Keep him Safe
Scene One | Off-Camera | 15th May 2023
“Mama Raven, please, keep him safe.”
Mother’s day had only just passed by, so it felt appropriate for them to make the trip back ‘home’. Alex had suggested it actually, much to her surprise. He hadn’t usually been one for sentiment. Not that she was aware of. The only grave he ever felt comfortable visiting was Lauren’s. Even now, she knew he didn’t make the trips as regularly as he did. She feared for Alex, because she knew death was such a sombre affair for him. Terrifying to the core, and it hurt her to know that she could do very little to soothe his fear. So when he suggested they go and say their dues to Mama Raven, she took the opportunity in full stride.
So they found themselves on the the little hill they had spent many years growing up on. Campfires, parties, drunken mistakes. The Raven home was always a fun time for them. It was bittersweet to think those days were long past. No mama, no vater. Alex held resentment, she knew this. They all held resentment for their less than perfect parents, but she knew he beat himself up over never truly forgiving them for their mistakes. Abuse was unforgivable, but Alex refused to believe the man who was tortured by his demons and the bottle was really his father.
She was kneeling in front of the small plaque that indicated the tandem graves of the deceased elder Ravens. Alex was standing a little ways away, staring into space. He had an unlit cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, his mind elsewhere. She smiled, as she looked at his profile. His features were so much softer when he wasn’t lost in the thoughts of bettering himself. A King to all but himself, it burned her very soul to know he couldn’t see himself through her eyes. She let the smile slip from her face, as she turned somberly to the grave. She lightly ran her fingers over the plaque face, moving some dirt and grass. Memories of their past, the stern woman who gave her some life lessons. Brutal words for the breaking of her son’s heart, but understanding of mistakes. Understanding of youth. But a warning. Bitter warnings.
“I won’t hurt him again, Mama. I won’t, I promise you. But please. Please watch over him, for the moments of my weakness. Our sweet baby. He is softer than us, you know. The sweet innocent boy who wears a cold heart to protect himself. Watch him from above, so I can watch him from here.”
She touched a finger to her lips and then to the plaque. The kiss of the protector, is how she used to describe it. A kiss to the fingertip, passed to the person needing the protection. Luna smiled and stood up. She felt his arms slip around her waist, his hands grabbing his forearms. His grip was tight, the cigarette still unlit, hanging from his lips. She reached over her shoulder and took it from his lips, placing it to her own lips.
“She always liked you, you know. Mama always loved all of you. Her own kids. Her own little flock. He did too. He didn’t know how to show it, but he loved us too. Demons are hard to fight. He just didn’t win the fight too often. But she loved you. I’m sure she is glad you are here.”
She slid a hand into one of her pockets, and pulled a lighter out. The spark of flame, the flash of heat and then the flash of the red ember. Bad habits were hard to beat out. She’d done a good job of quitting for a while, but being around James and Alex so often really did make it hard for her to keep it up. She never really wanted to quit, but like many things. She conformed to the desire of another in the effort of keeping peace. With Alex, she felt far more free. Felt more able. Alex disapproved, she knew this. But that was because he blamed herself for the relapse. Denying it would prove nothing, so it was best left to the silence. Small arguments not worth having.
“Ich liebe dich, Mama Rabe.”
Alex never spoke much German. It wasn’t particularly necessary, but he was pretty fluent. She remembered many days and nights where the Rabenschwarz family would slip into German. Arguments best left for their own ears and not that of their guests. Luna had always wanted to learn, but she was never a particularly a good student. Raven had never really wanted to teach her either. Probably for her protection more so than anything else. She knew some things said were probably not the most illuminatingly positive of her and James. Particularly of her. She might have been loved, but unfortunately. Luna also had an unfounded reputation growing up. Alex had bloodied his knuckles many times silencing the bullies. But reputations were hard to keep silenced.
“She’d be proud of you, Alex. She’d be proud of all of us, I’m sure of it. Proud of her little bird. I’m proud of you, baby. James is proud of you. We’re all proud of you.”
