Post by cooltubesource on Apr 25, 2020 22:25:24 GMT -5
Tempest: So. Like. Do it, brobabe. Do it for us. That'll be tubular.
Dirge: YOU CAN DO IT SARAH I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THAT WAS AN AMAZING DECISION YOU MADE TO TURN THIS INTO A SINGLES MATCH AND I WEPT AND LEAPT FOR JOY IN MAKING IT HAPPEN AS CREATIVE DIRECTOR
Deimos: *takes a pic in order to add it to the next scrapbook and then sends a selfie to my stepmumsie*
Ny-Otep: *eats popped corn*
Crowd: ABYYYYYYYSSSSSS!
Sam Green: One! Two! Three!
Daedalus: *approves*
Crowd: *goes fucking APE SHIT*
~
“And that is TOTALLY how it happened!”
The sigh coming from Kenzi Grey-Lacklan is as deep and resigned as any in the long history of Suffering Spouse Sighs. She shakes her head, forcing her multitude of tiny, thin microbraids to fly all about her face, and closes her eyes.
“Babe...I…”
“Seriously legitimate!”
In front of her, Sarah Grey-Lacklan is still dressed in her “work clothes,” the green, black, and red attire top and shorts which accentuate her pale white muscle, though her “war paint” has become smudged from her match. She juts out her hip, placing the majority of her weight on her right side, so that she can balance JT Junior on her hip. Her bright smile full of painstakingly cleaned teeth shines with all Billion $$$.
“And the best part about the whole dealio? Dave got to have an excuse for losing AND some staff interaction! Win-Win situation for everyone!”
Kenzi groans and turns to the television in the private lockerroom within the Synergy Arena and goes back to watching the live show.
“At least now you can take care of that stupid fucking baby.”
“He’s NOT stupid!”
Kenzi shakes her head at the sudden roar from Sarah. The former World Champion turns her smile to the baby in her arms and coos at him, an act filled with “You are the SMARTEST nearly-stolen-baby in the world, aren’t you? Yes, you are! Yes you are!” which brings an appreciative giggle in return.
“Even better! We can give the stupid baby back to his stupid parents! They are here! Right now!”
Sarah continues to ignore Kenzi and the caramel starlet sighs. She turns back to the monitor and tries to focus on the Synergy broadcast instead, and a smile comes across her face as Yamazaki launches Baal over his head with a throw, and she clenches her fist as Burke counts the three. However, her eyes darken as the “My Name is Human” begins to play.
“.........”
Sarah looks up from JT Junior, eyes suddenly full of worry, as she feels the sudden change in Kenzi.
“Beloved? What-”
She cuts off as she sees the Astro Creeps surround the ring.
“Ken...its-”
She is interrupted by Sebastian Everette-Bryce coming to his teammate’s rescue. She walks forward and joins Kenzi, standing at her side, and watches the scene unfold. Kenzi clenches her hands at her sides and shakes her head as Baal joins in the fray and chaos ensues.
“...they need help…”
“Then let the World Champion deal with it.”
Kenzi looks up at Sarah, her mouth opening to say something, but then it closes when she sees the hard face of her wife.
“For 196 days...I REIGNED. And no one in that ring gave me credit. Let their fucking hero come to their rescue. Let us see if the World Champion will do more than just barely get by on Synergies.”
Sarah turns on her heel and walks further to the other side of the room.
“Come, Beloved. We have an early start tomorrow.”
“But, babe, wh-”
Sarah turns on her heel again and the venom in her voice silences Kenzi.
“I care about winning wrestling competitions, Wife. Not popularity contests. Let my sister handle that nonsense. Besides, I have something I need to do once we get to the Waldorf, anyway.”
She turns on her heel again, adjusts JT Junior on her hip, and heads toward their bags.
* * * * * * * * * *
Hey there, Baby Birds! Yes yes, I said that I would NOT be making this a thing again...like, literally the other day...but I used it to get a message out to someone, and that totally worked, so I wanted to do it again.
