12-04-2019, 09:09 PM
It would be a lie to admit that I was in anything but a slump, and I abhor liars, so let us bring this to the forefront so that none of you whiny children can bring up that “No Sell Sarah” nonsense battle cry from Triggered, Down Under:
After several months of dominance, I have been getting my ass kicked in singles competition on Anarchy.
I allowed the duo of Fuzz and Noah to sneak up on me during that idiotic brawl on Halloween and pin my shoulders in an XWF match for the first time.
I allowed Ruby to catch me with her cutter and leave me laying long enough to take away my Anarchy Championship.
I allowed Ruby to then slam a garbage bin on top of my head to put an end to my rematch hopes.
The lid of the dumpster pushes upward and then falls back down with a clatter that echoes in the dark alley. After a moment, the lid pushes upward again, and a wrist wrapped in translucent red lace is seen, before the lid again slams shut. A third time it lifts up and finally reaches the height to push it backward to lean against the wall of the arena. The wrist is joined by its pair, and after setting their accompanying hands on the rim of the dumpster, they push downward and allow the albino to bring herself upward. With a heave, she tumbles forward out of the can and falls flat on her back on the dirty ground.
I can admit, with all sincerity, that this is the lowest in-ring moment of my XWF career. I am endeavoring for one hundred, endeavoring to reach that milestone of one hundred wins, and I placed myself in position to do so before year’s end. Matches in both of the companies I represent, as well as a Round Robin tournament that, unfortunately, made me unavailable for the splendid chaos that was XWF’s own Lethal Lottery. And in the space of that time, from quite the high perch of putting down that vapid, useless piece of gutter trash you all know as the boss’ girlfriend, I have fallen on my face. A single victory and draw across ten matches in that time, with eight losses, including the three aforementioned Anarchy contests.
The albino pushes herself up onto her hands, and then pushes her body back to sit upon the ground and against the dumpster. She pulls her knees into her body and hangs her head.
Ugh. Look at me. I never should have even been in this match. I’m exhausted! Overworked! Pushed myself beyond my limit! And I have paid the price in pain and humiliation. In the last few weeks, I have been utterly embarrassed, defeated, and made to smell of refuse for a second time in front of an XWF audience. I have been traveling non-stop, sleeping far too little, and spending far too much time away from my Beloved. I have made mistakes and miscalculations in the hubris of my desire for that magical milestone of one hundred. I believed that was a burden to be shared only by me. It was something I needed to do FOR myself, BY myself. Eyes on me, right?
I’m an idiot.
The albino breathes in deeply, her body moving up and down in large and slow movements.
But thankfully…
To the side, a door leading into the building opens and a dull light spills out into the dark alley.
….against all odds...and certainly against any possible future I ever imagined for myself…
A dark silhouette fills the doorway, a silhouette with a curvy figure and what seems to be the very tentacles of Davey Jones himself waving free about the shoulders.
...I am NOT alone. I have a secret weapon. A weapon that no one ever holds to its great value. A weapon that both lifts me up and keeps me grounded. A weapon that chooses to fight the world across the world with me. A weapon that has chosen, despite the world’s odds, to follow me into the dark.
The “Grey” in “Grey-Lacklan.”
“Babe?”
The albino doesn’t move as the husky voice reaches out to her. The silhouette moves fully into the alleyway to reveal a caramel skinned beauty, the tentacles turning to a horde of dark microbraids spilling down thin shoulders. The beauty’s face, splashed with a surprising explosion of light freckles, frowns in concern as she walks toward the woman seated on the ground. She doesn’t hesitate when she reaches her, and instead places her foot at the bottom of the girls behind and pushes, prompting her to move. Sluggish under her weighted shoulders, the albino grudgingly scoots forward, putting distance between herself and the dumpster. The woman with the bronze skin steps into the gap, facing the back of the albino, and lowers herself to the ground. She reaches her arms around the albino and pulls her back, forcing her to lean against her, as she herself leans against the dumpster.
“Well...this brings back a few memories.”
See that smirk on Kenzi’s face? See that FUCKING SMIRK and the red rising in my cheeks? Bitch ALWAYS knows what to say and do. A tiny reminder of our “first time,” if you catch my meaning, as well as a very sweet moment a month later. Sitting in a hotel in Las Vegas, I was dejected over having failed in two championship matches in a row, and she was there to lift me up, both physically and emotionally. I was worried about making my father and trainer proud. Worried about making Kenzi, by then my girlfriend, proud. And her words in return?
"Honey, I am proud and I bet they are too! But, you gotta start with making yourself proud first."
Wonderful advice from someone so fierce. Mind you, she followed THAT up by saying:
"Set some bitches on fire...you'll feel better!"
