[SCW Staff]

Please post all roleplays here! Have fun and good luck!

[Amelia Reynolds]

mirrors
04.1 placed

★★★★★★★

december 31, 2025
new york city

Lunch had been an indulgence, primarily in that it was out of laziness more than anything else. The Waldorf Astoria’s Lex Yard didn’t have crisp white tablecloths, but it did have quiet silver and a maitre’d who spoke in a low, practiced cadence that said his tip money was already included in the check.

Amelia sat with her shoulders relaxed, hands wrapped around the warm curve of a teacup that smelled vaguely of citrus. The city beyond the windows looked cold, but everything in here was simply patience. She could have pretended, if she wanted, that she didn’t have work. That this was just a week away from the craziness of her life. Something ordinary, simply a lunch that ended with a stroll and a shared dessert and nothing waiting behind the next door. That the man in front of her wasn’t keeping something from her, no matter how calm and quiet he was.

Yet still.

Dickie wore a particular restlessness he always did on show days, whether it was his own or hers. It wasn’t anxiety so much as energy that refused to sit neatly inside his skin. He was a wrestling gremlin in the most affectionate sense. His eyes were alert, mouth half-curved as if he were on the edge of a joke. His fingers tapped against the table once and then stopped as if he’d caught himself. He’d eaten, but it looked like he’d done it quickly, like it was an obligation that distracted them from the real business of the day.

He leaned back in his chair and rolled his shoulders. “I think I’m gonna go hang with Kallie.” He told her, casually, like he was simply going to the ice machine down the hall from their room. “Cheer from the seventy-five inch with the Dragon and his Princess.”

Amelia’s mouth softened into a smile before she could help it. “Dax and Cassandra will love that.”

He nodded. “Aiden and you both have matches, and it’s not like Kallie can step away from Cass right now. And besides, Dax is still convinced I am the coolest human alive.”

“That’s because,” she replied with a smirk growing on her face, “you encourage him to become chaos.”

“I do not.” He replied with the solemnity of a complete and utter liar. “I simply exist, and he’s just…spiritually aligned with my greatness.”

Amelia let out a quiet laugh, one that came from her chest  that loosened something in her ribs. It felt good to laugh like that on a day that so easily could – and would – become all about intensity and pressure. “I think it’s good you go,” she smiled, leaning forward and propping her head up with her hand. “You won’t be buzzing in a parking lot, and you’ll be occupied.”

“Occupied,” he repeated, amused. He stood, smooth and quick, already turning his body toward the rhythm of leaving. “Like I’m the toddler, okay. I see you. Meanwhile, you’ll be busy being terrifying and problematic.”

Amelia rose too, the chair whispering back across the floor. She gathered her composure the way she always did, quietly and efficiently, even if her eyes stayed on him. There were things that she wanted to ask in that moment, softly. She wanted to pull him closer by the wrist and ask, Are you alright? Why have you been so quiet lately? But she’d learned over time that some questions were better saved for later.

They left the restaurant together. The lobby opened up ahead with high ceilings, lavish fountains, muted chatter, Old New York elegance that they didn’t fit in. People moved in and out like currents. A small city within a larger, hulking one.

It was at the fountain that he slowed. Not stopped – he was like a rabbit that way, always moving – but slowing just enough that it mattered. Amelia turned toward him instinctively, her feet stopping softly. She could see the line of his jaw and the way his eyes slid across her face as if committing it to memory. Something in her went still, instinctively, like part of her had recognized the moment as important.

He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers near her temple as if ensuring she was still real. He leaned in, and the kiss that landed on her forehead was so deliberately tender that it felt like a promise without words. Not performative. Not a quick good luck peck. Affection, steady and anchored – a claim of closeness that didn’t need an audience, but happened openly anyway. He didn’t seem to care who saw.

She closed her eyes for half a second and let the contact settle into her bones. It was easy to forget he was hiding things when he was like this. When he pulled back, his expression had shifted back to something lighter, the familiar half-smirk returning like armor. “I’ll see you after,” he said.

She nodded. He gripped her hand tightly once and let go, turning to weave into the lobby’s flow, towards the parking garage, their family, and the portion of the day that would keep him near without hovering. She watched him go for a moment longer than necessary, one hand briefly lifting towards her forehead as if she could hold the imprint there. Then, she exhaled, squared her shoulders, and walked to the elevators towards her own match, her own work, and a day that had already begun to mark itself as something she would remember.

★★★★★★★

It’s always funny to me how everyone comes into these things jawin’ off like the did somethin’ spectacular. Like they’re special for winnin’ something, even if it’s a little bit unfairly. But that’s what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it? Try to like, sound better than we are so the people around us give a little bit of fear or respect. Some people might scream from the rafters “I BEAT THIS PERSON RAAAAAH!!!!!” because they think that gives them a little lick of credibility.

I’m not really convinced on that. I like seein’ it happen, ya know? The evidence blasted across the stage. Goin’ all the way back to Summer XXXTreme, I recall the fact that I like…was almost there. A millisecond more and I would’ve had it. I didn’t. I lost. I stepped away. It really pulled somethin’ out of me for a second, and I’ll always recognize it. And I know people will wanna use it against me because they’re fuckheads like that, but ya know…

Find like…new better lines to dig at me with!

