Post by Constance on Aug 28, 2016 7:12:04 GMT -6
From the Diary of Constance Chapin
There’s something about decisions that makes things more...real. I’ve never been indecisive or anything of that sort but I do like to take as much time as possible before making my mind about almost any major decision. It isn’t indecision, it’s a period of weighing the pros and the cons because unlike a naive person who can just ‘go with the flow’ or whatever the insipid phrase is, I tend to remember that my actions have consequences. Of course because this lengthy process of decision making goes on largely in my head with my own method, it comes with the unfortunate side effect of others assuming I’m just brushing aside the difficult choices that come my way.
It’s like an American going to the polls in the fall and voting because one candidate has a catchier name than the other. Which, all things considered, might well be the reason that this election is so...absurd. But I’m not about to turn my personal thoughts into a soapbox for issues I do not know about.
I bring this up because I was sort of pressured into picking a date for a wedding - as if I honestly care about when the date happens. There’s no functional difference between, say, a spring wedding and a winter wedding other than a winter venue is more likely to take place fully indoors. And ultimately the choice wasn’t even mine, which only begs the question why I was being constantly bugged about it. Decisions like that shouldn’t be made lightly; NONE of the decisions I make in life have been made lightly.
It’s this attitude of having to keep up with the Joneses that I never quite understood. The neighbors get a new television and suddenly you find yourself in an electronics store shopping for an even bigger television. Fred Jones gets engaged to Mary Jones and all of a sudden your partner is spending an unusually long time in jewelry sections at malls or something. Why people feel the need to constantly compare themselves to each other is baffling to me and defeats the purpose of humans having free thought and individual personalities.
I’m speaking from personal experience with this, of course, in case the semi-specific examples weren’t obvious enough; though in my case it wasn’t so much a new television as it was waking up to a pile of wedding magazines on top of the sheets. I had no idea weddings were such a lucrative market for print media, but I suppose people that care so much about their dream wedding are stuck in the last generation anyway.
Of course the reason I suddenly have weddings and comparison shopping on the mind is because I’ve got just about two months before I’ll have to change how I file taxes and insurance forms.
Is there anything more romantic than breaking marriage down to paperwork terminology?
In my mind this whole idea of weddings is a lot like Christmas - only unlike Christmas most people only have one wedding in their lives. But the comparison is apt, surely. Christmas is this big thing when you’re younger and by the time October is in the middle stages shops are already getting their Christmas decorations out of storage - and November rolls around and everyone’s Christmas crazy. For the twenty five days in Decemeber leading up to it people go absolutely mental, singing terrible songs, putting up a stupid tree, pretending they give a shit about other people when they’re just as selfish as ever - if not more so...and for what?
For about three or so hours on December the Twenty-Fifth when the family comes together to rip open consumer goods which they will mess around with for about a week before losing it behind the couch never to be discovered until it accidentally gets sucked up by the vaccuum.
Weddings are a much more expensive Christmas. As soon as I asked the question suddenly I was being forced into meetings with people whose career path went terribly off course and I was being made to answer a lot of questions that I honestly could not have cared less about. Decorations needed to be decided upon, menu items, venue, guest list...it’s all very stressing and tiring for what is essentially a six hour Christmas.
Someone walks down the aisle, parents pretend to be emotional that their child has found someone new to mooch off of, and once the kiss happens it’s over. The couple goes on their merry way while everyone else returns to their regular existence. With the honeymoon a marriage is like Christmas and New Year’s Eve. As soon as the honeymoon ends all that you’re left with is someone who you’d better hope was worth the months and months of pointless preparation.
No wonder so many drunken idiots just go to a church in Las Vegas to get it out of the way. It’s a wonder people have multiple weddings in their life time. If the fourth person wasn’t Prince or Princess Charming then what makes you think the fifth will be? Or the sixth?
Of course I’m not going into my upcoming marriage thinking the worst. I’m a realist - sometimes mistaken as a cynic - but that doesn’t mean I put myself in a constant series of self fulfilling prophecies. If I’m being honest, I’m actually sort of nervous - in an ideal world I would’ve hard far more time to consider options, but it just sort of...came out of my mouth and now it’s real. It’s written down. Invitations are going to be printed up.
If I wasn’t sure this was the right decision then I wouldn’t have bothered with the ring in the first place. I might not have appreciated the brick-to-the-head subtleties of the significant other hinting at engagements but it was always in the back of my mind once she became less ‘someone I don’t mind hanging out with’ and more ‘I don’t mind that she’s living here’. Granted, some days that feels like my hospitality is being taken advantage of what with the annoyances on a near daily basis on social media and the off-colour jokes at my expense.
But now that it’s looming on the horizon I’m getting the familiar feelings in the pit of my stomach. It used to be that those were reserved for the times I managed to get myself into a prime position ‘at the office’. But having brought a bit of class and, hopefully, legitimacy to my division I haven’t really gotten those feelings. Even when defending myself I was more calm than I had ever been.
I think it might have something to do with the stark contrasts in the personal and the professional world. As much as some people would like you to believe otherwise, nothing is permanent in my profession. Someone positioning themselves at the top of any given ladder only needs one strong push to go tumbling onto their ass. But a marriage is forever - or it’s supposed to be - and in my case it had better be because I doubt I’d bother getting back ‘onto the horse’ should, god forbid, this not work out.
I’m nervous because in November my life is going to change for the better. And yet I’m not nervous that my life could change for the worse this coming week - but then I’ve always been someone that cared more about her personal life and reputation than her professional.
Yet somehow I’ve found competence in both, which is a rarity. I need look no further than the series of men and women in this line of work either on their third marriage or constantly seeking validation from others. You’re not fooling anyone with those ‘just woke up’ selfies on social media - just be upfront about your compliment fishing.
Some might think my priorities are skewed. Most people look forward to their wedding day while I’m dreading it not because it’s happening but because everything changes on that day. I always told myself that I’d be a spinster because people annoy me. And while my future spouse does annoy me, it’s at least partially endearing when it isn’t flat-out aggravating. I’m nervous because I’m letting a bit of sunshine into my forever overcast life. I’m nervous because I’m afraid of happiness, of being faced with a potentially life altering perspective. I imagine it’s like the first people who went to space, who stepped on the moon - in those moments everything those people knew about the world were altered forever. They came back heroes. Their names written in history books. But ultimately forgotten - just try asking some young person who it was that stepped on the moon first. But they came back adjusted. They came back fine. Maybe I can do the same.
But honestly? Above all?
I’m nervous because I have to pick a maid of honor.
And unfortunately I do not have the luxury of time on this decision.
~
If Constance had known when she woke up that she would end the day in her current predicament she might not have put forth the effort to get out of bed in the first place. Predicament might’ve been too harsh a word but it was the only one that came to mind that seemed to perfectly sum up her thoughts on the situation. Most people wouldn’t think that sitting in a booth while some generic light music lightly plays overhead and college students and single parents force a smile for a paltry five dollar tip was a bad place to be. After all, restaurants were typically a family friendly environment. Of course, most people weren’t Constance Chapin who still had yet to meet a location outside of the comfort of her home that she liked.