What? No! No, I’m not here to gloat! I mean, sure, I COULD, ya know? Like, I COULD bring up that I did EXACTLY what I said I was going to do in stomping Rydell into the ground, right? Like, I COULD sit here and brag about how I trolled the fucker so hard for saying the DUMBEST shit of all time to the point where I triggered him into accepting an unwinnable situation (a singles match against me!) and then following through with what I ALWAYS do and making him look like the fucking guttertrash jobber he is. I COULD remind him that for all of his “i aM THe KilLLeR aND BaNe oF THe CooL KiDS” nonsense has equated to a...and here is a fucking pathetic and embarrassing stat that is so gutwrenching that there is no shock at ALL that he hides from his record at all cost...less than 19% success rate against my House. Like, legit, Dave Rydell has faced some form of the House of Lacklan (...SIGH...and my wife’s vapid and useless friend) a combined 27 times in the nearly three years I’ve been around and only gotten his hand raised five times in the process...which is comprised of teaming with Angie four times (I have covered THAT enough for Infinity!) and literally only one singles match...yet still walks around saying “You aRe aFRaiD oF Me, KeYBoaRD WaRRioR”
What a sad sack of shit.
I KNOW I made some people mad by dragging that dipshit through the mud and then putting on an Abyssal exclamation point, but its kinda what I do!
But! That is TOTALLY NOT why I am here! Nope, as I said before, I’m here to send a message to someone in particular. Now, I COULD literally say ALL of this, like, in person, or by text, or whatever, but said person just recently become a premium subscriber to my new SAR Talks content, so I wanted to reward them a touch by going THIS route instead of another. So...that being said…
Hey Cutie
So, a couple of things
1) You look exhausted. Like, seriously. Massive bags under your eyes that sixteen pounds of base can’t hide, no matter how hard you try. A slow in your steps while you were fighting in that six-person tag. A lower and raspy tone to your voice. It is apparent that you are not exactly at 100%. Now, we haven’t actually talked about it or anything (yes yes, I know I haven’t been around much in the past few weeks, I’ll take the blame on that), but I get the feeling that it stems from something outside of the ring. After all, the past few weeks have been good for you! You won earlier tonight, you snapped that pre-IYH losing streak, you’ve been getting good publicity, you’ve got that Carnage Ultraviolent title match coming up, and more! Things are good there. But that means something is bugging you OUTSIDE of the ring and it is SHOWING everywhere else.
And you KNOW how I feel about that.
Just in case you forgot:
You: *hiding your face in shame because of the revelation that you have this sordid second job that, in case you have noticed, I have been, like, the COOLEST person and friend for NEVER asking about*
Me: *gives sage advice about how important it is to keep separation between in and out of ring because MAN shitty stuff happens*
You NEED to keep the things OUT of this ring...well...OUT of it. You NEED to not let your family relationships interfere. You NEED to not let your other work relationships interfere. You NEED to be able to focus 100% on the match in front of you. If not?
Sharks like me will eat you alive.
You are my friend, Sloane. Yes yes, I KNOW that YOU know I’m a TOUCH rough around the edges and therefore don’t have too many friends, but you don’t understand the depth of how difficult it is for me to call someone “friend.” SOME of that found its way onto the airwaves a few years ago (see: the above advice while dining at Lula Cafe), but the full reality is that trusting anyone beyond a hello is intensely difficult. Hell, my BEST GODDAMN (non-spouse) FRIEND literally LIED to me for sixteen goddamn MONTHS, ya know? So trust issues, yeah?
And I trust you.
I trusted you from the first moment you said you didn’t know about the attack on my Beloved.
Which means that I care about you. I care that you are once again finding yourself in a position to have the sharks of our industry find you a fine snack. Please be careful and get some sleep.
2) Please, for the love of all that is holy, dumb that do-nothing, penniless, ne’er-do-well boyfriend of yours!
3) No really, I totes have a selfie with Lady Gaga. Pretty freakin’ cool moment!
