One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying.
-Joan of Arc
What are we doing here now, Dol?”
A weathered and sickly looking Dolly is asked by an unseen voice as she drags down an arena corridor in North Carolina. Her skin is a gastly looking pale, eyes red and swollen like her raw nostrils and upper lip.
COVID protocols. Only the Dolly we see doesn’t utter those words, she merely flutters through a dry sniffle and exhales with an exhausted sounding groan.
...that’s why you SHOULD be here, but why are you REALLY here?
I don’t know what you mean.
The unseen voices of Dolly, and the voice from the light, continue narrating over the image of Dolly dragging her dehydrated, dilapted state of a body down the backstage hallways following the most recent episode of XWF Anarchy.
You’re not forgetting so soon are you?
...forgetting what?
Upon hearing some cluttering of voices nearby, Dolly halts her march toward the XWF medical station setup for the talent backstage. She peeks down a jagged hallway leading to the arena dressing room where she hears an old familiar voice.
You’re here to win the war. To keep the dream alive.
Uh, riiight. But I’m pretty sure I’m here to get tested for COVID.
”Tested”! Ha! How long have you been sick now?
I don’t know… ever since I wrestled Calypso and Bobby in that fatal-four-way, I guess. Then I turned right around and had to wrestle that poor chick on Anarchy. I’ve felt like hell ever since.
More than two weeks ago, huh? So even if you have COVID, and are still symptomatic, those results probably won't render a positive test.
That’s the plan, Jan. Test negative so I can still wrestle in the Cannabis Cup.
Dolly looks back up the direction she was initially walking, where she can see the signage for the XWF medical station, a simple red cross hanging above a doorway.
Why tell anyone at all then? Why not just get to the real reason you’re here.
Dolly hears that familiar voice again coming from down the hallway leading to the dressing room. Her tired eyes move back there. The voice is feminine, and though Dolly can’t make out what’s being said, she knows who’s speaking…
Excuse me?
Don’t play dumb.
Dolly begins drifting away from the medical station and toward the voice.
So I’m not here to go through COVID protocols?
...and ruin our opportunity to wrestle one another? No, no, no, no no! You’re here because I told you to be here. You’re here to win the war, because I have commanded you as such.
Dolly turns the corner at the end of the jagged little hallway and walks right into a grinning-
Oh! Hey, Dolly!
Savannah Knightley?
She’s wiping a thick white substance from her hand onto a towel and quickly discards the towel on the hallway floor. Her grin fades a bit as she spots Dolly’s shaky health worn on her sleeve.
Damn, girl. You look like shi– - -
ACHOO!!!!!
The Dolly standing in front of Savannah violently sneezes in the face of her soon to be WarGames partner. Snot slings out, and sprays over Knightley like a water sprinkler. Knightley’s features twist with horror and disgust, as if she were thinking of Calypso’s naked physique.
y-iiiiiick! she flings her hands away from her eyes, pale green mucus splashing onto the floor below
WHAT THE FUCK, DOLLY?
That’s more like it! They’re all going to mock you for being a piece of shit anyway, might as well lean into it!
Wait! You mean I’m the reason that-
-You better not get me sick! Little freak!
The sickly Dolly in the hallway looks on in a feverish deliria, she bends down and picks up the towel Savannah slung to the floor. Trying to help her comrade out, Dolly hands her the towel.
-girl, you need to take some vitamins or something, with your sick ass. EW! she reacts to Dolly handing her the towel,
that towel has about a million dead Liam Roberts babies on it!
Dolly shrieks and drops the cum rag, as Savannah begins rightfully wiping Dolly’s snot off of her own face and wiping it back onto its proper owner.
The image pulls back, and we see that this entire scene has been observed on Taimarus, the giant holographic time machine computer thing inside of Mastermind’s mansion.
Peter Vaughn, Thaddeus Duke and Mastermind all turn away from the screen and settle their eyes on Dolly with looks of condemnation. Her eyes roll, arms fold, foot taps on the floor and index finger taps on her bicep.
What?! she demands with a defensive tone,
Thaddeus simply shakes his head and walks out of view, while Vaughn approaches Dolly stunned by his partner’s cold actions that have been revealed.
“You mean to tell me that you intentionally got our partner sick with COVID?”
Dolly appears to be boiling beneath her surface, not looking Vaughn in the eyes before replying to him, as she throws her arms in the air,
So what! I just did what everyone else was too afraid to do! And now we have Thad, soooo yer’ fuckin’ welcome Peter! You too “Mastermind”
An ironic tone in her voice as she barks out the name of the War Masters’ leader. Mastermind simple smiles and closes in on Dolly and Vaughn, placing a hand on each of their shoulders as he comes between them, easing the tension with his calculating presence.
