Killing a Chimera With More Faces Than Talent
Apr 5, 2020 15:39:38 GMT -5
BonnieBlue, Smith Jones, and 3 more like this
Post by RedLetters on Apr 5, 2020 15:39:38 GMT -5
"𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖚𝖘, 𝖇𝖊𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖚𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖓 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖘 𝖇𝖞 𝖆𝖓 𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖒𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖓𝖚𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖚𝖘. 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖓'𝖙 𝖌𝖊𝖙 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖚𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖜!"
April 5th, 2020
“I fail to see why a blindfold was necessary. I can’t see shit.” Both of Red’s hands reach forward, only for the loving embrace of Stacy Lang to swat both hands down to prevent her from cheating. With sarcasm practically overflowing, she coyly responds, “Yes, not being able to see why it’s necessary is one of the more basic functions of a blindfold. I’ll be sure to leave a five star review.” Red hadn’t expected a match in the state she was raised to begin with an abduction, so she doesn’t miss a chance to bitch. “Does it have to be chafing on my face?”
“If something grinding on your face is unpleasant, you’re gonna’ make me cancel the entire second half of this date.” Lang laughs, and continues to tug Red forward into a small jog. “Ha. Haha. I appreciate the offer. I also appreciate being kidnapped for a special date, but I think you’re overreacting just the slightest bit. You can’t really think we’ll be going that long without being able to go out on a date or something, right?”
“Not sure. Either way. We might be stuck at home on our anniversary, but I’m so proud of how hard you’ve been working and handling things that I couldn’t risk the opportunity passing. I know a barfight’s your favorite way to celebrate, but those aren’t as great over zoom.”
“So. . . ?”
“So. Take my hand, follow me, and try to enjoy it, will ya?” The blindfold drops to find out the duo are running in absolute darkness to a pretty bright light in the distance. After the couple reaches the light and leaves the tunnel, Red Riot’s jaw hits the floor. She’s left sputtering and gasping. If this were a cartoon, a hit to the back of the head would make her eyes fall out of her head. Stunned silence overtakes her as she tries to absorb the sight of Tuscaloosa’s finest, the Bryant-Denny Stadium of the Alabama Crimson Tide, an arena that marks for Red years of alcoholism, hand action, and her introduction to having a sense of self. She’d led to a Crimson Tide picnic blanket sitting in the end zone of the most successful team in college football, where Stacy sets down a picnic basket, a bottle of Fireball, and lavishes in the empty stadium meant to seat over one hundred thousand.
“Smells like teen spirits, right? This is the place we first met but we didn’t get to exchange numbers or talk because there were too many people. Let’s have a night to ourselves, yeah?” she caps off this question by removing the cap to that cinnamon-scented disaster of an alcoholic beverage, but Red’s still stunned. With a twinge of annoyance underneath the sweet honey of her tone, she gently asks, “. . . Did I send ya’ into shock? Jo, you on earth?”
“This is sending everything back. All those alcohol blurred years. . . and gettin’ to meet this totally wonderful chick that everyone thought I was a ‘super close friend’ of. . . Stacy, I fuckin’ love this. Thank you. I’m sorry for being so absent minded. I had a face time with the family earlier, and-”
“. . . Is this about your ‘parents’?” Stacy takes a swig from the bottle, but intoxication isn’t the reason why she’s holding back laughter once she references Red’s ‘opponent’, or lack thereof, this week.
“No. My dad was a white-trash jock and my mom was a cheerleader. They wouldn’t be caught dead with whatever theater troupe Ryan’s paying these days,” a hand runs through her hair to cope with the stress of knowing her name might appear in more cringe compilations than highlight reels if her opponent’s embarrassing behavior doesn’t cease once he enters the ring. “Seems like since my Pa had a lil’ extra time, being stuck indoors and all, to find Battlecade on Netflix.” She turns away, trying to avoid the fact that he can send her mind spiraling with one fucking video call. “He wants me to come to a family dinner. Aside from ignoring all that covid stuff, I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”
“. . . Can it be? I mean, I don’t know what he’s going to say, but it can still be good for you, right? I’ve been loving watching you grow, but I’m. . . kinda missing the chick that decided to throw her life in my trunk then go fighting across the southeast for shits and giggles. He’s super unpleasant and still seen as this hero and I know that bugs you, but could this. . . I don’t know. Be something that helps you get back to seeming happy again?” Stacy muses, and is met with an annoyed sigh and a leather gloved hand reaching for that bottle before Red can further discuss.
“It’s a family dinner. . . and Ma, as sweet and passive aggressive as ever, didn’t think it’d be appropriate for my special friend to come.” Red looks up with an apologetic stare, only to be caught off guard by a shrug of the shoulders.
“. . . and? If it brings you back to being the Happy Warrior I got to watch having fun, it won’t be personal if you go anyways. We don’t ask for the parents we get. Whatever you decide to do, you know you’ve got my support, right?”
