Post by cooltubesource on Apr 18, 2020 17:01:52 GMT -5
whhhhhhhiiiiiiirrrrrrrr
I can’t! Tell Sar that I got sick or something!
I’m not telling your wife anything! Get out here so we can go!
.....................................
S-Sorry Rox…I’m sorry…I-I can’t…
….couldn’t even tell me to my fucking face….
whhhhhhhiiiIIIIRRRRRRRR
Here is your winner!
Aaaaaaand Neeeeeeeeeeew
U! G! W! C! Heavyweight Champion of the Wooooooooooorld!
VAUGHNEMOUS! ANGELICA! VAUUUUUUUUGHN!!!
….couldn’t even be there to see me become the most proud Big Sister in the whole fucking world….
WHHHHHHHIIIIIIIRRRRRRRR
…….COULDN’T EVEN BE THERE TO GIVE ME A CONSOLATORY HUG
SCREEEEEEAAAAAAAAACH
“And that is when I spun out.”
Sarah Grey-Lacklan’s pale face is lined with a light sheen of sweat, and red eyes are glazed over, as she recalls night a few weeks ago. Leaning back in a rolling office chair in the basement of the Egg, a rarity along the West Coast, she rocks back and forth slightly in the chair and gives her head a little shake.
“I’m not sure how fast I was going. Topped 100, for sure.”
A small smile comes to her lips.
“I like going fast. I got KITT up to 120 back in December.”
The smile falters a bit.
“That was when Kenzi was gone. On that boat getting her knee done.”
Her face falls flat.
“Without me.”
The scritch scritch of a pen fills the air and she gives her head a small shake. She looks up, the glaze dissolving from her eyes, and raises an eyebrow.
“Something interesting in that, Sir?”
The large computer monitor on Sarah’s desk shows the face and shoulders of Dr. Reznik, the man’s bald head and face as gaunt as ever.
“Perhaps.”
His face stays down towards the notes below the camera’s view, and the scritch scritch continues its maddening assault.
“What happened after you spun out?”
Sarah takes a deep breath in through her nose and lets it out slowly through her mouth.
“I sat there. A long time. Let my heart stop racing like it was Maria Salvatore to the Loser’s Lounge. When I relaxed enough to get my bearings, I realized I had no idea where I was. It was dark...something like 2 in the morning...and I was on some one-way off the I-290. I was exhausted. My head hurt. And I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
She gives a small shake of her head as her eyes turn down to the hands in her lap. She bites her bottom lip as her fingers idly play with the lacquered nails, the tips tracing a light across the red spiderwebs etched along the black background.
“I should have gone straight to the Waldorf after Coalescence. Just take my shower, pick up my last 'World Champ' check and my granola bar from JK, and gone ‘home.’ But I couldn’t. I couldn’t look at Kenzi, yet. My heart hurt too much and I was afraid we would end up arguing. I hate arguing with her. It is the fucking WORST feeling in the world. So I drove. And after I lost control...and realized how damn tired I was...I pushed down my seat as far as it would go and went to sleep. Kenzi called a couple of times...but I couldn’t answer the phone...so I texted her that I was okay and just needed to think. I didn’t get to the Waldorf until the morning.”
The scritch scritch causes her to close her eyes in pain for a moment before the psychiatrist’s voice comes through.
“How did she react when you returned?”
Eyes still shut, Sarah’s pale face brightens with a shade of scarlet.
“...she tackled me...literally as soon as I opened the door...and then had her way with me starting in the hallway…”
Her eyes are full of embarrassment when she opens them and sees the bald head of the psychiatrist staring back at her in judgement. She bites her lip in thought as she looks at that head, wondering if she should continue, but she knows she must. They had agreed that she would openly discuss every aspect of her marriage early on when she restarted her regular sessions in late 2017.
“She’s basically been insatiable. You don’t EVEN want to know about Operation: Scaling the Eiffel Tower. Seriously, she’s wearing me out! In private, anyway.”
She gives a small shake of her head.
“Its weird, Dr. Reznik: It reminds me a lot of when we were first together. We weren’t allowed to be ‘out,’ ya see. I hadn’t come out to Daddy...and while the dirtsheets had known about Kenzi being with women, she was still adamant about ‘not liking girls’ for fear of what it might do to her Hollywood career...so we kept our relationship in the closet, as it were. She ravaged me in private but was just my best friend in public.”
She gives a stronger shake of her head and her face turns dark.
“I hated it. I was jealous of the attention she both gave to, and received from, other public figures, I felt cheap since I could only be ‘hers’ when no one was looking, and I felt as if we were not equals. It took us a long time to come to terms with everything.”
She looks back up at the top of the bald head facing her through the monitor.
“This is different...yet the same. When we’re alone, when it's just the two of us...which is most of the time, of course, with the pandemic situation...but even the THOUGHT of going out in public makes her face turn purple and her breath turn ragged! The hands of THE most defiantly public and brave person I have EVER known shake more than mine EVER did after my accident! It is MADDENING! And all because she has a couple of these teeny, tiny, barely-even-noticeable marks on her face. Its held her back so much that she can’t even watch me wrestle! And that is NOT a good thing. We ALWAYS do EVERYTHING together, and having my toes curl and eyes roll 10 times a day like we were teenagers only makes up for so much!”
Sarah bites down on her lips to stop talking, her face now a brilliant shade of red nearly matching her eyes to show her level of embarrassment over so much intimacy, and still the scritch, scritch of the pen meets her.
“This seems somewhat hypocritical of you, Madam.”
Sarah’s perfectly shaped eyebrows scrunch in confusion for a moment.
“Didn’t you leave Kenzi alone for several months last year?”
Sarah rolls her eyes.
“That was different.”
“How so?”
“First of all, my leaving the UGWC...with whom I was on a Chill-exclusive contract with, anyway...was because I needed to get my shit together, as has been well documented. And secondly, in what has ALSO been well documented, is that I was STILL there to watch her wrestle! I was THERE at the Melee. I was THERE at every Synergy. And SHE was with ME as I traveled around a bit and fell back into my groove. THIS is different. THIS is me wrestling and her NOT BEING THERE for the first time EVER. Well, outside of back in December…”
Her face darkens as she again thinks of Kenzi’s secret surgery to repair her knee with the Scientologists.
“...fuck, I hated that. I am at my WORST when Kenzi is not around. I can’t even THINK, let alone FUNCTION.”
“You know...there IS more to life and your profession than the hyphen in your name.”
Sarah gives the bald head a grimace.
“Obviously.”
“You told your sister that, had you never existed, she would be someone of middling talent, and had she not existed, you would still be ‘world class.’”
He raises his head and a set of aged and dark eyes lock onto hers.
“If Kenzi Grey had never existed, you would still be Sarah Lacklan, and all that entails. It is even your stage name.”
Sarah keeps his gaze for a few moments and then averts her eyes.
“Be that as it may...what I am WITH Kenzi is far better than what I would have been WITHOUT. Or what I am without, for that matter. She completes me in a way THAT Sarah Lacklan could have never imagined. Even from the very first moment.”
The doctor looks back down at his notes.
“Yes, from...Rising Stars?”
Sarah smiles wide and gives a shake of her head.
