Post by cooltubesource on Mar 28, 2020 21:17:26 GMT -5
“GODDAMNIT!”
Men and women ran from the keen of the banshee, each member of the UGWC backstage staff weary of invoking the ire of the World Heavyweight Champion. They slip around corners or duck behind doors, with the unfortunate Todd the Intern, well known to have previously become victim to the champion’s particular loathing for some unknown prior offense, leaping behind the buffet table to avoid her red-hued gaze. With stomps of heeled boots emphasized by loud grunts, Sarah Lacklan’s pace through the halls of the Synergy Arena quickly find themselves alone. The champion, her pale face flushed and her eyes ablaze, shakes her head left and right in concert to her agitated steps.
“All we had to do was work on our timing! THAT’S ALL I WANTED TO DO! But NOOOOOO. We had to do fucking FARM CHORES. And look where THAT left us! The fucking LOSER’S WINDOW.”
She stops suddenly, standing still, her body rising and falling with her great breaths. Her chest threatens to pop out of the green, black, and red top, the phoenix-inspired gear she has worn since winning the World Championship at Outlast, and her muscled legs shake underneath the matching shorts.
“I DON’T GO TO THE LOSER’S WINDOW, SISTER!”
There is no sister, of course, just Sarah by herself in the halls. She closes her eyes, leans back, and lets out a high-pitched scream full of equal parts petulance and rage. The scream echoes in the halls, forcing the hiding staff members to plug or cover their ears in fear of drums being pierced. After what feels an eternity to those trapped men and women, Sarah’s scream relents and she stalks down the hall again, coming to a stop before the door leading to her private dressing room. Fitted with a desk, a couch, and a shower, a surprisingly well-kept secret whispered to her one day by her then-benefactor Ichabod, it had been an exclusive Grey-Lacklan respite within Chicago.
“I swear to GOD, Sister, we WILL take that win back from the Uncommonwealth next week or SO HELP ME!”
She pulls the door open wide and walks through, the slam of the door behind her no doubt the sound the employees were waiting for, though most would be too cautious to venture from their hiding spots just yet.
Inside the room, Sarah stands just inside, breathing heavily. After a few moments, her breathing slows, the redness washes away from her face to again leave it pale porcelain, and a smile rises from the lips painted to match her eyes.
“...hahahaha…”
A soft chuckle from the woman, light and airy in her affected High Londoner way. She clumps back against the door, her body hitting it hard enough with her weight to make it shake on its hinges.
“..hahahahahahahaha…”
The chuckle turns to a fuller laugh, and Sarah slides down the door and lands on the floor, the famous bottom made from thousands of squats over the years providing cushion from the abrupt fall. She pulls her knees into her body and pats her right knee with the matching hand.
“I have thrown a LOT of knees in the last three years, but I have NEVER caught ALL of a Shining Wizard like THAT.”
She shakes her head and her smile grows wider.
“MAN, that felt good!”
Sarah takes a moment to remove her contact lenses, relief immediately washing in after the thick prescription plastic is removed, and then leans her head backward to rest on the door. She keeps her eyes shut, letting them settle after all the time with the lenses in, but her smile grows.
“Oh, Sister. Foolish...foolish...sister.”
Her voice remains light, yet has gained a thick haze to it, as if she is speaking neither here nor there.
“Sixteen months, Angelica.”
She licks her lips and smiles ever wider.
“You will pay for every...single...second...of those months.”
She grows silent as the back of her head slowly rotates against the surface of the door. Her hand raises up and reaches behind her, where it sits flat against the door.
“I will trade a thousand losses for the chance to teach you your place, Sister. And in the end, you will thank me for it.”
Her eyes slowly open and then blink several times.
“Well, shit.”
The odd heavy haze leaves her voice.
“Where in the bloody Abyss are my glasses?!”
It takes quite a bit of time, but Sarah is eventually able to find her purse, and the glasses hiding inside.
Heeled boots with the tiny spider web designs off her feet, phoenix-inspired wrestling gear crumpled on the floor, tightly-woven braid curled up above her head, Sarah takes a shower and washes away the grime of Synergy.
Dressed in an unnecessarily thick and heavy Firestarter dress, one of the many stitched by her own hand, with her gear and championship title safely stowed away in her exclusive YSL athletic bag, Sarah is out the back door of the Synergy Arena and waiting for a ride before most of the fans had left the building.
Her thoughts once again go to the idea of leasing or purchasing a townhome or duplex in Chicago...again reminding herself to ask Sloane Taylor about neighborhoods...as she opens the door to the regular Waldorf-Astoria suite. Particularly with the uncertainty of travel in a pandemic-conscious world, being able to have another “home base” was attractive. The room was dark, an unexpected welcome, and she soon realizes that Kenzi was already in bed. She stares down at her sleeping wife, her face mostly hidden under a large sleeping mask, with a grimace to her lips. Kenzi had been increasingly antisocial ever since In Your Hands, which was one of the most troubling things to ever occur during their three years together. Kenzi was naturally extroverted, with an ability to dominate a room through sheer will which matched her own, and the last few weeks had seen a drastic change. She had not come to see her wrestle, something only literally life-changing surgery the prior year had done.
But at least she was here.
Firestarter dress hanging in the closet, black and red sleeping wear in its place, hair still in its braid so that Kenzi could enjoy herself with brushing it in the morning, Sarah places a kiss on Kenzi’s cheek and allows herself to sleep.
But not before she again replays her greatest failure in her mind.
She dreams the dream of the conqueror, with a world set ablaze and filled with men and women worshiping at the feet of the Grey-Lacklans.
She loved that dream.
Angelica Mary Vaughn, never officially née Lacklan, stood at the edge of the great forest that surrounded Lacklanland. She looked up at the trees. Thick, old sentinels, older than several lifetimes of men, guarded over its border. The youngest of the Lacklan siblings put her hands on her hips and sighed, looking downward at the ground.
Her socked-and-shoe’d feet softly sunk in the damp grass, and the leggy blonde of legend crouched down, her fingertips brushing the dew off the blades. She stroked them across her cheek, letting their chill cool down her flustered rosy cheeks. She had always loved coming here, back to the place where she had apparently been conceived. But these past few hours, she’d felt like a trespasser, unworthy to walk on this holy ground. She had failed at Synergy, utterly and completely. Two weeks in a row now. But the latest loss had hit her hard. Never mind the in-match shenanigans. Only a weakling would use those things as an excuse. She hadn’t been strong enough, and the team of Sarah and herself had failed as a result. That, to her, was the objective truth, no matter what people said.
Angelica: “I am sorry, sis. Truly.”
She sighed and got back up. It wasn’t easy to stay positive and spirited during times like these, because on top of all of her failures, one particular event was looming on the horizon that filled her with absolute dread: her birthday.
Now, hate isn’t something you’d associate with Angelica Vaughn. She tried to see the positive everywhere she looked, OR accepted the negative as a lesson to learn from. But birthdays? Nothing more than an inevitable reminder of inevitability. Nothing more than being confronted with facing a battle against Father Time that no human being could ever hope to win. BUT, she could at least try and make the best of it. And whilst she’d already gotten word of some SWEET-AS-FLAME presents being prepared for her, there was one thing she desired above all else. Well, that’s PERHAPS a TINY exaggeration, we’re not talking about the One Ring here or anything, but it certainly WAS something that had intrigued her for, well, years now. She took one step closer towards the trees before noticing the thing in her fanny pack starting to go berserk.
Angelica: “Hmm? Oh! Oops. Sorry about that.”
She unzipped it, and carefully took out the albino dwarf bunny, aka Sarah’s favorite pet no matter what she says, and put it on the ground in front of her. She bent over, and looked at its innocent red eyes that stared up at her while its ears twitched.
Angelica: “Hey there, Lil’ Has!”
She booped her on the nose and smiled. Lil’ Has was maybe not the most intimidating of creatures, but there was a reason it had managed to dig a rabbit hole into Sarah’s heart. It was certainly not without skill. It had the tracking skills of a bloodhound and the memory of an elephant. Also, it was cute-as-flame, something Ser Bobby had most DEFINITELY picked up. Still, she had sworn to Sarah that she would never allow them to date.
In any case, there were few creatures that knew the forests surrounding Lacklanland like the back of their paw. Lil’ Has, however, was one of them.
Angelica: “Now… I KNOW that this may seem like an odd request, lil’ buddy. But…”
Angelica took a deep breath. She was just gonna ask it. The tales had been too intriguing to ignore, and Angie wanted her slice of the pie.
Angelica: “You know when our old buddy Milisandre used to live here? Right before she went to get involved with that weird tentacle cult thing and pretended the #CoolKids never even existed? Well, she once told me something… Of an old hermit living inside this forest who produced the GREATEST Moonshine known to man. Now, you know it’s my birthday soon, right, Lil’ Has? Now, I’m not saying I want to just get wasted and forget about all of the troubles in the world. No, I want something better. I want the recipe. I want to obtain that secret, and share the spell’s result with the rest of the world. I want to take that Lacklandian essence and use my STA Ranch to spread that joy. But in order to do that, I need to find this… some may call him a wizard, others may think he’s an old drunk coot… and find the secret. It would be a great present. Can you help me find him, Lil’ Has? I’m sure you know of whom I speak.”
Lil’ Has’ ears twitched and the dwarf bunny turned around and hopped straight into the forest, apparently having taken the instruction on board. Angie excitedly clapped her hands and followed him. As soon as she crossed the treeline she could feel the air growing thicker. Like centuries of composting leaves and moss had given the air a density that was not easily described in words. Nevertheless, Lil’ Has was like an arrow that was shot straight at its target, cutely hopping along the ground, dodging the odd fallen tree branch here and there. Angelica tried to keep up, but the little thing was surprisingly speedy for its size, and had the agility and awareness of… well, a cat, if any fair comparison was to be made.
She kept on following, losing her track of time in the process, but she didn’t mind. Time was an abstract concept as it was. After all, she was approaching her 21st birthday, meaning she was going to have been in the wrestling business for three full years. She could still remember the day she had first tried, and failed spectacularly, to step into the squared circle without any kind of knowledge of what she was doing, or supposed to be doing. A lot had happened since then. A lot of learning the hard way, and a lot of learning the right way. Very high highs. Very low lows. Championship titles. Humiliating losses. Main events. Curtain jerks. Adoration and respect. Skepticism and mockery. But eventually, all roads had led her to this place, which was following an albino dwarf bunny to an old hermit to get his moonshine recipe. Weird? Weird.
After a good while, Lil’ Has hopped beyond another tree line. At first, Angie thought she’d led them back to the manor grounds, but found that they were actually at an enclosure within the forest itself, that seemed to form a near perfect circle. It was like time had turned back one hundred years. The grass was a few inches long but well-maintained. There were vegetable patches scattered throughout, most of which growing veggies that Angie had never seen before in her life. A pathway of dirt formed throughout, leading up to a stone cabin with a straw roof, landmarked by a smoking chimney. Angie followed the pathway, looking around her to take in the scenery. It felt peaceful. Tranquil. She could understand why someone would want to live here. Lil’ Has hopped up towards the door, and upon arrival she turned around and looked up at Angelica. She picked up the bunny and scratched it behind the ear. She pushed a baby carrot in its paws and put it back in her fanny pack.
Angelica: “Good job, Lil’ buddy! Snack away!”
Angelica took a deep breath and balled her hand into a fist before knocking on the wooden door. She waited… and waited… But no response came. She knocked again… and again… to no avail. Angie sighed, and shook her head.
