Fais dodo: La femme sans honneur Jan 13, 2018 20:41:41 GMT -5
Post by leborddedieu on Jan 13, 2018 20:41:41 GMT -5
The girl shivers as bodies make contact with hers..
“Oh...how I have missed this…”
The strong French accent gives odd emphasis on the words, at least to the ears of the people around her. A few women dot the crowd like stars amidst, a void, but that void is massive. A void of flesh. A void of pale and fatty skin, of sweat, of unkept neckbeards, of unsteady breathing.
A void of wrestling fans.
The woman giggles as she is pushed and shoved around, fat fingers occasionally making contact, the sweat from their bodies coating hers. Her body convulses at the feeling, even making her shiver, but the giggle rises above her revulsion. Just like the scars hiding under her long sleeves of black, the smooth and the ragged fill her.
“Aller! Aller! Get on with it!”
Dark eyes look down from her vantage point, down from the balcony filled with the fat men who have left their seats for a better view. Down to the seats below, rows upon rows, and to the square structure in the center. A man in a striped shirt climbs into the ring, followed quickly by a pretty woman carrying a microphone. The woman with the dark eyes smiles, more giggles slipping from her, as the lights go off and music begins.
“Finalement! Give me her fire! Give me her energy!”
The woman giggles and cackles as the mass around her moves, that sweaty and heavy-breathing group of sad wrestling fans, each clamoring to see their favorite stars. Her eyes light up as the Ruin Sisters make their way to the ring. They light up as Alex Jones makes his way to the ring. And her entire body tingles with delight as the final person enters the ring, a curvy blonde with part of her face painted.
“Show me, Lukas! Show me why I should care!”
The crowd around her oohs and awes as the match gets underway, their emotions and bodies swaying back and forth with the flow of the match. But the woman’s face slowly falls from an elated smile to an annoyed grimace.
“Qu'est-ce que c'est?”
The match doesn’t unfold how she expects it to. Alex Jones is full of fire...one of the sisters are full of fire...but not the other two in the match. Alicia Lukas, as well as one of the sisters, hardly moves.
“Where is your fire, Lukas?!"
In the ring, the team of Jones and Lukas fought to a victory, with a white towel being thrown into the ring to end a painful submission move applied by the former, but there was a murmur all around the woman. Small comments of "Alicia was off" and "going through the motions" fill the air.
"THIS IS WHAT I CAME BACK FOR?!"
Her loud voice is followed by a scream, high and piercing, that forces away the mass of sweating men around her. Awkward glances are thrown her way, all unnoticed the by woman with the greying hair, and more than one of the men jump back as she slams her fists into the guardrail.
"Non! Non! I did not come back to fight someone who has no fire! I did not come back to fight someone so lazy! I DID NOT COME BACK FOR THIS!"
Another slam down onto the guard rail.
"Look at her! She moves like a sloth! Like a whale! Where is the excitement? Where is the fire?!"
She slams her hands down again and again, the group of people standing around her and staring growing.
"The man who runs LAW said that this Lukas woman was one of the best in the world! He said that she was unstoppable! Champion! Legend! But all I see is a fat cow how lets others do the work for her! All I see is a fat cow who is only rivalled by that Ashley Williams woman!"
She turns quickly and, hand whipping out, grabs a nearby wrestling fan by the shirt and looks up into his eyes.
["Look at this cow, mon enfant! So busy fighting with women over social media! So busy being in a pissing contest with her ex husband...while the world laughs at them both! So busy being sinful with her latest fiance...and next former lover! So busy playing Barbie with people that she has forgotten to promote this match in Honor! She has forgotten that she has to fight to win!"
She turns away from the frightened wrestling fan and back down to the scene below where Alex and Alicia embrace and raise their hands for the crowd.
"YOU WILL NOT HAVE SOMEONE TO WIN FOR YOU ON SUNDAY!"
Her screams are swallowed up by the cheers from the Honor Wrestling crowd.
"YOU WILL NOT GET AWAY WITH BEING LAZY ON SUNDAY! NON! NON! THIS WILL NOT WORK AGAINST THE ULTRAVIOLET!"
