Post by Veronica Strader on Feb 17, 2022 13:50:52 GMT -5
Victoria Strader’s Mind Palace
Victoria/Veronica Psyche
February 16th, 2022
The mind palace is a theory in the psychiatric field that prisoners, patients, and even people held captive for long periods tend to live in while incarcerated. Everyone is different in the construction and interior design of their “palaces.” Some might be the Grand Central Library in NYC, Venice, whatever felt safe in their construct. Victoria was no exception. She’s had two places in her childhood home, and the three-storey building that sits at the corner of Colborne Street and Dundas Street in London, Ontario that was her high school, Catholic Central High School. CCH was the true last place she had felt safe; it’s where she and Cara spent their teenage years, was valedictorian in her graduating class, helped campaign for Cara to Prom Queen. She even held three different positions on the student council, including president in her senior year.
She sits in the main entrance of the corner of the previously mentioned streets, the Atrium it’s called, along a bench that curves around the wall in a semi-circle. Her ponytail is pulled back tight, and her eyes wander the crowd of people she has simulated in her mind; jocks, nerds, geeks, academics, stoners… they are all there. It was the early morning rush to get to class, so she stood up, grabbed her Roots Canada backpack, slings it over her right shoulder, and heads to her locker; it was straight ahead through double doors that led to two hallways, both running along with the cafeteria.
Walking by the cafeteria, she turns to her left to look inside of it, seeing the students sit all-around chatting, catching up on homework they had weeks to complete, and some are just eating breakfast before the bell would ring. She almost bumps into a group of punks, but this is her place of sanctuary, and she doesn’t allow it to happen. When she reaches her locker on the other side of the cafeteria, she walks over to it, but something stops her.
“What was that?”
She stands perfectly still and listens closely to catch the sound she heard or thought she heard. She just about gives up when she hears it; it is music. “When The Music’s Over” is playing, and she puts her bag in her locker. In between a row of lockers is a space with a door. It’s a storage area for band equipment and janitorial supplies, but Victoria can hear the music, and as she is about to open the door, she hears a familiar voice; her own.
“The song is… fitting.”
“Victoria, what are you doing here? I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
Victoria keeps her composure best she can, but by the time she is through the door, she has missed most of the conversation but sees the aftermath: her grandfather, dead, at his desk.
“You’ll never hurt them again. You will never hurt Victoria again,” she says to the corpse of Scott Nash Strader. She looks up at the clock and back down to him. “Sorry, Meghan, but you are the fall gal.”
Victoria watches her affliction plant evidence that held Meghan Strader back last year, where she could only perform in Uprising due to being a “flight risk.” Still, luckily, the DoJ in Texas dropped the charges as her alibis were too strong. Victoria looked down at her hand as she walked out of the memory created by Veronica, and tears rolled down her cheeks as her right hand trembled.
“I am so sorry, grandpa, you didn’t deserve that end.”
She heads back out of the memory into the hallway and walks to her locker. She turns around, her head tapping lightly off the locker door, slides down to the floor, wraps her arms around her shins, and holds them tightly with her chin resting on top of her knees. She sniffles, and her big beautiful glasz coloured eyes look like they are in a lot of emotional pain. She doesn’t speak aloud in case Veronica is nearby, but her thoughts? Those were her own, and not even the affliction could hear them.
“So Veronica… you have been active longer than any of us knew. You knew Matthew was my dad; you knew about Supreme Machine and Jenny being family. How many more strings have you pulled that we don’t know about? And mom… you tried to frame mom. She has been nothing short of amazing. You wanted her gone because she was a threat but what’s changed? Are you that desperate for a parental figure? You were jealous that I had mom and dad, but by the time you get out and in control, they have already been dead for a few years….so now you want my biological mom as your own?”
Victoria sighs loudly and stands up slowly.
“I need to take control and talk to mom. She needs to know what Ronnie did. She has to pay for that.”
She grabs her bag from her locker and heads to the other area of her mind palace, her childhood home. She is a woman on a mission and isn’t going to let the affliction hurt anyone else in her family. That just might not be possible.