For the whole of twenty-twenty-five, I made a lot of gains in this business whether that is attributed here or not. Here, even if the dirt sheets can’t get my moniker right or they can’t accurately place my win-loss record, but they can deep throat an Argentinian bish that hasn’t been relevant until this year amazingly – suddenly with the generation of content! – I’ve been fairly successful. Seven matches here, only two (2) of them a loss for me.

And one of ‘em was to a sneaky roll up because she couldn’t put me down like she said she was gonna.

Results matter, but so do the way things happen, Mercedes! As if you would know.

I don’t like showin’ up to these things feelin’ like the world is my oyster, and it owes me. I’m not the type of woman that believes that my mere presence makes the voices sing my praises. I know that good work, a bit of fight, and a lot of heart placed into all of this gets the ball runnin’ just as much as piss and vinegar. Spite is a well-workin’ companion to anger, but it isn’t what gets you anywhere. And neither is just simple belief.

You work to succeed, and you succeed when you work. I’ve been workin’. I have lofty goals, but they’re not out of line with my ability to move forward. I just have to be more important to this company first. Not a third match on a big card kind of girlie but more like a headliner kinda girlie.

My sixth match ever, I won the top championship of a new company. I worked for it. I fought for it. I breathed for it. And that Gotham Crown sits on my mantle with my Russian-Brit boyfriend’s two top champ champ titles and I realize that even if I haven’t done it at Sin City Wrestling…I can do it.

This is my chance to prove I fit in with our regalia of women here.

I said it at the last show, and I’ll say it again here – the road has been set for a while, and while I’ve been politely ignored week in and week out, I’ve had my eyes on this since I knew about it. I’m competitive. I like to fight. I told you that I was on my way to the biggest stage of the year and I want ya thinkin’ about me. I’m walkin’ in to Inception VIII as someone who’s trying to make life complicated and become a problem.

I was talkin’ to you, Frankie Honey.

I know, so obtuse. How dare you talk about someone when it’s not even their match time or you haven’t faced them! Talk about the past only that you’ve existed because you can make yourself look prettier in it. But what do I get for mentionin’ you?

A big fat load of nothin’, which I think you’re used to taking…if you catch my drift.

I know you think you’re comfortable. You have all of these contacts outside of this company, and these people are patting you on the head, saying good girl, and you lap it up like one of Maslow’s doggos. The desire to be loved is so prevalent within you, I don’t think you even see it.

It’s there when you tell us that you were trying to fix things.

It’s there when you admonish the company for not seeing your vision of greatness.

It’s there when you viciously and verbally maim people because they don’t fit the bill of what you want, desire, need, feel.

I see you for what you are, Frankie, even if you don’t see it in yourself. Lack of love becomes envy and jealousy. Try to argue it, and you’ll dig yourself into a deeper hole.

So tell me, Miss Doe-Eyed, pretty little girl from Wisconsin. What are ya gonna play this time? The rooting cheerleader that wanted the best for me? Manipulate your way through another promotional video to try to make yourself the victim while everyone else sees you for who you are? Did you realize that the rest of us weren’t picking up on the mediocrity pouring out of your lungs?

Because you can talk and talk and talk and talk, Frankie. Franchesca. Frannie. That’s all you do, and for a long while, it fit the bill. It paid for what you needed.

Don’t think that’s gonna work on me.

That’s gonna be a problem for you.

★★★★★★★

She hadn’t won. The loss came with its own kind of private silence.

It wasn’t the dramatic kind – you know, the one that demanded tears and a spiral. Like she had that one time they built her up as the next big thing only to have her broken by a slim millisecond. It was just a moment, really, after the crowd stopped being a wall of sound and really became a memory. She had the championship, still in her grasp. Her first championship. The Gotham Crown with all of its blue and red and gold.

Samantha Hamilton had put in the paces for that win, barely scraping through and winning. Just like with Mercedes – barely scraping through. Both of them knew it. Amelia could live with that, the win having not come clean or effortless, and that’s all that mattered to her, even if the record book only held the result.

Inside the locker room, she dropped onto the bench and let her shoulders fall in one fell swoop. The fluorescents flattened everything, making her look like a girl in a room instead of a performer who just stood under spotlights and white-hot lights. Her fingers went to the pins in her hair first, finding them by feeling. Each one, as they came out, eased the ache at her scalp.

After a second, her platinum hair spilled down past her shoulders and she shook her fingers in her scalp to ease the rest of the pressure. She gathered it without thought and threw it up in a messier bun that wasn’t as taut.

Practical.

Familiar.

Her phone buzzed once. She glanced at it, nothing urgent. A message from Kallie earlier, a photo of Dax with an applesauce packet dangling from his mouth standing on Dickie’s shoulders. Dragon, she thought. He already had balance – if he moved in the same family line, when he was sixteen, he’d be flying from people’s shoulders too.

She cracked her shoulder as she stretched then, reaching for her gear bag a moment later. She unzipped it the way she always did, already thinking about the shower that would come when she got back to the hotel. She’d throw on her sweatshirt (Dickie’s), check on Aiden, make him drive her in the shitty New York streets back to the Waldorf and stand for twenty minutes under blazing hot water. Dickie would argue from the room how she could readjust next time, planning six steps ahead for her, and then let her nuzzle into him while she forced another episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

Her fingers brushed fabric, tape, and the familiar clutter of the night’s work. And then they hit something that didn’t belong.

It wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t large. But, it was absolutely wrong in the way a foreign object is wrong in your own home. She stopped for a second, and then wrapped her fingers around the thin, plastic coating on paper. She drew it out.

A photograph. Printed and glossy, fresh enough that the paper still held a faint chemical smell of ink and heat. Her breath caught slightly. Not sheer panic, but more of a tightening in her throat, body’s response of recognized danger before her mind caught up to what it was.

It was of her, of Dickie kissing her on the forehead in the lobby, not hours ago. Not from a distance, nor was it weirdly grainy like a surveillance photo. It was close enough to see the exact angle of his hand and the intricate linework that decorated it. It was intimate between them, and it was owned. And threaded through the edge of the photo, punched cleanly through the corner as if someone had taken the time to do it properly, was lace.

White handmade lace. Gold-edged.

Her fingers went cold around it. For one suspended second, she was in their little kitchen, back in March, watching Dickie’s face change in an instance at the sight of it the first time, like watching something ancient and violent slide over him like a skin.

Don’t touch it. Don’t look at it. Don’t move.

His voice had been low and fast and dangerous. Not loud, not chaotic. Focused and commanding, a tone she hadn’t heard from him before that made her want to listen. Not necessarily out of fear, but more out of instinct, like the world itself had shifted and he was the only stable point in it.

Her grip tightened around the photo now without meaning to. There was red thread tied around the lace. Deliberately, knotted with care, as if someone had dressed the lace the way you might dress a wound. The red stood out against the white and gold like a signature. Amelia stared at it, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

They had been in her bag.

They had opened it.

They touched her things.

They had placed this inside with the kind of confidence that came from knowing no one would stop them.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Not claustrophobic. More like the air itself had turned attentive. Her first impulse was to look at the door, which was still shut, locked and normal, just as it had been.

No. Normal was a lie.

Her second impulse was to take the photo and rip it in half, but she didn’t. Whoever this was, it would be giving them the satisfaction of reaction. She took one slow breath in through her nose and let it out carefully, not moving the lace, or untying the threat. She didn’t shift the photo. The memory of Dickie’s voice sat in her spine like a hand.

Don’t move.

Her eyes flicked down again, taking in details like she was assessing evidence rather than absorbing violation. The hole punched in the photo was clean and precise. The lace didn’t fray where it fed through, and the knot in the thread was tight, intentional and elegant. Whoever had done it wanted her to see the craftsmanship, wanted her to understand that this wasn’t made by a frantic person – wanted her to understand that this was a message delivered by someone who believed they had the right to deliver it.

Her phone sat still on the bench beside her. For a moment she simply stared at it, as if it might bite. Then, she picked it up, and her fingers moved to Messages, hoving over the emojis she’d jokingly added to Dickie’s name. She pressed it softly, typing out a message with careful speed one-handed.

In my gear bag.
Photo from the lobby.
Lace.
Red thread.
It’s here.
I didn’t move it.

The loss against Samantha sat somewhere completely behind her now, distant, not irrelevant but not critical. It had been a fight, it had been close, it had been a night. A normal night. This…this was something else. This was access, someone proving they could reach into the softest part of her life and touch it with unknown hands.

The door outside her room sounded with footsteps, voices, and the ordinary traffic of the show. Amelia stayed still anyway. Aiden would be there in a second, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Aiden was more aware of things than she was. When her phone finally buzzed with Dickie’s response, her stomach dropped in confirmation.

Звезднысвет, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.
Don’t touch it anymore. Zip it.
Go with Aiden, he’ll get you straight to me. He’s got you.
I need you safe.
I’ll see you soon.

This wasn’t going away. And Dickie had been carrying it seemingly less alone than she thought.

★★★★★★★

I don’t want to go too far into it, you know. Don’t want to pick you apart just yet. Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll have a lot to say when we get to week two, and I thank you for the fact that you’re actually going to speak, unlike others.

Where would you like to start?

Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Your rise to the Bombshells Championship was through the Blast From the Past, and you got there with some challenges that you simply brushed off as simple and unnecessary. Maybe you didn't say those things, but it was there in your tone. Lilith and Melissa, both gone now, were a piece of cake. You had Julianna DiMarria, who is also gone now, and you beat her.

Then came Laura and Mikah, two women who have stayed far longer than they were ever asked to be here. Laura comes from fame outside of here and couldn’t step up. And Mikah made a habit of putting her relationships over her actual success, as she hasn’t been relevant as anything more than a mixed tag team wrestler since 2018.

You called Kayla Richards irrelevant and now here she is…a match ahead of you on a card you went from being on the top of to the very, very bottom. With me! The rookie who lost to Mercedes Vargas and Andrea Hernandez. I deserve to be here.

Where….where do you deserve to be?

I’d like to say you deserve to be up there with the best of them, but you’re nine-five in seven months and most of those losses come from now as opposed to earlier. And Kayla? Kayla carried you in that tag match. She did more, she had more momentum and she controlled that match. You helped. A little. And then you had the audacity to call her irrelevant…which you’ve called everyone, might I add…but how about you look in the mirror and say with the same gusto, yeah?

