Post by Lantlas on Oct 24, 2016 16:37:27 GMT -5
Just wanted to officially post this myself, as it will officially be the last piece I ever write as Lantlas. Lantlas was once how I metaphorized who I was, but now I no longer need to make it a metaphor. You now know what this was all about the whole time. Thank you for helping me find that.
-Ris
Through all the years, I never thought it would come to this.
The years had gone by, and my desire to return to what I once was became a ghost of a memory. Each day passed with the distance growing between who I tried to be then and who I really was, and I knew in that kind of environment, I’d never be accepted. It was hard enough being the different one without challenging certain lines to be crossed.
Who was I though? To many, I was a Hall-of-Famer, a World Champion, an icon of Pure Class Wrestling; but to myself, I was a fraud. Every day that I looked myself in the mirror, I saw what they couldn’t. Maybe that’s why being the elf was so easy… It was better than admitting the truth to myself.
Granted, society had changed a great deal since 2006, when I had the foolish arrogance of a young human. Even to an immortal, that time seemed like a different era, and in many ways it was. Relics from the past still hang around and hold their own, but it’s no longer the place it was when we reigned, when we established our reputations… When we set the bar high enough that the new generation could step up easier.
That was what I noticed when I started to make appearances again. The attitude toward us was that of accomplishment by reputation, that we were entitled to anything just because of who we were. Maybe all of our establishing and proving ground had been crossed, and therefore we were treated differently than the others who had yet to pass into legend. This dissent passed to my daughter, who wasn’t able to handle it, and I don’t blame her.
I don’t know how I ever did. Where once I craved attention and the spotlight, even training in swords and bows for the sake of effect, I now hid away in a lonesome cabin on Lake Superior, taking in the silence with the many books I never had a chance to read when I was always training. The words started making more sense as I devoted time to them instead of weights or mat tactics. I kept myself in shape, but mostly for purposes of my own self-image, which was drastically changing in ways that ten years ago I’d resisted as well.
I suppose this whole story has been one of resistance: The others’ resistance to accept me for who I was, and mine to accept myself. It wasn’t the blue hair or different status, the changing eyes or the mystical elements, it was who I truly felt myself to be inside. Internally, the sides that only a few in all my years ever saw, that was what I feared the most.
Now, a name I didn’t know had kept appearing on my phone. A name associated with that place nonetheless sought my services, my alliance, and my reputation to provide them with odds to even. What is it she wanted from me? An endless roster of former superstars and champions had to be of beckon call, right? Wasn’t Al Laiman or Ace Anderson available to step up from the commentator’s table? Weren’t Grimm and Sadistic still kicking? Hell, wasn’t Emerald available to come back from her new mission for a nostalgia trip?
Apparently not. She wanted me, or at least the me that PCW remembered. Kelli Star, a name I knew not through association but by remembrance in passing, was the source. I was the intended target, the final member of a match to celebrate the 200th episode of Trauma. I couldn’t even remember how long it had been since I last competed on such a show, and it didn’t really matter. No matter which version of me they got, it wasn’t who I saw in the mirror each and every day.
Finally, a knock at the door disturbed my train of thought. Reluctantly, I opened the door to find the face to put to that mildly familiar name. There she stood, glistening with the fire and motivation I once held to prove the world wrong; I couldn’t help but remember what that adrenaline felt like once upon a time, but I knew who I had to portray. I was the elf, the immortal one, the Hall-of-Famer; not… that.
“Hello… I’m sorry for coming out here, but… can we talk? It’s important.” she greeted, cautious in her approach. I couldn’t blame her; coming this far out in the woods, thousands of miles away from South Carolina had to be intimidating, even for someone in my former business. I opened my hand and invited her inward, allowing her into the library I’d built for myself as a common area.
Her eyes darted around to the polished wood and annals of pages stacked piles high all around the cabin. I’d had the shelves built into the wood itself, hoping that would provide enough room for all the books I’d been acquiring since my retirement, but alas, double-stacking had become necessary once again. From great classic authors like Shakespeare and Hardy to the controversial ones like Burroughs and Vonnegut; I’d often take stacks of books five at a time and pour through them a chapter at a time, a book at a time.
