Post by Constance on Aug 14, 2016 8:04:19 GMT -6
From the Diary of Constance Chapin
It should come as no surprise but I wasn’t invited to many birthday parties as a child.
Of course I didn’t let it bother me, or at least I told myself I was fine with it - I didn’t have anything in common with Rachel Webb from just up the way after all - but honestly as a stupid kid still trying to find exactly who I was...I always took it as a bit of an insult. That the kids would invite Robbie Oxton, who we all know was a bit...slow, over me was questionable. What did he have that I didn’t, other than an enthusiasm for life and an easy target for the more angry children. It was a defining moment of my life when a fellow team member on what I assumed was a rugby team of friends, one of the players invited every one of her team mates to her birthday party. Except for me.
I assume my invitation was lost in the mail.
The first, and only, birthday party I was invited to was James Frost’s thirteenth. I was two years his senior and he was relatively new in town, having moved from London due to a family work change. James was a rather portly child which of course invited all manner of taunts and jeers from the other boys - but it wasn’t as if these bullies were prizes themselves. They smelled blood in the water and let the weakest one be the bait for their sharks.
James delivered the invitation to my house personally, which is to say he went around with his head pointed at his shoes and dropped an invitation into every postbox on our street that had a child living there. I assumed it was delivered in error, it didn’t even have my name on the envelope and because of that I didn’t especially want to go. It took some convincing, namely from dear old mum, and a bit of a bribe for me to walk up the road to James’ house.
When I arrived his mother could not have been more elated to see me. “You’re the first to arrive!” she said and I had to ask if I was early. I knew I wasn’t, of course, but I had to ask; the party started at noon and I arrived a quarter to one - it took a lot of convincing on my end. I knew almost immediately that I was the only one that was even there, and when I walked to the backyard, grass overgrown and fence in need of fixing, I saw James Frost with his fists digging into his cheeks as he looked downward in deep depression.
The light on his eyes when his mom announced my arrival was what I imagine it looked like when people first heard The Beatles. Because I hear that that was something momentous - because who had ever heard awful pop music about love before those egotists?
I saw no reason to be rude to James, he had enough of that in his day-to-day because children are perhaps the cruelest sorts that people overlook. ‘Boys will be boys’ is no reason to not discipline a child. He was so utterly joyful that I honestly felt bad. I had no intention of even showing up and as I walked over I was already running through various excuses to duck out early, but as he started bouncing around and talking about party games, I found that I couldn’t leave. I’d be absolutely heartless if I did, and I wasn’t yet the bitter woman I am today.
His mother had made food for a party, not a single guest, and it would’ve been rude of me not to have seconds when offered even though I wasn’t exactly in love with her cooking - I’d always assumed birthday parties had like pizza or something. I can’t say the time I had was fun, but I suppose it could have been worse. It could have been awkward. Well...more awkward. He didn’t even seem bothered that I didn’t have a birthday gift for him, not even a card with a few pounds, my presence was present enough.
Naturally I underplayed it when I arrived back home after what should’ve been an hour away was instead damn near seven, telling my own mum that it was a well attended, banger of a time. I figured she wouldn’t press me for specifics if I just said I had a good time - that was the whole point in her forcing me to go, my lack of interaction with others around my age...though not at all for lack of trying. That really should’ve been the long and short. The end of my dealings with James Frost.
I certainly didn’t count on Piper to drop round the Frost’s for a bit of tea one afternoon. And I certainly didn’t expect James to spread the news that I attended his birthday party. Suddenly I had attention on me where before I was just casually tolerated and partially ignored by my peers. This wasn’t any positive attention, mind, but the kind that you’d assume youths would grow out of right around the time the boys discovered girls had breasts and girls discovered boys could be hypnotized by said breasts.
But of course, there I went assuming things.
My identity as ‘the too-serious rugby player’ all but vanished. Suddenly I was just ‘James Frost’s girlfriend’ which really had me rather livid, as if all I was was reduced to simply being property - let alone the connotations that came with it. The narrative was set and all I could do was vehemently deny it, which of course found its way back to James who didn’t quite seem to understand the harm in his words. Which, to his credit, the harm was practically nonexistent...to himself. He didn’t really know any better, was all. But he wasn’t slow, that was Robbie Oxton.
Every bit of deflection and denial only spun the story further and further out of my hands. I denied the accusation and suddenly everyone was an expert on Hamlet with how often they claimed I was protesting too much. I played it nonchalantly and it was taken as an admittance of a relationship. There was no convincing them of anything but their own ideal, their own narrative, and I honestly should’ve just let them tire out and find something else to hold their attention. But I was young, I was dumb, and I was still seeking some sort of attention and camaraderie even as I vehemently denied this to my parents.
I assumed that this sort of antagonizing would end after a week - a month at the very worst - but it continued for damn near a year. It was a rather slow year in Manchester, I suppose. I think James was happy, at least partially, because he wasn’t alone in being mocked. I, however, was unamused and was stewing in loathing towards these people that I once wanted to accept me. I still did at the time, for some odd reason. No child wants to feel left out, and I was very much stuck in the mindset of a child in those days. Not like now, of course, where the children are disguised as my fiance and former student.
Even my own mum, who had befriended James’ mum over repeat tea dates, started asking me when next I was going with James on a date. She believed that James and I were a thing, a couple; what sort of lies had James been feeding HIS mother, I wondered. I’m not proud of what I did to reset the status quo, but I had to do something. I had a reputation.
There was a dance at school, a way for the students to blow off steam - as what better way to do that than by sneaking away to swap spit in the coat room? And naturally I had asked James to go with me, because of course I had no other option anyway. James was elated, thinking surely we were actually some kind of couple. The weeks leading up to it were the worst, with James blathering on about his formal attire and the other kids perfecting their little nicknames for ‘Jamestance’ inbetween their pig sounds to James and their ‘souey’ or whatever for me. The implication being that I slept with a pig, of course. Children, needlessly cruel.
The night of the dance came and James showed up with a smile and a suit that belonged to his father and his father’s father and so on. Only I wasn’t there to see it. I never went to the dance. I ditched James Frost and went instead on a train ride with no real destination in mind. Anywhere but Manchester for a few hours.
It was not my proudest moment, but it served my own intentions well. I was no longer the Pig Fucker - and hell that sounds far worse when I write it out - and was back to just being ignored while James’ embarrassment only continued. I never apologized. Honestly I didn’t know what to say to him and would go out of my way to avoid him in the halls or on the streets.
I don’t know what became of James Frost. But I do hope he has done well for himself. A family, a steady job, whatever, so long as it makes him happy. And I am sorry for what happened, I was just a stupid girl back then and he was honestly a friendly, nice bloke.
Of course, it may seem odd, me recounting a little story in this diary instead of ranting about nothing for a change. But my motives are ulterior.
