Post by Aurora Knight on Jun 15, 2016 21:48:29 GMT -5
Quinn Residence
Long Beach, CA
Sunday, June 12, 2016
An elegant looking older woman sat on a pure white sofa, her feet drawn up beside her as she held the remote control in her hand. Her long, golden brown hair spilled past her shoulders, draping softly over the pillows behind her. She turned on the television, flipping through the channels until she came across an episode of TMZ. She froze, her hazel eyes locked on the screen as she gazed upon a familiar face she hadn’t seen in four years…
Woman: Aurora….
Reporter on TV: We got a couple of wrestlers from NGW coming out of the Long Beach Superior Courthouse…
She spoke in a whisper, her voice bearing the hint of a Spanish accent as she stared at her daughter and the mysterious tattooed young man that stood at her side. She scrutinized the man’s features… brilliant green eyes, sculpted brown hair, and enough tattoos to cover a mural.
Woman: That’s not Jered…. Ian!!!
She yelled out, never taking her eyes off of the screen, and it wasn’t long before an older, gray-haired gentleman with light skin and blue eyes entered the room, looking at the woman as if she had just interrupted his life’s work.
Ian: Damn it, Lorena, this had better be important. I’ve got a major client on hold right now, and I…
Lorena: Mira, mi amór. (Look, my love). It’s Aurora!
Lorena pointed at the screen, showing Aurora and the tattooed young man talking to the TMZ camera crew as they stood on the courthouse steps. A disapproving Ian snatched the remote control from Lorena’s hand.
Ian: Who?
With a look of disgust on his face, he turned off the television, tossing the remote down to the sofa as he glared at his wife. The look of hurt on her face was immeasurable, as if she was less than a second away from tears.
Lorena: Ian! That was our only DAUGHTER on that screen! How could you just shut the TV off like that?
Ian: She’s no daughter of mine!
Lorena: Ian…
Ian glared at Lorena even harder, his pale skin turning redder by the second.
Ian: She made her choice the night she chose to run off with that… DELINQUENT!
Lorena scowled at her husband, her eyes narrowed to the point where it was a wonder that she could still see. Ian matched her look with an equally angry expression.
Lorena: You forced her hand when you pointed a SHOTGUN at him! You may be willing to erase her existence, but I can’t! I carried that girl for nine months; I fed her, I raised her while you hardly gave her or any of our children the time of day. She is our ONLY daughter, Ian. She needed you to be there for her, and you pushed her away. If anything, YOU made the choice for her to leave….
Ian: Yeah, and now SHE has to live with that choice. Her and that jackass husband of hers…
Lorena: I don’t think he’s in the picture anymore. You remember how possessive he was of Aurora…
Ian closed in on Lorena with rage in his eyes. For her part, the lovely Spaniard stood her ground.
Ian: Damn it, woman! Don’t say that name in this house!
She hauled off with her right hand, cracking Ian across the cheek. As he recoiled from the blow, angry tears streamed down her face.
Lorena: You heartless bastard! I never would have married you if I had known you would be so cruel to your own flesh and blood. At times like this, I wish I had never left Spain….
She stormed out of the room, leaving Ian to stew in his own anger. His eyes turned to the remote control that he had tossed aside earlier. He picked it up, his thumb hovering over the power button. The red slowly began to fade from his face as his expression softened.
Ian: I suppose one quick look wouldn’t hurt… just to see if she’s okay.
He pushed the power button, but as the television powered back on, TMZ had already progressed to the next segment. Ian let out a frustrated growl as he once again shut the television off, dropping the remote and leaving the room.
Quinn Residence
Long Beach, CA
Monday, June 13, 2016
The exterior of Aurora’s childhood home was much like she remembered it: boxy and covered in terracotta colored stucco, with stone tiling decorating the lower half of the ground floor. A white security screen door marked the home’s front entrance, and a white Ford Focus sat in the driveway, parked in front of the fence that led to the back yard. Across the street, a black Dodge Charger pulled into a vacant parking spot, its engine ripping through the silence of the quiet neighborhood. The engine cut off, and Damon emerged from the driver’s side door, dressed in faded blue jeans and a black Social Distortion t-shirt. On the passenger’s side, Aurora stepped out onto the curb, leaning against the car as she stared at her parents’ house, sighing deeply. Damon looked over at her, seeing the nervousness in her eyes.
