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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Leap of Faith 2019 RP Board
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For the Love of Shoes, Part I: The Drezdin $50k Open
Author Message
Lacklan Offline
World's best at making murderhobos cry



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


#1
07-19-2019, 03:58 PM



California had dealt with the first real heat wave of 2019, with temperatures into the hundreds in areas away from the coastline, which meant the 90s for those living in Los Angeles County. Much of the county was quiet and lethargic throughout the week while they suffered through the heat, preferring to stay inside in relative cool and concentrate on projects which allowed them to stay away from the heat. And while most people understood that...yes...it gets hot in the summer, there was a particular wailing, like the keen of a banshee, within a large white house in Hollywood Hills which rang in the ears of all for miles around.

“OH GOD KILL ME NOW! HAVE I GONE TO HELL?? IS THIS THE LAKE OF FIRE??? I DON’T UNDERSTAND!!!!”

The Grey-Lacklan menagerie ducked their collective heads whenever the banshee’s keen threatened to pierce their ears with its mind-numbing effect. Lil’ Has, the dwarf white bunny who often wore eyeliner to match her momma’s, hopped into one of many designer purses to find shelter. The flock of pigeons flew away from the rooftop and to the aviary where they could shut the gate. Little Savior, an emaciated gecko who was often forgotten, hid in a dark corner, though he honestly doubted anyone would miss him, anyway.

“I NEED MORE ICE! YOU BRINGS ME MORE ICE! CALIFORNIA CAN KISS MY #SQUATBOOTY”

Three women, one in her middle years and two several less, made their way through the halls of “Lacklanland West” with buckets of ice in their hands. They were dressed in well cut uniforms of black with slashes of red and purple along the dresses, the older woman with twice as many as the two younger. The bosoms of the dresses featured a delicate embroidery, lines of silver showing a firebird embracing a wolf, the standard of the Grey-Lacklans. Approaching a door, the two younger women pause for a moment while the older opens the door and walks in, the two following behind.

The door opens to a spacious master bathroom filled with bright white porcelain with silver accents. Two sinks are along the wall next to the door, both covered in a variety of personal effects; the left side features six different kinds of hair conditioner, professional strength sunblock, and enough oral care equipment to supply a small dentistry office; the right side has three bottles of cocoa butter lotion and an assortment of anti-frizz hairspray. The woman move beyond the sinks and on to a large bathtub dominating the room, a bathtube currently filled to the ring with melting ice cubes and a certain young albino who is the owner of the shrill cries.

“Good Lord! Where did you go for the ice? Canda?! HURRY!”

The two young women move quickly to dump their buckets of ice into the tub, though the older woman shakes her head before slowly doing so herself. Sarah breathes a sigh of relief as the ice is added to her quickly-melting situation, as we get a good look at her. The albino is NOT faring well in the weather. She is completely submerged in what is becoming a bath of ice water, with just the rounded tops of her breasts visible in a line of cleavage, the skin of her chest and arms being pale enough to give the porcelain tub a run for its money, and give truth to the nickname of Porcelain Princess. Her platinum hair is pulled up in a messy bun atop her head, held together with a clip, allowing an unobstructed view of a very tired face. Lines of sweat rip through her makeup, of which there seems to be a full pound of foundation today, and there are dark circles underneath her odd red eyes.

“For the love of sweet Baby Jesus, go get more! I might DIE if I don’t turn this place into Maine soon!”

The two younger women immediately turn tail and scamper away towards the kitchen downstairs, but the older woman stays. She shakes her head slightly as Sarah groans to herself while scooping ice up to cover the visible swell of pale breast, and then clears her throat. Sarah turns her attention to her, squinting slightly, and then reaching over to the side of the tub where her glasses reside. She places them on the bridge of her nose and recognition dawns on her face.

“Oh! Good day, Abigail! How are you adjusting to this HORRENDOUS heat in this STUPID state?”

The older woman, Abigail, gives a small roll of her eyes.

“Better than you apparently, Blood Princess. Even after two years?”

Her voice, carrying a strong Maine accent just on the tip of saying “Ayuh,” is as flat as her look. Sarah gives her a massive eyeroll, one so large that her entire head moves along with the circular motion, before settling back on her.

“You’d think! Two years, Abigail! Two years, I have been living her...well, mostly. We travel a lot. But still! I STILL burn like a freakin’ lobster smothered in butter. I STILL sweat like Angie does when staring at a picture of Drew Archyle. I STILL get the vapors when it hits 90 degrees! Bah!”

She leans back, her head touching the ice underneath her, and shakes her head back and forth.

“It doesn’t even PHASE Kenzi. Not a bit! She just GLOWS! Like, holy FUCK. Its bad enough that I’m all kinds of jelly-belly over the fact that her face will NEVER crack, but I’m ALSO super jealous that while I look like a rat caught in a sewer pipe when it gets hot, she just GLOWS with a SLIGHT sheen of perspiration and starts to look like she’s freakin’ made of GOLD. Life is SO unfair!”

Abigail barely suppresses a sigh. She had waited on the Princess in those two years, but the nineteen years before were much the same as this.

