Post by mandi on Aug 1, 2017 18:06:24 GMT
There was something calming about the desert after dusk. People make the assumption that it must be a wasteland, devoid of any substantial life...but they're wrong. The life that thrives here is resilient, it has to be. To endure a brutal, punishing sun during the day, the cool, sometimes frigid temperatures at night. To survive days on end with minimal water. Resilient. And that resilience gives it it's own kind of beauty. There is a stillness here, but not a silence. There are always sounds, the occasional coyote cry, the rustle of scales through the sand. Whistles and chirps from the night birds. Sounds, but sounds that are natural, welcoming, and calming. Walking away from RISE had been difficult...but relieving. Because she always felt the crush of living in the city more keenly, the press of so many voices and sounds was overwhelming, making it impossible to center, to ground and focus. Home is better. Home is sanctuary. Or it was supposed to be. But since the encounter with her half brother she's been...restless, on edge. Seren has commented, asked questions and she's pushed him away. Not cruelly, but just...he can't understand. And she can't tell him. She won't tell him. She won't tell him that she was serious when she told Michael Skyler she would rip his heart out and feed his entrails to the carrion. She won't tell him that if she finds a way to make it happen, she still will, that nothing in this world would give her more pleasure than watching that man die slow. Better to leave that monster caged.
She hadn't liked asking for help, she doesn't like to bother people, but favors came through, and now, there are folders stacked on the end of the coffee table inside, papers scattered across the surface. Papers that paint a disturbing, and all too familiar story, all but confirming her suspicions. Michael Daniel Skyler had been married, to a Lucinda Grace Williamson. A woman who was found unconscious at the bottom of their two story New York home four years ago. Officially ruled an accident, there were some...questionable injuries. He'd relocated to Las Vegas with their daughter Violet a year later. And Violet. Poor Violet. Nine years old, with a medical file an inch thick. Either she's a very clumsy kid...or someone's been helping her along. She exhales, slowly, shifting to fold her arms under her head. Now the question is, what does she do with the information she has? There's no proof, only her suspicions.
“You planning on eating at any point today Blondie?”
The brooding artist's voice cuts through her thoughts, pulling her attention. Her lips quirk in a faint smile.
“Maybe. I'm still on the fence about it.”
“Still got that asshole on your mind huh? I can't say that I blame you.”
“It's not him. It's her. It's...if I'm right Seren, this kind of environment it...it...they made me what I am you know? The fear and the pain gave birth to the rage. They made me powerless. I was weak. I couldn't fight back. I had to listen to my mom crying and whimpering and pleading with them, begging them while they laughed. I hid in the dark. I cried. And I screamed. And I wished they would just die. That I would just die. Because if I were dead, they couldn't hurt me anymore. I decided that I wasn't going to be weak. I wasn't going to be one of those people who hid and prayed to be saved. So I trained. I put everything I am into one purpose...
Seren, we got out early. After Samuel put me in the hospital that last time. I was six. I was six when we got out and look how fucked up I am. How much worse is it for her Seren? How much damage has that bastard done, that no one's going to be able to undo?”
She's mostly thinking out loud, lost in the memories of things that once were. A vicious cycle of 'what ifs'. Silently, he reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder, a reminder that those days are over and done
“There was something, that never made sense to me. When Mom pressed charges, and Samuel Skyler went to trial, he got off. Mom always thought that he paid off the jury but...Seren, the Skylers were well off, but not that well off. So someone helped him...and I think I know who. There's a name that keeps coming up in the files on Michael. Fontinelli. That family is huge in New York, practically untouchable. I think they relocated Michael to Vegas after his wife died. I just can't decide if he did it, or if they did. And if they're involved...then this situation is a lot worse than I originally thought. They'll protect him for as long as he's still useful to them. And that's going to make it harder to get Violet away.”
“And when you do?”
“Then I help her put the pieces back together. I help her to understand that what has happened isn't her fault, was never her fault. And I help her find her peace. So that she doesn't have to try to find her way, blind, in the dark, alone.”
It is the most vulnerable he can ever remember her being, aside from those times she wakes in the night, lashing out at monsters that aren't there and he isn't certain what to make of it. But it only reaffirms his decision to do whatever it takes to help her.
--- --- --- --- --- --- ---
“Sometimes...sometimes it feels like I'm trapped in this vicious little circle. It's like, no matter how hard I try, how high I climb, I keep hitting the same gods be damned fucking wall. You have no idea how frustrating that is...or...maybe you do. Considering the number of times you've tried to overstep and go for the Duos Championships, crowing about how you're gangsters and you just take what you want...and then promptly failed to do so. And so...here we are again, and this time...this time Boys, there's not going to be any eleventh hour count out to save your asses. This match only ends one way, and once it does, I can finally lay this issue to rest and get on with my life without the dark, ugly storm cloud that is The Collective hanging over my head.”
