Post by LACKLAN on May 11, 2019 14:10:21 GMT -5
Don't cry to me, if you loved me
You would be here with me
You want me, come find me
Make up your miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind
Ava Quinn banged her head to the music. She LOVED this song! Amy Lee has SUCH a pretty voice! The brunette stopped waving her head around as the song ended and she smiled as she looked around. Emerald eyes took in her surroundings and many parts of her body began to tremble.
She was sitting in the front seat of a car she would never be able to afford on her own, in the circular driveway of a ridiculously large house...a mansion, really...waiting for the kid that belonged to the rich guy she was banging.
If you had asked her a year ago where she would be, she certainly wouldn’t have said this.
Ava reaches over onto the dash and grabs her phone. What was TAKING the scamp so long? Flipping up her phone, she finds her MySpace profile. It was full of her near nudes, of course, because was what the thing was for. She pulls down the top of her shirt in order to expose her chest and snaps a picture, then sets it to upload. Internet was shit here in the middle of nowhere, so it would probably take all day.
Ava looks out her the side window and looks at the forest all around her. Even just a couple of years ago, she was accustomed to trees and forests, but this insane hideaway of her new flame was nothing like the little town she grew up in in France. Despite its name, Merovingian was small and unimportant, and by contrast, her puddin’s home might as well be its own city. He had money...LOTS of money...and an incredible amount of influence. And...for whatever reason...cared for her beyond imagination.
She smiles as she remembers that night fondly. Things had happened in that hospital...bad things...but he made it all better. She had cackled into the night, her world of pure joy, as they sped away from the inferno. And when she had taken him into her apartment...that shithole filled with empty liquor bottles and burger wrappers...she had shown him her admiration. Quite a few times.
”Oh, but how will I EVER be able to SURVIVE the EVIL SUN?!”
Her attention is pulled from the sweet memory by the banshee’s cry. She rolls her eyes as she sees the display before her: The kid, Fangs, was walking with one of her school friends, the two dressed in their cheer uniforms, with the kid holding up a massive Hello Kitty umbrella in order to hide herself from the sun. What little of it there even was.
“For fuck’s sake, kid!”
Ava grumbles as she starts the car. Men in black coats, her puddin’s workers...some of whom she recognized from the night they torched that shitty “hospital”...opened the backdoors so that the two girls could slide in. The massive umbrella was a pain to close, but even as the servants took car of it, the girl hissed and pulled down the shades built into the windows of the towncar.
“Oh! My BEAUTIFUL skin of the PALEST MOONLIGHT will be SCORCHED by the evil sun! How will I, a VAMPIRE of the CRUELEST COVEN, be able to feast on the blood of MERE MORTALS if I am burnt to a crisp?!
Ava mumbles under her breath as the servants close the doors securely and she jams her foot down onto the gas pedal. The car screeches off with a sudden burst, sending the girls in the backseat scrambling for their seatbelts, and Ava can’t help but cackle. She’s on the main road leading to Bangor proper before they even know what is going on, and while she wants to crank the tunes louder, there was a reason for her taking them to cheer practice.
“Hey, Fangs.”
She looks in the rearview mirror and takes in the girl. She was wearing WAY too much foundation, giving her an even more pale face than she already had, and was wearing WAY too much eyeshadow. Fangs was one of those weirdo albinos, though Ava didn’t understand what that actually mean, but it made her look freaky, and she knew that this whole “I IZ VAMPIRE” phase of hers was probably part of it. Fuck, 15-year-olds were dumb.
Ava grimaces as the girl ignores her.
“I can see you, you know.”
Fangs’ eyes open wide in indignation.
“NO! I, like ALL vampires, canNOT be seen in mirrors! Don’t you know ANYTHING?!”
Ava takes a deep breath to steady herself and looks next to the girl. Her friend...she didn’t know her name...was rolling her eyes and not saying anything. Girl was a pretty brunette, looked totally different than the girl with the bright white hair. Emerald eyes back to Fangs, she breathed in deep again. It was worth it. Puddin’ was worth a LOT of money, all those muscles were GREAT in the sack, and all the fun stuff like cars and shit were a LOT of fun.
“Listen, kid: I just wanted you to know what I’m here for you, okay? Think of me like...well...like-”
The girls eyes go so wide that Ava had a vision of a raccoon.
“You had better NOT say mother! As a vampire, I do not HAVE a mother, but a Sire, and-”
Ava’s eyes glazed over as the girl started to list how a vampire was “born” in so many points and anecdotes that she could probably make a slide show presentation about it. While the two had never had a proper one-on-one conversation, she had noticed the kid giving this exact same tiresome speech to random employees at the SIN Wrestling events. It entailed a fair amount of screaming and footstomping, and a quick glance at her friend showed a boredom which spoke of familiarity.
“-big sister.”
Ava slips that in when Fangs...finally...stops to breath for half a second. She looks confused, and perhaps interested, and Ava presses.
“Look, I’m not here to replace you mom, okay?”
