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Lacklan · (08-07-2020)

July 26th, 2020
Leap of Faith

Sarah Selena Grey-Lacklan limps through the halls of the Saitama Arena with a small smile on her face and a glaze in her eyes. Those odd eyes, gleaming dully red in the light, hurt from the thick contact lenses shoved into them, but they see well enough. Lathered in sweat and with several bruises looking to show against her porcelain skin soon, she clutches a briefcase in her right hand and gives polite nods and smiles to passersby. Men and women in suits carrying clipboards, most with the stoicism entrenched in their culture, regard her with the mixture of awe and respect they do for all of the XWF wrestlers in the building that night, though there is a youthful gleam in the eye of several of the women. Women in their 30s would have been in their teens when Jean-Paul Lacklan returned to Japan, no longer the youthful student, but now the powerful champion, with a tiny wisp of a girl clutching to his knee. That tiny wisp, even then, had the eyes of a demon and a vicious smile, and those teenage fans became enamored with Buraddo Purinsesu.

Sarah stops before a door and lets out a long breath. She opens the door, walks in, and her breath stops. Kenzi Grey-Lacklan, the caramel starlet of both the ring and the screen, is pacing back and forth, wringing her hands. For once actually dressed appropriately for the occasion with a black dress which clung to her curves...her humor for annoying her wife with t-shirts and jeans did not extend to a night as important as this...she is wringing her hands as she moves back and forth. Even with a face full of concern, she was the most beautiful thing Sarah has ever seen. The person who changed her life. Who taught her that the world was wider than the one she had known. The person who was her equal in all things. The person-

“Babe!”

Kenzi’s yell shakes Sarah from a flash of memories. She blinks her eyes and sees the dark form rushing towards her, but too late. Kenzi is on her, pushing the door shut, and then pushing her against it, her lips mashing into hers. Sarah’s defenses give way...not that she ever had any defenses against Kenzi...neither one had much in that way for one another...until Kenzi finally let her up for air. They both breathe in deep droughts of air and look into each other’s eyes, Sarah’s odd red and Kenzi’s chocolate brown. Light, she was beautiful. There were lines under those eyes, yes, brought to her by a difficult injury several months ago, but they were light, having faded with time. And the lasting vestige of the barbed wire did nothing to diminish her strong cheekbones, smooth skin, nor the handful of freckles under her eyes which always make Sarah’s heart beat faster. She had named them, once. Pounced on Kenzi, pinned her to the floor of their first apartment together, and held her down until she found a proper name for them all.

“You did it!”

Kenzi’s voice is full of excitement and pride, and Sarah smiles so wide that it nears to hurting her cheeks.

“I did!”

“I want to see!”

Kenzi takes Sarah’s hand and pulls her into the small room. Simply furnished with a two-seat couch and a table, the tiny office was likely meant for an accountant who cared little for aesthetics.

“I didn’t know how long you had to stay with the medic, so I got what I could.”

A pitcher of water sits upon the table, and as Kenzi takes the briefcase from her, Sarah takes up the pitcher and drinks from it thirstily. Slamming it down, she nods in thanks to Kenzi and plops down on the couch with a groan.

“Lord, I’m tired. Freakin’ Ruby making it so hard for me. She almost had it won!”

Kenzi sits down next to Sarah, pressing her side into hers, and places the briefcase down atop the table. A few flicks of her fingers and the briefcase snaps open, pulling upwards to reveal a handful of papers. Their eyes move across and down the lines, taking in the specifics of the XWF 24/7 Contract.

“You can challenge at any time, huh?”

“Yep! In fact...”

Sarah looks left and right, her eyes taking on their conspiratorial glint.

“...ready to pull the trigger?”

Kenzi bites her bottom lip and looks away for a second.

“Listen...babe…”

Sarah’s eyes turn down in concern at the cautious tone suddenly coming from Kenzi.

“...I’m all for you cashing in tonight…”

She turns back to face Sarah and she puts a smile on her face.

“I mean...that’s so...YOU, you know? You’re my whirlwind and the whole world just has to deal with you spinning them around. And, at least as far as I can tell, neither Fuzz nor Centurion will see it coming. But…”

She gives a small shrug as her smile falters.

“Why include me? Why the extra layer of subterfuge? Why not just do it on your own? There’s no way either one of them could stop you.”

Sarah reaches up and caresses Kenzi’s cheek.

“Because I am you, and you are me. And we are we.”

Kenzi leans into Sarah’s hand and smiles, but then gives a small shake of her head.

“I don’t know...it just feels like I’m stealing a little bit of your thunder. And for no reason!”

