Post by Death Incarnate on Jul 16, 2016 17:03:46 GMT -6
From the Desk of Dr. Opeare Shields
Date: June 17th, 2016
Subject: Emma Carlisle
Session: Inaugural
Begin Playback…
”Log #34629-A. After agreeing to a series of sessions earlier today, I conducted my first session with Emma this evening. She is a taxing subject to say the least. Unlike Joanna and most subjects that are aware of their condition, Emma's complications are founded in confusion and personal doubt, not in pursuit of mental chess or a pointless power struggle. See notes on Joanna Thade and the irrelevance of traditional psychiatric measures, cross-referencing with more unconventional methods in the past that have borne measurable results in difficult cases like these.
Despite the difficulty of getting through to Emma for any proper length of time, she is at least willing to talk and discuss without throwing up a wall against attempts to converse. But by her own admission, discussions of any kind concerning herself, her motivations and her past are fraught with difficulty. This will have to be taken one step at a time. Any pressure and she may close up, never to reveal what’s on her mind to myself or anyone else again. End log.”
~*~
July 9th, 2016, 9:32am
The Compound - Malibu, California
Garage
Watching from the door leading into the Compound proper, Emma silently surveys the preparations of Talon and Sentinel as they strap their bags down on the backs of their Harleys, the latter tending to last minute spot-checking of the polished hogs, making sure they were up to his standards. With the packing complete, Talon watched as the massive, black-haired beast of a man gave a few nuts a twist, tightened a wire or two and checked some of the gaskets. He looked up toward his crimson-coiffed wife with a thin smile, but upon glancing past her he noted Emma’s presence for the first time. Gray eyes met those of ice and he nodded slightly before turning to Talon.
”Came to see us off, I suppose. Didn’t expect that.”
”Truth told, neither did I,” responds Fury with a look of half-concern on her unmasked face. ”I’ll speak to her.”
Nodding in the process of removing the gas cap to Talon’s bike and fitting the business end of the pump inside, Sentinel returns his attention fully to the preparations at hand while Talon moves toward a now-approaching Emma. The women stop within a foot of one another, the uneasy silence broken by Death herself.
”Everything will be all right, correct?”
”That’s certainly our hope, being that this is taking us away from the business indefinitely. Horrid timing as well.”
”I… don’t do well with good-bye,” Emma replies, though how she means that comment is anyone’s guess; she doesn’t elaborate. ”But you will always have a place here. Either as a partner or as a friend. Those words… don’t come easily from me.”
Indeed, Emma seemed very ill at ease saying them, though not in the sense of trying to force them out to put on a veneer of calm. She meant them. Emotions, however, were not her bread and butter. Talon recognizes the effort put into this and puts a hand on Emma’s shoulder, leading to the two women embracing for a few long moments, a rare sight to be sure considering their monikers of Fury and Death.
”I’ll remember that. Carry on with the fight, sister. When the time comes that we can return...”
”...we’ll be waiting.”
By that time, Sentinel had approached the pair and his heavy hand rested lightly on his wife’s shoulder. He gazed down at Emma from his foot-higher vantage point and gave her a polite smile. Never one for any sort of affection when it came to a male, creatures that she could only tolerate a couple of out of the billions on the planet, Emma did her best to affect a genial expression. Sentinel, knowing her proclivities, understood and took no insult.
”Been a pleasure working with you, Em. Maybe one day we’ll have the chance again.”
He extends a large hand to Emma who, after a second or two of staring, instead steps in and actually hugs him. No one is more surprised than Sentinel himself, who returns the gesture before stepping back the very moment Emma lets go. It isn’t easy to surprise the man but she did it. Surprised herself, too, if the half-mortified expression is any indicator.
”Don’t be a stranger.”
Nodding numbly, Emma folds her arms across her black-clad chest, watching as Talon and Sentinel mount, then start, their Harleys. The garage door is raised by Emma herself via the remote on the wall as the couple dons their skullcap-style helmets and pull out of the garage. Wind and dust kicked up in their passing, as well as a bit of gravel, Emma walks to the open passage and watches as the two disappear into the distance. It’s hard to tell from the back what she’s thinking, but a slight shake to her shoulders is noted before a voice cuts in from out of sight.
”Miss Emma, we have the booking for the next Breakthrough…”
”Casanova English, correct?”
Taken aback slightly by the response, Ellimere nods. Her dark hair hung loose over her shoulders and in her professional attire of a blouse and skirt, the young woman looked amazing. Seldom seen, she was once the first of the Chosen, and the one upon whom the rest lean as a sort of surrogate leader and exemplar. Out of them all, she was the one to become closest to Emma herself.
”I should not be surprised that you knew, Miss Emma,” Ellimere replies after a moment, straightening her glasses with her index finger, ”but all considered that is exactly how I find myself.”
”It is VoW’s last-ditch effort to put me away for good. And make no mistake, Ellimere,” Emma says as she lifts a hand to her face briefly, afterward turning to Ellimere, ”they want me gone. They didn’t expect me to force their hand, putting that misogynistic fruitcake Ryder Blade in his place and going to eye to eye with their tattered king. But, predictably, they swallowed the bait and the hook along with it. Naturally they seek to keep Joanna and I apart as much as possible, lest we ruin their golden dreams, but… divide and conquer as they say. Change the rules, change the game… Chaos will still find a way.”
