Upon Uncertain Wings I
Mar 21, 2021 20:05:23 GMT -5
Lissie Hope, Ned the Intern, and 5 more like this
Post by Claire Hawkins on Mar 21, 2021 20:05:23 GMT -5
What a fucking joke!
Again with the mist? Can't she do anything else?
Greatest TV champ my ass! What a loser!
How does she still even have a job? WAKE UP AW management!
Pain.
First and foremost, the pain was the prevailing factor that had dictated her existence over the past several weeks. Whether it be from the lips of Spencer Adams or the pack mentality of the more toxic portion of the Action Wrestling fandom, an unrelenting hurricane of physical and mental pain was all she had come to know. However, try as she might, she could not find fault within their reasonings nor could she rightly deny their words. It had become quite clear that they had long since deemed her unworthy of being called an Action Wrestling Star or even consider her to be one to watch for in the future. She hadn't the championships necessary to be considered a worthwhile investment. She didn't have the plethora of rivals waiting in the wings to prove themselves against her. She didn't even have a tangible legacy that others might find respectable.
She had nothing.
Nothing except pain and the haunting doubts that lingered.
Perhaps they were right. Perhaps she didn't have a place in Action Wrestling any longer if she ever had one at all. Clearly, no matter how hard she tried or how often she pushed the limits of her physical endurance meant a single thing. For, in the end, she would forever be the gothic loner bitch that could never amount to anything; that would NEVER amount to anything. In an industry that determined the value of a wrestler on whether or not they could be main event quality within their first few months, she had long since failed to prove her worth.
"FUCKING HELL!"
With an unbridled sense of self-loathing that disgusted even herself, Claire furiously threw the newly removed boot she held across the empty locker room. After the initial echo of the leather boot colliding with the wall had subsided, the raven-haired warrior witch sat in deafening silence as any attempt of changing from her ring gear fled from her list of priorities. Instead, in an unseen display of weakness, she hung her head low and cradled her throbbing skull as frustrated tears began to well within the corners of her eyes.
For three years, all she had come to know was the nearly insufferable grind and the undiluted fact that nobody gave a fuck about her. Whether or not she had scratched together anything of value didn't mean anything and, for all intents and purposes, she should have long since been left in the proverbial ditch and left to rot. To them, she was nothing more than a waste of roster space that could have been better spent on the likes of Andrew Stone or Danny Malone; two nobodies that the people had deemed more worthwhile than herself.
Deep within the bowels of the Tide arena, Claire choked back the tears and proceeded to change; pain and depression her only company.
The camera fades in to reveal the somber scene of an empty wrestling ring housed within the confines of an unknown building. With a lone spotlight casting enough illumination to stave off the encroaching darkness, it was the snapshot in time of two people in the ring that drew the attention. Battered and bloody, Spencer Adams stood over a beaten and exhausted Claire Hawkins with a chair raised high overhead. For the frothing fans, it was the inevitable closing moments of the Monday Clash main event from the previous week.
Complete victory and utter defeat.
Suddenly, just as the chair was about to connect with the unprotected head of the Action Wrestling's resident witch, the light abruptly cut out; the thunderous echo of the chair shot ringing out within the darkness like a gunshot. After a few moments of silence, the light slowly faded back till it had reached its previous level of illumination. It was here, replacing the scene of graphic violence, that the visage of a woman stood like she defied everything that the world might throw at her. Clad in a matching pair of black leggings and a sports bra, the mottled colors of mending bruises upon pale flesh a stark reminder of what had transpired during the Hardcore Championship match.
"..........."
Although she remained silent, the raven-haired woman seemed to scream volumes as she raised her arms up so that the camera was able to capture a better view of the mottled markings that dotted her skin. Yet, it wasn't until she lowered her arms that the atmosphere seemed to shift from something melancholy in nature to that felt more electric.
"Action Wrestling, the premier wrestling company known throughout the world, is nearing its third showings of the Havoc Rumble and Evolution. For those of you that haven't been along for the ride since year one, the third year is a milestone that many companies never reach. Oftentimes they will run steadily for a year or two before inevitably withering away and fading into oblivion like ashes scattered to the winds. It is here, within these few thriving companies that history is formed when a company manages to abstain from the looming failure and becomes something greater; something grander. Even so, the grandiose levels could not be achieved without the contributions of those contracted to legally risk life and limb for the sake of success."
"Sounds beautiful in its way."
"Yet, despite its beauty, the only people that fans remember or give credit to contributing to the rise of any given company are the ones that are considered for the credit are those that carried prominent championships; the Moors, Lockharts, and Adams. However, successful empires are not built solely upon the backs of a select few. In fact, it is the people that are often forgotten or dismissed as talentless hacks that are often the ones supporting the growing colossus; forever toiling for a shred of recognition."