Sarah suddenly pinches Kenzi’s cheek hard enough to make the starlet yelp.

“There IS a reason! Style! That was one of Daddy’s most important lessons! Like, this one time, in Texas? He-”

“SAR SAR SAR!”

Sarah is cut off as a voice full of glee pierces the room. Kenzi and Sarah turn towards the door just in time to see a tall, pale shape, somewhat reminiscent of Slender Man, burst into the room and leap onto them. After an initial squawk of surprise, the 5’2” Mafia are a gaggle of giggles with Angie Vaughn. The 5’11” (BAY BAY!!) wrestle settles between the two comparatively minuscule fellow members of the House of Lacklan and she holds the 24/7 Briefcase in her hands.

“Sooooo preeeeetty!”

Sarah smiles and hugs Angie from the side.

“Look at it while you can! Because I’m about to get rid of it.”

Angie’s face somehow turns into a literal question mark and Sarah gives her an exaggerated wink.

“I mentioned a few times in the last week how good I am at winning two matches during XWF Pay Per View events. Time to show them what I mean!”

HIIIIII-iiiii!

This is your reason for being, the award-winning rose bush belonging to your neighbor that you seethe over and shake your fist at when your own wilt heading into the Annual Rose Competition, Sarah Lacklan-

((ascending piano notes))

YOUR Universal Champion!

((remember that killer trumpet fanfare from last time? Double that!))

What?

Hmmm?

You don’t know what I’m talking about?

Here, check THIS out:

THAT, dear Baby Birds and Fang Gangers out there, is the result of a SHIT TON of hard work and a particularly sneaky use of brains. ANNNNNNNND a teeny, tiny, miniscule little white lie about what I was going to do with a certain prop. You see, when I returned to the XWF, it was with two expressed intentions and desires:

- Help “Dumby McDumDumFace” Ruby Debuchy fight off B.O.B….though that was mostly because, as I’ve said, kicking in my friend’s face is MY JOB, thank you so much…

AND!

- Win the Leap of Faith match.

While it HAS been fun helping out Rubes, which has been an adventure wherein I have made the THUGS look dumb, showed off my skill as THE BEST referee in the business today, AND the combo of using my killer skating skills AND handing the so-called “Queen” in Myst another in a LOOOOOOONG line of Ls, the REAL reason, the TRUE prize, was that 24/7 briefcase. Me, the prize fighter, the person with the ability to move the needle and shake the foundations of entire businesses in one night, going after the briefcase in a match filled with legit competitors (...okay...two of them…) in one of the most famous cities in all of wrestling? That deserves me and my focus.

After all, what happens when I focus? When I really go after something that I want? Companies change, Baby Birds. I wanted the UGWC Wrestlestock Cup in 2017. I wanted the XWF March Madness trophy in 2019. I wanted to win Outlast in 2019 and end the night as World Champion. I wanted to win the XWF Tag Team Tournament with my Beloved in 2019. I wanted those things, worked towards them, won them, and changed those companies. And in 2020? I wanted to win the Trinity Rebirth Tournament. I wanted to win the XWF 24/7 briefcase. And so I focused on them. Won them. And because of that?

I am the reigning champion in BOTH of those companies.

Now, what does that MEAN for everyone within the wrestling business as a whole and the XWF in particular? It means that it’s time for change. It means that it’s time for revolution. It means that I and my generation will NO LONGER put up with the smut, profanity, extremism, and lackadaisical work ethics of fedora-tipping edge lords who have spent so much time modeling the WRONG way to be. It means that the person who PERSONIFIES what wrestling is SUPPOSED to be, the person who is wrestling INCARNATE, is here for everyone to admire and base their lives upon. It means that you have all gotten that wish which has been beaten to death in countless chat rooms, youtube comments, social media DMs, MySpace music recommendations, and mopey subtweets:

Sarah Lacklan, YOUR Universal Champion, in the XWF full-time.

As I once told Vinnie when it came to my ability to drive his ratings: Be careful what you wish for.

None of you are safe. None of you are beyond the cleansing reach of what God truly wants out of us. None of you will be able to plead a case of being skipped over for Salvation. And I truly hope that those people who whisper and cry and bemoan do not suddenly find themselves turning into a ghost emoji now that I am here, because I am going to delight in taking their idiotic views on what makes professional wrestling the best sport in the world and scrubbing it clean of their tryhard shittiness. And it all begins with the worst of the bunch:

Peter Gilmour.

Sarah smiles as she makes her way through the halls of Groupama stadium. Still wearing her black and red dress from the beginning of the evening...though with a small tear along the seam on the right which happened after she drove her forearm into Peter’s groin...she walks along with an air of superiority which speaks of her position:

XWF Universal Champion.

