Post by Helena Sawyer on Jul 17, 2017 3:38:09 GMT
Monday Night Sacrifice
July 10, 2017
Madrid, Spain
Grace rushed through the backstage area of the Barclaycard Center, head whipping back and forth as she scanned each doorway and corridor for her quarry. "Goddammit Shelly..." she muttered under her breath, hopping over an equipment flat left haphazardly in the middle of the corridor. "Vanish on me for a fucking month, and then when I catch up you don't even say anything? What kind of bullshit..." Grace turns a corner, spotting a stagehand in an IWF polo shirt, and stalks towards him, eyes narrowed. "Hey!"
The stagehand turned to face her, clearly startled, and pulled one ear of his headset off. "Uh, miss, you're not supposed to be back here. This area is strictly for crew and person—"
"I know what the rules are." Grace shot back at him, voice practically roiling with her lack of patience for the man. "I need you to answer me a question: where is Helena Sawyer? I need to speak with her."
The stagehand shakes his head again, nervously glancing down at his clipboard. "I can't tell you that. Talent accommodations are strictly need-to-know information."
Grace paused for a second, something in her eyes flashing, and she grabbed the stagehand by the lapels, dragging him over to the wall and pinning him there. The clipboard he had been holding clattered to the concrete with a noisy rattle, and Grace's voice was a growl as she fixed the stagehand with an intense stare. "No, let me tell you something. I need to know. I need to speak with her. I NEED to find out how she got here. I've been trying to track her down for weeks. This. Is. Important. So TELL ME."
The stagehand quailed under her grip, nodding hurriedly. "I-I know she was in Locker Room Six! Down the next hallway, on the right! I swear, that's all I know! Don't hurt me!" Grace released her grip on the stagehand, and he dropped several inches to the floor, looking up at her for a brief moment in fear before scrambling and running down the other hall away from her, not stopping to look back.
Grace exhaled slowly through her nose, cheek twitching as she looked down the hallway in the direction the stagehand had indicated. "Finally." she muttered, stalking towards the locker room. "Some goddamn answers..." Grace pushed the door open, calling out with frustration in her voice. "Shelly? I know you're back here. The stagehand said you would be!" She looks around the room, her eyes settling on a gym bag with a small note folded atop it. Grace walks over to the bag, reaching down and picking up the note. The front of the note simply reads "ANGEL". Grace shakes her head silently, and unfolds the note, reading carefully.
If you're reading this, then I'm sorry. I meant to call you, get ahold of you, but every time I wake up, it's somewhere different, somewhen different. I don't know the next time I'm going to get a chance to get in contact with you. I just had a few seconds at ringside before this, and...well, you saw what Abigal was doing.
I really was going to go visit some friends out in Ohio. I promise I didn't lie to you. I should have told you sooner that I've been having these blackouts lately. They weren't for more than a few minutes before. I thought I was just spacing out and losing track of time, but I remember driving to the airport, and the next thing I know I woke up in Belfast. My phone was missing, I was in a hotel room I didn't recognize, and I had all my wrestling things with me.
I caught a bit of tonight. I know where we are. I'm going to try to hold on as long as I can, but I don't know when the next blackout is going to come. I'm worried, Gracie. I don't know what I've been doing. I can't remember anything between the gaps. I don't want this. I want to go home. I want to go home with you, and Merrill, and leave this all behind again. I miss the quiet.
I can't explain everything in a letter. I don't even know how to start explaining most of it. I just hope you never have to read this, and we can be together again. I never wanted to hurt you. I know I have, and I don't know how I can make it up to you, but I'm going to do everything I can. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.
I love you.
Michelle
Grace stared at the paper for a long, hard-eyed second, taking a deep breath before she folded it back up and slipped it into a pocket. Her eyes drifted down to the bag, and without thinking, Grace reached in, opening the bag and beginning to search through. She waded through a few articles of street clothing, before her hand found the form of a cellphone. She yanked it out of the bag, and a look of heartbreak flitted across her face as she recognized the Miskatonic University phone case.