Damon: You know, we don’t have to do this today.
Aurora closed her eyes, drumming her fingers on the roof of the car; slow at first, then gradually picking up speed.
Aurora: It’s been four years since I’ve seen them, Damon. Part of me wants to charge up to that door, get in my father’s face, and tell him to go fuck himself. But deep down, there’s another part of me that wants to say “You were right, daddy.”
Damon looked at Aurora in total disbelief at the words that had just fallen from her lips.
Damon: MY Angel of Rebellion admitting someone else was right? Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?
“Girlfriend…”
For Aurora, it was a word she was still getting used to hearing. The fact that it was Damon – her tag team partner – calling her that made it seem just a little more awkward, but it was a feeling that was gradually starting to fade. It had happened so quickly, but then again, Aurora had always been the type to fall fast – and hard – when it came to love.
And there it was… the dreaded “L word” finding its way into her mind. It was the ultimate four-letter word that could either be the ultimate blessing, or could bring about her ultimate ruin.
Aurora: Very funny. It’s the part of me that doesn’t want to admit he was right that is telling me to just say to hell with it and get out of here.
Damon: So why aren’t you getting back in the car?
Aurora paused, her eyes darting between Damon and the front door. Damon’s eyes were full of encouragement, but the door filled her with nothing but dread. Damon sighed, holding his hand out across the roof of the car as he gestured for her to come to the other side.
Damon: I’ll tell you what… I’ll walk up there with you.
The reassuring look in his eyes put her at ease as she made her way over to the driver’s side of the car. Clasping her hand in his, she took a deep breath as they crossed the street. She thought she had seen a slight movement in the window, but that turned out to be the reflection of a tree branch bending gently from the wind. Still, it was enough to force a lump into her throat. She balled up her fist, raising it up to the white metal security screen.
Aurora: Well, here goes….
She rapped her knuckles on the door, sending a loud clanging noise that flushed a pair of pigeons out of a tree in the front yard. Aurora and Damon waited for someone to come to the door….
No one came. She knocked again… no response.[/color]
Damon: Looks like no one’s home.
Aurora: Hold on… I wanna try something.
She hunted around beside the front porch, pulling up a plain, unassuming rock about the size of a softball. She smirked at Damon, shaking her head.
Damon: What are you gonna do? Bust the window?
Aurora: Nope…
She turned the rock over, exposing a hidden compartment on the underside of the rock. She reached inside, pulling out a spare house key.
Aurora: Being a locksmith, you’d think my father would learn to not keep the master key by the front porch….
Damon stood there, astonished as he watched Aurora stick the key into the screen door’s lock, a mischievous grin on her face. Once that door was opened, she used the same key on the main door lock. The door opened with a slow creak.
Aurora: Come on in, Puddin’. I’d take you to my room, but… you know.
Damon: Right… it’s now your Dad’s “man cave”.
Aurora’s eyes suddenly lit up, and she grabbed Damon’s hand, pulling him through the house until they reached a seemingly out of place door.
Damon: I’m almost afraid to ask where this leads to…
Aurora: Just the basement. I want to check and see if my dad still keeps what I think he does down there…
The door to the basement opened, and Aurora flipped the switch, leading Damon down the stairs toward a large object covered by a green tarp. Excited, Aurora rubbed her hands together and pulled back the tarp, revealing an industrial key cutting machine.
Aurora: Motherfuckin’ jackpot! Wait here; I’ll be right back.
With an enthusiastic squeal, she tapped Damon on the nose and bounced up the stairs, leaving Damon leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
Damon: What the hell did I get myself into?
