Post by Misha LeCavalier on Feb 8, 2017 7:49:43 GMT -5
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
Early 1985
“Did you call your brother and let him know that we were stopping by?” Neva LeCavalier asked as she and her husband approached the front door of a massive house.
“Indeed, I did call. I didn’t reach Norman; Emmaline picked up instead,” Ethan said as he put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “She informed me that Norman had been acting strangely. That’s partially why we’ve come to see him. That, and my wonderful baby niece, but of course,” Ethan said as he flashed a quick smile.
Neva was not so joyous. “I wonder what’s the matter?”
“Hmm, I think I know what’s eating away at him,” Ethan said as they made it to the doorway. “It’s not something that Emmaline can handle by herself—that is where I come in, my love.” A look of concern washed over Neva. Ethan leaned in and gently kissed her forehead. “Hey hey, don’t worry a hair on your pretty little head. I’m just going to have a little chat with him. Then things should be better, yeah?”
“Alright.” Neva mildly shook her head. “You LeCavalier men are a peculiar bunch.”
“Well, it’s not like I can argue with that notion,” said Ethan as he let out a little chuckle. “And yet, you young lass’ keep falling for us.”
“Oh, how foolish are are.”
The two shared a small laugh as Ethan briskly knocked on the front door. A couple of seconds later, they heard a dead-bolt unlock from the inside. The door opened up to reveal the smiling (but exhausted) face of a sandy haired woman.
“Hey you two,” Emmaline said as she ushered them into the house. “Come in, come in.” She hugged both Ethan and Neva as they entered. “Please, let me take your coats.”
“No no no, my dearest sister-in-law.” Ethan returned her smile with one of his own. “We are your fateful cavalry. Therefore, you should only be concerned with resting and relaxing. We can take care of our own coats.” Ethan removed his and then gathered his wife’s and hung them both in hallway closet.
“How have you been, Emmaline?” Neva asked.
“Me? I’ve been doing fairly well,” she said with a slight laugh. “I’ll admit, I’m dog-tired. As you can imagine, I haven’t been getting much sleep as of late.”
“No, I imagine not,” Ethan. “Speaking of which, where is my beautiful niece at, hmm? I for one am ready to simply gobble her up.”
“I had her with me in the living room. We’ve got a small, portable crib set up in there,” Emmaline said as she motioned for them both to follow her. “You’re just in luck Ethan. She actually just woke up from a nap.”
“Marvelous, she’ll be spunky and full of life! ”
Emmaline let out a small laugh as she shook her head. “Come this way.” She led them into the living room. Baby Ryan laid in her crib with a pink blanket and a pink beanie, wrapped up like a burrito. Emmaline gently picked her up and gave her a small kiss on the cheek. “Hey there baby girl. Your uncle is here to see you.”
She carefully passed Ryan over to Ethan; he brought her in close as he held her. Ryan looked up at her uncle; her hazel eyes her soft, but they pierced through Ethan’s heart. “Oh my. Well aren’t you oh so very precious?” He held her up and kissed her on the forehead. Ryan squirmed a bit in her blanket and then smiled a bit. “You are something special, indeed you are.”
He lifted his head and looked back at Emmaline. “Now, where might I find my grump of a brother at, hmm?”
The mention of her husband made Emmaline shake her head. “Oh, him,” she said with a bit of disdain in her voice. “He’s perched and cemented in the upstairs study.”
“Thank you kindly.” Ethan turned to exit the living room.
“Do you want me to take Ryan?”
Ethan smiled “Nonsense! I shall not put her down the entire time that I am here.” After a few seconds, that smiled fade away. “Besides, he needs to be around his daughter. He can no longer run away and hide from her.”
Norman’s upstairs study was jokingly referred to by his family as the “Black Room.” He always kept the windows and blinds blinds closed, and the only light source in the room was the meager bankers lamp that sat on his desk. The “Black Room” was where Norman would seek refuge when he was deep in thought, or in distress.
There was a slight knock on the door. Norman had actually fallen asleep in his chair. The sound of knocking caused his eyes to pop open. However, before he could react, Ethan opened the door and burst through the room’s threshold.
“Norman! My good brother! How goes it?”
“Ethan?” From his vantage point, and due to the lighting, only Ethan as visible. Norman rolled his eyes and let out an audible grunt. He certainly wasn’t in the mood for his sibling’s chipper and jovial nature. “I see you’re manners are lacking this evening. I didn’t even give you permission to enter.”
Ethan’s smirk returned. “I’d be dead four times over if I’d waited for you to give me permission.” Norman didn’t respond with words, but with a frustrated grunt and sigh concoction. By this point, it had become evident to Ethan that jokes wouldn’t be of any use in this situation.
“Look Norman, I received a call from your wife a couple of days ago,” Ethan said in a direct manner. “She told me how you’ve been in a massive funk ever since Ryan was born.” He shook his head just a bit. “You may not be aware, or you may not even care, but your actions have been detrimental to your wife’s wellbeing. Emmaline was been gravely concerned about you, and she reached out to me. Therefore, here I am.”
Ethan stepped forward, still shrouded by shadows. “So, would you mind telling me what’s running through your brain? Or, must I make a very educated guess?”
“You know damn well what’s going through my head!”
The brothers glared at each other as an awkward silence persisted for a few moments. A mild cough from Ryan broke the silence. Ethan looked down at her and nuzzled her nose.
“There, there love.” He smiled down at her. “Tis this dusty room that’s affecting you. But fear not, once your father shapes up, we shall retreat back to the comforts of the living room.”
Ethan walked into the thin sliver of light that illuminated from the bankers lamp. Norman was able to clearly see his face, along with that of his daughter. A snarl came to the older brother’s lips.
“Why the hell did you bring her up here?” Norman shouted.
