Post by Eira on Mar 19, 2017 22:16:33 GMT -5
Eira sets the phone down on the counter with a careful hand, the other scrubbing at her face with soul-deep fatigue.
“Problem, Amba?”
She turns, Murdoc lounging in the doorway, little Ivy astonishingly absent from his arms. Until she so much as squeaked, but that’s hardly the point.
“It was -”
“The Order.” His voice dark in an unpleasant way prompts a wince from his platinum-haired Queen.
“Yes. The Heirophant -”
His hands clench into fists as he takes an involuntary step forward, tension slamming into Eira’s body with the force of a freight train. Her instinctive step back is all it takes for Murdoc to recall himself enough for speech.
“What does that walking frog-jowl want now?” Venom drips from every word, Murdoc kicked back to his North Carolina roots by force of sheer loathing. Taking not a second to consider ribbing him about it, Eira tries to hide the trembling in her hands.
“He’s demanding an inspection.”
“So?”
“Of my records, Murdoc.”
He blinks, still confused, his position with the Order always more of a formality he just barely tolerated, not a career/oath as it was for Eira. Her brow furrows in frustration.
“He’s going to inspect my records. Under Order law, I have 24 hours from the time of notification.”
“Okay, but - well, your records, what can possibly be on them?”
“Murdoc, they’re a MESS. There are things in there that could get me evicted from the Order entirely. That aside, it doesn't even fully MATTER what's on them - the law of it is on his side. That means he can have any reason, any reason at all, to pull that trigger and as long as he says it right he's in the clear.”
He shrugs. “Alright, so fuck the Heirophant and let him do it. I WISH a motherfucker would. I WISH.”
A pop-culture reference, too? What’s next, dogs and cats living together - mass hysteria?
Arms crossed, Eira does her best to mask the glare sharpening her eyes. “If he does, that signs my death warrant.”
The flat tone in her voice, the stark ring of truth, makes his face go ashen before an irate red flush flares up to his hairline.
“I’ll be god-DAMNED if I let anything happen to you. The Order won’t TOUCH you. They wouldn’t DARE.”
She drops her head and bites her lip, the frustration taking on the burn of anger.
I get it. You’re a big badass, we KNOW that, you don’t need to prove it, and for fuck’s sake you’re killin’ me Smalls in the most literal way possible.
“Just something I’m worried about, that’s all.”
“Well, DON’T. Nothing is going to happen, I won’t let it.”
Somehow restraining a weary sigh, she lets her features smooth into a believable smile.
“You’re right of course, Love. Besides, I’m more worried about Ford.”
Murdoc contents himself with a light sneer of disdain. “Worried? Why?”
Staring at him as though he’d gone daft, she tilts her head, ticking the points off on her fingers. “Well, three reasons. One, he’s won or fought me to a draw every time. Two, he’s won or fought me to a draw every time. Three, I haven’t beaten him yet and I’m not sure if I can.”
“We’ve had this talk. We had it just before your last show, in fact. Besides, why are you so worried about beating him?”
She shrugs and grim(m)aces. “Pride. I want to beat him. I want to prove I can. I want to retroactively shut his smug, drunk, laughing, misogynistic, stupid face in.”
Murdoc raises his eyebrows. “Cheating, you also forgot cheating, though I’d say you’re right on target with the rest.”
She chuckles, nodding her head before her face shifts to one of speculation. “Except…”
“Except?”
“I don’t… he’s different now.”
Murdoc strides forward with a concerned look on his face, taking her gently by the upper arms and peering into her eyes.
“Sweetheart? Amba? Are you okay?”
The incongruently tender voice from the huge man prompts the laugh just as much as the absurdity of the situation.
“I’m fine. I am. But I don’t think he’s going to fuck me over at this point.”
“Eira. Honey. Love. My Queen. Are we talking about the same person? Whitey, ‘The Asshole’ Ford?”
“The very same. I’m not saying he’s the next face of PCW, I’m saying I don’t think he and I are going to try and kill each other anymore. Entirely too much trying to kill us first, and when you bond over making sure someone else’s body and soul stay together it’s hard to turn around on that.”
“Eira, I hardly think you two would have lost your lives. PCW has limits, and this fine, fine, orange-dusted land of ours has laws.”
She levels a deadpan stare at him. “One of the first shows I saw in Pure Class Wrestling, Kaard leapt off the TRON to land on Nacho. People connected with Alexa Black died in direct connection to the show. Some random fuckboy jobber got his bait and tackle snagged on a metal chair. The Junkyard Brawl where you threw NCM into a pile of rusted metal? The Cathedral match where I ad hoc crucified Sadistic and he pasted my head into a cement floor? Not to mention the part where you lit some poor bastard in a Ninja Turtle suit ON. FIRE. And that’s just since I’ve BEEN there!”