She could feel the reluctant smile. A man who was incredibly bad with compliments, but would take them regardless. She inhaled deeply, before blowing a thick cloud of smoke out. Her ribs still hurt, and her back was still littered with small puncture wounds. Her torso hadn’t recovered as quickly as she would have liked, and taking the match against Jessie Salco so quick after Into the Void may not have been the brightest idea. Yet she was determined to continue to show that the faith put in her was not unwarranted. Alex had prepared her the best he could, but she needed to make her own successes. His warmth against her back, made her somewhat more confident in all the decisions she would make. His soft touch, the gentle cleaning of wounds. Dealing with her threats of violence when he was disinfecting the punctures for her.
She would make Mama Raven proud of her, and she would make sure he was proud of her. She would show them their own vanity.
Distant
Scene Two | Off-Camera | 17th May 2023
“Hooker, let me tell you something.”
They’d closed up the bar early tonight. Thursdays tended to be somewhat hit or miss, and this week was unfortunately a miss. Luna had at least made a good run of it, sitting one wink off being horizontal to the wall. Through bleary eyes, and scattered vision, she looked towards the distorted mess that was her brother. Narrowing her eyes, she attempted to get some semblance of of her vision back.
“Only one hooker here, and I’m lookin’ at him.”
James laughed deeply, as he placed a glass in front of her. Water, sweet, delicious and life-saving water. To which she managed to spill half of it down herself, as she attempted to knock it back. Alex was on his way over to pick her up. He didn’t feel much up to being around the world tonight, so she had let him stay at home on his own. The man never slept a full night anyway, so she knew he would at least come pick her up. An early close meant he could actually get there at a decent hour.
“Shut your trap, and listen. You got that boy all twisted and busted up over you. Sugar, you got you wanted, yet you are here and he ain’t. You’re two clucks from done under, and he is sober to Sunday. What gives little miss?”
She swallowed down as much of the water as she could, and turned on her stool, resting her elbows on the bar top. She groaned, not at all wanting to be having this conversation. Particularly not with her brother. Yet she knew they wouldn’t be escaping it.
“Can we just fucking not?”
“Or we just fucking could. What happened, Lulu?”
Smoother than melted butter, his tone could switch up on a dime. She was so used to it, but she wasn’t immune to the sway. Her own brother was the most charismatic member of the family. Which meant that when he wanted to coax something out of people, he would coax it out of them.
“I don’t think he actually loves me, Jimmy. He says he does, but the words never have the warmth they should. Empty, hollow. I don’t think he even fucking knows what love is. I can see it, all the fucking time. Thinking, and thinking. Every word, every action, every move. I can see his mind moving for every god damn word.”
She’d felt James hand go to her shoulder, gripping it. Then she heard the slam of a door. She hadn’t heard it open, but she definitely heard it slam shut. James squeezed her shoulder, and went to follow. She stuck her hand out and placed it on his chest and shook her head.
“I’m sorry Lulu. I didn’t expect him to…”
“It’s okay. Argument to be had, thoughts that should have been expressed.”
She wobbled to her feet, James helping a little, before she pushed him aside. She was far too drunk to be having this happen right now, but maybe that was what was needed. A little bit of liquid courage to let her express her mind. Express her feelings. To not feel the necessity in keeping silent.
When she stepped outside, Alex was leaning on a wall to the left of the door. She couldn’t see clearly, but she knew the look. The hollow, empty and icy look. Alex had always complained about the Pasilno stare. The icy, cut throat gaze that stopped most people in their tracks. There was few things scarier in this world to her, than the empty, hollow look in his eyes. A man so full of passion, vim and vigour. To be so empty when everything said he should be otherwise.
“Tell me how you feel, Lu.”
The words were soft. Much more gentle than she was expecting. But they weren’t warm. They weren’t inviting. There was a hardness behind them. The cool, hard and incredibly frustrating logic. A smart person would diffuse the situation. Wait until cooler heads prevailed. A smart person would wait until the trickling of whiskey wasn’t warming the lashing of the tongue. A smart person she was, but not when it came to her heart. Not when it came to her soul.
