Post by Boardwalk Angels on Feb 5, 2018 18:40:18 GMT -5
“Life gives you little reminders from time to time, little humblers… things that force you to step back, slow down and consider what’s really going on. And I’ve been getting a lot of those lately in the form of nightmares. I’m not keen on sharing what goes on in my head 99% of the time and for good reasons; I’d rather not have people looking to shut me away in some mental hospital, for instance. To the point, though? I was being… courted… a while back and rejected the advances. After a few months with nothing to speak of in terms of contact, I thought the matter was settled. And I was wrong. Now it… they… she… whatever. It’s back with a vengeance. But the claws didn’t get into me last time and they won’t this time. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
* February 2nd, 2018, late-morning *
* Cornett Enterprises *
* Fort Wayne, Indiana *
* February 2nd, 2018, late-morning *
* Cornett Enterprises *
* Fort Wayne, Indiana *
”There’s no such thing as downtime in the world of the Boardwalk Angels. If we’re not in the ring, we’re pursuing numerous other pursuits. The grass doesn’t get a chance to grow under our feet because we’re always stomping the yard somewhere. Zoey has her soon-to-be-revived Las Vegas Sorcery shows on top of continuing her education and, of all things, joining Katalina’s Foxy Boxing company. Crystal lives up to her Silver Screen Queen nickname, too; girl’s always got a script in hand… even in the locker room sometimes. And with good reason. And me?”
Farrah’s voice speaks via voice-over, removed from the moments shown the world starting with her situated in her office at her husband’s company, holding court with several other executive types while marking up a large whiteboard with the most erratic flow chart you’ve ever seen. Near at hand, a young lady of Arabic descent constantly looks from her laptop screen to the board to Farrah and back again, her fingers near a blur as she types away. The other besuited or beskirted people in the room speak out from moment to moment, told by gesture rather than sound since the scene is somewhat muted, which prompts Farrah to keep adding to the board.
The Jersey Hellcat stops to take a call, bringing for the first time a pause to the young lady’s typing. There’s a lot of nodding from Mrs. Cornett and some whispers passing between the others in the room… then Farrah hangs up and her comment gets everyone up in arms, though in a good way. Switching from blue ink to red, she scribbles something else on the board and draws a big circle around it. Even the older fellows in the room are high-fiving at this, caught up in the enthusiasm. Whatever the news is, it must be big.
”I finally feel like I’m hitting my stride. No one where I came from ever thought they’d see me in the position I’m in now. Not so much in terms of wrestling because the world agrees that this Jersey Hellcat was born to fight. But this executive setting, placed on the upper floors of a midtown high-rise draped in power suits and directing the lives and careers of so many people as well as an entire division of a multimillion dollar company? Never saw that coming. Not me, not anyone. I still question my husband handing over the keys to the place like he did, to someone with no experience in business.
And yet… here we are. The poor photobug from Trenton with the bad attitude pulling the strings of an entire network… making music with her new band… helping raise a family… trying to do right by everyone who believes in me. And those are the off days, kids.”
By now, the others in the room are talking amongst themselves and the young lady with the laptop is on her feet, approaching Farrah… a Farrah who’s suddenly wide in the eye and a bit rigid. The view moves now, looking over Farrah’s shoulder, showing a figure cloaked and masked in red, walking down the hall beyond the glassed wall of Farrah’s office. Her hand clenching tight around the papers she’s holding and the young assistant, seeing this, gently shakes Farrah’s shoulder. At this point, their conversation becomes audible.
”Hey, boss! You okay there?!”
Genuine concern comes through the woman’s faintly-accented voice. Farrah blinks and looks again… and the red figure is gone. Shaking her head a little, she turns to the woman with a small smile.
”Lack of sleep has me seeing shit. Sorry, Esme. Can you take the minutes from the meeting up to Mr. Cornett’s office, please? I’ve got to make a few calls and nail down some appointments.”
”Of course. And afterward?”
Chancing a look out into the hall again, Farrah sees nothing but other employees moving about coupled with the constant rings of telephones. There’s no masking her relief.
”An early lunch.”
”Yes, ma’am.”
Esme hurries out of the room, catching a few eyes as she goes. The dark hair and dusky skin drew attention and the athletic figure kept it where Esme was concerned, but she had eyes for no one and nothing other than matters of business. It was one of the reasons Farrah hired her: focus.
