Post by Deleted on May 15, 2017 3:14:18 GMT -5
Fools and children would believe that what stands between us is an issue of family. An issue of Cornetts and Greys. Of Bombshells and cover bands. But that is not the case. Not at all. The viewers of this company may well believe that LAW is the issue, or that we are just two women wrestlers trying to find our place in the wider world of wrestling. But we know better, do we not, Kate? We know what this is about. What this is REALLY about.
Jedi vs. Sith.
This may seem silly, for those fools and children, but we understand the truth of the matter. This is a battle of differing ideals, a battle of right and wrong, a battle of perceptions.
Gamer Girl vs. Professional Wrestler.
Those fools and children will understand the truth of the matter, though. For your lies? Your tainting of truth? It ends in one week. It ends at Validation. It ends with MY validation. It ends with everyone understand what REALLY happens when we stand face to face to no gimmicks, multiple competitors, or GODDAMN EXCUSES in the way.
Cosplayer vs. Fighter.
Fools! Children! Listen to the call of truth! Lend your ears to the cry of reality! Bass is a woman who will spend three hours sending 140-character snippets over and over calling you delusional or psychotic, over and again trying to convince the world that woman of true strength and integrity are but walking falsehoods, but runs and hides for days when faced with truth. She will give voice to the cry of “ZOMG YOU DIDN’T WIN THE TEH TITLE SO YOU IZ LOSR!” yet when truth is brought to bear, when she is reminded that it is SHE that was pinned by a GODDAMN REPORTER...and a bad one, at that...she runs and hides for days.
“Welp, time for another stream session!”
“Welp, time to take more half-naked pics as fictional characters who are way more badass than me!”
“Welp, time to piss off my girl and then jump headlong into a bottle and let the whole damned world know about it because: WOE IS ME LIFE IS PAIN!”
Bass vs. Lacklan.
I will not…will not...WILL NOT LOSE TO A GOD DAMN GAMER GIRL
THIS is reality, Bass. THIS is what is facing you. No amount of admittedly witty gaming comparisons, allegories, or references are going to save you this time. Hell, they didn’t save you the last time! YES, those witticisms helped you defeated Ash Scion. YES, you were able to shock people, including me, in doing what you said you were going to do. But what happened after that? What happened when you had to face people who actually have the ability to back up what they claim, unlike Rotred, who has since banished into obscurity?
You failed.
And you did not just fail.
You got your ass kicked.
By me.
Mind you, you were not the only one. I fucked up EVERYONE in that Hardcore Scramble match in Fucking Awesome. Kick after kick, I took EVERYONE down. And that included dropping you into the Abyss. Lesson learned, of course: Do not let Cassandra Baumer take a nap in the middle of a match. After dropping you into the Abyss, but before I could pin your scrawny shoulders to the mat and rape of you of your legacy, she jumped me from behind, blasted me with that light-damned chair, and threw me into the cage. And then she pinned you.
Good fuck, she pinned you MINUTES after I dropped you on your head. I KNEW you lacked stamina, I called you out on it during the weeks leading up to the match. But come on! I hit that reverse DDT what might as well have been YEARS before Cass pinned you and you STILL didn’t kick out! Maybe if you played less games and fucking TRAINED more this would not have been a problem!
But! BUT! That IS the problem, is it not? You lack the stamina. You lack the drive to train enough. You lack the ability to get the calories in you, to build that body. You lack the focus to work on the craft. You lack EVERYTHING that matters to be a wrestler.
*I* am what this business is about. *I* am the one in the gym for hours a day lifting, running, and hitting the ropes. *I* am the one doing the media, the interviews, the podcasts, driving sales and getting attention on our sport. *I* am the one making promotional videos both poignant and artistic so that the world understands who and what we are. *I* am the one fighting the world across the world, fighting anyone and everyone, setting the whole damn world on fire.
*I* am the one who is going to be winning this match, dearie. *I* am the one who the world is going to raise their eyebrows at and say, “Well, shit, looks like we have a new person to obsess over now.” *I* am the one who will be validated.
And you?
You?
You will be gone from this company, gone from any company worthy of note, gone back into a hole of obscurity. You will be back to your furry conventions and you painful cries for attention. You will be back to a world of human pets and your sycophantic circle jerk of followers who wine and dine on how many people hit that little like button. You are NOT driven, dearie. You are NOT dedicated. You are NOT what this business needs. This business needs warriors and fighters they can be proud of, warriors and fighters who hold the ideals and importance of the business above all else. You? You are a wrestler about...what...a third of the time? Maybe even only a fourth? THAT is not what this business is about. THAT is not what brings the people to watch us. THAT is nothing but an insult to what this business is about.
I am here to banish you to your much deserved obscurity forever, dearie. That pit of yours is deep...very deep...but the Abyss?
The Abyss is deeper.
~~Monday, February 8th, 2017~~
“FUCK!”
