Date Night
Scene One | Off-Camera
“Lexi-baby, hun. I’m sorry.”
Appearance was everything, some would say. Some would say that wearing the false masks of happiness leads to a world where it cannot be separated. Where the mask becomes our truth, and we are no longer a sad person beneath it. Luna was a believer in greater things. In powers beyond her reckoning, in fate. Destiny. These were the guiding forces for the sweet, starry eyed girl that lived beneath the foul-mouthed, erratic and lewd exterior. So when the world offered her a pathway back, she had taken it in full stride. She thought the mask had become true happiness. That in time, Alex’s had slipped and they were truly being open. It turned out, the only one that had been open was him.
Date night. They’d not seen much of each other lately. He’d been giving her her space. Which was nice, but waking up in her own bed, without the morning attention of their sweet pup, and his whiskey scented kisses had become a little melancholic. She was pining, but she needed to pine. She needed to know that she was valid in her own standing. Valid in her ability to be her own woman. Valid in being…
She had noticed it when they had walked in. Eyes hidden behind sunglasses, hiding the pain. He’d worn them for an uncomfortably long time. She hadn’t really thought about it, but who wears sunglasses inside at night? Well… they did. That wasn’t the point though. The point was that he wasn’t wearing them, and she saw it. Red eyes, grief stricken. Pained. Tears freshly fallen, but the smile he wore defied that very assumption. He’d been crying. Emotion from the emotionless. Why had he been crying? How long had he been crying? Was it because of her? Or was it his own collapsing mental state that took him to these places. She should ask, she wanted to know. She wanted to.
“Sorry, I know I’m a little out of sorts. Spent a while convincing myself we were just going to sit here, laugh, drink and then that’d be it. You’d make the call, and we’d go our separate ways. I know it's a bit selfish of me, but I need to know Lu. Are you going to end it with me?”
It wasn’t an appropriate response. But the laughter ripped up through her chest. Cackling to herself, catching a few sideways glances from other patrons. Vulnerability really wasn’t their strong point. Humour was a good way of covering that up. So she laughed, even though she didn’t want to. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“I fucking love you, sugar. Don’t you ever spout such nonsense.”
That was that. No matter what work that she felt she needed to do on herself right now. No matter the fears she had, the worries about her horrifically mentally ill other half, some grounding was needed. Some connection to reality. Stability. They needed stability, if nothing else. The world was forever collapsing around them, and here he was. Worried she was going to walk away.
Maybe he had the right to be afraid. She’d run at the first sign of difficulty. He’d finally been truly vulnerable with her and she’d shot through. Left him to worry and fear, and she’d decided it was time to work on herself. She had the right though, right? When the truth about Leon came to light, Alex had cut them all off. It was different, of course. But it was the same too, right? Maybe not. It’s one thing to hide the fact that you are talking to people who don’t exist. It’s another thing to hide the truth of why a friend ran off, and why that friend’s death had been hidden. Equity was a bitch sometimes.
“I’m sorry, Lexi. Truly, I’m sorry. I just needed to work something out. But I promise you. This isn’t a last hurrah. This isn’t a moment of peace before the abyss. Sweet boy, I’m just fucking lost like you.”
“Then I’ll be your lighthouse, to guide you to safer shores. I won’t let you smash on the rocks.”
There really was a poet hiding beneath the surface. Beneath the bad jokes, the insecurity and the cold front. There was the man beneath the mask of it all. A sorrowful man, who wanted nothing more than to be honest with the world. A mentally ill man, who was doing everything he could to avoid slipping into oblivion. And much like that night where she took a stand. Her heart hurt once more. Pining for the man who she had always loved.
“You’re a suck-up, Lexi baby.”
“Somebody told me that my icy heart was beginning to thaw. I guess they were right.”
He smiled, a real smile. The redness of his eyes is a sign of the pure pain he was suffering at this moment. Caught between his own suffering and hers. Toxic was a way to describe their back and forth. Some would be right in assuming that too. It wasn’t the healthiest, but it also wasn’t toxic. They were just two lovebirds who wore everything on their sleeve. Little regard for the subtleties of a quiet romance. They loved loud, hard and powerfully. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.
“First round is on me, lover boy.”
Date night.