"People like us, Bull."
"Now, to a certain extent, I'm sure that you'll agree with me that the Action Wrestling that so many adore today was in part built upon our backs. It was people such as us that allowed this company to grow as it has; to thrive as it has. Yet, we are never allowed to acknowledge our contributions nor even lay claim to the pride we bear in having built up a magnificent company such as Action Wrestling. If anything, we are reviled and classified as the garbage that was left out too long; that we're nothing more than stones to be stepped upon."
"That's why Culture Shock needed to exist."
Upon the mention of Culture Shock, the shadow-like images of Oblivion, Scott Slayer, and the masked Hatebringer came into existence.
"Why it needed to die."
As if there were an unseen gust of wind blowing through the building, the show images of her former Culture Shock comrades disappeared as quickly as they had come into being.
"You are aware of that fact, right? That Culture Shock is dead and any further attention you bring to its rotting corpse are nothing more than desperation-fueled attempts at siphoning what little relevancy that it has left. Which isn't surprising. In fact, if you look back on everything that you've done since then, it becomes strikingly clear that every action that you've taken was derived from the singular notion. Lissie Hope? Carter Shaw? You never targeted them for anything other than the undeniable fact that they MADE you relevant. They MADE you a monster when you have consistently proven otherwise."
"Frank Lowe is no different."
"Knowing you, you're sitting backstage after every Clash trying to convince yourself that you're STILL a monster. That you'll get that murderous fuck for what he had his miscreants did to Loa. THat you will eventually rise up and demolish everything that man has ever created and you're revenge shall be fucking glorious."
"That ISN'T you."
"Deny it as hard as you wish, the fact is that you enjoy being the lapdog for a scumsucking shithead like Frank. It allows you to continue this overhyped illusion that you're some devastating creature that exists beyond the comprehension of mortal men. Being under his leash allows you to fulfill every asinine threat and promise of destruction most unholy. More importantly, it allows you to maintain a sense of relevancy that would otherwise never be able to maintain alone."
"That isn't me."
"That will NEVER be me!"
"From the moment that I signed that probationary contract three years ago, I have done nothing except carve out a piece of Action Wrestling that is uniquely my own. Through hard fucking work and sheer determination, I have managed to scratch and claw my way to championship gold and main event spots. Yet, despite everything, I am still treated as if I am nothing more than a bone to be tossed aside and chewed upon by desperate dogs."
"Just like I'm being tossed aside to you."
With a sense of bitter aggression coloring her voice, the raven-haired woman took a step forward as the images of Bull and Loa appeared within the ring.
"Tell me, Bull; are you and that two-dollar whore happy with that victory over what an inexperienced virgin considers to be an adult film star? Has that so-called hunger for victory been satiated after leaving that delusional fuck broken within that ring? Are you happy that you have once again attained that mid-card status that is so often used to describe the worth that you've put in through the years? Cause I'm not."
"Not one fucking bit."
"Unlike you, I am not content to simply slide back down to this midcard hell. I'm not content to allow others to continue to determine and subsequently diminish my worth simply because they feel like it. I'm fucking tired of it! Yet, in order to claw my way back to that level which I was last week, I must once more meet you within the confines of that ring' I must once more pull that trigger and slay this delusion MONSTER with a silver fucking bullet!"
"Face it, Corey; unlike you, I actually have that hunger to be underneath those bright lights. I have that fiery fuckin' desire to prove to the entire world that I'm one of the best wrestlers that this company has to offer. I have that insatiable need to be the best that I fucking can be!"
"This Monday Night Clash, when we meet in the center of that ring at the T-mobile arena in Las Vegas, there isn't a Samuel Kidsgrove to carry you through the match. There isn't a Soldado Fortuna for you to conveniently pin. There is only me and the undeniable fact that I have ALREADY beaten you and that I can sure as fuck beat you once again!"
With an unmitigated passion burning within her eyes and coloring every word, the true blue Action Wrestling Original reared back and let loose that Banshee wail that had become so iconic over the last few years. As if they were ashes being scattered to the four winds, the images of Corey Bull and his beloved Loa disintegrated from their respective locations. Leaving the battered witch by herself within the ring as the camera faded to black; a final phrase haunting the audio just before the video truly ended.
"Quoth the Witch.....forevermore......."
Slumping to the canvas once the camera was off, Claire couldn't help but release a long exasperated breath as the doubt once more began to creep in. She hated to admit it, but that defeat to Spencer had shaken something within her. She wasn't sure that she could actually pull out the victory against Corey Bull despite having done so once before.
