December 02, 2020, 12:57:52 AM

Author Topic: Truth Hurts  (Read 217 times)

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Offline Kestrel

Truth Hurts
« on: February 09, 2020, 07:17:09 PM »
"Another new company... another opportunity to prove my superiority to a new audience. Of course, no one's going to believe me at first. No matter." Full lips pull themselves into a smirk that's not so much conceited as it is convinced. "They will soon enough."

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"--and if the restraining order is violated, I will personally lock you up and throw away the key. Do you understand me?" The shameful, reluctant murmuring of acceptance to the judge's piercing words from her tormentor was as good as a hammer smashing the lock off the door which had been holding the blond hostage.

For months, the dark-haired woman who stood behind the defendant's table had made her life Hell, following her from promotion to promotion, penning hundreds upon hundreds of words blaming her for daring to refuse to bend to her will, sending acquaintances her way to try to befriend her or sleep with her (which was laughable for reasons only the blond truly knew) or just get closer to her... to force her way into the life of someone who had cut her open with insight, mistaking that brutal honesty as interest when she had never been worthy of her better's attention beyond the couple of times where she was forced to humor her existence by EWC management. And make no mistake--the blond who subtly, but sharply smirked in the direction of her defeated foe was the superior one, both inside the ring and out of it.

The truest proof of such was how she was the one who walked out of the courtroom with her head held high, leaving the pathetic Rebel Without a Clue in the footnotes of her life where she fucking well belonged.

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"I know, I know... how many times have new members of 4CW's roster said something like that? Hell, how often do wrestlers strut up to a camera and declare themselves to be dominant? It's almost gauche to say such things at this point, just like claiming the ability to be successful in one company because of dominance in another or making cartoonish threats of violence about ripping people's limbs off or... you get the idea. Those cliches are what we all rely on at one point or another, and anyone that tells you otherwise is full of shit. Take my opponent for my debut match, for example. I've got to applaud your honesty in admitting to being a bullshitter, Rebecca Thoreau. Not many people would have that candor, that willingness to expose the fact that they're willing to twist the narrative to fit their purposes. Too many people lack that courage to admit to being selfish like that, even if they all are guilty of that supposed sin--though truly, what about pursuing your own success is supposed to be shameful, mm?" Bemusement illuminates kohl-lined eyes as she looks down into the camera's lens, her vantage point within the confines of a pristine practice ring giving her the high ground. The harshness of the fluorescent lights overhead further sharpen already-chiseled features, her beauty weaponized all the more thanks to all the angles at play. Clad in the embossed ebony leather of her ring attire, blond hair has been left loose to move and behave as it will as she tilts her head faintly to one side. "No, Rebecca... I'm not going to shame you for being open about the lengths you're willing to go to be a success, or for being willing to fake it until you make it. I've outright said that such is what I, myself, has done numerous times in the past, so I'm not going to feign moral outrage and judge you for being dishonest when it suits you."

A pause; her bemusement sharpens, all pretense of friendliness vanishing in a subtle shift in expression. "I'm going to judge you for being so absolutely terrible at it."

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"You signed her?!" Rage turned what was intended to be a scalpel-precise expression of disapproval to a veritable roar whose volume belied her petite frame--though in hindsight, such was something she'd be grateful for. As loud as that anger was, it had neatly hidden away the very real fear that rattled within her ribcage, whispering in her ears and turning her soul to fragile ice. The breath she took was just as much to reassure herself of the humble brag of her heart still beating within her chest as it was to rein in her temper, though Marcus Welsh would only see the latter. The way she glared at him would ensure that.

"We give people chances around here, Kes." The sigh that left his lips was long-suffering, and with good reason. OCW was a veritable circus teetering on being uncontrollable on the best of days, and to have one of his hottest new signings all but foaming at the mouth at him was the last thing he wanted to deal with. A hand rose to obscure his eyes from view as if he were staving off a headache. "You won't ever have to face her--"

A disbelieving laugh cut him off, the sound brittle around the edges thanks to an absence of anything even resembling humor.

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"Now you'll have to forgive me for being a little Dick and Jane about this, but truly, Becky--." The venomous way that nickname leaves the blond smacks of offense far deeper than her opponent can ever take credit for, though the exact width and breadth of it defies description. "--the entire point of controlling the narrative and making reality bend to your will is to not only make yourself believe, but to leave no room for anything else to exist. Sure, every now and again you say the thing you want the world, including yourself, to believe--that you're not just another hypocritical thot, for example--but then you repeat yourself, and repeat yourself, and repeat yourself until it's obvious that you're not addressing whoever it is you're attempting to take down verbally. No, you're shaming the reflection of yourself you see in the camera's lens, that distorted little view of yourself that's closer to the truth than you could ever bring yourself to admit... namely, that you're just as forgettable as the wrestlers you've done your best to condemn to obscurity when you lack the influence and ability to make it happen. Why else would you always conveniently neglect to mention that the only true success you've had here in 4CW was when you had someone to help carry your ass in the tag team scene? Hell, if you're as important and talented as you want the world to believe, then why are you still a part of the welcoming committee, a convenient body for incoming betters to use as their first stepping stone? Because make no mistake, you vapid little girl--I am your better. So is the vast majority of the roster... and it's all because of one simple, obvious fact. Namely? There's only so far that a lie can take you when there's no truth to support it."

