Just Disappointed

“JUST DISAPPOINTED”

Pro Wrestling Excellence, Victory V (Fallout)
Non-Title Match: vs. Chelsea Skye

On-Camera: Zoey Madigan-Star
Off-Camera: Kerry Michaels, Dennis Madigan, Katalina Star

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Monday, November 8th, 2021
Montréal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport, Montreal, Quebec, Canada
8:02am, Local Time

As so many things do, it started with a look.

Pro Wrestling Excellence had knocked it out of the park with the Annihilation pay-per-view, offering up a bevy of impressive matches with varying levels of rules and violence. Despite not having a match at the show, Zoey Madigan-Star, the inaugural Impulse Champion, made her presence known on commentary for the Annihilation-in-a-Cell Match. Tara Ayla took the win in that contest, making her Zoey’s first challenger. And if being snubbed by Ayla was the only negative of the evening, Zoey would have brushed it off.

Except that wasn’t the case. A second unseen assault occurred at the show, mirroring the goings-on from Victory IV. Xaria Linette was the victim the first time around. At Annihilation, William Blake Mason was attacked, effectively removing him from the Cell Match. And according to the aforementioned Rainbow Angel, upon finding Mason in such a state, made it a point to confront Zoey and make her feelings known about the matter. The confrontation between the two women was heated but instead of letting things get physical, Zoey walked away.

If only it were so easy to continue to do just that.

”...good to hear that the new assistants are learning so quickly. That should take some pressure off of everyone, myself included.”

”They are. Is it fair to assume that you’ll be dropping by after you touch down in Malibu?”

Speaking and listening alike through her Bluetooth earpiece, Zoey walks down the paths within the airport toward her gate, ready to hop her plane back home. Her head doctor at Drake’s Landing on the other end of the line.

”No. If you say you have it under control, that’s good enough for me.”

A brief pause.

”If you’re sure.”

”I am.”

Zoey stops at one of the large windows looking out over the airfield, planes moving about, various workers and vehicles going about their business. Her reflection in the glass shows a calm expression, half-hidden behind stylish sunglasses. Dressed in a long black skirt and white blouse, with a black tie, black calf-length boots and a flash of silk between tops and hem, capped off with a thigh-length leather coat, Zoey could easily be mistaken for a high-level businesswoman. Even her hair was wrapped into a taut French braid. It seemed… severe.

”If a patient requests me personally I will make myself available. But otherwise, I’ll stick to coming in only as needed to ensure everything runs smoothly. I have faith in you all.”

Kerry is not sure how she should handle this based on her tone. But…

”Yes, ma’am. Thank you for that.”

The ghostly reflection on the glass smiles faintly.

”Make me proud, hon. Just like you’ve been doing. I’ll talk to you soon.”

The call ends and Zoey continues to stand and stare. An announcement sounds over the loudspeaker but it may as well be white noise. Throngs of people, attendants and travellers alike, move past Zoey, but might as well be invisible. She places a leather-gloved hand against the cool glass and sighs a little.

”...am I doing the right thing?”

She speaks to herself, too quietly for passerby to hear. Something catches her attention, though. For a moment her head is bowed… then it snaps up. Reflected in the glass, standing out from the rest, is the figure of a man. Relatively young, but beyond Zoey’s 29 years. His hair is cut close to the scalp; a soldier’s cut. His build is thick, muscles prominent against the long-sleeved tee and jeans he wears.

And that smile. Boyish and kind, but just a little spicy. It goes all the way to his eyes. Eyes that stare directly at Zoey.

The magician swallows heavily, her lower lip finding its way between her teeth.

”...Drake?”

The man reaches forward, reaching for Zoey’s shoulder. Within a moment her expression twists into one of hurt and anger. She drops her bag and whips around, like a person moving suddenly to defend themselves…

”?!”

...but there is no one there. No one but a teenage boy and his younger sister. The girl seems upset about something or other, but her sadness is replaced by giggles as the brother puts her up on his shoulders and gives her a ride. Zoey watches them, frozen, oblivious to the odd looks others are giving her. After a moment, she sighs and picks up her bag, moving on again. The boy and girl have turned about again, perhaps waiting for their parents, and they lay eyes upon Zoey.

It is clear that they recognize her and, Zoey being Zoey, she smiles at them and removes her sunglasses, immediately slipping into the pleasantness she is so well known for.