Well, the library wasn’t terrible. But their selection was rather lacking once they started catering to young adults and students; how else could she explain the various standees of fictional characters in generic trash aimed at young people dotting the main hallway of the public library? It was a mixing of worlds that did not need to be mixed - and having in big bold font ‘read the book that inspired the movie’ was the ultimate betrayal of trust in Constance’s eyes.
Constance still had yet to meet a location outside of the comfort of her home that she liked.
In a rare sort of twist it wasn’t anyone other than Constance herself who had decided to venture out into the wild world of a fading summer day. Normally it was Emily who had to beg, plead, coerce, or just blackmail Constance into going off on some sort of pointless adventure - hence the twist this go around. Of course there was an ulterior motive, there always was, and it had everything to do with the ticking of a clock; both in the metaphorical sense and the literal. The calendars already had big red boxes over that first Friday in November and were she a math fan rather than a literature one Constance might even have made note of the days remaining until everything changed forever.
Emily’s goodwill was used up after the little stunt she had pulled with Dad and Mummy Chapin, but somewhere deep inside the still lingering annoyance and headache there was a respect for the lengths some people go. That was assuming, as Constance did, that Emily’s plan was so convoluted in theory that it had to have been all set up. Why else would Emily invite the Chapin parents to the states? And not even to the relatively closer location of the east coast but literally across the entire country if not to get Constance into a position to reveal to her parents that their only daughter was finally reaching the next stage of life?
Some people plan surprise birthday parties for the office boss. Emily planned surprise wedding date announcements. It wasn’t the most logical scenario for what had transpired but it was the one that allowed Constance to not be fully upset at Emily, who still saw nothing wrong with having the future in-laws over for a couple of days. ”They’re really quite lovely people, honey.” must have been repeated in the triple digits the night after the Chapin’s boarded a flight back to Manchester with thoughts of their return trip in November already on the tip of their tongues.
”So when are you telling YOUR parents?” was Constance’s standard response to any and all attempts at justification - it was not appreciated by Emily and that was largely the point.
Regardless, it was going to be a solo outing simply because Constance took such matters seriously and if ever there was a time for seriousness, for buckling down and taking charge it probably wasn’t now. But Constance couldn’t keep putting things off.
”When are we going?”
And yet on what was supposed to be her taking charge and getting something done by herself and on her own terms...of course Caitlyn would pop up and offer to go along for support. Caitlyn didn’t even know where Constance was going nor did she really need to - with Emily marking down and whistling about November like it was some special month it didn’t take long for the precocious youth to discover the reasoning why. And it took even less time for Caitlyn to figure that Constance was still a bit of a stickler for those old superstitions.
”You don’t want Emily to see you in a dress, do you?” Caitlyn asked from the couch as Constance was just about out the front door. ”But you need a working pair of eyes to tell you what looks bad. I’m going with you.”
Though every part of her head was telling her to deny the company of the young room mate, Constance sighed heavily - as if she knew any other way to do so - and agreed to let her accompany her. The girl had a sharp mind, it was a shame she used it for selfish purposes. And she had been right, of course, as Constance had every intention of trying on dresses, a task she never figured she’d have to do. And not that she beleived in it or anything, but it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in the dress before the wedding.
Whether or not she was the ‘groom’ in the scenario was a conversation she’d have to have with Emily at another time. The more important task was finding places that would aid in her pursuit.
Suddenly she was regretting being rude to every single wedding planner she had been forced to meet with. Constance was just full of surprises today. As much as she still considered ‘wedding planner’ to be a joke of a profession, any joke would surely be preferential to having someone like Caitlyn nipping at the heels.
The consolation, if there was any to be found, was that Caitlyn was surely just as clueless about matters of marriage and weddings as Constance was; of course Caitlyn was something of a media whore and might well have absorbed a textbook amount of wedding information from a bevy of television and coverage. It didn’t strike Constance as odd that someone not quite old enough to drink legally in the country could very well be educating an adult about weddings.
Pathetic, yes. But odd? No.
The idea or ideal of a perfect wedding was never imparted to her as a child. Constance was never given that whole fantasy - it was offered to her, plenty of adults painted up the idea of weddings as something out of a fairy tale, and the bedtime stories and animated shorts weren’t exactly doing the opposite; but Constance wasn’t one to consume that sort of thing even as it was being read to her. That should have been a clue as to her future bitterness but what child could possibly be that cynical?
For all she knew, weddings were as easy to plan as an office holiday party. Call some not terrible dining establishment for some food, pay the priest or whomever a fee to use the church and services, a bakery for a cake, and then find someone’s drug using relative to put his portable music player on repeat. Easy. Planned and executed in, like, a week or two tops. It was rather amazing how one so book smart could still be so clueless about many facets of the world around her.
When it came to opponents in her professional life, Constance could plan out an attack strategy in less time than a sitcom takes to air - with commercials edited out even. Once she studied a bit of whoever it was she was up against it didn’t take much for the more analytical side of her brain to plan it all out. How was it that she could stand toe-to-toe with people who could do her physical harm and yet wedding planning and shopping was like trying to solve an advanced mathematics problem under pressure of time.
It wasn’t all that long after leaving the safety of home behind before Constance realized that she hadn’t any idea where to even start looking for a dress. It wasn’t as if she could wander into a thrift store or a department store and ask for their bridal gown section; she would definitely have remembered those sections if they existed. A more wisend sort might well have looked up the relevant information in even the phone book.
Constance knew that there had to be a place that specialized in gowns and dresses, it wasn’t as if every woman was able to get their custom made Vera Wang gown or whatever, and not everyone was fortunate enough to have a family dress - as creepy and depressing as that was. The average woman needed a wedding dress too. Sometimes more than one.
”I could probably steal my stepmom’s…” Caitlyn offered her assistance in the matter upon learning that Ms. Chapin had no idea where to even begin apart from measurements and something that looked decent at a decent price.
”And how many sick stains are on it, Caitlyn?”
”At least four. Three of them directly from the source.”
”And the fourth?”
”I told her I didn’t like shellfish.”
With the realm of hand-me-downs being a dead-end the only other option was simply turning to whatever the internet dug up. Caitlyn took the reigns on that, bringing up a search on her phone and acting as a navigator. This was not the suggested method of shopping, but with a price point and the willignness to pay up front Constance figured some salon would be willing to put up with a lack of experience. The customer was always right. At least that was what she had been lead to believe.
As soon as she entered their first store, some building with a garish storefront and fancy writing on the marquee, Constance had to question that old adage. She could tell the clerks were reluctant to help the deer-in-headlights surly looking woman that just came through and looked like she was a hooker in a church with how uncomfortable the sight of all the bridalwear was making her. (”This is a total Pretty Woman situation.” was how Caitlyn phrased it, breaking the silence and initial awkwardness.)
A short woman with what Constance called ‘Asian features’ took the grenade for the sales team and bounced over, the surgery stretching from her wide, false smile, and the saccharine bend to her voice was so forced it was a wonder she didn’t contract diabetes. That was already a warning sign, and the second followed shortly after as the clerk assumed that Constance was shopping for a bridesmaid dress “for your...daughter?...sister?” with a nod to Caitlyn.
One of them found that amusing.