4) So! Match on Monday! Now, I KNOW that Sloane vs. Sarah hasn’t gone the BEST for you in our limited meetings thus far (...discounting that last-minute sub for Kenzi, you’re 0-4 when facing me…), but I hope that you appreciate that I’ve endeavored to have our contests as clean as possible. No cheap tactics, no trickery, no funny business. Just two smokin’ hawt and talented young athletes who enjoy the love of the Art of Sports that is wrestling. And while I DO owe you a MASSIVE punch in the teeth for a variety of things (Maggie and Ichabod? Are you fucking INSANE?!), that is NOT what this Monday is about. No matter what the actual breakdown of this match is on paper, the REAL match is this:
The Lacklan Sisters, the Cutie, and the Dunce Kicking Some Astro Creep Ass
THAT is what this needs to be, dearie.
Remember how right after Outlast we had me and Kenzi teaming with Vapid and Useless against Team Slebby and Rydell? And how all of us were all “Oops? Did we turn this into a 5-on-1 beatdown because of the attack on Angie? Cher_MyBad.gif!” And then how, earlier this year, we had some House of Lacklan members against you, T-Pie, and Dave, and again we were all “Oopsie-daisy! We fucked up Dave again! Silly us!” Well, this is literally the same thing. Tempest and I were able to co-exist for five seconds (which got all KINDS of weird), but we all know that he and his little co-op of creeps want more than just what is good and right with the world. And in case you don’t quite remember, please allow me to introduce you to one of the Digital Pigeons I literally sent you:
Sarah is the best, Sarah number one:
Do NOT trust Gabriel Baal
Do NOT trust Gabriel Baal
Remember that? I haven’t slid into someone’s DMs that fast since before I was married! And that was because this is IMPORTANT
DO NOT TRUST GABRIEL BAAL
Our job, my friend, is to corral out cooperative partners into understanding that the Greater Good is served by giving the Astro Creeps an epic beatdown like it was the Cool Kids vs. Zane Scott (THAT was fun!). Our job is to get Donovan to leave Aloof Donovan/Hastiboard/I IZ TEH CAPTAIN NOW behind and instead being the man with the most World Title reigns, second most Main Event wins, and third most title wins in Coalition history. And my job is to get my sister to leave behind the trappings of the famous Maine sentiment of SSDD and embrace the loaded beat that once put some random Twitter THOT into a coma. It is OUR job to set aside, if for but a moment, the desire to win a professional wrestling match and instead give an American History X-style beatdown, only THIS time its the Bad Guy who gets the curb stomp.
This isn’t just about some fun wrestling competition as a go-home before No Holds Barred.
This is about the Good Guys taking out the Bad Guys before they get a chance to fester into a company-killing cancer.
Join me, my friend
5) Twilight Sparkle>Pinkie Pie
Thank you for attending this SAR Talk!
* * * * * * * * * *
Loralee Van Vleet, of the Illinois Van Vleets, of course, had been working as a Realtor (capital R, of course) for Coldwell for fifteen years. A beautiful blonde woman with a mean streak a mile wide, she had risen through the ranks of the company with a blend of power and grace that left her enemies trembling in fear and her supporters shaking in a mixture of desire and awe. She closed on more houses than the next three Realtors even showed...combined! And she always...ALWAYS...got a cut from her deals which left her boss blinking his eyes in clueless adoration.
But she was powerless in the face of THIS set of customers.
“Does the garage have soundproofing? I don’t want KITT to think things are too loud.”
“Too many families in this neighborhood. I hate kids! NEXT!”
“Hmmmm. This shade of white is a TOUCH too eggshell. I REALLY was looking for something closer to alabaster.”
“Nope. Too many white people saying dumb shit.”
These two women...she wasn’t sure if the baby was theirs...one said “Absolutely, this is our baby!” while the other said “Ah, HELL naw, that ain’t my stupid baby!”...had been insufferable. A very audible Cha-CHING! had blared in her ears when she had gotten the call from a woman named Ashley, a personal assistant, who was setting up a meeting for them. The clients, who were looking for a condo in the Lake Forest area, were supposedly wealthy minor celebrities and money would be no object. Unfortunately, that had translated to several days of utter condo-shopping hell for the Realtor. NOTHING was good enough for them.
“This here...is this real gold? Oh, God! It’s only 18 karat?! What do you want me to do, Loralee, walk into an archway like a PAUPER?!”
“This is far too close to that pond. I can’t swim!”