You lost the championship a month into your reign. You lost it to Crystal Caldwell after calling her washed up and old and…whatever the hell you did, and it wasn’t expected. That was the crux, wasn’t it? It wasn’t expected. You keep tellin’ us that all of these things are going to happen because of what the history books and the dirt sheets say, and you wanted so badly to change the status quo. You had a month long reign and lost it to someone who learned how to work around your bullshit.

Listen with all of your ability. If you even have the ability to do so with all of the diatribe you speak.

You’re not a catalyst.

You’re not a queen in the making.

You’re not even a fixture in this company.

You’re like a run down, semi-shiny newold toy that got fucked. But you like that, don’tcha?

Ope, little Australian got a little too vindictive there, tried to sound like you. Did it work? Did I become edgy? No? Too much?

Do you hear yourself when you talk, Frannie? You like to scream about relevancy, but people have destroyed your mantle lately. This role has to go to someone younger, you said, as if veteran smarts don’t exist. Fuckin’ manifestos about about utopias make you sound like a crazy shooter person, and maybe really the only thing ya actually need is a straightjacket. You have no right to be calling anyone channel changers when ninety-five percent of the time since you lost the championship, no one is interested in what you did.

You’ve got no right to call anyone a nostalgia act when we’re already nostalgic for the days of your success. Bella and Alexandra defeated you because you sat there and thought you knew the system. That you were better because you jabbed a little edginess in there and talked about relevancy and lackluster and blood and sex.

Newsflash, darlin’, we all get laid. It’s not somethin’ new.

And the way you approach things…inspired one week and then the next you’re shittin’ on them for everything they’re worth and a box of rocks.

Maybe you’ve got this weird need to be respected, or loved, or adored, or everything under the sun because no one has ever really done any part of that. And now you’re facin’ a nother rookie who already had her big failure and made somethin’ of herself anyway.

What’s that say about ya, Frannie-dear?

Frank? Franchesca?

I know you want so badly to prove you’re worth somethin’.

But you’re not gonna do it on my time.

★★★★★★★

What felt like a peaceful weekend away earlier had come crashing to a grinding halt. The gold light, the marble floors, the lobby that screamed expensive, flickered past her vision as she walked with Aiden to the elevators. Amelia tried to stay composed, her fingers gripping the bag with a specific kind of relentlessness. It helped her look fine, even if she didn’t feel it.

She was scared. But more than that, she was angry.

Aiden knew. She could tell he’d been texted before he even got to her door at The Monarch. He kept her in public eye until they got to their corridor, until he took her keycard from her pocket of her bag, until he walked her inside the room. A quiet followed that felt louder than any crowd.

Dickie was already on his feet, not sprawled with the restless joking energy he always had. Not half-laughing, not pointing out something stupid on his phone to make her smile. He was standing near – but not close – to the window like he’d been watching for something in the dim light of the New York City bulbs. He turned his head upon the sound of the door opening, and his gaze went straight to the gear bag her hands so dutifully clung to.

She took four steps into the room and dropped the bag on the bed as he approached, keeping the zipper closed exactly the way he’d told her to. She didn’t touch anything else, and when he stopped short of her, she noted his eyes darting across her face, her shoulders, her waist, ensuring that she was safe. She was still in her ring gear and that silly hoodie of his.

“I didn’t–” she started, but he cut in, low and fast.

“I know.” His voice was focused in a tone she’d only heard when something else snapped him into place. His eyes flickered up to Aiden as he locked the deadbolt without being asked. Amelia watched Dickie’s face shift from worry to stillness, into a control so tight it made the air feel sharper.

“It…it’s the same. Like before,” she added, pulling his attention back to her.

His jaw flexed, and for a second, she could have swore guilt flickered behind his eyes, immediately buried by focus. Aiden spoke, calm as if he was reading off a checklist from behind her, “She did exactly what you said. Didn’t touch it. Didn’t move it.”

“Good,” he nodded, but it wasn’t so much as praise as it sounded like relief. Amelia looked at him, taking a slow breath in, trying to forget that Aiden knew things that she didn’t before she spoke.

“Someone was in my bag. In my things.”

Dickie’s expression tightened, anger flashing hot and immediate beneath the restraint as his eyes flicked to the bag again. She tilted her head, ensuring that she had his attention as she leaned forward.

“This is why you’ve been weird. This is why Yoshiro keeps pulling you away for stupid things. And you keep telling me it’s nothing. But you argue with Finn behind closed doors, you share looks and disappear with Yoshiro and,” she pointed at Aiden, “he knows about all of it before I do.”

“Звездныйсвет,” he breathed his nickname for her. Starlight, he called her. Like he could press it into the air and make everything easier.

It didn’t work. She didn’t move except to cross her arms, jaw tight. Her nose flared slightly. “Don’t use that like it fixes it.” Her voice ground out, sharper than she’d initially meant to. When his throat bobbed and he didn’t move, she reached down and ripped open the zipper of the bag. The sound was too loud, and split the silence like a blade. She felt Aiden’s posture shift behind her, but he didn’t move otherwise.

And neither did Dickie.

He could have. He could have moved faster than her and snatched her hand away, but that wasn’t how Dickie’s brain functioned when it came to her. It was a line, invisible in his head: she does what she wants and I don’t get a say. He raised an eyebrow though as she pulled the intrusion out of her bag and flung it to the bedspread.

