Appearances and conversations

July 19th, 2017. Tijuana, Mexico.

Somewhere in the depths of el Coliseo Inmortal, the woman that will become Anna Daniels is bent over against a bathroom sink. The muscles inside her flesh suit hum feverishly. It is not a good hum. In her head runs a silent prayer.

Not right now. Not right now. Just gotta get through this match. I just gotta get through this match and then I swear that the minute I roll out of that ring, I will drive my ass to a field somewhere and you can fucking kill me for all I care. But not in here and not now with all these people around.

It's the same prayer she's been saying for months now. Each time the hum comes, she begs for a stay of execution and fights the oncoming stream of change. Usually, the body relents and settles just enough to keep the vibration to a minimum. But it's fighting back this night and for good reason. Because in the end, no matter how much one wishes to hold on to their false innocence, it will inevitably flee. Whether that's in the peaceful letting go or if it's ripped away…well, that's certainly a choice.

She pounds on the sink hard enough to crack the ceramic in defiance of what she is and what this means. She closes her eyes and grits her teeth.

Not right now. Not here. Just one more match. Just one more.

It's a classic case of unstoppable force meeting immovable object. Many people believe that it's the type of battle that is forever at a standstill. But here's the thing: that's only in the initial meeting. Eventually, enough force weakens the structure to the point where all it takes is just a little strike. Knowing this and feeling the urging “settle”, the realization hits her. For the first time tonight, she looks up at her reflection. A self ready to go. A self destined to be lost in history. Those blue-grey eyes and chestnut curls. The homely appearance. The slight figure.

“Phorce allwais wins.”

Christ, even that accent's going away. Perhaps that's for the best. Suddenly, the world feels more real. The bricks of the walls, the muffled cheering of the fans, her own beating heart. All of it hums. And just as she begins to stand upright, another sound begins to seep through.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

The vessel's green eyes snap open…before covering them with what blankets she can grasp as the bright green light of the alarm threatens to blind her. She groans as the figure behind her shifts, wildly whacking the dresser before finally hitting the electronic annoyance. He wastes no time in pulling her closer.

“G’morn’n.”, comes the still sleepy greeting.

A grumble from his wife is the response. Which could only mean one thing. Jacky slowly begins to sit up.

“Bad dream?”

“Worse. Bad memory.”

“Which one?”

“Nirvana fight.”

“During or after?”

“Before.”

That was not an option. Mainly because before was never the answer. Previously, it been during (where her body and soul were exhausted and that warrior inside of her forever hates not being able to move of her own volition) or after (the regeneration, losing of her memory, and that small twinge of guilt over killing him no matter how deplorable he ended up being). Before is different. Before is new. Before knocks the sleep out of the relentless JRD. He rapidly rips away the covers, causing the Muse to hiss like a vampire shielding herself from the sun.

“Annie.”

The gentle-yet-serious tone filtering through the vocal cords of a usually not serious man is enough to make her groan. And not even in a fun way! It very much carries the vibe of Fuck's sake. We shouldn't have said anything. The groan turns into a roar of frustration as she too sits up on the giant duck bed.

(I know what you're saying. Duck bed? Yes. This not-quite-a-California King mattress is somehow stuffed into the confines of a hollow wooden duck sculpture. Yes, there is lore for this. No, we will not be getting into it this time. Or ever, if Anna can help it.)

She gives him the short version of everything and he listens because he does this weird thing called caring. The caring never stops being a strange thing, even being with the man for years. It always shocks somebody in that mind the way he sits. Not in judgment. Just…there. At the end, he rakes a hand through his hair and its waves often hidden. The Aussie's brain runs at a million miles a minute, but it's his heart that makes the call.

“Don’t ya think that might be that part of you telling the other parts of you to not repress so much?”

Anna, in return, stares blankly. “Wut?”

“What were you doing before that match?”

“Trying not to regenerate.”

“And what are you doing now?”

The Multitudes grasp what he's laying down. Yet in an attempt to avoid the topic completely, they opt to use the problem she's having against her via a classic self-sabotage technique. It is called Hyperfixating Upon One's Own Husband And Feeling Insecure About It. For instance, despite being gone for months, this guy has remained hot. In fact, he's even more so. The stubble across that chiseled jaw, the muscles on top of muscles, the tan. Where in the hell did that come from? Why is he so gorgeous? WHY ARE WE HERE? WHY DO WE EXIST IN THE SAME ROOM?!?!

“At this moment, we're trying not to act like a dumb teenaged human hanging around their crush.”

Believe it or not, even admitting this is a minor breakthrough. Something inside of her is screaming. She pinches the bridge of her nose in a futile attempt to keep a headache at bay. Jacky despite all the changes is still Jacky, his confusion momentarily coming through in a series of syllables.

“Wha-wha-wha…”

The emergence of ancient Jacky triggers the action of ancient Anna as the vessel immediately turns to rummage through a drawer. Just as she's about to snag a paper bag from the depths, his brain replaces the needle on his record player.

“Why are you trying not to do that?” She turns around and blinks, the memory of what she said before temporarily replaced. However, he's not the type to yield. “Why won't you act like a dumb teenager around meeeee?”

Anna sighs. “Because we're your wife, Jack. We're supposed to be better than that.”

There it is. The pressure, raw and crushing.

“Well, I'm not.” Damn this man. One moment, he's sat up all concerned and the next moment, he's laying on his stomach, elbows propping up hands propping up his head, and kicking his feet like a schoolgirl. There's a dreamy look in his eyes as he stares at her. “I can do this alllll day.”

