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Lacklan · **10-15-2019, 10:17 PM**

Kenzi Grey-Lacklan’s eyes fill with a hungry light as she wades in the water. With her forest of microbraids piled high atop her head to avoid them getting wet, the caramel starlet rests her backside against the pool’s edge. Her lips curl up into a smile that shares her eye’s hunger and a small growl escapes her throat. Across from her, Sarah Grey-Lacklan stands outside of the pool, preparing to enter. Sarah’s form, surprisingly curvy to those who like to pretend she is still 12 or something, fills out her silver one-piece bathing suit in a way which forces the growl from Kenzi. Her dark eyes are drawn to Sarah’s shapely thighs, her obsession in recent months, as her wife has not only fully gotten her body back from before her accident, but was now weighing in even a little heavier than when they first met. They pause on the scar along her right hip, half of it slipping out from underneath the suit, and her mood darkens. But she shakes her head and pushes it away.

“...waiting…”

Sarah looks up at Kenzi and her cheeks redden at hearing the heat in her wife’s voice. Her own eyes open wide to drink in Kenzi in the corner of the pool, for while she herself opted for swimwear similar to what she wore when she was on the swim team in high school a few years prior, Kenzi wore her usual two-piece bikini that allowed every ab to glisten delightfully. Sarah slips into the pool and down under the water, her strong legs carrying her like a torpedo, before popping up with a burst of water, her hair flinging back.

“Hey! Watch the hair!”

Kenzi recoils from Sarah’s splash but cannot keep the smile off her face. Sarah smiles back at her and rushes forward, pinning Kenzi against the wall, and gives her a grin full of mischief.

“Ya know...we haven’t properly ‘broken in’ the pool, yet.”

Sarah’s hands reach up and begin to pull down Kenzi’s top, more of her caramel goodness becoming visible, and the Anarchy Champion begins to giggle. Kenzi leans back to allow her wife all the room and freedom in the world-

And then shrieks.

“STEVE?!”

Kenzi, suddenly clutching her chest and keeping the bikini from falling too far down, pushes away from the wall. Sarah reflexively grabs her waste and pushes them both backward as her eyes look around. They eventually find themselves locking into Steve Sayors, laying in a pool chair with his shirt off, his chest as white as the porcelain pool, and his eyes open wide and staring at them.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you!”

Kenzi growls as she adjusts her top and Sarah narrows her eyes at the reporter.

“Damnit, Fuckbrain! What are you doing here?!”

He doesn’t take his eyes from them, and even licks his lips, as he answers with a pained:

“...sunbathing?”

Kenzi folds her arms over her chest once she is finished with her wardrobe adjustment, subtly and effectively hiding even the swell of caramel goodness, and give him a flat stare. Sarah growls as she brings her arms back and then pushes them forward, splashing water out of the pool and onto Steve. The reporter yelps and scrambles out of his chair while the XWF Tag Team Champions begin to swim away towards the stairs of the pool.

“Oh, come on! Just a few questions? Please?!”

The champions come to a halt as Steve scampers toward them, the man’s garishly bright Crocs saving him from slipping and falling. Sarah and Kenzi stare at one another, a full conversation passing between chocolate and odd red eyes, and Sarah finally sighs and nods her head. Kenzi leans in for a quick kiss and a whispered promise of making the interview “worth” Sarah’s “while” before leaving the pool.

“First, I-”

Sarah silences him with a raised finger as she stares after her departing wife. That infamous “Sweetest Booty in ALLLLLLLL the Land” is on quite the display as Kenzi makes her way toward the sliding glass door of their Hollywood Hills home, and Steve’s eyes join Sarah’s in taking in the full amazingness of the starlets “badonk,” as Kenzi’s people would say. Sarah smiles as Kenzi enters the house, wrapping a towel around herself, and turns her head to regard Steve.

“My life choices are amazeballz, Fuckbrain! So...what dumb questions are you going to ask?”

She looks up toward the sun, squinting as she does so, before looking back towards him.

“You have time enough for five. Annnnnnnnnd go!”

Steve busts out his phone, sits down onto another poolside chair, and begins.

“First thing I have to ask...this pool. You guys just got it installed, and there’s a rumor that it is filled with Shane

’s tears. Is that true?”

Sarah giggles as she wades in the shallow end of the pool.

“Yes and no. Obvs, they aren’t the REAL tears, as a CERTAIN unsubstantiated reporting service might tell you...THOSE are so salty that we’d all be floating like we’re in the Salton Sea...but it is metaphorically true!”

She pushes herself off the bottom of the pool and glides through the water with the practiced ease of a woman how had swam her whole life until she was at the opposite side. And there, rising out of the side of the porcelain like a Greek god, was a giant bust of Shane

’s head. Wearing glasses and with the sunken eyes/sallow skin/5 o’clock stubble combination of a man who spent half his life getting inexhaustibly triggered by people too smart and witty for him to handle, the bust has twin lines of water pushing out of the eye sockets, the perpetual tears circulating through the pool before finding themselves going out through the filter. Sarah giggles again as she turns to Steve.

