Post by Maggie Lockheart on Sept 27, 2021 21:06:28 GMT -5
"You did it, girlie! I'm so proud of you!"
Confetti stuck to sweat-soaked skin. An interviewer, and several others, waiting behind the curtain. The buzz of a satisfied crowd just now filing out of the famed Madison Square Garden. An engulfing round of applause.
If it wasn't for the surge of adrenaline that was flowing through her veins, Magdalena Marie Lockheart wouldn't have been able to stand, let alone make it to the back. Once there, Jerika Mason, Revo1's hottest backstage interviewer by far, seemingly could not wait to hug the shit out of Maggie and try to squeeze the rest of the vitality right out of her.
Maggie winced in pain; as being powerbombed over the top rope does absolutely nothing for one's back, and the hug was only making that pain worse. Jerika apologized and backed away. She opted to squeeze Maggie's shoulder instead. (That didn't feel too much better.)
But they were all there, now, the ones who used to stare at her like a three-headed specter that roamed the halls for several weeks back to this point. They were the ones in Revo1 polos and khaki pants with sneakers and leather belts... They were the ones with headsets calling the shots and the ones with safety vests that had 'Ring Crew' emblazoned on the back ready to go clean up all of that mess of blood, sweat, and confetti that the performers just made.
Like moments prior, their applause and cheers all blended together and sounded like one collective person speaking loudly and in tongues. And there is no lie and no shame in the little bit of a smile that broke through across Maggie's lips. She closed her eyes and subtly nodded her head... and listened.
She did it. Madison Square Garden. Hallowed ground. Another memory forged. Revolution1 history.
This one's for Tommy.
"Thanks," Maggie replied, her chest still heaving as her body still starved for sweet, sweet oxygen. "What did I do again?"
Jerika chuckled, as did the staff that was close enough to hear the light-hearted question.
"You won the Remembrance Battle Royale," Jerika smirked, "just like you said you might."
"Yeah, yeah." Maggie rolled her eyes playfully. "I said I wouldn't promise anyone jack shit. Didn't mean I wasn't going to at least try."
"So does this mean you're gonna warm up to Battle Royales now? Hmm?"
"Officially, or off the record?"
"How about both?" Jerika asked.
"Oh..." Maggie didn't ponder the question for long at all. "In that case, since you put it like that... Hell no On both counts."
Maggie thanked all that applauded her again before excusing herself to limp back toward the locker room area. There was a lot more still to be done, but it all could wait until after a nice hot shower.
Confetti stuck to sweat-soaked skin. An interviewer, and several others, waiting behind the curtain. The buzz of a satisfied crowd just now filing out of the famed Madison Square Garden. An engulfing round of applause.
If it wasn't for the surge of adrenaline that was flowing through her veins, Magdalena Marie Lockheart wouldn't have been able to stand, let alone make it to the back. Once there, Jerika Mason, Revo1's hottest backstage interviewer by far, seemingly could not wait to hug the shit out of Maggie and try to squeeze the rest of the vitality right out of her.
Maggie winced in pain; as being powerbombed over the top rope does absolutely nothing for one's back, and the hug was only making that pain worse. Jerika apologized and backed away. She opted to squeeze Maggie's shoulder instead. (That didn't feel too much better.)
But they were all there, now, the ones who used to stare at her like a three-headed specter that roamed the halls for several weeks back to this point. They were the ones in Revo1 polos and khaki pants with sneakers and leather belts... They were the ones with headsets calling the shots and the ones with safety vests that had 'Ring Crew' emblazoned on the back ready to go clean up all of that mess of blood, sweat, and confetti that the performers just made.
Like moments prior, their applause and cheers all blended together and sounded like one collective person speaking loudly and in tongues. And there is no lie and no shame in the little bit of a smile that broke through across Maggie's lips. She closed her eyes and subtly nodded her head... and listened.
She did it. Madison Square Garden. Hallowed ground. Another memory forged. Revolution1 history.