“Ugh. I specifically asked for a yard with GREEN grass. And speaking as a Lawn Grass Expert, I can tell you that THIS lawn will turn FAR too chartreuse in the winter for my liking!”
“Nuh uh. The closest Popeye’s is way too far away.”
She had almost found a sale...and an expensive one, to boot...in the form of that old Gothic manor, but it didn’t work out.
“OH EM GEE! This one is AMAZING!”
“Wow. It IS really elegant, Sar.”
“This is it, Beloved. I am inspired! But I’ll need to update my wardrobe when we stay here.”
“Really?! That’s great! I-”
“The sleeves need to be even MORE puffy!”
“NEXT!”
She had lost count of how many times she had gotten into their car...one of them insisted on doing all the driving...and had her head slammed against the seat...she drove like a maniac...and gone to another house. They had criss-crossed all of Lake Forest 10 times-
“Babe, there ARE other places.”
“No! Sloane said that THIS is the BEST place in ALL of Illinois...well, at least near to Chicago...to raise a family!”
“I don’t care what YOUR Cutie said!”
“THE Cutie!”
-and she had listened to that particular argument at least 20 times, all the while turning down place after place. And while they were at the condos! They picked apart everything-
“Hmmm. I ALMOST like this basement, but I really would prefer that it has a least SOME ‘sex dungeon’ aesthetic already in place.”
“These folks get B.E.T. here? Not moving in if its nothing but that BritBox shit.”
-and squabbled over minutiae-
“Ugh. I’m only getting 5 bars on my phone. 90% is NOT okay.”
“The hot tub is WAY too far away from the kitchen.”
-and got caught trying to have sex in just about every location.
“Well, how ELSE are we supposed to know if the chandelier will hold my weight?!”
“We need to see how thick these walls are, bb.”
She had given up all hope, had given up on a sell-streak of 15 years coming to an end, until the impossible happened.
They arrived at 931 North Mckinley Road. Built less than 2 years ago, the 2400 square foot condo had three bedrooms, two and a half baths, every upgrade available at the time, and a starting price of one penny under a million dollars. She had dropped the price TWICE since it went on the market, but even in the “upper” area of Lake Forest, the price tag was far too high for anyone with any common sense or understanding of real estate economics.
They loved it.
“We’ll take it!”
“You take cash? Sar doesn’t let me write checks anymore.”
“That’s because you bounce them like we’re stuck in the 80’s.”
“...shit up…”
Papers were being signed before she knew what was happening. These two odd little women...and the baby who may or may not have been theirs...were a whirlwind of activity that had her head spinning. The biggest sale of her career was happening in less than-
“Do I smell cloves?”
Loralee’s heart stops at the pale one’s question. Standing in the front yard of the condo, the three women (and baby) had been discussing the neighborhood when the stink musk of cloves, which had not been a popular smoking item for twenty years, wafted over to them.
...please, no, please please please-
“We’re so goth.”
The three women turn and see that a small line of black was making their way over to them. A tall and skinny man with pasty-white skin, as bright as the pale woman but without any of the healthy sheen, wearing a fedora and utilizing a walking stick. A fat man with half of his stomach falling out of his Nine Inch Nails t-shirt. A third man with a haircut filled with so much designer gel that it stood a full three feet out from his head and ran parallel to the ground. Loralee did her best to hold in her sigh and put on her biggest smile.
“And these three...um...handsome...young gentlemen...would be some of your neighbors.”
The three men get closer but stop several feet from them, which was good in this time of social distancing. And even though both of her clients’ faces were mostly covered with masks...the type and color had changed every day, sometimes several times a day, and each had been beautiful and clearly designed with a talented hand...she could still feel the grotesque lust emanating from the three. She sees that the pale woman gives them a small nod, and the darker one subtly hid behind her wife, blocking her face behind the platinum hair. She had done that when they first met early in the week, too, as if she were trying to not let even half her face be seen, but had loosened up as the week had gone on.
“M’Ladies.”
While Loralee had been able to keep the sigh buried...and most of the disgust...she was unable to hold back the groan when the man tipped his fedora and gave them some elaborate bow out of the Middle Ages. The fat one...he didn’t speak much...just stood there and breathed hard while looking at the three of them, and the one with the dumbest hair she had ever seen licked his lips.