Angelica: “Nothing can go right these days, can it?”
?: Whit dae ye want, bairn?
The voice came from behind her, surprising her to the extent of jumping a couple of feet into the air. After her shriek was over, she turned around and saw him. He was, to say the least, a big guy. But while his height was impressive, the most striking feature was his lack of an eye. He spoke in a thick, Scottish accent, and Angelica immediately grasped its meaning. After all, she had spent a few weeks in Scotland before, and her recent Global Challenge trip had been good cause for a refresher course. She scraped her throat, trying her best to match his accent so that he would not feel intruded upon.
Angelica: “Sae sorry tae intrude, kin’ sairr. Ah cam haur wi’ a request.”
The tall hermit walked up the dirt path, a fair bit of firewood in his arms, until he came to a halt in front of the leggy blonde of legend.
?: “An’ fa micht ye be, ‘at ye wood trooble me sae?”
Angelica: “Ah meant nae disrespect, maister. Ah wish only tae ken yer secrit.”
The hermit raised an eyebrow, then grabbed on to his belly before unleashing a roaring laugh that filled the entire enclosure, sending a few birds up into the air.
?: “Just kidding, girl. The accent was fake. Although I appreciate your effort in matching it.”
Immediately reverting back to his own accent, he smiled as he saw Angelica’s surprised, and somewhat embarrassed, look. He walked past her and pushed open the door that led into his cabin. He left the door open, which, as Angelica interpreted it, was enough of an invitation to step inside.
Angelica: “Very clever, mister! You had me fooled there…”
The hermit dropped the firewood into his fireplace, and turned around to his visitor.
?: “Drop the mister. Call me Skeeter.”
Angelica: “Fine, Mister Skeeter. I’m…”
Skeeter held up a hand, interrupting her mid-sentence.
Skeeter: “No need. I can tell you’re of Lacklan stock. Probably why my dogs didn’t attack you the second you stepped inside my territory, too.”
Our heroine’s jaw dropped, amazed at the casual manner in which he had just derived her identity. After all, even her own sister had been unable to do that for at least sixteen months… Well, probably even longer.
Skeeter proceeded to put a kettle of water above the fireplace, the flames of which had been spurred on by its latest addition. Angelica shuffled her feet, and put her hands behind her back.
Angelica: “Errr, how could you tell?”
Skeeter turned around, looking at Angie from blonde head to totes-non-load-boot. He took a few steps forward and put a finger on her temple.
Skeeter: “You have his eyes, for one. And his hair. Also, you have that aura. One of… Power. You are very different in many ways, but you’re like the different side of the coin. Opposites, yet part of the same thing. One would be a fool to be blind to it.”
Angelica: “Errrr, yeah, totes. Did you say DOGS, by the dubs?”
Skeeter: “Oh yes. Vicious creatures, unless they like you. Why do you ask?”
Angelica: “No reason! It’s just that… I get a bit nervous around doggo’s sometimes.”
The hermit grinned, and took a seat, gesturing for Angelica to do the same. She sat herself down in a wicker chair and crossed her legs, looking at Skeeter who was pouring himself a beverage. She suddenly felt her dry throat, and coughed.
Skeeter: “Tell me you’re not bringing a pandemy into my forgotten enclosure.”
Angelica: “I am not bringing corona into your forgotten enclosure, sir. I am, however, quite thirsty.”
He grinned, and stood up, grabbing a pewter cup before filling it with a clear liquid and planting it down in front of Angie.
Skeeter: “Right then. From your, admittedly accurate, Scottish gibberish, I understood you want the key to my secret recipe? Let’s see you handle its effects first.”
Angelica stood up, grabbing the cup. She looked at its contents, then back at Skeeter, and put the cup back down.
Angelica: “No. You said it yourself, I am of Lacklan stock, and only a fool would be blind to it. That should be proof enough that I am worthy to know it.”
Skeeter’s eyes turned to slits. He moved his face closer to Angelica’s uncharacteristically defiant expression, and spoke in a soft voice.
Skeeter: “And who said I’d consider any Lacklan worthy by reputation alone? Drink up, little girl.”
Few words in the English language triggered Angelica as much as being called ‘little’. Like Duncan Ryder being confronted with the word ‘obvs’, or Kenzi with the words ‘failing upwards’, or Roxy with the round Earth ‘theory’. She downed the cup in one go without even considering the possible aftereffects. She slammed it back down on the table and wiped off her mouth with her forearm.
Angelica: “There. I did it. Now if that isn’t proof enough that I am worthy then I’ll have you know I ha----.... Whoa…”
Angie felt her legs get wobbly, as if someone had just hit her with a chop block.
Angelica: “Oooof. Wow, that’s a heavy hitter! Very heavy indeed!”
Skeeter grinned and sat himself back down. Angelica followed his example, not entirely by choice at this point, and looked at the hermit, who once again eyed her up from top to bottom, as if to measure her worth. He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees.
Skeeter: “Suppose I would be willing to entertain this idea. Why would I hand my moonshine recipe to you, of all people?”
Angelica leaned forward as well. It was as if she had been hit in the head with a hammer at this point, and she hung it forward, her long blonde locks draped over her legs.
Angelica: “Because… I can make it great.”
She whipped her head backwards and stood up, fighting the urge to just fall down and surrender.
Angelica: “Because I want to feel like I belong! You know, mister, I mean mister Skeeter, for all my successes, I still feel like… a bastard! Literally! When I stood outside of these woods earlier, I felt like an intruder. No matter the Grand Slam Championship I won! No matter the World Championship reign, or Global Challenge victory! No matter WHAT I do, I feel like an outsider looking in, and I want to put an end to that! I’ve always wanted to build my own legacy, and I stand by that, but one can NOT deny his roots. I just… I want to take a TINY piece of home with me. Aveline has the grounds… Sarah has the name and reputation… I have nothing of my Father’s legacy, and probably never will, but this? This is something I can take home, and reproduce, and use it to spread joy among thousands! Safely and responsibly, obvs. It’s just that my birthday is coming up, right? And that’s always a bit of an existential crisis for me. Pair that with my losses these last few weeks, and… I just need a win, you know? Right before the biggest match of my life, I need a win. So let me have this, please? I promise, you’ll get your fair share!”
Skeeter: “Never thought I’d have a Lacklan begging at my doorstep.”
Angelica: “I’m not begging. I’m asking. Asking for something nice in these horrible times. Asking for you to allow me to do some good. Because I’m not the only one who could use a win. Thousands of others could, as well. And I can give it to them. If only you’ll let me.”
Skeeter sighed and stood up.
Skeeter: “Well, little one… You do make a compelling argument. It would feel… good… to share my gift with the world. However…”
The man took a few steps forward.
Skeeter: “I will require ONE thing of you…”
Angelica: “Errrrrrrrrr….”
He stopped in front of Angelica and bent over, a smile creeping up on his face.
Skeeter: “Ask me again, in Scottish”
Angelica: “Errrr…. Ah woods loch tae hae yer moonshine recipe, sae Ah can commercialize it oan a grain scale?”
Skeeter grinned, and nodded approvingly. He grabbed the nearest piece of paper and jotted down some words with what suspiciously looked like a pigeon feather pen. He slammed it down on a box and turned his back to Angelica, looking out the window.
Skeeter: “It’s oan the kistie. Noo begain.”
In a fact not known by most, two very special birthdays happen during the same week: Aveline Lacklan (and all of her 27 nicknames) on March 25th and Angie Vaughn (and all of HER 27 nicknames) on March 30th. Last year, these birthdays bookended the 2nd Lord of Trios event for the UGWC, which saw Angie successfully defend her World Championship in a triple threat match which involved Bordy and some guy who didn’t deserve to be there in any way, shape, or form, with the actual birthday being somewhat odd experiences. In the case of the former, Bordy had a celebration at the Lacklan Manor within the Path of the Light Church compound, an open-invitation affair which had so little participation from her peers that she vowed to never again offer up such an adventure, which ended in Bordy having a nervous breakdown by the end and “cutting” or “shooting” a “promo” on her guests, to use the vernacular of professional wrestlers, which led to a super awkward situation for all. In the case of the latter, Angie spend that particular birthday, yet another in her endless expanse of loathing for growing older and approaching the horrific reality of things like grey hairs and worry lines, climbed into a martini glass with her friends and didn’t bother crawling out for several days.
Sarah Grey-Lacklan, THE World’s Champion and THE over-planner of over-planners, has decided that THIS year, the “Double Birthday Bash Spectacular” was going to wash away all of the unpleasantries of the year before.
Its a shame that the COVID-19 pandemic decided to fuck with the plans she had been working on for two solid months.
What Sarah Planned: A 2-Hour long introduction slide show. With over 50 slides, a musical number by the Lacklanland Marching Band (Kenzi will sit in with the tuba section to make up for the mouth-breathers FAILING to vote for the tuba at IYH), a safety demonstration by Angie, and more, this presentation took Sarah several weeks of her downtime to complete
What Actually Happened: No one wanted to leave their homes due to the pandemic and warnings about large groups gathering together. Everyone in Lacklanland still telepartied, of course, but it just wasn’t the same. Kenzi stayed in her room (“Still not feeling well, babe”), Roxy and Vinnie conveniently showed up super late (with an awesome present, but that’s for later), and only Angie paid attention the entire time. Angie’s safety demonstration changed on the fly (“And HERE is how you correctly put on a mask!”), but no one was around to see it.
What Sarah Planned: Fifteen party games. Ranging from the silly (Pin the Tail on the Hide, since that was SUCH a blast last year) to the extreme (you do NOT mess with Angie in the course of a Goldeneye 007 tournament), a complicated series of point values would be crunched throughout the day by the Cool Rankings team which would determine the ultimate party winner, who would receive a very “special” gift from Sarah, whatever the hell THAT would mean.
What Actually Happened: Angie, Sarah, Bordy, Roxy, and Vinnie just kinda stood around for a while. Roxy went in search of Intern #92 (“She’s got some killer stuff, bb”), Bordy kept checking her pocket watch (because of COURSE she also has a pocket watch), and Angie kept trying to get everyone engaged with “I spyyyy...with my NOT little eye….”
What Sarah Planned: The best sermon EVER! With three (THREE!) Lacklans in attendance, Sarah’s plans included audience participation, reenactments, a “popcorn-style” reading sesh, and dramatization of Leviticus performed by the Lacklanland Improv Company.
What Actually Happened: Angie did a dramatic reading from the Sleepy Kitty interactive Bible she gave to Bordy last year for her birthday. All of the children from across Lacklanland watched from their computers at home, of course, and gave a cheer at the end to great that the entire compound shook. Bordy was less than pleased.
What Sarah Planned: A presentation of birthday gifts so grand that not only did the entire Cool Rankings team need to report for duty, but three (3!) trees would need to be cut down in Lacklanland Forest in order to make all of the Thank You cards for Bordy and Angie to fill out
What Actually Happened: Roxy and Vinnie brought Angie a tiger cub (ffs) and nothing for Bordy; Sarah told Angie and Bordy that their gifts got delayed (“Stupid Amazon. I KNEW I should have used Coolazon!”) but she’ll be able to get them delivered to them in Chicago on Monday; Angie got Bordy a subscription for her NEW show on CoolTube: Pawing around with Ser Alex and Bobby (“...well...I do like cats…”); Bordy got Angie a series of overalls with little imprints of a cat's paw on the breast, and a note for her mother to communicate her genuine sadness that she did not attend.
What Sarah Planned: A day of fun for everyone in Lacklanland, and a moment to bond, heal, and forget the transgressions of the past between Sarah, Kenzi, Angie, and Bordy.
