Post by Deleted on Aug 15, 2021 22:50:57 GMT -5
- Prologue -
Indianapolis, IN -
Bbbbrrrrriiiiiinnnnnggggg... Bbbbrrrrriiiiiinnnnnggggg....
"Doctor Gordon's office. Hicks speakin'."
The man wore typical scrubs and a matching cap, both salmon in color. He briefly glanced out to the waiting room, which was atypically devoid of patients this or at any time of the year.
"Oh, hi, Missus Cartwright. Yeah, I'm 'fraid the doctor is all booked up for the next couple o' months, pretty solid too. You know how precious his time can be..."
The chattering on the other end of the line was muffled and distorted, like the parents on the Peanuts cartoon. Whatever they said though caused Hicks to laugh.
"A donation, huh? Well what kind of donation are we talkin' 'bout here?"
Hicks glanced out to the room again as he listened to the woman list off a number.
"Oh, no ma'am. You're not too far off at all. Let's say, if we could bump it up to... I dunno... eight? I might be able to get your son in early next week."
More mumbling.
"For ten I might have..." Hicks turned to his computer, "Yep, it looks like we just had an openin' come up just this moment for Friday at 4:30. Does that sound good for you dear?"
As the woman on the other end of the line continues to speak, the corners of Hicks's lips continue to curl upward.
"Okay, great. Friday it is. We can discuss how to process the... donation... when you get here. Alrighty? ...haha no problem at all. You have a good day too, Missus Cartwright. Take care now. Bye bye."
Hicks lowered the receiver back down on the base, ending the call. He slammed his hands together in celebration, as well as giving the air a little fist-pump action.
"Hell yeah!" He shouted, turning his attention back down to the paper in front of him. "Score another one for the good guys..."
"Good guys? That was disingenuous as fuck."
"AHH!"
Hicks jumped up from his seat. Startled, he threw his hands up in a defensive posture.
"Who are you!?" He shouted at the woman who stood right in the reception window.
"I'm here to see Doctor Gordon," she answered.
"You can't. He's busy- w-with a patient right now."
"Too bad," she answered, "I'm going to see him anyway."
The woman rounded the corner and took the doorway that led back to the exam rooms. But as she opened the door Hicks was standing there waiting to block her path.
"I told you no. Don't make me call security darlin'-"
Not taking no for an answer, the dark-haired woman worked to push past the rather lanky receptionist.
"Don't make me leak your little donation scheme-"
"Scheme?" The receptionist pulled back. "Ain't no scheme about it. Ain't nothin' disingenuous, either."
"Oh yeah? So you expect me to believe that there's nothing wrong with selling openings for exams at ten-thousand dollars a pop?"
"Look-" Hicks threw his hands out, "That boy's so rich he's got roman numerals behind his name. Ten G's ain't nothin' to them. Momma Warbucks wanted to get her son in sooner... She knows how the game is played."
"I don't play games."
The dark-haired female faked left, then changed levels as she darted underneath the receptionists outstretched arms to the right. Hicks completely whiffed on grabbing her. Out of instinct, he gave chase. But he couldn't catch her until she was already one step through the only closed door she could find. By the time Hicks had his hand on her shoulder, Doctor Gordon was looking up at both of them from behind his desk.
Gordon puffed from his pipe as his eyes shot daggers at the two of them. "What the hell..."
The woman yanked her shoulder free from Hicks's grasp.
"Where's Maggie?"
Gordon's eyebrows raised.
"You mean Miss Lockheart?"
"Yes," the dark-haired woman closed the distance between herself and Gordon's desk. "Magdalena Lockheart, now where is she?"
Gordon peered up at her.
"You must be Amber..."
::: 6/10 Studios Presents :::
MML.2021.015 - Personal Demon
August 15th
Reno, NV -
Magdalena Lockheart's Ford Mustang GT Mach 1 stood out like a sore thumb in the Motel 6 parking lot. The Nevada sun at high noon beat down upon the Oxford white/orange striped paint making the pony car look as though it was plucked fresh from the showroom floor.
Not too far along under that same sun was the 'champ' herself, back pressed against the stucco exterior of the 1.25 star dive, using the shade from the overhang above just to catch a glimpse of the screen on her phone.
