Post by cooltubesource on Feb 15, 2019 15:25:11 GMT -5
Darkness. The sound of water dripping in the distance, drips echoing.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Slippered feet walk forward, flashes of pink slipping out from skirts of black and red, toes landing daintily. The swish-swish of legs moving back and forth, carrying the lithe body wrapped in black and red puffery plays counterpoint to the drip.
Drip.
Swish-swish.
Drip drip.
Swish-Swish.
Pale skin blazes in contrast to the surrounding darkness of the corridor, blood red eyes standing out as if belonging to Cerberus himself. The Blood Princess makes her way slowly down the hall, every step measured with weariness. She looks behind her with every step, her sixth sense speaking out to her.
Danger.
Turn back.
Run.
RUN.
She presses forward, the weight of the silent darkness weighing down and becoming palpable, as if a living, breathing monster of dread was joining that sixth sense. The concert was maddening.
Drip. Swish-swish.
Danger. Turn back.
Drip. Swish-swish.
Run. RUN.
But she does not run. She presses forward. Slowly. Cautiously. A door impedes her path. Where did that come from? Why was it here? It was never there before. Never? Had she been here before? She had, hadn't she? A pale hand slowly makes its way out from the black and red puffery, thin fingers tipped in nails lacquered black with flames. The fingers splay out, fingertips and palm touching the flat surface of the door. It is cold and damp, as if that incessant drip in the distance was made incarnate in the wood. The hand moves to the round doorknob, the vocal creation of the dread and her sixth sense exploding in her head.
DANGER.
TURN BACK.
RUN.
RUN!!!!!!
She turns the handle. Pushes inward. The door opens, a creak piercing the dark silence as it moves along old and rusted hinges. The room beyond explodes with white. Red eyes shut in pain, the pale hand coming to shield her face a starless sky in comparison to the white. A cold wind howls, freezes, forcing her to hold her black and red puffery tight.
A slippered foot, now feeling like an block of ice, steps forward. An unexpected slosh. Snow? Red eyes force themselves open. Snow. Everywhere. A winter wonderland. But in the center of that snow is a dark gray object. It calls to her. Pulls her. Slippered feet step forward, one after another. The formless voice tries to halt her, but it grows weak.
Danger...
Turn...
Ru...
She is before the dark object. It is thin, tall, a rectangle. But with a rounded top. Her breath catches as she realizes what it is.
A tombstone.
Dan...
Tu...
R...
Red eyes scan downward, fighting the sting of the bitterly cold wind. Red eyes read the letters etched, for all eternity, into the stone.
Ruby lips open.
And scream.
~~Monday, February 6th, 2017: OFF CAMERA~~
"Father!"
Sarah Selena Lacklan's eyes pop open as she screams out for her father, her body shooting upwards out of its seat. Red eyes, the whites filled with the red lines of lack of sleep, move left and right, trying to find bearing. The area around those eyes are dark circles of purple, the pale skin outward seeming sunken. A bead of sweat falls down the pale skin of her face as those skittish eyes look everywhere.
The inside of an airplane. Unnecessarily garish purple seats. Men in matching black coats sitting near her, her honor guard.
Not the room.
Not the graveyard.
Just another one of those fucking nightmares.
Sarah closes her eyes, a ragged breath of relief escaping her, a hand coming to rest itself on her forehead. She breathes in deeply a few times, steadying herself, the back of her hand feeling the clammy skin. Eyes pop open, hands searching around her, moving among the sparse belongings she brought for the adventure.
Black umbrella. Twilight Sparkle neck pillow. The hand-knitted blanket that WRETCHED woman made her for her birthday, every letter of her family name etched with love. The latest Guilty Pleasures CD. Her sketchpad. Ah, there it is: Her purse.
Her purse is, as #FSociety viewers might expect, black leather with red accents. Hands shaking, she opens the purse and rummages through, finally pulling out a small red vial. Tossing her purse to the side, she uncorks the bottle and, holding a finger against one side of her nose, brings the vial to the lone exposed nostril. Taking a deep breath, she snorts the red powder in one shot.
"FUCK!" she yells, slamming the vial down on the empty seat next to her. Hands go to her forehead, rubbing furiously and then into her hair as the DRIVE assaults her system. Deep breaths, panicked breaths. But then they slowly subside, her body calming. A couple more deep breaths and the sweating subsides.
"No sleep, SareBear..." she says to herself, her voice scratchy. "No sleep...no dreams...no fucking nightmares..."
Sarah turns her head to look out the window of the plane. The lights of the approaching Los Angeles International Airport were still far in the distance. Too far. Sleep might attack her regardless of how much she tried to fight it. She needs a way to occupy her thoughts, keep her brain active, keep the sleep away.
Reaching back into her bag, she pulls out a large cell phone, the design oddly bulky. She presses a few buttons on her phone, the latest Tragikphone, the 9S, holds it up to face her, and begins to record.
Hey, Denizens. I'm...um...I'm a little tired right now...but I have some stuff on my mind. So here goes, yeah?
In case anyone missed it, I made sure to put around a pic of myself going to the airport this morning. I made sure it was from behind. Not because I wanted to show my totes amazeballz ass, which *is* totes amazeballz, but because I wanted the back of my jacket to be seen. Because that jacket had a word on it. That word?
Victory.
I told you. I fucking TOLD you. Absolutely, without doubt, TheReav and I were not on the same page when we first got booked together. Yeah, we seemed to have natural chemistry, but we still were not on the whole "ZOMG LETS HUG FOR TEN MINUTES EVERY HOUR" friendship level. But now? After we've...quite literally...punched and slapped each other as hard as possible? After we worked out the kinks? The goddamn Blood Reavers are legit.
And we showed it.
Rydell and Silver ARE NOT a team. They are the epitome of what is wrong with the tag team aspect of the industry: Just two random bodies, going nowhere, who management sticks together in order to find a place for them on the card. And you know what that kind of team is called? Know what their classification is?
Jobbers.
That's right, I said it! I fucking SAID IT. The dreaded J Word! J-O-B-B-E-R-S. TheReav and I are not like that. We are not too people randomly stuck together. We are not two people going nowhere. We are not Smoky and Craig on a Friday without jobs and without shit to do. We are the hawtdamn FUTURE of this business, much less this company. And two random chicks thrown together because we have too many people on the roster for Robb to handle are not going to get in our way. They did not yesterday, they will not in two weeks.
Oh...you know what? Let's knock this third person shit out. Last time around, I gave Rydell a moment of intimacy, let her get real close and personal, let her come to terms and grips with the reality of the Blood fuckin' Princess. And I think I want to give her that again. And maybe Silver will actually give a damn this time around. So...here goes.
...............
...............
You two listening now? Rydell? Silver? Do me a favor. Get real close to your computers, or phone, or whatever. Get real close. I want you to listen to this. Want you to get every word.
Ready?
Sweet Mother Mary, you two might as well be in the OBLIGATORY MULTIPERSON BATTLE ROYAL for all that you matter. Oh, I know you two THINK you matter. I know that you two THINK that you are worthy of title shots and recognition. But the reality is that you are not. You are two small rowboats out in the middle of the ocean. And me and Reav? We're the sharks that just bit off your rudders. You are gonna need a bigger boat.
Now, I can already hear you two: WE LOST BECAUSE OF TEH I-10 CONNECTION!!!11!11!!!111!!!
Bitches...please.
Interference happens in this sport. People jump people before matches. They jump them after matches. During matches. They drop them on their damned heads, straight into the Abyss, in the parking lot after the show is over. That is what we are about. And if you cannot deal...if you cannot somehow overcome the chaos of this business...then you do not belong. Period. And you two? Proved you do not belong.
Now, this may be a bit of the Ballad of Kettles and Pots here, since I have found myself doing things like acting and modelling lately, but this business is full of wastes of space who are only using the sport for fame and fortune. They are using it to get noticed so that their other careers can shoot off. But that is not who I am. Sure, TEHREAV is a kickass musician (though I smoke her at the piano~!), but she is also a killer athlete. And I was...literally, as we discussed before...BORN to be a wrestler, to change this business. But you guys? You might as well just be lumped in with all the nameless, faceless, replaceable women on twitface. I look at you two and I just see everyone else.
So, let us recap a bit, yeah?
You: Random jobbers thrown together.
Us: Heaven-sent chemistry.
You: Rudderless, lost in a sea of mediocrity.
Us: The goddamn sharks.
You: Feckless, replaceable, look and sound like everyone else.
Us: Killer athletes and...oh I don't know...the person BORN to lay waste to this business so that it can finally kick ass.
A final note of reality, girls: Do not get mad at me. Do not cry, do not whine or bemoan my words. I am simply holding up the mirror. 'Tis not my fault that you and the world will not like what you see. 'Tis not my fault that your reflections show two hags with little skill and less drive. 'Tis not my fault that the mirror shows you to be what you were yesterday and what you will be next Sunday: Losers.
Do not blame me for the overwhelming asskicking you are going to receive next Sunday.
Blame yourselves.
It had been a long day of shooting on the set for All That Glitters. The cast and crew had really come together the past two weeks, now that the real shooting was being done, but the scenes being focused on were grueling in an emotional way. Kenzi was getting deep into Caramel, and Sarah was a little worried that it was not just a matter of life imitating art, but instead art bringing up forgotten matters of life. Even for herself, the role of Ambrosia was pushing her to emotional limits she had never thought to explore. She was somewhat worried about all the nudity, as there was very little left to the imagination for her intimate areas after the movie would be released, but even moreso the grape and murder of her character was difficult to work through. She trusted Kenzi explicitly, she loved her like the sister she never had, certainly moreso than that one WRETCHED WOMAN though she was, but still, she worried.
Monday had been an...adventure. The two needed to make sure that Sarah had the stuff for such a role. It was one thing to perform a play on herself; Princess Saraha in The Blood Princess Bride was, of course, just an exaggerated version of herself. But this? Ambrosia? The top girl in the whorehouse? Vicious and vindictive? Sexually and emotionally dominating? That needed a little work. So they had their...adventure...at the Gushing Taco.
The Gushing Taco. Sarah had assumed it was the name of a Mexican restaurant. Nope! Strip club. Ken knew the owners and set up a little exhibition. And after a few shots of liquid courage, she did it. Her first pole dance. She wanted to make her friend proud, to show her that she could and would handle the sensitive role, and so she gave her all. She did not go completely nude...at least, not yet...but she got close. And she played the piano and sung, showed Ken her full range, and convinced her to add a number for her in the movie.
But now...two days later...things were getting hard. Ken and her seemed to be starting to pick at each other. Competing? Possibly. They were both wrestlers, of course, and their competitive natures were coming out as they got further into the depths of their roles. It was awesome at first, spending every minute of the day and night together, but now they were leaving each other after the shooting was over, Ken going to the apartment she shared with Melissa Reeves, Sarah to the hotel she had rented out for herself and her honorguard.