What Actually Happened: Kenzi never left the Grey-Lacklan rooms. But, at the end, we DID at least get what happened in the evening. As Bordy would say: Be thankful for small victories.
Sarah smiles as her fingers glide across the ivory keys.
“I learned on this piano, ya know.”
Her fingers press down on the keys rapidly in a basics exercise, quick notes played in succession. Her lithe fingers quickly move up and down the twelve major scales and then transition to the minors.
“I can play piano!”
Sarah gives Angie a side eye as the leggy blonde of legend skips over.
“First of all, no you can’t. You do that dumb thing with the vuvuleza. And somehow picked up the bagpipes in an apparent effort to besmirch the honor of the literal entire House of Lacklan.”
Angie shoots her a flat star and then gestures for Sarah to scoot over. Sarah sighs and moves to her left, and Angie plops her bony butt down next to Sarah’s squat booty on the piano’s bench.
“Axly! Check DIS out!”
Angie brings her hands together, cracks her knuckles, and places her fingers on the right side of the piano. She takes a deep breath and plays several notes rapidly.
Six dissonant notes.
Six notes in a chord.
Six more notes in another chord.
Now it is Sarah’s turn to give a flat stare.
“‘Chopsticks is NOT music, Sister.”
Angie shakes her head and keeps playing.
“Totes is! I learned it off of CoolTube! Shinji loved it when I played it for him.”
Angie takes a moment to give Sarah a playful shoulder bump, and after a few seconds, she sighs and joins in on the left side, her fingers playing a complicated harmony in the base to play counterpoint to the popular tune. The two play together, with Sarah improvising, until the two reach the end and find themselves giggling atop one another.
“I’m serious!”
The giggles give away much of Sarah’s intended tone.
“Daddy insisted I play. One of the many, MANY things he insisted upon for me. Dance, voice, piano. And, of course, you know his FAVORITE song.”
Angie’s finger finds her chin in thought.
“Mozart’s Piano Concerto #1 in F?”
Sarah’s stare goes so flat that Roxy thinks she has a new believer in the Flat Earth Society.
“No. Not THAT hack.”
A dangerous glint enters into Angie’s eyes as Sarah’s fingers find the keys again.
G-C-E, G-C-E, G-C-E, G-C-E
Four triplets which find Angie’s eyes cooling and her face turning pensive.
“Laaaa...la laaaaaaa….”
Sarah’s voice lifts into the air as she sings the first to Gs in the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.
“Laaaa la…..laaaaa….laa laaaa….laaaaaa…..laaaaaahhhh”
The triplets continue, changing keys as the song progresses.
“Daddy loved this song. Considered it the ultimate expression of equal parts power and sadness. And as it gets to the end? It feels as if it never ends. The pain keeps going. He felt it was a perfect theme for his career.”
Angie nods her head in time with the slow notes.
“Doesn’t Ava use it, too?”
Sarah nods as she reaches far to the right, gently pushing Angie backward, to reach the higher notes.
“Yes. In fact...and literally no one knows this...but her current version? The one she started using at the Melee last year? That’s me playing. A recital I did right here, on this piano, in this room, when I was sixteen.”
She grows silent for a moment as she returns to her base.
“Daddy used several versions over the years. Even spent a whole year paying for the Path of the Light Church choir to sing it live every few weeks at shows! At some point, this metal band named the Inverse...they used to play in Lena’s Square before church, ya see...did a cover of it and he used it until the end. That’s what inspired me to use the Third Movement the way I do.”
Sarah pauses, scooches closer to Angie, and places her hands on top of her sisters. She guides Angie’s fingers in playing the end of the song while whispering encouragement to her.
“...feel him, Sister. Feel our father’s spirit.”
“I always loved that song.”
The thick French accent brings an abrupt and to the moment between the sisters with a discordant mash of keys. Bordy slowly glides into the room, her face and scarred arms a bright contrast against the black dress and scarf. As she approaches, Sarah smiles, her eyes suddenly filled with mischief.
“Actually, speaking as a ‘This is Your Favorite Song Expert,’ I can say that THIS is…”
Her fingers slam down on the keys again with an E Major chord. A lightbulb appears above Angie’s head and recognition floods her face.
“Don't cry to me”
Bordy stops in her tracks.
“...if you loved me...you would be here with me…”
Sarah smiles wide and joins in with her sister.
“You want me-”
“-come find me-”
“Make up your-”
“-miiiiiind!”
The two fall into giggles as they stop singing and see that their flattest of stares mean nothing when compared to that of Aveline Lacklan’s.
“...filles stupides…”
“I wonder if Kem is STILL mad about that song?”
Sarah receives a bony elbow in her side.
“Will you PLEASE let that go? It’s been, like, literal ages.”
“I can’t and you know that!”
Bordy, thankfully, interjects before Angie and Sarah can begin bickering.
“Daughters! We fight this Monday! All together! The first time ever, n’est-ce pas?”
She gestures at them with great sweeps of her arms, the seemingly endless stretch of tiny scars on each arm catching the light of the 2nd floor reception hall within the Manor.
“When I was first contacted by the Consortium...by that homme merveilleux Monsieur Ooley, at that...I was hesitant. But the carrot of the honor, the legacy, of the Chaos Championship was too much for me to bear as a spectator. But now! Now! This Monday! We allow the Dragon to stretch out her wings in preparation for Coalescence. And to allow the Daughters of Lacklan to recover from their...dismal…failings.”
Her words hand in the air as Angie looks down at her lap and Sarah stares straight forward, her face schooled. Bordy claps her hands together loudly enough to make them both jump.
“Maintenant ! Yamazaki is well-known to me, n’est-ce pas? Forever fighting in the middle of the night in seemingly endless duels with the Rydells of the world. Time and again, he has been given opportunities, but has thus far not been able to gain any momentum. Savage and brutal, yet unfocused when Johnny is not around. And I have not seen him around lately. Why is that?”
She waves her hands as both Sarah and Angie open their mouths.
“Non! Do not bore me with silly tales of lessons in ‘nice’...qu’est-ce que ça veut dire je ne comprendrai jamais......pills prescribed by some idiot mind doctor, or any other such nonsense. My body may have been sleeping, but my eyes see the world. Especially where that man is concerned.”
Sarah’s eyes narrow and she shoots a glance at her sister seated next to her.
“You haven’t missed much anyway, Mother. Just an old man who still clings to his desire to become our new father.”
Angie gives Sarah a flat look but it is Bordy who responds.
“Have no fear, child. I am not in the market for a new husband.”
A small smile comes to her lips as Angie and Sarah look away from one another and back to her.
“Johnny...and therefore Hide...and perhaps any in this odd pantouflage of his...is but a tool. Let us not forget that ANY man or woman is nothing more than a tool until they accept our hand and begin to walk along the Path of the Light. Still, Hide I know well. But these other two? I do not. Tell me of them!”
Sarah’s Billion $$$ smile comes to life, as well as the glint of mischief in her eyes.
“Well, I’m sure Angelica will be GUSHING when speaking about Sebastian…”
Angie’s face becomes a literal question mark and Sarah rolls her eyes.
“I call dibs on THE Cutie!”
Sarah pushes herself off the piano stool and then stands perfectly erect, with her chin pointed slightly up, every inch the Firestarter.
“First of all, I can tell you that Sloane is a wonderful person. Kind, sweet, caring. And in a statement so rare that you should appreciate its gravity, I consider her my friend.”
She chews on her lips in thought for a moment, the exalted and celebrated dimple coming to life.
“And, perhaps someday, she will become an excellent wrestler.”
Angie’s eyes bug out when she hears this and Sarah holds up a hand towards her and extends a finger.
“Allow me to clarify. She HAS shown great promise, as was seen at last year’s WrestleStock. A rookie, barely out of wrestling school, and she took the world by storm. Very apropos, considering her ‘sky queen’ monicker. In the span of but a few days, she found victory over three individuals, a feat I myself know well of…”
Her eyes narrow somewhat and she gives Angie a slight sideways glance.
“...and without being granted a bye in the second round, I might add…”
Her face is drole as her eyes return to Bordy.
“...and hoisted the WrestleStock Cup into the air. She was able to defeat, at least the time, three non-Coalition wrestlers in Mastermind and Sebastian Everette-Bryce...yes, the Third, don’t be too eager to jump in on that, Sister...on the way to taking down Robbie Bourbon in the finals. Truly a wonderful achievement! But that has been the ONLY thing to make her remarkable in her rookie year.”
Angie opens her mouth to protest but Sarah bowls over her in anticipation.
“Yes yes, she won the Cooperative Championship with Sebastian, but what did that actually MEAN? Winning the Cup allowed her a title match of her choosing, and she went after the titles my Beloved held with Donovan, but that resulted in failure. In short, all of her momentum, all of her success, ran into the wall that is the House of Lacklan and she found herself laying on her bottom and wondering what the license plate number was on the truck that ran her over. And, yes, she found success the second time around, but that moment, that failure against my Beloved, is a hallmark moment of her rookie year and, if she is not careful, will be the standard of her entire career. She may well be the rookie sensation who is doomed to midcard life...or even perhaps the depths of Opener Hell with the likes of Rydell and Salvatore...if she does not find a way to surprise everyone again.
“You see, Mother, the world of wrestling did not know how to handle Sloan Taylor when she first came down from the skies. Pretty, smart, athletic, and a knowledgeable fan who was able to turn that fandom into stardom, she was an unknown using a parkour-based wrestling style that no one initially had a counter to. Flips, springboards, and dives, all with her pretty smile on her face, a smile of pure enjoyment, and she was too much to bear. But getting dropped on her head a few times, and on the receiving end of a chair or two to the head, and suddenly her mystique was gone. Like the pitcher with an odd delivery from Japan who strikes out dozens at a time but who struggles against batters who see him a second time, or the test you failed the first time but ace the second, her ability to remain a threat after her weaknesses have been exposed is shockingly, and disappointingly, lacking.
“Indeed, since winning those championships alongside Sebastian, she has only won half of her matches...an ability to win FAR below what we expect in the House of Lacklan, mind you...and outside of a successful championship match against Rydell and Phrixus...a team that was NEVER going to work together successfully, no matter HOW hard certain people tried to spin it...she has lost every truly important match she’s had.”
She ticks off her fingers with stiff and efficient movements.
“Cooperative Championship match at Horizons? Loss. Singles match against Donovan at Infinity? Loss. Cooperative Championship match with Angelica at In Your Hands? Loss. All important matches, all things with stakes, respect, and titles on the line, and she has found nothing but the Loser’s Window. She and I have not spoken of it...it has been months since she was allowed to attend the Champion’s Brunches I arrange, after all...but she MUST be frustrated beyond all belief at this stage. All of that promise on display in June, all of that potential, and she has very little to show for it, particularly in these early months of 2020, with the pinnacle of her success being getting a fan vote.”
She shakes her head slowly as she lowers her hands back down to her side.
“What this means, ultimately, is that she is at a crossroads. Does she dust herself off, analyze the hows and whys of her failures, and correct them? People like to chide me for my analysis, which occasionally touches upon the minutiae...yes, even in a family obsessed with such things...but that is because I don’t just WANT to know the hows and whys of my successes and failures, but I NEED to know them. And it is through THAT honest and pure self-analysis, through that DEMAND that I correct my mistakes and improve upon my success, that I am able to walk into both THIS match AND Coalescence as the fourth longest-reigning UGWC World Champion. People like to chide me for leaving the Coalition last year, for ‘giving up,’ but those are the idiots of the world who don’t actually listen to what I say and instead focus on what they WISH I said. I left so that I could, quite literally, get my shit together. And now Sloane is at the moment where SHE needs to decide who SHE is, where SHE needs to get her shit together. Is she the rookie who exploded onto the scene and then quickly found herself unable to be anything more than an ‘Almost?’ Or is she the person who, like me, ran into a wall and then learned how to not only get past it, but blow the damned thing down?”