“Our first...well, you can’t exactly call that a ‘date’...was by no means the ‘very first moment.’”
“And what was? When did Sarah meet Kenzi?”
“Funny story, that.”
“Instantaneous best friends, to partners in crime, to lovers, to spouses, all within less than a year. She is as important to my success as I myself have been. And I have been gutted...hamstrung...with her not there with me in Chicago.”
“Is that why you lost to your sister?”
Sarah snorts loudly and rolls her eyes back to meeting the gaze of the psychiatrist.
“Oh please. I’m not about to make excuses for losing to my own blood.”
She smirks as a light of mischief fills her eyes.
“I successfully avoided that disgusting mandible claw of hers, and now it’s my job to avoid that completely, 100% loaded boot next time. And to avoid her special brand of ‘same shit, different day’ that she gave me. A pity that preparing for a match in the exact way she always does, and saying the exact same thing she always does, with the same pacing and style she always does, was enough to KO me. But I’ll be prepared for her to do the same damn thing again next time, because I WILL have Kenzi there with me at No Holds Barred, and I WILL have all of my emotions in check.”
The doctor cocks his head to the side for a moment and then turns back down to the notes below the monitor’s view.
“But will she? I suppose she had a few weeks to recover. Certainly not this week with you teaming with the man who injured her.”
Sarah’s eyes blaze and she grits her teeth.
“No comment.”
“You have had no comment on the subject for many weeks. Why is that?”
Sarah looks away from the screen and chews her lips.
“Because...because she…”
She growls and pushes herself out of her chair, knocking it backward, and begins pacing back and forth before the computer desk with stomps of her heeled boots.
“She never should have been in that match in the FIRST place!”
Her arms wave in the air with agitation as she turns again and again on her heel during her pace.
“Garbage wrestling like that has NO PLACE in God’s favorite sport! Garbage wrestling is the literal WORST way to honor Him! Literally ANYONE can swing a baseball bat or wrap someone in barbed wire or bust out some light bulbs from Lowe’s! It is garbage which should be reserved for the heap of refuse!”
She snarls as she continues to turn.
“Wrestling is meant to be a thing of honor! Of joy! Of honest competition under the shining face of God! It is meant to be held within a ring or square! Within four sets of roped cables! Where the winner is determined by who can hold one’s shoulders down for the count of three, or who can force them to submit from fear of broken bones and separated joints. And NOT by seeing who can use a cheese grater with more skill! THAT is utter garbage!”
She stops and holds her hands out wide, beckoning for the universe to take in her surroundings. While Kenzi’s office on the second floor was filled with promotional materials and media editing tools for Dark Goddess Productions and other ventures, Sarah’s was designed for wrestling. The large television surrounded by a library of footage for studying. The mat in the corner with a heavy punching bag. Yoga mats with a variety of small weights for light exercises. Pictures of various members of the House of Lacklan, as well as numerous friends and enemies across the years, holding up championship titles and trophies.
“THIS is what God wants out of wrestling, and NOT the nonsense employed by the likes of Tempest. Look, look at this.”
She walks to the wall covered in pictures and points out two next to one another: Sarah, dressed in her original red and black bodysuit, hoisting the WrestleStock Cup, and Kenzi in her black and gold, flanked by Sarah in her green and Angie in her golden suit, holding the following year’s Cup.
“These matches, these two brilliant and beautiful triple threat matches, were NOT held in some garbage heap. They were fought with honor and love and the type of brutality God WANTS to see. And here!”
Another set of pictures, of Angie in a pink bodysuit and Sarah in her modern phoenix-inspired attire, each holding up the UGWC World championship.
“More matches! More wonderful matches! Held within the ring! Held within the confines of God’s love! The TRUE Sport and Art of wrestling! And more!”
Sarah points out picture after picture. Kenzi and Sarah: Cooperative Champions. Kenzi and Donovan...with a dunce cap drawn atop his head and his eyes made to look like they were looking in two different places at once: Cooperative Champions. The massive hulk of Jean-Paul Lacklan, face hidden behind a white mask: SIN World Champion. Ava Quinn, before her ascension: SIN Television Champion. Again and again, pictures of her family at their greatest moments, though the photos of various “hardcore” championships, including the UGWC Chaos, are pushed away into corners or behind equipment.
“THIS is how things are supposed to be, Doctor. And NOT what my wife has been doing for the last several months. NOT what that man-child Tempest in doing.”
“Your own father was an accomplished ‘no holds barred’ wrestler.”
Sarah picks up her foot and stomps it on the ground.
“And all THAT got him was a face so scarred from burns that he had to wear a mask and the ONLY evidence I have of his brilliant white hair is from PICTURES!!”
She begins pacing again with agitated steps.
“My entire childhood, he railed AGAINST garbage wrestling. A fad of the late nighties, he would say, which brought dishonor and ruin to God’s vision. When he later evolved his thinking to ‘use the darkness to destroy the darkness,’ I was NOT pleased. All THAT got him was ME having to stitch the slices and gashes closed all over his body with my needle and thread! And don’t EVEN get me STARTED on Mother’s Le Champion du Chaos silliness! All THAT got this family was Kenzi trying to one-up her because they hate each other and THAT lead to goddamn TEMPEST!”
She stops her spin suddenly and points her finger at the camera.
“I swear to Baby Jesus’ bright Baby Browns that if Tempest antagonizes me in ANY GODDAMN WAY on Monday, I will march right into the rotating Creative Director’s office, grab that gargantuan and ape-like Dirge by his neck and bring him down to the proper 5’2” level, and DEMAND that we trade my World Title match with Angie to instead fight Tempest and RIP AWAY that goddamn Chaos Championship so that I can throw it into the garbage chute where it BELONGS!”
She snarls and goes back to her pacing as the scritch scritch of Reznik’s pen makes notes.
“Do you think it is wise to make him an enemy of Tempest so blatantly? You need him as a partner on Monday.”
Sarah snorts and rolls her eyes hard enough for them to hurt.
“Oh please. I’m obsessed with statistics and even I have forgotten how many times I have beaten Dave Rydell and Phrixus Deimos.”
Sarah’s pacing loses some of its agitation as she shakes her head.
“I mean, I somewhat like Deimos...even if his takes on the sound of my voice are SUPER shitty...but that is running thin. I’m all for playing the long game, as you well know, which is seen in many of the moves I make. I make long-term plans which require numerous steps, I prepare for contingencies should my designs lead to failures or otherwise become waylaid, and I weave in as many people as I can into the tapestry of this new world I am creating. But Deimos? His long game never ends! It just goes and goes! And all without any break in the view or hills to ascend and descend to tell you if the topography is changing! I mean, I literally just gave my sister shit for abandoning all hint of creativity and throwing ‘same shit, different day’ at me for Coalescence, but Deimos makes her look like the Paragon of Giving a Shit! Deimos recycles the same observations with the same method with the same tempo over and again! For literal DECADES he has been sitting back and acting as if he was the Big Bad of the world and just biding his time, but all he has done is proven that he’s nothing more than the Lower Tier Boss. Like, not even Mid Tier!”
She stops for a second and looks at the camera.