“That, Alex. That right fucking there, is my damn problem. You shut down on me, all the time. You shut down, and you hold everything inside. When you are in front of the camera, when you are talking about being in the ring. You are full of life, full of passion. Emotion in everything. Yet here, here with me. Here with the person you say you fucking love, there is nothing. Hard and cold logic. Thoughts overthought and an icy tone to match your fucking bullshit approach to it. I fucking love you Alex, but I don’t even know if you love me back. You say it, but you say it the same way you ask for toast. You say it the same way you tell someone you don’t have a spare cigarette. You say it the same way you say anything mundane in your life.”
Alex nodded, fiddling with something in his pockets. He pushed off the wall and walked forward a little. She heard the door lock behind her. She knew James knew better than to listen in, so she wasn’t worried that he was eavesdropping on them. Alex kicked at the ground slightly, and nodded his head a little.
“Maybe you’re right, Lu. Maybe I don’t have the passion in the words for you, like I do other things. Maybe I don’t express myself adequately enough, and I can understand it leading to doubt. Hell, even now. This… this way I talk. It’s the only way I do know how to talk. Not because I want to, not because I want to shut down. Not because I want to be icy, and empty and without emotion. No, I think about what I say, because when I don’t, I say stupid things. You know? I say stupid fucking things, and then someone gets hurt. And if I hurt someone again, I don’t think I can forgive myself for that. So I do think, I do overanalyse. But, let me be clear on this. Do not doubt my love, Luna. Do not doubt the words I say, because the fact that I can even feel love again was surprising to me. The fact that you walked back into my life, and every part of me screamed not to let you in, I did anyway. And I’m glad I did, because for the first time in years. For the first time since I had to verbalise to someone that Lauren was dead. For the first time since I got that news, I felt some semblance of love and happiness. My friends, my childhood romance. My love. It was all back.”
She refused to let herself get emotional, but it was quite hard to tell if it was tears welling in her eyes from the fight, or just because she could hardly focus forward. He turned towards her, and she could see it. Not the hollow and empty look. But the pained, agonised one. A hurt puppy, seeking some love. The wounded dog, afraid of being approached but begging for someone to need it. Emotion.
“I don’t want you to think about loving me, Lexi. I want you to just do it. I don’t want you to think about the words. I just want you to say them. Say them how they are meant to be said, or do not say them at all. I want your stupid. I want your happy. I want your anger, your agony, your passion. I want all of it, but what I don’t want. What I cannot stand, is the distance. Do not be fucking distant with me, Lexi. Not with me.”
She stumbled forward, the world spinning slightly. He had stepped into her quickly, arms wrapped around her. Keeping her standing. His face hidden from her once more, but the warmth. The warmth was there. His warmth, his smell. It made everything better, just for a moment.
“I love you, Lu. Don’t you ever doubt that.
Warmth.
“Think less bird boy. Think less and love more.”
“I wish, you could see you, how I see you. I wish you could see yourself, through my eyes.”
And she swooned.
And then…
She passed out.
Ten years, No Personality
Scene Three | On-camera | 19th May 2023
“If I have to listen to this utter fucking cow talk about her ten years of experience for once more moment. I may actually purposely burst my ears drums, to save myself from the agony.”
The bustling of a casino, bright lights. Cheers and hollers from winners, cries of mixed anguish from the bigger loses. Blackjack, roulette, poker, baccarat and a variety of in-house games of varying levels of success. A stray table, a single dealer and one participant. Luna Vanity sitting at the table, dressed for the occasion. A loose jacket, fur-lined. A black bralette, clinging tightly to the frame. A slim leather skirt, a deep purple colour, with elegant stitching down the sides. Legs crossed, she has a stack of chips before her.