No apology was offered when Constance corrected the woman, nor did the clerk hide the shock in her voice. Was it so unusual? Not even a congratulations or fake well wishing, just a bit of an incredulous look and a nod. It was with seeming reluctance that Constance stood on the small podium infront of the trifold mirror in order to have her measurements taken.
”You have a very...strong figure,” the clerk spoke her mind somewhere between jotting down the numbers and trying to make small talk.
”What does that even mean?” Constance wasn’t sure if she should be offended or not but hinged her bets on simply writing it off.
”Nothing. Your shoulders are a bit broad that’s all. What sort of dress were you looking for?”
”A wedding dress.”
”Yes, but what sort of wedding dress?”
”A white one.”
Constance wasn’t even aware that there were different styles - she had figured all wedding dresses were generally the same with the custom ones being more expensive because people with more money than sense liked to make people know how much money they had to throw around. Caitlyn was enjoying her time in ‘the husband chair’, amused by the increasingly annoyed tone to Constance’s voice. That alone was worth the journey.
The clerk sighed, wondering if commission was worth the headache, began explaining the various makes and styles of dress, and how they fit with the venue. Constance was only half listening, checking out when talk of summer styles and flowing garments went on for what seemed like ten minutes. Why was this such a serious matter? A wedding dress was a wedding dress - no one was going to ask her what it was made out of or who made it or how it worked in what season; this wasn’t a red carpet affair.
”I just want a simple wedding dress that fits,” Constance interrupted the spiel, shaking her head in disbelief. And with it came the third strike.
The worker was agahst, shocked that someone would want something so...simplistic. The store was not the right place for that, specializing in more designer, fancy dresses. In so many words the clerk told Constance to leave, phrasing it as ‘a smaller store would be in your price range’ - not that the people that worked there knew Constance’s price range but someone so clueless had to also be lacking in funds.
Constance was happy to leave, though Caitlyn was hoping there would have been a confrontation. Angry brides-to-be were always good for viral numbers.
It wasn’t to another dress store that the duo went to next; Constance wanted to get some food, call it an early lunch and needing to settle down with a bit of a cold beverage. Fortunately a chain restaurant was within walking distance of the fancy-bullshit of a boutique.
If all future shops would be as embarrassing a situation as the first, Constance was in for a rough time, and her less than stellar experience at the shop was coloring her mood at the restaurant - she ordered her patty melt with a bit of a snappy tone which, to the waitress’ credit, she took well.
”Honestly, though, I never figured you for the dress type, Ms. C.” Caitlyn was sipping at her iced tea, fingers squeezing the neck of the straw.
”I’ve worn a dress before.” Constance replied with a bold faced lie.
”When and why?” But of course Caitlyn was never one to take such things at face value - she had spent far too much time with the Chapin clan to just let things go.
”I’ve been to a funeral before.”
”Says a lot about you that funerals are your default ‘formal dress’ events.”
Constance dismissed Caitlyn’s remarks with a wave of her hands. She didn’t need to hear the lip from Caitlyn, not today. Caitlyn was able to read the vibe across the table and decided not to press the tease, instead dragging up a different, yet still relevant, topic.
”I know the dress thing has you all worried, but have you settled on a bridal party?”
”I figure I’ll just have an extra piece of steak with dinner one night and maybe a bigger dessert.”
Caitlyn had to hold back a snicker, disguising it as a sudden cough. ”No, not a bachelorette party. A bridal party. You know...like bridesmaids and a maid of honor?”
”I don’t need any of those, Caitlyn. I just need a dress, a church, and about a half hour.” Constance was serious, though in the back of her mind she knew the actual service would wind up being a bit more involved than her simplistic ideal.
”You at least need a maid of honor. Every bride has one. I bet Emily has one. She’ll probably ask that magician girl just to spite you.”
”Why would that spite me?”
”Doesn’t matter. Have you at least considered it?”
In truth, Constance HAD considered it and understood the issues it brought up. Having never really found the need to befriend people it was hard to think of anyone who could fit the bill of glorified moral support. She could count the number of people she didn’t mind speaking with on one hand, but of those people she assumed only a couple might genuinely be willing to take up the position. It was because of this that she wondered if a bridal party in the traditional sense was even necessary.
And it was yet another reason why these sorts of things so often get accomplished with a planner. Those clever bastards had found a way to make their pathetic career path viable after all.
”No,” she lied, grabbing at her glass of lemonade and taking a sip of the overly tart beverage.
”Well I happen to know someone that might be worth consideration,” Caitlyn spoke with a sort of car salesman vibe, preparing some kind of pitch for a product that was bound to not be as good as advertised. ”It’s someone that you’ve known for a while now.”
Yes, Constance had been thinking along the same lines. They were the first person she had thought of, but it seemed like such a hassle to ask - especially given the schedule and the travel time. But she wasn’t quite yet ready to rule it out.
”Someone who gave you a chance when no one else would.”
Another face flashed in Constance’s mind, and it was a bit of a stretch to consider them close but they had done a considerable favor. One that Constance utterly ruined, but she never blamed the other person. Hell, they might even be honored to be remembered or considered at all - since Constance hardly had the time to drop a line saying how she was doing.
”Someone who might get on your nerves but you know you owe a lot to anyway.”
Well that one was just out of the question. Was there anything more pathetic than asking one’s own mother to do a role typically reserved for a best friend? Constance was shaking her head at the simple thought of that.
”Someone that is the reason you’re even getting married.”
That would have been odd, Constance thought, asking both a man AND the brother of the other bride to stand at her side. Then again, there was never any sort of rule that said the maid of honor couldn’t be a...butler of honor. Male of honor? And he might even be up for it, he was already almost assuredly getting an invite to the wedding proper…
”Someone who made you famous. Or, like, will.”
Constance had to pause a moment, no faces coming immediately to mind - having already forgotten that Caitlyn was talking about a single person and not individual people. But who had ‘made her famous’? No one, by her own definition. Plenty of people had believed in her when she wans’t believing in herself but that hardly equates to fame, right?
”So what do you say, Ms. C? Can I be your maid of honor?”
How she didn’t see that coming Constance didn’t know, but the question drew a snorting sort of laugh from the Mancunian. Caitlyn having any role in the wedding other than maybe the videographer was laughable; this was supposed to be a special occurance not some kind of juvenile prank hotspot.
”Absolutely not.” Concise. Forceful. Unmoving. There was no way she was flinching on this.
”Oh come on. Who else would do it? You’ve got like no friends. You need me.”
One of those sentences was true, and Constance was going to respond, to state that she in fact DID have friends, but judging by how easily Caitlyn was willing to call a bluff, she thought the better of it. Plus, as Constance opened her mouth to voice her thoughts on the matter, the overly cheerful waitress returned with a tray of their ordered meals. Any counter argument was silenced by the chewing of meat, cheese, and grilled onions, despite Caitlyn’s continued insistence of filling the role.
The patty melt should have been comforting, soothing, a way to get her mind off of the trials of dress shopping still to come. Instead the sandwich was yet another source of stress as every bite and subsequent chewing came with Constance thinking of people in her past that might well agree to stand with her on the altar. It was a worrying sort of experience that only two faces entered her mind.