OCW Arena
OCW Gym and Training Centre
February 17th, 2022
Sweat was pouring down the brow of Veronica Strader as she was working her repetitions in the seated row, strengthening her back and upper body. She sees a camera filming her, finishes her reps, grabs her towel from Madison Addison, her newest entourage member, and takes her hand to help her up. She pats away at her forehead and brow, looks over to the camera again and back to Madison.
“Who is this clown?”
“She’s here to film your contractual promo for Massacre as Harold got pinched for a bottle of pills and dealing with prostitutes in Vegas.”
“He got pinched for hookers? In Vegas? Isn’t it legal there?”
“That’s a misconception, but it is legal in Reno.”
Veronica scoffs and laughs while shaking her head. She looks over to the camera-lady and shrugs.
“Learn something new every day,” she says with a chuckle. She grabs her water bottle and motions with a wave of her arm to follow her. With her towel wrapped around her neck, she heads toward her locker room with Madison in tow.
“Unlike a lot of mouthpieces in this industry, I like to back up the shit I say. Just Ask Dylan Thomas,” she says with a wide smile and a wink. “So when Marcus called me asking me to compete at Massacre, I didn't even hesitate. Not for a second. Especially when he tells me who he wants me to square up in the middle of the OCW ring against.”
“The opponent? Kelson Hewitt.”
Vee takes the lanyard from around her neck and unlocks her dressing room. The cameralady and Madison follow behind her as Vee heads around the corner to a shower stall. The water runs, and we see her purple Lululemon yoga pants and purple sports bar come out from behind the partition, and Madison is all over it.
“You did what that little bitch boy couldn’t at Access Denied and threw a stick in the spoke that is the wheel of Bob Grenier’s triumphant return to OCW. That’s quite the feat, no matter how experienced you might be elsewhere. Although I am hard-pressed to respect a guy who smokes a garbage bag of weed, eats a case of Oreo’s and proudly calls himself “The Grand Wizard of Wrestling” being a racist piece of shit,” she says, venom dripping from her words. She might be evil incarnate in many ways, but being racist isn’t one of them. The shower cuts off, and Madison hands Vee a towel and a stack of clothes. Vee emerges after a minute in purple jeans, and dark grey fitted Knifeman shirt and an all-white bandana. She walks to the bar where the Trans-Atlantic title sits and places it over her shoulder.
“That’s what I found curious about your words to him. You are not a white man, but you praised him, showed him respect, and why? Because he is an OCW legend? Yeah, he’s done amazing things inside the ring. But to call an openly racist son of a bitch a hero makes my stomach turn. I am a lot of things, Kelson. I’ve been called sick, evil incarnate, I have thrown my own “sister” off the roof of this very arena, I superkicked Dylan Thomas from the top of the abandoned Packard Plant, stabbed him with a dirty used drug syringe I found in the crack house we were slugging it out and other things I am not going to openly admit via television and internet,” she says, looking at her championship.
She motions for the camera lady and Madison to follow her, nodding towards the door to be locked. She walks down to an area that has pictures of OCW legends. She stops in front of one that is of a scruffy-looking man who has spent time in prison.
“This man right here? Mack O’Connor. A legend here in OCW and one that made my championship mean something; before I became champion, that is. Mack is a man that commands fear and respect for his in-ring capabilities. Over here?” she asks, pointing towards the true Hoot of the company. “Alice Knight, also a former OCW Champion. Tough as the baddest ass owl in the forest. Over here?”
She walks further down and points to a picture of BRIM and Supreme Machine.
“BRIM is a legend in these parts. Tough as nails. Supreme Machine… my Cousin Dearest, undefeated and is close to being a Hall of Famer here,” she says with a wide grin. She takes a few steps down and looks up at PerZag and Ed Houston. “Recent Hall of Fame inductee, current Craze champion, and possible British Spy from ‘australia’ hehe,” she says, throwing up the air quotes on the continent from down under. “Ed Houston, not just a legendary Craze champion but also the fastest rising astronaut in NASA history.”
Finally, she reaches the one that makes her a little moist. Ok, really moist.