She has chosen, as she often does, though not as much recently, to film her match address from inside her home gym. She perches on the top turnbuckle in one corner, arms folded across her knees.
“Every time I fucking turn around, there you are. I just can't seem to get away from you, and quite frankly, I'm sick and fucking tired of it. You saunter around with your chests puffed out, interfere in affairs that have nothing to do with you. You don't understand, or respect that this,”
She pauses, to gesture to the ring.
“Is not a place of business. It is not a place of hobby. Or a place to be taken lightly. This, is a temple. It is a holy place, where the dedicated pay homage to the cruel goddess who rules over it, they make sacrifice of their blood, sweat, and tears. Their pain is ambrosia to her. You have come lately to her, you desecrate her holy places and you spit in her face. There is only so much she will endure before she brings you low. Losing to Masaru and Aurora should have humbled you. Not because there is any shame in losing to them, but because you talk a big game but fail, again and again to back it up. Instead, you come back just as arrogant and foolhardy as before. It is disappointing when we fail to learn from our mistakes...which I anticipate will be a failure your friend Frankie demonstrates all too clearly.
So let me break this down for you Boys. This isn't about revenge. You think you hurt me when you took out Andrews, but the reality is that you only opened the door to put me back with the partner I should have been with all along. Think about it. Leo and I took down a team that had history, had been competing together for years off and on. I'm not a tag wrestler, not as a general rule. “Does not play well with others” has been my motto for a very long time. Because I have difficulty trusting others, relying on them. But Leo and I...we have this weird synergy. And it was immediate. You think I was a tough fight before? Strap in boys, because you're in for a hell of a ride now.
This is typically where I would start tearing you two apart but....why? I mean, what can I say that I haven't said already? We go through this, and we go through this, and we go through this, but nothing ever really sinks in. You just...don't...get it. But you will. After August 6th, you aren't going to have a choice, and you'll either finally see the light...or leave on a stretcher. It's really up to you.”
Though despite her choice in words, her tone implies that they themselves really have very little choice in the matter. They've poked, and prodded, and made a nuisance of themselves long enough, there have been enough people question, doubt, mock and belittle that maybe...well maybe she's looking at this match as an...opportunity. Not just to put herself back on the straight and narrow, but to send a message.
“It's not personal. Well, okay, so maybe that's a little bit of a lie. It's not as personal. You still frustrate and annoy the fuck out of me. But this is about sending a message. See, Cassius Reed reminded me of something. No matter how much you achieve, no matter how high you climb, it will never be enough. The things that people are going to seize on will never be your achievements, your moments of glory, instead it's always your failures, your flaws. So you fight harder, you fight meaner. You leave people broken, bloodied heaps, but it's never enough. Never enough to appease them, never enough to silence the demons...
But you, you don't know anything about those demons do you? No. I don't think that you do. You haven't gotten to the point where she's alive for you. You don't hear the siren song and you...well, you could walk away, any time you wanted.
Some of us...most of us...it's not that simple, it was never that simple. We didn't come into wrestling because it was a whim. We didn't come here because it was a choice. We came because she called. We heard the song and before we knew what was happening it was wrapped around us and we were trapped, body and soul. But we are willing prisoners, dedicated ones. She has shown us that she can be cruel, so very, very cruel, but she can also be generous. She can lift us, like Icarus to touch the sun. It doesn't matter that our waxwork wings will melt, it doesn't matter that we'll fall, because for that moment, that one, fleeting, shining moment, she has made us gods in her image...but you don't hear her. She isn't real to you. And that's why you go around, doing whatever the fuck you damn well please that'll buy you a few more seconds in the sun. Because you don't get it.
People like you, you get hurt...and you will eventually, it's only a matter of time, and you get sidelined, and then you tuck tail and run. You decide “this isn't for me”. Meanwhile, people like me, and my partner. We get hurt and we spend the entire time in recovery waiting for the moment we can finally get between the ropes again. Because we're wrestlers first. Everything else falls after that.
So let me break this down for you, not that I have any illusions that you're actually going to listen. Tony I almost halfway like. You're still an asshat, but you're one of the few people who has actually given me credit for my capability...even if it is in your weird misogynistic way. But that fledgling fondness aside, you're standing between me, and something I want. Not really a good place for you to be. Couple that will your long, long list of offenses...”
She pauses, making a soft tching sound before shrugging almost dismissively.