Suddenly dress shopping was looking like the more enjoyable task at hand. Things like this were precisely why Constance Chapin hated getting out of bed on the weekends.
~
”I wonder who it is I should thank for this upcoming match - and yes, in case it wasn’t obvious from my tone of voice that ‘thanks’ comes dripping with sarcasm. Were I a betting woman I might put my money on the culprit being none other than my opponent, but somehow I don’t think she’s the type - not without giving a moment’s notice, anyway. Of course I’m not exactly complaining - the life of a champion comes with certain expectations like being asked to defend your title, but at least my past defences came with a moment’s notice and an idea of who my challenger was.”
“Coming off the heat of Heatstroke I’m feeling about as good as I ever have, and I assumed that I would be scouting the landscape for my next challenger come Armed and Dangerous - because as much as I’m sure she’d love to, a third at bat in such short time gives people the wrong sort of idea. Collusion and all that nonsense. And yet here we are, another week, another Breakthrough, and another repeat opponent; only this time there’s more at stake than just pride.”
“I suppose Gwendolyn Massey is still a bit bitter over what happened when I survived the little trip to her ‘madhouse’ or whatever it is she calls her brand of warfare - I know I would be if I put forth so much effort only to be denied the notch in the wins column. What did you have to do to make this happen so suddenly, Gwen? Good old fashioned blackmail? You just couldn’t let well enough alone. Sure, you might’ve said that you wanted to go again, but this turn around time is something else. Plenty of people want their go at what I’ve got - what makes you so worthy of the opportunity? Past glories?”
“That’s what I don’t get about so many challengers. Everybody wants a championship, they want the prestige and the glory and the massive target on their back getting obscured by their own enormous ego; but so few of them want to go through the motions of putting in the time, the effort, and the work. Always looking for ways to jump the line, to push more worthy folks aside because it’s a business of selfishness and blatant disregard for authority.”
“How are you any different, Gwen?”
“And not just different in terms of jumping ahead and getting an opportunity before so many others, but in general. In broad terms of the various men and women that do what we do. How are you any different? I called you out on your schtick the last time we met and clearly I hit upon some touchy subject because for all your claims and threats you weren’t able to pull through. I didn’t lose. You didn’t win. I survived. You resent that.”
“But I ask again. How are you any different?”
“You asked me, or more like spoke for me, if I was tired of the same old ‘clusterfucks’ that we’ve been seeing. You say I’ve been the most fun for you, that this isn’t a match but a fight...and yet all I’m seeing from you is the same type of ‘clusterfuck’ that I rant and rave about on a near constant basis. Frankly? I’m bored.”
“You want this to be a fight and yet you’re prancing around like you’ve already won - worse that you’ve got an upper hand on me already. You twirl about stirring the shit in a pot, deflecting any and all notion of sportsmanship and debate with your little collection of subtitled images. Because you can’t handle it when people call you out, question you, bring up relevant facts. It’s a common tactic of the cowardly. Don’t respond, just deflect, just pretend you’re having a laugh while inside you’re bitter and angry.”
“Ironic that the one supposedly versed in the realm of psychological warfare is so easily figured out psychologically.”
“You are right, though. I don’t get your humour. Because it isn’t funny. It’s nothing. And it’s the same exact shit that people spout on a daily basis. You present yourself as someone different, like you’re Two Chains, holding up a mirror to the world - but much like the Georgia native...the only thing in the mirror is your own reflection. You are completely identical to the people you’re supposedly putting on blast. And your flow is wack.”
“How, Gwen, how are you going to give people something other than ‘the same tired shit’ when that is all you know?”
“Maybe you’ve been holding back. Hiding away your true self behind a mask of pointless images and words - but I have my doubts because I’ve seen what you are capable of. I’ve faced you before, not all that long ago, and while, yes, you can back up what little idle threats you make with a show of force, it hasn’t been enough to really do you any favours.”
“You couldn’t beat me. You couldn’t come out on top of the Quest for the Case. And yet you think you can win the Xcel Championship? It’s been, what, three weeks since last we met in the ring? You’re coming off a draw, a DRAW, and a loss...and after such impressive debuts. Reminds me of someone who also had a bit of a change in their personality after going up against a champion. They became motivated to do better, after a time, but I look at you, I listen to you, and I don’t see the same spark and drive to actually succeed.”
“I just see someone who wants a handout.”
“You want the title not because you think you earned a fair shot, but because you think you deserve it because you’re YOU. Everyone is so important to their own self - and I don’t want the Xcel Championship going to someone who doesn’t embody the spirit of what it stands for. It’s for people who can have the decency to shake hands when the bell rings regardless of outcome. It’s for people who have known the pain of a hard fought victory and the joy of a great defeat. It’s for people who represent the heart and soul of what we do. Not for people who only care about themselves. Not for people who don’t care at all. Not for people who think of it as nothing more than a status symbol.”
“I’m sure in your mind you’re championship material, Gwen, because you’ve held them in the past. And who knows, you might be again, but when I fought you I didn’t get the passion, the heart, the soul that I wanted. All I got from you was someone who was desperate to win because that’s all they care about. A number in a column.”
“You’re a smart enough person, Gwen, and you know enough about dismantling an opponent - you tried it on me - but you’re smart enough to know that in a fair fight - which you want this to be - you can’t best me. You tried. Valiantly, I’ll give you that, but even you had to see that at the end of our little dance? I was on top.”
“Spin it however you like. Spin it that drawing was your plan all along, I don’t care. Watch the tape. Gauge the reaction. You tried. You came close. But that’s all.”
“People like you assume things about people like me - that I’m slow, that I’m boorish, that I can’t keep up with more agile, fresher faces, and yet every time it’s the years of experience and intelligence that prevail. If you focused your efforts on actually giving a shit instead of running around like a little chicken troll under a bridge then you would have people backstage quivering in their boots. You might’ve even bested me at Breakthrough. And I might even be coming into this match with a bit of fear in my eyes.”
“You want a fight not a match, Gwen? Semantics. But fine. Call it a fight. But leave your silly little jokes and gaffes at home - they have no place in a ring and certainly no place in a match where the Xcel Championship is on the line. You’re going to have to do much more than focus on my arm to get me to drop this belt to someone like you, Gwen. Much, much more.”
“I push people to their limits when they step up and then I push them beyond them. It’s the only way I can be sure that my opponents deserve to be there, the only way that I can feel confident in my challengers. Because for as much as I dislike many things and people, I still can set aside petty personal issues and give them the chance and respect that they deserve...once they earn it, of course. Game respects game.”
“I remain unsure about you, Gwen. What you need to do is convince me. Convince me that you’re not just some little fly buzzing around creating annoyances. Convince me that you have that desire to truly earn something instead of expecting it to drop into your lap because you’re you. Convince me that under any other circumstances you could be a VoW champion. Above all, Gwen, convince me that you’re worth it. Worth consideration.”
“Convince me of that and you might well walk out of Breakthrough with a supporter. But even should you convince me...I can’t let you walk out of Breakthrough with the Xcel Championship. It’s nothing personal, of course, I just refuse to be undone by someone that can’t be honest with themselves.”
“I survived one trip to your little ‘madhouse’. I can survive one more.”
