Post by Baby Jenks on May 21, 2016 13:39:21 GMT -5
Gritting her teeth, Jenks excuses herself with a wordless nod, her host offering a wan smile of understanding and concern as the heavier built brunette slips into the side room tucked into the back corner of the rec hall.
Why the fuck am I even here? Couldn't I have just GIVEN them my car for today?
She fires up one of the computers (a Dell needing about 6 months worth of Windows updates, of course) and listens to the party staffer make apologies for the slow internet.
Anything to distract me from being here. The fuck was I THINKING? People? This many people I don't know?
Jenks manages to get google running on the third try, logging in to the PCW fan forums to see what the "Faithful" (christ, PCW, cultish much?) were yammering on about. No time like the present (read: dodging human interaction with every fiber of her being at a one year old's birthday party) to catch up on the good, the bad, and the downright disturbing. Telling the few nosy party guests that she just needed to "check up on work" was a no brainer.
The fact that a solid 80% of the party's guests originated in gene pools about as deep as a parking lot puddle was mere annoyance in light of what really had her hiding.
Important safety note: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder fucking sucks.
The early stages of the party (well, the set up hour) was fine. She played air hockey with one of the kids, she admired the plastic pizza a 5 year old tried to serve her, even going so far as to encourage the mouth breathing birthday girl's grandmother in conversation for the sake of manners...
...and now we have Angelina "Baby Jenks" Black at a one year old's birthday party surrounded by East coast white trash in their party best... because, neighbors. See, folks in poverty bracket living areas tend to help each other out more. It's more for community survival and resource sharing since there's invariably always someone out of something you have and there will invariably always be a time where they have something you need. Whether motivated by the kindness or merely a practical, evolutionary behavior to ensure the survival of the whole is irrelevant. Sometimes it just pays to not be a dick to people.
Not often, but sometimes.
In this instance, Baby Jenks has a car and her neighbors don't - but needed to get to their daughter's birthday party. So Jenks shared a pipe with them to cover the PTSD factor and drove on in. A pretty drive on a gorgeous day, and the topless chick hanging out on her trampoline backyard (right next to a rural highway) was a nice little bonus to the trip.
But then people showed up. The tingling and burning in the back of her neck started, miniature jolts of fight-or-flight sucker punching her in the gut every time one of the adults shouted. Even through the sound proof glass and reasonably insulated walls, she could still hear the shrill, nasal pitches of the (probably closely) related adult women drilling directly into her fucking brain.
Fuck my life, these bitches sound like Fran Drescher on helium with the volume control of the Hindenburg disaster.
Refocusing on PCW (and internally damning whoever just left the door open) Jenks reviews the card for Living a Legacy VIII. She'd been like a kid with an Advent calendar, eagerly checking the card every day as the magic PPV approaches to make sure Majors was still slated to be intimately introduced to her size 11's.
He shouldn't have interfered. I wasn't gonna hurt him, but then he went and landed himself on the List.
It didn't matter, really, once you were there. No one made it off the List unless they left it in an urn or casket. The Black sisters had two very different experiences growing up... both weaponized, but in completely different ways. Alexa was trained for chaos, Angelina was trained to follow orders without question.
Alexa... Alexa had always been a kind, sweet girl. Didn't like seeing people hurt, loved to take care of small animals. You know the type. Angelina had been more of a concern to their parents, almost completely lacking empathy and demonstrating early sociopathic behaviors. In and out of therapists, doctors, MRI's, puzzle tests, all kinds of exams and pills to swallow. At the same time, Alexa was busily doing charity work with Girl Scouts, helping old ladies cross the road, and turning little turtles right side up. She made it into the paper, an article about her saving a small child from being hit by an out-of-control schoolbus, all her good works written out.
Then They came.
"The brightest light casts the darkest shadow." they said as they attempted to force a 7 year old Alexa to choose between shooting her mother or father directly between the eyes, one of the men holding a blade to Angelina's 4 year old throat as encouragement. The final test, you see.
She couldn't do it. So they knew she was perfect. Angelina herself went to something close to a reformatory school crossed with a private training program.
Alexa... Alexa was tortured. Constantly. Body and mind broken again and again until nothing remained but the warped, twisted, mirror image of who she once was.
The PTSD burn flares back, memories flooding her mind as she instinctively hauls her thoughts back to Pure Class Wrestling and one Rick Majors.
Living a Legacy, huh? There is no legacy. When you die, you're dirt. There's no legacy to leave, just memories in someone else's head. Eventually everyone who ever knew you is dead, and your memory fades from human consciousness.
Cynical? Maybe. Try thinking of an ancestor four generations back. What did their voice sound like? What did they look like? What was their favorite food?
Exactly.
Majors' legacy is long gone, if he ever had one. He came to PCW, kicked some ass, then fluttered back into total anonymity like a butterfly in reverse. Living a Legacy is just another way of naming a stupid fucking sporting event because "sweaty mostly-men grappling in varying amounts of spandex as accompanied by tawdry storylines for your entertainment" wouldn't sell as many tickets.
And not just because most of the fanbase spooks at anything containing too many polysyllabic words.
Everyone seemed to think Jenks was just in it for The Darkness. Outside of it being the most generic name possible, it wasn't Jenks' party - it was Alexa's. But since her last stint in prison, Baby Jenks had lost her old boss - he'd "moved to Australia" then subsequently dropped off the face of the Earth. So it was Alexa's turn to be in charge, and Jenks was following along while trying to minimize the collateral damage.
A kid busts in, informing her that Vicki needs the keys to the car. Lifting her head from the screen for the first time in half an hour, Jenks looks out the internet room window to see partygoers cleaning up and packing things away.