“Wow. That’s uh - that’s a really impressive library! Books are pretty awesome. Do you have the Harry Potter series? It’s one of my favorites!” she followed up, awed by either the amount of books or being around someone known only by the former presence in the record books they’d left. Both involved some amount of distance and dehumanizing, though it be from many different directions for those purposes. “I um ,” she uncomfortably shifted, obviously hoping for a verbal response. That was my cue. She wasn’t going to leave without a dialogue.
“I have to say,” I finally answered, “I’m surprised to see you.”
“I’m surprised YOU’RE surprised.” She peered at me for a moment as though doubting my surprise. “I mean, I guess I could understand you not expecting me in particular, but don’t people track you down all the time?” she inquired.
“I’ve received stacks of letters over the years,” I replied, motioning toward the stacks of papers that held many words of encouragement and presence requested. “All of them wanting me to return to PCW for something or other. A match, an appearance, a promo, an enshrinement…” I tailed off, disappearing in my own mind in recollection. Those roads were dark and dangerous emotionally, but that wasn’t me, I assured myself. It wasn’t me. It’s who they saw.
Kelli studied my face for a long moment, her eyes following the angular features before her. Angular, yet subtly different. “You never came, though. There were a lot of times PCW really needed help. The Black Hand comes to mind right off the bat...” She trailed off, taking one calm step closer to me, her head tilted as though something had caught her eye.
“They never saw you, did they.” It’s not a question. She already knew. “They saw what you were to them. They saw the monolithic legend, THE Lantlas, the shining beacon of Pure Class Wrestling’s golden years. But they never saw YOU, did they?”
That caught me off guard. “How would you possibly know about that?”
“I know a thing or two about compartmentalizing oneself. By a thing or two, I mean a whole lot. So I can see the difference in everything I’ve ever seen you in, and how you actually ‘feel’ to me one on one.” I had to give her credit; she’d dug deeper than anyone else had in at least a decade. Perceptive, or detective-like… Either way, I was impressed, but also immediately defensive. No one ever getting close to me had ever stuck around once they got to know me for real. I wasn’t about to expect any different here. It was about the Trauma, not me. It was about the surprise, not me. It was about the elf, not me.
“That doesn’t mean you’ve done anything wrong, you know. It doesn’t mean the truth of who you are will disappoint anyone, it doesn’t mean you should keep everything you have in HERE -” She broke off, pointing at my chest. “- instead of letting it out THERE where it belongs. You need to be YOU, not who they want you to be.”
Staring off into space for what seemed like hours, my eyes finally met hers. We’d never met, or if we had, I’d forgotten. Yet somehow, I knew this would be okay. This wasn’t someone asking me to return to make another run at the main event. No, this was a chance for redemption. It was a moment to remember how far I’d come over these years, and a chance to go out the right way. I’d never forget how many of those people affected me all those years, but with my unfortunate habit of disappearing, I’d never gotten the chance to either thank them or make that final reveal.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “You’re absolutely right.”
She looked up, jade green eyes locked onto mine. “I have to be honest with you… I didn’t come here just to check on a who’s who of PCW’s history books.” Kelli fidgeted a bit, but greater need hauled her mind back to task in the span of two seconds. “I need your help. There’s that insane match going down at Trauma 200, and you’re the only person I can think of who can help us.”
“Oh? There isn’t anyone else who’s been in the ring more recently?”
“Not someone who can do what you can.” She scowled. “And I mean YOU, not the identity you’ve been wearing like a suit of armor. We’re in trouble.” Her eyes widened, anxiety pushing out her next words in a tumbling rush. “PCW is in trouble. There’s been a lot of scary bad shit happening, and not just the usual. Alexa Black will be there, Seromine will be there, and that’s already two people who have made it very clear they’d be happier with me dead. Then there’s Grimm… and Murdoc who just won the World title… and -” her voice broke, unfeigned fear catching her breath, “- Sadistic. He came back. We need help, Lantlas… there aren’t enough of us left…” Starr visibly steeled herself, shoulders back and chin up.