Sarah pauses, taking a second to shoot Angie another sideways glance, and then back to Bordy.
“Mother, I sincerely believe that Sloane has the ability to not just be an excellent wrestler, but someone who our House would be proud to call one of our own. She needs to learn the Word, of course...I believe she is one of those who feels uncomfortable when I say that wrestlers are better than people, for instance...but she can be one of the best. Really, all she has to do is start listening to me and do what I say...instead of only doing about half of that...and all of those high-profile losses would be so forgotten that they would be the dust of life. I look forward to this match...as I had so looked forward to our similar cooperative match against one another back in January that I even sent her a card while we were on a cruise...so that I may show Sloane, with my own hands, the truth of everything I say. It will be, if nothing else, quite fun to kick her in the head a few times.”
She pauses again and the glint of mischief again comes to her eyes.
“And here is something that I would absolutely tell her to her cutie-pie face with all the sincerity of both a friend AND her ‘Work Mom,’ if you will: She has been at this ‘crossroads’ for so long that she is in danger of being both run over from behind AND run headlong into another car. She needs to put on her Big Girl Brand Panties and figure out who in the Abyss she is, or else leave before she not only gets herself hurt-”
Another sidelong glance at Angie.
“-but bring down other people, as well.”
She pauses and then straightens, standing even taller.
“Secondly, I-”
”Je donne ma langue au chat!”
Sarah cuts off as Bordy raises her arms in surrender while laughing. Even Bordy’s laugh sounds pained, as if her voice was wiltering as much as the rest of her body.
“Enough, child! I believe I have the measure of the woman!”
Bordy’s eyes twinkle as Sarah’s face turns affronted at the abrupt end to a dialogue which was likely intended to be three or four times that length. She turns to Angie and raises her hand toward the #1 Contender.
“And what of le jeune homme, this Sébastien. Tell me of him, Angie.”
She cuts a look toward Sarah before again regarding Angie.
“Briefly, though! Allez ! Allez !”
“Oh! Right, errrr…”
Angie stood up straight, as if she were to give a lecture during class. She brushed off some imaginary dust off her shoulder and looked at le Bord de Dieu, or LACKLAN, whatever you’d prefer. While they hadn’t started off on the greatest of feet back in the day, Angelica had known her respect for the woman to do nothing but grow. Her ferocity, her ingenuity, her strength, and of course the very real possibility that her own Father may have loved her above all else. In the end, what it came down to, was that Angelica was terrified of disappointing her.
“Okay, so, what you must abs know about this Sébastien, as you call him, is that it’s axly Sébastien Le Troisième! He is, apparently, of rather noble stock. He was born in London. I think? And err, he’s British. He was in a fed called LEW before he got to UGWC and, the man loves a suplex, and, and…”
Angelica took a deep breath, and banged her fist on the piano, releasing a cacophony throughout the hall.
“Ugh, noes! I’m doing it ALL wrong, aren’t I? I’m just reciting stuff from his UGWC profile page! Sorryyyy!”
Sarah rolled her eyes, but gave Angie a reassuring pat on the back.
“Breathe, Sister. Breathe.”
Angelica did as instructed, and dared again to initiate eye contact with Aveline.
“Right. So, as I said he’s British. But you know how most British guys of good stock are usually 75% mustache and 25% tea? Well, he is more 75% slick hair and 25% alcohol. Oh, and he does love spicy food, which goes completely against the stereotypically mild British palate. So, you could say, he’s not shy of going against the grain, especially if that grain is later used in the production of vodka, schnapps, various types of beer, and… Well, you get the point. But don’t get me wrong, Bordymums. This mister isn’t some one-dimensional kind of character. Oh noes! While it may be a SLIGHT overstatement to say that he has taken the Coalition by storm, he has had his fair share of successes, and it’s very easy to see why. He’s skilled, he’s charming, but he’s also very devious when the need arises. Killer combo! He’s also NOT un-cute, although rather short and…”
“LESS slobbering all over, sister…”
“I wasn’t going to! Nor did I… N-E-Ways, I don’t think there’s a single soul who would gleefully rub his hands when booked against Sebastian Everett-Bryce the Third, because he has proven himself to be able to adapt to every situation. Why, during nice lessons, it was clear that even if he didn’t WANT to be taught, he was able to absorb knowledge and use it to his own benefit, even if it went against his own character. So whilst we may look at this trio of errr…. Half of #TeamJellyBeanToes plus Hide…. As a very diverse group, I think Sebastian Everett-Bryce Le Troisième may very well be the most dangerous of the bunch. Whereas Hide uses brutality that can only be directed by an obnoxious mouthpiece, and Sloaney very much reminds me of myself during some of my ‘lesser’ streaks in my career, HE has shown himself to be a character who could play the Game of Thrones and win!”
Sarah raises an eyebrow and directs it at her sister.
“...YOU read Game of Thrones?”
“Read? Game of Thrones is a TV series, silly! Pfsh, and people say that it’s ME who doesn’t understand popular culture references! Those days are LONG gone! And yeah, I watched it, but only the PG version, which is like 7 minutes an episode. Very bingeworthy, I recommend it! N-E-Ways, what I was saying before being so RUDELY interrupted, is that Sébastien Everett-Bryce Le Troisième is also the kind of guy who goes all in, looks like he’s about to take over, but then FAILS superbly, like that time last year when he failed to defend, errrr… how many championships was it, sis?”
“Sigh. Two.”
“Failed to defend TWO Championshipships in ONE single Pay Per View, which was, errr… What was the Pay Per View called again, sis?”
“Sigh. Horizons XII.”
“Right. Horizons XII!”
“Horizons XIII! By the Abyss, how did you NOT know that!”
“Look, Dave hit me in the head real hard that night, you know!”
“Oh, I remember. BELIEVE me, I remember!”
“Rude. But yeah, like I was saying, Sebastian Everett-Bryce The Third’s peaks are as great as his valleys.”
“You mean dales.”
“I’m doing the promo now!!”
Le Bord de Dieu sighed, and raised her arms, instantly commanding silence.
“Mes filles! This needless bickering is getting us nowhere. It is clear to me that there is only ONE THING left for us to accomplish!”
The Daughters of Lacklan give surprisingly similar expressions of confusion with raised eyebrows.
“Our gear! It must match, yes! In the colors of the House of Lacklan!”
As different as the three women were, they could all agree on the awesomeness of matching wrestling gear.
“Come! Let us away to the Lacklanland Custom Tailors Association Headquarters!”
Angie’s face turns to the literal question mark again, but Sarah just winks at her.
“I branded everything when I was 16 or 17. So Of COURSE that's a thing, Sister!”
And away they go.
“Sorry sorry sorry! The G-Ls held me up!”
Ashley Allen was out of breath by the time she closed the door behind her, but she immediately felt warmth and comfort when it clicked shut. She ran her sleeve over her eyes in an attempt to wipe away the sweat from her run...the distance from the G-L rooms on the upper floor to the new temple in the basement meant having to traverse three different staircases, one of which was of the unpredictable moving variety...and then squinted to let them adjust in the change of light. The Temple was dark, of course, lit only by sconces along the wall and the row of torches at the back of the room, but her eyes quickly adjusted to the now-familiar scene before her:
Ten figures, five along the wall on the left and four on the right, were regarding her. Men and women who all shared her general coloring, pale faces with dark hair, and all wearing shirts or blouses that covered them from neck to wrist. At the end of the room was erected a raised dais with an elaborate chair, more a throne than anything else, made of dark wood and featuring the head and scales of a dragon. Seated on the throne, of course, was the Queen Mother, who wore a simple sleeveless black dress, her head covered by a thick black cowl and scarf that let nothing but her bony face shine brightly. Next to her, with his arms folded before his bare chest, was the man known as Redmaine, the hulking beast in the odd mask. As her eyes adjust to the light, she can see the scars along Redmaine’s arms, each bright slash a perfect match to the older and more muted scars along the arms of the Queen Mother, and jealousy fills her from head to toe.
“Rejoignez-nous, mon enfant.”
Ashley is shaken at the sound of the Queen Mother’s raspy voice, and she leaps to obey, rushing to her right and taking her place against the wall.
“Montrez-moi votre dévouement à Dieu.”
At the command, all of the men and women begin removing their shirts and blouses, though Ashley tries her hardest to be first. In but a few moments, bare chests glisten in the torchlight, men and women both. A part of Ashley’s mind remembers how embarrassed she was the first time she did that, the first time the Queen Mother brought her into the true church, onto the true Path of Light, but that seemed a lifetime ago. Her dark eyes move from person to person, eyes not even noticing breasts or chests, that part of her life eradicated and scrubbed from existence, thanks to the Queen Mother’s “Born Again Virgin Program” on the island. She was thankful for that! Instead, her eyes did what they always did: Notice the various scars along everyone’s arms. Some had more than others, of course, as they became more and more exalted in the Light. She herself had earned her 25th scar just last week, had wept in joy as the Queen Mother sliced the jagged line on her left arm with a razor blade, and it no longer even stung from the sweat.
“The time approaches, my dear children.”
Ashley’s eyes snap away from the arms of her various brothers and sisters and go to the Queen. The stark emerald eyes flash in the light, seeming particularly bright against her pale face and the dark scarf over her head, and Ashley is again filled with warmth.
“The world’s salvation is close. The Dragon, your Queen Mother, His blade and edge, is now in position to usher in the change foretold by my husband-”
“Il est ressuscité.”
The Queen Mother smiles broadly as Ashley, in concert with her brothers and sisters, follow the reference of the great Jean-Paul Lacklan with the rote honorific. That smile makes Ashley smile and feel even more warm and at peace.
“...indeed, he is. Risen, not just in me, but in the World Champion. The World Champion, the person to stand tall above all and teach all of the naughty, dirty sinners how God Himself wishes the world to be. Soon, the House of Lacklan falls into alignment, pure alignment, with everyone in their place. Soon, we save the world.”
Ashley holds her breath as the Queen Mother stands up out of the Dragon Throne and brings her hands up to her head. With a swift movement, she removes the scarf, and her own sigh of contentment is joined by her siblings. The Queen Mother’s head, which she had seen filled with both natural brunette hair and the stark white of bleach, was now hairless. In its place was a mass of scars, some clean and some ugly, arranged in a haphazard mess which closely resembled the burn scars of the late Jean-Paul Lacklan. Not for the first time, Ashley falls to her knees at the sight of the Queen Mother in what they all felt was her “final” or “true” form. And she was not the only one.
“Levez le poing!”
From her knees, Ashley slams her right fist against her bare left shoulder and then raises it above her head, a motion matched by the rest of her siblings. The Queen Mother smiles at them and moves her head left and right to regard them all, making the scars all along her scalp shine and reflect in the torchlight like a prism on a warm summer day.
Ashley weeps tears of joy.