The scene shifts then as the sound is mitigated once more, turning to a point a few hours later in the day in front of the elevator in the parking garage. The environment is still for a bit as the voice-over cuts in again.
”How fortunate I am isn’t lost on me, nor is where I came from and where I am at this very moment. I firmly believe that when you come from nothing, everything that you earn means something, no matter how small. People out there, some of them anyway, see myself AND Zoey as arrogant when we speak with pride about our streak and out title reign. More power to them if that’s what they think, but they’re patently full of shit and you can quote that. We’ve earned the right to pride through focus, dedication and out-working damn near everyone in LAW and elsewhere. People take that as arrogance and want to throw shade, though. They shut up quickly enough when we kick their tails in, though.”
A soft ding sounds and Farrah steps from the elevator, a calf-length leather coat wrapped around her athletic figure which is still draped in a dark crimson skirt and jacket. Each step clicks potently thanks to the heeled leather boots she wears as she makes a beeline for the minivan parked elsewhere in the lot. The weather being what it was… it wasn’t a good idea to bust out the bike. Soon, though, she told herself. The moment spring hit, she’d be on two wheels and roaring down the street at every opportunity.
”Honestly, though? At this point I’m starting to wonder how long Zoey and I can keep this up. Every damn team in LAW has crossed our path at one point or another and every single time we’ve put them down hard. Multiple times in some cases. It’s not who’s next at this point. It’s more like… who’s left? The Boardwalk Angels are treading water and the opponents are starting to blur together. No new teams are stepping up and you know what happens when you start repeating opponents: stagnation sets in. Branching out into Rose City? That will only help so much. We’re literally three weeks from having a year-long tag title reign right now and with Rising Stars close on the horizon we got no damn idea who we’ll even be facing for the straps. Or if we’ll have a match. That kind of shit is anathema to any team wanting to stay at their best.”
Reaching the van she remotely unlocks the rear door and opens it, letting it rise slowly. Sliding her bags off her shoulder she sets them down in the back when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees something that grabs her attention. Fluidly, a black object drops into her right hand, a flick of her wrist extending it into a steel baton about a foot and a half long with several sharp clicks. She whirls, weapon raised… but there’s no one there.
”Motherfucker…”
Grumbling, she collapses the baton and puts it back into her jacket. Upon turning back to the van, she sees a red box resting there and a brow elevates. It clearly wasn’t there before… or was it? Did she just miss it in her hurry to get home? It’s possible. Farrah picks up the package, shaking it gently but hearing nothing. Opening it with due caution, she finds a slip of paper, taking it out and holding it up to read it:
”Sacrifice… or else.”
Red ink on black paper, no less. Farrah stares at it for a few moments, her entire body tensing, before she crumbles up the slip and shoves it in her pocket, throwing the box down on the concrete floor beneath her boots.
”Mother… fucker.”
She stares coldly at the paper for several moments, gloved hands tightening into fists.
”But in the end, it doesn’t bother me. Zee and I keep ourselves sharp, facing one another if there’s no one else to spar with and taking bookings elsewhere to maintain our readiness. Hell, it’s not like this situation is new to us. We didn’t know it’d be the Queens of Wrestling at Night of Glory, either, and they got put down to the point where they left the damn company. Figure that one out after all the smack they talked.
Funny I should say ‘smack’, though, isn’t it? Because we’re about to face one of the biggest smack-talkers in LAW and on Twitter in a few days: our very own Crystal Hilton. And believe me when I say this, kids: the match will NOT be pretty, friendship be damned.”
Shutting the rear door, an agitated Crimson Angel walks around to the driver’s side, gets in and slams the door shut behind her. In moments she’s started the van up and rolled out of the space. Where it once rested stands that red figure once again. It turns and walks off after a few moments, not even a pair of eyes visible behind the polished crimson mask.
“It’s easy to say that, though, isn’t it? Not a day passes that I’m not seeing weird shit out of the corner of my eye while having multiple people ask me where my head is. Esme does it, my husband does it… hell, my kids do it. I sleep like shit and spend too much time in the gym, working myself to the point where I don’t sleep so much as pass out for a few hours from working so hard. And that ain’t healthy. It leaves me ragged to the point where I have to suck down at least two cups of Death Wish to get alert again. And then? Then comes the worrying. I’m getting it from Eliza, from Zee, from Emelie… from damn near everyone. That just makes it worse because now it’s affecting people I care about. It isn’t their burden to bear. I can’t let it get to that point.”