”Hello-”

The rest of the statement cannot be completed. She is recognized, yes, but rather than a pleasant interaction with fans, the children look… wary? Not afraid, but certainly not brave enough to come forward. Zoey is puzzled, but has no time to recover before their parents come to them and the group move on, the adults not even sparing her a glance though they certainly must know who she is as well. Zoey finds herself looking after them, unsure of what she should do. Shaking it off to the best of her ability, she carries on as the scene fades.

Thursday, November 11th, 2021
Malachi’s Delicatessen, Malibu, California
11:32am, Pacific Time

At any other time, it would be a happy Zoey in front of the camera. After all, she’s got a table at her favorite Malibu deli, Malachi’s, and is availing herself of two personal favorites from the menu: the fiery vegetable soup and the spicy chicken club. And, knowing Zoey, that big ol’ Styrofoam cup is loaded with sweet tea and lemon.

But the Impulsive Enchantress as she has nicked herself since winning a particular championship is just a touch… sour. The championship in question? The Impulse Title, which sits neat and polished on the table but well away from the magician's repast.

”Pay attention, boys and girls: I’m about to show you where being a good person gets you.”

That… isn’t a good start. Yet she presses on.

”Perhaps I’ll bring you out this way some time, Chelsea. For those of us living the dream, there will always come times of stress and loss, moments we wish we could change after the fact or just outright forget. You have had more than your share since arriving in PWE. I’ve had a few myself. And I find that sometimes the best way to deal with rough times is with a little comfort food.”

A faint smile, a reminder of a time when the world didn’t weight quite so much upon her slender shoulders. With a shake of her head, though, reality tidal waves its way back into Zoey’s being.

“You’ll just have to forgive me, my apprentices… those of you who still believe in me, that is. Wrongful accusations and threats coupled with a heaping helping of disrespect and being told that I’m some kind of gift horse for an uppity brat has your favorite Sorceress in a prickly mood. So I apologize to those of you who have to see me in this state. To those who contributed to it? You don’t get smiley Zoey; you get bitter, snippy, brutally honest Zoey.

Something tells me that you aren’t ready for it. You included, Chelsea.”

As Zoey draws in a slow breath, centering and measuring herself, she starts the process of wrapping up half of her remaining sandwich, followed by pouring the rest of her soup into a Styrofoam cup. A snack for later, no doubt. She lifts her eyes from this task attended so meticulously, smiling at the camera gently; yet another smile that doesn’t reach her golden eyes. Her baby-blue Boardwalk Angels hoodie is very much a blast from the past, a reminder of her early days alongside Farrah Cornett as a Hall of Fame tag team, later adding Crystal Hilton and Courtney Steele as a fine little stable.

Ah, memories...

“Let’s start with the catalyst for this whole mess: Xaria Linette. The Rainbow Angel. A woman who can’t distinguish fantasy from reality. A woman fairly drowning in hypocrisy. She would have the world believe that the recent assault on her person, and on that of William Blake Mason, came at my hands. And she wasted little time getting my face to tell me so, apparently thinking that because I play an evil, conniving wench on television that I must be the same when the cameras are off. Proof was offered to the contrary, but that did not sway her, did it? For the several years I’ve been in this business, not once have I ever been so insulted. Through all the trials and tribulations I have done my utmost to be one of the ‘good ones’, the kind of person you can count on… honest, forthright, kind… even when people did not deserve it in the slightest. But a girl who ran with the Children of Nephilim of all groups is going to call my actions into question?

Like I said: hypocrisy. But if that were all, Xaria, I could probably let it slide. Once a Child, always a Child. But what you have done has affected me on a deeper level.”

Placing the items into a brown bag, Zoey then folds her hands on the table in front of her, giving the camera her full attention. No more distractions. No more centering.

“That, however, is a conversation for Victory. In front of the world and the fans whose perceptions and perspectives of me have been so wrongly altered. No… this message must now turn to someone else, a person I was clearly wrong to think was above such things. Yes, that means YOU, Chelsea Skye.”

She sucks at her teeth just a little, one hand disengaging to tap the table lightly with purple-tipped nails. Finally, after lowering her eyes, almost in shame, Zoey finally snaps it off.

“Let us dispense with pleasantries: YOU... are a brat.”

’Brat’ comes out with the force of that a litany of other four-letter words might possess, none of which are proper for a family show. Zoey’s bright eyes are fiery as she glares at the camera.

“Pity, Chelsea?! You have GOT to be joking me!”