“Okay, these references might be a little obscure for you, but check this out: You know how they have that whole ‘Perception vs Reality’ thing? Here’s how Deimos sees himself versus how we all actually see him:”
Sarah waves her hands...a small controller somehow being pulled from her bodice or hidden pocket from her gown...and the large television screen flares to life showing what is...of course...a slideshow presentation.
“I just so happened to be working on my next SAR Talk before our session started. Now...THIS is how Deimos pictures himself...”
We see a picture of Freddy Kruger, burned and charred, with menacing eyes peering out from under the brown hat and the knives coming out of the glove splayed before him.
“...and here is how we actually see him…”
A click of the button and the slide goes to a picture of the Leprechaun.
“...basically no more than some Lucky Charms reject that Warrick Davis is embarrassed to have on his IMDB listings.”
Click.
How Deimos sees himself: Maleficent, from Sleeping Beauty
Click.
How we see him: Gargamel, from the Smurfs
Click.
How Deimos sees himself: Scarecrow, from Batman
Click.
How we see him: Plankton, from Spongebob Squarepants
Click.
How Deimos sees himself: A cross between Kefka and Sephiroth from Final Fantasy 6 and 7
Click.
How we see him: The lovechild of Ultros and Gilgamesh when armed with the Excalipoor.
Click.
How Deimos sees himself: Sigmund Freud
Click.
How we see him: Dr. Phil
“But I digress.”
Sarah turns from the screen and back to the computer.
“Deimos as spent nearly his entire LIFE telling people that the darkness is coming, and like a boy crying out ‘wolf’ for the village to hear, his message has faded to the point where it is no more than the bleats like Raab telling you that you’re going to get Icenated or Steele telling you that you’re getting Shipwrecked. As far as this business is concerned, there is no more fear in Fear, and his only reason for existing any more is to give new people an easy introduction to the Coalition and pad out their early Win/Loss records. Yes yes, living embodiment of the Cross-Hemisphere Championship, but Travis Pierce effectively tore down THAT bit of hogwash a few weeks ago and that leaves Deimos stripped bare of his only notable accomplishment since the last time the year had a zero in it. And how sad it must be to know that the most refreshing thing he has done since I joined the company nearly three goddamn YEARS ago is hitch his wagon to the dumpster fire that was Rydell’s endeavor to kill my family.”
Sarah shakes her head and tosses back a handful of platinum hair.
“THAT guy.”
Sarah begins pacing again, still with her steps far lighter than before.
“The last year has been a microcosm of Dave’s entire career: Build and build and build towards a goal...in this case, becoming the World Champion...with a few momentary spikes of acceptable success...in this case, defeating Angelica at Horizons...ended by total and abject failure...in this case, getting his ass beat by me at Infinity...followed by an endless stream of ‘GRRR! i iS STiLL a MoNSTeR!’...in this case, going back to that same fucking bar and talking to Bland Side Character #3 (Palette Swap Version) about mindless dumbfuckery that no one buys...get a touch of heat back by getting one up on some jobber...in this case, Mr Fell On My Fat Fucking Face Thunder...and then beat up someone in order to try to appear like a badass...in this case, non-wrestling talent Robert Ooley from the office.”
Sarah stops and turns back toward the camera.
“The last few months has been nothing but shitty conversations from him while using the same words and boring all the listeners to tears...though, to be honest, I doubt more than three or four people have watched or listened to his promotional videos enough to even know that his little “oMG SaRaH i iZ STiLL HeRe aND i CaN’T WaiT FoR You To BeaT Me uP aGaiN” messages even exist. He can’t possibly get ANY sort of traction while facing actual wrestlers, so he finds himself beating up dear, sweet, kind Monsieur Ooley and taking his piece of polished wood...baseball is fucking stupid, by the way, obviously. And what has that gotten him? To what has that amounted? A victory in a match at Coalescence when everyone excused themselves to get a hotdog and use the necessaries?”
Sarah chews the inside of her lip, the vaunted Lacklan Dimple of Thinking coming to life.
“Ya know, there has been talk of having Empty Arena matches within out sport until COVID-19 has passed, and I am pretty sure that Rydell vs. King can be used as a case study for how wrestling feels and sounds when the seats are empty and not even the crew cares about the outcome of a match.”
She shrugs her shoulders and goes back to her pacing.
“Ultimately, I think the problem with BOTH of them is that they break math. Now, statistics aside, I am not the best at mathematics, but I DO understand the concept of how we, as people, are more than the sum of our parts. Take me, for example: Yes, I’m beautiful (+2), and intelligent (+2), and driven (+2), and...let us face it...genetically superior (+4)...but who I am all together is somehow even MORE than all of those things! If you add up all of my skills, abilities, and talent, you SHOULD get 10, yet somehow I end get up to 11! Conversely, both Dave and Fear’s parts add up to more than who they actually are. Dave is a strong man (+2) with a military background (+2) and lots of experience in wrestling (+2), so you SHOULD get a 6, but you somehow get 3! Listen, I don’t know how 2+2+2=3, but Dave is able to pull it off! And Fear isn’t any better! He’s intelligent (+2) with a bunch of experience (+2) and often has a goal (+2), but HE also comes up short, too! He’s a little better than Dave, at 2+2+2=4, but that is STILL breaking math!”
Sarah stops and looks back at Reznik through the computer.
“Honestly, with all of their tools, with all of their parts, you would expect far more than ‘lower-card, lower-tier, entry-level Bad Guys when you are still using Wooden Swords and haven’t even gotten your first Bronze Sword in some child’s RPG-lite game on Switch,’ but that is who they are. And no amount of endless posturing, recycling of analysis, feuding with the office staff, losing to rookies, or being lost in the shuffle of the next clusterfuck-to-determine-a-midcard-title-challenger-match silliness from them is going to change their plot in life. And neither will not getting along with a partner in Tempest, either. This Monday is simply ‘Win 8-out-of-27 in 2020’ for me and nothing else.”
Sarah’s voice finally fades away as the scritch scritch of the psychiatrist's pen continues.
“One more question about your position on what you call garbage wrestling...you are due to fight your sister at No Holds Barred in a match well known to feature some of those elements. How do you plan to reconcile how you feel with what you must do?”
A mischievous grin comes to Sarah’s face.
“First of all, I-”
She is cut off by the sound of a moan filled with ecstasy, the sound bringing the embarrassed flush of red from earlier back to her face.
“...um...er…un instant s'il vous plaît...”
Sarah rushes back to her desk where she finds her iPhone, the screen filled with the picture of Kenzi’s smiling face, and a text notification.
“Oh snap! I gotta go!”
Doctor Reznik’s eyes cloud in confusion.
“I-”
“Sorry, Doc! We’re babysitting JT Junior while Maria and Maleek are quarantined together! At least SOMETHING good came out of COVID-19!”
She winks into the camera, her eyes full of conniving mischief.
“I don’t plan on letting him go. Already got Dani Chow calling some of the most brutal and vicious child custody lawyers she knows. Someone said to go to Dewy, Cheatem & Howe, but those are Johnny’s guys, so they HAVE to suck, ya know?”
Reznik closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“Wait...you plan on keeping the child?”
“Obviously! I’m already working on getting his name legally changed! Aaron Thomas, of the House of Lacklan! I am going to make the BEST mother EVER! Great sesh, Doc! See you next week!”
