Post by Ash Blake on Nov 14, 2021 13:31:31 GMT -5
As the night sky blanketed the city of Atlanta, Ashley Blakesley stared out her hotel room's window, absent-mindedly tracing the veins on the back of her hand. She struggled to inhale against the weight she felt on her chest, and she couldn't feel a thing.
She didn't sleep that night, the best token effort she could muster was to take a seat on the foot of her bed, eyes locked on the darting headlights and first stray rays of sunlight. Likewise, she couldn't catch a wink on the flight from ATL to JFK — after all, she was far too busy gritting her teeth as her right ear hissed searing agony. Her eyelids, puffy and drooping, stole a few precious moments of darkness on the subway; something she only learned when she stumbled, half-awake and groggy to just barely make her transfer at Broadway Junction.
The omnipresent odor of cannabis greeted Ash as she trudged through her apartment complex's narrow halls. She caught a snippet of an argument through the paper-thin walls; the charming couple in the neighboring unit weren't wasting any time today. Home sweet home, Ash mused to herself as she fished out her keys and unlocked the door to her apartment.
Though she'd learned to dread the flights and their implications, Ash never realized how much she missed
It wasn't until she was in the shower, at the mercy of the consistently inconsistent water pressure of the shower head, that she closed her eyes and forced herself to relive Monday night. Lissie Hope's boot cracking her right under the chin; that look on Carter Shaw's face as he once again tucked his tail between his legs and evaporated. Him judging her.
She looked up towards the shower head, praying for an excuse to think there was only one source for the water leaking down her cheeks.
I'm so tired of this.
And I'm so tired of you, Daniel. I'm sure that comes as no surprise, of course. After all, you're the one who has me so figured out, right? You've had my number since around this time last year, when you took the TV Title from me and went on to break the record-setting reign I stumbled into. Now, you've done it again: first one to beat me, and first one to beat me.
Truth be told, you ought to be pleased as punch that you drew me this round, right? But somehow, I don't think you are. Because this is the moment, ain't it? Just you and me. No cage to run from, no former colleagues to be disappointed by, just little Ashley Blakesley set to square off with a man who absolutely, positively, needs to beat her.
That's what this is, Daniel. Make no mistake about it. Isn't it just heartbreaking? You're the only person who's truly had the upper hand on me, and despite it all, you're the one on the hotseat right now. You can feel it, can't you? The swirling chatter from the peanut gallery, all the eyes fixed on us. Fixed on you. Unblinking, every pupil a scalpel charting you up, thrusting your insides on an altar to see if you have it in you to do it again. My back's against the wall, Daniel. You know that as well as I do.
I'll even let you look down my sleeves, just so you can be perfectly sure that I have no tricks left up them. I'm all smoke and mirrors, aren't I? My whole career has been a parlor trick based solely on me knowing the rules to the game that my opponents don't. And now it's all been stripped away. Down to the barest essentials.
The man who's forgotten more about this sport than I will ever learn against the woman who's wanted nothing more than to forget everything she's ever gleaned from this wretched business.
I should be the one under the microscope, shouldn't I? After all, you didn't start the fire but you sure as hell were the wrecking ball that drove through Philidor Holdings. You severed the last frayed nerve and knocked over the dominoes. I'm the one who's been exposed, right?
Well, nothing hurts anymore, I feel kind of free. In all honesty, I feel transcendent. I don't have an image to maintain anymore, thanks to you. I don't have a brand to represent, I don't have a cause to champion. I'm a stranger in a strange land. Unfortunately for you, that's the worst thing you could've turned me into.
Forgive me for playing the hits, Daniel, because the truth of the matter is you have to beat me. You have to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you actually have my number, when I have no more surprises to pull. It has to be convincing, dominant even.
All I have to do is win.
And then I trap you in my shadow forever.
As her jittery fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, Ash could feel her heart pounding in her throat. Breaking eye contact with her reflection in the wiped-clear section of her still foggy bathroom mirror, her eyes shot toward the wastebasket beside the sink, taking inventory of the three cans of Red Bull she railed while drying off. Might've overdone it.
Of course, as her shaking hand fished her phone out of her pants pocket, she couldn't help but think it wasn't just the caffeine that was frying her synapses. She stared at the text message once more, courtesy of Namirah — the mousy brunette who'd handled travel arrangements for the erstwhile Philidor crew.
