Post by cooltubesource on Jan 31, 2020 23:59:27 GMT -5
Monday
December 9, 2019
The throbbing in Angie’s head felt like a bomb was repeatedly going off, pounding and pressing on her sinuses every few seconds with a pain which threatened to take her from consciousness. She could feel Mister King’s fingers pulling on the tiny bits of silk and animal hair that would make up her stitches, but the tiny pains were nothing in the face of the bowl of pain that was her head. The bull rope match with Dave had been brutal, with her suffering the brunt of his anger via the cowbell being struck into her head several times, but the big finish had been him countering her attempted kick, popping her up into the air, and driving her down onto the mat on her forehead with his Virus of Life.
“Where is she?!”
Angie’s eyes shut in pain as the voice screams out from the hall. The dull pain in her head could not hope to block out the keen of that particular banshee.
“I am the WORLD’S CHAMPION, and you WILL let me through, SO HELP ME!”
Angie would much rather see literally anyone else in the world right that moment than Sarah, but like Mister King’s scurrying medical staff, she knew that there was no stopping her when she was in this kind of mood. And she was ALWAYS in this kind of mood, lately. Which was, admittedly, her fault.
“...Sister…”
Angie doesn’t want to open her eyes. She knows what she will see. Shame. Embarrassment. Regret. The judgement from her sister over her inability to defeat Dave at Horizons. Instead, she turned her head away, eyes still shut, and tried to make herself seem smaller.
“...let me see…”
Angie shied away even more by turning her body slightly.
“LET ME SEE!”
Angie gasped in pain as her hair was suddenly pulled, nearly yanked. Her eyes bust open and her head is turned back to face forward, and she looked up to see what she was trying to avoid. Sarah was still dressed in her gear, of course, having just finished defending the UGWC World Title in the main event of Horizons. The title was around her waist, with her top showing the detailed phoenix in red and green, and her bottoms short enough to show some leg muscle underneath her heavy leg braces, and every inch of her skin was still slick with sweat. Her platinum hair, so different from her own golden, was still in its perfect braid, but her eyes were HAGGARD. Red and puffy, she knew meant that her sister had been wearing her contacts for too long, and they were filled with anger. And not just anger.
Hatred.
She had seen that look before. When she had told her...too late...about their father. When she had told her how long she had known without telling her. When Sarah had declared that she would “kill” her. Her eyes had been full of hate. Now they were, too.
“...I’m going to kill him…”
Angie’s eyes blinked in confusion as Sarah let go of her hair. She could swear that she had said hi-
“I am going to RUIN Dave Rydell!”
Sarah turned around and wove her hands with agitation at the medical staff.
“EVERYONE OUT!!”
They must have been smart, because they just about ran at her command. Within a few seconds, the two of them were alone, with Angie staring at Sarah’s back.
“...the Mark of Cain…”
Sarah’s voice was full of cold anger.
“...I promised the Mark of Cain to anyone...to ANYONE...who hurt you…”
She turned around and Angie could feel as much see the eyes of the Judge upon her.
“...before I could do it myself.”
Angie felt like crying. She had been trying to get through to Sarah ever since the Fall Festival in Maine. She had begged her. Pleaded with her. Told her about the possibility of their brother. WENT with her to Japan to meet him. Talked to her. Tried to sing with her, tried to play games with her. Tried to do all of the things they did, that they NATURALLY did, before either one of them knew about them being sisters. But Sarah had closed herself off to everyone. Had screamed and yelled about how no one would steal her life. She didn’t want Sarah’s life! She had her own life! She just wanted her sister! She wanted-
“What are we going to do, Angelica?”
“Sar-Sar, I-”
“No!”
The explosive anger in Sarah’s voice cut Angie off, and the finger suddenly pointing in her face made her feel like she was back in her Montessori in Canda.
“You LOST the ability to call me that! You LOST it, Angelica! You LOST our shorthand! You LOST our games! You LOST our LOVE! SIXTEEN MONTHS!”
Angie shrinked away from the sudden onslaught of fury. The trip to Japan had been FULL of this. Of Angie trying to reconnect and apologize. And Sarah refusing to even listen. Kenzi had been trying to help, too, but Sarah just seemed to do nothing but yell and scream. And then confide in Bordy.
That was scary.
Sarah’s sigh was deep and full, and make her entire body fall. She pointed down at the ground in front of Angie.
“Sit.”
Angie blinked in confusion, but then yelped in pain as Sarah’s hand found her head again and pulled on her hair.
“SIT!”
Angie found herself on the ground and pulled her knee up to her chest. Sarah circled around her and then plopped to the ground. They pressed their backs to one another naturally, and Angie’s heart wanted to leap out and dance. They had “clicked” from the moment they met, though neither one could have known why at the time, and had found themselves sitting this way to play video games or send each other digital pigeons or just sit quietly not long after. Kenzi had asked once why they sat that way...and even the admittedly naive Angie could see the guarded jealousy in her future sister-in-law’s eyes when she asked...but neither one had an answer. It just...happened. And, apparently, still did.
“What are we going to do?”
Angie jumped a bit when she felt Sarah’s hand reach back and clench her hair at the back of her head. There was no malice in the grab, though. This was...well...normal for them. Tentatively, Angie reached back and gave Sarah’s intricate braid a tug.
“...I love you, Sar…”
She felt Sarah’s body rise and fall with a deep breath.
“...I love you too, Angelica…”
She could feel her eyes welling up. And by no means for the first time since the Fall Festival.
“...I’m sorry, Sar…”
This time, she felt the back of Sarah’s head rub left and right against her own.
“...I’m not ready for that, Angelica.”
Angie breathed in deep, let out her own sigh, and accepted that.
Monday
February 3, 2020
“Recognize this?”
Sarah Selena Grey-Lacklan stands before a large UGWC banner. The World Champion is dressed for battle. She wears a red and green robe, the collar of which is lined with tall peacock feathers that reach up beyond the top of her head, which is gathered at her waist. Underneath, the phoenix design in her top is clear, the open wings lining the downward slope of her curves, with the UGWC World Heavyweight Championship wrapped around her waist. The robe falls the floor, flaring upon to show her black leg braces and black heeled boots with their red and green flames.
“Certainly you must, Mister Rydell.”
Her face is painted for battle: Long black “wings” stretching from her odd red eyes and to her temple, the contrast with her moonlight skin being pronounced. A hint of rose helps to define her high cheekbones and her lips are painted bright red to match her eyes.
“This is, after all, the only thing in your long career which has proven to be worthwhile.”
A slight shake of her head causes a twinkle of light to force the eyes to rise up to her hair. In its usual intricate braid for matches, her platinum locks have a net of diamonds woven into the front with a large ruby atop her forehead, seeming a crown suitable to be worn by royalty, be they the Red Queen or the Blood Princess.
