“Eight years ago.”
The Cajun’s answer is immediate.
“He and my cousin visited. My mother-”
Aveline’s eyes go wide.
“-my FORMER mother-”
Her eyes return to normal at the correction.
“-disliked him. Said that he stole away her sister. But I knew better. I saw what my cousin was. I saw what my uncle was. I saw the greatness of what I could be.”
Aveline reaches down and pats Janice’s hand.
“Very good, ma fille. You recognized God’s will. Just as you recognize His fist, now. Tell me: Have you succeeded in your mission yet? Have you gained the confidence of the Blood Princess?”
“Not yet.” The brunette shakes her head. “I have sent her messages since we ‘bumped’ into one another, but she seems even more flighty than when we were kids. She made it a point that I was to meet this...wife...of hers-”
Aveline’s face turns into the picture of disgust.
“-but she has yet to return any of my messages with anything more substantial than a...well...she has an odd word for them.”
Aveline’s disgust grows.
“‘Digital Pigeons.’”
“What IS that?! She sends me emoticons and fake words, but nothing beyond that. And now...well...did you see her vlog?”
The disgust smooths out to calmness and serenity.
“Far fewer people watch her little show than she imagines, but I did see that one. Left the company because she ‘doesn’t deserve to be an a Coalition ring any longer.’ Pretentious and melodramatic child. Still, this poses an opportunity for you. Follow her. Find out where she goes. What she does in this time of…’getting her shit together,’ as she stated in that idiot vlog of hers. Get close to her.”
The brunette nods her head with every word.
“Yes, la Reine Mère. She WILL be yours. She-”
Janice cuts off as a burst of trumpet fanfare can be heard, the sound drawing the heads of the two women to the side. The lips on Aveline’s mask of serenity turn up into a smile.
“It is time for me to speak, Mademoiselle Bergeron. You have your part in God’s plan. I have mine.”
Aveline rises to her feet from her chair, spreading her skirts away from her so that she may walk forward, and moves from the room, through the curtains, and onto the dais of Selena’s Square so that she may speak to the masses.
Hello, dear children
Today I wish to speak to you of perseverance, a trait which God wishes for you to have in abundance. We all fail, dear children, we all stumble and fall to the ground in our endeavors. And those that stay there, those that allow themselves to be overcome by the lies of the Enemy, to allow themselves to be worn down by the sins of this world, are those that will find themselves left out of the Lamb’s book of life. But those who stand up when they fall, those who brush away the weights of this world and reach upward into the heavens, those who embody perseverance, are those who shall wear the crown of life James promised the scattered twelve.
Such is the position I find myself.
As I trudge along to the goal of honoring God with being the greatest Chaos Champion of all time, as I near the entire WORLD being FORCED to recognize that I am the Champion of Chaos, I slipped and fell when faced with Zane Scott. My secondary goal, of forcing the World Champion to bow to me and my title, their eyes wet with tears of awe, at the Trios event, was pushed to the ground by the surging Zane. A lesser woman would stay there, where weep for her misfortunes, perhaps even raise an angered fist towards the Creator, in response to their position on the ground and in failure, but I am no lesser woman. I stand. I brush the gravel from my skirts. I raise my head to the horizon. And as my thoughts begin to come together in a way to prove to Zane the true measure of my worth, I persevere.
This week, I stand across from the ring with two opponents who make the need of perseverance loom larger than even the failure of Infinity.
I wish I could be hailed as the woman who was able to dam this company against the tide of the Cool Kids. I wish I could be praised and loved for destroying the foursome of rebellion which always seems to be at the genesis of the destruction of a company. While I have certainly tried in the last year, and have found varying levels of success in this endeavor,I am not able to lay claim to victory. Still, I will persevere.
Roxy Cotton recently offered the crude jest that we fight one another more times than she finds the birthing cycle, though she might wish to look into her own altered body for the reasons behind that. I have always found it odd, from the moment I find myself enveloped in the world of wrestling, footballing, and otherwise working with the Cotton woman, just how much she alters herself. Any question as why is deflected.
Cotton! Why must you cake twelve pounds of makeup on a face injected with bacterial toxins?
She deflects.