She powered the phone on, and upon seeing the wallpaper, a picture of herself with Michelle, in unfamiliar circumstances and unfamiliar times, she slowly sank to the bench, shoulders slumping like the weight of the world had just draped itself across them. She closed her eyes again, tears beading at their corners, and whispered a muffled "Fuck" before hanging her head. One whispered plea slipped from her lips as her head hung low, barely audible to even the closest listener and twisted by a sob that threatened to wrack her entire body apart.
"God, what do I do now?"
A camcorder flicks on, revealing Helena Sawyer in a dusty stone building, ceilings vaulting high above her. She grins her impish smile, tilting her head as she looks into the camera lens.
"Back so soon! I told you I missed you, IWF, and I'm really not too fond of being away from the people I miss. Unless they decide to miss me. In which case...well, were they worth it? Maybe. Who knows? Speaking of people I missed playing with...ohhh Fiiiiifiiiii..."
Helena's voice takes on a taunting, sing-song quality as she stands up, walking down the stone corridor with a grin on her face. As she passes the shadows, they seem to stretch and warp slightly, more than the light should make them, but she pays them no mind, eyes firmly fixed on the camera.
"Fiona dear, it's nice to see you're threatening to take heads and still pounding on from your moral high ground! It's like you've taken my lessons to heart: talking solves nothing on its own. It needs to be married to violence to have any chance of sticking in these thick heads of theirs. Too bad for you, though: you're buta the student. I? I taught you everything you know about pain...but not everything I know."
She winks into the camera, rolling her wrists as she turns the camera to show the interior of a simple, Renaissance-era convent, made to withstand the elements instead of display the wealth of the Church. Helena reaches out, her fingernails idly trailing along the stone and making a light scraping noise as she walks, practically skipping with her joy.
"So it's time for another lesson, Fifi! Will I strip you bare this time, leave you in the middle of a country full of Catholics? Maybe I'll make you tap out, give you a little taste of my madness. Or...maybe you don't get the privilege of learning firsthand. Maybe you have to sit on the apron and watch poor Katie get taken apart. Watch, but don't interfere. You can't help her. Not like that. Suffering builds character, they say...and if that's true, then I've got character for the both of us, darling."
Helena giggles, spinning on her heel and coming about in another doorway, camera aimed at her face again. She waves quickly at the lens, unable to keep a grin off her face as she backs up, seemingly not caring where she steps as she weaves along.
"Speaking of Katie, hi there! Are you still cranky at things you can't control? Jealous of those who've received opportunities that should have been yours? Welcome to the club, girl! We've got so many things to talk about! Like the fact that you've been toiling along, singing your little lungs out, and never expected special treatment for it...and yet here's this bitch, shoving it in everyone's face every week. Didn't we tune in to see a wrestling show, not Ireland's Got No Talent? Boooriiiiing!"
She stifles a theatrical yawn, melting into a giggle as she skids to a halt just inside another, large room. She turns the camcorder, showing rows of stone pews, silent and unfilled. Helena's voice winds its way over the scene, speaking in a stage whisper as she takes in the dusty vista.
"But you, you've got some issues with Miss Fiona, don't you? So why don't you let Abigail and me take her to Monday school? Really put her in her place? There's only room for one siren in IWF, and she's certainly not some dusty relic like this place. No...no no no, she's a rock star. A real rock star. You could have it so much better, Katie...and it starts with dropping that harridan like a sack of bricks. We don't have to be holed up from the world, stuffed up ourself like Fiona is..."
Helena grins, turning the camera back to her face. She spins with the camera in hand, big, looping pirouettes, and as she spins, she turns the camera back out from herself. As she spins, the scenery seems to melt and warp, and as she slows to a halt she's revealed to be standing in the middle of the Adriatic Arena in Pesaro. Though empty, an electricity crackles in the air, and the bright arena lights shine down on Helena as she grins.
"When we could be on the big stage! Being real rock and rollers, living fast, dying young, and leaving a huge bar tab! That's what you want, right? To be a rockstar? Well, the first step to being a rockstar is to stir people up...and wouldn't it get them talking if you left Fifi to her own devices? I mean, you COULD try to fight alongside her, but..."