“...charmed…”
The pale woman’s voice was full of guarded sarcasm, and she shot her a look with those weird red eyes of hers. She had never seen the like, and she had done a triple take when she first met her, and she still found herself unsure of what to think of them. But when she looked back, she could see the woman stand a little straighter and a brightness come to those eyes.
“We are to be your new neighbors...at least for a portion of the time. Tell me: What do you three do?”
“We are-”
Loralee closes her eyes again, knowing what was about to happen, and again feeling the biggest sale of her career slipping away. This group...and their other friend...had been the cause of more than one exodus from the overly-expensive condo.
“-warlocks!”
The thin man waved his hands in the air and a flash come to life with a pop and smoke rose out of his hand. The pale woman seemed unimpressed by the “magic” display...which, Loralee knew for a fact, was ordered from the back of a comic book catalogue...but the darker woman jumped.
“Ah, HELL naw! Get me out of her, Loralee! FUCK dis magic shit!”
It took her and the pale woman a few minutes to calm her down...the pale one said something about how “black people didn’t ‘do’ magic” while sighing several times...but they eventually found themselves listening to the three men explain themselves.
“WE are the COVEN of ETERNAL DARKNESS! We invade the DREAMS of lesser men and women! We make their minds PLAYTHINGS to our MAGICAL SKILL! We SOLD our SOULS to the great CHROMATIC dragon himself, KING TIAMAT, so that we could bring fire and thunder and RUIN to our enemies! Fear the CREEPS of the world, for OUR feet are in both YOUR Prime Material plane AND in the Other Side. And through our GREAT POWERS, we are able to-”
“Jesus, I hate the InstaGoths.”
The thin man’s voice falters and the hair of the third man becomes deflated and falls. Loralee wasn’t sure what the pale woman meant, but, she was about to learn something.
“Listen, boys: I fully get the need or desire to create a departure from the real world for yourself. Hell, I used to think I was a vampire! See, I had this whole dissociative thing, right? Literally no one else in my life was an albino...especially not one as terribly beautiful as me...and I needed to find SOMETHING in the world which would help me make some sense out of it, so BLAM! Vampire.”
“Actually!”
Loralee had heard of people literally throwing up their finger into the air and saying “Actually!" but had never seen it until the man with the dumb hair did it right then.
“WE are vampires! Our coven is full of vampire warlocks who control the WORLD! Watch us drink blood for sustenance!”
As a unit, as if they had rehearsed it 1000 times behind closed doors, the three of them reach into their pockets and pull out small vials of a red liquid. They twist open the vials and go to drink them, but they are stopped by the sudden laughter of the pale woman. And not just laughter. But bent-over-at-the-waist laughter. It takes many moments for her to upright herself, her cheeks as red as her eyes, and calm down.
“The fuck is that? Is that Clamato? I bet that’s Clamato!”
The guilty look in the eyes of the three give them all the answer they need, and the darker woman gives voice to how they all feel before the pale one goes off again.
“...gross…”
“Good Lord, you three! I literally used to walk around with a vial around my neck, too, but that contained ACTUAL blood from ACTUAL enemies! Bless the smooth bottom of Baby Jesus, but YOU guys are as comically derivative as the Astro Creeps!”
The three look at themselves with confused looks and the woman’s face falls.
“Oh, come ON. You guys HAVE to know who we are!”
More confusion, and Loralee understood. The lady on the phone said something about minor celebrities and-
“The G-Ls? Team Kickass? The 5’2” Mafia?”
Lots of confusion and the woman throws up her hands.
“Oh, for fucks’ sake! We’re wrestlers! Literally wrestle in THIS COUNTY every week on TV?”
Shrugged shoulders and she turns toward her wife.
“Beloved! Remind me to speak to the Coalition marketing team!”
She grumbles about ‘market penetration’ as she turns back to the trio of goths/warlocks/vampires.
“Anyway...we’re wrestlers, right? And in our profession, there is a tendency to hype up theatrics. Usually just for marketing purposes...like selling swag, and the like...but also for mind games. Like, if you can convince your opponent that you’re something you’re not, they’ll prepare for THAT and then BLAM! You nail the with what you REALLY are. That make sense?”