Seldom one to show any emotion, Ellimere has a faint smile on her face.
”And now you topple English and reign over VoW, correct?”
Emma’s expression tenses slightly, her eyes staring more past than at Ellimere… or perhaps through her. It was hard to tell. Death looked blank of just about anything at that moment.
”No.”
”...you realize that we’re mere weeks away from being fully operational correct, Miss Emma? There is nothing tethering you to this place, or at least nothing strict enough so as to hinder your career. Would this not be the time to strike them down as you intended?”
”Perhaps, but of late I’ve been… questioning things. The mission, the effectiveness of I and my sisters and whether or not I’m as I should be. It isn’t something I should burden you with however, Ellimere.”
Better than any other besides Joanna or perhaps Eleanor, Ellimere knew the woman who brought her into the fold very well. She took a step back and bowed respectfully at the waist.
”Then I will leave you to your thoughts. Do not hesitate to call on me if you need anything, Miss Emma.”
Unpainted lips part to speak, yet not a syllable is given air as Emma watches Ellimere return to her duties. Pursing her lips, she turns to the wall and presses the switch to close the garage door. From there is the view of her as the metal door clacks shut noisily and the scene fades to black.
~*~
From the Desk of Dr. Opeare Shields
Date: June 24th, 2016
Subject: Emma Carlisle
Session: Second
Begin Playback…
”Log #34629-A, Session Two. Had a small breakthrough tonight. On a whim I asked that Joanna bring Melchior to the office before the session. Asking Emma for it would have been counterproductive and only Joanna could get close enough to it. Upon request, Emma allowed Victoria out, at which point I produced the toy.
The reaction was instantaneous. Victoria became far more affable and talkative though most of her focus was put on the penguin instead of the questions. Despite this, I was able to gather a little more background, some of it admittedly assumption-based, about her past. Not enough for a profile, but enough to give me details to work through. Perhaps through this, I can learn more of Emma without pressing her too far.
That almost happened. On the topic of someone only referred to as Nightmare by her (also known as Balthazar), she nearly had a violent episode. I know I will have to press into the topic of him and a few others. It’s unpleasant, but restraints, or at least the presence of Joanna, may be necessary. I do not wish to employ either. End log.”
~*~
July 11th, 2016, 4:53pm
Essex Pharmaceuticals - Coventry, Warwickshire
Top Floor, Office of the CEO
Filling out the tailored navy-and-pinstripe business suit impressively, Eleanor Merriweather strides down the hallway toward her office in the far corner. Several weeks into her tenure as the President and CEO of Essex Pharmaceuticals, the fire-haired young woman gives off every impression of being a powerful woman in control of her world. Far removed from the effects of a nasty situation a few months ago that left her emaciated, afraid of being around most people and unable to sleep more than a few hours at a time without earning nightmares. Every high-heeled step is audible even on the carpeted floor, with the woman once known as Doll striding with her head held high… another recent return to form. Still, to see her now, so far removed from Emma Carlisle, is rare. The two had barely conversed in recent weeks with the latter attempting to get to the bottom of herself mentally and Eleanor herself acclimating to the power she now possessed.
Thankfully, she’d spent years in the company before now, working near the top. She had the knowledge to make things work and, unlike her former charge, she had respect on her side. Still, there were moments when she wondered whether this appointment was an attempt to get her out of the way, to create some distance. Such thoughts even now percolated behind her bright blue eyes. Thoughts… about to be cast into the wind.
”Miss Merriweather? I apologize, ma’am,” her secretary, Tara, stopped her mid-stride as she reached for the door to her office. Briefly, Eleanor was reminded of herself once upon a time. ”You have a visitor waiting in your office. I asked that he wait out here but… he was… insistent.”
”He was searched, his background studied?”
”He was clean, but there’s no record of him in any of our systems… or even outside systems that we could find.”
A red brow elevates and Eleanor turns from the mousy-yet-pretty girl behind the receptionist’s desk to the door of her office. A flashback struck her and she nearly stumbled, though she caught herself. It couldn’t be… could it?
”Keep security on-call. If you hear any commotion or get the signal at your desk, get them here fast.”
Knowing not to question Eleanor in this, Tara nods quickly. Entering her office, Eleanor closes the door behind her and subtly puts her right hand behind her, pulling up the hem of her jacket a bit. Concealed at waist level in a black holster is a small, silver Derringer… her fingertips rest upon it as she walks toward her desk, behind which her chair is turned facing the windows, someone… a stranger… within it.
”Excuse me, but what are you doing in here?”
Her voice showed more confidence than she felt, her fingertips touching the handle of the gun. The person in the chair turned, as did the view so that only Eleanor’s eyes saw who sat waiting. Her right hand fell from her waist, her eyes widening while her lower lip took a serious gnawing in the process.
”M-Michael…?”
”I don’t have much time, love, and we’ve a lot to talk about...”
Fade to black.
