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1... Minor Miracles ... Empty ... Minor Miracles ... on Tue Nov 14, 2017 2:09 am

Distorted Angel

Distorted Angel
HSW Tag Team Champion
HSW Tag Team Champion
“You are still thinking like a child, talking about friendship and crap. You’ll regret it when you see one of them die in front of you.”
― Charles Lee, The Way To Dawn: Ascension Zero

Atlantic City Boardwalk
Atlantic City, NJ

“Hey, fuck you and fuck Paragon!”

Maybe she should have been pissed off, no doubt that was the reaction they were anticipating as another empty can fell woefully short of its intended redhead target. Liquid courage was a magnificent thing, Amber found herself contemplating, as the tinny rattle of another empty can tumbling across the wooden surface became the faint murmur of back ground conversation once more.

In truth she’d never really gotten used to being recognized, torn jeans with head down and back hoodie up was usually enough of a social deterrent for people not to try a second glance. Throw in the glimpse of a tattoo and you hit the golden trifecta of ignorance, one which she dutifully played upon with sleeves pulled up to her elbows even though a wind chill off the water cut like tiny daggers in her skin.

“Go back to Vegas!”

No doubt they thought they were clever, with liquid courage and a 100 foot head start. Shouting go back to somewhere she worked as an insult, perhaps if she retorted go back to McDonalds they might have torn off their shitty brand name hoodies to reveal they were in fact employees of Burger King taken a drunken break from messing up people orders and spitting in their food.

“You suck!”

Originality clearly wasn’t their strong point either as another can landed an easy 40 feet from where she leant on the railing overlooking the expanse of ocean. Turned out their throwing arm was as weak as their insults, perhaps she’d save that line for later.
Fly off the handle and straight onto YouTube, she assumed that’s what was expected as though every wrestler worth a pinch of shit had a secret anger switch to simply be flipped when someone told them that they sucked. You know, as if it were somehow a first.

Over time it seemed, the fan base had been conditioned into somehow thinking that their individual opinions were powerful enough to elicit more than a cursory shrug and a signed 8 by 10. Each loudmouth considering that their point of view, and theirs alone, held more weight than the roiling mass of fans who vocalized their feelings otherwise. That being said, these guys seemed to fall into the majority- much to their delight no doubt- when it came to the super stable Paragon.

Jack was a polarizing figure before, but now he’d created a rabidity that few had seen in years. A visceral reaction to unpopular truths. In turn he’d recruited some of the best in the business to back up his claims and define what it truly meant to be a Paragon in a devolving cesspool industry, oh and James Ceno…
Amber had found herself caught up in it all like a rush of blood to the brain- and while Jack had made himself more than a simple martyr, the Painted Hurricane had been quite content to play soldier to the cause. A destructive force to be unleashed with the passive aggressive fury of Mother Nature herself, and that was just on an off day…

As for Leon? Amber hadn’t questioned his motives in the same way she’d questioned her own, it wasn;t her place to delve into the man’s psyche despite them sharing a common golden thread- tag team champions in name and in talent, however beyond that they may as well have been perfect strangers. Platonic and devastatingly effective in equal measures.
Soldiers in a war they’d bought into enough to risk their, their names for and ultimately their legacies for. Jack might have been the figurehead, the voice and the reason behind Paragon- but people like Amber and Leon, they were the driving force.
Competitors at odds with themselves enough to take a chance on an unknown. It would have been foolish if it had failed…

“Where’s your girlfriend at? Did she let the little bitch out to walk herself this time…”

It took a moment, but she eventually realized they must have been talking about Leon rather than the pair of fairies calling themselves Frost Elite- ragging on the man bun as though he wouldn’t drive them through the pier at the first opportunity. It was almost pathetic really, trying so hard for something they couldn’t begin to appreciate- a thought briefly and rudely interrupted by the faint thump and subsequent rolling of a worn sneaker less than 20 feet away.

Weight differential perhaps, either that or someone had sobered up enough to improve their technique. Maybe a little of both, although it wouldn’t really matter in approximately three and a half seconds time she fathomed. Softly padding across the wooden boards, raucous cheers erupted when they realized she’d done more than ignore their futile existences as she approached the lone shoe.
Carefully picking it up with her left, she examined it briefly as the cheers turned to insults and a moment of abject horror for one person missing a shoe as she gave a sideways glance out over the ocean.

She’d never been much of a thrower, never liking ball sports during school however this would be one case where distance didn’t particularly matter.