Ava didn’t know the whole story, but she knew enough. Mom died giving birth. Shitty.
“But your dad and-
“Sire.”
Ava can’t keep in the sigh this time.
“...your Sire...and I...well, we’re hanging out right now, and-”
“Fucking.”
Ava swerved the car in surprise at the coarse word coming from that mouth. She had no idea how someone in Maine had an English accent, much less something that would be spoken in the heart of London, but that wasn’t even the third weirdest thing about this place.
“You’re nothing special, Ava. Daddy...erm...my Sire...has had a lot of skanks over the years. You’re just the next and not the last.”
Ava growls as she rights the car and glares into the rearview mirror. She had no idea what she and her puddin’ were, other than something right this moment, but the frankness, and sureness, in the girl’s voice was annoying. She grits her teeth as she gets closer to the high school where she can drop the two brats off and go back to her day.
“...we’ll see...daughter…”
Aveline Lacklan’s eyes blink as she gasps.
Emerald eyes are lost in a haze of memory. SIx years. Six years of trying to be the ungrateful child’s mother. Six years of demeaning herself, of humbling herself, of doing everything the could to be the best mother possible. Six years of-
The silence brings her to the moment.
The silence.
The eyes.
Emerald eyes blink.
Las Vegas.
The Bellagio Convention Center.
MOMCON19
Emerald eyes look down. A handful of small cards in her hand, filled with typed words. A speech about motherhood. A speech about what an honor it was to be given the Mother of the Year award for an unprecedented two years in a row. A speech full of platitudes written by someone she knew at Circle TV. A speech that all of the women in the audience were eating up.
The women in the audience. Mothers of all states and sorts. Different colors. Ages. Dresses from what felt like around the world. All with eyes on her, eyes shining with rapture.
“...uhhh…”
She blinks again. Being the girl’s “big sister” had worked. They giggled over boys. They shared secrets. But when she and the girl’s father got closer, when she began to try to be her mother…
“...Je m'excuse…
She shakes her head, her platinum curls gliding into her view. Emerald eyes lock on them for a moment before shaking them away, and her lips find their smile.
“A lot can change in a year.”
The Frenchwoman’s accent curls on the r at the end of the word, something she never bothered to work on, despite what the child thought she should do. As if a girl from Maine choosing to speak with an English accent had any right to dictate what the France-transplant should do or not do after moving to America.
“Just look at my hair!”
She smiles wide as she reaches up and holds out one a handful of strands.
“When I stood before you a year ago, my hair was brown, I was living in a different place, and the entire landscape of my world was different. But a year can mean so much to mothers.”
Many heads within the audience nod at her. Finding herself again, Aveline looks at the notes in her hands, the speech still just halfway through, and tosses them to the floor with a flutter. She stands a little straighter as she leans into the microphone.
“When I spoke before you last year, I sent you all a message of not resting on your laurels. As many of you know, I am a professional wrestler, a practitioner of God’s favorite sport, and I was facing a man who was quickly becoming known for such a sin as lethargy. And as I am sure you are all aware, I have triumphed over that man many times, with only a token loss here or there. And I am happy to say that, while I again am but one day from going into my next battle, it is not against the sins of lethargy ore resting. No, my next opponents are hardly that.”
She pauses for a moment, her lips persing in thought.
“Petit a petit, l’oiseau fait son nid.”
She smiles and looks back to the crowd.
“Oddly enough, when I stood before you last year, the person I am facing tomorrow was someone I had never faced before. A person with tenacity. A person with strength. She and I do not exactly get along, as it were, but I understand her position towards me.
“Jalousie.”
She nods to herself.
“Roxy Cotton is jealous of me. Or rather, of what I represent. I stand before you, an honored and revered mother, not only of a step-daughter, but of countless dear children. They look up to me, their little eyes shining bright with adoration, and aspire to be me. They understand that what I do, what I say, how I act, is what God wishes of them, and they YEARN for my touch. The touch of a mother who is both caring and damning. I refuse to spare the rod, refuse to coddle, and they love me for it. And Roxy Cotton wishes, to her very core, that she had me as a mother.
“Oh, what would that have been like!
“Oh, imagine the heights she could have risen to!
“Unfortunately, instead of being lead by someone who loved her enough to thrash her within an inch of her life, who loved her enough to force her to bend to the will and glory of God, she instead had some alcohol-fueled, drug-laden harlot with an arm full of a needle’s hole. Instead of a supportive mother who could model the way to be in life, who could stand tall and resolute, Roxy instead got some waste of flesh whom she had to distance herself from as much as possible, both emotionally and legally. And instead of becoming a powerful woman in her own right, instead of becoming all the she could be as a daughter, she has become someone who only finds important victories over cripples, or alongside former Creative Directors. But at least she was finally able to defeat Travis Pierce this year. And barely scrape by Dave Rydell on the razor’s edge of a flipped coin. She should be thankful for small victories, I suppose.
