Post by wickedwitch on Feb 17, 2020 10:42:58 GMT -5
“I know it’s a little out of the ordinary, but I wanted to summon you all here to let you know that I won’t be needing your help in my match against Kaelan Laughlin.”
Wendy Wynne’s voice was strangely solemn as she sat cross-legged within the pentagram symbol she’d drawn in chalk on the rocky ground at the center of the ruins for the Temple of the Feathered Serpent. She was dressed in black, wearing a veil over her eyes. Candlelight flickered in the light wind. Cicadas softly hummed a stoic chant of remembrance as Wendy Wynne searched the assembled faces of those she addressed.
“The upcoming battle won’t be easy, I know. And, ordinarily, I’d need the help of, at the very least, a barbed gauntlet forged in the fires of hell, a knife-boot designed by one of your ministers, or a rabid jackal to help me achieve my wrestling goals. But this time, at Coup de Grace, I need to do this alone. Without the help of supernatural entities such as yourselves.”
Wendy cringed and felt a pang of guilt as she searched the gathering of terrors and unthinkably horrible beings she typically relied on to help her win.
“I’m sorry Zeldon the Destroyer of Worlds! I know you traveled across fifty million interplanetary parsecs to be here! You know I’m always down for your help in my conquests, but not this time!” On a stone plinth stood the green space alien named Zeldon looked stunned he wasn’t here to charge to Wendy’s aid. He bowed his many heads and put away his death ray with a sniffle.
“You gotta understand something, though. Kaelan Laughlin is the Warhorse Champion. I feel like if I can’t beat her on my own, then maybe I don’t deserve to be called the next Warhorse champion.”
Wendy searched the motley assembly of entities and supernatural forces ordinarily allied with her to help her smite her enemies. They all looked ready to cry.
“It don’t always be like that, but sometimes it do. And, awww, Cthulhu, you know how much I’d love to see your terribleness render Kaelan with inexplicable insanity at the sight of you standing behind me in that ring, but a girl needs to stand on her own two cute little feet at some point, you know? I have to do this. But I need to do this. I need to win this championship on my own merits or not at all.”
Wendy said this last bit with reservation. Did she mean it? A Wendy Wynne success without some brand of cheating or underhanded tactics? A Wynne victory apart from the help of dark forces? Stranger things have happened….
Cthulhu's tentacled mouth thrashed and quivered, sad that the eldritch terror wouldn’t get to petrify a poor soul on behalf of the Wicked Witch of Wrestling who’d sold her soul to over half of those beings now gathered to hear her entreaty.
From another stone plinth there was a look of objection from one of the many summoned otherworldly assets Wendy often drew upon to aid her in her battles. Wendy bowed her head with a shake.
“It’s not that I don’t want your help, Gmork! I mean who wouldn’t want you and the Nothing to once more come to overtake and destroy a hapless existence, especially after Bastien and Atreyu and that weird girl fucked up your chances of preventing that damned Neverending Story! I’d love to see Kaelan get consumed, and her stupid ass bitch of a husband left to look upon the emptiness that is left when a true beast performs its work…”
Wendy frowned to herself before continuing.
“This is my legend, however. My time to prove that Wendy Wynne is just as good as the best opponents the wrestling world can set against her. This is my chance to become more than just the woman who says she’s this, that, or the other thing. It's time to put up or shut up. This is my opportunity to finally BE the best.I’m tired of just SAYING I’m the best, you know? I’m tired of reciting the same old, tired lines about how I’m going to do this or do that, or that I’m this or I’m that then there I am relying on the help of one of the Old Gods to help me.”
A sniffle from the Harbinger Skyriss incited another appreciative, tearful nod of acknowledgement from Wendy.
“Kaelan Laughlin deserves the right to face me, and be beaten by me and me alone. This championship could be my first championship. Can you imagine? Wendy Wynne victorious without any of your help!? It’s be amazing.”
Wendy lifted her hands defensively at the sight of some of the assembled deities looking at her indignantly.
“Obviously I owe you all a tremendous debt of gratitude. I mean, hey, I couldn’t have conquered the thousand strongholds of the high elves without you, Adrammelech, High Chancellor of Hell!”