Because my parents, specifically my mum, have been listening to my future lifelong headache they are in America for a visit. For some reason. And Piper has been feeding Emily stories about...well...me. I’ve had to suffer listening to incorrect and embellished tales of my misspent youth in silence.
Honestly, the only reason I decided to spill the truth about James Frost and myself is so that when scholars and thieves one day dig up this diary and learn about the world through my eyes, they’ll know...they’ll all know, that Constance Chapin once ditched a boy at a dance.
The truth, while not often pretty, must always be preserved.
~
Constance Chapin just wanted to watch television.
It seemed a fairly simple request, even as it clearly meant that pigs were cracking the code on flight, and one that - while unusual - could easily have been met with little complaint. It wasn’t as if Emily was in dire need of the remote and Caitlyn lived by the philosophy of ‘why watch it live when it comes on the internet like half an hour later?’ though with certain exceptions every Thursday. If Constance were to tally up the times she’s had her own personal quiet time interrupted by meaningless or otherwise annoying happenings, she’d be well overdue for just an hour, sixty small minutes, of free time.
Of course, Constance wasn’t so petty, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking about it deep in the back of her mind. She was owed...something for all the times her own joy was put on hold and it was only her good mood and temperance that kept her from lashing out and calling in favors by way of admonishing her fiance and room mate.
The request, as she saw it, was reasonable. Unlike quiet time - meant for being alone and losing herself in the pages of a novel - simply asking for her to be able to watch and hear the television that rarely saw use (and still remained hooked up even as so much of the apartment was still put in boxes for the most delayed move known to modern history) for about three hours on an otherwise lazy afternoon was something everyone could enjoy. Provided, of course, that the others had even the slightest of interest, which was the deciding and determining factor of the whole thing.
Whether or not the interest was there was a question that would remain unanswered.
On what should have been a lazy afternoon, the latest in a series of lazy afternoons, Constance was seated upon the couch in the living room, fingers gripped around a thin remote control and eyes glued forward on the images displayed upon it. Later in the week she had plans, a sort of strategy meeting with a certain magically inclined ally, but today the only plans she had made involved having a cold beverage, a warm snack, and a groove in the couch.
One instance of television viewing every handful of years was reasonable. While plenty of lazy Americans were glued to their entertainment boxes on a regular, weekly basis for matters such as football or overrated dramatic television serials about vaguely pretty people in melodramatic forced situations, Constance had better, clearer intentions. After all, how often was actual, honest-to-God rugby shown on American television without some fancy packages that shoot up the bill?
Rugby, despite the strong negative memory that came associated with it, was still something Constance enjoyed; a sport she could follow, care about, and get invested in. And it took something as monumental as the Olympics for it to get any play at all on an American television. But of course, the average household would surely care more for basketball despite that being a seemingly year round thing with how many people fawn over it - why bother watching it during the Olympics? It didn’t matter, what mattered was that Constance had carved out a day, an afternoon, to finally watch her first true love.
”It’s such a nice day outside why do you want to just stay inside like a troll?”
So naturally the universal middle finger known as karma had to intervene in the form of the peanut gallery that is Piper Chapin adding her rather loud, rather shrill voice to the proceedings.
Constance could think of very many things she would prefer doing than having her mother in the country on a visit and yet here she was, at the request, allegedly, of Emily. Emily swore, of course, that she didn’t extend any invitation but that words and meanings got lost in translation. A bit of “Connie misses you” from Emily, lie though it clearly was, gets heard as “Please come visit your daughter she’d be thrilled to have you” by Piper and so it was that Constance’s parents arrived in the states.
They didn’t even bother booking a hotel, believing that their daughter would open her doors to them. It took a great deal of back and forth before Constance was on the phone with the closest hotel asking for rooms. (”Can you believe this? Kicking her own mum outta the house like a bin of rubbish!” was Piper’s incredulity and annoyance). Uninvited guests don’t get preferential treatment even if said guests were blood related.
Though the Chapin parents had been staying at a hotel, it seemed they were deadset on invading the Chapin child’s living space whenever at all possible. Piper was knocking on the door right around dawn and didn’t even offer up any breakfast. The host provides, as Constance was being told constantly. Fortunately, Emily seemed up to the task of preparing a breakfast or at least baked goods; and honestly she was the only one who genuinely seemed to enjoy the presence of Piper. Caitlyn was rather ambivalent about it all; she had already gotten her footage and was in the process of editing so she no longer cared what embarrassing stories a parental figure could have. That and she was in and out of the house so often that Caitlyn felt more like an annoying handyman or something than an actual roommate.
”Yes, honey, why are you staying inside?” Emily was sat next to Constance on the couch, though on Constance’s right rather than her left - so as to be closer to Piper who was in an arm chair off to the side. Emily was like a child at the toy store after being promised she could have any toy she desired. If it wasn’t the stories of childhood (complete with photos) then it was the way in which Constance was very visibly annoyed by damn near everything that came from Piper’s mouth. Naturally, being the supportive and loving fiance she was, Emily was encouraging and hanging on Piper’s every word.
If only Emily could cause such perfect grimaces in Constance. Piper was the master; she, Emily, was merely the student.
”It’s Great Britain against Brazil,” served as Constance’s excuse, spoken through close to gritted teeth. ”This centre, Claire Allan? She’s a damn police officer and look at her now.”
”Which on is she, the ginger?”
”No, she’s got to be that one with the long blonde hair.” Constance didn’t glance over towards them, but she could see the sly little smirk that was plastered all over Emily’s face.
”The blonde one’s a hooker.” A sentence that, to Constance, made perfect sense even as she said it with a very visible wall of anger surrounding her person.
”Well hell, a cop and a hooker working together for Olympic glory. What a tale for the ages!” Emily glanced towards Piper like she was expecting a hi-five or some other sort of validation. A chuckle would have to suffice.
”That doesn’t make any sense at all,” Constance shook her head though her eyes remained glued forward, ”The hooker right now is playing the ball and gets to decide what to do with it. She’s serving as the dummy half.”
”Okay...but which one is the quarterback?” Emily’s question came across as genuine, but Constance knew better than to give any sort of response.
”You know, Constance used to say she’d be a professional hooker.”
”HONEY!” Emily did a double take, having turned to listen to Piper speak only to dart her head back to Constance, eyes wide in shock and a rather hard slap to Constance’s back as the news reached her ears. ”I think you could’ve done it. You’ve got just the right look for a hooker.”
It was here that Constance turned her attention away from the television and the game to give an incredulous look towards the very much unwanted audience. The look lasted just long enough for her to visibly show her annoyance with a sneer and a lowered eyelid - and her attention was back on the game after a momentary lapse.