This one's for Tommy.
"Thanks," Maggie replied, her chest still heaving as her body still starved for sweet, sweet oxygen. "What did I do again?"
Jerika chuckled, as did the staff that was close enough to hear the light-hearted question.
"You won the Remembrance Battle Royale," Jerika smirked, "just like you said you might."
"Yeah, yeah." Maggie rolled her eyes playfully. "I said I wouldn't promise anyone jack shit. Didn't mean I wasn't going to at least try."
"So does this mean you're gonna warm up to Battle Royales now? Hmm?"
"Officially, or off the record?"
"How about both?" Jerika asked.
"Oh..." Maggie didn't ponder the question for long at all. "In that case, since you put it like that... Hell no On both counts."
Maggie thanked all that applauded her again before excusing herself to limp back toward the locker room area. There was a lot more still to be done, but it all could wait until after a nice hot shower.
::: 6/10 Studios Presents :::
MML.2021.019 - New Story
Almost a week removed from the buzz of another career defining accomplishment. Despite her best attempts to remain humble, a bit of the gravitas managed to seep through the pores.
It wasn't about winning a battle royale. It wasn't about winning two big time matches in less than a year. And it wasn't about getting her choice of a shot at either of Revo's two world champions, either.
It was about the start of a new story.
A promised story.
But in order to move forward, first we must step backward. As you see, our silver-haired demoness is under the belief that the Interstate Lovesong experiment has ended in failure. She believes that Jenova and the infamous Black Dawn are the only true path for her as she navigates along the rocky terrain of making Revo1 her home.
There are many outsiders (for lack of a better term) who mistakenly believe Level Up is her home... and why wouldn't they? Maggie has only been their Final Boss (World) champion since being Final Boss was a thing. Over six months and three defenses after winning a roster-wide gauntlet match, one would believe that Lockheart would feel most comfortable in a place with that level of success.
Yet the truth is that Maggie feels otherwise; in fact she feels closer to the polar opposite of what most would deem logical. While she has earned the right to walk the LUW halls with a sense of hard-earned authority, she barely goes out of her way to do anything Level Up related. She shows up. She fights. She grabs a check and leaves. She hops in her car and goes home to... nowhere.
Other than her Ford Mustang GT Mach 1, and whatever dingy hotel room awaits her along the road between show A and show B, The Final Boss champion never goes home, because...
The truth is she doesn't have one.
Which brings us back to Revolution1, the Remembrance Grand Royale with cheese, and why the realization of the importance of such a win is chipping away at her.
It's because now she gets to play with Revo's top dogs.
Where she belongs.
This week the Legacy Supershow has brought her to Washington, D.C. It's a fitting second-act to Remembrance... perhaps even a part two. So many eyes and ears focus on the tragedy in New York that many often overlook what took place at the Pentagon on that same day. It's strange how, even in suffering, certain memories can still be romanticized above others.
And perhaps, somewhere albeit subconsciously, she is thinking about that, as she parks the car in one of DC's less-than-fortunate suburbs. Instead of celebrating with fine wine and dining at the glitziest hotel the nation's capital has to offer, she's choosing to stay in a place where she's got to lay low and keep her head down; far away from the attention that she doesn't want.
Instead of a bottle of champagne, it's Tequila. Instead of bright lights and loud music, it's the Vicodin bottle that always seems close to empty and the Weather Channel on display with the fuzziest reception imaginable on an old tube tv.
It reminds her of the simpler times.
Storm's coming.
She sighs as she scrolls through her phone for the umpteenth time. Twitter rages on. The voicemail box is full. And once more half of the world doesn't seem to even know (or care) about her accomplishment because she chose not to flock right to social media to brag about it. No wonder Level Up loves me, she muses. No wonder Jin thinks I'm dull.
She let out a brief chuckle before taking another swig of Patron.
Her phone rings, and due to her condition from her own little private party... she inexplicably answers it without looking to see who called first.