“Take it in, Mister Rydell, and understand that everything you were for that brief...so brief...moment was but the lofty dreams of the otherwise hopeless.”
She turns around to face the UGWC banner, and we are afforded a view of the back of her robe, of the giant firebird along the back which matches the one on her chest. She raises her arms up from her sides, her hands wrapped in long black gloves which glitter in the light.
“Your entire career within the confines of this company, of this banner, has been one of starts and stops. It has been one of momentary bursts of success while mired in a droll litany of repetitive nonsense befitting any other nameless, faceless, lower card attraction that has ever been seen. But this...THIS...was your ONE MOMENT of greatness. And even THAT was repetitive!”
Sarah’s hands come forward and they lay atop the banner. Her fingers trace the large letters with a lightness which can only be affection.
“This company, Dave? It means the world to me. Yes yes, just about everyone in this company says something similar. But this place? It became a home for me when I didn’t think I needed one. I was traveling the world, as we modern fighters do. ‘Fight the World, Across the World,’ as my first t-shirt said. I found myself here to fight in the WrestleStock Cup, and while my success there is well documented, what is not is something far more emotional. I found a HOME, Sir. I found a place to ply my trade...my TRUE trade...though I will get to that in a bit. I found a place where I fight those better than me, fight those at my level, fight those below me. Where I could INSPIRE people.
“I found a place where my seeds could be planted. Where my wife could fight. Where my friends could fight. Where my message could be heard. I found a place that never lost faith in me, even when I found myself in a wheelchair. I found a place where they were more than happy to see me return. I found a place where my family, my House, my ideals, could be tested. I found a HOME.
“Unfortunately, that HOME was also a place of complacency. It was a place of being lost forevermore in days of yore. It was a place where resting upon one’s laurels was not only accepted, it was often CELEBRATED. It was REWARDED. This place was YOUR home. It was YOUR respite. It was YOUR sanctuary. It was a place where you could sit in the same fucking bar, talking to the same fucking people, about the same fucking problems, for years on end. It was a place where you could leave for months at a time after the latest devastating loss and then be gifted another opportunity whenever you decided to stop swilling shitty beer. And you were SO mired in your home, a home SO willing to bring back your particularly pungent brand of forgettable blather, that you were even able to take one of the most creative people this world has ever seen and drive her down into depths so bland that the Scoff of the Mainstreamer wasn’t ironic.”
She jerks her arms down and the UGWC banner pulls off the white wall. She turns and holds the banner up, clenching it in closed fists which threaten to ruin the fabric.
“Your solitary moment of greatness, Dave. Your BEST run in ten GODDAMN years, and what happened? It devolved into ‘same shit, different day,’ as my fellow Mainers might say. You took an AMAZING victory at the side of my sister, you took the SHOCKING reality of keeping Mackenzie down long enough for me to fall victim to Angelica’s Ew, and turned it into THIS!”
She shakes the banner in her fists.
“Over and again! The SAME words from the SAME location, OVER AND AGAIN. JUST like you were sitting that SAME fucking bar talking to the SAME people about the SAME problems in your career. And SINCE then, since you finally grew a set of balls and DID SOMETHING about this supposed ‘mission’ to win the World Championship, what have you done? You’ve gone BACK to that FUCKING BAR with the only change in scenery being painting over Tyler’s tattoos to turn him into Hank. You have the SAME people around you saying the SAME things. And you know what that has found you? Just MORE of the same. Once you stripped away THIS-”
She drops the banner to the ground.
“-you exposed yourself for being the same below-the-radar, just-barely-competent C Student who is laughed at by the A students, shamed by the hot cheerleaders, and only finds solace in the hands of the flunkards who think that longevity equates to success. Ever since you ‘cut the cord’ with Angelica, ever since you turned on the ONE FUCKING PERSON who would give you more than the time of day, do you know how well you have done? Do you KNOW how much SUCCESS you have had? I do! Of COURSE I do. Four and Eleven, Dave. FOUR WINS in FIFTEEN matches...which includes getting beat TWICE the night I first won the World Heavyweight Championship from someone you can NEVER seem to beat...with only ONE significant victory in the bunch. Once again, Dave Rydell pretends to do things differently, pretends to turn over a new leaf and focus on success and victory, and you STILL have found yourself heading into an important match with the odds-makers throwing up their hands and considering your chance of victory no better than a prop bet.”
“Ten minutes, Mrs. Lacklan.”
“GREY-Lacklan!”
Sarah’s eyes fill with fire as she hisses at the unseen voice. She holds her stare off camera for a moment longer before she turns back to the camera.
“...I understand using our professional names in publications or booking sheets, but FUCK it grates when people don’t call us ‘Mrs Grey-Lacklan’ otherwise…”
She raises her eyes back to the camera and she flashes her Billion $$$ Smile.
“Lets take a walk, Dave.”
Sarah pushes forward in the direction of the off-camera voice, and the camera follows her, getting a good view of the long peacock feathers at the collar of her robe and the firebird along her back. She walks through a door and into a wide hallway where faces recognizable to the more astute UGWC audience walk back and forth with clipboards and walkie-talkies. All of them pause for a second as Sarah and the camera walk by, each offering a “Good Luck, Champ!” or a “Have a great match, Mrs Lacklan!” as she goes by. Sarah offers them all a polite nod or wave of her hand in response, though she gives a particularly smarmy fellow a flat stare when he asks her, in all seriousness, if she was Lucy Wylde’s daughter. But the frosty glare of the Ice Queen turns upward into a smirk as she passes him and she pushes into a larger room.
“Do you know what I find interesting, Dave? How unrelenting your hypocrisy is. Now, yes, I am well aware that there is a LOT of hypocrisy in this business! Doing things like making someone cry one week and then talking them up the next because we are cooperative partners is part and parcel to what we do. But that is no excuse for the blatant hypocrisy YOU have shown. And that? Well...its this…”
Sarah raises her hand and points to a large television screen. On the screen is a cartoon of Dave Rydell, with a shiny bald head and exaggerated beard, looking intently back at the camera.
“Roll the footage, s'il vous plaît.”
The cartoon of Dave opens his mouth and words spill out:
Oh my god SHUT UP! I don’t care. Run your mouth. Just stop fucking tagging me you annoying fucking parasite.
“You see-”
Just fucking do it. And shut up. NOBODY FUCKING CARES
“Okay! I-”
Go away. Nobody cares. Mind your business. Fuck off. Die in a fire. Please just fuck off somewhere else.
The screen pauses on the spittle-filled mouth of Dave, wide open in the middle of a scream, and Sarah smirks.
