Post by Veronica Strader on Jun 9, 2022 14:57:44 GMT -5
Victoria Strader’s Childhood Home
London, Ontario Canada
June 8th, 2022
(off camera)
“I am here to help you.”
“Help me how? Who are you?”
“You know who I am; don’t you dare to try and pretend you don’t.”
Before Veronica can respond, she feels her Auntie Tamika’s hand on her right shoulder. She tilts her head to hold her aunt’s hand between her cheek and shoulder, which gives her comfort. Tamika gives her a squeeze and sits down beside Veronica on the front step. The sun is setting in the west like it always does, and the niece/aunt duo sit there on the concrete front stoop of Victoria’s childhood home, watching it quietly. They don’t hear the door open behind them as they sit with their heads tilted and leaning on one another. Meghan squats down behind them, leaning her chin between her sister’s and daughter’s shoulders.
“Hey, you should be resting,” Tamika says, holding position with Veronica, who follows up.
“Is it the bedroom? You want us to set you up in the master?”
“I’m not an invalid, yet anyways. I’m ok; I just wanted to come out and watch the sunset with two of my favourite women,” she says lovingly. Veronica insisted on her mother going home, back to London, to stay in Victoria’s childhood home because that is what she would’ve wanted. Her eyes closed as she breathed in the evening air with a hint of lavender coming off Tamika and the sweet-sharp and crisp smell of mint leaves exuding off Veronica. “So Victoria used to sit on this step as a little girl?”
Veronica lowers her head as Meghan moves slowly, tilting her head to see if her daughter is smiling or not, and she is. The cute little smirk that also belonged to Victoria. No one knew how to help the young woman because her situation was straight out of Jerry Springer Sci-Fi edition.
“Yeah, she did, well, we did, yeah. I couldn’t feel what she touched or taste what she ate or drank, but I could feel the happiness it gave her, which made me happy… I don’t know; it’s difficult to explain,” she replies as she lifts her head up and looks out over the grass and atop the houses across the street the sun is setting on.
“We may not understand, but you can always tell us anything. I know we are a bit dysfunctional, but through it all, we are always there for each other when we truly need it, kiddo,” Tamika says to her, hoping that will help her open up. No one in the family blamed Veronica for what happened to Victoria. While they were devastated about it, they all welcomed her in with open arms.
“It’s known that we love deeply but hate deeper, but at the end of the day? None of us have ever actually hated one another. We love you just as much as we loved Victoria. I thank God every day he brought you both to me, to all of us,” the fierce but very sick mamabear says to her cub, even if she is fully grown. She meant it too, and not just because she was dying. The pain had been getting worse. It felt like it was ravaging her body like Bucky was with electricity in Halloween 4. Thankfully the opiates and Cara’s edibles were helping. She regretted wrestling last Monday, that was for sure.
“Thanks, mom, auntie tee. I am grateful to have all of you. Are you sure Victoria’s room is where you want to be?” she asks, scooching over so Meghan can sit in between her kid and sister.
“Yeah, it’s perfect. I feel close to her and you in there. Dustin is on his way, and he can have the master bedroom.”
“You know he’s just going to crawl into that double you are sleeping on, right?” Tamika asks, throwing in a wink.
“Maybe that is exactly what I am hoping for? Ever think of that?” she asks in a rhetoric fashion, putting her elbow in her baby sister’s side playfully.
The three Strader women laugh and enjoy the moment of levity because the days that were to come wouldn’t be easy nor comfortable for any of them, especially the Matriarch. All three women are very pissed off about what happened on Monday Night Massacre, so this moment of tranquillity in a world full of hostile moments and feelings was very welcomed.
“Are you going to show up to Massacre on Monday, Auntie Tee?” she asks, breaking the moment of silence.
“I’m booked; I’ll be there. I will have a talk with Marcus Welsh on how he should’ve told us what was going on instead of putting all of us into this position. Right now? Welsh is in a major breach of contract with Strader Incorporated and PWA Holdings. As soon as he decided to sell shares behind our backs, he violated our agreement. Since I know he can’t pay for it, the new majority asshole will have to; otherwise, this place will cease to function and enter a series of litigations if they decide to keep running shows that will make them wish they had never been born,” Tamika replies calmly, practicing the ancient techniques of meditation taught to her as a child under Sensei Kim in Japan.
Meghan does her best to hide the smile that statement gives her. Tamika was going to become the Matriarch of the Strader family, and Meghan knew at that moment she could bare that crown made of blood and pain by their father.
“Well, whatever you decide to do, Auntie Tee, I have your back. My loyalty lies with the family as OCW has proven it has none for us,” she says, surprising her mother and aunt. She had always been pro-OCW and now sounded like she was willing to throw it all away. “Marcus promised me that none of the purged idiots would return, and I have seen a number come back since then, but this one? Is just insulting. Sure he has his excuses of ignorance, but given that guy, any percentage was stupid to sell-off. I have no loyalty to those that have none for us.”
