Post by Cupcake on Jul 4, 2017 1:27:07 GMT
“I always expect it to be different. Most of the time, I’m bitterly disappointed.”
Aurora stepped into view, with a rush of sound. It was Summer, nearly the Fourth of July. They were doing Taste of Chicago, and ahead of her out of range of the camera was her unmistakable husband Legacy, who somehow managed to be intimidating even dressed for the heat and cradling his over a year and a half old baby daughter. He fussed with her sun bonnet, and Rori’s lips quirked in an almost gentle amusement. Next to him was her stolen wife - a long running joke stated that she had stolen Talon Wilkinson’s wife Aubrey Jessica Parker but how could one steal what was always theirs? There would be fireworks on the Navy Pier tomorrow, and they’d be back again then. She loved fireworks, nearly as much as the children did and Legacy always indulged her. Some things did not change, seemed immutable, even though she herself knew that wasn’t necessarily so. But things were happening now.
Things that had happened before, over the bridge of centuries. Familiar faces, memories of past lives, echoes out of the Abyss, telling her that there was a reason her more latent talents had been getting a workout as of late. Visions were gathering, and she’d spent far more time on the white side of the gray line helping others than she had done in years. It was an odd feeling.
“What is there that I have to say to you, you jumped up caricatures of what Hollywood thinks Italian manhood is? You sweat and you strut and you pump iron and you talk like the man that gave you the lasting impression of what manhood even is, was Andrew Dice Clay - who I’m sure would be just thrilled that he’s somehow become immediately relevant in 2017 for an act he started in the late 80’s. This though, isn’t The Adventures of Ford Fairlane boys. Tony Tira and Geno Fortliti, even with Frankie Starlight hyping you up, you will never sell out Madison Square Garden two nights in a row for anything you did with your lives, even if it was nothing more than your very pathetic and very public executions.”
A hint of a smile touched her full strawberry-glossed lips, and she looked down at her open laced gladiator sandaled feet as she walked.
“I will give you this, and understand it for the gift it is. At least none of you cried like bitches on social media after I laid into you with Black Betty. You can now have half a man card back. Cherish it, because I guarantee you that Masaru Inoue and I will be snatching it right back at Redemption 110… the show you guaranteed that you’d be taking our titles on. The show you swore would be the end of our title reign. Right before you went right back in the slime pool that pathetic lives are lived in when you’re off camera. You, to a man? You want to call me any little name you can think of that in your tiny teeny brains would somehow demean or diminish me, because you’re not used to a woman being better than you in every conceivable way at what it is she does.
Bimbo was cute, though it really cemented my argument that you’re somehow genetic throwbacks - or a trio of dinks who somehow found a time machine that works. Well sort of works since it’s obvious you left what little brain matter that was rattling around in those bone cages you call skulls back in the past. Calling Masaru a tranny, a China Doll… look, we get it. No one is going to kink shame you, and it’s like I’ve said before, it’s hardly his fault he’s prettier than any tail you could pull without paying for it. Step out of the closet boys, and pretend this is your safe space.”
She smoothed her fingers over the fine gauzy material of her baby-doll dress, peach and white which made the color of her amazing green eyes pop vibrantly.
“You seek to get in our heads, get under our skins. It’s something men like you do, when you know that you have no advantage in any other way. But you don’t fucking listen. You think that you are all somehow the baddest men on the planet, but you aren’t. For all your muscle, roided or no, for all your so-called brutality, for the way you style yourselves as gangsters… you want to believe that nothing can overcome you when you have something you want to steal. Because let’s be frank here - stolen glory is all the three of you will ever have.
Mostly because you, while sunk balls deep in the past with your clothing, speech, behavior and hygiene, refuse most piggishly to learn from it.”
Rori adjusted her braid under her own summer hat, the sunlight making little pinhole shadows on her lovely pale skin and she smiled soft again.