“You'll put up a valiant effort, no doubt spotted with the same sorts of shady, underhanded bullshit we've come to expect from you, but that's okay. I learned shady and underhanded from the best. You'll mock us, try to put us down, and very quickly learn that you're in over your heads. You have size in your corner, you have more experience as a team. You have, not having been shelved with an injury on your side...but ultimately none of this is going to matter. Not even dear little Frankie, waiting in the wings is going to make a difference. Speaking of...Frankie. Look, be smart...well, smartish. Don't try me. You've amusing but you're passing out of that real fast, and you don't want to be a nuisance. You become a nuisance, and I'll take more than just your teeth.”
--- --- --- --- --- ---
Word Count: 2257
She hadn't liked asking for help, she doesn't like to bother people, but favors came through, and now, there are folders stacked on the end of the coffee table inside, papers scattered across the surface. Papers that paint a disturbing, and all too familiar story, all but confirming her suspicions. Michael Daniel Skyler had been married, to a Lucinda Grace Williamson. A woman who was found unconscious at the bottom of their two story New York home four years ago. Officially ruled an accident, there were some...questionable injuries. He'd relocated to Las Vegas with their daughter Violet a year later. And Violet. Poor Violet. Nine years old, with a medical file an inch thick. Either she's a very clumsy kid...or someone's been helping her along. She exhales, slowly, shifting to fold her arms under her head. Now the question is, what does she do with the information she has? There's no proof, only her suspicions.
“You planning on eating at any point today Blondie?”
The brooding artist's voice cuts through her thoughts, pulling her attention. Her lips quirk in a faint smile.
“Maybe. I'm still on the fence about it.”
“Still got that asshole on your mind huh? I can't say that I blame you.”
“It's not him. It's her. It's...if I'm right Seren, this kind of environment it...it...they made me what I am you know? The fear and the pain gave birth to the rage. They made me powerless. I was weak. I couldn't fight back. I had to listen to my mom crying and whimpering and pleading with them, begging them while they laughed. I hid in the dark. I cried. And I screamed. And I wished they would just die. That I would just die. Because if I were dead, they couldn't hurt me anymore. I decided that I wasn't going to be weak. I wasn't going to be one of those people who hid and prayed to be saved. So I trained. I put everything I am into one purpose...
Seren, we got out early. After Samuel put me in the hospital that last time. I was six. I was six when we got out and look how fucked up I am. How much worse is it for her Seren? How much damage has that bastard done, that no one's going to be able to undo?”
She's mostly thinking out loud, lost in the memories of things that once were. A vicious cycle of 'what ifs'. Silently, he reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder, a reminder that those days are over and done
“There was something, that never made sense to me. When Mom pressed charges, and Samuel Skyler went to trial, he got off. Mom always thought that he paid off the jury but...Seren, the Skylers were well off, but not that well off. So someone helped him...and I think I know who. There's a name that keeps coming up in the files on Michael. Fontinelli. That family is huge in New York, practically untouchable. I think they relocated Michael to Vegas after his wife died. I just can't decide if he did it, or if they did. And if they're involved...then this situation is a lot worse than I originally thought. They'll protect him for as long as he's still useful to them. And that's going to make it harder to get Violet away.”
“And when you do?”
“Then I help her put the pieces back together. I help her to understand that what has happened isn't her fault, was never her fault. And I help her find her peace. So that she doesn't have to try to find her way, blind, in the dark, alone.”
It is the most vulnerable he can ever remember her being, aside from those times she wakes in the night, lashing out at monsters that aren't there and he isn't certain what to make of it. But it only reaffirms his decision to do whatever it takes to help her.
--- --- --- --- --- --- ---
“Sometimes...sometimes it feels like I'm trapped in this vicious little circle. It's like, no matter how hard I try, how high I climb, I keep hitting the same gods be damned fucking wall. You have no idea how frustrating that is...or...maybe you do. Considering the number of times you've tried to overstep and go for the Duos Championships, crowing about how you're gangsters and you just take what you want...and then promptly failed to do so. And so...here we are again, and this time...this time Boys, there's not going to be any eleventh hour count out to save your asses. This match only ends one way, and once it does, I can finally lay this issue to rest and get on with my life without the dark, ugly storm cloud that is The Collective hanging over my head.”
She has chosen, as she often does, though not as much recently, to film her match address from inside her home gym. She perches on the top turnbuckle in one corner, arms folded across her knees.
“Every time I fucking turn around, there you are. I just can't seem to get away from you, and quite frankly, I'm sick and fucking tired of it. You saunter around with your chests puffed out, interfere in affairs that have nothing to do with you. You don't understand, or respect that this,”
She pauses, to gesture to the ring.
