After PAW Wicked #1 January 7, 2016

Post by The Hannahverser on Apr 17, 2016 0:20:49 GMT

Mask of Innocence, Skin of Evil

The Mission?

Pure and simple revenge.

It’s not that complicated, really.

Revenge never is.

The targets?

Alex Cross, Bebop and Rocksteady, aka The BombTrax, and the queen of them all: the shitstick I want to watch burn after I slam her friendly little face into all kinds of objects that vary in size, shape, and function. The “lady” Munin.

So many?

Not enough?

What can I say, it was a slow year.

But WHY, they’ll ask. And HOW, they’ll cry.

‘Why’ won’t matter to you.

In fact, it’s better for me if you don’t understand the ‘Why’ at all.

The How is going to negate the why entirely anyway.

Cause, really, who’s gonna believe some ditsy blonde planned it from the start?

---------

Louisiana Countryside

December 25, 2015

11:24 PM

Cool air. Rainy. She walked, keen to avoid the spill of the house lights, softly up the well-manicured lawn toward the plantation home. It felt weird to be doing this without the mask. She felt naked, out in the open. Even weirder it was to be wearing this new mask that was her face. It still tripped her out sometimes when she looked in the mirror. But c’est la vie. The old mask would only give her away if she were caught.

This was a very simple house call. Demanded light and easy attire, something simple and unassuming. She chose a grey hooded sweater with front pockets and matching sweatpants. She’d stolen it from the unlucky bitch with one of those annoying little teacup chihuahua's she’d struck up a friendship with on the plane ride down.

Seriously, who insists on having their dog sit with them?

By the end of the flight she was about ready to rip the dog’s head off and shove it down the bitch’s throat. But no. She’d refrained. That was something the old mask would have done. Not now, not with the new face. This was akin to turning over a new leaf. Same two sides, just… different.

Her hand gripped the dog leash in her pocket and smiled. She’d taken that as well, and for the vaguest of seconds wondered if Courtney, or Kourtney, or Lisa, or whoever that unsuspecting chick was wasn’t going to miss it. She was sure little Tinkerbell would, and that filled her with joy.

Unreal: “Never know when you might need it.”

Her breath was shallow, careful to stay out of sight as she slinked toward the side window of the stately home Munin occupied where she could see light. Inside, curled up in an arm chair Munin sat reading.

Unreal: “Rich bitch.”

Her foot splooshed quietly into a small puddle. It barely registered higher than an inconvenience as she snaked through the vegetable garden for a closer look through the window.

It was habit to know the lay of the land; understand your environment; meet your ‘co-workers’. The employable, and the employers called it conscientiousness. She called it: know thine enemy.

Or, loosely translated, I’m going to find out the best way to get to you morning, noon, and night. Physically, emotionally, and psychologically I’m going to tear you down. I’m going to get to know you better than you know yourself so that when I destroy you, it’s going to stick, and there’ll be nothing left. Alex Cross, Press, Flaming Youth? Info about them would come as it should. She thought it more important, first, to figure out the Queen Bee, before she went after the drones.

So who was Munin?

After the mess that killed Evolution Wrestling, the woman formerly referred to as Deus knew even less about Munin than she had at the outset.

She knew they shared a traumatic background. Pretending to be a backstage interviewer helped glean little tidbits, but more revealed that getting at Munin would be easier said than done. Such is the case with people who've have already been broken, then put themselves back together. Respect.

She looked in through the window patiently.

Unreal: “I got time.”

Second-naturedly she folded her arms and watched Munin turn a page and get comfortable. Unreal shifted disinterestedly.

Unreal: “Okay… so… this is pretty boring.”

And then he walked into the room Munin was reading in. And Unreal leaned forward with intense interest. Her lips turned into a smirk, into a grin, into a nice, big, satisfied smile.

Unreal: “Alex Cross.”

The way he stooped over to see what she was reading. How close their bodies now were. The way she craned her neck to look up at him. The upward curves of her lips as she spoke to him. The way he shifted closer to her as he responded. She watched, and felt a flicker of sinister intelligence form.

Unreal: “So that’s it. That’s what’s eating Munin. Or, should I say, who.”

She snickered. The suspicion had always been there, but never confirmed. Alex Cross had found his own way onto her shitlist of his own accord. And to think it was right under her nose the whole time. The Red Queen herself, Lady Munin, had a boy toy in wonderland with her. She smirked as dots got connected seemingly right in front of her.

Unreal: “Two birds with one stone, huh? Let’s just hope I don’t put you so deep into the hospital she never gets you out, eh Alice?”