* February 4th, 2018, late-evening *
* HT2 *
* Fort Wayne, Indiana *
When the cameras turn on proper, Farrah is already in sight and seated at the bar in one of the local Fort Wayne establishments. The place has a nice little industrial vibe while at the same time being a bit homey… the kind of place where you’d chill for a few drinks with old friends. Except that Farrah is alone even to the point where the closest customer to her is several seats down or a few tables over. It is as if the woman has a fuck-off vibe going that keeps others from getting or staying too close to her. Her long hair is down, spread over her shoulders and down her leather-clad back, jeans and red Chucks comprising the rest of her attire. From the looks of the several empty glasses near her, she’s been here for a while.
Perhaps, though, the drinks aren’t alcoholic. Or at least not heavily so. Farrah seems stable and her voice gives no indicator that she’s intoxicated; no slurring, no missed words. So she is either high on Shirley Temples or the fire within is just burning off the booze before it can screw with her. Neither idea is good. When she notes that the red light is blinking away, she starts to speak.
”Gonna get right to it here, ladies. And Seleana, for what it’s worth, I apologize in advance. I know how much you’re looking forward to this match and I don’t want to be the one to dampen that excitement. You’re getting to team with your lady for the first time and, on top of that, you’re getting to square off with the best tag team in LAW history. That’s a big deal and I want you to enjoy the experience as much as possible. But your girlfriend? Our fellow Boardwalk Angel?”
Shaking her head, Farrah signals the bartender. He brings over a glass and fixes a concoction that’s a muted green in color with a bit of lime in it. She thanks him and takes a sip, licking a few stray drops off her lips before finishing her thought.
”I’m afraid that she’s not going to like this at all. And Crystal, you’re bringing it on yourself. I want that damn clear.”
Lifting the glass again, she holds it close to her lips but doesn’t drink. She has yet to look at the camera.
”I love you, girl. I really do. Bringing you into the fold was a great choice on our part and I don’t regret it. But I’m not gonna blow sunshine up your ass; you have an attitude problem. If you want to snap off at your opponents and hold that title of yours up high, daring someone to come knock you down and take it… hey, more power to you. But lately, you’ve been trying to spit fire not only at Zoey, but at Stacy as well. Now, I’m not putting words in Stacy’s mouth. She can step up and speak her mind if she chooses. But I’ve seen the tweets and heard the talk. And bringing the shade down on your own teammates? That’s bullshit, girl, and you fucking know it.
Zoey brushes it off because that’s the kind of person she is. She chalks it up to your competitive fire and as it being some kind of side effect to people always hating on you and your accomplishments. And I can see that to a point. Zee’s trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. She sees the good in you, same as the rest of us most of the time. But when it comes to Stacy, you had her wanting to up and leave the group with your outburst a month or two ago. Remember that? What the hell was up with that, Crys? Zee had to make you apologize for that shit when there shouldn’t have BEEN an apology because you shouldn’t have barked off at Stacy in the first damn place.”
Finally taking that sip, making it a short one, Farrah puts the glass down with a soft thump causing the ice to clink softly against the sides of the container.
”What I’m about to say next is probably going to hurt your feelings a little, Crys. I’m not going to apologize for that. Not now, not later. You know what I’m about by this point. I’ll tell you the truth no matter how much it hurts. We all need a friend like that and you’ve got two of them, so consider yourself lucky.”
Chances are that line came off harsher than Farrah intended but she didn’t slack her verbal stride for a moment worrying about it.
”You shouldn’t be facing us at LAW #77. For that matter, Sel shouldn’t be either though that’s for a different reason. Fact is, that little guinea punk-ass Maria put a hurting on you. By your own admission you’re concussed. And you’re slotted to face the best team in LAW alongside a young lady who, while talented, is only on her second match here. Why Megan and Lucas signed the bout knowing full well the state you were in I don’t claim to know. But they did. Just add that in with your asking Zee and myself to go easy on you and I’m thinking… this is going to be a very bad night for both of you.