The ringer had been turned off, as it had been for weeks. Every so often she'd pull it out to check messages or to find out what the latest hullabaloo was on Twitter. Each time it was a new adventure, kind of like the Avenger and how he bounds the multiverse. Except in Maggie's case, nearly every new possibility presented to her was woefully predictable. She wasn't sure why she bothered checking it anymore, other than she simply desired to at that moment.
Truth is it made her feel less alone.
One eye on the timeline, one eye on the car, she wasn't shocked to find that Denzel Porter performed a flawless swan dive into hot water again, only by trying to give his brand of effort to the industry everyone else claimed to love. She wasn't surprised to see a litany of some mostly-naked 'thot' pics, either, some of which even she would admit she had to take a second glance at herself. But who cares? Unlike the aforementioned top-ten lists, everybody loves those.
Most of all, though, it was the Twitter wars she was after. There was nothing to take one's mind of their own woes quite like bearing witness to someone else's. In this industry, keeping tabs on everyone was like having a front row seat at a neverending Jerry Springer taping. Follow Matthew Knox and you, too, will find yourself getting twit-twats spatting at least one a day, just like the vitamins.
"Well would you look at that. We show up just as he's leaving. Ironic, wouldn't you say?"
"Quiet."
"You know what else is ironic? For someone who once claimed that she didn't care what people think, she sure does keep up with said people."
"..."
It was the daily exercise of futility that absolutely no one wanted to miss. Not to dissimilar from an addiction to substance or to fighting on a canvased box surrounded by ropes in front of thousands of screaming spectators. In reality it was a bunch of colleagues and co-workers with nothing new to say. Acquaintances were proclaiming #AndNew or #AndStill in tweets concerning the less-than-humble bragging/taunting of their latest pride-filled accomplishments. Bikinis with asses hanging out of them begging for likes like the less fortunate on the street corners.
And, above all else, there were the federations themselves promoting their people and their brands... well, at least the ones they were proud of anyway.
"You know, you're the one who alienated them."
"For the last time, please shut up. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly entertaining the thought of talking to you."
"Aww, why not?" The voice mocked.
"Because that would be crazy."
Maggie closed the Twitter app.
For the first time in a while, she looked good. The bare skin exposed by her backless sundress was back to being covered by tattoos instead of bandages. Her mirrored aviator sunglasses worked once more like a hairclip to help keep her silvery locks away from her face. The dry heat in the desert made it the perfect time to try out her new slip-on sandals. She had dressed herself entirely for the comfort that eluded her.
She glanced out to the parking lot just to double-check that her possessions were still okay. As it was, everything that she currently owned was in that car: a couple suitcases worth of clothes, a travel bag with her ring gear, a couple of championship belts, and a tattered stuffed rabbit that meant more to her than everything else. She had lived this nomadic sort of lifestyle before, hence why her gut feeling was telling her it was time to move again.
"Come on now, Mags. If you can't talk to me, then who can you talk to?"
"No one, apparently."
"Clever. Just don't expect me to believe you're actually comfortable with that choice."
"Is my comfort really that important?"
"I dunno," the feminine voice emanating from somewhere off-screen replied, "is it?"
Besides Twitter, there were other notifications to check as well... just as mundane but with a unique twinge of personal guilt attached to them.
"You owe it to them to at least let them know that you're alright."
Maggie sighed.
"And why would I need to do that? I've tweeted recently, haven't I?"
"Have you seen your tweets lately?"
Though she still felt bothered, that last line did elicit a chuckle from the Final Boss.
"I'll do you one better: I watched myself write them."
"Isn't that what you used to say about your drawings?" The woman asked. "Well, that you watched yourself draw them... you know what I mean."
Maggie rolled her eyes. She didn't want to, but the message was clear: she wouldn't stop pestering until the champ gave in to her curiosities. Lockheart gave into her guest with a few taps from her fingertip. She brought the phone up to her ear.
...you have, fifteen, new voice messages. First new message...
- Maggie? This is Morrie. Just calling to check up on you. I hope you're okay. Lucy has a lot of her stuff moved in now, she seems to be doing okay so f-
Maggie pulled the phone down long enough to press another 'button' on the screen.