She rushes off to head upstairs before the psychiatrist can even respond, leaving him to sigh and add yet another note to his pages.
I can’t! Tell Sar that I got sick or something!
I’m not telling your wife anything! Get out here so we can go!
.....................................
S-Sorry Rox…I’m sorry…I-I can’t…
….couldn’t even tell me to my fucking face….
whhhhhhhiiiIIIIRRRRRRRR
Here is your winner!
Aaaaaaand Neeeeeeeeeeew
U! G! W! C! Heavyweight Champion of the Wooooooooooorld!
VAUGHNEMOUS! ANGELICA! VAUUUUUUUUGHN!!!
….couldn’t even be there to see me become the most proud Big Sister in the whole fucking world….
WHHHHHHHIIIIIIIRRRRRRRR
…….COULDN’T EVEN BE THERE TO GIVE ME A CONSOLATORY HUG
SCREEEEEEAAAAAAAAACH
“And that is when I spun out.”
Sarah Grey-Lacklan’s pale face is lined with a light sheen of sweat, and red eyes are glazed over, as she recalls night a few weeks ago. Leaning back in a rolling office chair in the basement of the Egg, a rarity along the West Coast, she rocks back and forth slightly in the chair and gives her head a little shake.
“I’m not sure how fast I was going. Topped 100, for sure.”
A small smile comes to her lips.
“I like going fast. I got KITT up to 120 back in December.”
The smile falters a bit.
“That was when Kenzi was gone. On that boat getting her knee done.”
Her face falls flat.
“Without me.”
The scritch scritch of a pen fills the air and she gives her head a small shake. She looks up, the glaze dissolving from her eyes, and raises an eyebrow.
“Something interesting in that, Sir?”
The large computer monitor on Sarah’s desk shows the face and shoulders of Dr. Reznik, the man’s bald head and face as gaunt as ever.
“Perhaps.”
His face stays down towards the notes below the camera’s view, and the scritch scritch continues its maddening assault.
“What happened after you spun out?”
Sarah takes a deep breath in through her nose and lets it out slowly through her mouth.
“I sat there. A long time. Let my heart stop racing like it was Maria Salvatore to the Loser’s Lounge. When I relaxed enough to get my bearings, I realized I had no idea where I was. It was dark...something like 2 in the morning...and I was on some one-way off the I-290. I was exhausted. My head hurt. And I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
She gives a small shake of her head as her eyes turn down to the hands in her lap. She bites her bottom lip as her fingers idly play with the lacquered nails, the tips tracing a light across the red spiderwebs etched along the black background.
“I should have gone straight to the Waldorf after Coalescence. Just take my shower, pick up my last 'World Champ' check and my granola bar from JK, and gone ‘home.’ But I couldn’t. I couldn’t look at Kenzi, yet. My heart hurt too much and I was afraid we would end up arguing. I hate arguing with her. It is the fucking WORST feeling in the world. So I drove. And after I lost control...and realized how damn tired I was...I pushed down my seat as far as it would go and went to sleep. Kenzi called a couple of times...but I couldn’t answer the phone...so I texted her that I was okay and just needed to think. I didn’t get to the Waldorf until the morning.”
The scritch scritch causes her to close her eyes in pain for a moment before the psychiatrist’s voice comes through.
“How did she react when you returned?”
Eyes still shut, Sarah’s pale face brightens with a shade of scarlet.
“...she tackled me...literally as soon as I opened the door...and then had her way with me starting in the hallway…”
Her eyes are full of embarrassment when she opens them and sees the bald head of the psychiatrist staring back at her in judgement. She bites her lip in thought as she looks at that head, wondering if she should continue, but she knows she must. They had agreed that she would openly discuss every aspect of her marriage early on when she restarted her regular sessions in late 2017.
“She’s basically been insatiable. You don’t EVEN want to know about Operation: Scaling the Eiffel Tower. Seriously, she’s wearing me out! In private, anyway.”
She gives a small shake of her head.
“Its weird, Dr. Reznik: It reminds me a lot of when we were first together. We weren’t allowed to be ‘out,’ ya see. I hadn’t come out to Daddy...and while the dirtsheets had known about Kenzi being with women, she was still adamant about ‘not liking girls’ for fear of what it might do to her Hollywood career...so we kept our relationship in the closet, as it were. She ravaged me in private but was just my best friend in public.”
She gives a stronger shake of her head and her face turns dark.
“I hated it. I was jealous of the attention she both gave to, and received from, other public figures, I felt cheap since I could only be ‘hers’ when no one was looking, and I felt as if we were not equals. It took us a long time to come to terms with everything.”
She looks back up at the top of the bald head facing her through the monitor.
“This is different...yet the same. When we’re alone, when it's just the two of us...which is most of the time, of course, with the pandemic situation...but even the THOUGHT of going out in public makes her face turn purple and her breath turn ragged! The hands of THE most defiantly public and brave person I have EVER known shake more than mine EVER did after my accident! It is MADDENING! And all because she has a couple of these teeny, tiny, barely-even-noticeable marks on her face. Its held her back so much that she can’t even watch me wrestle! And that is NOT a good thing. We ALWAYS do EVERYTHING together, and having my toes curl and eyes roll 10 times a day like we were teenagers only makes up for so much!”
Sarah bites down on her lips to stop talking, her face now a brilliant shade of red nearly matching her eyes to show her level of embarrassment over so much intimacy, and still the scritch, scritch of the pen meets her.
“This seems somewhat hypocritical of you, Madam.”
Sarah’s perfectly shaped eyebrows scrunch in confusion for a moment.
“Didn’t you leave Kenzi alone for several months last year?”
Sarah rolls her eyes.
“That was different.”
“How so?”
“First of all, my leaving the UGWC...with whom I was on a Chill-exclusive contract with, anyway...was because I needed to get my shit together, as has been well documented. And secondly, in what has ALSO been well documented, is that I was STILL there to watch her wrestle! I was THERE at the Melee. I was THERE at every Synergy. And SHE was with ME as I traveled around a bit and fell back into my groove. THIS is different. THIS is me wrestling and her NOT BEING THERE for the first time EVER. Well, outside of back in December…”
Her face darkens as she again thinks of Kenzi’s secret surgery to repair her knee with the Scientologists.
“...fuck, I hated that. I am at my WORST when Kenzi is not around. I can’t even THINK, let alone FUNCTION.”
“You know...there IS more to life and your profession than the hyphen in your name.”
Sarah gives the bald head a grimace.
“Obviously.”
“You told your sister that, had you never existed, she would be someone of middling talent, and had she not existed, you would still be ‘world class.’”
He raises his head and a set of aged and dark eyes lock onto hers.
“If Kenzi Grey had never existed, you would still be Sarah Lacklan, and all that entails. It is even your stage name.”
Sarah keeps his gaze for a few moments and then averts her eyes.
“Be that as it may...what I am WITH Kenzi is far better than what I would have been WITHOUT. Or what I am without, for that matter. She completes me in a way THAT Sarah Lacklan could have never imagined. Even from the very first moment.”
The doctor looks back down at his notes.
“Yes, from...Rising Stars?”
Sarah smiles wide and gives a shake of her head.
“Our first...well, you can’t exactly call that a ‘date’...was by no means the ‘very first moment.’”