“Interesting, n’est-ce pas? Over and over again, Dave cries out to the world for people to stop talking, for people to stop posturing, for people to DO something. Over and again, he screams and hollers like a child...or like this cartoon...with an extremity in volume that he hopes will overwhelm the senses of the listener so that his lack of both content and context goes by unnoticed. Yet, while screaming at the top of his lungs for those smarter than him to shut up, he himself has blathered quite a bit in that time. And some of that blather? Well...I wish to address it, if I may.”
Sarah turns from the screen and walks a few feet further into the room. She passes by a few tables, stopping to place a hand on a shoulder of another UGWC staff member, to give a polite smile to another, until she holds before a monitor. She gestures to it, the diamond dust etched into her gloves catching in the light, and we again see Dave, though this time the actual man, sitting on a chair and looking into the camera with cold eyes.
Sarah...enjoy your precious moments...because I have been discounted by your clique for so long that you all truly were lost in the actual depth of my abilities…
“Un moment.”
The screen pauses.
“Discounted. Oh...oh Dave...you have been FAR more than discounted by those of my House. ‘Discounted’ assumes that you have some value. ‘Discounted’ assumes that there is SOMETHING of WORTH to be considered. But you? You have so little worth that you might as well be a flattened penny found at the roadside. You have made much ado about your ‘ability’ to deal with members of my House and general circle, which is a wonderful fantasy for you to tell yourself when trying to come up with some way to convince yourself that tonight is going to be anything BUT a one-sided asskicking, but my House deals in truth, Sir. The Path preaches truth above all, and THAT truth forces your ‘discounted’ worth and your ‘abilities’ into the light and away from the shadows of vagabonds and scoundrels.”
“Outside of the aforementioned matches alongside my sister, you have been fully and completely incapable of rising higher than ‘slug’ status when being in the ring with my House. You have gone on and ON...while crying about how people need to shut up and just do their job...about how you have methodically picked part the Cool Kids and put us all in our place. But here is a teeny bit of truth for you: Unless you are teaming with my sister...and not always even then...you have exactly ONE victory when facing members of my House. Take away Angelica and-”
She holds up one of her hands and splays out her fingers as she ticks them off.
“-every time you have fought Kenzi? LOSS! Every time you have fought Angelica? LOSS! Every time you have fought Roxy? LOSS! Hell, your record against HER makes the year’s worth of jobbing you did to Klaus seem a nap upon a picnic blanket on a warm day along the shores of the Penebscot River! Every time you faced my Step-Mumsie? LOSS! And if I may paraphrase her…”
She throws her hands into the air and lets her head fall back so that she can look up to the sky.
“Lo! The Rydells of the World! Wrestling’s equivalent to that flattened, discarded, and useless penny!”
She slowly lowers her head, smirks, and motions back to the monitor.
“Procéder.”
You all have truly forgotten just who the fuck I am.
“...oh please...the only person who has forgotten who you are is YOU, Dave. The only person who thinks you are anything other than bottom-dwelling drivel with no other worth than getting a few ‘gimme’ wins over the likes of the Dark Destroyer or Salvatore is YOU, but keep going…”
You have grown complacent and for all intents and purposes, immature. Continuing your loud antics to try and get a moot point across.
“Yeah, that’ll do.”
The monitor again freezes and Sarah shakes her head.
“You want to talk about complacency, Dave? Do you even know what that word MEANS?! It means that you fall into a routine so deep that you lose all sight of growth. And when the two of us are standing next to one another, even the blindest of referees can point out the complacent person. When you came roaring back last year, if I may use that phrase in order to give you SOME feeling of upward mobility, you had a single desire in your head: Become the World Champion. And NOTHING was going to stop you, right? And what have you done since then? What steps have you taken? It has been over SIXTEEN MONTHS since Day of Reckoning and your DEMAND that everyone pay attention to you. SIXTEEN MONTHS since you looked at the LWF Title in your den and admitted how your hung your hat on being the champion of a defunct company and stopped giving an effort...which is complacency, by the way...and declared that you WOULD win the World Championship and how NOTHING would stop you. And what happened IMMEDIATELY after that?”
Sarah snaps her gloved fingers and a young man in a UGWC polo runs over. He holds up an iPhone and the camera zooms in on the small screen where it shows Dave Rydell pacing back and forth with a bag of ice on his shoulder.
I didn’t come back to to get sidetracked by some sorry excuse for a wrestler while I have my own shit to worry about. I don’t have time for you.
Sarah flings her fingers to the side, “shooing” away the worker, and he obliges, leaving the camera’s gaze.
“Except you DID have time for Raab, huh? You see, after your grand return where you started your march STRAIGHT TOWARD the World Championship...by jumping freakin’ RAAB...you IMMEDIATELY jobbed out again...in one of your MANY losses to Step-Mumsie, by the way...and then what happened? YES! You helped Angelica win the Cooperative Championships, but we have already covered the NIGHTMARE of repetitive complacency THAT ultimately bred...but what else? What did you do to attain your goal? What did you do to win THE Championship? Got involved with Deimos again? Feuded with Raab? Found yourself fighting over the Cross-Hemisphere championship? All of that and...well...nothing more. Because a driven and focused Dave Rydell will STILL just do the same shit over and again. All the while saying that I am complacent. Me! The person who has brought UNENDING creativity and diversity! Me! Who has inspired peers, superiors, and fans alike to be BETTER than themselves! ME! Your hypocrisy, in complaining of complacency while doing the backstroke in Rivière de complaisance, is only outweighed by the sheer stupidity of such a charge.
“Honestly, for someone who has tried to hammer out the impression that he laid out a plan and had it play out exactly as he said it would, you certainly do not actually understand much of what happens around you. You completely misunderstand the underpinnings of your peers, the goings-on within the company, and likely do not even realize who is technically in charge these days. I have pondered over whether this is through your inability to comprehend...to say, you’re an idiot...or you simply do not notice anything around you. You know, like you never watch anyone’s matches or watch their promotional videos and instead simply repeat the same lines over and again and hope that no one notices how what you say doesn’t actually reflect what has occurred over the prior few weeks. You know, like when you kept telling my sister that you won’t let me interfere in your match, even though, at the time, I was literally trying to break her neck or leg. But, hey, that WOULD entail that you actually pay attention to what anyone does or says beyond just showing up, laying on the mat for someone to get yet another victory over you, and then going back to the bar.
“Now, I COULD keep going with the literally DOZENS of dumb things you have said since I have known you...like continually calling me and Kenzi ‘keyboard warriors’ without realizing that, since we literally wrestle, fight, and win on a fucking goddamn WEEKLY BASIS, we are, again to use the word ‘literally,’ NOT keyboard warriors, since THOSE people just type and don’t act upon their feelings...again, the literal opposite of what we are, but hey, it makes you sound tough to use words incorrectly, I guess...but I want to take the time to point out the most important. One last time to the monitor, if you please.”
