Post by Cupcake on Apr 28, 2017 17:13:11 GMT
There’s a soft, silky sound as a cloth is removed from a camera set on a tripod. The soft sound of a light wind is picked up by the microphone, and the camera is adjusted to best focus as it’s centered on the leggy form of Aurora, currently one half of the Phoenix Wrestling Duos Champions, Hell Is Waiting. She’s perched on the hood of a top of the line completely tricked out Land Rover, black and pink of course, legs crossed at the knee and her foot in its black Nike with the custom pink swooshes bounces as she picks at the feathery threads around the completely out knees of the worn jeans she has on. They’re worn through wear and not fashion, she’s never been the type to pay five hundred bucks for something she can just do herself. Her unzipped hoodie bears the logo of her team, the words clear even bisected, and the black t-shirt underneath is a vintage Emily the Strange one. Her dark hair is up in a high cheerleader’s ponytail, the ends curling in that light wind as she turns her amazing green eyes to the camera. For a moment it looks like she might smile, then she sneers. Billy Idol would be proud of this look, if he saw it.
“People assume they know what we meant when we chose Hell is Waiting for our tag team name. But people assume a lot of things, don’t they? Disguise and dress up their ignorance in clever quips and think we’re too stupid to see the blatant disrespect. There is nothing wrong with confidence dearies, nothing wrong at all… if you can back it up. That’s a big and blatant if, and it’s one that I can in fact point and chant shame at you for implying for an instant you can really and truly try. Talk tough all you like but at the end of everything it’s just talk. The Collective - I was curious you know, where you’d come up with that name until the moment you two tried going in on Masaru and I on Twitter. Couldn’t let us have a moment to enjoy the fruits of our labor, couldn’t let us simply celebrate for an instant what we’d worked so hard to get before you started braying but let me tell you, all you did there was let me know that if I had some Philistines that needed slaying that I’d need look no further than the pair of you for the jawbone I’d need to do it.
You didn’t make us afraid, Tony and Geno. You just made us resolved.
Tony, let’s be blunt - you and Geno are not the brains of your particular outfit. Frankie? There’s a guy who could really be a contender. You two? Look, I’m sorry that your creepy Uncle/Cousin/Inbred Housebound Grandfather gave you two the bad touch, okay? We all don’t get the choices we want in life. But just because bad things happened to you, and it’s clear the only females you’ve been with are whores or blow up dolls dressed as whores, doesn’t give you the brains to really insult wrestlers like myself, and Faith. You stumbled into this shit because you thought it’d be cool and you probably for all your BLAH BLAH BLAH couldn’t hack it in boxing or MMA, not against ‘real fighters’. You were just tough enough to make your local street kids wet themselves at the thought you might shove a fist into an orifice that you figured hey, why not wrestling!
I won’t even get into the fact that you’re probably jerking off right now to one of the posters the company put together of Masaru and I because he’s prettier even covered in bruises and cuts than any female you two could pull. Oh… wait… is that why? Is that why you go at how he looks, call him a tranny, try and belittle me and denigrate me by referring to my tits instead of my career? You hapless, hopeless little motherloving horsehumpers! That’s so sad, that it’s very nearly crossing the line back into hilarious! When you’re done sucking each other off over the ‘sick burns brah’ that you tossed my and Masaru’s way, get your heads out of your ‘Collective’ asses and get serious? MAYBE then, I’ll look at you as more than a really bad stereotype of some really proud and worthy people.”
Amusement danced in her luminous eyes as she lifted a hand to partially cover her mouth in a classic ‘oh no’ motion before she dropped it to toy with the zipper fob on her hoodie. Her tone softened ever so slightly as she looked down, then up under her lashes at the camera.
“It’s been a long time coming, I’m not sure that The Collective nor Chris Andrew has a clue about that even though I’ve made it crystal clear. The longer that Masaru and I had to wait the more determined we became, the more the conviction we had as a team that the Duos championships would be ours. While it’s not the same as the tag team gold that I held and never lost - believe me the irony of this hasn’t escaped me, that it would be the loophole used against me - it is now. It is the future. Masaru and I intend to elevate these titles because that is what we do. People want what we have, and always have done it. You’re not going to ever convince me otherwise because all the evidence shows it’s the truth.
