Post by Death Incarnate on Sept 25, 2016 4:09:52 GMT -6
Even after a couple of years, she simply didn’t fit the scene. And truth told? She preferred it that way. Emma didn’t bother with foolishness like ‘following the trends’ or ‘keeping up with her neighbors’. It was an attitude that served her well more often than not. Others might be prettier, fancier and more up-to-the-minute, but their types were a dime a dozen. Emma?
You’d never forget her. Even if you only saw her for a moment.
Determined to squeeze the last of the beauty out of the days of summer, the droves were out in full-force that day. Packs of skateboarding teenage boys or bikini-clad girls on rollerblades, elderly couples wandering along holding hands while moving at a pace that suited them rather than the rest of the world… and, of course, all the millennial yuppie larvae infesting the place. Emma watched them from behind a pair of steel-framed Gargoyles, the rest of her face showing no small amount of disgust.
Many an eye land upon her from those she disdains at a distance, and disgust is not the tone they gaze with. To be fair, Emma is a sight in that moment, eschewing her usual dark elegance for a bit of simplicity, a departure from her treasured norms. The white tee clings well to her toned torso, a tribal skull plastered to the front, while her faded jeans likewise hug tight to her strong legs before disappearing beneath leather boots laced up to near knee-level raise her up an inch or two. Throw in sunglasses and a black paisley bandanna tied closely around and over her head and… well, truth told she didn’t look like anything that special.
Maybe it was the gleaming gold of the World Visionary Championship draped over her left shoulder, its strap clutched firmly in her left hand. Perhaps it was just the woman’s body as a whole. Or it could have been the royal blue 1962 Chevrolet Impala SS Convertible that she was leaning back against…
”Already going, ma’am,” came a quiet but cheerful voice from behind the camera. ”At your leisure.”
”Thank you, Luca.”
Hitching the belt up on her shoulder a little higher, Emma rests her gaze on it briefly, brushing the side of her hand across the medallion with the tenderness of a mother stroking her child’s hair.
”At what point do they stop kidding themselves? When does the moment arrive that the people pull the wool from their eyes and accept the nightmare as reality? Fear won’t make it go away, children,” she muses quietly, turning eventually from the belt to Luca’s camera, a trace smile visible on her pale features. ”I do not command respect nor do I court fear, and any violence I visit upon those before me is warranted. What I do is, in the end, is what I have always done: further the mission. The core of this company is malignantly infected. I, and my Horsewomen, will see it cut out. There shall be those who view this evolution of change as a downward spiral into hell. Disrupting the status quo is a threat to their comfortable ignorance and false notions of power and comfort. And those who scream the loudest are the most afraid,” she continues with a shake of her head, drawing her cell phone from her pocket and holding it before the camera. ”Go on… log into Twitter or Facebook if you wish. The squeals and brays of those who claim wrongdoing and cast aspersions on my reign, on our collective efforts, are quite prominent. Instead of following the logical route they indulge in apathy and discontent. Instead of fighting for what they believe in, wrong or otherwise, they hide in the shadowed corners of social media. And these are the people who have the ‘best interests’ of Visionaries of Wrestling at heart? They are the precious few who are ‘only trying to help’?”
Leaning forward a bit, Emma lowers her shades slightly, peering over them with cold, icy eyes. It’s a stare that clearly defies any sort of argument other than a silent one inside the viewer’s own head.
”It isn’t that they exist. Their type will always scuttle about in the dark while retreating at the first taste of light. Yes, like cockroaches,” Emma continues after her brief pause, pushing the Gargoyles back up her nose. ”It is that others have attached themselves to such rhetoric. The belligerent vengeance of the Tyron Bickertons, the malignant arrogance of the Ace Watsons… and we won’t even get started on the unmitigated cowardice of the Neons. And people have the gall to actually support these types.”
Doing little to hide her disgust at the state of things, Emma’s hand visibly tightens on the World Visionary Championship. More people pass, yet they may as well not even exist. Some appear to recognize her but none call out or pester Death as she stares coldly into the distance.
”Wading through the dreck that is the VoW roster, you can likely imagine my consternation in finding a person beyond my Horsewomen who thinks as we do,” she says in a quieter tone, repositioning her shades atop her head as the light dims thanks to the necessary intervention of a few wayward clouds. ”Someone I’m facing in the ring at Breakthrough, in fact, on my road to Armed & Dangerous where I defend this,” Death lifts the belt from her shoulder a little and gives the camera her direct attention, ”against the daunting challenge of Stacy Jones. I speak, of course, about James Cornett… though there are plenty of other names that would suit him depending on who you ask...”
Fully prepared to begin her address to her opponents at #52, something grabs Death’s attention as she turns to her left. Her eyes avert to Luca briefly before snapping back in the direction originally sought. Luca swings the device around to show a line of cars coming down the strip, hazard lights flickering. The most prominent of them are a black limousine and a similarly-dark hearse while the rest are a hodgepodge of colors, makes and models. None of the rest matter to Emma, however. It is the ferry of the deceased that has her eye.
Dark, forlorn, windows tinted to dissuade the eyes of others from seeing within and crawling along so as not to interact unduly with pedestrians and what-not jaunting from shop to beach to snack stand. They barely pay it heed beyond cursory glances while the World Visionary Champion stands transfixed. When the train of vehicles has mostly passed by, Emma speaks quietly to Luca without turning from the ‘caboose’ of the convoy.
”Get in, Luca.”
”With all due respect, ma’am, is that proper? Do you mean to crash this funeral or something?”
So long in working with Emma had given one of her original Chosen fair insight into the workings of her mind and methods. More so than most would ever have, at least. Rising from her spot against the Impala, Emma lowers her sunglasses and turns to her camerawoman.
”The scent of blood unspilled hovers beyond and I find myself drawn. Our wayward sister awaits.”
”Our wayward-”
Luca starts to reply before it quickly dawns on her what Emma meant. Confusion is quickly replaced by abject surprise as she scurries around to the passenger side of the car and gets in, the view from the other end of the camera well displaying her haste along with a rapid, random shift in perspective. It isn’t until she fastens her seatbelt and turns the camera properly toward the champion again that she finishes her thought.
”I see. I do hope that she is all right…”
Emma rests the championship on the seat between herself and Luca, again putting great care into her treatment of the title.
”She either is or she will be.”
Turning the key causes the engine to roar to life before it settles into a rumbling purr of petroleum-fueled fury. That simple act brings a small smile to Emma’s lips as likewise buckles up and turns to Luca’s camera.
”Save your concern for those who need it… for the demon and the survivor.”
Attention back of the road, Emma pulls away from the curb and follows the now-distant tail lights of the funeral procession until she, too, is out of sight.
An indeterminate amount of time later, the view had changed considerably. Far more serene than the Malibu strip is the quiet, grassy plot decorated with gravestones and flowers both living and false. A tree or two for shade exist though the mild late-September weather a little ways north of Malibu is plenty comfortable. The convertible soon comes rolling into view, parking opposite the line of cars seen so recently. In the near distance, the funeral begins by degrees.
Black-clothed mourners either chat quietly amongst themselves in small groups or sit near one another on rows of white folding chairs. The nature of their conversations isn’t difficult to discern, what with the forlorn faces and shining tears. Everyone wears their grief as prominently as their Sunday best. Emma, watching the lot of them as she exits the vehicle with her title quickly finding a place back over her shoulder, shows little to no concern other than to gaze at them distantly. Luca is quick to get into position as Emma’s attention moves here and there before settling on an older tree with a broad span of branches and slowly-turning leaves.