Luna Vanity; The Whore
Scene Two | On-Camera
“I think it’s important to acknowledge where I’ve been, where I’m coming from. So people understand that when I’m out there talking shit. When I’m out there babbling and ripping them to ribbons. That when I’m mocking, swearing and hurting. They know why I’m so fucking in love with myself. See, the pretty girls who like to play with the boys. Well, they get a bit of a reputation. The pretty girls who don’t wear their skirts on their knees, and develop early. They get a bit of a reputation. The girls who talk liberally about their love lives, and have had a steady boyfriend for the entirety of their teenage years? They get a reputation. ‘Oh, Luna. She’s a sweet girl, but she has that Pasilno blood in her. Her brother? He’s just not right. Their mama and papa? Junkies from what I heard.’ I spent my years growing up hearing about how dog shit poor my family was. How we were trash on trash, the whore and her gay brother. Both of them are just a little too loose with that German boy. You get used to the shit they throw at you. Tough skin and learning to tune it out. The truth? Yeah, we were a bit odd.”
“But that didn’t make us the sum of what they called us. I wasn’t no fucking whore. Foul-mouthed and fucking confident sure. Happy with who I was, damn fucking right. I'm in love with myself, because I fucking had to be. The insufferable fucking old cunts of home would never stop. That sweet little German boy, more family to us than our own. They were right too. Mama and papa were junkies. Wrestling had done them fucking dirty. Left them poor and broken. Addicted to the painkillers that made it possible for them to get up and out of bed. So when the two most important people in the fucking world to me. My sweet brother Jimmy and the boy who held my heart so sweetly in his hands, Alex. When they decided they were going to lace their boots and step into that ring, I was terrified. Terrified that I was going to lose them like I lost my parents. Terrified that they would become the husks of the people I knew, and be broken and poor too. So I knew, I had to keep loving myself. I had to keep pushing the world out because at the end of the day. Ain’t nobody going to be the person I remember them being.”
“So was born, little Luna Vanity. The woman who found comfort in the loving of others. Broken hearted she hurt the one who had loved her so sweetly. In the arms of the new and mysterious. The asshole who treated her poorly. Danger and intrigue, it was nicer and safer than the unknown. The unknown of that sweet boy, who was going to end up broken and poor. Drugs, sex and rock n’ fucking roll. That was my life. Turns out, in attempting to love myself. The only one who had become what everyone had said, was me. Alex got married, Jimmy found love in the arms of those who would take him, and made money beyond all reasoning. Slinging beers, and bags. Bar life was good to them, and leaving wrestling behind. It only proved one thing. Little Luna Vanity, was the whore they accused her of being. And the only person I didn’t love anymore was me. The world had run away and I’d become the one thing I never wanted to be. I hated myself. I hated the world for letting me become this way. I screamed for the light that was ever fading. Screaming for some semblance of happiness to come back to me.”
“And then, there he was. The world had hurt him in a way that was unfair. Took the woman he’d married, and put her to sleep. Before that, the man who had ruined his life once, did so again. Protective of that sweet little German boy who took care of us. We hid the truth. Hid what we knew and forced away the darkness that would continue to threaten to unravel Alex’s happiness. Yet a path was opened. There was a chance for me. A chance to redeem who I was. To fix myself, to find love for me. Selfish as it was, I sought out the husk of that sweet summer child, and asked for his love once more. Ignoring his tortured mind, I thought only of absolving myself. I didn’t want to be Luna Vanity the Whore. I wanted to be Luna Vanity the Queen of his kingdom. The Idol who was admired and swooned over. The beauty to the beasts. Yet, that’s not who Luna Vanity is. Luna Vanity is the bitch who forgot how to love herself. Who preached self-love like she knew a fucking thing about it. But no, no more did she know than the heartbroken boy knew the truth.”
“But you know who did love that boy truly? Who loved herself fully, and cared for those who did everything they could to love her? Luna Pasilno. The girl who had a reputation, but didn’t care. Because the world was simpler when it was rumored. The world was easier when people said nasty things but she wasn’t living them. I no longer wanted to be the selfish bitch who was using her teenage flame to fix herself. I needed to fix myself. I needed to truly find a way to love myself. So when you ask, who is Luna Pasilno? She’s the woman I always wanted to be. And the foul-mouthed bitch, who cannot stand a single fucking one of you insufferable cunts. A bombshell in every aspect of the word. And the woman who is going to be the Bombshell Internet Champion. Why? Because I fucking said so.”
The Past, Present and Inevitable Future
Scene Three | On-Camera
Three tables sit in a small quaint little room. Wooden walls and floors, a tarnished rug with tattered and frayed ends throw beneath the three small tables. Each was a square little four-legged wonder, hand crafted and with a touch of age to them. On one sat a typewriter, a chair placed to sit in front of it. In the chair, Luna Pasilno. Her hair pulled high into twin pigtail braids. The tight braids curled around her shoulders and draped over her front. Solid black doc martens, the laces loose and the tongues hanging wildly. Tight black leather pants, dissolving into a simple black shirt. All black everything, and a bright array of make-up to mix it up. Reds and purples. Her features sharpened. Legs crossed, she leans back lazily in the chair, one arm resting on the back of the simple chair. A symbol of lazy elegance.