Ryan picked up on the anger in Norman’s voice. It caused her to whimper a bit; and that whimper transformed into crying. Ethan drew her in closer and rocked her bit. “Hey hey, all is well, love. Uncle Ethan is here; and I won’t let anything harm you.” Ryan’s crying tapered off after about thirty seconds or so; Ethan used his finger to dry her cheeks. “There you go.” With his niece sound and secure, he turned his attention back to Norman.
“I’d never thought I’d have to say this about one of my kin members, but I’m ashamed of you.” His normal cheery tone dissipated. In it’s place was one of harshness and sternness. “Do you know what this is?” Ethan looked down at Ryan. “This is your greatest work. This is your flesh and blood. This is your legacy.
“You have no right in shunning the child that you helped create. She didn’t ask to be here, you and Emmaline initiated it. And now that she’s here, it’s time to get your head out of your ass and man up.
“Your anger is misplaced, and unjustified. And, it was your ignorance and pride that led to your disappointment. You had able opportunity to discover and discern Ryan’s sex. And had you taken those opportunities, you won’t be in the piss poor mood you’re in right now.”
Having heard enough, Norman rose to his feet. A mixture of contempt and indignation was plastered all over his face. Ethan on the other hand was not impressed.
“I’d sincerely advise you to take your seat. I’d hate for Ryan to have to witness her father’s arm being broken at such an early age.”
Norman didn’t make a move. He simply glared at his brother. After a moment or two, he sat back down in his chair.
“Hmm, a very wise move, my dear brother.” Ethan let out a small sigh and he shifted Ryan in his arms.
“I’m well aware of our family’s principles. I also know that you were dead set on having a son. We LeCavaliers are power people; we’ve always gotten what we wanted.” He paused. “However, no power is ultimate. Sometimes life hurls curveballs that we can’t dodge.
“In this case, this particular curveball is a wonderful blessing. Stop being a being a coward, stop being a fool—and embrace it. Be blessed that you even have a child at all. At the end of the day, she is still your seed, and she is still a LeCavalier. She’ll still be great—perhaps even greater than if you had a son.”
With that, Ethan quickly turned on his heels. “Now, Ryan and I are off to consume all the milk and vittles in your kitchen. After you’ve freshened and cleaned yourself up, perhaps you will join us all in living room.”
What’s the true nature of a Queen?
The Answer is simple—Powerless.
You are but a meaningless figurehead.
The term Queen is a false status symbol.
What is a leader without the people?
What is a ruler without a kingdom?
Idiotic delusionists!
I’d rather not be labeled a Queen.
My desire is to have true power.
Advancement is my greatest craving.
I shall not bear the Queen’s cloak.
But I shall wear the hat of a Revolutionary.
Darkness—that’s what permeated through the tiny room. It would have been pitch black if it were not for a small lighting fixture attached to ceiling; although, the two dead light-bulbs connected to it did nothing to solve the illumination issue. One dim, dull light-bulb provided a microscopic bit of solace.
The dwelling was relatively drab. It wasn’t a space that provided comfort or fuzzy feelings. There were no momentos hanging on the wall. There were no windows. In fact, the only other fixture was a chair seated directly in the center of the room. Well, the word chair would be a bit of an understatement. It was a massive metal contraption; spikes and sharp points protruded out from it’s sides. It’s back and headrest were ordained in some type of crimson colored cloth.
Misha LeCavalier rested in that wicked throne-like chair, although nothing about her appearance screamed royalty. Her usually perfect hair was wild and disheveled. The base of her upper body was covered by a white t-shirt speckled with maroon splotches. On top of that t-shirt was light green jacket that had been riddled with cuts and slashes. Her pants matched her jacket, both in color and conditioning. The leather on her boots was tattered and torn.
It was as if she’d just survived a night of living hell. And yet, Misha still sat straight up—poised. She gazed straight ahead. Said gaze was an odd brew of anger, ambition, and annoyance.
“You know, when I was doing my research and due diligence before signing up to North Atlantic Wrestling, there was one name that kept creeping up. The forums neglected to mention No One. Chrystal Taylor's name was mysteriously absent from all the blog sites. And Katherine Brock? Hmm, her name didn’t dare run across the the fans’ lips. No, NAW’s faithful only spouted off about one person.” Something resembling a smirk crept across Misha’s lips. “Kandi Washington—I’ve been waiting oh so very long for this match.
“Now, this match may come as a stark surprise to you, but this bout was inevitable, Kandi.” She lightly shrugged. “In truth, you and I have been on an imminent crash course ever since I stepped foot into the company. You were the top dog. Hell, in your crusade to capture the Femme Fatale Championship, you defeated just about everyone in the division. You were on a roll; you were on a tear…”
Misha’s voice trailed off for a second. “Kandi, I’m willing to bet you thought you’d go unchallenged for ages. Perhaps you even thought you’d retire holding that championship—
“That is until Misha LeCavalier showed up, hmm?” She paused for a second. “You didn’t know who I was. The rest of NAW didn’t know me from Hillary or Jane. However, in a short amount of time, people’s comments and utterances turned away from you, Ms. Washington. Instead, I began to garner everyone's attention…
“How about that?”
Misha shook her head lightly as she leaned back in the chair just a bit. “Wrestling fans are probably the most fickle people on God’s green earth. When you are suffering and downtrodden, they mock you. When you’re battered, bloodied, and broken, they urge for more violence. And no matter what you do, a portion of them will never be satisfied.” Misha paused, hoping that the audience would feel the weight of her words. “And yet, I certainly understand why people have turned against you. It’s as clear as day.”
