Post by Veronica Strader on May 19, 2022 17:30:21 GMT -5
Veronica Strader’s Hotel Room
Djibouti, East Africa
May 9th, 2022
“Fuck this, fuck me, fuck all of them!”
The sound of breaking glass fills the room as the wooden chair goes through the window of her hotel room. Her anger in herself has become so thick in the room that a knife could cut through it. She continues to trash the room in an angry fit. Her nose, which she cracked back into place like her mom taught her, was black and blue from when Dangerous Dan gave her a shot to the face with her own championship belt. She picks it up and looks at it, disdain on her face. Her knuckles turn white from her grip on it.
“Goddamn it! FUCK!”
She pivots, whipping the belt across the room, which almost hits her aunt but Tamika is well versed in angry outbursts while teaming with Meghan. Veronica notices her aunt after she has thrown the belt. It refocuses her anger into embarrassment as she falls to her ass on the edge of the bed, putting her head in her hands. Tamika frowns as she picks up the white leather strap walking over to the bed. She sits on the bed beside her and puts her arm around Veronica.
“Well, good thing your mom and I paid the insurance on the rooms,” she says, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, it probably is,” she replies, the tone of frustration ever prevalent in her voice. “Sorry about the belt; it just reminded me of my failure tonight.”
Tamika sighs. She turns to her right, brings her leg up on the bed on its side and places both hands on her niece’s thigh, giving a gentle squeeze.
“Listen kiddo, everyone loses at one point or another. You had an amazing run and made OCW history. No one has ever had the start you have had, plus you are the longest reigning and defending TransAtlantic champion the company has seen,” she says, hoping the words are sinking in.
Veronica scoffs whilst shaking her head.
“It was all luck. I barely beat Dylan in Detroit. One wrong step at the end and The Lost Stranger would be the TransAtlantic Champion. Supreme Machine had gone through hell with that bastard Knox not long before we met, where I exploited his wounds from that Buried Alive Match.”
“Sweetheart, it wasn’t all luck. It was skill. You are a Strader for Krishna’s Sake,” the exasperation is very prevalent in Tamika’s voice as she tries to talk some sense into Veronica. “I believe if Dangie Danny and Crisco Chris hadn’t come down and attacked you, you would’ve won. Don’t let that idiot Hood bring you down.”
Veronica gets up and walks out of the room after grabbing her duffle bag but leaves behind her TransAtlantic championship.
“Guess I’ll look after this then,” Tamika quietly says to herself as she grabs the TA strap. “Just like her mom, lets everything eat away at her.”
Veronica had searched everywhere she thought her best friend and lover, Outcast, would’ve gone to lick his wounds after being squashed by the fat bastard no one knows what to call; Plethora the Perilous or The Big Bifford? No matter what you call him, he is the OCW Champion and ended the dominant reign Outcast had as the company’s top guy.
“Son of a bitch, a dead end.”
That sentence had become frequent in her search. She had gone to his childhood home in Chicago’s south side, which was just as dirty and dangerous as the American version of Shameless depicted it to be. While she was at home in The Keys, she made a trip to the land he owned in Ocala, Florida, but again it was the same result.
“He has luchador tendencies… maybe he went back to Mexico?”
While a very smart, educated guess showed she listened to him when they spoke in between the sweaty and slightly dirty sex they had, it was frustrating she couldn’t find him. His phone was off and, by all accounts, hadn’t seemed to be powered on since before they crash-landed in the ocean close to Milftown Island, which was a wasteland after the deity, Frank the Volcano, erupted its hot liquid magma destroying the island and coating the air with ash.
Acapulco, Mexico
May 18th, 2022
Veronica found herself in a bar overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Acapulco, Mexico. A bottle of Patron Anejo (gold) Tequila sits in front of her with a 2oz bartender shot glass filled to the brim that she gently spins with her right hand.
“What a spectacular view. I wish you were with me, Christian, to see this.”
She lifts the glass, giving the ocean a “cheer,” and pours herself another shot. She was feeling pretty good, that warm glow of drunkenness starting to seep in. Her glasz-coloured eyes were beginning to glaze. Veronica nor Victoria had been drinkers, but she felt alone and defeated and it numbed those feelings.
“I used to give Vee so much crap for not winning and embarrassing us, along with the Strader name, then here I go and lose to a guy who thinks esports is on par with an actual sport. How can I justify myself as “The Chosen One” if I can’t beat a chump that will fizzle out and leave OCW high and dry?”
The OCW TransAtlantic Champion sat at the bar most of the day, finishing off the bottle Patron, and made sure to grab another before she left. She didn’t know what time she had made it back to the room she rented for the night, but it wasn’t long after Veronica passed out from the golden nectar of tequila.