”There…”
”Yes, ma’am.”
The crunch of asphalt and gravel sounds beneath their steps as Emma walks to the tree, not thirty feet from the ceremony. But it is neither the shade nor the mourners she seeks. No, her quarry sits beneath the large tree, scribbling into a familiar book. The scratch of the quill stops when Emma’s motion does, shadows obscuring the person’s identity, though she turns when the champion’s hand rests in a familiar way on her shoulder.
”Rise, my Bloody Queen.”
Turning and gazing up at her lover, partner and fellow rider, Joanna is shocked for a moment… then turns back to her journal.
”...I’m neither ready nor worthy.”
Very uncharacteristic of War to say and feel so, as anyone aware of her exploits might agree, yet Emma is calm and unyielding.
"Enough, Joanna. Enough torturing yourself and me looking for answers that you continue moving further and further away from. You're coming home. Today. Right now."
"I just want a break from the noise,” Joanna retorts with a strain to her voice that betrays desperation. ”And after failing to assure the growth of Chaos in lieu of blood, even your touch only muffles it."
Her fingers dig slightly into Joanna’s shoulder as Emma crouches next to her. A few of the mourners have taken their seats formally while a couple others think they’ve seen something in Emma and Joanna’s direction. None, yet, have come to react.
"And I refuse to let you be alone while you hurt. Do not turn away from the one emotion that's hardest for me to feel and express, the one you awoke in me."
"It's not exactly something I'm familiar with either, Emma. But I'll do better,” Joanna replies quietly, just now noticing the goings-on ahead of her. ”How did you find me?"
"I followed the scent of blood unspilled."
A somewhat-twisted smile manifests before disappearing again. Joanna looks up at her partner quizzically.
"...how would that lead to me? I'm stained by the odor of blood. Regardless,’ War shakes off the thoughts in her head for a moment. ”I'm here, you're here... and yet it feels as if we're miles apart, Death."
"We're linked on levels yet unexplored. But those words wound me, Joanna,” Emma replies, truly looking troubled by the words of her fiancee. Not to the point of tears, but… wound was the appropriate term. ”Have you devolved so fiercely from what you were in these last few weeks that there's nothing within you now for what we share?"
Something in Death’s expression prompts War’s own demeanor to soften a little.
"Exactly the opposite, my love. I should have known you were there, known you'd come for me. But the noise and my inability to control myself makes me numb to all I should innately feel,” Joanna responds, leaning her head back heavily against the tree, staring through the green canopy above at the blue beyond. ”How can you trust me as a partner when I can't even feel your presence?"
"Because I believe that together we can pull you through this mental stupor. There has yet to be a challenge we could not overcome together."
"The Neon Babes would disagree,” retorts War with no small amount of irritation, ”but if you think it'll help, it's worth a try. Thank you, Emma,” she continues, turning as she places her own hand atop her lovers’. ”Sometimes I feel I've never escaped Toad Road, and that all this is just a twisted nightmare... and then I remember I'm the nightmare."
The mention of the Neon Babes draws some tension forth from within Death, her expression setting briefly into a cold mask. None of this comes through when she speaks, though, either by design or strange happenstance.
"The Neon Babes ran in fear of us after we forced them to fight darkness with darkness just to cling to their precious titles, giving them up in the process. As to you... you ARE a nightmare. MY nightmare,” Emma states firmly. ”And I treasure you above all else."
A small smirk appears on the face of War, causing her for the first time since her appearance here to look like her usual self.
"Take me back to the Compound. I think I know where this shade is haunting me from,” Joanna replies, some of the desperation coming back. ”Please, I'll explain later."
Emma rises at that, nodding and offering her hand to Joanna.
"Then it is time you came home. I cannot withstand another night without you."
She takes Joanna's own offered hand and draws her to her feet, turning and leading her through the grass and shade to the side of the road where the blue convertible is parked. Joanna’s reaction to the car is one of amused confusion.
"Road trip? Seems we've been on very different pages for you to acquire something so… you."
The World Visionary Champion actually looks a little… sheepish. Some color even rises to her pale cheeks. But there’s nothing to the smile other than a faint bit of contentment.
"I was... struck by an uncharacteristic urge to indulge in a, shall we say, gift for myself upon becoming a champion. It has set in our garage, untouched, for nearly a month. Today was the first day that I took it out," she replies, running her fingertips lightly along the side of the ‘62 Impala, showing no small amount of satisfaction in her ride. "I suppose even I must succumb to baser urges now and again."
"I know all too well what that feels like. Just don't go losing yourself, Goldie. I'm not that good at hide and seek."
"Obviously. I found you, didn't I?"
A rare joke from the champion as she opens the passenger door for Joanna, who rolls her eyes at the retort as if wondering whether her partner had lost a little of her mind along the way.
"And you need not worry about that."
"Good,” retorts War without a sense of relief. ”I’m not sure how I'll hold up against our opponents this time around,” Joanna continues, settling into the seat and putting on her seatbelt as Luca slips into the backseat, keeping the camera centered on both Joanna and Emma. ”JMC should be just another man that believes he understands the darkness and Stacy, well... life is full of harsh truths and broken dreams."
Getting into the driver's seat, placing the World Visionary Championship between herself and War, Death starts the engine. The car roars to life as before, prompting her to lick her pale lips slightly. The mourners who are now a bit farther off look in their direction, as they had been for some time, seeing both confused and worried at the sight of the two dark females so close to the ceremony. Emma pays them no further mind, however, buckling in before turning to Joanna.
"There is, as always, a plan. It would be foolish to hope that they would shatter as Blade and English did, but... well, rage has a way of clouding the mind just as hope obfuscates reality."
This brings another small smile to Joanna’s lips.
”We are the purveyors of such a fate. Shall we?”
”Yes, pending a quick stop at home to pick up our gear. Since we will be at the Compound we may as well make use of the facilities.”
Understanding at once what Emma means, Joanna nods with enthusiasm as the Impala is soon tearing off down the street.
As had been previously noted, Joanna and Emma had taken their leave of the Compound some time ago. In actuality, the place was now named 3S… but beyond that there was little to no information about what went on there. The only certainties were that all of Emma’s Chosen worked there in some capacity and that the place was listed as a subsidiary of Essex Pharmaceuticals. Neither was a concern at the moment, however, as Emma stood within one of the locker rooms of the company’s training wing. The timed portable camera kicks on just as Emma has pulled her spandex pants up and over her hips.
Turning and taking a seat on the bench, she retrieves from the locker a pair of black Otomix wrestling and black socks. She glances calmly in the direction of the camera, smirking slightly as she lowers her eyes back to her preparations. In the process of sliding black cotton over her bare foot, she starts to address the camera.
”Now… before I had to take my leave earlier, I was about to discuss the matter of you, James. You are, after all, a sort of wild card in this situation,” Emma comments idly, picking up one of the shoes and tugging it on, fully leaning over to tighten the laces to her liking. ”The facts speak for themselves: your utter distaste with the state of VoW, your lack of devotion to victory so long as your message is delivered… I could go on, but those alone tell the tale as far as I’m concerned. We could wax nostalgic about your storied, golden, blood-drenched history but why waste time and breath? The world knows,” she pauses long enough to bring her other foot up onto her knee and brush off her sole before pulling on the other sock and, in turn, shoe, ”and if they don’t, they should learn. I have.”