“Time to let me out, Veronica.”
OCW Arena
Key West, Florida
June 8th, 2022
(on camera)
“Hmmm, feels like coming home.”
Veronica Strader (being filmed by Strader Family Cameraman, Harold the Cameraperson) walks up to the doors of the OCW Arena. Closing her eyes, she hears the fans chanting like an echo of a memory of when she was Jane Doe wearing the Guy Fawkes mask to conceal her identity like Marcus asked her to. Veronica opens them as the sound of the fans dies down in her subconscious. She looks at us, wearing that Samurai brown synth-leather jacket. The one she had brought out with her from the PORTAL-POTTY, which belonged to Victoria in that weird alternate dimension they had found themselves in. She begins to walk and talk as she heads toward the freight and delivery area.
“BRIM, one of the few that has the heart for OCW like I do, or rather, the way I did. I’m not so sure anymore that I even give a damn anymore about this place. Like you, big man, I pretty much lived in the OCW Arena like you do. Being given Peter Vaughn’s janitor closet with the permission to expand, I created a spot for myself and, of course, Roxxie G and Marcy The Headmistress. To be honest? I miss those days. Things were so much more simple,” she says, lowering her head for a moment. She looks back up to us as she pulls out her keys and opens the doors in the freight area of the arena.
“This place has filled me with so many great memories. The experimental 24/7 where the arena was open all the time, and a match or shit-talking could happen at any time. I hear Lord Allton is still doing that and has useable legs through the great advancements of technology. I even threw my own sister off the top of this arena; I had a battle with Zyabala and The Stranger and amassed the chunk of my record, and it’s where Outcast and I first crossed paths. It’s where I started to build my brand, but once we got on that plane to Ireland for Luck of the Violent, that’s when everything started to change, wasn’t it?”
Her purple denim jeans show her figure as she struts passed catering, waving and nodding to OCW staffers she hasn’t seen in many months.
“Both you and I came up short at Big Game Hunting when the odds should’ve been in our favour. I will say you got the worst of it, considering you had to give up your Savage Championship to have the match you won a right to be in. I lost my title because I was distracted, and that’s something you can’t do against a man like Dangerous Dan. Not to say you were distracted as well; maybe it was more of the head games the Big Bifford played with you and Duce. Only you can tell us why.”
Finally, Veronica approaches her custom locker room, and with the keys still in her hand, she unlocks the door. From left to right, she sees her 100inch projector screen is still down, the projector itself still hanging in place from the ceiling, and the locker area along the middle of the back wall has some cobwebs. Her bar on the right is still fully intact, which is what she makes her way toward as she takes off her jacket revealing a black Meghan Strader t-shirt with the Superwoman S in silver on the front and her sneering face on the back of it but of the PWA era. Grabbing a fresh dusty bottle of Patron Gold, she takes the seal off and lifts the opening to her nose so she can smell it as she pulls out the cork pouring herself three shots in a rocks glass, keeping the golden Mexican liquor of the Aztecs and Mayans neat. No ice. Just like her father, Matthew The Raven Knox. Apple, the tree, and all.
“BRIM, based on size alone and experience, you are probably the Vegas odds on favourite to win our match. Although maybe Sportsbook is correct. I am accustomed to cage matches, even the weird ones (Luck of the Violent, anyone?). Given that I am lighter on my feet and most likely faster than you, I could, in theory, escape the cage quickly, ending our battle,” she says. Still, the Strader family sneer that creeps across her face tells us a different story. She takes down the golden liquid in one gulp and pours another as she walks around from behind the bar, glass in her right hand, the neck of the Patron bottle in her left. She plops down on the black leather couch and puts her purple high-top Conserve sneakers on the coffee table before turning on the projector. Mighty Morphin Power Rangers?
“Seems Zybala has been in here, hasn’t he? What a guy. BRIM, I want you to know that even though I have lost my faith and trust in Marcus Welsh and OCW, it doesn’t mean I have checked out and will give you an easy victory, though. No, I am Strong and Proud, but for myself. Not OCW. Not Marcus Welsh. Just me and those closest, not just the Strader family either. So what I am saying is, you are getting the same Veronica Strader you would’ve gotten three months ago just with a tweak or two. I’m still as dangerous as I have ever been, and I will bring a fight to you like you have never seen before. Even if I am pulling my name out of the Prison Yard Match. I will be damned if I fight to hold a title in a place now owned by a Fluke.”
She sits up straight, feet hitting the ground as the voice she has heard recently enters her head. However, it doesn’t sound like the OCW Champion yet; she can’t quite place its familiarity.
“Let me out, Veronica.”
She tries not to appear awkward, but we can see something has spooked her. After a few seconds, the sneer returns to her face. She takes a drink of her tequila and glares into the lens like only a Strader can.
“BRIM, Marcus, Flukes... I will tell you this one thing… God? He forgives.”
“I don’t.”
Harold masterfully fades out for a promotional spot for Monday Night Massacre.