The photo of them, or rather the invasion as she felt, landed face-up, glossy against the bedspread. She watched Dickie’s eyes take it in, floating over the visible affection, the gold-edged white lace, the single red thread. His entire body went rigid in the same way it had back in March, as if his brain had launched into several different scenarios and he was stuck on which one to take.

“Amelia,” he said, not a warning but a restrained stop.

“That’s from lunch,” she swallowed, keeping her voice level.

Dickie’s jaw clenched once, and she knew his teeth were gnashing hard. “I told you not to touch it,” he started, but she could tell it wasn’t completely aimed at her.

“It was in my bag.”

His eyes moved to her face, checking her again. Irritated, but safe, she was sure he was cataloguing. “Are you hurt?” He asked.

“No, but I’m not fine.” She watched him look back at the lace and the thread and the invasion of their personal space and she saw it again: an internal calculator of wanting to fold her away somewhere safe and quiet and keep whatever this was from touching her at all. Protect, contain, control variables. She snapped her fingers in his face. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to universally decide what I can handle because it makes you feel better.”

Something raw, guilt-ridden, frustrated, and tender sat behind his eyes now, unsure where to go when the person that he loved bared teeth. He swallowed again. “I was trying to keep you out of it.” He meant them as truth, but the words still came out like an excuse.

“That worked so well. Look at it. I can see the fucking hibiscus clearly on your hand.”

His mouth opened like he was going to say something that mattered, the things that he’d been swallowing for weeks and months, but he stopped. His gaze followed her finger as she pointed at the photograph, to his own hand captured there on paper, to the intimacy they’d shared turned into knives in someone else’s hands. Someone she didn’t even know about.

“You do not get to love me and keep me ignorant.” She declared, each word steady, placed like a boundary line drawn in the same ink on his skin. “Pick one.”

Silence gathered between them.

Dickie didn’t move.

And neither did she.

[Frankie Holliday]

I have sucked the past few weeks. Months even.

Maybe it's depression.
Maybe it's the fact that I was touching it and then it was right through my fingers.
Maybe it's the realization of the fight I am fighting.

It could be a number of things. I'm not a doctor, but hey this is where we say "new year, new me?" and stuff and then we break those resolutions in about a week.

But it's okay, I'll keep being the bad guy. I'll keep telling the truth whether people want to hear it or not.

I enjoy it.

But anyway, what a year 2025 was huh?
Did you guys get what you wanted for Christmas?

Well, sometimes we just don't get what we want, do we?

Sometimes, you just have to take it.

And a lot of the time, it's better that way.

I can tell you about my favorite Christmas.

Won't you join me?


“Are you recording me?”

I asked as Levi had taken the phone out of the box and was obviously playing with it.

“Sure. Why not? I wanna see your reaction to the presents.”

I rolled my eyes and picked up a present. It was light in my hands.

“Clothes, most likely.” I ventured the guess.

“Open it.”

I sighed and ripped up the wrapping paper. The cardboard gift box came open and sure enough, it was clothes.

“I told you.”

“Let’s see.”

I reached in and pulled some of the items out.

“Baby clothes?”

They were indeed for a small child. I shrugged and tossed the box and clothes aside. There were still quite a few gifts under the tree.

One wasn’t even wrapped. No time, I guess. You know, sometimes the holidays are stressful. It was a big blanket of some kind, but when I unfolded it, it was a tapestry. “From Daughter to Dad.”

“Aww… that’s really cute. I’m sure he’d love that.”

“Hey, this one’s Pokemon cards.”

Levi held up a binder with one of them, I didn’t know and still don’t know to this day what Pokemon is what.

 I took one, a smaller one, it fit in the palm of my hand. I shook it, and tossed it to Levi. He caught it and tore off the wrapping paper and opened the small Samsung box.

“This is a watch. Like, I think one of those… What do they call them… smart watches? Yeah, a smart watch.”

“Nice.”

He shrugged and then looked up at me.

“You want it?”

“Sure. Why not?”

He tossed the watch back to me and I fit the watch around my wrist. I spent the next few minutes going through the instructions, which sometimes can be the damnedest things. I got it to work, but needed to link it up with my phone at one point or another to get to work as intended.

*Thunk*

It was the sound of a car door. Levi and I looked at each other.

“I wonder who that could be.” I said as Levi put his finger over his mouth and lips, the general “Shh” motion. We crept out of sight as footsteps approached the door and a gentle knock followed. And then the door was opened. But it was a normal, unbothered opening of the door. Whomever was coming in wasn’t aware.

“Hello? John? Debra? It’s Beth and Kara!” One woman called out.

“Mom? Dad?” The second woman’s voice called out a few seconds later.

“What the hell happened?”

They were walking through, obviously, we had made a mess.

 Levi and I looked at each other and we wore matching sly grins.

“The more the merrier, right?” Levi said with a soft chuckle reaching into his pocket. I reached into mine and Levi held up his index finger. We both slid the ski masks over our faces. Levi raised his middle to join the index, and we both pulled the pistols from our pockets.

When the ring finger joined… We burst out, guns pointed.

“Merry Christmas!”

–

We had spent a few weeks preparing for this. We had Levi's… or I guess what was then Levi’s car around Los Angeles. We scoped out quite a few places in the city, but all of them were in way too much of a public area. You do the job, and then boom, people are on you right away. This was no good. And we had just been in the hills, so the idea was very simple. We needed a place more rural. Ones off the beaten path so that we could get in and do what we needed to do, and there wouldn’t be much interference or people to get in the way.

