Post by The Black Widow on Feb 5, 2024 0:04:17 GMT
Seattle, Washington.
The old abandoned pottery building stands as a haunting monument of forgotten craftsmanship, its crumbling walls whispering stories of a bygone era. In the cloak of night, the broken out windows become gaping wounds, allowing shadows to creep into the desolate interior. Hints of moonlight cast eerie splashes on the remaining shards of pottery strewn across the decaying floor. Graffiti, like twisted marks of rebellion, defaces what was once proud and regal; vibrant colors now clash against the building's rusting exterior. The juxtaposition between delicate artistry and urban decay leaves an unsettling presence in the air. A melancholic aura lingers, as if mourning for the lost talent and inspiration that once radiated within these now forsaken walls. This forgotten sanctuary bears witness to secret hopes and dreams fading into oblivion, becoming only echoes in a haunting nocturnal symphony.
Brandy Cvetkova emerges from the gaping hole in the front of the building, hands buried deep within the pockets of her well-worn leather jacket as she approaches the chain link fence surrounding the structure. "You can't put fear in the fearless." The words roll off her tongue with a hint of curiosity.
"Interesting."
"The nature of man has always been to fear what man doesn't understand, therefore to so brazenly claim you have no fear of me, also implies you understand me."
She reaches up, interlocking the fingers on her gloved hand in the steel fencing, head tilted to the side. "Tell me, Tyson… Charlie: Do you believe you understand me?"
Brandy gives the fence a forceful shake, casting echoes into the night. "If either of you understood me at all, you would understand that trying to inspire fear would be counterproductive to my nature. The spider doesn't weave her web to invoke terror, she spins her silk to ensnare her prey. Her whole survival depends upon an absence of fear in her unsuspecting victim. That's why the grandest webs are often so beautiful. The real fear only comes once the fly has found itself entangled, struggling to free itself until the inevitable comes."
"So before you allow yourself to believe you have me all figured out, maybe you should reevaluate the fucking situation."
"I am the predator, you are the prey. This little dance we have done up until now may have started out as Stephen's fight, but now I've decided to make it mine, too, because you're reckless with your thoughts." She traces her tongue gently around the edges of her lips, biting down on her lower lip once her tongue has come full circle. "Admitting you can't put fear in the fearless was my invitation to dinner."
"I couldn't just weave a web outside of your dressing room door though, I needed to bait you so that you would come to me. To do that, I needed to make you angry. I'd apologize for the inconvenience I've caused you, but we'd all know I wouldn't mean it– and if anything, I appreciate authenticity."
"But… ", she says, pausing to hock a loogie onto the ground below. "Do you know what I find maddening about you, little flies? I don't think you're being very genuine in this game of cat and mouse. All of this talk about elevating tag team wrestling… and giving the unwashed masses the rematch they deserve?… It's all bullshit. You are trying to hide behind the guise that you're on some type of noble journey. When, in reality, you want the rematch you believe you deserve so you can try to propel yourselves off of our backs. You want those shiny gold trinkets, the same way my partner does; only he doesn't cast any illusions as to his motivations."
"The kicker is, if you ever achieve your dream, you don't just want to be champions… you want to be the people's champions… as if the money and the fame alone weren't enough, you also need the people to adore you, too, while you suck the marrow from the very bone as you feast."
"Allow me to share a hard truth with you about your precious society though–" her speech quickens, carrying far more anger than before. "One day, they will abandon you faster than you can blink an eye. You will grow old, you will become feeble, unable to do the impressive feats you perform now with ease; and in those moments of weakness, they will have no further use for you."
"If you're truly fortunate, you'll still be physically able enough to walk to the ring in some high school gymnasium, in front of a crowd of fifty, the cheers long since having faded as you struggle to perform the most basic of holds."
"If you're like my grandfather, they will wheel you in front of a table at autograph signings, where some neckbeard will bitch that he had to pay twenty dollars after your arthritic hand just struggled to sign an 8x10 photo, a bitter reminder of what you gave to get to that point."