~la fin~
Men and women ran from the keen of the banshee, each member of the UGWC backstage staff weary of invoking the ire of the World Heavyweight Champion. They slip around corners or duck behind doors, with the unfortunate Todd the Intern, well known to have previously become victim to the champion’s particular loathing for some unknown prior offense, leaping behind the buffet table to avoid her red-hued gaze. With stomps of heeled boots emphasized by loud grunts, Sarah Lacklan’s pace through the halls of the Synergy Arena quickly find themselves alone. The champion, her pale face flushed and her eyes ablaze, shakes her head left and right in concert to her agitated steps.
“All we had to do was work on our timing! THAT’S ALL I WANTED TO DO! But NOOOOOO. We had to do fucking FARM CHORES. And look where THAT left us! The fucking LOSER’S WINDOW.”
She stops suddenly, standing still, her body rising and falling with her great breaths. Her chest threatens to pop out of the green, black, and red top, the phoenix-inspired gear she has worn since winning the World Championship at Outlast, and her muscled legs shake underneath the matching shorts.
“I DON’T GO TO THE LOSER’S WINDOW, SISTER!”
There is no sister, of course, just Sarah by herself in the halls. She closes her eyes, leans back, and lets out a high-pitched scream full of equal parts petulance and rage. The scream echoes in the halls, forcing the hiding staff members to plug or cover their ears in fear of drums being pierced. After what feels an eternity to those trapped men and women, Sarah’s scream relents and she stalks down the hall again, coming to a stop before the door leading to her private dressing room. Fitted with a desk, a couch, and a shower, a surprisingly well-kept secret whispered to her one day by her then-benefactor Ichabod, it had been an exclusive Grey-Lacklan respite within Chicago.
“I swear to GOD, Sister, we WILL take that win back from the Uncommonwealth next week or SO HELP ME!”
She pulls the door open wide and walks through, the slam of the door behind her no doubt the sound the employees were waiting for, though most would be too cautious to venture from their hiding spots just yet.
Inside the room, Sarah stands just inside, breathing heavily. After a few moments, her breathing slows, the redness washes away from her face to again leave it pale porcelain, and a smile rises from the lips painted to match her eyes.
“...hahahaha…”
A soft chuckle from the woman, light and airy in her affected High Londoner way. She clumps back against the door, her body hitting it hard enough with her weight to make it shake on its hinges.
“..hahahahahahahaha…”
The chuckle turns to a fuller laugh, and Sarah slides down the door and lands on the floor, the famous bottom made from thousands of squats over the years providing cushion from the abrupt fall. She pulls her knees into her body and pats her right knee with the matching hand.
“I have thrown a LOT of knees in the last three years, but I have NEVER caught ALL of a Shining Wizard like THAT.”
She shakes her head and her smile grows wider.
“MAN, that felt good!”
Sarah takes a moment to remove her contact lenses, relief immediately washing in after the thick prescription plastic is removed, and then leans her head backward to rest on the door. She keeps her eyes shut, letting them settle after all the time with the lenses in, but her smile grows.
“Oh, Sister. Foolish...foolish...sister.”
Her voice remains light, yet has gained a thick haze to it, as if she is speaking neither here nor there.
“Sixteen months, Angelica.”
She licks her lips and smiles ever wider.
“You will pay for every...single...second...of those months.”
She grows silent as the back of her head slowly rotates against the surface of the door. Her hand raises up and reaches behind her, where it sits flat against the door.
“I will trade a thousand losses for the chance to teach you your place, Sister. And in the end, you will thank me for it.”
Her eyes slowly open and then blink several times.
“Well, shit.”
The odd heavy haze leaves her voice.
“Where in the bloody Abyss are my glasses?!”
It takes quite a bit of time, but Sarah is eventually able to find her purse, and the glasses hiding inside.
"And ANOTHER thing!"
Heeled boots with the tiny spider web designs off her feet, phoenix-inspired wrestling gear crumpled on the floor, tightly-woven braid curled up above her head, Sarah takes a shower and washes away the grime of Synergy.
"She's got the Ew! Mandible Claw!"
Dressed in an unnecessarily thick and heavy Firestarter dress, one of the many stitched by her own hand, with her gear and championship title safely stowed away in her exclusive YSL athletic bag, Sarah is out the back door of the Synergy Arena and waiting for a ride before most of the fans had left the building.
"Dave takes Kenzi down on the outside! Sarah is tapping out!"
Her thoughts once again go to the idea of leasing or purchasing a townhome or duplex in Chicago...again reminding herself to ask Sloane Taylor about neighborhoods...as she opens the door to the regular Waldorf-Astoria suite. Particularly with the uncertainty of travel in a pandemic-conscious world, being able to have another “home base” was attractive. The room was dark, an unexpected welcome, and she soon realizes that Kenzi was already in bed. She stares down at her sleeping wife, her face mostly hidden under a large sleeping mask, with a grimace to her lips. Kenzi had been increasingly antisocial ever since In Your Hands, which was one of the most troubling things to ever occur during their three years together. Kenzi was naturally extroverted, with an ability to dominate a room through sheer will which matched her own, and the last few weeks had seen a drastic change. She had not come to see her wrestle, something only literally life-changing surgery the prior year had done.
But at least she was here.
"And NEWWWWWW! UGWC COOPERATIVE CHAMPIONS!"
Firestarter dress hanging in the closet, black and red sleeping wear in its place, hair still in its braid so that Kenzi could enjoy herself with brushing it in the morning, Sarah places a kiss on Kenzi’s cheek and allows herself to sleep.
But not before she again replays her greatest failure in her mind.
"ANGIE VAUGHN AND DAVE RYDELL!"
She dreams the dream of the conqueror, with a world set ablaze and filled with men and women worshiping at the feet of the Grey-Lacklans.
She loved that dream.
Presenting the House of Lacklan Saga Story of:
Older, but none the wiser
Older, but none the wiser
Angelica Mary Vaughn, never officially née Lacklan, stood at the edge of the great forest that surrounded Lacklanland. She looked up at the trees. Thick, old sentinels, older than several lifetimes of men, guarded over its border. The youngest of the Lacklan siblings put her hands on her hips and sighed, looking downward at the ground.
Her socked-and-shoe’d feet softly sunk in the damp grass, and the leggy blonde of legend crouched down, her fingertips brushing the dew off the blades. She stroked them across her cheek, letting their chill cool down her flustered rosy cheeks. She had always loved coming here, back to the place where she had apparently been conceived. But these past few hours, she’d felt like a trespasser, unworthy to walk on this holy ground. She had failed at Synergy, utterly and completely. Two weeks in a row now. But the latest loss had hit her hard. Never mind the in-match shenanigans. Only a weakling would use those things as an excuse. She hadn’t been strong enough, and the team of Sarah and herself had failed as a result. That, to her, was the objective truth, no matter what people said.
Angelica: “I am sorry, sis. Truly.”
She sighed and got back up. It wasn’t easy to stay positive and spirited during times like these, because on top of all of her failures, one particular event was looming on the horizon that filled her with absolute dread: her birthday.
Now, hate isn’t something you’d associate with Angelica Vaughn. She tried to see the positive everywhere she looked, OR accepted the negative as a lesson to learn from. But birthdays? Nothing more than an inevitable reminder of inevitability. Nothing more than being confronted with facing a battle against Father Time that no human being could ever hope to win. BUT, she could at least try and make the best of it. And whilst she’d already gotten word of some SWEET-AS-FLAME presents being prepared for her, there was one thing she desired above all else. Well, that’s PERHAPS a TINY exaggeration, we’re not talking about the One Ring here or anything, but it certainly WAS something that had intrigued her for, well, years now. She took one step closer towards the trees before noticing the thing in her fanny pack starting to go berserk.
Angelica: “Hmm? Oh! Oops. Sorry about that.”
She unzipped it, and carefully took out the albino dwarf bunny, aka Sarah’s favorite pet no matter what she says, and put it on the ground in front of her. She bent over, and looked at its innocent red eyes that stared up at her while its ears twitched.
Angelica: “Hey there, Lil’ Has!”
She booped her on the nose and smiled. Lil’ Has was maybe not the most intimidating of creatures, but there was a reason it had managed to dig a rabbit hole into Sarah’s heart. It was certainly not without skill. It had the tracking skills of a bloodhound and the memory of an elephant. Also, it was cute-as-flame, something Ser Bobby had most DEFINITELY picked up. Still, she had sworn to Sarah that she would never allow them to date.
In any case, there were few creatures that knew the forests surrounding Lacklanland like the back of their paw. Lil’ Has, however, was one of them.
Angelica: “Now… I KNOW that this may seem like an odd request, lil’ buddy. But…”
Angelica took a deep breath. She was just gonna ask it. The tales had been too intriguing to ignore, and Angie wanted her slice of the pie.
Angelica: “You know when our old buddy Milisandre used to live here? Right before she went to get involved with that weird tentacle cult thing and pretended the #CoolKids never even existed? Well, she once told me something… Of an old hermit living inside this forest who produced the GREATEST Moonshine known to man. Now, you know it’s my birthday soon, right, Lil’ Has? Now, I’m not saying I want to just get wasted and forget about all of the troubles in the world. No, I want something better. I want the recipe. I want to obtain that secret, and share the spell’s result with the rest of the world. I want to take that Lacklandian essence and use my STA Ranch to spread that joy. But in order to do that, I need to find this… some may call him a wizard, others may think he’s an old drunk coot… and find the secret. It would be a great present. Can you help me find him, Lil’ Has? I’m sure you know of whom I speak.”
Lil’ Has’ ears twitched and the dwarf bunny turned around and hopped straight into the forest, apparently having taken the instruction on board. Angie excitedly clapped her hands and followed him. As soon as she crossed the treeline she could feel the air growing thicker. Like centuries of composting leaves and moss had given the air a density that was not easily described in words. Nevertheless, Lil’ Has was like an arrow that was shot straight at its target, cutely hopping along the ground, dodging the odd fallen tree branch here and there. Angelica tried to keep up, but the little thing was surprisingly speedy for its size, and had the agility and awareness of… well, a cat, if any fair comparison was to be made.
She kept on following, losing her track of time in the process, but she didn’t mind. Time was an abstract concept as it was. After all, she was approaching her 21st birthday, meaning she was going to have been in the wrestling business for three full years. She could still remember the day she had first tried, and failed spectacularly, to step into the squared circle without any kind of knowledge of what she was doing, or supposed to be doing. A lot had happened since then. A lot of learning the hard way, and a lot of learning the right way. Very high highs. Very low lows. Championship titles. Humiliating losses. Main events. Curtain jerks. Adoration and respect. Skepticism and mockery. But eventually, all roads had led her to this place, which was following an albino dwarf bunny to an old hermit to get his moonshine recipe. Weird? Weird.
After a good while, Lil’ Has hopped beyond another tree line. At first, Angie thought she’d led them back to the manor grounds, but found that they were actually at an enclosure within the forest itself, that seemed to form a near perfect circle. It was like time had turned back one hundred years. The grass was a few inches long but well-maintained. There were vegetable patches scattered throughout, most of which growing veggies that Angie had never seen before in her life. A pathway of dirt formed throughout, leading up to a stone cabin with a straw roof, landmarked by a smoking chimney. Angie followed the pathway, looking around her to take in the scenery. It felt peaceful. Tranquil. She could understand why someone would want to live here. Lil’ Has hopped up towards the door, and upon arrival she turned around and looked up at Angelica. She picked up the bunny and scratched it behind the ear. She pushed a baby carrot in its paws and put it back in her fanny pack.
Angelica: “Good job, Lil’ buddy! Snack away!”
Angelica took a deep breath and balled her hand into a fist before knocking on the wooden door. She waited… and waited… But no response came. She knocked again… and again… to no avail. Angie sighed, and shook her head.
