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Jenny Myst · (01-30-2022)

CONTINUED FROM CHAPTER 1A: A LITTLE GASSY: We aren't so different, are we?
Link: CHAPTER 1A: A LITTLE GASSY: We aren't so different, are we?

The car rolled into a neighborhood that Jenny knew all too well. She choked back a gasp, and just continued to stare out the window. Her stomach rumbled from the snacks they stole, however. She had eaten too much too quickly.

SHE HATED WHEN THAT HAPPENED.

But hey, it beat a regimented meal schedule with the slop she had been eating for the last eight months. She would peel a tennis ball and eat it before eating that shit again.

After what felt like an entire calendar year had passed, Ash looked over at her friend.

"You sure you wanna do this babe? We can go to the strip, go shopping, those clothes are ratty and quite frankly...not fashionable."

Jenny nodded. "I have to do it, Ash. I have been waiting too long to do it."

Her friend smiled, and took a deep breath, exhaling through her nose. "Okay, then. You'd know best."

Getting off the exit for NORTH LAS VEGAS, away from the glam and glitz of what the common person thinks of as "Las Vegas", they rolled into a now impoverished community that had more overgrown lawns and paint chipped houses than it did people to live in them. Hell, this place used to be nice once.

People ruined it.

This place used to be a sense of pride.

People ruined it.

They pulled onto the dirt and pebble laden street that Jenny once played on--fully paved. Weird how things can go to shit so quick.

Her eyes didn't focus on anything in particular. It all blended together. She just let the first world she ever knew roll by her in a kaleidoscope of drab colors. Until the car stopped.

She breathed hard, exhaling slow. She put her head down, looking at the floorboard.

SENTRA in white letters across the black mat.

When she looked up, she felt the bile rise in her throat. The front porch she used to sit on and watch the birds was now falling apart, the railing missing spokes and the top bent at an obtuse angle. The windows all had a film over them like a mucous covering. They didn't say much else to each other. Jenny heard the doors unlock. They both sat in silence for a few moments before the escapee pushed the door open with enough force to knock it off the hinges. She speed walked up to the dilapitated porch, not even being careful about where she stepped.

Maybe she would get caught and snap her ankle.

Could she be that lucky?

She reached out and grabbed the metal outer door, and gave it a tug. It opened. The inside door, however, was locked. After a few tugs, a snarl came over her face. She looked back at the car, where Ash had lit a cigarette. Turning back to the door, she cried out in a passionate bellow as she put all the force her 5 foot frame could muster into breaking the door down. When Ash entered the house, she was taken aback by the mess. There was clutter everywhere. It didn't look like whoever lived here moved out, it looked like a tornado came through and only hit the inside of the establishment. Jenny, however, was nowhere to be seen. Ash figured she would let her do her thing, not bother her. She took a few steps, her Doc Martins crunching some glass that was on the old wooden floor. She bent over and pictured of a picture frame, bringing it up to eye level. It was a young Jenny, her adoptive parents, and she was.....smiling. The whole family was. She turned the fading picture over. "THE SAMBUCA'S, AUGUST 21st, 2006."

She looked around at the old furniture, covered in dust. The overturned table and chairs, the papers covering the floor.

Was it left like this, or did........did Jenny do this?

No way, this was a decade of decay and probably took hours. Jenny had only been inside for 15 minutes.

Ash lit another Camel Crush 100 and made her way through what she assumed was once the living room. She was about to bend down and pick up a teddy bear she saw, covered in dust and laying on the floor, when she heard whast sounded like pissing. Water flowing. She cocked her head and tracked t he sound. Turning around, she walked down the hall way, towards the stairs that led to the bedrooms, she hear the sound was coming closer.

"Hello?! Jen?! Is that you babe?!" She said, the cigarette bouncing like a marionette between her rosy lips.

She continued to track the sound, her head looking forward and then turning quick to check behind her. Her boot stubbed on an empty object, and it bounced down the wooden floored hallway. A gas can.

WHAT THE FUCK?! Jenny then turned the corner, dumping gas out of the fresh container. Once it emptied, she tossed it aside.

"Jen? What the fuck?!"

"We need to go. Now." The two made their way outside, and Jenny had a big grin on her face.

"What are you doing?"

"I told you I was coming home, and I did...."

She smiled even wider.

"I needed to come back, to see it again. Smell it, feel it, even taste it."

"You licked the walls?"

"Don't judge me."

"Now.......I get to watch it burn."

