Post by cooltubesource on Nov 4, 2018 16:32:06 GMT -5
Presenting the Lacklan Saga Story of:
Ascension, Part I
Firestarter
~~December 18th, 2016~~Lithe fingers flash like lightening across the screen of a large cellphone, the words simultaneously flirty and full of judgement, an odd juxtaposition which can only be found within the mind of the girl sitting in the chair. Sarah Selena Lacklan's eyes, a piercing blue today, are filled with mirth as she carries on her conversation with the man she has dubbed "Abs," a wrestler taking time off to heal injuries. She has no idea what his real name is, and does not care, only that he continue to put up pictures of his abs for her enjoyment.
"And then she..."
The voice of Kenzi Grey washes over her and Sarah's ruby red lips break into a smile. She turns her eyes away from her phone to look at her dark friend, enjoying every inch of the curves the television star has. She was seated in a chair exactly like her own, her feet up and being worked on by a small Asian lady wearing a blue mask. This mani-pedi was a long time coming and much needed as they prepared for the #FSociety show in the evening. Kenzi was going on and on about Orchid and Song, but all Sarah could do was think about how odd their friendship was.
Three weeks ago, Sarah and a man named Blasted Monk had become some kind of item. They had a mutual interest in being...well...intimate...and were open to each other's worlds. For Monk it meant learning that she was not only the daughter of one of his rivals, but bonafide royalty. And for her, that meant an inclusion into a Shaolin society which included, of all things, the television and movie star Kenzi Grey. There was no logical reason for the two completely opposite women to have immediately bonded like two twins separated at birth who found each other in some winsome tale of adventure, but here they were.
Sarah's eyes move up and down Kenzi, her smile growing larger, small tips of white fangs peaking out slightly from those ruby lips. Kenzi's dark skin was as far away from Sarah's moonlight pale as possible, and her long braids were far tougher than her own silken blonde pulled back in a tail and held by a red ribbon. Kenzi has spoken before of all the work it took to get those braids just right, but certainly it did not hold a candle to the routine Sarah's servants went through for her own. Daily moisturizing treatments and mineral compounds for nearly 19 years had created a head of hair that was quickly becoming legend.
"And then Song..."
Sarah's smile grows as Kenzi natters on, oblivious to whether or not she was actually paying attention. The brilliant blue eyes travel away from the dark woman and find the small lady with almond eyes working on her own feet. Those feet were actually the subject of quite a few foot-fetish websites, countless sleezebags taking candid pictures of them whenever the opportunity arose. Should she tell Abs about those sites? He would probably like them. Or maybe she should tell Monk? They may have decided thing becoming an "us" was not in the proverbial cards, but he still might like them. Not like he had not seen every other part of her body over that holiday weekend of theirs to Europe a few weeks ago.
The Asian lady's eyes rise from her work for a moment to look up at Sarah, but they quickly shift back to her feet. Sarah's smile turns into a smirk at the fear she saw in the lady's eyes. And fearful she should be: The screams of the first attendant in the nail shop to look at her nearly caused the neighboring business to call the police! And the whimpers from that girl could still be heard if she listened hard enough. That would teach them to ask if she liked crystal gel.
Sarah leans back as Kenzi continues to talk about Song and Orchid, and all of the Elders, her thoughts drifting to what she was doing in the god-awful state known as California. While Kenzi was going to be backstage at the #FSociety show to be with friends, Sarah had a very different purpose. To the surprise of many, Sarah had declared herself a professional wrestler and ready for her first match. Most did not think much of her when they saw her, but that was because most could only look at the surface. Certainly, she was small, standing only 5'2", but the billowing robes she often wore hid a surprising amount of muscle, particularly in her legs. Her father had been a serious bodybuilder since he was 14 and, on her own 14th birthday, began training with her. After nearly five years of deadlifting, squating, and pressing, she was strong, and not "just for a girl," or any such nonsense as that. She could lift more than most men she had ever met, including the plethora of wrestlers in her life.
Her father was a former world champion wrestler, and while he had initially forbade her from following in his footsteps, he had ultimately relented. Aided by fellow world champion Nikita Dolore, he had trained her in the art of wrestling, from strikes and holds to how to compose and carry yourself. Nikita had been like a mother to her, though that would infuriate the reclusive woman should anyone say as much, and had taught her how to navigate the business as a woman of small stature, how to out wit and out think everyone in her path.
Her father's last run as a competitive wrestler, for a small company in Texas with a rabid fanbase, had seen her act as his valet, but the role quickly grew to more. She was the mastermind of the Knights of Lacklan, helping bring people to her father's side, to aid him in his battle against the mediocrity which filled the business. They had laughed about how it was not their intention that she should be the most "over" member of the initial roster with the company, but much like her unexpected friendship with the dark woman at her side, there it was. She was popular, talented, ambitious. She was a wrestler.
