Post by LACKLAN on May 18, 2019 12:20:17 GMT -5
“And they will THANK ME LATER!”
The cheers rose up to Aveline in a rush with such a force that she could feel winds against her face. It felt like a gust, the wind from those cheers, cooling the sweat upon her brow. Emerald eyes flushed with passion, perhaps even anger, looked down on the multitude of people below her, people filling the bowl that was the commons below the alcove in the tower where she did her speeches. People, her people, cheered for her as they filled the bowl, each dressed in the dark greys and blacks that had become the fashion at the compound lately. Gone were the reds and greens favored by her wretched step-daughter. Good riddance to that.
She felt pain in hand. Sharp pain. Her eyes shifted from the crowd and upward. Her arm was raised in the air, her hand curled into a fist tight enough for her nails to dig into her flesh and draw blood. Her fist shook with intensity, her entire arm waving slightly. She had called for her people to “Raise the Fist,” as her husband had done so many times before, and she had followed suit, herself. A fist raised high into the air, a fist full of intention to dominate transgressors. So important was the symbol that it had become the flag of the “nation,” her husband’s fist, shaded purple, against a field of black, just as he was a shining light to stand against the darkness.
She looked back down to the crowd. They cheered wildly for her cries of thanks. For her words of what the Church of the Light SHOULD be doing. Of destruction of those who did not follow God’s plan. Of obliteration being the only recourse for those who would stand in their way. Of segregation and separation of those unwilling to change and those able to act in the faith of God.
“I must apologize.”
Her words, spoken into the microphone stand before her on the dais, cause the crowd to slowly quiet themselves with a confused murmur. The tone of voice, now soft, was as different from before as the words themselves. She licked her lips before speaking again.
“A year ago, I returned to you. But I have not been who I am meant to be.”
She gave a small nod of her head.
“But I will from now on.”
She lowered her fist, willing her arm to stop shaking, until it was by her side.
“I will do what needs to be done for you.”
She looked over the confused crowd, gave a final nod, then backed away from the podium and slipped behind the curtain and into her study.
No one understood why Aveline played football on Fridays. It wasn't wrestling. It had nothing to do with God. And while she was able to wear a conservative uniform, the fast majority of the women wore clothing only appropriate for the bedroom with their husband, as God demands. Yet here she was, now in her third season with the Cincinnati Hit Girls, this time in the enemy territory of Baltimore, with the game rushing towards its conclusion.
The team had been purchased by her idiot daughters during a spending spree of such carelessness that she had had no choice but to intervene. Initially with an identity only known to one, she joined the team in order to get close to everyone, in order to gain their measure, in order to control them. She outed herself eventually and took her position in life, and that meant as the owner of the team, or at least of half of it. And while she could have sold the team, or dissolved it, or even just removed any players she didn't like for her own pleasure, she generally allowed the team to remain hale under the management of Sidney Grey and a revolving door of coaches, the most recent being, of all people, Johnny Bonecrusher. Yet another feint within a feint.
Aveline felt the grass under her gloved fingers, felt each blade. She closed her eyes and concentrated, listened. When on the defensive, she excelled at getting to the quarterback, her wild and unpredictable fighting style translating to the football field in the way of league-leading stats in sacks. But on the offensive, her role was to block, to save the Grey from taking hits. To save
To
To save
Final play of the game
Final play
Final
The ball is hiked.
She stands.
The defender rushes by her, off balance from finding no resistance. But the woman recovers quickly, pushing off her feet and towards the blind side of the Grey. The Cooperative Champion never saw it coming. The defender crashed into the Grey with a sound to sicken stomachs, the audience giving a loud groan. A scream from their side of the field, the unmistakable cry of the banshee that was Sarah. Bodies rush past her to help their fallen team captain.
Aveline stands still.
“DAMNIT!”
Behind her, the voice of the Grey rises into the air with anger. And pain. Sharp pain.
Aveline smiles underneath her helmet.
“I FUCKING TOLD YOU, BITCH!”
Angry steps toward her.
“I SAID IF YOU MISSED ONE MORE BLOCKING ASSIGNMENT, I-”
Commotion of rushing bodies cut of what she was saying. They were in overtime, in sudden death. Aveline's allowance of the Grey to take a hard, unprotected hit put the game in jeapordy, but she cared little. She did what she was supposed to do, finding herself crouched before a defender. The ball was hiked to Honey Smith, one of the few people in wrestling that Aveline genuinely liked, who then held it for Vaughn. The World Champion kicked as Aveline crashed into the woman in front of her. Cheers from the women behind her, as well as groans from the audience, told her of the success of the kick. Angie the Unbeatable had won the game with the overtime field goal.