“PCW needs you, Lantlas. Will you come back? Just this once?” Despite her firm demeanor, I sensed the near desperation that had sent her this far from home.
“I’m in.”
With that, nods of respect were exchanged, and this was finally real. The door closed behind her, and I slowly drifted over to the mirror. The long trench coat that covered me despite the unseasonably warm weather was never meant to intimidate, it was to hide.
Always to hide.
The leather cloth drifted from my shoulders, exposing the soft skin one wouldn’t expect on someone like me. The low-cut top I was wearing beneath the costume peered out more than it had recently. My body was finally adapting to the treatment.
I reached up and let my hair fall over my eyes. My jawline had significantly softened, and hair was no longer pushing its way through my foundation. My eyes met my own in the reflection, and I realized that for the last time I’d be appearing in PCW, it would be the first time the rest of the world would get to meet the real me. It was a chance to go out on my terms, and allow them in on the secret I’d held the entire time.
Sure, I was different, but that wasn’t the point. 2006 was a dangerous time for people like me; our existence was confused with lines of morality. Now, despite the plethora of calls for castration and bills preventing us from being in public, the general atmosphere had changed. It was time for PCW to accept me for who I was all this time, and on their 200th show, I couldn’t think of a better way to show them.
My gloved hand gently grazed my growing chest. This was real, it was happening. Visibly into my transition, there was no hiding it from living up to my word. I’d give the PCW universe one last chance. I’d give Kelli Star one last ally. I’d hear “Dream is Collapsing” hit one more time. I’d step out into that blue light for one last tearful moment… And they’d know.
They’d all know.
The revered “Elven Warrior” Lantlas Anduril was a girl. That was the secret. That was the metaphor. That was what I’d hidden all this time. And now, a decade of frustration, pain, betrayal, hiding, and terms with which I had to deal would come to a head in one desperate flurry of whatever I had left in me as a warrior, a fighter, a competitor, and an out-woman. I pitied whoever stood on the other side of our grand alliance. They’d be suffering for these years’ worth of emotions. That is how this Elvish Tale would finally end.
So be it.
-Ris
Through all the years, I never thought it would come to this.
The years had gone by, and my desire to return to what I once was became a ghost of a memory. Each day passed with the distance growing between who I tried to be then and who I really was, and I knew in that kind of environment, I’d never be accepted. It was hard enough being the different one without challenging certain lines to be crossed.
Who was I though? To many, I was a Hall-of-Famer, a World Champion, an icon of Pure Class Wrestling; but to myself, I was a fraud. Every day that I looked myself in the mirror, I saw what they couldn’t. Maybe that’s why being the elf was so easy… It was better than admitting the truth to myself.
Granted, society had changed a great deal since 2006, when I had the foolish arrogance of a young human. Even to an immortal, that time seemed like a different era, and in many ways it was. Relics from the past still hang around and hold their own, but it’s no longer the place it was when we reigned, when we established our reputations… When we set the bar high enough that the new generation could step up easier.
That was what I noticed when I started to make appearances again. The attitude toward us was that of accomplishment by reputation, that we were entitled to anything just because of who we were. Maybe all of our establishing and proving ground had been crossed, and therefore we were treated differently than the others who had yet to pass into legend. This dissent passed to my daughter, who wasn’t able to handle it, and I don’t blame her.
I don’t know how I ever did. Where once I craved attention and the spotlight, even training in swords and bows for the sake of effect, I now hid away in a lonesome cabin on Lake Superior, taking in the silence with the many books I never had a chance to read when I was always training. The words started making more sense as I devoted time to them instead of weights or mat tactics. I kept myself in shape, but mostly for purposes of my own self-image, which was drastically changing in ways that ten years ago I’d resisted as well.
I suppose this whole story has been one of resistance: The others’ resistance to accept me for who I was, and mine to accept myself. It wasn’t the blue hair or different status, the changing eyes or the mystical elements, it was who I truly felt myself to be inside. Internally, the sides that only a few in all my years ever saw, that was what I feared the most.