“Gimme my shoe back!”

It was probably the most intelligent slur of syllables any of them had managed till now, although it did little to retrieve as the shoe went flying out over the water before being swallowed whole beneath the dark surface with a satisfying ‘plonk’.

“Fuck you bitch, you owe me a new pair of shoes now!”

Technically she only owed one, unless he was stupid enough to throw his remaining one at her however as he kept his distance, surrounded by his friends, she concluded that he was entitled to possibly an 8 by 10 if she could find someone who still printed such an archaic novelty.
In the meantime, Amber returned to her rail to watch the lights dance across the inky rippling surface.

“Hey bitch, yeah you fucking heard me.”

Liquid courage was no substitute for the real thing, or total stupidity. Amber hadn’t quite fathomed which was in play as the voices grew closer, strength in numbers with a limp cause one idiot was missing a shoe. 100 feet had become 50, which had dissolved to 35 and a bit if she really got specific although her peripheral had a habit of being slightly out.

“Keep ignoring me, see what happens!”

It was supposed to be threatening, in reality though it came out slurred into meaningless noise which was semi-agreed to by everyone else who hadn’t quite made out what was supposed to be said. Despite the lack of enunciation, the meaning was clear enough for Amber to find a half hearted chuckle left over from her monthly quota of amusement.

“What will happen is absolutely nothing. I’ll stay where I am and you’ll be on your way before Mommy calls the police cause her baby’s missing curfew again.”

One of them looked at his watch at the mention of a curfew, while the other two snickered. Meanwhile her target screwed his face up like he’d tasted something deeply unpleasant but was trying to impress his mates by not spitting it out.

“Fuck you, I don’t even have a curfew and I’m not going anywhere until you buy me a new pair of shoes.”

“Where exactly am I buying shoes at this time of evening exactly Einstein, truth is though I owe you fuck all cause you were the one dumb enough to throw your shoe in the first place.”

With face flushing red, the one shoed kid who, in reality, couldn’t have been more than 22-23 years old scoffed and looked to his friends for support- two of them laughed while the other one murmured something about having to leave or his mom might actually kill him.

“I mean seriously, what do you want me to do exactly? Conjure some from thin air, I’m a wrestler not a god damn magician… although for you kiddo, I reckon I could work a minor miracle.”

Confusion was quickly overtaken by curiosity although Amber kept her cards close to the chest, everyone loved something for nothing and no doubt these guys thought they must have hit the jackpot.

“Oh yeah, like what…”

Trying to sound tough never came off that way, although hindsight was far too late for such an epiphany to have any effect.

“Well what if I told you I could, shit I dunno, solve that problem you’ve got with your mouth for starters…”

“Whats wrong with my mouth?”

They always bit.

He’d barely gotten his hands above his waist to check his mouth before Amber had cracked him with a straight left, never saw it coming until a piece of tooth went flying into the side of his mates face with a tiny bloody splatter mark.

“Well for one it doesn’t work.”

Sounds spilled out from behind cupped hands as readily as blood seeped from between his fingers, she caught the word ‘police’ and broke into a chuckle as his mates stood flabbergasted and somewhat unsure how to react.

“Police? Oh yeah and say what… You reek of booze and have one fucking shoe.”

Turn a little over 100 degrees and three steps to the riling she gathered, maybe four although the thought struck her as oddly irrelevant as the guys bickered between themselves about the next course of action. Numbers wise they had the advantage, but she’d taken them by surprise… Pride vs revenge. Fight or flight in its most basic form with a smattering of mob mentality for good measure.

“Who is gonna believe a word you say… any of you. Go the fuck home before someone really hurts you, yeah?”

None of them needed further prompting, two of them holding up the third as he limped in his sock while dribbling blood down his shirt while the fourth muttered something further about needing a ride home before 10. Amber tried to shake her hand off, the broken tooth having left a decent scratch that bubbled with blood in places, as a familiar voice brought a knowing smile to her features.

“Never stops, does it?”

She’d almost forgotten that she was meeting Leon, neither of them had come up with a real reason why before settling on discussing strategy. As if there were a need, in truth she just appreciated the company even in all its awkwardness, Leon didn’t expect anything of her except what he expected of himself in the ring.

It seemed he was the only one these days who felt that way.

While the industry expected miracles like water to wine and Frost Elite to worthy contenders, they’d have to settle for a broken tooth on a night time boardwalk, a missing shoe and a pair of dominant tag team champions looking to fix a dying artform in the industry they breathed.