Helena reaches down, patting her right shin with a chuckle, and looks back up into the camera with a faux-sympathetic look on her face.
"...we all know what happens when you and I disagree, right? So, make your choice. She suffers, or you suffer. Either way, we learn something about you, Katie. I just hope you learn something about yourself."
Helena carefully sets the camcorder on the barricade, stepping back and smiling as she looks up at the ceiling.
"Oh, it's going to be so beautiful! Just you wait...just..."
The lights begin flickering, and as they flicker, Helena seems to jitter and bounce back and forth across the screen, flickering with them.
"...you..."
The lights flicker out for a long moment, and when they flicker on, Helena's face fills the screen, nose practically touching it as she leers at the audience with a toothy grin.
"Wait."
She snaps her teeth, laughing, and we smash to black again on the peals of her laughter.
Elsewhere
Elsewhen
Michelle's eyes slowly fluttered open to darkness. Her hand fumbled along, trying to find a wall, and the moment it did, she pulled herself up, scrambling for a light of some sort. Her hand found a pull chain, and Michelle yanked it, not particularly mindful of what was going on around her. The bare bulb overhead flickered to life, and Michelle looked around herself. Spare concrete walls, with a scratched mirror hanging from one of them and a thick metal door on the other, were all that greeted her. She stumbled over to the mirror, shaking her head in confusion. Staring back at her was the familiar, face-painted visage of Helena Sawyer...but instead of Helena's expressions, the ones staring back at her were her own of confusion and horror. She reached up to touch the paint, voice quivering. "Wh...where am I?"
Before her eyes, her body moved, seemingly of its own accord. Her expression slipped from dread to one of calm assurance, and she put a finger to her own lips. "Shh...shh...don't worry..." She felt the blackness clawing at the edge of her vision again, and Michelle struggled to move, but all that moved were her lips. Just before the blackness swallowed her vision again, she heard two more words, slipping from her lips like a snake.
"Just sleep."
And then she was gone.
July 10, 2017
Madrid, Spain
Grace rushed through the backstage area of the Barclaycard Center, head whipping back and forth as she scanned each doorway and corridor for her quarry. "Goddammit Shelly..." she muttered under her breath, hopping over an equipment flat left haphazardly in the middle of the corridor. "Vanish on me for a fucking month, and then when I catch up you don't even say anything? What kind of bullshit..." Grace turns a corner, spotting a stagehand in an IWF polo shirt, and stalks towards him, eyes narrowed. "Hey!"
The stagehand turned to face her, clearly startled, and pulled one ear of his headset off. "Uh, miss, you're not supposed to be back here. This area is strictly for crew and person—"
"I know what the rules are." Grace shot back at him, voice practically roiling with her lack of patience for the man. "I need you to answer me a question: where is Helena Sawyer? I need to speak with her."
The stagehand shakes his head again, nervously glancing down at his clipboard. "I can't tell you that. Talent accommodations are strictly need-to-know information."
Grace paused for a second, something in her eyes flashing, and she grabbed the stagehand by the lapels, dragging him over to the wall and pinning him there. The clipboard he had been holding clattered to the concrete with a noisy rattle, and Grace's voice was a growl as she fixed the stagehand with an intense stare. "No, let me tell you something. I need to know. I need to speak with her. I NEED to find out how she got here. I've been trying to track her down for weeks. This. Is. Important. So TELL ME."
The stagehand quailed under her grip, nodding hurriedly. "I-I know she was in Locker Room Six! Down the next hallway, on the right! I swear, that's all I know! Don't hurt me!" Grace released her grip on the stagehand, and he dropped several inches to the floor, looking up at her for a brief moment in fear before scrambling and running down the other hall away from her, not stopping to look back.
Grace exhaled slowly through her nose, cheek twitching as she looked down the hallway in the direction the stagehand had indicated. "Finally." she muttered, stalking towards the locker room. "Some goddamn answers..." Grace pushed the door open, calling out with frustration in her voice. "Shelly? I know you're back here. The stagehand said you would be!" She looks around the room, her eyes settling on a gym bag with a small note folded atop it. Grace walks over to the bag, reaching down and picking up the note. The front of the note simply reads "ANGEL". Grace shakes her head silently, and unfolds the note, reading carefully.