Cotton! Why must you surgically alter your body instead of embracing the body God gave you?
She deflects.
Cotton! Why must you ruin your innards with the pseudo religion of vegetarianism instead of embracing the diet God provides in Leviticus and Deuteronomy?
She deflects.
I persevere.
I have had many matches with Cotton since the two of us met what seems a lifetime ago. Discounting silliness such as battle royal or company-wide tag team matches, she had I have faced one another six time, with victories square between us, but I have walked away from our encounters with far more tangible success than her. For in our matches, which include my successful defense of my Chaos Championship at Horizons and the proverbial nail in the coffin in her chances at winning the Round Robin, I have been able to gain her measure enough to say this in regards to all the questions I have had about her person:
I have come to the conclusion that she hates herself.
Why else would she hide the woman underneath? Why else would she try to kill what is inside? Why else would she attach herself to the financial institution she calls a faith? Because every time she looked into the mirror, she saw a broken woman, a child wishing to be more than what she was born to be, and found herself seething with anger. And she goes against God’s plan. She goes against what He wanted. She embraced the lies of the enemy to wholly that she injected them into her cheeks; she takes them in as the faithful take their sacrament; she hides from God’s truth under the weaves of lies because she hates the truth.
I once referred to Maggie Lockhart as Quasimodo, for she was someone who was so ugly on the inside that it infected her on the outside. Cotton is not that dissimilar, as I have come to conclude:
She hates that she is plain on the inside that she has ruined herself over it.
Make no mistake: Cotton has found success. She walked out of Infinity as the winner of the Global Challenge and earned one of three spots in the World Title Match at Trios. Unfortunately for her, everyone sees the truth of the matter, sees the truth of her lies, no matter how hard she tries to cover them:
She failed to earn that spot in a tournament owned by myself and Zane Scott and found victory by defeating a woman who cannot even defeat a man who has had one match in the last year.
I have said before that we should be thankful for small victories. Cotton should heed this advice.
After all, it seems that small victories are all that she can find.
Unfortunately for me, for all of my successes against Cotton, I found myself back on the ground and in need of brushing away the gravel of my skirts when I look at her partner.
I have faced the Grey woman many times, though only twice as far as this ring is concerned, and victory of any sort has been hard for me to hold onto. Dear children, we all know the battles that my step daughter-in-law and I have: We disagree on the direction of the Church of the Light. We disagree on the fact that lesbians are the worst. We disagree on manners and etiquette. Light preserve us, the foolish child would probably insist that the sky was green and the grass blue should I point out the opposite! As unfortunately for me, despite her terrible positions and opinions, that victory stays outside my grasp.
But it is a new year, dear children. While, yes, the Grey woman has had success in the ring with a man who cares so little about wrestling that he chooses to have another man take his place on many occasions, she only finds that victory either at the side of the admittedly indomitable Vaughn girl, or else also through proxy. Wallace found loss through the proxy silliness, as did our new transplant from Japan, but this tactic will not work against Zane and I. Indeed, the world of giant dinosaurs and feuds with administration assistants is far from that owned by my partner and I, and the Grey woman will have to reach into a whole new world of ideas for the Clear Connection to find another victory here.
And I suppose that is something which truly beckons question this week: Will the Grey woman actually find something new? Or will she simply rehash a week’s worth of pedantic banter from across twitter and pretend like any of it matters? Will she actually show up, her actual self, with her eyes full of the fire I brought out in her on Chill all those months ago, or will she simply be the social media star of style and absence of substance?
Unfortunately for the team of Clear Connection, I believe that the Grey woman will find as much success playing the game of distraction and proxy as Wallace has found recently. And whereas I will continue to show the pure embodiment of perseverance, I believe that the Grey woman will, in the end, show her true colors, grow bored with the grind of God’s preferred combat sport, and go back to making movies which no one will watch.
Do not let yourselves stay upon the ground when you fall, dear children. Stand up. Brush away the dirt. Look towards the horizon. Keep your goals in your mind. And remind the world, with a hand clenched into a fist and driven into the jaw, that you WILL succeed in your endeavors.
Even when the jaw belongs to your partner.
Bonne nuit.
x2