”That wasn’t even my position,” Constance spoke, missing the unsubtle jabs at her expense, ”If you’re going to fill her head with lies, mum, at least you could make them sound reasonable.” The first step in dealing with Piper was in accepting the fact that Piper was going to gossip and embellish and there was nothing Constance could do about that other than hope and pray nothing factual slipped inbetween the cracks of lies.
”Well maybe not a hooker, but you were so determined to join a real league. You could’ve been in Africa right now.”
”Yes, the famous African nation of Rio.” Of course, Constance wasn’t above taking shots when they were lined up so perfectly. She’d regret it dearly if she DIDN’T.
”Hold on, why didn’t you follow through with it, honey? Piper mentioned how much you loved it.” There was genuine interest to be heard in Emily’s voice, but even that wasn’t enough to draw Constance’s full attention. That didn’t mean she was unable to continue to conversation, just that long responses and meaningful back and forth was likely out of the question.
”It’s easy for a stupid child to have dreams. Do you know how many American children say they’re going to be astronauts or politicians? How many of them wind up working at NASA?”
”That’s not just an American thing is it?”
”You’ll have to forgive her, Piper, she has selective citizenship.” While technically Constance didn’t have full dual citizenship, she certainly qualified to take the test. The only thing stopping her from doing so, apart from the fee, was that her days of sitting exams was long in the past. Besides, she was plenty American already, just one whose accent was across the pond in origin.
”Point is, dreams are nice to have when you’re young and stupid, but that’s all they are.” Constance punctuated her response with a heavy sigh at a particularly poor play from the Great Britain team. ”Come on, that’s a try.”
”Oh, Connie, they can’t hear you and I’m sure they’re trying their best.”
Her mother not picking up or understanding terms that were, once upon a time, common place in the Chapin household didn’t bother Constance - she long suspected her mother retained absolutely nothing from the days when she was cheering on Constance during games. What WAS bothering her, and it was starting to visibly show, was the near constant need for interruptions and conversations. Was this what it was normally like for sports aficionados, she wondered, and if so how did they tolerate it?
The answer, obviously, was most sports watchers did it with like-minded individuals. Or friends.
”But that’s kinda sad, isn’t it? Giving up on your dream?” Emily was concerned more with delving deeper into the Matrioshka doll that was her fiance and if it took Constance being off her guard, then so be it.
”I didn’t give up, I woke up.” Concise and without a hint of sadness.
”That’s even more sad. Don’t you ever wonder what life would be like if you had stuck with your tugby dream?”
”She’d be a world class hooker, that’s for sure.”
Even though she was diving into more serious, deeper waters, Emily had to give a laugh at the continued jab. Constance only saw it as literal, the position of a rugby player, which is precisely why the well of hooker jokes would remain untapped.
”It’s not like I’d be some footballer. These girls have day jobs. They’re just...people. For a few days the world will watch them and then they’ll be forgotten. Even back home. If that’s what it means to follow a dream then I’m glad I never did.”
Emily looked to Piper who could only offer a shrug. Neither knew exactly how to follow up the remark, only that humor didn’t seem the right path to take in this particular instance. A hint of regret flashed in Constance’s eyes, caught only by Emily and gone as soon as Emily blinked. Constance masked her feelings with a shake of her head and a rather unenthusiastic cheer for Great Britain - they really didn’t need it as they were up in the score.
”Constance...are you happy?” Emily decided to just go for it, genuinely concerned for Connie’s well being. It had never been asked, at least not so bluntly, and the question caused Constance to again break focus and look towards Emily.
”Of course I’m happy, what kind of question is that?” The way Constance responded made it sound like she was even convincing herself.
”You could do well to smile more, Connie, you’re so pretty when you smile.” Piper, for all her faults (as Constance sees them), was able to at least read the vibe of the room.
”I’ll smile on my wedding day.” Constance sighed, not out of annoyance or exasperation, but because it was clear now that in order to get off the topic of her own happiness or lack thereof she would have to steer the ship directly into the iceburg. Sometimes drastic measures had to be taken.
”Oh please, if you were going to get married you’d have done it already. Your father and I have given up at this point.”
As soon as Piper spoke, Emily exchanged a glance with Constance, a glance that was over in a few seconds yet contained a full conversation understood only by the two of them.
”Yes, Constance does have a tendency to take things agonizingly slow. I’d be amazed if her potential fiance could truly put up with her.” If there was a way to wink and nudge with only words, Emily was showing she was a master of the technique.
”Mum…” Constance sighed; she had put this off for long enough. Ideally she’d have held off until the day after the honeymoon. ”I’m getting married in November.”
The announcement came as a shock not just to Piper but to Emily as well, who was more shocked that a month had been set. It was a step up from the rather vague ‘winter’. The scream of elation that flew forth from Piper’s mouth was loud enough to get the neighbors curious.
With a heavy sigh, Constance turned the Olympic rugby game off, putting yet another premature end to something she was looking forward to all week. Sacrifices. If it meant her fiance and her mother would come away happy...then it was a worthy sacrifice to make.
Sometimes Constance hated being an adult.
~
”I suppose I should answer the question that’s eating away at the minds of everyone,but honestly I don’t see the need to really explain myself or my actions. So allow me to do just that. Under normal circumstances I’m sure I’d have eager sorts knocking on the door trying to win what I’ve defended twice now but honestly I haven’t really seen anyone setting their sights on me. Of course, I haven’t been looking, but the idea of walking into an event like Heatstroke without the pressure and burden of putting a belt on the line is oddly refreshing - and somehow I have a hunch that my saying that is going to open up a floodgate of shit upon me. So let me clarify.”
“This match I’ve made myself part of is no less important than if I had been up against someone gunning for the Xcel gold, it’s just a different sort of importance - one that’s perhaps more important in the mind of my partner. Now I may not be fully aware yet of the whole reason that these supposed ‘Animal Instinct’ sorts came gunning for Zahara but honestly? I don’t need to know every little detail. I know enough to know that Zahara is in...a difficult spot. She would have to be from the way I’ve heard her speak, the things I’ve read on her...ugh...timeline, and from the way in which she was so taunted by our opponents. And honestly? I feel a twinge of responsibility, perhaps not for all of it, but some.”
“It was me, after all, who turned that smile upside down.”
“I’ve never been one to really associate myself with others - though that never stopped others from associating with me for some reason. I suppose I just have one of those personalities that make people want to bother me with their issues; and by that same token I generally don’t make enemies. Sure, I have strong feelings of dislike towards people, many people in fact, but nothing truly stuck to where I’d call them anything other than temporary annoyances.”
“I can’t quite explain it, but somehow Zahara broke the mold for me. While I still have a ways to go before I start using certain words that begin with the letter ‘f’, it’s clear to anyone with a working set of eyes that there’s a mutual sort of respect between Zahara and myself. The both of us changed that fateful night when I first defended my title. But far be it for me to drag up the past. I’ve met and dabbled with a fair amount of the colorful sorts that dot the VoW landscape and most of them I’ve forgotten the name not out of arrogance or anything, just because I don’t really think about others once the match is over. At that point my relationship with whoever it was that was staring me down is over.”
