Post by LACKLAN on Sept 7, 2018 14:46:24 GMT -5
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
The thought rolls around in my head over and over as I stumble through the halls of the manor. I feel...terrible. I ache. My joints cry out. My head pounds. My stomach twists in knots with hunger, but even the SMELL of food makes me wish to vomit.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I didn’t want to take the throne. I DIDN’T WANT IT. I was happy with my revenge. Happy with her legs being taken. I WAS HAPPY. But they called to me. Asked me. BEGGED ME. PLEADED WITH ME. “We need your voice,” they said as they did my hair. “We miss you,” they cried as they fastened the snaps of my gown. So I gave in. I gave them what they wished for. I gave them the TRUE words of the Savior of Professional Wrestling. I gave them the Voice of God. I gave them Jean-Paul Lacklan, Il est ressuscité, and not the muted, neutered, version the girl offered.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
I have done EVERYTHING for her. I was her FRIEND. I was her MOTHER. I was her LIGHT in the DARK! I REFUSED to let her be a slut. I REFUSED to let her be a tramp. I REFUSED to let her be some trollop like the WHORE who gave birth to her. And she rejected me...for what? FOR WHAT?! So she had to pay. HAD TO PAY. Months taken from her...years taken from her career...I did what I had to do. I DID WHAT I HAD TO DO.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
I am doing what I must. WHAT I MUST. I am LEADING her people...her FATHER’S people...Il est ressuscité. But I am losing my grip. I am losing them. Even with the right message...with the Path of the Light Church behind me...I am losing them. Championships lost...I need...I need...I need my championship back…
Where am I? I was walking through the halls of the Manor. My home. My husband’s home. The girl’s home. No more Black Sheep. SHE IS BANISHED. Where am I? The girl’s trophy room? How did-?
I hate this. I hate this room. Trophies for everything. EVERYTHING. The Demon Child excelled in EVERYTHING. Trophies for dance. Cheer. Swimming. Singing. Dancing. Wrestling.
WHY IS THE WHORE SO SUCCESSFUL?!
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
Would Angie have these awards, too? How could that be? How could there have been another child? How did they keep it secret for so long? How does SARAH not realize it when she looks at her “friend” Angelica?! And why does Angie keep it hidden? Is she worried? Is she afraid? Is she jealous? Does she wish these trophies were hers? Is she-
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
Who am I talking about again? Sarah? Angie? Both? My babies. My sweet, beautiful daughters.
WHY DON’T THEY LOVE ME?!
My hand hurts. Why does my hand hurt? Blood. Blood on my hand. Glass in it. One of Sarah’s pictures...her at Homecoming...receiving her crown in her cheer uniform...its broken. Why is it broken? Why is my hand bleeding? I smashed it? I-
My other hand is bleeding. Another picture.
A trophy is on the floor. Dented.
Glass shatters against the wall.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
I can’t breath. I can’t breath. Why can’t I-?
What am I doing on the floor? How did I get here? How did I-?
Drive. In my hands. My husband...Il est ressuscité,...left me pills. Pills to crush. Powder to breath. Power to-
Hello, dear children
We find ourselves going into that breach again in a way familiar to everyone in this match, as well as everyone within this company. In fact, it would not be remiss to request that the Consortium institute a multi-person match championship of some sort, for the skill sets required to win matches with so many opponents and with but one fall to finish. I might well be suited for that championship, as it is, for out of the twentyseven times I have been in a UGWC match, twelve of them have been in the environment of a three or four way match. I have obviously not won them all...as that would just be a silly desire...but I have won the important ones. The multi-person match which earned me the Chaos Championship, as well as last week’s silliness with my dear daughter’s day of appreciation. I have, as they say, momentum.
Of course, there are those within this business who discount the need for wins and momentum. No doubt my position of instance on victories will be ridiculed by at least one of my opponents this week, but I shall stay the course, as is God’s wish for the Path of the Light. For in this match, I...and I alone...have any momentum of any sort. I….and I alone...have that precious “win” in my checkbox column.