He mumbles something, staring down at the flagstone kitchen floor.
“What was that, darling?”
Eyes flicking up to her face, big and blue like a little boy busted with his hand in the cookie jar, he repeats himself. “I said Leonardo didn’t DIE, so…”
“Irrelevant to the purposes of this conversation and you know it. The point is, I don’t think Whitey is out to destroy me anymore… and that removes my reason to destroy him. He’s not on the Order’s radar in any way, except my Handler is now tracking him as a potential ally.”
Murdoc’s eyes narrow. “Your whatnow? Handler?”
She winces again, managing to keep the expression off her face. “I’ve gone far enough as an Operative I’ve been given to a special trainer. They’re called Handlers, and they’re designed to guide those of exceptional but dangerous ability. He’s been where I have, and then some… a lot of the same things I’ve done, but the Big Kid version.” Her turn to look at the floor and mutter, she sighs. “First person to make me feel inadequate in my talents and intrinsic abilities in a long time.”
Bare feet shuffling, Murdoc heads to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher and pouring himself a glass of his personal drink. Setting it back, he grabs Eira a bottle of her favorite iced tea before taking a long swallow of his beverage. Smacking his lips, he grins.
“Man, that’s some good stuff!”
Eira contents herself with an amiable nod, preferring not to point out the absurdity of PCW’s Unclean Beast having a secret weakness for pink lemonade.
“Out of everyone there, the one I’m worried about trying to kill me is Seromine. He’s scaring me. I thought Willard was a good guy?”
Murdoc shrugs. “He was pretty harmless in so much as anyone at PCW is harmless. Bit crazy, bit violent, nothing unseemly or untowards.”
“I don’t know what happened, but he’s a threat. A solid threat.” A swig of jasmine green tea. “A solid threat that Whitey has PROVEN he will help me with. I’d say that makes me about to hit a match with someone who could be a pretty good time.”
“Phrasing.”
She flicks a casual, ineffective backhand into his massive chest. “You know what I mean. Besides, at least it’s something else to think about. Thinking about the inspection is just making me anxious as all hell.”
“Amba, it will be FINE. Stop fretting.”
Murdoc wraps her in his arms, chin resting on top of her head as he envelops her in his presence, not feeling the wall of fear and doubt in its way.
I hope you’re right. GOD I hope you’re right.
“Problem, Amba?”
She turns, Murdoc lounging in the doorway, little Ivy astonishingly absent from his arms. Until she so much as squeaked, but that’s hardly the point.
“It was -”
“The Order.” His voice dark in an unpleasant way prompts a wince from his platinum-haired Queen.
“Yes. The Heirophant -”
His hands clench into fists as he takes an involuntary step forward, tension slamming into Eira’s body with the force of a freight train. Her instinctive step back is all it takes for Murdoc to recall himself enough for speech.
“What does that walking frog-jowl want now?” Venom drips from every word, Murdoc kicked back to his North Carolina roots by force of sheer loathing. Taking not a second to consider ribbing him about it, Eira tries to hide the trembling in her hands.
“He’s demanding an inspection.”
“So?”
“Of my records, Murdoc.”
He blinks, still confused, his position with the Order always more of a formality he just barely tolerated, not a career/oath as it was for Eira. Her brow furrows in frustration.
“He’s going to inspect my records. Under Order law, I have 24 hours from the time of notification.”
“Okay, but - well, your records, what can possibly be on them?”
“Murdoc, they’re a MESS. There are things in there that could get me evicted from the Order entirely. That aside, it doesn't even fully MATTER what's on them - the law of it is on his side. That means he can have any reason, any reason at all, to pull that trigger and as long as he says it right he's in the clear.”
He shrugs. “Alright, so fuck the Heirophant and let him do it. I WISH a motherfucker would. I WISH.”
A pop-culture reference, too? What’s next, dogs and cats living together - mass hysteria?
Arms crossed, Eira does her best to mask the glare sharpening her eyes. “If he does, that signs my death warrant.”
The flat tone in her voice, the stark ring of truth, makes his face go ashen before an irate red flush flares up to his hairline.
“I’ll be god-DAMNED if I let anything happen to you. The Order won’t TOUCH you. They wouldn’t DARE.”
She drops her head and bites her lip, the frustration taking on the burn of anger.
I get it. You’re a big badass, we KNOW that, you don’t need to prove it, and for fuck’s sake you’re killin’ me Smalls in the most literal way possible.
“Just something I’m worried about, that’s all.”
“Well, DON’T. Nothing is going to happen, I won’t let it.”