“Finally, our OCW Champion Outcast. Former Paradigm Champion. A man that almost killed Mike Zybala with an icicle made of bleu cheese dressing,” she says, and her eyes go wide in realization. “Zybala! That guy bleeds red and black. He loves this company as much as I do. All these individuals I just took the time to point out? These are the type of wrestlers that deserve our respect and admiration. Not recovering meth heads who are openly racist and don’t bother to give an opponent the time of day with thinking a bag of weed and Oreos are enough to beat the ‘hottest’ newcomer OCW has seen since, well, me,” she says with a smile, as her right hand comes up to rub the faceplate of the Trans-Atlantic title.
“If there is anyone besides the other champions in OCW that you need to be better than in the ring, it’s me. I am 9-0, and honestly, my goal this upcoming Monday is to not just change that record to 10-0 but to show you why you chose to ‘respect’ the wrong wrestler.”
“Don’t get me wrong, 37-21 or whatever is a hell of a mark. When he’s not too busy being a fry bag and staying off the pipe that smokes the contents from under an average kitchen sink, he’s a hell of a wrestler, but he is no one to respect. The fact that you do? It means I have zero for you, which honestly… is a goddamn shame.”
“I’m not Bob Grenier. I’m not Korey Kill. I am not anyone you have ever seen before. I am someone you’ll never forget after Monday.”
The Strader Family sneer slides across his lips, and the flames behind her father’s glazs coloured eyes burn bright.
“I’m the Trans-Atlantic Champion Veronica Strader, and there is one thing you should remember, Kelson Hewitt…"
"God? He Forgives.”
“I don’t.”
The feed cuts out. The cameralady nods in appreciation and walks away as Madison puts her arm around Veronica.
(off camera)
“Super stuff, boss!”
“Yeah? Thanks. Let’s go see if Chuck is in catering. I had them bring in a new brand of pepper chicken nuggets. He gets homicidal when he’s hungry.”
As the duo heads off towards catering, Victoria steps out from around the corner with a sneer of her own.
“I don’t forgive either, Veronica. I’m gonna get you. You’ll rue the day you decided to come out of my psyche.”
Victoria/Veronica Psyche
February 16th, 2022
The mind palace is a theory in the psychiatric field that prisoners, patients, and even people held captive for long periods tend to live in while incarcerated. Everyone is different in the construction and interior design of their “palaces.” Some might be the Grand Central Library in NYC, Venice, whatever felt safe in their construct. Victoria was no exception. She’s had two places in her childhood home, and the three-storey building that sits at the corner of Colborne Street and Dundas Street in London, Ontario that was her high school, Catholic Central High School. CCH was the true last place she had felt safe; it’s where she and Cara spent their teenage years, was valedictorian in her graduating class, helped campaign for Cara to Prom Queen. She even held three different positions on the student council, including president in her senior year.
She sits in the main entrance of the corner of the previously mentioned streets, the Atrium it’s called, along a bench that curves around the wall in a semi-circle. Her ponytail is pulled back tight, and her eyes wander the crowd of people she has simulated in her mind; jocks, nerds, geeks, academics, stoners… they are all there. It was the early morning rush to get to class, so she stood up, grabbed her Roots Canada backpack, slings it over her right shoulder, and heads to her locker; it was straight ahead through double doors that led to two hallways, both running along with the cafeteria.
Walking by the cafeteria, she turns to her left to look inside of it, seeing the students sit all-around chatting, catching up on homework they had weeks to complete, and some are just eating breakfast before the bell would ring. She almost bumps into a group of punks, but this is her place of sanctuary, and she doesn’t allow it to happen. When she reaches her locker on the other side of the cafeteria, she walks over to it, but something stops her.
“What was that?”
She stands perfectly still and listens closely to catch the sound she heard or thought she heard. She just about gives up when she hears it; it is music. “When The Music’s Over” is playing, and she puts her bag in her locker. In between a row of lockers is a space with a door. It’s a storage area for band equipment and janitorial supplies, but Victoria can hear the music, and as she is about to open the door, she hears a familiar voice; her own.
“The song is… fitting.”
