Post by Cupcake on Jul 29, 2017 22:25:30 GMT
OOC: Just like the CD posted before, it was on the old boards - and is relevant.
February 25th 2014
Dayton, Ohio
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I'll wait here.”
Soft words, spoken in the lee of shadows created by the back stairwell that led up to the rectory's exit door. The shadows were deep here, the waning crescent moon overhead not casting enough light to break their cover to prying eyes. They'd parked up the street, but even so this particular suburb of Dayton had seen better and more affluent days than this. This church would be hard pressed now to number its worshipers in the dozens let alone the hundreds. They had a cleaning man, who doubled as a night watchman but he left at precisely two-thirty A.M. Even if he had been there, he wouldn't have likely done much to stop either of them. He'd been working there for years, and drink was the least of his vices. There was a small light over the top of the door, but the light it cast was even weaker than the moonlight if that could be imagined, but there was a moment as it shone down that it did reveal the identity of one of the two who were speaking.
A raven-haired beauty, unmistakable with her full lips and wondrous green eyes. In some circles she was famous, and her merchandise sold well enough that even if someone didn't know her name they might be filled with that feeling of...I know that woman.
The man however, there'd be no confusion on him or his name were there to be anyone to witness them standing in the stairwell. At seven foot tall, even he'd bothered with a hat to cover his signature white hair, he'd have been known on sight. Legacy's fame spanned decades after all, and with that it would be easy to figure out that the person with him was his fiancée Aurora Jansen. Who was answered, but why...? What drew this pair, the darker Romeo and Juliet (spoiler: in their version everyone else dies), from their home in Chicago to this place that Aurora had suffered her childhood in? A chill wind piped up the stairs, even with the clapboard of the church serving as cover on one side, and a strand of her hair had worked its way free of the braid she'd woven her hair into. That big hand of his lifted, and he tenderly moved that strand to rest behind her lovely ear. That smile of hers lit her eyes, and he knew it was just for him. People that knew him in the past, or more knew of him and his reputation, well earned that it might be, would likely never believe that a man, a monster like him could touch anything and not destroy it. After all, its how he'd made his fame. He was ruthless in destruction, and let nothing be used against him long. With this man there had never been leverage, at least not for long.
But this one, he loved. He'd chosen her over blood-kin, made her his family. Asked her to marry him, and she'd joyfully accepted that proposal, though he'd known she was his without it. From the start, she'd told him. That she was his, from the very start. But woe to those that might think to try and use her against him, to injure her to get at him or back at him. She might be as beautiful as a flower, truthfully. But there was poison to her, there was a core of darkness that would let her defend herself. She was a survivor, and she intended to stay that way, so to speak. The one that accepted him as he was, and didn't make the mistake of trying to separate the man from the monster because she knew the truth. There was no mere man behind those emerald eyes of his, and she never flinched, never begged him to change. Aurora just wanted Legacy, with no demands or coercions, as is.
They say that if you have the faith of a mustard seed, you can move a mountain. Imagine then, what someone with the will and yes faith, of Legacy would do for the woman he named as his own.
A slight sigh passed those full lips as she turned toward the door, Legacy watching with curiosity as his Rori produced a Gerber knife from the pocket of her jeans, those hip-hugging lowrise jeans she favored that did nothing to conceal the fine curves of her form. With a practiced motion she opened it and proceeded to pop the lock on the door with a...nearly...criminal ease. Replacing the knife she turned and then went up to her tiptoes, even so he'd had to bend down to accept her little parting kiss. She paused at the door and gave him a little wave, waif-like and almost heartbreakingly sweet. If you didn't know what she was capable of, something like that would certainly lead someone to underestimate her truth strength, her true core of determination.
Her running shoes barely made even the tiniest squeak on the polished tiles of the floor. The small side hallway leading from that back outer door to the larger hall that would lead toward the main floor with all its pews, the altar, was clean enough. Cleaner it turned out, than the main hallway. There were scuffs on tiles that had once glowed with polish and a sense of entitled righteousness. Aurora paused as she looked both ways, she was sure the building was empty of living witnesses, but it never hurt to be careful. It had been years since she'd been there of course, and who knew. Something else might have taken up residence in the interim. Black tile, white tile with the scuffs showing even darker than the faded black of the tile before. A rhythm to her nearly-silent steps, where once upon a time she'd played a little hopscotch and discovered something about herself that changed everything.