That always makes me feel better, to be certain. You know, this one time? My Beloved hired a guy to let me set him on fire. I had already (finally) done it within the confines of a match by then, so it didn’t have the cathartic effect she was looking for, but it was still greatly appreciated. And, believe you me, I should her later on how appreciative I was! We have always looked out for one another, even from the moment we met. She welcomed me into an unknown social world without a second glance at the way I looked, we became fast friends, immediately into best friends, and then into the life-long romance that will be spoken of by bards for the rest of time. As I have covered at length before, we are a team in every way, in every aspect of life. No matter what team comes before us, they will NEVER be as connected as we are. We live, eat, sleep, travel, work, love, fuck, BREATHE together, and the moments after my second failure against Ruby...perhaps a person I simply cannot defeat...was a wonderful reminder of that.
“I am embarrassed, Beloved.”
The voice of the albino is soft, tired, and pained. She tries to push her face even further into her knees, but the woman behind her stops her. She pulls her hands upward, her arm pushing between the albino’s breasts and to her shoulder, and she pulls backward, forcing the albino to lay her back fully against her chest. Her legs then wrap around, forcing those of the albino to spread, and fully traps her with the “hooks” in. The caramel skinned woman presses her cheek against that of the albino, the contrast between the black and white startling to the eye, and she gives her a low hum.
“You’re amazing, Sar. We can’t win them all. I lost every match for a year straight, in case I haven’t told you-”
Ugh. She has. Like, a thousand times.
“-but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to be great someday! You kicked ass on Anarchy. You put everyone in their place while doing so...including both the new Television champ AND the new Universal champ...but now its time to focus on something else! And together...we will!”
The albino lets out a deep sigh and then reaches up and back with her left hand, allowing it to get lost in the nest of microbraids and give them a tug.
“I’m nothing without you, Beloved.”
The darker woman snickers.
“Obvs!”
The albino raises her head and her sharp face scrunches into a scowl.
“Stop that!”
The darker woman sighs and shakes her head, her microbraids tickling the neck and shoulders of her paler partner.
“Remember ‘fun,’ Sar? Remember laughing over dumb fake words? Remember, OW!”
The hand seems to pull a touch too tightly on the microbraids.
That...um...was an accident…
The dark eyes of the woman narrow.
“...gonna pay for that…”
Oddly, the albino smiles, the lips painted deep red seeming to break her face in two.
“Looking forward to it.”
The darker woman chuckles and shakes her head.
“C’mon, lets get you cleaned up. I can already hear Noah bitching!”
Here I was, sitting on the ground, smelling garbage and refuse, having just lost my third XWF match in a row after so many victories, and yet I am STILL not the underdog going into our Tag Team Championship match on Savage, because even smelling of filth and failure, I still stand tall next to Ned Kaye. I will give you all a moment to absorb that excellent segue and take this silence to watch Kenzi and I go inside the building. I am very pretty, and I take care of my body in ways that most of you are too lazy to find solace, but I am nothing compared to that legendary behind of my partner. It is the sweetest in all of the land, in case you have not heard.
A few weeks ago, while I was still reigning as the champion of the Anarchy brand, I made a rare public statement on the subject of challengers. There is this silly false narrative spread around by those keyboard-thumping tryhards of the basements of mothers that I do not defend championships in matches that are not scheduled. Silly, that. My statement made it clear that, should I retain against my dreaded rival Ruby, I was looking forward to defending at Lethal Lottery against a variety of options, men and women who had earned the right to challenge, and not just some random challenger from a fatal fourway involving listless losers. Among those names were Ruby, of course, as well as our new Television Champion, our current Extreme Champion and winner of the Lethal Lottery, and the woman who found solace in madness after her last attempt to gain victory over me.
That list ALSO included YOU, Big D, as you have done well for yourself to build a brand of hard-working gamesmanship over the last few months.
A shame you have embarrassed yourself by using your earned title shot by picking such a mindless lower card act in Ned.
So as not to trigger poor Ned with any type of retelling of my life, as his rudimentary comprehension skills would have you believe is all I do, I shall choose to discuss HIS life. Mind you, what he does outside of this ring is so boring as to induce an immediate, and likely eternal, state of unconsciousness, and since I already have half the roster crying about how I am not “fun” anymore because I don’t play grabass in the XWF halls with the rest of the children, I will refrain from covering that. Instead, let us focus on Ned within XWF, let us focus on the matches behind and the match ahead.
