Post by bennett on Dec 19, 2021 8:52:18 GMT -5
Negotiation's Over
====================
Dec 9th, 20th
Chase Center
San Francisco, CA
The immediate aftermath of the main event on Fallout.
Arik Holt addresses the two men in the ring - Steele and Long - while flanked by the victors of the previous match, Billy Bennett and Syndicate.
As the boss drones on - setting up some sort of match at the next PPV - Billy pays zero attention to his words; or anything else for that matter. Although her eyes remain open, she stares off into the distance without truly seeing anything.
Her mind runs through every blissful, satisfying moment of the fight with lightning speed; lips twitch up into a momentary smile as she replays it in her head, trying to hold onto that wonderful feeling coursing through her for as long as she can.
Then, she finds herself moving without any conscious decision on her part; simply following Arik and Syndicate, as though her body were acting of its own accord.
Soon enough, they’re backstage, out of the view of the crowd and the two men left in the ring. And still, Billy’s mind is entirely consumed with the memory of what just occurred, savoring the sensations that flood her overstimulated body.
It was the kind of rush she had only ever felt when stalking and hunting those that were truly worthy of her time and effort.
No, it was even better than that.
For the first time in her life, Billy Bennett had found some proper competition. The sort of big game that didn’t turn and run at the first sign of trouble, or struggle weakly in her grip. Here on Fallout, she was provided with others like her; perhaps not as unstable, but no less dangerous for their comparative sanity.
It was the sort of thing she’d been looking for her entire life, without even being able to put it into words. Without even knowing that this was exactly what she’d always needed.
Billy could have played with Sawyer and Jason for hours. She can’t even rightly guess how much time passed during that match - so focused on the ebb and flow of violence - but she knew it wasn’t enough.
Finally, the trembling limbs - robbed of the sensory overload she had been experiencing in the ring - get the better of her, and she’s forced to stop. Pressing her back up against the nearest wall, she breathes heavily, fluttering the greasy hair that hangs in front of her face with every exhale.
“Arik...?” she says, voice unusually calm and subdued after such an intense match. Notably, she’s careful to not use the man’s real name; after all, one can never be too sure who is listening.
The GM pauses briefly, turning to face his demented soldier with a quizzical look on his face.
Billy meets her boss’ gaze, eyes wet and glistening with pure, overflowing ecstasy. In one breathy whisper, she offers a single word:
“Thanks.”
The man’s curious expression turns to a slightly amused one, and he offers Billy a nod before walking off; leaving the young woman to bask in the afterglow of the match.
The sweating, trembling, wild-eyed young swamp dweller sliiiiides down to the ground - slowly, inch by inch - before coming to rest on the floor, her back propped up against the wall. Billy runs one shaking hand through her messy hair, as she tries to rush fresh oxygen into her waiting lungs; attempting to exert some control over the adrenaline pumping through her bloodstream.
What a lovely night.
====================
Sitting in the driver’s seat of an old GMC pickup truck is Billy Bennett, looking significantly calmer than she did after the most recent episode of Fallout. The vehicle is parked outside a modest road-side restaurant, situated somewhere between Everglades City and the Bennett compound near Deep Lake.
As the engine idles with a low rumble, Billy stares at the entrance of the diner. She’s here to pay a visit to the owner, a man who has owed the family protection money going on two months now.
She hadn’t even had a chance to kick her boots off back in the rundown shack she calls home, before one of the family’s goons approached her with orders from her eldest brother, Bo. Though she bristled at the thought of messages being passed to her through anyone other than blood relatives - she never did much like outsiders - she eventually agreed to go do this little spot of work.
After reducing the messenger to a sobbing heap, curled up on the bare wood floor next to her filthy mattress. He really ought to have known better than to interrupt Billy in her private quarters.
So here she was, the truck’s radio jammed between stations to fill her ears with static; something far preferable to any sort of music or inane conversations. The seat reclined slightly, she puffs away on a joint held between index finger and thumb; the smoke filling the interior of the vehicle with a thick, skunky aroma.
Through a pair of heavily-tinted sunglasses, her eyes wander from the diner to scope out the assortment of cars parked in the lot. Seems pretty busy, but she had no doubt that she could clear the place out quick enough.
No problems there.
Even the sheriff’s car - when she finally notices it - doesn’t seem to concern her. The law around here has been in the pocket of her people for generations; she could shoot a man in plain sight on the street, and likely not even see the inside of a police station as a result.
Her only concern in the territory claimed by her family was ambushes by rival organizations or dealers who might try to muscle into the family’s lucrative criminal enterprise. A whole childhood spent with the specter of gang warfare forever hanging in the background - and plenty of actual shootouts with other crews - have left her in a state some might call perpetual paranoia.
As for Billy? Well, she’d just call it being smart enough to stay alive.
Confident that things will go smoothly - no out-of-state license plates, no idling cars, and no sign of people waiting in their vehicles to shoot up whoever came to collect the family’s debt - she lets her mind wander a bit. Releasing the tentative hold she has over her unstable psyche, the thoughts crowding her brain wash over her.
Billy thinks back to what people had been saying about her leading up to the last match.
That she was only in True Society to secure herself some hypothetical spot on the roster, or one of those worthless title belts that everyone else seemed to value and desire so much.
Ridiculous.
Evidently they didn’t understand the way her mind worked. Was she really so different from the rest of them? While they acted - apparently - only out of lust for glory, accolades and meaningless prizes, her motivation was something simpler.
More natural.
Pain. Not just for her opponents, but herself as well.