More confused glances and the pale woman shakes her head.
“Take me, for example. I spent a couple of years convincing the world I was this dumb vlogger, right? Only cared about getting likes and shares and stuff. And then BLAM! Got in the ring, choked out some bitches, won some titles, set the world on fire. It was super effective at the time. But over the years, there have been OTHER examples of this, examples which ranged from scary to creepy to downright 80s slasher style stupidity which is beyond laughable. Like YOU three! And the Creeps, for that matter.
“Ya see, there is this trio of tryhards, right? One of them wrestles...another talks...I’m not sure what the third one actually does-”
Her eyes take in the tall man, the one with the dumb hair, and the fat man, in turn.
“-and they all engage in this...well...trickery...in order to gain a mental advantage. It works on some, of course, but not the elite. That’s a part of what makes people at my level the elite, ya know? I’m not ‘World Class’ for nothing! And unfortunately for them, those mind games are becoming less and less effective as people are exposed to them, because THEY are becoming exposed for the charlatans they are.”
The woman starts pacing suddenly, moving in tight lines, and Loralee blinks several times. So do the three neighbors who have caused so much trouble in the past. But not the dark-skinned woman. Loralee could be wrong, but she was pretty sure she saw desire in those dark eyes as they watched her partner pacing.
“Our names are Grey-Lacklan, by the way, and that means a LOT for those who know better. Yes, we wrestle on your television sets every week, providing fresh content in a sea of Same Shit, Different Day offered by so many others, but we’re not just wrestlers of TODAY, ya know? I mean, yes, we are GREAT examples of the modern day wrestler. Us ‘kids’ today? We travel across the world, not caring about putting down roots or ruffling feathers, and fight every style in every land. And we rejoice in how the fans flock to us, the competitors fear us, and the owners pay us. Sure, I’ve turned away from the overall freelancer mentality of my peers and have become exclusive to Chicago, but you don’t EVEN want to know about the contract I got from various bosses in my career!
“But apart from being modern wrestlers? We’re also students of our sport. While a LOT of people I see these days...we’re talking names like Raab and Rydell, but you should really just kinda forget them...are just here for the pin-me-and-pay-me part of the business, we have a LOVE for it that is both nature and nurture. Both my Beloved and I are second generation wrestlers...my father was a wrestler and I literally grew up in a town that considers wrestling a religion...don’t ask...legit, don’t ask...and Kenzi’s sweet, loving, understanding, and accepting mother was also a champion...and they raised us to love what they did. Well, MY father did, anyway...Kenzi’s wanted her to stay the hell away from anything which might wreck her acting career, but that’s just silly…”
Loralee notices the dark woman momentarily flinch and try to cover herself up again.
“...and we DID love it. I traveled the world with Daddy as a child and I learned to navigate the politics of the business as a valet, and Kenzi grew up determined to not only do as well as my wonderful Step-Mumsie, but be BETTER than her. We both learned the importance of promotion, of selling tickets, and of bringing home the winner’s paycheck. And as an extension of that, we have embroiled ourselves in the business tenfold as adults. Hell, even my (no longer secret) siblings are wrestlers! AND my wife’s vapid and useless friend! We are ALL wrestlers, living in the world of modern wrestling, living and BREATHING our business. And I, in particular, have fallen in love with the history of it.
“See, I’m the historian of my little group. I know things about people that wannabe armchair psychologists...like the ‘der we’re more than human hur’ creeps I compared you to...couldn’t even comprehend. And that’s not really a dig on your intelligence or anything, because I do a LOT of research! And part of that research is that I don’t JUST know about modern wrestling...I don’t JUST know about wrestling in the 90’s like Daddy or Kenzi’s mumsi did...I don’t JUST know about wrestling in the golden age of television and the regional boom of the 50’s to 80’s...but I ALSO know about the very beginnings of the sport, back when it was held in carnivals and festivals, back before we had a square to go with the circle. And it is because of THAT knowledge that I, and perhaps I alone, know just how full of shit the Astro Creeps are. And YOU three, for that matter.”
