“You can’t focus on death, or failure. Otherwise you’re surrendering greatness to all the people too dumb to contemplate it.”
― David Wong, Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits
Undisclosed Suburb
Las Vegas, NV
22.10.2020
7:12am
Suburbia in the fall always had such a distinctive scent.
Crisp morning air and exhaust fumes because time management and pumpkin spice still hadn’t found a middle ground, the twang of metal barbecues starting to rust at the edges while the memories of summer faded into the territory of nostalgia and the faintly sweet pungency of decay as piles of fallen leaves that were supposed to be raked days before, start to rot from beneath.
Amber had always imagined far more picket fences in this scenario admittedly, more minivans with school endorsement stickers like they earned instead of being handed out… more, what was the word… mediocrity perhaps?
Leaning against the rental car, she knew she must have been a sight to see for the neighbours. Intentional of course- her beat up leather riding jacket somehow made her 5’8 frame seem far more imposing, thick heavy boots almost leaving indents on the sidewalk with every step as she paced back and forth and torn jeans exposed just enough of her thighs to give errant teenagers a lot to think about. Suburbia's worst nightmare with red hair falling around her face like she may actually be one with the devil.
Perhaps sensing her impatience, Mac Bane uncoiled from the drivers side of the otherwise inconspicuous looking car, as if Amber didn’t already touch upon an unspoken loathing enough. Towering over the redhead, he’d dressed similarly for the occasion, unable to hide his wry grin as he sensed blinds and curtains being hastily peeked through and hidden behind again with a frantic precision. Across the road, both of them captured this almost predictable course in action as Josephine Murphy obviously huffed angrily before disappearing behind a floral curtain.
“10 bucks says she cusses at me within three words.”
Casual yet with a knowing smile she tried to suppress, Amber half extended her hand to the bigger Texan. A raised eyebrow clearly punctuating some serious calculating.
“You plan on paying up this time Red?”
With a false incredulity, Amber almost recoiled to the point of falling off the sidewalk and into the street.
“I did pay up, even though you won on a technicality that shouldn’t have been exploited.”
“Yeah, you took the money out of my wallet…”
“You never specified where the money had to come from, darling.”
Before Mac even had the opportunity to respond, Josephine in navy suit jacket and pencil skirt sans shoes stormed across her front yard, already mumbling furiously under her breath as Amber set to cross to street to meet her- Mac at her side, no doubt witty response at the ready.
“In three… two… one…”
Amber's words disappeared on the breeze, drawing the smirk further across his face and quelling the witty discourse- at least for now.
“Are you out of your fucking mind Amber?”
Through gritted teeth, Josie hissed irritably towards the pair as though anything spoken above a tempered whisper might capture further unwanted attention.
“Fucking damn it, what was that… Five? You let me down in a big way, Josie.”
Despite mentioning her name, Amber spoke exclusively to Mac who bordered on smarmy with another victory.
“Just add it to the total.”
“I’m so paying you in pennies”
“So long as they’re coming out of your wallet, I don’t give a fuck what you pay me with.”
“Well, there goes that suggestion…”
Josie looked between them incredulously as though their feigned ignorance and determination to continue their own conversation was almost as offensive as them being there to begin with. With a grimace, she tried to adjust her stance however the squelch of rotting leaves beneath her bare feet did little but irritate her further…
“You are un-fucking-believable, you know that?”
Again, deliberately and mockingly of course, Amber looked back up to Bane with feigned shock.
“... Seriously? Why couldn’t we lead with that?”
A resigned sigh echoed as anger and frustration dissipated into something a little more dejected and defeated, an acceptance that this would be entirely unpleasant and would happen regardless of her attempted aggressions.
“Amber, what the hell do you want…”
With a nod, Amber dug her hands into her jacket pockets. There wasn’t anything to find but she’d seen it on movies before and somehow it always looked cool.
“What I want is a million dollars, a starbucks unlimited refills card and a holiday somewhere warm and tropical so I can get sunburnt on the beach and complain about mosquitos.”
“Oh, I know just the place…”
“I knew I loved you for a reason.”
“Except for when I’m right…”
Amber groaned with vague annoyance, brushing her hair out of her face as a particularly persistent breeze tried to keep her sight obscured while turning her attention back to Josie, her smile hardened into something more serious, the thick lines of scars partially covered by makeup making their presence known in angry pinks and whites.