Billy didn’t need anything more than that.
She wanted to watch all of Project: Honor - not just her own personal corner of it - drown in waves of blood, unleashed by the man pulling the strings on Fallout.
Being in it for anything else would just be greedy.
Why was she seemingly the only one in the group satisfied with suffering inflicted and suffering received? All these supposed killers, and they seem more wrapped up in trinkets than reveling in the very thing they were born for?
As much as it irked her to see Syndicate, Valkyrie, Havoc and Slade tote around those belts like it meant something, she was practical enough to let it go without confronting them. As long as Billy could do what she was here to do, she was able to ignore all the rest.
Focus on the thrill of the hunt. The adrenaline rush of a proper fight. The undiluted excitement that came from overcoming those who were just as dangerous and brutal as she was.
If Arik kept giving her worthy adversaries, ones who could take Billy to the edge and test her limits, then she could put aside her feelings, grit her teeth, and bear being teamed up with a bunch of blowhards.
For as long as it kept her amused, at any rate. Not one second longer.
Taking off her round-lensed sunglasses to reveal tired, bloodshot, lidded eyes, she tosses them onto the dashboard. Opening the driver side door, she hops down onto the pavement below.
Time for a spot of family business.
And maybe something to eat. She can’t rightly remember the last time she put anything into her body; something that wasn’t snorted or smoked, at least.
====================
The bell above the diner’s front door jangles, cutting through the assorted conversation - and clinking of cutlery on plates - as several eyes are lifted up to stare at the newcomer.
And almost instantly, the very same people that took a quick glance to see who walked into the diner begin to get up, toss money on their tables to cover the bill, then shuffle towards the exit. Notably, they all take great care to avoid meeting the eyes of Billy Bennett, as she holds the door wide open for them to make their departures.
A few of the patrons still seem oblivious - including the pair of sheriff's deputies sitting in front of the lunch counter - so she takes the still-burning joint out of her mouth, places two fingers between her lips, and whistles.
The noise slices through the small eatery, as everyone remaining look over at the source of the sudden, sharp sound. Just like that, everyone else realizes they’re not really hungry and probably have something important to do elsewhere, because they soon head towards the door.
The last two to leave are the pair of uniformed deputies, the one in front actually making eye contact with Billy as he moves towards the fresh air outside. Tipping the brim of his hat down, he offers the girl a respectful nod.
“Billy, nice to see you. Give Bo our best.”
“Mornin’. I’ll be sure to do that,” she replies in her thick Everglades drawl, shooting a wink at the officers before gesturing with her head that they - too - should probably hurry the fuck out of here.
They seem more than happy to oblige; the amount of deference they pay to the known criminal would be shocking to an outsider... but around here, that’s just the way things go.
Nobody touches the Bennetts. Hell, nobody even looks at them cross-eyed.
Men have disappeared into the swamp - never to be seen again - for less.
The diner now empty of customers, only one man - evidently the owner and operator - stands, frozen to a spot near the cash register. He’s already dripping sweat as Billy begins to stroll in his direction.
He shuts his eyes tightly as she approaches striking distance, no doubt expecting the worst; after all, Bo never sent his only sister out just to talk to people, or even to collect on debts. No, she only made an appearance when the head of the Bennett clan wanted something more permanent done to those who got on the family’s wrong side.
But no attacks are coming. Not yet.
She suddenly swerves around him, walking behind the counter and grabbing an entire pie from inside a display case. Carrying it to a stool in front of the long lunch counter - covered with half-eaten plates of food and half-empty cups from the recently vacated patrons - she settles in.
Pushing the pie to one side for a moment, she grabs a coffee cup - still close to full with lukewarm black liquid - and lifts it to her lips for a small sip. Wiping her mouth with the back of one hand, she places the cup back onto the table and deposits the last inch of the joint into the coffee.
“Well, Chuck, I'm sure ya know why I’m here.”
No sooner has she said those words - eyes not even leaving the contents of the cup to look at the shivering owner - then the man tosses an overstuffed envelope onto the counter in front of her. With a flat, uncaring expression she casually picks it up and begins to leaf through the contents with her thumb; full of bills, it looks to be more than $5,000.
Not a large sum to the family that controls all the crime within the borders of Collier County, but it’s the principle of the thing. Debts are debts, and Bo always makes sure his people collect on everything owed to him.
“I’m awfully sorry about being late with this, Billy, I hope Bo knows I wasn’t trying to screw y’all around on the payments. Things been slow lately, is all.”
Seemingly satisfied with the count, she tosses the envelope back onto the counter and reaches over to grab a plate of cold, sunny-side up eggs. Dragging it in front of her, she uses her bare hands to pick away at the food; she occasionally deposits a small scrap into her open mouth, but seems to be more interested in ripping them apart than eating.
“It ain’t about the money, and your family been livin’ ‘round these parts long enough to know it. It’s about sendin’ a message. That’s what I’m here for. Y’see, Bo don’t want his money no more.”
“Please, it ain’t like that. My people always been friendly with you Bennetts, I don’t want no trouble and it... it’ll never happen again, ok?”
Pushing the half-eaten eggs away in disgust, Billy rubs her chin as though she’s honestly considering accepting the debtor’s words at face value. She knows she could convince Bo to accept the late payment; despite him being the one who ran things and gave out orders, she’d always been the one he relied on to threaten and intimidate their soldiers and business partners.
Her brother commanded respect; she was satisfied with fear alone.