She could do this, right?
Whether or not she could was irrelevant; she needed to.
"Moment of truth...."
First and foremost, the pain was the prevailing factor that had dictated her existence over the past several weeks. Whether it be from the lips of Spencer Adams or the pack mentality of the more toxic portion of the Action Wrestling fandom, an unrelenting hurricane of physical and mental pain was all she had come to know. However, try as she might, she could not find fault within their reasonings nor could she rightly deny their words. It had become quite clear that they had long since deemed her unworthy of being called an Action Wrestling Star or even consider her to be one to watch for in the future. She hadn't the championships necessary to be considered a worthwhile investment. She didn't have the plethora of rivals waiting in the wings to prove themselves against her. She didn't even have a tangible legacy that others might find respectable.
She had nothing.
Nothing except pain and the haunting doubts that lingered.
Perhaps they were right. Perhaps she didn't have a place in Action Wrestling any longer if she ever had one at all. Clearly, no matter how hard she tried or how often she pushed the limits of her physical endurance meant a single thing. For, in the end, she would forever be the gothic loner bitch that could never amount to anything; that would NEVER amount to anything. In an industry that determined the value of a wrestler on whether or not they could be main event quality within their first few months, she had long since failed to prove her worth.
"FUCKING HELL!"
With an unbridled sense of self-loathing that disgusted even herself, Claire furiously threw the newly removed boot she held across the empty locker room. After the initial echo of the leather boot colliding with the wall had subsided, the raven-haired warrior witch sat in deafening silence as any attempt of changing from her ring gear fled from her list of priorities. Instead, in an unseen display of weakness, she hung her head low and cradled her throbbing skull as frustrated tears began to well within the corners of her eyes.
For three years, all she had come to know was the nearly insufferable grind and the undiluted fact that nobody gave a fuck about her. Whether or not she had scratched together anything of value didn't mean anything and, for all intents and purposes, she should have long since been left in the proverbial ditch and left to rot. To them, she was nothing more than a waste of roster space that could have been better spent on the likes of Andrew Stone or Danny Malone; two nobodies that the people had deemed more worthwhile than herself.
Deep within the bowels of the Tide arena, Claire choked back the tears and proceeded to change; pain and depression her only company.
That match was dope!
The camera fades in to reveal the somber scene of an empty wrestling ring housed within the confines of an unknown building. With a lone spotlight casting enough illumination to stave off the encroaching darkness, it was the snapshot in time of two people in the ring that drew the attention. Battered and bloody, Spencer Adams stood over a beaten and exhausted Claire Hawkins with a chair raised high overhead. For the frothing fans, it was the inevitable closing moments of the Monday Clash main event from the previous week.
Complete victory and utter defeat.
Suddenly, just as the chair was about to connect with the unprotected head of the Action Wrestling's resident witch, the light abruptly cut out; the thunderous echo of the chair shot ringing out within the darkness like a gunshot. After a few moments of silence, the light slowly faded back till it had reached its previous level of illumination. It was here, replacing the scene of graphic violence, that the visage of a woman stood like she defied everything that the world might throw at her. Clad in a matching pair of black leggings and a sports bra, the mottled colors of mending bruises upon pale flesh a stark reminder of what had transpired during the Hardcore Championship match.
"..........."
Although she remained silent, the raven-haired woman seemed to scream volumes as she raised her arms up so that the camera was able to capture a better view of the mottled markings that dotted her skin. Yet, it wasn't until she lowered her arms that the atmosphere seemed to shift from something melancholy in nature to that felt more electric.
"Action Wrestling, the premier wrestling company known throughout the world, is nearing its third showings of the Havoc Rumble and Evolution. For those of you that haven't been along for the ride since year one, the third year is a milestone that many companies never reach. Oftentimes they will run steadily for a year or two before inevitably withering away and fading into oblivion like ashes scattered to the winds. It is here, within these few thriving companies that history is formed when a company manages to abstain from the looming failure and becomes something greater; something grander. Even so, the grandiose levels could not be achieved without the contributions of those contracted to legally risk life and limb for the sake of success."
"Sounds beautiful in its way."
"Yet, despite its beauty, the only people that fans remember or give credit to contributing to the rise of any given company are the ones that are considered for the credit are those that carried prominent championships; the Moors, Lockharts, and Adams. However, successful empires are not built solely upon the backs of a select few. In fact, it is the people that are often forgotten or dismissed as talentless hacks that are often the ones supporting the growing colossus; forever toiling for a shred of recognition."
"People like us, Bull."
