#I FEEL FUCKNG SICK TO MY STOMACH

[quadrantbreaker]

will graham covered in blood i think i haube covid

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Honest to Geode || Morgan and Kaden

TIMING: Before Constance does everyone dirty and before casually finding a human head in the dumpster  PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Sometimes you have to talk to dirt. Magic.

There were at least some ingredients for ghost-proofing that Morgan could pick up in the shops on Amity Row. A few white pebbles, some fresh brushes and ink for painting runes, some chalking dust, and a little satisfying peek at Vera’s lag in clientele since Natalia slipped her the monkey paw. As a treat. She filled her tote bag carefully, relieved to have something easy and productive to check off in her day. Every morning in the hotel next to Deirdre made her skin turn cold with fear that she was making the wrong move. It didn’t feel like payment enough to shrink her happiness down to the size of a hotel room, and her body, well trained in fear, begged her to run and hide every time she passed Cece’s street on the way back from campus. But ingredients, simple things with a clear purpose and a clear value, she could handle and find solace in. And when she got back she’d work a few jewelry pieces. Measure. Give. Receive. Begin again. She could trick herself into feeling safe this way, nestled in her corner of the universe on a space even her curse couldn’t mess with. She turned down the next aisle for the next item on her list and-- oh, shit. She’d recognize that hair anywhere, even after only seeing it twice, but Morgan still needed to do a double take. “...Kaden?” She asked.

It was strange having so little he could do to help, but the one thing Kaden thought he might be able to get a handle on was Regan’s nausea. Sure, she said that it was only at certain times and shit like that but he was going to try. If medicine wasn’t working, maybe magic would. Only Kaden had no idea where to even fucking start with magic. Beyond, uh, maybe the magic shop. That seemed like a decent start. He’d been wandering up and down the aisles, through the nooks and crannies of the shop for longer than he cared to admit. None of it meant shit to him. Why was nothing labeled? Okay, sure it was labeled, but it didn’t say what it was for. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Maybe he should just leave. Fuck it, he was bout to head out when he heard a familiar voice. Putain. He turned and saw Morgan. Of all people. Well, that made sense, sure, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to have any deep conversations today. Why couldn’t their whole thing just stayed as in depth as waffles and nothing more? “Hey,” he said, hoping it would be short. But uh, maybe she could help. Did he want that? “So, uh, what are you doing here?” Dumb question. Too late.

It took Morgan another moment to process what she was seeing: Kaden, in a magic shop, looking more lost than a frat boy at Sephora. It couldn’t be more supernatural-killing supplies. He would at least know something about that, right? So it could only be--for Regan. Oh, Kaden. “Just picking up some stuff for my everyday witchy needs,” she said. “And for stopping my curse. As you do.” She quirked a brow and stepped a little closer, peeking around to see what he was looking at. He couldn’t possibly know what he was doing. Nothing on this shelf was fit for cursing or glamouring. Half of it was full of crystals. “You wouldn’t happen to need a hand with finding anything, would you?”

Kaden’s brows furrowed. Curse stopping supplies? Was that how this worked? He wanted to think she was joking but at the same time, he was so out of his depths he couldn’t say one way or the other. No, she had to be joking, she said curses were hard to break, right? Fuck if he knew. He sighed. Clearly she had him pegged as lost. “Maybe,” he grumbled. His hand reached to rub the back of his neck. “I was just trying to find something for Regan. Not the curse thing, I can’t even start there. But, uh, the nausea she’s been having.” He felt like such a goddamn idiot. “She said nothing helped and we both know she’d never touch anything magic so I guess I figured it was worth a shot.” Not that he’d know how to get there to use anything magical but that was step two.