It’s almost ironic that Billy - the daughter their father never wanted in the first place - ended up becoming the most feared of the man’s numerous offspring. Even Bo himself owes his life to her; and she doesn’t hesitate to remind him, when it suits her purposes.
“He’s gonna be expectin' me to come back with a few pieces of ya, rather than some damn envelope fulla cash... but how about this: ya lemme sit here for a spell, and I’m sure I can smooth things over between him and y’all, alright?”
The exhale of relief from Chuck is a large, almost comical one. Almost instantly, the anxious energy surrounding the man disappears; although he still doesn’t seem entirely at ease.
Few are, when trapped in such close quarters with the twisted sister of the Bennett family. One can never be too sure what’s going on in that head of hers.
Ignoring the owner of the diner, Billy settles into a silence that stretches over minutes. Her scraggly mess of hair dangles limp, almost touching the messy countertop as she stares down at her faint reflection in the semi-glossy surface.
Finally, she opens her mouth and begins to speak, a low, deliberate croak that barely rises above a whisper as she fidgets with her hands. Looks like she’s desperately trying to keep her energy focused, so she can actually get out the following words without descending into an unhinged rant.
Let’s see how long she lasts.
“Y’all still wanna talk all that mess? Hmmmm?”
“‘Oh, she’s nothin but a hick from the backwaters of Florida.’”
“‘Look at the size of her, how tough could she be?’”
“‘That girl had to join True Society because she couldn’t cut it on her own.’”
“Y’know who believed all that shit? Jason Long and Sawyer, that’s who. And look how that ended up for them. Beaten clean by some redneck swamp rat, or whatever they wanna call me.”
“Must be embarrassin’ for a couple of strong men to get taken down like that. But I hope everyone backstage was payin’ attention.”
“I don’t need True Society on my side to take any of y’all apart, I can do that all on my lonesome. Bein’ with them is just me lookin’ out for the future of Fallout. Holt has a vision for the company; somethin’ beautiful, grand, and gory. I wanna protect him, until he can bring that dream to life.”
“Ain’t nothin’ more to it than that. Sorry if I don’t get all worked up over the idea of winning a title like the rest of y’all, chasin' dreams of relevancy, scramblin’ towards the spotlight like a buncha high school girls lookin to be crowned Prom Queen or some shit like that.”
“What’s it like to crave that kinda validation? Can’t live with yourselves unless everyone is pattin’ ya on the backs, huh?”
“Y’all make me sick, I really do mean that.”
“But lemme get right to the point. If ya got any sense in any of y’all’s heads, you’ll be takin’ me a bit more seriously in the future. Or keep underestimatin’ me, and see what the fuck happens to ya.”
“I’ll make an example outta as many of ya as I gotta, to make the point stick. Alright?”
Reaching into the pocket of her frayed jeans, Billy extracts a package of Lucky Strikes; she pulls a single cigarette from the pack before returning the rest to her pocket. An old, rusty Zippo lighter is brought out from within her leather vest to light up the cigarette. She takes a prolonged inhale, smoking rolling out of her mouth as she’s unable to bring the entirety of it into her lungs. Holding her breath for a moment, she exhales a cloud of tobacco; the smoke pouring down and billowing over the poorly cleaned surface of the counter beneath her face.
Flicking the ash into the same coffee cup she had dumped the joint into, Billy speaks while her hands gesticulate aimlessly; as though she were trying to emphasize certain points hidden deep within her meandering, rambling speech.
“But I tell ya, I really do feel sorry for that new girl; she ain’t got a clue what she walked into the middle of. Shoulda stayed somewhere nice and cozy, if ya ask me; but the thing is, people don’t really know what’s good for ‘em.”
It seems like that’s directed at the proprietor, who simply nods, beads of sweat rolling off his forehead. Fortunately he doesn’t have to worry about avoiding eye contact with her, as she doesn’t so much as turn in his direction.
If she were expecting some affirmative response from the man, she doesn’t wait long for one before moving on.
“Lotta times, they reach for things they oughta leave alone, or step into places they got no business bein’.”
Her head suddenly snaps towards the diner owner, who remains standing in the same space he was when Billy first entered. Clearly, he’s too afraid to move without her approval first.
Probably a good move on his part.
"Ain't that right, boy?!" she shouts at the frightened man, who instinctively gulps and blinks like he was just slapped across the face.
Nodding, he begins to reply in an uneasy, quivering voice, “Y-yeah, Bil-“
“SHUT UP!” screams Billy, spittle flying out of her mouth as she cuts him off abruptly.
Turning her attention back to the messy counter-top, she takes another drag on her unfiltered cigarette before ashing it - again - into that same cup… and then, she picks it up and takes a long sip from it. Doesn’t seem like she even realizes that she’s sucking down a mouthful of cigarette ash with that black coffee.
“Alyssa, ya poor thing, what was goin’ through that red head of yours when ya made up your mind to come join us here? Thought ya’d find a nice, safe place to pad your stats? Maybe another pretty belt to strengthen your legacy?”
“Well, whatever ya thought ya’d be walkin’ into, ya were dead wrong. This ain’t OWA, and ya ain’t gonna be fightin’ any fellow ‘Goddesses’, or no dumb shit like that. There ain’t no women’s division here for delicate princesses to feel safe in; we all get thrown into the same sinkhole, where only the monsters are strong enough to claw their way to the top... and the rest? They get left to choke on the blood and muck under our heel.”
“So lemme be the first to tell ya it was a big mistake comin’ ‘round these parts.”