~*~
From the Desk of Dr. Opeare Shields
Date: July 1st, 2016
Subject: Emma Carlisle
Session: Third
Begin Playback…
”Log #34629-A, Session Three. I… don’t know if I would call this particular session a progressive one. Emma barely responded to anything I said and for the brief moment that Victoria was present, she did little more than curl up on the couch and cry to herself. Joanna may be unavoidable in the next session if I hope to get any more out of Emma. Nothing offered here couldn’t have been confirmed more simply by watching the media on the hard drive we’ve had for months. End log.”
~*~
July 7th, 2016, 7:17pm
The Compound - Malibu, California
The Mistress Bedroom
The room is mostly dark, lit by a few slender candles possessing perhaps another hour of life before they were reduced to drippings beneath their silver housing. What little of it is illuminated is a right mess, with a discarded shower curtain still lying crumpled in a pool of water and the bedcovers a disheveled disaster. Two forms are present upon the darkened bed, one sitting up more than lying back, the other entwined about the first, barely covered by a thin black sheet.
Below, blue hair…
Above, cold stare…
There’s a tremble from time to time that passes through Joanna’s body, making her curl up a bit tighter, cling to Emma a touch more. Whether she’s awake or dreaming darkly is impossible to tell with her blue hair, unbrushed from the shower, fallen before her face. Whenever she moves, however, Emma’s hands and arms shift in gestures and touches of soothing. At least until War stills again, at which point Death becomes as still as her adopted nomenclature.
They’re silent for a long while before Joanna whispers from beneath her sanctum of darkness and a lover’s touch. Hers is the rasping whisper of a throat demanding water, thick with fatigue and pain.
”What happens now?”
For the first time aside from her hands and arms, Emma shifts visibly. She looks down at Joanna, a careful sweep of her fingers drawing hair from her fiancee’s face. It’s unlike War to see such affection, but the blue-haired warrior actually nuzzles the black-tipped fingers of the woman over her as Emma responds softly.
”We start all over again.”
”So… this is the end? For all of us?”
Shaking her head, Emma leans up enough to grasp top of the sheet, wrapping it more closely around Joanna, whose eyes close to the feeling of her comfort level rising just a bit.
”We’re just starting. In the end, I hope you can forgive me for what I have to do.”
”If… if you leave me… I’ll have to destroy you.”
”We’re forever. You know this. They know this,” replies Emma with firmness, her jaw set. ”Just… rest. This is all I can do for now. It isn’t… was never a matter of leaving you, Joanna. It’s whether you’ll still want me in your life when all is said and done.”
Both sets of eyes shut, one remaining open long enough to blow the last life from the candles and throw the room into complete blackness.
~*~
From the Desk of Dr. Opeare Shields
Date: July 8th, 2016
Subject: Emma Carlisle
Session: Fourth
Begin Playback…
”Log #34629-A, Session Four. What happened within the last week to shut her down? It must have had something to do with Joanna’s own breakdown. Word is that Emma had to smash down the door with Joanna’s hammer and take her to their room. They did not emerge for almost a whole day. Neither will talk about it. I hope this does not set back the progress too far. End log...”
~*~
July 16th, 2016, 10:09am
The Compound - Malibu, California
The “Free Lands”
Foregoing proper riding attire this morning, Emma instead wears loose black trousers that flow freely in the breeze about her legs. Her upper attire consists of a tight white top, the buttons looking as though they might burst from too deep an inhale, and a long jacket of the same material as her pants, flowing in the wind. The cool air of the morning allows for some comfort in this, though in an hour or so the heat would prompt either lighter gear or time spent indoors with central air. But neither is Emma’s concern as she slows Charon to a trot, then a walk.
The view is from a distance as Emma exorcises some of her worries and concerns by indulging in one of the few joys she finds in life. After a little while, the camera focuses on her stopping by a tree on the property and tethering Charon to it after sliding from his back gracefully. She takes from one of the saddlebags a red apple, polished and clean, feeding it to the stallion as she strokes his mane, speaking soothingly. The horse calmly accepts the treat, reacting gently to her touch. She speaks with the horse as stated before, though at that volume it’s hard to make out anything other than the simple observation that she’s not speaking English.
Leaning forward, Emma rests her hands on Charon’s head and kisses his brow lightly, a simple show of affection to the creature. But when she peers over her shoulder at the camera, any affection in her expression wilts and falls away, leaving a chilly mask. A subtle shift of her eyes and a nod are given before she enters into a monologue.
”Without you as champion, Casanova English, VoW would burn down to the ground, leaving a charred corpse and a crater of dead land and bleached bones. That is the message you sought to deliver, the impression you wanted to give, when you sauntered down to the ring at Breakthrough, no? For someone who prides himself on being on top in all ways, from claiming leadership of the Orphanage to being the World Visionary Champion to claiming rights as the ruler of this misbegotten company,” Emma goes on for a moment, letting Charon take a sugar cube or two from her open hand, her eyes on her steed and not the camera, ”you’re horribly imperceptive. Have you not been listening for the past several months? Or do you really think that threatening to bring this company down around everyone’s ears is some kind of threat? That’s been our mission statement from the start. Look at this edifice of disease and discontent, run by fools who buy into the illusion of control, trying down to the last breath and drop of blood to keep a mass of divergent personalities and motivations in line with threats and false promises,” she finishes, taking a slow breath and shaking her head. Charon snorts almost as if he’s laughing and the sound makes Emma smirk a little. ”Even a creature you would see as a low beast, for your vision is that narrow, understands the folly that is Visionaries of Wrestling quite clearly.