The Martyr, indeed. he says matter of factly, while pulling his eyes away from Dolly and back to Vaughn,
She’s right, you know? It takes a special type of person to be willing to sacrifice everything for the cause. To know that your actions will lead to your undoing, but still you fight. The old woman planting seeds for the trees she’ll never enjoy the shade of. Despite what the our foes say, Dolly’s actions made our team stronger, just like I knew she would, and even still… Mastermind takes his hand from Vaughn’s shoulder as the SuperContinental Champion’s features begin to relax with acceptance, and opens his arm, leading Dolly back to the Taimarus holographic screen,
... her work is not done, not yet.
Dolly fully converges on the control panel for Mastermind’s machine, staring up into the complexity of its screen. It’s translucent, but at the same time, it seems to contain the matter, future, past, present, of countless dimensions, and the universes that they hold.
Close your eyes, Dolly. It’s time for you to see why the Martyr is essential to mastering war.
Dolly does as she’s asked and immediately feels herself being vacuumed into Taimarus. That feeling when you can watch yourself draining away into your dreams as you sleep. Or even a free-falling dream in general. Dolly recalled the feeling from times of falling asleep at her desk in school. Watching herself plummet with no control. Only now, when she opens her eyes, they wellover at the magnificence of infinite dimensions sprawling out before her. Dolly stares into all that ever is, was, or will be for what feels like a millennia- but it all really bursts away in a fraction of a second.
Independence Day 1431
(English Ruled) Rouen, Normandy
 |
In the ancient bowels of the Rouen Castle, among the cold clay and rats, is imprisoned the biggest threat to English rule over France.
A nineteen year old peasant girl known as Dolly of Arc.
In a short time, Dolly has helped turn the tide in her French homeland’s war against the dominant English Crown. After convincing the king of France to allow her to fight, claiming that the voice of God was guiding her, Dolly led a decisive and shocking victory over the English in Orleans.
From there her popularity grew, and her influence spread across the French countryside. The inspiring tales of an unlikely young warrior fighting to rid their home of their oppressive English rulers, and in the name of God no less, swept the French people into a frenzy. Where they were once defeated, they rose again- ready to follow Dolly into battle.
The English Crown has grown desperate to silence Dolly’s movement, to exercise a show of strength, and squash out the dreams of the French once and for all. Lucky for them, Dolly of Arc helped make that possible, by inexplicably surrendering the English forces just weeks before her planned siege on Paris. Now they have Dolly of Arc captured, and held in Rouen Castle and under trial for heresy.
There’s a banging on the wrought iron bars of Dolly’s prison chamber. She lifts her head from the dirt floor, the wounds of a century's worth of war are worn on the nineteen year old girl's face, but still her eyes are green and angelic. Commanding, calculated, yet calm and truthful. She rises from the floor, dusting the dirt from her tunic and trousers. A traditionally masculine set of clothing.
Dolly of Arc.
A petite, blue haired female guard beckons Dolly. The guard seems out of place, almost too adorable for these times. Her features are so symmetrical and attractive, that she almost appears drawn. But maybe there’s another reason she seems so out of place.
I am Dolly of Arc. Are you my new guard? I have requested female guards as warranted by English law.
The guard's face draws long with anxiety as she shakes her head ‘no’, instead handing a type of garment through the bars of the iron prison door.
The inquisitors have requested that you be dressed as a proper woman for the remainder of your trial.
She slings the dingy looking gown to Dolly, who looks down on it with contempt.
But I’m not comfortable wearing women’s rags.
I’m not saying I agree with it… I’m just doing my job.
You’re English?
From London. Yes.
You like being here in Burgundy?
I don’t like this war, I want it to end. I want to go home. That’s why you need to hurry up and be dressed, so this trial can be over.
Dolly makes a long smirk, holding up the gown, looking at it in full now and taking turns shifting her eyes between it and the guard.
I’ll do as they wish.
She disrobes in front of the guard whose face turns pink with attraction. Dolly slides the gown over her gracefully lean and athletic frame, not a look of worry, or fear one written on her face. Dolly does not fear the inquisitors. She’s been interrogated by them for weeks. Often leading them into fits of rage when she would induce them to ask questions sequentially rather than simultaneously. They have no doubt that Dolly is a heretic, a dangerous supernatural force that must be stopped if England is to continue its rule over France. The situation is so dire that they’ve broken away from typical inquirstor standards, denying Dolly legal counsel, not naming her charges before beginning their interrogation, intimidating her with male guards who have acted out in unspeakable atrocities against Dolly. Anything to shake the young warriors morale. But she remains resolute in her beliefs. That God has commanded her to defeat the English crown.
The blushing guard opens the door for Dolly and begins leading her up to the trial room. She doesn’t shackle Dolly’s arms, and instead lets her walk freely beside her, shoulder to shoulder as they move through the dungeons of Rouen Castle.