My name's Danny. I'm six too!
She paused, just a few steps from the hallway that led to the little room that held the Baptismal Font. Even this far away she could sense him, and his energy was low. Flickering. It wasn't fair. She drew in a hitching breath, that sort of tightness coming over her as she felt the burn at the back of her eyes of tears that wanted to come. He was only six. He'd never be a day over six. They wouldn't listen, not to the doctor that said to keep him home. They could have skipped a week of church, and she could have had an older brother to look up to, that would have protected her. A tiny quirk of her lips came and went then, as she lifted a hand to wipe the tears that wanted to fall out of her eyes. Or he could have been a little prick and picked on her worse than the other kids she went to school with. But the tragedy was, she'd never know. They had chosen to keep up appearances, coming to church to have their son baptized in a faith Rori was sure they'd never truly believed in. She'd found that newspaper clipping years later, and she knew that moment was what led her to be so vicious with her mother years later when she'd come seeking money from her now-rich daughter.
He was only six, drowned during a febrile seizure during a failed baptism. Daniel Aaron Jansen, cold and lonely and waiting.
“Danny. Danny come on out, it's me. Aurora, remember? Your baby sister.”
There was a pause, and then as she exhaled a cloud of frost came from her parted lips, the temperature in the hallway dropping that dramatically and just that fast. Glittering, almost beautiful. A rime of frost appeared on the black tiles, and he was there. He looked transparent even to Rori, but he'd gathered enough to make himself visible for her.
“You came back.”
Rori took a breath, her full lower lip quivering and she lifted her hand up to her eyes again.
“Course I did. Danny, I think you know why.”
He seemed to think about it, as she crouched down so she'd be on his level though she was pretty sure he saw her not as she was, but as the blond-haired six year old she'd been. She knew better, than to do what she did next but she couldn't help herself. She held her arms open and he took a few hesitant steps and then flung his arms around her neck. Rori felt the pull, the taking of energy. But he managed not to take too much despite how drained he was. She lifted her hand behind him, and it seemed her fingers grabbed at the empty air, making a fist and she...wrenched something only she could see.
Her tears froze to snow as soon as they dripped from the point of her chin, from how cold the hall was.
“Don't cry, Rori. I just...didn't know how to let go. Love you sissy. Wish...wish I could have come to your wedding...”
His little hand resting on her own, touching her ring.
Then he was gone, and the temperature slowly climbed back up to the 60 degrees it was set at. She went from a crouch to plopping her fine backside on the tiles and just...breathing. The tears came of course, and she patiently wiped them away until she was sure she could stand. Interacting directly like this always carried a risk, she knew that. But this had to be done, it should have been a long time ago. He would have gone, but he didn't know how. She hadn't banished him, she'd set him free.
Outside, Legacy waited, patiently for him. He'd taken a lighter out of his pocket and was giving some deep thought to setting the building on fire after Rori came out. This was taking too long, and not because of the idea that the police might come. Just as he turned to go inside for himself, she emerged. Her pale skin showed the tracks of tears, the reddening on cheeks, chin, and the tip of her nose from the extreme cold. She looked tired, and he didn't hesitate to step forward and gather her up to him to better warm her up.
“Now that you've done this...I have to ask. Why not send the others on too. The ones that follow you around.”
Rori nestled in close to his chest, her breathy whisper coming up to his ears muffled just a bit.
“One step at a time.”
==
It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.
Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy
==
February 28th 2014
Blog, published on aurorajansen.net
Déjà vu. I'm sure that you both know what it means, that it's from a French concept, or in Ashlyn's case that they made a movie in 2006 with that title.
But to the simplest degree, it means feeling as if you've experienced something before. Anything can trigger that feeling, a smell or even a turn of phrase and your mind tricks you into thinking that you've been there, been through something before. Sometimes it's even traumatic. I'm sure that you're both well aware by now what I'm implying here. I mean really was I so far off on Twitter when I said that your team should be renamed Snack Sized?