As she finishes that sentence, she digs in the pocket of her jeans; pulling out that ‘N’ coin she had collected during the bloodshed in Whalan, she holds it up in front of her face and twirls it between her fingers.
“Speakin’ of mistakes, if ya thought pickin’ up that coin in the Purge was some kinda prize - an opportunity to make a big splash here - then you’re fuckin’ foolin’ yourself. All that coin bought ya was a ticket to the killin’ fields; and one look at ya tells me ya ain’t ready for it.”
Dropping the coin onto the counter, she shrugs.
“Dominatin’ the women’s division at that other company don’t make ya anythin’ more than the meanest girl at the sleepover, far as I’m concerned.”
“I ain’t even gonna pretend to be impressed with that. I got twelve brothers and I grew up fightin’ ‘em all, so if ya think I’m gonna be intimidated by someone who made their name stompin’ on a buncha skirts... prepare to be disappointed.”
“I mean, the last sweet young thing who didn’t know her place and stepped into that ring with me got beaten so bad that she ran with her tail between her legs - all the way back down to the developmental brand!”
She laughs at the memory of herself and Syndicate dominating Ellie Quinn; and the idea of her being so humiliated or scared that she had to flee Fallout for the comparative safety of Project Underground.
“It don’t take a keen eye to tell that you’re soft, girl. And it ain’t your looks, or your work in the ring, or none of that which gives ya away. It’s the way ya talk, full of hot air, eager to prove your worth, to have people singin’ your praises.”
“Ya oughta reconsider your priorities, Alyssa. It’s kill or be killed here on Fallout, and ya shouldn’t waste your energy worryin’ about nothin’ besides stayin’ alive.”
“But, y’know what? I ain’t as bad as they say. I got a soft spot or two myself, and I was thinkin’ it would be a real shame to make a mess of someone so pretty.”
“I’m feelin’ generous, so I’ll offer ya somethin’ that’s awfully rare comin’ from me: a deal. We all know ya ain’t winnin’ this; best ya can do is come out in one piece, without too many scars to ruin them good looks. So listen, when that bell rings, here’s what I want ya to do.”
There’s a low, dark chuckle that leaves Billy’s lips as her eyes twitch wildly; clearly relishing the mental image floating around her head. Once she’s collected herself, she proceeds to paint a picture of exactly what Alyssa Grace needs to do to walk out of their match in one piece.
“Drop on your hands and knees, and come crawlin’ across the canvass, right up to ol’ Billy... then roll onto your back, and bark like the dog ya are. If ya do all that like ya mean it, then I’ll protect ya from all the big, scary wolves roamin’ ‘round Project: Honor. I’ll keep ya safe, and there won’t be no need to worry ‘bout nothin’...”
As her unsteady voice rises and falls without any discernible reason or rhythm, one hand snakes out across the counter to grab the nearest utensil. Turns out to be a fork, which she clutches in her grip so tight that her knuckles turn white.
“I know I can convince Arik to let me keep a pet backstage; he’s reasonable like that.”
“Forget bein’ a champion; becomin’ my li’l ginger puppy is the most ya can hope for. Get used to the idea; ‘cause it’s either that, or I beat ya ‘till you’re so broken y’all will do whatever it takes to make the pain stop.”
“A future spent beggin’ for scraps off my table, lickin’ my plates clean, and hopin’ I decide to give ya an occasional scratch behind your ear instead of the whippin’ ya deserve. Don’t that sound nice, Alyssa?”
“But hey, it ain’t no skin off my hide if ya decide to take your chances in the ring with me. Sure, I may be a li’l bit hurt that ya ain’t takin’ my warnin’ seriously, but I can handle that. Matter of fact, I welcome the chance to teach ya a lesson or two; just don’t come cryin’ when ya realize what sorta mess ya got yourself into, y’hear? I ain’t gonna be in no mood to listen to your whinin’ at that point. Ya got one chance to save yourself.”
As if to illustrate the point, she holds up one index finger; wagging it back and forth with a friendly, cheerful smile on her face as she verbally rubs her opponent’s face in the dirt.
“At the end of the day, you’re stuck in the middle. Slade and I both answer to the same man, and Mikey and Sunshine got plenty of history with each other; more than ya got with either of ‘em, at any rate. So where does that leave ya, huh?”
“Without a friend.”
“All. Alone.”
“Think about it, alright? And consider this your only warnin’... you’re either my pet, or you’re a fuckin’ target. Which would ya rather be, really?”
As if noticing it for the first time, her eyes fall upon the fork clutched in her jittery hand. She stares at it blankly, wondering when she picked it up in the first place. Her face scrunches up as she tries to work through the foggy, stoned haze hanging over her brain, before opening her hand and letting the utensil clatter down onto the counter.
Before it’s even come to a stop, she’s forgotten it; moving onto the next topic.
“Now, we get down to the main fuckin’ course. The Dreadknight himself, the demon of the Octagon, Michael Bishop.”
“Man, lemme tell ya, I was excited when I heard ya were comin’ to play with us on Fallout, Mikey. Real excited. I mean, we knew ‘bout ya all the way down in my neck of the woods, believe it or not. My brother Bo was a mighty big fan of your early work; hell, he looked happier than I ever seen him, when I said I’d be facin’ ya at the next PPV.”
Of course, whether that’s pride in his sister getting put up against such an icon, or some sick desire to see her face pounded into hamburger, who knows? The important part - to Billy - is her brother cares, one way or the other.
“I gotta admit, though, my opinion of ya changed after seeing ya in action.”