Sleep was rare. Wholly unwanted, of course, due to the recurring nightmares of her father's impending death, but it was really beginning to wear on her. The silence and darkness of her hotel room was nice, but the pull of loneliness was also starting to wear on her, the cocktail of despair and lack of sleep pulling her down. It was fun flirting with Justin, her co-star from her first film, since that was a nice way to cope the pain she was in over losing Blasted Monk the way she did, and even set up a date with him. But still the darkness was there, piercing.
A friend of hers brought a spot of light into her heart. Jon, the member of The Elders wearing that odd green mask, was in town with Orchid. And strongly hinting that her punkass was with them. Heart thumping, blood racing.
So now she is here, standing in front of a door in a nice part of town, her bodyguards dutifully waiting in the car at the corner. They knew she was safe in the care of the Elders, no matter how...complicated...her relationship status with her punkass was. She takes a deep breath and presses one of her lacquered fingertips to the doorbell. The bell rings and we see Jon Dough wearing black pants and a white tee with his green mask. He opens the door her in, putting on a cheesy smile.
"Please come in. Man girl you look hot, hot like FIRE!!!"
"Jon!" yells Orchid from the kitchen, "Don't you start with my guest!"
Sarah smirks and winks at Jon as she crosses the thresh. Orchid, wearing a red Gofuku robe, walks down the hallway to greet Sarah, bowing to show respect. Sarah smiles fully and gives one of her deep and well-practised curtsies.
"Please come with me."
The three walk into the living room. Orchid does not turn on the light but instead lights up two candles and places them on the coffee table that sits in between two black sofas. Orchid extends her hand out to offer Sarah a sit, the two sit across from each other. Jon stands behind the sofa Sarah is sitting in. He yells for Monk.
"Yo! Blasted Monk, Your...um...friend is here. Come join us!!"
Monk walks in the room wearing an all-black Gofuku robe holding a tray with 4 cups on it. He sees Sarah and Orchid sitting across from each other talking, while Jon Dough is seen behind Sarah with a big grin on his face as he looks at Blasted Monk. As he ignores Jon Dough, he sets a cup of tea aside for Orchid and a cup of coffee aside next to Sarah. Jon hops over the couch to sit next to Sarah.
"I will sit next my friend Sarah," he says with a cheeky grin.
Monk shakes his head as he places Jon's cup of milk next to Orchid.
"But I'm not sitting over there, bro. I'm sitting right here."
Monk looks at Sarah and gives her a nod. Sarah with a straight face looks at Monk then turns to look at Jon Dough. She closes her eyes and opens them back up. Jon looks on and sees that Sarah's eyes are now a bright red color. Jon gets up from his seat.
"Oh...um...I think I may be sitting in the wrong seat. I think I will move now."
"Yeah," says Orchid, "I think that is a good idea."
Orchid giggles a bit as Sarah turns to look at her she, then turns to look at Monk as he takes a sit about a foot away from Sarah.
"Hello Monk."
"Hello, I hope I made the coffee just right for you."
Sarah brings the cup to her lips and breathes it in.
"Black. Strong."
She smiles.
"Perfect."
Monk shakes his head
"Good, good."
An awkward silence settles in as the two look at each other.
"Really guys!?" laughs Jon. "This is kind of boring, I was hoping."
"Shut up, Jon," says Orchid, turning to Sarah. "So Sarah, how are things?"
Sarah keeps her eyes locked on Monk, her ruby lips in a small smile. But she shakes her head as if to gather her thoughts and turns to Orchid.
"Well, thank you. I am in town shooting my parts for Kenzi's next movie. Too much sun for me, but I get by. How about you?"
"I'm good, kind of glad that you are shooting the movie as it gives me time off from the Hexx tv show."
Jon chimes in with a smile.
"So what are the chances I can see your-"
"Jon," interjects Monk, "Would you please go get the other tray from the kitchen for us?"
"Man," grumbles Jon, getting up and heading towards the kitchen, "every time something good is about..."
Orchid shakes her head.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry about Jon. If he keeps it up I will gladly smack him for you."
Sarah smiles.
"I missed Jon. And...hoo boy...he will get to see a lot of me in this film. Ken needed someone strong to play this part and I am working hard to make her proud."
She pauses.
"I never thought that acting was something I would be interested in, but meeting all of you has given me so much."
Jon rushes in.
"I'm sorry! How much of you do I get to see? And please tell me Kenzi is just as nude in this movie?"
"Jon please the tray," Monk hisses.
"But it's a legit question! Let her answer and I will get the tray, bro."
"Jon...enough already."
"Fine," mutters Jon, heading back towards the kitchen. "I'll get the stupid tray."
Sarah smirks and rolls her eyes, looking back at Orchid.
"Boys."
"Yes, I'm so sorry."
"Hey," says Monk, "now don't throw me under the bus, I'm not the one being rude here. I'm not asking about any one wearing or not wearing clothes. As long as you are having fun while filming the movie is my concern."
Sarah turns her head slightly to look at Monk with her peripheral vision.
"Nothing you have not seen before..." she whispers to Monk before taking a drink of her coffee and turning back to Orchid. "How is LAW?"
"It's been great," says Orchid, smiling. "I'm not booked for the next show, which is a PPV, so that sucks but it is what it is. Just sucks that the first PPV in 2017 will be without their Breakout Champion."
"Yeah," says Monk, "but it just means you will be defending your title on a night where no one else is, so you will be the main event that night."
Monk grabs his cup of tea and takes a sip. He places the cup down on the table
"So Sarah, speaking of title matches, I hear you have one upcoming soon, is that true?"
"I do! With a tag team partner who wants nothing to do with me!"
She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee.
"I am *trying* to be nice to her. *Trying* to embrace the Blood Reavers. *Trying* to get this whole stupid Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants thing going, but it has proven...difficult. I do not understand why she does not like me. After all, I am so very likeable, you know?"
Monk and Orchid share a very dry look between themselves.
"No," says Orchid, "you're really not."
Sarah's mouth shoots open, fire in her eyes, but Orchid speaks first.
"Let me explain before you get mad. I think you are a sweet and nice person Sarah, but you tend to want to give out a vibe that you are mean and mad all the time. It scares people and the ones not scared don't want to be bothered."
Orchid playfully taps Sarah on her knee.
"But that is their loss because you are one big bottle of Awesome Sauce!!"
Monk chimes in.
"Orchid is right you know, about the latter part anyways."
Sarah turns her head slightly to look at Monk in her peripheral again.
"Yes, I *am* aware at how amazeballz3000 I am."
She turns fully back to Orchid.
"And I take no offence, Friend Orchid. 'Tis the premise behind the challenge of Father that I find friends outside of the compound. It has proven...difficult. But the few who have accepted me...with everything that I am and represent...have been Heaven-sent. I am sure I will eventually get Reaver to Embrace the Light."
"Well, maybe she will come around maybe she won't, but I'm sure you both have the same goal in mind."
Jon walks in the room holding a tray with both hands.
"I hope the goal is for the two to take photos of themselves nak-"
"Damn it Jon enough already," yells Orchid, her face flashing in anger. "Stop trying to make Sarah feel uncomfortable. She is a guest and my friend. Show her some respect please."
"Hey," says Monk, "I'm sorry about Jon, it's been a while since he has been...well...um...free."
Sarah again turns slightly to regard Monk out of the corner of her eye, but then turns to Jon.
"Where *have* you been, anyway?"
"I been in the kitchen getting this tray ready for you. Duh."
"She meant..."
"I know what she meant. I been at the Dojo in Foshan, China with Master Lilly helping her out with a few things. Anyways, Monk tried making something for you but failed big time!!!"
Jon and Monk stare at each other as Jon starts to laugh a bit.
"So yeah, Monk had to call Song the guru of cooking. She was able to help us out a bit."
"Jon," says Orchid, "I think you should place the tray down and come with me. I need your help with, um, something."
"Nah, it's cool. I want to stay here and watch this awkwardness keep playing out."
Orchid gets up and walks over to Jon Dough
"I wasn't asking, Jon, I was telling you to come with me."
"Oh man this sucks, I shall return to you my, Sarah Lacklan."
Orchid smacks Jon on the back of his head.
"Damn Orchid, not cool."
Jon lowers the tray and places it in front of Sarah on the table before leaving the living room with Orchid. Monk looks at Sarah with a smile.
"I made you some Cake Pops. I hope they came out okay, I never made them before. Like Jon said, I had to call Song so she can explain to me how to make them correctly."
Sarah's body goes still as she stares at the tray, red eyes taking in the somewhat round and correctly made globs of cake attached to white sticks. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, shaky breath. A pale hand reaches up as she opens her eyes and wipes away a sudden wetness.
"Thank you, Monk."
Monk takes one and eats half of it while washing it down with his tea. He places the cup of tea down on the table while still holding the half cake pop in his hand.
"I made more but I was not able to get the sticks to hold, but it might be because I made those with Baijiu. Not just any kind of Baijiu but the very kind we make at the Dojo in Foshan. I figured when the movie role gets to be too much you can snack on two of them and start to feel real good. Plus then you have something to snack on after you and Melissa become the tag team champions."
Sarah picks up a pop and holds it before her, breathing in the sugary goodness that is her downfall in life. She speaks as she stares at the treat.
"I know we are not in a great place. But we will be. I will get you back. Because, regardless of what you think..."
She turns to face him fully, her eyes wet.
"I love you, baby."
She smiles.
"But until then? These will do."
She pops the cake into her mouth, turning away from him, and leans back against Monk.
Monk eats the other half of the cake pop.
"I think we're fine, I think we are already in a great place. You are here and I am here. We are friends and able to hang out. This is great already, is it not? I feed you Cake pops, you win wrestling matches. We sit back and talk about stuff. Like friends do."
Monk takes a deep breath and thinks to himself for a second.
"I'm glad you came over tonight. That way we can talk about this, I guess. I am a bit confused. You say you will get me back but I thought you already started talking to someone. How is that going for you?"
She shimmies her back against him, nestling in closer, trying to get comfortable.
"Just dinner with a co-star. Besides, you were the one telling me to date."
She smirks as she finally finds the angle against his chest she always liked.
"And do I even need to mention Coda?"
She pops the rest of the cake in her mouth and Monk nods his head. Monk then takes his hand and gently moves Sarah forward to sit up straight. He moves the tray of cake pops closer to a side coffee table next to his side of the sofa. Monk then takes his left foot and swings it around so it is now resting on the sofa. He lets Sarah's back go. She leans back again so she can lay on his chest. Monk leans a bit back as well to rest on the sofa thus giving Sarah a bit more of an angle to arch her body for better comfort.
"Coda is something isn't she? And yes you should date, you should be with someone who will make you happy. You deserve it, you really do."
Sarah gets even more comfortable and starts to feel her eyes growing heavy. She yawns.
"I know I do. Someone strong. Strong enough to stand up to me, to tell me when I am wrong."
Another yawn.
"That is why I refuse to let you go."
She yawns again. Nearly three days without sleep was catching up to her.