We drove around and found ourselves out into more of the farm and rural areas. We started to check the traffic in the area. It was outside L.A. and more towards San Diego. It wasn’t that far of a drive, and it was out of the way. Those two lane roads with one house in the middle of nowhere.

It looked nice from the outside. A big long driveway offered all the space, and lots of empty land in the background. We casually observed the family coming and going. A nice older couple who were out every day tending their gardens and crops. They hung a wreath on the door to observe the holidays. They even went on long walks together. Such a love couple.

For a few days leading up to Christmas, they were just in the house all day.

“You don’t think they’re going to leave on Christmas day, do you?”  Levi asked a couple days before.

“They haven’t left in a couple of days. Maybe they’re good.”

And just like that, they went on their long walk.

We walked up to the house, peeking in windows, and checking doors. We never saw them ever check the doors, and sure enough, around the back, the back door was unlocked. Folks this secluded seldom worried about someone coming in. Who would come all the way out in the middle of nowhere just to break in?

I know, right?

So, we watched the couple of days before Christmas and every day, at the same time, they went for a walk. They were gone for about an hour. Plenty of time to get in and see what’s what.

No one ever really showed up the entire time we were watching. We figured this was going to be fairly easy. Levi had multiple guns so it was easy for him to lend me one. It was more effective than a knife for intimidation purposes. We even went out into the woods and shot some targets, and then went to a Wal-Mart where they readily sell ammo.

This stuff is so easy to get, you know?
God bless America.

So, on Christmas morning, we woke up and sure enough, that morning walk started. We made our move. We walked up, and once again, the back door, unlocked. Didn’t even need to pick it or break a window.

They had plenty of presents. Like holy shit a lot. We decided to help ourselves.

But things sometimes don’t go as expected.

–
“Who the - “

“Shut up.”

Levi pointed the gun right in one of their faces. There were screams and panic. And then another set of footsteps. I turned as Levi kept his gun trained on the two in the room. Coming up the stairs into the main hall, an elderly woman.

“Kara, are you -”

I pointed the gun at her.

“Hello grandma. Please, come in. Let’s all have a seat on the couch.”

She nearly had a heart attack I think. She was so startled she lost her breath.

Yeah, we don’t have time for that. I pushed her to move to the couch. The other two were seated, huddled together but the Grandma remained standing hunched over and clutching her chest.

“What… wha..what do you want?” One of them blurted out through tears.

Levi and I looked at one another, shrugging.

“Maybe… my face on the one dollar bill?” Levi joked. “Nah, I’m just kiddin’. I want your money, obviously.”

“Okay. P-please just take it and go. Just please don’t hurt us!”

The women on the course emptied their purses and all in all we got about 100 bucks. Grandma was holding out.

“Okay Grandma, it’s your turn.”

She had finally gotten her breath. She paused, looking at both of us for a few seconds and stood there, defiantly. She was almost glaring at us. Can you believe that? This lady was crazy. Just giving us shit now.

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not giving you anything.”

Levi looked at me with that “Can you believe this shit?” gestures. He pointed his gun at her head, but still, she stood there, almost welcoming it.

“Looks like Grandma wants to be a hero. Well hot damn. You know, I was thinking that this may be a little easier than this, but, it’s okay, I welcome a challenge.”

Without warning, Levi flipped the pistol around and *whack* One shot, right to the face. Grandma hit the floor really hard, groaning in pain. There were screams from the other women, but I flashed the gun in their direction.

“Don’t be a hero for Grandma either.”

Levi reached down and snatched the purse and pulled out a couple hundred dollars. He sighed and threw the purse down on the old woman.

“That could have been so much easier. Now, unfortunately, we’re running out of time. So, we might need a hostage. But, we really only have room for one of you.”

The women looked at each other concerned.

“It’s a logistical issue. Just not enough room.” I clarified.

“So, maybe, maybe we just take one, so… which is gonna be?”

The two women on the couch looked at each other and then at the Grandma. They were terrified and unable to make the choice. Levi was getting impatient.

“If you can’t make the choice I will. For one of you, you get to come along. If you hesitate much longer, it’ll be the end of the road.”

They panicked. But suddenly, Grandma burst up and grabbed a hold of Levi.

“RUN!” She groaned as Levi began to pistol whip her some more. The younger woman sprinted off the couch and went outside. The older one was trying to help.

“Go get her!”

I sighed, but the thrill of the chase was fun. I took off after the daughter. She was about halfway down the long driveway already. Adrenaline is a son of a bitch. I chased, realizing if she got away, she could run into anyone at this point. She sprinted for a long time and finally hung a left into the woods.

I veered off, swinging around to get behind her. She was taking huge gulps of air as the fear and adrenaline mixed perfectly. She was looking everywhere for me. I got behind her and tackled her, knife pressed up against her throat.

“I love the outdoors too, but I think it’s time to get back inside.”

She groaned, a fiery rage built and exploded in the angry scream.

“Well shit, you’re a great screamer. But I bet that’s what everybody says.”

I marched her back in and there was silence except for a fork scraping a plate. Levi sat himself near the grandma and the mother or older daughter, who were now both bleeding and battered. Levi put the piece of toast he made in his mouth and ate some. He motioned for the younger girl to sit down.