You don’t threaten someone with nothing to lose, English. Especially when you yourself have everything to lose. No, this match is not for your championship but does that truly matter in the grand scheme of things? Every title defense of recent memory has seen you taken a little closer to the edge of defeat. The law of averages is something not even the intelligent and resourceful can avoid, much to your chagrin,” she continues, speaking smoothly. Despite being ill-at-ease, something about being outside and with Charon has a calming effect on Emma as we’ve seen a time or two before, ”This company has nothing to lose. A swift, merciful death would be a blessing, for the corpse would feed the flower which would grow in its place, blooming into a rose of utter beauty and purity. The people in this company have nothing to lose either, being the equivalent of scavenging creatures rolling around in their own muck. What can you take from the useless, weak and forgotten that hasn’t been already? And I,” Emma pauses before continuing without a trace of irony, ”I have nothing to lose, either.”
No explanation comes immediately after that admission. Instead she draws a brush from the bag and begins to stroke it through Charon’s mane. When she seems ready to burst in anger or unleash a torrent of shrieking verbal wrath, Death turns to her noble steed and presses upon him comfort which is passed back within her in kind. What, then, must be plaguing her? How deep does her fury run?
”You, however, have everything to lose. But you knew that already. You are not a stupid person, something which even in my low opinion of you I’m forced to recognize. How, though, when the title isn’t on the line? There, as they say, is the rub,” she reaches behind her head mid-sentence to slowly unravel the braid she’d wrapped her hair into before heading out. ”As difficult as it may be for you and most of VoW to believe at this point, Casanova, I am a dangerous woman. I can seriously hurt you in and out of that ring, in ways that will never heal, leaving scars that never go away. And that’s merely the physical side of my wrath,” she finishes, shaking her hair out so that it flows in waves over her shoulders. For one moment, a direct look into her face, her eyes, shows a woman ground to the very edge of her limits. ”If I forget myself for a moment, champ, I can see to it that you never make it to Heatstroke and that your precious title is ripped from your grasp without you being able to lift a finger to stop it. As I said: nothing to lose. What does it matter to me if you’re being barrelled through the streets at 120 miles per hour, barely clinging to a pulse, seeing dead relatives standing against the light before your very eyes?
It doesn’t. I know my own time is coming to an end. The past and the present are colliding within me and all around me, not unlike the effect of a bomb dropped on the Panama canal, leaving two oceans of different levels to smash together, annihilating all that lay between them,” Emma pauses after these words, looking as though she’s savoring the mental image. ”Soon there will be nothing left. Joanna chooses to voice her displeasure over the establishment blocking our mission by refusing to participate to the company’s liking in any battle without me at her side. But I? That isn’t my way,” Emma, with a hand to the saddle, swings herself back upon Charon’s back, settling in and giving the muscular animal a stroke to the mane to soothe him again. ”Seeing your end looming before your eyes, close enough to reach out and touch it, removes inhibitions as surely as it does a sense of mercy or the inborn trigger that keeps us from giving in to carnal, primal urges. It is coming. I cannot stop it, nor can I evade it or delay its onrushing inevitability. So… I choose to make the most of the moments left to me. And I choose to do that by storming your castle-on-the-mountain, kicking down the door and slapping you off your throne!”
Wrapping the reins around one hand, Emma is barely keeping control at this point. She knows she has to bring this to an end soon… not just her message, but her business… her mission.
”This is your first taste of real power, Casanova. Nothing brought on by your championship, your cronies or the wealth and influence you wield as easily as you speak can match what I bring to the table. Money can’t buy what I bear in these hands and there isn’t an orator alive who could talk me down from my mission, handed down from beyond the influence of gods and devils. Beyond everything, including you.” she smiles thinly, briefly. ”And the sad part is that… it is only a harbinger of what’s to come. VoW may never seek to have me vying for the gold around your waist, knowing what that would entail, but if they think that their prejudice and divide-and-conquer tactics will stop me from hunting you down like a filthy mongrel who stole from my table… just ask Veronica Valiant exactly how well that works. I don’t need that gold-and-leather carrot hanging before my eyes to make you suffer. I don’t have to have a reward waiting for me at the finish line to hound you until my final days. I’ll do it because I enjoy it. Everything else… is just a bonus for doing what I already do for free.”
She raises a brow, looking over her shoulder again as she aims Charon toward the sun once rising behind her.
”That’s the beauty of futility. Their rules no longer matter to me and I have no limits to restrain me. I don’t have to hold back from damaging the company’s meal ticket and putting their precious pay-per-view in jeopardy, either. You’re nothing more than a toy for a greater beast to sharpen their teeth on, English, destined to be spat out and left for the scavengers to pick the meat from. An ignominious end for a so-called God among men, but that’s what happens when you fool around with messianic, pretentious banter and self-aggrandizing tactics in and out of the ring.”
Turning her back fully, Emma spits out one last comment…
”You wind up crucified.”
