Hey, question for you, Darkwing. How can you tell if Bobinette Carey is lying?
It’s simple: her lips are moving.
Yeah, yeah, I know how it looks like I’m tryin’ a cheap tactic–tryin’ to sow discord between both of yinz because I’ve got Brian ‘My Head Is So Far Up My Own Ass It’s A Wonder I Haven’t Suffocated Yet’ Hollywood as a partner. Gettin’ him to give a damn about me without me havin’ to superglue hundred dollar bills all over my body is gonna be like herdin’ cats, so I gotta find whatever tiny little advantages I can and make’em count, but that’s not the deal at all. You’re a grown man, a Hall of Famer… and more importantly? Your business ain’t mine to really give a good God damn about. So long as you got a purpose, there’s no way that she’s gonna turn on you–and gettin’ to those tag belts is one Helluva purpose.
Nah, I’m sayin’ that to remind myself of ol’ Bobbi bein’ a lyin’ bitch cuz if I’m bein’ honest?
I saw what she had to say about me and…
What the fuck, man? What the Hell did I do to warrant that kind of treatment?
Anyone and everyone that’s around HOW these days knows that ol’ Queenie is out for herself first, second, and shit–probably even third to boot. And just like I pointed out all of ten seconds ago, she only reaches out to people if she’s got a use for’em. Scottywood got fucked like an altar boy in a Catholic church by her the moment he didn’t have a purpose, need I remind you–and that’s not even touchin’ on the other betrayals she’s got to her name, same as Bri-Bri does. I know full well that she was doin’ her damndest to love bomb me, to make me lower my defenses cuz there ain’t no way she’d say any of that shit otherwise, right? Callin’ me a talented wrestler, sayin’ that she respects me when…
Okay, time to be honest with myself here.
Do I have memorable moments to my credit? Abso-fuckin’-lutely I do. I made Sugartits deepthroat a mic to make damn sure that he’d never want to cross paths with me again after he needed to cheat to beat the woman he did everything to belittle and attack–all because I thought that Maddie deserved to be treated like a person instead of as the subject of poorly-written incel fanfiction. I refused to be cowed by a literal serial killer who thought that he could literally take a piece of me without me takin’ the same back to balance the scales. And we can’t forget how apparently, me darin’ to not be scared of Jeffie meant that his little buddy Artie just had to try to cut my tongue out in the most virgin-on-prom-night clumsy way known to deathmatch kind.
Wonder how he’ll feel when I take the ol’ hole punch from my elementary school days to his tongue, give him a new hole to get fucked through… but that’s besides the point.
Do I have any real accomplishments or wins to my name?
…I beat Cancer Jiles, a feat that’s a dime a dozen in HOW.
That’s where my list of achievements that’ll actually be in the record books ends.
How the flyin’ fuck does that translate to Bobbi kissin’ my ass like that?
There’s only one possibility, really–okay, fine, there’s two.
The far less likely option is that she genuinely believes everything she said, which has less than one percent chance of bein’ the case.
The far more likely one–and the one that’s the right one–is that she’s hopin’ to manipulate me the same way she’s tried to damn near everyone else, relyin’ on the fact that I’m as dumb as the stereotypes about blond girls say. Kinda’ funny how that works, ain’t it you hypocrite? You rage against the stereotypes that people force on you as a black woman… while relyin’ whole ass on’em to decide how to move the pieces on the chess board you probably think your strategizin’ needs. And even if you were as tiny as I was? That’d be a whole lot of ass to be cuz that’s all you are.
Yeah, you heard me–you’re all ass from your head to your toes, and I don’t mean the kind you sit on.
I mean the brayin’ at the top of your lungs, hairy, so full of shit it’s a wonder you don’t fertilize every last farm this side of the Mississippi every time you open your mouth kind. It makes me wonder if you and Bri-Bri are made of the same cloth, y’know? Come from the same herd or whatever the fuck it is you call a group of jackasses. Maybe it’s a flock… and yes, I know that’s not right.
I just had to make sure I mentioned a bird thing in there so Darkwing didn’t feel left out.
You’ve been silent so far–a man of no words, confident in lettin’ your actions speak for you. Not gonna lie, my guy, but that’s a nice change of pace. No bluster, no bullshit… just lettin’ your fists make all the points for you. I can get behind that, though I wonder if that’s why the Queen of Tumblr SJWs picked you as a partner. You won’t contradict her, you won’t interrupt her… you’ll just be the quiet, obedient muscle that’ll cash the checks she’s been writin’ with her mouth since she came back.
Y’know, the ones she can’t actually cash herself which is like… 99% of them.
I can’t say that I know what’s in it for you, man–like I said before, that’s your business, and I don’t really give a flyin’ fuck–pun totally intended–what the deal is between you two. The only thing I care about is winning this match and gettin’ one step closer to the HOW Tag Team Championships. I know that the promise of gold will speak to Bri-Bri in ways that my words can’t. Will it be enough for him to hold up his end of the bargain? There’s only one way to find out, though let’s be real.
It doesn’t fuckin’ matter if I’m still the smallest member of HOW’s roster.
I’ll drag my… ugh, I can’t believe I’m havin’ to say this, but I’ll drag my partner’s Greedy ass to the Promised Land myself if I’ve got to.
He didn’t hear a Goddamn word I said, did he?
Eli’s scowl grew all the deeper as she stalked out of the Millennium Biltmore Hotel, paying no mind to how she stuck out like a sore thumb. Even if the wounds that Arthur Pleasant left behind were mostly healed, she hadn’t bothered to conceal the obvious damage that remained–shit, she hadn’t bothered to dress up any, either. She thought for sure that Brian would’ve at least commented about how she was damaging his reputation by showing up like she was ridden hard and put away wet in the most literal of senses, but instead? He’d been about as engaged as a mannequin at a store right down to the airbrushed, blank look on his face. It was downright fucking infuriating… and for a moment, she wished she would’ve worn a helmet on the ride over just so she could smash him in the nose with it.
Would he have even actually responded to that?
In truth, Eli didn’t think so–but as she settled astride her motorcycle and got ready to start it, something about the blankness in his eyes had her pausing, settling down onto the seat properly. There was something… familiar about it, something that had her taking pause, her brow subtly furrowing in thought. Something that–
The attorney’s voice droned on in the background… but she didn’t hear a word that the stuffed suit was saying. How could she, when her pulse was thundering in her ears as her heart threatened to jackrabbit out of her chest? The bastard, the absolute bastard that had violated her dreams and ruined her passion was less than ten yards away from her, but yet she was expected to sit still, be silent, be good just like she had when he had her alone in his office.
–something that had her hand scrambling for the ignition, the engine suddenly roaring to life, startling a spike of adrenaline into her thoughts that was just enough to drive the past back to where it belonged. An aggressive crank of the throttle and she rocketed out into the street, instinct the only thing keeping her from wiping out completely. As it was, she felt the toe of her boot scraping along the pavement, leather and rubber both sacrificed in the name of fleeing what Brian Hollywood’s traumatized expression accidentally unlocked. Common ground had been discovered between them, she realized as the city lights around her began to blur together. Both of them had gone through some shit–and they both still were, if she had to guess.
But what good was common ground if it hurt them both to stand upon it?