Post by K.T. Windsor on Nov 17, 2016 23:08:29 GMT -5
October 27th, 2016
The rough brick of the wall behind her was what the woman known to the wrestling world as K.T. Windsor found herself focusing on. Even as her eyes searched the crowd for the man she was supposed to meet, the texture through the well-worn Red Sox baseball jersey she had on kept her grounded, saved her from focusing overly hard on why she was waiting for Peyton's brother to make his appearance. Sure, she'd never met this particular member of the Kaiser family before... but there were certain familial resemblances she could watch for, or such was the hope. And considering how sparse hope's presence had been from her life for a couple of years, well, she was going to hold onto the tattered shred of having Peyton back until she bled if she had to.
It was about all she had left, cliche as it was.
Her newly-inked contract with CRW would suggest otherwise, of course... but without anything but the idea of being booked in the future to focus on, her future in professional wrestling was amorphous, nebulous in a way that made it impossible to truly focus on when she wasn't in the practice ring. It was hard to envision her path to the gold she wanted to win in her brother's honor when she didn't even know what that first step looked like. About all the more she knew was that she wasn't going to be walking into some small peanuts promotion to try to make a name for herself, oh no--she was strolling square into the major leagues and established talent, hall-of-famers to the left of her and champions to the right. And there she was, stuck in the middle with no professional accolades to boast about or--
"Hiya there, sweetheart," a voice rang out to her, causing her to turn her head around feverishly. It did not take long for her eyes to land on a tall, at least 6'4", man. His hair was an endless trove of black, messy curls. She recognized some of the nuances that the Kaiser family had. The different scars of war from their stiff fighting style, a pointed jaw structure, but most of all their eyes. His eyes resonated with the same, familiar, bloodthirsty hunger that she saw occasionally in Peyton's blue hues. Yet, in this case, it was glossed over. It was as if Gage did not bother to recognize her. K.T. to him was an object, perhaps a plaything. There was even a hint of red in his eyes; she swore his pupils were not human-like either. It must have been her imagination.
He looked harmless enough outside of that. Outfitted with a black hoodie, underneath which was a Legend of Zelda shirt and a pair of beat up looking jeans, Gage von Licht simply seemed like a stoner beyond anything else. Artemis said that Peyton was a hitman. Artemis herself wasn't the sweetest person about. She reveled in bloodshed and the pain she inflicted on others, a proper sadist. If those two were any indication, then she knew to be wary about Gage as well. That dopey smile might hide something entirely sinister. Past her own thoughts, something about his aura, the way he carried himself put K.T. on edge.
Gage waved his hand absently at her. "I remember ya now that I got a look. Peyton and ya ran together for a bit," his eyes looked into the air, imagining what he reminisced on.
"Then you vanished," he said, flatly. His tone may have been comedic, but she knew that there was a hint of spite weaved in there--and it hit her square-on in the face, making her flinch despite herself. Even if she had owned up to her vanishing act being her fault and earned Artemis' approval, well... she had the feeling she was in for gut check after gut check, reminder after reminder of how she'd fucked up. A hand raised to rub at the back of her neck absently as she forced herself to take it. The off-putting aura, the flashes of something that was either her mind playing tricks or giving it to her straight... though she didn't know which was worse.
You need to sleep more, Kassandra Trudy.
"Yeah, well... grief fucks with you, y'know?" Her tone was apologetic, though she managed to avoid launching into the verbal self-ass-kicking that she still felt that she deserved. Pushing herself off of the wall, she made herself meet Gage's eyes. If she's learned anything about the Kaisers, after all, it's that they respect those that stand up for themselves. "And if Peyton wants to hate my guts until the end of time, I can't blame him--but he deserves to know what happened before he makes that call. Did Artemis bring you up to speed?"
"Yuuuup!" he drew out the answer. He made steps out, shrouding his eyes with a hand on his forehead. He scanned around, tilting his body over too. He whistled before stretching his long body up.
"She came to me with that attitude of her and yelled at me to get off my lazy arse and do something for once. Well, I tried to pay attention, but the gist of it is that my baby brother is missing and you wanna find him," Gage spoke with a casual tone. "She gave me some licorice and that is how I got here. Let's just hope that he isn't dead."
Gage's way of speaking made K.T. narrow her eyes. Was it a common thing in the Kaiser Family to speak so casually about their siblings' possible death? Gage seemed so jovial, he even laughed at it. When he did, she couldn't help but notice that his eyes reflected something primal and violent. Suddenly, he clapped loudly, startling her slightly.