Spurring Charon forward, she gallops off, lost in the glare of the morning sun as the scene fades to black.
Date: June 17th, 2016
Subject: Emma Carlisle
Session: Inaugural
Begin Playback…
”Log #34629-A. After agreeing to a series of sessions earlier today, I conducted my first session with Emma this evening. She is a taxing subject to say the least. Unlike Joanna and most subjects that are aware of their condition, Emma's complications are founded in confusion and personal doubt, not in pursuit of mental chess or a pointless power struggle. See notes on Joanna Thade and the irrelevance of traditional psychiatric measures, cross-referencing with more unconventional methods in the past that have borne measurable results in difficult cases like these.
Despite the difficulty of getting through to Emma for any proper length of time, she is at least willing to talk and discuss without throwing up a wall against attempts to converse. But by her own admission, discussions of any kind concerning herself, her motivations and her past are fraught with difficulty. This will have to be taken one step at a time. Any pressure and she may close up, never to reveal what’s on her mind to myself or anyone else again. End log.”
~*~
July 9th, 2016, 9:32am
The Compound - Malibu, California
Garage
Watching from the door leading into the Compound proper, Emma silently surveys the preparations of Talon and Sentinel as they strap their bags down on the backs of their Harleys, the latter tending to last minute spot-checking of the polished hogs, making sure they were up to his standards. With the packing complete, Talon watched as the massive, black-haired beast of a man gave a few nuts a twist, tightened a wire or two and checked some of the gaskets. He looked up toward his crimson-coiffed wife with a thin smile, but upon glancing past her he noted Emma’s presence for the first time. Gray eyes met those of ice and he nodded slightly before turning to Talon.
”Came to see us off, I suppose. Didn’t expect that.”
”Truth told, neither did I,” responds Fury with a look of half-concern on her unmasked face. ”I’ll speak to her.”
Nodding in the process of removing the gas cap to Talon’s bike and fitting the business end of the pump inside, Sentinel returns his attention fully to the preparations at hand while Talon moves toward a now-approaching Emma. The women stop within a foot of one another, the uneasy silence broken by Death herself.
”Everything will be all right, correct?”
”That’s certainly our hope, being that this is taking us away from the business indefinitely. Horrid timing as well.”
”I… don’t do well with good-bye,” Emma replies, though how she means that comment is anyone’s guess; she doesn’t elaborate. ”But you will always have a place here. Either as a partner or as a friend. Those words… don’t come easily from me.”
Indeed, Emma seemed very ill at ease saying them, though not in the sense of trying to force them out to put on a veneer of calm. She meant them. Emotions, however, were not her bread and butter. Talon recognizes the effort put into this and puts a hand on Emma’s shoulder, leading to the two women embracing for a few long moments, a rare sight to be sure considering their monikers of Fury and Death.
”I’ll remember that. Carry on with the fight, sister. When the time comes that we can return...”
”...we’ll be waiting.”
By that time, Sentinel had approached the pair and his heavy hand rested lightly on his wife’s shoulder. He gazed down at Emma from his foot-higher vantage point and gave her a polite smile. Never one for any sort of affection when it came to a male, creatures that she could only tolerate a couple of out of the billions on the planet, Emma did her best to affect a genial expression. Sentinel, knowing her proclivities, understood and took no insult.
”Been a pleasure working with you, Em. Maybe one day we’ll have the chance again.”
He extends a large hand to Emma who, after a second or two of staring, instead steps in and actually hugs him. No one is more surprised than Sentinel himself, who returns the gesture before stepping back the very moment Emma lets go. It isn’t easy to surprise the man but she did it. Surprised herself, too, if the half-mortified expression is any indicator.
”Don’t be a stranger.”
Nodding numbly, Emma folds her arms across her black-clad chest, watching as Talon and Sentinel mount, then start, their Harleys. The garage door is raised by Emma herself via the remote on the wall as the couple dons their skullcap-style helmets and pull out of the garage. Wind and dust kicked up in their passing, as well as a bit of gravel, Emma walks to the open passage and watches as the two disappear into the distance. It’s hard to tell from the back what she’s thinking, but a slight shake to her shoulders is noted before a voice cuts in from out of sight.
”Miss Emma, we have the booking for the next Breakthrough…”
”Casanova English, correct?”
Taken aback slightly by the response, Ellimere nods. Her dark hair hung loose over her shoulders and in her professional attire of a blouse and skirt, the young woman looked amazing. Seldom seen, she was once the first of the Chosen, and the one upon whom the rest lean as a sort of surrogate leader and exemplar. Out of them all, she was the one to become closest to Emma herself.
”I should not be surprised that you knew, Miss Emma,” Ellimere replies after a moment, straightening her glasses with her index finger, ”but all considered that is exactly how I find myself.”
”It is VoW’s last-ditch effort to put me away for good. And make no mistake, Ellimere,” Emma says as she lifts a hand to her face briefly, afterward turning to Ellimere, ”they want me gone. They didn’t expect me to force their hand, putting that misogynistic fruitcake Ryder Blade in his place and going to eye to eye with their tattered king. But, predictably, they swallowed the bait and the hook along with it. Naturally they seek to keep Joanna and I apart as much as possible, lest we ruin their golden dreams, but… divide and conquer as they say. Change the rules, change the game… Chaos will still find a way.”