“One down, four to go!”

Steve nods to himself as his fingers flash across his screen with his notes.

“You’re not in the Lethal Lottery, something which has caught a few people by surprise. What happened to ‘Mama Tournaments?’”

Sarah holds up a finger.

“Axly!”

Which everyone knew was coming.

“Being Mama Tournaments is WHY I won’t be in Lethal Lottery! Here’s the dealio, Fuckbrain: I wanted to do Lethal Lottery. A tourney filled with random tags, two thing that I’m badass in? And with a prize to make an entire show about ME?! Sign me up! But! Oh, holy hell BUT! Something happened in Japan that I need to rectify. See, I decided to branch out...mostly for fun...and do this MMA fight, right? My Beloved has done a few and that inspired me...as well as turning my lower regions into a rainforest like you would NOT believe...and I wanted to try it out. But something HORRENDOUSLY stupid happened! Fight starts, my opponent with a KILLER reach pops me in the face a couple of times, and BLAM! I’m cut. Blood dripping down my face, right? And while in WRESTLING that’s just the cost of business, in MMA its a different story! THE STOPPED THE FIGHT AFTER TEN SECONDS!”

Sarah shakes her head with true anger.

“The fuck! I take an L on my record for virtually NOTHING and there was a near RIOT as my Fang Gang to UP the place in anger. But the massive conglomerate that runs those shows is hosting this badass deathmatch round robin tourney, which includes a dude who beat me once in a tournament final AND my current mentor, and this presented a GREAT opportunity to redeem myself in the eyes of the Japanese fans. But! The dates DO NOT work with the Lethal Lottery being on Saturdays! Had they been on Wednesdays, I would have made it work. But them being on Savage meant being across the country at the literal same time, so I had to bow out of one. And with me being the TRUE Anarchy Champion AND one half of the Tag Team Champions, I figured that the XWF audience didn’t need any more of me, ya know?!”

Steve nods as he takes it all down.

“Speaking of...are you serious about what you said about Vita? About the-”

“Begging and pleading?”

Steve nods and Sarah’s face fills with a smug smile.

“One hundred percent, Fuckbrain. I am the ONLY Anarchy Champion and Vita can embarrass herself by ‘defending’ her #BovineFecalMatterChampionship against plants and dipshits all she wants, but its not going to lead to her getting any of my shine. I will NOT allow her SINGLE chance to go zero and four against me until she BEGS me. Hands, knees, tears, the whole routine. And if a SINGLE one of the people in charge around her tries to bring together some bullshit ‘unification match,’ there WILL be consequences. I don’t care if its Raven, Theo, or Vinnie. I don’t care if its my teatime buddy Atticus or the obese ghost of Chubby Fletcher himself, there will be NO rewarding Vita’s pathetic attempt at saving face over me outswimming a fucking helicopter without her skinning her knees for something other than a mouthful of Noah. Either she BEGS me or she...gets…NOTHING.”

Sarah flashes her Billion $$$ Smile.

“Two left!”

“Are you confident going into your match in Hawaii?”

Sarah smiles broadly.

“Extremely! There is ZERO chance of me NOT walking out of the Blaisdell Center with Win Number Ninety-One!”

Steve blinks in surprise several times.

“Nintey-one? Weren’t you just at eighty-five or something?”

Sarah’s smug smile returns.

“Not that long ago, yeah. But in the time from when I updated everyone on my ‘Search for 100,’ my KILLER year has continued unabated! In the last two months, I have one TWO tournaments, THREE championship matches, and gone an ASTONISHING thirteen and one across this business. WINNING is what I do, and while on this beautiful Sunday...which is SUPPOSED to be my fucking day OFF, Fuckbrain...I am sitting pretty at eighty-eight wins, I FULLY intend on adding THREE more by the time I have a champion’s breakfast in bed with Kenzi filled with Kona coffee and fresh pineapple.”

Steve narrows his eyes and a glint of humor shines within them.

“Did you poison MacAlister ahead of time? Or perhaps get it rigged, somehow?”

Sarah stares at him flatly but then give him an exaggerated wink.

“Oh no! None of that! Axly, I’m paying him to take a dive, just like Kuda and Noah! Because that is what everyone wants to hear, right? That I don’t earn my victories? That the ABSOLUTE DESTRUCTION of the XWF roster that has come before me...with the lone exception of Robbie NOT being high for a few seconds before going back into his slumber...has NOTHING to do with my skill. It HAS to be rigged, right? I HAVE to be getting easy wins from an owner that axly can’t stand me...but hey...who needs THAT fact when its more fun to paint a picture on social media boards that we’re buddies. I HAVE to be getting wins because I soften people up. I HAVE to be getting wins though NEFARIOUS MEANS. We’ll just ignore the REALITY, as I mentioned last time, that my INSANE record in the XWF is against a mixture of incredible talent (hi, Corey!), midcard hacks (I’ll mention you in a sec, Donovan!), shitty-as-FUCK legends who can’t take their L and move on (‘sup, clown!), and, lets face it, absolute losers who never should have been anywhere NEAR an XWF ring but get chances because the management is, at times, complete craxballz (an owl? really?)”

