Post by Bonnie Blue on Feb 28, 2016 17:10:04 GMT -5
At the north edge of downtown Dallas, a half mile south of I-35 -- an area in the midst of a gentrification project decades in the making -- is the modest Oak Lawn Boxing. Inside, the facility is clean, well-lit; almost sterile, aside from the pungent scent of a dozen years of honest sweat. It permeates the very essence of the building. You couldn't scrub it away if you wanted to.
Heavy bags hang in a precise row along one side of the open space. Two people, immediately recognizeable to WCF fans as Rebellution's DeMarcus Jordan and Bonnie Blue, are observed by a third: Don Jesus Luis de Guadalupe. DeMarcus steadies the bag while Bonnie throws an uppercut with her right, then another, followed by a left cross. The force of impact barely moves him.
Don Jesus: Orale! Take a break, you two.
Glad enough to comply, having spent the better part of the day under Chuy's sometimes puzzling instruction, the pair abandon the heavy bag. Bonnie grabs a bottle of water and perches lightly on the edge of the boxing ring. The distant look in her eyes isn't lost on her friend, her teammate; he joins her, silent for a moment.
DeMarcus Jordan: So... were you close to this Omega guy?
She shrugs.
Bonnie Blue: I -- no, not close, really. I mean, he saved my ass a couple of times, an' maybe vice versa, but him and Johnny Reb was tight. Hell, Gray knows him -- knew him -- better'n I did. But I respect the guy, an' kinda always thought there'd be time to... I dunno.
The young woman glances up at DeMarcus, seeming suddenly vulnerable -- for the barest instant, and then it passes just as quickly as it had come.
DeMarcus: Yeah, Baby Blue, I feel ya, girl. But I get the impression that's not the only thing on your mind.
Bonnie Blue: ...Scathe. That low-down, dirty son of a bitch. Bad enough he put me outta action for a week and a half -- wouldn't have been that long, but I kept forgetting it's the Twenty-First Century, so they thought I had brain damage. But then he totally no-showed for your match, just to get the drop on ya.
A mildly homicidal look passes across DeMarcus' face at the memory. His jaw tightens; a hand clenches into a fist.
DeMarcus: That's not going to happen a second time.
Bonnie Blue: I'm worried, DeMarcus. There's somethin' real wrong about that guy.
DeMarcus: Wrong how?
Bonnie Blue: He ain't ...human. I know what you're gonna say. But I can feel it.
A skeptical eyebrow raises, but DeMarcus keeps his peace on the subject.
DeMarcus: Well, Scathe isn't going to be at Timebomb. What you should be worried about... is me.
He shoots her a cocky grin. Bonnie smiles back.
Bonnie Blue: Gettin' ahead of yourself, ain't ya?
DeMarcus: Why shouldn't I? You got my back, and I got yours; only one way this thing can end up. It's going to be you and me, battling it out for that wild card spot.
Bonnie Blue: That ain't unlikely. 'Tween the two of us...should be real interestin'.
She hops off the ring apron to stand in front of DeMarcus, and eyes him in an appraising way. Bonnie nods to herself, as if in confirmation of some long-suspected fact, and smiles again.
Bonnie Blue: Yeah, interestin'. You wouldn't pull no punches, would ya?
DeMarcus gives an indignant huff.
DeMarcus: I'd never insult you like that. Comes down to you and me, Baby Blue, you better be ready to fight.
Bonnie Blue: Now, that's what a girl likes to hear. Won't be no hard feelin's when I toss your ass outta that ring?
He chuckles.
DeMarcus: I would love to see you try.
The young woman's lips purse in a mock-pout.
Bonnie Blue: You don't think I can.
DeMarcus: Oh, I know you can. But the more we train together, the better I know your style, your patterns, your tells. I'm gonna know what you're doing before you do.
Bonnie Blue: Are you seriously tryin' to psych me out right now?
DeMarcus: ...Is it working?
Another shameless grin lights up his face. Bonnie shakes her head and rolls her eyes at him, though her lips turn up slightly in amusement.