That's not really fair though, since neither of you had much of a say in what your team was called. I mean as far as things like that go, International Edge really isn't that bad. It could have been so much worse. So you lucked out on the tag team name lottery, go you. The problem really lies in the mechanics of this situation. On paper this might not look so bad. Pat's experiencing a bit of an upswing, he's getting out there in things like Survive and Conquer, getting himself noticed, and he broke away from Necessary Evil. That was the smartest thing he could have done. Ashlyn is on her second taste of gold with the International title, a title she defeated Pat to gain... oh my. Imagine me with a Cupie Doll grin right now and my index finger touching the corner of my lips if you would so indulge me.
But you know for all that, Ashlyn has shown a level of concern for your well-being Pat that you should be a little more grateful for. Sure, she's an annoying twerp with a penchant for trying to talk hipper than a hipster, all she's missing are the lensless glasses and a tweed hat, right? Sure, she talks about things she thinks she knows on Twitter – taking a bit of truth and twisting it to what she wants, colored by perceptions she gained from someone else that didn't actually go through it either. I wouldn't go so far as to call her obsessive about things, even though that's the most likely and viable explanation for her actions, isn't it? I mean I wouldn't say she was at warning level Fatal Attraction, would you?
Telling you from experience though Pat, the more you play along and encourage her the more likely you're going to come home to a boiling pot o'bunny or the equivalent. Just. Saying.
Ashlyn, you've really come a long way from where you started. You've fallen down, skinned your knees so to speak, gotten your wittle hands smacked. But instead of kicking your feet, taking your ball and going home, flipping the card table over... you knuckled down. You tried to get better, and work on what it is we actually do for a living. That's commendable, and you're just a peach with that never die attitude.
I'm no locker room general, let me be the first to say so. I'm a little too honest, a little too blunt. I don't bother being diplomatic with people that are a waste of the DNA they're printed on, and that use up oxygen that would better be spent on a plant. In fact one could say that the more sweet and civil I am to someone the closer I am to committing a homicide. Maybe that's all true.
But that bluntness and honesty is just how I am. People are made uncomfortable by some of the things I say. Mike Wilkins for example surely didn't look like he felt anything but nausea as I pointed out that for someone that hated EMPIRE and all it stood for, he was certainly stepping up to the plate and creating one of his very own. Georgie bitched because she feels I got a free pass just because I didn't get stripped of tag titles I won fair and square when my then partner decided to have her little psychotic break – and yeah, I'm sure I got blamed for that too. That somewhere, someone thinks I broke Willow's fragile little mind and cracked her persona apart like a walnut, scooping out anything of worth before discarding the hull.
But let's be honest. I didn't want this in the beginning. It was supposed to be Ghostly Erased, Legacy and Rori Jansen as tag team champions, standing over the competition while he went for his next run at the World Heavyweight title. But the script got flipped, and I was put with Willow in Ghostly Winter. We won the titles, and Wilkins let Legacy's contract expire. Without Legacy, the belt was bereft. It needed me, just like Phoenix Wrestling needs me. So when Willow was stripped of the title Ashlyn now holds, and fired? I would have defended the tag titles alone if that's what it took. I had choices as partner, believe that or not. I chose Conor because I know that he and I can elevate these titles to beyond what even Simply Erased lifted them to.
I know that us holding those belts will do more for Phoenix Wrestling than Ashlyn or Pat can imagine. People will eventually want to come from other companies just to try and take them off of us. We can work together as a team and you both know how deadly we are apart. Both of you know the truth. Conor and I will be a polarizing force in tag team wrestling, just you watch.
This belt means something to me, because I know what I can do with a belt. I'm a champion with or without a title and you all fucking know this to be true. I don't care if you like it, love it, loathe it. It's the truth.