She took the cancer stick from her friends mouth and flicked it behind her, incinerating the gas and setting her child hood home ablaze.

"Come on, we only have a few minutes before the firefighters are all over this like flies on shit."

They walked to the car, getting in. Driving away, they got a safe distance before pulling into a Quick Stop to watch the action.

"You know, it was a beautiful place."

"Sometimes, Ash......you have to see beauty in the flames."

We set this house on fire forgetting that we live within.

*blushing, hand over her mouth*

"Wow. I have to say I am flattered. I never thought my words would have such an impact on a "legend" like you. Maybe my eight month absence--not three silly pants--has had a more profound impact than I thought. I mean, I have done battle with some bitches before, but none of them have bitched as much as you! You certainly do complain a lot about petty nonsense, but that also seems to be a trend around here these days. THOSE kind of trends are what are accepted far to much around here. Always have been, and it saddens me to see that they won't change."

*giggles, a big toothy smile overtaking the camera*

"I never thought someone like you, who has been through so much, who has seen so much, who has fought and beaten them all, would be so flustered over little old me. I mean, I AM insane, Cent, thats why I went away in the first place. I am glad you at least picked up on THAT! I have nothing to prove in this match. Nobody is giving me a shot. And even if I do get a shot, I get to become number one contender against Charlie Nickles and will have to spend my first paycheck on full body sanitizer just to be able to last 5 minutes with him. So, you can have him, that's all you boo boo. For me, this isn't about titles. It isn't about winning and losing. It isn't about establishing myself as a "legend" or making some sort of list. For me, this is a second chance at life. A second chance to prove to myself, if nobody else, that I am worth a dixie cup of piss in this place. I have accepted that I will never be on your "level", Cent, but you haven't seemed to accept that I am on the one that I am. You see, you claim I don't matter. You claim I exist, and that's it. Cute. But you failed to address perhaps your own biggest flaw......."

*gasps, bringing a fingerless-gloved hand to her face*

"But why on earth would you do THAT? Well its best to be honest with yourself. You're living in this delusional haze that everyone else has filled your head with, and you failed to realize just why you are the "forgotten legend" and not the posterboy for this place. Cent, you have all the talent in the world, buddy. You are good, you are very good. Perhaps, when you put your mind to it, the best we have. But nobody gives you the recognition daily that you seem to so desperately crave. Your accolades are buried in some list that nobody looks at--hell I had to give myself a screen-induced migraine just trying to find it--while the real "talent" is plastered all over our media pages and company website. You are relevant when they allow you to be, Cent. That doesn't make you great...it makes you a disappointment. It doesn't make you the predator, it makes you the prey.

I am glad you are confused by me, because it has been far too long of you being confused by yourself. Who are you? Do you even know anymore?"

*giggles*

"I don't think you doooooo......

So pompous, so arrogant. A cliché? A gimmick? Hell, I may be forever stuck in a Halloween costume but at least I have changed myself up a bit, done something fresh. Cent, I called you boring because you are. I didn't do it to be edgy or controversial. I did it because you are. Always will be. Me? I am bat shit crazy but at least it is entertaining. You? You're almost too normal. Blech. Have a little adventure, live a little, loosen up that tie, unbutton those cuff links. Live a little, Cent. Life is far too short."

*giggles that turns into a snarl, lip curl*

"You wanna know why Main and Caedus and Cory and Duke are so successful? What sets 'legends' like them apart from 'legends' like you? Because they are a tank, they just keep coming, they bury their opponent in a combination of "I don't give a fuck" and "fuck you". Nothing shakes them, throws them off their game. Every trick in the book has been thrown at them, but they are Teflon. You? You get flustered. You have proven that your skin is thinner than Tara Reid, Cent. Little old me has you all rattled. It has your panties more in a bunch than the Myst house on laundry day. You are going to try to have me black balled for a poop joke? My goodness Cent, who is the childish one now? Who is the one with the fragile male ego that can't take a little ribbing, but has to dish it ten fold to make himself feel better about....well....himself......

You get so upset. Your face was as pink as my nail polish. So for the sake of pissing you off more because it is just so....so fun....."

You keep hammering home the point that I will never be more than a mid-card nobody. I will never be what you are. That I am a...what did you call me...a "lurker" whose "bored"? Looking to cause violence for no reason. A lost, broken soul? Cent, you keep hammering home that I am not you, but I ask myself, do I really want to be? I wanna be happy, not miserable! The boring one calling me bored! What a revelation! Don't deflect, Cent. It's not cute.