She stops suddenly and takes them in.
“Let me guess: The fireball came from Spenser’s Gifts at the mall?”
The man with the dumb hair hems and haws for a moment and the pale woman clenches her fist in victory before begining to pace on the condo’s lawn again. But she stops as an ominous voice fills the air.
“What be going on here, my Children of the Dark?”
The three men stand straighter as they all turn their heads toward the sound of the voice. A tall and thin man with dark hair walked toward them and Loralee groaned again. The man who carried himself with such an important air was the real reason behind so many buyers pacing on the condo.
“Sire!”
The three goths fell to their knees and held out their hands, wrist up, beckoning to be bitten.
“...oh, sweet Jesus…”
The tall man looks at the pale woman with a pained face and opens his mouth.
“Allow me to-”
“Listen, literally everyone knows how YOU are supposed to be in this scenario.”
The man’s mouth clamps shut and she waves at him with agitation.
“Let me guess: Master manipulator with dreams and schemes far above mortal men and women and you win and lose on purpose at everything you’ve ever done in your life? You win only when you want to and lose so as to further entrap the victims of your schemes and NOT as a shitty-as-FUCK excuse for when a supposed world-beating badass gets beat by someone half his size and he doesn’t have a plausible excuse as to why which would fit his narrative?”
His mouth opens and shuts several times and the woman goes right back into her pacing.
“Stand there and look pretty while I continue, okay? I was just getting to the fun stuff! You see, back in the day? And I mean WAY back in the day? Wrestling wasn’t commissioned. Neither was boxing, for that matter. And promoters had to do a LOT of bullshit tricks to get people through the door. See! The family swinging from the flying trapeze! See! The bearded lady! See! The man swallowing swords and breathing fire. See! The strongman lifting weights beyond imagination! And in that, in all of that circus horseshit, were charlatans like Baal and the Astro Creeps. Wrestlers who used sleight of hand and mirrors to wow and amaze a clueless audience. Wrestlers who would flip and fly, as if they themselves were above the safety nets, in order to confuse the audience with spectacle. Wrestlers who would employ magic in order to keep their crowd riveted. And mostly, because lets face it, they didn’t have the skill to otherwise stay employed as successful combat sports competitors.
“And that’s where the Creeps come in. And, from the looks of it, you guys, too. Lord, you four are probably as bad for the reputation of this neighborhood as THEY are for wrestling. All that parlor trick bullshit they do? Nothing more than the guys fighting in smoke-filled tents from a hundred years ago. Might as well grow out some shitty curled mustaches like some lame hipster, wear black and white striped long underwear, and put up their dukes, ya know what I’m saying?”
Loralee tries not to stare TOO hard at the hipster mustache that the man with the dumb hair is trying to grow.
“And for all I know, just like the Creeps, YOU guys may even BELIEVE your own horse shit! Along with the magician’s fireball, do you guys bust out the fake levitation where you do a calf-raise on the curb, or go for ginormous leaps and bounds into the air? Bet you are JUST as bad as Baal! Like, HE may even BELIEVE that the world DOES do his bidding by communicating with his blinks and subtle raises of his eyebrow! Hell, HE may EVEN BELIEVE that he’s FREAKIN’ WOLVERINE and that NOTHING can harm him no matter HOW FUCKING DUMB some of his matches are!!”
While her hands wave wildly in the air as she yells, she suddenly stops in front of the dark woman and chews her lips in thought.
“Ya know, they MAY have something there. Like, this one time? Back before I realized how goddamn USELESS Chaos matches where, I was in this hardcore tounament, right? Remember that NGIW tournament, Beloved? Same month you won WrestleStock? Well, Josh Kennedy hit me with a Flaming Dragon Uppercut, right? And I mean, like, literally flaming. Like, his entire arm was on fire, right? Because I set it on fire? And he was all WAAAAA! DRAGON UPPERCUT and knocked my squat booty right out of the tournament? And, like, two days later, I didn’t even have a freakin’ SCAR to show for it! I asked Lisa Seldon...you remember Lisa...why that was, since she’s a legit deathmatch master, but she just kinda shrugged her shoulders and told me not to ask too many questions. So maybe some of us DO have cray-cray healing factors?”