The championship belt’s faceplate is massive as it is strapped across her waist, with the gold reaching from the bottom of her pelvis all the way up to the top of her ribcage, but she is not intimidated by it’s weight, neither in poundage nor presence. She had won ten championships in a career which was a few months shy of four years in length, and three of them, all gained in the last year, had been World Championships. Right at that moment, she had three championships, and she was not weighed down by their grand mass in the slightest.

All around her, staff members, both for the company and the hosting building, give her space, subconsciously moving left and right to go around her. She reveled in that level of respect, fear, and apprehension. Lived for it. She was the lioness at rest, ready to pounce. The spider in her lair, patiently awaiting the vibration of the web signaling an imperiled prey. She was-

The sound of a woman sighing in ecstasy pierces the air and a slight blush rises in Sarah’s pale cheeks. She reaches into her purse, a bag from YSL which matches her dress, and fishes out her phone. Sarah chuckles slightly as she remembers her old phone, the “sweet” Windows phone she had for years, which had finally died it’s final death. The black iPhone in her hand was an insistence by the owner of the sighing notification, the woman whose smiling face graced the background of the phone as wallpaper. A few button presses and she sees the notification:

The Sweetest Booty in ALLLLL the Land
Come paint me like one of your French whores

Sarah smirks and her high cheekbones grow hotter. A joke from earlier in the day, Kenzi’s offer to paint her meant a wonderful addition to their personal “spank bank,” an intimate collection of various forms of media the two had taken or created for one another. Kenzi was waiting at the hotel for her, likely with flowers, candles, and wine, because her Beloved was a total slut for romance, though she would never publicly admit to it.

“...oh, I’ll paint something, alright…”

“Caaaaaaan you paint me an interview?”

Sarah jumps, a small high-pitched yelp coming from her ruby lips, as she turns a corner and nearly runs into Steve Sayors. Recovering, Sarah narrows her eyes at him and gives him the frostiest look she can muster.

“How about ‘no?’ Does ‘no’ sound good to you? It sounds great to me.”

She pushes past Steve but the reporter whimpers and gives the saddest eyes. The whimper and sad eyes of an abandoned dog. The whimper and sad eyes that beseech you to hear Sarah McLachlan making you want to weep in the background. Not even the Blood Princess can ignore that call. She sighs and turns around.

“Go ahead.”

Steve immediately brightens and busts out his handy-dandy recorder.

“Earlier tonight, you said that you would face Peter Gilmour for your Universal Championship...and then later drive your forearm so far up the inside of his legs that he’ll be competing against Vinnie Lane for ‘Falsetto of the Year’ at the Awards Ceremony in December. Why, exactly, did you choose Peter?”

Sarah smirks the lips which are painted to match her eyes.

“Because Gilly is the personification of this place. Disgusting, gross, racist, extremist, more. He’s the ‘legend’ who has nothing outside of yesteryear to base his claims on, and even then, those who stood with him back in that yesteryear, those who fought both against him and at his side, routinely tout his inability to be anything even resembling a professional wrestler. Still, he exists, locked in time as if in a stasis box, trapped forever in a time where his antics were not only acceptable, but preferred. If my vision of cleaning up wrestling, of scrubbing it free of its dirt and grime, so that it can be held up as a shining example for the world to admire, it must start with the dirtiest, grimiest, smelliest, and most foul member of the roster.”

Steve opens his mouth to respond but Sarah silences him with a raised hand.

“Got a camera on you?”

Steve blinks for a second but then waves his hands rapidly.

“One sec, Champ! My team fell asleep while waiting to record more than 31% of tonight’s potential promo videos over the last two weeks...I’ll go get them.”

Steve runs off while Sarah grumbles to herself about how shameful 18 out of 57 is, then he returns with a cameraman and producer. After setting up, Sarah holds up her hand to Steve to keep him quiet, then motions for the camera to give a closeup of her face.

This is your chance, Gilly. From the moment I walked through XWF’s doors for March Madness last year...literally on Day One...you have been wanting this ass-kicking. Gross comments and allusions, constantly promoting of yourself despite the truth of your failures, endless wearing down of whatever pride I might have had in having my name associated with this company. So this is it. It’s your chance. Your one big moment. The chance to not only get your hands all of me, but to strip me of my dignity and take away the Universal Championship that I earned at Leap of Faith.