"As beautiful as you I am sure you will find him very soon."
Orchid makes her way back into the living room, she takes the tray and the cups back to the kitchen.
"I don't want to keep you up. I know you been a busy person as of late. You can stay the night here if you prefer that rather than driving back to the hotel or motel you are staying in. Orchid has an extra spare room you can use."
Orchid walks back into the living room.
"Or Monk, if you like, I can get a extra set of pillows and blankets and she can stay right where she is at. Look at her: She is comfy on your lap and chest. Let the girl rest. She looks a bit peaceful right now."
Orchid does not wait for a reply. She just smiles and runs upstairs to get the pillow and blanket.
One of Sarah's hands finds its way to one of his and interlaces their fingers.
"Goodnight...my beautiful Monk..."
Sarah quickly falls asleep, her breaths slow and deep.
Orchid comes back down with a pillow and a blanket.
"Even when you're not in trouble you find yourself sleeping on the couch."
Orchid Giggles
"Well, goodnight guys."
"Goodnight Orchid."
Monk looks down at Sarah and shakes his head but can't help but smile at the same time.
"Goodnight, Sarah."
Monk throws the blanket for Sarah's body to keep her warm as her body keeps Monk warm. Monk moves his body a bit so he can lean on his side a bit more as he uses his one free hand to push Sarah's body closer to him so that her head rest his shoulder as he to tries to fall asleep.
~~Friday, February 10th, 2017: ON CAMERA~~
Sarah Selena Lacklan is as dolled-up as #FSociety viewers have ever seen. The typical outfit for her is, of course, her customary black and red puffery, dresses made of silks and satins. But not this night. This night she was wearing a silver dress full of sequins, the light reflecting off in a wave of dazzling sparkles, the material tight enough to leave little question in what she was, or more accurately was not, wearing underneath. The straps of the dress were but thin wisps of black cloth, her shoulders bare, her tattoo of her father's white mask with purple eyes standing out strongly, the red vial hanging from a long silver chain and nestled in the cleavage under the dress. The golden fleece atop her head was pulled back in an elaborate braid, accentuating her high cheekbones, her lips matching the rubies in her eyes, her wings standing in stark contrast.
She was, in a world, dazzling.
"Do you know what it is like being me?"
Sarah's high-pitched British accent is soft and slightly slurred. She sits at a table within the confines of a fine restaurant, a wine glass in front of her, a candle in the center with its flame flickering.
"Honestly, do you have any clue? My entire life has been spent being groomed to be the actual destruction and rebirth of God's favorite industry, professional wrestling. I was born, literally *born*, for the purpose of razing the business to the ground with His Grace. I have spent my entire life being thrust into the spotlight, the eyes of an entire nation of people upon my every move, every action I take scrutinized and criticised. My life, to be simplistic, is a unique adventure."
She takes the glass of wine, red...obviously...and brings it to her lips, the liquid making her those ruby lines, plump and just crying to be kissed, glisten. She sets the glass down, smirking.
"Even this...even here..."
She gestures to the room around her, tables laden with white linens and expensive plate and glassware, chairs filled with well-dressed patrons.
"Even here, in one of the most expensive restaurants that Los Angeles has to offer, where movie stars and musicians famous across the world. The red and black permeates. Who I am...what I am...is undeniable."
There is a darkness at the edge of vision. Men in fine suits, women in well-cut dresses, jewelry shining with baubles. But a nervousness. Shifting eyes. Beads of sweat. Because all round the room, standing like the black backdrop of a stage, is a wall of black. Men in matching black coats, silver pins denoting rank, stand against the walls of the room. Keeping guard. Guarding the Blood Princess.
"Eyes upon me. Everyone watching me. Everyone knowing my name."
She shakes her head.
"People like the I-10 Connection will never understand what it means to be important, to be known. Oh, I'm sure they think they are all badass, think they are a team worthy of being in this match. Just like the two randomly thrown together jobbers, the I-10 connection are just two more people who think that people give a fuck about them but are really just two mediocre hogs rutting around in the mud."
She takes another drink of her wine.
"Now, this might be a moment where you think I am going to get personal, where I am going to toss aside the third person anonymity of a standard interview and instead speak to the I-10 Connection personally. Give them that moment of intimacy I afforded Rydell. But I am not. I am not going to give them that moment of intimacy. I am not going to allow them to think that they are on a level anywhere near me, much less on my own. No...no...I shall continue to destroy their souls through this venue.
"See, I legitimately have *zero* idea who they are. Now, that might be an admittance of ignorance. That might be the Princess of Pain not paying attention to the penniless paupers in the streets. But it is not. See, my lack of knowledge is not due to my own shortcomings. After all...I do not have any. Instead, that aforementioned lack of knowledge is due to the reality that I do not know who they are...because no one cares who they are. Like, literally. No one. Not a single person.
"For instance, here is an actual conversation I had with my own tag partner. Like, no joke, this is how our text conversation actually occurred:
"Legit, that is how it happened. My partner is not about to call out those two random chicks for being jobbers, since she is friends with one of them...or something...I haven’t actually paid enough attention to know who has tea with who...but she won't be that mean. But to then call out the I-10 Connection for being an absolute joke of a team? Man...those guys MUST suck! My partner has been around a lot longer than I have and she legit has no clue who these clowns are. Not exactly house name value like Tyson and Savell.”
Sarah looks to the side as a sharp dressed and handsome man makes his way to the table. Observant #FSociety viewers recognize him as XWF trainer Justin Spirit. Both Justin and Sarah smile from across the room as blue and red eyes meet.
"Gonna fuck the hell out of this boy," Sarah whispers to herself. "Fucking punkass Monk *will* be jealous by the end..."
Sarah shakes her head, coming back into the moment, and turns her gaze back to the Tragikphone 9S.
"Reality is that the I-10 Connection do not matter. Their names? Like...their individual names? They do not matter. Just like when I fucked up that skittles-obsessed fucktard and the 80's throwback who has not been the same since I choked him out, the members of the I-10 Connection will just be names on a list. A list detailing all the fools and morons who thought they could stand before me. A list detailing all the people too blind or deaf to see and hear the reality of what I bring. A list with the names of victims that proverbial mile long as I take over this industry. This business WILL be razed to the ground. This business WILL be rebuilt according to God's Grace. This business WILL feel my fire."
Justin approaches the table, a long black jacket on his arm and a black umbrella in his hand. Sarah looks at the camera a final time, leaning in, speaks in a whisper.
"I will burn this entire industry to the ground. Unnecessary cannon fodder like the I-10 Connection have no hope...no shelter...from the pain I bring. I am the Firestarter."
Her eyes turn to the candle in the middle of the table and she smiles.
"Mind the flames."
She brings her ruby lips together and blows out the candle.
~~Monday, February 13th, 2017: OFF CAMERA~~
Sarah Selena Lacklan is dressed in a way which most #FSociety viewers would recognize: Black and red mass of puffery, long skirts of silk, hands encased in black gloves. Not an inch of skin showed outside of her face, which is certainly odd for this day and age of skank-a-whore dress, as she would call it, with even her modest bosom covered by a top which goes up to her neck, the red pendant this day hanging from a choker. Her distinctive eye make-up is in place, of course, wings extending out from the corners of her oddly red eyes, pressed with gentle yet firm care with black eyeliner. And, as we have been seeing lately, a tightly wrapped black umbrella in her hand, tip pressed into the ground. However, there is something so stark that it is jolting:
She is sporting a massive black eye. Dark and puffy, the color of the bruise in blazing contrast with her pale skin, the injury is so fresh that you can almost see the knuckle prints of her best friend Kenzi. The scuffle they had after the epic #RockBattle on Saturday night was heated, but she does not want to think about that. Or the hellacious day of shooting this morning. Neither one. At all.
And...oh Lord...the facetime talk she had with Monk last night. Good FUCK why did she answer the phone?! She had just been with another man the day before...he was in Japan to be with goddamn CODA...and she KNEW she wasn't going to be able to talk to him without breaking down...without crying...without...
FUCK!
Nope...nope...not thinking about that wretched phone call, either.
NOPE.
She is presently located at the door of a large penthouse, standing outside, hesitating, as if steeling herself. She has not seen this man in a couple months, despite their closeness, and she was holding onto the hope that she would not simply punch him in the nose for how things with Zoe Chaos turned out. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she turns the doorknob and pushes open the door. The scene before her as she steps over the thresh might as well be from a Mad Max movie combined with the filth of Fight Club: Clothes are strewn everywhere, trash lines the floor, and every bit of glassware seemed to be broken upon the ground as if in a massive "Mazel tov!" moment.
Sarah wearily picks her way through the mess, doing her best to avoid any and all contact with the garbage throughout. She passes half-eaten hotdogs, discarded (...and soiled...) clothing, and many...many...empty bottles of liquor. And was that several half-naked bodies? She, of course, avoided her eyes at the various states of undress. Finally, she finds herself before her query: A large bed filled with a mass of humanity.
Tragik was, of course, the greatest fucking wrestling columnist in the world. Ever. Without equal. Completely and utterly badass. Apter? Fuck. Rodgers? Fat fuck. Tragik? Greatest fuck in the world! Awakening from his sexual and drugged-out daze, the Great Trag is groggy from his greatness, the world slowly coming into focus. The first thing his eyes see is a line. A white line. A line of coke. The second thing that his eyes see is what the line of coke is resting upon: The pale and baby-smooth ass of some random Asian hooker in his bed. Leaning over, Tragik presses his bearded chin into that awesome flesh of the damned, gives it a nibble, and snorts the line of coke in one shot.
"This is the fucking life!"
He slowly rises to a seated position, his massive paw using the random Asian chick's booty as a boost, and we can see that there is another nameless, faceless Asian chick on the other side of his bulk. The Great Trag is sure they have names, and that a lesser man would know what they are, but like that matters to him. He gives a great yawn, a stretch and a bend (Dip m'toe to jacuzzi, baby!), and hears a disgusted sigh from the side.
"Sweet Mother Mary, you have gotten fat."
Tragik rubs his eyes and sees that there is a figure of red and black in his room.
"Sarah? What are you doing here?"
"My job, Godfather. Now get up. We have a an interview to do."
Tragik shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.
"Interview? What for?"
Sarah's eyes narrow.
"Your radio show? The Tragik Report? I am here to hype up my tag title match in #FSociety? Did you forget?!"
Tragik's blue grey eyes begin to clear a bit.
"Oh! Oh! I didn't forget! No...just...um...gimme, like, five minutes, okay?"
Red eyes narrow further.
"You have four."
~~4 MINUTES LATER: ON CAMERA~~
-----------------------It's Time-------------------------
((rock music that makes Keely Monroe's pants fall off))
-----------------------It's Time-------------------------
((more rock music that makes Allyson Morrow just about jam the radio up her crotch))
-----------------------It's Tragik Time-------------------------
((one last bit of smokin' hot rock music that would even turn Gavin back into a man...Yes, I just said that Gavin is really a trans!!))