“First off, the Purge. What’s the deal, huh? Bringin’ a gun, big man? Really?!”
She clicks her tongue in genuine disappointment, shaking her head back and forth a single time before carrying on.
“Lost a lotta respect for ya with that, boy. That’s somethin’ a coward would do... and y’know, I can’t even blame ya for it, when I stop to look at things from your perspective. New company full of unknowns, a brand with a reputation for violence beyond what ya usually find in this sport… and of course, ya ain’t gettin’ any younger yourself. Lotta hits to the head, lotta miles clocked on that body of yours; even a finely tuned, well-maintained engine’s gotta start knockin’ eventually... and ya ain’t exactly given yourself much time for rest and recuperation, right?”
“I understand where you’re comin’ from, though. I see the same love of violence in ya that I got myself. Kindred spirits, maybe... just comin’ at things from two completely different worlds. I wouldn’t expect a man like yourself to take a year off from the thing that defines him... that gives him a reason to wake up in the mornin’ and go out to face this borin’, safe, chickenSHIT world.”
“Naw, we need it, people like you and I. Without the promise of inflictin’ pain, what use is livin’? Take all this away from us, and what the fuck are we? Nothin’. I can admit it, and I hope ya can too.”
As if suddenly remembering that she was trying to make a point before getting lost on a tangent, Billy blinks hard once, twice, three times as she tries to get her mind back on track.
“Heh. Sorry ‘bout that. Ain’t in the right kinda headspace to think straight, hope y’all will forgive a bit of ramblin’.”
Lifting her arms and exposing her palms in an apologetic gesture for this little rant, she moves right along.
“Now, I can get over ya packin’ that iron to the Purge: ya didn’ know what ya were walkin’ into, and ya came prepared. Fair enough.”
“What I can’t forgive, though, is what happened at the last show. Ya had him, Mikey. Ya had Havoc BEAT. It was right there for the takin’...”
She balls one hand up into a fist and SLAMS it down onto the countertop, rattling salt shakers, sugar dispensers, and empty plates up and down the length of the surface.
“BUT YA JUST HAD TO DROP THE BALL, DIDN’T YA?!?!”
“Don’t blame Druscilla, don't blame Havoc, don’t blame me, blame yourself YA FUCKIN’ IDIOT!!!!”
The diner owner is absolutely shaking as Billy begins to lose her composure completely; it’s a wonder he hasn’t pissed himself yet, considering how obvious the fear is on his face.
Whether it was the ranting and rambling about her opponents that knocked something loose in her head, the calming effects of the drugs wearing off, or simply the passage of time since her last violent outburst, the results are the same. The ‘nice’, ‘friendly’, ‘restrained’ Billy Bennet is clearly not in control any longer; replaced by her usual self, complete with a bloodthirsty frenzy brewing just underneath her milky-white skin.
She’s still shaking like a junkie looking for their next fix as she begins to speak again, her voice wavering from her attempts to maintain some semblance of self-control in the face of the red tide swelling inside her mind.
The cracks in her mask of sanity are practically visible.
“I was just followin’ orders, so don’t ya dare get all pissy at me for distractin' the ref. We all gotta watch out for ourselves, and ya were caught slippin’ when it mattered the MOST. Ya fell for the oldest fuckin' trick in the goddamn book!"
“All that raw power, all that killin’ potential, wasted on someone who ain’t cunnin’ enough to use it! It makes me sick!”
“God must be a fuckin’ joker, givin’ all that skill to a man who wastes it all by not thinkin’ before he acts. What I would DO with even half of the strength he gave ya, boy.”
Burying her face in her hands as she laments nature’s fucked up sense of humor, Billy is on the edge of tears as she thinks about how Michael Bishop is wasting every single gift he’s been given. She finds the idea legitimately frustrating, like an itch she just can’t scratch.
Pulling her hands away, there is the slightest hint of moisture running down her cheeks. Either she’s that bothered by Bishop squandering his natural ability, or just working through the emotional after effects of whatever drugs she’s been dipping into lately.
She sniffs loudly, rubbing her face with one forearm and composing herself again.
“All that said, nobody can take away what ya are. A lethal weapon... like a piece of artillery, aim ya at a target and watch ‘em get torn to fuckin’ pieces. Can’t imagine there’s too many people in the game who can stand up to ya blow-for-blow, and I hope ya take that as a sincere compliment.”
“See, there is one li’l thing, though... and it’s nothin’ against ya personally, alright? But a man’s gotta know his limitations. And yours? Well, ask yourself: what good is artillery without someone to point it in the right direction? Just a dumb, heavy, useless piece of metal.”
“That’s all ya are. No imagination, no vision, no finesse. Shit, it’s obvious from the way ya talk.”
The Bennett girl raises her arms in the air, hands twisted into the shape of gnarled claws; like some kind of imaginary childhood monster, lurking under the bed.
“RAAAAAWRRR! I’m Michael Bishop and I’m sooooo tough! I’m gonna- blah BLAH BLAAAAHHHHHH!”
She can’t help but break out into a short bout of laughter as she lowers her arms back down to rest on the counter’s surface. No matter how she looks at it, the man is ridiculous; she’s watched some tapes of him going off on prior opponents, and it never ceases to amuse her how someone can talk at such length about how badly they plan on beating someone up.
Personally, she’d much rather use all that breath to try and get under their skin a little bit. Unnerve them with her lack of concern for her own wellbeing, or aggravate them into making mistakes in the ring.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, y’hear? Not sure who ya expect to scare, but save your breath ‘cause I ain’t worried much.”