“You want some toast?”

She declined, now more concerned with her bloody relatives.

“Your loss, this is pretty good.”

Levi continued to eat the toast without saying much.

“What now?” I said to break the silence.

We just need to wait for….

“Levi looked at the phone he took.”

“3 Minutes.”

Levi continued to eat, and then wiped his face with a napkin and pocketed it. Then we both heard the indistinct chatter and footsteps outside.

“Right on time. Please go greet our new guests.”

I walked outside, and sure enough, John and Debra, the older couple were walking up. They spotted me and stopped. At first, John thought I was one of his daughters.

“Oh, Kara, that’s…”

He shook his head.

“Uh… hello. Can we help you?”

I raised the pistol and smiled.

“Come on inside, Christmas dinner is almost ready.”

The fear flashed and they both put their hands up. Inside we went, where Debra ran over to her daughter and sister, I am assuming. It could be the in-law. I don’t know. I don’t worry about semantics too much. Now they were crying and John was aghast.

“What do you want?”

“Money. Duh. You have a safe? A secret stash? Give it up.” Levi commanded.

“Yeah, yeah sure pal, just don’t hurt us!”

John was escorted by Levi to a room and then walked out with a bag. Inside was plenty of money.

“Nice. Well, I think our job is done here. Now if you’ll be so kind pop to j-ugh!”

Without warning, John had gotten froggy and tackled Levi up against a wall and knocked the gun out of his hand. They tussled for a brief moment.

*BANG*

The gunshot was louder than I expected. It even startled me. But, John was now down, holding his leg which was bleeding heavily. Levi looked over at me and nodded, a surprised sigh of relief, almost like he was so stunned he didn’t believe it. He chuckled and walked over to me, throwing his arm around me and kissing my head through the mask.

“Baby you’re the greatest.”

The women screamed and were frantic but the guns waved at them again silenced them.

“Why do you people have to be so stubborn? Now… as I was about to say, before I was rudely interrupted, you could have taken your seat on the couch pops. But now look at you.

“Please just go. You’ve taken everything!” Debra shouted.

Levi turned to me and gestured in her direction. I pointed the gun and thought about pulling the trigger.

“Nah. We’re just gonna go.”

“Thank you folks. You all have a Merry Christmas!”

With that, Levi and I left, owners a new smartwatch, a phone, and a lot of money.

I was so getting used to this.



I am so pleased to be in the presence of the golden child.

I see we’re going to have to play a little game because it’s how people taught you. I will tell you, like I told the Captain a while ago. I don’t care about who’s right or wrong or gets all their ducks in a row for information. This is not about that and never has been. But people like you just want to act like it’s the end all be all.

I was in your position once. And then it was taken from me. Taken because I wanted this to be about all of us, not just a few, not just the elite. But people like you continue to make it about a few people and not everyone. I was trying to save this place from being a boring waste that no one would want to come to. I wanted to make it open. I wanted people to earn things and give this place order amongst the chaos.

But it was taken from me and ever since then, I have been spinning my wheels. I will gladly admit that. I haven’t really felt like making this kind of effort since I lost the championship. Because really, the title hasn’t mattered to me. But now I fully understand its purpose. You see, if you were in immense physical pain and I were to tell you I’m a doctor, I think you’d want to see some kind of credentials, right? You wouldn’t just take my word that I’m a doctor. I mean, you got stabbed in the toe? Let me rub your neck with aloe vera! That’ll fix you right up. No, you’d need to verify this.

And the title was my verification.

Things were getting to the point where we were just starting to turn the corner and then boom, Crystal whoever steals the title from me and now I can scream at the top of my lungs about actually doing good, and it gets ignored. Because I don’t have the thing that I need. I was focused on trying to do things a different way, since they just don’t want me anywhere near the title again.

I accept that. I play by the rules I tried to set. I said we don’t hand out free title shots anymore, and I’m playing by that. Of course, that doesn’t apply to certain people who just love this re-run title reign of Crystal where she’s handing a title shot to her ex that she just wants to use and abuse one more time. No new faces, no fresh talent, just the same old, stupid shit.

And that is where you come in.

You are their one new person that they will hang their hat on and say “look, here’s a new person. See, we’re doing this the correct way.” I was in that position once. But I didn’t conform. I didn’t go out there and read my lines like a good soldier. I tested things. I challenged things. I wanted so much for this place, and they got afraid of me.

But it’s fine. They have you.

You are my replacement, Amelia.

You go out there and say all the right things, all the cool things. You’re hip and trendy. You probably think I’m just terrible for trying to do things and you’re going to put a stop to me changing this place. You are the future. You are… what do you say… you’re a problem! It’s so cool you could put it on a t-shirt and slap an SCW logo on it and it would sell like hotcakes.

You are exactly what they want. You’re the puppet they want. The cymbal playing monkey that winds up. You’ll do anything they tell you to do because you crave their approval.

No, Amelia, I respect the hustle. Everybody has their role to play and that’s yours. You do you. I’m here for it. I look forward to watching as you, under their thumb, rise to undeserved glory and fame because that’s how you get along. Quid pro quo. You play along, you get rewarded. I see it. I understand it.