((oh, and did I mention that the guitar rock is actually sung by Tragik? Like, he's singing the individual notes? Yeah, its that amazing))
We're back, baby!
((the totally sweet rock music fades away))
Tragik: Welcome back to the latest and greatest edition of the Tragik Report! That's right all you Tragiholics out there, the wrestling world (or at least the people who listen to this podcast at 2:35 AM on Tuesday mornings!) has a kickass, big ass, amazingly amazing supercard coming up on Sunday, so it's time for me, the heart and soul of pro wrestling, and the reason why Allyson Morrow wets her sheets when she sleeps, Tragik...THE MAGNIFICENT!
((Audio of totally smokin' hot Asian chicks plays, sensually saying (sighing!) the name "Tragik!"))
Tragik: ...to hype that shit up! Now, this is usually where I would break down the card, match by match, in order to dole out some nuggets of truth and tell the world who wins and loses and why, but we have a special edition for your listification today. See, the whole fuckin' internet knows who I am. I am the Sexiest Wrestling Journalist in the History of Forever. I am the Sultan of Swag, part of that trio of awesomeness that Made Texas Great Again. I am the longest reigning SIN Wrestling Ultraviolence Champion. I am the reason why Ana Valentine closes her eyes when fucking she's fuckin' Robb because she wishes to The Big G upstairs it was me. But! Holy hell but! You may not know that I am ALSO the GREATEST GODFATHER IN THE WOOOOOOOORLD! Let me introduce you to my goddaughter, the woman with more names than Sasha Foote has excuses for losing, Sarah...Selena...LACKLAN!
((The woman in black and red puffery sits next to Tragik, putting a large set of headphones over her head, as fake and obviously canned applause is heard. Tragik's face goes slack for a moment as he looks at her, his jaw dropping slightly. Sarah raises one of her perfectly maintained eyebrows at him.))
Sarah: What?
Tragik: You look so much like your mother…
((An awkward silence falls between them after his whisper, Sarah looking down, Tragik still staring. But after a moment, Tragik shakes his head roughly and his face changes, his voice leaving its whisper and going back to its usual timbre.))
Tragik: Well, if it wasn't for that MASSIVE bruise on your face, amIright?! Looks like you got into the most EPIC of fights with a doorknob and lost, baby!
Sarah: Shut up. You know what happened.
Tragik: I DO! But all those Tragiholics out there don't. Why don't you let them know about it?
((Sarah rolls her eyes.))
Sarah: Simple. Kenzi Grey is Jealous McJealouston. Of the Cambridge McJealoustons, I am sure.
Tragik: That is a HELL of a bruise, babygirl. This Kenzi chick must pack a wallop. She hawt?
Sarah: Well...yes...one both counts...but that's not the point. I have been kicking ass and taking names, as a wrestler, musician, and actor ever since I decided to show the world how badass I am. And she's jealous. So jealous that she popped me in the eye over it! But I do not want to talk about it.
Tragik: But-
Sarah: I am HERE...on YOUR dumb show...to talk about #FSociety. So let us talk about that.
Tragik: Fine! So! You have a big match coming up this week, right? Tag titles, baby! You know, I have been a tag champion before. You see, me and Skeeter-
Sarah: No one gives a flying fuck about the Sons of Swag, Godfather.
Tragik: Hey! You don't get to use my insults against me! I copyrighted that flying fuck shit! Much like how your bestie copyrighted the name of your tag team, baby! Blood Reavers FTW!
Sarah: Finally, you are talking about something worthwhile. Fuck yeah, we fuck the world! She's...well...not exactly fully on board with the idea...but we're a kickass team. 2-0 and championships to win this weekend.
Tragik: And what, exactly, makes you guys such a great team? Like, why do the champs need to worry about you?
Sarah: Besides the fact that they are a junction of Fucking and Loser? Beside the fact that they are what happens when two cars, one leaving from Marketing Bullshit Station and the other from Gimmicky Bullshit Station leave at the same time, one travelling at 40 miles per hour and the other at 60, and they meet up at some point to be the biggest waste of space selling t-shirts? Beside the fact that their entire premise of "solving crimes" is the biggest piece of utter idiocy this side of a 1990's ERMAHGERD EVERYONE MUST HAVE A DAY JOB lunacy?!
Tragik: Um...yeah...besides all that...
Sarah: Its simple: #FSociety didn't realize it at the time, but that drunkass interviewer did more than just make that fourway match into a tag match. See, she put a puzzle together. She took me and TEHREAV and put us together, unwittingly unleashing the greatest team wrestling has ever seen.
Tragik: And how...after, like, two matches...do you know that you are the greatest team of all time?
Sarah: Because we complete each other! MelReav is the Anna to my Elsa. The Mother Gothel to my Rapunzel. The Rei to my Usagi. The Elphaba to my Galinda. Her experience and my...oh, I don't know...who dealio of being born to be the best wrestler of all time, combine to be an unstoppable force. See, when #FSociety had that tag tournament last year? Got way ahead of themselves. They crowned champions for no reason. All they did was crown those two dipshits making up Rebel Ink so that they could have names on a piece of paper. And what did that do? Simply ended up putting the titles on the loser "champs" we have now.
Tragik: Kinda harsh words there, SareBear.
Sarah: First of all, if you call me that again, I am going to whip out my phone and call Zoe right this second.
Tragik: Wait...wut?
Sarah: You heard me, Godfather! Anyway, this whole Locke and Keyes being champ this is just a nightmare assaulting reality that will soon be banished to the most distant of memories. The fans of #FSociety have lived under the tyranny of piss-poor tag team wrestling for two long. The Blood Reavers shall overcome! The Blood Reavers shall be their salvation! Lo! Behold your saviors, fans of #FSociety! Your mercy is nigh!
Tragik: Well, you are certainly your father's daughter. But enough of the match for the tag titles. Last week I put out the call for questions and all my Tragiholics out there came through in droves! You ready to answer some questions, babygirl?
Sarah: Bring it.
Tragik: First question, from an anonymous source: How many, exactly, STD's did you get from your marathon sex session with Justin Spirit?
Sarah: Excuse me?
Tragik: Hey, I'm just reading the questions here. And this anonymous-
Sarah: Anonymous my squat-booty! I know exactly who asked that and Al can go fuck herself.
Tragik: Woah!
Sarah: No, really. Al doesn't get to give me life advice. Miss Too Busy to Say Hello to Her Friends at a Show can take her life advice and shove it up her ass.
Tragik: Hey now, Ally is probably not going to like to hear you say stuff like that.
Sarah: Like she is even going to hear this. I mean...fuck! Let me give one of those moments of intimacy I am becoming known for.
((Sarah clears her throat))
Sarah: Are you even listening to this, Al? Is anyone in that precious little circle of yours that has been blowing me off even listening to this?! I have been hyping up this shit all week, but I highly doubt you are going to bother listening. I mean, have you even watched ANY of my promotional videos for my matches? Do you even realize that I'm booked in a fucking title match? I doubt it. I doubt that you have bothered to look down from your mountaintop to realize that a friend is in pain and could use a fucking shoulder to cry on, or something. Instead, you just join in on the piling on of me and remind me why I rarely leave Lacklanland. Instead, you just allow your boyfriend to treat me like crap. Instead, you are just so coolio with the people in your circle treat me like some little kid instead of the goddamn warrior I am. So Al? Take your advice...take your opinion of Justin...take your goddamn tea party...and shove them up your ass. Next question.
Tragik: Oh boy...um...a question from @kcw_Fan: How did it feel to have Coby Quik retire your dad?
Sarah: Another stupid question full of lies. Did that boring ass dude beat my father? Yes, yes he did. I am not, nor have I ever, disputed the fact that he beat a cancer-ridden old man in the final days of his career. Hooray for him! Hooray for the Valiant One! But the idea that he "retired" him is laughable. That match in The Compound WAS NOT his last. Father's final match saw his hand raised in victory. That is reality.
((Sarah pauses, Tragik about to go to the next question, but she continues.))
Sarah: And while I am on the subject, that entire company is shit. The person in charge pulls strings, makes sure certain people get over regardless of who or what happens, and makes sure that only those certain people leave the building on their own two feet. And whenever anyone says anything, challenges them, they are subject to a burial of their character from his closest group of people, with racial slurs thrown in without reserve, so that he and his company remain strong. And everyone within the company is too afraid to say anything...until they leave. And then they are attacked. And even Quik himself has discovered this. I doubt that midcard hack will ever be man enough to say that he is now on the side of the people he has himself mocked, that he has himself attacked for some trumped-up accusations, but it would certainly be appropriate.
Tragik: Hey-
Sarah: And their "champ," of course. My dear sister and her challenge to me. Good fuck. If she was a real hero, a real fighter and warrior, she would walk away from the confines of Dallas, would step away from the security blanket of her mysteriously overcoming all odds, regardless of how high, and being a champion. Let her face me with my wings unfurled. Let her face the Firestarter, the Bloodlettter, the red and black, the revolution. Let her face the firebird in the real world and not some locked building. Let her face the Blood Princess without the invisible hand of "fate" pushing her into victories. Let her face me in #FSociety.
Tragik: Ooooookay. Hmm. Pretty sure I'm getting sued for that. Like, if Ally doesn't kill me herself for letting your other tirade on the air, this one will get me taken off. So...um...hey! Next question! And this one is from me personally, if you don't mind.
Sarah: Go for it.
Tragik: So, what's the deal with you liking Chicken Nuggets?
Sarah: Huh?
Tragik: You heard me. You like Chicken Nuggets and I want to know what's up with that.
Sarah: Um...you know very I would never eat something as gross as fast food. What are you-
Tragik: Do you or do you not want to bone Julian "Chicken Nugget" Savell?
((Sarah's pale skin blossoms into immediate spots of red.))
Sarah: I...um...have no idea what you are talking about.
Tragik: Right...right...because you walking around with a fuckin' umbrella is something you have always done.
Sarah: Next question, please!
((Tragik rolls those sexily smokin' blue eyes of his.))
Tragik: Fine, fine. But! Let's stay on the subject of boyfriends, yeah? In the past month you have gotten dumped by a Monk and then fucked a manhore. Any comment on that?
((Sarah's face turns from rosy embarrassment to dark anger.))
Sarah: Next. Question.
Tragik: Oh come on! All the Tragiholics want to know about your sexcapades. Oh! And bonus question: Get to second base with Kenzi, yet?
((Sarah stands up, taking off the headset.))
Sarah: We are done here.
((She storms off, the clicking of her heels on the floor like thunder. Tragik shrugs.))
Tragik: You heard it here, ladies and gents. Tune in to #FSociety's Cold Dawn to see one hell of a show!
End.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Slippered feet walk forward, flashes of pink slipping out from skirts of black and red, toes landing daintily. The swish-swish of legs moving back and forth, carrying the lithe body wrapped in black and red puffery plays counterpoint to the drip.
Drip.
