[DistortedAngel]

“I found it."
"People find pennies," Gansey replied. "Or car keys. Or four-leaf clovers."
"And ravens," Ronan said. "You're just jealous 'cause" - at this point, he had to stop to regroup his beer-sluggish thoughts - "you didn't find one, too.”
― Maggie Stiefvater, The Raven Boys




Annabelle’s Family Diner
Mt Pleasant, SC
14.11.2001
7:39pm




Amber had to quietly admit, this wasn’t what she’d envisioned when she left home.

Somehow in her mind she’d dreamed of garish neon and interesting people, of rumbling engines fuelling rides that drew screams of adrenaline from riders in their 50th go around the same way they had done in their first. Spun sugar and sweat on warm summer evenings wafted loosely through her memories while the writhing mass of humanity with pasted on smiles paid absurdly to prove they were dumb enough to be tricked into a state of competitive pride- all of this never feeling further away than it did right now.

Even at 13 years old, this was supposed to be her chance to reinvent herself before she grew up to be disappointingly mediocre at best and blandly self-destructive at worst. A chance to be perceived as something more than a ‘problem child’, something more than the lesser part of the heartbroken shell of a woman her Aunt had become in recent years or just another numbered  inconvenience to whatever family she’d get shuffled off to next, those that thought they were the only ones who could change a life by being falsely optimistic about the absolute level of fuck-all they really had to offer.

Instead she found herself sitting in a diner on a highway in nowhere in particular, watching snaking raindrops chase each other down the glass, waiting for the interesting part of her life to begin.
In truth it wasn’t as though they could do much in this weather- unexpected in it's misery, it felt as though it had been days non-stop though in reality she imagined it being little more than a few hours determined to drag its feet.
Across from her, Grizz made small talk with the kindly waitress who’d dawdled her way towards them- with warm eyes and a ruddiness in her cheeks, she reminded Amber of those kindly grandmothers on TV who baked cookies and doted on grandchildren, the type that would encourage a shy child one minute and then  smile sweetly while delivering a delightful one liner to the cued up canned laughter.

Though this one lacked the TV presence, she seemed nice enough although Amber paid her little mind. Far more preoccupied with the frantic zigzagging pursuit taking place in front of her- only for it to end in a draw as they touched mere inches from the edge of the sill, the young redhead lazily started to draw a smiley face in the faintly fogged surface of the windows interior.

“Aren’t you bored?”

Her finger squeaked against the surface as she reached the edge of the disembodied faces crooked smile before slumping back into her booth. Grizz gave her a toothy grin in return as the waitress returned with drinks- the wickedly acrid stench of coffee filling the space between them before the mug ever hit the table. Amber wrinkled her nose in disgust- everything about it seemed terribly off-putting and yet given the opportunity Grizz would drink gallons of it in the span of a day.
In front of her, Amber had settled for orange juice- the waitress had offered hot chocolate to perhaps compliment the weather outside, and although it was tempting she’d had to decline for the way milk seemed to turn her stomach inside out and back again.
Now though, watching the faint outlines of pulp drift listlessly in the glass- she almost welcomed the ungodly consequences that a steaming hot chocolate would have brought.

Taking a satisfied sip of his coffee, Grizz eyed her curiously. Oddly in good spirits, especially in spite of the literal dampener on his day, he leaned across the table slightly while coming a little too close to steeping his beard in his coffee.

“There’s far too much in life to ever be bored, Bambi.”

Amber cringed slightly, Grizz had been determined to make it stick- and so far it was working although only he and his daughter Cassidy were allowed to say it to her face. Cassidy wasn’t on this trip though, a fact only adding to the redheads state of melancholy, apparently she was away visiting her mother for a few weeks- and although Grizz smiled politely when he talked a little about her, he couldn’t hide the sadness and loneliness in his eyes when her name crossed his lips.

“You say that- but then you look outside and---”

Grizz threw up a hand to stop her, tutting assertively as he did.

“Now now, that's some bad omen, sweet girl.”

Matter-of-factly, Grizz leaned back into his booth seat as the frame groaned slightly beneath his large frame.

“Never let your fellow carnies hear you talk about bad weather, otherwise you’re inviting the weather to follow you…”

Amber scoffed in such a way that only teenagers seemed to manage, incredulous and petulant in equal measures and yet entirely irritating to boot.

“You honestly don’t believe that... do you?”

In spite of her own feelings, she couldn’t help the inflection of vague curiosity in her voice.
Superstition. Bad omens. It all sounded like scare-mongering to Amber, the idea that peoples lives revolved around quirks and false belief was enough to make her head spin a little, even as she sipped from her glass- the pulp cloying on her tongue and the acidity making her squint a little- she couldn’t help but wonder why someone like Grizz would get so hung up on such… nothings.