The camera returns to the monitor to show Dave again sitting on the stool and speaking directly to the camera.
The last time I had an opportunity at being the UGWC World Champion, was when this company united with the LWF...I failed myself when these doors opened...and it took me a decade to get back to this moment.
"Suffisant."
When the camera returns to Sarah’s face, it is cold. Angular. The face of the judge.
“You can ask Mackenzie to verify this if you wish...but when I heard you say this...when we watched this promotional video a few weeks ago...I leapt up off the couch, threw my hand into the air, pointed my index finger towards Heaven-”
She does so, her movements rigid.
“-and yelled out ‘Actually!’ for the One Lord God Himself to hear. And it took all of my inner strength to hold this tidbit in until the appropriate time.”
She lowers her hand back down to her side.
“Earlier, I proffered the curiosity of if you are stupid, if you are clueless, and I wonder it again. Are you so clueless to this company, so oblivious to your own failings, that you have completely forgotten your own career? I certainly am not, because I was there. I was there to watch my family and friends fight at the first Lords of Trios. I was hurt, I had barely any feeling in my legs at the time, but I was at my Beloved’s side in the Bradley Center in Wisconsin to watch Angelica, Milisandre, and Roxanne fight the Court. I was THERE, Dave. And so were you.”
Sarah’s arm arcs before the camera, beckoning it to turn, and we again see the large television set hung on the wall. This time, we are treated to exaggerated pictures of Dave Rydell, Phrixus Deimos, and Zane Scott. The screen moves and the cartoons dance in a jerky fight. Deimos leaps off the top rope and Dave slides in out of seemingly nowhere to catch him with a cutter. Dave and Zane trade heavy punches, with Zane staggering. Dave pulls Zane in for a cutter, but Zane ducks behind him, catches his arm, and then ripcords him into a massive lariat. Zane falls on top of him as the crowd counts to three.
“What is it, Dave?”
The camera returns to Sarah and her schooled face.
“Are you an idiot who has forgotten his own failed attempt at Zane’s World Heavyweight Championship? Or are you blatantly lying in an attempt to create a false narrative to lay down a story of some boyhood dream in order to garner sympathy? Or, better yet, are you simply so EMBARRASSED by your terrible, TERRIBLE attempt to win the championship that you have forced it from your mind? Does your failure hurt you so much that you have basically placed your fingers in your ears, as a child, and yelled out ‘LALALA CAN’T HEAR YOU?’”
She pauses and holds up three fingers, again ticking them off.
"Which one is it, Dave? Are you an idiot? Or are you an embarrassment to yourself?"
“Mrs. Lacklan? It’s time.”
Sarah’s face turns to the voice from off camera and nods.
“Come, Dave. Final stretch. I will give you a moment to dry your tears."
Do you hear that, Dave? Of course you do. You are in the middle of the ring right this second. You are in the middle of that explosion of adulation. You probably don’t understand it though, huh? Admittedly, I lost many people within our Chicago crowd after Battleground. Plenty of people were willing to boo you, jeer you, after what transpired between you and my sister, but they were prepared to HATE me. But this? This is not hate. This is the love and respect for a truly deserving World Champion. And why?
There it is. An even LARGER burst of cheers, Dave. This? This crowd? They are MINE, Dave. Have you noticed this weekend? Have you seen the little pendants worn by so many people? The cross in the middle of the sunburst? Here in New England, there are no people conflicted over my actions. Here in New England, there are no people who think that I go too far, or that I reach too high. Just a few hours’ drive away, Boston this weekend is FULL of Lacklanlanders. FULL of people dedicated to my House.
You probably haven’t noticed, though. A man who doesn't bother to watch the promotional videos of his peers, or study the matches of his opponents, or even open his eyes enough to see the world around him, is not going to notice how myself, Mackenzie, and Angelica have been hounded by supportive fans. Hell, the man who was so blithely unaware of my decree, THE decree from THE World’s Champion, that the Mark of Cain would be gifted to anyone who disobeyed my orders regarding my sister, would certainly never see the judgement coming down upon him. In all of your words of focusing on the prize, of becoming the champion, you neglected to notice that you would not just have to defeat me, but you would have to walk into a truly hostile environment to do so. Dave, you only had a prayer at defeating me at a Synergy, and on a Pay Per View where the crowd is literally full of people who will do anything for me? You are fucked.
And I HAVE been reigning, Dave, though your head has been shoved too far up your ass to notice. For the last one hundred and thirty-three days, I have truly REIGNED over this business. I have been in the main events. I have been at the winner’s circle. I have been promoting. I have been the face of the business. I have been the person all of the new wrestlers flock to. I have been the person recruiting. I have been the person paying attention to who is who and what is what. I have been the person being the goddamn CHAMPION. And THAT is something you know NOTHING about. After all...and here’s a factoid about you that you don’t even know about...again, probably due to that whole ‘I’m embarrassed of my own career’ issue you have...since the founding of the Coalition, you have had twenty-eight title matches. Discounting the ‘oh shit, ANYONE can win the title tonight!’ matches like Outlast, there have been twenty-eight times where you had the chance to DO SOMETHING with your FUCKING SHITTY CAREER, and you have only walked away with gold around your waist ten times. Know how many times you did it without a partner?
Know how many times you have won a singles championship in the Coalition?
Three.
In ten FUCKING years, Dave.
And you think you’re going to beat ME in the MAIN EVENT for the goddamn WORLD Championship?!
Speaking of things you know nothing about! Yes yes, you have been a champion in this company. Yes yes, a World Title win would even make you a Grand Slam champion. But that is an accolade which has become so saturated with one-and-doners that it now means next to nothing. But DEFENDING championships isn’t something you’re very good at! Again, for the sake of placing context on THIS match, on THIS opportunity, on YOU being able to beat ME in a fucking SINGLES match for a title, check this out:
You beat Enigma...the owner of both the first AND second longest losing streaks in Coalition history...for the Chaos Championship.
And then immediately lost it. One and Done, Number One.
You beat Klaus for the Cross-Hemisphere Championship on your fourth try.
And then immediately lost it. One and Done, Number Two.
You beat Deimos and Raab for the Chaos Championship last year.
And then immediately lost it. One and Done, Number Three.
Get it yet, Dave? Not only are you a shitty wrestler on any random Synergy, you are a TERRIBLE wrestler when stuff REALLY matters. And against me? ME?! The person who Outlasted the entire fed? Who put Roxy down? Who retired a hall of famer? Who DOMINATES.
Good Lord, Dave.
Here we go.
The name that so many people fear because it means a match against someone who is unrelenting. Someone who never stops. Someone who digs again and again and again AND AGAIN AND AGAIN until her opponents fall to the ground, unconscious, unable to continue. Who WINS at any cost, DEMANDS that you give a shit, and holds you ACCOUNTABLE for your fucking record.