"Hey? What in the hell was that for?"
"Oh, I get plenty of those," Maggie reasoned, "He's always checking up on me."
"Have you called him back?"
"Look, if I called him back every time he left me a message, I'd never be able to get off the phone."
"Wow. Sounds like he really cares about you, huh? Makes it seem like leaving that house was a mistake, doesn't it?"
Maggie scoffed at her. "Leaving that place was not a mistake."
Next voice message...
...message saved.
"Ugh," Maggie shuddered. "Businessmen."
But the person standing off-screen didn't wish to leave this alone, either.
"Sounds to me like you're trying to become one yourself."
Maggie gave her the evil eye.
"No no, no judgment here," the woman off-screen reasoned, "It's a smart move to diversify... invest."
"Look, I didn't want to have this conversation in the first place. You want it to end sooner? Keep it up."
"Message received loud and clear, boss."
Next voice message...
- Maggie, it's Roxy. Roxy Malone. You know, from Unified Glowball Wrestl-... mean the Unified Global Resting Coa... argh... I'm from the gosh-darn UGWC, okay?! Listen. It's been great having you back and all, but what was the deal with attacking Rogan? Are you really gonna throw a pity party for yourself like that just because you lost to Duncan? I had a lot of respect for you. Hell I even rooted for you in the Open but now I-
...message deleted. Next voice message...
- Maggie, it's Morrie again. Just calling once more to see how you are doing. Call me bac-
...message deleted. Next voice message...
...message deleted. Next voice message...
- Maggie, it's Morrie. Please call me when you get the chance. I'm worried about-
...message deleted, Next vo-
Maggie looked up at the person standing across from her. She could almost feel the scowl etched on her face.
"Why won't you just call Morrie back?" She asked. "What the hell is wrong with you? Leaving an old man to worry sick about you like that... That's not the Magdalena Lockheart that I used to know."
But when Maggie looked up at her to respond, the camera panned over slowly. What it showed was an empty parking lot in the entire Motel 6. A view of the sign by the side of the dirt road shows that the motel had been shut down for quite some time. The white mustang parked along the building was the only car here.
Maggie looked over to thin air and spoke as if someone was actually standing there alongside her.
"You're the reason I don't call," she said. "But you already know that, don't you, Jenova?"
Indianapolis, IN
Doctor Gordon's Office -
"You must be Amber... I've heard a lot about you."
"That's nice. Now tell me where she is."
The woman with jet-black hair stood motionless, her arms crossed over her chest.
"I'm so sorry, boss. I'll call security immediately-"
Hicks turned to leave the room, but was stopped by Gordon himself.
"Don't bother, Will," Gordon spouted dismissively before turning his attention back towards the woman in front of him. "You'll have to excuse my colleague, it's so hard to find good help these days."
"Save it." Amber swiped her hand across the surface of the desk, knocking Gordon's nameplate to the floor. "I know what you people are up to... and between you and me, I could care less as long as you tell me where Maggie is. And don't give me the doctor-patient privilege thing, either-"
"What do I look like to you? A babysitter?" Gordon narrowed his eyes as he glanced up at her. "Surely you don't think that I keep tabs on her 24-7."
"You're her doctor, and I know she's been here."
"And?" Gordon clapped back. "As I have become fond of telling Miss Lockheart herself... I'm a surgical doctor, not a psychiatrist. Speaking of, I have an operation scheduled to start in, oh, about forty-three minutes give-or-take, so I would greatly appreciate it if you would find some other way of locating her instead of barging in here and making demands. Might I suggest calling her, or would that be too much of a burden on you?"
Gordon reached over and picked up the receiver to his desk phone. He held it out for Amber. She looked back at him, confused.
"Oh, it is a problem, isn't it?" Gordon chuckled to himself. "Might it have something to do with Miss Lockheart not wanting to be found?"
Amber snatched the receiver from Gordon's hand.
"Dial her number," she responded coldly, "Let's see if she'll pick up for you."
Gordon shrugged.
"Alright," he laughed as he began to dial, "If you think she might, it's worth a try I guess."
"Wait..." A lightbulb went off in Am's mind, "She's not picking up for you, either?"