Here’s the deal:

I am going to give you every chance. Every moment. Every thing you need. I will NOT overwhelm you. I will NOT drop 27 promotional videos in 10 days. I will NOT bury you under a mountain of words which you can’t comprehend, much less dig your way out from underneath. I will, instead, allow you to be you. Because I want YOU, Gilly. I want YOU to be your nastiest, your raunchiest, your grossest. I want you to get it ALL out there. Smile sadistically. Chuckle maniacally. Tell me to suck your super dick. Be EXTREEEME. Have your demon hoe turn out to be a ninja assassin THE ENTIRE TIME. Give me it ALL, Gilly!

I am going to sit back and let you be you.

No restrictions.

No goading.

No nonsense.

Just you, in the heart of what some believe make this company the best there has ever been.

No limits.

No boundaries.

Just you going for the Universal Championship in the way that only an XWF “legend” can.

I want it ALL

So that the entire world will see what a sack of shit you, and that premise, are at their core.

You see, we’ve already SEEN you at your best, Gilly. Leap of Faith? THAT was your best, mang! You teamed up with Chris Chaos and went after Cataclysm. You fought hard, put your energy into everything you said and did, and surprised literally everyone’s perception and expectation of you.

And you got beat.

But not just beat.

Oh no, no no.

You got MANHANDLED.

Oh, there will be those who say that I’m being a tad be facetious right here, but facts are fact, Gil:

You performed in the level of your match at the same level that Gage performed in mine. And I’m pretty sure I broke that dummy 2/3rds of the way through the promotional cycle! Mr “I haz plan and faith in myself!” hasn’t been heard from for WEEKS.

YOU are your best equated to “4th place in a match comprised of 4 people.”

You know what MY best was worth? What it equated to?

The first time EVER that someone won the 24/7 Briefcase and successfully cashed in later on that night.

I admit, Leap of Faith WAS me at my very best. My match preparation was analytical, creative, relevant, and varied. My approach to the match itself was thoughtful and well-researched in regards to previous Leap of Faith matches. By the time I opened up the briefcase to show the contract, there wasn’t a single person in Saitama who had any doubt who the rightful winner of that match was. MY best meant “1st place in a match comprised of 6 people.” And then the strategy no one saw coming, the guile and boldness to rock this company’s very foundation.

YOUR best is losing again.

MY best is winning multiple championships and accolades at one event.

Then again, considering what all you have been doing while I was away, no one should be truly surprised. I mean...really Gilly...have you SEEN what you have been doing as a competitor in the XWF in the Lord’s Year of 2020? You’ve wrestled fourteen times, dude. FOURTEEN TIMES! I have wrestled fourteen matches in the last month! Literally! And what do YOU have to show for it? What does all of these shenanigans with Chaotic Inc added to the Legend of the Super Dick?

A record of six wins, seven losses, and one of your bullship draws. I shit you not, the only wins you have this year are against Barney Green, people you set up in the first place to jump them, and Taco the goddamn pig! Literally every competitive match you’ve had this year has been a giant L, from Big D to Centurion.

Hey, want to go further back than just this calendar year? How about the whole time I’ve been around these parts! If you add up ALLLLLL of the matches you have had since January of 2019, you get to a grand total of thirty-seven matches.

Wanna take a guess at how many times your hand has been raised?

Go ahead, take a guess.

…………………

….sigh…..

No, Gilly, “All of them SUCK MY DICK” is not the correct answer. The correct answer is:

Thirteen.

Bitch, I’ve had winning streaks in that time longer than that total!

And! AND! I have, quite literally, won more matches in the last two months than you have in the last two years. And before you channel some dipshit about OUtlAw mUdshOw you can ask Centy, Ruby, and Vinnie about what some of that competition has been like. Over the past few years, I have made “I won’t stop until I’m legend” one of my mantras, one of my driving principles, but I’ll be ready to throw it in the trash and set it on fire if your “legendary” career is testament to what qualifies for that distinction. The only thing you have been good at since the day I started wearing a training bra is believing in your own delusional hype to the point where even a green-as-grass rookie would roll their eyes at your touted prowess. After all, all they have to do is look up any random Warfare to see the truth of what you represent:

A time when fart jokes and crotch-chops counted as meaningful analytics full of insight.

Those days are over, Gilly.

And, by Baby Jesus’ smooth bottom, I plan on proving that in Paris. But in order to do that, I need you to be at your best, Pete. I need you to give it your all. Hell, think of it as the first and only time you’ve ever heard a hot chick tell you “Give it to me, Peter! I want it ALL!” Give me every bad joke, unnecessary overview, shortsighted appraisal, and blatant lie.

Give me YOU.

So that I can give truth to the lie of your legend and leave it splattered all over the Champs de Mars.

This is your one chance to prove you are more than the outdated, idiotic, moronic, simpleton I have always said you are.

Don’t blow it.

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