Not even a minute had passed when Damon heard the sound of jingling keys and footsteps approaching. As Aurora came down the stairs, she smiled as she held a set of keys attached to an odd-looking spongey yellow keychain.
Damon: What in the hell is that?
Aurora: The key to our accommodations in San Diego. Or at least it will be once I make copies. Just give me a minute or two…
Damon: I’ll go keep an eye out while you work.
Damon walked up the stairs out of the basement while Aurora picked up a pair of safety goggles, ready to get to work.
As Damon left to stand watch, Aurora stood in front of the key cutter, the safety goggles covering her eyes. The key that would grant her access to her parents’ yacht was already set into the machine, and she had just finished securing the blank key into position. She pulled up a large wooden stool and sat down, pulling her hair out of the way and into a ponytail.
Aurora: You like to think of yourself as the proverbial big fish in the small pond, don’t you, Drake?
She picked up the keychain the original key had been attached to, running her fingers against the smooth, glossy surface. She squeezed it gently, feeling the air being forced out of it as she tightened her grip.
Aurora: You have this idea that no one can touch you… that no matter how hard they try, they will never measure up to what you’re capable of in the ring. Sorry to burst your bubble, Princie… but that will soon come to an end this Saturday. Because as we all know, there’s always a bigger fish.
She fired up the key cutting machine, grinding away at the blank key so that it matched the notches in the original key perfectly. The process itself didn’t take very long. Just a few quick rounds with that razor sharp blade, and she pulled out a perfectly made copy of the key.
Aurora: I’ll bet you never wanted for anything as a child, did you, Drake? Even now, you don’t care how you get anything, so long as whatever hot little item you want finds its way into your hands, you don’t care what you do, or who you have to go through in order to get it?
Funny how things line up. You see, I’m pretty much the same way. If I see something I want, I go after it. And I do whatever it takes in order to get it. The only difference is that I actually WORK for everything that I have! Sure, I’ve had a couple of good connections that have helped me along the way; met the right people, but when I step through those ropes, it’s all on me to show those people that they made a damn good investment!
But you? You walk around with your nose in the air, acting like the whole damn world should just bow down and kiss your feet just for existing. Well, I can tell you right now that there’s at least one person in NGW that would just as soon spit in your face, and you’re looking at her.
She ran the key against the buffer, making sure every edge carved into the key she had made was nice and smooth. Satisfied with her work, she stuffed the key into her pocket, then removed the goggles, hanging them up on a pegboard behind the key cutter.
Aurora: Up until now, you’ve had it fairly easy… a few newbie scrubs, some old fart that thought he could hang in the ring with a bunch of 20-somethings…. Hell, the only real challenge you had was Dean Judas, and the only reason you got out of that match in one piece was because the guy disappeared. No… this time, you’re actually going to have to do something other than act like a colossal attention whore everywhere you go.
The plus side to all of this is that at Vendetta, all eyes will be exactly where you want them to be; on you. The down side? They’ll be watching you get the living shit kicked out of you all over that ring! As for that snobby little British crumpet of yours, I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she has to scrape your ass off the canvas and haul your carcass up the ramp.
You know, it’s going to be fun watching you squirm, when the realization that your normal mind games won’t work on me, because I’m nowhere near as stupid as some of the other jabronis you’ve beaten in the ring.
She hopped down from the stool, locking up the key cutter and replacing the tarp over it, like it had never been touched in the first place. She cast a quick glance to the basement door, watching for any sign of Damon before walking through the rest of the basement, walking down a wide aisle lined with boxes labeled “X-Mas decorations” and “Old Books”. She stopped at an open box filled with empty picture frames, all of them old and covered in a thick layer of dust.