"Now, to a certain extent, I'm sure that you'll agree with me that the Action Wrestling that so many adore today was in part built upon our backs. It was people such as us that allowed this company to grow as it has; to thrive as it has. Yet, we are never allowed to acknowledge our contributions nor even lay claim to the pride we bear in having built up a magnificent company such as Action Wrestling. If anything, we are reviled and classified as the garbage that was left out too long; that we're nothing more than stones to be stepped upon."
"That's why Culture Shock needed to exist."
Upon the mention of Culture Shock, the shadow-like images of Oblivion, Scott Slayer, and the masked Hatebringer came into existence.
"Why it needed to die."
As if there were an unseen gust of wind blowing through the building, the show images of her former Culture Shock comrades disappeared as quickly as they had come into being.
"You are aware of that fact, right? That Culture Shock is dead and any further attention you bring to its rotting corpse are nothing more than desperation-fueled attempts at siphoning what little relevancy that it has left. Which isn't surprising. In fact, if you look back on everything that you've done since then, it becomes strikingly clear that every action that you've taken was derived from the singular notion. Lissie Hope? Carter Shaw? You never targeted them for anything other than the undeniable fact that they MADE you relevant. They MADE you a monster when you have consistently proven otherwise."
"Frank Lowe is no different."
"Knowing you, you're sitting backstage after every Clash trying to convince yourself that you're STILL a monster. That you'll get that murderous fuck for what he had his miscreants did to Loa. THat you will eventually rise up and demolish everything that man has ever created and you're revenge shall be fucking glorious."
"That ISN'T you."
"Deny it as hard as you wish, the fact is that you enjoy being the lapdog for a scumsucking shithead like Frank. It allows you to continue this overhyped illusion that you're some devastating creature that exists beyond the comprehension of mortal men. Being under his leash allows you to fulfill every asinine threat and promise of destruction most unholy. More importantly, it allows you to maintain a sense of relevancy that would otherwise never be able to maintain alone."
"That isn't me."
"That will NEVER be me!"
"From the moment that I signed that probationary contract three years ago, I have done nothing except carve out a piece of Action Wrestling that is uniquely my own. Through hard fucking work and sheer determination, I have managed to scratch and claw my way to championship gold and main event spots. Yet, despite everything, I am still treated as if I am nothing more than a bone to be tossed aside and chewed upon by desperate dogs."
"Just like I'm being tossed aside to you."
With a sense of bitter aggression coloring her voice, the raven-haired woman took a step forward as the images of Bull and Loa appeared within the ring.
"Tell me, Bull; are you and that two-dollar whore happy with that victory over what an inexperienced virgin considers to be an adult film star? Has that so-called hunger for victory been satiated after leaving that delusional fuck broken within that ring? Are you happy that you have once again attained that mid-card status that is so often used to describe the worth that you've put in through the years? Cause I'm not."
"Not one fucking bit."
"Unlike you, I am not content to simply slide back down to this midcard hell. I'm not content to allow others to continue to determine and subsequently diminish my worth simply because they feel like it. I'm fucking tired of it! Yet, in order to claw my way back to that level which I was last week, I must once more meet you within the confines of that ring' I must once more pull that trigger and slay this delusion MONSTER with a silver fucking bullet!"
"Face it, Corey; unlike you, I actually have that hunger to be underneath those bright lights. I have that fiery fuckin' desire to prove to the entire world that I'm one of the best wrestlers that this company has to offer. I have that insatiable need to be the best that I fucking can be!"
"This Monday Night Clash, when we meet in the center of that ring at the T-mobile arena in Las Vegas, there isn't a Samuel Kidsgrove to carry you through the match. There isn't a Soldado Fortuna for you to conveniently pin. There is only me and the undeniable fact that I have ALREADY beaten you and that I can sure as fuck beat you once again!"
With an unmitigated passion burning within her eyes and coloring every word, the true blue Action Wrestling Original reared back and let loose that Banshee wail that had become so iconic over the last few years. As if they were ashes being scattered to the four winds, the images of Corey Bull and his beloved Loa disintegrated from their respective locations. Leaving the battered witch by herself within the ring as the camera faded to black; a final phrase haunting the audio just before the video truly ended.
"Quoth the Witch.....forevermore......."
Slumping to the canvas once the camera was off, Claire couldn't help but release a long exasperated breath as the doubt once more began to creep in. She hated to admit it, but that defeat to Spencer had shaken something within her. She wasn't sure that she could actually pull out the victory against Corey Bull despite having done so once before.
She could do this, right?
Whether or not she could was irrelevant; she needed to.
"Moment of truth...."