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"You think that is what my problem is--having to face her when I've beaten her ass before?!" If she stopped laughing, she just might cry at the ignorance she was being faced with--so that cruel sound was what she clung to, gathered beneath wounded wings to keep her aloft. "I've told you about what she's done to me, Marcus, and I know her reputation speaks for itself. I'd say that you've got to make a choice, but--"

"But what?" Her threatening him with an ultimatum had obviously pushed a button, his own temper rising to the bait her own presented which was exactly what she wanted. Not to get into an argument with him--frankly, she couldn't care less about how he felt at the moment. All the more she wanted was for him to get his hand out of the way so he was left with no choice but to meet her gaze as she stood, smooth as a viper readying itself to strike.

"But you already have. You did the moment you even considered adding her to the roster. I refuse to share a company with that psycho." A beat; her eyes narrowed subtly as she loomed over the seated executive despite her diminutive frame. The urge to physically lash out was quelled in favor of stark and unforgiving professional distance, her final blow delivered in two short little words that would prove to be a disaster for OCW as a whole... or such was the hope.

"I quit."

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"A lie, by itself, is easily dismissed--a simple 'No.' is all the more it takes to smother it in its infancy. No, you've got to tend that desired shift in reality like a garden, plucking out any inconvenient truths and throwing them away, replacing them with your own undeniable facts that cannot be disputed. Right now, you're thinking my past dominance in VWA is irrelevant, for example--and in regards to the details of my record there, you're  absolutely right. However, why I was so dominant there is very much relevant because nothing you or anyone else can dream of saying is going to change the fact that I have honed my submission skills to as close to perfection as one can get. No amount of you trying to shame me for being comfortable wearing revealing clothes or not deigning social media to be worth my time as you have with others in the past is going to change how, once the bell rings, my goal of dismantling you joint by joint and move by move will not be denied." Her tone hardens, growing so frigid that all of Rebecca's ill-conceived plans of success are dying on the vine even if her opponent doesn't know it yet. "You will tap out in the middle of that ring, and you will be humbled by someone that I'm sure you've already been foolish enough to dismiss. You can take solace, though, in the fact that you were doomed to fail before I even knew that you were the first unfortunate soul I would be facing here in 4CW. That isn't arrogance talking, either. No... that is indisputable fact."

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Her name meant 'servant of God'.

Considering how much blind obedience was valued in her family--especially for females--it was no surprise her father would select such a name for his youngest. She was his only daughter, the youngest of a veritable army of sons who were all born a year apart. At first, she was doted upon, surrounded by love and attention and all the other secret poisons that indoctrinated her into the ideals that her community lived by. She was to follow God, and God just so happened to speak through two men; her father and her pastor. So long as she did as she was bid, she would be surrounded by holiness... no matter how unholy those commands were at times. No matter the bitterness that lingered upon her tongue and the rot that deferred hopes and dreams for herself became, she did her best to follow the path that scripture and her Almighty-anointed name laid out for her. It wouldn't be until she was older that she also learned that her name meant 'noose', though by then?

She was already dangling from it, feet weakly kicking as she tried to keep herself from being hung to death by it.

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"While my ability to not only survive, but thrive in the face of a world that would've been more than happy to leave me dying in a gutter might've started out as a lie, I went out there day after day and I did whatever it took to make it real. I didn't just sit there and repeat myself over and over again, I didn't just run my mouth and hope no one dared to question me--I put myself through Hell in order to make sure that I would never, ever be anyone's victim ever again, and now here I stand, a monster given human form." Arms extend outward from each side as she says those last couple of sentences, the ropes doing little to obscure the blond submissionist as she shows herself off just a little. Her hands settle lightly, daintily on the ropes before she continues. "I have ended careers. I have shattered winning streaks and destroyed championship reigns, and the truth I speak into the universe now is a simple one; I will do the same here in 4CW, and there's not a single fucking soul that has a chance in Hell of stopping me. You're more than welcome to not believe me, of course--what little willingness you have to admit your failings has already been exhausted by what I talked about when I first began to address this match--but once you're in the ring with me?"

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Framed by the attorneys she had on retainer, she allowed herself to be handlessly ushered past her fallen foe in silence. While she had imagined all the mocking things she could've said, imagined the innumerable ways she could use that Vorpal-sharp insight to flay the bitch to shreds... as kohl-lined steely blue beheld the poser who had thought she could use guerilla warfare to drive her away, she realized words were no longer necessary. If anything, they were more than she could have ever hoped to deserve. Let her rot in the vanity projects she tricked others into investing in, ruin herself and her reputation further by being fired for being hard to work with and nailing herself to whatever cross was nearest.

Melinda 'Rebel' Rhodes was her own downfall, so why get in the way of karma's work?

A faint chuckle rang, melodic and fatal in its disarming tones, as the blond breezed her way toward the future, striding along smoothly in black Loubotins whose clacks echoed like gunshots to slay all who dared to stand in the way of her future. Finally, she could return to the sport of kings and queens and regain what she had lost through no fault of her own. Finally, she could rebuild--no, reload and lay claim to success in the here and now.

Finally, she was free.

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"Then you'll be left with no choice but to accept the truth, my truth, as your own." A firm nod is given before she's smirking anew, but this time? No light comes remotely close to gracing the steely blue depths of her eyes. "Consider it a free lesson in the art of changing the narrative. Maybe next time, you won't be such a failure at it."[/i]

Fade.