“Wake up, darlin’,” a manly gravelly voice says, filling her ears. Her eyes flutter open, and if it was possible, her heart felt like it burst out of her chest. Rubbing her eyes, they are wide and filled with joy but also anger as she smacks Outcast’s right shoulder. “What was that for?”
“You know why! I have searched all over the western hemisphere for you! Where have you been? Are you ok?” she asks while embracing him in a tight hug and a tender kiss.
“Aye, I’m ok, Ronnie. Just have been rediscovering myself.”
“I’m glad I found you, or I guess you found me. Are you coming back with me to Djibouti?”
He gently shakes his head no, and suddenly it dawns on Veronica why he can’t. She can’t say it out allowed because she really doesn’t want to admit it aloud. He does it for her.
“This is just a dream, darlin’,” he says, which in turn crushes her heart as soon as the words leave his mouth. “I am here because you are lost. The past six months have been huge for you. You set a record with defences of the TransAtlantic championship; you’ll be a week away from a dominant six-month reign when you face Dangerous Dan at Big Game Hunting.”
“You should be there. That fat bastard has been making a mockery of the OCW championship,” she replies. Still, it was more because she missed him than anything else. “I know, you are right, but I let a situation get out of control, ending my winning streak at fourteen.”
Outcast extends his hand, and she takes it. She blinks, and they are on the beach, the Pacific Ocean’s waves gently washing up ashore. The moon illuminates them as they walk and talk.
“You are being too hard on yourself. No one likes to lose, Ronnie. It’s never any fun having to come back from something like that. When I lost to that Shitstain janitor at Masters of Macabre, that was a tough pill to swallow. Me, a veteran of twenty-plus years in this sport, lost to a jabroni that made his way up onto the roster after I had gone toe to toe with Xavier Lux the show before. When the traitor left, and I was awarded the championship, I made sure to let everyone know by dismantling Zybala at Death March, making short work of Maurako at Access Denied, and showing that hateful bigot Vargas that I was the best damn OCW Champion that the world had seen. Now, you know what that is about, don’t you?” he asks Veronica, looking to his left at her, and she squeezes his hand, answering his question.
“Yeah, I got a lot of flack about who I beat for the title, and because of who the title had belonged to before I was given the opportunity,” she replies, looking down at their bare feet walking through the white sand.
“You had to listen to those people doubt your legitimacy as the TransAtlanitc Champion from the former champion’s lover, who was bitter he was purged before he could get a shot at the big title. Even your father threw shade at you. I mean, what kind of father does that to their own flesh and blood?” he looks off in the distance in thought about being a father, wishing for a chance to be a better one.
“That bastard, he’s fathered a dozen children and yet has no clue how to act like a dad. I don’t let his words get under my skin anymore. Or, I try not too. I have proven myself time and time again that I am the greatest TransAtlantic champion in the history of its existence,” she remarks with confidence, which makes Outcast smile.
“See? You do understand, so why let one loss eat at you so much?”
“Because it was fucking Cypher. He’s a small-minded hack who gets off on torturing Lissie Hope and interfering in other peoples relationships, and hacking peoples social media accounts. I let that “man” get one over on me, and now he has the claim that he ended my winning streak,” she replies, the anger dripping like the poison it can be.
“And how did he do that? He did because the Danger Boiz came down, caused a distraction, and Dan cleaned your clock with the TransAtlantic title belt. If Dan doesn’t come down sticking his nose in your business, you are walking out of Massacre with that win. You kicked out of almost everything that little hack dweeb threw at you. Besides, a record doesn’t matter in the long run unless you are a sports analyst who needs something to talk about. You survived Dylan Thomas, The Lost Stranger, and hell, you pinned that behemoth Supreme Machine. You are going to survive Dangerous fucking Dan.”
The two stop and look out over the water at the moon’s reflection.
“Don’t forget, the Strader family has made Dan and Chris look like half their names: boys. Next to you, that’s what they are, boys. No one would ever consider calling them men. They let Mike Zybala take the OCW Tag Team titles away from them. Knowing they weren’t going to get a rematch, Dan came out looking to put you down because they couldn’t ever put down your mom and aunt. You come from a long line of successful wrestlers on both sides. Reach down, and pull it out. I know you can do it. I know you can beat Dangerous Dan, that’s just one of the reasons you are my Queen.”
Before she can reply, her eyes flutter open as the early morning sun warms her face as she awakes on the private balcony of the resort room she had rented for the night. She sits up, her head pounding a bit from the tequila but there is only one though at the front of her mind.
“You’re right, Christian. I can do this. I can defeat Dangerous Dan.”
With that, she stands heading into her room and gets ready to head back to Djibouti.