“And what was? When did Sarah meet Kenzi?”
“Funny story, that.”
~~FLASHBACK TO: December 2nd, 2016~~
“We are here, Blood Princess.”
Sarah Selena Lacklan smiles at herself in the mirror of her compact, pleased to see the excellent ‘war paint’ work she had done at the airport. Her lips were painted ruby and the black eyeliner wings stretched all the way to her temples, tiny nuances to accentuate her moonlight skin and red eyes. She puckers her lips and gives her reflection an air kiss before closing the compact and lowering her veil back over her face.
“The speed of our arrival was not TOO slow. I am nearly pleased.”
The man in the driver’s seat of the car gives her a deep nod, clearly happy to receive such high praise from her. As he should! As he exits the car and runs around to the back in order to open the door for her, she looks up at the ceiling of the car and uses the mirror to check her chest: Just the right amount of cleavage spilling out over the bodice, with a vial attached to a silver necklace nestled in between, and her pale shoulders giving way to long sleeves of lace which glittered with diamond dust. Before the door opens, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a small glass vial filled with red powder, pulls out the cork, places the edge to her nose, and snorts a nose-full of the powder. She shuts her eyes and groans as a shiver fills her body and drums her feet on the floor of the car.
And then she looks back up into the mirror and smiles contentedly.
She is Driven.
She wipes away a smudge of the red dust under her nose, gives the reflection another pouty-lipped kiss, and scoots out of the car, her stiletto heels clicking onto the pavement with a sharp ting!. Behind her, the doors of her escort car, also a stretched Lincoln, open and let four men out, all with buzzed heads and military uniforms. Sarah raises her right hand into the air and moves her fingers in a complicated series of gestures, and the four men rush forward and toward the large building beside them, each understanding her instructions.
“So pleased with myself for creating that language.”
Sarah looks up at the building as the four enter to secure it, her eyes running over the large C-T-N lettering. She blinks several times at the lights, which grow fuzzy as she looks at them, and growls.
“Ugh...I swear to Baby Jesus...I just got this new prescription. At this rate, I’ll need glasses before I turn twenty!”
She shakes her head at the nuisance of her contacts and strides forward, with the full knowledge that her driver would follow with her bag. Two of her men open the door for her, and she gives them the barest of smiles, and they bow their heads in sheer joy as she walks by. Through a hall she goes and her other two men hold open another set of doors. She gives them their greatest gift of her almost giving them her approval and walks into a crowded room.
Which stops all in one moment.
She had dealt with this her entire life. The infamous “Vampire of Lacklanland,” the sole heir to the House of Lacklan fortune, was an albino of such rarity where her skin and hair were the color of the moon and her eyes that of rubies. With a back straighter than any board and a chin raised a touch above the horizon, the Blood Princess had been an imposing figure even as a tiny child, and everyone in the world at least gave her a second take. Fear, revulsion, confusion, disgust.
The Circle Television Thanksgiving Party was no exception.
“Sarah!”
The Blood Princess’ face brightens under her veil when she hears a strong Chinese accent break from the crowd. With dark hair and pale skin, the monk known as Orchid broke through the crowd and made her way over, the action seeming to break the room’s haze and help them return to their party-going activities. Orchid steps a few feet away from Sarah, and the Blood Princess gives her a nod.
“Friend Orchid.”
Orchid shakes her head at the overly formal and guarded tone from Sarah.
“I am glad you could make it. And I’m sure Blasted Monk will be, too.”
Sarah rolls her eyes at the wink from her newfound friend. But when she opens her mouth to reply with some quick, another Chinese voice comes to her ears, though this one far less than natural.
“You leave now, Rat Eyes! No one want you here!”
Sarah lets out a long breath as a brunette with a pronounced nose storms over toward her.
“I have had about enough of your blatant racism, Dani. We albinos-”
“Not just eyes! Face like rat, too! Monk no want cold Ratface! Monk want Chinese curves!”
Sarah lets out another long breath over the words of the very, very, very NOT Chinese Dani Chow.
“For the seventh time...today...you are literally a Jewish lawyer! In fact-”
The clearing of a throat breaks up the argument and Sarah turns to see another Chinese woman, this one actually authentic, and she gives another small nod.
“Song.”
The woman returns Sarah’s nod and gives her a small smile.
“I am happy you could make it. I am sure Blasted Monk will be, as well.”
Sarah rolls her eyes as Orchid snickers behind her and Dani scowls with eyes full of daggers.
“Have you met Kenzi, yet?”
Sarah raises one of her exquisitely maintained eyebrows in question and Song smiles and turns away from them.
“Nutty Buddy! Come meet Blasted Monks...friend.”
Sarah grumbles internally over the adopted sisters of a certain constantly high monk with killer abs who was fine for an occasional booty ca-
Sarah’s thoughts become cloudy and her eyes fill with 1000 colors. She is positive she can hear the whispers of angels in her ears.
“This-”
...what...what am I seeing?
“-is-”
Have you taken me, Heavenly Father, and brought me into the face of your greatest angel?
“-Kenzi.”
Kenzi Grey smiles while throwing back a headful of tiny braids and looks Sarah up and down.
“‘Sup?”
Sarah Lacklan, a young woman known for viciousness, who was about to step into the ring on a mission from God, was speechless.
“I...I...um...hello.”
Kenzi reaches forward and places both hands on Sarah’s bare shoulders, their eyes meeting one another without a flinch.
“We are going to be the BEST of friends!”
Sarah can only blink.
The night flew by in a rush for the debuting professional wrestler. Kenzi was a force, a tempest, moving about the party with a deft as equal to Sarah’s in her compound dealing with the social and political elite of Maine, and introduce her new best friend to a variety of people, from fellow wrestlers Ashley Marie Chase, Kate Steele, and Maria Salvatore, to media and television staff like Maleek Raheem and Bobbi London. They spent what felt like hours discussing wrestling, as both were second generation wrestlers, but with widely different paths. They spoke of Maine vs. California, of Kenzi’s growing career in Ladies All-Star, and of Sarah being prepared to sign her first contract with FSociety Wrestling.
“Hey! My buddy Mel is signing with them, too! They’ve got their Insurrection pay per view in town in a few weeks and I’m going. You should come with us!”
It had taken the better part of the evening to catch her breath, but Sarah was now back in control of herself, even in the face of this...force of fierceness...that was Kenzi. She gives a deep nod and a smile.
“I would appreciate that. I know little of your state.”
Kenzi’s mouth drops open for a moment as her dark eyes shine.
“Oh! We can get our nails did!”
She takes Sarah’s hands in hers...which causes a sudden chill to course through Sarah’s entire body...and pulls her in close enough for their noses to nearly touch.
“I know a great place!”
Sarah can only nod.
Back in the rear seat of her stretched Lincoln, the Lacklanland driver and guard taking her to the hotel near the airport, Sarah’s thoughts are jumbled. She wasn’t sure exactly what she went through this evening, but she knew one thing was for certain when it come to Kenzi Grey, the woman who had looked right at her and not even blink over how different she looked:
She needed this person in her life.
At any cost.
~~FLASHFORWARD TO: April 18th, 2020~~
“We are here, Blood Princess.”