“Why wouldn't I? It's the same as carrying pennies or not tearing off the bottom right corner of a two dollar bill…”

Grizz trailed off slightly while sensing the apathetic raised eyebrow he was receiving.

“What about this, would you ever open an umbrella indoors?”

“No”

“... and why’s that?”

“Cause it's rude.”

Grizz chuckled slightly, accepting that she’d stepped around his train of thought perhaps without even realizing it.

“Okay, fair. How do you feel about walking under ladders or black cats crossing your path, what about breaking mirrors and lonely ravens…
Not saying you have to believe any of it, but what's the harm in it?
Sometimes it's just nice to know that something is for sure- regardless whether it's real or not, it makes you think and be more careful. Look, I get that stepping on cracks might not break your mothers back, but it might one day stop you face planting into the pavement or holding your breath while passing a cemetery might not allow spirits into your body, but you won’t be able to be disrespectful to the dead either.”

Grizz paused thoughtfully, drinking deeply from his mug before casually inspecting a chip at the rim with his thumb.

“There’s no one in this world that can tell you what to believe and be right about it- however in a life like ours where nothing is certain, it's nice to have something to fall back on. Real or otherwise...”

With a wickedly infectious, almost mischievous smile Grizz leaned in towards Amber while motioning for her to follow suit.

“Why don’t we come up with our own thing- just you and me. Our own little something to believe…”

“That sounds kinda dumb.”

“It probably is, but I’m also not gonna take no as an answer- and if you don’t give me anything I’m likely gonna make it ever stupider.”

Amber shook her head knowingly, somehow in these fleeting moments managing to forget about the melancholy and loneliness of the pouring rain that begged for her attention as it raced down the window.

“Ugh, fine. How about everytime you call me Bambi, I punch you in the nose.”

“That's not a superstition.”

“It's a bad omen, cause when you say it something bad happens.”

“Nice try Bambi- how about something…”

Taking up his coffee mug, although now barely half full despite it's sloshing against the sides, Grizz softened his smile slightly.

“... like when you take your first sip of your favorite drinkl, you have to make a wish.”

“What if it doesn’t come true?”

“Well, then you probably need to do something to change that, don’t you?”

As the growing patter of rain seemed to lessen the silence that fell between them, Amber couldn’t help but find that melancholy once more as well as a faint pang of regret that she’d already taken a sip from her orange juice- as harshly unsweetened as it might have been.
What would she even have wished for- just the idea of it seemed so stupid and yet she felt strangely compelled to at least try and so, with a now better understanding and the last of the pulp seemingly clear of the back of her throat, Amber sipped cautiously from her glass while looking inside herself for a wish… A wish that would take more than some elbow grease and a good attitude to achieve, one that for the longest time felt so close within reach and yet unattainable for more than a few moments…

A wish… for real happiness.





******




“Have you got me all figured out, Courtney?

Am I just another open book, flat back on a table with my secrets laid bare for you and you alone. I mean I have no doubt that you know what it takes to beat me and that under pressure you’re the one who could possibly do it- triumph where others in your spotlighted position have failed to capitalize.
Tell me, have you started to tell yourself yet that you aren’t going to fall into my ‘traps’ and that the mind games just don’t work on you… After all, I couldn’t possibly get in your head cause you won’t let me.

You’re better than that, right?
Definitely smarter, cause who the fuck would spend their life doing all the stupid shit I do and consider it a really good career move, you’re definitely younger and probably fitter and maybe even stronger- I drink a little too much, sometimes I forget I quit smoking and go out making some dumb decisions and picking fights cause theres an itch that needs to be scratched.
Maybe you even have more willpower and determination- you won’t simply be goaded or lulled into a false sense of security cause you’ve worked too hard to get back here, to prove you deserve the opportunity you were already owed.

I’m sure you’ve seen my type before- you’re a classic student of the game so how could you not?
Coming up and being trained by some of the best isn’t anything to be turning one's nose up at- you’ve got a pedigree despite your rookie status and be damned if you aren’t gonna uphold it. 
I have no doubt that you’ve probably picked me apart a thousand times in training already- you know my game probably better than I do, watched all the tapes and maybe even spoken to a few people unfortunate enough to have had this little black cat cross their path.

Up to now, it's arguable that you’ve done everything right.

So why is it that, after everything you’ve done to get back to this point with the spotlights shining down on us headline Sin City Wrestling’s Climax Control 300- that the result remains inevitable.
How can it be, when you’ve done everything to prepare and approached this meticulously and professionally as anyone in this business likely could be- that it's still not enough to dethrone a painted hurricane draped in gold.

Quite the conundrum, isn’t it?