The girls were cheering, jumping up and down and exchanging high fives.
Aveline simply straightens and begins to walk away.
"Oh NO you don't, Mom! I am gonna-"
Aveline whirls around and takes a step forward. The Grey slows, surprised by the movement, but then still steps forward.
“You will WHAT, Grey? Cry? Whine? Complain? Manipulate until you get another opportunity you did not earn? Marry into a NAME you did not earn?!”
The Grey stops in her tracks, her body moving up and down slowly with deep breaths. She slowly reaches up and removes her helmet, moving her head so as to allow her braids to find freedom at her shoulders.
“...say my name…”
The Grey’s voice is low and filled with an angry fire. Good. Let it. Let it!
“...Gris…
The girl’s face doesn’t change, likely not understanding what she said. Yet another failure of the idiot child.
“...Grey…”
The girl steps forward angrily, and the team begins to gather around them, unsure of what was happening. The game was over, the final whistle blown. But the crowd doesn’t move. The women in the striped shirts do not move. Not even a breath. The girl is close to her. Getting closer. Getting-
“You’re gonna be saying ‘Mocha’ before too long.”
Nearly a whisper, it was still filled with venom. Again, the threat of bearing a child in HER name. The threat of dealing with Sarah’s infertility by having her own, by sacrificing her dreams in order to give Sarah hers. The threat of bringing SERVANT BLOOD into her PURE house. The threat-
“Over my dead body, Grey!”
“I wouldn’t mind, bitch! SAY MY NAME!”
She was closer. Aveline stepped closer to meet her.
“I promise you, Grey...I PROMISE you…”
The crowd was closer. Everyone was there. She could see the rat-eyed child of her husband walking next to that girl she somewhat remembered from years ago, both walking quickly toward the trouble. The coaches. The players. They belonged to her. They BELONGED TO her. Why didn’t they LOVE H-
“If you DARE to try to MUDDY my husband’s blood with what YOU are, I PROMISE that I will RIP IT OUT MYSELF!”
Her back was on the ground. Why was her back on the ground? Wetness on her face. Why was her face wet?
She raises her hand up.
Red.
Red on her hand.
Why?
She is pulled upward, the world whirling in a shock of colors.
Her helmet was on the ground, next to the Grey’s. A large dent was in the front. What-
The Grey’s eyes filled with an angry light she had not seen in a year, not since the day she told Kenzi what had happened. How she hadn’t planned on Sarah being as hurt as she did, but how she also hadn’t regretted it. The Grey’s eyes had
Blood dripped into Aveline’s eyes.
Her own blood.
The Grey’s fists here coated in red and she was reaching for her, her eyes still wide with rage. Johnny was there, holding her back, the squat man’s strength still present years after his retirement. The Cotton woman was also trying to keep the Grey back. The field was chaos. People screaming. Phones out, recording and taking pictures. Red and white uniforms, players, cheer squad, support staff, filled the space between them, keeping them apart. The rat eyes of her undeserving step-daughter filled with a mixture of anger, confusion, and hurt. Hurt? Was that real? Was that true? Did she truly think she was mending the family?
Stupid girl.
She could feel the blows now. And memory with the pain. The Grey had screamed, a wordless scream of rage, before smashing her helmet into Aveline’s, the blow stunning her. Again and again, the Grey slammed her helmet into her, knocking her first to one knee, then too the ground. And before anyone knew what was happening, she had ripped off her helmet, exposing her head and punched her as hard as she had the year before, before mounting her and raining blow after blow on her, each accompanied by a scream. Blood had poured. Exploded. And then she had been pulled away by Bonecrusher.
“I’m getting you out of here.”
Coach Heel, the man in the mask. Vaughn was there, too, separated from her friends by the sea of bodies. Eyes dazed, she did not realize she was being pulled away from the scene until she was already halfway toward the locker room and away from the field.
Aveline screams in fury as she is ushered into the locker room, and her hands fly, looking to gain purchase on anything. Hands alternating between fists and open fingers curled into claws, she catches Heel’s mask, pulling it halfway off, and a sickening thud accompanies a fist finding Angie’s right eye. But the two, both bigger and stronger than her, particularly the surprisingly solid Heel, are able to pull her all the way down the ramp and to the benches and lockers of the room’s proper, before she is able to wrench from of them.