She lifted her right leg and crossed it over her left one. “I find it a bit humorous. In my eight to nine years in professional wrestling, I have the displeasure of running across numerous Kandi Washingtons. Yes, I know you think you are unique dear; but the truth of the matter is, your type is a dime a dozen.” Misha paused to take a breath. “And what exactly do I mean by your type? Fear not, I’ll elaborate.” Misha lifted her right index finger. “People who spew forth a ton of bullshit, merely for the sake of hearing themselves talk.” She held up both her index and middle fingers. “People who are so utterly self-righteous and deluded that they cannot view the flames surrounding them as they condemn others.” Lastly, she held up her index, middle, and ring fingers. “And but of course, idiotic broads who view themselves as queens of this sport. That phrase is more washed out and played out than calling one’s self ‘the best in the world.’”
She allowed her words to linger in the air for a few moments.
“It’s interesting. Your rise to power, your title reign, and the swing of momentum in my favor—it all reminds me of the Cuban Revolution.” Misha’s right eyebrow arched upwards. “You are familiar with particulars of the Cuban Revolution, yeah?” She immediately felt foolish. Misha lightly shook her head as a mild chuckle escaped from her lips. “How silly of me. Based upon your previous videos and such, I can clear decipher that you aren’t the scholarly type, Kandi. That’s perfectly fine—I’ll guide you by the hand, inform you, and connect all the needed dots along the way.” She nodded her head.
“Here’s the nitty gritty as far as context goes. Historically, Latin American countries were controlled and dominated by dictators. These dictators were often military personnel who effectively built private armies and forcefully took over. They’d often kill the previous leader, topple the infrastructure, and then set own their own rules and regulation. Said dictator would lead for some years, until another one would rise up to kill them and repeat the process.”
Misha pauses. “Kandi, you are a self-proclaimed queen, therefore, this should be a simple question for you to answer—what are the primary causes for a revolution?” There was a rhetorical pause. But of course, Misha received nothing but silence. “My my, I suppose I must do all the heavy lifting tonight. Very well.
“The existence of corruption, injustice, oppression, and stagnation—these are the catalysts to a revolution. That sentiment definitely rang true in terms of the Cuban Revolution, yes indeed.” Misha nodded slowly.
“Fulgencio Batista—he was a fellow after your own heart, Ms. Washington. I’m sure you two would have gotten along swimmingly.” Misha let out a small grunt. “Things were decent when Batista initially took power; the Cuban economy actually saw a pretty good upswing. Then, he gave his power to a hand-picked successor, who jacked shit up. In order to restore his policy’s, Batista led a military coup and regained his former authority—and that was the beginning of the end. From there came criminal syndicates, drugs, exploitation, and copious amounts of violence.”
Once more, Misha took in a breath.
“In terms of NAW, you are akin to Batista, Ms. Washington.” She nodded her head once again. “I’ll give credit where credit is due. The harsh and sad reality is, women were not showcased in a very prominent role before your arrival here in NAW. That was the result of the Femme Fatale Division shutting down the first time. Every now and again, a rare talent like Alice Harris would slip through the cracks and rise through the ranks. She came in here and captured the NAW Legacy Championship. But besides her, the amount of truly credible women here were few and far between...
“However, you changed that, Kandi. In order to solve this crucial problem, NAW made the wise decision to bring back the Femme Fatale Division. You stepped to the forefront of said division. Despite your piss poor attitude, your skills in the ring are quite exceptional; that fact is evidenced by your record here in NAW. What is it up to now? Eleven wins, one loss, and one draw? Is that correct? I’m not going to nitpick and harp on your one or two minor blemishes, not tonight anyway. Your time in NAW can best be described as a reign of dominance.
“But therein lies the problem,” Misha said as she let out a small chuckle. “Just like Batista, your arrival here brought prosperity. However, that prosperity was only for a brief moment. Because as soon as you re-inserted your hooks into this company, you began to filled it with toxins. You won the Femme Fatale Championship, you became a queen in your own mind—cheers. However, you didn’t elevate the division—you simply elevated yourself. In your journey to the top, you essentially called everyone a piece of shit; and after winning the belt, no one here has been worthy to challenge for it, according to your words. And let us not forget about your flunkies, Thing One and Thing Two, who were effectively brought in to beat people down.”
Misha gently stroked her chin. “You’ve opressed the Femme Fatale Division with your callous words and actions. Your constant berating has lead to further stagnation. The presence of your so-called bodyguards speaks of corruption. And it’s a grave injustice that you’ve been allowed to operate unchecked for so long.” She sat in silence for a couple of moments. “This will not come as a secret, but, people do not like you, Ms. Washington. Actually, I think it’s fair to say that most people here in NAW loathe you. They want to see you suffer. They want to see you fail—that’s entirely on you, love.”
Misha snapped her fingers. “I’m mighty curious as to how you acted and functioned as young child. I say that because many times when children are constricted and restricted in their youth, they act out in adulthood. They didn’t have control or power back then; therefore, they foolishly try to fabricate it as they grow. But, I digress...” She shook her head. “You’re an appalling dictator, and an abhorrent queen. You were so busy trying to obtain and maintain your power, that you forgot about the most important aspect—your fucking kingdom and the people in it. And as we’ve already alluded to, both that kingdom and it’s people are in shambles.”
Silence persisted for a couple of moments as Misha thought about what she wanted to say.
“As time went on, the people of Cuba grew tired of Batista. Tension rose. Eventually, the most bold, the most courageous, and the most vocal stood up and made themselves known. The leader of that uprising was Mr. Castro. However, the man who laid a lot of the groundwork and put plans into motion, was Che Guevara.” A small smile came to her face at the mention of his name. “Che was not your everyday radical. He was a degenerate; he was a medical student who ended up traveling the world. Upon his travels, he saw the horrors of this world; and when he made it back to Cuba, he vowed to help make a change.”