“I have to give it to her though. Jessie Salco is one slimy, conniving little bitch. Her ten years has definitely taught her something, and that is delusion. Delusion that she actually won on her own merit, when she beat me. Delusion that in a contest of actual skill, that she with her ten years of experience, would come remotely close to being on the level of this upstart. Jessie Salco, loves to play fate, and pretends that she is on the upper side of it. Pretends that the world is bending and twirling to her beck and call. That her ten years means anything in the grand scheme of things. Sweet baby angel, a decade can change a lot, but a decade can also make the monotony of the repetitive nature of the world the same. Ten years from now, they’ll be saying the same thing they are now. Opportunity missed, and a cow without any actual talent. Ten years, to build to her apex being the person to put the youth through the ringer, and nothing more. Ten years, is a long time, to be the court jester and never the Queen.”
“Ten years, is all Jessie can ever fucking talk about. A catch all, if you will. Whenever she succeeds, it is because of her years of experience and ability to think outside the box. Failure, well. Failure is to be expected at times, isn’t it? That’s not a failure of experience, that’s just the way that things fall down. No, in Jessie’s sweet and sad little world. In her world, success is a matter of experience, and failure is a lack of foresight. But never, never a lack of experience. Does it annoy you, that your whole person is reduced to just this idea of your experience is all you are? Nobody cares about anything else Jessie. Even you, reduce yourself to just veteran status. The accomplishments of the past, and your ability to ‘out-think’ because of it. It’s baffling to me, Jessie. Absolutely baffling that you can continue to this idea of yourself and not find itself wanting. I am all for self-love, self-acknowledgement and understanding of one’s own Vanity. Yet… I have to ask. At what point does the being alive longer than others, stop being a point of it? Stop being a point of vanity, and become a point of denial? Denial that you are nothing more than age. Nothing more than a failure of growth. Jessie Salco, the ten year veteran. What else do they say? Nothing, Jessie. They say nothing else, because there is nothing else.”
Luna looks at the table before her. Not a traditional roulette table by any means. Instead of numbers, the different colours were all occupied by three different images. All black squares were emblazoned with a red barbwire crown. The red squares with black steel folding chairs. And the greens with little flick knives. Luna leans forward and places a chip on a red square. The dealer dings the bell, and waves their hands over the table. No more bets. They drop the ball skittering onto the roulette wheel.
“Does it boil your brain like it does mine, Jessie? The repetitive nature of it all. How many times can I badger on about ten years, before it drives you fucking nuts? Because, let me tell you something sweetheart. Every one else is sick of listening to you. Every other person is done with the bullshit, the rhetoric, the over and over. The repetition of nothing but time. My sweet angel, do you know what I proved when I stepped into the ring with Alexandra Calaway? That experience means nothing, in the face of a would-be upstart with the arrogance, bravado and desire to prove the rat-nosed authorities to be wrong. I underestimated you, Jessie. That’s truth. Babygirl, I underestimated you, and you embarrassed me something fierce. So blood, would pay, blood. That creed of The Conspiracy. Bulldog paid for Alex. Calaway paid for me. A clean slate, a clean field. A focus and a desire, but an understanding as well. The Queen was not just one of pleasure and pride. The Queen was not just the vain one anymore. No the Queen, was the one who put the crown of thorns upon the martyr for the cause. Calaway bled, so that your transgressions against us, could be cleansed. That’s our creed. Blood for blood, and in the spilling, redemption. But the reality remains this. I underestimated you, and no matter which way you cut it. No matter which way you want to twist or turn it. The truth remains the same. You couldn’t beat me clean, and you had to think on your feet for a way that ensured I couldn’t get up again. And not because you beat me down, no. I couldn’t get up, because you actually tied my fucking feet. You tied me up, and then you stand there like you did a good thing. You stand there like it was a matter of out-thinking, and not a sleazy and snaky way to ensure you put this sweet little girl in her place. Because arrogance undoes you, Jessie. Arrogance that you are right, and all others are wrong. For in your own eyes, your delusion is what allows you to stand. But sugar, let me tell you the truth.”