“See you at the fight, Gwen. Don’t be late.”
There’s something about decisions that makes things more...real. I’ve never been indecisive or anything of that sort but I do like to take as much time as possible before making my mind about almost any major decision. It isn’t indecision, it’s a period of weighing the pros and the cons because unlike a naive person who can just ‘go with the flow’ or whatever the insipid phrase is, I tend to remember that my actions have consequences. Of course because this lengthy process of decision making goes on largely in my head with my own method, it comes with the unfortunate side effect of others assuming I’m just brushing aside the difficult choices that come my way.
It’s like an American going to the polls in the fall and voting because one candidate has a catchier name than the other. Which, all things considered, might well be the reason that this election is so...absurd. But I’m not about to turn my personal thoughts into a soapbox for issues I do not know about.
I bring this up because I was sort of pressured into picking a date for a wedding - as if I honestly care about when the date happens. There’s no functional difference between, say, a spring wedding and a winter wedding other than a winter venue is more likely to take place fully indoors. And ultimately the choice wasn’t even mine, which only begs the question why I was being constantly bugged about it. Decisions like that shouldn’t be made lightly; NONE of the decisions I make in life have been made lightly.
It’s this attitude of having to keep up with the Joneses that I never quite understood. The neighbors get a new television and suddenly you find yourself in an electronics store shopping for an even bigger television. Fred Jones gets engaged to Mary Jones and all of a sudden your partner is spending an unusually long time in jewelry sections at malls or something. Why people feel the need to constantly compare themselves to each other is baffling to me and defeats the purpose of humans having free thought and individual personalities.
I’m speaking from personal experience with this, of course, in case the semi-specific examples weren’t obvious enough; though in my case it wasn’t so much a new television as it was waking up to a pile of wedding magazines on top of the sheets. I had no idea weddings were such a lucrative market for print media, but I suppose people that care so much about their dream wedding are stuck in the last generation anyway.
Of course the reason I suddenly have weddings and comparison shopping on the mind is because I’ve got just about two months before I’ll have to change how I file taxes and insurance forms.
Is there anything more romantic than breaking marriage down to paperwork terminology?
In my mind this whole idea of weddings is a lot like Christmas - only unlike Christmas most people only have one wedding in their lives. But the comparison is apt, surely. Christmas is this big thing when you’re younger and by the time October is in the middle stages shops are already getting their Christmas decorations out of storage - and November rolls around and everyone’s Christmas crazy. For the twenty five days in Decemeber leading up to it people go absolutely mental, singing terrible songs, putting up a stupid tree, pretending they give a shit about other people when they’re just as selfish as ever - if not more so...and for what?
For about three or so hours on December the Twenty-Fifth when the family comes together to rip open consumer goods which they will mess around with for about a week before losing it behind the couch never to be discovered until it accidentally gets sucked up by the vaccuum.
Weddings are a much more expensive Christmas. As soon as I asked the question suddenly I was being forced into meetings with people whose career path went terribly off course and I was being made to answer a lot of questions that I honestly could not have cared less about. Decorations needed to be decided upon, menu items, venue, guest list...it’s all very stressing and tiring for what is essentially a six hour Christmas.
Someone walks down the aisle, parents pretend to be emotional that their child has found someone new to mooch off of, and once the kiss happens it’s over. The couple goes on their merry way while everyone else returns to their regular existence. With the honeymoon a marriage is like Christmas and New Year’s Eve. As soon as the honeymoon ends all that you’re left with is someone who you’d better hope was worth the months and months of pointless preparation.
No wonder so many drunken idiots just go to a church in Las Vegas to get it out of the way. It’s a wonder people have multiple weddings in their life time. If the fourth person wasn’t Prince or Princess Charming then what makes you think the fifth will be? Or the sixth?
Of course I’m not going into my upcoming marriage thinking the worst. I’m a realist - sometimes mistaken as a cynic - but that doesn’t mean I put myself in a constant series of self fulfilling prophecies. If I’m being honest, I’m actually sort of nervous - in an ideal world I would’ve hard far more time to consider options, but it just sort of...came out of my mouth and now it’s real. It’s written down. Invitations are going to be printed up.
If I wasn’t sure this was the right decision then I wouldn’t have bothered with the ring in the first place. I might not have appreciated the brick-to-the-head subtleties of the significant other hinting at engagements but it was always in the back of my mind once she became less ‘someone I don’t mind hanging out with’ and more ‘I don’t mind that she’s living here’. Granted, some days that feels like my hospitality is being taken advantage of what with the annoyances on a near daily basis on social media and the off-colour jokes at my expense.
But now that it’s looming on the horizon I’m getting the familiar feelings in the pit of my stomach. It used to be that those were reserved for the times I managed to get myself into a prime position ‘at the office’. But having brought a bit of class and, hopefully, legitimacy to my division I haven’t really gotten those feelings. Even when defending myself I was more calm than I had ever been.
I think it might have something to do with the stark contrasts in the personal and the professional world. As much as some people would like you to believe otherwise, nothing is permanent in my profession. Someone positioning themselves at the top of any given ladder only needs one strong push to go tumbling onto their ass. But a marriage is forever - or it’s supposed to be - and in my case it had better be because I doubt I’d bother getting back ‘onto the horse’ should, god forbid, this not work out.
I’m nervous because in November my life is going to change for the better. And yet I’m not nervous that my life could change for the worse this coming week - but then I’ve always been someone that cared more about her personal life and reputation than her professional.
Yet somehow I’ve found competence in both, which is a rarity. I need look no further than the series of men and women in this line of work either on their third marriage or constantly seeking validation from others. You’re not fooling anyone with those ‘just woke up’ selfies on social media - just be upfront about your compliment fishing.
Some might think my priorities are skewed. Most people look forward to their wedding day while I’m dreading it not because it’s happening but because everything changes on that day. I always told myself that I’d be a spinster because people annoy me. And while my future spouse does annoy me, it’s at least partially endearing when it isn’t flat-out aggravating. I’m nervous because I’m letting a bit of sunshine into my forever overcast life. I’m nervous because I’m afraid of happiness, of being faced with a potentially life altering perspective. I imagine it’s like the first people who went to space, who stepped on the moon - in those moments everything those people knew about the world were altered forever. They came back heroes. Their names written in history books. But ultimately forgotten - just try asking some young person who it was that stepped on the moon first. But they came back adjusted. They came back fine. Maybe I can do the same.
But honestly? Above all?
I’m nervous because I have to pick a maid of honor.
And unfortunately I do not have the luxury of time on this decision.
~
If Constance had known when she woke up that she would end the day in her current predicament she might not have put forth the effort to get out of bed in the first place. Predicament might’ve been too harsh a word but it was the only one that came to mind that seemed to perfectly sum up her thoughts on the situation. Most people wouldn’t think that sitting in a booth while some generic light music lightly plays overhead and college students and single parents force a smile for a paltry five dollar tip was a bad place to be. After all, restaurants were typically a family friendly environment. Of course, most people weren’t Constance Chapin who still had yet to meet a location outside of the comfort of her home that she liked.