She took a second to lean back even further and cross her feet. “Passionate—for better or for worse, that’s best way to describe Che. And again, for better or worse, that influenced the way that he tried to topple the Batista regime. And when it came to his own personal freedom, when it came to the freedom of his people, one motto persisted above them all—by any means necessary.
“Now, I’m pretty sure you know where I’m going with this, Kandi. In context of NAW and the Femme Fatale Division, I’m akin to Che.” She nodded. “Misha LeCavalier isn’t the prototypical woman that NAW usually signs, that much is clear. I’m not a rookie trying to earn her stripes; nor am I a lost soul trying to find my way once more. No—I’m a highly gifted and talented athlete that has spent nine years of her living traveling the world wrestling. I am a woman whose technical skill and prowess is known throughout the wrestling world. I am a woman who isn’t squeamish; a woman who shall boldly stand and tell you that you aren’t fit to lead this division, Kandi.”
Misha let out a grunt. “I’m aware that ignorance is oh so very bliss, my dear. Therefore, you can hop on the microphone and try to foolishly convince the world that I don’t deserve a shot at your belt—I soundly defeated three women to earn this match. You can try to puff yourself up and say that’s you’ve faced many women of my caliber—there’s only one Misha LeCavalier, there’s no one like her. And if you need lie and trick yourself into actually believing that you can defeat me in this match, well, so be it. Do whatever you need to do to sleep comfortably at night.
“Nonetheless, none of those lies will extinguish the fact that I’ve got my Fifty-Cal pointed at your throne. And best believe, I’m going to leave you brains scattered on the fucking concrete—you know, itchy trigger finger and all.”
Misha took a moment to breathe before she let out what most would consider to be a snicker. She quickly composed herself.
“Out of all the people who fought in that war, do you know why I brought up and compared myself to Che, Ms. Washington?” There was another rhetorical pause. “I chose him because he was imperfect. Mr. Guevara was said to be overly harsh and intense at times. He had his own violent tendencies to boot. However, he kept his vices in check, for the most part. Even with all of his flaws, he still was able to rally the people—he was still able to empower the people. They connected with his heart, his passion; therefore, the people looked past his blemishes.
“Kandi, you want every to believe that you’re perfect. The perfect boss, the perfect employee, the perfect champion, and the perfect queen. Unfortunately, your perfection pipe dream is one that’s only found in movies and fairytales.
“I’m not perfect Kandi, not by a long shot. I’m easily annoyed by stupidity, I lash out when I’m frustrated, and I thoroughly enjoy crippling and maiming others in the ring. I’ve got skeletons in my closet, and they kept me away from this sport for a few years. Nonetheless, I was able to bury the skeletons and kill my demons—that’s why I’m able to sit here before you today.” She let out another grunt. “What makes me better than you is the fact that I have withdrawal and strength sit her and tell you all this. I have no need to hide behind falsities and illusions.
“That’s empowering. That’s how a true pioneer of company should act. And that’s why, even in my imperfection, I’ll still be a far better Femme Fatale Championship than you could ever possibly be.”
Misha uncrossed her feet and placed then squarely on the ground. She then sat up in the chair, leaned forward, and clasped her hands together.
“In a few days time, you and I are going to meet in the center of that ring, Kandi. It shall not be a short match. It shall not be an easy match. It shall not be a pleasant one either. I’ll be looking to kick a divot into that pretty face of yours at every turn. I’ll be looking to snap your arm at each and every opportunity. In case you are slow on the uptake, I’ll be looking to hurt you.
“And when all the cells in your body are crying out, when your pain threshold has been breached and you’re rolling on the mat in unimaginable pain—one solitary move shall end your suffering…”
A tiny laugh escaped from her mouth as she shook her head. “You’ll have to forgive me, Kandi; I just got slapped in the face with a bit of irony.” She took a couple of seconds to compose herself. “The Queen Slayer—an impactful lariat thrown at an extremely high velocity.” Misha paused for a second. “I learned that move approximately four to five months into my career from a European bruiser named Kristy Kash. At the time, I was mere a technician; however, Ms. Kash taught me the importance of diversification. And it was a lesson well learned. In one swift moment I can incapacitate you on the mat; in another I can leave you concussed. It’s a perilous combination of styles, and I’ve spent the last nine years mastering them and learning to perfectly mesh them.
“But I digress. The Queen Slayer—to be perfectly honest, I can’t recall how I even conjured up the name. I suppose it was apt and it seemed to fit at the time, therefore, the name stuck. At the very least, it sounds a hell of a lot better than ‘The Final Lick’ or the ‘Sweet Tooth.’ Those just sounds so dreadful and horrid.” Misha rolled her eyes. “Regardless, over time, the name has become just as fatal as the move itself. Men who have considered themselves the shit have fallen to it. Women who ignorantly consider themselves royalty have fallen to it. It doesn’t matter who the hell you are; when you’re hit with it—finito.
“If you think about it, it’s only fitting that Kandi Washington’s reign of terror be demolished by a move so aptly named. Poetic justice, if you will. Aye, but this justice has been a long time coming.” She nodded. “Here’s something that you’ve got to understand, Kandi. At the end of the day, when everything's said and done, the people aren’t going to remember your amazing win-streak. People aren’t going to see you as this great dominant champion or piece of royalty—they’re going to remember you as a tyrant.
“And me? Well, I’m going to go down in history as the woman who was vital in liberating the Femme Fatale Division.”
She let her words resonate throughout the air.
“As I said before, I’m not perfect; nor am I a savior. What I am is real. In addition to being real, I’m superior—a superior wrestler, and a superior person. And when I knock you out and pin you to the mat, this division shall finally realize true prosperity...”