She chuckled to herself as she pried herself from the window, having gathered enough intelligence for one night, the rain starting in a little heavier, she moved away from the side of the house and back into the shadows of the grounds until a flashlight beamed onto her face.

Security Guard: “What were you doing back there?”

She stopped, momentarily unawares before her eyes focused and got a fair glance of who it was. Just some johnny-on-the spot security guard. No gun. Not even a taser. She smiled innocently as her fingers held the dog leash inside her front pocket, and her new mask turned to a face of worry and concern.

Unreal: “I was looking for my little doggie, Tinkerbell.”

She held up the leash. The security guard shone his light at it. She could see his eyes narrow, his other hand set shakily at his belt and the attached baton. Easy, tiger. This’ll be over in a second.

Security Guard: “This is private property. You’re not supposed to be here.”

She held up her hands as he shone the light back into her eyes authoritatively.

Unreal: “Really? Oh. Gosh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know! The grounds looked so beautiful, I thought it was a park or something.”

The guard hesitated and examined her. She rolled her hips just a little.

Security Guard: “What kind of dog is it?”

Unreal: “Teacup Chihuahua. She's my baby! Answers to Tinkerbell. Have you seen her?”

A fake tear helps. She'd heard the bitch on the plane rave about her dog enough she reckoned this would be a facsimile worthy of at least a Golden Globe. The concern and worry practically dripped off her as the security guard appraised the situation and slowly lowered his guard.

Security Guard: “All right. I haven’t seen your dog. But I’ll keep an eye out. You can’t be here this late at night. Never know who might be lurking around.”

Unreal: “Oh gosh. You don’t think somebody would hurt Tinkerbell, do you?”

From there he brought out an umbrella and ushered her off the property like an older brother, making sure to comfort and assuage her fears over a dog that wasn’t hers, all while she played to his machismo, and inwardly wondered:

Now how, precisely, am I going to get to little Alice Cross?

-------------

January 7, 2016

John A. Alario Sr. Event Center at the Bayou Segnette Sports Complex

9::24 PM

Unreal squares her shoulders, plants her feet and swings a home run… The bat cracks off Alex Cross's skull with a sickly “THOK”, after which he topples to the floor in an unconscious heap.

….

Unreal: “Word from the wise: you so much as wink at my Sammy and the next bat’s coming for your head, going straight down your damn throat, and you’ll be shitting splinters till the day I let you stop. You just better hope you see me coming, bitch.”

She hadn't planned on having to encounter Brandy Irving, Sam's ex, quite so soon. She just needed a witness, and a camera crew, and the ever-present innocent, adorable, wacky chick routine. She moves past the stunned Brandy, and saunters confidently off, popping another bubble.

-----

John A. Alario Sr. Event Center at the Bayou Segnette Sports Complex

10:28 PM

Backstage, the thump of the music can be heard through the walls. The Scumbag Society are in the middle of their set. Sam Xayachack wears his Scumbag Society t-shirt proudly far from the actual show he was looking forward to. They were cradled deep in the bowels of the arena, far from any prying eyes. Sam gulped while Unreal grips his balls literally through his trousers and growls at him.

Unreal: “That’s not how this works, Sammy. You don’t call the shots here. I do. Got that?”

Sam’s ballsack had long gone numb by now but still he winced as she tightened her grip. Forcing a wink, he said:

Sam Xayachack: “Uh huh. And that’s exactly how everyone saw it earlier.”

Unreal moved in closer. Seducing Sam wasn’t the hard part. Her fingers kept a firm grip through his trousers, and used her hips to back him against the arena wall. Her features softened as she looked him confidently in the eye.

Unreal: “Now look. You’re the only one who knows who the fuck I am. We agreed. It’s a simple arrangement. I go down to the ring, break people in half, you get to look at my ass while I do it and look the other way while I get my life back on track. And if you're a really good boy I take off a piece of clothing after each deed to reward you. So why are you, now, stopping me from doing that?”

Sam just shook his head.

Sam Xayachack: “If it only that simple. I mean, how much attention do you really think you drew to yourself with that bat backstage?”

She chuckled irreverently.

Unreal: “Ain’t I adorable? Alice Cross? Shit, I almost blew the whole thing by laughing.”

Sam continued.

Sam Xayachack: “I did what I did, well first, so everyone could see for their own eyes that Philo wasn’t shitting them. You ARE...MY woman.”

And then her grin disappeared. Her grip on his ball sack tightened noticeably. Sam winced.

Sam Xayachack: “And, also, to keep my nosy-assed partner off of your scent.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Unreal: “Okay… wait. YOUR woman?”

He reached behind her, grabbing her ass just as hard as she had his sack. Her eyes widened unexpectedly.

Sam Xayachack: “Like I said at ringside. You heard me.”