Well, the library wasn’t terrible. But their selection was rather lacking once they started catering to young adults and students; how else could she explain the various standees of fictional characters in generic trash aimed at young people dotting the main hallway of the public library? It was a mixing of worlds that did not need to be mixed - and having in big bold font ‘read the book that inspired the movie’ was the ultimate betrayal of trust in Constance’s eyes.
Constance still had yet to meet a location outside of the comfort of her home that she liked.
In a rare sort of twist it wasn’t anyone other than Constance herself who had decided to venture out into the wild world of a fading summer day. Normally it was Emily who had to beg, plead, coerce, or just blackmail Constance into going off on some sort of pointless adventure - hence the twist this go around. Of course there was an ulterior motive, there always was, and it had everything to do with the ticking of a clock; both in the metaphorical sense and the literal. The calendars already had big red boxes over that first Friday in November and were she a math fan rather than a literature one Constance might even have made note of the days remaining until everything changed forever.
Emily’s goodwill was used up after the little stunt she had pulled with Dad and Mummy Chapin, but somewhere deep inside the still lingering annoyance and headache there was a respect for the lengths some people go. That was assuming, as Constance did, that Emily’s plan was so convoluted in theory that it had to have been all set up. Why else would Emily invite the Chapin parents to the states? And not even to the relatively closer location of the east coast but literally across the entire country if not to get Constance into a position to reveal to her parents that their only daughter was finally reaching the next stage of life?
Some people plan surprise birthday parties for the office boss. Emily planned surprise wedding date announcements. It wasn’t the most logical scenario for what had transpired but it was the one that allowed Constance to not be fully upset at Emily, who still saw nothing wrong with having the future in-laws over for a couple of days. ”They’re really quite lovely people, honey.” must have been repeated in the triple digits the night after the Chapin’s boarded a flight back to Manchester with thoughts of their return trip in November already on the tip of their tongues.
”So when are you telling YOUR parents?” was Constance’s standard response to any and all attempts at justification - it was not appreciated by Emily and that was largely the point.
Regardless, it was going to be a solo outing simply because Constance took such matters seriously and if ever there was a time for seriousness, for buckling down and taking charge it probably wasn’t now. But Constance couldn’t keep putting things off.
”When are we going?”
And yet on what was supposed to be her taking charge and getting something done by herself and on her own terms...of course Caitlyn would pop up and offer to go along for support. Caitlyn didn’t even know where Constance was going nor did she really need to - with Emily marking down and whistling about November like it was some special month it didn’t take long for the precocious youth to discover the reasoning why. And it took even less time for Caitlyn to figure that Constance was still a bit of a stickler for those old superstitions.
”You don’t want Emily to see you in a dress, do you?” Caitlyn asked from the couch as Constance was just about out the front door. ”But you need a working pair of eyes to tell you what looks bad. I’m going with you.”
Though every part of her head was telling her to deny the company of the young room mate, Constance sighed heavily - as if she knew any other way to do so - and agreed to let her accompany her. The girl had a sharp mind, it was a shame she used it for selfish purposes. And she had been right, of course, as Constance had every intention of trying on dresses, a task she never figured she’d have to do. And not that she beleived in it or anything, but it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in the dress before the wedding.
Whether or not she was the ‘groom’ in the scenario was a conversation she’d have to have with Emily at another time. The more important task was finding places that would aid in her pursuit.
Suddenly she was regretting being rude to every single wedding planner she had been forced to meet with. Constance was just full of surprises today. As much as she still considered ‘wedding planner’ to be a joke of a profession, any joke would surely be preferential to having someone like Caitlyn nipping at the heels.
The consolation, if there was any to be found, was that Caitlyn was surely just as clueless about matters of marriage and weddings as Constance was; of course Caitlyn was something of a media whore and might well have absorbed a textbook amount of wedding information from a bevy of television and coverage. It didn’t strike Constance as odd that someone not quite old enough to drink legally in the country could very well be educating an adult about weddings.
Pathetic, yes. But odd? No.
The idea or ideal of a perfect wedding was never imparted to her as a child. Constance was never given that whole fantasy - it was offered to her, plenty of adults painted up the idea of weddings as something out of a fairy tale, and the bedtime stories and animated shorts weren’t exactly doing the opposite; but Constance wasn’t one to consume that sort of thing even as it was being read to her. That should have been a clue as to her future bitterness but what child could possibly be that cynical?
For all she knew, weddings were as easy to plan as an office holiday party. Call some not terrible dining establishment for some food, pay the priest or whomever a fee to use the church and services, a bakery for a cake, and then find someone’s drug using relative to put his portable music player on repeat. Easy. Planned and executed in, like, a week or two tops. It was rather amazing how one so book smart could still be so clueless about many facets of the world around her.
When it came to opponents in her professional life, Constance could plan out an attack strategy in less time than a sitcom takes to air - with commercials edited out even. Once she studied a bit of whoever it was she was up against it didn’t take much for the more analytical side of her brain to plan it all out. How was it that she could stand toe-to-toe with people who could do her physical harm and yet wedding planning and shopping was like trying to solve an advanced mathematics problem under pressure of time.
It wasn’t all that long after leaving the safety of home behind before Constance realized that she hadn’t any idea where to even start looking for a dress. It wasn’t as if she could wander into a thrift store or a department store and ask for their bridal gown section; she would definitely have remembered those sections if they existed. A more wisend sort might well have looked up the relevant information in even the phone book.
Constance knew that there had to be a place that specialized in gowns and dresses, it wasn’t as if every woman was able to get their custom made Vera Wang gown or whatever, and not everyone was fortunate enough to have a family dress - as creepy and depressing as that was. The average woman needed a wedding dress too. Sometimes more than one.
”I could probably steal my stepmom’s…” Caitlyn offered her assistance in the matter upon learning that Ms. Chapin had no idea where to even begin apart from measurements and something that looked decent at a decent price.
”And how many sick stains are on it, Caitlyn?”
”At least four. Three of them directly from the source.”
”And the fourth?”
”I told her I didn’t like shellfish.”
With the realm of hand-me-downs being a dead-end the only other option was simply turning to whatever the internet dug up. Caitlyn took the reigns on that, bringing up a search on her phone and acting as a navigator. This was not the suggested method of shopping, but with a price point and the willignness to pay up front Constance figured some salon would be willing to put up with a lack of experience. The customer was always right. At least that was what she had been lead to believe.
As soon as she entered their first store, some building with a garish storefront and fancy writing on the marquee, Constance had to question that old adage. She could tell the clerks were reluctant to help the deer-in-headlights surly looking woman that just came through and looked like she was a hooker in a church with how uncomfortable the sight of all the bridalwear was making her. (”This is a total Pretty Woman situation.” was how Caitlyn phrased it, breaking the silence and initial awkwardness.)
A short woman with what Constance called ‘Asian features’ took the grenade for the sales team and bounced over, the surgery stretching from her wide, false smile, and the saccharine bend to her voice was so forced it was a wonder she didn’t contract diabetes. That was already a warning sign, and the second followed shortly after as the clerk assumed that Constance was shopping for a bridesmaid dress “for your...daughter?...sister?” with a nod to Caitlyn.
One of them found that amusing.