Bonnie Blue: I do want a chance at that world title shot, for reals. Ain't been a lady champ since Twilight, an' it'd be a damn shame if she was the only one. WCF deserves better'n that. Women in general deserve... a more worthy representative.
DeMarcus: Can't argue with that, but there's still the whole rest of the tournament to get through.
Bonnie Blue: Your point bein'...?
DeMarcus: There are probably easier ways. You got what it takes to see this through?
Bonnie Blue: I ain't backin' down.
The young man searches Bonnie's face, and finds only resolute determination. He nods slowly in satisfaction.
DeMarcus: Good. Then as long as one of us gets that wildcard slot, I'm happy.
At that moment, Don Jesus returns, bringing with him a pungent herbal aroma. The aging Latino points at the heavy bag.
Don Jesus: Back to work. Vamanos!
With only minimal reluctance, the pair resume their assault on the bag.
Deep within his cavernous abode high up the sheer stone face of the Rock of Ages, the Timekeeper observes the two training under Don Jesus' watchful eye. The Bell of Time -- repository and symbol of the Timekeeper's power -- projects the images around him, making him part of, yet separate from, the scene. It's only another hour or so before Chuy is satisfied with their progress and calls an end to the session. Once DeMarcus clears out, Reb shifts his essence to the gym, seeming to appear before them out of thin air.
Don Jesus: Bernardo! This is... unexpected.
Johnny Reb: Well, I can't say it's exactly a social call. Bonnie...
Bonnie Blue: Yeah?
Johnny Reb: You know Jay Omega was working for me when he died. I need you to find out how.
Bonnie Blue: Don't we have a private investigator who does stuff like that?
Chuy and Reb exchange a look; Bonnie doesn't miss it. She raises an eyebrow.
Bonnie Blue: What?
Don Jesus: Bernardo has not returned a phone call for weeks. It may only mean that he is busy with a case.
But he sounds doubtful. Bonnie doubts it, too. She wonders if it has anything to do with the job he'd done for her. He'd mentioned that some unknown party had braced him, told him to stop the investigation. They'd scared him enough to make him quit. Maybe they'd gone back to be damn sure he didn't pick it up again.
Bonnie Blue: Can't you find him, Johnny? You're the Timekeeper. Hell, for that matter, how come you don't know what happened to Omega?
Johnny Reb: Because there are an infinite number of realities; and in an astronomical number of those, Jay Omega died in countless different ways, under innumerable different circumstances. While I am aware of each of them, I can never be certain which one is part of the primary reality. I've narrowed it down to about half a dozen.
Bonnie Blue: Wait... how can we be sure he's actually gone, though? Where's your body? Where's your evidence?
For reply, the Timekeeper reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and withdraws a folded bit of fabric. He tosses it to the young woman, who shakes it out -- with a sharp intake of breath as she recognizes Omega's mask, splattered with something that looks suspiciously like blood. A questioning glance at Johnny is met with a shrug.
Johnny Reb: His or his killer's, I don't know. Having it tested ain't an option; the results would be unintelligible to most folks. Psychokinesis don't work, neither. In fact, ya prob'ly shouldn't hold onto that bare-handed too long.
Quickly, but with a near-reverence, Bonnie puts the mask away in her duffel bag. She, more than most, is aware how dangerous such things can be.
Bonnie Blue: Then how am I s'posed to figure out what happened?
Johnny Reb: I'll give you the temporal coordinates for each event, a solid five minutes before the actual death. All ya gotta do is retrace his steps from there.
Bonnie Blue: An' what happens when I find the right one?
Johnny shifts his gaze away from her, and doesn't reply right away.
Johnny Reb: We'll worry about that when the time comes. For now, you should concentrate on your match this week. Some of your competitors are a joke -- Shadowlove, Rage Maxx, Benson -- but not all.
Bonnie Blue: You're right. There's a couple who genuinely concern me. Zombie McMorris, for one. He's a tough mofo. The guy threw Bobby Cairo in a volcano, for fuck's sake! He could break me in half, an' not think twice about it. Plus he's got that whole undead thing goin'... On the other hand, as zombies go, he's pretty civilized, considerin'. At the very least, he don't seem inclined toward bitin'.