I love Phoenix Wrestling. I bleed for her banner, this is my home. This is where I am the World Champion, and half of the tag team champions. They both mean something to me, more than you can imagine...more than I imagined. I'm not letting either go without a fight. If that means I have to put you all on notice? I'm fine with that. I've had nothing bad to say about the idea of Wilkins getting us a contender for these titles too even if I think some of the pairings are a dish best served cold. Why?
Because I'm not afraid to face any of you. I want you to step up, I want the challenges. That includes you Pat, and you Ashlyn. Bring me your best. You both know what Conor and I are capable of. Whether he Spikes you into the mat and knocks you out cold or I choke you unconscious with my EVP... you both know what we're capable of.
We. Conor and I, a team.
Did you feel a chill reading that? I bet you did.
Believe.
==
March 1st 2014
??
Rori was still a little bummed. Her favorite Ghostbuster had passed away this week, and maybe that would seem ironic to some people but it had been a movie she'd enjoyed so much as a child. It was just one of those things. Some people loved Disney movies best, but she'd loved the classics, some horror and some comedy. It was an escape, if just for a little while.
But luckily for Rori her life now was full. The past traumas were being replaced one by one. Old wounds healed, old heartbreaks erased, wrongs made right.
Legacy himself said it best.
"If a universe can have right and wrong, then it was made right when @aurorajansen won the PW World Heavyweight Championship"
For all those that had held her down, held her back, tried to keep her from the place she was meant to be... it was her giant middle finger back at them. Rori knew it wouldn't be easy to keep it. It would take all her strength, purpose of being, and that incredible will she possessed to do so. It would be worth it though. She already knew who she was facing. Some people would have been a ball of nerves, a wreck. For her, it was almost...Zen.
Knowing that let her focus the way she truly needed to on the match with Conor at her side, against International Edge.
Maybe someday, Pat and Ashlyn would both realize that what happened at Redemption 73? Was to help them, as much as it would be for Rori and Conor to retain the titles. Maybe, they'd look back and understand. Rori couldn't promise a win, it was something she never promised. Sometimes the littlest slip could be capitalized on. But what she could promise was that she'd be the same stone cold intense competitor in her ring that she always was, and that she'd give Conor his share of the fun.
That was the best she could do, and her best was the best of someone better.
February 25th 2014
Dayton, Ohio
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I'll wait here.”
Soft words, spoken in the lee of shadows created by the back stairwell that led up to the rectory's exit door. The shadows were deep here, the waning crescent moon overhead not casting enough light to break their cover to prying eyes. They'd parked up the street, but even so this particular suburb of Dayton had seen better and more affluent days than this. This church would be hard pressed now to number its worshipers in the dozens let alone the hundreds. They had a cleaning man, who doubled as a night watchman but he left at precisely two-thirty A.M. Even if he had been there, he wouldn't have likely done much to stop either of them. He'd been working there for years, and drink was the least of his vices. There was a small light over the top of the door, but the light it cast was even weaker than the moonlight if that could be imagined, but there was a moment as it shone down that it did reveal the identity of one of the two who were speaking.
A raven-haired beauty, unmistakable with her full lips and wondrous green eyes. In some circles she was famous, and her merchandise sold well enough that even if someone didn't know her name they might be filled with that feeling of...I know that woman.
The man however, there'd be no confusion on him or his name were there to be anyone to witness them standing in the stairwell. At seven foot tall, even he'd bothered with a hat to cover his signature white hair, he'd have been known on sight. Legacy's fame spanned decades after all, and with that it would be easy to figure out that the person with him was his fiancée Aurora Jansen. Who was answered, but why...? What drew this pair, the darker Romeo and Juliet (spoiler: in their version everyone else dies), from their home in Chicago to this place that Aurora had suffered her childhood in? A chill wind piped up the stairs, even with the clapboard of the church serving as cover on one side, and a strand of her hair had worked its way free of the braid she'd woven her hair into. That big hand of his lifted, and he tenderly moved that strand to rest behind her lovely ear. That smile of hers lit her eyes, and he knew it was just for him. People that knew him in the past, or more knew of him and his reputation, well earned that it might be, would likely never believe that a man, a monster like him could touch anything and not destroy it. After all, its how he'd made his fame. He was ruthless in destruction, and let nothing be used against him long. With this man there had never been leverage, at least not for long.