“And yet I’ve got Zahara’s phone number and have spoken to her as if I was some kind of child glued to their mobile.”
“If someone wants to know why I involved myself rather than taking the night off or perhaps throwing down an open challenge at Breakthrough for Heatstroke or whatever then let me respond with my own series of questions.”
“Who has only ever shown respect towards the Magical Maiden? Who was there to offer her advice when she was depressed? Who gave her another shot, believing fully that she deserved it? Who supported her when others questioned and doubted choices made in her personal life? Who was there to stick up for her when she was backed against a wall? Who has proven, against every odd, to be an actual, genuine, friend?”
“The question isn’t why I got involved in this match. It’s how could I NOT?”
“But of course, I don’t intend on making this a habit or anything.”
“Zahara, we’ve been on opposite ends of the ring and I know the result wasn’t what you were hoping for - but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it as many times as I have to: you belong right where you are and deserve your opportunities. We’ve never worked together as allies but don’t let that stop us. Don’t let that be used against us. We’ve made magic happen twice now. And this? Heatstroke? Well, what’s that old cliche about the third time?”
“You’re smart enough to know that what Winter said was just words. You’re strong enough to stand toe to toe with Matthew Robinson. And you’re good enough to have me in your corner. I couldn’t ask for better.”
“I hope it brings you some small amount of comfort, Zahara, knowing that at least one person back there has your back. But before this delves further into the maudlin, I suppose now would be the appropriate time to turn my gaze onto our opponents for this little dance. A snippy little duo calling themselves ‘Animal Instinct’ because with the market on crazy and unhinged sorts all tapped out it’s better to resort to the other cliche side of human nature and psychology 101.”
“Funny how it’s always the ones that believe themselves to be wolves turn out to be nothing more than little puppies with no teeth at all. No bark and absolutely no bite to speak of. Then again, what’s in a name, anyway? Certainly not any sort of intimidation factor, that’s for sure.”
“The wolf comment was directed at you, Winter, in case that wasn’t obvious. I can never be too sure how direct I need to be with people like you. People that spout nonsense as if it is profound knowledge. I heard your comments about love and care and how much of a broken person you claimed to be and it took a great deal of restraint to not say something. You’re not Sylvia Plath here, Winter. But I suppose it’s unfair, dwelling on the personality - but when that’s all that you put on display then that’s all I care to remark upon.”
“I’m not sure why we should be afraid of the big black wolf. Alone you haven’t exactly torn the competition to shreds - and by my memory my own partner holds a victory over you. Was Joanna a distraction or was the wolf having an off day? It makes sense to me why you would hide behind your future divorce; without him you’re about as menacing as a pup. I suppose that’s what drew you to the cult that is The Orphanage. A false promise of being more threatening and lethal than you were by yourself. It’s always you would-be masochistic types that play at being twisted and deadly but come off as fourteen year olds who never quite got past their days of listening to Marilyn Manson,”
“Who’s afraid of the big black wolf? I don’t know.”
“I’ve come across the Orphanage before, what with me squaring off against your glorious leader and coming out...relatively unscathed, I know what you’re all about. You play at standing for something like true guerillas or slacktivists but it all boils down to bullying and underhanded methods when things don’t go the way you want. Children throwing tantrums because Mommy Sky didn’t buy you a chocolate bar. It says more about Animal Instinct that they ally themselves with such a group...such a person as English than anything I could come up with.”
“Of course, with Animal Instinct being the name and Winter being the ‘wolf’, that must make Robinson the bull? The big, easily angered lunk that gets outsmarted by twiggy flamboyant costumed matadors? Seems all too fitting, doesn’t it? I’m sure Zahara is no stranger to flamboyant costumes after all.”
“There’s an old saying about old dogs, isn’t there? And you certainly qualify, Robinson, hell, I do too - and I’m fairly certain I’m an older dog than you, only thing is I’m not out to learn new tricks, not when my current bag has done so well for me. At a glance, I might’ve assumed you would be the hurdle to overcome, the obstacle between us and victory - after all you certainly presented yourself as the muscle when you decided that a fair fight backstage - already skirting the definition of ‘fair’ needed your touch.”
“But I’m not so sure. Your greatest strength is behind you, Robinson, and that’s not me being mean, it’s me being factual. I’m a sensible sort, a logical mind, and numbers have shown that both you and your future nagging headache are really nothing to bark at unless being guided by the hand of L. Ron English. Of course, it might seem silly of me to drag the efforts of the individual into the equation, but I want to paint a clear picture of what it is we’re dealing with here.”
“Your gameplan is flawed already, trying to get into the mind of Zahara. Don’t think I didn’t pick up on that, Winter goading a response and Robinson coming in just at the right time so he’d have a reason. Your little mind games were better spent elsewhere. Zahara’s young but she’s not dumb and she has me - and it’s well documented how I deal with the people who believe they have a chance at taking me down in a mental battle. Leave psychological warfare to the experts. I’m sure VoW will have one of those any day now.”
“What are you punishing exactly, Robinson? Your body? After the injuries you’ve sustained in your career are you really capable of punishing anyone again? In a contest taken to the mat, I’m confident that you’ll need your little wolf pup to stop yapping and do something - and I’m hardly the greatest in that field. But I don’t need to be the greatest or the best, just better. And it won’t take much to punish the Punisher. See, it’s easy to be intimidating when you’re attacking someone in the wrong state of mind; even humans are intimidated by something as small as a wasp. It’s when that human wises up and swats back that the intimidation game is lost.”
“And you’ve lost it before we’ve even started.”
“I don’t doubt that together the two of you are capable, hell it’s proven that you’re far more capable together than apart - maybe that’s why you decided to stick it out through sickness and health - but that’s your only true advantage here. Tag team experience. Now I’d be the first to admit that I’m not usually one for working together, but if there’s any one I trust to watch my back it’d be Emily - but she’s not part of the match so the very close second would be Zahara. And she knows full well that I’m always in her corner.”
“Because that’s what friends do. They support one another.”
“Removed from your little games and cheap, illegal tactics, Animal Instinct is no more threatening than animals at a petting zoo. Docile. Taken away from the plains and savannahs where their routine would be effective. It seems you Orphanage types are afraid to have a square fight - because why legitimize when you can hypocracize? I don’t expect either of you to play fair and I expect that will be our greatest strength.”
“You two may have the experience in the field - especially compared to myself - but you’re going to crumple and fold when your underhanded and ‘deadly’ tactics fall through. A mind that cannot adapt is a mind that is doomed to failure.”
“Come Heatstroke, the Orphanage is going to feel a burn as Practical Magic spays and neuters Animal Instinct.”