Don Jesus: Don't forget about Bernardo.
Bonnie shoots the older Latino man a confused look, but Johnny nods in agreement.
Johnny Reb: Yeah, he's the one I'd be tryin' to eliminate first. Well, him or Teo. But with a guy like Rabid, you can't let him get any advantage. He's dangerous, inside the ring or out. He's also distracted, though. His attention is split between Katherine Phoenix, Logan's new faction, an' watchin' his back against his #BeachKrew teammates. Now's the time to hit him, hard an' where it counts.
Reb gives Blue a glance full of unspoken import. She nods solemnly in response.
Johnny Reb: That's my girl!
Satisfied, the Timekeeper snaps his fingers, and vanishes on the spot; the clanging of a bell echoes in his wake.
Late Saturday night, alone in her darkened hotel room, Bonnie recalls that odd conversation with the Timekeeper. She had reviewed it in her mind over and over since he'd appeared two nights ago to give her instructions to discover the true circumstances of Omega's death. Something still seems off, as though much had been left unspoken. Some questions, he'd flat-out ignored, refused to answer. Particularly the matter of the detective. Though trained as a warrior, Bonnie is a piss-poor investigator; she hasn't the patience for it. So why her?
He'd avoided direct questions about Sal Minella's disappearance, which makes Bonnie almost certain the Timekeeper knows something he isn't sharing. But what? With a yawn, she settles beneath the blankets, determined to figure it out later. Her subconscious, however, has other ideas.
As soon as her eyes are closed, it seems, Bonnie is transported elsewhere. The place is dark, cold, and something presses against her from all sides. Sounds she can't identify surround her. Shadows move in the darkness, some waving like pennants in a breeze; others, furtive. Bonnie's vision adjusts slowly, and the world appears distorted. A shape hovers just above the ground, shrouded and wrapped in chains. It takes the young woman a moment to realize that what she's seeing is underwater.
Even as she comes to that understanding, a new figure approaches -- not swimming, but striding easily through the water as if it were without substance. The figure reaches out toward the hovering -- floating -- form, and as he does so, the bindings fall away. Bloated and waterlogged, the head lolls to one side, the milky eyes of the former Sal Minella gazing sightlessly beyond Bonnie Blue. Startled, she gasps -- and at that precise moment, the other figure turns. Scathe's cold stare bores into Bonnie's for the barest moment, a hint of a smile playing across his lips.
Then abruptly, the vision is over. Bonnie sits up in bed -- now atop the blankets -- breathing heavily with fear. Reaching up, the young woman pulls a strand of duckweed out of her hair. Only then does she realize that she's drenched from head to toe; although the bed itself is dry as a bone.
Heavy bags hang in a precise row along one side of the open space. Two people, immediately recognizeable to WCF fans as Rebellution's DeMarcus Jordan and Bonnie Blue, are observed by a third: Don Jesus Luis de Guadalupe. DeMarcus steadies the bag while Bonnie throws an uppercut with her right, then another, followed by a left cross. The force of impact barely moves him.
Don Jesus: Orale! Take a break, you two.
Glad enough to comply, having spent the better part of the day under Chuy's sometimes puzzling instruction, the pair abandon the heavy bag. Bonnie grabs a bottle of water and perches lightly on the edge of the boxing ring. The distant look in her eyes isn't lost on her friend, her teammate; he joins her, silent for a moment.
DeMarcus Jordan: So... were you close to this Omega guy?
She shrugs.
Bonnie Blue: I -- no, not close, really. I mean, he saved my ass a couple of times, an' maybe vice versa, but him and Johnny Reb was tight. Hell, Gray knows him -- knew him -- better'n I did. But I respect the guy, an' kinda always thought there'd be time to... I dunno.
The young woman glances up at DeMarcus, seeming suddenly vulnerable -- for the barest instant, and then it passes just as quickly as it had come.
DeMarcus: Yeah, Baby Blue, I feel ya, girl. But I get the impression that's not the only thing on your mind.