“That-that’s the point, Stace. That’s the literal point. That’s LITERALLY IT. Dude, you got us a football stadium in the middle of a pandemic to be romantic. You do all this sweet, sentimental shit that I’m too busy fighting demons to say how fucking incredible it is having you in my life. . . I’m not going to prostrate myself before the King. I’m not Ms. Happy Warrior anymore. The free-spirited, fun chick wasn’t an answer, that was me running away from problems and responsibilities. I dropped out and fucking hit the road without a care in the world.”
“I’ve got responsibilities now. I care about you, and I want to build a comfortable life for us. I can’t imagine myself waking up in the morning without your cold-ass feet on my leg. A family dinner without you isn’t a family dinner. It might be pretty scary watching me startin’ to take things a lot more seriously nowadays and seeming angrier and angrier, but that’s justified rage,” and to try comforting Stacy, she picks up an obnoxious, sarcastic tone, “I’m channeling it to build the world I want for us, a world where super sapphic wrestlers and roller derby girls can beat skulls in, not as anomalies, but as equals.” In response to her dumbass joke, Stacy buries her face on Red’s shoulder while she chuckles. “There’s my clown..” With a kiss on her cute blonde’s forehead, Red confesses, “There’s one thing I want more than anything in this world and that is why I’m strong.”
“This entire thing is fucked, ya’know?” Red asks no one in particular, on her smoke break around the empty campus she spent years on, with her leather jacket over her Julio Jones Crimson Tide jersey.
“This is supposed to be that promo every wrestler’s s’posed to be able to dial in, ya’know?” Her voice switches to that of someone reading from a script. “Hi, my name’s Red Riot, I grew up in this state, it’s perfect as is, and you should cheer for me based entirely off of the merit that I happened to occupy the same geographic location on this planet as the rest of y’all.”
“Sorry, but I’ve had to spend WAY too much time being treated like I’ve got webbed fingers because of the headlines coming out of this place. Now, if you’re from here, you know. How can I celebrate some idea of having a home field advantage when people like me get treated like second-class citizens even when we’re first-class fighters? I’m uninterested in blowing smoke up anyone’s ass. This place isn’t ‘home field’, it’s a war zone.” She looks to all of the empty dorms and academic building behind her - as if to say I’m making cash while y’all are paying tuition, as a rebuke of her past life.
“That being said, I’m a Riot - I THRIVE in conflict, and there was never a lack of it here. Whether it’s being gay, or being a person people didn’t believe could live up to the family name, I never had to look far to find a nose to rearrange. In between all that bullshit and my family, I’m beginning to notice something that feels waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too familiar when I look at APW.”
“I’m running fresh off a big pay-per-view win over someone who got a chance to contend for the APW heavyweight championship. The Riot name’s coming up in more and more conversations for similar matches. With more success, I’ve got more people tryin’ to turn me from the hunter to the hunted, including my opponent on Metal this week. My grip ain’t faltering while I continue aiming to the top, but I’m left trying to fend off everyone trying to distract me from hitting the bullseye. Fighting up, fighting down, it feels like growing up in Bama, where it’s so god-damned easy to see every single thing that moves as a target that you forget why you raise your fist in the first place. Since returning to familiar lands, I think of something said to me when I couldn’t control my anger, and it controlled me.” Red Riot raises a hand to the heavens above, and waves a hand from left to right as she reads from an invisible sign in the sky.
“One shot, one kill.”
“It’s kinda’ funny, especially given the state I picked it up in. That’s a defense I’ve had to use more times than I’m proud of when it comes to this place. My favorite interactions are the ones where people show me pics of guys at Wally world with an AK strapped to their back, then look to me with their eyes the size of fifty-cent pieces, wonderin’ exactly why the state that raised me is like a John Wayne film, especially when this country already has a problem with guys walking into schools and spraying campasses with lead.”
“So I shrug, I laugh, and I look them dead in the eyes and I say the same words that spark fear into the hearts of every person even beginning ta’ thinking of taking advantage of our love for the Second Amendment around these parts-” again, she returns to the sign in the sky. “-One shot, one kill. From any Roscoe’s chicken to any elementary school, step into an establishment in the Bible belt, and you’d find someone willing to see an anger filled maniac spraying and praying his anger away an’ give him a new hole to breathe out.”
“With this, I have a confession. Too many people opened their eyes, ears, and fight-or-flight responses to me when I lost my temper at Hixx and beat her senseless.” Even mentioning her name brings Red to a glare and a frown. “Worshiping what I do when I lose my temper after having my time wasted is worshiping me at my weakest. This is me acting on my baser instincts without rhyme or reason. Aaron Osmosis and Andre Aquarius getting upset and confused while sitting in concussion protocol after stepping into the ring with a cool, level-headed, and focused Crimson Killer is my strongest.” Her irritated glare eases, and a small smirk rests in the corner of her mouth. “She releases that rage when she pulls the trigger and hits the Red Letters to put a kneecap between someone’s eyes and send ‘em to sleep. My clarity is the difference between confidence and arrogance because when I pull the trigger, I make sure I don’t have to do it a second time.”