“Ever wondered just how much it takes to crack a skull?”

There’s a faint echo to Amber’s voice that can’t quite be placed, she’s almost euphoric and yet almost bitterly sarcastic as she casts a cursory glance into her mobile camera, there’s a frustrating smudge in the corner of the camera lens but due to her choice of view she doesn’t see it.

“Seems like a rather macabre way to start proceedings but as per usual, I promise it leads to an interesting point rather than a Frost Elite promo that features giggling school girls, Maya expressing doubt over her abilities- and rightly so I might add, and Mizore once again trying to prove that she’s remotely worth the effort it’s going to take to drive her back into irrelevance.

Who knows, maybe if we’re really lucky ol Daddy Payne might poke his head in and say something really mean just to throw us all for a loop, or conversely Android 18 might say something that doesn’t make me immediately want to put my fist straight through a fucking wall out of sheer absurdity.”

It’s a corridor, nothing unique to take away from the cliché nature of the setting. Amber pauses in the strike of a moment, staring straight down the lens.

“Fuck sake. In the immortal words of Taylor Swift… Look what you made me do.”

Quoting Taylor Swift leaves a bitter taste on the tip of the redheads tongue, her nose screwed up just enough to be noticeable.

“I’ve regressed in mind to being a teenager in a vaguely woman’s body, hey Leon if I start making too many ice puns reckon you could just put me out of my misery before I start fawning over fragile nobodies?
be like the newest member of Frost Elite… Yeah, I think I’d rather go bungee jumping without the fucking cord.

Fact is, I had a point and I’ll be damned if I don’t get to make the thing.”

A quick return to euphoria as the borderline evil smirk creeps back across Amber’s features as she continues down one corridor as it seamlessly merges with another. Right meeting left with a cursory kiss on the cheek.

“Back to cracking skulls and other important things- wanna know what it takes girlies?

Of course you do cause fuck knows you’ve never had the gall to try…

1100 lbs of force roughly, split that thing like its nothing. Really when you think about it, its about as much effort as we need to put in to beat either of you at our worst. Thing is, Leon and I don't have a worst... just a better than everyone else.”

Pointing down the lens as though it were human enough to understand the gesture, Amber cocks her head slightly to the right.

“Consider that an education, though I can’t expect either of you to put it into practice effectively so let’s move on to why this is important instead- you see, I found myself curious about it cause the very realistic fact that Frost Elite is in fact not tag team champion material just isn’t getting through the normal channels… So I figured there must be another way right?
Turns out there is- I figure if I crack both your skulls open enough, you can’t avoid the fact. You can’t just stick your fingers in your ears like petulant children and act like the truth doesn’t seep on through. You can no longer deny that Leon and I are so far out of your god damn league that the Hubble telescope struggles to keep you on radar.

I mean you want to know why you got a shot at us- despite the fact you’ve done nothing but make excuses for your continued competitive inadequacies right?”

A shrug in response to her own rhetoric suggests that the redhead might not be in the best state of mind, the kind you probably wouldn’t feel safe in the passenger seat next to.
Thankfully she’s a little too far away from heavy machinery to be a real nuisance at least for now- still, a happy, perhaps even confident Distorted Angel is worrisome for friend and foe alike.

“First and foremost it’s because the Jobber’s weren’t available, apparently they’d made an appointment to get their testicles waxed… They’re nothing, if not meticulous, about their personal hygiene after all. As for the Hitmen were too busy giving everyone blow jobs just to stay employed and Paul ‘It’s not fair that everyone else can tie their boots without assistance’ Blair couldn’t find himself another imaginary friend to fuck over in a less than lucid attempt at relevancy.
It’s not because you’re competition, its cause you were the leftovers. Scraps. Whatever was left on the sides of the barrel after Paragon drained it for all it was worth. Pick an analogy, I don’t care cause its all the same by now…”

A sharp right throws the camera view off a bit, probably causing mild motion sickness for those with weak stomachs and poor equilibrium.

“Frost Elite couldn’t get the job done in the CWF, yeah don’t worry I got eyes everywhere ladies- can’t go into my home ground and think that I won’t know how badly you’ve tripped over yourselves there as well. Small world right- you’re fucking around in the place I started, losing to the Danger Boiz like they still fucking matter.
Let me put this in perspective for you girls- I’ve beaten both of those hacks on more occasions than you’ve won matches in the past year. Singles, tag team, clusterfuckery…I got their numbers like binary, all ones to their zeroes.”

