[LK] BACK OF THE LINE.

Posts : 12 Join date : 2022-03-03

”Come on, Corpse Bride.

Spitfire.

Rebel.

Come fight me with all that you fucking are.

I’ve been looking forward to this contest for quite some time, since you ended my undefeated streak on Odyssey, since you interfered in a match that I was about to take, throwing my game off and costing me my chance at the Women’s World Championship, since every fucking company under the sun-including this one-plastered your face all over each and every fucking billboard to make sure that you were the star of the show, that your meteor couldn’t be felled, that you wouldn’t fail so fucking easily.

Nothing for me, all for you.

Now, I get to take that back.

I look at the trajectory of every company the two of us have shared, Alyssa, and I see a meteoric shadow standing overhead. I see you like a fucking eclipse, fire-haired and fire-hearted, blocking the sun’s rays from the rest of us. I see you getting chance after chance, opportunity after opportunity, relishing in all of it...and honestly? It bothers me.

Sickens me, even.

I’ve had to scrape and claw to get to where I am. I had to fight one of the best in the world to get to this championship, this ten pounds of gold that sit around my waist. I had to go to war with Jacob Senn all fucking alone, to get my skull pulverized into mush, my brain turned into the barest essence of its fucking parts, to get this gold. You? You had to fight someone who’s on level with Senn, but you had assistance. You had a shot to the skull that opened a doorway to victory for you.

Still, you took the match.

It makes me wonder, Grace-who’s gonna be waiting for me when I step out there tomorrow night to come to war with you? What ace up your sleeve are you gonna pull when all of your fancy fucking moves can’t put me away? There’s no cash-in here, so I can’t count on you being a coward like you were with Baker, but I could definitely count on that ferocity, that sore loser attitude screaming out of your chest like it did with Hana. You can call me out for that pyrotechnics maneuver, but unlike the armbar that disabled Nakajima, it was a fucking accident.

What happens next certainly, positively, absolutely won’t be. What happens next needs to be fucking intentional, so you figure it out, so you learn your fucking place, so that you stop taking what belongs to so many of us who aren’t you. No matter how many losses you’ve taken or stumbles you’ve made, you’ve always pulled yourself back up. The machine’s always tugged on your marionette strings and made you fucking dance again.

This time, I’ve got to cut them loose.

I’ve got to stop your sun-eating, your heat absorbing, before you leach the start of my fucking legacy from me. I’ve got to cut you down in your prime, if you can call it that, before some masked cunt tries to strike me down once again. I need to go to that place so that I can put you out to fucking pasture, take you to the farm, and, BANG,” a brief pause as Liz emphasises the motion, “put one in the back of your head. You might be young still, but your career’s on the back nine, just like the man you’re so enamored with, so why don’t I call that shit quits and let you and Finn run off and fuck eachother a bit more privately than the public displays of abhorrent affection you’ve shown us all now. Why don’t I let you settle in the pride you’ve earned, rest on your laurels, and let the rest of us fight without the entire goddamn weight of the industry shoving our asses up to the front of EACH AND EVERY FUCKING LINE IN OUR WAY?!

I’m tired of your fucking face, Alyssa. I’m tired of the advertisements that shove you down my throat when you’ve done NOTHING here worth being celebrated. I’m tired of people asking me about you when I come around shows, because we spend so much time in eachothers immediate gravity wells that your scent must have fucking rubbed off on me. I’m tired of trying to stack up to you so that people GIVE A SHIT about me, and moreover, I’m fucking tired of you. I want you gone. I want you somewhere where you’ll never bother me again, be that six feet fucking deep or some remote country where you and Finn can do whatever it is you want to do. I don’t see a challenge in fighting you-the one time I did so, Bishop and I caved your fucking head in. I’m sure it’ll be a war, mind, an inorexible effort…but I’m not unsure of the result.

I’m not unsure of this journey’s end. I know in my head there is but one conclusion to this, our most recent war, our most current battle. It’s that I finish what I started on Odyssey, it’s that I remove you from this plain, from this fucking world, with all the prejudice and pain I can muster.

It’s that I end the ascent of the Spitfire, and show you what it’s like to be a challenger in the champion’s world for once in your fucking life.

Get fucked, Grace. Back of the fucking line.”

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