“Abracadabra.”
It should come as no surprise but I wasn’t invited to many birthday parties as a child.
Of course I didn’t let it bother me, or at least I told myself I was fine with it - I didn’t have anything in common with Rachel Webb from just up the way after all - but honestly as a stupid kid still trying to find exactly who I was...I always took it as a bit of an insult. That the kids would invite Robbie Oxton, who we all know was a bit...slow, over me was questionable. What did he have that I didn’t, other than an enthusiasm for life and an easy target for the more angry children. It was a defining moment of my life when a fellow team member on what I assumed was a rugby team of friends, one of the players invited every one of her team mates to her birthday party. Except for me.
I assume my invitation was lost in the mail.
The first, and only, birthday party I was invited to was James Frost’s thirteenth. I was two years his senior and he was relatively new in town, having moved from London due to a family work change. James was a rather portly child which of course invited all manner of taunts and jeers from the other boys - but it wasn’t as if these bullies were prizes themselves. They smelled blood in the water and let the weakest one be the bait for their sharks.
James delivered the invitation to my house personally, which is to say he went around with his head pointed at his shoes and dropped an invitation into every postbox on our street that had a child living there. I assumed it was delivered in error, it didn’t even have my name on the envelope and because of that I didn’t especially want to go. It took some convincing, namely from dear old mum, and a bit of a bribe for me to walk up the road to James’ house.
When I arrived his mother could not have been more elated to see me. “You’re the first to arrive!” she said and I had to ask if I was early. I knew I wasn’t, of course, but I had to ask; the party started at noon and I arrived a quarter to one - it took a lot of convincing on my end. I knew almost immediately that I was the only one that was even there, and when I walked to the backyard, grass overgrown and fence in need of fixing, I saw James Frost with his fists digging into his cheeks as he looked downward in deep depression.
The light on his eyes when his mom announced my arrival was what I imagine it looked like when people first heard The Beatles. Because I hear that that was something momentous - because who had ever heard awful pop music about love before those egotists?
I saw no reason to be rude to James, he had enough of that in his day-to-day because children are perhaps the cruelest sorts that people overlook. ‘Boys will be boys’ is no reason to not discipline a child. He was so utterly joyful that I honestly felt bad. I had no intention of even showing up and as I walked over I was already running through various excuses to duck out early, but as he started bouncing around and talking about party games, I found that I couldn’t leave. I’d be absolutely heartless if I did, and I wasn’t yet the bitter woman I am today.
His mother had made food for a party, not a single guest, and it would’ve been rude of me not to have seconds when offered even though I wasn’t exactly in love with her cooking - I’d always assumed birthday parties had like pizza or something. I can’t say the time I had was fun, but I suppose it could have been worse. It could have been awkward. Well...more awkward. He didn’t even seem bothered that I didn’t have a birthday gift for him, not even a card with a few pounds, my presence was present enough.
Naturally I underplayed it when I arrived back home after what should’ve been an hour away was instead damn near seven, telling my own mum that it was a well attended, banger of a time. I figured she wouldn’t press me for specifics if I just said I had a good time - that was the whole point in her forcing me to go, my lack of interaction with others around my age...though not at all for lack of trying. That really should’ve been the long and short. The end of my dealings with James Frost.
I certainly didn’t count on Piper to drop round the Frost’s for a bit of tea one afternoon. And I certainly didn’t expect James to spread the news that I attended his birthday party. Suddenly I had attention on me where before I was just casually tolerated and partially ignored by my peers. This wasn’t any positive attention, mind, but the kind that you’d assume youths would grow out of right around the time the boys discovered girls had breasts and girls discovered boys could be hypnotized by said breasts.
But of course, there I went assuming things.
My identity as ‘the too-serious rugby player’ all but vanished. Suddenly I was just ‘James Frost’s girlfriend’ which really had me rather livid, as if all I was was reduced to simply being property - let alone the connotations that came with it. The narrative was set and all I could do was vehemently deny it, which of course found its way back to James who didn’t quite seem to understand the harm in his words. Which, to his credit, the harm was practically nonexistent...to himself. He didn’t really know any better, was all. But he wasn’t slow, that was Robbie Oxton.
Every bit of deflection and denial only spun the story further and further out of my hands. I denied the accusation and suddenly everyone was an expert on Hamlet with how often they claimed I was protesting too much. I played it nonchalantly and it was taken as an admittance of a relationship. There was no convincing them of anything but their own ideal, their own narrative, and I honestly should’ve just let them tire out and find something else to hold their attention. But I was young, I was dumb, and I was still seeking some sort of attention and camaraderie even as I vehemently denied this to my parents.
I assumed that this sort of antagonizing would end after a week - a month at the very worst - but it continued for damn near a year. It was a rather slow year in Manchester, I suppose. I think James was happy, at least partially, because he wasn’t alone in being mocked. I, however, was unamused and was stewing in loathing towards these people that I once wanted to accept me. I still did at the time, for some odd reason. No child wants to feel left out, and I was very much stuck in the mindset of a child in those days. Not like now, of course, where the children are disguised as my fiance and former student.
Even my own mum, who had befriended James’ mum over repeat tea dates, started asking me when next I was going with James on a date. She believed that James and I were a thing, a couple; what sort of lies had James been feeding HIS mother, I wondered. I’m not proud of what I did to reset the status quo, but I had to do something. I had a reputation.
There was a dance at school, a way for the students to blow off steam - as what better way to do that than by sneaking away to swap spit in the coat room? And naturally I had asked James to go with me, because of course I had no other option anyway. James was elated, thinking surely we were actually some kind of couple. The weeks leading up to it were the worst, with James blathering on about his formal attire and the other kids perfecting their little nicknames for ‘Jamestance’ inbetween their pig sounds to James and their ‘souey’ or whatever for me. The implication being that I slept with a pig, of course. Children, needlessly cruel.
The night of the dance came and James showed up with a smile and a suit that belonged to his father and his father’s father and so on. Only I wasn’t there to see it. I never went to the dance. I ditched James Frost and went instead on a train ride with no real destination in mind. Anywhere but Manchester for a few hours.
It was not my proudest moment, but it served my own intentions well. I was no longer the Pig Fucker - and hell that sounds far worse when I write it out - and was back to just being ignored while James’ embarrassment only continued. I never apologized. Honestly I didn’t know what to say to him and would go out of my way to avoid him in the halls or on the streets.
I don’t know what became of James Frost. But I do hope he has done well for himself. A family, a steady job, whatever, so long as it makes him happy. And I am sorry for what happened, I was just a stupid girl back then and he was honestly a friendly, nice bloke.
Of course, it may seem odd, me recounting a little story in this diary instead of ranting about nothing for a change. But my motives are ulterior.