THAT is what awaits you once I walk through this curtain, Dave. I am NOT the people who slept through your time on top in Lock. I am NOT the people who exist for you to occasionally break up your losing streaks. I am NOT someone who plays YOUR game of being good only once or twice a year. You are facing THE person who DEMANDS excellence at all time. You are facing THE person who will gladly fuck up “legends” and ring-bearers for halls of fame to prove her point. You are facing THE EPITOME of the modern wrestler, the one who will be THE prototype for the future. You are facing not just the face of THIS company, but the very goddamn BUSINESS.
You think you are so goddamn GREAT because, for once in your middling career, a plan of yours didn’t turn into a flaming garbage heap and actually paid dividends? Bitch, PLEASE. My entire EXISTENCE is based upon thinking of the long-term and folding the daily and weekly happenings into my plans. Winning Outlast? That was set up from the start, from defining the importance of becoming a Captain to assembling a team specifically designed to get me to the finals. Retaining against Roxy? “Roxy the Absentee Champion” was MY design and she had ZERO heart left by the time she was beat over the head emotionally for a month. Retaining against a man who once took a title away from my father? Literally YEARS of laying a groundwork so that his defeat was assured before the ink was dry on the contract.
And you?
You?
I promised the Mark of Cain to anyone who attacked Angie.
I SPECIFICALLY warned YOU.
And now here we are. You, full of that lukewarm piss and vinegar of a man outmatched in every way, and me, the vengeful older sister who has an entire BUILDING on her side.
This is for Angelica.
This is for Mary.
I have had a thing for spiders lately, Dave.
Welcome to my web.
My name is Grey-Lacklan.
And I am the Wrath of God.
December 9, 2019
The throbbing in Angie’s head felt like a bomb was repeatedly going off, pounding and pressing on her sinuses every few seconds with a pain which threatened to take her from consciousness. She could feel Mister King’s fingers pulling on the tiny bits of silk and animal hair that would make up her stitches, but the tiny pains were nothing in the face of the bowl of pain that was her head. The bull rope match with Dave had been brutal, with her suffering the brunt of his anger via the cowbell being struck into her head several times, but the big finish had been him countering her attempted kick, popping her up into the air, and driving her down onto the mat on her forehead with his Virus of Life.
“Where is she?!”
Angie’s eyes shut in pain as the voice screams out from the hall. The dull pain in her head could not hope to block out the keen of that particular banshee.
“I am the WORLD’S CHAMPION, and you WILL let me through, SO HELP ME!”
Angie would much rather see literally anyone else in the world right that moment than Sarah, but like Mister King’s scurrying medical staff, she knew that there was no stopping her when she was in this kind of mood. And she was ALWAYS in this kind of mood, lately. Which was, admittedly, her fault.
“...Sister…”
Angie doesn’t want to open her eyes. She knows what she will see. Shame. Embarrassment. Regret. The judgement from her sister over her inability to defeat Dave at Horizons. Instead, she turned her head away, eyes still shut, and tried to make herself seem smaller.
“...let me see…”
Angie shied away even more by turning her body slightly.
“LET ME SEE!”
Angie gasped in pain as her hair was suddenly pulled, nearly yanked. Her eyes bust open and her head is turned back to face forward, and she looked up to see what she was trying to avoid. Sarah was still dressed in her gear, of course, having just finished defending the UGWC World Title in the main event of Horizons. The title was around her waist, with her top showing the detailed phoenix in red and green, and her bottoms short enough to show some leg muscle underneath her heavy leg braces, and every inch of her skin was still slick with sweat. Her platinum hair, so different from her own golden, was still in its perfect braid, but her eyes were HAGGARD. Red and puffy, she knew meant that her sister had been wearing her contacts for too long, and they were filled with anger. And not just anger.
Hatred.
She had seen that look before. When she had told her...too late...about their father. When she had told her how long she had known without telling her. When Sarah had declared that she would “kill” her. Her eyes had been full of hate. Now they were, too.
“...I’m going to kill him…”
Angie’s eyes blinked in confusion as Sarah let go of her hair. She could swear that she had said hi-
“I am going to RUIN Dave Rydell!”
Sarah turned around and wove her hands with agitation at the medical staff.
“EVERYONE OUT!!”
They must have been smart, because they just about ran at her command. Within a few seconds, the two of them were alone, with Angie staring at Sarah’s back.
“...the Mark of Cain…”
Sarah’s voice was full of cold anger.
“...I promised the Mark of Cain to anyone...to ANYONE...who hurt you…”
She turned around and Angie could feel as much see the eyes of the Judge upon her.
“...before I could do it myself.”
Angie felt like crying. She had been trying to get through to Sarah ever since the Fall Festival in Maine. She had begged her. Pleaded with her. Told her about the possibility of their brother. WENT with her to Japan to meet him. Talked to her. Tried to sing with her, tried to play games with her. Tried to do all of the things they did, that they NATURALLY did, before either one of them knew about them being sisters. But Sarah had closed herself off to everyone. Had screamed and yelled about how no one would steal her life. She didn’t want Sarah’s life! She had her own life! She just wanted her sister! She wanted-
“What are we going to do, Angelica?”
“Sar-Sar, I-”
“No!”
The explosive anger in Sarah’s voice cut Angie off, and the finger suddenly pointing in her face made her feel like she was back in her Montessori in Canda.
“You LOST the ability to call me that! You LOST it, Angelica! You LOST our shorthand! You LOST our games! You LOST our LOVE! SIXTEEN MONTHS!”
Angie shrinked away from the sudden onslaught of fury. The trip to Japan had been FULL of this. Of Angie trying to reconnect and apologize. And Sarah refusing to even listen. Kenzi had been trying to help, too, but Sarah just seemed to do nothing but yell and scream. And then confide in Bordy.
That was scary.
Sarah’s sigh was deep and full, and make her entire body fall. She pointed down at the ground in front of Angie.
“Sit.”
Angie blinked in confusion, but then yelped in pain as Sarah’s hand found her head again and pulled on her hair.
“SIT!”
Angie found herself on the ground and pulled her knee up to her chest. Sarah circled around her and then plopped to the ground. They pressed their backs to one another naturally, and Angie’s heart wanted to leap out and dance. They had “clicked” from the moment they met, though neither one could have known why at the time, and had found themselves sitting this way to play video games or send each other digital pigeons or just sit quietly not long after. Kenzi had asked once why they sat that way...and even the admittedly naive Angie could see the guarded jealousy in her future sister-in-law’s eyes when she asked...but neither one had an answer. It just...happened. And, apparently, still did.
“What are we going to do?”