She turns away, her pale face turned down in disgust, and storms away from the balcony and towards the stairs. As she does so, her coat of rags slip and show her face fully, a woman with deep lines of worry around her eyes and mouth. Near the edge of the stares, a man's eyes go wide as she walks by, a man pale skin and dark hair. The follows her as she slips down the stairs, follows her as she pushes past people looking to buy souvenirs from the Honor Wrestling show in Connecticut. He follows her as she slips out a back door and watches her walk down the streets, rain pouring down upon her. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone, dialing a number. He watches her disappear into the night as he speaks into the phone.
"I just saw her, sir. Yes, sir. I am sure."
“Fais dodo, Colas mon p'tit frère”
The thick accent fills the cold warehouse as before, her voice scratchy and worn. An old violin, the paint flaking and with several of the strings missing, rests in her hands.
“Fais dodo, t'auras du lolo”
She swirls around the room, her voice rising and falling with the sweet French lullaby, fingers capped by dirty nails lightly tapping on the remaining strings of the violin, discordant notes adding their accompaniment.
“Maman est en haut
Qui fait du gâteau”
She stops before a small pile of white and brown feathers, the remnants of a recent meal, and suddenly breaks into giggles. She takes one hand away from the violin and reaches into her raps, moving about until pulling out a stuffed chicken. The chicken, no doubt a family member of what was certainly a filling meal roasted over the fire in the middle of the abandoned warehouse, was clearly poorly stuffed, the taxidermic work hastily performed. The eyes had been shown shut, one set of stitches cleanly applied, with the other eye being far more coarse. Many of the bird’s feathers are missing, splotchy skin showing underneath, and the bottom beak is nowhere to be found.
“Papa est en bas
Qui fait du chocolat”
She sings as sweetly to the bird as possible, but then her voice turns harsh and shrill at the end. She falls into giggles once more and then plops down to her bottom, crossing her legs so that the broken violin can rest within them.
“Do you need sleep, petit oiseau?? Do you need rest?”
She giggles again.
“We all need rest, petit alouette. We all need time to think. I have had so much. SO MUCH. SO MUCH REST.”
Her eyes turn dark as her voice rises in anger.
“So much rest...because...BECAUSE...of l'enfant démon. L’ENFANT DEMON! But I am awake...I AM OUT!”
She suddenly slams the chicken to the ground. A second time. A third.
“Years! Years, petit poulet. Years I was sleeping. Years I was dreaming. Dreaming of him! Il est ressuscité! Years because of her. Mais maintenant! Now I am free. Now I am free to spread God’s worlds. Now I am free to rip...to tear...to HURT! TO KILL! I AM THE ULTRAVIOLET!”
She cackles, her laughter coarse and angry.
“And you know who needs sleep now, mon enfant? That wretched Lukas woman. Oh yes...oui oui...she who shall be forever known as la femme sans honneur. The woman without honor. Oh, I am sure she uses her sinful ways to attract the men. I am sure she smiles and giggles and brings the lusts of many. But honor? True honor? She has none. So...sleep. Yes...yes...she must sleep."
She lets out a few giggles.
"But you know what the best part is? She thinks that she will win. She thinks! She thinks! She sees herself...her beauty...her muscles...in the mirror and thinks that she will win! That titles are important! That ANYTHING that is not him is important. Il est ressuscité! But we know better. Oh yes...yes we do. All that matters is hurting. Causing pain. Crushing. Tearing. CUTTING! I am the edge...the knife...the blade of God. Je suis le bord de Dieu!
The woman turns the stuffed chicken in her hands and holds it close. Her fingers moves gently, caressing the part of the beak still present, and coos to it with small sounds.
“Fais dodo….fais dodo…”
Her face goes from serenity to anger and she suddenly twists the chicken’s neck, her hands going in opposite directions from one another. The neck snaps violently. She holds it up to her head, her face turning back to serenity once more. She leans forward and presses her lips to each eye and gives a tender kiss to each.
“L'étreinte de Dieu. Into the embrace of God. Into my embrace, Lukas. Yes...yes...into my embrace...and into deep sleep you will go.”
She drops the chicken without another thought, picks up the broken violin, and plays a few more discordant notes.