Because my parents, specifically my mum, have been listening to my future lifelong headache they are in America for a visit. For some reason. And Piper has been feeding Emily stories about...well...me. I’ve had to suffer listening to incorrect and embellished tales of my misspent youth in silence.
Honestly, the only reason I decided to spill the truth about James Frost and myself is so that when scholars and thieves one day dig up this diary and learn about the world through my eyes, they’ll know...they’ll all know, that Constance Chapin once ditched a boy at a dance.
The truth, while not often pretty, must always be preserved.
~
Constance Chapin just wanted to watch television.
It seemed a fairly simple request, even as it clearly meant that pigs were cracking the code on flight, and one that - while unusual - could easily have been met with little complaint. It wasn’t as if Emily was in dire need of the remote and Caitlyn lived by the philosophy of ‘why watch it live when it comes on the internet like half an hour later?’ though with certain exceptions every Thursday. If Constance were to tally up the times she’s had her own personal quiet time interrupted by meaningless or otherwise annoying happenings, she’d be well overdue for just an hour, sixty small minutes, of free time.
Of course, Constance wasn’t so petty, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking about it deep in the back of her mind. She was owed...something for all the times her own joy was put on hold and it was only her good mood and temperance that kept her from lashing out and calling in favors by way of admonishing her fiance and room mate.
The request, as she saw it, was reasonable. Unlike quiet time - meant for being alone and losing herself in the pages of a novel - simply asking for her to be able to watch and hear the television that rarely saw use (and still remained hooked up even as so much of the apartment was still put in boxes for the most delayed move known to modern history) for about three hours on an otherwise lazy afternoon was something everyone could enjoy. Provided, of course, that the others had even the slightest of interest, which was the deciding and determining factor of the whole thing.
Whether or not the interest was there was a question that would remain unanswered.
On what should have been a lazy afternoon, the latest in a series of lazy afternoons, Constance was seated upon the couch in the living room, fingers gripped around a thin remote control and eyes glued forward on the images displayed upon it. Later in the week she had plans, a sort of strategy meeting with a certain magically inclined ally, but today the only plans she had made involved having a cold beverage, a warm snack, and a groove in the couch.
One instance of television viewing every handful of years was reasonable. While plenty of lazy Americans were glued to their entertainment boxes on a regular, weekly basis for matters such as football or overrated dramatic television serials about vaguely pretty people in melodramatic forced situations, Constance had better, clearer intentions. After all, how often was actual, honest-to-God rugby shown on American television without some fancy packages that shoot up the bill?
Rugby, despite the strong negative memory that came associated with it, was still something Constance enjoyed; a sport she could follow, care about, and get invested in. And it took something as monumental as the Olympics for it to get any play at all on an American television. But of course, the average household would surely care more for basketball despite that being a seemingly year round thing with how many people fawn over it - why bother watching it during the Olympics? It didn’t matter, what mattered was that Constance had carved out a day, an afternoon, to finally watch her first true love.
”It’s such a nice day outside why do you want to just stay inside like a troll?”
So naturally the universal middle finger known as karma had to intervene in the form of the peanut gallery that is Piper Chapin adding her rather loud, rather shrill voice to the proceedings.
Constance could think of very many things she would prefer doing than having her mother in the country on a visit and yet here she was, at the request, allegedly, of Emily. Emily swore, of course, that she didn’t extend any invitation but that words and meanings got lost in translation. A bit of “Connie misses you” from Emily, lie though it clearly was, gets heard as “Please come visit your daughter she’d be thrilled to have you” by Piper and so it was that Constance’s parents arrived in the states.
They didn’t even bother booking a hotel, believing that their daughter would open her doors to them. It took a great deal of back and forth before Constance was on the phone with the closest hotel asking for rooms. (”Can you believe this? Kicking her own mum outta the house like a bin of rubbish!” was Piper’s incredulity and annoyance). Uninvited guests don’t get preferential treatment even if said guests were blood related.
Though the Chapin parents had been staying at a hotel, it seemed they were deadset on invading the Chapin child’s living space whenever at all possible. Piper was knocking on the door right around dawn and didn’t even offer up any breakfast. The host provides, as Constance was being told constantly. Fortunately, Emily seemed up to the task of preparing a breakfast or at least baked goods; and honestly she was the only one who genuinely seemed to enjoy the presence of Piper. Caitlyn was rather ambivalent about it all; she had already gotten her footage and was in the process of editing so she no longer cared what embarrassing stories a parental figure could have. That and she was in and out of the house so often that Caitlyn felt more like an annoying handyman or something than an actual roommate.
”Yes, honey, why are you staying inside?” Emily was sat next to Constance on the couch, though on Constance’s right rather than her left - so as to be closer to Piper who was in an arm chair off to the side. Emily was like a child at the toy store after being promised she could have any toy she desired. If it wasn’t the stories of childhood (complete with photos) then it was the way in which Constance was very visibly annoyed by damn near everything that came from Piper’s mouth. Naturally, being the supportive and loving fiance she was, Emily was encouraging and hanging on Piper’s every word.
If only Emily could cause such perfect grimaces in Constance. Piper was the master; she, Emily, was merely the student.
”It’s Great Britain against Brazil,” served as Constance’s excuse, spoken through close to gritted teeth. ”This centre, Claire Allan? She’s a damn police officer and look at her now.”
”Which on is she, the ginger?”
”No, she’s got to be that one with the long blonde hair.” Constance didn’t glance over towards them, but she could see the sly little smirk that was plastered all over Emily’s face.
”The blonde one’s a hooker.” A sentence that, to Constance, made perfect sense even as she said it with a very visible wall of anger surrounding her person.
”Well hell, a cop and a hooker working together for Olympic glory. What a tale for the ages!” Emily glanced towards Piper like she was expecting a hi-five or some other sort of validation. A chuckle would have to suffice.
”That doesn’t make any sense at all,” Constance shook her head though her eyes remained glued forward, ”The hooker right now is playing the ball and gets to decide what to do with it. She’s serving as the dummy half.”
”Okay...but which one is the quarterback?” Emily’s question came across as genuine, but Constance knew better than to give any sort of response.
”You know, Constance used to say she’d be a professional hooker.”
”HONEY!” Emily did a double take, having turned to listen to Piper speak only to dart her head back to Constance, eyes wide in shock and a rather hard slap to Constance’s back as the news reached her ears. ”I think you could’ve done it. You’ve got just the right look for a hooker.”
It was here that Constance turned her attention away from the television and the game to give an incredulous look towards the very much unwanted audience. The look lasted just long enough for her to visibly show her annoyance with a sneer and a lowered eyelid - and her attention was back on the game after a momentary lapse.
”That wasn’t even my position,” Constance spoke, missing the unsubtle jabs at her expense, ”If you’re going to fill her head with lies, mum, at least you could make them sound reasonable.” The first step in dealing with Piper was in accepting the fact that Piper was going to gossip and embellish and there was nothing Constance could do about that other than hope and pray nothing factual slipped inbetween the cracks of lies.