The terrible face of Adrammalech looked away and snorted its pain which lead to grudging acceptance of needing to sit this fight out.
“And you, Mictlantecuhtli, don’t think I don’t recognize how much this must vex you to not get to grind the bones of my about-to-be-defeated opponent into dust here on your home turf!”
The Aztec god of the dead nodded appreciatively at having been noticed and recognized. Wendy looked torn as she wiped a tear from her eye beneath her veil.
“This is something I need to do. At Coup de Grace, Wendy Wynne competes alone. On February 23rd, right here in Mexico, Wendy Wynne succeeds or fails to become the Warhorse Champion with only myself to blame or laud. I thank you all for your honorable service. And obviously, this isn’t goodbye forever.”
Slowly she rose from the pentagram, her head still bowed solemnly as she moved to each of the multitude of candles she’d lit around the grounds of the Temple of the Feathered Serpent and blew them out one by one, watching with a tearful look as each summoned being departed to its realm or domain with a last look.
Wendy walked with one final candle as she silently strode through the ruins of Teotihuacan towards the parked car leaning against which stood her assistant, Buddy the Clown Chauffeur, smoking a cigarette and watching Wendy return.
“You know they don’t let tourists come to these ruins too often?” Buddy asked, noting Wendy’s uncharacteristic solemnity as she moved quietly around to the passenger side of the car. Wendy turned and looked to the ruins, still holding the last remaining candle on a holder she held gingerly between her thumb and forefinger.
Buddy blinked with a tiny, inexplicable shake of his head.
“Did you do whatever it is you needed to do, or…?”
Wendy looked wistfully but silently at the ruins outlined in the night underneath the light of the moon.
“Are you okay?” Buddy asked. “I’ve never seen you like this. This match with Kaelan really got to you, huh?”
Finally Wendy looked at Buddy.
“Something like that.” Softly she blew out the candle and slid delicately into the back seat of the rented car. Buddy sat in the driver’s seat and glanced calmly at her in the rear-view mirror.
“Not to worry,” he added, turning the key in the ignition. “I’ll be right there to help you. You need a beaker of acid tossed to you so you can throw it in Kaelan’s eye, I’m your guy.”
Wendy was silent for a moment. Buddy frowned.
“Unless… you were serious about the whole wanting to fight her on your own?”
Wendy looked stoically out the side window at the ruins where she’d just ritualistically summoned otherworldly horrors to tell them she wouldn’t be needing their help as Buddy reversed the vehicle and set them on the road back to town.
“No, Buddy,” she swallowed gently. “I am serious. This is a match I’d like to fight on my own.”
Buddy couldn’t believe his ears.
“What happens if you lose?”
“Well obviously I’ll blame you!” Wendy quickly shot at him before sighing loudly through her nose. “No. This one’s mine. Kaelan’s mine. That Warhorse Championship is mine. Coup de Grace is mine. All of it. Or none of it. Victory or defeat. It’ll be mine.”
Buddy listened to the hum of the rental car’s motor as it drove through the dusk, wondering if he was chauffeuring a Wendy Wynne caught up in the gravitas of the moment.
Silence reigned between them, both lost in their own thoughts about the weight of Wendy’s decision not to employ spirits, demons, ghosts or devils to help her face Kaelan Laughlin. Buddy wondered whether Wendy could do it or not. Kaelan was a different sort of challenge than she’d faced previously, would she be able to win where others hadn’t? Could she defeat a woman easily her equal without some added advantage or trick up her sleeve?
It sounded preposterous as he considered who Wendy Wynne was, a woman too prideful to accept defeat even after clearly being defeated. It was a stunning development to see her take this match into her own hands. Buddy wondered to himself what other changes Wendy Wynne might be silently undertaking within herself. Was she becoming the wrestler he always hoped she would be, confident in her talent and skill, aware of her own capabilities and willing to truly compete for what she wanted.
Time would tell.
Before long, the city lights of Mexico were before them.
“Buddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Just in case, did you want to have that beaker of acid ready?”