Go easy, Crys? Please tell me you’re kidding with that. We don’t go easy on anyone. Friends, family, legends, rookies… we’re all go, all the time. We’re not going to willfully try to hurt you or make the injury worse, but we’re not holding back because the bosses aren’t giving your welfare enough consideration and because you’ve got too much pride to back out of the match. Which is what you should be doing, like it or not. For the sake of your health, though. That’s the ONLY reason. I’m not questioning how good you are or what you’re capable of in this, so don’t twist that shit after you hear this. It’s my concern for your well-being and the thick skull you have. Concussions end careers, Crys. None of us want you on the shelf for any reason.”
She traces her finger around the tip of the glass, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath. She’s trying to calm herself down but that percolating fury within her is rising to a boil, like it or else.
”Respect is the reason why. You’re the Marquee Champion and a veteran here in LAW. And you’re an Angel, too. Anything less than our best is doing you a disservice. Not only you, but the group as a whole. Add Sel into that as well, while I’m thinking of it. Her and the women she rolls with, they’re all about being all-go, all-the-time whether you’re talking about music or wrestling or whatever else. She no doubt expects that of us. You should expect it, too, because we damn sure expect it from you.”
Lifting and downing the glass this time, setting it down heavily and signaling for another, Farrah shakes her head, almost snarling in irritation.
”Gonna be a lot of pressure on you at LAW #77, Sel. Crystal isn’t gonna be able to go full-bore no matter what she might tell you, the doctors or the bosses. Concussions are no joke. That means most of this match is in your hands. A lot of pressure to put on a young lady, I know, but that’s life. The training wheels are off and you’re riding the expert course with the LAW World Tag Team Champions. There’s a lot on the line here for both sides. Zee and I have been undefeated for a year now and we’re not ready to end that streak.
The first team that does beat us in the middle of that ring? They’ll have a rocket on their back and probably a shot at the gold in short order. I know you’d love that to be you and Crystal. What could be better than going after the tag titles with someone that you care about so much? And winning them? That would be a large cherry on top of a big-ass sundae. Admit it, Sel: you’ve dared to dream about that already. I don’t blame you. I would too. Except I’m living it and have been for 344 days now.
But it isn’t happening. With Crystal at her best I’d say you two had a shot. But if the head wound doesn’t handicap her, that damn pride of hers will. And I’m fully expecting her to fire back hard at me for what I’ve said. I haven’t been kind about her situation over the last several minutes. Again, though: it’s what she needed to hear. Zoey’s too sweet to say it with weight and Stacy, well… she’s not around right now. So you’re stuck with the bitch of the team laying down the law. Sorry… not sorry. It needed to be done, as I said. Might as well have been me.”
Getting her fresh drink, Farrah stares into the glass for a few moments, then finally turns to the camera. She’s about to speak when her phone rings and, upon checking the screen, we can see a picture of Zoey on the caller ID. Farrah hesitates… then puts the device on silent without answering.
”No… not here. Not now.”
Shaking off her concerns, she’s back to the camera again.
”It’s no secret that I’m not at my best right now, either. Maybe all these hard words are going to come back and bite not only me, but Zoey as well. I’m not sleeping well and everywhere I look I’m seeing shit. In the ring, though, it all seems to go away. Tomorrow night, we’re going to cut ourselves a piece of Eliza Coheed and Izzy Van Doren before they proceed to kick the tar out of the Beautification Movement up in Rose City. It’ll be nice to face a team that we actually have some respect for instead of loudmouthed bitches who think they’re Queen Shit of Fuck Mountain for once.
And no, that wasn’t a veiled shot at you two. You’re practically family.”
Scoffing slightly, she downs the drink in one gulp this time. Turning from the camera, she pulls a few bills from her pocket and drops them on the bar. The bartender turns, signalling her, but Farrah brushes him off curtly.
”Got a ride coming, big man. No sweat.”
The camera follows as she turns and walks out the door, into the chilly night, hands going into the pockets of her jacket as, for the last time, she stares into the camera.
”Families fight, though. The fight at LAW #77 is going to be an ugly one. I’m not going out there to hurt you further, Crys, and neither is Zee. We ARE going out there to win, though. I hope when the time comes you have enough sense to stay down and not get yourself into more trouble than you want. Sel… talk some sense into her. Help her see. Be the voice of reason. I don’t need more blood on my conscience.”
Leaving it with those foreboding words, Farrah strides forward as a cab pulls up to the curb. Opening the rear door and getting in, the camera follows the departure of the yellow-and-black vehicle before the feed fades to black.