“Je vais tuer la chienne noire!”
Aveline’s face is full of fury, seeming to be etched in hate like a gargoyle standing resolute upon a tower, and Angie’s eyes go wide at the words. But it is Heel who stands tall and responds.
“Tu ne le feras pas, Ava.”
Angie casts a curious eye at Heel, and her eyes narrow a bit at him, his face halfway seen due to the misplaced mask. A chin and cheek desperately in need of a shave, the hair a mixture of brown and grey.
“Since when do you speak French, Coach?”
Heel casts her a glance, he blue grey eyes opening wide behind the mask for a second, before he hurriedly pulls his mask back into place. A growl from their side forces them both to turn back to Aveline.
“Such is your problem, child! You know so little!”
She looks at Heel and then back at her.
“SO LITTLE!”
She rushes forward suddenly, her eyes between them and back towards the hallway leading to the field, but both Heel and Angie move closer to stop her. She growls and spins on the heel of her cleats, then stalks forward away from them before slamming her fist into a locker hard enough to leave a small dent.
“You have NO idea, child! I have ONE silly girl who DARES to try to take my name when she doesn’t deserve it! And ANOTHER who REFUSES to take it even though it BELONGS TO HER!”
She whirls on the two again, her eyes full of wet fire, glistening in the lights above. She stalks forward, the sound of her cleats on the floor giving a sharp CLICK! as she stomps. Initially, Angie takes a step back, but she then firms her resolve and stands proudly, her stance stoic in the face of Aveline’s rage. The Champion of Chaos stops before Angie, craning her neck upward to look at the taller woman, and jabs a pointed finger at her.
“You! You could have everything! You! You could have the WORLD at your feet, BEGGING for your approval! You! You could give the world what is NEEDED! Instead! Instead you-”
“I am the World Champion.”
Angie’s emphasis on “world” gave a strength to her retort which forced Aveline to pause. But a smile comes to her face, a small smile which touches the corners of her mouth and emotes enough malice to turn the blood cold.
“For now.”
She cocks her head to the side, looking all the world as a bird studying a morsel before striking, a movement Angie has noticed herself doing without intention.
“I have not focused on it. I have not worked towards it. I had other goals. Other paths. But the way is clear. I will no longer avoid what I am supposed to do. Your father-”
Angie’s eyes unconsciously shift to Coach Heel for a moment, and Aveline’s smile grows.
“Oh...poor child. Poor clueless, idiot girl. He knows who you are.”
Angie’s eyes widen and she exclaims as Aveline moves away from her with a burst of quickness toward the masked man. With that same surprising quickness, she reaches forward and upward and, grabbing it the eyeholes, rips at the mask. Unable to fit his mask back onto his face properly after it had been upset from the tussle before, Coach Heel is unable to stop Aveline from ripping it up and over his head. Unmasked, Coach Heel is a man in his middle years, with a face full of grizzled beard and sad eyes in the middle of heavy bags. Aveline turns on Angie and waves the red and blue mask before her.
“Nothing passes my eye, child! Nothing stays the hand of God!”
She points backward toward the man with mask in her hand.
“The Writer, child, has been at your side, manipulating you, pushing you, pressing you. Trying to draw out the Lacklan in you. Trying to make you something MORE than just some plucky rookie with talent and good fortune! Fight 2 Win! The LFL! The Coalition! That silly game me makes us play with the miniatures and sheets! EVERYWHERE in order draw out your blood!”
She drops the mask onto the ground and steps forward again.
“But still, after all this time, you insist on being a Vaughn. You insist on the fearful exodus of a man barely worthy to say my name, much less represent it. You insist on being half of what you could be. Less! A third! Instead of making the world COWER before a Lacklan, instead of giving them a beacon of LIGHT for them to watch and walk toward for redemption, you spend your time sharing asinine cat videos and butchering the very SPIRIT of language with your made up NONSENSE. And I am DONE with it!
“I am DONE with the world being subjected to this cat-and-mouse game where the Cool Kids dominate the screen with rambling speeches and love stories which bore the audience into silence. I am DONE with see the three of you in title match after title match, whether earned or by the grace of an aimless Creative Director, and representing a company which once was known for the excellence of the Serpents. I am DONE with the world championship being fought over and decided by the likes of YOU, who lack the edge or drive to be who the people NEED in this world, or the feckless Cretins like your partner Zane, who would allow failure to propel him into an opportunity to throw the title in the trash as soon as he can. I am THROUGH with allowing the company to fill the main event with someone not strong enough to stand for what is RIGHT! I am THROUGH with YOU, who would WILLINGLY live and work among a group of WHORES and SLUTS, all in a showing that is a slap in the FACE of God Himself!