I mean, you’d certainly think so on paper. Stats against stats and you should have me all, but dead to rights. Of course, that's the way most matches seem to look though- paper and ink have a funny way of obscuring reality, and like a damn good book I’m certainly more than I show on the cover.
Here’s the thing sweetheart- we aren’t some paper dolls cut from the pages of a great american novel, there's no instruction manual written that comes with what we do and there's no straight line to where we wanna be lined with neon arrows to direct us when we falter from our path.
All the training in the world, from the best of the best, means virtually nothing when it can’t be applied and unfortunately knowledge doesn’t simply transfer by skin parties and osmosis…

Don’t think for a second Courtney that I don’t take you seriously, that you’re just some blip on the radar on my merry way to my next big win. I didn’t get this far in my career by underestimating anyone just in the same way I didn’t survive cause I gave anyone who faced me any quarter.
As far as I’m concerned, you’re as serious as a heart attack- it's really up to you to prove whether you’re a widow maker or just some nasty indigestion masquerading as something far more tragic though.
Personally I think you’re fucking delightful and that your potential knows no bounds, but potential means absolutely nothing if you simply say you’ve got it and let it fester until you resent the word as much as Jessie Salco resents the existence of icecream.

Honestly, it's the gift that just keeps on giving.

You deserve this Courtney. You’re already proven that- I mean you did something that I haven’t in winning Blast From The Past, and while I could cuss out a certain jealous someone who pretended to be a champion so she could use the belt as a prop to talk about herself more, and blame the fact that we didn’t win on her acting like fucking petulant child, I’ll refrain. She knows what she did, and this belt on my shoulder is proof that she received SOME of her penance…
It's an achievement that can’t be diminished, as much as many try, nor taken away as proven by the belated opportunity to make good.
You took all the right roads from the start- getting trained by an acclaimed professional with the relative (a term used loosely cause very few ever do) support from your parents, blazing a path to greatness and then facing setbacks with a level-head before coming back to polish up the few flaws in your game.

I gotta say, you’ve damn near fulfilled the ‘Idiots Guide To Being A Pro-Wrestler’ step for step- you did it the way that everyone is told to do it and proved it can be moderately successful. Traditional and proper, I dunno maybe it's that some greatness rubbed off on you or maybe they just lied and said it did cause sometimes a placebo is as good as the real thing.
Either way- you took the ‘right’ path Courtney and I commend you for that.

Problem is, there are certain things you can’t simply learn from books and teachers. Any great instructor will always keep an ace or two up their sleeve, even when not wearing a shirt- and a notepad can’t teach you how to cope when you’re staring up at the lights with no memory how you got there and why it feels like there's something viscous running into your eyes.
There's no way to learn how to endure- how to get back up when your skin is tearing away under your fingertips and you’re inexplicably missing an eyebrow.

As damn good as you might be- there is one very important factor that keeps someone like me, out of the range of someone like you.

Okay, so the title makes that two things but still…

Tell me Courtney, honestly if you can…

What's the worst thing you’ve ever endured?
Is it an injury, a setback to the promises you made to yourself. Maybe it's heartbreak, as your heart crumbles between your ribs and you forgot how to breathe for a little while. A broken promise perhaps, one you made that you couldn't fulfil or someone saying something sweet only to take it back before it means something to them.
How did you cope exactly- to me, you aren’t the curl up in the fetal position kinda type. Maybe you get a little lost in your own head, you start to doubt everything you’ve been told and lose a bit of confidence before someone helps you rebuild what you’ve lost.

Tell me if I’m getting warmer- and when you tell me I’m not, I’ll call you a liar.

Allow me to be blunt for a moment, as if I haven’t been already.

I have done things in my career that would make you regret getting into this business to start with- things I’ve done to others, things I’ve endured that perhaps I never should have. Dive into my archives and I might put you off this business for life- oh, but this match isn’t ultraviolence so how does this even apply… I’m sure I’ll hear you ask.
It doesn’t need to be, cause the fact is I’m still standing here with a stupid smile on my face after everything- every up and down alike, every setback that took years from my life. Fuck, I went andI knocked on Death’s door and he told me to get off his doorstep if I wasn't selling Thin Mints…

Maybe I’m not the best. Maybe you could be better than me- but the fact is, I’ll outlast you. I will out endure, I’ll be here among the fucking cockroaches holding this belt when the nuclear apocalypse comes for us all.
Like it or loathe it, my survival instinct Courtney is second to none- and like any cornered animal, I’m always most dangerous when my back is against the wall.

I spent my whole career fighting from beneath and from behind just to reach the same stage as someone like you- I didn’t do the whole wrestling training through a reputable school, I didn’t have some of the best in SCW as allies I could call upon to spar with when I needed to work on my ground game.
I’ve been rolling in a ring since I was barely a teenager-and maybe I’m not known for my technical prowess, but I’m a damn sight better than you’ll give me credit for.
Odds are you’ll call me one-dimensional, a spot monkey and gore whore for lack of a better term- that I’m only useful with a weapon in my hand… Thing is, my hands are the weapons and I hit just as hard as anyone on this roster only with worse intent. Fact is, it’ll be a damn good night for you if you walk out with a mouthful of teeth.