"That is why I don't play by their rules, or anyone else's…"
"Where others see order, I see a straightjacket."
"So I will willingly meet you inside of a steel cage, little flies. Why should that frighten me? I've lived within a cage most of my life, figuratively speaking. You can't feel the things I feel, think the things I think, nor do the things I constantly have the urge to do, while blending in with what a cynical person would label as civilized society. I have to shove it all down, in here-" she says, tapping her stomach "deep, where no one can hear the whispers."
"What you have done, little flies, is give me the opportunity to unleash all of that… and what a gift that is. I get to both inflict pain, and receive it– free from the shackles of society' rules. They may judge me for the unnecessary amounts of your blood I spill within your chosen house of torture, but the intense heat of their judgements are nothing new to me. I have always been the freak. I embrace it."
"For this gift you've given me, I am going to give you a gift in return– true vision. How, you may ask? Simple, by defeating you, turning brother against brother."
"When the two of you are forced to stand opposite each other in the ring, then -and only then- will you understand the limitless depravity of man. One of you will have your heart torn out by the other, figuratively of course. Those are the types of wounds that scar though, trust me, I know. Those wounds change you into something entirely different than what you were before, their cruel hands guiding you as they reshape you on their wheel."
"Your fans will choose sides because mankind is tribal in nature. I won't pretend to know which one of you they'll choose, but my instincts tell me they'll side with you, Tyson. You just seem like you'll be the scrappy underdog, at least to me. But whichever way it goes, you'll both have to live with the lasting memory of the night that some of the people you care for so deeply rejected you."
"Call it a preview of your own futures."
The Black Widow flashes a sinister grin.
"I want to inflict the deepest cut imaginable on the Kings of Flight. That is why Stephen and I have to win, and I will sacrifice my own body to make sure we do so… and then the two of you can forever walk with the knowledge that your undoing as a team was partially by your own hands."
The old abandoned pottery building stands as a haunting monument of forgotten craftsmanship, its crumbling walls whispering stories of a bygone era. In the cloak of night, the broken out windows become gaping wounds, allowing shadows to creep into the desolate interior. Hints of moonlight cast eerie splashes on the remaining shards of pottery strewn across the decaying floor. Graffiti, like twisted marks of rebellion, defaces what was once proud and regal; vibrant colors now clash against the building's rusting exterior. The juxtaposition between delicate artistry and urban decay leaves an unsettling presence in the air. A melancholic aura lingers, as if mourning for the lost talent and inspiration that once radiated within these now forsaken walls. This forgotten sanctuary bears witness to secret hopes and dreams fading into oblivion, becoming only echoes in a haunting nocturnal symphony.
Brandy Cvetkova emerges from the gaping hole in the front of the building, hands buried deep within the pockets of her well-worn leather jacket as she approaches the chain link fence surrounding the structure. "You can't put fear in the fearless." The words roll off her tongue with a hint of curiosity.
"Interesting."
"The nature of man has always been to fear what man doesn't understand, therefore to so brazenly claim you have no fear of me, also implies you understand me."
She reaches up, interlocking the fingers on her gloved hand in the steel fencing, head tilted to the side. "Tell me, Tyson… Charlie: Do you believe you understand me?"
Brandy gives the fence a forceful shake, casting echoes into the night. "If either of you understood me at all, you would understand that trying to inspire fear would be counterproductive to my nature. The spider doesn't weave her web to invoke terror, she spins her silk to ensnare her prey. Her whole survival depends upon an absence of fear in her unsuspecting victim. That's why the grandest webs are often so beautiful. The real fear only comes once the fly has found itself entangled, struggling to free itself until the inevitable comes."
"So before you allow yourself to believe you have me all figured out, maybe you should reevaluate the fucking situation."
