Post by americangrime on Feb 24, 2021 23:09:16 GMT -5
“INDY, DARLING.”
A Blair Regent Joint
-
It was stage fright.
A hot mic in a karaoke bar, singing back-ups when the Zeroes needed her most, it was the all-consuming, all-encompassing, the hollow black of the night coming down to cover and blanket her, wrap around her throat, choke the life out of her. Blair Regent never liked being the focus of the crowd, even if she was thrusting herself into it now. The sixteen competitors in the double rings for Wargames were as close as she got to the spotlight on this scale-the arena screaming, packed to the fucking brim, surrounded by people who may or may not have known her. It was overwhelming. It was intoxicating. It was frightening.
It left little room for anything else.
For a moment, all the cynicism faded. It was replaced by something far worse, the doubting, the self-negligence. Regent stepped through the ropes, and found herself nearly the smallest person in the match by all sorts of scope of the imagination. On the opposing side, men who were even larger-in life and in quality. This wasn’t a match, not a Proving Ground, this was survival of the fittest. A gauntlet, a trial, something she’d have to throw all she had into. She searched for a light to work toward, something to keep her going, something-
And she remembered the bouquet, or the tylenol.
When that bell rang, she shot off like a bullet in search of those fuckin’ flowers.
And she damn near got them.
-
“Indy Darling.”
We’re in an empty, abandoned, closed theatre, a lounge that at one point likely held a few thousand people from varying walks of life, looking for various urges to be catered to in a place like this. Plays, theatrical productions, concerts, poetry slams...all forgotten. Blair runs her hand along the stage as she looks up, seemingly waxing poetic.
“Years ago when I looked at places like this, I was afraid of them. I was afraid of being up on stages like this, being the center of attention, the focus of the crowd. The Zeroes, being an indie band, had a small but devoted fan base. Being a groupie meant I could hide amongst the crowds most times, pretend I wasn’t in the spotlight despite sleeping with the lead singer, pretend I was just another drifting soul. To Vic, I wasn’t, but maybe I wanted to be. Maybe that was why I left it behind-all this expectation put upon me, to hang with the band trail forever, til they busted or made it big, and to simply go with the river flow. Hell of an expectation, you know? A lot to ask of someone without even really asking ‘em. You say ‘forever’, and when you’re in your late teens...you don’t really identify how long ‘forever’ actually is.
Broke Vic’s heart when I finally cut her loose, but that was to be expected.
What wasn’t...was the metamorphosis.”
Blair takes a few steps across the stage.
“When I’d driven myself down to nothing, Indy, I still had myself. I still had the body I inhabited, the breaths I took and I lived every day being so Deliberately Alive, because in a way I couldn’t bear to disrespect myself any further. Even if the bet on myself seemed like it would be an easy win for The House, I couldn’t let it happen. Couldn’t slip through the cracks quite yet. I had to keep fighting, keep pushing, keep...doing what I was doing. However, the only thing that kept track with me, eventually, was the thing holding me back. I’d been such a fuckin’ punk on the road, such a downer, such a little brat, that I figured dumping Vic meant I could go back to the college girl. Could go back to the naïveté that I carried to heart for so long. The literary nerd who would be fine teaching Shakespeare for the rest of time.
But I had to get rid of that, too.
The expectation of who I once was lead me to an unfortunate realization that I’d more or less lost myself after a year on the road. I was picking up the shreds of my cocoon and trying to wear them like a mask to hide that I’d grown, but people saw through it. They saw a girl who’d left, burnt bridges, talked shit in her final moments, and then meekly came back. They saw something that bit them begging for food-a mouse in a fuckin’ cage-and they slammed the door in my face. I don’t blame them. I’d have slammed the door on me, too.
So I had to evolve, had to grow. Black my eyes, my gear, knock a fuckin’ tooth out if it would make me look more menacing. I had to accept that I couldn’t forever hide behind the chrysalis I’d once called home, the old flesh that had kept me warm. That shit had to go, out with the fuckin’ trash, and I sent it there. I sent all the old bits of me that were, well, me in the grandest pursuit of something great.