“Victoria, what are you doing here? I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
Victoria keeps her composure best she can, but by the time she is through the door, she has missed most of the conversation but sees the aftermath: her grandfather, dead, at his desk.
“You’ll never hurt them again. You will never hurt Victoria again,” she says to the corpse of Scott Nash Strader. She looks up at the clock and back down to him. “Sorry, Meghan, but you are the fall gal.”
Victoria watches her affliction plant evidence that held Meghan Strader back last year, where she could only perform in Uprising due to being a “flight risk.” Still, luckily, the DoJ in Texas dropped the charges as her alibis were too strong. Victoria looked down at her hand as she walked out of the memory created by Veronica, and tears rolled down her cheeks as her right hand trembled.
“I am so sorry, grandpa, you didn’t deserve that end.”
She heads back out of the memory into the hallway and walks to her locker. She turns around, her head tapping lightly off the locker door, slides down to the floor, wraps her arms around her shins, and holds them tightly with her chin resting on top of her knees. She sniffles, and her big beautiful glasz coloured eyes look like they are in a lot of emotional pain. She doesn’t speak aloud in case Veronica is nearby, but her thoughts? Those were her own, and not even the affliction could hear them.
“So Veronica… you have been active longer than any of us knew. You knew Matthew was my dad; you knew about Supreme Machine and Jenny being family. How many more strings have you pulled that we don’t know about? And mom… you tried to frame mom. She has been nothing short of amazing. You wanted her gone because she was a threat but what’s changed? Are you that desperate for a parental figure? You were jealous that I had mom and dad, but by the time you get out and in control, they have already been dead for a few years….so now you want my biological mom as your own?”
Victoria sighs loudly and stands up slowly.
“I need to take control and talk to mom. She needs to know what Ronnie did. She has to pay for that.”
She grabs her bag from her locker and heads to the other area of her mind palace, her childhood home. She is a woman on a mission and isn’t going to let the affliction hurt anyone else in her family. That just might not be possible.
OCW Arena
OCW Gym and Training Centre
February 17th, 2022
Sweat was pouring down the brow of Veronica Strader as she was working her repetitions in the seated row, strengthening her back and upper body. She sees a camera filming her, finishes her reps, grabs her towel from Madison Addison, her newest entourage member, and takes her hand to help her up. She pats away at her forehead and brow, looks over to the camera again and back to Madison.
“Who is this clown?”
“She’s here to film your contractual promo for Massacre as Harold got pinched for a bottle of pills and dealing with prostitutes in Vegas.”
“He got pinched for hookers? In Vegas? Isn’t it legal there?”
“That’s a misconception, but it is legal in Reno.”
Veronica scoffs and laughs while shaking her head. She looks over to the camera-lady and shrugs.
“Learn something new every day,” she says with a chuckle. She grabs her water bottle and motions with a wave of her arm to follow her. With her towel wrapped around her neck, she heads toward her locker room with Madison in tow.
“Unlike a lot of mouthpieces in this industry, I like to back up the shit I say. Just Ask Dylan Thomas,” she says with a wide smile and a wink. “So when Marcus called me asking me to compete at Massacre, I didn't even hesitate. Not for a second. Especially when he tells me who he wants me to square up in the middle of the OCW ring against.”
“The opponent? Kelson Hewitt.”
Vee takes the lanyard from around her neck and unlocks her dressing room. The cameralady and Madison follow behind her as Vee heads around the corner to a shower stall. The water runs, and we see her purple Lululemon yoga pants and purple sports bar come out from behind the partition, and Madison is all over it.
“You did what that little bitch boy couldn’t at Access Denied and threw a stick in the spoke that is the wheel of Bob Grenier’s triumphant return to OCW. That’s quite the feat, no matter how experienced you might be elsewhere. Although I am hard-pressed to respect a guy who smokes a garbage bag of weed, eats a case of Oreo’s and proudly calls himself “The Grand Wizard of Wrestling” being a racist piece of shit,” she says, venom dripping from her words. She might be evil incarnate in many ways, but being racist isn’t one of them. The shower cuts off, and Madison hands Vee a towel and a stack of clothes. Vee emerges after a minute in purple jeans, and dark grey fitted Knifeman shirt and an all-white bandana. She walks to the bar where the Trans-Atlantic title sits and places it over her shoulder.