Of course Kaden couldn’t admit to needing help right away. He had to grumble about it and look hangdog and red in the face before he could say what he needed. Morgan couldn’t help but wonder if he was like this all the time, if Regan for all her obtuseness had crafted a gloss for translating him, or if he managed to be more than begrudgingly articulate for her. Lucky for him, Morgan had a sense of what was behind the nausea. She’d heard about the eight-hour limit when she was researching her glamour for Deirdre and how intense the side effects would be. The answer was ‘just don’t wear it too long,’ but that wasn’t what Kaden wanted to hear, and it wouldn’t do much to improve his situation. Morgan sighed and ghosted a hand over his shoulder, as if she’d give it a solid, manly pat. “Kaden, you’re not going to find anything to help there. But I can whip something up for you. You’ll need to get your hands on the amulet for it to work, though.”

“Get my hands on the amulet?” Kaden didn’t even know what it did. And he was too afraid to ask and completely sure that Regan wasn’t planning on telling him just yet. If ever. He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s possible. She never takes it off. Uh, do you have any other suggestions? Or…” He trailed off and looked away. This whole thing was stupid, he shouldn’t have come. “I don’t-- I mean, if you want to help and all. I’d take it. But I don’t want you to go out of your way or hold it over me or something.” Shit. It struck him that he just walked into the same sort of situation they’d started with. Bartering small favors. Only this time it wasn’t waffles. Definitely still magic, though.

“Relax, Kaden,” Morgan replied, smirking. “I’m not about to extort your for favors over protecting your girlfriend. Besides, Deirdre cares about her too, and she wouldn’t approve of strings attached either, I don’t think. So consider this a genuine favor. I mean it, about the amulet, though. Even the best forged charms need to charge. There’s some ways of doing it faster, cleaner, better, what have you,” There weren’t, not really, not that Kaden knew any better. “Which is something I can help you with. But if they’re mismanaged, they can turn on the wearer and make them sick. Like, you know, with nausea. Ooh, it’s like a mobile battery charger! Only it’ll be a magic one. Does that make sense?”

“Thanks. I guess.” Kaden ran his hand through his hair. This was very much not his wheelhouse. He’d feel in the dark either way, but it was even worse knowing he didn’t have the full scope of the situation. “I don’t even know what the amulet does. And if she knows she’s not telling me. I just know she won’t see me without it on.” The whole thing dropped a pit in his stomach. Whatever she was keeping from him, how bad was it that she didn’t trust him? Fuckng hated this. “Is there a way to, I don’t know, add to the charger? Give it a better one? I don’t know how this works and I don’t even know what’s--” He stopped short and let out a sigh. This was so exhausting. He hated feeling like this all the time. Completely worried and completely helpless.

Morgan looked at the wares thoughtfully. This was maybe not the best time to work some petty mischief on Kaden, especially for what would more or less be her own satisfaction. He did kill supernaturals, even if she didn’t invest herself in the lives of ones she didn’t know. And he was kind of an idiot, perhaps even willfully so at this point. Would it make the mischief called for if she was mostly intending to help him come to terms with himself? It was the only thing she knew of that might override his conditioning as a hunter. Deirdre accepting her own love for her was the only reason they were functioning this long. Maybe this could help everyone, in the long term.

“Does this mean you’ll let me help?” She asked Kaden. “I can whip up something special right now, and I will charge--” She picked up one of the larger crystals from Vera’s shelf. Whistled with mock horror. “A lot less than this. Because I am actually a decent person, Kaden. We’ll say half the price of this overrated magic shop? Twenty five dollars? And I’ll show you how to use it, step by step. No strings. No favors. Just doing a solid for the people we care about.”

Kaden narrowed his eyes at the witch. She seemed to change her tune very fast. There was something suspicious about all of this. But it wasn’t enough to make him worry too much. Morgan was a bleeding-heart type after all. Maybe she did really intend to help. Well, it couldn’t be worse than spending ten more minutes in this shop. And he was desperate to do fucking something, anything remeotely helpful. “Fine. I’ll let you help.” He raised his arm and gestured to the exit of the shop for her to lead the way. “Go on. Work your magic.”