Sarah Selena Lacklan smiles at herself in the mirror of her compact, pleased to see the excellent ‘war paint’ work she had done at the airport. Her lips were painted ruby and the black eyeliner wings stretched all the way to her temples, tiny nuances to accentuate her moonlight skin and red eyes. She puckers her lips and gives her reflection an air kiss before closing the compact and lowering her veil back over her face.
“The speed of our arrival was not TOO slow. I am nearly pleased.”
The man in the driver’s seat of the car gives her a deep nod, clearly happy to receive such high praise from her. As he should! As he exits the car and runs around to the back in order to open the door for her, she looks up at the ceiling of the car and uses the mirror to check her chest: Just the right amount of cleavage spilling out over the bodice, with a vial attached to a silver necklace nestled in between, and her pale shoulders giving way to long sleeves of lace which glittered with diamond dust. Before the door opens, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a small glass vial filled with red powder, pulls out the cork, places the edge to her nose, and snorts a nose-full of the powder. She shuts her eyes and groans as a shiver fills her body and drums her feet on the floor of the car.
And then she looks back up into the mirror and smiles contentedly.
She is Driven.
She wipes away a smudge of the red dust under her nose, gives the reflection another pouty-lipped kiss, and scoots out of the car, her stiletto heels clicking onto the pavement with a sharp ting!. Behind her, the doors of her escort car, also a stretched Lincoln, open and let four men out, all with buzzed heads and military uniforms. Sarah raises her right hand into the air and moves her fingers in a complicated series of gestures, and the four men rush forward and toward the large building beside them, each understanding her instructions.
“So pleased with myself for creating that language.”
Sarah looks up at the building as the four enter to secure it, her eyes running over the large C-T-N lettering. She blinks several times at the lights, which grow fuzzy as she looks at them, and growls.
“Ugh...I swear to Baby Jesus...I just got this new prescription. At this rate, I’ll need glasses before I turn twenty!”
She shakes her head at the nuisance of her contacts and strides forward, with the full knowledge that her driver would follow with her bag. Two of her men open the door for her, and she gives them the barest of smiles, and they bow their heads in sheer joy as she walks by. Through a hall she goes and her other two men hold open another set of doors. She gives them their greatest gift of her almost giving them her approval and walks into a crowded room.
Which stops all in one moment.
She had dealt with this her entire life. The infamous “Vampire of Lacklanland,” the sole heir to the House of Lacklan fortune, was an albino of such rarity where her skin and hair were the color of the moon and her eyes that of rubies. With a back straighter than any board and a chin raised a touch above the horizon, the Blood Princess had been an imposing figure even as a tiny child, and everyone in the world at least gave her a second take. Fear, revulsion, confusion, disgust.
The Circle Television Thanksgiving Party was no exception.
“Sarah!”
The Blood Princess’ face brightens under her veil when she hears a strong Chinese accent break from the crowd. With dark hair and pale skin, the monk known as Orchid broke through the crowd and made her way over, the action seeming to break the room’s haze and help them return to their party-going activities. Orchid steps a few feet away from Sarah, and the Blood Princess gives her a nod.
“Friend Orchid.”
Orchid shakes her head at the overly formal and guarded tone from Sarah.
“I am glad you could make it. And I’m sure Blasted Monk will be, too.”
Sarah rolls her eyes at the wink from her newfound friend. But when she opens her mouth to reply with some quick, another Chinese voice comes to her ears, though this one far less than natural.
“You leave now, Rat Eyes! No one want you here!”
Sarah lets out a long breath as a brunette with a pronounced nose storms over toward her.
“I have had about enough of your blatant racism, Dani. We albinos-”
“Not just eyes! Face like rat, too! Monk no want cold Ratface! Monk want Chinese curves!”
Sarah lets out another long breath over the words of the very, very, very NOT Chinese Dani Chow.
“For the seventh time...today...you are literally a Jewish lawyer! In fact-”
The clearing of a throat breaks up the argument and Sarah turns to see another Chinese woman, this one actually authentic, and she gives another small nod.
“Song.”
The woman returns Sarah’s nod and gives her a small smile.
“I am happy you could make it. I am sure Blasted Monk will be, as well.”
Sarah rolls her eyes as Orchid snickers behind her and Dani scowls with eyes full of daggers.
“Have you met Kenzi, yet?”
Sarah raises one of her exquisitely maintained eyebrows in question and Song smiles and turns away from them.
“Nutty Buddy! Come meet Blasted Monks...friend.”
Sarah grumbles internally over the adopted sisters of a certain constantly high monk with killer abs who was fine for an occasional booty ca-
Sarah’s thoughts become cloudy and her eyes fill with 1000 colors. She is positive she can hear the whispers of angels in her ears.
“This-”
...what...what am I seeing?
“-is-”
Have you taken me, Heavenly Father, and brought me into the face of your greatest angel?
“-Kenzi.”
Kenzi Grey smiles while throwing back a headful of tiny braids and looks Sarah up and down.
“‘Sup?”
Sarah Lacklan, a young woman known for viciousness, who was about to step into the ring on a mission from God, was speechless.
“I...I...um...hello.”
Kenzi reaches forward and places both hands on Sarah’s bare shoulders, their eyes meeting one another without a flinch.
“We are going to be the BEST of friends!”
Sarah can only blink.
The night flew by in a rush for the debuting professional wrestler. Kenzi was a force, a tempest, moving about the party with a deft as equal to Sarah’s in her compound dealing with the social and political elite of Maine, and introduce her new best friend to a variety of people, from fellow wrestlers Ashley Marie Chase, Kate Steele, and Maria Salvatore, to media and television staff like Maleek Raheem and Bobbi London. They spent what felt like hours discussing wrestling, as both were second generation wrestlers, but with widely different paths. They spoke of Maine vs. California, of Kenzi’s growing career in Ladies All-Star, and of Sarah being prepared to sign her first contract with FSociety Wrestling.
“Hey! My buddy Mel is signing with them, too! They’ve got their Insurrection pay per view in town in a few weeks and I’m going. You should come with us!”
It had taken the better part of the evening to catch her breath, but Sarah was now back in control of herself, even in the face of this...force of fierceness...that was Kenzi. She gives a deep nod and a smile.
“I would appreciate that. I know little of your state.”
Kenzi’s mouth drops open for a moment as her dark eyes shine.
“Oh! We can get our nails did!”
She takes Sarah’s hands in hers...which causes a sudden chill to course through Sarah’s entire body...and pulls her in close enough for their noses to nearly touch.
“I know a great place!”
Sarah can only nod.
Back in the rear seat of her stretched Lincoln, the Lacklanland driver and guard taking her to the hotel near the airport, Sarah’s thoughts are jumbled. She wasn’t sure exactly what she went through this evening, but she knew one thing was for certain when it come to Kenzi Grey, the woman who had looked right at her and not even blink over how different she looked:
She needed this person in her life.
At any cost.
~~FLASHFORWARD TO: April 18th, 2020~~
“Instantaneous best friends, to partners in crime, to lovers, to spouses, all within less than a year. She is as important to my success as I myself have been. And I have been gutted...hamstrung...with her not there with me in Chicago.”
“Is that why you lost to your sister?”
Sarah snorts loudly and rolls her eyes back to meeting the gaze of the psychiatrist.