Surprised as the world might be at her declaration of being ready to fight, Robb Hardy wasted no time in preparing a contract. That contract would be signed tonight, a first opponent determined within days.
Sarah was ready to burn the world.
"You okay?"
Sarah is shaken from her thoughts by Kenzi's direct question. The girl looks around and realizes that the small lady had finished with her feet and was already on to her hands. Kenzi has a look of concern in her dark eyes, but Sarah just smiles and shakes her head.
"Sorry, got lost in thought there for a moment."
Sarah's voice was once described by a certain wrestling journalist as "like a choir of angels singing a perfect tetra-chord." Her voice was melodic, seeming to always been on the verge of breaking into a song, and when she moved, her steps were but moments from a dance. A thick Londoner accent, a gift from the mother she never met, was prominent in the soft "ahhs" of her speech. Her dark friend smiles.
"Thinking about tonight? I'm so excited for you!"
Sarah smirks at her friend's enthusiasm. Tonight would certainly be exciting, if nothing else. The rush of the live crowd at the Staples Center, maybe finally getting to meet her internet friend Ally in person, signing the contract that would allow her to take up her father's sword in a very physical, and ultimately visceral, way.
"Oh my God, look!"
Kenzi's excitement are over her nails, which she shows Sarah. Strong colors and a unique design that so capture the television star.
"They are beautiful, Ken. Just like you."
Kenzi smiles over the compliment, and Sarah earnestly means it. Months ago, her father had tasked her with finding friends outside the compound, people who would like her and maybe even love her for who she is, and not just because she was the Blood Princess. It had be an...arduous...task. She had contacted numerous people, women of her own age mostly, but most people did not seem to wish a second conversation. A demon hunter, the owner of a marijuana edibles shop, a woman claiming to be some sort of succubus called by two other weirdo chicks, even a teenage Kessler. Most turned her away. Ally seemed interested in a friendship, maybe even Tyson, but no one had accepted her like the ebony beauty sitting next to her. Well, beside a certain delusional super hero, but that was a story for another day. Overall, The Elders had accepted her in one form or fashion, though none quite as excitably as Kenzi.
"Lemme see!" exclaims Kenzi as the small Asian lady moves away from Sarah, finishing her work. Sarah splays out her fingers to show black nails highlighted by flames.
"So pretty!"
Sarah can only smile. They were pretty, the nail salon doing a good job. Clean, precise, powerful. They were her.
"They shall never see me coming, Ken."
"Huh?"
Sarah looks up from her nails to the confused expression on her friend's face, but she just shakes her head. She looks out the window of the nail salon and looks at a group of men, all dressed in matching black uniforms, the hair upon their heads short, standing next to a car. She raises her hand and, using the newly manicured and painted fingers, performs a complex set of hand signals. The men begin to move into motion, one starting the car and the other approaching the building.
"Let us go, Friend. Let us set some fires."
My name is Lacklan.
........................
........................
For twenty years this name has been synonymous with salvation. For twenty years my father bled for the people of this world, fought for them to see the Light. Bones broken, skin scarred, his entire head burned. All for God's Light, for His Path to Salvation.
All for you.
And you?
You are not worth it.
Father has fought my entire life for your mercy, has given everything he is and was so that this sport could be purified. But for all his pain, all the waylays he has been forced to endure, from his body to the loss of Mother on the day of my birth, to the very cancer which eats him from the inside, this sport has cried out in childish defiance against his love. Father tried to rid this business of garbage wrestling, of gimmicks, of warriors too frail of heart to press against the idiocy of a promoter's marketing schemes, and instead of bowing in subservience and bathing in Father's Light, you instead fell to the floor, arms and feet kicking, as a toddler tantrums for a lolly.
Pitiful.
'Tis true, I suppose, that Father's love could be difficult to accept for the sinners of this world. After all, for those brave enough to fall to their knees and bow their heads to Father, life was grand. God's love surrounded them, held them close, like a warm blanket, or the womb of sweet Mother Mary herself. But those that stood against him, those toddlers flailing on the ground, Father's Light was painful. The Light shot into the shadows of this world, forcing the cockroaches and infidels to run from their hiding places, fear of being blinded by that light hastening their every step. For those too afraid to see, those too weak to stand tall, his Light was not that of a loving father, but that of the Hammer, the very Hammer of God.
Those cockroaches and infidels? Those bugs? They went squish.
Father spent those twenty years being the Voice of God and Hammer of His will, the Pillar of Light. But his time...his time...it is at an end. The cancer takes him to places of pain no opponent could ever dream, and wrestling so much this year, even though it was for my benefit, has sapped his strength. He rests in Lacklanland, at home, in the bed he once shared with Mother, and prepares to Embrace the Light a final time and finally join Mother at God's side.
But my story? My wrath?
'Tis just beginning.
