Post by Sadistic on May 22, 2015 1:45:42 GMT -5
“For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.”
-Virginia Woolf
Just for the record, the purpose of this story is to provoke thought.
In a sport dominated by men competing in a federation dominated by men, two incredibly talented women have managed to claw their way to the top of the card at Living a Legacy to challenge the PCW World Champion in the main event. Welcome to Pure Class Wrestling. Welcome to 2015. Men and women fight as equals. Men and women are equals.
* * *
It's been exactly six months to the day since William Dillinger invited young, eager Walter into a dark alley on that fateful Hangtown afternoon. Walter. The messy haired third grader. He's nine now, another birthday having come and gone. And here he sits patiently behind his desk in Miss Stanton's third grade class waiting to deliver his speech about fish, of all things. Miss Stanton has won numerous science awards – just ask her, she'll tell you – and really puts an emphasis on scientific studies.
“Ahem!” Miss Stanton has their attention. Seventeen little pairs of third grader eyes staring back at their third grade teacher. Principal Douglas had entered quietly midway through the last presentation prompting the award winning teacher to make her announcement. “As I'm sure none of you were aware, I was being considered for a teaching position up in Indiana at a much larger school for a much larger salary...” the blonde pauses to level an expectant glance at the tall, dark, and handsome principal “...but I've decided to keep my talents here at Hangtown Elementary.”
Unsure of the proper response to this situation, half of the class attempts an applause. Walter is not among them. Six months ago, William instilled in him something special. Something invaluable. Knowledge. Foresight. Reality.
Just for the record, Walter is not your normal boy. His eyes have lost that aura of childhood wonder, replaced with the knowing gaze of maturity beyond his years. His outlook on life is uninfluenced, his beliefs are transcendent, and his presentation...is next. Rising from his seat, he makes his way to the front of the class with a silent confidence. Peering down, he finds page number one.
Class and teacher wait patiently. And wait. Finally, Principal Douglas clears his throat. Without missing a beat, young Walter flows right into his presentation.
“Fish,” he announces clearly. “My report is on fish.” Walter reads verbatim from the page. “Fish live in many different bodies of water and come in many shapes and sizes. Some fish are barely visible to the naked eye and some are bigger than a boat. Sharks are fish.”
Walter looks up to his classmates and smiles. Rather than finding the page again, his eyes drift over to his award-winning teacher...and his smile fades. “Some fish eat smaller fish so that they can get bigger and bigger. They become the biggest fish in the pond, and then they'll try to find a bigger body of water. A lake. A sea. But some fish,” Walter coos with a sarcastic smile meant for Miss Stanton alone, ”don't want to move to a bigger body of water. They're scared of being the small fish again. They don't want to get eaten by all of the bigger, badder fish, so some fish, they just stay right where they're at in their small little pond. Even award-winning fish have been known to exhibit this type of activity. It's called a safety mechanism.”
Just for the record, that was a blatant dig at Miss Stanton. Right in front of the school principal. Before his agitated teacher can respond, Walter continues with his presentation. Sans his written notes.
“Now some fish, they like to take a little swim up a little tributary. Or a stream. And they take what you might call a 'leave of absence' and they leave their little lake. They go out on their own for awhile. Maybe they're tired of their pure little lake, maybe they've got stuff to do. Lay eggs and such. These fish, sometimes they find a new home. Other times, these fish get the urge to come back. Some of these fish come back even bigger and better than when they left and they climb to the top of the food chain.” Walter's tone deepens. “But some of these fish, they decide to come back and they are surprised to find that they're no longer the biggest fish in their pure little lake. In fact, they're no longer big fish at all. They're simply average...”
Just for the record, that was a blatant dig at Lantlas Anduril. See also: Murdoc. See also: Non Compos Mentis, Nacho Grande, LoKi. See also: Any other PCW Legends that Luis Malave might bring out of retirement.