Pulling the laces tight, Emma lowers her foot and rises, bending forward at the waist and holding her body parallel with her legs for several moments before rising. Walking over to the counter on which the camera was placed, she turns and angles the device so that it records her reflection as she brushes out her long, dark hair.
”You strike me as a man who would rather cut straight to the heart of the matter, someone who doesn’t care for all the pomp and circumstance. So in the interest of doing just that,” Emma pauses long enough to seek out and find a hair band, wrapping it around her wrist before starting the task of braiding her hair. ”let me make you aware of how fortunate you are to be breathing right now. By all rights you should be rotting in the earth for laying your hands on Katalina Star regardless of your reasoning for doing so. Only the nature of the situation and certain peripheral factors have kept that from happening. In the course of a signed match, yes, an assault is expected and often welcomed. But beyond those confines? I will defend my fellow riders with my life… even if that means taking another’s.”
She pauses in her monologue, not only to let the words sink in but to finish the last bits of her braid before wrapping the band tightly around the end to keep it in place.
”You are both imposing and dangerous, but even with your broad and longstanding experience in the business, I can assure you that you’ve never come across warriors the likes of we. Take that as you will,” her eyes shift to the World Visionary Championship sitting on the counter, propped against the mirror, ”but even if you persist in disbelief, next Friday will tell the tale. There’s a big difference, James, between having your monster on a leash… and being the monster.”
Back to her reflection she goes, staring coldly into her own eyes.
"Again: victory doesn't matter to you, only settling scores and closing out your business with my fellow rider. And you had your chance to do just that, but took the wrong road. A road that led you right to me,” her nails scrape against the surface of the counter slightly, her hands curling into fists. ”The child you seek to defend... she herself bears no ill will for the actions of my sister. Passion shows more maturity than the man who claims rights as her father,” Emma pauses to laugh lightly, uncurling her fingers. “You imply consequences from Katalina's actions which have broader reach but I ask you this, James: just how arrogant are you, truly? Jamilyn is on the shelf for a year and if rumors are true that was set to happen anyway due to another particularly touchy situation. Katalina spared her having to bring more suffering on herself once her numerous enemies learned of such. The true colors of many are starting to shine now, thanks to Strife doing what she does best: stoking the flames of chaos and truth in her own beautiful, soul-defiling way. You should be thanking the woman you instead chose to assault."
Gathering up the pair of Venum sparring gloves sitting elsewhere on the counter, Emma pulls them on and straps them tight, continuing her address to Cornett.
"But your arrogance doesn't stop there. It is as if you have forgotten that with every breath you take in separation from your darkness you have handicapped yourself. Again: your demon is on a choke chain these days, tightly controlled in a manner that you admittedly took quite a while to hone and perfect. Look to my pale flesh, James," she says, tilting her head back to expose her pale neck and throat. "You see no chafing in my flesh because there is nothing to restrain the monstrosity that I am. You subjugate your greatest strength while casually acknowledging its presence, referring to yourself and the symbiotic presence lurking within as though you're the second coming of Eddie Brock," Emma continues, dropping that pop culture reference without batting an eye, "while the knowledge of my own power has been battered and injected, indoctrinated and forced, into my very being for years. Segregation versus integration. Greater than the sum of one's parts, if you will. Maybe one day you'll find the courage to become as I am. Hopefully when that day comes you have the wisdom to make the most of it."
Such a comment could easily be taken as an insult by her opponent but there’s a little something in Emma’s tone that does not represent disdain. Perhaps… advice from someone who has ‘been there’? Regardless, she moves on, flexing her fingers in the tightly-strapped gloves.
"That day, however, is not this day. It is not Friday when this battle within a battle becomes the prelude to VoW's greatest survivor facing VoW's force of nature, either. She who refuses to die and she who is Death shall rend this country's capital asunder, but before that Stacy must stand side-by-side with you against the onslaught of Death and War, hoping that your professed ability to channel your darkness is as good as you claim.”
Turning and grasping the camera, the shot is a bit jogged before it is centered on Emma’s face, the three colored braids hanging before her face, narrowed blue eyes glaring into the lens.
”You are about to stare into the abyss, James. I suggest you don't blink. As for you, Stacy… once I have beaten the rust off of War, I will be back to address you personally."
The camera is shut off without prelude.
It seems like an inopportune moment for the camera to come back on. More, in fact, like a good time to shut it off. It centers on the Chaossworn just in time for Emma to slap the hell out of Joanna. It was no token blow, no mere wake-up call. That slap would have made Katalina herself wince. It certainly caught Joanna by surprise, sending her blue hair flying as she reeled back with a hand going to her cheek, her wide eyes locking on Emma. As for Death herself, she clenched that hand tightly and stood seething, glaring at her partner.
”And you’ve the gall to wonder at the reasons why you’ve fallen off in the ring, why that useless sack of meat and breath Soloke holds a championship that should be around the waist of yourself or Strife? You come at me with this sad excuse of an assault,” Emma stalks toward her, growling more than speaking ”and expect that it will be enough against Cornett and Jones? I will not have them lording over us because of self-doubt or weakness on your part!”
She lunges in again before Joanna fully regains her bearings, tripping her down to the mat with her hands gripping War’s neck. Emma isn’t choking her but the grip is enough for the moment to keep Joanna still to an extent.
”Where is the woman that pulled a blade on me in the middle of a match for giggles? The woman who took down all three of her sisters at once in front of the world? I don’t see that Joanna before me right now,” by degrees, Emma’s voice calmed as she spoke, but it was no less powerful as a result. ”I see someone who is making everyone who ever tore her down and tried to break her… right. Is that what you want? Do you want to become the scared little girl again, Joanna? Would you do yourself that kind of disservice?”
Pushing back on the woman, Joanna’s head hitting the mat slightly, Emma drew back and rose with the fluidity of liquid to her feet. She stared down at her partner, arms folded, waiting on a response. Rising to her knees Joanna lets her hair form a curtain hiding her face. The silence builds between the two Horsewomen as Emma watches Joanna’s every movement. From the clenching of War’s fist, to the veins bulging in her shoulders, to the heaving of her chest, Emma watched as the scared girl was eaten before her very eyes. A giggle is the first response she gets from her lover, before Joanna spits a crimson loogie onto the mat. It is only then that Joanna looks up and gone is any restraint she had held before Emma’s vicious slap.
Emma’s response to the visible change is simple; a wicked if subtle smile.
”Yes… just like that, my Bloody Queen. Remind me of what made me love you in the first place…”
Joanna pounces at Emma, covering the distance in only two steps and bringing her right fist within a hair of Emma’s nose, while striking the world champion in the stomach with a knee that elevates Emma into Joanna’s waiting left elbow. The taking of her air and the blow to her neck happening within moments of one another stuns Death and she goes to a knee.
“I’m not a helpless, pathetic girl, Goldie. You proved long ago that I am my greatest adversary. I doubt, I fear, I stumble, but when push comes to shove... when you need the battle lines drawn and a message delivered, I come through. Championships aren’t fated for my hands, yet, but don’t, DON’T, accuse me of regression. I’m human, my love, and my mind is more a labyrinth than our government.”