Swish-swish.
Drip drip.
Swish-Swish.
Pale skin blazes in contrast to the surrounding darkness of the corridor, blood red eyes standing out as if belonging to Cerberus himself. The Blood Princess makes her way slowly down the hall, every step measured with weariness. She looks behind her with every step, her sixth sense speaking out to her.
Danger.
Turn back.
Run.
RUN.
She presses forward, the weight of the silent darkness weighing down and becoming palpable, as if a living, breathing monster of dread was joining that sixth sense. The concert was maddening.
Drip. Swish-swish.
Danger. Turn back.
Drip. Swish-swish.
Run. RUN.
But she does not run. She presses forward. Slowly. Cautiously. A door impedes her path. Where did that come from? Why was it here? It was never there before. Never? Had she been here before? She had, hadn't she? A pale hand slowly makes its way out from the black and red puffery, thin fingers tipped in nails lacquered black with flames. The fingers splay out, fingertips and palm touching the flat surface of the door. It is cold and damp, as if that incessant drip in the distance was made incarnate in the wood. The hand moves to the round doorknob, the vocal creation of the dread and her sixth sense exploding in her head.
DANGER.
TURN BACK.
RUN.
RUN!!!!!!
She turns the handle. Pushes inward. The door opens, a creak piercing the dark silence as it moves along old and rusted hinges. The room beyond explodes with white. Red eyes shut in pain, the pale hand coming to shield her face a starless sky in comparison to the white. A cold wind howls, freezes, forcing her to hold her black and red puffery tight.
A slippered foot, now feeling like an block of ice, steps forward. An unexpected slosh. Snow? Red eyes force themselves open. Snow. Everywhere. A winter wonderland. But in the center of that snow is a dark gray object. It calls to her. Pulls her. Slippered feet step forward, one after another. The formless voice tries to halt her, but it grows weak.
Danger...
Turn...
Ru...
She is before the dark object. It is thin, tall, a rectangle. But with a rounded top. Her breath catches as she realizes what it is.
A tombstone.
Dan...
Tu...
R...
Red eyes scan downward, fighting the sting of the bitterly cold wind. Red eyes read the letters etched, for all eternity, into the stone.
HERE LIES
JEAN-PAUL LACKLAN
JUNE 12TH, 1971-APRIL 16TH, 2017
HE BROUGHT THE LIGHT
Ruby lips open.
And scream.
Presenting the Lacklan Saga Story of
Ascension, Part VI
It's Complicated -- Just Another Tragik Monday
~~Monday, February 6th, 2017: OFF CAMERA~~
"Father!"
Sarah Selena Lacklan's eyes pop open as she screams out for her father, her body shooting upwards out of its seat. Red eyes, the whites filled with the red lines of lack of sleep, move left and right, trying to find bearing. The area around those eyes are dark circles of purple, the pale skin outward seeming sunken. A bead of sweat falls down the pale skin of her face as those skittish eyes look everywhere.
The inside of an airplane. Unnecessarily garish purple seats. Men in matching black coats sitting near her, her honor guard.
Not the room.
Not the graveyard.
Just another one of those fucking nightmares.
Sarah closes her eyes, a ragged breath of relief escaping her, a hand coming to rest itself on her forehead. She breathes in deeply a few times, steadying herself, the back of her hand feeling the clammy skin. Eyes pop open, hands searching around her, moving among the sparse belongings she brought for the adventure.
Black umbrella. Twilight Sparkle neck pillow. The hand-knitted blanket that WRETCHED woman made her for her birthday, every letter of her family name etched with love. The latest Guilty Pleasures CD. Her sketchpad. Ah, there it is: Her purse.
Her purse is, as #FSociety viewers might expect, black leather with red accents. Hands shaking, she opens the purse and rummages through, finally pulling out a small red vial. Tossing her purse to the side, she uncorks the bottle and, holding a finger against one side of her nose, brings the vial to the lone exposed nostril. Taking a deep breath, she snorts the red powder in one shot.
"FUCK!" she yells, slamming the vial down on the empty seat next to her. Hands go to her forehead, rubbing furiously and then into her hair as the DRIVE assaults her system. Deep breaths, panicked breaths. But then they slowly subside, her body calming. A couple more deep breaths and the sweating subsides.
"No sleep, SareBear..." she says to herself, her voice scratchy. "No sleep...no dreams...no fucking nightmares..."
Sarah turns her head to look out the window of the plane. The lights of the approaching Los Angeles International Airport were still far in the distance. Too far. Sleep might attack her regardless of how much she tried to fight it. She needs a way to occupy her thoughts, keep her brain active, keep the sleep away.
Reaching back into her bag, she pulls out a large cell phone, the design oddly bulky. She presses a few buttons on her phone, the latest Tragikphone, the 9S, holds it up to face her, and begins to record.
* * * * * * * * * *
~~The PrincessTwilightSexyFang podcast, as viewed on hotgoths.fuckyeah: ON CAMERA~~
In case anyone missed it, I made sure to put around a pic of myself going to the airport this morning. I made sure it was from behind. Not because I wanted to show my totes amazeballz ass, which *is* totes amazeballz, but because I wanted the back of my jacket to be seen. Because that jacket had a word on it. That word?
Victory.
I told you. I fucking TOLD you. Absolutely, without doubt, TheReav and I were not on the same page when we first got booked together. Yeah, we seemed to have natural chemistry, but we still were not on the whole "ZOMG LETS HUG FOR TEN MINUTES EVERY HOUR" friendship level. But now? After we've...quite literally...punched and slapped each other as hard as possible? After we worked out the kinks? The goddamn Blood Reavers are legit.
And we showed it.
Rydell and Silver ARE NOT a team. They are the epitome of what is wrong with the tag team aspect of the industry: Just two random bodies, going nowhere, who management sticks together in order to find a place for them on the card. And you know what that kind of team is called? Know what their classification is?
Jobbers.
That's right, I said it! I fucking SAID IT. The dreaded J Word! J-O-B-B-E-R-S. TheReav and I are not like that. We are not too people randomly stuck together. We are not two people going nowhere. We are not Smoky and Craig on a Friday without jobs and without shit to do. We are the hawtdamn FUTURE of this business, much less this company. And two random chicks thrown together because we have too many people on the roster for Robb to handle are not going to get in our way. They did not yesterday, they will not in two weeks.
Oh...you know what? Let's knock this third person shit out. Last time around, I gave Rydell a moment of intimacy, let her get real close and personal, let her come to terms and grips with the reality of the Blood fuckin' Princess. And I think I want to give her that again. And maybe Silver will actually give a damn this time around. So...here goes.
...............
...............
You two listening now? Rydell? Silver? Do me a favor. Get real close to your computers, or phone, or whatever. Get real close. I want you to listen to this. Want you to get every word.
Ready?
Sweet Mother Mary, you two might as well be in the OBLIGATORY MULTIPERSON BATTLE ROYAL for all that you matter. Oh, I know you two THINK you matter. I know that you two THINK that you are worthy of title shots and recognition. But the reality is that you are not. You are two small rowboats out in the middle of the ocean. And me and Reav? We're the sharks that just bit off your rudders. You are gonna need a bigger boat.
Now, I can already hear you two: WE LOST BECAUSE OF TEH I-10 CONNECTION!!!11!11!!!111!!!
Bitches...please.
Interference happens in this sport. People jump people before matches. They jump them after matches. During matches. They drop them on their damned heads, straight into the Abyss, in the parking lot after the show is over. That is what we are about. And if you cannot deal...if you cannot somehow overcome the chaos of this business...then you do not belong. Period. And you two? Proved you do not belong.
Now, this may be a bit of the Ballad of Kettles and Pots here, since I have found myself doing things like acting and modelling lately, but this business is full of wastes of space who are only using the sport for fame and fortune. They are using it to get noticed so that their other careers can shoot off. But that is not who I am. Sure, TEHREAV is a kickass musician (though I smoke her at the piano~!), but she is also a killer athlete. And I was...literally, as we discussed before...BORN to be a wrestler, to change this business. But you guys? You might as well just be lumped in with all the nameless, faceless, replaceable women on twitface. I look at you two and I just see everyone else.
So, let us recap a bit, yeah?
You: Random jobbers thrown together.
Us: Heaven-sent chemistry.
You: Rudderless, lost in a sea of mediocrity.
Us: The goddamn sharks.
You: Feckless, replaceable, look and sound like everyone else.
Us: Killer athletes and...oh I don't know...the person BORN to lay waste to this business so that it can finally kick ass.
A final note of reality, girls: Do not get mad at me. Do not cry, do not whine or bemoan my words. I am simply holding up the mirror. 'Tis not my fault that you and the world will not like what you see. 'Tis not my fault that your reflections show two hags with little skill and less drive. 'Tis not my fault that the mirror shows you to be what you were yesterday and what you will be next Sunday: Losers.
Do not blame me for the overwhelming asskicking you are going to receive next Sunday.
Blame yourselves.
* * * * * * * * * *
~~Wednesday, February 8th, 2017: OFF CAMERA~~It had been a long day of shooting on the set for All That Glitters. The cast and crew had really come together the past two weeks, now that the real shooting was being done, but the scenes being focused on were grueling in an emotional way. Kenzi was getting deep into Caramel, and Sarah was a little worried that it was not just a matter of life imitating art, but instead art bringing up forgotten matters of life. Even for herself, the role of Ambrosia was pushing her to emotional limits she had never thought to explore. She was somewhat worried about all the nudity, as there was very little left to the imagination for her intimate areas after the movie would be released, but even moreso the grape and murder of her character was difficult to work through. She trusted Kenzi explicitly, she loved her like the sister she never had, certainly moreso than that one WRETCHED WOMAN though she was, but still, she worried.
Monday had been an...adventure. The two needed to make sure that Sarah had the stuff for such a role. It was one thing to perform a play on herself; Princess Saraha in The Blood Princess Bride was, of course, just an exaggerated version of herself. But this? Ambrosia? The top girl in the whorehouse? Vicious and vindictive? Sexually and emotionally dominating? That needed a little work. So they had their...adventure...at the Gushing Taco.
The Gushing Taco. Sarah had assumed it was the name of a Mexican restaurant. Nope! Strip club. Ken knew the owners and set up a little exhibition. And after a few shots of liquid courage, she did it. Her first pole dance. She wanted to make her friend proud, to show her that she could and would handle the sensitive role, and so she gave her all. She did not go completely nude...at least, not yet...but she got close. And she played the piano and sung, showed Ken her full range, and convinced her to add a number for her in the movie.
But now...two days later...things were getting hard. Ken and her seemed to be starting to pick at each other. Competing? Possibly. They were both wrestlers, of course, and their competitive natures were coming out as they got further into the depths of their roles. It was awesome at first, spending every minute of the day and night together, but now they were leaving each other after the shooting was over, Ken going to the apartment she shared with Melissa Reeves, Sarah to the hotel she had rented out for herself and her honorguard.