“Oh please. I’m not about to make excuses for losing to my own blood.”
She smirks as a light of mischief fills her eyes.
“I successfully avoided that disgusting mandible claw of hers, and now it’s my job to avoid that completely, 100% loaded boot next time. And to avoid her special brand of ‘same shit, different day’ that she gave me. A pity that preparing for a match in the exact way she always does, and saying the exact same thing she always does, with the same pacing and style she always does, was enough to KO me. But I’ll be prepared for her to do the same damn thing again next time, because I WILL have Kenzi there with me at No Holds Barred, and I WILL have all of my emotions in check.”
The doctor cocks his head to the side for a moment and then turns back down to the notes below the monitor’s view.
“But will she? I suppose she had a few weeks to recover. Certainly not this week with you teaming with the man who injured her.”
Sarah’s eyes blaze and she grits her teeth.
“No comment.”
“You have had no comment on the subject for many weeks. Why is that?”
Sarah looks away from the screen and chews her lips.
“Because...because she…”
She growls and pushes herself out of her chair, knocking it backward, and begins pacing back and forth before the computer desk with stomps of her heeled boots.
“She never should have been in that match in the FIRST place!”
Her arms wave in the air with agitation as she turns again and again on her heel during her pace.
“Garbage wrestling like that has NO PLACE in God’s favorite sport! Garbage wrestling is the literal WORST way to honor Him! Literally ANYONE can swing a baseball bat or wrap someone in barbed wire or bust out some light bulbs from Lowe’s! It is garbage which should be reserved for the heap of refuse!”
She snarls as she continues to turn.
“Wrestling is meant to be a thing of honor! Of joy! Of honest competition under the shining face of God! It is meant to be held within a ring or square! Within four sets of roped cables! Where the winner is determined by who can hold one’s shoulders down for the count of three, or who can force them to submit from fear of broken bones and separated joints. And NOT by seeing who can use a cheese grater with more skill! THAT is utter garbage!”
She stops and holds her hands out wide, beckoning for the universe to take in her surroundings. While Kenzi’s office on the second floor was filled with promotional materials and media editing tools for Dark Goddess Productions and other ventures, Sarah’s was designed for wrestling. The large television surrounded by a library of footage for studying. The mat in the corner with a heavy punching bag. Yoga mats with a variety of small weights for light exercises. Pictures of various members of the House of Lacklan, as well as numerous friends and enemies across the years, holding up championship titles and trophies.
“THIS is what God wants out of wrestling, and NOT the nonsense employed by the likes of Tempest. Look, look at this.”
She walks to the wall covered in pictures and points out two next to one another: Sarah, dressed in her original red and black bodysuit, hoisting the WrestleStock Cup, and Kenzi in her black and gold, flanked by Sarah in her green and Angie in her golden suit, holding the following year’s Cup.
“These matches, these two brilliant and beautiful triple threat matches, were NOT held in some garbage heap. They were fought with honor and love and the type of brutality God WANTS to see. And here!”
Another set of pictures, of Angie in a pink bodysuit and Sarah in her modern phoenix-inspired attire, each holding up the UGWC World championship.
“More matches! More wonderful matches! Held within the ring! Held within the confines of God’s love! The TRUE Sport and Art of wrestling! And more!”
Sarah points out picture after picture. Kenzi and Sarah: Cooperative Champions. Kenzi and Donovan...with a dunce cap drawn atop his head and his eyes made to look like they were looking in two different places at once: Cooperative Champions. The massive hulk of Jean-Paul Lacklan, face hidden behind a white mask: SIN World Champion. Ava Quinn, before her ascension: SIN Television Champion. Again and again, pictures of her family at their greatest moments, though the photos of various “hardcore” championships, including the UGWC Chaos, are pushed away into corners or behind equipment.
“THIS is how things are supposed to be, Doctor. And NOT what my wife has been doing for the last several months. NOT what that man-child Tempest in doing.”
“Your own father was an accomplished ‘no holds barred’ wrestler.”
Sarah picks up her foot and stomps it on the ground.
“And all THAT got him was a face so scarred from burns that he had to wear a mask and the ONLY evidence I have of his brilliant white hair is from PICTURES!!”
She begins pacing again with agitated steps.
“My entire childhood, he railed AGAINST garbage wrestling. A fad of the late nighties, he would say, which brought dishonor and ruin to God’s vision. When he later evolved his thinking to ‘use the darkness to destroy the darkness,’ I was NOT pleased. All THAT got him was ME having to stitch the slices and gashes closed all over his body with my needle and thread! And don’t EVEN get me STARTED on Mother’s Le Champion du Chaos silliness! All THAT got this family was Kenzi trying to one-up her because they hate each other and THAT lead to goddamn TEMPEST!”
She stops her spin suddenly and points her finger at the camera.
“I swear to Baby Jesus’ bright Baby Browns that if Tempest antagonizes me in ANY GODDAMN WAY on Monday, I will march right into the rotating Creative Director’s office, grab that gargantuan and ape-like Dirge by his neck and bring him down to the proper 5’2” level, and DEMAND that we trade my World Title match with Angie to instead fight Tempest and RIP AWAY that goddamn Chaos Championship so that I can throw it into the garbage chute where it BELONGS!”
She snarls and goes back to her pacing as the scritch scritch of Reznik’s pen makes notes.
“Do you think it is wise to make him an enemy of Tempest so blatantly? You need him as a partner on Monday.”
Sarah snorts and rolls her eyes hard enough for them to hurt.
“Oh please. I’m obsessed with statistics and even I have forgotten how many times I have beaten Dave Rydell and Phrixus Deimos.”
Sarah’s pacing loses some of its agitation as she shakes her head.
“I mean, I somewhat like Deimos...even if his takes on the sound of my voice are SUPER shitty...but that is running thin. I’m all for playing the long game, as you well know, which is seen in many of the moves I make. I make long-term plans which require numerous steps, I prepare for contingencies should my designs lead to failures or otherwise become waylaid, and I weave in as many people as I can into the tapestry of this new world I am creating. But Deimos? His long game never ends! It just goes and goes! And all without any break in the view or hills to ascend and descend to tell you if the topography is changing! I mean, I literally just gave my sister shit for abandoning all hint of creativity and throwing ‘same shit, different day’ at me for Coalescence, but Deimos makes her look like the Paragon of Giving a Shit! Deimos recycles the same observations with the same method with the same tempo over and again! For literal DECADES he has been sitting back and acting as if he was the Big Bad of the world and just biding his time, but all he has done is proven that he’s nothing more than the Lower Tier Boss. Like, not even Mid Tier!”
She stops for a second and looks at the camera.
“Okay, these references might be a little obscure for you, but check this out: You know how they have that whole ‘Perception vs Reality’ thing? Here’s how Deimos sees himself versus how we all actually see him:”
Sarah waves her hands...a small controller somehow being pulled from her bodice or hidden pocket from her gown...and the large television screen flares to life showing what is...of course...a slideshow presentation.
“I just so happened to be working on my next SAR Talk before our session started. Now...THIS is how Deimos pictures himself...”
We see a picture of Freddy Kruger, burned and charred, with menacing eyes peering out from under the brown hat and the knives coming out of the glove splayed before him.