Angie jumped a bit when she felt Sarah’s hand reach back and clench her hair at the back of her head. There was no malice in the grab, though. This was...well...normal for them. Tentatively, Angie reached back and gave Sarah’s intricate braid a tug.
“...I love you, Sar…”
She felt Sarah’s body rise and fall with a deep breath.
“...I love you too, Angelica…”
She could feel her eyes welling up. And by no means for the first time since the Fall Festival.
“...I’m sorry, Sar…”
This time, she felt the back of Sarah’s head rub left and right against her own.
“...I’m not ready for that, Angelica.”
Angie breathed in deep, let out her own sigh, and accepted that.
Monday
February 3, 2020
“Recognize this?”
Sarah Selena Grey-Lacklan stands before a large UGWC banner. The World Champion is dressed for battle. She wears a red and green robe, the collar of which is lined with tall peacock feathers that reach up beyond the top of her head, which is gathered at her waist. Underneath, the phoenix design in her top is clear, the open wings lining the downward slope of her curves, with the UGWC World Heavyweight Championship wrapped around her waist. The robe falls the floor, flaring upon to show her black leg braces and black heeled boots with their red and green flames.
“Certainly you must, Mister Rydell.”
Her face is painted for battle: Long black “wings” stretching from her odd red eyes and to her temple, the contrast with her moonlight skin being pronounced. A hint of rose helps to define her high cheekbones and her lips are painted bright red to match her eyes.
“This is, after all, the only thing in your long career which has proven to be worthwhile.”
A slight shake of her head causes a twinkle of light to force the eyes to rise up to her hair. In its usual intricate braid for matches, her platinum locks have a net of diamonds woven into the front with a large ruby atop her forehead, seeming a crown suitable to be worn by royalty, be they the Red Queen or the Blood Princess.
“Take it in, Mister Rydell, and understand that everything you were for that brief...so brief...moment was but the lofty dreams of the otherwise hopeless.”
She turns around to face the UGWC banner, and we are afforded a view of the back of her robe, of the giant firebird along the back which matches the one on her chest. She raises her arms up from her sides, her hands wrapped in long black gloves which glitter in the light.
“Your entire career within the confines of this company, of this banner, has been one of starts and stops. It has been one of momentary bursts of success while mired in a droll litany of repetitive nonsense befitting any other nameless, faceless, lower card attraction that has ever been seen. But this...THIS...was your ONE MOMENT of greatness. And even THAT was repetitive!”
Sarah’s hands come forward and they lay atop the banner. Her fingers trace the large letters with a lightness which can only be affection.
“This company, Dave? It means the world to me. Yes yes, just about everyone in this company says something similar. But this place? It became a home for me when I didn’t think I needed one. I was traveling the world, as we modern fighters do. ‘Fight the World, Across the World,’ as my first t-shirt said. I found myself here to fight in the WrestleStock Cup, and while my success there is well documented, what is not is something far more emotional. I found a HOME, Sir. I found a place to ply my trade...my TRUE trade...though I will get to that in a bit. I found a place where I fight those better than me, fight those at my level, fight those below me. Where I could INSPIRE people.
“I found a place where my seeds could be planted. Where my wife could fight. Where my friends could fight. Where my message could be heard. I found a place that never lost faith in me, even when I found myself in a wheelchair. I found a place where they were more than happy to see me return. I found a place where my family, my House, my ideals, could be tested. I found a HOME.
“Unfortunately, that HOME was also a place of complacency. It was a place of being lost forevermore in days of yore. It was a place where resting upon one’s laurels was not only accepted, it was often CELEBRATED. It was REWARDED. This place was YOUR home. It was YOUR respite. It was YOUR sanctuary. It was a place where you could sit in the same fucking bar, talking to the same fucking people, about the same fucking problems, for years on end. It was a place where you could leave for months at a time after the latest devastating loss and then be gifted another opportunity whenever you decided to stop swilling shitty beer. And you were SO mired in your home, a home SO willing to bring back your particularly pungent brand of forgettable blather, that you were even able to take one of the most creative people this world has ever seen and drive her down into depths so bland that the Scoff of the Mainstreamer wasn’t ironic.”
She jerks her arms down and the UGWC banner pulls off the white wall. She turns and holds the banner up, clenching it in closed fists which threaten to ruin the fabric.
“Your solitary moment of greatness, Dave. Your BEST run in ten GODDAMN years, and what happened? It devolved into ‘same shit, different day,’ as my fellow Mainers might say. You took an AMAZING victory at the side of my sister, you took the SHOCKING reality of keeping Mackenzie down long enough for me to fall victim to Angelica’s Ew, and turned it into THIS!”
She shakes the banner in her fists.
“Over and again! The SAME words from the SAME location, OVER AND AGAIN. JUST like you were sitting that SAME fucking bar talking to the SAME people about the SAME problems in your career. And SINCE then, since you finally grew a set of balls and DID SOMETHING about this supposed ‘mission’ to win the World Championship, what have you done? You’ve gone BACK to that FUCKING BAR with the only change in scenery being painting over Tyler’s tattoos to turn him into Hank. You have the SAME people around you saying the SAME things. And you know what that has found you? Just MORE of the same. Once you stripped away THIS-”
She drops the banner to the ground.
“-you exposed yourself for being the same below-the-radar, just-barely-competent C Student who is laughed at by the A students, shamed by the hot cheerleaders, and only finds solace in the hands of the flunkards who think that longevity equates to success. Ever since you ‘cut the cord’ with Angelica, ever since you turned on the ONE FUCKING PERSON who would give you more than the time of day, do you know how well you have done? Do you KNOW how much SUCCESS you have had? I do! Of COURSE I do. Four and Eleven, Dave. FOUR WINS in FIFTEEN matches...which includes getting beat TWICE the night I first won the World Heavyweight Championship from someone you can NEVER seem to beat...with only ONE significant victory in the bunch. Once again, Dave Rydell pretends to do things differently, pretends to turn over a new leaf and focus on success and victory, and you STILL have found yourself heading into an important match with the odds-makers throwing up their hands and considering your chance of victory no better than a prop bet.”
“Ten minutes, Mrs. Lacklan.”
“GREY-Lacklan!”
Sarah’s eyes fill with fire as she hisses at the unseen voice. She holds her stare off camera for a moment longer before she turns back to the camera.
“...I understand using our professional names in publications or booking sheets, but FUCK it grates when people don’t call us ‘Mrs Grey-Lacklan’ otherwise…”
She raises her eyes back to the camera and she flashes her Billion $$$ Smile.
“Lets take a walk, Dave.”