Sleep was rare. Wholly unwanted, of course, due to the recurring nightmares of her father's impending death, but it was really beginning to wear on her. The silence and darkness of her hotel room was nice, but the pull of loneliness was also starting to wear on her, the cocktail of despair and lack of sleep pulling her down. It was fun flirting with Justin, her co-star from her first film, since that was a nice way to cope the pain she was in over losing Blasted Monk the way she did, and even set up a date with him. But still the darkness was there, piercing.
A friend of hers brought a spot of light into her heart. Jon, the member of The Elders wearing that odd green mask, was in town with Orchid. And strongly hinting that her punkass was with them. Heart thumping, blood racing.
So now she is here, standing in front of a door in a nice part of town, her bodyguards dutifully waiting in the car at the corner. They knew she was safe in the care of the Elders, no matter how...complicated...her relationship status with her punkass was. She takes a deep breath and presses one of her lacquered fingertips to the doorbell. The bell rings and we see Jon Dough wearing black pants and a white tee with his green mask. He opens the door her in, putting on a cheesy smile.
"Please come in. Man girl you look hot, hot like FIRE!!!"
"Jon!" yells Orchid from the kitchen, "Don't you start with my guest!"
Sarah smirks and winks at Jon as she crosses the thresh. Orchid, wearing a red Gofuku robe, walks down the hallway to greet Sarah, bowing to show respect. Sarah smiles fully and gives one of her deep and well-practised curtsies.
"Please come with me."
The three walk into the living room. Orchid does not turn on the light but instead lights up two candles and places them on the coffee table that sits in between two black sofas. Orchid extends her hand out to offer Sarah a sit, the two sit across from each other. Jon stands behind the sofa Sarah is sitting in. He yells for Monk.
"Yo! Blasted Monk, Your...um...friend is here. Come join us!!"
Monk walks in the room wearing an all-black Gofuku robe holding a tray with 4 cups on it. He sees Sarah and Orchid sitting across from each other talking, while Jon Dough is seen behind Sarah with a big grin on his face as he looks at Blasted Monk. As he ignores Jon Dough, he sets a cup of tea aside for Orchid and a cup of coffee aside next to Sarah. Jon hops over the couch to sit next to Sarah.
"I will sit next my friend Sarah," he says with a cheeky grin.
Monk shakes his head as he places Jon's cup of milk next to Orchid.
"But I'm not sitting over there, bro. I'm sitting right here."
Monk looks at Sarah and gives her a nod. Sarah with a straight face looks at Monk then turns to look at Jon Dough. She closes her eyes and opens them back up. Jon looks on and sees that Sarah's eyes are now a bright red color. Jon gets up from his seat.
"Oh...um...I think I may be sitting in the wrong seat. I think I will move now."
"Yeah," says Orchid, "I think that is a good idea."
Orchid giggles a bit as Sarah turns to look at her she, then turns to look at Monk as he takes a sit about a foot away from Sarah.
"Hello Monk."
"Hello, I hope I made the coffee just right for you."
Sarah brings the cup to her lips and breathes it in.
"Black. Strong."
She smiles.
"Perfect."
Monk shakes his head
"Good, good."
An awkward silence settles in as the two look at each other.
"Really guys!?" laughs Jon. "This is kind of boring, I was hoping."
"Shut up, Jon," says Orchid, turning to Sarah. "So Sarah, how are things?"
Sarah keeps her eyes locked on Monk, her ruby lips in a small smile. But she shakes her head as if to gather her thoughts and turns to Orchid.
"Well, thank you. I am in town shooting my parts for Kenzi's next movie. Too much sun for me, but I get by. How about you?"
"I'm good, kind of glad that you are shooting the movie as it gives me time off from the Hexx tv show."
Jon chimes in with a smile.
"So what are the chances I can see your-"
"Jon," interjects Monk, "Would you please go get the other tray from the kitchen for us?"
"Man," grumbles Jon, getting up and heading towards the kitchen, "every time something good is about..."
Orchid shakes her head.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry about Jon. If he keeps it up I will gladly smack him for you."
Sarah smiles.
"I missed Jon. And...hoo boy...he will get to see a lot of me in this film. Ken needed someone strong to play this part and I am working hard to make her proud."
She pauses.
"I never thought that acting was something I would be interested in, but meeting all of you has given me so much."
Jon rushes in.
"I'm sorry! How much of you do I get to see? And please tell me Kenzi is just as nude in this movie?"
"Jon please the tray," Monk hisses.
"But it's a legit question! Let her answer and I will get the tray, bro."
"Jon...enough already."
"Fine," mutters Jon, heading back towards the kitchen. "I'll get the stupid tray."
Sarah smirks and rolls her eyes, looking back at Orchid.
"Boys."
"Yes, I'm so sorry."
"Hey," says Monk, "now don't throw me under the bus, I'm not the one being rude here. I'm not asking about any one wearing or not wearing clothes. As long as you are having fun while filming the movie is my concern."
Sarah turns her head slightly to look at Monk with her peripheral vision.
"Nothing you have not seen before..." she whispers to Monk before taking a drink of her coffee and turning back to Orchid. "How is LAW?"
"It's been great," says Orchid, smiling. "I'm not booked for the next show, which is a PPV, so that sucks but it is what it is. Just sucks that the first PPV in 2017 will be without their Breakout Champion."
"Yeah," says Monk, "but it just means you will be defending your title on a night where no one else is, so you will be the main event that night."
Monk grabs his cup of tea and takes a sip. He places the cup down on the table
"So Sarah, speaking of title matches, I hear you have one upcoming soon, is that true?"
"I do! With a tag team partner who wants nothing to do with me!"
She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee.
"I am *trying* to be nice to her. *Trying* to embrace the Blood Reavers. *Trying* to get this whole stupid Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants thing going, but it has proven...difficult. I do not understand why she does not like me. After all, I am so very likeable, you know?"
Monk and Orchid share a very dry look between themselves.
"No," says Orchid, "you're really not."
Sarah's mouth shoots open, fire in her eyes, but Orchid speaks first.
"Let me explain before you get mad. I think you are a sweet and nice person Sarah, but you tend to want to give out a vibe that you are mean and mad all the time. It scares people and the ones not scared don't want to be bothered."
Orchid playfully taps Sarah on her knee.
"But that is their loss because you are one big bottle of Awesome Sauce!!"
Monk chimes in.
"Orchid is right you know, about the latter part anyways."
Sarah turns her head slightly to look at Monk in her peripheral again.
"Yes, I *am* aware at how amazeballz3000 I am."
She turns fully back to Orchid.
"And I take no offence, Friend Orchid. 'Tis the premise behind the challenge of Father that I find friends outside of the compound. It has proven...difficult. But the few who have accepted me...with everything that I am and represent...have been Heaven-sent. I am sure I will eventually get Reaver to Embrace the Light."
"Well, maybe she will come around maybe she won't, but I'm sure you both have the same goal in mind."
Jon walks in the room holding a tray with both hands.
"I hope the goal is for the two to take photos of themselves nak-"
"Damn it Jon enough already," yells Orchid, her face flashing in anger. "Stop trying to make Sarah feel uncomfortable. She is a guest and my friend. Show her some respect please."
"Hey," says Monk, "I'm sorry about Jon, it's been a while since he has been...well...um...free."
Sarah again turns slightly to regard Monk out of the corner of her eye, but then turns to Jon.
"Where *have* you been, anyway?"
"I been in the kitchen getting this tray ready for you. Duh."
"She meant..."
"I know what she meant. I been at the Dojo in Foshan, China with Master Lilly helping her out with a few things. Anyways, Monk tried making something for you but failed big time!!!"
Jon and Monk stare at each other as Jon starts to laugh a bit.
"So yeah, Monk had to call Song the guru of cooking. She was able to help us out a bit."
"Jon," says Orchid, "I think you should place the tray down and come with me. I need your help with, um, something."
"Nah, it's cool. I want to stay here and watch this awkwardness keep playing out."
Orchid gets up and walks over to Jon Dough
"I wasn't asking, Jon, I was telling you to come with me."
"Oh man this sucks, I shall return to you my, Sarah Lacklan."
Orchid smacks Jon on the back of his head.
"Damn Orchid, not cool."
Jon lowers the tray and places it in front of Sarah on the table before leaving the living room with Orchid. Monk looks at Sarah with a smile.
"I made you some Cake Pops. I hope they came out okay, I never made them before. Like Jon said, I had to call Song so she can explain to me how to make them correctly."
Sarah's body goes still as she stares at the tray, red eyes taking in the somewhat round and correctly made globs of cake attached to white sticks. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, shaky breath. A pale hand reaches up as she opens her eyes and wipes away a sudden wetness.
"Thank you, Monk."
Monk takes one and eats half of it while washing it down with his tea. He places the cup of tea down on the table while still holding the half cake pop in his hand.
"I made more but I was not able to get the sticks to hold, but it might be because I made those with Baijiu. Not just any kind of Baijiu but the very kind we make at the Dojo in Foshan. I figured when the movie role gets to be too much you can snack on two of them and start to feel real good. Plus then you have something to snack on after you and Melissa become the tag team champions."
Sarah picks up a pop and holds it before her, breathing in the sugary goodness that is her downfall in life. She speaks as she stares at the treat.
"I know we are not in a great place. But we will be. I will get you back. Because, regardless of what you think..."
She turns to face him fully, her eyes wet.
"I love you, baby."
She smiles.
"But until then? These will do."
She pops the cake into her mouth, turning away from him, and leans back against Monk.
Monk eats the other half of the cake pop.
"I think we're fine, I think we are already in a great place. You are here and I am here. We are friends and able to hang out. This is great already, is it not? I feed you Cake pops, you win wrestling matches. We sit back and talk about stuff. Like friends do."
Monk takes a deep breath and thinks to himself for a second.
"I'm glad you came over tonight. That way we can talk about this, I guess. I am a bit confused. You say you will get me back but I thought you already started talking to someone. How is that going for you?"
She shimmies her back against him, nestling in closer, trying to get comfortable.
"Just dinner with a co-star. Besides, you were the one telling me to date."
She smirks as she finally finds the angle against his chest she always liked.
"And do I even need to mention Coda?"
She pops the rest of the cake in her mouth and Monk nods his head. Monk then takes his hand and gently moves Sarah forward to sit up straight. He moves the tray of cake pops closer to a side coffee table next to his side of the sofa. Monk then takes his left foot and swings it around so it is now resting on the sofa. He lets Sarah's back go. She leans back again so she can lay on his chest. Monk leans a bit back as well to rest on the sofa thus giving Sarah a bit more of an angle to arch her body for better comfort.
"Coda is something isn't she? And yes you should date, you should be with someone who will make you happy. You deserve it, you really do."
Sarah gets even more comfortable and starts to feel her eyes growing heavy. She yawns.
"I know I do. Someone strong. Strong enough to stand up to me, to tell me when I am wrong."
Another yawn.
"That is why I refuse to let you go."
