Post by Regan Voorhees on Feb 7, 2021 23:56:57 GMT -5
Vast, endless, blackness. And the inciting incident of it all.. Existence. Creation. The Big Bang. Golden calligraphy.
A blinding beam of light, birthing the universe. But in this case, only Regan Voorhees stands in the blackness, her matching dress traced with starfields. She is life, the universe, and everything. Her voice echoes like the word of God.
"In the beginning there was nothing. No me, no you, no Action Wrestling. And then there was… something."
She snaps her fingers. Stars extend out from her omnidirectionally, yet Regan remains the center of it all.
"A blink-and-you-missed-it switch from nonexistence to existence, the universe coming to be, expanding indefinitely in every direction. On and on, an incomprehensible scale."
A beat, to maintain composure. The Duchess is perturbed.
"And much like the universe, my once minor disdain for Void has continued to expand, indefinitely. My own failures, I can stomach. I can make improvements, adjustments, corrections. I can ensure that any mistakes I make are not repeated. But you, Void, have intertwined yourself with my failures twice now. First you took the fall in our triple threat match with CJ Phoenix. Then again, at Revolution, you were the one pinned by Sara Pettis. Two losses on my otherwise unblemished record. This has been quite the lesson in ring awareness. But it hasn’t eased my ill intent toward you."
A single red star pops into being by Regan’s head. Her hand crushes it.
"I do suppose it’s not fair to blame you. Wrestling is a chaotic sport. Even those of us adept at controlling the flow of a match under normal circumstances find that task all the more daunting when a third or even fourth opponent is cast into the fray. Clearly, opportunism and timing are a competitor’s greatest advantages in these circumstances. Lesson learned. Certainly, the emotionally mature thing would be to move on and not hold you accountable."
"Yet for the sake of my own catharsis I don’t think I can move on. Not until the two of us have settled this little quarrel. Hopefully my disdain will blink right back out of existence. Best of luck to you, Void. I’ll have a floral wreath sent to your widow. Or shot into space."
Fade to a boardroom populated by a sextet of suits. High level drones, but drones all the same. Three flank each side of a whiteboard, a seventh tasked with addressing the topic at hand, while the others clutch clipboards and avoid eye contact. The topic:
The Duchess heads the table from the opposite end of the room. She watches, her pastel blue suit sharply contrasting their blacks and whites and grays. The head drone begins.
"Per our survey, one-out-of-ten wrestling fans thinks your commitment to veganism and cruelty-free farming practices is admirable."
"I concur."
"While nine-out-of-ten find you cold, heartless, and unrelatable. Our comments section got a lot of the c-word."
"Coquettish?"
"No."
"No matter. Of course I’m unrelatable. Despite being born to outrageous privilege, I’m selflessly leveraging my advantages to do good. People are threatened by that. I agree with your assessment."
"That’s not--"
"So instead of arguing them out of their vices using my superior intelligence, I have chosen another weapon. Shame. Ladies, gentlemen, I present the newest member of the Voorhees Collective."
She snaps her fingers and a door opens, a shaky intern in business casual entering with a pink bundle in his hands. The bundle wears a cowboy hat and bandana. It snorts and wiggles, squealing before it is taken by Regan. Her presence gentles the piglet, who relents his squealing as she adjusts his cowboy hat.
"Meet Atticus. If someone can eat bacon after looking at this little face, they deserve to be executed. Humanely."
She gives Atticus a boop on the snout.
"But we wouldn’t do that, would we? We’d put them in a work camp, oh yes we would."
The drones stare. The Duchess stares back.
"...What?"
The Spark of Life(Best paired with Richard Strauss’ “Also sprach Zarathustra” and a Cosmonaut Cocktail)
A blinding beam of light, birthing the universe. But in this case, only Regan Voorhees stands in the blackness, her matching dress traced with starfields. She is life, the universe, and everything. Her voice echoes like the word of God.
"In the beginning there was nothing. No me, no you, no Action Wrestling. And then there was… something."
She snaps her fingers. Stars extend out from her omnidirectionally, yet Regan remains the center of it all.
"A blink-and-you-missed-it switch from nonexistence to existence, the universe coming to be, expanding indefinitely in every direction. On and on, an incomprehensible scale."
A beat, to maintain composure. The Duchess is perturbed.
"And much like the universe, my once minor disdain for Void has continued to expand, indefinitely. My own failures, I can stomach. I can make improvements, adjustments, corrections. I can ensure that any mistakes I make are not repeated. But you, Void, have intertwined yourself with my failures twice now. First you took the fall in our triple threat match with CJ Phoenix. Then again, at Revolution, you were the one pinned by Sara Pettis. Two losses on my otherwise unblemished record. This has been quite the lesson in ring awareness. But it hasn’t eased my ill intent toward you."
A single red star pops into being by Regan’s head. Her hand crushes it.
"I do suppose it’s not fair to blame you. Wrestling is a chaotic sport. Even those of us adept at controlling the flow of a match under normal circumstances find that task all the more daunting when a third or even fourth opponent is cast into the fray. Clearly, opportunism and timing are a competitor’s greatest advantages in these circumstances. Lesson learned. Certainly, the emotionally mature thing would be to move on and not hold you accountable."
"Yet for the sake of my own catharsis I don’t think I can move on. Not until the two of us have settled this little quarrel. Hopefully my disdain will blink right back out of existence. Best of luck to you, Void. I’ll have a floral wreath sent to your widow. Or shot into space."
Fade to a boardroom populated by a sextet of suits. High level drones, but drones all the same. Three flank each side of a whiteboard, a seventh tasked with addressing the topic at hand, while the others clutch clipboards and avoid eye contact. The topic:
REGAN VOORHEES: CONSUMER FEEDBACK
The Duchess heads the table from the opposite end of the room. She watches, her pastel blue suit sharply contrasting their blacks and whites and grays. The head drone begins.
"Per our survey, one-out-of-ten wrestling fans thinks your commitment to veganism and cruelty-free farming practices is admirable."
"I concur."
"While nine-out-of-ten find you cold, heartless, and unrelatable. Our comments section got a lot of the c-word."
"Coquettish?"
"No."
"No matter. Of course I’m unrelatable. Despite being born to outrageous privilege, I’m selflessly leveraging my advantages to do good. People are threatened by that. I agree with your assessment."
"That’s not--"
"So instead of arguing them out of their vices using my superior intelligence, I have chosen another weapon. Shame. Ladies, gentlemen, I present the newest member of the Voorhees Collective."
She snaps her fingers and a door opens, a shaky intern in business casual entering with a pink bundle in his hands. The bundle wears a cowboy hat and bandana. It snorts and wiggles, squealing before it is taken by Regan. Her presence gentles the piglet, who relents his squealing as she adjusts his cowboy hat.
"Meet Atticus. If someone can eat bacon after looking at this little face, they deserve to be executed. Humanely."
She gives Atticus a boop on the snout.
"But we wouldn’t do that, would we? We’d put them in a work camp, oh yes we would."
The drones stare. The Duchess stares back.
"...What?"
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