“Want my advice? Worry less about convincin’ everyone what a threat ya are - even if it’s true - and more about how ya can rub together your last two, workin’ brain cells to make sure ya don’t get made to look like a fool again.”
There’s a pause, followed by a deep, sorrowful sigh from the demented young woman. Like she was mourning something she desperately desired, but would be forever denied.
“Really wish I could’ve met ya in the ring when ya were at your peak, Mikey. But I guess that just wasn’t meant to be, ‘cause it’s obvious ya ain’t the man ya once were.”
“But I’m hopin’, all the same. Hopin’ ya still got a couple good fights left in ya before all those knocks to the head really catch with ya. Hopin’ you’re still fast enough to keep up with me and my pal Slade. Hopin’ that triangle choke ya been leanin’ on your whole career is still as inescapable as it used to be.”
There’s another pause, as she takes a second to finish the last few inches of that still-burning cigarette. Once finished, she deposits the filter and ash into the coffee cup, where it floats on top of the thick, black liquid.
“But if it ain’t, I gotta wonder.. what are ya gonna do when I soak up every bit of punishment you’re capable of dishin’ out, and then beg ya to hurt me more? Ya gonna be up to the task, or ya gonna fail like so many others?”
“I been beat on by bigger men than y’all, so I ain’t scared; after the first few times, I realized that folks like yourself ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of. Whatever ya wanna try and have us believe, ya ain’t no real killer. Not in your fuckin’ heart and soul, where it matters. All that strength and experience don’t mean shit when it’s a gutless man throwin’ the punches. I seen ya up against a real soldier like Slade, and ya didn’t make the grade.”
“Wanna take your chances with your new friend Billy this time?”
“Boy, I almost hope ya manage to take my pal out the fight early. I want ya to put them bloody mitts on me, Mikey. Really rough me up, y’know? A proud man like yourself, maybe ya even think ya can make me beg for ya to stop. Well fuckin' try it; because if ya slip, if ya can’t finish the job, I’ll make it so you’re forced to hang up your hat for good. Ya better act like this is your fuckin’ retirement fight, ‘cause it just might be.”
Pausing to catch her breath, her usually pale skin has taken on a rosy red tint; blood pressure rising as it frantically pumps through her veins. To say that the idea of taking on an MMA legend has had some effect on her would be an understatement.
It only takes a few moments before she’s relaxed enough to drain some of that color out of her skin; similarly, she drains the remaining dregs of lukewarm coffee from the cup - cigarettes butt and all - before tossing it over her shoulder to break on the linoleum floor.
“I ain’t gonna give ya no ultimatums like I did with Alyssa. You’re a big boy, and I’m sure ya can take care of yourself... and, if ya wanna know the truth, I really don’t wanna scare ya off or give ya an out."
“See, I wanna know what it FEELS like to be on the receiving end of those fists of yours, Mikey. Hell, I’m awfully tempted to stand there and let ya just pound away a while, I truly am...”
“...if only Slade’s belt weren’t on the line here.”
“Y’see, much as I feel that achin’ need to let ya lay into me until I’m on my back, bloody, beaten, and satisfied... well, I can’t risk it.”
“Not that I care about some championship, or who holds it; that shit don’t have no meanin’ to a simple country girl like me. But it does matter to the boss. I’m sure he wants to keep the gold in True Society, and he’s been so nice to me. He sure does know how to make a lady feel welcome”.
“So for his sake, I can’t just let ya beat me to a pulp, even though I’d love to do just that. I’m afraid I’m gonna have to shatter that ego of yours, and show ya that a decade of experience and countless hours in the gym just ain’t enough to beat a mean li’l viper like me.”
Suddenly, one hand flashes up, snapping fingers together as though she just remembered something.
“Oh, that’s assumin’ Slade don’t want ya for himself, of course. Outta respect for that man, I’m plannin’ on lettin’ him pick his partner at the start of the dance. He gets one of y’all, and the other two are all mine. The question is: who’s gonna be the lucky one who doesn’t have to play with Billy, huh?”
“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
Now, her face takes on a disturbingly earnest cheerfulness; and her usually harsh, raspy voice similarly takes on an almost bubbly, friendly tone as she begins to - briefly - address her fellow True Society member.
“Speaking of Castle; I got just one thing to say to that man."
"I don’t want your belt, but I ain’t gonna make it easy for ya if we’re the last two left in this thing. Oh, don’t worry, I won’t be treatin’ ya like the others. I doubt Holt would appreciate me takin’ ya outta commission for any real length of time. After all, we're all friends in True Society, ain't that right?”
“Buuuuut, I’m still gonna have to test ya, if it comes down to us. Hope ya understand that it’s just... professional courtesy. One killer to another."
"Don't worry, though! If I do take that title off ya, I'll give it back... if ya ask nicely.”
Now, her face takes on a disturbingly earnest cheerfulness; and her usually harsh, raspy voice similarly takes on an almost bubbly, friendly tone as she begins to - briefly - address her fellow True Society member.
“Speaking of Castle; I got just one thing to say to that man."
"I don’t want your belt, but I ain’t gonna make it easy for ya if we’re the last two left in this thing. Oh, don’t worry, I won’t be treatin’ ya like the others. I doubt Holt would appreciate me takin’ ya outta commission for any real length of time. After all, we're all friends in True Society, ain't that right?”
“Buuuuut, I’m still gonna have to test ya, if it comes down to us. Hope ya understand that it’s just... professional courtesy. One killer to another."