Jul 11, 2017 2:26:40 GMT Helena Sawyer said:
Grace,If you're reading this, then I'm sorry. I meant to call you, get ahold of you, but every time I wake up, it's somewhere different, somewhen different. I don't know the next time I'm going to get a chance to get in contact with you. I just had a few seconds at ringside before this, and...well, you saw what Abigal was doing.
I really was going to go visit some friends out in Ohio. I promise I didn't lie to you. I should have told you sooner that I've been having these blackouts lately. They weren't for more than a few minutes before. I thought I was just spacing out and losing track of time, but I remember driving to the airport, and the next thing I know I woke up in Belfast. My phone was missing, I was in a hotel room I didn't recognize, and I had all my wrestling things with me.
I caught a bit of tonight. I know where we are. I'm going to try to hold on as long as I can, but I don't know when the next blackout is going to come. I'm worried, Gracie. I don't know what I've been doing. I can't remember anything between the gaps. I don't want this. I want to go home. I want to go home with you, and Merrill, and leave this all behind again. I miss the quiet.
I can't explain everything in a letter. I don't even know how to start explaining most of it. I just hope you never have to read this, and we can be together again. I never wanted to hurt you. I know I have, and I don't know how I can make it up to you, but I'm going to do everything I can. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.
I love you.
Michelle
Grace stared at the paper for a long, hard-eyed second, taking a deep breath before she folded it back up and slipped it into a pocket. Her eyes drifted down to the bag, and without thinking, Grace reached in, opening the bag and beginning to search through. She waded through a few articles of street clothing, before her hand found the form of a cellphone. She yanked it out of the bag, and a look of heartbreak flitted across her face as she recognized the Miskatonic University phone case.
She powered the phone on, and upon seeing the wallpaper, a picture of herself with Michelle, in unfamiliar circumstances and unfamiliar times, she slowly sank to the bench, shoulders slumping like the weight of the world had just draped itself across them. She closed her eyes again, tears beading at their corners, and whispered a muffled "Fuck" before hanging her head. One whispered plea slipped from her lips as her head hung low, barely audible to even the closest listener and twisted by a sob that threatened to wrack her entire body apart.
"God, what do I do now?"
A camcorder flicks on, revealing Helena Sawyer in a dusty stone building, ceilings vaulting high above her. She grins her impish smile, tilting her head as she looks into the camera lens.
"Back so soon! I told you I missed you, IWF, and I'm really not too fond of being away from the people I miss. Unless they decide to miss me. In which case...well, were they worth it? Maybe. Who knows? Speaking of people I missed playing with...ohhh Fiiiiifiiiii..."
Helena's voice takes on a taunting, sing-song quality as she stands up, walking down the stone corridor with a grin on her face. As she passes the shadows, they seem to stretch and warp slightly, more than the light should make them, but she pays them no mind, eyes firmly fixed on the camera.
"Fiona dear, it's nice to see you're threatening to take heads and still pounding on from your moral high ground! It's like you've taken my lessons to heart: talking solves nothing on its own. It needs to be married to violence to have any chance of sticking in these thick heads of theirs. Too bad for you, though: you're buta the student. I? I taught you everything you know about pain...but not everything I know."
She winks into the camera, rolling her wrists as she turns the camera to show the interior of a simple, Renaissance-era convent, made to withstand the elements instead of display the wealth of the Church. Helena reaches out, her fingernails idly trailing along the stone and making a light scraping noise as she walks, practically skipping with her joy.
"So it's time for another lesson, Fifi! Will I strip you bare this time, leave you in the middle of a country full of Catholics? Maybe I'll make you tap out, give you a little taste of my madness. Or...maybe you don't get the privilege of learning firsthand. Maybe you have to sit on the apron and watch poor Katie get taken apart. Watch, but don't interfere. You can't help her. Not like that. Suffering builds character, they say...and if that's true, then I've got character for the both of us, darling."