“The past, the present and the inevitable future. That is what this battle royal truly is. A battle between the has-beens, the never-wills and the one who will inevitably be. I’ll catch flak for it all, I know. My disdain for the relics of the past is quite noted at this point. Old cows like Kim Pain, Keira and Roxi, and the first woman of note in this quaint little rodeo, Kat Jones. And we start with Kat, because just like this fucking typewriter. She’s someone who should’ve stayed in her fucking lane and out of my ring.”
A quick lean forward, her hands grabbing the typewriter and smashing it to the floor. A guttural roar of anguish. Akin to a banshee wail. A woman scorned by the very idea of another’s existence.
“You see Kat. I don’t quite get the hype. I don’t quite get why you are even here? Something in the water and all of a sudden everyone is coming back. Coming back for one more fucking showing. Coming back for one more round of embarrassment before they are shafted to the nothingness of unforgiving world. But that’s okay. I completely and utterly forgive you, sweetheart. I forgive you, because I know what really caused you to lace those boots once more. You just had to know. Had to know if you could stand with the ladies of tomorrow. The ladies of today. Can Kat Jones beat the relics of the weathered and cooled Tempest? The erratic nature of my sweet angel darling, Ariana Angelos. Maybe get one more rub from the permanent fixture of Sin City, Mercedes Vargas? Perhaps you like the feeling of being worked over by powerful women. The idea of getting beaten down by the fallen from grace Zoey Lukas, or the now tamed Wolfe in Krystal? I’d mention Seleana, but realistically. The only thing of note she has done of late, is manage to get one over on me. And don’t go thinking that I’ll just let the miserable bitch get away with that one.”
“No, I think, because Marlowe isn’t worth acknowledging. No, I know, Kat. I know the real reason you came back was to ensure that the pretty ones, the sweet ones and the hard talking ones got a lesson. Are you going to teach me a lesson, babygirl? Are you going to use that wily veteran experience that all the old cows like to prattle on about? No, I actually think you’re a little smarter than that. Smart enough to know that it isn’t just about the experience. No, I know you are using this as a test. To see if you are still that good. To see if you can still step between the ropes and go. Well, lover, let me tell you. When that bell rings and it’s all go and go. There isn’t another Bombshell in the world that can keep pace with Luna Pasilno. There isn’t a damn woman in this whole fucking place that can step to me. Not anymore. So Kat, while I respect your desire. While I respect your tenacity, dedication and otherwise. I need you to know. Just like Calaway and Pain learnt. You ain’t half the fighter I am.”
A distant boom. The sound of thunder cracking. The splatter of rain on the windows. A sudden storm. Wind whipping and rattling the wood in its frame. A smile crossed Luna’s face. Lazily leaning back in the hair once more. Foot bouncing, both arms rest across the back of the seat.
“Tempest. The woman they are all afraid of. The woman that strikes fear into the hearts and souls of both men and women alike. A powerful bitch who is akin to her namesake. Or, at least. She was. See I think Tempest is a bit of a misnomer these days. See, she’s a whole lot of bluster with very little substance in her waning years. I’ve seen this storm up close. I’ve weathered the fists, the kicks and the slams. And let me tell you.She’s a light spring rain, and not the tempest she’d like to be. Weathered and worn and a step far too slow. And it’ll be the same rhetoric, I know. But it’s an unfortunate truth. That the past is past for a reason. That these upstart youths are being given the opportunity to dethrone and belittle these relics of a yester-decade. I wonder, Tempest. What do you think when you see someone like me? Mouthy and confident. Full of bravado and arrogance. Is it like waving a red flag at a coked up bull? That’s how I imagine it. A coked up bull which is a single heartbeat away from being put down by the matador. Able to see nothing but the taunting red flag. Dangerous if it had its horns, but the years of successful goring have left it blunt. Hardly a threat, it continues to barrel headlong into battle.”
“I assume that’s what you’ll do too, my dear. Barrel headlong into a group of women who want nothing more than to see you picked up, put out and dropped on your face. Shown the truth of your inadequacy in the current Sin City, and reminded. Reminded that there is a reason you left. Reminded that there is a reason that your cohort is all but relics vying for another chance in the sun. The only one who never got the fucking memo however, is our permanent resident. The brainiac who is good with all the stats. Someone who should have shifted career paths years ago. Mercedes Vargas herself.”
