Post by Cera on Sept 3, 2014 23:00:37 GMT -6
...Dirty...
Spit the dirt from your lips, child; get your face out of the mud. Now get up, stand up, brush yourself off. This isn't a playground, kid. This isn't the woods you'd wander in your youth. It's not a backyard, or even a sandbox. You don't want to do this. You don't want to dip your hands into the wet earth, spread the mud thickly over your skin; make a line on either cheek. No. It's not a war. It never has been. So... don't get your hands dirty.
But what of blood?
It's thicker than water. But is it thicker than mud? A different texture... a different color. You like it more; it's even within you. That doesn't mean it's safer. This isn't your slaughterhouse, sweetheart. You're not a butcher, or even a surgeon. You don't want to do this... the stains, you know, are far worse. They last longer; sometimes forever. No amount of soap or chemicals will wash your skin clean. So... don't get your hands bloody.
.... have I ever listened?
Call it rebellion. Call it senseless. Truly, we all know... there's no need for any of this. However, let's not forget... a conscience is useless in the mind of a monster. It can dig and dig at one's subconscious as they go about their 'deeds'. But it's always overpowered by the simple, uncomplicated lust for chaos. The desire for... violence. Hate. Revenge. Or even wanting to simply watch the world burn.
But why would I want to hurt my sister? Why would I want to hurt her friends? ...Why? WHY?! That isn't the right question. No. It's how. How could I? How will I? How the hell... have I continued this? How... will it end? Or, better yet, will it end? The answers don't matter. It's what comes out of the questions that does. The responses and retorts. The actions taken. The words spoken. What comes to fruition, and what doesn't. And to that, all we can ask, at this point, is... what will...?
The inner-workings of a mind far gone.
"TaDa~!! Welcum to your new home!"
I squinted in the dimly lit room, eyes adjusting only to see sparkly glitter fluttering over me. Left eye twitching slightly, I turned to my manager in annoyance. In one hand was the blindfold that'd been over my eyes, and the other... a small package of glitter. She shook it upward, and more glitter flew out, right into my face. Without saying a word, I wiped it away and continued staring at the smaller woman, now with an icy stare that'd make anyone's blood run cold. Unless you're Jen fucking Ryette.
"Ooo, stop givin' me dem bedroom eyes, Cera Bear. I'm gettin' all tingly in my lady parts!"
"How about I make that stop with my knife?"
"Are ya gonna wrap that with barbed wire too??" The Asian questioned with a sly grin, recounting the time I'd decidedly rammed a crucifix wrapped in barbs up her most intimate of parts. With an eyeroll, I replied in an irritable tone...
"Look, Jennifer, get to the point of bringing me here before I shove my boot up your ass..."
"Grrr, don'tchu call me that ya skag bag!"
"...."
"...anywhoser... the reason I brought ya here is plain and simple, ya silly lil Burr." She lifted her chin proudly, before jumping in front of me and throwing her arms out. "I repeat... WELCUM TO YOUR NEW HOME!"
"I don't get it. What's the punchline?"
"...punchline?" Jen turned her head to the side in confusion, before giggling and responding. "There ain't none, Cera! I bought you a house?"
"A house."
"Yup!"
"As in, you own this."
"It's in your name, acshully."
"Okay, I own this."
"Mhm! A place to call home!"
"Home...?" I just stared at Jen, looking utterly confused. Ryette looked even more befuddled than I did. I'm certainly not an idiot. So why couldn't I comprehend that term... home? Perhaps it's because I'd never had one. Or anything that felt like one, at least. The streets, abandoned buildings, makeshift tents in alleyways, and obviously in recent years hotels... have been my 'homes'. Everything that was an actual house ended up being more like a private Hell (and not the good kind), rather than a place of shelter.
"Cera Bear?" Shaking from my memories, I looked down at Jen in annoyance as she continued cheerily. "C'mon, I'll give ya the grand tour!"
Ryette started skipping down the hallway of the house, and I reluctantly followed. It wasn't furnished yet, and was exceedingly beige in color. That said, it was a decent size for one person, and quite intricate in it's architecture. The place definitely cost a pretty penny. Not that I couldn't afford it. I simply didn't want it. Of course, that statement fell on deaf ears as Ryette pointed out the kitchen, bathroom, etc... as if I'd never seen them before.
"Over here's the laundry room..."
"Wait..." We were passing a darker hallway, near the back of the house, when I noticed a door in the middle of the wall. Jen backpedaled and scurried up to me, eyeballing the door I was looking at.
"Looks like a crawlspace! Fun!"
"Shall we explore it?"
"WHEEE!" Jen shouted in delight, before yanking open the crawlspace's door. Chips of paint fell, but soon we entered. It was pretty nice, for a place meant to just hold a water heater. As we moved through it, we noticed a black door in the back corner of it.
"Hmm... interesting..."
"Uhm, Cera Bear... this looks a lil dangerous." Jen called out as I moved toward the door. But I ignored her and continued on, until I'd reached that door and was opening it. I'd had to use my knife to jimmy it open, but once I did... I saw that inside was a small room, maybe 6 by 8 feet. The walls, floor and ceiling were covered in soundproofing board and plastic tape... that same strange, beige color.
"...huh."
"Ceraaa??" Jen whined from behind me, and I rolled my eyes.