* * *
“Lantlas FUCKING Anduril!” Billy Sadistic's rage cannot be understated here. “First Non Compos Mentis. Then Murdoc. Eira! Kelli Starr! LoKi! Nacho Grande! ... LANTLAS ANDURIL!!! Are there any other PCW Legends that would like to magically pop in?!”
Right on cue, Phinehas Grimm steps through the front door. Sadistic turns an incredulous gaze on his younger brother. Ruth is unfazed.
“Ruth knew. Did you know?!”
Grimm shrugs absentmindedly. “What? That Gem is Lanty's daughter?”
The elder Dillinger turns and puts his fist through the sheet rock before turning his anger back on his brother and sister. Grimm levels a glacial glare at the Phenom, his chilly blue eyes shooting icicles at his brother. “Cool it.”
“I don't understand how you didn't see it,” thinks Ruth aloud.
“Or smell it,” adds Phinehas. “The scent alone was a dead giveaway...”
Smell it? Were William's senses beginning to fail him? The aging process was a brutal one, and even walking folk legends were susceptible to a little lengthening in the tooth. A couple months from his forty-fourth birthday and it appears that the infamous PCW World Champion finds his once keen skills in decline. But had he really missed something that obvious? Had he fallen prey to the youthful veneer of a trained assassin hook, line, and sinker?
Just for the record, the gravity of the situation has been cranked up a couple hundred degrees. Celsius.
“This is perfect.” The sarcasm hung rank in William's humid, putrid breath. “Just when we had the Order right where we wanted them, the daughter of Malave's favorite monster just happens to wander right into the middle of the oldest conflict in the history of humanity?! I'm not buying it, and we're running out of time. The odds are piling up against us so quickly we can't even tread water.”
Living a Legacy was supposed to be a death blow. The Death Blow. Eira ousted. Malave's tyranny and henchmen vanquished. True order restored. But PCW's owner had proven far more resourceful than anticipated. He'd rallied together a veritable Who's Who of PCW Legends. Where to begin? Justin “Stormm” Michaels. Non Compos Mentis. LoKi. Eira. Murdoc! Nathan Saniti. Nacho Grande. Gem. Cory Steel. And the aforementioned Lantlas “Fucking” Anduril! Meanwhile, the Black Hand's pool of allies consisted of: “Dollface” Kelli Starr. Period. The end.
“Who's next?” Sadistic wonders. “Wait, don't tell me. Ace Anderson - “Greatness in the Flesh” himself – is going to no-sell that broken neck at the hands of MONROE and vacate the commentary booth...all in the name of joining the cause!”
“Well, it wouldn't be the first time something like that happened,” came Grimm's reply in response to the no-sell comment.
Brushing off the accusing remark, Sadistic continues. “It's only a matter of time before Whitey Ford comes back looking for his pound of flesh, too. What is that...? Eleven...twelve-on-three? I mean, we're good...but this is getting ridiculous.”
Speaking of Whitey Ford, with challengers coming from all angles, Sadistic has a sudden understanding of what it must have been like walking in the Asshole's shoes.
“Twelve-on-three,” digests Ruth. “But what about Kelli?”
Grimm watches studiously as Billy shoots his sister a contorted look as if she'd just passed gas in church. “What about Kelli?! Is that supposed to be funny? She couldn't even carry out a basic – and I mean BASIC – list of beatings and muggings last week. Her only use right now is as a distraction against the magician.”
“And if she takes Nathan's belt at Living a Legacy?” Grimm's eyebrow arches beneath a curtain of shaggy crimson locks. Sadistic's lids narrow around anti-freeze green irises, as if this were the first time he'd even considered the possibility.
“We must make it so. Black Hand member or not, if the International Championship belongs to Kelli Starr, then Kelli Starr belongs to the Black Hand. Michael will secure the next shot at our World title, and you'll put a muzzle on that nuisance, LoKi. The pieces are slowly starting to fall into place.” William's gaze floats to the rafters, but his mind is somewhere else entirely.
“And our numbers disadvantage,” Ruth wonders.