“What I in fact have though- are questions…”
“I already-”
With a nonchalant wave, Amber cut Josie off before the syllables even fell from her lips, her stare through the accountants soul rattling and destructive in it's path.
“Yeah. yeah I get it... You already this, that and the otherwise… You already lied to me Josie. Granted it shouldn’t have taken me this long to figure it, that's on me, however some things you said before. Well, lets just say we’re putting two plus two together and getting a proverbial sine wave of half truths and whole bullshit.”
“Amber please… not here.”
A plea to her better nature as if she possessed one, that deer in headlights look like when they were teenagers. God, Amber pictured it even back then, peeking out from behind a caravan in hopes that Amber didn’t bring down her teenage existence around her… Life as they knew it, or what little they’d had of it, somehow resting in the hands of a girl who hadn’t yet learned one of the most valuable truths in the world.
People were shit.
Slow walkers in the supermarket. Parking lot scratch and runs. That guy in a midlife crisis convertible top down when it's 60 degrees cutting you off in traffic leaving you to cringe at his bad hair implants. Egocentric half talents relying on the other to keep their names in lights and names on contracts for a few months longer. Karens with overdyed hair and underdeveloped sense of human decency. Traitors. Liars.
Absolute bastards… all of them.
Josie stared a few seconds too long to remain genuine and sincere, flashbacks of determined trouble making and casual recklessness wracked the redheads memories as years of bad ideas and their consequences falling on anyone's shoulders but the instigator.
She’d taken Cassidy under her wing, shown her a path seemingly free of recourse… and now it seemed like it was happening all over again.
“My husband… my kids… my neighbours… They’re all going to have questions.”
“Well, I suppose you best answer them then… I’m happy to wait.”
Crossing her arms, Amber straightened up, her back cracking with a couple of satisfying pops. Josie glanced around nervously, gossip travelled fast like a verbal herpes in an orgy. No one cared where it came from, only that it got to everyone before anyone could explain it away.
“We’ve got time, yeah?”
“Sure do.”
Mac nodded approvingly, perhaps while silently lamenting the lack of available popcorn to watch this trainwreck continue to unfold.
“What the fuck is it you want me to say Amber- I don’t know anything.”
Shifting her feet, Amber dropped her arms a little in surprise. She shouldn;t have been admittedly, denial was natural and comfortable. A low point to easily settle and hole up in the face of a glaring, potentially harsh truth.
“You know, I thought so too… Until you asked what she’d done this time, initially I thought you meant like when we were teenagers however the context, the tone… You told me you lost contact not long after I left, so how the fuck would you have known if she’d been in any trouble recently?
Even in the last five years, 10 years even… I doubt you guys talked on the phone about boys and nail polish colours that looked just the right shade of slutty, nor would you have had sleepovers reminiscing about lost loves and future plans.”
Closing the distance, Amber leaned into Josie with a paralyzing glare, her voice a harsh and foreboding whisper that cut through the dancing breeze.
“You looked me dead in the eyes, and you lied to me. You have seen her… my guess is within the last few weeks. Months at most. Go on, tell me I’m wrong…”
Josie looked back towards her house- just a quiet, average, normal house. Everything a life on the road promised at the end, sanctuary in a burgeoning commonality. Everything she’d built, the husband she loved and the kids who smiled when they called her Mom and she made them breakfast before school…
“Amber, it's not what you…”
With a loud scoff that startled Josie to the point of flinching, Amber recoiled aggressively.
“It's not what I think, that's what you were gonna say wasn’t it?”
A chuckle escaped into the cool air, the thickening smell of rot and mediocrity heavy on the senses.
“What is it you think that I don’t get exactly- I didn’t get out and spend my savings on an education that lets me frame a certificate for my wall- but that doesn’t make me a fucking idiot. You might have degrees out the wazoo darl, but right now you might be the fucking stupidest person I know.”
Rage wasn’t constructive however Amber allowed it to flow out from beneath the rubble of a very successful career getting the ever-loving shit kicked out of her and getting to wear a trinket if you do it better than the next sadomasochist. It was easy to forget sometimes the way that society valued success- being a multi-time world champion in combat sports somehow didn’t seem to mean as much as a failing accountancy firm or strip-mall lawyer trying to stay off the legal radar.