No apology was offered when Constance corrected the woman, nor did the clerk hide the shock in her voice. Was it so unusual? Not even a congratulations or fake well wishing, just a bit of an incredulous look and a nod. It was with seeming reluctance that Constance stood on the small podium infront of the trifold mirror in order to have her measurements taken.
”You have a very...strong figure,” the clerk spoke her mind somewhere between jotting down the numbers and trying to make small talk.
”What does that even mean?” Constance wasn’t sure if she should be offended or not but hinged her bets on simply writing it off.
”Nothing. Your shoulders are a bit broad that’s all. What sort of dress were you looking for?”
”A wedding dress.”
”Yes, but what sort of wedding dress?”
”A white one.”
Constance wasn’t even aware that there were different styles - she had figured all wedding dresses were generally the same with the custom ones being more expensive because people with more money than sense liked to make people know how much money they had to throw around. Caitlyn was enjoying her time in ‘the husband chair’, amused by the increasingly annoyed tone to Constance’s voice. That alone was worth the journey.
The clerk sighed, wondering if commission was worth the headache, began explaining the various makes and styles of dress, and how they fit with the venue. Constance was only half listening, checking out when talk of summer styles and flowing garments went on for what seemed like ten minutes. Why was this such a serious matter? A wedding dress was a wedding dress - no one was going to ask her what it was made out of or who made it or how it worked in what season; this wasn’t a red carpet affair.
”I just want a simple wedding dress that fits,” Constance interrupted the spiel, shaking her head in disbelief. And with it came the third strike.
The worker was agahst, shocked that someone would want something so...simplistic. The store was not the right place for that, specializing in more designer, fancy dresses. In so many words the clerk told Constance to leave, phrasing it as ‘a smaller store would be in your price range’ - not that the people that worked there knew Constance’s price range but someone so clueless had to also be lacking in funds.
Constance was happy to leave, though Caitlyn was hoping there would have been a confrontation. Angry brides-to-be were always good for viral numbers.
It wasn’t to another dress store that the duo went to next; Constance wanted to get some food, call it an early lunch and needing to settle down with a bit of a cold beverage. Fortunately a chain restaurant was within walking distance of the fancy-bullshit of a boutique.
If all future shops would be as embarrassing a situation as the first, Constance was in for a rough time, and her less than stellar experience at the shop was coloring her mood at the restaurant - she ordered her patty melt with a bit of a snappy tone which, to the waitress’ credit, she took well.
”Honestly, though, I never figured you for the dress type, Ms. C.” Caitlyn was sipping at her iced tea, fingers squeezing the neck of the straw.
”I’ve worn a dress before.” Constance replied with a bold faced lie.
”When and why?” But of course Caitlyn was never one to take such things at face value - she had spent far too much time with the Chapin clan to just let things go.
”I’ve been to a funeral before.”
”Says a lot about you that funerals are your default ‘formal dress’ events.”
Constance dismissed Caitlyn’s remarks with a wave of her hands. She didn’t need to hear the lip from Caitlyn, not today. Caitlyn was able to read the vibe across the table and decided not to press the tease, instead dragging up a different, yet still relevant, topic.
”I know the dress thing has you all worried, but have you settled on a bridal party?”
”I figure I’ll just have an extra piece of steak with dinner one night and maybe a bigger dessert.”
Caitlyn had to hold back a snicker, disguising it as a sudden cough. ”No, not a bachelorette party. A bridal party. You know...like bridesmaids and a maid of honor?”
”I don’t need any of those, Caitlyn. I just need a dress, a church, and about a half hour.” Constance was serious, though in the back of her mind she knew the actual service would wind up being a bit more involved than her simplistic ideal.
”You at least need a maid of honor. Every bride has one. I bet Emily has one. She’ll probably ask that magician girl just to spite you.”
”Why would that spite me?”
”Doesn’t matter. Have you at least considered it?”
In truth, Constance HAD considered it and understood the issues it brought up. Having never really found the need to befriend people it was hard to think of anyone who could fit the bill of glorified moral support. She could count the number of people she didn’t mind speaking with on one hand, but of those people she assumed only a couple might genuinely be willing to take up the position. It was because of this that she wondered if a bridal party in the traditional sense was even necessary.
And it was yet another reason why these sorts of things so often get accomplished with a planner. Those clever bastards had found a way to make their pathetic career path viable after all.
”No,” she lied, grabbing at her glass of lemonade and taking a sip of the overly tart beverage.
”Well I happen to know someone that might be worth consideration,” Caitlyn spoke with a sort of car salesman vibe, preparing some kind of pitch for a product that was bound to not be as good as advertised. ”It’s someone that you’ve known for a while now.”
Yes, Constance had been thinking along the same lines. They were the first person she had thought of, but it seemed like such a hassle to ask - especially given the schedule and the travel time. But she wasn’t quite yet ready to rule it out.
”Someone who gave you a chance when no one else would.”
Another face flashed in Constance’s mind, and it was a bit of a stretch to consider them close but they had done a considerable favor. One that Constance utterly ruined, but she never blamed the other person. Hell, they might even be honored to be remembered or considered at all - since Constance hardly had the time to drop a line saying how she was doing.
”Someone who might get on your nerves but you know you owe a lot to anyway.”
Well that one was just out of the question. Was there anything more pathetic than asking one’s own mother to do a role typically reserved for a best friend? Constance was shaking her head at the simple thought of that.
”Someone that is the reason you’re even getting married.”
That would have been odd, Constance thought, asking both a man AND the brother of the other bride to stand at her side. Then again, there was never any sort of rule that said the maid of honor couldn’t be a...butler of honor. Male of honor? And he might even be up for it, he was already almost assuredly getting an invite to the wedding proper…
”Someone who made you famous. Or, like, will.”
Constance had to pause a moment, no faces coming immediately to mind - having already forgotten that Caitlyn was talking about a single person and not individual people. But who had ‘made her famous’? No one, by her own definition. Plenty of people had believed in her when she wans’t believing in herself but that hardly equates to fame, right?
”So what do you say, Ms. C? Can I be your maid of honor?”
How she didn’t see that coming Constance didn’t know, but the question drew a snorting sort of laugh from the Mancunian. Caitlyn having any role in the wedding other than maybe the videographer was laughable; this was supposed to be a special occurance not some kind of juvenile prank hotspot.
”Absolutely not.” Concise. Forceful. Unmoving. There was no way she was flinching on this.
”Oh come on. Who else would do it? You’ve got like no friends. You need me.”
One of those sentences was true, and Constance was going to respond, to state that she in fact DID have friends, but judging by how easily Caitlyn was willing to call a bluff, she thought the better of it. Plus, as Constance opened her mouth to voice her thoughts on the matter, the overly cheerful waitress returned with a tray of their ordered meals. Any counter argument was silenced by the chewing of meat, cheese, and grilled onions, despite Caitlyn’s continued insistence of filling the role.
The patty melt should have been comforting, soothing, a way to get her mind off of the trials of dress shopping still to come. Instead the sandwich was yet another source of stress as every bite and subsequent chewing came with Constance thinking of people in her past that might well agree to stand with her on the altar. It was a worrying sort of experience that only two faces entered her mind.
Suddenly dress shopping was looking like the more enjoyable task at hand. Things like this were precisely why Constance Chapin hated getting out of bed on the weekends.