”Well maybe not a hooker, but you were so determined to join a real league. You could’ve been in Africa right now.”
”Yes, the famous African nation of Rio.” Of course, Constance wasn’t above taking shots when they were lined up so perfectly. She’d regret it dearly if she DIDN’T.
”Hold on, why didn’t you follow through with it, honey? Piper mentioned how much you loved it.” There was genuine interest to be heard in Emily’s voice, but even that wasn’t enough to draw Constance’s full attention. That didn’t mean she was unable to continue to conversation, just that long responses and meaningful back and forth was likely out of the question.
”It’s easy for a stupid child to have dreams. Do you know how many American children say they’re going to be astronauts or politicians? How many of them wind up working at NASA?”
”That’s not just an American thing is it?”
”You’ll have to forgive her, Piper, she has selective citizenship.” While technically Constance didn’t have full dual citizenship, she certainly qualified to take the test. The only thing stopping her from doing so, apart from the fee, was that her days of sitting exams was long in the past. Besides, she was plenty American already, just one whose accent was across the pond in origin.
”Point is, dreams are nice to have when you’re young and stupid, but that’s all they are.” Constance punctuated her response with a heavy sigh at a particularly poor play from the Great Britain team. ”Come on, that’s a try.”
”Oh, Connie, they can’t hear you and I’m sure they’re trying their best.”
Her mother not picking up or understanding terms that were, once upon a time, common place in the Chapin household didn’t bother Constance - she long suspected her mother retained absolutely nothing from the days when she was cheering on Constance during games. What WAS bothering her, and it was starting to visibly show, was the near constant need for interruptions and conversations. Was this what it was normally like for sports aficionados, she wondered, and if so how did they tolerate it?
The answer, obviously, was most sports watchers did it with like-minded individuals. Or friends.
”But that’s kinda sad, isn’t it? Giving up on your dream?” Emily was concerned more with delving deeper into the Matrioshka doll that was her fiance and if it took Constance being off her guard, then so be it.
”I didn’t give up, I woke up.” Concise and without a hint of sadness.
”That’s even more sad. Don’t you ever wonder what life would be like if you had stuck with your tugby dream?”
”She’d be a world class hooker, that’s for sure.”
Even though she was diving into more serious, deeper waters, Emily had to give a laugh at the continued jab. Constance only saw it as literal, the position of a rugby player, which is precisely why the well of hooker jokes would remain untapped.
”It’s not like I’d be some footballer. These girls have day jobs. They’re just...people. For a few days the world will watch them and then they’ll be forgotten. Even back home. If that’s what it means to follow a dream then I’m glad I never did.”
Emily looked to Piper who could only offer a shrug. Neither knew exactly how to follow up the remark, only that humor didn’t seem the right path to take in this particular instance. A hint of regret flashed in Constance’s eyes, caught only by Emily and gone as soon as Emily blinked. Constance masked her feelings with a shake of her head and a rather unenthusiastic cheer for Great Britain - they really didn’t need it as they were up in the score.
”Constance...are you happy?” Emily decided to just go for it, genuinely concerned for Connie’s well being. It had never been asked, at least not so bluntly, and the question caused Constance to again break focus and look towards Emily.
”Of course I’m happy, what kind of question is that?” The way Constance responded made it sound like she was even convincing herself.
”You could do well to smile more, Connie, you’re so pretty when you smile.” Piper, for all her faults (as Constance sees them), was able to at least read the vibe of the room.
”I’ll smile on my wedding day.” Constance sighed, not out of annoyance or exasperation, but because it was clear now that in order to get off the topic of her own happiness or lack thereof she would have to steer the ship directly into the iceburg. Sometimes drastic measures had to be taken.
”Oh please, if you were going to get married you’d have done it already. Your father and I have given up at this point.”
As soon as Piper spoke, Emily exchanged a glance with Constance, a glance that was over in a few seconds yet contained a full conversation understood only by the two of them.
”Yes, Constance does have a tendency to take things agonizingly slow. I’d be amazed if her potential fiance could truly put up with her.” If there was a way to wink and nudge with only words, Emily was showing she was a master of the technique.
”Mum…” Constance sighed; she had put this off for long enough. Ideally she’d have held off until the day after the honeymoon. ”I’m getting married in November.”
The announcement came as a shock not just to Piper but to Emily as well, who was more shocked that a month had been set. It was a step up from the rather vague ‘winter’. The scream of elation that flew forth from Piper’s mouth was loud enough to get the neighbors curious.
With a heavy sigh, Constance turned the Olympic rugby game off, putting yet another premature end to something she was looking forward to all week. Sacrifices. If it meant her fiance and her mother would come away happy...then it was a worthy sacrifice to make.
Sometimes Constance hated being an adult.
~
”I suppose I should answer the question that’s eating away at the minds of everyone,but honestly I don’t see the need to really explain myself or my actions. So allow me to do just that. Under normal circumstances I’m sure I’d have eager sorts knocking on the door trying to win what I’ve defended twice now but honestly I haven’t really seen anyone setting their sights on me. Of course, I haven’t been looking, but the idea of walking into an event like Heatstroke without the pressure and burden of putting a belt on the line is oddly refreshing - and somehow I have a hunch that my saying that is going to open up a floodgate of shit upon me. So let me clarify.”
“This match I’ve made myself part of is no less important than if I had been up against someone gunning for the Xcel gold, it’s just a different sort of importance - one that’s perhaps more important in the mind of my partner. Now I may not be fully aware yet of the whole reason that these supposed ‘Animal Instinct’ sorts came gunning for Zahara but honestly? I don’t need to know every little detail. I know enough to know that Zahara is in...a difficult spot. She would have to be from the way I’ve heard her speak, the things I’ve read on her...ugh...timeline, and from the way in which she was so taunted by our opponents. And honestly? I feel a twinge of responsibility, perhaps not for all of it, but some.”
“It was me, after all, who turned that smile upside down.”
“I’ve never been one to really associate myself with others - though that never stopped others from associating with me for some reason. I suppose I just have one of those personalities that make people want to bother me with their issues; and by that same token I generally don’t make enemies. Sure, I have strong feelings of dislike towards people, many people in fact, but nothing truly stuck to where I’d call them anything other than temporary annoyances.”
“I can’t quite explain it, but somehow Zahara broke the mold for me. While I still have a ways to go before I start using certain words that begin with the letter ‘f’, it’s clear to anyone with a working set of eyes that there’s a mutual sort of respect between Zahara and myself. The both of us changed that fateful night when I first defended my title. But far be it for me to drag up the past. I’ve met and dabbled with a fair amount of the colorful sorts that dot the VoW landscape and most of them I’ve forgotten the name not out of arrogance or anything, just because I don’t really think about others once the match is over. At that point my relationship with whoever it was that was staring me down is over.”