Morgan brightened up, flashing the hunter a bright warm smile. She could make this work for everyone. Extra cash for her, some emotional maturity for Kaden, which would lead to a happier and less-dead Regan, which would lead to a happier Deirdre too. And even if it only worked for a little while, Kaden might still get to keep his maturity, and he’d only be out twenty five bucks. It was a better, fairer bargain than he was going to get at Eye of Newt. She paid for her things and gave Vera a frosty look as she left with her woven grocery bag on her arm, leading them off toward the town common where it was green and lush with easy to transmute materials. “I don’t guess I could ask you not to make fun while I’m working could I?” She asked, turning over her shoulder. “Magic is weird, and you’re maybe not going to like the recipe for this one. Decidedly not for danger reasons! For other, mushier reasons. Feelings reasons. Still on board with me?”

Kaden crossed his arms and waited to the side as she purchased her items. He should really walk away, like he’d been saying to himself this whole time. He wasn’t sure where he expected her to take him but the town commons wasn’t it. His arms were still folded across his chest as he watched her. “Mushier reasons?” his brow shot up. He always knew he hated the hippie dippie shit that came with magic. This was just confirming it. “I’m not going to make fun of you, I’m just going to ask you why this is the only way to do this.” He muttered a few curse words in french under his breath. Why was it always bullshit feelings with her?

“Have you ever considered that I’m like this for a good reason, Kaden?” Morgan asked good naturedly. “Emotional intent is the thing that gives magic its direction, its shape. It’s the most essential component next to the energy of the universe.” She sat them down under a nice tree and started scrounging around for material. There was a very handy looking trash can nearby but transmuting an “amulet charging station” out of garbage was probably a bridge too far with Kaden. “Naturally, sometimes, it can be even more than that. It’s an energy and a power all its own. So--” She gathered the soft earth in her hand until she could gauge the weight in her hands to be just right, enough that it nearly overflowed, and set it between them. “Wait, actually--” She snapped off some twigs within reach and gathered them up with some fallen acorns. “Just, a brief demonstration so you know I’m not completely full of shit.” She pressed her cuff to the mess and turned the many pieces into a miniature wooden sword, then again, and turned it into a slender mini rapier out of steel, maybe the size fit for a mouse. “Nifty, right?”

As he sat down across from her, he scrunched his nose at her explanation of magic, specifically the part about emotions dictating it. Kaden knew damn well there was a reason he didn’t connect with magic at all. Well, beyond the obvious. Still, he watched her intently as she did, well, whatever it was she was actually doing. Beyond playing with dirt. He really did think it was all bullshit at first. Then he watched as she transformed the twigs and acorns into a sword and his eyes went wide. He knew damn well magic existed and he’d been around other witches before, hell he’d been around her doing magic before. Still it wasn’t the same seeing it in  the thick of a fight as opposed to up close and intimate. He could sometimes forget what a good caster could craft out of mostly nothing. “Nifty, sure,” he said, trying to mask his awe. “But what is that good for, anyway? And how is this going to help?”

Morgan could barely contain her pride at seeing Kaden’s awe at her work. It was just a flicker, he was too proud to concede that openly to her face, but it was enough to make her fluff her hair and straighten up with even greater confidence. “Oh, this?” She pinched the hilt between two fingers and poked his hands teasingly, “This was just to see you make that face.” She dropped it on top of the pile of earth she had gathered between them. “But now, hopefully,  you won’t scoff when I say in order for this ‘super charging station’ to work optimally is to speak your heart’s intentions into this earth as I transmute it into a citrine bowl. And then after we’re done, we’ll bind it all together with some sigils.” She looked into his eyes, bright and smiling, almost daring him to back out.

“I have to speak my what now?” he asked, eyes going wider than before. Kaden was now thoroughly convinced this entire thing was a mistake. He should have just picked up some tums and called it a day, taken Abel for a walk, done literally anything else. Instead, here he was sitting on the fucking ground with a witch telling him to grab some dirt and shout his fucking feelings at it. “Heart’s intetions?What the fuck do you mean by that? Intentions for what? This is, this is--” A reedy sigh pushed though his thoat as he debated getting up and walking the fuck away. This couldn’t be worth it, could it? The look in her eyes was so fucking smug, though, like she though he’d back out. Like she knew it. Almost challenging him so that she could say he didn’t really care about Regan. If this were for anyone fucking else, he would have left. Instead he grumbled and settled in. Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to roll his eyes, though. “Fine. What sort of crap do I have to tell the dirt?”