But this one, he loved. He'd chosen her over blood-kin, made her his family. Asked her to marry him, and she'd joyfully accepted that proposal, though he'd known she was his without it. From the start, she'd told him. That she was his, from the very start. But woe to those that might think to try and use her against him, to injure her to get at him or back at him. She might be as beautiful as a flower, truthfully. But there was poison to her, there was a core of darkness that would let her defend herself. She was a survivor, and she intended to stay that way, so to speak. The one that accepted him as he was, and didn't make the mistake of trying to separate the man from the monster because she knew the truth. There was no mere man behind those emerald eyes of his, and she never flinched, never begged him to change. Aurora just wanted Legacy, with no demands or coercions, as is.
They say that if you have the faith of a mustard seed, you can move a mountain. Imagine then, what someone with the will and yes faith, of Legacy would do for the woman he named as his own.
A slight sigh passed those full lips as she turned toward the door, Legacy watching with curiosity as his Rori produced a Gerber knife from the pocket of her jeans, those hip-hugging lowrise jeans she favored that did nothing to conceal the fine curves of her form. With a practiced motion she opened it and proceeded to pop the lock on the door with a...nearly...criminal ease. Replacing the knife she turned and then went up to her tiptoes, even so he'd had to bend down to accept her little parting kiss. She paused at the door and gave him a little wave, waif-like and almost heartbreakingly sweet. If you didn't know what she was capable of, something like that would certainly lead someone to underestimate her truth strength, her true core of determination.
Her running shoes barely made even the tiniest squeak on the polished tiles of the floor. The small side hallway leading from that back outer door to the larger hall that would lead toward the main floor with all its pews, the altar, was clean enough. Cleaner it turned out, than the main hallway. There were scuffs on tiles that had once glowed with polish and a sense of entitled righteousness. Aurora paused as she looked both ways, she was sure the building was empty of living witnesses, but it never hurt to be careful. It had been years since she'd been there of course, and who knew. Something else might have taken up residence in the interim. Black tile, white tile with the scuffs showing even darker than the faded black of the tile before. A rhythm to her nearly-silent steps, where once upon a time she'd played a little hopscotch and discovered something about herself that changed everything.
My name's Danny. I'm six too!
She paused, just a few steps from the hallway that led to the little room that held the Baptismal Font. Even this far away she could sense him, and his energy was low. Flickering. It wasn't fair. She drew in a hitching breath, that sort of tightness coming over her as she felt the burn at the back of her eyes of tears that wanted to come. He was only six. He'd never be a day over six. They wouldn't listen, not to the doctor that said to keep him home. They could have skipped a week of church, and she could have had an older brother to look up to, that would have protected her. A tiny quirk of her lips came and went then, as she lifted a hand to wipe the tears that wanted to fall out of her eyes. Or he could have been a little prick and picked on her worse than the other kids she went to school with. But the tragedy was, she'd never know. They had chosen to keep up appearances, coming to church to have their son baptized in a faith Rori was sure they'd never truly believed in. She'd found that newspaper clipping years later, and she knew that moment was what led her to be so vicious with her mother years later when she'd come seeking money from her now-rich daughter.
He was only six, drowned during a febrile seizure during a failed baptism. Daniel Aaron Jansen, cold and lonely and waiting.
“Danny. Danny come on out, it's me. Aurora, remember? Your baby sister.”
There was a pause, and then as she exhaled a cloud of frost came from her parted lips, the temperature in the hallway dropping that dramatically and just that fast. Glittering, almost beautiful. A rime of frost appeared on the black tiles, and he was there. He looked transparent even to Rori, but he'd gathered enough to make himself visible for her.
“You came back.”
Rori took a breath, her full lower lip quivering and she lifted her hand up to her eyes again.
“Course I did. Danny, I think you know why.”