Two black cars with Maine license plates stop outside the Staples Center. Doors upon in the first, four men in black uniforms stepping out. Each man seems like they could be kin to the others. Dark hair and eyes, pale skin, faces stern. Their uniforms are exactly that: Black coats with silver pins or stripes for insignia, military dress, from high colors down to boots shined until they gleamed. Not a man within the Blood Princess's Honor Guard would ever be derelict in any aspect for their duty. The men fan out, creating a perimeter.
Within the second car, Sarah Selena Lacklan sits and gazes out the window at the large building. Her hair has been pulled into an elaborately braided up-do, strands of hair placed just so that there appeared to be a crown atop her head. Street clothes have been changed for a black dress with red velvet at the bosom, deep purple strings pulling her modest bust into distracting cleavage. A necklace hangs from her thing swan's neck, a red vial finding itself buried into that pleasing cleavage. Earrings the shape and color of icicles fall down to delicate shoulders. Light base makeup accentuates her naturally high cheek bones, but dark eyeliner is drawn with a heavy hand to make wings, points of black pointing out away from her eyes.
"Are you prepared, my Lady?"
Sarah turns her gaze to the man seated next to her. Blue eyes take in the coat of a member of the private Lacklanland army, the silver flame on his lapel proclaiming him to be a member of her personal guard. Dark eyes stare back at her, though slightly lowered, as all denizens of Lacklanland look at her. They know better than to look her directly in her eyes: A childhood of beating and lashing servants and peasants alike taught them all where they stood with her. But this man was somewhat different.
"You may look at me, Bruce."
The man's dark eyes are slow to raise to her own, but they do raise. Bruce had been in service to her father for many years, and had asked to be a member of her guard. He had been there for her, and for her father, though all the dark times. And, hopefully, would be there to see the firebird rise from the ashes to raze the world.
"Will you stand by my side, Bruce? Will you be a Knight when I need it?"
The man in the black coat gives her a stern nod.
"Always, my Lady."
"And when I ascend? When Father leaves to be with God? When I become the Red Queen? Will you fight the battles I ask? Squish the bugs I demand?"
Another nod.
"Always, my Lady."
She smiles, those ruby lips pursing.
"Then I am prepared for Mister Hardy."
Sarah removes leather gloves from her hands and reaches into her eyes, removing the contact lenses in them. A look of concern comes over the man in the black coat.
"My Lady! Are you sure?"
"Let them see me, Sebastian. Let them see the fires coming."
Removing the lenses and beginning to replace her gloves, impossibly red irises blaze out in sharp contrast to the pale skin and dark make-up.
"Come. I have an appointment."
* * * * * * * * * *
"Oh! Sarah Lacklan! I have been-"
"Sarah Selena Lacklan," the girl corrects, stepping into the room. She looks around the room, a mixture of mirth and disdain coming over her terribly beautiful face.
"Not much of a room for business, Mister Hardy."
Robb shrugs.
"Budgets are budgets. I-"
"Fulfill your end of the bargain," she says, again cutting him off, "and you will be swimming in money like some cartoon duck."
She fixes her eyes on him and smirks at the manager blinking several times rapidly. Her eyes tended to do that to people when they first meet her.
"I believe we have a contract to sign?"
Robb gives himself a shake and begins rummaging through his papers.
"Yes, yes. Give me one second..."
Sarah looks the man up and down as he looks for a paper. Not bad. In need of a shave, but not bad.
"I have enjoyed the show thus far, Sir. Not quite as much blood as I like, but still enjoyable."
Robb looks up, the contract in his hand.
"Not enough...blood?"
Sarah smirks again.
"Yes. Blood. We spoke of this, yes? I wish to make people bleed? To make them cry out in pain? Possibly set them on fire?"
"Well, I-"
Sarah slams her hand down on the desk, trapping Robb's own hand and the contract between her hand and the table. Robb instinctively tries to pull his hand away but Sarah's improbable strength holds him in place.
"'Twas not a jest or razz when I said what I was looking for. Blood. Fire. Havoc. I plan on razing the world, Sir. And as long as you hold your end of the bargain, give me a place to spread my wings, this firebird will do what she was born to do."
She pulls her hand away.
"Reality is this, Sir: No matter who you put in front of me...whether they be grizzled and bitter veteran or blissful and hapless rookie, the result will be the same: My victory. My happy ending."
A pink tongue snakes out and licks ruby lips, those tips of elongated incisors peaking out of a moment.
"The last man to fuck with me, Sir, has his blood resting against my breast. Literally."
A quizzical look comes over his face.
"I wonder..."
She flicks the vial hanging from the silver necklace, a dull ping!. She smirks again.
"I wonder if he can feel that?"
She shakes her head and looks back at Robb.