Offering her hand to Emma, Joanna lets the firmness of her words, and steely gaze of her eyes, show Emma the error of her words. It is not with malice that Joanna offers her hand, but in understanding, that the slap had done more than intended. Taking the offered hand, Emma rises slowly as she takes in a breath. When her hand rises this time, it is to gently touch the reddened part of Joanna’s cheek. She leans around and kisses it lightly, whispering.
”You just needed a reminder of that, I think. My method may have been harsh, but it was not delivered with the intent to hurt you.”
Listening to the trembling and ragged nature of Emma’s breath, Joanna knew she had overdone her response. Gently caressing Emma’s hand, War smiles and nods her understanding before she gives her answer.
“I asked you to bring me here to end my torment, so let ME do that. Thank you though. I’m sorry I can’t say the same, but I don’t take kindly to those memories. Now, done pulling punches?”
”Yes. Let us finish this so that you can find your wayward self with a clear mind.”
Emma sets herself, giving Joanna’s hand a final squeeze before stepping back, preparing herself for the next go-round. Despite the vicious blows, she was more than ready for her lover’s onslaught. A tentative Luca puts an end to the feed.
Much later in the evening, Emma stood at the window of her condo’s living room. A bit of rain was coming down, though not much… enough to patter noticeably against the windowpanes and slicken the roads a bit. Dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders, still wet from a recent shower, while the rest of her was likewise swathed in black in the form of a long silk robe and pajamas. As it had been during her preparation for the spar with Joanna, the camera was mounted off to the side, taking in everything as Death mused over a mug of something steaming hot.
”It certainly should have not taken this long to get around to you, Stacy, but you know what they say about patience and virtue…”
A smile would have been appropriate there. It did not happen.
”What were the words you used at Breakthrough? ‘You’ll find out at Armed & Dangerous’, right? When asked what you could muster to take the championship from me, that was your response,” Emma pauses long enough to sip from the mug, exhaling slightly upon lowering it. ”Is that because you have some grand plan that you believe will allow you to become the second female World Visionary Champion which you simply couldn’t spoil,” she firmly emphasized ‘second’ in that moment, ”or because reality hit you square and you weren’t ready for it? Ryan Omega named you number-one contender and finally… that year of torment vanished in a burst of light and confetti. Finally, you thought to yourself, it is time for all that hard work and effort to pay off. It is time that you, Stacy Jones, were rewarded for your devotion,” Emma goes on, making it all sound quite grand before yanking on that one loose thread as she did so well, ”and then you came face to face with the monster, the End of All Things, and realized that it was not vindication that Omega put before you… but a death warrant.”
She takes another sip, still not having looked at the camera just yet, content to stare out into the quiet night and watch the rain drip down her clean windows. Unpainted lips tugged up in a small smirk.
”You don’t get the luxury of my patience, Stacy. My stern suggestion to you is that you come to Breakthrough alongside your massive partner and be prepared to fight for your very life. And pray, Glampire,” Emma says, dropping to just above a whisper while looking at the camera for the first time, ”that what I experience against you is to my liking. Pray that in this, our first ever battle in the ring, you can make me believe that my thoughts and feelings on you were not incorrect.”
She pauses a moment, elevating a brow as she takes another draw from the mug… a longer one, this time.
”You see, Stacy, they asked me shortly after this,” she turns and reaches out of frame, picking up the World Visionary Championship and draping it over her left shoulder, ”who my first opponent should be. And yours was the first name to come to mind. She who refuses to die, who battles her way tooth and nail through every challenge and, win or lose, comes out ready to fight again. I thought to myself that that was the kind of opponent I needed to prove my dominance anew, the sort of contender that would make me better,” her gaze tilts upward a little bit, belt in one hand and cup in the other, getting that wistful tone usually reserved for daydreamers, ”and what I get in response is the equivalent of a ‘maybe later’. This… must be how a one night stand feels.
I will not stand here and claim that it was my word that brought you to this point. Such a choice is currently out of my hands. But influence? An idea planted like a seed in their heads? That I could do. And did. You had the chance to do the same, to put me on notice in front of the world. In the same breath that you announced your glorious appointment as the first challenger to my championship, you could have made me believe, even for a moment, that you were more than just a challenge… but a threat,” she becomes soft of voice again as the rain begins to come down a bit harder, a slight rumble of thunder in the distance. ”but instead you blinked. The full weight of the task placed upon you weighed you down in that moment and instead of thinking forward to our upcoming war, you likely thought about your children, your lover and your friends. How you didn’t want to disappoint them and couldn’t bear to let them down. And that is a sentiment, believe it or not, that I can understand,” Emma pauses, taking another sip before setting her mug on the windowsill and using both hands to steady the title over her shoulder. ”It is NOT, however, the sort of mindset that brings victory.”
Turning fully to the camera, the simple motion making her unbound robe flare out a bit, Emma locks eyes on the camera as though it were Stacy herself. The pajamas, of the same black silk in the form of a tank top and loose-fitting pants, seemed to suit the pale champion. Even in slumber she had to be a little bit threatening.
”Recall what I told Winter weeks ago, Stacy. Remember how anyone who faced me was considered a threat to this championship, and that I would fight them like the monster I am to remind them of the perils of daring to glance at my prize,” she lifts the title a little bit. ”James, for now, has no intention of coming for this, yet I will batter him with all the ferocity I visited upon Winter. What, exactly, do you think is in store for you at 52, then? Do you believe for a moment that I won’t borderline slaughter you and leave just enough of you intact so that you can hobble to the ring in this nation’s capital so that I can finish the job in front of millions of eyes? Do not be that naive, Stacy,” Emma speaks not threateningly, but warningly. ”Remember who and what I am. Recall how some of the best that this place has to offer have been ground under my heel just to possess this championship.
You are one of the precious few in this misbegotten company that I respect for their ability as well as their devotion, whether I agree with the source or not. But that is being sorely tested by just how lacking your fire is since learning of our war. Breakthrough 52 will be a prelude, for better or worse, as to how our battle at Armed & Dangerous will go,” the champion pauses to look at the belt, to run her fingertips over the engraved nameplate bearing her moniker. ”And if you want to make it that far, Stacy, I expect a fight on Friday. I have no qualms about leaving you in pieces if that’s what it takes to pull the blinds from your eyes. Whatever you’ve pent up for the pay-per-view, it had best be on display… because you can bet your pale hide that I will NOT be holding back.”
Swaying over to the camera, Emma crouches down so that her expression and upper body dominate the view, the title catching the gleam of the numerous candles set about the room.
”Look into them again, Stacy… into the eyes of Death. After all, I’ve seen into the depths of your soul so it is only fair that you do the same.”
Moving images flicker into view over the close look into the icy eyes of Death Incarnate; the battering of Winter Pine, the destruction of Ryder Blade and Casanova English… and much more. Emma wearing her own blood and that of others, holding the belt high and walking at the lead of the Horsewomen. A true condensation of her undying wrath in the space of several long moments. Emma herself is still, resuming after the images fade out.
”Remember what you saw there, Glampire. It is your present and your future. Anyone who comes for my championship can expect no less. You do not survive someone like me. You are instead molded, reshaped... allowed to carry on yet forever bearing Death's mark on your very being. I will unmake you, Stacy, and then remake you in my image.”
Rising to her feet and taking the camera with her, Emma gives it a lens-full of the title before turning back to herself.
”Death is the exception, the one you don’t make it through, that changes you forever. Make your choice, Stacy: fight… or die.”