Seldom one to show any emotion, Ellimere has a faint smile on her face.
”And now you topple English and reign over VoW, correct?”
Emma’s expression tenses slightly, her eyes staring more past than at Ellimere… or perhaps through her. It was hard to tell. Death looked blank of just about anything at that moment.
”No.”
”...you realize that we’re mere weeks away from being fully operational correct, Miss Emma? There is nothing tethering you to this place, or at least nothing strict enough so as to hinder your career. Would this not be the time to strike them down as you intended?”
”Perhaps, but of late I’ve been… questioning things. The mission, the effectiveness of I and my sisters and whether or not I’m as I should be. It isn’t something I should burden you with however, Ellimere.”
Better than any other besides Joanna or perhaps Eleanor, Ellimere knew the woman who brought her into the fold very well. She took a step back and bowed respectfully at the waist.
”Then I will leave you to your thoughts. Do not hesitate to call on me if you need anything, Miss Emma.”
Unpainted lips part to speak, yet not a syllable is given air as Emma watches Ellimere return to her duties. Pursing her lips, she turns to the wall and presses the switch to close the garage door. From there is the view of her as the metal door clacks shut noisily and the scene fades to black.
~*~
From the Desk of Dr. Opeare Shields
Date: June 24th, 2016
Subject: Emma Carlisle
Session: Second
Begin Playback…
”Log #34629-A, Session Two. Had a small breakthrough tonight. On a whim I asked that Joanna bring Melchior to the office before the session. Asking Emma for it would have been counterproductive and only Joanna could get close enough to it. Upon request, Emma allowed Victoria out, at which point I produced the toy.
The reaction was instantaneous. Victoria became far more affable and talkative though most of her focus was put on the penguin instead of the questions. Despite this, I was able to gather a little more background, some of it admittedly assumption-based, about her past. Not enough for a profile, but enough to give me details to work through. Perhaps through this, I can learn more of Emma without pressing her too far.
That almost happened. On the topic of someone only referred to as Nightmare by her (also known as Balthazar), she nearly had a violent episode. I know I will have to press into the topic of him and a few others. It’s unpleasant, but restraints, or at least the presence of Joanna, may be necessary. I do not wish to employ either. End log.”
~*~
July 11th, 2016, 4:53pm
Essex Pharmaceuticals - Coventry, Warwickshire
Top Floor, Office of the CEO
Filling out the tailored navy-and-pinstripe business suit impressively, Eleanor Merriweather strides down the hallway toward her office in the far corner. Several weeks into her tenure as the President and CEO of Essex Pharmaceuticals, the fire-haired young woman gives off every impression of being a powerful woman in control of her world. Far removed from the effects of a nasty situation a few months ago that left her emaciated, afraid of being around most people and unable to sleep more than a few hours at a time without earning nightmares. Every high-heeled step is audible even on the carpeted floor, with the woman once known as Doll striding with her head held high… another recent return to form. Still, to see her now, so far removed from Emma Carlisle, is rare. The two had barely conversed in recent weeks with the latter attempting to get to the bottom of herself mentally and Eleanor herself acclimating to the power she now possessed.
Thankfully, she’d spent years in the company before now, working near the top. She had the knowledge to make things work and, unlike her former charge, she had respect on her side. Still, there were moments when she wondered whether this appointment was an attempt to get her out of the way, to create some distance. Such thoughts even now percolated behind her bright blue eyes. Thoughts… about to be cast into the wind.
”Miss Merriweather? I apologize, ma’am,” her secretary, Tara, stopped her mid-stride as she reached for the door to her office. Briefly, Eleanor was reminded of herself once upon a time. ”You have a visitor waiting in your office. I asked that he wait out here but… he was… insistent.”
”He was searched, his background studied?”
”He was clean, but there’s no record of him in any of our systems… or even outside systems that we could find.”
A red brow elevates and Eleanor turns from the mousy-yet-pretty girl behind the receptionist’s desk to the door of her office. A flashback struck her and she nearly stumbled, though she caught herself. It couldn’t be… could it?
”Keep security on-call. If you hear any commotion or get the signal at your desk, get them here fast.”
Knowing not to question Eleanor in this, Tara nods quickly. Entering her office, Eleanor closes the door behind her and subtly puts her right hand behind her, pulling up the hem of her jacket a bit. Concealed at waist level in a black holster is a small, silver Derringer… her fingertips rest upon it as she walks toward her desk, behind which her chair is turned facing the windows, someone… a stranger… within it.
”Excuse me, but what are you doing in here?”
Her voice showed more confidence than she felt, her fingertips touching the handle of the gun. The person in the chair turned, as did the view so that only Eleanor’s eyes saw who sat waiting. Her right hand fell from her waist, her eyes widening while her lower lip took a serious gnawing in the process.
”M-Michael…?”
”I don’t have much time, love, and we’ve a lot to talk about...”
Fade to black.