"Regardless Sir, the point is I am going to hurt people. I am going to make people retire. I am going to make people hide away in shame and fear. But not shall hide forever. The Light...it burns, Sir. I shall hold my end of the bargain. Shall you?"
Robb looks at Sarah as if he's not exactly sure what he is looking at.
"Riiiiight."
Nevertheless, he takes a pen and signs his name to the bottom of the contract. He then turns it around to face Sarah and offers her pen. The girl smiles.
"Thank you, but not necessary."
The girl reaches into her black cloak and pulls out an old pen, one end a black swan's feather, the other a sharp point.
"Volunteer?"
Robb is confused by the question but then both of the men in black cloaks step forward and, pulling back their sleeves, offer their arms to Sarah. Sarah keeps her eyes on Robb, those red irises keeping him locked on, like a snake charmed by a piper's horn, and then jams the pen's tip into the arm of the man on her right. A slight his of pain escapes the man before she pulls the pen back and, placing it upon the paper, writes her name in large and looping letters. The name written in blood is beautifully done, nearly calligraphic. She tucks the pen back into her robe as the men take a step back and cover their arms, then turns the contract back to Robb.
"Um...what, exactly, have I just signed us into?"
"Madness," Sarah responds with a smile. "It reigns, Sir. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to spend some time with Miss Morrow, if I still have time."
With that, Sarah takes her skirts in both hands and performs a deep and well-practiced curtsy. Without another word, she spins on her heel and nearly skips from the room, the two men in black following her, one closing the door. Robb Hardy is left to wonder what actually just happened.
'Twould be somewhat of a lie if I said that I was perfectly happy with my first booking. I had hoped for a singles match, if we were to be fully honest. And since the Light never lies, the Light is truth, then such a thing must be true. I had not wished for what some would call the "obligatory multi-participant match," but 'tis my burden to bear, it seems.
I suppose some, were they in my place, would be happy to have multiple opponents. More to hurt, yes? More pain to inflict overall? I disagree. You see, I had hoped to be able to pick someone apart at my leisure. I had hoped to hurt them little by little, to pick a body part and disable it before moving to another, to tear one joint in half before I moved to the next. I am honestly not even sure if this company has time limits or some such, but I had hoped to stretch it out as long as possible, to cause as many individual wounds as possible, to for my hapless opponent to be carried from the ring as some unrecognizable hunk of flesh.
Yet this seems to be a scenario of more's the pity. Not time to truly get the juices flowing, no time to dedicated to basically scalping some feckless loser for my full enjoyment. Blood and guts and tears. LOTS of tears. But in this environment, such a taking of my time must will not do. No...no...I must end this quickly.
Such a bother.
I suppose this is the place where I am to speak of my opponents, yes? Name them? Talk of their desires for winning? List the ways in which I shall defeat them?
Not a chance.
See...that was my father's job. He researched. He followed people, studied them. Wanted to know everything which made them tick, wanted to know why they did things and fought in this business. He wanted to save them. Wanted to bring them out of the darkness and into the Light of God's embrace. He wanted to show them mercy.
But his time is over. There is no more mercy. I do not offer the salvation Father did. I only offer pain. And thus, I could not care any less who my opponents are. I do not care for their names. All I care for are their screams, their tears. I fully understand that I face men and women more accomplished in this business than me. Why, one of them even had some AMAZEBALLZ 3000 video package put together for Insurrection!
Good for you, Miss Reeves! You get a biscuit! Try not to choke on it. Insert smiley face.
Reality is that the identities and accomplishments of Miss Reeves and Misters Skinner and Young do not matter. Their personalities? Pointless. Their lives of whirlwind adventures to be placed upon display during heavily edited promotional packages? But dust to be swept out the door. Their desires to be the best this business has to offer? A touch too late to mater.
Father spoke of the Light. All those years, he spoke of the Light burning away flesh and ending the darkness. What he did not say, what he never divulged, was that I AM the Light. I AM God's Wrath. And regardless of what is placed before me, whether they be two-dimensional garbage wrestlers, walking jokes wearing a plethora of colors, or some girl with nothing more than a pretty face, nothing is going to stop the fires that I set. Nothing shall survive the pain that I cause, nothing will stand against God's vision of a perfect wrestling world any longer.
No salvation, no hope.
The time for this world to save themselves is gone. Father's message fell on deaf ears and now it is my time to inflict God's punishment with no discernment or pity. This world drove him to near death, the pain of rejection and that thrice-bedamned cancer leaving him in his death bed, his body wasting away. And I shall not only avenge his pain, but I shall enact more pain on this world than he could ever envision, and I shall make him smile as he stands at God's side.
The world chose to burn rather than accepting Father's salvation. And burn it shall.
I am the Princess of Pain, the Blood Princess. I shall ascend to the Red Queen once Father passes. But for now? For the importance of this moment?
I am the firestarter.
-Sarah Selena Lacklan
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