Angelica: “Nothing can go right these days, can it?”
?: Whit dae ye want, bairn?
The voice came from behind her, surprising her to the extent of jumping a couple of feet into the air. After her shriek was over, she turned around and saw him. He was, to say the least, a big guy. But while his height was impressive, the most striking feature was his lack of an eye. He spoke in a thick, Scottish accent, and Angelica immediately grasped its meaning. After all, she had spent a few weeks in Scotland before, and her recent Global Challenge trip had been good cause for a refresher course. She scraped her throat, trying her best to match his accent so that he would not feel intruded upon.
Angelica: “Sae sorry tae intrude, kin’ sairr. Ah cam haur wi’ a request.”
The tall hermit walked up the dirt path, a fair bit of firewood in his arms, until he came to a halt in front of the leggy blonde of legend.
?: “An’ fa micht ye be, ‘at ye wood trooble me sae?”
Angelica: “Ah meant nae disrespect, maister. Ah wish only tae ken yer secrit.”
The hermit raised an eyebrow, then grabbed on to his belly before unleashing a roaring laugh that filled the entire enclosure, sending a few birds up into the air.
?: “Just kidding, girl. The accent was fake. Although I appreciate your effort in matching it.”
Immediately reverting back to his own accent, he smiled as he saw Angelica’s surprised, and somewhat embarrassed, look. He walked past her and pushed open the door that led into his cabin. He left the door open, which, as Angelica interpreted it, was enough of an invitation to step inside.
Angelica: “Very clever, mister! You had me fooled there…”
The hermit dropped the firewood into his fireplace, and turned around to his visitor.
?: “Drop the mister. Call me Skeeter.”
Angelica: “Fine, Mister Skeeter. I’m…”
Skeeter held up a hand, interrupting her mid-sentence.
Skeeter: “No need. I can tell you’re of Lacklan stock. Probably why my dogs didn’t attack you the second you stepped inside my territory, too.”
Our heroine’s jaw dropped, amazed at the casual manner in which he had just derived her identity. After all, even her own sister had been unable to do that for at least sixteen months… Well, probably even longer.
Skeeter proceeded to put a kettle of water above the fireplace, the flames of which had been spurred on by its latest addition. Angelica shuffled her feet, and put her hands behind her back.
Angelica: “Errr, how could you tell?”
Skeeter turned around, looking at Angie from blonde head to totes-non-load-boot. He took a few steps forward and put a finger on her temple.
Skeeter: “You have his eyes, for one. And his hair. Also, you have that aura. One of… Power. You are very different in many ways, but you’re like the different side of the coin. Opposites, yet part of the same thing. One would be a fool to be blind to it.”
Angelica: “Errrr, yeah, totes. Did you say DOGS, by the dubs?”
Skeeter: “Oh yes. Vicious creatures, unless they like you. Why do you ask?”
Angelica: “No reason! It’s just that… I get a bit nervous around doggo’s sometimes.”
The hermit grinned, and took a seat, gesturing for Angelica to do the same. She sat herself down in a wicker chair and crossed her legs, looking at Skeeter who was pouring himself a beverage. She suddenly felt her dry throat, and coughed.
Skeeter: “Tell me you’re not bringing a pandemy into my forgotten enclosure.”
Angelica: “I am not bringing corona into your forgotten enclosure, sir. I am, however, quite thirsty.”
He grinned, and stood up, grabbing a pewter cup before filling it with a clear liquid and planting it down in front of Angie.
Skeeter: “Right then. From your, admittedly accurate, Scottish gibberish, I understood you want the key to my secret recipe? Let’s see you handle its effects first.”
Angelica stood up, grabbing the cup. She looked at its contents, then back at Skeeter, and put the cup back down.
Angelica: “No. You said it yourself, I am of Lacklan stock, and only a fool would be blind to it. That should be proof enough that I am worthy to know it.”
Skeeter’s eyes turned to slits. He moved his face closer to Angelica’s uncharacteristically defiant expression, and spoke in a soft voice.
Skeeter: “And who said I’d consider any Lacklan worthy by reputation alone? Drink up, little girl.”
Few words in the English language triggered Angelica as much as being called ‘little’. Like Duncan Ryder being confronted with the word ‘obvs’, or Kenzi with the words ‘failing upwards’, or Roxy with the round Earth ‘theory’. She downed the cup in one go without even considering the possible aftereffects. She slammed it back down on the table and wiped off her mouth with her forearm.
Angelica: “There. I did it. Now if that isn’t proof enough that I am worthy then I’ll have you know I ha----.... Whoa…”
Angie felt her legs get wobbly, as if someone had just hit her with a chop block.
Angelica: “Oooof. Wow, that’s a heavy hitter! Very heavy indeed!”
Skeeter grinned and sat himself back down. Angelica followed his example, not entirely by choice at this point, and looked at the hermit, who once again eyed her up from top to bottom, as if to measure her worth. He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees.
Skeeter: “Suppose I would be willing to entertain this idea. Why would I hand my moonshine recipe to you, of all people?”
Angelica leaned forward as well. It was as if she had been hit in the head with a hammer at this point, and she hung it forward, her long blonde locks draped over her legs.
Angelica: “Because… I can make it great.”
She whipped her head backwards and stood up, fighting the urge to just fall down and surrender.
Angelica: “Because I want to feel like I belong! You know, mister, I mean mister Skeeter, for all my successes, I still feel like… a bastard! Literally! When I stood outside of these woods earlier, I felt like an intruder. No matter the Grand Slam Championship I won! No matter the World Championship reign, or Global Challenge victory! No matter WHAT I do, I feel like an outsider looking in, and I want to put an end to that! I’ve always wanted to build my own legacy, and I stand by that, but one can NOT deny his roots. I just… I want to take a TINY piece of home with me. Aveline has the grounds… Sarah has the name and reputation… I have nothing of my Father’s legacy, and probably never will, but this? This is something I can take home, and reproduce, and use it to spread joy among thousands! Safely and responsibly, obvs. It’s just that my birthday is coming up, right? And that’s always a bit of an existential crisis for me. Pair that with my losses these last few weeks, and… I just need a win, you know? Right before the biggest match of my life, I need a win. So let me have this, please? I promise, you’ll get your fair share!”
Skeeter: “Never thought I’d have a Lacklan begging at my doorstep.”
Angelica: “I’m not begging. I’m asking. Asking for something nice in these horrible times. Asking for you to allow me to do some good. Because I’m not the only one who could use a win. Thousands of others could, as well. And I can give it to them. If only you’ll let me.”
Skeeter sighed and stood up.
Skeeter: “Well, little one… You do make a compelling argument. It would feel… good… to share my gift with the world. However…”
The man took a few steps forward.
Skeeter: “I will require ONE thing of you…”
Angelica: “Errrrrrrrrr….”
He stopped in front of Angelica and bent over, a smile creeping up on his face.
Skeeter: “Ask me again, in Scottish”
Angelica: “Errrr…. Ah woods loch tae hae yer moonshine recipe, sae Ah can commercialize it oan a grain scale?”
Skeeter grinned, and nodded approvingly. He grabbed the nearest piece of paper and jotted down some words with what suspiciously looked like a pigeon feather pen. He slammed it down on a box and turned his back to Angelica, looking out the window.
Skeeter: “It’s oan the kistie. Noo begain.”
* * * * * * * * * *
In a fact not known by most, two very special birthdays happen during the same week: Aveline Lacklan (and all of her 27 nicknames) on March 25th and Angie Vaughn (and all of HER 27 nicknames) on March 30th. Last year, these birthdays bookended the 2nd Lord of Trios event for the UGWC, which saw Angie successfully defend her World Championship in a triple threat match which involved Bordy and some guy who didn’t deserve to be there in any way, shape, or form, with the actual birthday being somewhat odd experiences. In the case of the former, Bordy had a celebration at the Lacklan Manor within the Path of the Light Church compound, an open-invitation affair which had so little participation from her peers that she vowed to never again offer up such an adventure, which ended in Bordy having a nervous breakdown by the end and “cutting” or “shooting” a “promo” on her guests, to use the vernacular of professional wrestlers, which led to a super awkward situation for all. In the case of the latter, Angie spend that particular birthday, yet another in her endless expanse of loathing for growing older and approaching the horrific reality of things like grey hairs and worry lines, climbed into a martini glass with her friends and didn’t bother crawling out for several days.
Sarah Grey-Lacklan, THE World’s Champion and THE over-planner of over-planners, has decided that THIS year, the “Double Birthday Bash Spectacular” was going to wash away all of the unpleasantries of the year before.
Its a shame that the COVID-19 pandemic decided to fuck with the plans she had been working on for two solid months.
- #CoolRankings, in association with Dark Goddess Productions, presents -
What was on Sarah’s Double Birthday Bash Spectacular itinerary vs. What actually happened
What Sarah Planned: A 2-Hour long introduction slide show. With over 50 slides, a musical number by the Lacklanland Marching Band (Kenzi will sit in with the tuba section to make up for the mouth-breathers FAILING to vote for the tuba at IYH), a safety demonstration by Angie, and more, this presentation took Sarah several weeks of her downtime to complete
What Actually Happened: No one wanted to leave their homes due to the pandemic and warnings about large groups gathering together. Everyone in Lacklanland still telepartied, of course, but it just wasn’t the same. Kenzi stayed in her room (“Still not feeling well, babe”), Roxy and Vinnie conveniently showed up super late (with an awesome present, but that’s for later), and only Angie paid attention the entire time. Angie’s safety demonstration changed on the fly (“And HERE is how you correctly put on a mask!”), but no one was around to see it.
What Sarah Planned: Fifteen party games. Ranging from the silly (Pin the Tail on the Hide, since that was SUCH a blast last year) to the extreme (you do NOT mess with Angie in the course of a Goldeneye 007 tournament), a complicated series of point values would be crunched throughout the day by the Cool Rankings team which would determine the ultimate party winner, who would receive a very “special” gift from Sarah, whatever the hell THAT would mean.
What Actually Happened: Angie, Sarah, Bordy, Roxy, and Vinnie just kinda stood around for a while. Roxy went in search of Intern #92 (“She’s got some killer stuff, bb”), Bordy kept checking her pocket watch (because of COURSE she also has a pocket watch), and Angie kept trying to get everyone engaged with “I spyyyy...with my NOT little eye….”
What Sarah Planned: The best sermon EVER! With three (THREE!) Lacklans in attendance, Sarah’s plans included audience participation, reenactments, a “popcorn-style” reading sesh, and dramatization of Leviticus performed by the Lacklanland Improv Company.
What Actually Happened: Angie did a dramatic reading from the Sleepy Kitty interactive Bible she gave to Bordy last year for her birthday. All of the children from across Lacklanland watched from their computers at home, of course, and gave a cheer at the end to great that the entire compound shook. Bordy was less than pleased.
What Sarah Planned: A presentation of birthday gifts so grand that not only did the entire Cool Rankings team need to report for duty, but three (3!) trees would need to be cut down in Lacklanland Forest in order to make all of the Thank You cards for Bordy and Angie to fill out
What Actually Happened: Roxy and Vinnie brought Angie a tiger cub (ffs) and nothing for Bordy; Sarah told Angie and Bordy that their gifts got delayed (“Stupid Amazon. I KNEW I should have used Coolazon!”) but she’ll be able to get them delivered to them in Chicago on Monday; Angie got Bordy a subscription for her NEW show on CoolTube: Pawing around with Ser Alex and Bobby (“...well...I do like cats…”); Bordy got Angie a series of overalls with little imprints of a cat's paw on the breast, and a note for her mother to communicate her genuine sadness that she did not attend.