Helena giggles, spinning on her heel and coming about in another doorway, camera aimed at her face again. She waves quickly at the lens, unable to keep a grin off her face as she backs up, seemingly not caring where she steps as she weaves along.
"Speaking of Katie, hi there! Are you still cranky at things you can't control? Jealous of those who've received opportunities that should have been yours? Welcome to the club, girl! We've got so many things to talk about! Like the fact that you've been toiling along, singing your little lungs out, and never expected special treatment for it...and yet here's this bitch, shoving it in everyone's face every week. Didn't we tune in to see a wrestling show, not Ireland's Got No Talent? Boooriiiiing!"
She stifles a theatrical yawn, melting into a giggle as she skids to a halt just inside another, large room. She turns the camcorder, showing rows of stone pews, silent and unfilled. Helena's voice winds its way over the scene, speaking in a stage whisper as she takes in the dusty vista.
"But you, you've got some issues with Miss Fiona, don't you? So why don't you let Abigail and me take her to Monday school? Really put her in her place? There's only room for one siren in IWF, and she's certainly not some dusty relic like this place. No...no no no, she's a rock star. A real rock star. You could have it so much better, Katie...and it starts with dropping that harridan like a sack of bricks. We don't have to be holed up from the world, stuffed up ourself like Fiona is..."
Helena grins, turning the camera back to her face. She spins with the camera in hand, big, looping pirouettes, and as she spins, she turns the camera back out from herself. As she spins, the scenery seems to melt and warp, and as she slows to a halt she's revealed to be standing in the middle of the Adriatic Arena in Pesaro. Though empty, an electricity crackles in the air, and the bright arena lights shine down on Helena as she grins.
"When we could be on the big stage! Being real rock and rollers, living fast, dying young, and leaving a huge bar tab! That's what you want, right? To be a rockstar? Well, the first step to being a rockstar is to stir people up...and wouldn't it get them talking if you left Fifi to her own devices? I mean, you COULD try to fight alongside her, but..."
Helena reaches down, patting her right shin with a chuckle, and looks back up into the camera with a faux-sympathetic look on her face.
"...we all know what happens when you and I disagree, right? So, make your choice. She suffers, or you suffer. Either way, we learn something about you, Katie. I just hope you learn something about yourself."
Helena carefully sets the camcorder on the barricade, stepping back and smiling as she looks up at the ceiling.
"Oh, it's going to be so beautiful! Just you wait...just..."
The lights begin flickering, and as they flicker, Helena seems to jitter and bounce back and forth across the screen, flickering with them.
"...you..."
The lights flicker out for a long moment, and when they flicker on, Helena's face fills the screen, nose practically touching it as she leers at the audience with a toothy grin.
"Wait."
She snaps her teeth, laughing, and we smash to black again on the peals of her laughter.
Elsewhere
Elsewhen
Michelle's eyes slowly fluttered open to darkness. Her hand fumbled along, trying to find a wall, and the moment it did, she pulled herself up, scrambling for a light of some sort. Her hand found a pull chain, and Michelle yanked it, not particularly mindful of what was going on around her. The bare bulb overhead flickered to life, and Michelle looked around herself. Spare concrete walls, with a scratched mirror hanging from one of them and a thick metal door on the other, were all that greeted her. She stumbled over to the mirror, shaking her head in confusion. Staring back at her was the familiar, face-painted visage of Helena Sawyer...but instead of Helena's expressions, the ones staring back at her were her own of confusion and horror. She reached up to touch the paint, voice quivering. "Wh...where am I?"
Before her eyes, her body moved, seemingly of its own accord. Her expression slipped from dread to one of calm assurance, and she put a finger to her own lips. "Shh...shh...don't worry..." She felt the blackness clawing at the edge of her vision again, and Michelle struggled to move, but all that moved were her lips. Just before the blackness swallowed her vision again, she heard two more words, slipping from her lips like a snake.
"Just sleep."
And then she was gone.
Well howdy there pardner.