Aurora: What do you see when you look in the mirror, Drake? Do you visualize the Unified Heavyweight Championship belt around your waist as you stand there, like a goddamned peacock with his tail feathers on full display? Because as much as you like to talk about how good you are… I swear, if I had a nickel for every time you said that, I’d be a fucking billionaire by now! It’s easy to talk about yourself like you’re the biggest thing since the invention of the timekeeper’s bell when you’re put up against people that don’t stand a chance against you in the ring. But when you’re put up against someone that can actually put up a decent fight, you’re going to find out just how good you AREN’T. It’s not about how much you run your mouth on the microphone; it’s how much punishment you can not only dish out, but how much you can take. I may not look like much, but I’ve held my own against bigger men – BETTER men than you could ever hope to be. It’s cliché, yeah. But then again, so is going around, calling yourself a prince just because no one bothered to knock your head out of the clouds.
That ends now.
You’re no prince, Drake. You’re just another douchebag in tights with an ego the size of Andre the Giant and a mouth the size of the RMS Titanic. Your ego makes you run your mouth thinking no one can stop you. Billy Ray Roberts? He couldn’t get it done. Neither could Joey Miles. I watched that match from my locker room… you got in a couple of hits on the old man before you took a chair to the back, then you were pretty much twiddling your thumbs until you saw an opening, took the old fart out of the equation, then pinned Miles. Typical. You let them do all the real heavy lifting, then swooped in like a vulture to pick at their bones in the end.
She ran a finger along one of the top of the picture frames, revealing the rich dark finish underneath the thick layer of dust. She brushed the dust off of her finger, then leaned against the wall beside a plastic bin, the contents of which she couldn’t discern.
Aurora: This time, it’s just the two of us, Drake. No third wheel for you to sit in the corner and watch me beat the shit out of while you bide your time. There won’t be any coasting for an easy victory this time, because you face your most dangerous challenge since you signed your contract. If you don’t think I’m that much of a step up from your other opponents, then you’re more than welcome to step through those ropes so that I can make you eat every last word that comes out of that noise hole you call a mouth.
This is going to be my sweetest victory yet, because after I wipe that smug look off your face and leave you on your back, after the referee raises MY hand, I’ll be that much closer to a title shot. As for you?
She dragged her finger through the dust on another picture frame. Once the digit was caked in a layer of dark gray, she held it up in front of her face. With a quick, barely audible chuckle, Aurora blew the dust off of her finger, sending the debris into a dancing swirl of particles that slowly wound their way down to whatever surface found itself beneath them.
Aurora: You will be left behind, covered by a cloud of dust. Sure, you’ll be able to shake the dust off, but how will you handle being force fed the biggest piece of humble pie known to man? How long before you can wash the bitter taste of your defeat out of your mouth when you realize that as good as you think you are… I’m going to prove that I’m just that much better than you? Think about that when you wake up Sunday morning… and you have to face your girlfriend as a loser.
Silly boy… you think everyone wants the life you lead. But after this Saturday, the last person you’re going to want to look at is the man in the mirror. The era of Drake Hunter? That’s getting tossed aside like used athletic tape. There’s only room for one of us in the spotlight, Hunter, and I’m not about to give up my place just yet. I am the Angel of Rebellion, and I step aside for NO ONE, let alone some punk that calls himself a prince.
This Saturday, I will step up and take what’s mine, whether you like it or not. And by the way, you might want to pull your nose out of the air… you’re liable to wind up with a nosebleed.
Just behind the box of frames, tucked away almost out of sight, was a dust-covered cardboard box. She pushed past the frames to get a closer look; her name was scrawled on the side of the box. Chuckling to herself, she crossed her arms.
Aurora: Figures the old man would cram my stuff in the darkest corner of the basement he could find. That’s his way of trying to forget, I guess. Just like you, Drake Hunter. You can bury this loss in the darkest corner of your mind… let that other voice that lives there tell you that I never beat you… Let that memory gather more dust than this box, but one way or another, that moment when the ring announcer calls out my name as the winner of the match is going to haunt you.
Speaking of haunting…
Aurora reached toward the box with her name on the side, and with her finger, scrawled “Aurora was here” on the top. Brushing the dust off of her hands, she made her way out of the basement, turning off the light and shutting the door.