“At Living a Legacy, we will reassert our dominance and reassure our Brothers and Sisters that we are still the most powerful unit in Pure Class Wrestling,” mutters the elder Dillinger in a distracted tone as the visualization plays out on a dark little stage inside his head. “And we'll do so by unveiling our newest member...”
* * *
Standing at the head of the Church of the New Lights with a white knuckle grip on the edges of the black pulpit, William Ian Dillinger's eyes are wide as headlights as they shine their fury upon the Brothers and Sisters in attendance. Blistering flames dance an Irish step jig at his flank and the scene is becoming less a mockery of Marcus Murdoc and more a staple of the PCW World Champion. His black Sunday best ensemble has long since been soaked through with florid, inspired perspiration and the tendrils of his charcoal beard lash about as if Zeus has released the Kraken. The Phenom's forehead creases with fury beneath a straw farmer's hat that holds his sweaty, matted hair out of his face. He'd done some awful things while wearing that hat.
“And I implore you, Brothers and Sisters of the cause,” the flames dancing and weaving in rhythm with the syllables of Dillinger's cadence. “Fight the good fight, man! For this world, it can be a cold, dark, cruel place and we need to remember what it is that we're fighting for. The outside world exists within a system...exists within a society that has poisoned man's soul, and it is up to the Hand to purify these people of their ignorance. Of their vanity. Of their complacency.”
The members of the parish – mothers, fathers, and children alike – cry out in unison.
“There are those that would block our righteous path, friends. Nathan Saniti,” bellows Sadistic, hammering his fist onto the podium for emphasis. “A doppelganger hellspawn bent on opposing the Hand at every turn! Fear not his illusions, Brothers and Sisters, for they will not sway an uncorrupted mind. And do not be fooled by his debonair manifestation lest you allow the mad tea party host escort you directly to his furnace.”
Sadistic mops his forehead with a kerchief as the flames lick higher and higher. “Do not blame Gem, Brothers and Sisters, for she already has enough weight on that narrow set of shoulders. Isn't it bad enough that young Emerald, her father, and her close companions are being used as pawns by the owner of Pure Class Wrestling to combat the Black Hand? NAY!!! She is but a young girl in appearance only. Beneath her skin dwells the body of an assassin. A cold, calculating killer armed with an innocent smile to lure you in just long enough to plunge a crooked dagger between your short ribs. But the wicked hands that weave the wheel of time have woven a woeful web for her. The irony in all of this is that Gem's birth was a mistake she'll spend her whole life trying to correct.”
Just for the record, that was brutal, but honest. Just for the record, today's forecast: Thanks, dad.
“And that leaves us with the Order.” The mere mention of the enemy draws a venomous hiss from a hundred Black Hand pit vipers ready to strike. Sadistic takes it all in, drawing strength from their single-minded devotion. “Murdoc has been loosed to stalk beyond every sharp corner and lurk in every dark alley, but right now our fight is with Eira. Regardless what shape the Order takes, they will always oppose the freedoms and the ideals of the Hand, and for that reason they must be destroyed. When the history books look back upon the Hand and the Order hundreds of years from now, the Hand will be remembered for what they created. And the Order, for what they destroyed.”
“But it is with great pain and difficulty that I ask you to forgive me for what I must do next...”
* * *
Young Walter's speech should have ended over a minute ago. Far be it from Miss Stanton to interrupt lest she receive another tongue lashing in front of her precious third grade class. And Principal Douglas.
“Which brings me to the Emerald fish,” continues Walter. “Now, the funny thing about the Emerald fish that a lot of people don't know is that the Emerald fish is actually a catfish. The Emerald catfish is very small and very pretty, but has a pointy spine and razor sharp fins that have been known to slice flesh all the way to the bone. They typically prey on weaker fish, small eels, and insects and have been known to be quite persistent in the pursuit of their prey.”
Just for the record, that was an analogy.
“The Glen Eira Octopus,” is as far as Walter gets before he's cut off by his brainy, award-winning teacher.