Bonnie Blue: ...Scathe. That low-down, dirty son of a bitch. Bad enough he put me outta action for a week and a half -- wouldn't have been that long, but I kept forgetting it's the Twenty-First Century, so they thought I had brain damage. But then he totally no-showed for your match, just to get the drop on ya.
A mildly homicidal look passes across DeMarcus' face at the memory. His jaw tightens; a hand clenches into a fist.
DeMarcus: That's not going to happen a second time.
Bonnie Blue: I'm worried, DeMarcus. There's somethin' real wrong about that guy.
DeMarcus: Wrong how?
Bonnie Blue: He ain't ...human. I know what you're gonna say. But I can feel it.
A skeptical eyebrow raises, but DeMarcus keeps his peace on the subject.
DeMarcus: Well, Scathe isn't going to be at Timebomb. What you should be worried about... is me.
He shoots her a cocky grin. Bonnie smiles back.
Bonnie Blue: Gettin' ahead of yourself, ain't ya?
DeMarcus: Why shouldn't I? You got my back, and I got yours; only one way this thing can end up. It's going to be you and me, battling it out for that wild card spot.
Bonnie Blue: That ain't unlikely. 'Tween the two of us...should be real interestin'.
She hops off the ring apron to stand in front of DeMarcus, and eyes him in an appraising way. Bonnie nods to herself, as if in confirmation of some long-suspected fact, and smiles again.
Bonnie Blue: Yeah, interestin'. You wouldn't pull no punches, would ya?
DeMarcus gives an indignant huff.
DeMarcus: I'd never insult you like that. Comes down to you and me, Baby Blue, you better be ready to fight.
Bonnie Blue: Now, that's what a girl likes to hear. Won't be no hard feelin's when I toss your ass outta that ring?
He chuckles.
DeMarcus: I would love to see you try.
The young woman's lips purse in a mock-pout.
Bonnie Blue: You don't think I can.
DeMarcus: Oh, I know you can. But the more we train together, the better I know your style, your patterns, your tells. I'm gonna know what you're doing before you do.
Bonnie Blue: Are you seriously tryin' to psych me out right now?
DeMarcus: ...Is it working?
Another shameless grin lights up his face. Bonnie shakes her head and rolls her eyes at him, though her lips turn up slightly in amusement.
Bonnie Blue: I do want a chance at that world title shot, for reals. Ain't been a lady champ since Twilight, an' it'd be a damn shame if she was the only one. WCF deserves better'n that. Women in general deserve... a more worthy representative.
DeMarcus: Can't argue with that, but there's still the whole rest of the tournament to get through.
Bonnie Blue: Your point bein'...?
DeMarcus: There are probably easier ways. You got what it takes to see this through?
Bonnie Blue: I ain't backin' down.
The young man searches Bonnie's face, and finds only resolute determination. He nods slowly in satisfaction.
DeMarcus: Good. Then as long as one of us gets that wildcard slot, I'm happy.
At that moment, Don Jesus returns, bringing with him a pungent herbal aroma. The aging Latino points at the heavy bag.
Don Jesus: Back to work. Vamanos!
With only minimal reluctance, the pair resume their assault on the bag.
====================================================================
Don Jesus: Bernardo! This is... unexpected.
Johnny Reb: Well, I can't say it's exactly a social call. Bonnie...
Bonnie Blue: Yeah?
Johnny Reb: You know Jay Omega was working for me when he died. I need you to find out how.
Bonnie Blue: Don't we have a private investigator who does stuff like that?
Chuy and Reb exchange a look; Bonnie doesn't miss it. She raises an eyebrow.
Bonnie Blue: What?
Don Jesus: Bernardo has not returned a phone call for weeks. It may only mean that he is busy with a case.
But he sounds doubtful. Bonnie doubts it, too. She wonders if it has anything to do with the job he'd done for her. He'd mentioned that some unknown party had braced him, told him to stop the investigation. They'd scared him enough to make him quit. Maybe they'd gone back to be damn sure he didn't pick it up again.
Bonnie Blue: Can't you find him, Johnny? You're the Timekeeper. Hell, for that matter, how come you don't know what happened to Omega?