I’m actually a big fan of yours. the guard admits. Dolly doesn’t look at her, only smiles as they continue to walk forward,
Then why not release me?
Because they’ll… they’ll kill me.
But you’re okay with them killing me?
I don’t know what you want me to say, Dolly. I’m not the one claiming that God is leading me to defeat the greatest military force the world has ever known, which by the way, is exclusively funded by “god” himself. I don’t really believe these mean things we say about you, in fact, I believe there’s more of God in your little pinky than in all of England
As Dolly and the guard round the narrow corner of the stairwell leading up into the castle, they’re ambushed by the inquisitors, the three of them seeming as out of place as the guard. One bald, possibly jewish man, another of eastern descent, and a man from the New World.
”Dolly of Arc…” the bald inquisitor slithers the words through the gap in his teeth, sounding like a snake.
”You have been formally admonished by the court of the University of Paris, and found guilty of heresy against the Crown.”
Dolly of Arc simply smiles and meets the gaze of the blue-haired guard,
Now’s your chance… she states, as the guards wrap their hands around Dolly’s arms, lifting her from her feet and carrying her toward the castle’s exit. But the guard does nothing, instead looking away from Dolly and at her own feet.
It’s okay. Dolly reassures the guard, as she’s dragged away to her execution
Every war needs it’s cowards too.
Out in the public square, Dolly is bound to a wooden stake, as the entire town empties from their dwellings to watch as she’s formally read her charges.
Dolly of Arc you have been found guilty on twelve counts of heresy against the crown, and practicing witchcraft, and have been sentenced to be burned at stake until dead… do you have any final words?
Her face is calm, glowing with joy almost,
Oh do I!
I say to all of ye’ who watch what will happens today to not question my actions through the lenses of what the liars have told you. Question it deeper. Ask your heart where God’s will lies. Does it lie in irreverence and parody? In twisted swirls of hypocrisy? Does God favor those who preach of morality, but act as craven, and demented of what they condem?
Every man and woman here has dreamed, we’ve all heard HIM calling out to us, yet no one answers the call. We all fall short of HIS grace, after all… her eyes darting to the bald inquisitor,
What can be said of man who doesn’t want to be reminded of his shortcomings, but wants the world to take hisd word when he speaks on the shortcomings of others. A man who boldly, coldly and mindlessly mock the “bridesmaid” in us all, when a “bridesmaid” such as myself has already admitted my failures? I literally called MYSELF by the cute little term he believes he’s coined for me, and I said it twelve months ago. Outside of a dishonest man, we could call him something worse. Uninspiring perhaps? But no worries, for a man such as this, he may only find company with the dually uninspired, and liars, and hypocrites of his time.
She glares upon the grinning faces of the eastern-looking, and western-looking inquisitors,
What more could men like this provide to the world, what could they provide to God’s will besides polluting it with dishonesty. But they are not alone, their undue jealousy towards me says everything you need to know. Because Space Jesus has shown me favor, and has guided me, I’m treated as if I’m a heretic. Yet I’ve only shown each and everyone of you what you’re afraid to see inside of yourselves.
LET HE WHO IS WITHOUT SIN CAST THE FIRST STONE!
Not a rock one flies toward her,
Today it is God’s will that I die for this war. That I be burned and released to serve him in the kingdom of the universe. Petty men like these inquisitors, and their fearful King, care not about the consequences of their fears. They will say and do anything to contradict the truth, even when etched before them in stone by HIS hand.
He has spoken the words: Dolly of Arcf will be CONSISTENTLY underestimated. And so I was!
Look at the mighty Crown now TREMBLE, and rattle out lies from its dying lungs. They think that by killing Dolly of Arc that the war will end, but they’re too shallow, too egotistical to understand that my sacrifice today is not for the war of today, but of the dream that carries the war ever forward. As Space Jesus has commanded.
I am not afraid of anything, for I know he’s with me. And though this body dies today, it is not a sacrifice of who Dolly of Arc is. It is the opposite. I die today, in this war, by not sacrificing my life to the Crown. By not being a good little peasant girl, like the brass and these inquisitors want me to be. I die today for being the warrior of HIS will. And though they claim my words to be false, see who it is that is tied to the stake right now. It’s not Dolly of Arc. It is the FEAR of the entire English Monarchy that will burn today. Only the fire the Dolly of Arc will burn on forever.
With that, Dolly of Arc set ablaze. The flames engulfed and fluttered around her body. Snuffing her breath quickly. Dolly closes her eyes and sees the fires of wars to come.
She sees THE fire.
HIS fire.
The King burning on May Day.
HER fire.
Everything goes white…
Now have your vengeance, Dol.
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