Aurora: Let’s go… I got what I came here for.
Long Beach, CA
Sunday, June 12, 2016
An elegant looking older woman sat on a pure white sofa, her feet drawn up beside her as she held the remote control in her hand. Her long, golden brown hair spilled past her shoulders, draping softly over the pillows behind her. She turned on the television, flipping through the channels until she came across an episode of TMZ. She froze, her hazel eyes locked on the screen as she gazed upon a familiar face she hadn’t seen in four years…
Woman: Aurora….
Reporter on TV: We got a couple of wrestlers from NGW coming out of the Long Beach Superior Courthouse…
She spoke in a whisper, her voice bearing the hint of a Spanish accent as she stared at her daughter and the mysterious tattooed young man that stood at her side. She scrutinized the man’s features… brilliant green eyes, sculpted brown hair, and enough tattoos to cover a mural.
Woman: That’s not Jered…. Ian!!!
She yelled out, never taking her eyes off of the screen, and it wasn’t long before an older, gray-haired gentleman with light skin and blue eyes entered the room, looking at the woman as if she had just interrupted his life’s work.
Ian: Damn it, Lorena, this had better be important. I’ve got a major client on hold right now, and I…
Lorena: Mira, mi amór. (Look, my love). It’s Aurora!
Lorena pointed at the screen, showing Aurora and the tattooed young man talking to the TMZ camera crew as they stood on the courthouse steps. A disapproving Ian snatched the remote control from Lorena’s hand.
Ian: Who?
With a look of disgust on his face, he turned off the television, tossing the remote down to the sofa as he glared at his wife. The look of hurt on her face was immeasurable, as if she was less than a second away from tears.
Lorena: Ian! That was our only DAUGHTER on that screen! How could you just shut the TV off like that?
Ian: She’s no daughter of mine!
Lorena: Ian…
Ian glared at Lorena even harder, his pale skin turning redder by the second.
Ian: She made her choice the night she chose to run off with that… DELINQUENT!
Lorena scowled at her husband, her eyes narrowed to the point where it was a wonder that she could still see. Ian matched her look with an equally angry expression.
Lorena: You forced her hand when you pointed a SHOTGUN at him! You may be willing to erase her existence, but I can’t! I carried that girl for nine months; I fed her, I raised her while you hardly gave her or any of our children the time of day. She is our ONLY daughter, Ian. She needed you to be there for her, and you pushed her away. If anything, YOU made the choice for her to leave….
Ian: Yeah, and now SHE has to live with that choice. Her and that jackass husband of hers…
Lorena: I don’t think he’s in the picture anymore. You remember how possessive he was of Aurora…
Ian closed in on Lorena with rage in his eyes. For her part, the lovely Spaniard stood her ground.
Ian: Damn it, woman! Don’t say that name in this house!
She hauled off with her right hand, cracking Ian across the cheek. As he recoiled from the blow, angry tears streamed down her face.
Lorena: You heartless bastard! I never would have married you if I had known you would be so cruel to your own flesh and blood. At times like this, I wish I had never left Spain….
She stormed out of the room, leaving Ian to stew in his own anger. His eyes turned to the remote control that he had tossed aside earlier. He picked it up, his thumb hovering over the power button. The red slowly began to fade from his face as his expression softened.
Ian: I suppose one quick look wouldn’t hurt… just to see if she’s okay.
He pushed the power button, but as the television powered back on, TMZ had already progressed to the next segment. Ian let out a frustrated growl as he once again shut the television off, dropping the remote and leaving the room.
Quinn Residence
Long Beach, CA
Monday, June 13, 2016
The exterior of Aurora’s childhood home was much like she remembered it: boxy and covered in terracotta colored stucco, with stone tiling decorating the lower half of the ground floor. A white security screen door marked the home’s front entrance, and a white Ford Focus sat in the driveway, parked in front of the fence that led to the back yard. Across the street, a black Dodge Charger pulled into a vacant parking spot, its engine ripping through the silence of the quiet neighborhood. The engine cut off, and Damon emerged from the driver’s side door, dressed in faded blue jeans and a black Social Distortion t-shirt. On the passenger’s side, Aurora stepped out onto the curb, leaning against the car as she stared at her parents’ house, sighing deeply. Damon looked over at her, seeing the nervousness in her eyes.