Johnny Reb: Because there are an infinite number of realities; and in an astronomical number of those, Jay Omega died in countless different ways, under innumerable different circumstances. While I am aware of each of them, I can never be certain which one is part of the primary reality. I've narrowed it down to about half a dozen.
Bonnie Blue: Wait... how can we be sure he's actually gone, though? Where's your body? Where's your evidence?
For reply, the Timekeeper reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and withdraws a folded bit of fabric. He tosses it to the young woman, who shakes it out -- with a sharp intake of breath as she recognizes Omega's mask, splattered with something that looks suspiciously like blood. A questioning glance at Johnny is met with a shrug.
Johnny Reb: His or his killer's, I don't know. Having it tested ain't an option; the results would be unintelligible to most folks. Psychokinesis don't work, neither. In fact, ya prob'ly shouldn't hold onto that bare-handed too long.
Quickly, but with a near-reverence, Bonnie puts the mask away in her duffel bag. She, more than most, is aware how dangerous such things can be.
Bonnie Blue: Then how am I s'posed to figure out what happened?
Johnny Reb: I'll give you the temporal coordinates for each event, a solid five minutes before the actual death. All ya gotta do is retrace his steps from there.
Bonnie Blue: An' what happens when I find the right one?
Johnny shifts his gaze away from her, and doesn't reply right away.
Johnny Reb: We'll worry about that when the time comes. For now, you should concentrate on your match this week. Some of your competitors are a joke -- Shadowlove, Rage Maxx, Benson -- but not all.
Bonnie Blue: You're right. There's a couple who genuinely concern me. Zombie McMorris, for one. He's a tough mofo. The guy threw Bobby Cairo in a volcano, for fuck's sake! He could break me in half, an' not think twice about it. Plus he's got that whole undead thing goin'... On the other hand, as zombies go, he's pretty civilized, considerin'. At the very least, he don't seem inclined toward bitin'.
Don Jesus: Don't forget about Bernardo.
Bonnie shoots the older Latino man a confused look, but Johnny nods in agreement.
Johnny Reb: Yeah, he's the one I'd be tryin' to eliminate first. Well, him or Teo. But with a guy like Rabid, you can't let him get any advantage. He's dangerous, inside the ring or out. He's also distracted, though. His attention is split between Katherine Phoenix, Logan's new faction, an' watchin' his back against his #BeachKrew teammates. Now's the time to hit him, hard an' where it counts.
Reb gives Blue a glance full of unspoken import. She nods solemnly in response.
Johnny Reb: That's my girl!
Satisfied, the Timekeeper snaps his fingers, and vanishes on the spot; the clanging of a bell echoes in his wake.
===============================================================
He'd avoided direct questions about Sal Minella's disappearance, which makes Bonnie almost certain the Timekeeper knows something he isn't sharing. But what? With a yawn, she settles beneath the blankets, determined to figure it out later. Her subconscious, however, has other ideas.
As soon as her eyes are closed, it seems, Bonnie is transported elsewhere. The place is dark, cold, and something presses against her from all sides. Sounds she can't identify surround her. Shadows move in the darkness, some waving like pennants in a breeze; others, furtive. Bonnie's vision adjusts slowly, and the world appears distorted. A shape hovers just above the ground, shrouded and wrapped in chains. It takes the young woman a moment to realize that what she's seeing is underwater.
Even as she comes to that understanding, a new figure approaches -- not swimming, but striding easily through the water as if it were without substance. The figure reaches out toward the hovering -- floating -- form, and as he does so, the bindings fall away. Bloated and waterlogged, the head lolls to one side, the milky eyes of the former Sal Minella gazing sightlessly beyond Bonnie Blue. Startled, she gasps -- and at that precise moment, the other figure turns. Scathe's cold stare bores into Bonnie's for the barest moment, a hint of a smile playing across his lips.
Then abruptly, the vision is over. Bonnie sits up in bed -- now atop the blankets -- breathing heavily with fear. Reaching up, the young woman pulls a strand of duckweed out of her hair. Only then does she realize that she's drenched from head to toe; although the bed itself is dry as a bone.
