11-03-2019, 11:13 PM
Sarah Grey-Lacklan groans as she plops down onto the ground and leans against the wall. Dressed for battle in a black and red bodysuit, her “war paint” falling off her face in great batches, the Anarchy Champion looks a disheveled mess. Her platinum braid is free at many points, with hairs splintering off in many directions, and her odd red eyes seem covered in a glaze. But there is a smile on her brightly painted lips as she addresses the camera of her phone.
“Hey, Rubes.”
She reaches up and rubs at her cheek, and a smear of crimson stays bright on her pale cheek. She looks at the palm of her bloody hand in surprise, and then shakes her head.
“You know how we have found ourselves surrounded by idiots? Morons? People like Vita who think that ‘Nuh uh! YOU are!’ is an appropriate response to being called naught more than guttertrash? Or Noah, the ‘hardest worker’ who has basically laid claim to being the Konrad Raab of the XWF? All these imbeciles? They have no idea what hard work is. Oh, I know they THINK that they do. I know that they THINK they understand. But they don’t. They don’t understand the sacrifice. Sure, Fuzz will cry about doing double duty...which fucking up and not realizing that I literally did double duty when I defeated Noah for the Anarchy Championship...or when I did double duty when I beat Lux and Dolly for the King of the Ring...but they are too busy being pissbabies over the fact that I won’t play with them in the lockerroom to realize just how stupid they are.”
With another groan, she holds up her arm and a gleam of gold enters the screen.
“This is championship number four, Rubes. I had to get through a pretty crazy 8-person tag at 3 in the morning here at Korakuen before I got to beat up the champ later on, but I did both. Got through the tag match and then took what I wanted from this smiling buffoon.”
Her hand falls to her side and a thoughtful expression comes to her face.
“He reminds me of you, in some ways. Always smiling. Always happy. Always talking about being friends with people and doing the right thing, whatever that means. Well, I just drove his head into the Abyss and took his championship, so maybe he’ll send me a thank you note, or something.”
She lifts up her hand again and points at the camera.
“I expect a thank you from you too, Rubes. Because, like this former champ, I’m going to teach you a lesson. I’m going to teach you that being friends and being nice and filling the world with ‘my guy’ and ‘my bud’ is worthless. Friends?”
A momentary look of pain and sadness fills her face, but she shakes her head and pushes it all away.
“Friends are nothing but people looking to take advantage. Nothing but people wanting to steal what is yours. Its kinda funny how people in management in Anarchy think that ‘Lackfriends’ is an insult, or some such, but its true. I don’t need friends, Rubes. I have my Beloved. That is all I need. I didn’t need friends to win the King of the Ring. Or War Games. Or the Drezdin Open. Or the Anarchy Championship. I didn't need friends to out-swim a helicopter, trigger badasses to the point of tears, or turn the masterful Hooded Man into a whiny bitch. All I need is my Beloved, and together, we rule the wrestling world. I won't need friends to put you down.
“All of this silliness of yours? Whether its in your stupid banana and lime green bullshit or your Daria routine of sadness, its all just the same crap that everyone else flings around on Anarchy. Twelve editions of Anarchy, and each one has been more stupid than the last. A shitty roster of felons shooting people live during promos, owls, midget dictators, Australian pussies that can’t learn to take an L and move the fuck on. And...worst of all...Barney. All of your dumbass shit is perfect for them. You would make a great champion of Anarchy. Shame you have to go through me.”
She shakes her head.
“Months ago, I told you I would be Thanos for you. No jokes or jests, no playtime. But me, the Blood Princess, in full form. Ride the flames, the whole routine. But you failed. You FAILED. You got beat, center of the ring, and couldn’t recover. And while it is wonderful to see that you found some success in the Lottery...until you drew with Mastermind, anyway...that has no bearing on this week. Because the only success YOU have on Anarchy is when dealing with forgettable matches with Bobbi and Max. All YOU get are coinflips over the likes of Rebel Star.
“As for me? I’m going to walk into Newark with four championships...and then I’m going to walk about with all four. And then I’ll have to listen to Vita cry about how being a midcarder should be enough, or listen to Fuzz cry about how I haven’t defended a title in a match that hasn’t even been fucking booked, or listen to Noah cry about not getting what he deserved, or listen to BigD cry his way into another title match. But hopefully, I won’t have to listen to YOU cry about how you should have won this match. Hopefully, you won’t do to me what you did to Noah and sob and cry and mope for three months over an L. Hopefully, you’ll be able to put on your big girl panties and move the fuck on.”
Sarah lays her head against the wall and closes her eyes.
“And if you win? If you finally do something worth a fuck outside of that shit-filled Internet Division?”
A faint smile comes to her lips.
“I will enjoy my rest.”
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