Laughing at her own quip and perhaps taking an extra moment to revel in its momentary cleverness like she hadn’t come up with it earlier in the day- Amber throws up a zero with one hand and a single finger with the other.
Shouldn’t take a genius to figure which one surely.

“Frost Elite couldn’t get the job done in the gauntlet… cause they were tired?

I’m sorry, lets rewind just a little before throwing this thing into pause for a moment cause I nearly choked on the stupidity of that statement.”

Doing what only could be described as an odd rewind sound, Amber takes a half step backwards before retracing that half step like anyone’s really paying attention to that kind of stuff.

“I placed 2nd in a 33 person tournament fighting in 5 fucking cages matches in one night, and you couldn’t win the tag titles cause you had a match before and were tired? I went into Carnage as public enemy numero uno with a guaranteed world title shot and beat one of the most violent men in the business in a two out of three ultraviolence match and you pair of ballerinas want to use the excuse that you were banged up…

Hell I’m sure if Leon we’re listening he’d probably be giving you a god old southern one finger salute for your efforts there.”

Someone off screen chuckles, its probably not Leon Cashmere but one can neither confirm nor deny seeing as Amber ignores the sound, instead taking a seat on what looks like a sound equipment crate.

[color=teal]“Let me put this real blunt so even you can comprehend this, fuck maybe we can add subtitles in the post production since you’re struggling with this whole listening to sense stuff…

You’re both a fucking joke.

Excuses and self-pity out of the fucking wazoo kiddies… and we’re supposed to take you seriously?”[color]

More laughs from the redhead, mostly sarcastic in all honesty which shines through the attempt at legitimacy.

“Sorry but this is the point where I just cannot even, as the hip young people would say.”

Young and hip people probably don’t say that now, however its doubtful anyone would argue with her otherwise.

“I mean your god damn name is a lie and to call yourselves Elite in anything, but mediocrity is an offense to people like Leon and I who have spent our careers holding up pathetic little wannabes like you. You can slag us all you want on Twitter and question our motives until the cows come home but the fact is we’ve backed up every goddamn syllable we’ve ever spoken, you can take our methods and put them under the microscope but know that all you’ll find it straight up effectiveness and success- don’t worry though, it’ll look real foreign to you both and you’ll probably call it a disease cause it’s easy to hate on things you don’t understand.”

Bored of sitting, Amber pushes back off towards nowhere in particular- passing an oddly similar configuration of equipment that had probably been seen at least once already. Odds of Amber simply walking in laps around a backstage area?
Better than Frost Elite beating Paragon according to the bookies.

“I guess this is the point where you start trying to deride us cause we attack people during matches and afterwards cause we’re a bunch of cowards that can’t take areal fight even though Leon and I both hold dominant wins over one half of our ‘challengers’. This is where you make the claim that we aren’t worthy champions cause we’re no good, dastardly underhanded villains right as if this is some fairytale where the good guys always wins…

What we do, silly little bitches, is we make statements of intent. We prove night after night after god forsaken night that this industry needs people like Paragon to keep it upright while people like you try to drive it into the ground- and if it means that I may have to spit fire in someone’s face cause they don’t understand that their place is no longer in OUR ring then fuck it, I’ll happily risk losing an eyebrow for the effort.”

Instead of the expected straight on, Amber takes a half step backwards and makes off to the left bringing her towards a curtain and into an empty arena at Mean Machine in Vegas. Place looks completely different without a crowd, without production equipment and camera cables strewn across the floors- desolate almost, unforgiving perhaps.

In response Amber twirls as she steps across the floor revelling in the space. It’s like home after being out of the ring for a couple weeks, some poor random souls doing some probably important work seem a bit taken aback by the company but say nothing.

“Fact is, I haven’t spent the best years of my life risking my fucking life for people to come in and pretend like they’re wrestlers cause they cobbled together a fancy get up that flashes their panties at the least convenient moment, or that they can do some fancy shit in training and think that translates to talent and potential.
No, it translates to ‘get the fuck out and let the professionals do what they’re best at’.”

Leaning against the edge of an erected ring, Amber releases a pent up sigh of contentment, losing her train of thought as though there were one in play to begin with.

“Winning matches and cracking skulls girlies.

Turns out it really doesn’t take as much effort as the world would have you believe. Not when you’re a fucking miracle worker anyway…”

Throwing up a sarcastic shrug and familiar half-smile, the feed mercifully cuts out.

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