In spite of some of the ghosts that make up Anna's psyche trying to fight off this urge with a baseball bat, she caves somewhat by cupping his cheek with her hand.

“Did you forget we have a wrestling school to run, sir?”

“Gimme that phone. Dante can cover for us. And if worse comes to worse, he has the number.”

And that's true. Although he did bring himself in as the first student of the new-and-slightly-improved Glass Jaw Academy, “The Rhythm” Dante Cutler has morphed into the officially unofficial third trainer. It also helps that he’s the second most prolific in the school in terms of championships. Still, the mind tries to find a way out of this predicament.

“...does he know where the jaws of life are? Or even how to work them? Because you know damn well once they find out we're not there, Guy is going to shove Tomás so far deep into that locker. Again.”

Jacky leans into her touch like he's a hound hungry for scratchies. “Actually, he does.”

The self-sabatour in her does its best impression of Homer Simpson.

________

The Daniels clan just handed Bucky his pup cup and dunked both of their straws into the most comically large milkshake they could find when the text message came through. Unfortunately, it was a PRIME booking.

The vessel felt her blood pressure rise immediately. She could already sense it all. The aggression, the angst, the despair. They know what's going to happen. They are going to try a fire up against the latest body Lindsay Troy wants to throw their way. They will talk and hype up this stupid fucking match. They will obsess over this match for two weeks solid. They will push her to the point of hysteria…and then they'll lose. Because of course they will. The enemy is the promotion itself ànd the house always wins. She looked up without really looking.

“We'll be right back.”

Even before turning away, she knew Jacky was nodding. He knew when to get involved and when to back off. This is a fight she had to deal with. Her and her Multitudes. Straight to the bathroom. A slamming door. Anna Daniels grabbed a chair and sat it in front of the mirror. The two signs, the banner, and the blinking text.

REVIVAL 60 FROM LONG BEACH, CA ANNA DANIELS V…

The scrolling cut off right where the enemy's name is. The buzzing in her head commanded her to click it open. To learn her fate. To learn who's going to be the next one to take advantage of her. But something stopped the automatic process.

“Aren't you guys tired of this shit? Like, you're saying that you are. But are you?”

It was such a stupid question. She could feel the exhaustion. Yet even when they say it, there's also the addiction to it. The sick addiction to hating one's self and being stuck on this torturous treadmill.

“I get it. I do. During your short lives all of you were sacrifices to what you were told was a greater good. And I was told I was a weapon towards that greater good. All of us have outlived our usefulness. Hell, we've outlived the very people who told us that. Ever since we landed on this mudball planet, we have just been trying to keep up the fight. And at first, we did this whole wrestling thing for shits and gigs. It was a time waster, no pun intended. Something to do to keep us rolling.”

She looked at herself. The blondish hair. The green eyes. The body that is an inch or two too tall. Or maybe it wasn't too tall anymore? She smirked at herself and themself before her eyes drifted up, flickering from phrase to phrase.

DON'T THINK, JUST DO.

I'M SO PROUD OF YOU!

Her head shook away the urge to cry again. She could ask him why, but she already knew the answer. Jacky Rex Daniels is proud of his wife because she always does her best. Even when she knows in her soul it's not enough. Even when she doesn't see it that way. Even when she can't stand her own reflection. She looked at the mirror again critically.

“But I think it's time we faced it, ladies and gents. We're here. This is our life. Not theirs. This is the life we chose for ourself, however haphazardly. We are not sacrifices. I am not a weapon. We're just a bunch of emotionally stunted fucked up dead kids stuffed into a clown car!”

The vessel exhaled. If she was to look at that message and see that her opponent was Fred Dick of all the assholes on the roster, there would be a lot of anger. Anger at Fred for what happened during the tag finals. Anger at PRIME for clearly trying to cripple her career farther with the Whoresmen. Anger at herself for when she inevitably fails because the ref counts too slow or there's interference or she makes one mistake that always costs her. But it wouldn’t be the type of anger that could actually change anything. It would be self-destructive anger. The type that festers and rots away at the shell she's becoming. The soldier in her said that's exactly what the enemy wants.

Anna herself?

“Fuck it.”

She turned her phone back on and tapped on the screen. A question popped up.

Are you sure you want to delete this message?

Before the voices in her head could scream, the vessel tapped YES. The booking vanished just as quickly as it arrived. The ghosts began to revolt, but the spirit of fuck it persisted. She clicked onto the PRIME website, yeeted away the bookmark, and blocked it. The roaring increased and she roared back.

“IF YOU HAVE A BETTER GODDAMN PLAN, SPEAK, BITCHES! BECAUSE JABBER'S NEXT!”

And it was. With no hesitation, Anna Daniels threw the angry owl app into the trash. From the outside, she could barely hear the black lab barking in between the torrent stuck in her skull and the tapping. Deleting whole ass conversations. Even if it means nothing, it means something to her. Because now, she has nothing to rely on except instinct. If you're going to fail anyway, you might as well fail in a way that doesn't make you miserable.

She had a place and a date. That was all she needed. Anything else would make a mess of everything. And speaking of dates…

Anna opened the door to her furry companion's wagging tail and her life companion's worried look.

“You okay, love?”

She blinked. There was a disgruntled murmuring underneath it all. Yet for once, she felt lighter. The vessel sat down and stared directly into his eyes.

“For now.”