Title: Music, beer, and a knee to the face
Location: A bar in Los Angeles...why the fuck do you care?
The atmosphere was heavy with conversation, smoke, the smell of beer and cheap cologne that made her nose wrinkle and her face twist into one of contempt.
People cheered and raised their glasses in victory as the winning baseball team on the television, she thought it was the Cubs, scored a run. Thoughts didn't even waver in the slightest.
Her head didn't even hurt anymore. That she was happy about.
The aftermath of what had been her and Silas...what was the fracturing of The Coalition...had slowly filtered out of her mind, becoming nothing but trash disappearing into the fire.
No one bothered to ask her about how she felt.
That was fine. She had her own goals to work towards.
No ghosts of the past were going to dictate how she moved and worked her way to the top.
She was free to do her own thing and chase her own dreams, however she wanted.
Without worry, without fear.
She could return to who she was and get back to what she had set her mind to.
Glass was lifted to her lips, amber colored liquid disappearing as she took a long slow drink.
The booze was only serving to relax her, to chase after goals and ghosts. She was stronger than most people would think, and didn't know the meaning of give up or quit. It's what she loved. The fact that people were so naive to think after all that she had been through with him, that she wasn't something to be taken seriously. It was to be expected. Oversights that would be used to poke holes in even the staunchest of opponents.
Even ghosts could be dealt with.
"It's a huge relief to be sitting here and being able to relax with this glass of beer with all of these rowdy people cheering at the box in the wall. Just so I can sit and tell a story, one that won't put you to sleep."
She chuckles, ignoring the stares she would get sitting here. Long dark hair, dark eyes, face vacant of war paint.
"This is a story of a raven who met up with some big bad guy with a split personality problem, and managed to form what she thought was going to be some successful tag team that would conquer the world, so long as someone kept their demons in check and all that fun jazz. These two had more downs than ups, but still struggled to keep going despite everything, until it all came to a stop when the raven decided to chop the big bad guy down to size...only to get rocked in the head with a birdcage and buried under boxes...thinking that the problem was long buried."
"What they didn't know is that the raven clawed her way out of the boxes and went home with a ringing headache. She went home and sat to plot, to plan, and to make sure that when she returned, she was going to have a new outlook on things knowing that there was no shadow following her, holding her down. So here she...I....sit...talking to you lumps out there. Yes you, specifically Pete Whealdon because he's the only chap that had the balls to talk."
She nods at the bartender as he ploped a fresh drink in front of her with a smile.
"I'd like to thank him for giving me this new outlook on life. Without him literally bonking it into my head, I wouldn't have gotten this spark, this fire in my ass to walk on out the door and pursue whatever the fuck I wanted without anyone to hold me back. He can go play in the fires of hell and stay there for all I care. His demons are his own to deal with."
Another drink was taken.
"What matters to me now is moving forward, working my way slowly up, and shedding that disgusting shell in favor for what you see before you. New, refreshed, and not giving a damn what people think. This time around, people will notice me for what I can *really* do out there. Oh sure, they'll laugh, they always do, but think of how much people exploded when the underdogs did great things. You know who I'm talking about, and it isn't that ick ball Azreal."
"CWF is the land of opportunity for everyone willing to fight for it. I am one of those people now, one of those souls who wants to fight for everything now that I can and don't have to worry anymore. I do my own thing and that's about all you can do right?"
Laughter. Evil. Cunning. Knowing.
"Pete seems to think I am the regurgitated idea of someone from long ago, some thought. Get a clue dude. This is no afterthought or an idea that was recycled. I am 100 percent real, no borrowing ideas, no following anyone's fucking idea of what it means to be a person in this company. I am me...I AM ME...and I will give you a reason to want that cigarette sooner rather than later. I want you to sweat in that tiny alley, or wherever you decide to lurk.
Fuck those other guys, they don't want to show up. It's you and me man.
Call me the antithesis of the CWF, the anti-anti-hero, the true soul of this place, the Beautiful Psychopath, the woman who's going to put a foot so hard into your face you're going to look like freakin...who cares. Ain't no one gonna wanna look at you, so smoke yer cig, drink everything you can and pray to whatever god wants to listen that you'll survive a second in there with me.
I'm coming. This is my night."
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."