Cauldron Bubble

[Bonnie Blue]

THEN:
Halloween Night 2018

Cool Autumn breeze pricked at tender flesh, dismissed as mild discomfort as Bonnie Blue strode through night-dark streets, a satisfied smile playing across her lips. Hellimination was over, and everything had gone precisely according to plan.

Well, almost everything, the Time Witch reminded herself. Stephen Singh throwing Damian Kaine to the proverbial wolves -- while not entirely unexpected -- hadn't been part of her carefully laid strategy. They'd overcome that one small wrinkle all the same, and Singh had proven a capable ally otherwise. Even so, Bonnie was unwilling to simply let it slide. Ymir had chosen Singh, not her, and there remained an old score yet to settle with the Golden God.

All in good time.

The low growl of a V-Twin engine broke into the young goddess’ thoughts. Annoyed at the interruption, expecting to see some small-town yokel cruising up behind her, Bonnie Blue turned, fully prepared to give the brain dead, red-state, Republican voting fuckwit a piece of her mind. Her irritation vanished in a flash, however, when sea-blue eyes met an electric-yellow gaze. Sitting astride a Harley Davidson Sportster, Brando-casual as he flipped open an antique Zippo and touched burning flame to a hand-rolled cigarette, was none other than Crow McMorris.

Smoke drifted to fill the air between them. The barest trace of a smile turned up one corner of his lips as he looked her over in open appraisal.

“Hey, Bon,” he said.

Simple. Familiar. And something in that low, gravelly voice plucked a chord in her soul; she blushed and gave him a half smile.

“Hey, y’self,” Bonnie replied softly. “Long time…”

Crow nodded in agreement. Engine idling, he rode slowly beside her as the young goddess made her way through the rows of cars parked behind the Haddonfield municipal complex.

“Looks like things are working out for you lately,” he observed. “Headlining three pay-per-views in a row. Good match tonight, by the way.”

Bonnie turned away to hide the deepening flush of pink across her cheeks. This was Crow McMorris, she'd known him for years; why did he suddenly make her feel so conflicted? Shy and giggly, a high school girl all over again. Dropping her gear in the back of her 2017 Ranchero, she took a deep breath and gathered her composure as she faced him again.

“Thanks. Still kinda embarrassed I let Gravedigger get the better of me like that.”

Crow shrugged. “Look at it this way: he tried every dirty trick he knew, and the Guardians still pulled out the win. I'd say that's worth celebrating -- unless you're busy.”

“Not really. I was just gonna head back to the hotel. Shower, watch tv, whatever.”

“Lame. You just secured another shot at the WCF World Title. Kind of a big deal. Come on. Let me buy you a drink.”

Hesitant, the Time Witch thought for a moment, then nodded and took hold of Crow's outstretched hand. His strong grip was cold as the grave as he helped her climb up behind him. He twisted the throttle and the bike leapt forward, shot out into the darkened streets. Instinctively, Bonnie wrapped her arms around his broad chest and clung tight. Pressed against his back with the smell of leather filing her senses, the chill air stung her eyes, forcing her to squeeze them shut as they roared down quiet streets; away from downtown, past idyllic suburbs and beyond small family farms with fields of corn standing tall and brown with the nearing of winter. He shifted gears and sped along a lonely stretch of country highway, single headlight cleaving the darkness as they raced toward a crimson neon sign that rose into the sky like a flickering beacon.

The bike slowed as McMorris rolled into a gravel parking lot and pulled up at the end of a line of motorcycles. He cut the engine and lowered the kickstand in a smooth, practiced motion.

“You can let go now,” he said to Bonnie, sounding both amused and a little reluctant.