The thunder continues to rumble, but the rain remains light. A fitting analogy for the Spring rains. Although, it is Autumn. Luna suddenly lashes out a foot and kicks the typewriter that had been toppled and smashed on the floor. A piece of paper was under it. In big bold letters ‘CURRENT RECORD: NO ONE FUCKING CARES’. An obvious dig at the woman with all the stats.
“Vargas, the insufferable know-it-all bitch. Congratulations on main event 30. That’s the end of it. No more congratulations. No more praise. Nothing. And your reward for reaching this career milestone? Another failure to add to your record. Another notch in the L column. But I can’t talk can I? I’m just another fucking loser too. But, oh! That’s right. It doesn’t matter, does it? It’s all just numbers and figures. Numbers and figures that continue to add up to one thing. That you are reaching the end of your rope, and I’m just starting my ascent. See the difference, Vargas, sweetheart. The difference is I’m going to continue to get better. To continue to accrue stats for you to add to your little scorebook. And as you mark away, you can mark this one down. For prosperity reasons. Mercedes Vargas’ in a career defining loss, suffered a humiliating elimination at the hands of Luna Pasilno. Marking an embarrassing capstone to her thirtieth career main event. For me? In just her first twelve months in the business, Luna Pasilno went on to secure the vacant Bombshell Internet Championship, marking her second championship victory in under twelve months.”
“I’m all about helping the elderly, and the insufferable. And you, my sweet. Are both elderly, and fucking insufferable. Though, not the most insufferable as we’ll come to see. So don’t take it too hard Vargas. I’m just a step too fucking quick, and a beat too good for you. Love you, darling.”
Luna quickly unravels her legs and stands up. Striding to the centre table. A red cloth draped over a cube like object. She grips the red cloth, and yanks it free. Revealing a gift, wrapped in seasonally spooky wrapping paper. Little ghosts and pumpkins of the black background. She smiles and claps gleefully to herself.
“The present. The never-wills of today. A gift to us all, in that they exist purely to promote the future. A future filled with talents like myself. Like Ariana Angelos. Hell, even the pseudo-veteran in Samantha Marlowe, loathes me to admit it. But, despite it all. There is one particular prickly cunt of a woman that really embodies this. The loose mouthed, brash and aggressive Zoey Lukas. The lesser Lukas, if you will. Now forever doomed to live in the shadow of a greater sister. A hall of famer in Alicia Lukas. Ironically, the tamer of the King that sat beside our failed Queen. Zoey Lukas, oh how I have wanted to meet you. The nosy, nasty little bitch who thought it appropriate to stick her fucking nose in the business of my lover boy, and her boy toy at the time.”
“I’m one to hold a grudge it seems, and unfortunately for you Zoey, that grudge is long waiting to be resolved. Confidence not his own, but that of the powerful and confident woman beside him. Miles did what he needed. Dethroned Alex and became Roulette Champion. A failure of a champion, but champion nonetheless. But it wasn’t truly him, was it? No it was the mouthpiece with the brains that told him what to say to really get the King of the Conspiracy riled up. Yet, what have you done since? A failed coup as queen. A failure to live up to any level of success you started with. Failing upon failing, you now stand here. With the opportunity presented to us all, following the unfortunate training injury of Aleesha Jones. Who, between you and me Zoey, was an absolute waffling thundercunt of a woman. Who knew Zoomers could be so much worse than us sweet millennial mayflowers? Wild.”
Luna grabs the box, and slowly begins to pull at the carefully taped edges of the wrapping paper. Slowly beginning to unwrap it.
“I feel for you, darling. Truly, I do. You came in with all the success. A woman bound for great things. Yet, just like the other fuck-ups in this mess of a battle royal.You fell and continue to fall. Attempting to gift yourself the Bombshell World’s Championship. Yet, it seems that our true Queen. Courtney Pierce is just a touch too good for the queen of the day. But that’s okay. What won’t be okay, is when you inevitably fall in the same way as the roaring bull, Tempest. Strong, powerful women who pose a threat to us sweet, dainty little flowers. You’re a target, Zoey. And I intend to hit the fucking bullseye. To enact my grudge just a little. Chin up, lover. It’ll be easier to hit it.”
She finishes unwrapping the gift. A glass box within. Inside the glass box, a single crystal rose. Poetic, some may say.