“IF, child, IF you lived among them as Jesus did, as one showing love and compassion but always with the message of CONVERSION, of ACCEPTANCE of God’s word, and the ABDICATION of their sinful ways, things would be different. If YOU stood as Jesus did, then YOU could be the HERO that the world needs! Instead! INSTEAD! You ENABLE them! You CODDLE them! You ALLOW them to continue to RUIN the world! But this...this...this is DONE with!”
She stands tall in Angie’s face, who has not backed down an inch, her back straight, her face stoic and defiant.
“Next Monday, I will defeat your sister-in-law and cement the Chaos Championship for all antiquity at a level which will NEVER be matched. Your silly little jokes about it being undesired are pure deflection, as we both know, for many people have tried to defeat me for it, but all fail in the end. And after that, I am going to enter the Massive Melee and win. And then? WrestleStock. Where I will DETHRONE you and give the world the champion it NEEDS.”
She steps in closer again, allowing her voice to fall into intimacy.
“No question, the balance in victories between us falls heavily towards you. But never before have you and I fought for the highest of stakes while my eyes were upon it. But now?”
She pauses, emerald eyes looking into bright blue with intensity.
“I come for you. In the open. And after these few weeks are over, after I defeat you on Monday...your sister-in-law the following...and you in mere weeks at WrestleStock...a Lacklan will sit upon the UGWC throne...and I will let everyone know exactly who you are…”
She leans in closer.
“...everyone...”
Finally, Angie’s face gives in with the slightest widening of her eyes, to which Aveline finds recourse to smile.
“...people are trying to draw her out. Hastings. Bonecrusher. More. They are foolish. Because they have never truly seen L'enfant Démon unleashed. I have. And Heaven help you when she learns the truth...from ME.”
Aveline backs away, her eyes locked on Angie’s, until she turns and pushes past the Writer and deeper into locker room.
~~la fin~~
The cheers rose up to Aveline in a rush with such a force that she could feel winds against her face. It felt like a gust, the wind from those cheers, cooling the sweat upon her brow. Emerald eyes flushed with passion, perhaps even anger, looked down on the multitude of people below her, people filling the bowl that was the commons below the alcove in the tower where she did her speeches. People, her people, cheered for her as they filled the bowl, each dressed in the dark greys and blacks that had become the fashion at the compound lately. Gone were the reds and greens favored by her wretched step-daughter. Good riddance to that.
She felt pain in hand. Sharp pain. Her eyes shifted from the crowd and upward. Her arm was raised in the air, her hand curled into a fist tight enough for her nails to dig into her flesh and draw blood. Her fist shook with intensity, her entire arm waving slightly. She had called for her people to “Raise the Fist,” as her husband had done so many times before, and she had followed suit, herself. A fist raised high into the air, a fist full of intention to dominate transgressors. So important was the symbol that it had become the flag of the “nation,” her husband’s fist, shaded purple, against a field of black, just as he was a shining light to stand against the darkness.
She looked back down to the crowd. They cheered wildly for her cries of thanks. For her words of what the Church of the Light SHOULD be doing. Of destruction of those who did not follow God’s plan. Of obliteration being the only recourse for those who would stand in their way. Of segregation and separation of those unwilling to change and those able to act in the faith of God.
“I must apologize.”
Her words, spoken into the microphone stand before her on the dais, cause the crowd to slowly quiet themselves with a confused murmur. The tone of voice, now soft, was as different from before as the words themselves. She licked her lips before speaking again.
“A year ago, I returned to you. But I have not been who I am meant to be.”
She gave a small nod of her head.
“But I will from now on.”
She lowered her fist, willing her arm to stop shaking, until it was by her side.
“I will do what needs to be done for you.”
She looked over the confused crowd, gave a final nod, then backed away from the podium and slipped behind the curtain and into her study.
No one understood why Aveline played football on Fridays. It wasn't wrestling. It had nothing to do with God. And while she was able to wear a conservative uniform, the fast majority of the women wore clothing only appropriate for the bedroom with their husband, as God demands. Yet here she was, now in her third season with the Cincinnati Hit Girls, this time in the enemy territory of Baltimore, with the game rushing towards its conclusion.