Slowly, the Time Witch uncoiled her arms from him and slipped off the bike, taking a moment to stretch muscles cramped from unaccustomed tension as she looked around. The roadhouse was a long, low building, all wood slats and holes patched by antique license plates and highway signs from all across the country. A sloping, wood-shingle roof jutted out over a narrow porch, bordered by a rail that still bore the deep, weathered scars of leather reins once used to keep horses hitched up while trail-weary riders stopped in for a drink. Loud music -- Pantera's “Cowboys From Hell” -- brawled with voices raised in drunken exuberance and spilled through a screen door. A Whoop-Ass beer branded “OPEN” sign hung askew, swinging freely as the Murder Machine and the Time Witch walked inside.

Heads turned. Leather jackets, colors and patches on full display, marked the patrons as members of various motorcycle clubs. Scorpions, Hell's Angels, Sons of Silence, Outlaws, and even a few MS-13 bangers were all represented. They clustered around well-worn pool tables or gathered at the bar, staying well out of each other's way. The roadside tavern was neutral ground, a rule enforced by the sawed-off shotgun the proprietor kept under the bar, and everyone knew it. Nevertheless, every eye that met Crow McMorris’ golden gaze turned hastily away. A few gave nods of respect or acknowledgment, then quickly paid their tab and found somewhere else to be. Only the jukebox carried on, unconcerned as it queued up the next track: Metallica's “Wherever I May Roam.”

Bonnie and Crow took seats at the far end of the long bar, polished oak surface pitted with ancient cigarette burns. Crow lit up again, while a waitress, one-eyed and twenty years past her prime, approached. Without asking, she put a glass on front of the Scarecrow and poured him a double shot of Wild Turkey, then gave Bonnie a curious glance.

“I'll have the same,” the young goddess replied to the unvoiced question.

With a nod, the woman poured the drink, then wandered off, leaving the two to talk in relative privacy.

***********************************************

NOW:
November 10, 2018

The balcony of room #007 overlooks the Malaga Hotel’s quaint courtyard garden: the square Spanish-style fountain bubbling in the center, bordered by stone flower beds, pink and white pansies spilling over the edges. Paving stones line the courtyard floor in intricate geometric patterns, all lit by a quartet of old New Orleans gas lamps. Strings of party lights wind around wrought iron balcony rails, adding their own fanciful glow to the evening. Bonnie Blue means against the balcony rail, a glass of Southern Comfort in one hand, and a smoldering joint in the other.

Ayy, yo, Blue Ballers! Whatup? It's ya gurl, Bonnie Blue, comin’ at y'all live and in person from the very haunted Malaga Inn right here in Mobile, Alabama! Y'know, cause after Hellimination, me and my Guardians just couldn't quite get enough Halloween.

Now, I know, I know -- some of y'all out there be looking at how we won that match, and y'all be saying: well, hell, Noble Savage done all the hard work. Noble Savage got the drop on ol’ burrito-breath Gravedigger. Noble Savage done pinned the Big, Bad All-daddy. So how come Double B get that title shot at Payback?

And that tells me that, just like that worthless spic, Digger, y'all ain't been paying attention. That was the whole point of Hellimination. Didn't matter who lasted the longest, so long as it was one of mine -- and that's exactly how shit worked out. See cause my girl Savage, she got her shot secure at One, no matter who's stepping in that ring with her. Spoiler alert: it's ya gurl, Double B. Yeah, we got this shit on lock. Bonnie Blue and Noble Savage gonna bring y'all the first-ever girl-on-girl World Title main event at the biggest pay-per-view of the year: WCF’s very own One!

Ya see, my Blue Ballers, the time of the old gods is drawing to a close. Odin Balfore’s day is over! And when I pay him back at Payback, y'all all gonna see the rise of a new era! This is the dawning of the Age of the Goddess! And on that day, even Odin Balfore will bend the knee!

But first, my Blue Ballers, before I get too far ahead of myself, me and my girl Savage, well, we got a little business to take care of.

See, y'all think, cause we both contenders to that Dub-See-Eff World Championship, that puts us at odds. And ain't a damn thing further from the truth.

Do I want that belt, with all my heart and soul? Ya goddess-damn right I do! But y'all know what I want more?