She yawns again. Nearly three days without sleep was catching up to her.
"As beautiful as you I am sure you will find him very soon."
Orchid makes her way back into the living room, she takes the tray and the cups back to the kitchen.
"I don't want to keep you up. I know you been a busy person as of late. You can stay the night here if you prefer that rather than driving back to the hotel or motel you are staying in. Orchid has an extra spare room you can use."
Orchid walks back into the living room.
"Or Monk, if you like, I can get a extra set of pillows and blankets and she can stay right where she is at. Look at her: She is comfy on your lap and chest. Let the girl rest. She looks a bit peaceful right now."
Orchid does not wait for a reply. She just smiles and runs upstairs to get the pillow and blanket.
One of Sarah's hands finds its way to one of his and interlaces their fingers.
"Goodnight...my beautiful Monk..."
Sarah quickly falls asleep, her breaths slow and deep.
Orchid comes back down with a pillow and a blanket.
"Even when you're not in trouble you find yourself sleeping on the couch."
Orchid Giggles
"Well, goodnight guys."
"Goodnight Orchid."
Monk looks down at Sarah and shakes his head but can't help but smile at the same time.
"Goodnight, Sarah."
Monk throws the blanket for Sarah's body to keep her warm as her body keeps Monk warm. Monk moves his body a bit so he can lean on his side a bit more as he uses his one free hand to push Sarah's body closer to him so that her head rest his shoulder as he to tries to fall asleep.
~~Friday, February 10th, 2017: ON CAMERA~~
Sarah Selena Lacklan is as dolled-up as #FSociety viewers have ever seen. The typical outfit for her is, of course, her customary black and red puffery, dresses made of silks and satins. But not this night. This night she was wearing a silver dress full of sequins, the light reflecting off in a wave of dazzling sparkles, the material tight enough to leave little question in what she was, or more accurately was not, wearing underneath. The straps of the dress were but thin wisps of black cloth, her shoulders bare, her tattoo of her father's white mask with purple eyes standing out strongly, the red vial hanging from a long silver chain and nestled in the cleavage under the dress. The golden fleece atop her head was pulled back in an elaborate braid, accentuating her high cheekbones, her lips matching the rubies in her eyes, her wings standing in stark contrast.
She was, in a world, dazzling.
"Do you know what it is like being me?"
Sarah's high-pitched British accent is soft and slightly slurred. She sits at a table within the confines of a fine restaurant, a wine glass in front of her, a candle in the center with its flame flickering.
"Honestly, do you have any clue? My entire life has been spent being groomed to be the actual destruction and rebirth of God's favorite industry, professional wrestling. I was born, literally *born*, for the purpose of razing the business to the ground with His Grace. I have spent my entire life being thrust into the spotlight, the eyes of an entire nation of people upon my every move, every action I take scrutinized and criticised. My life, to be simplistic, is a unique adventure."
She takes the glass of wine, red...obviously...and brings it to her lips, the liquid making her those ruby lines, plump and just crying to be kissed, glisten. She sets the glass down, smirking.
"Even this...even here..."
She gestures to the room around her, tables laden with white linens and expensive plate and glassware, chairs filled with well-dressed patrons.
"Even here, in one of the most expensive restaurants that Los Angeles has to offer, where movie stars and musicians famous across the world. The red and black permeates. Who I am...what I am...is undeniable."
There is a darkness at the edge of vision. Men in fine suits, women in well-cut dresses, jewelry shining with baubles. But a nervousness. Shifting eyes. Beads of sweat. Because all round the room, standing like the black backdrop of a stage, is a wall of black. Men in matching black coats, silver pins denoting rank, stand against the walls of the room. Keeping guard. Guarding the Blood Princess.
"Eyes upon me. Everyone watching me. Everyone knowing my name."
She shakes her head.
"People like the I-10 Connection will never understand what it means to be important, to be known. Oh, I'm sure they think they are all badass, think they are a team worthy of being in this match. Just like the two randomly thrown together jobbers, the I-10 connection are just two more people who think that people give a fuck about them but are really just two mediocre hogs rutting around in the mud."
She takes another drink of her wine.
"Now, this might be a moment where you think I am going to get personal, where I am going to toss aside the third person anonymity of a standard interview and instead speak to the I-10 Connection personally. Give them that moment of intimacy I afforded Rydell. But I am not. I am not going to give them that moment of intimacy. I am not going to allow them to think that they are on a level anywhere near me, much less on my own. No...no...I shall continue to destroy their souls through this venue.
"See, I legitimately have *zero* idea who they are. Now, that might be an admittance of ignorance. That might be the Princess of Pain not paying attention to the penniless paupers in the streets. But it is not. See, my lack of knowledge is not due to my own shortcomings. After all...I do not have any. Instead, that aforementioned lack of knowledge is due to the reality that I do not know who they are...because no one cares who they are. Like, literally. No one. Not a single person.
"For instance, here is an actual conversation I had with my own tag partner. Like, no joke, this is how our text conversation actually occurred:
KickassPrincessofKickassocity:
Any idea who the I-10 Connection are?
Any idea who the I-10 Connection are?
TEHREAV:
Not really. I think they're a jobber team?
Not really. I think they're a jobber team?
"Legit, that is how it happened. My partner is not about to call out those two random chicks for being jobbers, since she is friends with one of them...or something...I haven’t actually paid enough attention to know who has tea with who...but she won't be that mean. But to then call out the I-10 Connection for being an absolute joke of a team? Man...those guys MUST suck! My partner has been around a lot longer than I have and she legit has no clue who these clowns are. Not exactly house name value like Tyson and Savell.”
Sarah looks to the side as a sharp dressed and handsome man makes his way to the table. Observant #FSociety viewers recognize him as XWF trainer Justin Spirit. Both Justin and Sarah smile from across the room as blue and red eyes meet.
"Gonna fuck the hell out of this boy," Sarah whispers to herself. "Fucking punkass Monk *will* be jealous by the end..."
Sarah shakes her head, coming back into the moment, and turns her gaze back to the Tragikphone 9S.
"Reality is that the I-10 Connection do not matter. Their names? Like...their individual names? They do not matter. Just like when I fucked up that skittles-obsessed fucktard and the 80's throwback who has not been the same since I choked him out, the members of the I-10 Connection will just be names on a list. A list detailing all the fools and morons who thought they could stand before me. A list detailing all the people too blind or deaf to see and hear the reality of what I bring. A list with the names of victims that proverbial mile long as I take over this industry. This business WILL be razed to the ground. This business WILL be rebuilt according to God's Grace. This business WILL feel my fire."
Justin approaches the table, a long black jacket on his arm and a black umbrella in his hand. Sarah looks at the camera a final time, leaning in, speaks in a whisper.
"I will burn this entire industry to the ground. Unnecessary cannon fodder like the I-10 Connection have no hope...no shelter...from the pain I bring. I am the Firestarter."
Her eyes turn to the candle in the middle of the table and she smiles.
"Mind the flames."
She brings her ruby lips together and blows out the candle.
~~Monday, February 13th, 2017: OFF CAMERA~~
Sarah Selena Lacklan is dressed in a way which most #FSociety viewers would recognize: Black and red mass of puffery, long skirts of silk, hands encased in black gloves. Not an inch of skin showed outside of her face, which is certainly odd for this day and age of skank-a-whore dress, as she would call it, with even her modest bosom covered by a top which goes up to her neck, the red pendant this day hanging from a choker. Her distinctive eye make-up is in place, of course, wings extending out from the corners of her oddly red eyes, pressed with gentle yet firm care with black eyeliner. And, as we have been seeing lately, a tightly wrapped black umbrella in her hand, tip pressed into the ground. However, there is something so stark that it is jolting:
She is sporting a massive black eye. Dark and puffy, the color of the bruise in blazing contrast with her pale skin, the injury is so fresh that you can almost see the knuckle prints of her best friend Kenzi. The scuffle they had after the epic #RockBattle on Saturday night was heated, but she does not want to think about that. Or the hellacious day of shooting this morning. Neither one. At all.
And...oh Lord...the facetime talk she had with Monk last night. Good FUCK why did she answer the phone?! She had just been with another man the day before...he was in Japan to be with goddamn CODA...and she KNEW she wasn't going to be able to talk to him without breaking down...without crying...without...
FUCK!
Nope...nope...not thinking about that wretched phone call, either.
NOPE.
She is presently located at the door of a large penthouse, standing outside, hesitating, as if steeling herself. She has not seen this man in a couple months, despite their closeness, and she was holding onto the hope that she would not simply punch him in the nose for how things with Zoe Chaos turned out. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she turns the doorknob and pushes open the door. The scene before her as she steps over the thresh might as well be from a Mad Max movie combined with the filth of Fight Club: Clothes are strewn everywhere, trash lines the floor, and every bit of glassware seemed to be broken upon the ground as if in a massive "Mazel tov!" moment.
Sarah wearily picks her way through the mess, doing her best to avoid any and all contact with the garbage throughout. She passes half-eaten hotdogs, discarded (...and soiled...) clothing, and many...many...empty bottles of liquor. And was that several half-naked bodies? She, of course, avoided her eyes at the various states of undress. Finally, she finds herself before her query: A large bed filled with a mass of humanity.
Tragik was, of course, the greatest fucking wrestling columnist in the world. Ever. Without equal. Completely and utterly badass. Apter? Fuck. Rodgers? Fat fuck. Tragik? Greatest fuck in the world! Awakening from his sexual and drugged-out daze, the Great Trag is groggy from his greatness, the world slowly coming into focus. The first thing his eyes see is a line. A white line. A line of coke. The second thing that his eyes see is what the line of coke is resting upon: The pale and baby-smooth ass of some random Asian hooker in his bed. Leaning over, Tragik presses his bearded chin into that awesome flesh of the damned, gives it a nibble, and snorts the line of coke in one shot.
"This is the fucking life!"
He slowly rises to a seated position, his massive paw using the random Asian chick's booty as a boost, and we can see that there is another nameless, faceless Asian chick on the other side of his bulk. The Great Trag is sure they have names, and that a lesser man would know what they are, but like that matters to him. He gives a great yawn, a stretch and a bend (Dip m'toe to jacuzzi, baby!), and hears a disgusted sigh from the side.
"Sweet Mother Mary, you have gotten fat."
Tragik rubs his eyes and sees that there is a figure of red and black in his room.
"Sarah? What are you doing here?"
"My job, Godfather. Now get up. We have a an interview to do."
Tragik shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.
"Interview? What for?"
Sarah's eyes narrow.
"Your radio show? The Tragik Report? I am here to hype up my tag title match in #FSociety? Did you forget?!"
Tragik's blue grey eyes begin to clear a bit.
"Oh! Oh! I didn't forget! No...just...um...gimme, like, five minutes, okay?"
Red eyes narrow further.
"You have four."