The expletive is screamed and followed by a heavy thud, but no one in the gym bothers to turn towards the source. The people within the GrayFoote Academy L.A. gym, employees and gym rats alike, have been listening to this four a couple hours thus far and had grown accustomed to it. There HAD been quite a bit of fuss when the little blonde girl had stormed in, her gym bag over her shoulder, and had pushed everyone out of the classroom so that she could have the room for herself, but it did not last long. The red eyes blazing out of a pale face had become infamous in the area, in particular when joined by high-pitched screaming that often accompanied the gaze, and so they gave her little in the way of contention.
Now hours later, Sarah Selena Lacklan is an exhausted, sweating mess. Dressed in her usual workout attire, a pair of black shorts which hold tightly to her and a sports bra that leaves little to the question of her shape and size, each covered in black and orange flames, her bright white skin drips from her exertion. Platinum hair is pulled back into an elaborate braid, a braid prepared by her handmaiden before leaving the apartment hours ago, and not a line of her usually-heavy makeup is on her face. She breaths hard as she stands on tapped feet, her respectable bosom rising and falling with heavy breaths, her entire body shaking. She grits her teeth, the two rows of perfectly straight teeth gleaming, and a growl rises out of her throat. She sets her feet and then launches a side kick into a long bag hanging down from the ceiling, her toes pointed, and connects with power, sending the back swinging back and forth.
“Damn it!”
She sends a fist into the bag, the “sick right hook” as she and Kenzi like to call it, and spins away, feet stomping hard down on the buffed wood floor. She stalks to her bag and pulls out a bottle of water, bringing it to naturally ruby lips in order to quaff half of its contents in one gulp. Sarah takes this moment of reprieve to look at herself in the long mirror taking up the entire wall of the gym’s classroom. She flexes her arms and small bumps show themselves. She shakes her head and curses her genetics.
“All of my muscle is in my legs.”
Her Londoner accent is high and airy, very light. A hopefuly lover once said that it was, “as if a choir of angels were ready to sing at all times.” That bit of flowery language had piqued her interest, and she had used him for a time, but she had discarded him quickly and without the ending he had been quite looking for. Those ruby lips curl into a smirk as she remembers the boy from Maine who found himself in a very different position from what he thought he was going to be. Not quite the person bent over the couch that he thought was going to be!
Sarah turns her right leg and flexes, watching her quad and hamstring pop. She shakes her head, her braided tail bouncing back and forth.
“I should have kicked more. But NOOOOO….I had to try beating Ashleigh with a fuckin’ PUNCH.”
She paces around the room, heels clomping on the floor, talking to herself.
“I cannot BELIEVE that I lost to her. FUCK! And then let that goddamn REPORTER get in my head!”
She skips over and sends another kick into the back, setting it back to swinging. The effort nearly makes her knees buckle. She glances up at the clock on the wall. 8 PM. She had been here for three hours. She had lifted, probably lifting too much in the process, and ran for an hour. And had been in here another hour. Kick after kick, punch after punch.
“FUCK!”
Another kick into the bag, a sweeping kick with all her muscles flexed, her leg like a treetrunk slamming into the bag. Her left leg does give out this time, the knee wobbling and sending her to fall on her butt. With a grimace on her face, she futily kicks at the back from the floor, though she is nowhere near close enough to actually make contact.
“Stupid bag.”
A loud DING! issues in the air and she crawls over to her bag and fishes out her phone to see a text.
Kenzi: Don’t forget the ‘love bites!’
Sarah smiles widely, her eyes nearly tearing. It had been a very long 24 hours for both of them, but Sarah’s promise of “chocolate love bites” had kept them both in good spirits. Fingers with nails lacquered black with red and orange flames flash like lightning across the phone’s keyboard.
Sarah: No worries! Be home before you know it!
Putting her phone back in the back, Sarah stands back up and faces the punching bag.
“Fight the world across the world.”
She sends a kick into the bag.
She was chasing after her father’s legacy, something she knew he would want to her to. He had traveled the world to fight everyone and everything and had taken her with him on most of her adventures. Her entire life was filled with memories of far off places, of different cultures and skin colors. There had been may points and stares at the two of them, the hulking masked man and the red-eyes little albino girl, but they had always been together, always them. Oh, they always had various Minions and Denizens with them, of course. And her Godfather had been there for a lot.
She sends a kick into the bag.
But those days were over. Father? Passed on, gone to seat at the Creator’s side with his Beloved, with the mother Sarah had never met. Now it was her turn. Her turn to fight the world, to go wherever the fight was. Oddly enough, there were as many points and stares now as there ever was. Now the stares were at the red-eyed albino woman and her television star of a companion. A year ago she never would have believed she would be in a same-sex, interracial relationship with someone who grew up in what might as well be a different world, but there they were. Fighting the world. And losing.
She sends a kick into the bag.
It was not Kenzi’s fault, of course. Hell, Kenzi had been running roughshod over LAW for the last few months and no one knew how to deal with it! But her? Not so much. Some early success while tagging with Melissa Reeves, and a high-quality win over the veteran Drew Emerald, but it felt as though the losses were stacking up. Failed attempts at titles in multi-person matches followed by straight losses to Tyson Greggory and Ashleigh Jericho. Did she not have the stamina to do this? Did she not have the stamina to fight the world?