“And yet I’ve got Zahara’s phone number and have spoken to her as if I was some kind of child glued to their mobile.”
“If someone wants to know why I involved myself rather than taking the night off or perhaps throwing down an open challenge at Breakthrough for Heatstroke or whatever then let me respond with my own series of questions.”
“Who has only ever shown respect towards the Magical Maiden? Who was there to offer her advice when she was depressed? Who gave her another shot, believing fully that she deserved it? Who supported her when others questioned and doubted choices made in her personal life? Who was there to stick up for her when she was backed against a wall? Who has proven, against every odd, to be an actual, genuine, friend?”
“The question isn’t why I got involved in this match. It’s how could I NOT?”
“But of course, I don’t intend on making this a habit or anything.”
“Zahara, we’ve been on opposite ends of the ring and I know the result wasn’t what you were hoping for - but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it as many times as I have to: you belong right where you are and deserve your opportunities. We’ve never worked together as allies but don’t let that stop us. Don’t let that be used against us. We’ve made magic happen twice now. And this? Heatstroke? Well, what’s that old cliche about the third time?”
“You’re smart enough to know that what Winter said was just words. You’re strong enough to stand toe to toe with Matthew Robinson. And you’re good enough to have me in your corner. I couldn’t ask for better.”
“I hope it brings you some small amount of comfort, Zahara, knowing that at least one person back there has your back. But before this delves further into the maudlin, I suppose now would be the appropriate time to turn my gaze onto our opponents for this little dance. A snippy little duo calling themselves ‘Animal Instinct’ because with the market on crazy and unhinged sorts all tapped out it’s better to resort to the other cliche side of human nature and psychology 101.”
“Funny how it’s always the ones that believe themselves to be wolves turn out to be nothing more than little puppies with no teeth at all. No bark and absolutely no bite to speak of. Then again, what’s in a name, anyway? Certainly not any sort of intimidation factor, that’s for sure.”
“The wolf comment was directed at you, Winter, in case that wasn’t obvious. I can never be too sure how direct I need to be with people like you. People that spout nonsense as if it is profound knowledge. I heard your comments about love and care and how much of a broken person you claimed to be and it took a great deal of restraint to not say something. You’re not Sylvia Plath here, Winter. But I suppose it’s unfair, dwelling on the personality - but when that’s all that you put on display then that’s all I care to remark upon.”
“I’m not sure why we should be afraid of the big black wolf. Alone you haven’t exactly torn the competition to shreds - and by my memory my own partner holds a victory over you. Was Joanna a distraction or was the wolf having an off day? It makes sense to me why you would hide behind your future divorce; without him you’re about as menacing as a pup. I suppose that’s what drew you to the cult that is The Orphanage. A false promise of being more threatening and lethal than you were by yourself. It’s always you would-be masochistic types that play at being twisted and deadly but come off as fourteen year olds who never quite got past their days of listening to Marilyn Manson,”
“Who’s afraid of the big black wolf? I don’t know.”
“I’ve come across the Orphanage before, what with me squaring off against your glorious leader and coming out...relatively unscathed, I know what you’re all about. You play at standing for something like true guerillas or slacktivists but it all boils down to bullying and underhanded methods when things don’t go the way you want. Children throwing tantrums because Mommy Sky didn’t buy you a chocolate bar. It says more about Animal Instinct that they ally themselves with such a group...such a person as English than anything I could come up with.”
“Of course, with Animal Instinct being the name and Winter being the ‘wolf’, that must make Robinson the bull? The big, easily angered lunk that gets outsmarted by twiggy flamboyant costumed matadors? Seems all too fitting, doesn’t it? I’m sure Zahara is no stranger to flamboyant costumes after all.”
“There’s an old saying about old dogs, isn’t there? And you certainly qualify, Robinson, hell, I do too - and I’m fairly certain I’m an older dog than you, only thing is I’m not out to learn new tricks, not when my current bag has done so well for me. At a glance, I might’ve assumed you would be the hurdle to overcome, the obstacle between us and victory - after all you certainly presented yourself as the muscle when you decided that a fair fight backstage - already skirting the definition of ‘fair’ needed your touch.”
“But I’m not so sure. Your greatest strength is behind you, Robinson, and that’s not me being mean, it’s me being factual. I’m a sensible sort, a logical mind, and numbers have shown that both you and your future nagging headache are really nothing to bark at unless being guided by the hand of L. Ron English. Of course, it might seem silly of me to drag the efforts of the individual into the equation, but I want to paint a clear picture of what it is we’re dealing with here.”
“Your gameplan is flawed already, trying to get into the mind of Zahara. Don’t think I didn’t pick up on that, Winter goading a response and Robinson coming in just at the right time so he’d have a reason. Your little mind games were better spent elsewhere. Zahara’s young but she’s not dumb and she has me - and it’s well documented how I deal with the people who believe they have a chance at taking me down in a mental battle. Leave psychological warfare to the experts. I’m sure VoW will have one of those any day now.”
“What are you punishing exactly, Robinson? Your body? After the injuries you’ve sustained in your career are you really capable of punishing anyone again? In a contest taken to the mat, I’m confident that you’ll need your little wolf pup to stop yapping and do something - and I’m hardly the greatest in that field. But I don’t need to be the greatest or the best, just better. And it won’t take much to punish the Punisher. See, it’s easy to be intimidating when you’re attacking someone in the wrong state of mind; even humans are intimidated by something as small as a wasp. It’s when that human wises up and swats back that the intimidation game is lost.”
“And you’ve lost it before we’ve even started.”
“I don’t doubt that together the two of you are capable, hell it’s proven that you’re far more capable together than apart - maybe that’s why you decided to stick it out through sickness and health - but that’s your only true advantage here. Tag team experience. Now I’d be the first to admit that I’m not usually one for working together, but if there’s any one I trust to watch my back it’d be Emily - but she’s not part of the match so the very close second would be Zahara. And she knows full well that I’m always in her corner.”
“Because that’s what friends do. They support one another.”
“Removed from your little games and cheap, illegal tactics, Animal Instinct is no more threatening than animals at a petting zoo. Docile. Taken away from the plains and savannahs where their routine would be effective. It seems you Orphanage types are afraid to have a square fight - because why legitimize when you can hypocracize? I don’t expect either of you to play fair and I expect that will be our greatest strength.”
“You two may have the experience in the field - especially compared to myself - but you’re going to crumple and fold when your underhanded and ‘deadly’ tactics fall through. A mind that cannot adapt is a mind that is doomed to failure.”
“Come Heatstroke, the Orphanage is going to feel a burn as Practical Magic spays and neuters Animal Instinct.”
“Abracadabra.”