“So, you ARE confident going into your match against Griffin MacAlister?”

Sarah scrunches her face in thought for a moment.

“Ya know what? I’m going to be kind and NOT blast you for asking too many questions. I’ll count all of those as two. So!”

She pushes herself backwards in the water, her arms pinwheeling in a gentle backstroke, until she can rest her arms on the edge of the pool.

“Let me tell you about the Mechanic.”

She looks away for a moment, her red-hued eyes taking the still-developing backyard of “Lacklanland West.”

“I fight for everything I have. I earn it. All with real dollars fought in real matches against real people.”

She points to a large area at the back of the property dominated by a large bird coup.

“Those pigeons? I took up their husbandry when I was hurt. Remember how I gave you shit last time for not knowing the context of my story, regardless of how open I am about it? It was during that time that I took it up. You have NO idea how hard it is to raise a flock of extinct albino carrier pigeons! But I did it because I was determined to do SOMETHING while I was hurt. I fought hard and they have become something that many people in this business can enjoy, and continues to be something I have to earn and support.”

She points to a portion of cement where a basketball hoop stands before a painted half court.

“My Beloved played basketball when we were in high school. She wasn’t great...the first time we played together is axly a funny story...but she has always wanted to have a court for fun. We paid to have that put in, at least in part, due to my War Games earnings.”

She turns her head and points to the odd egg-shaped two-story house.

“Kenzi bought this house before we knew each other. Or, at least, before we became intimate. She bought it will gambling earnings...though you REALLY should not look too deeply into that...my Beloved was quite the scoundrel before I made her settle down...and being able to afford it is a CONSTANT struggle. The house...and Dark Goddess Productions...is a very real strain on our finances, and the NEED to fight and earn REAL dollars is ever-present. We love our home! And so we fight.”

She gestures towards the pool she resides in.

“This pool? Put in with the bonus we made for winning the Tag Team Tournament and becoming the champions. I swam in high school, along with the cheerleading, and knew from the moment I moved to California to be with Kenzi that I wanted to have a pool. But I wanted to EARN it. And while it has taken me three years, I have it.”

She shakes her head as her mouth tightens in a grimace.

“People like to make quips and quibbles about my trust. Its true, I have one. Sorta. My family is long...we go back to the foundation of this country...but by no means do I have access to it. Sure, I grew up in a freakin’ castle and all, but this? All of this? Adult Sarah? Second generation wrestlers, married to a peer whose heart is in Hollywood? That’s all me. That’s all my efforts. And in those times across the last three years where we didn’t have a place to stay? Like when we lived in hotels and a string of Comfort Inns for a few months last summer? That’s also me. My failure. So, as I sit in this pool that we have earned in the backyard of the house we fight to keep, it is within the bounds of reality. In what is REAL.”

She shakes her head and finally looks back up at Steve.

“This business is FULL of people who try to convince you to embrace their fantasies. ‘I’m stronger!’ they cry. ‘I’m faster!’ they plead. ‘I am...SUPERNATURAL!’ they beg. ‘I am WITHOUT WEAKNESS!’ they say, their bodies trembling. And I look at them, I see the monsters, I see the charletons, and I stand firm in reality and BEAT them.”

She holds up a finger.

“Donovan Blackwater. Not a man. MORE than a man. Superior strength. Ability to push away with his mind. And while other’s felt their jaws drop in shocked stupor, I laughed in his face and mocked him. I embraced my inner Galadriel and told him to fuck off. And when I beat him clean in the ring? He pretended it never happened because his pathetic excuses of ‘um...I...I lose...on purpose?’ were as hollow THEN as they are NOW.”

Another finger.

“Luna Hightower. Strengths? SUPREME BADASS. Weaknesses? If she takes enough damage, she becomes EVEN MORE BADASS. I laughed in her face and called her out on how fucking SHITTY that all sounded. And what happened when our War Games teams clashed? Bitch got beat by freakin’ GILMORE.”

She shakes her head as she lowers her arm and allows her fingers to idly flick the water.

“MacAlister is this odd love child of those two idiotic fantasies. Every day in this business, I face men who are stronger than me and I have to outwit them. I have to slip away from their attacks, widdle down their defenses, and bide my time to strike a joint when they make a mistake. I fight REALITY. I don’t fall for false preachers or boogeymen, I don’t give in to the fearsome presence of those who would pattern themselves after zombies, vampires, or faeries. I don’t allow myself to be intimidated by the fantasies of men who try to win the battle mentally before it begins physically.

“MacAlister is not a monster. He is not a machine. He is not Captain America or the Winter Soldier. He is a MAN. No amount of trickery or deceit, of smoke and mirrors, will change that. He will try to operate his ‘super strength,’ like Donovan, and go into berzerker mode when he gets desperate, like Luna, and will face the same fate:

“Having to explain how he took that L from this ‘little girl’ after saying that he’s a fucking cartoon character.”

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