Was that a shadow of a wink given the camera? No, must have been our imaginations.

“Your record in PWE is abysmal at this point, without a single win to your credit. Despite that, Ophelia and Charlie are putting you into a match with one of PWE’s champions! One of their most storied, well-traveled and respected stars! The first woman to ever hold the Impulse Championship: yours truly! That is NOT an act born out of pity, and to call it such, to me, is a flagrant insult! They see potential in you, Chelsea, same as I do. That is why I said what I did after the tag match. I want to see you succeed the same as I do someone like Holly Rhodes because, having been in the ring with you, I know there’s fire and talent inside of you. I am not a woman given to blowing sunshine up someone’s rear end. I speak honestly and from the heart.

Is that what YOU call pity?

This match will be no pity party, Chelsea. I liken it to my being saddled with a petulant, recalcitrant child so that their parents can have a night of peace. In other words, I’m babysitting you at Victory. And I will not be sparing the rod, young lady. It won't be a bloody, violent display akin to the battle between Damian Ayla and Nathaniel Cartwright, or an entertaining, off-color melee like what we saw from Allen Cheney and LC Pinkston... but it IS going to be harsh. And it WILL hurt. And you most CERTAINLY deserve it. Respect? I've shown you plenty, yes. What you've shown me, however, seems pretty false based on your little rant sent my way...”

Yes, Zoey is a bit cranked up. She reaches over and picks up the large cup and takes a long draw through the red straw… and keeps going… till we get a loud, comical slurp as the last drops of sweet leaf water and hybrid citrus narrowly escape the magician’s thirst. Exhaling heavily, Zoey puts her attention back on the camera, her face hardened.

“Get angry if you want. It might be just what you need to figure out what you’re capable of in the ring. But as far as I’m concerned, you’ve already lost. You can’t get out of your own head, beating yourself before the bell even rings with your attitude and lack of focus or motivation. I will take every advantage offered by the state you’re in and put you down firmly, fiercely. It is what I do, what I have always done. People come at me with arrogance and I knock it straight out of them. They come with intent to hurt and maim and I grind them into the canvas until they submit. You, Chelsea, are coming in throwing a tantrum and being disrespectful. So I’m going to have to chop it, kick it and altogether slam it out of you, one hit at a time, until you see just how wrong you are. About me, about yourself… about a lot of things.

I’ll commend you for at the very least being determined to win and show that you got a raw deal at Annihilation. That much is understandable. But you lost the moment you got on my nerves, young lady. You, like many before you, took my kind nature and caring soul for granted. Now I have to flip that coin and show you what’s on the other side: an equivalent amount of violent intent and the desire to punish what I see as wrong. And you can’t flip it back, Chelsea.”

Slipping her leftovers in the bag, Zoey is paused as Malachi himself comes to the table. He has no doubt heard, but he says nothing to interrupt, only calmly taking up her cup, popping the lid off and adding a dubious amount of tea from a plastic pitcher to the inside. Malachi is a big fellow… 350 pounds if he’s an ounce, tattooed up and down both arms with wild black hair barely tamed by a Maui-like bun. Clearly of Samoan, or perhaps Fijian, extract, he draws a small smile from Zoey for his presence, which he returns in kind before moving away. Zoey seems a bit calmer now…

...until she speaks.

”I’m not angry at you, Chelsea. Not really. Just… disappointed. I’m not letting this slide, and come Victory your ‘L’ column is gonna get a little thicker. I suggest you take what’s coming and learn. Otherwise, your first ‘W’, something I still believe is inevitable, will just be too buried to shine like it should.

Get ready to fly, Chelsea Skye. But watch out for that sudden stop at the end.”

Gathering her bag and her freshly-loaded cup, Zoey rises and leaves the booth.

Saturday, November 13th, 2021
The Madigan-Star Residence, Malibu, California
10:17pm, Pacific Time

It has been a long day. Hell, a long week for that matter. A month? Just go whole hog and call this the year that never ends. Zoey enters the house with a sigh, shutting the door and leaning against it for a few moments, letting her bags drop from her hands to the carpet. Sunglasses pulled off, she lets her eyes close and takes a deep breath in through her nose, holding it… and letting it blow past her lips. After a few more seconds of self-indulgence, she moves her bags over to the small closet where they’ll be easily gathered for the next flight to the next show for her next appearance.