Now, I am sure Roxy Cotton will joke about scratching an imaginary neckbeard and say “Actually!” like so many adults living in the basements of their parents’ home, but I think little of her most recent “win.” In fact, I think very little of MOST of her “wins” here in the Coalition. More than one person has spouted the narrative that Roxy was “carried” to her Co Operation and Trios wins by the seemingly untamable Vaughan girl, and in the old adage of smoke and fire, one has to wonder if those people are more correct than not. After all, a close study of Roxy’s matches within the UGWC beg the question on whether or not she deserves to be held in as high a regard as her three friends. Wins in tag matches with numerous partners, though the same of Angie can be said of those partners. A WrestleStock which was only made palatable by the exertions of Captain Eighties. A win over the worst “ice” woman on the roster which no one could be proud of. A “win” last week which was purely the Snake Duet just not caring enough to fight them. And then...of course...two losses on Chill to Dynamo and Fugate.
Roxy has, on more than one occasion, mocked me, and my church, through the medium of social media about wins, and with the ease in which Necron dispatched me at WrestleStock. But she herself seems to be running into that odd thing which happens in the UGWC to those who are not quite as talented as they think they are: They win the matches which have little importance, and lose the ones which actually matter. So, if you will all allow me a moment to say to her in response:
At least I lost the Chaos Championship to Necron after two successful defenses.
You lost your Cooperation championships on the first defense. And for all of your plotting and scheming with Necron, you lost to Travis Pierce at Day of Reckoning. Your bravado and “bullying” are as fake as the rest of your body, and your relevance is as thin as your insides are shallow. Your quality and effectiveness has dropped as the shock of who and what you are has become blausee, and as a result, you are clearly in a desperate need for validation both in your career and in your personal life. But should it make you feel better about yourself and your career, then by all means, perform a sex act on video again and see how well that goes for you.
Of course, Konrad Raab also falls under the auspices of not winning the matters which matter. Yes, he has a singles victory over our resident luggage-carrier and hair product enthusiast, but he has not been able to do anything with that surprising win. While I may not be the scholar or historian of antiquity which others seem to be, I do know that Raab has been little more than a coin flip on success during the time we have known him.. Others may speak of his time in other companies, or perhaps of his brother due to their inability to tell the two apart, but I shall keep my within the context of this company and this match. The only time Raab has been able to win in a multi-person situation is when facing the likes of Lazarus and Rydell, and that distinction is not exactly one to be desired. Additionally, wins over the like of Lindsay Bunny and the aforementioned Lazarus do not exactly instill fear in the likes of the Champion of Chaos.
This being said, I would be remiss if I did not praise him for his success at WrestleStock. After all, during a week in which I myself had a crushing defeat, he was able to maneuver his way through the oddity that was the Cooperation Roulette and earn himself an accolade alongside Fear, as well as a title shot. But if we forget about that surprising singles victory over Mister Somers, we have no choice but to see that Raab has run into a losing streak of an embarrassing length. I myself know exactly what that feels like, having had lost six matches in a row, but I know something Raab does not:
How to END that losing streak.
I have been working, planning, training. Incorporating new moves. Trying new things. Raab has not. He has used the same strategy in every endeavor thus far, and apart from those early meaningless victories, has found naught but disappointment. This is the difference between he and I. I am the Champion of Chaos, a being known for creating order from chaos and standing tall amidst adversity. I have spoken before numerous times about how it is my job to reach into the cesspool of muck and mire to find diamonds in this business, and unfortunately for Raab, not only is he no diamond, he must face the reality that he IS that cesspool of muck and mire.