"Don't worry, though! If I do take that title off ya, I'll give it back... if ya ask nicely.”
With one sweeping gesture, she sends the nearest plate skidding to the ground where it shatters; sending jagged pieces of ceramic skidding across the linoleum floor. Almost like she was clearing the table for the last course, as she reaches out to pull that whole, uneaten pie a few inches closer.
Taking one index finger, she presses the tip of the digit into the center of the pie sitting atop the counter. Her dirty fingernail pierces the crisp pastry shell, sinking down into the warm filling as Billy stares at it hungrily.
“Well, we saved the desert for last; and boy, there ain’t a soul in all of Project: Honor more sickeningly sweet than Savannah Sunshine...”
Hooking her finger at the knuckle, she drags it along the underside of the crust before pulling it back out the hole she’d created. The top half of her index finger now coated in blueberry, she pops it into her mouth to savor the sweet filling.
“So... good...” she mumbles happily through a full mouth.
Her finger is then stabbed through a previously untouched part of the pie’s crust, Billy swirling her finger around the warm interior of the pastry as she continues to speak. Her voice is surprisingly calm and collected, especially considering all the outbursts during the course of this monologue.
“Or... so she’d have us all believe, anyway. Y’see, for someone callin’ herself the Queen of Candyland - whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean - she sure seems to be a cruel li’l thing. Just look at what she’s done to the two men who were silly enough to show her the slightest bit of affection.”
Pulling her finger back, Billy begins to drag it along the surface of the counter; tracing the outline of a cartoonish heart as she seems to fall into a daze. Silent for several minutes, she seems entirely focused on the crude drawing she’s working on. But despite her cool, unbothered demeanor and the calm delivery of her words, she is giving - and had already given, in fact - serious thought on the best way to get to Savannah.
So many glaring weaknesses in her personal life to poke away at.
So many different routes to try and burrow into her pathetic little head.
Finally, after some consideration, she turns her attention back to the matter at hand.
“Alright, I’ll admit it. Ya got me. I gotta know; how d’ya do it? What’s your secret? From where I stand, ya ain’t nothin’ special at all. Ya sure as hell ain’t a good person, considerin’ all the shit you’ve pulled. And yet, after everythin’ ya put Jason and Arik through, they still ain’t able to slam the door in your stupid, freckled face.”
“Are ya really that sweet, that these men can’t help but spend their time sniffin’ ‘round after ya? Let’s be honest, they could both pull someone a damn sight better; but they still insist on lowerin’ themselves to your level.”
“Rollin’ around and sinkin’ down in the filth of your fucked up life, just hopin’ ya notice them and give ‘em a crumb of attention, or kindness, or anythin'.”
“It’s impressive, I’m bein’ honest with ya here. I mean, a girl like me can take a man and break ‘em physically, put the fear of God into their heart, and make ‘em beg for their lives. What you’ve done to those two, though... I’d give ya a round of applause, if the whole situation weren’t so damn depressin’.”
“But enough about all that. I’m sure you’re so fuckin’ dumb and oblivious that ya don’t even notice anyone else’s pain. Naw, it’s all about li’l Miss Sunshine, ain’t it? Ya fuckin’ disgust me, not even aware of all the trouble ya been causin’... too stupid to revel in the trainwreck ya leave in your wake. What a waste, if ya ask me.”
The whole time she’s been speaking, Billy continues to dip her fingers into the pie, using the dark blue - almost purple - filling to continue her little art project.
“And it’s more than just the two boys, y’know? In a way... all this chaos, this whole crimson twilight that’s descended onto Fallout, is your fault, ain’t it? Ya got poor Arik all frustrated and pent-up, and he’s takin’ it out on the entire fuckin’ roster; everyone is left to suffer ‘cause of what ya done to him, or didn’t do in this case... well, all except those of us who know how to enjoy all that blood and misery.”
“See, maybe ya expect me to appeal to reason here, and say the obvious: that ya only got one way outta this mess, and that’s by goin’ up to Holt, kneelin’ down, and apologizin’ to the man for stringin’ him along like ya been doin’.”
“If ya did that, I might take care to leave ya with a few movin’ parts.”
Something about the hungry glimmer in her roaming eyes makes one thing plain: she is enjoying herself as she tries to dig a tunnel under her opponent’s skin.
She only wishes she had a captive, live audience. The opportunity to look into that girl’s eyes while jabbing away at the soft spots of her personal life would be a wonderful thing... but she pushes away that disappointment with one thought: ‘who knows what the future holds?’
Billy might get her chance yet.
“We both know ya ain’t ‘bout to do all that, though. You’re too strong to give up completely, right? Ain’t no way Savannah throws away the last shred of dignity in that miserable carcass of hers, huh? And I applaud ya for that, I surely do. Best to go out on your own terms, is what I think.”
“Anyway, I would never press ya to go try and make up with the boss. Because if we’re bein’ truthful here, the last thing I want is a happy, content, satisfied Arik Holt. God, just imagine how borin' that would be!”
“Still, I don’t envy your decision here. Sweet girl like yourself, stuck between goin’ back to a man ya want nothin’ to do with, or facin’ off against two of the most dangerous sumbitches he’s got workin’ for him. Shit, that’s gotta be tough; especially considerin’ how much pride ya manage to pack into that tiny body of yours.”
“Funny thing, pride: it can keep ya outta the gutters, but it can also land ya in the grave if ya ain’t careful.”
“I ain’t gonna push ya one way or another on this. You’re a grown woman, time to start makin’ your own decisions, dontcha think?”