~*~
From the Desk of Dr. Opeare Shields
Date: July 1st, 2016
Subject: Emma Carlisle
Session: Third
Begin Playback…
”Log #34629-A, Session Three. I… don’t know if I would call this particular session a progressive one. Emma barely responded to anything I said and for the brief moment that Victoria was present, she did little more than curl up on the couch and cry to herself. Joanna may be unavoidable in the next session if I hope to get any more out of Emma. Nothing offered here couldn’t have been confirmed more simply by watching the media on the hard drive we’ve had for months. End log.”
~*~
July 7th, 2016, 7:17pm
The Compound - Malibu, California
The Mistress Bedroom
The room is mostly dark, lit by a few slender candles possessing perhaps another hour of life before they were reduced to drippings beneath their silver housing. What little of it is illuminated is a right mess, with a discarded shower curtain still lying crumpled in a pool of water and the bedcovers a disheveled disaster. Two forms are present upon the darkened bed, one sitting up more than lying back, the other entwined about the first, barely covered by a thin black sheet.
Below, blue hair…
Above, cold stare…
There’s a tremble from time to time that passes through Joanna’s body, making her curl up a bit tighter, cling to Emma a touch more. Whether she’s awake or dreaming darkly is impossible to tell with her blue hair, unbrushed from the shower, fallen before her face. Whenever she moves, however, Emma’s hands and arms shift in gestures and touches of soothing. At least until War stills again, at which point Death becomes as still as her adopted nomenclature.
They’re silent for a long while before Joanna whispers from beneath her sanctum of darkness and a lover’s touch. Hers is the rasping whisper of a throat demanding water, thick with fatigue and pain.
”What happens now?”
For the first time aside from her hands and arms, Emma shifts visibly. She looks down at Joanna, a careful sweep of her fingers drawing hair from her fiancee’s face. It’s unlike War to see such affection, but the blue-haired warrior actually nuzzles the black-tipped fingers of the woman over her as Emma responds softly.
”We start all over again.”
”So… this is the end? For all of us?”
Shaking her head, Emma leans up enough to grasp top of the sheet, wrapping it more closely around Joanna, whose eyes close to the feeling of her comfort level rising just a bit.
”We’re just starting. In the end, I hope you can forgive me for what I have to do.”
”If… if you leave me… I’ll have to destroy you.”
”We’re forever. You know this. They know this,” replies Emma with firmness, her jaw set. ”Just… rest. This is all I can do for now. It isn’t… was never a matter of leaving you, Joanna. It’s whether you’ll still want me in your life when all is said and done.”
Both sets of eyes shut, one remaining open long enough to blow the last life from the candles and throw the room into complete blackness.
~*~
From the Desk of Dr. Opeare Shields
Date: July 8th, 2016
Subject: Emma Carlisle
Session: Fourth
Begin Playback…
”Log #34629-A, Session Four. What happened within the last week to shut her down? It must have had something to do with Joanna’s own breakdown. Word is that Emma had to smash down the door with Joanna’s hammer and take her to their room. They did not emerge for almost a whole day. Neither will talk about it. I hope this does not set back the progress too far. End log...”
~*~
July 16th, 2016, 10:09am
The Compound - Malibu, California
The “Free Lands”
Foregoing proper riding attire this morning, Emma instead wears loose black trousers that flow freely in the breeze about her legs. Her upper attire consists of a tight white top, the buttons looking as though they might burst from too deep an inhale, and a long jacket of the same material as her pants, flowing in the wind. The cool air of the morning allows for some comfort in this, though in an hour or so the heat would prompt either lighter gear or time spent indoors with central air. But neither is Emma’s concern as she slows Charon to a trot, then a walk.
The view is from a distance as Emma exorcises some of her worries and concerns by indulging in one of the few joys she finds in life. After a little while, the camera focuses on her stopping by a tree on the property and tethering Charon to it after sliding from his back gracefully. She takes from one of the saddlebags a red apple, polished and clean, feeding it to the stallion as she strokes his mane, speaking soothingly. The horse calmly accepts the treat, reacting gently to her touch. She speaks with the horse as stated before, though at that volume it’s hard to make out anything other than the simple observation that she’s not speaking English.
Leaning forward, Emma rests her hands on Charon’s head and kisses his brow lightly, a simple show of affection to the creature. But when she peers over her shoulder at the camera, any affection in her expression wilts and falls away, leaving a chilly mask. A subtle shift of her eyes and a nod are given before she enters into a monologue.
”Without you as champion, Casanova English, VoW would burn down to the ground, leaving a charred corpse and a crater of dead land and bleached bones. That is the message you sought to deliver, the impression you wanted to give, when you sauntered down to the ring at Breakthrough, no? For someone who prides himself on being on top in all ways, from claiming leadership of the Orphanage to being the World Visionary Champion to claiming rights as the ruler of this misbegotten company,” Emma goes on for a moment, letting Charon take a sugar cube or two from her open hand, her eyes on her steed and not the camera, ”you’re horribly imperceptive. Have you not been listening for the past several months? Or do you really think that threatening to bring this company down around everyone’s ears is some kind of threat? That’s been our mission statement from the start. Look at this edifice of disease and discontent, run by fools who buy into the illusion of control, trying down to the last breath and drop of blood to keep a mass of divergent personalities and motivations in line with threats and false promises,” she finishes, taking a slow breath and shaking her head. Charon snorts almost as if he’s laughing and the sound makes Emma smirk a little. ”Even a creature you would see as a low beast, for your vision is that narrow, understands the folly that is Visionaries of Wrestling quite clearly.