Of course, when speaking of diamonds to pull from the mud, I would be remiss to not speak of Eden Morgan. Morgan, the God-fearing and good-natured woman of high renown, has found herself in an odd place these days. While she HAS towed the fallacious line of “wins do not matter,” the line matched by the Lockhearts and Wyldes of this world, I know that her own rash of disinterest in wrestling has little to do with theirs. Whereas the Lockhearts and Wyldes seem to not care because of their own inability to win consistently, and therefore try to find some sort of solace for themselves with the wins do not matter/why do you care line, I know that Eden’s own apparent disinterest is not through lack of care, but though lack of energy. She has spent so much time giving herself to charities and children’s hospitals over the last few months that she barely has any time to wrestle anymore! Why, my entire social media view is FLOODED with pictures of happy children being handed balloons by the duo of Eden and Gabriel! Just the other day, they were at a Children’s Cancer hospital to read stories to the poor souls, and from what I can tell, there was not a dry eye in the room.
Thus, it is through this spirit of altruism that Eden has found herself finding less and less to care about in her professional career. Even last week, they offered up two different forms of charity in one night. First, they offered Roxy a lesson in wrestling as they threw her around threw ring with a variety of suplexes, stomped her while on the mat, and showed her the advantages in quick tags. And then, at the surprise off all, they showed charity upon the stealthed Covert Jay, allowing him an opportunity to shine with them, as they diamonds they are, at Outlast. What charitable folks, those two!
All of this being said, I dare worry that Eden will be too tired and spent to be much of a force in this match. Between the blood drives she sponsored this week, and the attempts at helping the beleaguered runaway child who has cast off the love and affection given to her by her step-mother, she will have nothing in the way of energy left. Why, I would not even be surprised if the Creative Director’s hat gave her the night off due to the positive press she has brought the company through her good deeds!
This is the most likely scenario, of course. And taking away the pious and philanthropic Eden, that means that my victory over the remaining two will be crushing. Indeed, Monday night shall feature the eighth time in which Hazel East will have raised my hand in victory, and I continue my march towards Mister Pierce and reclaiming my Chaos Championship.
Because I AM the Champion of Chaos.
I AM the Queen of Red.
Long live the Queen.
Aveline Lacklan sits in the middle of chaos.
The platinum blonde, with brown roots spreading ever higher, sits on the ground, her back leaning against a long table, her discarded phone next to her. Her nightgown is shredded and dirty, the white cotton filled with splotches of brown, and the arms are ripped away so that the scars running up and down her arms, one set clean, the other jagged, are out for all to see.She breathes heavily, great shuttering rasps, and her dark eyes are glazed over.
She shakes her head in confusion. What was she doing in Sarah’s trophy room? Why were they on the ground, one table upended, with the broken glass of pictures and plaques everywhere on the ground? She did not remember stumbling through the halls of the manor. Did not remember her explosion of rage, her voice growing hoarse from wordless screams, as she smashed the old trinkets. She did not remember screaming and crying over being spurned by both of her step-daughters. Did not remember falling to the floor and-
Her glazed eyes take in the small pill box in front of her. Little red pills with a “D” written on the front.
DRIVE
She DID remember that. She DID remember salivating over them. She DID remember NEEDING them. She smashed one, ground it on the cold floor, until it was a final powder, and sniffed in every grain. She remembered being lucid suddenly, as if all the world’s problems were gone, as if she had the power to control everyone and anyone. But that moment was fleeting. She only half-remembered making a statement on her phone for her wrestling company, only half-remembered sitting there afterward as she fell from the high.
The fall...the crash...was great.
How long had she been sitting there? Hours, it felt to her backside. The small of her back was cramping from sitting in that position for so long. Her throat ached with thirst. Her stomach viciously growls for food. But her blood...her blood...demanded more DRIVE.
NOW.
In her daze, she fumbled for her phone. Slack fingers moved through her contacts, finding the one named “Friend.”
She passed out again before she could hit “send,” her phone crashing to the floor and shutting off, the message deleted.