“I won’t apologize to any of you, for what’s about to happen because Masaru and I have warned you over and over again. You three have been told to take a step back and unfuck yourselves with haste, and you came back with a wheelbarrow full of ignorance to sling about with a shit-covered shovel instead.”
She shrugged, one shoulder lifting up almost idly.
“People know who I am, Tony and Gino. This year alone I represented the United States of America in the World Crown Cup series. I vastly enjoyed that opportunity, and there are so many others laid out, it’s literally like a banquet. Ahead this Summer, I’ll be facing Molly Reid in an Iron Woman match and there’s more to come. People know who I am, and they come out to face me wherever I choose to go. They know that I carry the battle standard of Phoenix Wrestling and it’s a proud thing in my hands.
I never ask for fear. I only ask for the fight, and they line up to give it to me. The reason I tell you this? It doesn’t matter to them, if I am World Champion, Rebirth Champion, Tag Team Champion… or carrying no title at all. They still want to fight me, because of who I am and what I’ve done. You fools, seek to belittle me at every turn, speak down about Masaru like you can’t see him for the hell hound he IS. You do this because you will never be what we are, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how long you stay in wrestling - that is, if you don’t actually end up in the nearest Federal Pound Me in the Ass Prison for your criminal ways.”
She tipped her head back slightly, getting a better view of what was ahead of her, and then smiled.
“I’m sure that you’ll all squeal like little piggies, and say that I’m underestimating you and what you can do as a team. You’re wrong. We’ve been in the ring with you, we know how to put you down, and we will put you down hard. Really, we have no choice in the matter.”
Legacy was ahead again, getting some sort of sweet for Nicoleta as Rori caught up with Aubrey who was lifting and lowering Rhiannon much to the delight of the toddler. Sticky hands reached for Rori, and with practiced ease she had a wet wipe in hand to clean them off before she gave her a ‘high five’.
“Not much longer now,” she breathed out the words quietly as a small crease appeared between her dark brows, dark as raven’s wings against her pale skin. “He’s fighting it. I mean, he always fights it but this is something different. This isn’t like it was when we were fighting Mark. Even though with Rebel back and in his right mind again… I don’t know. It’s like getting the ice cream you ordered but someone’s changed the recipe.”
She looked at him, so tall and strong even at his age. The shining pure white of his hair didn’t make him look any older, though Rori wondered if that was simply because it had always been that color, for as long as she’d known him. For a moment, the light haloed around him as he turned just enough as he was giving Nicoleta bites of an elephant ear pastry that Rori got a good look at his face and all the sound dropped away as every face he’d ever worn throughout the centuries shuffled over, changing and changing like a magician with a deck of cards. Phaeroh. Borgia. British Lord. French Aristocrat. Spanish Conquistador. Viking Prince. Nazi Killing Loup Garou French Freedom Fighter. Wendigo. General of Alexander’s Army. She let out a breath she didn’t even realize that she’d held, feeling the slightest bit dizzy and then time seemed to catch up with itself and the sound was back.
Aubrey’s voice, asking her if everything was alright. The flash of faces, of those she held dear like Arkia Fisk, her babies Aria and Ashley, of Heather Lasiewicz whom she hadn’t failed yet. Ashlyn De Luca, who had once been her bitterest rival. Ana and Sophie, light and dark. Tommy Evans, who would be her tag team partner for Dynamic Duos. Wulf Erikssen, who had become someone she trusted. Her lips stayed parted and a look of wonder came to her face as she turned to her closest. Her dearest friend.
“You know, Aubbie, how people like to prattle on about a storm coming? Like it’s almost trendy to do that.” Nervous energy went over the raven haired woman and she gently patted Rhiannon’s head as she made eye contact with Aubrey.
“They always say that, Aubbie. But they never say what it is or what’s going to happen and I wonder why. I mean that’s the important thing isn’t it? Knowing that the storm is coming is great but what do you do? What’s next?”
Aurora trailed off, her gaze going back to her husband and her baby, the little girl laughing as he tickled the tip of her nose. Her voice came back shallow, soft. A bit too soft.