It was a shift in the air in the room. Tasted almost sour. She glowered into his eyes.

Unreal: “So… what. You think you own me now? You know who the fuck I am, Sam Xayachack. What I’ve done. And now you’re going to hide me in the back room all to yourself or some shit? Anything in particular you want on your tombstone?!”

He pulled her closer, hard. Forcing her right up against him, forcing her hand off his ball sack for the time being.

Sam Xayachack: “Yes. I know what you’ve done and can only imagine what you will do. Which is why you’re better off, right here with me. Far...far away from nosy people who truly think they run this place.”

He relaxed his grip, but only a little.

Sam Xayachack: “You know who has your back. Now, don’t you?”

She peered back over her shoulder, and smirked. Slowly looking back at him. Little twinkles in her eyes.

Unreal: “All riiiiight. So… you want like… a wifey, do ya? Someone to bring your slippers in to you, and junk? I think we both know that isn't exactly my style.”

Sam Xayachack: “NO!”

He pulled back and smacked her ass. Hard.

Sam Xayachack: “I want you. But that shit ain’t happening. Let me tell you what is happening. You take out Munin’s toy...what the fuck do you think she is going to ask The BombTrax to do to mine? It’s not like Philo is keeping our secret!!! Can’t we just be low-key? Can’t we just put on ugly paisley shirts fade into the background while we make a ton of money?”

Her eyes narrowed at the mention of THEM. The BombTrax. She still had a cramp in her spine from the last time they’d made their presence felt in her business. She lowered her eyes, hiding a mild pout.

Unreal: “Okay. You have a point. Everything but the Paisley shirts thing.”

She thought it through awfully fast before her face brightened once more.

Unreal: “And… I mean… it isn’t like I don’t have things to occupy my time aside from kicking the shit out of people in the ring, after all.”

She giggled.

Unreal: “Wait till you see what I do with the Park Funhouse.”

Sam Xayachack: “Wait… you’re running the Funhouse now? When, and how, the fuck did that happen?”

Unreal thinks about it with an innocent eye towards the ceiling.

Unreal: “Yeah, how did that happen?”

-----------

December, 14, 2015

Purity, Louisiana

Pure Amusement Park (Under Construction)

Doug McKee looked up from the blonde’s resume annoyed. His perturbed set of eyes first settled on her fingers, which were drumming without any rhythm on the lip of his desk, and promptly, and thankfully, stopped at the behest of his irritated glare. Then he smiled politely at her face, which had been smiling most amicably at him ever since she’d sat down in his office five minutes ago dressed quite primly in a pair of tight jeans and a white blouse.

Doug McKee: “So, Miss…”

He re-read her name phonetically.

Doug McKee: “Sev-ig-nee…”

She smiled in spite of the faux pas of mispronouncing her name. She was beaming, in fact. It was starting to put Doug off, if he was going to be honest about this whole to a colleague afterward.

Unreal(Kat Sevigny): “Yes?”

Doug McKee: “As much as I appreciate you bringing me your resume, impressive as it is. This still doesn’t help me explain how the former to-be proprietor of the park fun house just signed away his deed to said fun house to you in some bizarre gambling wrestling match and was carted off on a stretcher with two broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, a broken nose and what amounts to losing his front row of teeth.”

Unreal shrugged innocently and thought about it.

Unreal: “Yeah, he might’ve needed those teeth for chewing. Not my fault he can’t take a punch.”

Doug McKee: “Little more than just a punch, I’m afraid.”

Doug McKee looked at her matter-of-factly. She shrugged again.

Unreal: “I had to try out for the wrestling team you got going here. You know. Suplexes. DDTs. Armbars. The good stuff. ”

Doug McKee frowned and surveyed the forms in front of him. A newly signed deed to the park’s mid-renovation Funhouse, a security report detailing the altercation, and her resume which she’d brought along for no apparent reason and rubbed his forehead in the hopes of ridding himself of this headache.

Doug McKee: “Ms. Sevignee—“

Unreal: “Please, Doug. Call me Kat.”

Her smile beamed with a playful wink at him. Doug shifted in his seat.

Doug McKee: “Yes. Well, your actions in the park today are completely legal in every way, up to, and including, forcing someone to sign their contract over to you on the grounds you beat them in a wrestling ring.”

Unreal: “Way I see it you'd be thanking me if you'd seen what he got if he won. Trust me. This conversation would be with the cops, and he’d be thrown away for indecent proposal-ing or some junk.”

Doug McKee: “Right. So, aside from that, I now have to deal with the fact that you’re evidently the new owner of our Funhouse, and as far as I can tell you don’t have any real qualifications other than being supremely talented in a wrestling ring.”