The team had been purchased by her idiot daughters during a spending spree of such carelessness that she had had no choice but to intervene. Initially with an identity only known to one, she joined the team in order to get close to everyone, in order to gain their measure, in order to control them. She outed herself eventually and took her position in life, and that meant as the owner of the team, or at least of half of it. And while she could have sold the team, or dissolved it, or even just removed any players she didn't like for her own pleasure, she generally allowed the team to remain hale under the management of Sidney Grey and a revolving door of coaches, the most recent being, of all people, Johnny Bonecrusher. Yet another feint within a feint.
Aveline felt the grass under her gloved fingers, felt each blade. She closed her eyes and concentrated, listened. When on the defensive, she excelled at getting to the quarterback, her wild and unpredictable fighting style translating to the football field in the way of league-leading stats in sacks. But on the offensive, her role was to block, to save the Grey from taking hits. To save
To
To save
Final play of the game
Final play
Final
The ball is hiked.
She stands.
The defender rushes by her, off balance from finding no resistance. But the woman recovers quickly, pushing off her feet and towards the blind side of the Grey. The Cooperative Champion never saw it coming. The defender crashed into the Grey with a sound to sicken stomachs, the audience giving a loud groan. A scream from their side of the field, the unmistakable cry of the banshee that was Sarah. Bodies rush past her to help their fallen team captain.
Aveline stands still.
“DAMNIT!”
Behind her, the voice of the Grey rises into the air with anger. And pain. Sharp pain.
Aveline smiles underneath her helmet.
“I FUCKING TOLD YOU, BITCH!”
Angry steps toward her.
“I SAID IF YOU MISSED ONE MORE BLOCKING ASSIGNMENT, I-”
Commotion of rushing bodies cut of what she was saying. They were in overtime, in sudden death. Aveline's allowance of the Grey to take a hard, unprotected hit put the game in jeapordy, but she cared little. She did what she was supposed to do, finding herself crouched before a defender. The ball was hiked to Honey Smith, one of the few people in wrestling that Aveline genuinely liked, who then held it for Vaughn. The World Champion kicked as Aveline crashed into the woman in front of her. Cheers from the women behind her, as well as groans from the audience, told her of the success of the kick. Angie the Unbeatable had won the game with the overtime field goal.
The girls were cheering, jumping up and down and exchanging high fives.
Aveline simply straightens and begins to walk away.
"Oh NO you don't, Mom! I am gonna-"
Aveline whirls around and takes a step forward. The Grey slows, surprised by the movement, but then still steps forward.
“You will WHAT, Grey? Cry? Whine? Complain? Manipulate until you get another opportunity you did not earn? Marry into a NAME you did not earn?!”
The Grey stops in her tracks, her body moving up and down slowly with deep breaths. She slowly reaches up and removes her helmet, moving her head so as to allow her braids to find freedom at her shoulders.
“...say my name…”
The Grey’s voice is low and filled with an angry fire. Good. Let it. Let it!
“...Gris…
The girl’s face doesn’t change, likely not understanding what she said. Yet another failure of the idiot child.
“...Grey…”
The girl steps forward angrily, and the team begins to gather around them, unsure of what was happening. The game was over, the final whistle blown. But the crowd doesn’t move. The women in the striped shirts do not move. Not even a breath. The girl is close to her. Getting closer. Getting-
“You’re gonna be saying ‘Mocha’ before too long.”
Nearly a whisper, it was still filled with venom. Again, the threat of bearing a child in HER name. The threat of dealing with Sarah’s infertility by having her own, by sacrificing her dreams in order to give Sarah hers. The threat of bringing SERVANT BLOOD into her PURE house. The threat-
“Over my dead body, Grey!”
“I wouldn’t mind, bitch! SAY MY NAME!”
She was closer. Aveline stepped closer to meet her.
“I promise you, Grey...I PROMISE you…”
The crowd was closer. Everyone was there. She could see the rat-eyed child of her husband walking next to that girl she somewhat remembered from years ago, both walking quickly toward the trouble. The coaches. The players. They belonged to her. They BELONGED TO her. Why didn’t they LOVE H-
“If you DARE to try to MUDDY my husband’s blood with what YOU are, I PROMISE that I will RIP IT OUT MYSELF!”