“We need to make some calls baby. Because that storm is here.”
Aurora stepped into view, with a rush of sound. It was Summer, nearly the Fourth of July. They were doing Taste of Chicago, and ahead of her out of range of the camera was her unmistakable husband Legacy, who somehow managed to be intimidating even dressed for the heat and cradling his over a year and a half old baby daughter. He fussed with her sun bonnet, and Rori’s lips quirked in an almost gentle amusement. Next to him was her stolen wife - a long running joke stated that she had stolen Talon Wilkinson’s wife Aubrey Jessica Parker but how could one steal what was always theirs? There would be fireworks on the Navy Pier tomorrow, and they’d be back again then. She loved fireworks, nearly as much as the children did and Legacy always indulged her. Some things did not change, seemed immutable, even though she herself knew that wasn’t necessarily so. But things were happening now.
Things that had happened before, over the bridge of centuries. Familiar faces, memories of past lives, echoes out of the Abyss, telling her that there was a reason her more latent talents had been getting a workout as of late. Visions were gathering, and she’d spent far more time on the white side of the gray line helping others than she had done in years. It was an odd feeling.
“What is there that I have to say to you, you jumped up caricatures of what Hollywood thinks Italian manhood is? You sweat and you strut and you pump iron and you talk like the man that gave you the lasting impression of what manhood even is, was Andrew Dice Clay - who I’m sure would be just thrilled that he’s somehow become immediately relevant in 2017 for an act he started in the late 80’s. This though, isn’t The Adventures of Ford Fairlane boys. Tony Tira and Geno Fortliti, even with Frankie Starlight hyping you up, you will never sell out Madison Square Garden two nights in a row for anything you did with your lives, even if it was nothing more than your very pathetic and very public executions.”
A hint of a smile touched her full strawberry-glossed lips, and she looked down at her open laced gladiator sandaled feet as she walked.
“I will give you this, and understand it for the gift it is. At least none of you cried like bitches on social media after I laid into you with Black Betty. You can now have half a man card back. Cherish it, because I guarantee you that Masaru Inoue and I will be snatching it right back at Redemption 110… the show you guaranteed that you’d be taking our titles on. The show you swore would be the end of our title reign. Right before you went right back in the slime pool that pathetic lives are lived in when you’re off camera. You, to a man? You want to call me any little name you can think of that in your tiny teeny brains would somehow demean or diminish me, because you’re not used to a woman being better than you in every conceivable way at what it is she does.
Bimbo was cute, though it really cemented my argument that you’re somehow genetic throwbacks - or a trio of dinks who somehow found a time machine that works. Well sort of works since it’s obvious you left what little brain matter that was rattling around in those bone cages you call skulls back in the past. Calling Masaru a tranny, a China Doll… look, we get it. No one is going to kink shame you, and it’s like I’ve said before, it’s hardly his fault he’s prettier than any tail you could pull without paying for it. Step out of the closet boys, and pretend this is your safe space.”
She smoothed her fingers over the fine gauzy material of her baby-doll dress, peach and white which made the color of her amazing green eyes pop vibrantly.
“You seek to get in our heads, get under our skins. It’s something men like you do, when you know that you have no advantage in any other way. But you don’t fucking listen. You think that you are all somehow the baddest men on the planet, but you aren’t. For all your muscle, roided or no, for all your so-called brutality, for the way you style yourselves as gangsters… you want to believe that nothing can overcome you when you have something you want to steal. Because let’s be frank here - stolen glory is all the three of you will ever have.
Mostly because you, while sunk balls deep in the past with your clothing, speech, behavior and hygiene, refuse most piggishly to learn from it.”
Rori adjusted her braid under her own summer hat, the sunlight making little pinhole shadows on her lovely pale skin and she smiled soft again.
“I won’t apologize to any of you, for what’s about to happen because Masaru and I have warned you over and over again. You three have been told to take a step back and unfuck yourselves with haste, and you came back with a wheelbarrow full of ignorance to sling about with a shit-covered shovel instead.”