“That’s what I found curious about your words to him. You are not a white man, but you praised him, showed him respect, and why? Because he is an OCW legend? Yeah, he’s done amazing things inside the ring. But to call an openly racist son of a bitch a hero makes my stomach turn. I am a lot of things, Kelson. I’ve been called sick, evil incarnate, I have thrown my own “sister” off the roof of this very arena, I superkicked Dylan Thomas from the top of the abandoned Packard Plant, stabbed him with a dirty used drug syringe I found in the crack house we were slugging it out and other things I am not going to openly admit via television and internet,” she says, looking at her championship.
She motions for the camera lady and Madison to follow her, nodding towards the door to be locked. She walks down to an area that has pictures of OCW legends. She stops in front of one that is of a scruffy-looking man who has spent time in prison.
“This man right here? Mack O’Connor. A legend here in OCW and one that made my championship mean something; before I became champion, that is. Mack is a man that commands fear and respect for his in-ring capabilities. Over here?” she asks, pointing towards the true Hoot of the company. “Alice Knight, also a former OCW Champion. Tough as the baddest ass owl in the forest. Over here?”
She walks further down and points to a picture of BRIM and Supreme Machine.
“BRIM is a legend in these parts. Tough as nails. Supreme Machine… my Cousin Dearest, undefeated and is close to being a Hall of Famer here,” she says with a wide grin. She takes a few steps down and looks up at PerZag and Ed Houston. “Recent Hall of Fame inductee, current Craze champion, and possible British Spy from ‘australia’ hehe,” she says, throwing up the air quotes on the continent from down under. “Ed Houston, not just a legendary Craze champion but also the fastest rising astronaut in NASA history.”
Finally, she reaches the one that makes her a little moist. Ok, really moist.
“Finally, our OCW Champion Outcast. Former Paradigm Champion. A man that almost killed Mike Zybala with an icicle made of bleu cheese dressing,” she says, and her eyes go wide in realization. “Zybala! That guy bleeds red and black. He loves this company as much as I do. All these individuals I just took the time to point out? These are the type of wrestlers that deserve our respect and admiration. Not recovering meth heads who are openly racist and don’t bother to give an opponent the time of day with thinking a bag of weed and Oreos are enough to beat the ‘hottest’ newcomer OCW has seen since, well, me,” she says with a smile, as her right hand comes up to rub the faceplate of the Trans-Atlantic title.
“If there is anyone besides the other champions in OCW that you need to be better than in the ring, it’s me. I am 9-0, and honestly, my goal this upcoming Monday is to not just change that record to 10-0 but to show you why you chose to ‘respect’ the wrong wrestler.”
“Don’t get me wrong, 37-21 or whatever is a hell of a mark. When he’s not too busy being a fry bag and staying off the pipe that smokes the contents from under an average kitchen sink, he’s a hell of a wrestler, but he is no one to respect. The fact that you do? It means I have zero for you, which honestly… is a goddamn shame.”
“I’m not Bob Grenier. I’m not Korey Kill. I am not anyone you have ever seen before. I am someone you’ll never forget after Monday.”
The Strader Family sneer slides across his lips, and the flames behind her father’s glazs coloured eyes burn bright.
“I’m the Trans-Atlantic Champion Veronica Strader, and there is one thing you should remember, Kelson Hewitt…"
"God? He Forgives.”
“I don’t.”
The feed cuts out. The cameralady nods in appreciation and walks away as Madison puts her arm around Veronica.
(off camera)
“Super stuff, boss!”
“Yeah? Thanks. Let’s go see if Chuck is in catering. I had them bring in a new brand of pepper chicken nuggets. He gets homicidal when he’s hungry.”
As the duo heads off towards catering, Victoria steps out from around the corner with a sneer of her own.
“I don’t forgive either, Veronica. I’m gonna get you. You’ll rue the day you decided to come out of my psyche.”