We are champions, gold or no gold. Right now, we have achieved our goal, and I promise all four of you this, now that we’ve got it we don’t intend to let these go. This is our proclamation, and you all know, whether you’d admit it or not, that when we say we’re going to do something, we do it.”
She lifted her hand and pointed dead at the camera, her look one of mild curiosity at best, and a hint of patience that she’d clearly lacked before.
“Chris, I want you to understand that I’m not talking down to you, because you’re new and you’re like a sugar addicted fat kid in a candy store with Daddy’s black AMEX card right now. I keep an eye on you. I see what you’re doing, where you’ve wrestled, and who. Same with Faith and her work at RISE - which obviously? I’m one of the trainers and I had best be more than aware of what she’s doing there. Beyond that, it’s been stressed by both her and I that we’re friends, and we’ve not been the kind to let what happens during matches tear that apart. Faith’s outlook is harder than yours Chris because what we do here, what she does in her career, it’s all she ever wanted to be. She has her dream, in her hands, and yet… oh and yet. There’s a ticking time bomb, there’s an expiration date, there’s a finite amount of time which she can actually do it.
Faith understands, more than you ever have and may never be capable of, exactly what Hell is Waiting means.
When you work as hard as she has, and she truly does - it’s not just a clever little thing she might Tweet just because some of the other up and comers do it to try and prove dedication. She puts her all into every match and that’s why I believe it hits her so hard when she doesn’t achieve her goal. Chris, you… Tony and Geno too, may never burn with the resolve that she has tucked in her heart, her truest desire when it comes to this sport, this thing that we do.
Faith above all, wants to defeat me. No matter what pretty words she might say about what it would mean to hold gold in Phoenix Wrestling again for her, no matter what she might say to Chris about sticking with her and getting these Duos titles from Masaru and I…? She would in fact desire that win over me more than those titles. She is at war with herself because of this - she respects me, she feels love and friendship to me, and yet… there’s that yet once more… there’s a part of her that I know feels that I am sarcastic, egotistical, condescending, and bitchy. She’s been programmed to think that by society at large though, it’s hardly her fault. The same sort of people that have a go at her on Twitter when she’s ranting (though give her credit she’s worked hard on reigning that in lately), or venting or kvetching, whatever… those same people that shrug and say she’s just on her period or she’s hormonal - dismissing her just because she’s female. It’s bad enough that society does this to us, we need to stop doing it to ourselves and it’s virulent.
If I’m humble despite all of my accomplishments, well that must be fake and I’m really wanting pats on the back. If I’m confident, and stand up for myself? I must actually be arrogant and egotistical and want everyone to bow down to me. How about you suck my clit if that’s how you feel? I’ve worked very hard to get where I am. I’ve had broken bones, I’ve been shot at, I was injured and deliberately put on the shelf for over six months, I worked my fucking ass off to come back and prove those people wrong and GODDAMN did I ever do it!
But let me be proud of what I’ve done for an instant? Fuck her, that egotistical cunt!
You think I don’t SEE THAT?
But I digress. The truth is, I should be furious about all this, but I’m not because it doesn’t change who I am, what I’ve been able to do, and I know it comes out of a place of coveting. A win over me, a motivated me? It still means something, and every fucking one of you knows this. It’s taken me years to move my singles losses to a point where I had to bring in my other hand. There have been six people in Phoenix Wrestling to do it since I first signed up all those years ago. Can you even comprehend what that means? Let me give you something else to chew on.
During that period of time, no matter who my partner was I have never lost a tag team match. This lends a weight to this match, even sterner than that of the Duos titles that Masaru and I hold so dear. They are our reward and our validation for who and what we are as a team, and we not only survive in chaotic situations like this Tables, Ladders, and Chairs match will be… we thrive. Ask Faith about me in the Pentagram and what I did to Exile afterward. What I endured, what I was willing to do.”
Aurora took a deep breath, pushing up with her hands on the hood of her Land Rover and jumping down to land on the hard pack of the dirt shoulder of the road she was parked by. The asphalt was black as pitch, the lines glowed white even in the overhead sun, and she paused a moment as a car full of teenage kids roared by and catcalled her. She rolled her big eyes and turned back to the camera.
“Tables. Ladders. Chairs.