“But imagine! Imagine if she had had ME for a mother all those years! Someone to guide her! Someone to teach her! Someone to pat her on the head when she did well, or else rap it with folded knuckles when she failed. I believe that I have done my best since I last spoke to you all in this endeavor. While, a year ago, we had not met in the ring as competitors, that has now vastly different. In that time, we have faced one another an astounding nine times! The majority were in a cluster of but a few months, the two of us ripping and tearing at one another, and while she has a slight edge in the victory count…”
She shakes her head slowly.
“...it is but on the surface. A good mother, a strong and proud mother, would have taught Roxy Cotton to not laud over pyrrhic victories. ‘No!’ she would have cried. ‘No, Roxy! Do not wave around your tiny participation trophy as if it meaningful! Do not pretend that skirmishes have won the war!’ Unfortunately, she did NOT have a mother like me, a mother to show her how to live. And because of that, she does indeed wave around meaningless victories as if they matter. To this day, she laughs about being the ‘forever champion’ of a dead federation who gasped its last breath long before the doors closed. She will gleefully remind someone of some immoral and ultimately forgettable tryst they had, long after that person has happily married, while she remains forever engaged to a man who does not wish to marry her. And so she waves around useless victories over me as if they matter.
“Oh, to lose in a cooperative match with no bearing or stakes! Oh, to be given three hundred and seventeen muff diverse while Raab rests on the outside, exhausted from his four hour excursions! Oh, to have all of them lead to losses when championships are determined!
“For all of her bluster, the truth of the matter of Roxy Cotton’s ‘amazing’ UGWC career is failing when it matters. Amazing success within that cage of death last year led to a quick loss of the Cooperative championships to the Court. A manipulation of the Harvester led to Chaos failure against Pierce. A drive with her Clear Connection partner led to just another failure in the surprising Cooperative run of Rydell and Vaughn. A promise...a resolution...to defeat me led to yet more disappointment in the Chaos realm at Horizons. An attempt to round the robin led to an embarrassing series of matches that saw her far away from the finals between myself and Zane. And even in her greatest triumph to date, the Global Challenge, it has lead to nothing but a clear fear of facing her next prolific loss to Vaughn, no matter what she has to say on the matter. Even her Trios victory showed how afraid she was of fighting an opponent she could not defeat, as she ran from the thought of losing to me, yet again, for the Chaos championship.”
She shakes her head slowly, her eyes full of sadness.
“Such is where we are now. A daughter of a terrible mother makes a weak woman, and the weakness within Roxy is growing more and more telling as time passes. Unable to keep momentum. Unable to persevere. And tomorrow, she faces a combination of forces which are already proving to be dominant. Yes, she has by her side someone she trust. Yes, she has someone by her side who she has had success with. But that partnership has crumbled in all the months they have been together. After initial success, they have fallen into obscurity where they once stood strong, and even within the Coalition, the world knows that the two of them have become the least effective pairing comprised of their larger circle. Her partner has found my former unwanted suitor. Her best friend has found Rydell. And she has found herself locked in a meaningless feud with the ghost of a cripple.”
She smiles broadly.
“But this is where I get to teach her. Where I get to be the mother she has always wanted and yearned for. Tomorrow, I once again show Roxy just how powerful God’s wrath is. Tomorrow, we tussle and fight, we punch and kick. And she learns, first hand, how successful I and my newest ally are together. And when we win, when we take the barely-Cross Hemisphere Champion and her partner and leave them in a heap of shocked faces and confused expressions, the Consortium will stroke their chins in thought of how quickly they can pair the Cooperative Champions with the new team of Le Bord de Dieu and Hide Yamakazi. And when we rise, two championships in my hand before too long, Roxy will wonder who she ended up both as a singles champion to a title who has lost its prestige, AND a woman embarrassed in a world title match against someone she knows, deep in her heart, she has no chance of defeating.”
She pauses and licks her lips.
“Now, I would like one final word, if you will allow me.”
She smirks before leaning back into the microphone.
“Grey.”
She gives a nod and steps away from the platform, the crowd of mothers already climbing to their feet to applaud.
Epilogue
Deep in his Fortress of Dastardly Villainy, Johnny Bonecrusher’s mouth waters as he pours maple syrup, REAL maple syrup imported from the GREAT country of Canada, of course, over his plate of poutine, but that hunger turns to annoyance as his phone’s text notification goes off. He sends his sunglassed gaze, because he ALWAYS wears sunglasses, which should be PERFECTLY CLEAR by this stage, at his phone and gives it a HARRUMPH!
Until he sees who the message is from.
A certain DAUGHTER of a certain NEMESIS of his, who also just so happened to be the WIFE of a certain ANNOYANCE of his, who also just so happened to be the STEP-DAUGHTER of a certain ALLY of his.
Sarah is the best, Sarah number one
You almost have my attention, Old Man. Be mindful of it.
You almost have my attention, Old Man. Be mindful of it.
Johnny’s face turns into a dastardly smile.
x2