Morgan’s expression softened as Kaden relented to the exercise. It was a good sign that Regan meant more to him than his machismo. She knew he only liked her so far as she was human and useful, and so saving face, saving his honor, might be a different matter of pride, but still. He was willing. He would do this for the girl he cared about. “Take a deep breath for starters, okay? I don’t want your being grumpy with me interfering with what you’ve actually agreed to do. Real deep, with me--” She took a long deep breath, exaggerated for his benefit, smiling peacefully as she exhaled. “And now really think about why it is you want this. What are you giving of yourself, to make this happen for her? Your care, or your kindness, for example. Talk about that while you put your hands over the earth. I’ll make sure it absorbs that energy. Magic isn’t a force that takes bullshit, okay? So be as honest and clear as possible.”

Kaden took a deep breath but his shoulders stayed hunched, asking him to not be grumpy about this was way too much to ask. He could meet her halfway but that was about it. He wasn’t rolling his eyes at least, she should be impressed. He put his hands in the stupid dirt and took another deep fucking breath. “Why I want this… Well I’d like to wake up not covered in puke, that’s for one.” He could sense a glare was on its way from her before he even finished. Putain, he wanted this to work. He really did. It wouldn’t hurt to try and open up a little, right? Plus, she couldn’t embarass him any more than he’d been embarrassed at that fucking mime party. Might as well give in. “Fine. Fine. I, uh, want to help Regan because, you know, uh…” He had to close his eyes to do this, there was no way he could even start this fucking exercise let alone finish if he caught even a whif of judgement from the peanut gallery. “I care about her. A lot. I, uh, I don’t know when that happened but I do. And she’s hurting a lot. And I can’t fix it, any of it. I just… I just need to do something to help. She already lost her dad; that’s hard enough.” He felt his throat tighten a little at the thought of his own loss, even though it was years past. “I guess I.. give my... sympathy? And my…” He fumbled for the words. He wasn’t used to having to describe what he was feeling. He kind of hated it. Labels and words were restrictive and came with expectations. Two things He’d always been better at showing rather than saying. He knew what he felt when he was around Regan. His breath would catch in his chest, his stomach flipped, he could never stop smiling in her presence. What that translated to in words he couldn’t say. Or he didn’t want to admit it. Definitely didn’t want to admit it here. Now. In front of Morgan of all people. “Uh, my love,” he said at a low grumbly whisper. He winced. He’d rather be stabbed by a mime right now. That sounded preferable. Certainly easier to handle.

Morgan watched Kaden, her expression neutral. She nodded along as the hunter struggled to push through his sheepish embarrassment, his fear, his self consciousness. It was endearingly familiar; it hadn’t been so long since she was stuttering in a booth at Al’s and typing and re typing the same soul crushing words in a message. And it looked the same on him, it sounded the same, enough that Morgan could begin to believe it was the same inside him. If it stuck that deep inside his chest, if it frightened him enough that he had to close his eyes, maybe it was real. Maybe it could be truer than the secrets he carried, and the secrets Regan was sitting on.

“That’s perfect Kaden,” Morgan said. “That’s enough to power just about anything.” She passed her wrist over the earth and ran her power through the pathways. There was enough silicon in the earth to make it an easy bargain to strike. Morgan asked it to be beautiful for them, to be strong and sturdy, to have enough facets at the edges and sides to catch all the light that came its way. And the earth said yes, bending into shape, taking in the air and turning into just what she wanted. Morgan looked down at her handiwork and then over at Kaden, warm and only just a little smug. “How’s that for magic?” She asked.

Kaden was relieved she didn’t ask him for anything more and that goddamn embarrassment was over. He opened his eyes and watched intently as she worked her very literal magic. He wasn’t sure what it was she was making but it looked like some kind of bowl made from an orange crystalline rock. He looked it over as he took it from her. It didn’t look particularly special. “So this will work?” He turned it over one more time. “Uh, how do I use it, anyway?” Another thought hit him. Regan’s extreme distaste for “bullshit” medicine. “And how in the fuck am I going to convince Regan to use it?”