Misha’s stared straight ahead, her gaze unmoving. “By any means necessary, Ms. Washington. Arrivederci—”
Early 1985
“Did you call your brother and let him know that we were stopping by?” Neva LeCavalier asked as she and her husband approached the front door of a massive house.
“Indeed, I did call. I didn’t reach Norman; Emmaline picked up instead,” Ethan said as he put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “She informed me that Norman had been acting strangely. That’s partially why we’ve come to see him. That, and my wonderful baby niece, but of course,” Ethan said as he flashed a quick smile.
Neva was not so joyous. “I wonder what’s the matter?”
“Hmm, I think I know what’s eating away at him,” Ethan said as they made it to the doorway. “It’s not something that Emmaline can handle by herself—that is where I come in, my love.” A look of concern washed over Neva. Ethan leaned in and gently kissed her forehead. “Hey hey, don’t worry a hair on your pretty little head. I’m just going to have a little chat with him. Then things should be better, yeah?”
“Alright.” Neva mildly shook her head. “You LeCavalier men are a peculiar bunch.”
“Well, it’s not like I can argue with that notion,” said Ethan as he let out a little chuckle. “And yet, you young lass’ keep falling for us.”
“Oh, how foolish are are.”
The two shared a small laugh as Ethan briskly knocked on the front door. A couple of seconds later, they heard a dead-bolt unlock from the inside. The door opened up to reveal the smiling (but exhausted) face of a sandy haired woman.
“Hey you two,” Emmaline said as she ushered them into the house. “Come in, come in.” She hugged both Ethan and Neva as they entered. “Please, let me take your coats.”
“No no no, my dearest sister-in-law.” Ethan returned her smile with one of his own. “We are your fateful cavalry. Therefore, you should only be concerned with resting and relaxing. We can take care of our own coats.” Ethan removed his and then gathered his wife’s and hung them both in hallway closet.
“How have you been, Emmaline?” Neva asked.
“Me? I’ve been doing fairly well,” she said with a slight laugh. “I’ll admit, I’m dog-tired. As you can imagine, I haven’t been getting much sleep as of late.”
“No, I imagine not,” Ethan. “Speaking of which, where is my beautiful niece at, hmm? I for one am ready to simply gobble her up.”
“I had her with me in the living room. We’ve got a small, portable crib set up in there,” Emmaline said as she motioned for them both to follow her. “You’re just in luck Ethan. She actually just woke up from a nap.”
“Marvelous, she’ll be spunky and full of life! ”
Emmaline let out a small laugh as she shook her head. “Come this way.” She led them into the living room. Baby Ryan laid in her crib with a pink blanket and a pink beanie, wrapped up like a burrito. Emmaline gently picked her up and gave her a small kiss on the cheek. “Hey there baby girl. Your uncle is here to see you.”
She carefully passed Ryan over to Ethan; he brought her in close as he held her. Ryan looked up at her uncle; her hazel eyes her soft, but they pierced through Ethan’s heart. “Oh my. Well aren’t you oh so very precious?” He held her up and kissed her on the forehead. Ryan squirmed a bit in her blanket and then smiled a bit. “You are something special, indeed you are.”
He lifted his head and looked back at Emmaline. “Now, where might I find my grump of a brother at, hmm?”
The mention of her husband made Emmaline shake her head. “Oh, him,” she said with a bit of disdain in her voice. “He’s perched and cemented in the upstairs study.”
“Thank you kindly.” Ethan turned to exit the living room.
“Do you want me to take Ryan?”
Ethan smiled “Nonsense! I shall not put her down the entire time that I am here.” After a few seconds, that smiled fade away. “Besides, he needs to be around his daughter. He can no longer run away and hide from her.”
. . .
Norman’s upstairs study was jokingly referred to by his family as the “Black Room.” He always kept the windows and blinds blinds closed, and the only light source in the room was the meager bankers lamp that sat on his desk. The “Black Room” was where Norman would seek refuge when he was deep in thought, or in distress.
There was a slight knock on the door. Norman had actually fallen asleep in his chair. The sound of knocking caused his eyes to pop open. However, before he could react, Ethan opened the door and burst through the room’s threshold.
“Norman! My good brother! How goes it?”
“Ethan?” From his vantage point, and due to the lighting, only Ethan as visible. Norman rolled his eyes and let out an audible grunt. He certainly wasn’t in the mood for his sibling’s chipper and jovial nature. “I see you’re manners are lacking this evening. I didn’t even give you permission to enter.”
Ethan’s smirk returned. “I’d be dead four times over if I’d waited for you to give me permission.” Norman didn’t respond with words, but with a frustrated grunt and sigh concoction. By this point, it had become evident to Ethan that jokes wouldn’t be of any use in this situation.
“Look Norman, I received a call from your wife a couple of days ago,” Ethan said in a direct manner. “She told me how you’ve been in a massive funk ever since Ryan was born.” He shook his head just a bit. “You may not be aware, or you may not even care, but your actions have been detrimental to your wife’s wellbeing. Emmaline was been gravely concerned about you, and she reached out to me. Therefore, here I am.”
Ethan stepped forward, still shrouded by shadows. “So, would you mind telling me what’s running through your brain? Or, must I make a very educated guess?”
“You know damn well what’s going through my head!”
The brothers glared at each other as an awkward silence persisted for a few moments. A mild cough from Ryan broke the silence. Ethan looked down at her and nuzzled her nose.
“There, there love.” He smiled down at her. “Tis this dusty room that’s affecting you. But fear not, once your father shapes up, we shall retreat back to the comforts of the living room.”
Ethan walked into the thin sliver of light that illuminated from the bankers lamp. Norman was able to clearly see his face, along with that of his daughter. A snarl came to the older brother’s lips.
“Why the hell did you bring her up here?” Norman shouted.