Fuck yeah, time to leave. Maybe I can stash one of these comfy computer chairs in my trunk...
Why the fuck am I even here? Couldn't I have just GIVEN them my car for today?
She fires up one of the computers (a Dell needing about 6 months worth of Windows updates, of course) and listens to the party staffer make apologies for the slow internet.
Anything to distract me from being here. The fuck was I THINKING? People? This many people I don't know?
Jenks manages to get google running on the third try, logging in to the PCW fan forums to see what the "Faithful" (christ, PCW, cultish much?) were yammering on about. No time like the present (read: dodging human interaction with every fiber of her being at a one year old's birthday party) to catch up on the good, the bad, and the downright disturbing. Telling the few nosy party guests that she just needed to "check up on work" was a no brainer.
The fact that a solid 80% of the party's guests originated in gene pools about as deep as a parking lot puddle was mere annoyance in light of what really had her hiding.
Important safety note: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder fucking sucks.
The early stages of the party (well, the set up hour) was fine. She played air hockey with one of the kids, she admired the plastic pizza a 5 year old tried to serve her, even going so far as to encourage the mouth breathing birthday girl's grandmother in conversation for the sake of manners...
...and now we have Angelina "Baby Jenks" Black at a one year old's birthday party surrounded by East coast white trash in their party best... because, neighbors. See, folks in poverty bracket living areas tend to help each other out more. It's more for community survival and resource sharing since there's invariably always someone out of something you have and there will invariably always be a time where they have something you need. Whether motivated by the kindness or merely a practical, evolutionary behavior to ensure the survival of the whole is irrelevant. Sometimes it just pays to not be a dick to people.
Not often, but sometimes.
In this instance, Baby Jenks has a car and her neighbors don't - but needed to get to their daughter's birthday party. So Jenks shared a pipe with them to cover the PTSD factor and drove on in. A pretty drive on a gorgeous day, and the topless chick hanging out on her trampoline backyard (right next to a rural highway) was a nice little bonus to the trip.
But then people showed up. The tingling and burning in the back of her neck started, miniature jolts of fight-or-flight sucker punching her in the gut every time one of the adults shouted. Even through the sound proof glass and reasonably insulated walls, she could still hear the shrill, nasal pitches of the (probably closely) related adult women drilling directly into her fucking brain.
Fuck my life, these bitches sound like Fran Drescher on helium with the volume control of the Hindenburg disaster.
Refocusing on PCW (and internally damning whoever just left the door open) Jenks reviews the card for Living a Legacy VIII. She'd been like a kid with an Advent calendar, eagerly checking the card every day as the magic PPV approaches to make sure Majors was still slated to be intimately introduced to her size 11's.
He shouldn't have interfered. I wasn't gonna hurt him, but then he went and landed himself on the List.
It didn't matter, really, once you were there. No one made it off the List unless they left it in an urn or casket. The Black sisters had two very different experiences growing up... both weaponized, but in completely different ways. Alexa was trained for chaos, Angelina was trained to follow orders without question.
Alexa... Alexa had always been a kind, sweet girl. Didn't like seeing people hurt, loved to take care of small animals. You know the type. Angelina had been more of a concern to their parents, almost completely lacking empathy and demonstrating early sociopathic behaviors. In and out of therapists, doctors, MRI's, puzzle tests, all kinds of exams and pills to swallow. At the same time, Alexa was busily doing charity work with Girl Scouts, helping old ladies cross the road, and turning little turtles right side up. She made it into the paper, an article about her saving a small child from being hit by an out-of-control schoolbus, all her good works written out.
Then They came.
"The brightest light casts the darkest shadow." they said as they attempted to force a 7 year old Alexa to choose between shooting her mother or father directly between the eyes, one of the men holding a blade to Angelina's 4 year old throat as encouragement. The final test, you see.
She couldn't do it. So they knew she was perfect. Angelina herself went to something close to a reformatory school crossed with a private training program.
Alexa... Alexa was tortured. Constantly. Body and mind broken again and again until nothing remained but the warped, twisted, mirror image of who she once was.
The PTSD burn flares back, memories flooding her mind as she instinctively hauls her thoughts back to Pure Class Wrestling and one Rick Majors.
Living a Legacy, huh? There is no legacy. When you die, you're dirt. There's no legacy to leave, just memories in someone else's head. Eventually everyone who ever knew you is dead, and your memory fades from human consciousness.
Cynical? Maybe. Try thinking of an ancestor four generations back. What did their voice sound like? What did they look like? What was their favorite food?
Exactly.
Majors' legacy is long gone, if he ever had one. He came to PCW, kicked some ass, then fluttered back into total anonymity like a butterfly in reverse. Living a Legacy is just another way of naming a stupid fucking sporting event because "sweaty mostly-men grappling in varying amounts of spandex as accompanied by tawdry storylines for your entertainment" wouldn't sell as many tickets.
And not just because most of the fanbase spooks at anything containing too many polysyllabic words.
Everyone seemed to think Jenks was just in it for The Darkness. Outside of it being the most generic name possible, it wasn't Jenks' party - it was Alexa's. But since her last stint in prison, Baby Jenks had lost her old boss - he'd "moved to Australia" then subsequently dropped off the face of the Earth. So it was Alexa's turn to be in charge, and Jenks was following along while trying to minimize the collateral damage.
A kid busts in, informing her that Vicki needs the keys to the car. Lifting her head from the screen for the first time in half an hour, Jenks looks out the internet room window to see partygoers cleaning up and packing things away.
Fuck yeah, time to leave. Maybe I can stash one of these comfy computer chairs in my trunk...