He seemed to think about it, as she crouched down so she'd be on his level though she was pretty sure he saw her not as she was, but as the blond-haired six year old she'd been. She knew better, than to do what she did next but she couldn't help herself. She held her arms open and he took a few hesitant steps and then flung his arms around her neck. Rori felt the pull, the taking of energy. But he managed not to take too much despite how drained he was. She lifted her hand behind him, and it seemed her fingers grabbed at the empty air, making a fist and she...wrenched something only she could see.
Her tears froze to snow as soon as they dripped from the point of her chin, from how cold the hall was.
“Don't cry, Rori. I just...didn't know how to let go. Love you sissy. Wish...wish I could have come to your wedding...”
His little hand resting on her own, touching her ring.
Then he was gone, and the temperature slowly climbed back up to the 60 degrees it was set at. She went from a crouch to plopping her fine backside on the tiles and just...breathing. The tears came of course, and she patiently wiped them away until she was sure she could stand. Interacting directly like this always carried a risk, she knew that. But this had to be done, it should have been a long time ago. He would have gone, but he didn't know how. She hadn't banished him, she'd set him free.
Outside, Legacy waited, patiently for him. He'd taken a lighter out of his pocket and was giving some deep thought to setting the building on fire after Rori came out. This was taking too long, and not because of the idea that the police might come. Just as he turned to go inside for himself, she emerged. Her pale skin showed the tracks of tears, the reddening on cheeks, chin, and the tip of her nose from the extreme cold. She looked tired, and he didn't hesitate to step forward and gather her up to him to better warm her up.
“Now that you've done this...I have to ask. Why not send the others on too. The ones that follow you around.”
Rori nestled in close to his chest, her breathy whisper coming up to his ears muffled just a bit.
“One step at a time.”
==
It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.
Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy
==
February 28th 2014
Blog, published on aurorajansen.net
Déjà vu. I'm sure that you both know what it means, that it's from a French concept, or in Ashlyn's case that they made a movie in 2006 with that title.
But to the simplest degree, it means feeling as if you've experienced something before. Anything can trigger that feeling, a smell or even a turn of phrase and your mind tricks you into thinking that you've been there, been through something before. Sometimes it's even traumatic. I'm sure that you're both well aware by now what I'm implying here. I mean really was I so far off on Twitter when I said that your team should be renamed Snack Sized?
That's not really fair though, since neither of you had much of a say in what your team was called. I mean as far as things like that go, International Edge really isn't that bad. It could have been so much worse. So you lucked out on the tag team name lottery, go you. The problem really lies in the mechanics of this situation. On paper this might not look so bad. Pat's experiencing a bit of an upswing, he's getting out there in things like Survive and Conquer, getting himself noticed, and he broke away from Necessary Evil. That was the smartest thing he could have done. Ashlyn is on her second taste of gold with the International title, a title she defeated Pat to gain... oh my. Imagine me with a Cupie Doll grin right now and my index finger touching the corner of my lips if you would so indulge me.
But you know for all that, Ashlyn has shown a level of concern for your well-being Pat that you should be a little more grateful for. Sure, she's an annoying twerp with a penchant for trying to talk hipper than a hipster, all she's missing are the lensless glasses and a tweed hat, right? Sure, she talks about things she thinks she knows on Twitter – taking a bit of truth and twisting it to what she wants, colored by perceptions she gained from someone else that didn't actually go through it either. I wouldn't go so far as to call her obsessive about things, even though that's the most likely and viable explanation for her actions, isn't it? I mean I wouldn't say she was at warning level Fatal Attraction, would you?
Telling you from experience though Pat, the more you play along and encourage her the more likely you're going to come home to a boiling pot o'bunny or the equivalent. Just. Saying.
Ashlyn, you've really come a long way from where you started. You've fallen down, skinned your knees so to speak, gotten your wittle hands smacked. But instead of kicking your feet, taking your ball and going home, flipping the card table over... you knuckled down. You tried to get better, and work on what it is we actually do for a living. That's commendable, and you're just a peach with that never die attitude.
I'm no locker room general, let me be the first to say so. I'm a little too honest, a little too blunt. I don't bother being diplomatic with people that are a waste of the DNA they're printed on, and that use up oxygen that would better be spent on a plant. In fact one could say that the more sweet and civil I am to someone the closer I am to committing a homicide. Maybe that's all true.