~~FIN~~
The thought rolls around in my head over and over as I stumble through the halls of the manor. I feel...terrible. I ache. My joints cry out. My head pounds. My stomach twists in knots with hunger, but even the SMELL of food makes me wish to vomit.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I didn’t want to take the throne. I DIDN’T WANT IT. I was happy with my revenge. Happy with her legs being taken. I WAS HAPPY. But they called to me. Asked me. BEGGED ME. PLEADED WITH ME. “We need your voice,” they said as they did my hair. “We miss you,” they cried as they fastened the snaps of my gown. So I gave in. I gave them what they wished for. I gave them the TRUE words of the Savior of Professional Wrestling. I gave them the Voice of God. I gave them Jean-Paul Lacklan, Il est ressuscité, and not the muted, neutered, version the girl offered.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
I have done EVERYTHING for her. I was her FRIEND. I was her MOTHER. I was her LIGHT in the DARK! I REFUSED to let her be a slut. I REFUSED to let her be a tramp. I REFUSED to let her be some trollop like the WHORE who gave birth to her. And she rejected me...for what? FOR WHAT?! So she had to pay. HAD TO PAY. Months taken from her...years taken from her career...I did what I had to do. I DID WHAT I HAD TO DO.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
I am doing what I must. WHAT I MUST. I am LEADING her people...her FATHER’S people...Il est ressuscité. But I am losing my grip. I am losing them. Even with the right message...with the Path of the Light Church behind me...I am losing them. Championships lost...I need...I need...I need my championship back…
Where am I? I was walking through the halls of the Manor. My home. My husband’s home. The girl’s home. No more Black Sheep. SHE IS BANISHED. Where am I? The girl’s trophy room? How did-?
I hate this. I hate this room. Trophies for everything. EVERYTHING. The Demon Child excelled in EVERYTHING. Trophies for dance. Cheer. Swimming. Singing. Dancing. Wrestling.
WHY IS THE WHORE SO SUCCESSFUL?!
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
Would Angie have these awards, too? How could that be? How could there have been another child? How did they keep it secret for so long? How does SARAH not realize it when she looks at her “friend” Angelica?! And why does Angie keep it hidden? Is she worried? Is she afraid? Is she jealous? Does she wish these trophies were hers? Is she-
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
Who am I talking about again? Sarah? Angie? Both? My babies. My sweet, beautiful daughters.
WHY DON’T THEY LOVE ME?!
My hand hurts. Why does my hand hurt? Blood. Blood on my hand. Glass in it. One of Sarah’s pictures...her at Homecoming...receiving her crown in her cheer uniform...its broken. Why is it broken? Why is my hand bleeding? I smashed it? I-
My other hand is bleeding. Another picture.
A trophy is on the floor. Dented.
Glass shatters against the wall.
WHY DOESN’T SHE LOVE ME?!
I can’t breath. I can’t breath. Why can’t I-?
What am I doing on the floor? How did I get here? How did I-?
Drive. In my hands. My husband...Il est ressuscité,...left me pills. Pills to crush. Powder to breath. Power to-
Hello, dear children
We find ourselves going into that breach again in a way familiar to everyone in this match, as well as everyone within this company. In fact, it would not be remiss to request that the Consortium institute a multi-person match championship of some sort, for the skill sets required to win matches with so many opponents and with but one fall to finish. I might well be suited for that championship, as it is, for out of the twentyseven times I have been in a UGWC match, twelve of them have been in the environment of a three or four way match. I have obviously not won them all...as that would just be a silly desire...but I have won the important ones. The multi-person match which earned me the Chaos Championship, as well as last week’s silliness with my dear daughter’s day of appreciation. I have, as they say, momentum.
Of course, there are those within this business who discount the need for wins and momentum. No doubt my position of instance on victories will be ridiculed by at least one of my opponents this week, but I shall stay the course, as is God’s wish for the Path of the Light. For in this match, I...and I alone...have any momentum of any sort. I….and I alone...have that precious “win” in my checkbox column.