Morgan rolled her eyes. Of course Kaden couldn’t bear to show his better qualities for more than a moment. But if he could at least demonstrate them when it mattered, preferably in the form of not killing Regan, maybe even doing something to actually protect her, it was no difference if he acted like a sixteen year old boy in front of her or not. “You put the amulet inside the bowl and you let it rest and recharge. To maintain the energy in the bowl itself, you’ll have to renew your intentions. Hold it under the sun and speak them like you spoke them to me. Shouldn’t have to do it often, just once every couple of weeks.” That would at least remind him that there was something more important than listening to his stupid “duty” rules all the time. “I don’t know how you’re going to get Regan to drop her amulet into this, but that is not my wheelhouse and not my problem. Besides, you know her better than me. What do you think she’ll believe?”

“I have to what?” Kaden almost chucked the bowl across the fucking commons, like throwing it away would get rid of the need to ever do that shit ever again. Then he realized he’d be out one magic bowl, may not get her help again, and if he did, would have to start it all over again. Putain. “Fine. What kind of fucking magic needs you to recharge a fucking charging station?’ he grumbled. Yeah yeah, he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth but it was all so annoying, it was hard not to. Whatever, he could get over the obnoxious feelings crap of it all, that wouldn;t be the hardest part anyway. He rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to suss through where to even start with her. “Great. Guess I’ll have to lie to her. Can’t fucking wait. Maybe I can say Deirdre forgot to send it with the amulet?” He sighed. And gave it to him of all people. Yeah, cause that would happen. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. Uh, thanks for the help, though. Hopefully it works. I know she’ll appreciate it. Even if she has no clue what’s actually happening.”

“It’s okay, Kaden. I didn’t just do it for her,” Morgan said. “And if it helps any, I believe in you. Or I want to anyway.” She got off the ground and dusted herself off, shouldering her bag and scanning the area for any signs of trouble. “You don’t have to be afraid of showing people what a good heart you have, okay? And before you make faces, I would still prefer you to Venmo me my twenty-five dollars for the bowl now. Unless you’re ready to trust me with a favor.”

Kaden’s brows furrowed at her words. Then who else was it-- Oh. Huh. He didn’t see that one coming. Though he should have, at least a little, after her whole thing about looking out for him or something. He wasn’t sure why in the hell she had to believe in him or what that was about but at this point, he was too tired to keep asking people what they thought about him or what they assumed he was going to do. It didn’t matter what people thought anyway, right? “I’ll Venmo you. For the fucking dirt.” He wanted to add he wasn’t sure it was worth that much but it was for Regan. He could spare a measly twenty-five dollars. “But hey if this works, I might owe you a favor, anyway, to be honest.”

“It’s not dirt anymore!” Morgan protested. “But, because I almost like you, Kaden--” And because, truthfully she was starting to feel guilty about the charade, and hadn’t expected him to actually pay the full price, or admit that he somehow loved Regan, “You can consider it a friendly gift. No strings.” And then, if he somehow ever did realize her little trick, he might not change his mind about his promise to her. “But, if it keeps things going well between you and Regan, and you’re feeling generous later, I won’t say no.” She smiled at him cheerfully and began to leave on her way. “And that ‘mushy stuff’ wasn’t all bad, right?” She called over her shoulder.

Kaden brushed off and pocketed the bowl, making sure it was safe in his jacket. His mouth pulled into a thin line, ready to argue with her when she agreed to waive the fee. “Thanks.” Now all that was left was somehow smuggling this into Regan’s apartment without it getting chucked out the window. Selling magic to anyone half as rational as her would be a challenge. And he still didn’t even know what was really going on with the necklace to begin with. Good thing he liked a challenge, right? Fucking great. “Don’t tease. It was pretty fucking bad.” He was thrilled to have to rinse and repeat this every few weeks. It better fucking work. He didn’t need to add insult to injury.