While her tone takes a turn for the coy and sarcastic, she teases, “Disappointingly, for the unfortunate like Jason Ryan, one shot, one kill is lost on them. Why would you focus on one shot when you have unlimited resources?”
“Who needs that when you can get an automatic piece that can get a kill streak? Wealth’s always given him access to whatever he wants. I know it’d be easy to see that wealth as a benefit but. . . it certainly isn’t when you’re so busy lashing out at the world because you want everything that you can’t bring yourself to focus on accomplishing a single goal or hitting a single target. It merits the question - which Jason’s going to step into the ring with me? Will it be the one who has enough wealth that he doesn’t concern himself with winning or losing? Or will it be the one demanding a title shot because he wishes to make this federation his? Maybe if we’re especially fortunate, on Metal we’d get the Jason Ryan that wishes to destroy the business? I’ll tell you:”
“It’ll be the same Jason Ryan that’s bigger, taller, and stronger, being spoon-fed handicap after handicap in this match against me, still so desperate for my validation that he makes a complete ass of himself. Actors? My first match was against a man in a gorilla suit - and he’s likely rolling in his grave thinking that after Monday, he’s not the least talented, cheapest, lowest-class fighter to get killed by me.”
“He’s stuck in the millionaire’s dilemma - when you have access to everything, you won’t settle for one goal - you want ALL of them. He sends bullets in every direction to maximize the amount of impact he can cause - and week after week, someone aiming right at his chest puts him down.”
“This problem’s further examined by his inability to control the recoil when he fires, so he aims at all goals possible rather than one, no matter how contradictory or stupid those goals are. He wants to be this person who infuriates fans by making it look easy - he also wants to be someone who utterly dominates - and lately, he’s been desperately wanting envy of his wealth and resources. His inability to focus specifically on ONE of those desires leaves up with this hideous chimera I’m putting to sleep Monday.”
“His desire to dominate while making it look as if he’s apathetic and hardly trying - which is why he gets teeth kicked in so frequently, and looks like a lazy idiot in the process. Ryan wants us to envy his wealth, but that’s not what I hear from anyone that watches him,” she states, while raising a hand and cupping it around an ear to listen to the fans. “‘Why would I be jealous? He’s a millionaire. He’s a massive man with money, power, resources, and every advantage in the world. Why would I be jealous of someone with every advantage in life being so god-damned pathetic every week?’”
“I focus on perfecting myself and focusing on what ultimately matters. My tag partner disappears? Fine, I've got a bigger spotlight. I don’t need partners. Ryan, on the other hand, breaks out in a fever when he notices something with something he wants. Reaper’s ‘potential’, Stylez’s ability to stand out, Aaron’s success, are obvious candidates. . . but naming your little stable Bloodline, then trying to recruit the only person with the blood of a wrestling dynasty?”
“I’m going to provide you with a service worth every penny of the 250k paid to me, along with the medical expenses.“
“You are a talentless drudge wasting a spot on a roster that’s constantly getting more competitive, and you surround yourself with anyone with more success. So far, this prerequisite has been accomplished by most wrestlers who can fog a mirror and have direct deposit. You are every wealthy man who has never been made to face reality that your wealth makes so many targets for opportunity available to you, but you don’t have the prowess to land.”
“I’m in a no DQ match with someone in a four-person stable, and his stablemate’s the ref - so I cannot describe how embarrassing it is that a man ONE FOOT, ONE HUNDRED POUNDS larger is hiring actors to enact murder fantasies against my family to be intimidating when I’ve handed him such a huge handicap so the match could look competitive! He wanted this match for the same reason he wanted this stipulation - because he wants what I have. I don’t have to spend hours on social media stirring shit for attention - I walk in the ring, beat your favorite wrestler senseless, then leave. He craves my violence, my lineage, my proficiency, and my ability to hit the bullseye every time. Most fighters in the locker room tremble at the thought of me spelling their name in Red Letters. Love me or hate me, there’s not a soul in the building that won’t acknowledge me. Knowing that he’ll never have a legacy, he’s trying to write himself into mine. . ."
Red takes a brief moment to clear her throat.
"Sorry, but I don’t give handouts to millionaires."
"Is this the result of being surrounded by yes men? You can’t focus on a single goal and this bleeds through every facet of your life, from your cheap-ass, cut-and-paste moveset with both powerhouse and high-flying moves you aren’t talented enough to pull off, to your goals changing on a weekly basis, to mocking an opponent for his attachment to darkness then presenting me with a Great Value ™ dark fantasy play after he beat you. I don’t know which Jason I’ll get Monday, but the result is always going to be the same. That face is getting bloodied.”