Maybe I just got lucky- yeah, maybe that's the one thing to focus your energy on. A few breaks and all of a sudden, abra kadabra there's a belt on my shoulder and Christina Rose is pretending like she didn’t fucking blow it the moment she made things personal.
Honestly though, it doesn’t take luck to get where I am, to be champion among arguably some of the most talented women in this industry.

If anything, I’ve spent my career being unlucky- travelling a path that should have led to my grave multiple times over and instead of being granted the boon of no longer killing myself for a god damn fucking belt- I’m back where I started telling the world that it doesn’t hurt that much while I put on another brave face, cause the last one got too smashed up.
I’m a bad omen in this industry Courtney, I’m that piece of shit you hear about from the veterans willing to kill or be killed to prove their worth- if only cause it's all they learned how to do. I’m like a raven in a tree just waiting for the next corpse to shamble on into my crosshairs…

When it comes down to it- I’ve worked too damn hard, for too fucking long to simply be pushed aside. I’ve sacrificed more than what would be considered fair, and I’ve taken the weight of this division on my shoulders cause the last few women who thought they wanted this didn’t like the way their knees shook. I want to be Bombshells Champion more than I want my next breath of oxygen or next sip of coffee to pass my lips.
I dare you to try and tell me that this belt means half that much to you.

Maybe you think I’m standing on a pedestal begging to be knocked off for my hubris and insolence, broadcasting to you live from atop my high horse- that maybe I deserve all the karma that I’ve brought down upon myself over the years and you’re just the next step in the evolution of this division.

A breath of fresh air where things had started to decay.

I’m everything wrong with this goddamn industry and then some, I took the path less travelled and burned every bridge I ever crossed while I was still on them just to make sure no one could have the misfortune of following my path- and here I am, Bombshells Champion staring down the barrel of the future… Of the betterment of this place, and I’m telling it to pull the trigger cause I know they’re all cocked but firing blanks.

Don’t get me wrong Courtney, you’re a special kinda talent and I appreciate everything you’re bringing to this match. You have fire and enthusiasm that I almost envy at times- and I have no doubt that you’ll be champion.

But it won’t be at my expense.

And it sure as fuck won’t be in the main event of Climax Control 300."



******




Brighton Park
Atlantic City, NJ
09.05.2021
6:41am



One foot in front of the other.

Step after step and breath after breath, the rhythmic impact of her sneakers against the concrete path seemed to fall in line with her breathing. Amber hadn’t really gauged any kind of distance, hell she’d done this path so many times it was a wonder that her sneakers hadn’t simply left a wear line in the grass. Most mornings started this way- the ones where she could wiggle her toes well enough to stand and didn’t feel an overwhelming urge to vomit from sitting up too quickly.
Mornings where she had some semblance of the night before and minus a crippling hangover that would have her intermittently vomiting and napping through till the late afternoon where the hair of the dog waited patiently for it's time to shine.

Perhaps earlier in her career she could have afforded to be more reckless with her schedule- younger and slightly stupider Amber would have only worked in preparation for matches just enough to say she’d put in an effort. Granted a natural athleticism and sheer undeniable grit got her a long way in those early days but she became aware as time wore on that the amount of maintenance it took just to stay in one seemed to gradually increase.
All night benders and crippling hangover no longer became a choice, but a coping mechanism to burn the candle at both ends- trying to find the middle ground, a best of both worlds where the overlap ceased to exist years before.

Now? With nearly 18 years in the rearview since the day of her first match Amber found herself working harder than ever just to stay still. It was no secret that the industry was getting younger, and even nearing 33 didn’t make her that old- but experience wise it felt like she had a decade plus on some of the women that now threatened at her doorstep. With an easy gait, Amber rounded on the fountain with the constant trickling water only serving to remind her of the beading sweat that traced down the side of her face- distance meant nothing, she chose gauged her pace and relative fitness by the way her muscles burned and the way her knees and ankles seemed to grind bone on bone.
Years of bodily abuse wore as heavily on her skin as it did through the rattle in her bones, though a loose t-shirt did it's best to disguise the worst of it- after all, the workload never stopped as she’d made the transition from perennial challenger and outright threat to champion once again.

Perhaps that's where her view on the world differed from others in the same position- despite the addition of an extra 10lbs or so in her luggage, nothing else really changed. Nothing about who she was or the way she viewed the world had shifted, the workload stayed just the same as it well should have to keep up with the ever evolving wrestling industry… Sure, there was pressure, but she’d borne that from the moment she’d stepped through the doors and told the world she was gunning for the all-round good girl and called her out as a hypocrite for all the world to see.
Pressure wasn’t new, expectation had already been set at a standard that defied upper limits- being champion wasn’t new, it wasn’t a passing flight of fancy, there was no newlywed or honeymoon period the moment the belt touched your fingers.