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

Game #4 Kick in the Teeth

"Ow." It was perhaps the understatement of the year. Mike's body was trembling, and this annoyed her- it was an involuntary reaction to the level of pain she was in, something she was trying to express at a minimum. She was laying on her stomach on one of the two medical tables in the trainer’s room, ice packs placed at the points of impact on her back. She breathed in and out a few times through her teeth, producing a low hiss, before turning her head to her left, towards the other current occupant of the room. The person she'd taken the worst of this beating for, and had no regrets whatsoever about it. "...hey, buddy. You okay? Sorry I wasn't quicker..." There was a pained strain in her voice, and that annoyed her as well. She had to be stronger than this. John had just finished being examined by a doctor, and was sitting in a chair beside her. He wheezed with every breath -- coughing up spittle into a white towel, "I'm," a more pronounced fit, "okay." "No you're not." She took a few rattling breaths of her own, clenching her teeth together tightly. "F-fucking Garcia... 'm gonna kick his fucking ass in so bad he's g-gonna have to open his mouth to fucking change his underwear..." Her shaking just wasn’t from pain anymore. She could feel herself getting angrier by the second, and despite the icy cold on her back her body felt very hot. Frankly she was surprised the ice hadn’t all melted by now. Her fists tightened, short fingernails digging into the heels of her palms. Every thought of the smirking face of the tag team champion only stoked her rage. Rob Garcia had hurt her, yes. But he’d hurt her partner and that was completely unforgivable. Between the twin injustices walloped upon NSFW in the form of a deftly wielded steel chair, the New Yorker was so furious she could have spat napalm. “I’m gonna get ‘im back for us, buddy. I’m gonna get ‘im fuckin’ good. I got half a mind to drag my fuckin’ carcass out to the garage and cut his goddamn brake lines.” She’d like to say that she wasn’t serious about that. But honestly, she didn’t know. “At least your friend won.” “Yeah… yeah she did, didn’t she? Heh. Guess tonight hasn’t been a total fuckin’ bust. I mean, I guess we won too. Don’t really feel like it though.” She sighed, fists unclenching slightly. “And she’s not just my friend, you know. She likes you. Kinda makes her our friend, I think.” There was a knock at the door. Mike huffed a bit. She wanted to tell whoever it was to beat it, but there was a chance it could be the doc. Or even their newly victorious and always charming Ms. Natalie Young, whose presence was always welcome. She decided to chance it- “C’mon in!” -and immediately regretted her decision as NSFW’s least favorite backstage interviewer slunk into the trainer’s room, cheezy mustache and all with a cameraman in tow. Mike rolled her eyes. “Ugh. What do you want, Heart? Ain’t in the mood for bullshittery.” Ace turned towards the camera, not even acknowledging Mike’s shot across the bow. “Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Pepper presents an EWC.com exclusive. We are moments after Monday Night Brawl’s exciting conclusion but many people are talking about the heinous attack perpetrated by Robert Garcia and Morgan Darkwater on...” He stepped aside to reveal Church and McGuire. “NSFW. Bishop Church? What happened -- nevermind. McGuire, what happened out there tonight?” “What happened? I’ll tell you what the fuck happened. Rob Garcia signed his goddamn death warrant, that’s what the fuck happened. And you’re next on the list if you don’t apologize. Now.” She gave him a look that could only be described as borderline homicidal. “Apologize for what?” “For blowing off my fucking partner, asshole. I’m fucking serious. Apologize or neither of us is saying another fuckng word to you ever again until the fucking apocalypse, and you’ll just look like some pornstached joker holding his mic in one hand and his dick in the other. Apologize.” John looked at her with a soft expression. “It’s … okay. He just --” “No. It’s not fucking okay, Church. It hasn’t been fucking okay from the goddamn get go. As long as I’ve been here, this fuck with glorified nose hair extensions has been treating you like dirt. And I am fucking sick of it. Hey, Heart. You every wonder why we fucking avoid you? Why you haven’t gotten any