Damon: You know, we don’t have to do this today.
Aurora closed her eyes, drumming her fingers on the roof of the car; slow at first, then gradually picking up speed.
Aurora: It’s been four years since I’ve seen them, Damon. Part of me wants to charge up to that door, get in my father’s face, and tell him to go fuck himself. But deep down, there’s another part of me that wants to say “You were right, daddy.”
Damon looked at Aurora in total disbelief at the words that had just fallen from her lips.
Damon: MY Angel of Rebellion admitting someone else was right? Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?
“Girlfriend…”
For Aurora, it was a word she was still getting used to hearing. The fact that it was Damon – her tag team partner – calling her that made it seem just a little more awkward, but it was a feeling that was gradually starting to fade. It had happened so quickly, but then again, Aurora had always been the type to fall fast – and hard – when it came to love.
And there it was… the dreaded “L word” finding its way into her mind. It was the ultimate four-letter word that could either be the ultimate blessing, or could bring about her ultimate ruin.
Aurora: Very funny. It’s the part of me that doesn’t want to admit he was right that is telling me to just say to hell with it and get out of here.
Damon: So why aren’t you getting back in the car?
Aurora paused, her eyes darting between Damon and the front door. Damon’s eyes were full of encouragement, but the door filled her with nothing but dread. Damon sighed, holding his hand out across the roof of the car as he gestured for her to come to the other side.
Damon: I’ll tell you what… I’ll walk up there with you.
The reassuring look in his eyes put her at ease as she made her way over to the driver’s side of the car. Clasping her hand in his, she took a deep breath as they crossed the street. She thought she had seen a slight movement in the window, but that turned out to be the reflection of a tree branch bending gently from the wind. Still, it was enough to force a lump into her throat. She balled up her fist, raising it up to the white metal security screen.
Aurora: Well, here goes….
She rapped her knuckles on the door, sending a loud clanging noise that flushed a pair of pigeons out of a tree in the front yard. Aurora and Damon waited for someone to come to the door….
No one came. She knocked again… no response.[/color]
Damon: Looks like no one’s home.
Aurora: Hold on… I wanna try something.
She hunted around beside the front porch, pulling up a plain, unassuming rock about the size of a softball. She smirked at Damon, shaking her head.
Damon: What are you gonna do? Bust the window?
Aurora: Nope…
She turned the rock over, exposing a hidden compartment on the underside of the rock. She reached inside, pulling out a spare house key.
Aurora: Being a locksmith, you’d think my father would learn to not keep the master key by the front porch….
Damon stood there, astonished as he watched Aurora stick the key into the screen door’s lock, a mischievous grin on her face. Once that door was opened, she used the same key on the main door lock. The door opened with a slow creak.
Aurora: Come on in, Puddin’. I’d take you to my room, but… you know.
Damon: Right… it’s now your Dad’s “man cave”.
Aurora’s eyes suddenly lit up, and she grabbed Damon’s hand, pulling him through the house until they reached a seemingly out of place door.
Damon: I’m almost afraid to ask where this leads to…
Aurora: Just the basement. I want to check and see if my dad still keeps what I think he does down there…
The door to the basement opened, and Aurora flipped the switch, leading Damon down the stairs toward a large object covered by a green tarp. Excited, Aurora rubbed her hands together and pulled back the tarp, revealing an industrial key cutting machine.
Aurora: Motherfuckin’ jackpot! Wait here; I’ll be right back.
With an enthusiastic squeal, she tapped Damon on the nose and bounced up the stairs, leaving Damon leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
Damon: What the hell did I get myself into?