Now, I am sure Roxy Cotton will joke about scratching an imaginary neckbeard and say “Actually!” like so many adults living in the basements of their parents’ home, but I think little of her most recent “win.” In fact, I think very little of MOST of her “wins” here in the Coalition. More than one person has spouted the narrative that Roxy was “carried” to her Co Operation and Trios wins by the seemingly untamable Vaughan girl, and in the old adage of smoke and fire, one has to wonder if those people are more correct than not. After all, a close study of Roxy’s matches within the UGWC beg the question on whether or not she deserves to be held in as high a regard as her three friends. Wins in tag matches with numerous partners, though the same of Angie can be said of those partners. A WrestleStock which was only made palatable by the exertions of Captain Eighties. A win over the worst “ice” woman on the roster which no one could be proud of. A “win” last week which was purely the Snake Duet just not caring enough to fight them. And then...of course...two losses on Chill to Dynamo and Fugate.
Roxy has, on more than one occasion, mocked me, and my church, through the medium of social media about wins, and with the ease in which Necron dispatched me at WrestleStock. But she herself seems to be running into that odd thing which happens in the UGWC to those who are not quite as talented as they think they are: They win the matches which have little importance, and lose the ones which actually matter. So, if you will all allow me a moment to say to her in response:
At least I lost the Chaos Championship to Necron after two successful defenses.
You lost your Cooperation championships on the first defense. And for all of your plotting and scheming with Necron, you lost to Travis Pierce at Day of Reckoning. Your bravado and “bullying” are as fake as the rest of your body, and your relevance is as thin as your insides are shallow. Your quality and effectiveness has dropped as the shock of who and what you are has become blausee, and as a result, you are clearly in a desperate need for validation both in your career and in your personal life. But should it make you feel better about yourself and your career, then by all means, perform a sex act on video again and see how well that goes for you.
Of course, Konrad Raab also falls under the auspices of not winning the matters which matter. Yes, he has a singles victory over our resident luggage-carrier and hair product enthusiast, but he has not been able to do anything with that surprising win. While I may not be the scholar or historian of antiquity which others seem to be, I do know that Raab has been little more than a coin flip on success during the time we have known him.. Others may speak of his time in other companies, or perhaps of his brother due to their inability to tell the two apart, but I shall keep my within the context of this company and this match. The only time Raab has been able to win in a multi-person situation is when facing the likes of Lazarus and Rydell, and that distinction is not exactly one to be desired. Additionally, wins over the like of Lindsay Bunny and the aforementioned Lazarus do not exactly instill fear in the likes of the Champion of Chaos.
This being said, I would be remiss if I did not praise him for his success at WrestleStock. After all, during a week in which I myself had a crushing defeat, he was able to maneuver his way through the oddity that was the Cooperation Roulette and earn himself an accolade alongside Fear, as well as a title shot. But if we forget about that surprising singles victory over Mister Somers, we have no choice but to see that Raab has run into a losing streak of an embarrassing length. I myself know exactly what that feels like, having had lost six matches in a row, but I know something Raab does not:
How to END that losing streak.
I have been working, planning, training. Incorporating new moves. Trying new things. Raab has not. He has used the same strategy in every endeavor thus far, and apart from those early meaningless victories, has found naught but disappointment. This is the difference between he and I. I am the Champion of Chaos, a being known for creating order from chaos and standing tall amidst adversity. I have spoken before numerous times about how it is my job to reach into the cesspool of muck and mire to find diamonds in this business, and unfortunately for Raab, not only is he no diamond, he must face the reality that he IS that cesspool of muck and mire.