Violence in any degree was seen as cheap entertainment, a scourge as though it hadn’t existed longer than far more choreographed displays- people were bloodthirsty but still looked down their noses towards those they virulently cheered.
“I’m trying to do some fucking good Josie, and you’d rather worry about what your neighbours might think cause I don’t go to the right hairdresser or herd my kids to a school whose principles I don’t agree with. If this were about you, I’d already have knocked your goddamn teeth out… It's not. It's about Cassidy, it's about Grizz and it's about what I feel I owe them…”
Amber softened her expression, perhaps it was meant to be a smile, but instead came across as a forced painful amusement.
“So maybe stop acting the…”
Stopping herself short, Amber refrained from the word she’d intended. Even Mac seemed momentarily impressed that a C-bomb had been miraculously avoided.
“Look, tell me and I’ll never darken your doorstep again.”
Josie paused pensively, a slow realization sinking through built up layers of behavioural expectation and morality of sharing potentially confidential conversation.
“Look, almost three months ago she shows up just like you did at the office. I hadn’t seen her in probably 8 or 9 years, looked like a hot mess and is talking LLC’s and start ups like she'd just spewed out whatever she'd read in some business journal, didn't seem to care that I'm an accountant and not a lawyer or real estate agent.
I should have asked but I didn’t, she seemed very distracted and twitchy like she hadn’t slept because she’d been... you know...”
Josie trailed off, the thought lingering between them longer than either dared admit. It had always been a possibility sure, the idea of drugs and addiction had been a very real temptation within the carnival industry. Long drives, longer nights, trying to keep up an enthusiasm that could line your pockets enough to get to the next town… Amber didn’t want to believe it, but Josie’s recollection…
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have...”
“You said she talked business… Did she mention any specifics, a name or place. Anyone affiliated, hell I’ll take a stray dog she might have petted and the homeless guy on the corner who probably has a mercedes in the next parking lot over.”
With the most confidence Amber and Mac had seen since she’d first stormed from her home, Josie shook her head as though she’d expected to disappoint them before the question had been completed.
“I mean I tried to make small talk but she just wanted to play business… when I couldn’t help, she got up and left.”
Frustratedly Amber scuffed her boot against the pavement surface, she wracked her brains for reasons and logic however they came few and further than ever between.
“I honestly don’t know what else to tell you Amber…”
Maybe this was it, maybe Amber could just let sleeping dogs lie. After all, there was a verbal confirmation and a known sighting. Grizz might accept that, knowledge was power after all and both of them needed more of each than they’d dare admit aloud.
Cassidy was up to something and it burned just under her sternum, stuck like a misshapen ember being forced through a penny sized hole- still, it made the redhead feel incredibly…
“Hell, the truth would have been a great start.”
Sarcasm was an automatic defense mechanism, like trying to defuse a bomb wearing oven mitts.
“Not everyone is like you Amber- we all don’t get to just spin the wheel and see what morals we have any given day, we don’t get to wake up and just punch people in the face cause they acted like assholes. There are rules, there are obligations and most importantly- there are ethics…
It might be fine for you, but the rest of us actually have consequences to deal with.”
Josie goes to storm away, however only gets three steps in the opposite direction before she turns back towards the pair.
“I hope it's everything you ever wanted Amber, that whatever you think you’re gonna find in all of this is worth it. You want someone to harass, go talk to ‘Sticky’ cause I can tell you that sick asshole spent more time around Cassidy after you left than anyone else… Go knock on his door and piss in his cereal, just leave me the hell alone.”
As Josie stormed away, a couple of leaves stuck almost comically to her feet, stomping furiously across the yard and onto the front porch where she flipped the pair off emphatically.
“Well, that seemed constructive.”
Amber didn’t reply at first, that glowing ember like now like ice between her ribs and spreading fast. Veins and arteries seemed to freeze over, perhaps her connection with hell finally acting as karma.
“I gotta ask though… Who the fuck is ‘Sticky?’”
Clearing her throat, Amber was the first to cross the street trying to avoid looking back at the glaring eyes peering through the blinds, her hand resting on the passenger side door handle as she finally brought herself to look back at Josie’s house. Perfect and pristine in it's utter averageness, the dreamscape of normality and all it's crappy stereotypes.