Sarah pushes forward in the direction of the off-camera voice, and the camera follows her, getting a good view of the long peacock feathers at the collar of her robe and the firebird along her back. She walks through a door and into a wide hallway where faces recognizable to the more astute UGWC audience walk back and forth with clipboards and walkie-talkies. All of them pause for a second as Sarah and the camera walk by, each offering a “Good Luck, Champ!” or a “Have a great match, Mrs Lacklan!” as she goes by. Sarah offers them all a polite nod or wave of her hand in response, though she gives a particularly smarmy fellow a flat stare when he asks her, in all seriousness, if she was Lucy Wylde’s daughter. But the frosty glare of the Ice Queen turns upward into a smirk as she passes him and she pushes into a larger room.
“Do you know what I find interesting, Dave? How unrelenting your hypocrisy is. Now, yes, I am well aware that there is a LOT of hypocrisy in this business! Doing things like making someone cry one week and then talking them up the next because we are cooperative partners is part and parcel to what we do. But that is no excuse for the blatant hypocrisy YOU have shown. And that? Well...its this…”
Sarah raises her hand and points to a large television screen. On the screen is a cartoon of Dave Rydell, with a shiny bald head and exaggerated beard, looking intently back at the camera.
“Roll the footage, s'il vous plaît.”
The cartoon of Dave opens his mouth and words spill out:
Oh my god SHUT UP! I don’t care. Run your mouth. Just stop fucking tagging me you annoying fucking parasite.
“You see-”
Just fucking do it. And shut up. NOBODY FUCKING CARES
“Okay! I-”
Go away. Nobody cares. Mind your business. Fuck off. Die in a fire. Please just fuck off somewhere else.
The screen pauses on the spittle-filled mouth of Dave, wide open in the middle of a scream, and Sarah smirks.
“Interesting, n’est-ce pas? Over and over again, Dave cries out to the world for people to stop talking, for people to stop posturing, for people to DO something. Over and again, he screams and hollers like a child...or like this cartoon...with an extremity in volume that he hopes will overwhelm the senses of the listener so that his lack of both content and context goes by unnoticed. Yet, while screaming at the top of his lungs for those smarter than him to shut up, he himself has blathered quite a bit in that time. And some of that blather? Well...I wish to address it, if I may.”
Sarah turns from the screen and walks a few feet further into the room. She passes by a few tables, stopping to place a hand on a shoulder of another UGWC staff member, to give a polite smile to another, until she holds before a monitor. She gestures to it, the diamond dust etched into her gloves catching in the light, and we again see Dave, though this time the actual man, sitting on a chair and looking into the camera with cold eyes.
Sarah...enjoy your precious moments...because I have been discounted by your clique for so long that you all truly were lost in the actual depth of my abilities…
“Un moment.”
The screen pauses.
“Discounted. Oh...oh Dave...you have been FAR more than discounted by those of my House. ‘Discounted’ assumes that you have some value. ‘Discounted’ assumes that there is SOMETHING of WORTH to be considered. But you? You have so little worth that you might as well be a flattened penny found at the roadside. You have made much ado about your ‘ability’ to deal with members of my House and general circle, which is a wonderful fantasy for you to tell yourself when trying to come up with some way to convince yourself that tonight is going to be anything BUT a one-sided asskicking, but my House deals in truth, Sir. The Path preaches truth above all, and THAT truth forces your ‘discounted’ worth and your ‘abilities’ into the light and away from the shadows of vagabonds and scoundrels.”
“Outside of the aforementioned matches alongside my sister, you have been fully and completely incapable of rising higher than ‘slug’ status when being in the ring with my House. You have gone on and ON...while crying about how people need to shut up and just do their job...about how you have methodically picked part the Cool Kids and put us all in our place. But here is a teeny bit of truth for you: Unless you are teaming with my sister...and not always even then...you have exactly ONE victory when facing members of my House. Take away Angelica and-”
She holds up one of her hands and splays out her fingers as she ticks them off.
“-every time you have fought Kenzi? LOSS! Every time you have fought Angelica? LOSS! Every time you have fought Roxy? LOSS! Hell, your record against HER makes the year’s worth of jobbing you did to Klaus seem a nap upon a picnic blanket on a warm day along the shores of the Penebscot River! Every time you faced my Step-Mumsie? LOSS! And if I may paraphrase her…”
She throws her hands into the air and lets her head fall back so that she can look up to the sky.
“Lo! The Rydells of the World! Wrestling’s equivalent to that flattened, discarded, and useless penny!”
She slowly lowers her head, smirks, and motions back to the monitor.
“Procéder.”
You all have truly forgotten just who the fuck I am.
“...oh please...the only person who has forgotten who you are is YOU, Dave. The only person who thinks you are anything other than bottom-dwelling drivel with no other worth than getting a few ‘gimme’ wins over the likes of the Dark Destroyer or Salvatore is YOU, but keep going…”
You have grown complacent and for all intents and purposes, immature. Continuing your loud antics to try and get a moot point across.
“Yeah, that’ll do.”
The monitor again freezes and Sarah shakes her head.
“You want to talk about complacency, Dave? Do you even know what that word MEANS?! It means that you fall into a routine so deep that you lose all sight of growth. And when the two of us are standing next to one another, even the blindest of referees can point out the complacent person. When you came roaring back last year, if I may use that phrase in order to give you SOME feeling of upward mobility, you had a single desire in your head: Become the World Champion. And NOTHING was going to stop you, right? And what have you done since then? What steps have you taken? It has been over SIXTEEN MONTHS since Day of Reckoning and your DEMAND that everyone pay attention to you. SIXTEEN MONTHS since you looked at the LWF Title in your den and admitted how your hung your hat on being the champion of a defunct company and stopped giving an effort...which is complacency, by the way...and declared that you WOULD win the World Championship and how NOTHING would stop you. And what happened IMMEDIATELY after that?”
Sarah snaps her gloved fingers and a young man in a UGWC polo runs over. He holds up an iPhone and the camera zooms in on the small screen where it shows Dave Rydell pacing back and forth with a bag of ice on his shoulder.
I didn’t come back to to get sidetracked by some sorry excuse for a wrestler while I have my own shit to worry about. I don’t have time for you.
Sarah flings her fingers to the side, “shooing” away the worker, and he obliges, leaving the camera’s gaze.
“Except you DID have time for Raab, huh? You see, after your grand return where you started your march STRAIGHT TOWARD the World Championship...by jumping freakin’ RAAB...you IMMEDIATELY jobbed out again...in one of your MANY losses to Step-Mumsie, by the way...and then what happened? YES! You helped Angelica win the Cooperative Championships, but we have already covered the NIGHTMARE of repetitive complacency THAT ultimately bred...but what else? What did you do to attain your goal? What did you do to win THE Championship? Got involved with Deimos again? Feuded with Raab? Found yourself fighting over the Cross-Hemisphere championship? All of that and...well...nothing more. Because a driven and focused Dave Rydell will STILL just do the same shit over and again. All the while saying that I am complacent. Me! The person who has brought UNENDING creativity and diversity! Me! Who has inspired peers, superiors, and fans alike to be BETTER than themselves! ME! Your hypocrisy, in complaining of complacency while doing the backstroke in Rivière de complaisance, is only outweighed by the sheer stupidity of such a charge.