Mac. God, that man was a saint… Though she’d never tell him that.

Married all of a couple weeks, they’d barely managed to see more than a passing glimpse it seemed despite both working for the same companies- between being booked in singles, Amber’s jaunts and need for space taking her back and forth from Atlantic City semi-frequently and Mac ironing out the last details of their garage opening in Vegas- they’d had little time to just enjoy the fact they were married.
Even in the morning sun, the glint of the diamonds on her finger still caught Amber off guard- a whirlwind of everything she’d never realized she wanted so badly sweeping her proverbially off her feet and into a spin she’d barely gotten her bearing back from.
Mac had understood, or so he’d made her believe- hell, he’d signed up for the shitshow and taken it upon himself to somehow bring it all under control, to find normality in a perpetual hurricane of chaos.

He saw something in her that no one else did, and to think… soon they’d be double champions together.

A pleasant thought admittedly, and one that tried to distract from the growing buildup of lactic acid in her calves as the footpath stretched out ahead of her, as though urging her ever forward while the raggedness of her breathing punctuated the otherwise almost uninhabited urban cityscape.
Looking back, her career hadn’t been as draped in gold as many others and 18 years passed with many a drought between meagre title reigns- her career had been classified by some as inexplicably high profile for the sheer unrelenting violence that accompanied much of it and for the horrific atrocities she’d not only partaken in, but endured.
Much of the last 18 years- she’d been told she was too much of a liability to take a chance on, too unpredictable to be reliable, too one dimensional despite proving there was depth beyond the blood churned surface waters… Too… Amber.

As her lungs swelled and smouldered at the edges, she made for the shade of the trees just off the beaten path- a small dirt track would lead down to another, and then a few alleyways between office buildings where she got a little kick out of the stares from over-starched businessmen and women rushing to be the first to reach their dead end deadline… From there maybe she’d swing by the Boardwalk if only for the fact that she could get through these days without having to duck and weave trying not to trip over tourists determinedly trying to enjoy Vegas-lite.
No, for the longest time she was told to be anything else except herself- you’ll get more shots that way, people will like you better, you’ll be more successful and maybe even if you smile a little more then people won’t think you’re moody and unapproachable.

You know, as if that was a goal.

For her efforts, 18 years total had gifted her five world titles… Each opportunity torn away with a new excuse, a reason dragged from the silt and sediment in hopes that maybe if they talked a little too long that the silly little redhead might simply get tangled up in the words.
Every sacrifice to be anything, but herself rewarded with a step closer with little more than the ability to now only acknowledge the person in the mirror as a stranger. Even then the gold slipped away quick- companies shut down cause she was a bad omen as champion, an ill wind from an ominous place. They’d considered her triumph a failure on their behalf- unable to reconcile, the doors closed and another belt went from priceless to barely worth its weight in scrap.

Only two world titles she’d held passed the point of company closure- one she lost in a first defense,while  the other was the only one that had ever made it past a first defense, and even then it was scraped by in an ironman match with extra time only being agreed upon cause her opponent was just as much a sucker for punishment as she was.
Now, with a division on her shoulders she was supposed to just walk like her knees weren’t shaking and that her back wasn't ready to buckle from the weight left from those unwilling to carry it prior. A weight she welcomed gladly if only cause it gave justification to everything she’d done- that tooth and nail had really meant something when things seemed at their most bleak.

Maybe that's why she fought like every fucking match threatened to send her tumbling back down again- cause she was far more familiar with the sensation of falling than with the views from whence she came. Scratch and claw for what you have cause someone will always want what you have, even if it's nothing- just because you have it and they don’t.
Many would never understand it, they’d look at her like she was a force of nature determined to pull down the very walls that she stood among. They’d never follow that path- looked upon liek a murder of ravens presiding over the future of a division knowing that the reaper would soon come for his pound of flesh, only to take far more of her pride than she’d bargained for.

Approaching the tree lines, a flutter among the branches caught her attention- the rustling noisy and disruptive in the otherwise near deserted space. Somewhere to the left and less than a hundred yards away, two athleisure moms decked out in their finest brunching activewear pushing overpriced gadget filled prams gave her a disparaging stare that she felt long before she caught sight of them exchanging glances before looking back towards her.
Amber knew she’d never be the one to fit in- she wasn’t conventionally pretty and long since ruined the aesthetic symmetry of her face with a faintly crooked nose and equally broken smirk. She’d long embraced her status as the black cat stepping into the path of potential, derailing the young guns as they stormed their way towards what had been promised to them among other gratuitous praise.