Now, a name I didn’t know had kept appearing on my phone. A name associated with that place nonetheless sought my services, my alliance, and my reputation to provide them with odds to even. What is it she wanted from me? An endless roster of former superstars and champions had to be of beckon call, right? Wasn’t Al Laiman or Ace Anderson available to step up from the commentator’s table? Weren’t Grimm and Sadistic still kicking? Hell, wasn’t Emerald available to come back from her new mission for a nostalgia trip?
Apparently not. She wanted me, or at least the me that PCW remembered. Kelli Star, a name I knew not through association but by remembrance in passing, was the source. I was the intended target, the final member of a match to celebrate the 200th episode of Trauma. I couldn’t even remember how long it had been since I last competed on such a show, and it didn’t really matter. No matter which version of me they got, it wasn’t who I saw in the mirror each and every day.
Finally, a knock at the door disturbed my train of thought. Reluctantly, I opened the door to find the face to put to that mildly familiar name. There she stood, glistening with the fire and motivation I once held to prove the world wrong; I couldn’t help but remember what that adrenaline felt like once upon a time, but I knew who I had to portray. I was the elf, the immortal one, the Hall-of-Famer; not… that.
“Hello… I’m sorry for coming out here, but… can we talk? It’s important.” she greeted, cautious in her approach. I couldn’t blame her; coming this far out in the woods, thousands of miles away from South Carolina had to be intimidating, even for someone in my former business. I opened my hand and invited her inward, allowing her into the library I’d built for myself as a common area.
Her eyes darted around to the polished wood and annals of pages stacked piles high all around the cabin. I’d had the shelves built into the wood itself, hoping that would provide enough room for all the books I’d been acquiring since my retirement, but alas, double-stacking had become necessary once again. From great classic authors like Shakespeare and Hardy to the controversial ones like Burroughs and Vonnegut; I’d often take stacks of books five at a time and pour through them a chapter at a time, a book at a time.
“Wow. That’s uh - that’s a really impressive library! Books are pretty awesome. Do you have the Harry Potter series? It’s one of my favorites!” she followed up, awed by either the amount of books or being around someone known only by the former presence in the record books they’d left. Both involved some amount of distance and dehumanizing, though it be from many different directions for those purposes. “I um ,” she uncomfortably shifted, obviously hoping for a verbal response. That was my cue. She wasn’t going to leave without a dialogue.
“I have to say,” I finally answered, “I’m surprised to see you.”
“I’m surprised YOU’RE surprised.” She peered at me for a moment as though doubting my surprise. “I mean, I guess I could understand you not expecting me in particular, but don’t people track you down all the time?” she inquired.
“I’ve received stacks of letters over the years,” I replied, motioning toward the stacks of papers that held many words of encouragement and presence requested. “All of them wanting me to return to PCW for something or other. A match, an appearance, a promo, an enshrinement…” I tailed off, disappearing in my own mind in recollection. Those roads were dark and dangerous emotionally, but that wasn’t me, I assured myself. It wasn’t me. It’s who they saw.
Kelli studied my face for a long moment, her eyes following the angular features before her. Angular, yet subtly different. “You never came, though. There were a lot of times PCW really needed help. The Black Hand comes to mind right off the bat...” She trailed off, taking one calm step closer to me, her head tilted as though something had caught her eye.
“They never saw you, did they.” It’s not a question. She already knew. “They saw what you were to them. They saw the monolithic legend, THE Lantlas, the shining beacon of Pure Class Wrestling’s golden years. But they never saw YOU, did they?”
That caught me off guard. “How would you possibly know about that?”
“I know a thing or two about compartmentalizing oneself. By a thing or two, I mean a whole lot. So I can see the difference in everything I’ve ever seen you in, and how you actually ‘feel’ to me one on one.” I had to give her credit; she’d dug deeper than anyone else had in at least a decade. Perceptive, or detective-like… Either way, I was impressed, but also immediately defensive. No one ever getting close to me had ever stuck around once they got to know me for real. I wasn’t about to expect any different here. It was about the Trauma, not me. It was about the surprise, not me. It was about the elf, not me.