Rising, Emma reaches for and shuts off the camera, bringing the message to a close.
You’d never forget her. Even if you only saw her for a moment.
Determined to squeeze the last of the beauty out of the days of summer, the droves were out in full-force that day. Packs of skateboarding teenage boys or bikini-clad girls on rollerblades, elderly couples wandering along holding hands while moving at a pace that suited them rather than the rest of the world… and, of course, all the millennial yuppie larvae infesting the place. Emma watched them from behind a pair of steel-framed Gargoyles, the rest of her face showing no small amount of disgust.
Many an eye land upon her from those she disdains at a distance, and disgust is not the tone they gaze with. To be fair, Emma is a sight in that moment, eschewing her usual dark elegance for a bit of simplicity, a departure from her treasured norms. The white tee clings well to her toned torso, a tribal skull plastered to the front, while her faded jeans likewise hug tight to her strong legs before disappearing beneath leather boots laced up to near knee-level raise her up an inch or two. Throw in sunglasses and a black paisley bandanna tied closely around and over her head and… well, truth told she didn’t look like anything that special.
Maybe it was the gleaming gold of the World Visionary Championship draped over her left shoulder, its strap clutched firmly in her left hand. Perhaps it was just the woman’s body as a whole. Or it could have been the royal blue 1962 Chevrolet Impala SS Convertible that she was leaning back against…
...because who said Death couldn’t spoil herself once in awhile? The keys glistened, dangling from one of her belt loops. She ceased her watching of the people around her and turned slightly, enough to indicate that she was staring at the camera.
”Already going, ma’am,” came a quiet but cheerful voice from behind the camera. ”At your leisure.”
”Thank you, Luca.”
Hitching the belt up on her shoulder a little higher, Emma rests her gaze on it briefly, brushing the side of her hand across the medallion with the tenderness of a mother stroking her child’s hair.
”At what point do they stop kidding themselves? When does the moment arrive that the people pull the wool from their eyes and accept the nightmare as reality? Fear won’t make it go away, children,” she muses quietly, turning eventually from the belt to Luca’s camera, a trace smile visible on her pale features. ”I do not command respect nor do I court fear, and any violence I visit upon those before me is warranted. What I do is, in the end, is what I have always done: further the mission. The core of this company is malignantly infected. I, and my Horsewomen, will see it cut out. There shall be those who view this evolution of change as a downward spiral into hell. Disrupting the status quo is a threat to their comfortable ignorance and false notions of power and comfort. And those who scream the loudest are the most afraid,” she continues with a shake of her head, drawing her cell phone from her pocket and holding it before the camera. ”Go on… log into Twitter or Facebook if you wish. The squeals and brays of those who claim wrongdoing and cast aspersions on my reign, on our collective efforts, are quite prominent. Instead of following the logical route they indulge in apathy and discontent. Instead of fighting for what they believe in, wrong or otherwise, they hide in the shadowed corners of social media. And these are the people who have the ‘best interests’ of Visionaries of Wrestling at heart? They are the precious few who are ‘only trying to help’?”
Leaning forward a bit, Emma lowers her shades slightly, peering over them with cold, icy eyes. It’s a stare that clearly defies any sort of argument other than a silent one inside the viewer’s own head.
”It isn’t that they exist. Their type will always scuttle about in the dark while retreating at the first taste of light. Yes, like cockroaches,” Emma continues after her brief pause, pushing the Gargoyles back up her nose. ”It is that others have attached themselves to such rhetoric. The belligerent vengeance of the Tyron Bickertons, the malignant arrogance of the Ace Watsons… and we won’t even get started on the unmitigated cowardice of the Neons. And people have the gall to actually support these types.”
Doing little to hide her disgust at the state of things, Emma’s hand visibly tightens on the World Visionary Championship. More people pass, yet they may as well not even exist. Some appear to recognize her but none call out or pester Death as she stares coldly into the distance.
”Wading through the dreck that is the VoW roster, you can likely imagine my consternation in finding a person beyond my Horsewomen who thinks as we do,” she says in a quieter tone, repositioning her shades atop her head as the light dims thanks to the necessary intervention of a few wayward clouds. ”Someone I’m facing in the ring at Breakthrough, in fact, on my road to Armed & Dangerous where I defend this,” Death lifts the belt from her shoulder a little and gives the camera her direct attention, ”against the daunting challenge of Stacy Jones. I speak, of course, about James Cornett… though there are plenty of other names that would suit him depending on who you ask...”
Fully prepared to begin her address to her opponents at #52, something grabs Death’s attention as she turns to her left. Her eyes avert to Luca briefly before snapping back in the direction originally sought. Luca swings the device around to show a line of cars coming down the strip, hazard lights flickering. The most prominent of them are a black limousine and a similarly-dark hearse while the rest are a hodgepodge of colors, makes and models. None of the rest matter to Emma, however. It is the ferry of the deceased that has her eye.
Dark, forlorn, windows tinted to dissuade the eyes of others from seeing within and crawling along so as not to interact unduly with pedestrians and what-not jaunting from shop to beach to snack stand. They barely pay it heed beyond cursory glances while the World Visionary Champion stands transfixed. When the train of vehicles has mostly passed by, Emma speaks quietly to Luca without turning from the ‘caboose’ of the convoy.
”Get in, Luca.”
”With all due respect, ma’am, is that proper? Do you mean to crash this funeral or something?”
So long in working with Emma had given one of her original Chosen fair insight into the workings of her mind and methods. More so than most would ever have, at least. Rising from her spot against the Impala, Emma lowers her sunglasses and turns to her camerawoman.
”The scent of blood unspilled hovers beyond and I find myself drawn. Our wayward sister awaits.”
”Our wayward-”
Luca starts to reply before it quickly dawns on her what Emma meant. Confusion is quickly replaced by abject surprise as she scurries around to the passenger side of the car and gets in, the view from the other end of the camera well displaying her haste along with a rapid, random shift in perspective. It isn’t until she fastens her seatbelt and turns the camera properly toward the champion again that she finishes her thought.
”I see. I do hope that she is all right…”
Emma rests the championship on the seat between herself and Luca, again putting great care into her treatment of the title.
”She either is or she will be.”
Turning the key causes the engine to roar to life before it settles into a rumbling purr of petroleum-fueled fury. That simple act brings a small smile to Emma’s lips as likewise buckles up and turns to Luca’s camera.
”Save your concern for those who need it… for the demon and the survivor.”
Attention back of the road, Emma pulls away from the curb and follows the now-distant tail lights of the funeral procession until she, too, is out of sight.
~*~
An indeterminate amount of time later, the view had changed considerably. Far more serene than the Malibu strip is the quiet, grassy plot decorated with gravestones and flowers both living and false. A tree or two for shade exist though the mild late-September weather a little ways north of Malibu is plenty comfortable. The convertible soon comes rolling into view, parking opposite the line of cars seen so recently. In the near distance, the funeral begins by degrees.
Black-clothed mourners either chat quietly amongst themselves in small groups or sit near one another on rows of white folding chairs. The nature of their conversations isn’t difficult to discern, what with the forlorn faces and shining tears. Everyone wears their grief as prominently as their Sunday best. Emma, watching the lot of them as she exits the vehicle with her title quickly finding a place back over her shoulder, shows little to no concern other than to gaze at them distantly. Luca is quick to get into position as Emma’s attention moves here and there before settling on an older tree with a broad span of branches and slowly-turning leaves.