“Actually, Walter,” she interjects condescendingly, ”an octopus is not a fish. It's a cephalopod mollusc.”
Walter let's out a Michaels-like sigh before reading from his paper again. “The Glen Eira Octopus, also known as the blue ring octopus, makes the list of ten deadliest fish in Australia, but it's actually a cephalopod mollusc.” Walter scrutinizes his super-smart teacher with unimpressed eyes, prompting her to smooth her skirts. “The Glen Eira Octopus, despite being small in size, is one of the most toxic sea creatures in the world. It's venom causes slow paralysis and even cardiac arrest. One strange behavioral quirk about this beautiful creature is that after paralyzing its victim, the Glen Eira Octopus will slowly eviscerate the living prey before consuming it with a sharp beak. The octopus generally preys on scallops, eels, and other weak sea creatures.”
Tales of these voracious predators has harnessed the attention of the classroom, but the two adults in the room are growing impatient. Walter quietly folds his papers in half, much to the relief of his teacher...but continues with his speech.
“And last, but not least, there is the Dillinger Eel,” announces Walter, his cheeks reddening with pride. The mention of the Dillinger name causes several of the students to look to their teacher with worry. “The Dillinger Eel is a crafty eel that is weak and frail in nature. In the water, if gives off the vibrations of a wounded or dying fish. Unfortunately, these vibrations attract predators. These eels are typically black or dark red, but have a distinctive golden tail that resembles a lure. Predators are attracted to the shiny, golden tail and they move in for the kill...”
“Oh, Walter, enough of this rubbish,” interrupts Miss Teacher, but the young boy talks right over her.
“...and just when they're about to devour the weak, sickly eel tail-first, the monster turns on them in an instant with razor sharp fangs!!!” Walter's classmates recoil in fear. “Dillinger Eels will typically attack the head and face of their victim with several bites and are the only known creature in the animal kingdom to pose as prey in order to attract and kill other predators. They will feed on just about anything, but especially enjoy dining upon catfish and octopi...”
“Actually, Walter,” comes Miss Stanton's snide commentary, ”there are no known animals on the planet that do such a thing and the Dillinger Eel isn't real. Now take your seat.”
“Actually, Miss Stanton,” retorts a brash young Walter, ”you aren't real. You're just a thirty-something shell of what was probably a decent teacher hidden behind makeup and hairspray teaching us enough nonsensical rhetoric and award-winning bullshit to make our heads spin.”
Whether they were able to follow along with the conversation or not, the blatant defiance – in front of Principal Douglas, no less! - causes each and every third grader's jaw to drop open. Mr. Douglas begins loosening his belt as he approaches the little troublemaker. “Young man,” he smiles, a hint of enjoyment in his eyes, ”I've only got one word for you...”
“Yes,” replies William Dillinger, leaning casually in the doorway. “And Principal Douglas, I've only got one word for you.”
William begins loosening his belt as he slowly strolls towards a flabbergasted elementary school principal.
“PRAY.”
* * *
The time for talking was all but over, but Billy had one more task to accomplish before Living a Legacy's epic showdown. William strolled the storied halls of the Pure Class Arena in search of something. In search of someone.
In search of Eira.
This whole thing, the verbal jabs, the random beatings, the bloodshed, the quest for global enlightenment...well, it had all gotten way out of hand. And now Malave had added a dimension-traveling magician, a hobo king, a lethal assassin, and her immortal elf father to the equation. Immortal?
Sadistic snags a passing intern and gives a toothy grin to offset his unpersonable appearance. “Have you seen Eira, by chance?”
The intern, a young woman, nods quickly. “She just got done cutting a promo and I think she's in her dressing room.”
“Good. Can you do me a favor?” Again, she nods. “Can you tell her that I'd like to meet with her?”
Knowing the violent history between the two, her eyes narrow. “What about?”
“An alliance.”
Just for the record, this isn't about immortality. It never has been. The goal isn't to live forever; the goal is to create something that will. At Living a Legacy, the Black Hand stamps its legacy on PCW.
Nex Addo