Ryan picked up on the anger in Norman’s voice. It caused her to whimper a bit; and that whimper transformed into crying. Ethan drew her in closer and rocked her bit. “Hey hey, all is well, love. Uncle Ethan is here; and I won’t let anything harm you.” Ryan’s crying tapered off after about thirty seconds or so; Ethan used his finger to dry her cheeks. “There you go.” With his niece sound and secure, he turned his attention back to Norman.
“I’d never thought I’d have to say this about one of my kin members, but I’m ashamed of you.” His normal cheery tone dissipated. In it’s place was one of harshness and sternness. “Do you know what this is?” Ethan looked down at Ryan. “This is your greatest work. This is your flesh and blood. This is your legacy.
“You have no right in shunning the child that you helped create. She didn’t ask to be here, you and Emmaline initiated it. And now that she’s here, it’s time to get your head out of your ass and man up.
“Your anger is misplaced, and unjustified. And, it was your ignorance and pride that led to your disappointment. You had able opportunity to discover and discern Ryan’s sex. And had you taken those opportunities, you won’t be in the piss poor mood you’re in right now.”
Having heard enough, Norman rose to his feet. A mixture of contempt and indignation was plastered all over his face. Ethan on the other hand was not impressed.
“I’d sincerely advise you to take your seat. I’d hate for Ryan to have to witness her father’s arm being broken at such an early age.”
Norman didn’t make a move. He simply glared at his brother. After a moment or two, he sat back down in his chair.
“Hmm, a very wise move, my dear brother.” Ethan let out a small sigh and he shifted Ryan in his arms.
“I’m well aware of our family’s principles. I also know that you were dead set on having a son. We LeCavaliers are power people; we’ve always gotten what we wanted.” He paused. “However, no power is ultimate. Sometimes life hurls curveballs that we can’t dodge.
“In this case, this particular curveball is a wonderful blessing. Stop being a being a coward, stop being a fool—and embrace it. Be blessed that you even have a child at all. At the end of the day, she is still your seed, and she is still a LeCavalier. She’ll still be great—perhaps even greater than if you had a son.”
With that, Ethan quickly turned on his heels. “Now, Ryan and I are off to consume all the milk and vittles in your kitchen. After you’ve freshened and cleaned yourself up, perhaps you will join us all in living room.”
What’s the true nature of a Queen?
The Answer is simple—Powerless.
You are but a meaningless figurehead.
The term Queen is a false status symbol.
What is a leader without the people?
What is a ruler without a kingdom?
Idiotic delusionists!
I’d rather not be labeled a Queen.
My desire is to have true power.
Advancement is my greatest craving.
I shall not bear the Queen’s cloak.
But I shall wear the hat of a Revolutionary.
Darkness—that’s what permeated through the tiny room. It would have been pitch black if it were not for a small lighting fixture attached to ceiling; although, the two dead light-bulbs connected to it did nothing to solve the illumination issue. One dim, dull light-bulb provided a microscopic bit of solace.
The dwelling was relatively drab. It wasn’t a space that provided comfort or fuzzy feelings. There were no momentos hanging on the wall. There were no windows. In fact, the only other fixture was a chair seated directly in the center of the room. Well, the word chair would be a bit of an understatement. It was a massive metal contraption; spikes and sharp points protruded out from it’s sides. It’s back and headrest were ordained in some type of crimson colored cloth.
Misha LeCavalier rested in that wicked throne-like chair, although nothing about her appearance screamed royalty. Her usually perfect hair was wild and disheveled. The base of her upper body was covered by a white t-shirt speckled with maroon splotches. On top of that t-shirt was light green jacket that had been riddled with cuts and slashes. Her pants matched her jacket, both in color and conditioning. The leather on her boots was tattered and torn.
It was as if she’d just survived a night of living hell. And yet, Misha still sat straight up—poised. She gazed straight ahead. Said gaze was an odd brew of anger, ambition, and annoyance.
“You know, when I was doing my research and due diligence before signing up to North Atlantic Wrestling, there was one name that kept creeping up. The forums neglected to mention No One. Chrystal Taylor's name was mysteriously absent from all the blog sites. And Katherine Brock? Hmm, her name didn’t dare run across the the fans’ lips. No, NAW’s faithful only spouted off about one person.” Something resembling a smirk crept across Misha’s lips. “Kandi Washington—I’ve been waiting oh so very long for this match.
“Now, this match may come as a stark surprise to you, but this bout was inevitable, Kandi.” She lightly shrugged. “In truth, you and I have been on an imminent crash course ever since I stepped foot into the company. You were the top dog. Hell, in your crusade to capture the Femme Fatale Championship, you defeated just about everyone in the division. You were on a roll; you were on a tear…”
Misha’s voice trailed off for a second. “Kandi, I’m willing to bet you thought you’d go unchallenged for ages. Perhaps you even thought you’d retire holding that championship—
“That is until Misha LeCavalier showed up, hmm?” She paused for a second. “You didn’t know who I was. The rest of NAW didn’t know me from Hillary or Jane. However, in a short amount of time, people’s comments and utterances turned away from you, Ms. Washington. Instead, I began to garner everyone's attention…
“How about that?”
Misha shook her head lightly as she leaned back in the chair just a bit. “Wrestling fans are probably the most fickle people on God’s green earth. When you are suffering and downtrodden, they mock you. When you’re battered, bloodied, and broken, they urge for more violence. And no matter what you do, a portion of them will never be satisfied.” Misha paused, hoping that the audience would feel the weight of her words. “And yet, I certainly understand why people have turned against you. It’s as clear as day.”