As Amber slowed, a solitary raven flitted down from between the branches before landing just off centre of the dirt path with a rather quizzical gaze. Breathing heavily, Amber came to a stop in an effort to give the bird a chance to startle itself and disappear- however instead it hopped around a little, surveying the remains of something she didn't dare inspect just towards the path's edge.
Curious little thing, Amber contemplated although slightly impatient, maybe she should have just kept going and pretended that it never existed- superstition couldn’t do shit if you didn’t acknowledge it, right?

It wasn’t as though the raven was going to disagree.

Eyeing her warily, the yellowed eyes sparkled from their sunken alcoves while puffing out it's feathers tauntingly before resuming it's foraging. Must have been quite the sight, no doubt, a redhead juvenile delinquent long since past the phase of showing I.D at a liquor store staring intently at a space between some trees.
Superstition wasn’t real, she dutifully reminded herself, as though she didn’t have routine-esque quirks she put down to a need for life structure and a minor form of OCD. From always starting with her left sock to the now near recognizable way she always wore two different coloured converse sneakers in the ring- a habit caused by mistake and mistiming which led to a years long ‘habit’ that needed to be maintained.

Some things were just… lucky.

Nothing to do with superst---

“... Caw … ”

Obnoxiously the raven hopped a little closer, staring Amber down as though trying to size her up. People spent years, perhaps even decades looking for signs that their life was on a track of any kind, their existence dictated by a set of unwritten rules that two bored minds might have come up with between listless staring and banal conversation- and yet here one was, checking out the integrity of a smoother than normal stone.

“Yeah, and boo to you as well…”

Murmuring her response, Amber scraped the toe of her sneaker in the dirt a little while a small scatter of dust and stone seemed to cake around her ankles. It wasn't as though she expected any kind of intelligent response, but somehow it seemed almost rude to simply ignore the attempt at communication.
Bad omen to bad omen, unkindness to unkindness- Amber took a moment to run her fingers through her ponytail and flashed the bird a mischievous smile that she was sure might have matched its own…

Another guttural cawing sound and with a flutter of ink stained feathers, the raven had disappeared back into its tree as though unwilling to allow a fellow blight on humanity to pass into it's path.
Allowing the silence to pass for longer than deemed necessary, Amber went to move off again, only pausing momentarily to try and find the raven in the tree- just as a precaution, of course. Finding little more than a din of feathers and leaves shaking branches above her, Amber shrugged in hopes of finding her rhythm once more.

A lonely raven. Harbinger of bad news.

Many would have told her that she was being too cautious and not nearly enough so, that she should have ignored it just as much as she should have turned and gone another way. She'd always been labelled the same as well though- a perrenial bearer of bad tidings and worse beatings.

… who knew, perhaps two wrongs could potentially make a right after all.





******



“Was it worth the wait?

Three years is a long time by any stretch of the imagination, time ticking with an urgency unseen and never in any of our favours- we’re slaves to the clock, the passage of days to weeks to months to years just another inevitability.
Yet as humans we carry with us this strange notion, an expectation that a place we walk away from doesn’t change in that time- it's not allowed to or else it might change the way we remember it. Familiar faces become strangers, names become far more convoluted in an effort to be the biggest badass on the swingset and nostalgia tints everything with a faint rose colouring cause the way it was always seemed to be a little better than it is now.

SCW isn’t an exception for you- three fucking years, and I’m sure this place felt just as much of home as it did foreign and unsettling. Despite your rookie status, you KNEW this place, you knew what to expect and what was expected from you in return- you understood the standard set and you rose to meet it accordingly.
After all, that run you and Fenris made through Blast From The Past is well documented and it's something even I, with my razor blade tongue and sarcasm ever on standby, cannot take away from you. It's an achievement that can’t be demoted cause you did everything right- you went through as a team, you dominated as a team and the moment it all ended… It went to shit.

Injury sucks. I get it better than most- I’ve sat across from enough doctors telling my career was over that Benny Hill music starts playing in my head every time I enter a goddamn medical facility.
They tell you that things have to change, and you agree… but inside you know that you won’t. That everything around you will be just the same when you come back- that you can walk through that door and pick up where you left off…

Except it was three years and the whole fucking world changed.

Champions of esteem and error alike have traded the belt that I now carry- the best and the worst alike adding their names to a list that now you seek to become a part of. I walked into this company and I told everyone I’d become champion, that there was nothing that could be done- and within a year I did just that whereas three years after earning a shot, now you get to cash in and I’ve got to wonder if you really understand just how behind the times you’ve fallen.
See, for me I made this title mean everything it does now- I carry it with pride instead of as an oversized fashion accessory. This belt doesn’t make me important around here, I make this belt no longer an oversight, no longer a disappointment to those who once made it also mean something.

So you’ll have to excuse my rather blase approach when I say that I wonder why the fuck it means anything to you now.