Company Email's down. Looks like the whole server's offline.
Though she tried her best to keep the thought out of mind overnight, she'd expected to hear something from somebody by now. Yet, this was the only correspondence she'd gotten from a colleague. Her Supervisor was eerily quiet; she figured he'd want nothing more than to pour salt in that particular wound.
More troubling still, she couldn't feel the all-too-familiar sensation of dry ice on the back of her neck. The Dark Man was not present; his absence loomed as large as the man himself, however.
Ash shook her head, hoping to suppress that thought as her fingers raced across the digital keyboard and she fired off a response.
Weird.
Sliding her phone back into her pocket, Ash finished buttoning up her shirt, threw on a peacoat, and set out for 44 Union Square.
Like it or not Daniel, we're intertwined at this point, aren't we? Inseparable. From the moment you stepped out of that cage, you made this an inevitability. Us circling each other, sharks smelling blood, looking to take a chunk out of the other. You've dented me real well; I wouldn't dream of taking that from you.
But with this inevitability comes an acknowledgment: we have not been on equal ground in this whole little exchange, have we? Look at it, Daniel. Really let it sink in. Because you've had the upper hand in this. You've cracked the code, right? And you're the one who's defined first and foremost by what you've taken from me. You're the longest reigning TV Champion of all time, you're one half of the current tag team champions, but most importantly in the eyes of God and man, you're the guy who beat Ash Blake.
That's it. That's the punchline. Even when you beat me, even when you break my records, you cannot surpass me. But of course, I'm not stupid. I know the score: this is it. This, right here, is your moment. To break that narrative. To finally strive towards being something other than the guy who beat me by (ironically enough) beating me again.
But I know you all too well, Daniel. And when the lights get this hot, when that weight is placed back on your shoulders, when you have to live up to what you show that you are when the pressure's off— well, didn't I see this movie last week?
Perennial dark horse Downfall, this is the moment he'll finally break out. After stop and start inspiring performances, this is when he'll finally hit that next gear and stay in it. The man who could've been a contender a dozen times over. A top ten finish in Havoc. Almost a US champion once upon a time, before our paths ever crossed. Almost good enough to make the chamber at Timebomb.
But it's different this time, right? You've grown, you made the strides. You're a different person than the man who allowed himself to be swayed under the wing of James Nightingale — you're a better person, right? Give me the speech about family again, Daniel; how you do things for the right reasons, for the greater good.
You're the same co-dependent burnout you were when you were smacking around Claire Hawkins in the name of the Lost Breed. You ditched James Nightingale for Dionysus and every morning you thank your lucky stars he didn't turn out to be a wolf in jester's clothing as chuck any ambition you might have had into the fire while you circle the drain of a threadbare division in the name of 'family'.
Because it's easier to sit back and say you could've been a contender then to actually be one, isn't it?
So yeah, Daniel, I will condescend to you. Thanks for the permission.
And it's not my place to give them, I know, but you can have everything you've taken from me. Every dent you've put in my armor. Every crack you've dug into my foundation. You can have it all, hun.
You've beaten me. You've done what no one else has been able to do; what I haven't been able to do to you.
You broke Philidor. Your brick toppled the wall, burst the dam, broke the levee. Take your pick.
Own it. Savor it. Build a shrine to it. A monument to all your sins, just like the girl staring across from you.
Because the difference between you and I is this, Daniel: when they tell your story, I'll be the most important person in it. More than Dionysus, more than the love of your life, more than James Nightingale or Jason Twisted. More than you. After all, who are you if not the guy who beat Ash Blake?
And even though I've made no secret of my indifference towards my own legacy in the past, the way this year's gone for me goes to show how in spite of what you've taken from me, the same cannot be said in reverse. Because I've jumped forward. I've launched where you faltered. You took the TV Title from me?
I won it all, babe.
You set forth the dominoes, sneering at the chain reaction, eagerly awaiting me to reap what I've sown?
It's a small comfort, but I'm going to take this from you. I'm going to rob you of this opportunity, and I'm going to do it with a smile on my face as I make you watch me burn this godforsaken industry to the ground.
And when I'm finished, they won't even know your name.