“That doesn’t mean you’ve done anything wrong, you know. It doesn’t mean the truth of who you are will disappoint anyone, it doesn’t mean you should keep everything you have in HERE -” She broke off, pointing at my chest. “- instead of letting it out THERE where it belongs. You need to be YOU, not who they want you to be.”
Staring off into space for what seemed like hours, my eyes finally met hers. We’d never met, or if we had, I’d forgotten. Yet somehow, I knew this would be okay. This wasn’t someone asking me to return to make another run at the main event. No, this was a chance for redemption. It was a moment to remember how far I’d come over these years, and a chance to go out the right way. I’d never forget how many of those people affected me all those years, but with my unfortunate habit of disappearing, I’d never gotten the chance to either thank them or make that final reveal.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “You’re absolutely right.”
She looked up, jade green eyes locked onto mine. “I have to be honest with you… I didn’t come here just to check on a who’s who of PCW’s history books.” Kelli fidgeted a bit, but greater need hauled her mind back to task in the span of two seconds. “I need your help. There’s that insane match going down at Trauma 200, and you’re the only person I can think of who can help us.”
“Oh? There isn’t anyone else who’s been in the ring more recently?”
“Not someone who can do what you can.” She scowled. “And I mean YOU, not the identity you’ve been wearing like a suit of armor. We’re in trouble.” Her eyes widened, anxiety pushing out her next words in a tumbling rush. “PCW is in trouble. There’s been a lot of scary bad shit happening, and not just the usual. Alexa Black will be there, Seromine will be there, and that’s already two people who have made it very clear they’d be happier with me dead. Then there’s Grimm… and Murdoc who just won the World title… and -” her voice broke, unfeigned fear catching her breath, “- Sadistic. He came back. We need help, Lantlas… there aren’t enough of us left…” Starr visibly steeled herself, shoulders back and chin up.
“PCW needs you, Lantlas. Will you come back? Just this once?” Despite her firm demeanor, I sensed the near desperation that had sent her this far from home.
“I’m in.”
With that, nods of respect were exchanged, and this was finally real. The door closed behind her, and I slowly drifted over to the mirror. The long trench coat that covered me despite the unseasonably warm weather was never meant to intimidate, it was to hide.
Always to hide.
The leather cloth drifted from my shoulders, exposing the soft skin one wouldn’t expect on someone like me. The low-cut top I was wearing beneath the costume peered out more than it had recently. My body was finally adapting to the treatment.
I reached up and let my hair fall over my eyes. My jawline had significantly softened, and hair was no longer pushing its way through my foundation. My eyes met my own in the reflection, and I realized that for the last time I’d be appearing in PCW, it would be the first time the rest of the world would get to meet the real me. It was a chance to go out on my terms, and allow them in on the secret I’d held the entire time.
Sure, I was different, but that wasn’t the point. 2006 was a dangerous time for people like me; our existence was confused with lines of morality. Now, despite the plethora of calls for castration and bills preventing us from being in public, the general atmosphere had changed. It was time for PCW to accept me for who I was all this time, and on their 200th show, I couldn’t think of a better way to show them.
My gloved hand gently grazed my growing chest. This was real, it was happening. Visibly into my transition, there was no hiding it from living up to my word. I’d give the PCW universe one last chance. I’d give Kelli Star one last ally. I’d hear “Dream is Collapsing” hit one more time. I’d step out into that blue light for one last tearful moment… And they’d know.
They’d all know.
The revered “Elven Warrior” Lantlas Anduril was a girl. That was the secret. That was the metaphor. That was what I’d hidden all this time. And now, a decade of frustration, pain, betrayal, hiding, and terms with which I had to deal would come to a head in one desperate flurry of whatever I had left in me as a warrior, a fighter, a competitor, and an out-woman. I pitied whoever stood on the other side of our grand alliance. They’d be suffering for these years’ worth of emotions. That is how this Elvish Tale would finally end.
So be it.