”There…”
”Yes, ma’am.”
The crunch of asphalt and gravel sounds beneath their steps as Emma walks to the tree, not thirty feet from the ceremony. But it is neither the shade nor the mourners she seeks. No, her quarry sits beneath the large tree, scribbling into a familiar book. The scratch of the quill stops when Emma’s motion does, shadows obscuring the person’s identity, though she turns when the champion’s hand rests in a familiar way on her shoulder.
”Rise, my Bloody Queen.”
Turning and gazing up at her lover, partner and fellow rider, Joanna is shocked for a moment… then turns back to her journal.
”...I’m neither ready nor worthy.”
Very uncharacteristic of War to say and feel so, as anyone aware of her exploits might agree, yet Emma is calm and unyielding.
"Enough, Joanna. Enough torturing yourself and me looking for answers that you continue moving further and further away from. You're coming home. Today. Right now."
"I just want a break from the noise,” Joanna retorts with a strain to her voice that betrays desperation. ”And after failing to assure the growth of Chaos in lieu of blood, even your touch only muffles it."
Her fingers dig slightly into Joanna’s shoulder as Emma crouches next to her. A few of the mourners have taken their seats formally while a couple others think they’ve seen something in Emma and Joanna’s direction. None, yet, have come to react.
"And I refuse to let you be alone while you hurt. Do not turn away from the one emotion that's hardest for me to feel and express, the one you awoke in me."
"It's not exactly something I'm familiar with either, Emma. But I'll do better,” Joanna replies quietly, just now noticing the goings-on ahead of her. ”How did you find me?"
"I followed the scent of blood unspilled."
A somewhat-twisted smile manifests before disappearing again. Joanna looks up at her partner quizzically.
"...how would that lead to me? I'm stained by the odor of blood. Regardless,’ War shakes off the thoughts in her head for a moment. ”I'm here, you're here... and yet it feels as if we're miles apart, Death."
"We're linked on levels yet unexplored. But those words wound me, Joanna,” Emma replies, truly looking troubled by the words of her fiancee. Not to the point of tears, but… wound was the appropriate term. ”Have you devolved so fiercely from what you were in these last few weeks that there's nothing within you now for what we share?"
Something in Death’s expression prompts War’s own demeanor to soften a little.
"Exactly the opposite, my love. I should have known you were there, known you'd come for me. But the noise and my inability to control myself makes me numb to all I should innately feel,” Joanna responds, leaning her head back heavily against the tree, staring through the green canopy above at the blue beyond. ”How can you trust me as a partner when I can't even feel your presence?"
"Because I believe that together we can pull you through this mental stupor. There has yet to be a challenge we could not overcome together."
"The Neon Babes would disagree,” retorts War with no small amount of irritation, ”but if you think it'll help, it's worth a try. Thank you, Emma,” she continues, turning as she places her own hand atop her lovers’. ”Sometimes I feel I've never escaped Toad Road, and that all this is just a twisted nightmare... and then I remember I'm the nightmare."
The mention of the Neon Babes draws some tension forth from within Death, her expression setting briefly into a cold mask. None of this comes through when she speaks, though, either by design or strange happenstance.
"The Neon Babes ran in fear of us after we forced them to fight darkness with darkness just to cling to their precious titles, giving them up in the process. As to you... you ARE a nightmare. MY nightmare,” Emma states firmly. ”And I treasure you above all else."
A small smirk appears on the face of War, causing her for the first time since her appearance here to look like her usual self.
"Take me back to the Compound. I think I know where this shade is haunting me from,” Joanna replies, some of the desperation coming back. ”Please, I'll explain later."
Emma rises at that, nodding and offering her hand to Joanna.
"Then it is time you came home. I cannot withstand another night without you."
She takes Joanna's own offered hand and draws her to her feet, turning and leading her through the grass and shade to the side of the road where the blue convertible is parked. Joanna’s reaction to the car is one of amused confusion.
"Road trip? Seems we've been on very different pages for you to acquire something so… you."
The World Visionary Champion actually looks a little… sheepish. Some color even rises to her pale cheeks. But there’s nothing to the smile other than a faint bit of contentment.
"I was... struck by an uncharacteristic urge to indulge in a, shall we say, gift for myself upon becoming a champion. It has set in our garage, untouched, for nearly a month. Today was the first day that I took it out," she replies, running her fingertips lightly along the side of the ‘62 Impala, showing no small amount of satisfaction in her ride. "I suppose even I must succumb to baser urges now and again."
"I know all too well what that feels like. Just don't go losing yourself, Goldie. I'm not that good at hide and seek."
"Obviously. I found you, didn't I?"
A rare joke from the champion as she opens the passenger door for Joanna, who rolls her eyes at the retort as if wondering whether her partner had lost a little of her mind along the way.
"And you need not worry about that."
"Good,” retorts War without a sense of relief. ”I’m not sure how I'll hold up against our opponents this time around,” Joanna continues, settling into the seat and putting on her seatbelt as Luca slips into the backseat, keeping the camera centered on both Joanna and Emma. ”JMC should be just another man that believes he understands the darkness and Stacy, well... life is full of harsh truths and broken dreams."
Getting into the driver's seat, placing the World Visionary Championship between herself and War, Death starts the engine. The car roars to life as before, prompting her to lick her pale lips slightly. The mourners who are now a bit farther off look in their direction, as they had been for some time, seeing both confused and worried at the sight of the two dark females so close to the ceremony. Emma pays them no further mind, however, buckling in before turning to Joanna.
"There is, as always, a plan. It would be foolish to hope that they would shatter as Blade and English did, but... well, rage has a way of clouding the mind just as hope obfuscates reality."
This brings another small smile to Joanna’s lips.
”We are the purveyors of such a fate. Shall we?”
”Yes, pending a quick stop at home to pick up our gear. Since we will be at the Compound we may as well make use of the facilities.”
Understanding at once what Emma means, Joanna nods with enthusiasm as the Impala is soon tearing off down the street.
~*~
As had been previously noted, Joanna and Emma had taken their leave of the Compound some time ago. In actuality, the place was now named 3S… but beyond that there was little to no information about what went on there. The only certainties were that all of Emma’s Chosen worked there in some capacity and that the place was listed as a subsidiary of Essex Pharmaceuticals. Neither was a concern at the moment, however, as Emma stood within one of the locker rooms of the company’s training wing. The timed portable camera kicks on just as Emma has pulled her spandex pants up and over her hips.
Turning and taking a seat on the bench, she retrieves from the locker a pair of black Otomix wrestling and black socks. She glances calmly in the direction of the camera, smirking slightly as she lowers her eyes back to her preparations. In the process of sliding black cotton over her bare foot, she starts to address the camera.
”Now… before I had to take my leave earlier, I was about to discuss the matter of you, James. You are, after all, a sort of wild card in this situation,” Emma comments idly, picking up one of the shoes and tugging it on, fully leaning over to tighten the laces to her liking. ”The facts speak for themselves: your utter distaste with the state of VoW, your lack of devotion to victory so long as your message is delivered… I could go on, but those alone tell the tale as far as I’m concerned. We could wax nostalgic about your storied, golden, blood-drenched history but why waste time and breath? The world knows,” she pauses long enough to bring her other foot up onto her knee and brush off her sole before pulling on the other sock and, in turn, shoe, ”and if they don’t, they should learn. I have.”