She sends a kick into the bag.
So many fights coming up. Honey Sunshine in the Elite Cup. Synn Tolson in Defiance. Teaming with Mel in Vegas. Teaming with her “buddy” Edaeya in the UK. Kate Bass in LAW.
She sends a kick into the bag with a snarl.
Kate Bass. Not a loss, not really. Her name was not on the list of wins she promised herself to take back. But it still irked. That gamer girl spewed her poison, pushed her agenda across all of social media and had her little group of equally idiotic friends there to tout her views, and it drove Sarah mad. She could not WAIT to rip Kate’s stupid face off!
With a scream, she sends a kick into the bag and her left knee buckles and gives out again, sending her back to the floor. She screams in frustration, screams at her aching muscles, screams at her failing energy. Was she not good enough? Could she not be the warrior she was destined to be? Could she not make her father proud?
She looks up at the clock. 9 PM. Still time. Still time to train. Still time to push herself. But she would out of energy. She crawls over to her bag and searches through it, finally pulling out a red vial with a black rubber stopper. She holds it up to her eyes, the powder within matching her irises.
“Did you do that on purpose, Father? Was I your DRIVE?”
She pulls the stopper free and brings the vial to her nose, sniffing gently, enjoying the sweet smell. The powder did not taste like much, was not designed to be ingested that way, but the scent was everything that mattered. The powder smelled of lavenders. Turning the vial, she empties the contents into her hand, the fine powder blazing brightly in contrast against her skin. Her mouth begins to salivate as she looks at the powder, at the DRIVE, and her eyes shine.
“I will make you proud, Father.”
Lowering her face, she uses one lithe finger to press against one side of her nose and snorts the powder in one go with a long sniff.
“FUCK!”
She slams a fist into the hardwood floor and drums her heels as the drug shoots into her system, the powder stretching and reaching for her brain. The pain passes quickly, however, as euphoria replaces it. Sarah’s skin tingles, feeling like it is on fire. She feels like she can hear better, can hear the plates clanging into the ground louder than before. Opening her eyes, she feels as if she can see the room in finer detail, feels as if the colors are brighter, the lines straighter.
She is DRIVEN.
Leaping to her feet, she feels as if the muscles no longer make their protest of pain, feels as if stiff joints have found lubricant.
She sends a kick into the bag.
* * * * * * * * * *
A night shift security guard saw the commotion as it happened. Closing time had come and gone at the gym across the street from the bank he worked at, but Clyde saw the big men haul out a little ball of white and take her outside. He nearly spat out his coffee when he saw that little ball, a woman, start kicking and swinging fists, all the while yelling and screaming at the people who worked at the gym. He couldn’t tell what she was saying, not from across the street, but it had to be filthy considering the reactions on the faces of the gym workers.
Even after the gym doors had been closed on her, the little woman screamed and hollered at them, no doubt cursing them, flipping them off and making numerous crude gestures towards her crotch. He had no idea who the woman was, but he figured a description sent over to The Baumer Report, a website dedicated to sports rumors, would yield a result. Maybe he would even get his name mentioned in it! Janus would like that. She would be proud of that.
* * * * * * * * * *
Sarah silently slips her key into the lock of the apartment she shares with her lover and turns it slowly, doing her best to embrace her inner ninja. Her phone had died and she knew it was late, very late, and she did not want to wake Kenzi. The DRIVE in her system made her forehead sweat and her hand shake, but she was able to focus and get the door open. She slips into the room and stops dead in her tracks, her anxiety racing.
Kenzi was asleep on the couch.
"Fuck!"
Her exclamation was only a whisper but she cringed at how loud it was in the silence of their apartment. Looking up at the grandfather clock on the wall, she sees that it is nearly 2 in the morning, many hours since she said she would be home.
"Oh, baby."
She makes her way over to Kenzi and grimaces. She had not even changed for bed. She must have fallen asleep while waiting for Sarah to come home with that promise of chocolate and thinly-veiled suggestions of love-making. Shaking her head, she places her arms under Kenzi and hoists her up, cradling her dark lover in her arms and makes their way to their bedroom.
"I am so sorry, baby. I fucked up."
She gently lays Kenzi onto their silk-laden bed and carefully strips her, getting her down to her underwear so that she may be comfortable. She knew Kenzi only had a couple more hours of sleep before her alarm went off for her next full day of training and working on her studio. Sarah slips into their bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror. She does not look good. Red eyes are sunken, her high cheekbones poking out to make her look something like Skeletor.
“I will not fail.”
Her whispered voice is harsh. She had yelled and screamed at the walls for the gym for 20 minutes before her tantrum had played out. She had stomped and screamed, she had almost nearly dropped to the ground to pout! And now she was tired. So tired.
“I will not fail. I will be strong. I will have the stamina. I will beat Kate. I promise...I promise...I will beat Kate and everyone that stands before me. The world. All of it.”
Sarah changes quickly and joins Kenzi in bed, their arms immediately entangling as they are wont to do. She presses her lips to Kenzi's ear before closing her red eyes.
"I am sorry, Beloved."
~~FIN~~