Her back was on the ground. Why was her back on the ground? Wetness on her face. Why was her face wet?
She raises her hand up.
Red.
Red on her hand.
Why?
She is pulled upward, the world whirling in a shock of colors.
Her helmet was on the ground, next to the Grey’s. A large dent was in the front. What-
The Grey’s eyes filled with an angry light she had not seen in a year, not since the day she told Kenzi what had happened. How she hadn’t planned on Sarah being as hurt as she did, but how she also hadn’t regretted it. The Grey’s eyes had
Blood dripped into Aveline’s eyes.
Her own blood.
The Grey’s fists here coated in red and she was reaching for her, her eyes still wide with rage. Johnny was there, holding her back, the squat man’s strength still present years after his retirement. The Cotton woman was also trying to keep the Grey back. The field was chaos. People screaming. Phones out, recording and taking pictures. Red and white uniforms, players, cheer squad, support staff, filled the space between them, keeping them apart. The rat eyes of her undeserving step-daughter filled with a mixture of anger, confusion, and hurt. Hurt? Was that real? Was that true? Did she truly think she was mending the family?
Stupid girl.
She could feel the blows now. And memory with the pain. The Grey had screamed, a wordless scream of rage, before smashing her helmet into Aveline’s, the blow stunning her. Again and again, the Grey slammed her helmet into her, knocking her first to one knee, then too the ground. And before anyone knew what was happening, she had ripped off her helmet, exposing her head and punched her as hard as she had the year before, before mounting her and raining blow after blow on her, each accompanied by a scream. Blood had poured. Exploded. And then she had been pulled away by Bonecrusher.
“I’m getting you out of here.”
Coach Heel, the man in the mask. Vaughn was there, too, separated from her friends by the sea of bodies. Eyes dazed, she did not realize she was being pulled away from the scene until she was already halfway toward the locker room and away from the field.
Aveline screams in fury as she is ushered into the locker room, and her hands fly, looking to gain purchase on anything. Hands alternating between fists and open fingers curled into claws, she catches Heel’s mask, pulling it halfway off, and a sickening thud accompanies a fist finding Angie’s right eye. But the two, both bigger and stronger than her, particularly the surprisingly solid Heel, are able to pull her all the way down the ramp and to the benches and lockers of the room’s proper, before she is able to wrench from of them.
“Je vais tuer la chienne noire!”
Aveline’s face is full of fury, seeming to be etched in hate like a gargoyle standing resolute upon a tower, and Angie’s eyes go wide at the words. But it is Heel who stands tall and responds.
“Tu ne le feras pas, Ava.”
Angie casts a curious eye at Heel, and her eyes narrow a bit at him, his face halfway seen due to the misplaced mask. A chin and cheek desperately in need of a shave, the hair a mixture of brown and grey.
“Since when do you speak French, Coach?”
Heel casts her a glance, he blue grey eyes opening wide behind the mask for a second, before he hurriedly pulls his mask back into place. A growl from their side forces them both to turn back to Aveline.
“Such is your problem, child! You know so little!”
She looks at Heel and then back at her.
“SO LITTLE!”
She rushes forward suddenly, her eyes between them and back towards the hallway leading to the field, but both Heel and Angie move closer to stop her. She growls and spins on the heel of her cleats, then stalks forward away from them before slamming her fist into a locker hard enough to leave a small dent.
“You have NO idea, child! I have ONE silly girl who DARES to try to take my name when she doesn’t deserve it! And ANOTHER who REFUSES to take it even though it BELONGS TO HER!”
She whirls on the two again, her eyes full of wet fire, glistening in the lights above. She stalks forward, the sound of her cleats on the floor giving a sharp CLICK! as she stomps. Initially, Angie takes a step back, but she then firms her resolve and stands proudly, her stance stoic in the face of Aveline’s rage. The Champion of Chaos stops before Angie, craning her neck upward to look at the taller woman, and jabs a pointed finger at her.
“You! You could have everything! You! You could have the WORLD at your feet, BEGGING for your approval! You! You could give the world what is NEEDED! Instead! Instead you-”
“I am the World Champion.”
Angie’s emphasis on “world” gave a strength to her retort which forced Aveline to pause. But a smile comes to her face, a small smile which touches the corners of her mouth and emotes enough malice to turn the blood cold.
“For now.”
She cocks her head to the side, looking all the world as a bird studying a morsel before striking, a movement Angie has noticed herself doing without intention.
