The Spider & The Fly

[Abigail]

Like an ensnared fly, Abigail Spencer awaited her fateful meeting with a beast who seemed less and less like a lion and more like yet another spider that sought to lure her in only to devour her. Her beloved Eternity would have found a certain sick and twisted humour in Abigail feeling that she was going to be eaten alive by an angry and hostile Russian right here in the hotel restaurant, Tomoe.

Last week, not for the first time in her life, Abigail had popped off at the mouth and bitten off more than she could chew. She had absolutely underestimated Charlotte and paid the price. Her hubris had assured her that if Jennie could beat Charlie, then she could too, because she was better than Jennie, wasn’t she?

Abigail had to believe that, believing anything less wouldn’t carry her through the rest of this damned tournament. Three years ago, the Fenix family had kicked her back down the mountain and taken her World Championship without even involving her in the decision. Tara was practically retired and far too distracted with other business ventures and there were no other immediate events in the IWF calendar that would offer Tara the Immortals size paycheck to coax her into the ring one more time as Fiona had. Guilt by association, and retribution by proxy would have to be enough to satiate Abby, once she earned her shot at Jennie.

“Privet, moya dorogaya Ebigeyl,” some unwelcome Russian encroached upon and snapped her out of her reverie. She almost jumped out of her seat, unprepared for the intrusion. Abigail blinked twice for help from Eternity who stood beside a stone-faced Tytus Rost.

“He says hello,” Eternity translated.

“Oh, yes. Hello,” Abigail said softly, “Please sit, both of you.” Abigail waited for Rost to sit so she could look the Russian dead in his eyes. She made a conscious effort to speak clearly, forcibly holding back her natural Southern accent deliberately as best she could. “I know we haven’t been formally introduced yet, but I wanted to apologise for last week. It was my fault. I underestimated the Iron Maiden and I…”

“Net!” Rost shook his head firmly, interrupting both Abby and her wonderful translator. “No,” he repeated softer, and switched tongues himself to meet her on more even ground. “Please. Let us not lose ourselves in blame, the tournament is too important. Bigger than one loss. Perhaps we should focus on what unites us more than what divides us.”

“Like home?” Eternity suggested with a smile.

“Da!” Tytus exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically, “Da! Dom! Vot i vse, Tekhas!”

Abigail interpreted the words ‘Yes’ and ‘Texas’ without Eternity’s guidance, and reminded herself that despite their vast cultural differences, she and Tytus still called the same place home.

“I have a farm I am very very proud of,” Rost smiled. “Like your lyubimaya zhena tells me you have with your brothers.”

“Lyubimaya what? Sorry?” Abby asked.

“Beloved,” Eternity translated, “I told him you and your family were raised on a farm.”

“Oh, well, yes,” Abby nodded. “You called her my beloved, does that mean you’re not bothered by our relationship?”

“Love is love, as you Americans say. Part of why I left was that I do not agree entirely with the more conservative notions that continue to hold my homeland back from progress. Chasing the American Dream is much more preferable, wouldn’t you agree?”

All of a sudden, Abby felt lighter and considerably less burdened. Evidently, she had misjudged Tytus and he was far more open minded than many of his fellow countrymen. Perhaps, they could work together after all. She hoped they could, anyway. Time would tell, as it always did.

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“They that make a graven image are all of them vanity; and their delectable things shall not profit; and they are their own witnesses; they see not, nor know; that they may be ashamed.
Who hath formed a god, or molten a graven image that is profitable for nothing?” - Isaiah XLIV: 9-10.

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Amidst the soft flickering brightness of seven candles on the solid ground beneath her, Abigail knelt, head bowed solemnly and eyes closed for the moment. Heavenly light cast down upon her, isolated her from darkness.

She once again laboured under the brightest and most brilliant spotlight clad in almost all black, save for a scarlet hooded cocoon, which was wrapped around her. A little safety was better than none at all, especially in these trying times. The hood was pulled up, shielding her head. Abby took a few deep and slow breaths before she opened her eyes and spoke, at long last.

Humility.

A virtue seldom found in this business, most especially among the Fenix family wrestlin’ all of their many, many, many associates. I wish I could sit here an’ pretend that their sterlin’ reputation as an undisputed royal family in pro wrestlin’ was unearned, but I can’t so I won’t.

They’re always within spittin’ distance of victory an’ a stone’s throw away from transcendin’ backstage politics an’ seizin’ power for themselves. They live for it, they need it, arguably even more than the Blakes and the Kanes ever did. I am under no illusion that facin’ the nephew of the new Sacrifice GM and his girlfriend this week isn’t gonna be the one of the toughest matches I’ve ever had ta face in my career thus far.

I wish I could be excited by the prospect of testin’ myself against the reignin’ tag champs, but after last week I’m more than a little gunshy about gettin’ too far ahead of myself. As much as I wanna look at this as a chance ta put Bella Morte in the Championship conversation, I cannot ignore that last week I thought a victory against the Iron Maiden would also put my career back on the fast track, an’ well we all saw how that ended up bitin’ me on the ass.

Lesson learned, a more cautious approach this week then. I try not ta make the same mistake twice after all. The Black Widow an’ I are about as familiar with each other as I am with my own tag partner, Tytus. We’ve never faced each other so all I have ta go on is your reputation. Burdened as you are by bloodline, Brandy, I ain’t without sympathy. I know first hand how that expectation weighs ya down an’ poisons your heart, soul an’ mind until ya lose yourself entirely.

I only carried the burden for five years, an’ that was more than enough for me.

I could’ve taken the easy route an’ ridden the Kane name ta my grave, ‘cause it turns out it’s so much easier ta lie ta everyone else about who ya are than it is ta lie ta yaself. I could’ve continued ta sell my soul for much more respect from my peers in this industry, an’ been content ta benefit from everythin’ that status gave me, but I never actually earned myself. But the more I listened ta what my heart actually wanted out of this one life, the more I realised that I am better than that.

An’ that means I am better than ya, Brandy.

I will never be able ta revel in absolute sadism like you do, but at least I know I can sleep a darned sight easier at night, havin’ more self respect an’ knowin that the love of my life values me for who I am as a person an’ not just how diligently I can pleasure her in front of a worldwide audience.

I don’t know what’s more tragic, how little Madjinn loves you or how little ya love yourself, Brandy. Some part of you believes you deserve no better than him an’ so you coast through life forever in his shadow, lickin’ and swallowin’ whatever line or load he feeds you. Maybe hetero dynamics are more different than I realise, but any partner who thought so little of me that she’d rather talk about her next match than lose herself in the pleasure I was tryna give her would be kicked outta my bed quicker than a scolded dog.

‘Cause I’d know then, she absolutely did not love me, no matter what she said.

You’re a Black Widow, ain’t ya? Bite that disrespectful bastard’s head off. Hell, rip them both off, we all know ya love the taste, so what’s stoppin’ ya from stayin’ true ta your damned nature?

Unless of course, you’re about as much a true predator as he is a true God.

If neither the Demoness, the Devil nor Death could end me, then neither will a false idol and his favourite disposable pleasure. If y’all were even half as dominant as ya wish ya were, you’d not have been beaten by time itself last week, would ya?

Time humbles us all in the end, Brandy.

An’ as Her Archangel, I have an eternity in which ta languish.

I will rise again, y’all see.