She lifted her right leg and crossed it over her left one. “I find it a bit humorous. In my eight to nine years in professional wrestling, I have the displeasure of running across numerous Kandi Washingtons. Yes, I know you think you are unique dear; but the truth of the matter is, your type is a dime a dozen.” Misha paused to take a breath. “And what exactly do I mean by your type? Fear not, I’ll elaborate.” Misha lifted her right index finger. “People who spew forth a ton of bullshit, merely for the sake of hearing themselves talk.” She held up both her index and middle fingers. “People who are so utterly self-righteous and deluded that they cannot view the flames surrounding them as they condemn others.” Lastly, she held up her index, middle, and ring fingers. “And but of course, idiotic broads who view themselves as queens of this sport. That phrase is more washed out and played out than calling one’s self ‘the best in the world.’”
She allowed her words to linger in the air for a few moments.
“It’s interesting. Your rise to power, your title reign, and the swing of momentum in my favor—it all reminds me of the Cuban Revolution.” Misha’s right eyebrow arched upwards. “You are familiar with particulars of the Cuban Revolution, yeah?” She immediately felt foolish. Misha lightly shook her head as a mild chuckle escaped from her lips. “How silly of me. Based upon your previous videos and such, I can clear decipher that you aren’t the scholarly type, Kandi. That’s perfectly fine—I’ll guide you by the hand, inform you, and connect all the needed dots along the way.” She nodded her head.
“Here’s the nitty gritty as far as context goes. Historically, Latin American countries were controlled and dominated by dictators. These dictators were often military personnel who effectively built private armies and forcefully took over. They’d often kill the previous leader, topple the infrastructure, and then set own their own rules and regulation. Said dictator would lead for some years, until another one would rise up to kill them and repeat the process.”
Misha pauses. “Kandi, you are a self-proclaimed queen, therefore, this should be a simple question for you to answer—what are the primary causes for a revolution?” There was a rhetorical pause. But of course, Misha received nothing but silence. “My my, I suppose I must do all the heavy lifting tonight. Very well.
“The existence of corruption, injustice, oppression, and stagnation—these are the catalysts to a revolution. That sentiment definitely rang true in terms of the Cuban Revolution, yes indeed.” Misha nodded slowly.
“Fulgencio Batista—he was a fellow after your own heart, Ms. Washington. I’m sure you two would have gotten along swimmingly.” Misha let out a small grunt. “Things were decent when Batista initially took power; the Cuban economy actually saw a pretty good upswing. Then, he gave his power to a hand-picked successor, who jacked shit up. In order to restore his policy’s, Batista led a military coup and regained his former authority—and that was the beginning of the end. From there came criminal syndicates, drugs, exploitation, and copious amounts of violence.”
Once more, Misha took in a breath.
“In terms of NAW, you are akin to Batista, Ms. Washington.” She nodded her head once again. “I’ll give credit where credit is due. The harsh and sad reality is, women were not showcased in a very prominent role before your arrival here in NAW. That was the result of the Femme Fatale Division shutting down the first time. Every now and again, a rare talent like Alice Harris would slip through the cracks and rise through the ranks. She came in here and captured the NAW Legacy Championship. But besides her, the amount of truly credible women here were few and far between...
“However, you changed that, Kandi. In order to solve this crucial problem, NAW made the wise decision to bring back the Femme Fatale Division. You stepped to the forefront of said division. Despite your piss poor attitude, your skills in the ring are quite exceptional; that fact is evidenced by your record here in NAW. What is it up to now? Eleven wins, one loss, and one draw? Is that correct? I’m not going to nitpick and harp on your one or two minor blemishes, not tonight anyway. Your time in NAW can best be described as a reign of dominance.
“But therein lies the problem,” Misha said as she let out a small chuckle. “Just like Batista, your arrival here brought prosperity. However, that prosperity was only for a brief moment. Because as soon as you re-inserted your hooks into this company, you began to filled it with toxins. You won the Femme Fatale Championship, you became a queen in your own mind—cheers. However, you didn’t elevate the division—you simply elevated yourself. In your journey to the top, you essentially called everyone a piece of shit; and after winning the belt, no one here has been worthy to challenge for it, according to your words. And let us not forget about your flunkies, Thing One and Thing Two, who were effectively brought in to beat people down.”
Misha gently stroked her chin. “You’ve opressed the Femme Fatale Division with your callous words and actions. Your constant berating has lead to further stagnation. The presence of your so-called bodyguards speaks of corruption. And it’s a grave injustice that you’ve been allowed to operate unchecked for so long.” She sat in silence for a couple of moments. “This will not come as a secret, but, people do not like you, Ms. Washington. Actually, I think it’s fair to say that most people here in NAW loathe you. They want to see you suffer. They want to see you fail—that’s entirely on you, love.”
Misha snapped her fingers. “I’m mighty curious as to how you acted and functioned as young child. I say that because many times when children are constricted and restricted in their youth, they act out in adulthood. They didn’t have control or power back then; therefore, they foolishly try to fabricate it as they grow. But, I digress...” She shook her head. “You’re an appalling dictator, and an abhorrent queen. You were so busy trying to obtain and maintain your power, that you forgot about the most important aspect—your fucking kingdom and the people in it. And as we’ve already alluded to, both that kingdom and it’s people are in shambles.”
Silence persisted for a couple of moments as Misha thought about what she wanted to say.
“As time went on, the people of Cuba grew tired of Batista. Tension rose. Eventually, the most bold, the most courageous, and the most vocal stood up and made themselves known. The leader of that uprising was Mr. Castro. However, the man who laid a lot of the groundwork and put plans into motion, was Che Guevara.” A small smile came to her face at the mention of his name. “Che was not your everyday radical. He was a degenerate; he was a medical student who ended up traveling the world. Upon his travels, he saw the horrors of this world; and when he made it back to Cuba, he vowed to help make a change.”