“I have not focused on it. I have not worked towards it. I had other goals. Other paths. But the way is clear. I will no longer avoid what I am supposed to do. Your father-”
Angie’s eyes unconsciously shift to Coach Heel for a moment, and Aveline’s smile grows.
“Oh...poor child. Poor clueless, idiot girl. He knows who you are.”
Angie’s eyes widen and she exclaims as Aveline moves away from her with a burst of quickness toward the masked man. With that same surprising quickness, she reaches forward and upward and, grabbing it the eyeholes, rips at the mask. Unable to fit his mask back onto his face properly after it had been upset from the tussle before, Coach Heel is unable to stop Aveline from ripping it up and over his head. Unmasked, Coach Heel is a man in his middle years, with a face full of grizzled beard and sad eyes in the middle of heavy bags. Aveline turns on Angie and waves the red and blue mask before her.
“Nothing passes my eye, child! Nothing stays the hand of God!”
She points backward toward the man with mask in her hand.
“The Writer, child, has been at your side, manipulating you, pushing you, pressing you. Trying to draw out the Lacklan in you. Trying to make you something MORE than just some plucky rookie with talent and good fortune! Fight 2 Win! The LFL! The Coalition! That silly game me makes us play with the miniatures and sheets! EVERYWHERE in order draw out your blood!”
She drops the mask onto the ground and steps forward again.
“But still, after all this time, you insist on being a Vaughn. You insist on the fearful exodus of a man barely worthy to say my name, much less represent it. You insist on being half of what you could be. Less! A third! Instead of making the world COWER before a Lacklan, instead of giving them a beacon of LIGHT for them to watch and walk toward for redemption, you spend your time sharing asinine cat videos and butchering the very SPIRIT of language with your made up NONSENSE. And I am DONE with it!
“I am DONE with the world being subjected to this cat-and-mouse game where the Cool Kids dominate the screen with rambling speeches and love stories which bore the audience into silence. I am DONE with see the three of you in title match after title match, whether earned or by the grace of an aimless Creative Director, and representing a company which once was known for the excellence of the Serpents. I am DONE with the world championship being fought over and decided by the likes of YOU, who lack the edge or drive to be who the people NEED in this world, or the feckless Cretins like your partner Zane, who would allow failure to propel him into an opportunity to throw the title in the trash as soon as he can. I am THROUGH with allowing the company to fill the main event with someone not strong enough to stand for what is RIGHT! I am THROUGH with YOU, who would WILLINGLY live and work among a group of WHORES and SLUTS, all in a showing that is a slap in the FACE of God Himself!
“IF, child, IF you lived among them as Jesus did, as one showing love and compassion but always with the message of CONVERSION, of ACCEPTANCE of God’s word, and the ABDICATION of their sinful ways, things would be different. If YOU stood as Jesus did, then YOU could be the HERO that the world needs! Instead! INSTEAD! You ENABLE them! You CODDLE them! You ALLOW them to continue to RUIN the world! But this...this...this is DONE with!”
She stands tall in Angie’s face, who has not backed down an inch, her back straight, her face stoic and defiant.
“Next Monday, I will defeat your sister-in-law and cement the Chaos Championship for all antiquity at a level which will NEVER be matched. Your silly little jokes about it being undesired are pure deflection, as we both know, for many people have tried to defeat me for it, but all fail in the end. And after that, I am going to enter the Massive Melee and win. And then? WrestleStock. Where I will DETHRONE you and give the world the champion it NEEDS.”
She steps in closer again, allowing her voice to fall into intimacy.
“No question, the balance in victories between us falls heavily towards you. But never before have you and I fought for the highest of stakes while my eyes were upon it. But now?”
She pauses, emerald eyes looking into bright blue with intensity.
“I come for you. In the open. And after these few weeks are over, after I defeat you on Monday...your sister-in-law the following...and you in mere weeks at WrestleStock...a Lacklan will sit upon the UGWC throne...and I will let everyone know exactly who you are…”
She leans in closer.
“...everyone...”
Finally, Angie’s face gives in with the slightest widening of her eyes, to which Aveline finds recourse to smile.
“...people are trying to draw her out. Hastings. Bonecrusher. More. They are foolish. Because they have never truly seen L'enfant Démon unleashed. I have. And Heaven help you when she learns the truth...from ME.”
Aveline backs away, her eyes locked on Angie’s, until she turns and pushes past the Writer and deeper into locker room.
~~la fin~~
x2