airplay from us for fucking weeks? Because you’re a fuckwit and we don’t want to talk to you, because of shit like this. Because of certain members of the journalism community, present company included, acting lower than mold on rat shit. Now. Apologize.” Mike’s jaw ticked. Were she psychic, her glare might have made the journalist’s head explode. For whatever reason, the camera now zoomed in on the interviewer’s reaction to this confrontation. He let out an exasperated sigh and mumbled. “I’m sorry.” “What was that? People in the fucking cheap seats didn’t hear you. I’m not playing here, douchebag. Apologize. Fuckin’ audible-like. And not to me- to him.” Ace looked directly at Bishop Church. There was a few more seconds of dead air before Ace finally clearly stated. “I’m sorry … for uh, how I acted when you first got here.” More silence. John looked to Mike and nodded slightly. “Right. He accepts your apology so I guess I fucking do too. Now. Ask your little questions. But don’t ask me, ask my partner. We’re a goddamn team, his input’s just’s valid as mine.” “Bishop Church. First, uh, congratulations on becoming television champion.” John stared at Ace blankly. “So rough night, huh?” “You know what, Mike? Why would they do this to us? What did we ever do to them?” Mike sighed, her expression softening a bit. She turns her gaze away from Ace and toward her partner, shaking her head a little. “Because Rob Garcia is a fucking waste of meat and breath. He’s a waste, and he’s fucking scared of us. He knows it’s a matter of time. So instead of training and preparing and, y’know, acting like an actual fucking competitor, he tries to lay us out early. We didn’t do shit to him. But that don’t matter at all to people like that.” She takes a breath in, exhaling it in another hiss. “Darkwater’s a piece of shit too. He may not’ve participated in the shit with the chairs, but he walloped us outta nowhere beforehand, an’ if he didn’t like what Garcia did he sure’s fuck didn’t help. Don’t get him off the hook none, inaction makes him just’s fuckin’ guilty.” “So despite all of this, I’ve gotten word from Dr. Hiro Lee that you have both been cleared for action next week for Monday Night Brawl in Milan, Italy. This is just one week before Bishop Church defends his Television Title against Orianna Johnson at Scars and Stripes. You two are in tag team action.” “Against who?” “Yeah, who? We get our title shot? Or maybe just another crack at those limpdicks? Ooooh, I can’t fuckin’ WAIT to get my hands on them. No more Mr. Nice Guy, I’m gonna fuck ‘em both up good.” Ace shook his head. “The match you two were victorious in was not officially sanctioned as a #1 contendership bout for the tag team championships. NSFW takes on up and coming tag team: Donkey Punch.” John looked up towards the tiles on the ceiling, “Oh. Okay.” “...you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Donkey Punch. DONKEY PUNCH. DONKEY. FUCKING. PUNCH.” “Yes. Danny and Donny Madison. They’re your opponents.” “THEY’RE PIECES OF SHIT AND YOU KNOW IT.” “They seem nice.” “Donkey Punch and NSFW have both been victims of Rob Garcia’s reign of terror.” “Oh. Oh. Heart. Just when we were starting to fucking get along. Don’t you EVER compare us to that pair of idiots. EV-VER. This is a goddamn insult. I mean, you can’t possibly fucking think they’re even in the same league as us. They ain’t even playing the same fucking SPORT.” Her nails dug into her palms again, temper beginning to seethe. John looked the camera directly with a nervous expression before returning his gaze at Mike. “They have been teaming for quite some time. They, uh, put up a good fight against Mucho Grande. I’m sorry I guess I’m not in the mood to exclaim that.” “Bud, I really hate to disagree with you, but they kinda really didn’t. They got fuckin’ annihilated in three goddamn minutes. I mean, shit, some poor guy probably got up to get fucking chips and missed the whole fuckin’ thing.” “They gave it a good try, I guess.” Ace Heart piped in, “Win withstanding, I’d say that the Donkey Punch and NSFW are on the same level.” “And I’d say you ate paint chips as a child. We are serious fucking competitors. We know how to have a good time but we fucking love this business. We’re dedicated to it. We work our fucking asses off. What do they do? Derp around, pick and eat their own fucking boogers, and make fart jokes? Do they even have two fucking