Buddy glanced in the rear view mirror and saw that crooked little smile creep onto Wendy’s crimson lips.
Wendy Wynne’s voice was strangely solemn as she sat cross-legged within the pentagram symbol she’d drawn in chalk on the rocky ground at the center of the ruins for the Temple of the Feathered Serpent. She was dressed in black, wearing a veil over her eyes. Candlelight flickered in the light wind. Cicadas softly hummed a stoic chant of remembrance as Wendy Wynne searched the assembled faces of those she addressed.
“The upcoming battle won’t be easy, I know. And, ordinarily, I’d need the help of, at the very least, a barbed gauntlet forged in the fires of hell, a knife-boot designed by one of your ministers, or a rabid jackal to help me achieve my wrestling goals. But this time, at Coup de Grace, I need to do this alone. Without the help of supernatural entities such as yourselves.”
Wendy cringed and felt a pang of guilt as she searched the gathering of terrors and unthinkably horrible beings she typically relied on to help her win.
“I’m sorry Zeldon the Destroyer of Worlds! I know you traveled across fifty million interplanetary parsecs to be here! You know I’m always down for your help in my conquests, but not this time!” On a stone plinth stood the green space alien named Zeldon looked stunned he wasn’t here to charge to Wendy’s aid. He bowed his many heads and put away his death ray with a sniffle.
“You gotta understand something, though. Kaelan Laughlin is the Warhorse Champion. I feel like if I can’t beat her on my own, then maybe I don’t deserve to be called the next Warhorse champion.”
Wendy searched the motley assembly of entities and supernatural forces ordinarily allied with her to help her smite her enemies. They all looked ready to cry.
“It don’t always be like that, but sometimes it do. And, awww, Cthulhu, you know how much I’d love to see your terribleness render Kaelan with inexplicable insanity at the sight of you standing behind me in that ring, but a girl needs to stand on her own two cute little feet at some point, you know? I have to do this. But I need to do this. I need to win this championship on my own merits or not at all.”
Wendy said this last bit with reservation. Did she mean it? A Wendy Wynne success without some brand of cheating or underhanded tactics? A Wynne victory apart from the help of dark forces? Stranger things have happened….
Cthulhu's tentacled mouth thrashed and quivered, sad that the eldritch terror wouldn’t get to petrify a poor soul on behalf of the Wicked Witch of Wrestling who’d sold her soul to over half of those beings now gathered to hear her entreaty.
From another stone plinth there was a look of objection from one of the many summoned otherworldly assets Wendy often drew upon to aid her in her battles. Wendy bowed her head with a shake.
“It’s not that I don’t want your help, Gmork! I mean who wouldn’t want you and the Nothing to once more come to overtake and destroy a hapless existence, especially after Bastien and Atreyu and that weird girl fucked up your chances of preventing that damned Neverending Story! I’d love to see Kaelan get consumed, and her stupid ass bitch of a husband left to look upon the emptiness that is left when a true beast performs its work…”
Wendy frowned to herself before continuing.
“This is my legend, however. My time to prove that Wendy Wynne is just as good as the best opponents the wrestling world can set against her. This is my chance to become more than just the woman who says she’s this, that, or the other thing. It's time to put up or shut up. This is my opportunity to finally BE the best.I’m tired of just SAYING I’m the best, you know? I’m tired of reciting the same old, tired lines about how I’m going to do this or do that, or that I’m this or I’m that then there I am relying on the help of one of the Old Gods to help me.”
A sniffle from the Harbinger Skyriss incited another appreciative, tearful nod of acknowledgement from Wendy.
“Kaelan Laughlin deserves the right to face me, and be beaten by me and me alone. This championship could be my first championship. Can you imagine? Wendy Wynne victorious without any of your help!? It’s be amazing.”
Wendy lifted her hands defensively at the sight of some of the assembled deities looking at her indignantly.
“Obviously I owe you all a tremendous debt of gratitude. I mean, hey, I couldn’t have conquered the thousand strongholds of the high elves without you, Adrammelech, High Chancellor of Hell!”