"Nope," Gordon leaned back in his leather chair and relit his pipe, "No-showed her last appointment as well."
"Why? I thought she trusted you?"
Gordon puffed away, exhaling large plumes of tobacco smoke.
"Apparently she doesn't need me anymore... which I heard through the grapevine may or may not be the case for the both of us. But I'm afraid I wouldn't know that as fact, either."
- Promotional -
August 17th -
The white mustang rolls to a stop at the backlot of the Reno Events Center. There's nothing but Level Up and local law enforcement personnel to be found - fans are strictly prohibited. Lockheart seems relieved as she pulls herself from the driver's side of the car and goes searching through the trunk for her wrestling gear. The goal, of course, is to be in and out and back on the road again before anyone really knows it.
But before she can disappear into the bowels of the building she is approached by Lenny Brasco. He startles her just by standing there as she slams the trunk down. He throws up a hand and waves to her, right in her face.
"MEGGY!" He shouts in her ear. "Did ya get my message? Did ya? Huh? Huh? Huh?"
Maggie winces as she briefly clutches the left side of her head. She sets her travel bag down on its wheels and works to get around the annoying interviewer.
"Jesus, Lenny, what's your problem?" She scowls. "That was my fucking ear."
"Lenny? Since when did you-" Brasco shakes his head. "Nevermind, I'll take it. So about the new merch-"
"Yeah yeah, whatever," she dismisses him quickly, "Greenlight all of 'em. I don't really care."
"Whaddya mean you don't care? You're the Champ! You're the hottest thing going right now not named Duncan Shepard of course... or Bert McAlroy... or Sidroy Covington... or Ahmya... Ragdoll-"
"Look, if you don't mind... I just want to focus on one thing right now... and that's beating Johnny Fringe tonight, alright?"
"Oh yeah, right..." Brasco and the cameraman both matched her pace as she walked towards the back of the building. "A lot of us were really worried about you. We were kinda starting to think that-"
"What? That I wouldn't show?" Lockheart stopped in her tracks. "What kind of ridiculous shit is that?"
"No... well... uhh... I just mean that uhh..." Lenny shrugged. "He is a lot bigger than you."
"Yeah no shit!" Lockheart turned and pointed a finger in Brasco's chest. "With the exception of a few, everyone's bigger than me. But that doesn't stop me, does it? Not here, not now, not ever. I've fought 'em all from Atlantic City, to Baltimore, to Indianapolis, Chicago, and now add Reno to that list... and you know something? Every time I've stepped foot in the ring with one of these so-called monsters... these so-called 'demons'... I've never once flinched, let alone back down."
"But tonight is going to be different in a way. See, normally when someone calls themselves a demon they tend to be everything but... this time though I see the look in Johnny's eyes and I know that look all too well not to recognize it. Now I don't know Fringe's past, but I know pain when I see it. Tonight when I step into the ring with him, I'm not seeing a man who is new here in Level Up or an easy win heading into Devil May Cry. I'm seeing a man who wants to make his misery... my... misery."
Lockheart turns and looks at the camera.
"Well someone should warn Johnny, two can play that game. You want to swap miseries together like trading cards and compare? That's just my game. The big, bad demon of New Orleans wants to see what the Personal Demon Final Boss of Level Up is all about? Then he's going to feel an awful lot like deja vu when he... looks at what he just made me do."
You have reached the voice mailbox of... Magdalena Lockheart... at the tone, please record your message.
Beeeeeeeppp
- Maggie, it's Amber. Listen, before you hang up or delete this just hear me out, okay? I'm sorry. I know that night in the bar you were only trying to make things right. I didn't think you were going about it the right way at the time, but I was wrong to flat out tell you no. I should have listened, or at least, done a better job of communicating why I felt the way that I did. I think we both could do better at that. I think if we sat down and really talked it out, maybe we could come to some sort of compromise that we both could agree on.
The truth is, I can't stand to see you like this. I didn't work my ass off to nurse you back to health just to be the reason that you want to throw it all away again. You were given a second chance... WE were given a second chance... and we both were just too stubborn to realize how precious that chance really is. Even if we can't patch things up between us, I... I... well, uhm...
I just want you to be alright.