As Mac reached the drivers side door, he caught her looking back almost regretfully, mourning something unspoken that perhaps had finally been allowed to die.
“Well?”
“Well what…
“Who are they?”
“Someone I hoped I’d never have to speak to again.”
******
“Consistency is key in life kids.
It's one thing to do something well, it's entirely another thing to continue doing the same things well time and time again, especially when there's a whole legion of people waiting to see you make that fateful and inevitable misstep that sends you tumbling off the pedestal.
What can I say, most people are just fucking awful.
To remain on that top level, to keep performing to a predetermined expectation- it's certainly not for the faint of heart, not for flukes and off chance spins of a stupid wheel.
Did you think that was where this was going?
That I was just gonna come to you live from my high horse and talk down to The Black Sheep cause their name connotation kinda sucks and really could have taken five more seconds of reasonable thought to improve.
Of course a name is just a name, right? Expressions of grandeur in an industry that demands us be more than just Amber, Mac, Kris or Mikah… We don't just get to be who we are, we have to tell the world we’re more than that, even if hurricanes can’t be painted in red, even if single men can’t possible be wrecking crews… Even if both of those things are proven commodities.
A name tells you everything you need to know- and Black Sheep… Well, that's the least most impressive thing about you guys, it's astounding really how you’ve managed to find a moniker that makes you sound more bland than initially thought.
I think the idea is to make an impression, not bore people to death with it- sure it might get you over cause a win by default is still very much a win, however when records state that most opponents were comatose or dead cause sucking the personality out of them through a straw is still rather frowned upon.
A miracle though, now that's something the masses can sink their teeth into.
I mean honestly, who doesn’t love the idea of a higher power taking mercy on us stupid assholes once in awhile just to prove they’re really not as much of a dick as we thought. Miracles give us hope, they give us something to believe in, they show us there is still benevolence and decency in a world where those things had long since lost their value as moral currency…
… Then you take that concept and you paint it across what could potentially be the most generic, pigeonholed version of ‘nearly good enough on his own’ and put it out into the universe with a jaw hinged half way open all the time.
See, I like to think I’m smart enough to do some research and get the lay of the land. I’ve done enough tag wrestling, won enough tag titles and put my foot through the back of enough skulls that not seeing canvas afterwards through the hole is a disappointment.
Mac and I, we’re no strangers in a strange land, and while there's a proven formula of throwing two relatively successful singles competitors into a team and them dominating every established team who’d built a division… That's not us.
We aren’t some throw together flavour of the month trying to keep you guys as lukewarm as the shallow talent pool you’re pissing in, we aren’t here to make your record look vaguely more impressive than ‘showed up and won the belts cause literally no one else wanted them’.
We aren’t miracles, but we never needed to be.
So why would we care about mixed tag then, I mean Mac has a guaranteed shot at the Roulette title and you best believe the Bombshells division has their head on a fucking swivel trying to keep an eye on what I’m doing.
In the most logical sense, we don’t actually need this. We aren’t relying on a swimming in a puddle and hoping for rain, we aren’t holding things together in a division that sparks less joy and inspiration than having a conversation with the Barnharts about the obvious lines of incest in their family.
You said it yourself Kris- you are champions in a division with no competition, no one left to beat. It's really fucking difficult to be considered the best when you’ve got no one to stand over and gloat towards… Simultaneously you are legitimately the best and worst, might as well add that to your list of accomplishments alongside ‘ate avocado toast and still had enough money to buy starbucks’ cause basic is, what basic does.
We get it, you’re a veteren. A hall of famer. Must have been a bit of a lean year, huh? Not that you’d ever admit it of course- and I suppose I shouldn’t shit all over it cause I haven’t done anything in SCW yet in terms of achievements…
I’m a patient woman though, I take advantage of opportunities when they arise rather than complaining about them being late as they pass me on by. Hell, I’m nothing if not resourceful- cause while you guys might be champions… It's Mac and I that are being talked about, the ones being booked in high profile matches while you guys end up facing who exactly…
Throw togethers just to say they didn’t forget to put you on the card.