It's not like you just walked back through the door- you could have stormed in here and demanded your shot, after all it's not like anyones forgotten what you did before. Practically steamrolling through the tournament with upset after upset and win after win- there's every possibility that the moment you walked back through these doors that you could have been gifted your shot at the belt and no one would have bat a fucking eyelid.
Instead- you lost a few matches and everyone started to wonder if you still had it, you won a match now they’re singing your praises like you never left. I’m all about that ‘one win changing everything’ life, but this isn’t just a little exhibition for shits and giggles… You’re swinging for the queen, and I’m swinging for the fences.

There’s no doubt a reason we are the main event, when you’ve got names on this card that deserve the spot just as much as us- maybe even more… It's not because I’m planning on rolling around and showing off some little niche bullshit in my skill set, I’ve got nothing more to prove than why I’m the champion and why I deserve every goddamn main event position I step into.
Whereas you Courtney, it's all at stake for you… Really, your reputation and everything you did to earn this shot depends on how you conduct yourself in this match, what you bring to the table and whether you’re ready to come out with hands up and game face on.

Regardless of whether you stand a chance of winning or not.

Put on a good show darling, please the crowd and remind them of just who the fuck you are.

… then get out of my way cause I’ve got a supercard to headline.

Maybe you think I’m being cocky, that I’m so far up my own ass I can’t see past my own bullshit but you have to remember- you went away Courtney and the standard changed. I’m a proven commodity year after year, with every injury I come back just a little different, a little crazier like that extra bump to the head loosened another few screws, evolving with the times cause while you might be a damn good strategist- I’m never the same woman twice and if you don’t start acknowledging the shifting sand beneath your feet you’ll soon find yourself the smartest woman beneath the sandbox.
I’m everything they told you I am and more, the name you don’t say into a mirror unless sufficiently caffeinated and begging for a facial recon- I am the SCW Bombshells champion and it's time you step up and appreciate that.

Nothing I say or do makes me popular, I’m never gonna go out there and win most liked while Roxi Johnson still breathes. I came in and I wanted this belt more than I wanted anyone to like me- so I have to ask with all the sincerity I can muster…
How badly do you really want this belt?
For all the time you’ve been away, is this what you dreamed of… did it consume your waking thoughts or is this just an opportunity of convenience, a strike at the top before the ladder is burnt to cinder like everything else I touch.

How badly could you possibly want this, when it's only now… Only now after being back in the company that you get this shot. You could have had your chance at Christina, arguably you might have even beaten her and we’d likely be having a very different conversation- it's not like anyone else got pushed ahead in line before me, and at least you’d have had a semi-decent reason.
Probably wouldn’t have even really considered it an upset by that point- but you didn’t. Management didn’t.

Gotta wonder why right, why is it that they’re choosing to feed you to the big bad wolf in little reds cape?

I think it's cause you’re a different kind of challenge, that they want to see what is left in the tank- cause a disappointing match after a disappointing result has a way of making people a little sour on what you have left to offer. I bring out the best and the worst in people Courtney, this is a test and you’re already being set up for failure before I even step into that ring…
It's not that anyone wants to see you lose, they’re just accepting the fact in hopes that maybe you’ll surprise everyone and put up a better fight- oh, don't get me wrong I don’t expect this to be anything close to a whitewash. I trust you’ll be everything promised and more- however momentum is fickle, and I’ve got a tsunami at my back while you’re still splashing in puddles.

See, the thing with me Courtney is that I’m not that woman who feels they need to set the standard. I’m not the bar you need to clear- sure, you need to beat me to win, but I’ve never really been that ‘lead by example type’. No, see as far as I’m concerned you bring your best, you set the standard and I’ll clear it- if I can’t be better than your best on any given night then I don’t deserve to stay champion.
Besides, what's the point of setting a standard when you’re already at the top, your perspective on what's good anymore becomes skewed and unrealistic- so I want you to  show me what I’m up against and in return I’ll show you just why I’m here.

Why I’ve got the belt and you’re wondering why you came back off the injury list at all.

Fact is Courtney, contrary to popular belief… I don’t need to be the best, I just need to be better than you.

Now, if you’ll excuse me… I have another Blast From The Past winner to dismantle. I hope you’ll understand.”





******



Amber’s Apartment
Atlantic City, NJ
06.05.2021
8:11pm




“... I’m sorry to inform you Miss Ryan …”

It was Bane-Ryan now, but Amber supposed they didn’t know that nor likely cared at this point. Hell, it wasn’t as though she wasn’t expecting the phone call eventually, the somber nature of the greeting already betraying its purpose before the point was ever approached- it’s just that old bastard Grizz had held on for far longer than anyone anticipated. A week became several and even in those dire days- he’d even seemed to get a little better like some kind of divine power just wanted to fuck with the known universe a little more.
Now, a few hours in the wake of a conversation she could barely remember amid a fog of grief and guilt, Amber found herself curled up on her favorite plastic chair on the balcony of her apartment trying to resist the urge to smoke till her lungs gave out.