She shrugged, one shoulder lifting up almost idly.
“People know who I am, Tony and Gino. This year alone I represented the United States of America in the World Crown Cup series. I vastly enjoyed that opportunity, and there are so many others laid out, it’s literally like a banquet. Ahead this Summer, I’ll be facing Molly Reid in an Iron Woman match and there’s more to come. People know who I am, and they come out to face me wherever I choose to go. They know that I carry the battle standard of Phoenix Wrestling and it’s a proud thing in my hands.
I never ask for fear. I only ask for the fight, and they line up to give it to me. The reason I tell you this? It doesn’t matter to them, if I am World Champion, Rebirth Champion, Tag Team Champion… or carrying no title at all. They still want to fight me, because of who I am and what I’ve done. You fools, seek to belittle me at every turn, speak down about Masaru like you can’t see him for the hell hound he IS. You do this because you will never be what we are, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how long you stay in wrestling - that is, if you don’t actually end up in the nearest Federal Pound Me in the Ass Prison for your criminal ways.”
She tipped her head back slightly, getting a better view of what was ahead of her, and then smiled.
“I’m sure that you’ll all squeal like little piggies, and say that I’m underestimating you and what you can do as a team. You’re wrong. We’ve been in the ring with you, we know how to put you down, and we will put you down hard. Really, we have no choice in the matter.”
Legacy was ahead again, getting some sort of sweet for Nicoleta as Rori caught up with Aubrey who was lifting and lowering Rhiannon much to the delight of the toddler. Sticky hands reached for Rori, and with practiced ease she had a wet wipe in hand to clean them off before she gave her a ‘high five’.
“Not much longer now,” she breathed out the words quietly as a small crease appeared between her dark brows, dark as raven’s wings against her pale skin. “He’s fighting it. I mean, he always fights it but this is something different. This isn’t like it was when we were fighting Mark. Even though with Rebel back and in his right mind again… I don’t know. It’s like getting the ice cream you ordered but someone’s changed the recipe.”
She looked at him, so tall and strong even at his age. The shining pure white of his hair didn’t make him look any older, though Rori wondered if that was simply because it had always been that color, for as long as she’d known him. For a moment, the light haloed around him as he turned just enough as he was giving Nicoleta bites of an elephant ear pastry that Rori got a good look at his face and all the sound dropped away as every face he’d ever worn throughout the centuries shuffled over, changing and changing like a magician with a deck of cards. Phaeroh. Borgia. British Lord. French Aristocrat. Spanish Conquistador. Viking Prince. Nazi Killing Loup Garou French Freedom Fighter. Wendigo. General of Alexander’s Army. She let out a breath she didn’t even realize that she’d held, feeling the slightest bit dizzy and then time seemed to catch up with itself and the sound was back.
Aubrey’s voice, asking her if everything was alright. The flash of faces, of those she held dear like Arkia Fisk, her babies Aria and Ashley, of Heather Lasiewicz whom she hadn’t failed yet. Ashlyn De Luca, who had once been her bitterest rival. Ana and Sophie, light and dark. Tommy Evans, who would be her tag team partner for Dynamic Duos. Wulf Erikssen, who had become someone she trusted. Her lips stayed parted and a look of wonder came to her face as she turned to her closest. Her dearest friend.
“You know, Aubbie, how people like to prattle on about a storm coming? Like it’s almost trendy to do that.” Nervous energy went over the raven haired woman and she gently patted Rhiannon’s head as she made eye contact with Aubrey.
“They always say that, Aubbie. But they never say what it is or what’s going to happen and I wonder why. I mean that’s the important thing isn’t it? Knowing that the storm is coming is great but what do you do? What’s next?”
Aurora trailed off, her gaze going back to her husband and her baby, the little girl laughing as he tickled the tip of her nose. Her voice came back shallow, soft. A bit too soft.
“We need to make some calls baby. Because that storm is here.”