I dumped the good girl, and became the Prince. It hurt like a bitch to get there, but I fuckin’ did it on my own. It’s a bit of a comparison I can draw between the two of us, the needing to grow, the needing to get better, the mutual backgrounds we share, coming up to this point in our careers in Project Honor. Up to this point, the only win I’ve gotten doesn’t really mean shit between these four ropes, doesn’t mean a damn thing in the grand scheme because I’ve lost that match by and large. Look at where we both placed in The Crowning, for fuck’s sake-same spot. Same man eliminated us. And that man fell to the winner. Could almost smell the smoke off that cigar, it was so close...but nada.
In a way, I think that’s what lead to all of this. I asked for a dance, Indy, and I didn’t expect it to be fulfilled. I expected to have to fight up the fuckin’ mountain, beat a pile of challengers who’d been here for far longer to get to where I am right now. I know this is as much of putting my feet to the fire as I’ll get at this point in the company, but if it worked for you, who’s to say it won’t work for me?
After all, I mean...we are kinda parallels, aren’t we?
Take a minute. Think about it.
I’ll be back to pick your brain in a second.”
-
Blair Regent awoke in a cold sweat, jolting straight upright, her body forcing off the bandage around her back and sending her into an almost immediate spasm. She crumpled off of her bed, nearly denting her skull on the nightstand next to it, before she managed to get a hand on it and stabilize herself. She writhed, and wretched, trying to keep the pain from eating her alive. She exhaled heavily, trying to catch her breath, before a hand pressed on her shoulder. She swung around-
-and stopped short of taking Hannah’s head clean off.
“Damn, Blair.” Han mused. “Still hurting you that bad?”
“Nah, just...think I tweaked it in my sleep.” Blair grabbed a hold of the bottle of tylenol on the nightstand, glancing at the clock, which read an early 5:00AM. She made her way out of the bedroom and into the immense living room of her apartment. A bottle of water rested on her kitchen counter, and she popped the cap off of both it and the tylenol bottle in one swift motion. She swept two pills onto the counter, and then swept them up, downing them with a few glugs of water shortly afterward. She laid her head down on the cold granite counter-top, and exhaled. Hannah glanced her over.
“I’m not sure about that.” She gave a concerned glance, but Blair tried to brush it off. “Lemme take a look at-”
Blair shifted her back around as Hannah got close, pressing it into the countertop. She gritted her teeth and prevented herself from visibly reacting to the pain coursing through her body, stabilizing herself for a moment. She shook her head.
“I’m fine, Hannah.” Blair lied. “I promise, ok? Go back to bed-I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
Hannah didn’t buy it. The two were at a standstill, and finally, Hannah spoke up.
“Why are you so afraid to let someone in?”
Blair raised a brow.
“What do you mean? You’ve stayed here ever night since The Crowning. Nine nights-isn’t that enough letting in? I’m not asking you to leave, either-I like seein’ you around and spendin’ our downtime together. I’m tellin’ you-this back thing isn’t a problem, it’s just...tweaked. Just a minor injury. It’s fine.”
Hannah shook her head. “No, Blair, that’s not what I’m talking about. You just...you don’t let me see. When you came home after that fight, you sealed yourself in the tub for two fuckin’ hours and just let the water run. Why won’t you let someone take care of you?”
Blair paused. She thought about it. She thought back to years, being reliant on someone else-
“Just never occurred to me that you’d want to.” She lied. Hannah stared at her.
Hannah knew.
Hannah went back to bed, and left Blair in the kitchen, alone.
“Time’s up.”
Blair Regent hangs her legs off the stage as she continues.
“You and I, Indy, we are parallels, even if you ain’t figured it out yet. It goes beyond us both having the same virtual fuckin’ match here, when you dethroned Colton Saint, where I’ll dethrone you. It goes beyond us both eating shit at the hands of Ozymandias, one World Ender to send us to, well, The End. It goes beyond all of that.