brain cells between them to rub together? This isn’t a goddamn game. This. Is NOT. A stupid fucking tiddlywink-ass game.” She bared her teeth, snarling. She looked like she might leap at Ace and tear out his jugular if provoked much further. “I used to play tiddlywinks when I was a boy.” She exhaled again, a bit of a fond chuckle escaping her. She had to hand it to her partner- he had an almost uncanny way of cooling her temper. She could be the angriest she could possibly be, and just a few words from him would de-escalate things. How he did it she had no idea, but it was damn effective. “Seems like…” Ace hesitated but maybe misunderstood Church’s level gaze at Mike. “Seems like he would fit right in with them.” And wouldn’t you know it, whatever calming effect that Church had on Mike was instantly undone. Mike’s emerald glare flared back up in all its fury, face twisted into something that could only be described as genuine, full-throated hatred. “Get out.” She lifted the ice packs- about two-thirds melted by now- off of her back and began to throw them, one by one, at the interviewer. “GET OUT! YOU FUCKING TURDMUNCHER! FUCK YOU!” The ice pack smacks right into Ace’s forehead and then lands at his feet. The other two sailed over his head. He looks as if he was about to retort in kind but he regained his composure with an adjustment of his collar.“You’re a nasty woman sometimes, Mike McGuire.” At this moment, John stood up from his chair. He loomed over Ace Heart. “Please leave.” His tone left nothing to interpretation. “You got your soundbytes. My partner politely -- well, no, she asked you to leave. I am asking you to leave. Mike isn’t in a good mood. You want to prod and prod to get reactions for your reels. That’s over. Fine. We’re facing the Madison brothers. And they’re a little unorthodox. Mike believes we should be in line for a shot at the tag team championships and I am inclined to agree with her on that sentiment. If the new management team wants to see NSFW roll in the mud - then so be it.” John stepped forward, forcing Ace into the doorway. “Now get out.” Outside the doorway now. “Alright, bud. I get it, just one more--” John slammed the door in Ace’s face. Interview over. Trembling, Mike grabbed a small pillow- given the setting, probably meant more for support than comfort- and slammed her face into it, her enraged screams sufficiently muffled as not to spread outside the confines of the makeshift infirmary. She really wanted to put her fist through something. Or someone. She was so angry and frustrated and hurt, but anything she really wanted to do was either pointless or illegal. Anything but this. So she kept screaming until she ran out of breath, and only then did she come up for air, panting. “...I hate everyone. Everybody but you. And Natalie. Everyone else can fuck off and die.” “You don’t mean that.” John leaned back on the door to the hallway, “All the wonderful people we met in the last few days. They were so friendly. The old woman. She invited us into her home. For some reason. I think she said I was her son. But her? No, I don’t believe you, Mike.” “Eh, you’re right, I don’t mean it.” She took a few deep breaths, wincing a bit as her back throbbed. “It just pisses me off so bad I can’t see stuff like that sometimes. So many shitty people crop up that I start forgetting that not everyone that isn’t us is like that. And it sucks because I WANT the world to be, y’know, not awful. Not indicative of the fuckin’ loudmouth minority.” “She made us eat that weird soup. What was it?” “Borcht, I think? The beet stuff served cold? Dunno if I liked it or not. Those jam blintzes were fuckin’ great though.” And then he whispered, despite them being alone in this room, “I may have indulged in one myself.” And Mike giggled, and whispered right back. “Don’t sweat it. I had like, five.” She sighed, again marvelling at how quickly her mood had cooled. Before now, before all this, it’d taken her hours or even days to truly calm down if something got her this hot. “Hey. Maybe this won’t be so bad. At least we get a trip to Italy out of it. And that is gonna be the trip of a lifetime. Rome, Venice, fine fuckin’ art, culture, and every fuckin’ delicious thing you can imagine. It’ll be good, even if we DO have to fight fuckin’ Donkey Punch.” She tapped her chin, and then nodded, giving her partner a pat on the shoulder. “Yeah. Everything’s gonna be okay.”