Somehow restraining a weary sigh, she lets her features smooth into a believable smile.
“You’re right of course, Love. Besides, I’m more worried about Ford.”
Murdoc contents himself with a light sneer of disdain. “Worried? Why?”
Staring at him as though he’d gone daft, she tilts her head, ticking the points off on her fingers. “Well, three reasons. One, he’s won or fought me to a draw every time. Two, he’s won or fought me to a draw every time. Three, I haven’t beaten him yet and I’m not sure if I can.”
“We’ve had this talk. We had it just before your last show, in fact. Besides, why are you so worried about beating him?”
She shrugs and grim(m)aces. “Pride. I want to beat him. I want to prove I can. I want to retroactively shut his smug, drunk, laughing, misogynistic, stupid face in.”
Murdoc raises his eyebrows. “Cheating, you also forgot cheating, though I’d say you’re right on target with the rest.”
She chuckles, nodding her head before her face shifts to one of speculation. “Except…”
“Except?”
“I don’t… he’s different now.”
Murdoc strides forward with a concerned look on his face, taking her gently by the upper arms and peering into her eyes.
“Sweetheart? Amba? Are you okay?”
The incongruently tender voice from the huge man prompts the laugh just as much as the absurdity of the situation.
“I’m fine. I am. But I don’t think he’s going to fuck me over at this point.”
“Eira. Honey. Love. My Queen. Are we talking about the same person? Whitey, ‘The Asshole’ Ford?”
“The very same. I’m not saying he’s the next face of PCW, I’m saying I don’t think he and I are going to try and kill each other anymore. Entirely too much trying to kill us first, and when you bond over making sure someone else’s body and soul stay together it’s hard to turn around on that.”
“Eira, I hardly think you two would have lost your lives. PCW has limits, and this fine, fine, orange-dusted land of ours has laws.”
She levels a deadpan stare at him. “One of the first shows I saw in Pure Class Wrestling, Kaard leapt off the TRON to land on Nacho. People connected with Alexa Black died in direct connection to the show. Some random fuckboy jobber got his bait and tackle snagged on a metal chair. The Junkyard Brawl where you threw NCM into a pile of rusted metal? The Cathedral match where I ad hoc crucified Sadistic and he pasted my head into a cement floor? Not to mention the part where you lit some poor bastard in a Ninja Turtle suit ON. FIRE. And that’s just since I’ve BEEN there!”
He mumbles something, staring down at the flagstone kitchen floor.
“What was that, darling?”
Eyes flicking up to her face, big and blue like a little boy busted with his hand in the cookie jar, he repeats himself. “I said Leonardo didn’t DIE, so…”
“Irrelevant to the purposes of this conversation and you know it. The point is, I don’t think Whitey is out to destroy me anymore… and that removes my reason to destroy him. He’s not on the Order’s radar in any way, except my Handler is now tracking him as a potential ally.”
Murdoc’s eyes narrow. “Your whatnow? Handler?”
She winces again, managing to keep the expression off her face. “I’ve gone far enough as an Operative I’ve been given to a special trainer. They’re called Handlers, and they’re designed to guide those of exceptional but dangerous ability. He’s been where I have, and then some… a lot of the same things I’ve done, but the Big Kid version.” Her turn to look at the floor and mutter, she sighs. “First person to make me feel inadequate in my talents and intrinsic abilities in a long time.”
Bare feet shuffling, Murdoc heads to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher and pouring himself a glass of his personal drink. Setting it back, he grabs Eira a bottle of her favorite iced tea before taking a long swallow of his beverage. Smacking his lips, he grins.
“Man, that’s some good stuff!”
Eira contents herself with an amiable nod, preferring not to point out the absurdity of PCW’s Unclean Beast having a secret weakness for pink lemonade.
“Out of everyone there, the one I’m worried about trying to kill me is Seromine. He’s scaring me. I thought Willard was a good guy?”
Murdoc shrugs. “He was pretty harmless in so much as anyone at PCW is harmless. Bit crazy, bit violent, nothing unseemly or untowards.”
“I don’t know what happened, but he’s a threat. A solid threat.” A swig of jasmine green tea. “A solid threat that Whitey has PROVEN he will help me with. I’d say that makes me about to hit a match with someone who could be a pretty good time.”
“Phrasing.”
She flicks a casual, ineffective backhand into his massive chest. “You know what I mean. Besides, at least it’s something else to think about. Thinking about the inspection is just making me anxious as all hell.”
“Amba, it will be FINE. Stop fretting.”
Murdoc wraps her in his arms, chin resting on top of her head as he envelops her in his presence, not feeling the wall of fear and doubt in its way.
I hope you’re right. GOD I hope you’re right.