"So!" He said, loudly. "I guess we ought to follow the blood, huh?"
"...whatever you say." How soon, she would regret those words.
CHAPTER ONE
s l e e p w a l k i n g
s l e e p w a l k i n g
November 1st, 2016
The layer of dust covering the duffel bag turned it gray, obscuring everything to leave nothing behind but the topography of an abandoned dreamscape behind.
It was fitting since it had been abandoned twice.
For a moment, the gathered nerve in her chest wavered as she stared down at it. She knew exactly what was in there, give or take a stray protein bar or two. One extra-large black towel for when she showered in the locker room--so that when her trademark purple hair inevitably bled when it was freshly dyed, no stains would show-- one tube of deodorant that had probably turned to powder, one cheap-o hairbrush she'd picked up at a gas station when her brother broke hers. There were two or three hair ties wrapped about the handle, of course... assuming they weren't wrapped around the travel-sized bottle of shampoo, or maybe the body wash. And she couldn't forget the rolls of athletic tape in all sorts of colors, jumbled together in a zip-top bag. Atop all of that, though, was the important stuff--the stuff she'd need if she wanted to have a hope in Hell of getting into the ring with Talon and proving herself as being worth her contract. Some of it could be substituted easily enough, a tank top and gym shorts instead of the custom-made spandex sports bra and shorts that had been her ring gear. Going without the pads would suck, but it wasn't like she hadn't muddled through her training over the last few months without them. What couldn't, though...
"D'you know how many wrestlers are gonna look at those and wonder just what the fuck you're thinkin'?"
The memory of Kaden Windsor's voice made her frown deepen, a shaky breath taken as she strained to recall the nuances of his voice--something she was finding harder and harder to do as time passed. Those details sharpened as she knelt before that bag, a quivering hand reaching out to carefully, slowly move the dust out of her way. Even with that precaution, a good-sized cloud of the stuff floated up into her nose that made her cough hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, forcing her to double over. One hand hit the floor to support herself as the other rose to furiously rub its back against her nose in a futile attempt to help clear it out. It took a good minute for her to be able to breathe, much less focus her gaze on the thin strap of nylon connecting the zippers together. Hauling the front of her Red Sox t-shirt up over her nose, she still found herself holding her breath as she yanked the zipper back and opened up the time capsule to her wrestling past... and what she saw made her heart ache all over again. Bright purple wrestling boots weren't horribly uncommon. Ones painted to look like they were modified baseball cleats that somehow stretched to the knee, on the other hand... not so much.
"They're gonna wonder where to get their own, obviously."
The patent leather still felt brand new as she hauled them out into the open air, her impromptu facemask falling away to reveal features that were tearing up for an entirely different reason this time around. She thought they'd still fit like a glove even after a couple of years--and even if they didn't, then she'd wear them anyway until either they were broken in enough to fit her or she was broken in enough to fit into them again. But which was it going to be?
"Only one way to find out." Strange, how she sounded hopeful yet terrified all at once to her own ears as she sat down amidst the dust, fingers working the lacing loose.
"And in the beginning... there was light." The visual cuts in straightaway after she speaks, just like the last time that K.T. Windsor addressed the camera... but that's exactly where the similarities end. There's no baseball field, no pitcher's mound to perch upon--no daylight-esque brilliance to cut through the darkness. A singular halogen is all the more that turns on, backlighting the purple-haired woman that is sitting so that the camera films her from the side. From what can be seen, she's in a room with wood paneling on the walls and shag carpet that was cool back before she was even thought of, much less born. The fact that the same is true of Kaden , her brother that passed away... well, that doesn't help matters much. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Not enough time has passed since he passed away for her to be able to recover easily. K.T.'s head falls forward partway, a swath of faded violet hair moving to obscure her face from view for a moment as a sigh leaves her, low and soft and mournful despite her attempt to hide it. An inked-up shoulder slips into view, the star-kissed galleon cresting free of the oversized white Orioles t-shirt she has on when she reaches up to move that obstruction. Only then does she continues to speak, dark eyes not rising from whatever point on the floor she apparently finds so interesting.