This isn’t a fucking street fight, this is pure chaos confined to the surrounds of a wrestling ring and we’re doing it in Mexico. You don’t really comprehend what that means, not yet. You’ve been busy trying to tear down Masaru with the same words that Rowyn Starr flung at him, or even worse the more mangled version of the same that spewed out of Mason Daniels’ foul maw, acting like he’s less than he actually is because it would be more comfortable for everyone to believe that I snap my fingers and he heels for me like a dog. He’s no dog, he’s a Hound of Hell and that’s so far and infinitely above what you try to make him be when you belittle him, that the gap couldn’t be crossed by the Golden Gate Bridge.
I would would tell you to Believe - but you’d be idiots beyond compare if you didn’t already. Masaru Inoue and I are walking into this match in Guadalajara Mexico as your Phoenix Wrestling Duos Champions and it’s going to be beyond anything you four can imagine… save again, Faith. Tony and Geno, we have your measure. Chris, yours as well. Faith… I know in your heart how badly you want this. But you need to understand, stop and think. After all I’ve endured, as badly as you want this?
I never stopped.”
The text message was from one of her closer friends:
Why did you drive? LOL girl part of being rich is being able to fly anywhere.
She’d cracked up and sent back:
Why do I do anything? Because I can.
I wasn’t always rich, and sometimes I miss the old days. Cut me some slack.
She’d stopped to get gas, and something about the desert, the station and those colorful little plastic flags flapping in the wind made her think of the movie The Terminator. The original and best one, of course, and it was somehow making her feel an intense sort of deja vu even though she’d never actually driven this way before. Aurora felt under the seat for her hidden stash, clever fingers floating over the Bowie knife in its sheath that was snapped to the metal frame there, dancing over the square shape of the carrier for her ‘riot level taser’ to find the money clip and fish free a few bills without removing it from the spot it was nestled safely in. Usually she’d have just paid with her card but these pumps, while clean were older and didn’t have an auto card reader. That was strange enough, but as she swung her long legs to get out of the Land Rover, she was momentarily blinded by a flash. What in the hells… She blinked and there stood a small boy with an honest to gods Polaroid camera and she felt that intense feeling of deja vu again.
I must actually be at the hotel and watching Netflix or Hulu or some shit. No way in hell is this actually happening.
...though if I’m dreaming where’s my German shepherd.
The boy offered her the photo and she told him to wait while she paid for her gas after locking the door to her vehicle because while she had a big heart (especially for kids) she wasn’t born yesterday and she knew perfectly well what you can be driven to do if you’re poor and haven’t eaten in a couple of days. She came back out with her change and a few bottles of water and a canned coffee drink, the boy still waiting there and she slowed down as she focused on him, seeing things that she hadn’t the first time because of that flash.
He was just a little… off from the rest of his surroundings, a beat, a tic out of synch. His shadow was a bit too long, a bit too dark, even with the sun overhead. She was surprised that she hadn’t immediately felt the chill she generally did around ghosts, and it made her just a little more wary.
He spoke to her again, his voice holding a more ethereal quality now that she saw him for what he was.
“Sé lo que eres, bruja.”
“No, not that. I am Rom. What is it you really want?”
She watched him carefully and he grinned just like a little boy his age would, and asked her for money. Her dark brows went up and with a shrug she extended a fiver towards him.
”Mira el camino por delante. Está lleno de cosas ocultas.”
The bill vanished as did the boy, and the photograph he’d taken fluttered as it landed on her right sneaker. With a sigh she bent and picked it up, her brows going up as she looked at the image it contained.
Well well, that’s interesting.
She unlocked the driver’s side door and tossed it into the passenger seat before she moved to pump the gas she’d paid for. The wind caught it, making it flutter before the corner of the photo caught the edge of her carry-bag, sticking it in place. The image was Aurora as she’d opened the door and stepped out and down, of course. But it wasn’t just Aurora, the shining eyes of a dark sable and black dog gleaming behind her as the spectral form peeked up out of the door from the middle set of seats. Aurora had had a dog that looked like this once, and he’d passed away. To this day, she never spoke of him or what happened, and she wondered as she put the nozzle back and closed up the cover to the gas tank why he was here, why now after all this time? It had to be him, he definitely wasn’t one of the hellhounds that she joked about - even though it was hardly a joke, or joking matter.
It definitely gave her something to take her mind off the match ahead of her, while she drove ever closer to it. These sorts of things were never just mere coincidence after all, and Aurora hoped that she had the time to figure out just what was about to happen that could be so bad that it warranted something like this.
Word Count: 2971