Lutece Book; Chapter 1: Mercy

"She, a flower
blooming under
her own light
and even when alone
she had everything she needed."


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Dear,

I hope this finds you well.

Despite the constant beratement from outsiders, I have collected a title belt of my very own. There are some regrets I harbor during the journey here and most lay in having to separate my personal life and career. I tried to honor my friend, Zoey, as best I could with the approach I took. It still caused harm. This situation is a chilling reminder that there is still much I do not understand.

Ultimately all I feel is relief. My accomplishment came without having to betray myself or others. Done so with my very own strengths that I tirelessly honed over the years. It did not come without scarring though. I am riddled with reminders but they are filled with fondness now. When people wish you to fail, I've always wonder what it feels like to watch successes? I do not like that my spite kept me here but what else could I do?

Daily, I am reminded of how fragile happiness in the mundane can be. Our house is full, for now, while I recover. Our family appeared over the course of an evening bringing bright pricks of sunrays to invade our space. Not unfriendly while I listen to the symphony of voices drifting along the hallways. Cameron’s laughter, and Sylas’s words have become my favorites. Our son is speaking in sentences now. A calm surrounds our house while we have large family dinners and travel the snow forests during the day. It is nothing like the old house; nothing like my childhood.

I think you’d approve of Vee Vandyn. She carefully weaves her delicate fingers through the threads of trauma weaving them into a tapestry of hope. She reminds me that healing comes in slow steps, and patience with myself. I try to hold that notion dear. We’ve gained two more children, Max and Jett, for our children to interact with. While also gaining another guard dog, Gage Vandyne. He is wild, boisterous, with unpredictable habits, but he keeps me company when I need some. Watching my husband interact with his brother has become quite the circus.

All these things should bring a settlement for myself. Yet it hasn’t. I’m waiting for the drop again and the darkness to tangle around me. When everything aligns in joyful harmony, are most consumed by dread? With time, I wonder if this’ll fade as well. If I continue taking the medicines cleared by Doctor Feili, and keep Cameron updated, will everything go back to normal? Can we ever really go back? Do I want to, or do I like my career too much?

I hope your days are filled with much needed rest. You deserve it far more than you allow. Everyone needs a break. (Something I have forced myself to re-learn.)

With regard,
Tara Lutece

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>>Mexico: Vices
02/08/22

Liquor begins at the base of the stomach where it dwells before creeping throughout the bloodstream. Fizzy bubbles popping across visions while all drains of actual color. Suddenly it is neons sapping sense in favor of sensations. Voices decrease and increase in sporadic beats! Vibrations bolting through every breath while movements are abrupt but sluggish.

Sight of her is curious while in rhythmic motion. Such grace that is replaced by ruthlessness inside the ring. Transformation without much effort. Dumbly, I stare trying to will my own body to mimic. Yet now I am in awe; as usual with such freedoms. I can not do that. She notices with a spin taking my hand in her strong grip to lead our tilting bodies through the surrounding people. They are blurs of wisps all swaying in the winds of warm tones. My hand has a beer bottle grasped though I lost track of where it came from. We fly up a series of stairs following the music that is rushing to hold the high standards of the crowd!

Injuries and pain have no place among us ascending these forsaken stairs to a long ramp. An overlook across the lights and where a few others mingle quietly. The bottle remains a constant when her hands touch my hips, in a place only Cameron has ever gripped so tightly. Digits digging into flesh so we step together. Roughness sways my hips side to side though it does not align with the rhythm. It is off but our bodies move. My feet won't comprehend, stumbling every other step but her smile brings lightness. My eyes shut trying to melt into every note of the song rocking my body, hands breezing through motions and I am giggles again. No need for the hands anymore, I take hers in mine stepping along.

Cameron and I rarely dance. We should do it more. Oh, how his fingers sweetly bury into my skin to set me ablaze with vigor.

My whole body tumbles backwards feeling a force halt all descent with La Andalucera’s eyes boring down into me. My hands wave to- and- fro as if trying to speak. It is nonsense. She is practically upside down while the strings of music tangle around us. I might vomit. Quickly, we are up right and I am sitting against the cool brick wall. No more boiling inside my stomach so the laughter lifts me again.

The bottle of beer is nearly empty after I finish a swig. Her hand seizes the bottle from my own. With a meaningful chug the liquid is gone. Her eyes have not left mine. I must’ve done something wrong. I glance away fearful of the swarms of wasps that might spill from my friend’s mouth. I summon them so often from my friends lately. Bracing for an attack, I swallow the bitter taste of wheat.

Wasps are gone in favor of familiar flames. “Tara…”

She is inches away from me. Our faces are so close that her warm breath washes over my features. The sour scent of alcohol sting my nostrils. Seconds expand outward but not in the roses that come with Cameron’s draw. The air freezes me in horror. Both hands have shot out against her chest knocking her sideways before she ever closes the gap.

“N-no!” My body scrambles up. All questions drop behind me while I am charging down the stairs trying my best to not miss a step.

Why?

My body aches all over again. Ankle screaming in agony while I shove myself through the packed bodies. The music is toneless blaring into my skull while faceless hands crawl at me. The outside air slams into me tossing me sideways then straight on towards the hotel. My mind storms in frustration drawing up a map of where the hotel is. Cameron is waiting for me.

Vomit washes up my throat but I swallow the harshness of the evening. Tears sear the corner of my eyes as I fly to the safety of him again.

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"They cheer for your downfalls, they roar for your bloodshed, and I will deliver."