“We get to dance this dance once more, don’t we, Seleana? I’ll give you the props you deserve. You kept pace. Better than your other half did. You kept pace and you beat me. Congratulations darling. You fucking earned it. Unfortunately, things are just a bit different this time around. See, some may say a new attitude and a name change amounts to very little. I’d normally agree. Unfortunately, confidence can be a wonderful thing for the one with it. I have my confidence back. A clean win over the tired insufferable cunt that is Kimberly Pain. A redemption for one failure. And now a chance to get some level of revenge for another. Not only do I get to upset you, just like I did your lesser half. But this time, I get to deny your family another fucking championship. I almost think that my sweet surrogate fathers, Christian and Mark. Well they might just be using me to ensure that your pathetic little household never holds gold here again. So, forgive me fathers, for I have sinned. But failure is not something I abide by twice. I’ll beat this one up, just like all the others. And then you won’t have to worry about the many named households anymore.”
She sighs heavily, and pushes the glass box off the table. The box and rose smashing upon the floor. A pile of crystal and glass shining in the low light. She snorts a little and moves on to the final table. A small hand mirror on the table.
“Sorry, Marlowe. But just like you were a fucking after-thought. I’ve got nothing for you. A nobody with no presence in this place. A constant name that means nothing. Another body to add to the statistics of Mercedes Vargas and her scorebook. Just like the trash of the Zdunish family, you’re just a pile of glass, ass and misery in my world. So I want you to forgive me. But I have nothing for you. You’re just another never-will of the present. Sorry, darling.”
She looks down at the hand mirror, kneeling down near the table. A hand sliding down the glass of the mirror, turning her head to the side Resting her ear against her shoulder.
“Wolfe. The spotlight is finally off you, and yet you continue to clamber for the spotlight. I wonder, Krystal. What comes next when you fall down this time? You made an interesting point. That everyone involved in this match is someone you pissed off over the last few months. So it’s any wonder why you felt the need to point out that I personally haven’t been affected by you. Or at least, you would think so. See, ignorance is truly bliss for the fucking asinine. And you, lover, are the most ignorant cunt I’ve stumbled across. I wonder if it’s the plight of the South Australian? Tasmania may have the most functionally illiterate population in the country, but I can’t assume the murder capital has many clear thinkers either. The true irony is being from the city of churches, and still managing to become possessed. Truly, it’s an inspiring story. Unfortunately, it is a pity that you are just fodder for the field. Fodder for a group of women who would see you beaten, broken and maimed for your actions. No matter how much forgiveness any single one of them pretends to have. I have no love for you, Krystal. So unfortunately, when the barrel of thundering hate comes down upon you? I’ll happily watch them maul you. Another obstacle out of the way. The never-was, the never-will. You’re an unfortunate product of the modern day that won’t ever break the mold you have dug yourself into.”
She picks up the hand mirror. Angling it so only one part of her face is reflected in it. One eye. The smile, the happiness evident in it.
“My sweet, baby angel. Ariana Angelos. The woman who will close this out with me. I know how things have been for you my dear. Friend’s turning their backs on you. Keira, Jessie, Kat, Roxi and even your best friend. All of them just so easily shrug you to the ground. Though we must forgive our dear Carter. He too has been suffering. So I’ll let that slide, if you will my dear. But what we can’t let slide, is these dizzy old bitches who continue to beat down on you my dear. These crotchety old cunts who prattle on like they have ever been anything but fucking hypocrites. I see you, for who you are, my sweet angel. A girl who has lost her way, and needs just a touch of acceptance and love. True love, not this horseshit tough love these false friends and mongrel elders have. Unfortunately, I too am someone who suffers from the blindness of greatness. And as much as I love you, if it comes down to you or me. It’s going to be me, sweet girl. I’ll raise my hand, raise my eyes and raise my fist. And if I have to play dirty, I will play dirty. But try not to worry babygirl. I will do my best to ensure that you and I get to make that decision. One way or the other. We’ll walk out one and two. And we can show them all why they can’t overlook us. The inevitable future. I love you, my sweet angel. But not as much as I fucking love me.”
The smile fades, her eye closed in a slight grimace of pain. A single tear rolling down her cheek. Crocodile tears or something of actual care? The only person that would ever truly know, was Luna herself. She tipped her wrist forward and allowed the mirror to clatter back onto the table. The sound of thunder rumbling even more in the background. The lights flickering, and then a sudden flash. Nearby lightning, causing a blinding flash of light.
“It’s time for everyone to learn who the fuck Luna Pasilno really is.”
The light fades. The room is now mostly empty. A crown of barbed wire sits on the floor, with rose petals scattered around it. The queen of thorns.
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