The house is dark at the moment, though it is early evening. Being that it’s a Friday, that probably means Katalina is staying late at the Dungeon, possibly with a personal client, and that Makayla is staying with some friends… meaning solitude is Zoey’s for a while.

Just what she isn’t looking for.

“Did I really come back for this?”

She murmurs to herself, stepping out of her black heels and gathering them up, walking through the tastefully-decorated living room on silken feet toward the main hall and following that to the next room on the right: her home office. Entering, she discards her shoes on the floor and makes her way behind the desk, sitting in the old leather chair and firing up her PC. Past a few messages from the Splat! Network as well as Katie and NFW about appearances, things take a turn.

Messages from her fan mail account, people either asking if she really did those things to William Blake Mason and Xaria Linette, wondering how she can play someone so mean on Madison Tower, worrying if she’s “gonna turn bad” and break their hearts. You get the gist. And with every message that she sifts through, Zoey’s expression hardens a little more, with the illumination from the flat-screen monitor only amplifying the harshness.

“Honestly, all it takes is one person shooting their mouth off, doesn’t it?”

She does her best to brush it off, shifting back to her main account where a new message has popped up in the last few minutes. She clicks on it, noting that it’s from Farrah.

From: Farrah Cornett
Subject: (no subject)

Is something going on, Zee? Everywhere I go I’m hearing that you’re jumping people and getting a little too into your character, so to speak. Part of me thinks it’s bullshit, but the other remembers the stress that comes with wrestling. Drop me a line.

- F.J.

”Jesus… you too, Farrah?”

Perhaps that was just the last straw. Zoey’s hand goes to her face, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose momentarily before wiping away a tear or two. Damn it all, what was her world coming to?! Staring at the screen half-angrily and half-sadly, her formerly-pristine makeup smeared just a bit, Zoey reaches for her phone and, after hesitating a moment, makes a call.

One ring… two… thr-

”Piccola rosa?”

”Ciao, papà...”

Right off the bat, from the use of his pet name for her to his tone, one can tell that Dennis Madigan’s dad-senses are spiking.

”I’m sorry if I woke you-”

”No, Zoey. For once, insomnia seems like a good thing. Something is wrong, isn’t it?”

”Kind of…”

What is it about fathers that makes their children feel smaller, like they’re five year olds again? Zoey tucks her legs under her in the chair, curling up a bit while holding the phone in place.

”If this is about people accusing you of being a sneaky coward, you already know that your mother and I don’t believe a word of it… and that she is less than pleased at them trying to besmirch your good name. So don’t worry there, honey.”

As if he could hear her nod, her silent prompt for him to continue, Dennis pushes on. Though his time in the States has muted his accent somewhat, there are flecks of Italian and Irish in those words if one knows how to listen.

”But this sounds like something else. Tell me.”

”I’m…”

It’s quite a lump to swallow, but she manages.

”D-Do you ever… I mean, this sounds so silly… but…”

”Tell me, piccola rosa.”

”I’ve… been thinking a lot about Drake lately. I’m starting to think that he’s… haunting me or something. At the airport yesterday, in the crowd at the shows… I could swear that I’m seeing him, but...”

She stops when she realizes she’s rambling.

”No one loved him more than you, honey. What you two meant to each other was beautiful. But you’ve talked to doctors about this. Your closest friends, too. I am not dismissing your feelings, but even your mother and I can tell you’re stressed. Doing too much at once again. That is where I feel that this is coming from. I pray that I am right in that.”

Zoey is not sure if she believes that; her expression tells that tale. But hearing her dad say it does soothe to an extent.

”Maybe you’re right. I really am trying to scale back, though.”

”You know, I’m sure if you asked, your mother would assist with dinner on Thanksgiving…”

”No, no… she deserves a break for once. I’ll take care of it. I’m going to let you off here, though. If I don’t make my way to bed soon, Katalina might send out a search party...”

She pauses, then giggles softly.

”Possibly literally.”

Dennis chuckles softly, a warm and endearing sound.

”She’s spicy, that one. Go to her, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon. Ti amo.”

”Ti amo, papà.”

Zoey hangs up the phone and sets it on the desk, wrapping her arms around her legs for a moment. When she looks up the next time, a sleepy Katalina swathed in a long, black nightgown stands in the doorway, arms folded as she leans against the jamb.

”Bed. Cuddles. Now.”

Straight to the point, is it? Zoey unfolds herself and rises, going to her wife and kissing her gently before leading her back to bed, flicking the light off as they exit.