Post by Eira on Sept 4, 2015 20:21:49 GMT -5
Head resting on her folded arms, Eira does her damndest to ward off the inevitable, closing her eyes to shut out the world. Awareness fading into blissful somnolence, the darkness from her closed eyes stretches back through her mind - just until Murdoc’s massive paw reaches down and tousles her sleep-rumpled hair.
“Thank you for getting up so early, Amba.”
Only for this man (and possibly a house fire) would she be out of bed at why-the-fuck-am-I-awake o’clock EST AFTER having gone to sleep. 4:30am on a night out? Rock on. 4:30am after having gone to bed at midnight? Go fuck yourself.
“I love you. I do. Why is the awake happening?”
A tolerant chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Because I need you to drive me to the gym.” Stepping behind her, Murdoc rubs her shoulders then her back, his large hands moving in long, caressing strokes.
“You. Car? I know you have one.” Eira steadfastly refuses to lift her head, denying the impending day. Murdoc’s hands leave her back as he steps away, two strides taking him across the kitchen to the fridge. Wincing at the indecently loud crack of a can opening, she hears Murdoc’s hearty swallow before he clears his throat to reply.
“In the Order’s local shop, remember? Needs a bit of work done.”
A bit of work. Right.
The claw marks of some massive beast that shouldn’t exist had torn through the roof of the vehicle, hellbent on opening the mobile tin can for its tasty contents. Leaving aside entirely the broken windshield, busted tail lights, and the humanoid-sized dent in the hood, it'd been a wild night.
Or as Murdoc calls it, “Thursday.”
“I still don’t know why they sent you to muzzle Samson. That’s hardly in your job description.”
“It’s what they needed me to do. I have other... things in the works but that’s not until later.”
Eira finally lifts her head, surrendering to the inexorable march of time, hauling herself to her feet. “Yeah. Great. Why are you going to the gym? Didn’t get enough of a workout last night?”
“Can’t skip leg day.” Murdoc grabs his black duffel bag, his unruly hair already pulled back into a knot at the base of his skull, holding the heavy front door open for her. Preceeding him from the house, she emerges into the pre-dawn gloom, their steps scuffing on the stone steps. Making their way down the flagstone path, they reach Eira’s car, slipping in to the black leather interior. As the engine fires up with a purring growl, Eira lets out a disgruntled sigh, her mood darkening the longer she remained conscious. Hands on the wheel, Eira pulls out of the drive, staring straight ahead with a grim expression on her face as she zips along the dark backwoods road.
“Amba, what’s WRONG? I’m sorry you had to get up so early, but -”
“What if I prove him right?”
Murdoc glances over, more confused than offended at the interruption. “Pardon?”
“What if - what if I’m not good enough? What if I’m just point blank not good enough to win, let alone hold, Pure Class Wrestling’s World Championship?”
A frown creases his brow as he looks straight at her. “But you’ve won it once already.”
To his surprise, she scoffs. “Yeah, that? Here’s the thing - NO ONE thinks I earned that. I’m not even talking about the fan response, but management told me it had been pure luck and I shouldn’t ‘rest on my laurels’.”
The big man shrugs, showing an impressive lack of concern with anything PCW management might have to say.
“So? What does that have to do with now?”
“I never beat Whitey Ford. I haven’t been able to beat Sadistic. Even Gem finally beat me." Contempt drips from her voice with the last sentence. “What if it’s just time for me to camp out in the lower brackets of the card and call it good?”
“Camp out in the lower brackets? No matter WHAT happens in this match, you STILL walk out a title holder - ONLY Sadistic’s title is on the line. How can you take issue with an arrangement like that?”
Eira has the grace to look slightly abashed, a faint blush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "If I don't win this - I'm done. They're going to put someone else up there with Sadistic to chase the title, and I'm going to fade into the realm of the has-beens."
“Eira, you've held THREE of PCW's titles now, in as many years. The World, the North American, and the Genesis. Do you know how many people go their ENTIRE CAREERS without even holding ONE?”
“Yeah.” Her frown smooths out, a calmer expression taking over. “That's true." She pulls the car to a smooth stop, throwing it into park while Murdoc gathers his things. “What time should I pick you up? I have a meeting with Altman this morning.”
“Don’t worry about it. Samson’s picking me up, said he felt bad for the other night and wants to take me out to lunch.”
Eira cracks a grin despite her mood. “Hopefully without the fur coat this time?”
Murdoc smiles back. “He knows better.” The smile fades as he regards her solemnly. “You are one of the most talented, most powerful competitors PCW has ever seen. It's time for you to find that place in yourself again - and remind Sadistic just who he fucked with."
He shuts the door with a quiet thud, striding into the building, several other people already present and at work on the machines.
Lunatics.
Lunatics.
Taking to the road, she heads east into the city, driving towards the brightening day.
A meeting with Altman. Maybe I can get some help with Sadistic. I need all the help I can get. All else aside, he's William "Billy Sadistic" Dillinger - farmer, freak of nature, general malcontent - and Black Hand member. A Black Hand member I'm still not able to beat. She winces, slipping on a pair of wide framed sunglasses as soon as the sun shoots its first rays over the trees. Well, I've beaten his ASS, I just haven't won a match against him. We've tested the idea - hasn't mattered if it's a three way or one on one. Maybe I need to take a page out of Gem's book and get my hands on him after he's already exhausted himself in a match.
