Post by Deleted on May 2, 2021 22:59:02 GMT -5
::: 6/10 Studios Presents :::
MML.2021.008.5 - ROSE
The beams of overhead street lights were traced out by the beginnings of a misty drizzle.
It was late, and it was dark. Not the moon nor the stars were visible through the thick cloud cover that had rolled in. She didn't know if she was still in the waning moments of April 20th or if the clock had already struck past midnight. Either way, it didn't matter. A few minutes ago, all of the lights went out in the Indiana Farmers Coliseum. When they came back on she was already long gone.
A part of her knew that it was going to come to this. She had her travel bag ready and waiting for her. The hallways, and all of the people in them, went by in a blur. Trainers, Level Up Officials, hell even Lenny Brasco. If they wanted a word with her it would have to wait until some other time, though in fact that time was probably never. Nothing was more important to her in that moment than getting her head back on straight, and she knew that after what she had done she couldn't do that there or then, with or without any or all of their help.
Moments before she left the ringside area and left her number one contender alone among the officials Level Up Wrestling had sent out to help him. It was an odd feeling, after the main event match that she was ordered to officiate, to see Don Tirri lying there after Antonio Ricci's attack with his hand out, fully accepting of her help. Help that she only briefly offered, before pulling her own hand away. Not only did she refuse to help him up, but she then turned her back on him, a man who had proven that he's been nothing shy of dangerous and desperate, especially in these past two months.
She knew it was wrong, fundamentally, to disrespect him like that. Yet in her conflicted mind there was still a small part of her that felt justified in her actions. She couldn't deny that there was a part of her that quietly revelled to the rhythmic tune of schadenfreude, that she got to finally treat him the same way that he had been treating her. There was a part of her that felt a little pride in what she had done, even though she knew that eye-for-an-eye was nothing to be proud of.
She knew that after disrespecting him that Tirri would have no choice but to pull himself up off of that canvas. She knew that he'd come at her, refusing to be punked by "some kid". She knew that he couldn't accept the bitter taste of being treated like "he didn't matter"... the same bitter taste that he left when he interrupted her during her celebration speech with his bullshit at the start of EXP4. She knew that he would come for her, but she had an answer for that, too.
By the time the lights came back on, she was gone. But she did leave him something behind, lying right there dead center in the middle of the ring where she knew he couldn't miss it.
Despite being the one to physically place the item, she couldn't believe that she actually did that to him, and by extension, to herself as well. Because what she left him was a promise, for better or for worse, that he'd get exactly what he asked for in two weeks in this very same building at Combat Evolved. Tirri called down her thunder, asking for the source of the fire that burned deep beneath her eyes. Normally, she wouldn't have even responded to a request like that. But that's because she only likes to make the promises that she knows that she'll keep.
But after eight weeks of kicking down the door to her mind and "living in her head rent free", She felt as though he forced her hand into a side of her she much rather would have kept buried, hidden.
She left him a black rose.
That's... never good.
Outside the arena, the rubber soles of her sneakers splashed through gathered puddles on the pavement. She was still in her referee garb, but she had her Final Boss championship belt draped over one shoulder and clenched tightly to her chest. Behind her the wheels of her rolling luggage whirled and wizzed, the bag bounced every time it ran over a crack or a pebble in the concrete of the sidewalk. It was though she was running from something... or someone... yet this didn't quite make sense considering that she had no problem in turning her back on him earlier.
Maybe it wasn't him.
Deep in the parking lot behind the building stood a few young men. They all worked for a local rental car company, each of them a concierge/chauffeur of sorts. They had been brought in by Level Up to offer a more private source of transportation to and from Indianapolis International Airport as a courtesy to their employees. Level Up had been more than kind and generous to her ever since she signed her name on that dotted line. She had taken advantage of their services before.
One of the youngsters, perhaps no more than a year or two a junior to champion herself, noticed the urgency in her gait and broke off from the pack to approach her. Company jacket, lit cigarette, he sprinted to her side and shielded her from the elements with an umbrella that he had unfolded from god-knows-where and was immediately apologetic that he had not seen her sooner.
"In a hurry tonight Ma'am?"
"How'd you guess?" she replied sarcastically, the night air cool enough to show her sharp exhales as plumes of wispy vapor. The mist mixed in with the sheen of sweat that she wore like sleeves on her uncovered arms. If anything, what should have been refreshing came off as anything but. She was visibly shaking.
"Here, let me take your bag."
To the kid, she was as she appeared to be. A striking feminine figure with slim curves, unapologetic silvery hair, and equally bold lines in her wide array of tattoos. He knew that she was the champion of the place because there was only one, and he was into her; enough that it made the exchange of the luggage handle between their hands far more awkward and uncomfortable than it ever should have been.
When she did finally let go, he handed her the umbrella.
"Which one?" She asked, nodding in the direction of the line of cars sat idling, all parked in a row.
The kid took one last drag off of his cigarette before flicking the still-glowing butt off into the distance. "Right up front." He gestured toward a pearlescent white American muscle car with black racing stripes that matched the leather bucket seat and interior; all that with burned orange accents and a shimmering, majestic, galloping pony as an emblem.
The kid pulled on the handle of the driver's door to open it so that he could pop the trunk for the bag. He glanced back to see her eyes affixed to the GT Mach-1, and all of the 480 horses rumbling in the engine just waiting to be set free.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" He said coyly, "Just like Level Up's champion."
"Thanks," she replied with a bit of a blush in her cheeks as she gripped the belt to her chest a bit tighter. "I guess sometimes looks are everything."
"Ahh," he replied with a nod and a bit of a point, "You just wait until we get her out on the open road. Now there's where she shows her real beauty."
The drizzle had started coming down in drops by the time he had lifted the trunk lid. He placed her bag in the back of the car and closed it, with an additional smack with his hands to the rear of the car just for good measure.
'Alright Miss, we're all set-"
The car's engine suddenly roared to life; the rear wheels of the Mustang spun and screeched as they dug at the wet pavement for grip. The driver's door slammed shut just as the car gathered itself and took off, slightly fishtailing in it's quick escape.
"Hey! Wait...!" The kid yelled out as he gave the briefest of chases to the silver-haired thief. But it was moot; He watched all-too-helplessly as the bright crimson tail lights of the premium rental car were swallowed up by a damp and endless Indianapolis night.
The Level Up Wrestling Final Boss Champion Magdalena Marie Lockheart had just stolen his ride for this evening.
But hey, at least she left him his umbrella.