“Is not a place of business. It is not a place of hobby. Or a place to be taken lightly. This, is a temple. It is a holy place, where the dedicated pay homage to the cruel goddess who rules over it, they make sacrifice of their blood, sweat, and tears. Their pain is ambrosia to her. You have come lately to her, you desecrate her holy places and you spit in her face. There is only so much she will endure before she brings you low. Losing to Masaru and Aurora should have humbled you. Not because there is any shame in losing to them, but because you talk a big game but fail, again and again to back it up. Instead, you come back just as arrogant and foolhardy as before. It is disappointing when we fail to learn from our mistakes...which I anticipate will be a failure your friend Frankie demonstrates all too clearly.
So let me break this down for you Boys. This isn't about revenge. You think you hurt me when you took out Andrews, but the reality is that you only opened the door to put me back with the partner I should have been with all along. Think about it. Leo and I took down a team that had history, had been competing together for years off and on. I'm not a tag wrestler, not as a general rule. “Does not play well with others” has been my motto for a very long time. Because I have difficulty trusting others, relying on them. But Leo and I...we have this weird synergy. And it was immediate. You think I was a tough fight before? Strap in boys, because you're in for a hell of a ride now.
This is typically where I would start tearing you two apart but....why? I mean, what can I say that I haven't said already? We go through this, and we go through this, and we go through this, but nothing ever really sinks in. You just...don't...get it. But you will. After August 6th, you aren't going to have a choice, and you'll either finally see the light...or leave on a stretcher. It's really up to you.”
Though despite her choice in words, her tone implies that they themselves really have very little choice in the matter. They've poked, and prodded, and made a nuisance of themselves long enough, there have been enough people question, doubt, mock and belittle that maybe...well maybe she's looking at this match as an...opportunity. Not just to put herself back on the straight and narrow, but to send a message.
“It's not personal. Well, okay, so maybe that's a little bit of a lie. It's not as personal. You still frustrate and annoy the fuck out of me. But this is about sending a message. See, Cassius Reed reminded me of something. No matter how much you achieve, no matter how high you climb, it will never be enough. The things that people are going to seize on will never be your achievements, your moments of glory, instead it's always your failures, your flaws. So you fight harder, you fight meaner. You leave people broken, bloodied heaps, but it's never enough. Never enough to appease them, never enough to silence the demons...
But you, you don't know anything about those demons do you? No. I don't think that you do. You haven't gotten to the point where she's alive for you. You don't hear the siren song and you...well, you could walk away, any time you wanted.
Some of us...most of us...it's not that simple, it was never that simple. We didn't come into wrestling because it was a whim. We didn't come here because it was a choice. We came because she called. We heard the song and before we knew what was happening it was wrapped around us and we were trapped, body and soul. But we are willing prisoners, dedicated ones. She has shown us that she can be cruel, so very, very cruel, but she can also be generous. She can lift us, like Icarus to touch the sun. It doesn't matter that our waxwork wings will melt, it doesn't matter that we'll fall, because for that moment, that one, fleeting, shining moment, she has made us gods in her image...but you don't hear her. She isn't real to you. And that's why you go around, doing whatever the fuck you damn well please that'll buy you a few more seconds in the sun. Because you don't get it.
People like you, you get hurt...and you will eventually, it's only a matter of time, and you get sidelined, and then you tuck tail and run. You decide “this isn't for me”. Meanwhile, people like me, and my partner. We get hurt and we spend the entire time in recovery waiting for the moment we can finally get between the ropes again. Because we're wrestlers first. Everything else falls after that.
So let me break this down for you, not that I have any illusions that you're actually going to listen. Tony I almost halfway like. You're still an asshat, but you're one of the few people who has actually given me credit for my capability...even if it is in your weird misogynistic way. But that fledgling fondness aside, you're standing between me, and something I want. Not really a good place for you to be. Couple that will your long, long list of offenses...”
She pauses, making a soft tching sound before shrugging almost dismissively.
“You'll put up a valiant effort, no doubt spotted with the same sorts of shady, underhanded bullshit we've come to expect from you, but that's okay. I learned shady and underhanded from the best. You'll mock us, try to put us down, and very quickly learn that you're in over your heads. You have size in your corner, you have more experience as a team. You have, not having been shelved with an injury on your side...but ultimately none of this is going to matter. Not even dear little Frankie, waiting in the wings is going to make a difference. Speaking of...Frankie. Look, be smart...well, smartish. Don't try me. You've amusing but you're passing out of that real fast, and you don't want to be a nuisance. You become a nuisance, and I'll take more than just your teeth.”
--- --- --- --- --- ---
Word Count: 2257
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