The gunmetal grey Mustang glides through the thickening like a shark cutting through murky water, Eira's thoughts refusing to take on a brighter tone as she approaches the Order's compound.
He took a child I never knew I had... when he didn't even 'have' to. I'm not stupid enough to assume he wants me eradicated because he fears me, or wants me out of the way because I'm IN the way. Now there's nothing, and no one, in the way. I'll be failing or succeeding on my own merit alone, but I think he's got something extra going for him. I just need to find out WHAT.
With that thought churning through her mind she parks, stepping out to half jog into the shelter of the Order's lobby. Tugging off her sunglasses, she tucks them into her purse, making her way to the conference room in Altman's memo. Knocking on the door as she opens it, Eira pokes her head in to find Michael Altman sitting at the conference table, surrounded by paperwork. Raising an eyebrow at the usually fastidious Brit’s disarray, she speaks.
“Good morning. You wanted to see me?”
“Mm, yes. Just a moment, I need to find the relevant papers...” He trails off, sorting through the papers littering the conference table. “Please, have a seat.”
Eira sits on the edge of the closest chair, legs crossed, the fidgeting of her booted foot the only hint of her discontent. She waits for about two minutes before opening her mouth.
“What can the Order tell me about William Dillinger?"
Silence.
“Altman, I need to find out who Sadistic really is and what makes him tick. I can’t take him apart if I don’t know what he’s made of. I need to get to his CORE.”
Altman nods in polite disinterest as he scans the paperwork in front of him. “Yes yes, that sounds fine. Just remember the quickest way to get to the core of your enemies is with a power drill.”
“A power drill.” He looks up to see Eira’s deadpan stare, the man shrugging.
“A wine opener would also do in a pinch.” He returns to his paperwork as though he’d said nothing remotely unsettling, Eira staring at him for a moment before speaking again.
“I’ve seen the fan sites. Been kind of watching them to see where general sentiment lay. No one thinks I can beat him.”
“Well of course they don’t, you haven’t done it yet. It’s like I tried to tell my mate about the horses - no one bets on the long shot anymore.”
“Only because I’m not Gem. Were it her, they’d be throwing their votes like late middle aged women hurling sodden panties at Gene Simmons. I don’t even know why they -”
Altman’s eminently British decorum vanishes, taking his glasses off to glare at her with steely gray eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I’ve had just about enough of your whingeing about that jumped up little Keebler-spawn! You sound like a spoiled child.”
“I most certainly do NOT. You haven’t BEEN here for all of this!”
“Oh, I quite forgot, thank you. It’s certainly not as though you’re a ranking member of an organization that specializes in TRACKING YOUR EVERY MOVEMENT.” He crosses his arms, annoyed. “Would you PLEASE get over yourself long enough to take this match seriously?”
"What makes you think I'm not? Since you know everything about what I've been through, how about you tell ME how seriously I'm taking this!?" Tears start in her eyes, unbidden and unwelcome. "He took something from me I can NEVER get back - and he's taken more than that! He's taken my fans, my standing, and my credibility. I focus on Gem so I can forget about him, I bitch about that self-righteous brat so I can try to ignore the fact that he's taken up residence in my fucking HEAD!"
Altman gives her a long, speculative look. "I didn't realize. So... why aren't you doing everything you can to take it out of his hide?"
“I AM! Why do you think I’m asking you for help? Help YOU'RE not giving me!” Her voice raised, she fires him a glare that would have slapped a lesser man quiet. Sputtering, Altman gestures at the table.
“You - what - I - DAMMIT, WOMAN, do you have ANY idea the lengths I’ve gone to in order to make sure you’ve got every advantage?!” His voice nearly squeaks at the end, Eira knowing better than to smirk.
“Of course I don’t, seeing as you haven’t TOLD ME ANYTHING.”
“Look at this LOOK AT THIS.” He gesticulates wildly, pulling a large sheet of paper out from under the general confusion, shoving it across the table at her. Taking it up in her hands, Eira looks it over, confusion quickly giving way to realization.
“This - this is the venue?”
Altman nods, still miffed. “YES. Just LOOK at it! It’s perfect!”
She examines the large blueprint longer, taking note of several architectural anomalies. “Is this... is this what I think it is?”
He nods, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he settles his glasses back on his face. “It is. The oldest in the United States, in fact, built by the first branch of the Order to settle in the colonies.”
“I’ve never even heard of it. How could something this big go unnoticed?”
Altman gives her a pitying look over the rim of his glasses. “We’re the Order. We’ve simply erased it from history, another building taking the position as oldest in the US. This one, of course, is already crumbling - but its power remains.”
She nods, her sharp eyes tracing the hidden geometry in the building’s configuration. “This is more help than I had any reason to expect.”
His chest puffs a bit with pride, though still feeling miffed. “You’re welcome. This ensures you will have every edge. There’s just one catch.”
“What’s that?”
Reaching out, he plants a figure in the middle of the open, stage-like area in the building. “Here. He has to bleed here, or the power in the structure cannot be tapped. The lines of power MUST know that one of his ilk is present - and requires destruction.” He looks at her, eyes curious. “Do you think you can mange that?”
“Make Sadistic bleed on hallowed ground?” Eira’s lips curve into a dark, seductive smile, her amber eyes shifting to a light-eating black. The shadows of her angular face darken, her voice taking on a disturbing, multi-tonal quality.
“And thou shalt slay the ram, and thou shalt take his blood, and sprinkle it round about upon the altar.”