"There was a whole bunch of other shit that was there when I began this whole wrestling thing a coupla' years back, not just light. There was youthful excitement, boundless enthusiasm and energy, the promise of a future that even shades wouldn't have kept from blindin' me... not to mention the promise of sun, sun, sun. And I'm not sayin' that because of the name of the company I first signed to, though I guess Sunrise Wrestling didn't really rise to meet its moniker, did it?" A shake of her head. "There were clouds on the horizon, sure, but I felt untouchable. Hell, we all did. So what if Sunrise Wrestling was a small outfit? Every big dream starts small, and I had so many blessings to consider myself lucky for. My brother's ALS was respondin' well to some experimental medication, I won my first match against a man that was a vet in comparison--everyone we knew was makin' the drive from Silver Spring to the shows to wave glow-sticks in the crowd since Garth Gaffney couldn't afford to buy lights or pyro. And of course, I can't forget meetin' Peyton and Frito Pie at three at the morning. It seemed like I was on that shiny golden rocket to the top, with nothin' but love and light ahead of me... but that upward trajectory didn't last for long."
Her head tilts upright before it falls back against that wood paneling, something self-punishing in her tone.
"I shoulda' seen at least some of it comin', but I couldn't. I was too caught up in the energy of it all to see the writing on the wall--well, right until I charged into it headfirst. Sunrise Wrestling foldin' like a cheap piece of paper came first, and that absolutely devastated me on a professional level. I mean, of course it did. What else was gonna happen to a starry-eyed youngster that bought the dream wholesale? I couldn't rebuild fast enough to keep up with Peyton when he went on to other companies. I mean, obviously I went to his shows and supported him... but a few months after that? Kaden's condition took a nosedive, and I had to drop everything to help Mom and Dad take care of him. And six months after that, we buried him." K.T. glances sidelong at the camera, her expression that sort of neutral that has got to take a lot of effort to keep. "Sorry--were you expectin' a miracle? I sure was. I was so caught up in that desperate hope that when he died, I... it hit me hard. It hit me harder than it probably should've. I mean, ALS is fatal--and there was only so much that his youth could help. But just like with Sunrise Wrestling... I didn't see the writing on the wall. Hell, I didn't see the wall itself. I just crashed into it, y'know? And it took a long time to even start to pull the pieces together, a really long time--but here I am, for better or for worse, and this time I'm comin' into this without any stars cloudin' my vision."
Nodding to herself, the purple-haired pugilist continues to speak--finally turning her head to favor the camera with her gaze. There's no make-up to be seen, which means the circles surrounding those dark brown eyes are visible... but hey, they've been worse. They've been far, far worse.
"And by now, I imagine Hangman Hall's havin' himself a fit at not bein' mentioned yet." She scoffs, rolling her eyes.
"You seem the type, at least--the entitled douchebro that feels like he should be able to say whatever he wants without bein' called on it. I mean, who calls a woman he's never met hunny when there's no way in Hell that I'd want to know you like that? I mean, yes you're all inked up and rough around the edges, but it takes more than that to impress me. Things like, oh I don't know... not being a fuckstick. Then again, I see right past that mean scowl and your tattoos and your piercings--and unfortunately for you, I don't miss that vacant look in your eyes. I also don't miss how your belly's a bright-ass shade of yellow, either. Or are you too busy callin' women condescending names to actually respond to me steppin' right back up to you on Twitter?" A dark brow raises before she shakes her head. "Your answer doesn't matter, not to me. Even though I only ever had one match, that match was against a guy that was a lot like you--expect he, at least, had the guts to speak up in self-defense after I called him on his bullshit. You? Not so much... and that's why you're gonna get your ass handed to you at Face Off. Not just because I need to make a good first impression--even though I do--and not because I'm wrestlin' for the audience member with the best seat in the house, even though I am. Kaden would so want me to knock your teeth right out of your mouth and into the crowd for obvious reasons."
Obvious to anyone with working brain cells, anyway. Something intensifies in K.T.'s eyes as she leans forward just a little.
"No, see... the main reason I need to punch you in the mush until you're only able to stare up at the lights is because I want everyone in that arena, from the cheap seats all the way down to the ringside area, from the locker room to those fans watchin' at home or wherever they happen to be to know that I mean business. Everyone, just about, that's ever headed down a ramp to a ring has said that they're there to win--but bein' able to prove that I can talk the talk and walk the walk? That, right there, is the rare thing... and even if my first start didn't give me the chance to show that I could do that consistently, I know I still got it in me to make it happen. After everything I've survived just to get back to this point, the loss and the disillusionment and the grief and everything else? I'm not gonna let anyone stop me from succeeding and doing Kaden's memory proud. Not former champions, not legendary Hall of Famers..." Her final words to the camera are delivered with the intensity that comes from surviving, from rebuilding better and faster and stronger. "And sure as Hell not some peckerwood like you."