For a moment she blushed, heaped her shoulders like he’d just given a warm fuzzy before she motioned him back to her resume.

Unreal: “What are you talking about, I got a hella good resume.”

Doug McKee, complete with an unimpressed blink, looked down at the resume.

Doug McKee: “Right. It says here that you've had extensive training in the Dagobah System?”

Unreal: “Fan-fucking-tastic finishing school if I do say so myself, Doug. Rustic.”

Doug McKee: “Mr. McKee.”

Unreal: “Sure thing.”

Doug McKee: “Okay. And it says here that you spent a year training Velociraptors on a "top-secret island". Can you talk a bit about that?”

He frowned and looked up at her.

Unreal: “Oh. Sorry. That’s a typo.”

Doug McKee: “What’s the typo?”

Unreal, Kat Sevigny, placed her elbow on the arm of the uncomfortable chair she was sitting in and fiddled with her hair. The resume was looking a little less solid with each new question.

Unreal: “Should say taxidermy. I spent a year taxidermy-ing Velociraptors on a top-secret island.”

Doug McKee: “Oh--kay. So, aside from these being adapted plot points from popular movies, your resume is very imaginative by the way, how about you tell me a little about yourself?”

The elbow came off the chair. Unreal, Kat Sevigny, looked almost wistful up at the ceiling.

Unreal: “Well. It’s a sad story, Doug. I had two dogs. You should have seen these animals. Absolutely gorgeous. Completely identical. And I named one Love. And I named one Hate.”

Doug found himself searching the air for some semblance of coherence he could throw into wherever she was going with this.

Doug McKee: “--”

Unreal: “So, I don’t know what happened. Whether it was by choice or by necessity, I ended up only feeding one of those precious, precious dogs. And the one I fed? Well, it grew. And it grew. And it just got so unbelievably large, and strong, and... well, you know? From the feeding. And the other one?”

She looked sadly down to the floor, like she were looking at the dog she hadn’t fed, then looked back at Doug with a glassy tear sitting on her pupil.

Unreal: “Well, you know what happens when you don’t feed something, amirite Dougie?”

She chuckled. Doug glanced down at his abundant gut and shifted in his seat.

Unreal: "Perhaps not..."

Doug McKee: “Okay. I don’t get it. Was there a point to that, do I need to know which one was which or something?”

She considered with a loud ‘hmmmmm’.

Unreal: “Guess not. Hey what’s with that monkey?”

He followed her eyes to the capuchin monkey peeking in through the window at them.

Doug McKee: “Ohhhh. That’s Jynx. She's the park Helper Monkey. Isn’t she cute?”

He didn’t see her glare coldly and evilly enough to make Cruella DeVille seem tame, only watched Jynx the monkey scurry off frightened. He shrugged and turned back to her.

Doug McKee: “They tell me she comes with the park. You get used to it.”

Successfully, and unwittingly placated, he returned to looking at her, there was that unnerving smile again. Doug took off his glasses and gave a loud sigh.

Doug McKee: “So, for better or worse, I’m talking to the new owner of the Park’s Funhouse. But, I’m telling you, I need to take this up with Sam and the Lady Munin. They’re going to want to meet you. Make sure this is okay.”

Her smile almost faded at the mention of Munin. She held it, practiced and smartly, her eyes twinkling.

Unreal: “Ohhhh. You mean Sam… Sh… Shaya… Chhhh… Zzz.. O….Chkkk…?”

Doug blinked.

Doug McKee: “Xayachack, yes. You know him?”

Unreal: “Hellz yes. He and I go way back. I used to be his cotton candy girl back in the day. I already spoke to him about all this.”

Doug McKee: “Really?”

Unreal: “Shit yeah. He’s in Hawaii right now. You know? Much-needed holiday from the ‘grind’. So, I couldn’t speak to him face to face. But he’s on board with this whole operation. Yup.”

Doug McKee eyed her uncertainly.

Doug McKee: “Sam knows about all of this… knows you, everything. He says this is okay?”

Unreal: “What do I look like? Some kind of lying, sociopathic, crazed lunatic trying to manipulate everyone and everything?"

She chuckled almost uncomfortably before Doug started to frown and her face settled back to that unnerving smile.

Unreal: "Seriously. Yeah, Sammy and I are pals. You’ll see.”

----------------

John A. Alario Sr. Event Center at the Bayou Segnette Sports Complex

10:30 PM

The music from the Scumbag Society still thumped through the walls. Unreal smirked, leaning in closer to Sammy, letting her lips play along his.

Unreal: “You drive a hard bargain, Sammy Xayachack. But I can play ‘low-key’ for now.”

And then they kissed...