Upon a golden throne, Tara Ayla sits. Proper in her posture with the Impulse Title displayed across her lap. Fingers delicately sprawled across. On the right side is sitting a brand new audio device. Her finger presses PLAY. A familiar robotic voice begins.

“The table set, meal served, and finally a few doors have been sealed. A long awaited ending to a perilous journey. Most would think myself full and satisfied. I have accomplished all I sought in this company by seizing my prize from besting a champion; victorious only through breakage and strain. I’ve proven what plenty thought impossible. Now, I can grow fat and happy upon a throne carefully constructed over the felled of others.”

With a sigh, Tara slumps with a hand propping her cheek.

“A completely outrageous assumption to make. My goal simply grew new eyes while now I mind myself on how to begin forward. The Impulse championship deserves more attention… Deserves more than it has received; by everyone. As a title, it should be as spoken as the others, and defended rightly. I proclaimed that in my hands more would come. So perhaps, what it requires is a display of strength. In an interesting turn of fate, Charlie Jones did all the heavy lifting for me. I wish to bring blood and glory to the Impulse Title and what a better way than beating a faux Victory Champion? A fresh coat of gore to brighten up the shimmer of my own reign in verses one soaked in rum.”

“Truth be told, my eyes tend to not stray too far into the other division. I digested all but never allowed opinions to form because we were never really supposed to cross paths. How unlucky for you that we now must. I’ve always taken pride in the destruction of this kind; false kings and prophets. It is not her fault for my lack of patience for it has dwindled over the course of my career in Pro Wrestling Excellence. Now I find only anger when it comes to loud mouths of similar kind. Ellie Quinn claims fine jewels while actually spitting shit. The “star” of our show… The money pull… The one crowds flock to see—Not ones who defy odds to capture a chance at the Excellence Championship like Allen, or the new champions in this company, not steady forces such as Kayla, Zoey, Nathaniel, Betsy or La Andalucera… but instead, a champion who sits upon a throne of frail bones. You’ve beaten two and gotten lucky once as far as matches go. Yet, you want us all to believe the delirium right along with your stumbling, recklessly, forward with fictitious force. You think yourself the biggest but you are inside a tank of monsters. None more blood thirsty than I. Unlike most, I need not boost endlessly upon my claims. It merely has been stated once and shown plenty.”

She inspects her hand with a smirk forming. Some humor was found with the voice.

“Truth be told, your skills could be more if only you didn’t weigh yourself down. There is no need for me to break you because you’ll do it yourself in due time. All we need to do is bear witness to the wreckage. However, some credit should be owed if only to give the Victory Championship a chance to recover once it is pried from your unworthy grip. You were in the right place, at the right time and seized what you desired.”

Tara dully claps twice before losing effort. Her eyes roll.

“The truth won’t stop you though from plowing onward screaming that you accomplished greatness with your own merits. As if now you must be feared, and the rest of the roster, with fangs of their own, must accept it. You will keep spilling lies across our feet, you will win because your lackeys provide it, because situations deem you lucky enough, but you will bleed because I fucking say so. No, Ellie. This pretend streak is about to end at Champions Gambit by my hands. Reality comes for us all, relentlessly dragging us to exactly what we deserve. Consider me an alarm to wake you from your own drunken stupor because never forget that you owe everything to someone else. Every morning should begin with thanking Angel for the Victory title. Followed by praises to Culture Shock for carrying your weaknesses. Soon, every night you should give thanks to *me* for sparing your leg.”

There is a moment of silence where the Impulse Championship is gently set on the arm of the throne. Her eyes narrowed with displeasure. The audio device clicks off. Now Mrs. Ayla is speaking.

“I cannot wait to hear the slander you think you might actually rest at my feet as if I haven’t earned my Championship, and other victories. Heed me now, your words have no power here inside my realm; your hubris will see to it. I offer as many courtesies as provided. Ellie Quinn deserves none. I despise nothing more than a person dismissing every single roster member within a company when they’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve such proclamation. Oh, you think because you have a title strapped to your waist it offers prowess? Don’t. Especially when someone else handed it to you on a silver fucking platter. We are not comparable, Ellie. I have no need for people to fight my battles. I had no need for someone to gift me this title. You are a weak child playing pretend as a monster. Welcome to Pro Wrestling Excellence where violence is our first impulse! You are not a special case and learn from others who have fallen. What you’ve accomplished out there only opens the door here. This company is a pit where only the strong will survive. The first step here earns a dagger to the spine and a strike to the jaw. There is no easy path here while all those “nobodies” constrict around your legs to drag you down into the mud. Tread carefully from here on out: When they smell blood, they feast.”

She stands with a feral snarl forming! Acute fury brimming behind hazel eyes.

“Allow me to spell it out for you, in simple terms so you might digest it better: Vhodka and I slayed powerhouses in this company so we might take their places. Not only are we sitting at the table but we aided in crafting the damn thing. You have barely earned the chance to step into this room! I despise people like you, insulting the very foundation of where they wish to stand. As if the world wakes for you and the rest of us did nothing! So bring the best you can muster! Bring the battle worn warrior you dunk in liquor, bring your cronies, and insults for me! Brattle on about what you think might hurt my feelings! Mark me: When this match is over, after you fought you hardest, I’m going to show your fucking place— under my God damn boot! For that lesson I expect some gratitude from you.”

Tara shuts her eyes to exhale the anger from herself. She sits and resets her Impulse title across her lap. Now her tone is calm.

“You will realize the truth of Pro Wrestling Excellence while I drag your bloody corpse for my victory, so my title reign might feast, while the crowd pays to see you be another sacrifice to The God Slayer.”