"I am the predator, you are the prey. This little dance we have done up until now may have started out as Stephen's fight, but now I've decided to make it mine, too, because you're reckless with your thoughts." She traces her tongue gently around the edges of her lips, biting down on her lower lip once her tongue has come full circle. "Admitting you can't put fear in the fearless was my invitation to dinner."
"I couldn't just weave a web outside of your dressing room door though, I needed to bait you so that you would come to me. To do that, I needed to make you angry. I'd apologize for the inconvenience I've caused you, but we'd all know I wouldn't mean it– and if anything, I appreciate authenticity."
"But… ", she says, pausing to hock a loogie onto the ground below. "Do you know what I find maddening about you, little flies? I don't think you're being very genuine in this game of cat and mouse. All of this talk about elevating tag team wrestling… and giving the unwashed masses the rematch they deserve?… It's all bullshit. You are trying to hide behind the guise that you're on some type of noble journey. When, in reality, you want the rematch you believe you deserve so you can try to propel yourselves off of our backs. You want those shiny gold trinkets, the same way my partner does; only he doesn't cast any illusions as to his motivations."
"The kicker is, if you ever achieve your dream, you don't just want to be champions… you want to be the people's champions… as if the money and the fame alone weren't enough, you also need the people to adore you, too, while you suck the marrow from the very bone as you feast."
"Allow me to share a hard truth with you about your precious society though–" her speech quickens, carrying far more anger than before. "One day, they will abandon you faster than you can blink an eye. You will grow old, you will become feeble, unable to do the impressive feats you perform now with ease; and in those moments of weakness, they will have no further use for you."
"If you're truly fortunate, you'll still be physically able enough to walk to the ring in some high school gymnasium, in front of a crowd of fifty, the cheers long since having faded as you struggle to perform the most basic of holds."
"If you're like my grandfather, they will wheel you in front of a table at autograph signings, where some neckbeard will bitch that he had to pay twenty dollars after your arthritic hand just struggled to sign an 8x10 photo, a bitter reminder of what you gave to get to that point."
"That is why I don't play by their rules, or anyone else's…"
"Where others see order, I see a straightjacket."
"So I will willingly meet you inside of a steel cage, little flies. Why should that frighten me? I've lived within a cage most of my life, figuratively speaking. You can't feel the things I feel, think the things I think, nor do the things I constantly have the urge to do, while blending in with what a cynical person would label as civilized society. I have to shove it all down, in here-" she says, tapping her stomach "deep, where no one can hear the whispers."
"What you have done, little flies, is give me the opportunity to unleash all of that… and what a gift that is. I get to both inflict pain, and receive it– free from the shackles of society' rules. They may judge me for the unnecessary amounts of your blood I spill within your chosen house of torture, but the intense heat of their judgements are nothing new to me. I have always been the freak. I embrace it."
"For this gift you've given me, I am going to give you a gift in return– true vision. How, you may ask? Simple, by defeating you, turning brother against brother."
"When the two of you are forced to stand opposite each other in the ring, then -and only then- will you understand the limitless depravity of man. One of you will have your heart torn out by the other, figuratively of course. Those are the types of wounds that scar though, trust me, I know. Those wounds change you into something entirely different than what you were before, their cruel hands guiding you as they reshape you on their wheel."
"Your fans will choose sides because mankind is tribal in nature. I won't pretend to know which one of you they'll choose, but my instincts tell me they'll side with you, Tyson. You just seem like you'll be the scrappy underdog, at least to me. But whichever way it goes, you'll both have to live with the lasting memory of the night that some of the people you care for so deeply rejected you."
"Call it a preview of your own futures."
The Black Widow flashes a sinister grin.
"I want to inflict the deepest cut imaginable on the Kings of Flight. That is why Stephen and I have to win, and I will sacrifice my own body to make sure we do so… and then the two of you can forever walk with the knowledge that your undoing as a team was partially by your own hands."
Well howdy there pardner.