Pulling the laces tight, Emma lowers her foot and rises, bending forward at the waist and holding her body parallel with her legs for several moments before rising. Walking over to the counter on which the camera was placed, she turns and angles the device so that it records her reflection as she brushes out her long, dark hair.
”You strike me as a man who would rather cut straight to the heart of the matter, someone who doesn’t care for all the pomp and circumstance. So in the interest of doing just that,” Emma pauses long enough to seek out and find a hair band, wrapping it around her wrist before starting the task of braiding her hair. ”let me make you aware of how fortunate you are to be breathing right now. By all rights you should be rotting in the earth for laying your hands on Katalina Star regardless of your reasoning for doing so. Only the nature of the situation and certain peripheral factors have kept that from happening. In the course of a signed match, yes, an assault is expected and often welcomed. But beyond those confines? I will defend my fellow riders with my life… even if that means taking another’s.”
She pauses in her monologue, not only to let the words sink in but to finish the last bits of her braid before wrapping the band tightly around the end to keep it in place.
”You are both imposing and dangerous, but even with your broad and longstanding experience in the business, I can assure you that you’ve never come across warriors the likes of we. Take that as you will,” her eyes shift to the World Visionary Championship sitting on the counter, propped against the mirror, ”but even if you persist in disbelief, next Friday will tell the tale. There’s a big difference, James, between having your monster on a leash… and being the monster.”
Back to her reflection she goes, staring coldly into her own eyes.
"Again: victory doesn't matter to you, only settling scores and closing out your business with my fellow rider. And you had your chance to do just that, but took the wrong road. A road that led you right to me,” her nails scrape against the surface of the counter slightly, her hands curling into fists. ”The child you seek to defend... she herself bears no ill will for the actions of my sister. Passion shows more maturity than the man who claims rights as her father,” Emma pauses to laugh lightly, uncurling her fingers. “You imply consequences from Katalina's actions which have broader reach but I ask you this, James: just how arrogant are you, truly? Jamilyn is on the shelf for a year and if rumors are true that was set to happen anyway due to another particularly touchy situation. Katalina spared her having to bring more suffering on herself once her numerous enemies learned of such. The true colors of many are starting to shine now, thanks to Strife doing what she does best: stoking the flames of chaos and truth in her own beautiful, soul-defiling way. You should be thanking the woman you instead chose to assault."
Gathering up the pair of Venum sparring gloves sitting elsewhere on the counter, Emma pulls them on and straps them tight, continuing her address to Cornett.
"But your arrogance doesn't stop there. It is as if you have forgotten that with every breath you take in separation from your darkness you have handicapped yourself. Again: your demon is on a choke chain these days, tightly controlled in a manner that you admittedly took quite a while to hone and perfect. Look to my pale flesh, James," she says, tilting her head back to expose her pale neck and throat. "You see no chafing in my flesh because there is nothing to restrain the monstrosity that I am. You subjugate your greatest strength while casually acknowledging its presence, referring to yourself and the symbiotic presence lurking within as though you're the second coming of Eddie Brock," Emma continues, dropping that pop culture reference without batting an eye, "while the knowledge of my own power has been battered and injected, indoctrinated and forced, into my very being for years. Segregation versus integration. Greater than the sum of one's parts, if you will. Maybe one day you'll find the courage to become as I am. Hopefully when that day comes you have the wisdom to make the most of it."
Such a comment could easily be taken as an insult by her opponent but there’s a little something in Emma’s tone that does not represent disdain. Perhaps… advice from someone who has ‘been there’? Regardless, she moves on, flexing her fingers in the tightly-strapped gloves.
"That day, however, is not this day. It is not Friday when this battle within a battle becomes the prelude to VoW's greatest survivor facing VoW's force of nature, either. She who refuses to die and she who is Death shall rend this country's capital asunder, but before that Stacy must stand side-by-side with you against the onslaught of Death and War, hoping that your professed ability to channel your darkness is as good as you claim.”
Turning and grasping the camera, the shot is a bit jogged before it is centered on Emma’s face, the three colored braids hanging before her face, narrowed blue eyes glaring into the lens.
”You are about to stare into the abyss, James. I suggest you don't blink. As for you, Stacy… once I have beaten the rust off of War, I will be back to address you personally."
The camera is shut off without prelude.
~*~
It seems like an inopportune moment for the camera to come back on. More, in fact, like a good time to shut it off. It centers on the Chaossworn just in time for Emma to slap the hell out of Joanna. It was no token blow, no mere wake-up call. That slap would have made Katalina herself wince. It certainly caught Joanna by surprise, sending her blue hair flying as she reeled back with a hand going to her cheek, her wide eyes locking on Emma. As for Death herself, she clenched that hand tightly and stood seething, glaring at her partner.
”And you’ve the gall to wonder at the reasons why you’ve fallen off in the ring, why that useless sack of meat and breath Soloke holds a championship that should be around the waist of yourself or Strife? You come at me with this sad excuse of an assault,” Emma stalks toward her, growling more than speaking ”and expect that it will be enough against Cornett and Jones? I will not have them lording over us because of self-doubt or weakness on your part!”
She lunges in again before Joanna fully regains her bearings, tripping her down to the mat with her hands gripping War’s neck. Emma isn’t choking her but the grip is enough for the moment to keep Joanna still to an extent.
”Where is the woman that pulled a blade on me in the middle of a match for giggles? The woman who took down all three of her sisters at once in front of the world? I don’t see that Joanna before me right now,” by degrees, Emma’s voice calmed as she spoke, but it was no less powerful as a result. ”I see someone who is making everyone who ever tore her down and tried to break her… right. Is that what you want? Do you want to become the scared little girl again, Joanna? Would you do yourself that kind of disservice?”
Pushing back on the woman, Joanna’s head hitting the mat slightly, Emma drew back and rose with the fluidity of liquid to her feet. She stared down at her partner, arms folded, waiting on a response. Rising to her knees Joanna lets her hair form a curtain hiding her face. The silence builds between the two Horsewomen as Emma watches Joanna’s every movement. From the clenching of War’s fist, to the veins bulging in her shoulders, to the heaving of her chest, Emma watched as the scared girl was eaten before her very eyes. A giggle is the first response she gets from her lover, before Joanna spits a crimson loogie onto the mat. It is only then that Joanna looks up and gone is any restraint she had held before Emma’s vicious slap.
Emma’s response to the visible change is simple; a wicked if subtle smile.
”Yes… just like that, my Bloody Queen. Remind me of what made me love you in the first place…”
Joanna pounces at Emma, covering the distance in only two steps and bringing her right fist within a hair of Emma’s nose, while striking the world champion in the stomach with a knee that elevates Emma into Joanna’s waiting left elbow. The taking of her air and the blow to her neck happening within moments of one another stuns Death and she goes to a knee.
“I’m not a helpless, pathetic girl, Goldie. You proved long ago that I am my greatest adversary. I doubt, I fear, I stumble, but when push comes to shove... when you need the battle lines drawn and a message delivered, I come through. Championships aren’t fated for my hands, yet, but don’t, DON’T, accuse me of regression. I’m human, my love, and my mind is more a labyrinth than our government.”