The terrible face of Adrammalech looked away and snorted its pain which lead to grudging acceptance of needing to sit this fight out.
“And you, Mictlantecuhtli, don’t think I don’t recognize how much this must vex you to not get to grind the bones of my about-to-be-defeated opponent into dust here on your home turf!”
The Aztec god of the dead nodded appreciatively at having been noticed and recognized. Wendy looked torn as she wiped a tear from her eye beneath her veil.
“This is something I need to do. At Coup de Grace, Wendy Wynne competes alone. On February 23rd, right here in Mexico, Wendy Wynne succeeds or fails to become the Warhorse Champion with only myself to blame or laud. I thank you all for your honorable service. And obviously, this isn’t goodbye forever.”
Slowly she rose from the pentagram, her head still bowed solemnly as she moved to each of the multitude of candles she’d lit around the grounds of the Temple of the Feathered Serpent and blew them out one by one, watching with a tearful look as each summoned being departed to its realm or domain with a last look.
Wendy walked with one final candle as she silently strode through the ruins of Teotihuacan towards the parked car leaning against which stood her assistant, Buddy the Clown Chauffeur, smoking a cigarette and watching Wendy return.
“You know they don’t let tourists come to these ruins too often?” Buddy asked, noting Wendy’s uncharacteristic solemnity as she moved quietly around to the passenger side of the car. Wendy turned and looked to the ruins, still holding the last remaining candle on a holder she held gingerly between her thumb and forefinger.
Buddy blinked with a tiny, inexplicable shake of his head.
“Did you do whatever it is you needed to do, or…?”
Wendy looked wistfully but silently at the ruins outlined in the night underneath the light of the moon.
“Are you okay?” Buddy asked. “I’ve never seen you like this. This match with Kaelan really got to you, huh?”
Finally Wendy looked at Buddy.
“Something like that.” Softly she blew out the candle and slid delicately into the back seat of the rented car. Buddy sat in the driver’s seat and glanced calmly at her in the rear-view mirror.
“Not to worry,” he added, turning the key in the ignition. “I’ll be right there to help you. You need a beaker of acid tossed to you so you can throw it in Kaelan’s eye, I’m your guy.”
Wendy was silent for a moment. Buddy frowned.
“Unless… you were serious about the whole wanting to fight her on your own?”
Wendy looked stoically out the side window at the ruins where she’d just ritualistically summoned otherworldly horrors to tell them she wouldn’t be needing their help as Buddy reversed the vehicle and set them on the road back to town.
“No, Buddy,” she swallowed gently. “I am serious. This is a match I’d like to fight on my own.”
Buddy couldn’t believe his ears.
“What happens if you lose?”
“Well obviously I’ll blame you!” Wendy quickly shot at him before sighing loudly through her nose. “No. This one’s mine. Kaelan’s mine. That Warhorse Championship is mine. Coup de Grace is mine. All of it. Or none of it. Victory or defeat. It’ll be mine.”
Buddy listened to the hum of the rental car’s motor as it drove through the dusk, wondering if he was chauffeuring a Wendy Wynne caught up in the gravitas of the moment.
Silence reigned between them, both lost in their own thoughts about the weight of Wendy’s decision not to employ spirits, demons, ghosts or devils to help her face Kaelan Laughlin. Buddy wondered whether Wendy could do it or not. Kaelan was a different sort of challenge than she’d faced previously, would she be able to win where others hadn’t? Could she defeat a woman easily her equal without some added advantage or trick up her sleeve?
It sounded preposterous as he considered who Wendy Wynne was, a woman too prideful to accept defeat even after clearly being defeated. It was a stunning development to see her take this match into her own hands. Buddy wondered to himself what other changes Wendy Wynne might be silently undertaking within herself. Was she becoming the wrestler he always hoped she would be, confident in her talent and skill, aware of her own capabilities and willing to truly compete for what she wanted.
Time would tell.
Before long, the city lights of Mexico were before them.
“Buddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Just in case, did you want to have that beaker of acid ready?”
Buddy glanced in the rear view mirror and saw that crooked little smile creep onto Wendy’s crimson lips.