“Honestly, for someone who has tried to hammer out the impression that he laid out a plan and had it play out exactly as he said it would, you certainly do not actually understand much of what happens around you. You completely misunderstand the underpinnings of your peers, the goings-on within the company, and likely do not even realize who is technically in charge these days. I have pondered over whether this is through your inability to comprehend...to say, you’re an idiot...or you simply do not notice anything around you. You know, like you never watch anyone’s matches or watch their promotional videos and instead simply repeat the same lines over and again and hope that no one notices how what you say doesn’t actually reflect what has occurred over the prior few weeks. You know, like when you kept telling my sister that you won’t let me interfere in your match, even though, at the time, I was literally trying to break her neck or leg. But, hey, that WOULD entail that you actually pay attention to what anyone does or says beyond just showing up, laying on the mat for someone to get yet another victory over you, and then going back to the bar.
“Now, I COULD keep going with the literally DOZENS of dumb things you have said since I have known you...like continually calling me and Kenzi ‘keyboard warriors’ without realizing that, since we literally wrestle, fight, and win on a fucking goddamn WEEKLY BASIS, we are, again to use the word ‘literally,’ NOT keyboard warriors, since THOSE people just type and don’t act upon their feelings...again, the literal opposite of what we are, but hey, it makes you sound tough to use words incorrectly, I guess...but I want to take the time to point out the most important. One last time to the monitor, if you please.”
The camera returns to the monitor to show Dave again sitting on the stool and speaking directly to the camera.
The last time I had an opportunity at being the UGWC World Champion, was when this company united with the LWF...I failed myself when these doors opened...and it took me a decade to get back to this moment.
"Suffisant."
When the camera returns to Sarah’s face, it is cold. Angular. The face of the judge.
“You can ask Mackenzie to verify this if you wish...but when I heard you say this...when we watched this promotional video a few weeks ago...I leapt up off the couch, threw my hand into the air, pointed my index finger towards Heaven-”
She does so, her movements rigid.
“-and yelled out ‘Actually!’ for the One Lord God Himself to hear. And it took all of my inner strength to hold this tidbit in until the appropriate time.”
She lowers her hand back down to her side.
“Earlier, I proffered the curiosity of if you are stupid, if you are clueless, and I wonder it again. Are you so clueless to this company, so oblivious to your own failings, that you have completely forgotten your own career? I certainly am not, because I was there. I was there to watch my family and friends fight at the first Lords of Trios. I was hurt, I had barely any feeling in my legs at the time, but I was at my Beloved’s side in the Bradley Center in Wisconsin to watch Angelica, Milisandre, and Roxanne fight the Court. I was THERE, Dave. And so were you.”
Sarah’s arm arcs before the camera, beckoning it to turn, and we again see the large television set hung on the wall. This time, we are treated to exaggerated pictures of Dave Rydell, Phrixus Deimos, and Zane Scott. The screen moves and the cartoons dance in a jerky fight. Deimos leaps off the top rope and Dave slides in out of seemingly nowhere to catch him with a cutter. Dave and Zane trade heavy punches, with Zane staggering. Dave pulls Zane in for a cutter, but Zane ducks behind him, catches his arm, and then ripcords him into a massive lariat. Zane falls on top of him as the crowd counts to three.
“What is it, Dave?”
The camera returns to Sarah and her schooled face.
“Are you an idiot who has forgotten his own failed attempt at Zane’s World Heavyweight Championship? Or are you blatantly lying in an attempt to create a false narrative to lay down a story of some boyhood dream in order to garner sympathy? Or, better yet, are you simply so EMBARRASSED by your terrible, TERRIBLE attempt to win the championship that you have forced it from your mind? Does your failure hurt you so much that you have basically placed your fingers in your ears, as a child, and yelled out ‘LALALA CAN’T HEAR YOU?’”
She pauses and holds up three fingers, again ticking them off.
"Which one is it, Dave? Are you an idiot? Or are you an embarrassment to yourself?"
“Mrs. Lacklan? It’s time.”
Sarah’s face turns to the voice from off camera and nods.
“Come, Dave. Final stretch. I will give you a moment to dry your tears."
“...and his opponent…”
“EYES ON ME!”
“...fighting out of the Hills of Hollywood...but born in Bangor, Maine…”
You probably haven’t noticed, though. A man who doesn't bother to watch the promotional videos of his peers, or study the matches of his opponents, or even open his eyes enough to see the world around him, is not going to notice how myself, Mackenzie, and Angelica have been hounded by supportive fans. Hell, the man who was so blithely unaware of my decree, THE decree from THE World’s Champion, that the Mark of Cain would be gifted to anyone who disobeyed my orders regarding my sister, would certainly never see the judgement coming down upon him. In all of your words of focusing on the prize, of becoming the champion, you neglected to notice that you would not just have to defeat me, but you would have to walk into a truly hostile environment to do so. Dave, you only had a prayer at defeating me at a Synergy, and on a Pay Per View where the crowd is literally full of people who will do anything for me? You are fucked.
“...she is the reigning…”
Know how many times you have won a singles championship in the Coalition?
Three.
In ten FUCKING years, Dave.
And you think you’re going to beat ME in the MAIN EVENT for the goddamn WORLD Championship?!
“....and defending…”
You beat Enigma...the owner of both the first AND second longest losing streaks in Coalition history...for the Chaos Championship.
And then immediately lost it. One and Done, Number One.
You beat Klaus for the Cross-Hemisphere Championship on your fourth try.
And then immediately lost it. One and Done, Number Two.
You beat Deimos and Raab for the Chaos Championship last year.
And then immediately lost it. One and Done, Number Three.
Get it yet, Dave? Not only are you a shitty wrestler on any random Synergy, you are a TERRIBLE wrestler when stuff REALLY matters. And against me? ME?! The person who Outlasted the entire fed? Who put Roxy down? Who retired a hall of famer? Who DOMINATES.
Good Lord, Dave.
“...World Heavyweight Champiooooooon…”
“...Sarahhhhh…”
“...GREYYYYYYYY-”
“-LAAAAAACK”
And you?
You?
I promised the Mark of Cain to anyone who attacked Angie.
I SPECIFICALLY warned YOU.
And now here we are. You, full of that lukewarm piss and vinegar of a man outmatched in every way, and me, the vengeful older sister who has an entire BUILDING on her side.
This is for Angelica.
This is for Mary.
I have had a thing for spiders lately, Dave.
Welcome to my web.
“LAAAAAAAAN!”
And I am the Wrath of God.
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