Allow me to hesitate for a side note, here. I was never very good at math, and would much rather pay people to take care of math for me, but I have been practicing lately. Here is an example:
On the Value of Giving a Shit About Your Match: Did you know that Ned Kaye spent less than 10% of his promotional time for Lethal Lottery on his match? If you want to REALLY get technical, it was 8.5%! The REST of the time was worring about a match he would never, ever, ever, ever, ever be in.
This is what you have chosen to stand at your side, D. War Games established how little your skill is in choosing opponents...you might remember that I dragged you to victory...and you have compounded upon that characteristic with your choice in Ned. While YOU had a rough road in the beginning and have earned a modicum of respect amongst our peers, Ned had the opposite path. He was placed into a position where he was able to garner easy wins, was propped and fluffed by others to be someone of value...because he put out half-formed shitty tweets...and was hand-picked by Main in order to have an easy title defense, as I have covered before. After loss after loss, after getting cut down early on in the Anarchy tournament, after the reality of his mediocrity came into full breadth and being, his own body gave up on his mind’s delusions and broke. And his big return? His time to shine in a spotlight to show that he is worthy of running with the Apex and being a featured asset of the XWF?
Allow me, if I may, to give you his own words:
“Incredibly frustrated about my showing for last night...It's apparently not enough to look at the big picture or the details. Hell, it might just not be enough to be Ned Kaye.”
Such is what 8.5% will give you.
Your terrible choice of a partner is going to be your downfall in your latest attempt to rise above your station as a “decent hand,” as we might say in our business. Your own path to rise from “laughable former world champion” to “somewhat respectful short title run guy” has a need to be offset by someone dynamic, exciting, and impactful. You, whose growth is slow but consistent, needed a shining star to compliment a dated skill- and moveset. All across the history of this business, teams have succeeded by doing this, by combining either alike skills...two bruisers or two fliers...or combining different flavors for a combination that is difficult to over come...one bruiser and one flyer, one brawler mixed with someone trained in catch. YOU, D, needed a superstar. YOU needed a diamond that catches the lights with its cleavage. Instead, you chose to compliment your particular brand of “...meh?” with someone who makes even Kieran Overton seem exciting.
To be clear: You would have been better off choosing the cringe-worthy Geri as a partner than the coma-inducing Ned. His apathy is so dull that even Donovan Blackwater is begging for some interest to be injected into his voice, and we ALL know how monotone HE is!
The caramel-skinned woman smiled as the albino, wrapped in a towel and her platinum hair fell across her shoulders, walked into the locker room. It had taken several showers, but the smell of refuse had been replaced by the intriguing combination of lavender and marshmallow that she was more accustomed to breathing in. She playfully swats at the woman’s behind as she walks by, which draws a scowl from the icy face, but they both devolve into laughter before long. She turns her attention to her phone as a notification rings out, and the woman with the skin touched by moonlight begins to dress into a particularly garish dress of black and green. The woman’s eyebrows rise and she looks at her partner.
“Hey, babe. We’re booked! Big D hooked up with that Ned guy.”
The albino throws back her head and lets out a suffering sigh.
“Oh, fuck ME in the goat ass. I’m already falling asleep and the promos aren’t even filmed yet!”
She turns to face her partner, adjusting the bust of her dress to make everything fit snuggly, and gives her a wink. The woman with the braids turns her head slightly and feigns a look of cartoonish shock.
“Holy Tom Cruise! Is that a twinkle I see in your eyes? Is the FUN woman I married actually coming out to play for a bit?”
The albino scowls at the darker woman while subtly moving her right arm out to her side. Brown eyes naturally match the movement and lock onto her hand, which is in the shape of the traditional “Okay” sign.
“You looked!”
“FUCK!”
A quick punch to a bare shoulder and the two are giggling again. Before long, the albino finds herself pulled down into a lap and their foreheads are pressed together, the two enjoying the calming and loving touch with slow movements of their head.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes. No. Maybe."
Silence as the two enjoy the other’s company.
“Is ‘Fun Sarah’ back?”
“No. But I’m getting there. Ned had better hope she never returns.”
Kenzi opens her eyes and pulls slightly away to see Sarah’s entire face.
“What does that mean?”
Sarah’s eyes open and she smirks, her eyes indeed alight with the recognizable shine of mischief.
“Because THAT Sarah made Ned cry before he got hurt. We’re talking full-on ‘mad online’ levels of crying. Like, way more than Shane, Tristan, and that clown guy combined. Every time he rose his stupid head up to say something, I smacked him back down so bad that even Noah was all ‘Damn, cunt. He’s already dead.’”
Her smile grows to seemingly fill half her face and the sparkle in her eyes roars to flame.
“Come, Beloved. Let us have fun plucking the wings from flies!”
Ned recently quipped that he missed the “old” Sarah.
Be mindful what you wish for.
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