She shrugs her shoulders and doesn’t seem to notice the other woman try to subtly hide her face even more before she turns back to the four men in black.
“Anyway, in case you losers haven’t noticed, I keep talking about this whole ‘reality’ thing, which I am VERY aware you know fuck-all about, and unfortunately for you, I’m going to keep harping on it. Because this is NOT a work of fantasy. This is NOT a world of magic and levitation and fireballs and creepy guys trying to invade your dreams, or whatever the fuck the Creeps try to do in the course of preparing for a wrestling competition. And I will NOT abide by YOU dipshits doing the same thing in our new...well, part time, anyway...neighborhood.”
“The reality is that, yes, Baal and the Creeps are at home in the carnivals of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. THEY may be a leftover vestige of when wrestling had to survive as a sideshow act in the company of trained elephants, clowns stuffed in undersized cars, and a ground covered in popcorn and peanut shells, but I am not. I was bred, raised, and trained to fight in arenas. I AM the person that entire companies fought over so that I can be their face, their media star, their main event, a battle won by the Coalition. THEY may be the people who find themselves fighting in avenues where the stench of funnel cake permeate the air, but I am the person who gets plastered on billboards so that the all-important sell-out happens. And while by no means do I always find myself in the winner’s circle, champions and members of halls of fame have found that the nature and nurture of wrestling in me has created an opponent with shockingly effective skills.”
She stops suddenly and points a finger at the tall man with the smarmy face, the “sire” of the trio.
“I am QUITE aware that people like you and Baal think of yourselves as the intellectual mastermind of the world, as people who pull the strings of the puppets to watch them dance. I am QUITE aware that you guys delight in seeing your shenanigans cause change both in your own house and the world at large. But, oh Grand Poobah of the Chris Angel Fanclub, or whatever the fuck people like you and Baal are,, allow me to give you a small spoiler, something to which will cause you to clutch your pearls and be in need of pulling out a wedgie:”
Sarah looks around, her eyes shifting with the spirit of conspiracy, and leans forward.
“...I’m smarter than you both…”
She giggles...which Loralee thought was an odd sound, especially muffled through the mask...and gives him a wink.
“Final dose of reality for you guys, and I hope that Gabriel Baal hears this through the ether or whatever dumb shit he’ll rip off from a book written by a more talented man and bastardized to make him seem smart to his peers: I’m faster. Slicker. Smarter. I have more talent, drive, and pedigree. And when people like Baal stand next to me? The entire world will realize that, yes, whereas I am the glittering diamond meant to characterize and represent this business, whereas I am the future role model of an entire generation of women wrestlers, he and his newfound buddies really are just the bearded lady, or the contortionist, or even just the clown making balloon animals before slipping on their banana peel.”
Loralee finds herself blinking several times again as the awkward silence stretches on the lawn of the condo, until she finds it within her to break it.
“So, when are you moving in?”
The pale one gives her a smile and shakes her head.
“Oh, we’re not moving in. This is just for work! Ya see, we work in Chicago on Mondays...well, not EVERY Monday, just most of them...like, about 28 or so Mondays across the year...and we’re tired of staying at the Waldorf, and-”
She sees the foursome in black slink away to their own condo next door, no doubt to pray to Satan or whatever, and shakes her head in confusion.
“Wait...you’re just planning on being here once a week? And not even every week?”
“What? No! That would be silly! We’ll be here on Tuesdays, too. We fly in on Monday...well, drive in, these days...we find it MUCH easier to just roadtrip it from SoCal during this whole pandemic situation...work Monday night, rest on Tuesday, and leave Wednesday after we break our fast!”
Loralee had always had a good head for numbers, and the math involved flew through her mind.
...about 28 or so Mondays…plus Tuesdays…
56 days out of the year.
A million dollar condo.
If they did this for 10 years, it would cost them nearly $1800 a night to stay.
“We are going to save SO much money this way, huh Beloved!”
“Makes sense to me, babe!”
A part of Loralee’s soul died as they finished signing the papers.
x1
x1
x1
x1
x1