You're so upset about Mark Flynn, or some dude who calls himself War Criminal? I don't know who these people are. They work here?! Obviously, they matter more to you than they do to me. That loss still stings doesn't it? Awww...

You're entire life revolves around how good you've been told you are. All I hear is belts this, legends that. Kill to switch careers? PUH-LEEZE. I have made my mark here, and I am more in people's recent memory than you. Living there. Rent-free. This is what have you done for me lately business. And lately? What HAVE you done except for beat up on those "also-rans?" Where are the big matches? The main events? The headlining of Pay Per Views? You're facing me somewhere in the middle. If I am the peanut butter you're the jelly, Cent. See, we aren't so different! But in a way...we are.....

I don't care about my image, like I said. I don't care about making some list. I don't care about being remembered, that was Chaos's thing. And a you thing, apparently. You marks are all the same. You reference Final Fantasy at the end of your promos because that is all you are now, all your career has become, a fantasy world. You are hoping it is the final one....but every time they keep dragging you back to beat up on someone like me so they don't have to put you in the matches that matter. You're filler talent, Cent! Don't you see that?! You're the elderly family member they invite to the party because they feel guilty and hope that he sits in the corner and stays quiet the whole time. But you don't, do you? You shake your fist at these hooligans before shitting your pants between doses of apple sauce and Ambien. You brag about all of these things you've done, but need a list full of people that nobody here shorter than a decade even fucking remembers!

We aren't historians, Cent, we just want to go to work and have fun! What are you now?

You aren't the Universal Champion.

You aren't the X-Treme Champion.

You aren't the Super Interconinental Champion.

Hell you aren't even TV champion, and you'll probably lose to Charlie next week!

You aren't even the Anarchy Champion.

You're nothing.

You certainly love gold for someone who doesn't have any.

And you really think I pay attention to this shit? You're the one who said you dug up years worth of info on me, only to come out and tell me the same time shit you tell everyone else. I am not as good as you. We get it Cent, you love you some you.

Yawn.

I don't come into the match with high expectations. That way, the only thing I can be is pleasantly surprised by the outcome. I am pretty sure that IF you were to lose to me, your entire world would come crashing down around you. If I beat you......well, yay! It's fun, but it's not a crowning achievement for me. It is a win-win, ya see. If I win, I beat a 'legend', if I lose, well, I was SUPPOSED to. If you win, you can pat yourself on the back and tell yourself some more how good you are, and if you lose.........

Well........

Will I have to bring back Queen's Court for a Centurion retirement party?! OOHH! That would be a blast! I don't expect to win this match. I don't expect to be held in the same light as you. I know I haven't been here long enough to have earned the same respect you have by the same people you have. I know that in the ring you're the better wrestler. But where I have ya--we both act on emotion. You get so bent out of shape. Hell, I am a woman, I am SUPPOSED to. But I suppose that is sexist, too?

Oh poop.

Wait....

I can't say that apparently.

Centurion, word police, reporting for duty!

You would think someone who has been here as long as you, faced as many people as you, would have heard some more insane shit than 'girls don't poop.' I mean, really? The best you can come up with is the cancel culture angle? And you say I am the one with the overused gimmick......

Sheesh.

I love my island Cent. It is where I feel the most comfortable. I have a bird house where I feet the crows. It's nice. Quiet. Peaceful. Serene.

You should visit some time. I'll make daiquiris!

You can be a legend all you want. But a list doesn't define you. A legend is an opinion, it is seniority, and it is how you are remembered.

Technically, Barney Green is a legend.

Ghost Tank is a legend.

Chris Chaos is a legend.

Peter Gilmour (whoopies, was I not supposed to say his name?!), is a legend.

A legend is whatever the people viewing them think it is. To some they are, to others they aren't. That is the beauty of being an opinion.

And what do THEY all have in common?

They're all, right now, in this day and age, January 29th 2022, more relevant than you.

Teehee.

So you can be the legend all you want. You can hold yourself to whatever standards you want. You can beat me like you're supposed to and move on to bigger and better things like facing Nickles on Savage. You can continue to flaunt your win loss record and how many belts you have won. You can keep holding yourself on that pedestal. Me? Hell, I'm just here for the snacks. And maybe a tee shirt.

Does the gift shop sell Care Bears?!

Okay, maybe we are different.....See you tomorrow. MUAH."

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