Offering her hand to Emma, Joanna lets the firmness of her words, and steely gaze of her eyes, show Emma the error of her words. It is not with malice that Joanna offers her hand, but in understanding, that the slap had done more than intended. Taking the offered hand, Emma rises slowly as she takes in a breath. When her hand rises this time, it is to gently touch the reddened part of Joanna’s cheek. She leans around and kisses it lightly, whispering.
”You just needed a reminder of that, I think. My method may have been harsh, but it was not delivered with the intent to hurt you.”
Listening to the trembling and ragged nature of Emma’s breath, Joanna knew she had overdone her response. Gently caressing Emma’s hand, War smiles and nods her understanding before she gives her answer.
“I asked you to bring me here to end my torment, so let ME do that. Thank you though. I’m sorry I can’t say the same, but I don’t take kindly to those memories. Now, done pulling punches?”
”Yes. Let us finish this so that you can find your wayward self with a clear mind.”
Emma sets herself, giving Joanna’s hand a final squeeze before stepping back, preparing herself for the next go-round. Despite the vicious blows, she was more than ready for her lover’s onslaught. A tentative Luca puts an end to the feed.
~*~
Much later in the evening, Emma stood at the window of her condo’s living room. A bit of rain was coming down, though not much… enough to patter noticeably against the windowpanes and slicken the roads a bit. Dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders, still wet from a recent shower, while the rest of her was likewise swathed in black in the form of a long silk robe and pajamas. As it had been during her preparation for the spar with Joanna, the camera was mounted off to the side, taking in everything as Death mused over a mug of something steaming hot.
”It certainly should have not taken this long to get around to you, Stacy, but you know what they say about patience and virtue…”
A smile would have been appropriate there. It did not happen.
”What were the words you used at Breakthrough? ‘You’ll find out at Armed & Dangerous’, right? When asked what you could muster to take the championship from me, that was your response,” Emma pauses long enough to sip from the mug, exhaling slightly upon lowering it. ”Is that because you have some grand plan that you believe will allow you to become the second female World Visionary Champion which you simply couldn’t spoil,” she firmly emphasized ‘second’ in that moment, ”or because reality hit you square and you weren’t ready for it? Ryan Omega named you number-one contender and finally… that year of torment vanished in a burst of light and confetti. Finally, you thought to yourself, it is time for all that hard work and effort to pay off. It is time that you, Stacy Jones, were rewarded for your devotion,” Emma goes on, making it all sound quite grand before yanking on that one loose thread as she did so well, ”and then you came face to face with the monster, the End of All Things, and realized that it was not vindication that Omega put before you… but a death warrant.”
She takes another sip, still not having looked at the camera just yet, content to stare out into the quiet night and watch the rain drip down her clean windows. Unpainted lips tugged up in a small smirk.
”You don’t get the luxury of my patience, Stacy. My stern suggestion to you is that you come to Breakthrough alongside your massive partner and be prepared to fight for your very life. And pray, Glampire,” Emma says, dropping to just above a whisper while looking at the camera for the first time, ”that what I experience against you is to my liking. Pray that in this, our first ever battle in the ring, you can make me believe that my thoughts and feelings on you were not incorrect.”
She pauses a moment, elevating a brow as she takes another draw from the mug… a longer one, this time.
”You see, Stacy, they asked me shortly after this,” she turns and reaches out of frame, picking up the World Visionary Championship and draping it over her left shoulder, ”who my first opponent should be. And yours was the first name to come to mind. She who refuses to die, who battles her way tooth and nail through every challenge and, win or lose, comes out ready to fight again. I thought to myself that that was the kind of opponent I needed to prove my dominance anew, the sort of contender that would make me better,” her gaze tilts upward a little bit, belt in one hand and cup in the other, getting that wistful tone usually reserved for daydreamers, ”and what I get in response is the equivalent of a ‘maybe later’. This… must be how a one night stand feels.
I will not stand here and claim that it was my word that brought you to this point. Such a choice is currently out of my hands. But influence? An idea planted like a seed in their heads? That I could do. And did. You had the chance to do the same, to put me on notice in front of the world. In the same breath that you announced your glorious appointment as the first challenger to my championship, you could have made me believe, even for a moment, that you were more than just a challenge… but a threat,” she becomes soft of voice again as the rain begins to come down a bit harder, a slight rumble of thunder in the distance. ”but instead you blinked. The full weight of the task placed upon you weighed you down in that moment and instead of thinking forward to our upcoming war, you likely thought about your children, your lover and your friends. How you didn’t want to disappoint them and couldn’t bear to let them down. And that is a sentiment, believe it or not, that I can understand,” Emma pauses, taking another sip before setting her mug on the windowsill and using both hands to steady the title over her shoulder. ”It is NOT, however, the sort of mindset that brings victory.”
Turning fully to the camera, the simple motion making her unbound robe flare out a bit, Emma locks eyes on the camera as though it were Stacy herself. The pajamas, of the same black silk in the form of a tank top and loose-fitting pants, seemed to suit the pale champion. Even in slumber she had to be a little bit threatening.
”Recall what I told Winter weeks ago, Stacy. Remember how anyone who faced me was considered a threat to this championship, and that I would fight them like the monster I am to remind them of the perils of daring to glance at my prize,” she lifts the title a little bit. ”James, for now, has no intention of coming for this, yet I will batter him with all the ferocity I visited upon Winter. What, exactly, do you think is in store for you at 52, then? Do you believe for a moment that I won’t borderline slaughter you and leave just enough of you intact so that you can hobble to the ring in this nation’s capital so that I can finish the job in front of millions of eyes? Do not be that naive, Stacy,” Emma speaks not threateningly, but warningly. ”Remember who and what I am. Recall how some of the best that this place has to offer have been ground under my heel just to possess this championship.
You are one of the precious few in this misbegotten company that I respect for their ability as well as their devotion, whether I agree with the source or not. But that is being sorely tested by just how lacking your fire is since learning of our war. Breakthrough 52 will be a prelude, for better or worse, as to how our battle at Armed & Dangerous will go,” the champion pauses to look at the belt, to run her fingertips over the engraved nameplate bearing her moniker. ”And if you want to make it that far, Stacy, I expect a fight on Friday. I have no qualms about leaving you in pieces if that’s what it takes to pull the blinds from your eyes. Whatever you’ve pent up for the pay-per-view, it had best be on display… because you can bet your pale hide that I will NOT be holding back.”
Swaying over to the camera, Emma crouches down so that her expression and upper body dominate the view, the title catching the gleam of the numerous candles set about the room.
”Look into them again, Stacy… into the eyes of Death. After all, I’ve seen into the depths of your soul so it is only fair that you do the same.”
Moving images flicker into view over the close look into the icy eyes of Death Incarnate; the battering of Winter Pine, the destruction of Ryder Blade and Casanova English… and much more. Emma wearing her own blood and that of others, holding the belt high and walking at the lead of the Horsewomen. A true condensation of her undying wrath in the space of several long moments. Emma herself is still, resuming after the images fade out.
”Remember what you saw there, Glampire. It is your present and your future. Anyone who comes for my championship can expect no less. You do not survive someone like me. You are instead molded, reshaped... allowed to carry on yet forever bearing Death's mark on your very being. I will unmake you, Stacy, and then remake you in my image.”
Rising to her feet and taking the camera with her, Emma gives it a lens-full of the title before turning back to herself.
”Death is the exception, the one you don’t make it through, that changes you forever. Make your choice, Stacy: fight… or die.”
Rising, Emma reaches for and shuts off the camera, bringing the message to a close.