“The truth, is that that crown is heaviest upon the head that would resist it the most. The crown is the heaviest upon the brow that is most undeserved. The crown is the heaviest upon the head of the false. How heavy is my crown, Jessie? How heavy does the mantle of destiny feel upon your shoulders? For I cannot imagine, my sweet. I cannot imagine the agony you feel in being so far out of your own depth. A step away from permanent failure. A step away from being forgotten, ten years in. Because what do you actually offer, Jessie? What do you offer that everybody else doesn’t? That you stand at the side of those who will be better? Sapping the youth and vigor of the fresh, to keep yourself relevant? There is something key that is taught in The Conspiracy. That no matter how much we support each other, every one must stand on their own. We are taught that you cannot rely on the experience of others to guide your own path. Something that sweet Harper could benefit from. Getting slugged with you at her hip, does nothing but slow her down. Deny it all you like, Jessie. But the success of her is purely for your own sake. Your own selfish vanity, devoid of the truth of self-love. You do not help others to lift them up. You help others so that you can take their achievements and claim them as your own. Take their success and state that without you, they’d be wallowing in the depths of the world again. I know people like you Jessie, because I was surrounded by Succubi of talent for years. Surrounded by the mongrels of expertise and experience for a long time. Yet I refused to be controlled by those who thought they knew better. I refused to be held down by the vampires of youth and life. Holding on to their previous lives, and denying the growth that I deserved. My sweet, I hope you understand what I’m saying.”
The ball comes rolling to a slow, clacking across until it lands on a black section. A crown of thorns. Luna smiles, as the dealer pulls a ring of barbwire from beneath the table and places it in front of Luna. She lightly wraps a few fingers around it and pulls it towards herself, before placing it on her head.
“But I don’t want it all to be hatred and bitterness. No, sweet Jessie. No, let us talk of arrogance. Of undeserved vanity, devoid of the self-love required of it. You see, delusion is something that we in The Conspiracy are doing our very best to dispel. Delusions of grandeur. Delusions of supremacy. Delusions that break everyone from the reality that lays before them. Alexandra Calaway, a delusional little girl. A victim of time, who believed their experience would lead them to success. A woman with far more experience in violence, decadence and barbwire than this sweet, innocent baby girl. How could the untested, wallowing rookie, Luna Vanity, truly stand against someone with so much more experience? I told her, what I will tell you. Experience means nothing if you are ignorant of the others past. You wear your success on your shoulder. Blathering at the gill to every person that will even give you the time of day. Ten year, ten years. Did you know, ten years? Ten years is the time I’ve spent trying to break every falsity, every rumour. To recover the reputation I had growing up, for simply being who I am. Unapologetically myself, which led to the disdain and vitriol of the false. But she didn’t care to know that. No, she just wanted to tell people I was delusional. That I was going to lose, that her experience. Her fucking experience meant something. I showed her, that experience means fucking nothing in the face of desire. That experience means nothing in the way of the person who wishes to succeed. The crown of thorns was donned by the the Queen of Barbwire, and I showed her. I showed her that all her knowledge with weapons. With barbwire. With her deluded reality, means nothing.”
“So I need you to understand this, Jessie. I’ve seen your tricks, I’ve felt your fists. I know what you’ll do. What I didn’t know the first time, lover. I know that despite all outward images, you are snaky. A sleazy, dirty little cow, who will take any advantage to secure a victory. To force the hands of fate in your direction. Lover, I do not appreciate that you pretend to be something you are not. I do not care for the fact that you live in this delusional little world. What I do care for, Jessie. Is what you are holding, validates this crown of thorns on my head. What you are holding validates my attitude. Validates my behaviour. Validates everything I fight for. The mantle of fate, belongs to us, to The Conspiracy. I am the matron mother of fate, that is undeniable. I broke the doldrums of failure and took the hands of fate in mine. Guided them, and you ruined it. You ruined everything, and you stand there like it was by anything more than devious means. Ten years to be nothing but a liar? Nothing but a snake? Unbelievably foul.”