Of course, when speaking of diamonds to pull from the mud, I would be remiss to not speak of Eden Morgan. Morgan, the God-fearing and good-natured woman of high renown, has found herself in an odd place these days. While she HAS towed the fallacious line of “wins do not matter,” the line matched by the Lockhearts and Wyldes of this world, I know that her own rash of disinterest in wrestling has little to do with theirs. Whereas the Lockhearts and Wyldes seem to not care because of their own inability to win consistently, and therefore try to find some sort of solace for themselves with the wins do not matter/why do you care line, I know that Eden’s own apparent disinterest is not through lack of care, but though lack of energy. She has spent so much time giving herself to charities and children’s hospitals over the last few months that she barely has any time to wrestle anymore! Why, my entire social media view is FLOODED with pictures of happy children being handed balloons by the duo of Eden and Gabriel! Just the other day, they were at a Children’s Cancer hospital to read stories to the poor souls, and from what I can tell, there was not a dry eye in the room.
Thus, it is through this spirit of altruism that Eden has found herself finding less and less to care about in her professional career. Even last week, they offered up two different forms of charity in one night. First, they offered Roxy a lesson in wrestling as they threw her around threw ring with a variety of suplexes, stomped her while on the mat, and showed her the advantages in quick tags. And then, at the surprise off all, they showed charity upon the stealthed Covert Jay, allowing him an opportunity to shine with them, as they diamonds they are, at Outlast. What charitable folks, those two!
All of this being said, I dare worry that Eden will be too tired and spent to be much of a force in this match. Between the blood drives she sponsored this week, and the attempts at helping the beleaguered runaway child who has cast off the love and affection given to her by her step-mother, she will have nothing in the way of energy left. Why, I would not even be surprised if the Creative Director’s hat gave her the night off due to the positive press she has brought the company through her good deeds!
This is the most likely scenario, of course. And taking away the pious and philanthropic Eden, that means that my victory over the remaining two will be crushing. Indeed, Monday night shall feature the eighth time in which Hazel East will have raised my hand in victory, and I continue my march towards Mister Pierce and reclaiming my Chaos Championship.
Because I AM the Champion of Chaos.
I AM the Queen of Red.
Long live the Queen.
Aveline Lacklan sits in the middle of chaos.
The platinum blonde, with brown roots spreading ever higher, sits on the ground, her back leaning against a long table, her discarded phone next to her. Her nightgown is shredded and dirty, the white cotton filled with splotches of brown, and the arms are ripped away so that the scars running up and down her arms, one set clean, the other jagged, are out for all to see.She breathes heavily, great shuttering rasps, and her dark eyes are glazed over.
She shakes her head in confusion. What was she doing in Sarah’s trophy room? Why were they on the ground, one table upended, with the broken glass of pictures and plaques everywhere on the ground? She did not remember stumbling through the halls of the manor. Did not remember her explosion of rage, her voice growing hoarse from wordless screams, as she smashed the old trinkets. She did not remember screaming and crying over being spurned by both of her step-daughters. Did not remember falling to the floor and-
Her glazed eyes take in the small pill box in front of her. Little red pills with a “D” written on the front.
DRIVE
She DID remember that. She DID remember salivating over them. She DID remember NEEDING them. She smashed one, ground it on the cold floor, until it was a final powder, and sniffed in every grain. She remembered being lucid suddenly, as if all the world’s problems were gone, as if she had the power to control everyone and anyone. But that moment was fleeting. She only half-remembered making a statement on her phone for her wrestling company, only half-remembered sitting there afterward as she fell from the high.
The fall...the crash...was great.
How long had she been sitting there? Hours, it felt to her backside. The small of her back was cramping from sitting in that position for so long. Her throat ached with thirst. Her stomach viciously growls for food. But her blood...her blood...demanded more DRIVE.
NOW.
In her daze, she fumbled for her phone. Slack fingers moved through her contacts, finding the one named “Friend.”
I need help, Gabriel. Please help me.
She passed out again before she could hit “send,” her phone crashing to the floor and shutting off, the message deleted.
~~FIN~~
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