~~4 MINUTES LATER: ON CAMERA~~
-----------------------It's Time-------------------------
((rock music that makes Keely Monroe's pants fall off))
-----------------------It's Time-------------------------
((more rock music that makes Allyson Morrow just about jam the radio up her crotch))
-----------------------It's Tragik Time-------------------------
((one last bit of smokin' hot rock music that would even turn Gavin back into a man...Yes, I just said that Gavin is really a trans!!))
((oh, and did I mention that the guitar rock is actually sung by Tragik? Like, he's singing the individual notes? Yeah, its that amazing))
We're back, baby!
((the totally sweet rock music fades away))
Tragik: Welcome back to the latest and greatest edition of the Tragik Report! That's right all you Tragiholics out there, the wrestling world (or at least the people who listen to this podcast at 2:35 AM on Tuesday mornings!) has a kickass, big ass, amazingly amazing supercard coming up on Sunday, so it's time for me, the heart and soul of pro wrestling, and the reason why Allyson Morrow wets her sheets when she sleeps, Tragik...THE MAGNIFICENT!
((Audio of totally smokin' hot Asian chicks plays, sensually saying (sighing!) the name "Tragik!"))
Tragik: ...to hype that shit up! Now, this is usually where I would break down the card, match by match, in order to dole out some nuggets of truth and tell the world who wins and loses and why, but we have a special edition for your listification today. See, the whole fuckin' internet knows who I am. I am the Sexiest Wrestling Journalist in the History of Forever. I am the Sultan of Swag, part of that trio of awesomeness that Made Texas Great Again. I am the longest reigning SIN Wrestling Ultraviolence Champion. I am the reason why Ana Valentine closes her eyes when fucking she's fuckin' Robb because she wishes to The Big G upstairs it was me. But! Holy hell but! You may not know that I am ALSO the GREATEST GODFATHER IN THE WOOOOOOOORLD! Let me introduce you to my goddaughter, the woman with more names than Sasha Foote has excuses for losing, Sarah...Selena...LACKLAN!
((The woman in black and red puffery sits next to Tragik, putting a large set of headphones over her head, as fake and obviously canned applause is heard. Tragik's face goes slack for a moment as he looks at her, his jaw dropping slightly. Sarah raises one of her perfectly maintained eyebrows at him.))
Sarah: What?
Tragik: You look so much like your mother…
((An awkward silence falls between them after his whisper, Sarah looking down, Tragik still staring. But after a moment, Tragik shakes his head roughly and his face changes, his voice leaving its whisper and going back to its usual timbre.))
Tragik: Well, if it wasn't for that MASSIVE bruise on your face, amIright?! Looks like you got into the most EPIC of fights with a doorknob and lost, baby!
Sarah: Shut up. You know what happened.
Tragik: I DO! But all those Tragiholics out there don't. Why don't you let them know about it?
((Sarah rolls her eyes.))
Sarah: Simple. Kenzi Grey is Jealous McJealouston. Of the Cambridge McJealoustons, I am sure.
Tragik: That is a HELL of a bruise, babygirl. This Kenzi chick must pack a wallop. She hawt?
Sarah: Well...yes...one both counts...but that's not the point. I have been kicking ass and taking names, as a wrestler, musician, and actor ever since I decided to show the world how badass I am. And she's jealous. So jealous that she popped me in the eye over it! But I do not want to talk about it.
Tragik: But-
Sarah: I am HERE...on YOUR dumb show...to talk about #FSociety. So let us talk about that.
Tragik: Fine! So! You have a big match coming up this week, right? Tag titles, baby! You know, I have been a tag champion before. You see, me and Skeeter-
Sarah: No one gives a flying fuck about the Sons of Swag, Godfather.
Tragik: Hey! You don't get to use my insults against me! I copyrighted that flying fuck shit! Much like how your bestie copyrighted the name of your tag team, baby! Blood Reavers FTW!
Sarah: Finally, you are talking about something worthwhile. Fuck yeah, we fuck the world! She's...well...not exactly fully on board with the idea...but we're a kickass team. 2-0 and championships to win this weekend.
Tragik: And what, exactly, makes you guys such a great team? Like, why do the champs need to worry about you?
Sarah: Besides the fact that they are a junction of Fucking and Loser? Beside the fact that they are what happens when two cars, one leaving from Marketing Bullshit Station and the other from Gimmicky Bullshit Station leave at the same time, one travelling at 40 miles per hour and the other at 60, and they meet up at some point to be the biggest waste of space selling t-shirts? Beside the fact that their entire premise of "solving crimes" is the biggest piece of utter idiocy this side of a 1990's ERMAHGERD EVERYONE MUST HAVE A DAY JOB lunacy?!
Tragik: Um...yeah...besides all that...
Sarah: Its simple: #FSociety didn't realize it at the time, but that drunkass interviewer did more than just make that fourway match into a tag match. See, she put a puzzle together. She took me and TEHREAV and put us together, unwittingly unleashing the greatest team wrestling has ever seen.
Tragik: And how...after, like, two matches...do you know that you are the greatest team of all time?
Sarah: Because we complete each other! MelReav is the Anna to my Elsa. The Mother Gothel to my Rapunzel. The Rei to my Usagi. The Elphaba to my Galinda. Her experience and my...oh, I don't know...who dealio of being born to be the best wrestler of all time, combine to be an unstoppable force. See, when #FSociety had that tag tournament last year? Got way ahead of themselves. They crowned champions for no reason. All they did was crown those two dipshits making up Rebel Ink so that they could have names on a piece of paper. And what did that do? Simply ended up putting the titles on the loser "champs" we have now.
Tragik: Kinda harsh words there, SareBear.
Sarah: First of all, if you call me that again, I am going to whip out my phone and call Zoe right this second.
Tragik: Wait...wut?
Sarah: You heard me, Godfather! Anyway, this whole Locke and Keyes being champ this is just a nightmare assaulting reality that will soon be banished to the most distant of memories. The fans of #FSociety have lived under the tyranny of piss-poor tag team wrestling for two long. The Blood Reavers shall overcome! The Blood Reavers shall be their salvation! Lo! Behold your saviors, fans of #FSociety! Your mercy is nigh!
Tragik: Well, you are certainly your father's daughter. But enough of the match for the tag titles. Last week I put out the call for questions and all my Tragiholics out there came through in droves! You ready to answer some questions, babygirl?
Sarah: Bring it.
Tragik: First question, from an anonymous source: How many, exactly, STD's did you get from your marathon sex session with Justin Spirit?
Sarah: Excuse me?
Tragik: Hey, I'm just reading the questions here. And this anonymous-
Sarah: Anonymous my squat-booty! I know exactly who asked that and Al can go fuck herself.
Tragik: Woah!
Sarah: No, really. Al doesn't get to give me life advice. Miss Too Busy to Say Hello to Her Friends at a Show can take her life advice and shove it up her ass.
Tragik: Hey now, Ally is probably not going to like to hear you say stuff like that.
Sarah: Like she is even going to hear this. I mean...fuck! Let me give one of those moments of intimacy I am becoming known for.
((Sarah clears her throat))
Sarah: Are you even listening to this, Al? Is anyone in that precious little circle of yours that has been blowing me off even listening to this?! I have been hyping up this shit all week, but I highly doubt you are going to bother listening. I mean, have you even watched ANY of my promotional videos for my matches? Do you even realize that I'm booked in a fucking title match? I doubt it. I doubt that you have bothered to look down from your mountaintop to realize that a friend is in pain and could use a fucking shoulder to cry on, or something. Instead, you just join in on the piling on of me and remind me why I rarely leave Lacklanland. Instead, you just allow your boyfriend to treat me like crap. Instead, you are just so coolio with the people in your circle treat me like some little kid instead of the goddamn warrior I am. So Al? Take your advice...take your opinion of Justin...take your goddamn tea party...and shove them up your ass. Next question.
Tragik: Oh boy...um...a question from @kcw_Fan: How did it feel to have Coby Quik retire your dad?
Sarah: Another stupid question full of lies. Did that boring ass dude beat my father? Yes, yes he did. I am not, nor have I ever, disputed the fact that he beat a cancer-ridden old man in the final days of his career. Hooray for him! Hooray for the Valiant One! But the idea that he "retired" him is laughable. That match in The Compound WAS NOT his last. Father's final match saw his hand raised in victory. That is reality.
((Sarah pauses, Tragik about to go to the next question, but she continues.))
Sarah: And while I am on the subject, that entire company is shit. The person in charge pulls strings, makes sure certain people get over regardless of who or what happens, and makes sure that only those certain people leave the building on their own two feet. And whenever anyone says anything, challenges them, they are subject to a burial of their character from his closest group of people, with racial slurs thrown in without reserve, so that he and his company remain strong. And everyone within the company is too afraid to say anything...until they leave. And then they are attacked. And even Quik himself has discovered this. I doubt that midcard hack will ever be man enough to say that he is now on the side of the people he has himself mocked, that he has himself attacked for some trumped-up accusations, but it would certainly be appropriate.
Tragik: Hey-
Sarah: And their "champ," of course. My dear sister and her challenge to me. Good fuck. If she was a real hero, a real fighter and warrior, she would walk away from the confines of Dallas, would step away from the security blanket of her mysteriously overcoming all odds, regardless of how high, and being a champion. Let her face me with my wings unfurled. Let her face the Firestarter, the Bloodlettter, the red and black, the revolution. Let her face the firebird in the real world and not some locked building. Let her face the Blood Princess without the invisible hand of "fate" pushing her into victories. Let her face me in #FSociety.
Tragik: Ooooookay. Hmm. Pretty sure I'm getting sued for that. Like, if Ally doesn't kill me herself for letting your other tirade on the air, this one will get me taken off. So...um...hey! Next question! And this one is from me personally, if you don't mind.
Sarah: Go for it.
Tragik: So, what's the deal with you liking Chicken Nuggets?
Sarah: Huh?
Tragik: You heard me. You like Chicken Nuggets and I want to know what's up with that.
Sarah: Um...you know very I would never eat something as gross as fast food. What are you-
Tragik: Do you or do you not want to bone Julian "Chicken Nugget" Savell?
((Sarah's pale skin blossoms into immediate spots of red.))
Sarah: I...um...have no idea what you are talking about.
Tragik: Right...right...because you walking around with a fuckin' umbrella is something you have always done.
Sarah: Next question, please!
((Tragik rolls those sexily smokin' blue eyes of his.))
Tragik: Fine, fine. But! Let's stay on the subject of boyfriends, yeah? In the past month you have gotten dumped by a Monk and then fucked a manhore. Any comment on that?
((Sarah's face turns from rosy embarrassment to dark anger.))
Sarah: Next. Question.
Tragik: Oh come on! All the Tragiholics want to know about your sexcapades. Oh! And bonus question: Get to second base with Kenzi, yet?
((Sarah stands up, taking off the headset.))
Sarah: We are done here.
((She storms off, the clicking of her heels on the floor like thunder. Tragik shrugs.))
Tragik: You heard it here, ladies and gents. Tune in to #FSociety's Cold Dawn to see one hell of a show!
End.
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