~
”I wonder who it is I should thank for this upcoming match - and yes, in case it wasn’t obvious from my tone of voice that ‘thanks’ comes dripping with sarcasm. Were I a betting woman I might put my money on the culprit being none other than my opponent, but somehow I don’t think she’s the type - not without giving a moment’s notice, anyway. Of course I’m not exactly complaining - the life of a champion comes with certain expectations like being asked to defend your title, but at least my past defences came with a moment’s notice and an idea of who my challenger was.”
“Coming off the heat of Heatstroke I’m feeling about as good as I ever have, and I assumed that I would be scouting the landscape for my next challenger come Armed and Dangerous - because as much as I’m sure she’d love to, a third at bat in such short time gives people the wrong sort of idea. Collusion and all that nonsense. And yet here we are, another week, another Breakthrough, and another repeat opponent; only this time there’s more at stake than just pride.”
“I suppose Gwendolyn Massey is still a bit bitter over what happened when I survived the little trip to her ‘madhouse’ or whatever it is she calls her brand of warfare - I know I would be if I put forth so much effort only to be denied the notch in the wins column. What did you have to do to make this happen so suddenly, Gwen? Good old fashioned blackmail? You just couldn’t let well enough alone. Sure, you might’ve said that you wanted to go again, but this turn around time is something else. Plenty of people want their go at what I’ve got - what makes you so worthy of the opportunity? Past glories?”
“That’s what I don’t get about so many challengers. Everybody wants a championship, they want the prestige and the glory and the massive target on their back getting obscured by their own enormous ego; but so few of them want to go through the motions of putting in the time, the effort, and the work. Always looking for ways to jump the line, to push more worthy folks aside because it’s a business of selfishness and blatant disregard for authority.”
“How are you any different, Gwen?”
“And not just different in terms of jumping ahead and getting an opportunity before so many others, but in general. In broad terms of the various men and women that do what we do. How are you any different? I called you out on your schtick the last time we met and clearly I hit upon some touchy subject because for all your claims and threats you weren’t able to pull through. I didn’t lose. You didn’t win. I survived. You resent that.”
“But I ask again. How are you any different?”
“You asked me, or more like spoke for me, if I was tired of the same old ‘clusterfucks’ that we’ve been seeing. You say I’ve been the most fun for you, that this isn’t a match but a fight...and yet all I’m seeing from you is the same type of ‘clusterfuck’ that I rant and rave about on a near constant basis. Frankly? I’m bored.”
“You want this to be a fight and yet you’re prancing around like you’ve already won - worse that you’ve got an upper hand on me already. You twirl about stirring the shit in a pot, deflecting any and all notion of sportsmanship and debate with your little collection of subtitled images. Because you can’t handle it when people call you out, question you, bring up relevant facts. It’s a common tactic of the cowardly. Don’t respond, just deflect, just pretend you’re having a laugh while inside you’re bitter and angry.”
“Ironic that the one supposedly versed in the realm of psychological warfare is so easily figured out psychologically.”
“You are right, though. I don’t get your humour. Because it isn’t funny. It’s nothing. And it’s the same exact shit that people spout on a daily basis. You present yourself as someone different, like you’re Two Chains, holding up a mirror to the world - but much like the Georgia native...the only thing in the mirror is your own reflection. You are completely identical to the people you’re supposedly putting on blast. And your flow is wack.”
“How, Gwen, how are you going to give people something other than ‘the same tired shit’ when that is all you know?”
“Maybe you’ve been holding back. Hiding away your true self behind a mask of pointless images and words - but I have my doubts because I’ve seen what you are capable of. I’ve faced you before, not all that long ago, and while, yes, you can back up what little idle threats you make with a show of force, it hasn’t been enough to really do you any favours.”
“You couldn’t beat me. You couldn’t come out on top of the Quest for the Case. And yet you think you can win the Xcel Championship? It’s been, what, three weeks since last we met in the ring? You’re coming off a draw, a DRAW, and a loss...and after such impressive debuts. Reminds me of someone who also had a bit of a change in their personality after going up against a champion. They became motivated to do better, after a time, but I look at you, I listen to you, and I don’t see the same spark and drive to actually succeed.”
“I just see someone who wants a handout.”
“You want the title not because you think you earned a fair shot, but because you think you deserve it because you’re YOU. Everyone is so important to their own self - and I don’t want the Xcel Championship going to someone who doesn’t embody the spirit of what it stands for. It’s for people who can have the decency to shake hands when the bell rings regardless of outcome. It’s for people who have known the pain of a hard fought victory and the joy of a great defeat. It’s for people who represent the heart and soul of what we do. Not for people who only care about themselves. Not for people who don’t care at all. Not for people who think of it as nothing more than a status symbol.”
“I’m sure in your mind you’re championship material, Gwen, because you’ve held them in the past. And who knows, you might be again, but when I fought you I didn’t get the passion, the heart, the soul that I wanted. All I got from you was someone who was desperate to win because that’s all they care about. A number in a column.”
“You’re a smart enough person, Gwen, and you know enough about dismantling an opponent - you tried it on me - but you’re smart enough to know that in a fair fight - which you want this to be - you can’t best me. You tried. Valiantly, I’ll give you that, but even you had to see that at the end of our little dance? I was on top.”
“Spin it however you like. Spin it that drawing was your plan all along, I don’t care. Watch the tape. Gauge the reaction. You tried. You came close. But that’s all.”
“People like you assume things about people like me - that I’m slow, that I’m boorish, that I can’t keep up with more agile, fresher faces, and yet every time it’s the years of experience and intelligence that prevail. If you focused your efforts on actually giving a shit instead of running around like a little chicken troll under a bridge then you would have people backstage quivering in their boots. You might’ve even bested me at Breakthrough. And I might even be coming into this match with a bit of fear in my eyes.”
“You want a fight not a match, Gwen? Semantics. But fine. Call it a fight. But leave your silly little jokes and gaffes at home - they have no place in a ring and certainly no place in a match where the Xcel Championship is on the line. You’re going to have to do much more than focus on my arm to get me to drop this belt to someone like you, Gwen. Much, much more.”
“I push people to their limits when they step up and then I push them beyond them. It’s the only way I can be sure that my opponents deserve to be there, the only way that I can feel confident in my challengers. Because for as much as I dislike many things and people, I still can set aside petty personal issues and give them the chance and respect that they deserve...once they earn it, of course. Game respects game.”
“I remain unsure about you, Gwen. What you need to do is convince me. Convince me that you’re not just some little fly buzzing around creating annoyances. Convince me that you have that desire to truly earn something instead of expecting it to drop into your lap because you’re you. Convince me that under any other circumstances you could be a VoW champion. Above all, Gwen, convince me that you’re worth it. Worth consideration.”
“Convince me of that and you might well walk out of Breakthrough with a supporter. But even should you convince me...I can’t let you walk out of Breakthrough with the Xcel Championship. It’s nothing personal, of course, I just refuse to be undone by someone that can’t be honest with themselves.”
“I survived one trip to your little ‘madhouse’. I can survive one more.”
“See you at the fight, Gwen. Don’t be late.”