But that bluntness and honesty is just how I am. People are made uncomfortable by some of the things I say. Mike Wilkins for example surely didn't look like he felt anything but nausea as I pointed out that for someone that hated EMPIRE and all it stood for, he was certainly stepping up to the plate and creating one of his very own. Georgie bitched because she feels I got a free pass just because I didn't get stripped of tag titles I won fair and square when my then partner decided to have her little psychotic break – and yeah, I'm sure I got blamed for that too. That somewhere, someone thinks I broke Willow's fragile little mind and cracked her persona apart like a walnut, scooping out anything of worth before discarding the hull.
But let's be honest. I didn't want this in the beginning. It was supposed to be Ghostly Erased, Legacy and Rori Jansen as tag team champions, standing over the competition while he went for his next run at the World Heavyweight title. But the script got flipped, and I was put with Willow in Ghostly Winter. We won the titles, and Wilkins let Legacy's contract expire. Without Legacy, the belt was bereft. It needed me, just like Phoenix Wrestling needs me. So when Willow was stripped of the title Ashlyn now holds, and fired? I would have defended the tag titles alone if that's what it took. I had choices as partner, believe that or not. I chose Conor because I know that he and I can elevate these titles to beyond what even Simply Erased lifted them to.
I know that us holding those belts will do more for Phoenix Wrestling than Ashlyn or Pat can imagine. People will eventually want to come from other companies just to try and take them off of us. We can work together as a team and you both know how deadly we are apart. Both of you know the truth. Conor and I will be a polarizing force in tag team wrestling, just you watch.
This belt means something to me, because I know what I can do with a belt. I'm a champion with or without a title and you all fucking know this to be true. I don't care if you like it, love it, loathe it. It's the truth.
I love Phoenix Wrestling. I bleed for her banner, this is my home. This is where I am the World Champion, and half of the tag team champions. They both mean something to me, more than you can imagine...more than I imagined. I'm not letting either go without a fight. If that means I have to put you all on notice? I'm fine with that. I've had nothing bad to say about the idea of Wilkins getting us a contender for these titles too even if I think some of the pairings are a dish best served cold. Why?
Because I'm not afraid to face any of you. I want you to step up, I want the challenges. That includes you Pat, and you Ashlyn. Bring me your best. You both know what Conor and I are capable of. Whether he Spikes you into the mat and knocks you out cold or I choke you unconscious with my EVP... you both know what we're capable of.
We. Conor and I, a team.
Did you feel a chill reading that? I bet you did.
Believe.
==
March 1st 2014
??
Rori was still a little bummed. Her favorite Ghostbuster had passed away this week, and maybe that would seem ironic to some people but it had been a movie she'd enjoyed so much as a child. It was just one of those things. Some people loved Disney movies best, but she'd loved the classics, some horror and some comedy. It was an escape, if just for a little while.
But luckily for Rori her life now was full. The past traumas were being replaced one by one. Old wounds healed, old heartbreaks erased, wrongs made right.
Legacy himself said it best.
"If a universe can have right and wrong, then it was made right when @aurorajansen won the PW World Heavyweight Championship"
For all those that had held her down, held her back, tried to keep her from the place she was meant to be... it was her giant middle finger back at them. Rori knew it wouldn't be easy to keep it. It would take all her strength, purpose of being, and that incredible will she possessed to do so. It would be worth it though. She already knew who she was facing. Some people would have been a ball of nerves, a wreck. For her, it was almost...Zen.
Knowing that let her focus the way she truly needed to on the match with Conor at her side, against International Edge.
Maybe someday, Pat and Ashlyn would both realize that what happened at Redemption 73? Was to help them, as much as it would be for Rori and Conor to retain the titles. Maybe, they'd look back and understand. Rori couldn't promise a win, it was something she never promised. Sometimes the littlest slip could be capitalized on. But what she could promise was that she'd be the same stone cold intense competitor in her ring that she always was, and that she'd give Conor his share of the fun.
That was the best she could do, and her best was the best of someone better.