Look at our shared histories. We’re both running, but from what? You might be running from threats. You might be running from a gun to the fuckin’ head, vengeance for what you did, physical or otherwise. Me? I’m running from the past. Praying that people’ve bought into the makeup and emo shit enough to forget that I ran out on them. It didn’t bypass all the fuckin’ clowns here, though. They degraded you the same way they degraded me, calling me a junkie, saying I was looking for a fix. Maybe I am, but it’s not what they think. It’s not, hell, what you might think.
Because I’m lookin’ for a shot to the top, but I’m willing to fight for it. I’m willing to cave your fucking head in for it. I’m willing to put you in a cedar box for it. That gold on your shoulder, that is what I want. That’s the ticket. That’s the pathway to glory. If I’ve gotta drop you on your head, drive you into the canvas, dive off a fuckin’ titantron to put you in the dirt long enough to pull that belt off you, I fucking will. I don’t care what it takes, I’m willing to die in that ring if that’s what I need to do, my last breaths exiting my lungs while I cradle those ten pounds of gold in my arms like an infant, because God knows it’s the closest I’ll ever get to having one.
Because it’s better to be the candle that burns twice as bright, half as long, than the one that burns dim as fuck for a long fuckin’ life.”
Blair runs her hand along the laminated wood one more time. She inhales. Exhales. She stares into the empty lighting rig above her head. There’s no crowd here to drive her to fright, but suddenly, the atmosphere begins to shift. From left to right, the arena fills. The crowd appears, a ghostly phantasm, a sort of Aurora Borealis of individuals, the lighting rig filling with bulbs, the set design around her, left to rot, coming back to life in full display. And Blair, who’d up to this point been clad in street clothing, is in her ring gear. She’s the leader. It’s, once again, a hot mic, but this isn’t a karaoke club. This is a fucking event. Blair takes the mic to her mouth, and the crowd roars. There’s a nagging feeling, a pulling, but Blair shoves it off. The band begins playing to a crescendo, a tune of trumpets and a swelling of instrumental sound.
“I’m glad we’ve had nine days to consider these ramifications, and I’m glad that we’ve had time to rest, because when I asked to this dance I didn’t want to have to spend effort dragging a cripple around the floor. I wanted to dance, motherfucker, with one of the best, the X-Division Champion, one of two in the history of this company. I wanted to tussle with the dude who dethroned Colton Saint, the guy who gutted Mark Hunter in his Grand Championship pursuits, the man, the myth, the Indy Darling who took Project Honor by storm. I wanted to face off against a man who’d spent almost as much time running as I had, this grand collision seemingly christened by destiny, by the world around us. I wanted to come out swinging against a man who’d swing twice as hard.
Because I might need a fix, but I’m not a fucking junkie, I’m a juggernaut. I’ll take whatever you can hit me with, and I’ll keep fucking coming, and coming, and coming until you’ve beaten every breath out of me. A World Ender put me away last time, but there’s no Ozymandias here to distract from the truth-that if it had come down to me and you in that cage, I’d have secured this shot on my own. That if the two of us had been left standing, head to head, blood to blood, I’d be fucking made. I’m gonna fucking prove it now. I’m going to show every person in that crowd, every set of eyes watching at home, every brain baked by the radio-waves of this show they broadcast exactly what color fuckin’ blood I bleed, and that this Proving Ground is my ground to stand upon, my chance to take, my opportunity to lose. This ice is turning to water in my hands, slipping away, but I’m gonna grip it with all my fucking force and drive it into your heart if that’s what it takes to get that belt off you.
Because this is my shot, and I’m fucking calling it!”
The crowd roars in approval. Blair raises the microphone, and the band behind her, which has slowly risen to a peak, climaxes. Their instruments scream out, and Blair lets her hair hang low for a moment over her face as the moment soaks in. As the sound reaches a fever pitch, and the speakers blow out, there is no fear in Blair’s heart, no stage fright to hold her down. There is simply Blair Regent, the empty arena, a shattered mic-stand...and a beating, pulsing of her heart, driving her forward as she looks up at the camera.
“So Indy, Darling…”
Blair smiles.
“Will you join me in this dance?”
Cut to black.