And no, I know you really want to beat me to the punch on this, but I’m not jealous. If they picked you, they picked you. I didn’t get hand picked, I took what was in the way. I did it to make this place better. I seized this company by the throat and tried to drag it forward. I took people out of the game, and did it in style. I challenged the so-called “dominant” champion and had her running in circles trying to connect dots in a silly debate. And in the end, I lit her on fire and took her title.

You were here for that, weren’t you? You were a part of this company, right? What happened? Why didn’t you take the same opportunity I did? Why did you falter? Why were you left in the dust as I rose to the top? Where were you Amelia? You could have and should have been there right along with me. You and I, battling to get control and take the title. Why did you not make it?

I did all that and then some. And now you’ve come out of nowhere and suddenly you’re the it girl now? When did this happen? Where the hell was I when Amelia Reynolds took the company by storm? I’ll admit, I haven’t really been paying attention to you, or anything you’ve done because it’s really not worth talking about. What is there to talk about Amelia? You have done nothing, accomplished nothing in this company, but you’re a problem. You’ve got all this confidence based on… winning some matches I guess. And a loss to Mercedes Vargas.

Oh boy, I am quaking in my boots at the thought of this.

I had better things to do, bigger fish to fry and other opponents that I had made some arrangements for and then all of a sudden, it’s announced that I’m facing you at Inception. Like… hold up, when did this happen? I had plans and now they are once again on hold because I had to do something else.

At first, I didn’t like this in the slightest. I was ready to come out here and talk about how ridiculous it is that I didn’t get any notice, and then you would have said “Well I didn’t either and you can’t complain about that and OMG you’re such a loser!” I am fully aware of how plans change. It’s fine. But you know, since you need to win this debate, sure, you got it.

That strategy doesn’t really work, because I will lie, cheat and steal to get the things I need. I don’t need to be right, I don’t even need to believe I’m right. I can lie through my teeth just to make you think one thing. But as they say in the Exorcist,

“The Devil will mix lies with the truth to deceive.”

So I could sit here and say anything and you’d gobble it up, listening word by word for anything to give you an advantage, and then throw it back at me like you’re tossing out a good hand on the poker table. Read ‘em and weep! Gotcha!

You can have all the gotcha’s you want. This isn’t a debate. I’ll be wrong, I’ll be the bad guy and then what? I relish being the bad guy. Because I do things and say things no one else wants to. I make people uncomfortable. Right now, you are uncomfortable because you don’t know what I’m going to say. Or maybe you do. Does it make you feel like you’re in command of this situation?

No puppet, you dance when they pull your strings. You dance on command. I was doing everything to keep you free from those strings, but they want to fast track you to take the spot I once had. It’s fine. You do that. I’m just saying that it feels way better without the strings attached.

But here is the real treat for me. I get to beat you up and show them that their puppet isn’t as amazing as they want you to be. They really want you to beat me and then you can hold your head up high and continue to sell the whole “problem” thing you have going on. Again, no knock to the hustle. It’s marketable. Very corporate, very safe.

What isn’t marketable, what isn’t safe, is the rough, dirty, and difficult task of changing the landscape of this company. The real work in the trenches. It’s easy to just sit there and let the machine give you everything. Think about this. You are here as the next hottest thing. You beat me, you’ve beaten a former world champion. Well on your way to coming up short for a title match and then they move on to the next big thing.

But beating you? I slow down the machine to a crawl. I make the machine re-think its choice of you as its figurehead. I put your time in this company in jeopardy. I put you in a position you may never get out of. Then there’s no “problem” t-shirts. There’s no small children thinking of you as a role model. I can take all of that away.

This gets better and better for me the longer I think about. I have a chance to stick you straight up their asses and tell them to suck me off. How they had their chance at the best. I already proved it. But they want to settle for you? Well fuck that noise. No you’re going to get your ass beat. You don’t really want a problem with me. Because you think I’ve already peaked and now I cannot come back to that spot again. You think I’m about to be this easy win because you got a little moment on your side, a spring in your step. It’s all gonna be sunshine and rainbows.

No baby, we’re about to play in the fucking mud.

We’re going to get so dirty we’re gonna need to take a bath with a fucking pumice stone.

The captain followed me down here and fucking regretted it. I am filthy, Amelia. You don’t want to get this dirty. You need to be clean, smile brightly and flash the pearly whites. Fighting with me will leave you very very stained. Moist even. You don’t want to go to this level, but I will go lower. I will sink to new and fun lows that you don’t want to be a part of.

And when you’re down here with me, like you will be in two weeks… you’ll regret it. All that promotion, all that press, all that recognition? I’ll all be over. All it down the toilet. I will use your broken and sticky body as a ladder back to that place. I will put you on display. If this was medevel times, I would put your head on fucking pike.

But instead, I’ll have to settle for kneeing you in the fucking face. Maybe break your nose, or jaw, or whatever I see fit. You don’t control this situation. I do. I can do many really nasty things to you and ruin a lot more than just your rise to the top. I can ruin everything. You’re taking this risk and I’ll give you credit for that, but we both really know you’re doing it because they are telling you to.

Dance puppet, dance.

And when it’s over and you are laying there regretting poking the bear like this, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. I have a destiny to fulfill, and at this point, after all the times being sidetracked? I don’t think I’m gonna take any responsibility for what does happen to you. I want you to think about that Amelia. I’m sure you’re jotting all this down.

Just star this shit, highlight it, make it a bullet on your document.

It’s not my fault what happens to you.

Trust me.