“...and here is how we actually see him…”
A click of the button and the slide goes to a picture of the Leprechaun.
“...basically no more than some Lucky Charms reject that Warrick Davis is embarrassed to have on his IMDB listings.”
Click.
How Deimos sees himself: Maleficent, from Sleeping Beauty
Click.
How we see him: Gargamel, from the Smurfs
Click.
How Deimos sees himself: Scarecrow, from Batman
Click.
How we see him: Plankton, from Spongebob Squarepants
Click.
How Deimos sees himself: A cross between Kefka and Sephiroth from Final Fantasy 6 and 7
Click.
How we see him: The lovechild of Ultros and Gilgamesh when armed with the Excalipoor.
Click.
How Deimos sees himself: Sigmund Freud
Click.
How we see him: Dr. Phil
“But I digress.”
Sarah turns from the screen and back to the computer.
“Deimos as spent nearly his entire LIFE telling people that the darkness is coming, and like a boy crying out ‘wolf’ for the village to hear, his message has faded to the point where it is no more than the bleats like Raab telling you that you’re going to get Icenated or Steele telling you that you’re getting Shipwrecked. As far as this business is concerned, there is no more fear in Fear, and his only reason for existing any more is to give new people an easy introduction to the Coalition and pad out their early Win/Loss records. Yes yes, living embodiment of the Cross-Hemisphere Championship, but Travis Pierce effectively tore down THAT bit of hogwash a few weeks ago and that leaves Deimos stripped bare of his only notable accomplishment since the last time the year had a zero in it. And how sad it must be to know that the most refreshing thing he has done since I joined the company nearly three goddamn YEARS ago is hitch his wagon to the dumpster fire that was Rydell’s endeavor to kill my family.”
Sarah shakes her head and tosses back a handful of platinum hair.
“THAT guy.”
Sarah begins pacing again, still with her steps far lighter than before.
“The last year has been a microcosm of Dave’s entire career: Build and build and build towards a goal...in this case, becoming the World Champion...with a few momentary spikes of acceptable success...in this case, defeating Angelica at Horizons...ended by total and abject failure...in this case, getting his ass beat by me at Infinity...followed by an endless stream of ‘GRRR! i iS STiLL a MoNSTeR!’...in this case, going back to that same fucking bar and talking to Bland Side Character #3 (Palette Swap Version) about mindless dumbfuckery that no one buys...get a touch of heat back by getting one up on some jobber...in this case, Mr Fell On My Fat Fucking Face Thunder...and then beat up someone in order to try to appear like a badass...in this case, non-wrestling talent Robert Ooley from the office.”
Sarah stops and turns back toward the camera.
“The last few months has been nothing but shitty conversations from him while using the same words and boring all the listeners to tears...though, to be honest, I doubt more than three or four people have watched or listened to his promotional videos enough to even know that his little “oMG SaRaH i iZ STiLL HeRe aND i CaN’T WaiT FoR You To BeaT Me uP aGaiN” messages even exist. He can’t possibly get ANY sort of traction while facing actual wrestlers, so he finds himself beating up dear, sweet, kind Monsieur Ooley and taking his piece of polished wood...baseball is fucking stupid, by the way, obviously. And what has that gotten him? To what has that amounted? A victory in a match at Coalescence when everyone excused themselves to get a hotdog and use the necessaries?”
Sarah chews the inside of her lip, the vaunted Lacklan Dimple of Thinking coming to life.
“Ya know, there has been talk of having Empty Arena matches within out sport until COVID-19 has passed, and I am pretty sure that Rydell vs. King can be used as a case study for how wrestling feels and sounds when the seats are empty and not even the crew cares about the outcome of a match.”
She shrugs her shoulders and goes back to her pacing.
“Ultimately, I think the problem with BOTH of them is that they break math. Now, statistics aside, I am not the best at mathematics, but I DO understand the concept of how we, as people, are more than the sum of our parts. Take me, for example: Yes, I’m beautiful (+2), and intelligent (+2), and driven (+2), and...let us face it...genetically superior (+4)...but who I am all together is somehow even MORE than all of those things! If you add up all of my skills, abilities, and talent, you SHOULD get 10, yet somehow I end get up to 11! Conversely, both Dave and Fear’s parts add up to more than who they actually are. Dave is a strong man (+2) with a military background (+2) and lots of experience in wrestling (+2), so you SHOULD get a 6, but you somehow get 3! Listen, I don’t know how 2+2+2=3, but Dave is able to pull it off! And Fear isn’t any better! He’s intelligent (+2) with a bunch of experience (+2) and often has a goal (+2), but HE also comes up short, too! He’s a little better than Dave, at 2+2+2=4, but that is STILL breaking math!”
Sarah stops and looks back at Reznik through the computer.
“Honestly, with all of their tools, with all of their parts, you would expect far more than ‘lower-card, lower-tier, entry-level Bad Guys when you are still using Wooden Swords and haven’t even gotten your first Bronze Sword in some child’s RPG-lite game on Switch,’ but that is who they are. And no amount of endless posturing, recycling of analysis, feuding with the office staff, losing to rookies, or being lost in the shuffle of the next clusterfuck-to-determine-a-midcard-title-challenger-match silliness from them is going to change their plot in life. And neither will not getting along with a partner in Tempest, either. This Monday is simply ‘Win 8-out-of-27 in 2020’ for me and nothing else.”
Sarah’s voice finally fades away as the scritch scritch of the psychiatrist's pen continues.
“One more question about your position on what you call garbage wrestling...you are due to fight your sister at No Holds Barred in a match well known to feature some of those elements. How do you plan to reconcile how you feel with what you must do?”
A mischievous grin comes to Sarah’s face.
“First of all, I-”
She is cut off by the sound of a moan filled with ecstasy, the sound bringing the embarrassed flush of red from earlier back to her face.
“...um...er…un instant s'il vous plaît...”
Sarah rushes back to her desk where she finds her iPhone, the screen filled with the picture of Kenzi’s smiling face, and a text notification.
The land’s SWEETEST booty
GODDAMNIT SELENA YOU COME CHANGE THIS DISGUSTING DIAPER RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO TOM CRUISE
GODDAMNIT SELENA YOU COME CHANGE THIS DISGUSTING DIAPER RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO TOM CRUISE
“Oh snap! I gotta go!”
Doctor Reznik’s eyes cloud in confusion.
“I-”
“Sorry, Doc! We’re babysitting JT Junior while Maria and Maleek are quarantined together! At least SOMETHING good came out of COVID-19!”
She winks into the camera, her eyes full of conniving mischief.
“I don’t plan on letting him go. Already got Dani Chow calling some of the most brutal and vicious child custody lawyers she knows. Someone said to go to Dewy, Cheatem & Howe, but those are Johnny’s guys, so they HAVE to suck, ya know?”
Reznik closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“Wait...you plan on keeping the child?”
“Obviously! I’m already working on getting his name legally changed! Aaron Thomas, of the House of Lacklan! I am going to make the BEST mother EVER! Great sesh, Doc! See you next week!”
She rushes off to head upstairs before the psychiatrist can even respond, leaving him to sigh and add yet another note to his pages.
x1
x1
x1
x1
x1
x2