“But ya gotta decide, all the same. Less than a week before we celebrate another night of True Society dominance over y’all’s broken, battered bodies.”
“If I don’t get pulled aside by Arik before I step out into the ring, if he don’t tell me to leave ya with enough workin’ pieces to be of some use to him, then I can’t promise ya anythin’.”
“If ya insist on standin’ alone, then ya best come fired up and ready for a proper fuckin’ fight. I ain’t gonna be holdin’ nothin’ back; if the boss don’t say otherwise, then all bets are off. Ya might walk outta there when I’m all through with ya, and ya might need to be wheeled out on a fuckin’ gurney. Can’t rightly say myself.”
Taking advantage of the pauses in her speech, she uses those short moments to gnaw harshly on her bottom lip; eventually, she breaks the skin. Noticing the scarlet blood beginning to drip down her chin and onto the countertop below her face, she stops speaking completely to dip her finger in the drops of red.
Lifting the tip of her finger to her face, she sucks the blood off it noisily and hungrily; moving on to lick the blood still dribbling out of her chewed-up lip. Finally, she seems to have stemmed the flow somewhat; enough to continue her raving speech, at least.
“You’re really willin’ to take that chance, huh?”
“Brave girl.”
“Now’s where I ask ya for a favor, sweet thing. Pleeeeease try to hold on ‘till the end, won’tcha? Y’see, I been havin’ a dream these past few days. You and me, the last two standin’ in that ring after we get rid of the redhead and them boys... just us girls left. I wanna take my time with ya, Savannah. I don’t want no other distractions to get between us... I wanna savor every fuckin’ second without havin’ to worry ‘bout no one else.”
“I really need to be close when it dawns on ya exactly what I plan to do. Starin’ into your eyes, snortin’ that fear up, watchin’ ya squirm while I tear into ya.”
“I want ya up against the wall, nowhere to go, no place to hide. I’m gonna make ya face the things ya done, and I’ll be the one collectin’ the bill for all the people ya hurt.”
“I’m gonna show ‘em all they were wastin’ their time on a lost cause. Show ‘em all how worthless and weak ya really are. That there ain’t a damn thing ‘bout ya that’s worth savin’.”
“I wanna hear ya squeal like the sloppy, filthy pig-faced bi-”
Cutting off her speech before she can finish is a sudden, stabbing sensation that passes through her head. Like a drill through her brain, it puts a sudden stop to her ranting as one hand shoots up to rub her sweating forehead. She only misses a beat or two, but when it passes she has clearly lost interest with whatever she was talking about.
Or she can’t even remember.
“Nghhhh... forget it, just forget it. I’m done talkin to y’all. Sick to my fuckin stomach, in fact. I’ll keep it reaaaal simple for ya fine folks.”
“Stop focusin’ on talkin’ shit, stop thinkin’ ‘bout how that Noble championship would look ‘round your waist.”
“Worry about survivin’.”
"Negotiation's over."
That final warning delivered, Billy snorts and spits a load of phlegm onto the table.
Her masterpiece is complete at last.
Spirals, crude sketches of dismembered body parts, insane, sprawling rants done in jagged letters, and two stick figures holding hands. One bald, one long-haired; the latter of which seems to have been the target of that disgusting spit.
And above their heads, a cartoonish heart with a set of initials in the middle.
A.H.
+
S.S.
How nice.
What a hopeless romantic she is.
Sucking her teeth absent-mindedly, Billy takes her finger and drags it across her filthy, splotchy off-white shirt, wiping the last bit of blueberry pie onto the fabric.
The sound of the chair legs scraping across linoleum is enough to unnerve the captive diner owner, who swallows nervously as the Bennett girl reaches out to grab the envelope of money off the counter.
But rather than place it in one of her pockets, she slowly meanders around the counter; on a veering, unsteady path towards the owner. Whatever last bit of calmness present in her eyes seems to melt away, as they begin to twitch in the harsh fluorescent light of the restaurant.
Every step towards Chuck she takes is one step that the sweating diner owner takes backwards... until he backs up into the wall, with nowhere left to go.
With his retreat cut off, Chuck has no choice but to try and press as tight against it as he can as Billy continues her slow, deliberate approach.
The only sounds in the deathly quiet of the almost empty diner are the proprietor's labored, frightened breaths and the grinding of Billy’s teeth as she sizes up the much larger man.
“B-Billy, come on, you said you’d take the money back to Bo and we’d be square. You p-p-promised...”
A snort of amusement - and a closed-mouth smile that drips anticipation - is her only response as she presses her body against the front of the trembling man. Staring up at his face, she takes a few moments to savor the terror evident in his expression. The smell of fear pouring off him.
“Mmm. I did, didn’t I?”
Her tongue peeks out from her mouth, dragging it across her lower lip as she reaches out with one hand to calmly place the envelope of cash back into the pocket of Chuck’s pants.
“Ya can keep this, big fella. I think I’ll be takin’ my pound of flesh after all. Wouldn’t wanna disappoint my brother, right?”
The owner opens his mouth to scream, but before he’s able to make a sound Billy’s right hand snaps through the air; her iron grip closing around the man’s throat.
“Save your breath. We ain’t even get started yet, and I’m a long way from bein’ through with ya...”
Those are the last words from Billy, as she begins to laugh in short, staccato bursts. A sound that mingles with the choking and gurgling from the captive debtor, as he is dragged off towards the kitchen.
She’s sure to find some tools in there.
====================