The Guardians, sitting at the very apex of this company! A woman -- Bonnie Blue or Brandi Savage, either one -- standing tall with that big shiny around her waist! Our time is now, and we will not be put off, put down, or put aside any longer!

And unfortunately our road to dominance leads us to a point where we must crush our own sisters beneath our boots. But in the long run, that's for the best. Could you see some starry-eyed little gimp in a mask trying to stand against the might of Valhalla? Can you picture Mexican Tinkerbell so much as lifting the Dub-See-Eff World Title, let alone conquering the very THICK that is the Se7enGod?

Can y'all, really?

Ell-oh-ell! Y'all know as well as I do she ain't got the SLICK to withstand that pounding! Estrella Luiz, the Little Lucha That Couldn't! So scared of her own shadow, she might as well bend right over and let old Gravedigger slip her that hot tamale, then pass her little ass around the rest of those witless street thugs he's so proud of. The only way she'll ever know hard is when she's running that South of the Border train, y'all feel me?

An arrogant smirk plays across baby-pink lips. Bonnie Blue hits the joint, relishing the pungent taste of Acapulco Gold mingled with Blue Velvet. A sip of SoCo chases it smooth, as she exhales a hazy cloud.

Yeah, y'all feeling me.

Estrella Luiz. The girl with the fifty-fifty streak. She wins one, she loses one. Win. Lose. On and on. A pattern that's about to break, cause that wave about to come crashing against these Guardians, ya heard?

You remember that last time we faced off, don't ya, Little Star? Remember how Alex Richards and Bonnie Blue made a punchline outta your partner with an Inside Joke? Remember how these Guardians brought ya to your knees, dropped ya on your back, and counted uno, dos, three?

And that was with a three hundred pound monstrosity in your corner, chica!

Whatcha got this time, huh?

No, shut up. That was rhetorical. Lemme tell ya whatcha got: Jack Shit.

Standing in your corner this time, backing you up, none other than the silly lesbian cliche I already #wrekt once before.

Hi, Kylie. I bet you been waiting to get your hands on me again, ain't ya? Lying to y’self, saying it won't be like the last time. Thinking this gonna be different, cause this time it's not David Sanchez getting in that ring with me. Thinking maybe this time, you got a chance. Right? You're tempted to believe I was the weak link, that maybe I was using old Davey-boi -- and I was, but not for the reasons you think. He was a good lay, and a better partner, but don't you get shit twisted, Kylie. Any night, in any town, any way you and me throw down -- the outcome always gonna be the same. That bell rings, I'm rolling off of you to get my hand raised, while you staring up at them lights, wondering what went wrong.

Here's a hint: it's you.

Man, I know addicts. Why do you think I picked David Sanchez? Because that old ex-smackhead knew exactly what was going through that addled little mind of yours every step of the way. And yeah, honey, you ain't that hard to figure out. Whatever it takes to get your next fix, am I right?

I'm right.

Booze. Pills. Pussy. Corey Black’s dick.

Attention.

That's the real fix, ain't it? Not just any attention. That spotlight. The roar of the crowd. Adulation and admiration. The pain, giving or receiving -- don't tell me you ain't into that. We all are and anyone saying otherwise is a liar.

I'd throw winning in there, but that seems to escape ya more often than not. And why should you win, when it's easier to eat the loss, and then drink away the pain, the humiliation? And that gets ya more attention, anyway.

Is Liliana tired of it yet? Finding your skank ass passed out in bathrooms? Or do you think she's always gonna be there to pick you back up, clean you off? How many more times will you lie to her -- to yourself -- about how you're gonna change?

How this time is gonna be different?

Let ya in on a little secret: it won't be different, because you can't change. With you, Kylie, the song remains the same. And Monday night, me and Savage gonna prove it once again.

Peace, bitches!

With a cocky smile, Bonnie Blue flips a backward peace sign at the camera as the scene fades out.

***********************************************

Crow McMorris appears with permission of his handler.