An irrational part of her brain wanted to blame the whole thing on the stupid raven she saw that morning, a harbinger of bad news that she’d paid nowhere nearly enough respect to while trying to justify that superstition was just really fucking stupid. Coincidence, that's what this way, an eventuality that coincided with something inane- like a last laugh from the man himself on his way off the mortal coil.
Shifting slightly, pulling her knees in a little further as though they didn’t already ache under the strain, Amber searched the Atlantic City skyline for anything that might assuage the sickly regret that was radiated from somewhere beneath her sternum.

It was easy to forget that she had responsibilities- constantly travelling and trying to juggle obligations that she didn’t remember agreeing to, perhaps it was simply inevitable that balls would start dropping when her hands got a little numb- sometimes it was a choice what to let fall away into the abyss of non-priorities but other times it was gravity that made the choice for you… and it was always the ones you couldn't bear to lose.
She was a goddamn world champion for fuck sake, few things in her life could be more important- all she’d sacrificed even just the point of getting another opportunity, the time she’d spent working to try and keep herself head above the proverbial water of talent took from her a chance at a honeymoon.

Fuck, both of them had even agreed to move their wedding to the morning just so that they might fulfil obligations of matches they had to work that night…

Professional always took from personal- that had always been her commitment. Years before it had never even been a concern- occasionally a short term relationship might blossom with a shorter term attention span fellow co-worker but soon things devolved into the single life of drinking and self-loathing till sleep mercifully stole her away.
Mav had changed a lot of that- but the work life balance only seemed to stray further askew.

She’d made promises that now seemed further than ever from keeping- she’d promised Mac she’d be back in Vegas tomorrow for the opening of their garage, yet another endeavour and time sink she’d fallen heads over heels with. Now though, she didn’t feel any more motivation than to watch the wispy curls of steam start to dissipate off the mug of black coffee she’d nearly forgotten she’d made.
Hell,  she’d promised Grizz that she’d do everything in her power to try and help him make good with his estranged daughter before he passed- now the leads were drying up and slipping through her fingers faster than she could try and grasp for. Sticky was in the fucking wind and Grizz was gone- no closer to finding Cassidy Parker and perhaps finally settling her own penance.

Snaking her fingers around the mug, Amber briefly revelled in the radiating warmth through her palms with the realization that she hadn't neglected it long enough to go cold yet. A small comfort as everything else around her personal life seemed to fall into disrepair the moment she turned her back- bringing it up to her lips, she paused as faintly acrid yet heart soothingly pleasant aroma filled her lungs… Among the promises she'd made in her life, one had been lost before many other, a stupid little superstition that Grizz had tried to create in an effort to connect and make the redhead understand a little more of the way his world worked.

She’d been young and ignorant, the idea of superstition and bad omens little more than nonsense and scare tactics to make children behave. An angsty teenager unwilling to adopt anything that didn’t make her feel more edgy- and making a wish on the first sip of a cup of coffee did little to appeal.
He wanted her to appreciate life, rather than revel in what had been left behind- focus on things she might be able to control instead of throwing caution into the wind and wondering why it came back and whacked her in the face.
He’d asked her to fulfil something so that she might not see the world through such dark lenses, that she might cultivate her own light instead of simply fading into the darkness. Of course, she didn’t get any of that, it was stupid and immature and she was far too cool for that, humourlessly though she’d agreed in the moment and made a stupid unforseeable wish before promptly forgetting to ever try to make it real.

… “What if it doesn’t come true?” ...

… “Well, then you probably need to do something to change that, don’t you?” …

Even now, nearly 20 years on, on a balcony overlooking the neon lit cityscape of Atlantic City- Amber slowly realized that maybe the wish did eventually come true- albeit a bit later than she could anticipate. In this moment, she had arguably everything she’d ever wanted- love, success and maybe actually a couple of people who she considered friends when they weren't trying to kick her head for her insolence and smart fucking mouth.
She’d managed to do incredible, unknowable things and brought down the consequences on her head far more times than she dared to recall- defying odds just by standing in a ring and telling everyone that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Impossible never felt so… achievable.

As Amber sipped deeply, the bitterness on her tongue a welcome embrace, she found herself searching for another wish- one that might rekindle a light she’d allowed to extinguish, one to honour the memory of not only Grizz but those who’d she’d loved and lost along the way.

In fact, the answer was more than simple although she’d never have admitted it aloud- and as she closed her eyes to savour the moment, she thought she could hear the distant cry of a lonely raven as a wish crossed her thoughts as though sung from the tattered depths of her soul.

A wish… to do better, to be better. To never let anyone she loved down again. No matter the cost.