Not even a minute had passed when Damon heard the sound of jingling keys and footsteps approaching. As Aurora came down the stairs, she smiled as she held a set of keys attached to an odd-looking spongey yellow keychain.
Damon: What in the hell is that?
Aurora: The key to our accommodations in San Diego. Or at least it will be once I make copies. Just give me a minute or two…
Damon: I’ll go keep an eye out while you work.
Damon walked up the stairs out of the basement while Aurora picked up a pair of safety goggles, ready to get to work.
As Damon left to stand watch, Aurora stood in front of the key cutter, the safety goggles covering her eyes. The key that would grant her access to her parents’ yacht was already set into the machine, and she had just finished securing the blank key into position. She pulled up a large wooden stool and sat down, pulling her hair out of the way and into a ponytail.
Aurora: You like to think of yourself as the proverbial big fish in the small pond, don’t you, Drake?
She picked up the keychain the original key had been attached to, running her fingers against the smooth, glossy surface. She squeezed it gently, feeling the air being forced out of it as she tightened her grip.
Aurora: You have this idea that no one can touch you… that no matter how hard they try, they will never measure up to what you’re capable of in the ring. Sorry to burst your bubble, Princie… but that will soon come to an end this Saturday. Because as we all know, there’s always a bigger fish.
She fired up the key cutting machine, grinding away at the blank key so that it matched the notches in the original key perfectly. The process itself didn’t take very long. Just a few quick rounds with that razor sharp blade, and she pulled out a perfectly made copy of the key.
Aurora: I’ll bet you never wanted for anything as a child, did you, Drake? Even now, you don’t care how you get anything, so long as whatever hot little item you want finds its way into your hands, you don’t care what you do, or who you have to go through in order to get it?
Funny how things line up. You see, I’m pretty much the same way. If I see something I want, I go after it. And I do whatever it takes in order to get it. The only difference is that I actually WORK for everything that I have! Sure, I’ve had a couple of good connections that have helped me along the way; met the right people, but when I step through those ropes, it’s all on me to show those people that they made a damn good investment!
But you? You walk around with your nose in the air, acting like the whole damn world should just bow down and kiss your feet just for existing. Well, I can tell you right now that there’s at least one person in NGW that would just as soon spit in your face, and you’re looking at her.
She ran the key against the buffer, making sure every edge carved into the key she had made was nice and smooth. Satisfied with her work, she stuffed the key into her pocket, then removed the goggles, hanging them up on a pegboard behind the key cutter.
Aurora: Up until now, you’ve had it fairly easy… a few newbie scrubs, some old fart that thought he could hang in the ring with a bunch of 20-somethings…. Hell, the only real challenge you had was Dean Judas, and the only reason you got out of that match in one piece was because the guy disappeared. No… this time, you’re actually going to have to do something other than act like a colossal attention whore everywhere you go.
The plus side to all of this is that at Vendetta, all eyes will be exactly where you want them to be; on you. The down side? They’ll be watching you get the living shit kicked out of you all over that ring! As for that snobby little British crumpet of yours, I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she has to scrape your ass off the canvas and haul your carcass up the ramp.
You know, it’s going to be fun watching you squirm, when the realization that your normal mind games won’t work on me, because I’m nowhere near as stupid as some of the other jabronis you’ve beaten in the ring.
She hopped down from the stool, locking up the key cutter and replacing the tarp over it, like it had never been touched in the first place. She cast a quick glance to the basement door, watching for any sign of Damon before walking through the rest of the basement, walking down a wide aisle lined with boxes labeled “X-Mas decorations” and “Old Books”. She stopped at an open box filled with empty picture frames, all of them old and covered in a thick layer of dust.