She leans forward placing another chip down on the table. This time on where the 0 would be, on one of the little flick knives. The ding of the bell, the wave of hands. No more bets.
“But the drawing board brings many ideas for me lover. I had to take a step back, think more deeply on it. I had to think more widely on what I needed to do, to ensure that you do not get the jump on me again. If I had a knife, I could’ve cut myself free. If I had the steel chair, I could’ve put you to sleep. If I had these things, then losing would be an impossibility. So, to the drawing board I go. And you may think this a stupid endeavour. I understand the logic, sweetheart. I truly understand the idea behind preparing for every outcome leaves you weary for them all. The wheel decides everything, and to prepare for the unknown makes it impossible to see the truth that lays before us. But that is where I succeed, lover. I succeed because it does not matter where the hands of fate fall. It does not matter if it is the blade, the thorns or the steel that need define us. Because I know now, I can let you Jessie beat Jessie. Follow me here, just for a second sweetheart. You are so certain of yourself, so certain of your ability to exploit, and out think. So certain that you can beat down anyone who would step against you and by that. By that you are doing yourself a disservice. Fate dictates more than you acknowledge. You had a sole focus last time. To beat me. I have a sole focus this time. To beat you. Focus allows for single minded power. The blade, the knife. The knife that cuts the strings of fate lays in the hand of she who is prepared not for everything. But prepared for you. Angel, I am prepared for anything your ten years can throw at me, because you’ve played your hand.”
“Though, maybe cards aren’t your deal sweetheart. So let’s talk Roulette. Did you know it’s possible to play the table? The dealer is trained to look at people reading the table. Similarly to counting cards, the dealer has to see if people are reading the spins. Quadrants. It’s not an exact science, nothing ever is. But there is always a way to change the stakes. Turn a forty nine percent into a fifty one percent. Rig the stakes in your favour. So a smart player, they learn to read the table. To work out where the ball is more likely to fall. A bad dealer will always land in the same quadrant. Can you read the board Jessie? Can you read the strings of fate? Or will the flick knife that cuts the strands of fate blind the veteran? I am more inclined to believe Jessie. I am more inclined to believe that you are already regretting your decisions. An open challenge? What were you expecting? Who did you expect would be the first to step to the plate? You denied me the opportunity to not only embarrass sweet Alexandra, but deprive her of the title of the matron. The mother, the guardian. The guide of fate. You denied me that, by tugging my strings. So this time, Jessie. This time I will cut myself free, and leave you all tied up.”
The ball comes skittering to a stop, but lands on the red square with the steel chair. Not the green. The dealer shakes his head head, and pulls the chip from the table, a rough tap of the fist against the table. Luna sighs and shrugs, pushing the remainder of her chips forward, scattering them across the table. The dealer rings the bell, and waves their hands once more. And then, one more ring.
Darkness.
“It is only in the absence of reality, that we can see the truth before us.”
The snap of a light, and a steel folding chair is illuminated by a single spotlight. Luna sitting in the chair, cross legged. In one hand the ring of barbwire. In the other, an hourglass, with the sand almost completely trickled through.
“Time is running out Jessie. But it is okay, all things of the past must come to an end. You have had your time, and I am beginning mine. Just like Calaway, your arrogance will undo you. Just like all others who think they know The Conspiracy, they will be shown the error of their ways. Stepping stones to a greater reality. Free of the lies. Free of delusion. And free of the delirium of the elders who suck the youth from the fresh. I detest you, Jessie, for you refuse to acknowledge your shortcomings. But the sands of time run short for all who would deny them. Fate dictates that the mother takes hold of the wheel. For I am the mother of fate, Jessie. You are simply holding onto her. Onto my child. The wheel of chance. The wheel of fate. Destiny.”
“The Conspiracy is here.”
The final grain of sand falls through. Luna smiles widely, and lets it fall to the floor. The smashing of glass, the light going out. Laughter echoing around the empty world.
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