“Whatev. At least it will be a MUCH more hospitable and tolerable situation when I go to London next weekend. MUCH cooler. Which will be important since I’m wrestling in two matches that night, ya know.”

Abigail cocks her head to the side as her eyes narrow slightly.

“Two, Blood Princess?”

Sarah raises her head to look back at the woman.

“Um...yeah? Two. Duh.”

Abigail blinks a few times, her confusion plain, and Sarah’s eyes open wide.

“Oh! Shit! Sorry! Totes forgot that no one knows yet. So, like, I had tea with Atticus the other night, right? He’s the general manager of Savage, ya know. And he’s all, 'O Sarah, it is SO lovely to have you on my show this evening. Could you perhaps do it more often?’

Abigail blinks again. She had forgotten how good Sarah was at mimicry, though the memories flood back to her. She had caused quite a few problems when she was younger. Child Sarah was able to get three times the amount of sweets than she was supposed to through a series of fake phone calls throughout the Manor.

“‘And I was all, ‘Oh Att,’ I call him Att, bee tee dubs, ‘it is a PLEASURE for ME to be here to beat up that Carnitas dude.' And he's all, 'Indeed, he is QUITE derivative and not well done.’ And I’m all ‘Totes, my good man!’ and we clinked tea glasses...pinkies UP, obvs...and he went on to beg and beg and BEG me to be on Savage more often, right? Welp, earlier today I shot him a text and was all, ‘Sup, Att! Mind if I join the Drez-’ and before I could even finish the text he sent me three gushing gifs. Like, one was that manhole cover that blows sky high, and one was that one with the three supes cute Asian school girls, and then a third one of Roxy running to the nearest bathroom when I first made that ‘Boom! Distracted!’ gif of Captain 80’s for her. So….BOOM! I’m totally in that match.”

Abigail blinks several times in a row as she absorbs the barrage of words, including several voice changes and words which are not in any dictionary anywhere, and finally is able to respond.

“But...why? You already have your match for the Anarchy title? Why jeopardize that for the opening match?”

Sarah’s face turns as red as her eyes and she jabs a finger outside of the tub.

“Why? WHY?! Pick up my purse and you’ll know WHY!”

Abigail looks to where Sarah is pointing and sees a black purse with red highlights, the shine of diamond dust catching in the bright lights along the mirrors. Typical for Sarah. She picks up the purse and immediately two tiny puffs of white pop out. Abigail is taken aback for a moment but as she opens the purse, a small white bunny rabbit looks up at her, the albino dwarf bunny’s eyes being outlined by thin rows of black, giving the impression of wings. Apparently the random designer purse was the worst place to find succor from the banshee's cry. Abigail ignores the sudden delight-filled squeal from Sarah of “MY BABY!” as she gently pushes Lil’ Hasenpfeffer to the side and looks in the purse. She turns a questioning look to Sarah and cocks her head.

“My credit card wallet! LOOK!”

Turning back to the purse, Abigail looks at the three wallets...yes, three...in the purse and takes out the thickest one, a black number with well-worn corners, and pulls it out. Opening it, she finds that it is empty.

“Gone! ALL GONE!”

Sarah’s voice no longer features the joy it had at seeing her “baby” Lil’ Has and is instead now filled with utter grief. Tears well in her eyes and threaten to roll down her cheeks to wreck even more havoc on her makeup.

“Kenzi took them away while I was napping! This DAMNED HEAT has sent me into a lethargic coma SO DEEP that I missed the mail! She saw our credit card bills before I could shred them!”

She reaches into the ice water and folds her arms under her breasts as her face falls into glumness.

“Sneaky double-couponing bitch stole them and HID THEM from me while I was taking that nap.”

She looks back up to Abigail.

“And THAT is why I need to get into the match and WIN!”

Abigail still seems clueless. Sarah gives an exasperated sigh as she lifts her legs out of the tub, ice falling to the floor, and points to her feet while wiggling her toes. Toes capped in black lacquer with tiny orange and red flames, of course.

“SHOES! I need SHOES! How on EARTH am I supposed to LIVE without new SHOES! And until I can bang Kenzi into a stupor long enough to make HER nap like the dead...freakin’ Raab and his four hours...and can figure out where she stashed my cards, I need EXTRA MONEY in order to buy more SHOES!”

She pulls her feet back into the tub of ice. Somewhere in the world, Tommy Wish is enjoying himself a little TOO much.

“Drez-Dog is dumb enough to put up $50k of his own money for his return match? Do you realize how many pairs of shoes I can get for THAT? I mean, we don’t exactly NEED money, or anything-”

Abigail wisely chooses to remain silent on how Sarah herself had often lamented how the Grey-Lacklans were living in a house well beyond their means and almost always on the desperate brink of bankruptcy.

“-but my Beloved has made it CLEAR that my clothing allowance is cut off until I get those credit card bills paid down. Might as well tell me to starve! Or hold my breath! Or throw away my Vexx collection and watch a marathon of Mastermind promos! Gah! So, in order to circumvent that, I’m going to go in, beat up some losers, take Drezzy’s money, and then buy some shoes to match my brand new Anarchy Championship!”