She took a second to lean back even further and cross her feet. “Passionate—for better or for worse, that’s best way to describe Che. And again, for better or worse, that influenced the way that he tried to topple the Batista regime. And when it came to his own personal freedom, when it came to the freedom of his people, one motto persisted above them all—by any means necessary.
“Now, I’m pretty sure you know where I’m going with this, Kandi. In context of NAW and the Femme Fatale Division, I’m akin to Che.” She nodded. “Misha LeCavalier isn’t the prototypical woman that NAW usually signs, that much is clear. I’m not a rookie trying to earn her stripes; nor am I a lost soul trying to find my way once more. No—I’m a highly gifted and talented athlete that has spent nine years of her living traveling the world wrestling. I am a woman whose technical skill and prowess is known throughout the wrestling world. I am a woman who isn’t squeamish; a woman who shall boldly stand and tell you that you aren’t fit to lead this division, Kandi.”
Misha let out a grunt. “I’m aware that ignorance is oh so very bliss, my dear. Therefore, you can hop on the microphone and try to foolishly convince the world that I don’t deserve a shot at your belt—I soundly defeated three women to earn this match. You can try to puff yourself up and say that’s you’ve faced many women of my caliber—there’s only one Misha LeCavalier, there’s no one like her. And if you need lie and trick yourself into actually believing that you can defeat me in this match, well, so be it. Do whatever you need to do to sleep comfortably at night.
“Nonetheless, none of those lies will extinguish the fact that I’ve got my Fifty-Cal pointed at your throne. And best believe, I’m going to leave you brains scattered on the fucking concrete—you know, itchy trigger finger and all.”
Misha took a moment to breathe before she let out what most would consider to be a snicker. She quickly composed herself.
“Out of all the people who fought in that war, do you know why I brought up and compared myself to Che, Ms. Washington?” There was another rhetorical pause. “I chose him because he was imperfect. Mr. Guevara was said to be overly harsh and intense at times. He had his own violent tendencies to boot. However, he kept his vices in check, for the most part. Even with all of his flaws, he still was able to rally the people—he was still able to empower the people. They connected with his heart, his passion; therefore, the people looked past his blemishes.
“Kandi, you want every to believe that you’re perfect. The perfect boss, the perfect employee, the perfect champion, and the perfect queen. Unfortunately, your perfection pipe dream is one that’s only found in movies and fairytales.
“I’m not perfect Kandi, not by a long shot. I’m easily annoyed by stupidity, I lash out when I’m frustrated, and I thoroughly enjoy crippling and maiming others in the ring. I’ve got skeletons in my closet, and they kept me away from this sport for a few years. Nonetheless, I was able to bury the skeletons and kill my demons—that’s why I’m able to sit here before you today.” She let out another grunt. “What makes me better than you is the fact that I have withdrawal and strength sit her and tell you all this. I have no need to hide behind falsities and illusions.
“That’s empowering. That’s how a true pioneer of company should act. And that’s why, even in my imperfection, I’ll still be a far better Femme Fatale Championship than you could ever possibly be.”
Misha uncrossed her feet and placed then squarely on the ground. She then sat up in the chair, leaned forward, and clasped her hands together.
“In a few days time, you and I are going to meet in the center of that ring, Kandi. It shall not be a short match. It shall not be an easy match. It shall not be a pleasant one either. I’ll be looking to kick a divot into that pretty face of yours at every turn. I’ll be looking to snap your arm at each and every opportunity. In case you are slow on the uptake, I’ll be looking to hurt you.
“And when all the cells in your body are crying out, when your pain threshold has been breached and you’re rolling on the mat in unimaginable pain—one solitary move shall end your suffering…”
A tiny laugh escaped from her mouth as she shook her head. “You’ll have to forgive me, Kandi; I just got slapped in the face with a bit of irony.” She took a couple of seconds to compose herself. “The Queen Slayer—an impactful lariat thrown at an extremely high velocity.” Misha paused for a second. “I learned that move approximately four to five months into my career from a European bruiser named Kristy Kash. At the time, I was mere a technician; however, Ms. Kash taught me the importance of diversification. And it was a lesson well learned. In one swift moment I can incapacitate you on the mat; in another I can leave you concussed. It’s a perilous combination of styles, and I’ve spent the last nine years mastering them and learning to perfectly mesh them.
“But I digress. The Queen Slayer—to be perfectly honest, I can’t recall how I even conjured up the name. I suppose it was apt and it seemed to fit at the time, therefore, the name stuck. At the very least, it sounds a hell of a lot better than ‘The Final Lick’ or the ‘Sweet Tooth.’ Those just sounds so dreadful and horrid.” Misha rolled her eyes. “Regardless, over time, the name has become just as fatal as the move itself. Men who have considered themselves the shit have fallen to it. Women who ignorantly consider themselves royalty have fallen to it. It doesn’t matter who the hell you are; when you’re hit with it—finito.
“If you think about it, it’s only fitting that Kandi Washington’s reign of terror be demolished by a move so aptly named. Poetic justice, if you will. Aye, but this justice has been a long time coming.” She nodded. “Here’s something that you’ve got to understand, Kandi. At the end of the day, when everything's said and done, the people aren’t going to remember your amazing win-streak. People aren’t going to see you as this great dominant champion or piece of royalty—they’re going to remember you as a tyrant.
“And me? Well, I’m going to go down in history as the woman who was vital in liberating the Femme Fatale Division.”
She let her words resonate throughout the air.
“As I said before, I’m not perfect; nor am I a savior. What I am is real. In addition to being real, I’m superior—a superior wrestler, and a superior person. And when I knock you out and pin you to the mat, this division shall finally realize true prosperity...”
Misha’s stared straight ahead, her gaze unmoving. “By any means necessary, Ms. Washington. Arrivederci—”