The early-afternoon wind pierced through Ash's coat, stinging her skin with each gust. With her right ear to the flow of traffic, the conversations taking place around her reverberated as she scurried through the crowded sidewalks towards the old Tammany Hall building: Philidor HQ.
Only for her heart to sink as she approached. Peering through one of the ground level windows, she noticed the lights were out, desks were cleared, branding stripped. An eerie stillness bled consumed the empty landmark: it had been abandoned.
This isn't happening, this can't be happening—
As another gust of wind struck her in the face, the only thing Ash could feel in her cheeks was heat. She shot a glance over her shoulder and slipped into the alley, dropping to an unsteady crouch as she groped for— something. Finally, her fingers closed around a piece of brick and she rose once more, eyes locked on another ground floor window.
She shook her head and hoped she wouldn't trigger an alarm as she swung her arm back and bashed the brick against the plate glass until it shattered. Exhaling a breath she didn't realize she was holding, Ash climbed through the window, into the empty chest cavity of what once was Philidor Holdings.
Her footsteps — the clack of her heeled boots — ricocheted off the walls, reverberating at obscure angles as she shuffled off-kilter towards the nearest stairwell. Her stomach churned as she forced herself up the stairs as an acrid odor caught her nose. Pushing her way towards the offices, the sickly-sweet stench only intensified as she dragged herself forward, one hand covering her mouth as the other groped along the wall to maintain balance.
As the wooden walls gave way to glass, Ash spotted a familiar sight: a Newton's Cradle. In motion. She struggled to breathe through her mouth as she felt her chest tighten with each step. Balling her hands into fists, she shoved open the door to her
As she entered, the clacking of the Cradle filled her good ear as her eyes were drawn towards the drinking bird dipping into nothing, its glass existing only as shards on the floor.
She continued her approach, eyes on the floor and widening as she stepped around the desk to see a pool of dried blood. Beside it, one of the windows was shattered, spiderwebbed, but not broken.
In the twinkling shards of glass in the dried blood, she saw a sudden movement lunging for her. She saw
When she turned around, however, all she saw was a scurrying mass of centipedes, darting for the door.
"But Lot's wife looked back, and she became a pillar of salt," she muttered to herself with a mirthless chuckle, as her eyes drifted towards the ceiling.
So please, give me what I deserve.
You can rend and tear all you want, Daniel. Gnaw and thrash and gnash those teeth, honey, tear me asunder. Go on and try to take from me more than you already have, because I'm precarious right now. Not that I have to tell you that in as many words. You know me so well, don't you? You've already put that piece together. I'm held aloft by spite and caffeine, that gnawing hunger to take what could be your crowning moment and make that all about me as well.
I think I'm going to smash that trophy with a sledgehammer. You know, when I win it. When I snatch it out of your hands, when I snatch it out of Johnny Bacchus' or Winston DiVito's hands, when I snatch it out of the clutching grasp of whoever I run into in the finals. I'm going to break that fucking thing live on Pay-Per-View.
Because frankly, that's what this company deserves. That's what this whole putrid industry deserves. I don't have to have to talk about what I've done, how this has been my year, anyone who's been paying attention knows that.
But how will I do it on my own? That's the big question, right? Now that I'm off life-support, now that my tricks are gone and it's just me, how will I fare on that big stage? Under those hot lights? Against the man who's beaten me twice?
That's the question you get to try and solve, Daniel. Because as much as I'd love nothing more than to wring your neck for this, I think you'll do it for me. This match will either solidify you or calcify you. There is so much more on the line for you than there is for me, and we both know it.
You have to hurt me. You have to maim me like Johnny Bacchus did. You have to kill me. Because if I get back up, I won't even have to eat you alive.
Five minutes, Daniel.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen.
For the rest of your life. For the rest of what you want to call a career, a legacy. This is your match to lose; it'll be an honor to make that happen.
So go ahead, gnash and tear all you want. Rip my goddamn achilles out and spit it on the mat next to me while you try to pick me apart. Make me look at it, why don't you? Because it doesn't matter how much damage you do. How much you take from me.
When you're always going to be my fucking anklebiter.
I do wish I could see the look on your face when you realize the dark clouds overhead are just the sole of my boot.
For the rest of your life, Daniel.
We both know what you're going to be.