She brings up one of her hands to her face and strokes her chin in thought.

“Ya know, if I was vlogging right now, I’d have one of the CoolTube staff add that ‘What, like it’s hard?’ gifs to the transcript. Because even though Dr. Drez DID make it an Open, which means ANY competitor...at least after I got Att to cream in his pants about the idea of me being on his show more often in order to show off all the SWEET shoes I’m going to buy with that $50k...the field of people who axly accepted beforehand isn’t exactly the thickest patch of brambles I’ve ever waded through, ya know?

“Like, there is this one old dude, right? Like, SUPER old, okay? We’re talking, like, at LEAST over 30, so he’s basically brittle bones and dust-”


Another wise bout of silence from the middle years Abigail.

“-and he has become SO old that he’s lost his marbles! We’re talking full-on dementia here. Or senility. Never quite sure which one is which. Anyway, he’s got this thing going on where he’s broken from reality and thinks he’s a vampire. Like, legit! Sparkling and everything. Can you even imagine? Thinking you are a vampire, and trying to convince the world around you, AND no doubt getting all kinds of butthurt when people DON’T go along with your dumb shit, is legit the most pathetic thing I have ever seen.”

Yet another bout of silence from the wise attendant. She remembered well the “vampire phase” of fifteen-year-old Sarah and her demand...DEMAND...that everyone call her “Sarha” while she drank Clamato and smoked cloves while burning incense in her room.

“But, like, I get it. Kinda. I mean, this dipshit hasn’t been around for a while and he’s doing that whole ‘ERMAHGERD I IZ LEGEND’ thing for a big Pay Per View, just like Page and his cronies, so he thinks he can overwhelm the crowd with dumb shit and get a free win over THE MONSTER DREZ. Unfortunately for him, while he’s been getting mad at 12 year olds who debate better than him on r/VampSexLife about how the Volturi are WAY better in the book than in the movies...though that Jane chick is hella cute, in my opinion...he hasn’t seen how the entire INDUSTRY has changed because of people like ME! He doesn’t realize that we don’t put up with the dumbass gimmicks of days passed. We don’t put up with the parlor tricks and nonsense of prior generations. We don’t allow the magic tricks and special effects which filled the 80’s to cloud us anymore. And we SURE as FLAME don’t allow the wool of the 1920’s carny bullshit fall over our eyes anymore.

“The reality for this dude is that he doesn’t realize that the Blackwaters have been exposed for the con artists they are, even IF I have kinda-sorta come to like Donovan’s ubes dry drollness. The reality for this dude is he hasn’t realized that Eli James trying to start a religion by setting fire to an entire village is thrown in the trash by people like me like so much refuse and waste. Hell, we even have a ZOMBIE and THAT idiot has to have been praying to sweet Baby Jesus’ cute little toes that we haven’t fought in Anarchy yet. That dude is FUUUUUUUUCKED! And meanwhile, Ashcroft doesn’t realize that ‘ZOMG I IZ LEGEND’ also doesn’t work in a world where you have people fighting every fucking DAY to rebuild and redefine what being a wrestler means. In a world run by ME, in a world where consistent excellence is the ONLY acceptable path to victory, all he has is party store smoke coming out of his ass and a broken fun house mirror that shows how fucking lame his shit is in 2019, instead of faking his missing reflection.”


She pauses for a moment and then gives herself a small nod.

“But, just in case, I’ll bring a few ears of garlic. JUST in case.”

Her eyes pop open to the size of saucers.

“Oh! And Barney will be there, too! Ya know, the dude holding the wrestling festival that still only has, like, one person signed up? Ya know, the fact that I offered to headline that thing if he somehow won the match with me and the Robster really should have lit a fire under his ass. It REALLY should have fire him up! Instead, the Barnster just did exactly what I said he would do and allowed Robbie to sneak a pinfall before falling away into his typical obscurity. Freakin’ Barn Door. But yet, at least he’s better than Styggy, amIright? Good Lord, THAT guy. I bet he thought his 30 second performance under a blacklight was SO edgy and spooky and shit. Wouldn't be shocked if my loser of a stalker was THAT dude. The two of them combined have as much chance of winning D-Rez’s $50k as Noah does of getting Fuzz to pay all that child support he owes his mama.

“Hell! I bet these people don’t even know WHY they are IN this match! They are probs gonna be all ‘I’m here to win a random match for no reason! GOOOoooooooOOOOOO ME!’ like some goobers. They won’t be focused and there is nothing keeping me away from Drezzy’s money and my new shoes! Hell, even DREZDIN is an afterthought in his own match!

“Oh, and ANOTHER thing...WHERE IS MY ICE?! GOD I AM DYING IN HERE!!!”


Abigail lets out a long, tired sigh as her two assistants finally arrive from the kitchen with fresh buckets of ice. They toss them into the tub as Sarah offers her own sigh, this in relief. She takes her glasses off her face, sets them back onto the stand next to her, closes her eyes, and settles back in the comfort of the coolness.

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