"Yellow?"
"Hey Maggie! It's me! Jerika!" The voice on the other end echoes through. "I heard you were in town for the supes show... care to do an interview, future cham-?"
Click.
The answer's no, apparently.
The one thing Maggie has learned throughout the Interstate Lovesong Chronicles is that there's no shortage of stucco and moldy popcorn ceilings in the places that no one wants to be.
Surprised that this Silver Spring Motel 6 had electricity listed as one of its amenities, Maggie's able to record her own little promo on her phone while it's still tethered to the wall with a charging cable.
With the bottles of drink and drugs hidden down away from camera view by her feet, Maggie winces in pain as she lays her head back against the drab wallpapering behind her... her ass planted firmly on a carpet that was installed and last cleaned when Richard Nixon was still in office, probably.
"You know, when you've been in the game long enough-" she says, her speech a little slurred, "You start to notice patterns like I do. Well, I'm only 24, but it feels like I've been doing this forever."
She pulls her long locks away from her face and smiles at the phone's camera lens.
"But I consider myself lucky in a lot of ways. Lucky to still be alive. Lucky to still be able to follow my passions and fight for my passions. Lucky that I get to tour around the nation and work in this massive, historic venues in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans. Lucky that Revolution1 took a chance on me and put me on their Legacy brand."
Maggie hiccups, which causes her to blush a little.
"Oh my, where was I? Oh yeah, Legacy. Patterns," she continues. "Tomorrow night I get the honor and the privilege of stepping in the ring with not just one, but two of the baddest bishes in Revo. Sara I'm gonna punch Maggie's face in Pettis and Katarina Is this real life or is this mirror hell Starr."
Lockheart chuckles a tiny bit as she runs her finger along the carpeting at her side.
"Both of which I saw at the very end of Remembrance... which means... both of whom were just as capable, if not moreso, than I was to win the damn thing. And I'll be the first to admit that Battle Royales aren't my thing... because there's luck involved. But hell, it's not all luck though. Clearly there is skill and determination that goes into getting oneself in position to win... but in a match like that one can never fully remove luck from the equation."
"And even though a triple threat is a thousand times better, there's still luck involved in that, too. But the three of us... we didn't get here by luck. As you see, I look at Pettis and Cerise and, even me, and I see three women who are drawn to the fight life for similar reasons. I look at the three of us and I only see one word that describes our trio to a 't'... and that's..."
"Legacy."
"...whether we're chasing one or fighting for one... Fighting because of one... that's it. That's our reason why we sacrifice. That's the reason why we spill more than just our blood and our passion into this industry. The three of us, we're either fighting to live up to something that someone else left behind for us or we're fighting to create something worth leaving behind to the next generation... or both."
Maggie shakes her head and hiccups yet again.
"There's no fault in that. There's no fault in looking into hell's mirror to see exactly what demon is staring back at you. But Cerise, Sara, please understand... there was a time where I looked into a mirror and didn't know who it was staring back at me. Not because I'm a monster, no. But because I've been through some shit."
"I can't describe to you what it feels like to not recognize yourself... to truly not know who you are... and to go on for months learning how to read and to write and to talk and to walk again. I can't tell you what it feels like to be born a second time, because, to be quite honest, I barely remember dying the first time."
"But understand the reason that I'm here and the reason that I fight isn't for glory or for accolades nor championships and the like. I fight because fighting feels right... it's the only thing that ever made me feel closer to who I really am."
"And now I bring that fight to Revo. No more games. No more hinderances. I have always said that I'm willing to be the passenger... that I'm all for someone, anyone on any roster, to take me wherever they want to go. Sarah, I didn't want to spoil your big return just like Cerise, I don't want to stop you from realizing your true potential. But when your name ends up across from mine on the card, it comes with the fairest of warnings I can possibly give you."
"Step up to me if you choose, but in the end... it's look at what you just made me do."
"Step up to me if you choose, but in the end... it's look at what you just made me do."