What Sarah Planned: A day of fun for everyone in Lacklanland, and a moment to bond, heal, and forget the transgressions of the past between Sarah, Kenzi, Angie, and Bordy.
What Actually Happened: Kenzi never left the Grey-Lacklan rooms. But, at the end, we DID at least get what happened in the evening. As Bordy would say: Be thankful for small victories.
* * * * * * * * * *
Sarah smiles as her fingers glide across the ivory keys.
“I learned on this piano, ya know.”
Her fingers press down on the keys rapidly in a basics exercise, quick notes played in succession. Her lithe fingers quickly move up and down the twelve major scales and then transition to the minors.
“I can play piano!”
Sarah gives Angie a side eye as the leggy blonde of legend skips over.
“First of all, no you can’t. You do that dumb thing with the vuvuleza. And somehow picked up the bagpipes in an apparent effort to besmirch the honor of the literal entire House of Lacklan.”
Angie shoots her a flat star and then gestures for Sarah to scoot over. Sarah sighs and moves to her left, and Angie plops her bony butt down next to Sarah’s squat booty on the piano’s bench.
“Axly! Check DIS out!”
Angie brings her hands together, cracks her knuckles, and places her fingers on the right side of the piano. She takes a deep breath and plays several notes rapidly.
Six dissonant notes.
Six notes in a chord.
Six more notes in another chord.
Now it is Sarah’s turn to give a flat stare.
“‘Chopsticks is NOT music, Sister.”
Angie shakes her head and keeps playing.
“Totes is! I learned it off of CoolTube! Shinji loved it when I played it for him.”
Angie takes a moment to give Sarah a playful shoulder bump, and after a few seconds, she sighs and joins in on the left side, her fingers playing a complicated harmony in the base to play counterpoint to the popular tune. The two play together, with Sarah improvising, until the two reach the end and find themselves giggling atop one another.
“I’m serious!”
The giggles give away much of Sarah’s intended tone.
“Daddy insisted I play. One of the many, MANY things he insisted upon for me. Dance, voice, piano. And, of course, you know his FAVORITE song.”
Angie’s finger finds her chin in thought.
“Mozart’s Piano Concerto #1 in F?”
Sarah’s stare goes so flat that Roxy thinks she has a new believer in the Flat Earth Society.
“No. Not THAT hack.”
A dangerous glint enters into Angie’s eyes as Sarah’s fingers find the keys again.
G-C-E, G-C-E, G-C-E, G-C-E
Four triplets which find Angie’s eyes cooling and her face turning pensive.
“Laaaa...la laaaaaaa….”
Sarah’s voice lifts into the air as she sings the first to Gs in the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.
“Laaaa la…..laaaaa….laa laaaa….laaaaaa…..laaaaaahhhh”
The triplets continue, changing keys as the song progresses.
“Daddy loved this song. Considered it the ultimate expression of equal parts power and sadness. And as it gets to the end? It feels as if it never ends. The pain keeps going. He felt it was a perfect theme for his career.”
Angie nods her head in time with the slow notes.
“Doesn’t Ava use it, too?”
Sarah nods as she reaches far to the right, gently pushing Angie backward, to reach the higher notes.
“Yes. In fact...and literally no one knows this...but her current version? The one she started using at the Melee last year? That’s me playing. A recital I did right here, on this piano, in this room, when I was sixteen.”
She grows silent for a moment as she returns to her base.
“Daddy used several versions over the years. Even spent a whole year paying for the Path of the Light Church choir to sing it live every few weeks at shows! At some point, this metal band named the Inverse...they used to play in Lena’s Square before church, ya see...did a cover of it and he used it until the end. That’s what inspired me to use the Third Movement the way I do.”
Sarah pauses, scooches closer to Angie, and places her hands on top of her sisters. She guides Angie’s fingers in playing the end of the song while whispering encouragement to her.
“...feel him, Sister. Feel our father’s spirit.”
“I always loved that song.”
The thick French accent brings an abrupt and to the moment between the sisters with a discordant mash of keys. Bordy slowly glides into the room, her face and scarred arms a bright contrast against the black dress and scarf. As she approaches, Sarah smiles, her eyes suddenly filled with mischief.
“Actually, speaking as a ‘This is Your Favorite Song Expert,’ I can say that THIS is…”
Her fingers slam down on the keys again with an E Major chord. A lightbulb appears above Angie’s head and recognition floods her face.
“Don't cry to me”
Bordy stops in her tracks.
“...if you loved me...you would be here with me…”
Sarah smiles wide and joins in with her sister.
“You want me-”
“-come find me-”
“Make up your-”
“-miiiiiind!”
The two fall into giggles as they stop singing and see that their flattest of stares mean nothing when compared to that of Aveline Lacklan’s.
“...filles stupides…”
“I wonder if Kem is STILL mad about that song?”
Sarah receives a bony elbow in her side.
“Will you PLEASE let that go? It’s been, like, literal ages.”
“I can’t and you know that!”
Bordy, thankfully, interjects before Angie and Sarah can begin bickering.
“Daughters! We fight this Monday! All together! The first time ever, n’est-ce pas?”
She gestures at them with great sweeps of her arms, the seemingly endless stretch of tiny scars on each arm catching the light of the 2nd floor reception hall within the Manor.
“When I was first contacted by the Consortium...by that homme merveilleux Monsieur Ooley, at that...I was hesitant. But the carrot of the honor, the legacy, of the Chaos Championship was too much for me to bear as a spectator. But now! Now! This Monday! We allow the Dragon to stretch out her wings in preparation for Coalescence. And to allow the Daughters of Lacklan to recover from their...dismal…failings.”
Her words hand in the air as Angie looks down at her lap and Sarah stares straight forward, her face schooled. Bordy claps her hands together loudly enough to make them both jump.
“Maintenant ! Yamazaki is well-known to me, n’est-ce pas? Forever fighting in the middle of the night in seemingly endless duels with the Rydells of the world. Time and again, he has been given opportunities, but has thus far not been able to gain any momentum. Savage and brutal, yet unfocused when Johnny is not around. And I have not seen him around lately. Why is that?”
She waves her hands as both Sarah and Angie open their mouths.
“Non! Do not bore me with silly tales of lessons in ‘nice’...qu’est-ce que ça veut dire je ne comprendrai jamais......pills prescribed by some idiot mind doctor, or any other such nonsense. My body may have been sleeping, but my eyes see the world. Especially where that man is concerned.”
Sarah’s eyes narrow and she shoots a glance at her sister seated next to her.
“You haven’t missed much anyway, Mother. Just an old man who still clings to his desire to become our new father.”
Angie gives Sarah a flat look but it is Bordy who responds.
“Have no fear, child. I am not in the market for a new husband.”
A small smile comes to her lips as Angie and Sarah look away from one another and back to her.
“Johnny...and therefore Hide...and perhaps any in this odd pantouflage of his...is but a tool. Let us not forget that ANY man or woman is nothing more than a tool until they accept our hand and begin to walk along the Path of the Light. Still, Hide I know well. But these other two? I do not. Tell me of them!”
Sarah’s Billion $$$ smile comes to life, as well as the glint of mischief in her eyes.
“Well, I’m sure Angelica will be GUSHING when speaking about Sebastian…”
Angie’s face becomes a literal question mark and Sarah rolls her eyes.
“I call dibs on THE Cutie!”
Sarah pushes herself off the piano stool and then stands perfectly erect, with her chin pointed slightly up, every inch the Firestarter.
“First of all, I can tell you that Sloane is a wonderful person. Kind, sweet, caring. And in a statement so rare that you should appreciate its gravity, I consider her my friend.”
She chews on her lips in thought for a moment, the exalted and celebrated dimple coming to life.
“And, perhaps someday, she will become an excellent wrestler.”
Angie’s eyes bug out when she hears this and Sarah holds up a hand towards her and extends a finger.
“Allow me to clarify. She HAS shown great promise, as was seen at last year’s WrestleStock. A rookie, barely out of wrestling school, and she took the world by storm. Very apropos, considering her ‘sky queen’ monicker. In the span of but a few days, she found victory over three individuals, a feat I myself know well of…”
Her eyes narrow somewhat and she gives Angie a slight sideways glance.
“...and without being granted a bye in the second round, I might add…”
Her face is drole as her eyes return to Bordy.
“...and hoisted the WrestleStock Cup into the air. She was able to defeat, at least the time, three non-Coalition wrestlers in Mastermind and Sebastian Everette-Bryce...yes, the Third, don’t be too eager to jump in on that, Sister...on the way to taking down Robbie Bourbon in the finals. Truly a wonderful achievement! But that has been the ONLY thing to make her remarkable in her rookie year.”
Angie opens her mouth to protest but Sarah bowls over her in anticipation.
“Yes yes, she won the Cooperative Championship with Sebastian, but what did that actually MEAN? Winning the Cup allowed her a title match of her choosing, and she went after the titles my Beloved held with Donovan, but that resulted in failure. In short, all of her momentum, all of her success, ran into the wall that is the House of Lacklan and she found herself laying on her bottom and wondering what the license plate number was on the truck that ran her over. And, yes, she found success the second time around, but that moment, that failure against my Beloved, is a hallmark moment of her rookie year and, if she is not careful, will be the standard of her entire career. She may well be the rookie sensation who is doomed to midcard life...or even perhaps the depths of Opener Hell with the likes of Rydell and Salvatore...if she does not find a way to surprise everyone again.
“You see, Mother, the world of wrestling did not know how to handle Sloan Taylor when she first came down from the skies. Pretty, smart, athletic, and a knowledgeable fan who was able to turn that fandom into stardom, she was an unknown using a parkour-based wrestling style that no one initially had a counter to. Flips, springboards, and dives, all with her pretty smile on her face, a smile of pure enjoyment, and she was too much to bear. But getting dropped on her head a few times, and on the receiving end of a chair or two to the head, and suddenly her mystique was gone. Like the pitcher with an odd delivery from Japan who strikes out dozens at a time but who struggles against batters who see him a second time, or the test you failed the first time but ace the second, her ability to remain a threat after her weaknesses have been exposed is shockingly, and disappointingly, lacking.
“Indeed, since winning those championships alongside Sebastian, she has only won half of her matches...an ability to win FAR below what we expect in the House of Lacklan, mind you...and outside of a successful championship match against Rydell and Phrixus...a team that was NEVER going to work together successfully, no matter HOW hard certain people tried to spin it...she has lost every truly important match she’s had.”
She ticks off her fingers with stiff and efficient movements.
“Cooperative Championship match at Horizons? Loss. Singles match against Donovan at Infinity? Loss. Cooperative Championship match with Angelica at In Your Hands? Loss. All important matches, all things with stakes, respect, and titles on the line, and she has found nothing but the Loser’s Window. She and I have not spoken of it...it has been months since she was allowed to attend the Champion’s Brunches I arrange, after all...but she MUST be frustrated beyond all belief at this stage. All of that promise on display in June, all of that potential, and she has very little to show for it, particularly in these early months of 2020, with the pinnacle of her success being getting a fan vote.”
She shakes her head slowly as she lowers her hands back down to her side.