You don’t threaten someone with nothing to lose, English. Especially when you yourself have everything to lose. No, this match is not for your championship but does that truly matter in the grand scheme of things? Every title defense of recent memory has seen you taken a little closer to the edge of defeat. The law of averages is something not even the intelligent and resourceful can avoid, much to your chagrin,” she continues, speaking smoothly. Despite being ill-at-ease, something about being outside and with Charon has a calming effect on Emma as we’ve seen a time or two before, ”This company has nothing to lose. A swift, merciful death would be a blessing, for the corpse would feed the flower which would grow in its place, blooming into a rose of utter beauty and purity. The people in this company have nothing to lose either, being the equivalent of scavenging creatures rolling around in their own muck. What can you take from the useless, weak and forgotten that hasn’t been already? And I,” Emma pauses before continuing without a trace of irony, ”I have nothing to lose, either.”
No explanation comes immediately after that admission. Instead she draws a brush from the bag and begins to stroke it through Charon’s mane. When she seems ready to burst in anger or unleash a torrent of shrieking verbal wrath, Death turns to her noble steed and presses upon him comfort which is passed back within her in kind. What, then, must be plaguing her? How deep does her fury run?
”You, however, have everything to lose. But you knew that already. You are not a stupid person, something which even in my low opinion of you I’m forced to recognize. How, though, when the title isn’t on the line? There, as they say, is the rub,” she reaches behind her head mid-sentence to slowly unravel the braid she’d wrapped her hair into before heading out. ”As difficult as it may be for you and most of VoW to believe at this point, Casanova, I am a dangerous woman. I can seriously hurt you in and out of that ring, in ways that will never heal, leaving scars that never go away. And that’s merely the physical side of my wrath,” she finishes, shaking her hair out so that it flows in waves over her shoulders. For one moment, a direct look into her face, her eyes, shows a woman ground to the very edge of her limits. ”If I forget myself for a moment, champ, I can see to it that you never make it to Heatstroke and that your precious title is ripped from your grasp without you being able to lift a finger to stop it. As I said: nothing to lose. What does it matter to me if you’re being barrelled through the streets at 120 miles per hour, barely clinging to a pulse, seeing dead relatives standing against the light before your very eyes?
It doesn’t. I know my own time is coming to an end. The past and the present are colliding within me and all around me, not unlike the effect of a bomb dropped on the Panama canal, leaving two oceans of different levels to smash together, annihilating all that lay between them,” Emma pauses after these words, looking as though she’s savoring the mental image. ”Soon there will be nothing left. Joanna chooses to voice her displeasure over the establishment blocking our mission by refusing to participate to the company’s liking in any battle without me at her side. But I? That isn’t my way,” Emma, with a hand to the saddle, swings herself back upon Charon’s back, settling in and giving the muscular animal a stroke to the mane to soothe him again. ”Seeing your end looming before your eyes, close enough to reach out and touch it, removes inhibitions as surely as it does a sense of mercy or the inborn trigger that keeps us from giving in to carnal, primal urges. It is coming. I cannot stop it, nor can I evade it or delay its onrushing inevitability. So… I choose to make the most of the moments left to me. And I choose to do that by storming your castle-on-the-mountain, kicking down the door and slapping you off your throne!”
Wrapping the reins around one hand, Emma is barely keeping control at this point. She knows she has to bring this to an end soon… not just her message, but her business… her mission.
”This is your first taste of real power, Casanova. Nothing brought on by your championship, your cronies or the wealth and influence you wield as easily as you speak can match what I bring to the table. Money can’t buy what I bear in these hands and there isn’t an orator alive who could talk me down from my mission, handed down from beyond the influence of gods and devils. Beyond everything, including you.” she smiles thinly, briefly. ”And the sad part is that… it is only a harbinger of what’s to come. VoW may never seek to have me vying for the gold around your waist, knowing what that would entail, but if they think that their prejudice and divide-and-conquer tactics will stop me from hunting you down like a filthy mongrel who stole from my table… just ask Veronica Valiant exactly how well that works. I don’t need that gold-and-leather carrot hanging before my eyes to make you suffer. I don’t have to have a reward waiting for me at the finish line to hound you until my final days. I’ll do it because I enjoy it. Everything else… is just a bonus for doing what I already do for free.”
She raises a brow, looking over her shoulder again as she aims Charon toward the sun once rising behind her.
”That’s the beauty of futility. Their rules no longer matter to me and I have no limits to restrain me. I don’t have to hold back from damaging the company’s meal ticket and putting their precious pay-per-view in jeopardy, either. You’re nothing more than a toy for a greater beast to sharpen their teeth on, English, destined to be spat out and left for the scavengers to pick the meat from. An ignominious end for a so-called God among men, but that’s what happens when you fool around with messianic, pretentious banter and self-aggrandizing tactics in and out of the ring.”
Turning her back fully, Emma spits out one last comment…
”You wind up crucified.”
Spurring Charon forward, she gallops off, lost in the glare of the morning sun as the scene fades to black.