Maybe I was going a bit far in exploring at that moment. But I'd already gotten my training for the week out of the way. Finally I'd gotten another match, after the one against Rayne. But this time... it was Stacy Jones. Basically, someone no better. Hell, someone worse. This woman wasn't worth the dirt beneath my feet. Or maybe that's exactly what she was. Dirt. A dirty fucking dyke. A bit harsh for a person I'd never met. But there was something about her that rubbed me the wrong way. I didn't care about the relationship between her and my sister's friends. I didn't even really give a fuck about her sexual preference, no matter how revolting it was.
It was just... her.
But I brushed it off as my well known desire to beat the ever-living shit out of something. It couldn't possibly be more. And I didn't care to find out. All I had to do was defeat her, prove that she was nothing, and go about my business. What business that was at this point... I was still trying to figure out. That all aside, I knew about her. I knew what I had to do. So why would I intentionally go into this crawlspace... open this door... and grab the briefcase that was inside the padded room?
I couldn't tell you.
Looking over the dark brown, wooden briefcase, I noticed that there was a lock on it... but for some reason, numbers popped into my mind. 13... 16... 18. As soon as I put them in, it popped open, and pretty easily at that. This was getting a bit freaky, but I shrugged it off. The contents of the case were too intriguing to focus on anything else. There were 10 tapes... all labeled from 1999-2008, except one that was 1984. Squinting at them a moment, I then noticed a bunch of old letters, and three yellowing pieces of paper. They were smeared with dirt, a couple of red stains that I don't really need to explain... but the words were written in ink, that streaked down the pages. I flipped through the papers, reading them in my mind...
Don't listen!!
Get out!!
They lied!!
"What..." Blinking, I glanced over my shoulder to see Jen gazing over at me with the most confused expression. She yelled out, asking me what I was doing. When I held up the papers, she just looked even more confused.
I ignored the strange messages for now and eyeballed the tapes instead. Luckily, there seemed to be a tapeplayer in the case as well, and I smirked. This was most likely the house's last owner's prank. A practical joke to fuck with the next occupant. I wasn't about to fall for it, but I was curious. So I tossed Ryette the tapeplayer, who clumsily caught it and cocked her head to the side as she looked at it. I snatched up the tape labeled '2006' and tossed it to Jen, glancing at the other objects in the suitcase for a moment, before turning my attention to my manager.
"Weird. Whatever... just play the tape."
"Eh?" Jen gave me a strange look, which I shot right back to her.
"What? Don't understand English? I said, play the tape."
"But..."
"PLAY IT!"
"I CAN'T!!!" She yelled back, now starting to look angry herself. Staring at her in frustration, I threw my arms up and snapped.
"And why not?!"
"Because it's a BRICK."
"What...?"
"I'm sick a' playin', Cera!" Jen grumbled, watching me cautiously. "You've been talkin' crazy this whole time..."
"Crazy? What're you on about now, you idiot? Just do as I told you." I shook my head, getting irritated myself, with her incessant babbling. Ryette stomped a foot and stormed right up to me, before putting the cassette to my forehead. I felt a cold, rough rectangular item touch my skin, and I blinked in confusion as my manager continued in a soft, eerie tone...
"It's... a brick."
I felt my left eye begin twitching again, this time more violently. Swiftly slapping the side of my head, I laughed... a bit hysteria to it... before shutting my eyes tightly. Silence filled the air as I backed away, for a couple minutes at least, until I finally felt my back hit a door. My eyelids lifted, and I saw Jen still staring over at me. There was a gray brick in her grasp, and her angry look had turned into an almost amused one. She was laughing at me. Not physically, but I could see it. Feel it. Fists tightening at my sides, I stared to the side in frantic thought.
How could all of that have been... fake? An illusion? Hallucination? Would this happen... in the ring? Against Stacy? FUCK! It didn't make any sense. How could that even happen?! I wasn't crazy! I mean, I'm not crazy! I'm NOT! Wildly shaking my head, I turned away from my manager and gazed at the white door I'd backed against. Even... even if that did happen.... I couldn't let it control me. I couldn't let myself sink too deeply. Especially when it came to my career; especially against someone like Stacy Jones.
Dirt.
Ah. That was right. I couldn't let dirt get the best of me. Filth would not cover me. I was clean. Not one speck like her had managed to defile me. And she sure as hell wouldn't this week. At least, I couldn't allow it. But there was this... chance... a hole in the game. A flaw. A bug. And I decided, standing there, that if I opened that door and there was anything more than a room... the game in itself was corrupted. It had changed.
Laughing at myself now... at how silly I was being... at the tricks my mind was playing... I put my hand on the doorknob and shook my head one last time. Everything would work out. So my Schizophrenia got the best of me. It happens. A mistake... a fluke. It was done now. Over. And I would move on. Everything would go back to normal, where Jen was a ditzy moron and the Baddest Bitch was proving to have complete... and total... control. With a deep breath, I calmly turned the handle and pushed the door open...
There in front of me, standing still as a statue, was a man in a black and silver suit. Long hair cut a bit shorter than it usually was, a faded goatee on his chin... he faced the doorway, against a window, a stoic gaze masking all emotion. The light from the early evening sun shone in, sending rays of sun past him, putting him in an almost holy glow... and I felt my muscles tense, as one name escaped my lips...
"Iser..."
What Was That About Getting Down and Dirty... With Your Enemies?
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~This has been a V rp, thanx for reading and have a great f*cking day!~