“What this means, ultimately, is that she is at a crossroads. Does she dust herself off, analyze the hows and whys of her failures, and correct them? People like to chide me for my analysis, which occasionally touches upon the minutiae...yes, even in a family obsessed with such things...but that is because I don’t just WANT to know the hows and whys of my successes and failures, but I NEED to know them. And it is through THAT honest and pure self-analysis, through that DEMAND that I correct my mistakes and improve upon my success, that I am able to walk into both THIS match AND Coalescence as the fourth longest-reigning UGWC World Champion. People like to chide me for leaving the Coalition last year, for ‘giving up,’ but those are the idiots of the world who don’t actually listen to what I say and instead focus on what they WISH I said. I left so that I could, quite literally, get my shit together. And now Sloane is at the moment where SHE needs to decide who SHE is, where SHE needs to get her shit together. Is she the rookie who exploded onto the scene and then quickly found herself unable to be anything more than an ‘Almost?’ Or is she the person who, like me, ran into a wall and then learned how to not only get past it, but blow the damned thing down?”
Sarah pauses, taking a second to shoot Angie another sideways glance, and then back to Bordy.
“Mother, I sincerely believe that Sloane has the ability to not just be an excellent wrestler, but someone who our House would be proud to call one of our own. She needs to learn the Word, of course...I believe she is one of those who feels uncomfortable when I say that wrestlers are better than people, for instance...but she can be one of the best. Really, all she has to do is start listening to me and do what I say...instead of only doing about half of that...and all of those high-profile losses would be so forgotten that they would be the dust of life. I look forward to this match...as I had so looked forward to our similar cooperative match against one another back in January that I even sent her a card while we were on a cruise...so that I may show Sloane, with my own hands, the truth of everything I say. It will be, if nothing else, quite fun to kick her in the head a few times.”
She pauses again and the glint of mischief again comes to her eyes.
“And here is something that I would absolutely tell her to her cutie-pie face with all the sincerity of both a friend AND her ‘Work Mom,’ if you will: She has been at this ‘crossroads’ for so long that she is in danger of being both run over from behind AND run headlong into another car. She needs to put on her Big Girl Brand Panties and figure out who in the Abyss she is, or else leave before she not only gets herself hurt-”
Another sidelong glance at Angie.
“-but bring down other people, as well.”
She pauses and then straightens, standing even taller.
“Secondly, I-”
”Je donne ma langue au chat!”
Sarah cuts off as Bordy raises her arms in surrender while laughing. Even Bordy’s laugh sounds pained, as if her voice was wiltering as much as the rest of her body.
“Enough, child! I believe I have the measure of the woman!”
Bordy’s eyes twinkle as Sarah’s face turns affronted at the abrupt end to a dialogue which was likely intended to be three or four times that length. She turns to Angie and raises her hand toward the #1 Contender.
“And what of le jeune homme, this Sébastien. Tell me of him, Angie.”
She cuts a look toward Sarah before again regarding Angie.
“Briefly, though! Allez ! Allez !”
“Oh! Right, errrr…”
Angie stood up straight, as if she were to give a lecture during class. She brushed off some imaginary dust off her shoulder and looked at le Bord de Dieu, or LACKLAN, whatever you’d prefer. While they hadn’t started off on the greatest of feet back in the day, Angelica had known her respect for the woman to do nothing but grow. Her ferocity, her ingenuity, her strength, and of course the very real possibility that her own Father may have loved her above all else. In the end, what it came down to, was that Angelica was terrified of disappointing her.
“Okay, so, what you must abs know about this Sébastien, as you call him, is that it’s axly Sébastien Le Troisième! He is, apparently, of rather noble stock. He was born in London. I think? And err, he’s British. He was in a fed called LEW before he got to UGWC and, the man loves a suplex, and, and…”
Angelica took a deep breath, and banged her fist on the piano, releasing a cacophony throughout the hall.
“Ugh, noes! I’m doing it ALL wrong, aren’t I? I’m just reciting stuff from his UGWC profile page! Sorryyyy!”
Sarah rolled her eyes, but gave Angie a reassuring pat on the back.
“Breathe, Sister. Breathe.”
Angelica did as instructed, and dared again to initiate eye contact with Aveline.
“Right. So, as I said he’s British. But you know how most British guys of good stock are usually 75% mustache and 25% tea? Well, he is more 75% slick hair and 25% alcohol. Oh, and he does love spicy food, which goes completely against the stereotypically mild British palate. So, you could say, he’s not shy of going against the grain, especially if that grain is later used in the production of vodka, schnapps, various types of beer, and… Well, you get the point. But don’t get me wrong, Bordymums. This mister isn’t some one-dimensional kind of character. Oh noes! While it may be a SLIGHT overstatement to say that he has taken the Coalition by storm, he has had his fair share of successes, and it’s very easy to see why. He’s skilled, he’s charming, but he’s also very devious when the need arises. Killer combo! He’s also NOT un-cute, although rather short and…”
“LESS slobbering all over, sister…”
“I wasn’t going to! Nor did I… N-E-Ways, I don’t think there’s a single soul who would gleefully rub his hands when booked against Sebastian Everett-Bryce the Third, because he has proven himself to be able to adapt to every situation. Why, during nice lessons, it was clear that even if he didn’t WANT to be taught, he was able to absorb knowledge and use it to his own benefit, even if it went against his own character. So whilst we may look at this trio of errr…. Half of #TeamJellyBeanToes plus Hide…. As a very diverse group, I think Sebastian Everett-Bryce Le Troisième may very well be the most dangerous of the bunch. Whereas Hide uses brutality that can only be directed by an obnoxious mouthpiece, and Sloaney very much reminds me of myself during some of my ‘lesser’ streaks in my career, HE has shown himself to be a character who could play the Game of Thrones and win!”
Sarah raises an eyebrow and directs it at her sister.
“...YOU read Game of Thrones?”
“Read? Game of Thrones is a TV series, silly! Pfsh, and people say that it’s ME who doesn’t understand popular culture references! Those days are LONG gone! And yeah, I watched it, but only the PG version, which is like 7 minutes an episode. Very bingeworthy, I recommend it! N-E-Ways, what I was saying before being so RUDELY interrupted, is that Sébastien Everett-Bryce Le Troisième is also the kind of guy who goes all in, looks like he’s about to take over, but then FAILS superbly, like that time last year when he failed to defend, errrr… how many championships was it, sis?”
“Sigh. Two.”
“Failed to defend TWO Championshipships in ONE single Pay Per View, which was, errr… What was the Pay Per View called again, sis?”
“Sigh. Horizons XII.”
“Right. Horizons XII!”
“Horizons XIII! By the Abyss, how did you NOT know that!”
“Look, Dave hit me in the head real hard that night, you know!”
“Oh, I remember. BELIEVE me, I remember!”
“Rude. But yeah, like I was saying, Sebastian Everett-Bryce The Third’s peaks are as great as his valleys.”
“You mean dales.”
“I’m doing the promo now!!”
Le Bord de Dieu sighed, and raised her arms, instantly commanding silence.
“Mes filles! This needless bickering is getting us nowhere. It is clear to me that there is only ONE THING left for us to accomplish!”
The Daughters of Lacklan give surprisingly similar expressions of confusion with raised eyebrows.
“Our gear! It must match, yes! In the colors of the House of Lacklan!”
As different as the three women were, they could all agree on the awesomeness of matching wrestling gear.
“Come! Let us away to the Lacklanland Custom Tailors Association Headquarters!”
Angie’s face turns to the literal question mark again, but Sarah just winks at her.
“I branded everything when I was 16 or 17. So Of COURSE that's a thing, Sister!”
And away they go.
~~Epilogue~~
“Sorry sorry sorry! The G-Ls held me up!”
Ashley Allen was out of breath by the time she closed the door behind her, but she immediately felt warmth and comfort when it clicked shut. She ran her sleeve over her eyes in an attempt to wipe away the sweat from her run...the distance from the G-L rooms on the upper floor to the new temple in the basement meant having to traverse three different staircases, one of which was of the unpredictable moving variety...and then squinted to let them adjust in the change of light. The Temple was dark, of course, lit only by sconces along the wall and the row of torches at the back of the room, but her eyes quickly adjusted to the now-familiar scene before her:
Ten figures, five along the wall on the left and four on the right, were regarding her. Men and women who all shared her general coloring, pale faces with dark hair, and all wearing shirts or blouses that covered them from neck to wrist. At the end of the room was erected a raised dais with an elaborate chair, more a throne than anything else, made of dark wood and featuring the head and scales of a dragon. Seated on the throne, of course, was the Queen Mother, who wore a simple sleeveless black dress, her head covered by a thick black cowl and scarf that let nothing but her bony face shine brightly. Next to her, with his arms folded before his bare chest, was the man known as Redmaine, the hulking beast in the odd mask. As her eyes adjust to the light, she can see the scars along Redmaine’s arms, each bright slash a perfect match to the older and more muted scars along the arms of the Queen Mother, and jealousy fills her from head to toe.
“Rejoignez-nous, mon enfant.”
Ashley is shaken at the sound of the Queen Mother’s raspy voice, and she leaps to obey, rushing to her right and taking her place against the wall.
“Montrez-moi votre dévouement à Dieu.”
At the command, all of the men and women begin removing their shirts and blouses, though Ashley tries her hardest to be first. In but a few moments, bare chests glisten in the torchlight, men and women both. A part of Ashley’s mind remembers how embarrassed she was the first time she did that, the first time the Queen Mother brought her into the true church, onto the true Path of Light, but that seemed a lifetime ago. Her dark eyes move from person to person, eyes not even noticing breasts or chests, that part of her life eradicated and scrubbed from existence, thanks to the Queen Mother’s “Born Again Virgin Program” on the island. She was thankful for that! Instead, her eyes did what they always did: Notice the various scars along everyone’s arms. Some had more than others, of course, as they became more and more exalted in the Light. She herself had earned her 25th scar just last week, had wept in joy as the Queen Mother sliced the jagged line on her left arm with a razor blade, and it no longer even stung from the sweat.
“The time approaches, my dear children.”
Ashley’s eyes snap away from the arms of her various brothers and sisters and go to the Queen. The stark emerald eyes flash in the light, seeming particularly bright against her pale face and the dark scarf over her head, and Ashley is again filled with warmth.
“The world’s salvation is close. The Dragon, your Queen Mother, His blade and edge, is now in position to usher in the change foretold by my husband-”
“Il est ressuscité.”
The Queen Mother smiles broadly as Ashley, in concert with her brothers and sisters, follow the reference of the great Jean-Paul Lacklan with the rote honorific. That smile makes Ashley smile and feel even more warm and at peace.
“...indeed, he is. Risen, not just in me, but in the World Champion. The World Champion, the person to stand tall above all and teach all of the naughty, dirty sinners how God Himself wishes the world to be. Soon, the House of Lacklan falls into alignment, pure alignment, with everyone in their place. Soon, we save the world.”
Ashley holds her breath as the Queen Mother stands up out of the Dragon Throne and brings her hands up to her head. With a swift movement, she removes the scarf, and her own sigh of contentment is joined by her siblings. The Queen Mother’s head, which she had seen filled with both natural brunette hair and the stark white of bleach, was now hairless. In its place was a mass of scars, some clean and some ugly, arranged in a haphazard mess which closely resembled the burn scars of the late Jean-Paul Lacklan. Not for the first time, Ashley falls to her knees at the sight of the Queen Mother in what they all felt was her “final” or “true” form. And she was not the only one.
“Levez le poing!”
From her knees, Ashley slams her right fist against her bare left shoulder and then raises it above her head, a motion matched by the rest of her siblings. The Queen Mother smiles at them and moves her head left and right to regard them all, making the scars all along her scalp shine and reflect in the torchlight like a prism on a warm summer day.
Ashley weeps tears of joy.
~la fin~
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