Must be a little insulting- everything you’ve given, and no one but you thinks that gold means anything. You’re placeholders- dominant and successful, sure… But all you do is fill the space until a better team comes along to do what you’ve failed so fucking hard at.
Relevancy.
Mixed tag is supposed to mean something and every week you guys fall further between the couch cushions, great teams have held those belts and now… Now it's just you guys bearing that weight of expectation while your knees slowly buckle beneath you.
All while no one cares.
I’d say you both deserve better but lying, well lying has never really been my forte.
Not so much for you though Mikah, huh?
Dirty little girl only if you’ve been rolling in the mud, I mean honestly. Is this the best you can do- the bombshells division got so stacked so quickly that you realized there was no place left for someone like you. Good, maybe even better than average… but that upper echelon, it's a little out of your league.
How long were you trying to punch up before you realized you were only going backwards, resigning yourself to the mixed tag division cause at least you could be the alpha bitch for a little while instead of playing third fiddle to women with far more talent.
I guess that would beg the question why I’d bother with it then- it's no secret I’m eyeing off that Bombshells world title, one of the most anticipated matches in the company to date is Alicia Lukas vs me. When was the last time someone spoke like that about a match you were in, hype around more than whether you could go a whole match without tagging in cause the opponents are just utter fucking garbage and it's not worth wrecking a manicure for.
I guess that's the thing though- not everyone can be a star otherwise the top of the mountain seems a little less special, there's only room for so many at the top and exclusivity is an earned right, not one that comes with tenure but work ethic and results.
Let me be real blunt, like force trauma but I’ll save that for the match…
You step in there with me, this match is already over. I’ve been in this industry, killing myself between those ropes in far greater matches for longer than you’ve been perfecting your blowjob technique. Maybe I’m not as pretty, sometimes my technical wrestling is a little rough around the edges, I don’t speak like I’m expecting the world to get on it's knees before me and I can assure you my partner doesn’t spoil me by carrying the weight of the team on his shoulders.
What I am is a certified fucking sociopath Mikah, straight up don’t care kinda monster- between those ropes blonde hair and blue eyes make you just like everyone else, scratching and clawing at the facade in hopes that you might be the one to find something underneath worth needling.
Oh, I lost to Roxi at the Supercard?
Yeah, and I beat her at the one before. Nice try, do come back when you have something more original than a pointed stick.
I’ve got wins over names in this company you don’t even wanna share a ring with, when it comes to this place I am the unspoken woman to beat. I’m the one putting everyone with a title on notice, while you’re shining yours up thinking I might just look straight on past cause theres not enough meat on the bone…
I’m an equal opportunity predator sweetheart and the fact is everyone's guts steam the same way when torn open on a cold winter's night.
What we are as a team, is what you strive to be. You might be the champions, you might have beaten everyone in your way- but until beating Trenton Tigers and the fucking Barnharts becomes an accomplishment worth bragging about again, I’d probably advise you to avoid talking about having beaten everyone.
Until you actually beat everyone, you’re the cast offs in the reject pile. A crappy little pile of foreskins in a castration clinic that everyone would rather forget is starting to go mouldy in the corner. What the mixed tag titles have become in your hands, is exactly what your opinions will happen to mean when you can string them together in a coherent sentence between lightly shitting yourself and screaming into the void. Absolutely worthless.
One man's trash, is another man's treasure though.
Maybe you should be grateful for what we’re about to do guys- cause WHEN we win at Climax Control, when we come after those Mixed Tag belts... you’ll beg us to keep them so long that your names fade from the records. That no one will remember the utterly embarrassing job you’ve done as supposed champions and how you managed to take something that Wolfslair made memorable into scrap metal.
You’re lucky we’re so fucking generous, if it were just up to me I’d wipe you both from the face of the Earth and take the titles at Climax Control… however Mac is a little more reasonable than me, he levels me out a little so it's him to thank for your upcoming continued shuffle along this depressing mortal coil.
He understands that this is a marathon, not a sprint. Hurricanes don’t tend to consider longevity you see, but he's so very good with the long term picture… One that sees us draped in gold, and you both scratching at the door trying to remind people you’re still under contract.
Until then, until Climax Control and until the impending and merciful end to your lacklustre run of tag team infamy… Take a deep breath, cause oblivion… Oblivion is waiting.”