Aurora: What do you see when you look in the mirror, Drake? Do you visualize the Unified Heavyweight Championship belt around your waist as you stand there, like a goddamned peacock with his tail feathers on full display? Because as much as you like to talk about how good you are… I swear, if I had a nickel for every time you said that, I’d be a fucking billionaire by now! It’s easy to talk about yourself like you’re the biggest thing since the invention of the timekeeper’s bell when you’re put up against people that don’t stand a chance against you in the ring. But when you’re put up against someone that can actually put up a decent fight, you’re going to find out just how good you AREN’T. It’s not about how much you run your mouth on the microphone; it’s how much punishment you can not only dish out, but how much you can take. I may not look like much, but I’ve held my own against bigger men – BETTER men than you could ever hope to be. It’s cliché, yeah. But then again, so is going around, calling yourself a prince just because no one bothered to knock your head out of the clouds.
That ends now.
You’re no prince, Drake. You’re just another douchebag in tights with an ego the size of Andre the Giant and a mouth the size of the RMS Titanic. Your ego makes you run your mouth thinking no one can stop you. Billy Ray Roberts? He couldn’t get it done. Neither could Joey Miles. I watched that match from my locker room… you got in a couple of hits on the old man before you took a chair to the back, then you were pretty much twiddling your thumbs until you saw an opening, took the old fart out of the equation, then pinned Miles. Typical. You let them do all the real heavy lifting, then swooped in like a vulture to pick at their bones in the end.
She ran a finger along one of the top of the picture frames, revealing the rich dark finish underneath the thick layer of dust. She brushed the dust off of her finger, then leaned against the wall beside a plastic bin, the contents of which she couldn’t discern.
Aurora: This time, it’s just the two of us, Drake. No third wheel for you to sit in the corner and watch me beat the shit out of while you bide your time. There won’t be any coasting for an easy victory this time, because you face your most dangerous challenge since you signed your contract. If you don’t think I’m that much of a step up from your other opponents, then you’re more than welcome to step through those ropes so that I can make you eat every last word that comes out of that noise hole you call a mouth.
This is going to be my sweetest victory yet, because after I wipe that smug look off your face and leave you on your back, after the referee raises MY hand, I’ll be that much closer to a title shot. As for you?
She dragged her finger through the dust on another picture frame. Once the digit was caked in a layer of dark gray, she held it up in front of her face. With a quick, barely audible chuckle, Aurora blew the dust off of her finger, sending the debris into a dancing swirl of particles that slowly wound their way down to whatever surface found itself beneath them.
Aurora: You will be left behind, covered by a cloud of dust. Sure, you’ll be able to shake the dust off, but how will you handle being force fed the biggest piece of humble pie known to man? How long before you can wash the bitter taste of your defeat out of your mouth when you realize that as good as you think you are… I’m going to prove that I’m just that much better than you? Think about that when you wake up Sunday morning… and you have to face your girlfriend as a loser.
Silly boy… you think everyone wants the life you lead. But after this Saturday, the last person you’re going to want to look at is the man in the mirror. The era of Drake Hunter? That’s getting tossed aside like used athletic tape. There’s only room for one of us in the spotlight, Hunter, and I’m not about to give up my place just yet. I am the Angel of Rebellion, and I step aside for NO ONE, let alone some punk that calls himself a prince.
This Saturday, I will step up and take what’s mine, whether you like it or not. And by the way, you might want to pull your nose out of the air… you’re liable to wind up with a nosebleed.
Just behind the box of frames, tucked away almost out of sight, was a dust-covered cardboard box. She pushed past the frames to get a closer look; her name was scrawled on the side of the box. Chuckling to herself, she crossed her arms.
Aurora: Figures the old man would cram my stuff in the darkest corner of the basement he could find. That’s his way of trying to forget, I guess. Just like you, Drake Hunter. You can bury this loss in the darkest corner of your mind… let that other voice that lives there tell you that I never beat you… Let that memory gather more dust than this box, but one way or another, that moment when the ring announcer calls out my name as the winner of the match is going to haunt you.
Speaking of haunting…
Aurora reached toward the box with her name on the side, and with her finger, scrawled “Aurora was here” on the top. Brushing the dust off of her hands, she made her way out of the basement, turning off the light and shutting the door.
Aurora: Let’s go… I got what I came here for.