Berries, Roses and Dads; A Tactful Discussion

We sure are a messed up bunch here in PRIME. Lots of parental issues. It might feel like I’m jumping on the bandwagon, but since when do I give a damn what others think? Mother’s Day passed recently, but our problems were rarely ever with our mother. Our father, on the other hand…

 

I don’t think it’s even accurate to call him our father. In my mind, a father is actually involved and invested in their child’s lives. They’re around, for the good and bad, the highs and lows. The guy that had a hand in our conception wasn’t around for any of that. Hell, I’m not sure he was even around for stuff like our first steps or our first words.

 

The piece of garbage left not long after we were a year old. He was a ghost after that. No birthday calls, no cards, no gifts, pretty much no sign that he gave a shit that we existed. Lockhart has tried to forgive that, tried to just move on and forget.

 

I refuse to. Not after the shitty step-fathers we put up with. Not after seeing other kids happy and content, getting to enjoy their time with their dads. We missed out and we never even had a say in the matter. Even if it turns out we weren’t missing much, we still never got the opportunity.

 

Lockhart talked to him about a year ago, over Facebook. He gave some lame ass shit about wanting to reach out, but not being sure what to say after all these years. Really? No idea what to say? Sorry might be a good place to start! Maybe ask what we were doing with our lives? Ask SOMETHING about us! She thought it was an okay conversation, a small bridge to building any kind of relationship.

 

I knew the truth. It was bullshit. It was a way for her to try and solve one of her problems, of which there’s a whole mountain of. It was a way for him to feel better about himself, to claim he ‘tried’. Yep, he sure did try! He tried so hard that they haven’t talked since then. He had warned her that he was constantly traveling, so it might take some time to get back to her. After about the fourth message he didn’t bother responding to, she finally got the fucking hint. He didn’t care. Not now, not then, not ever. We were a mistake. I’ve known that since I came into being.

 

That’s probably the thing that torments Lockhart the most. We weren’t supposed to be conceived. We were a mistake baby. Our mother has said that’s not true, she’s so happy she had us, all the crap a mother says to try and ease your mind. I have a BS filter, though. No amount of sappy affirmation will change my mind. The weak ass interactions with our father proved it. If he can’t even hold a basic conversation with us, how much did he ever really want us? He just wanted to get his dick wet and was too stupid to wear a condom.

 

Maybe our father issues are why I lash out at TAL, Timo and King Blueberry… Well, not Blueberry. I lash out at him because he’s a fucking simpleton. The other two, though, that could have a hand in it. Timo tries to treat me like I need guidance. He seems to think if he can take me under his wing, that we can solve my issues. That’s not how this shit works.

 

For one thing, this isn’t a behavior or something. You can’t correct hard coding. My motherboard is fucked. Doesn’t matter what you plug into it, what component you add, the very core is diseased. You either throw it out or deal. Throwing it out means getting rid of me and I’m not fucking having that. Timo is wasting time, both mine and his.

 

Anglo… I don’t know what his damn deal is. On one hand, I think he does actually like and care about me. Then again, he’s having us do this stupid campaign bullshit to get the vote for the Intense Championship match. How much can you like or care about someone if you’re willing to potentially physically disfigure them? Is it friendship or is he using me and what little popularity I have to pursue a title match?

 

Timo comes off as the concerned, but hands-off, let you figure it out dad. TAL? He comes off as that dad that lives vicariously through their child. Not Henri Lavigne bad, but there’s still vibes there. I think he wants a taste of his glory years. Why on earth he would think I’m the one to try that with is beyond me. Maybe he’s hoping that deep down, I won’t hurt him. If that’s the case, I’ll lump him in with Blueberry in the Fucking Simpleton Club.

 

Maybe he thinks he can use his experience against me. He probably has forgotten more about wrestling than I currently know. Some of that is probably due to dementia, but anyway… Whatever the reason is, I don’t appreciate being used. Then again, without him, I don’t really have the record worthy for a shot at any title. I guess the reality is that we’re using each other. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a relationship like that. Probably will include a similar number of stabbings as well.

 

The Intense Championship isn’t just some title to me. It’s not just an accomplishment some nobody can slap on the end of a wiki article about me. This title was made for me! I identify with it. I’ll do whatever’s necessary to make it mine. If that means critically injuring TAL… If that means taking out a man that’s made at least some attempt to be a father figure to me… What the hell do I know about a father’s love anyway?

—

We join Ria Nightshade partaking in one of the most mundane activities possible; grocery shopping. The shopping cart she grabbed is one that pulls left if you’re not careful when pushing it. She could simply return it and grab another one, but she doesn’t bother. It’s frustrating, slightly broken and might not really be worth the effort. The parallels to our protagonist are certainly interesting.

 

Ria has a companion on her trip for the day. Unseen by any other passerby, Ria Lockhart walks along with her other half. Her inclusion isn’t really needed and it’s absolutely not wanted. The two are constantly cursed to deal with each other, regardless of which one happens to be in control at any given moment.

 

The first place the two wander upon is the produce section. Fresh fruits and vegetables inhabit this section. Nightshade rolls her eyes almost immediately on coming into this part of the store, an annoyed groan escaping her lungs. Lockhart, on the other hand, peers around the produce.

 

[Lockhart] How about some blueberries?

 

[Nightshade] How about you shut your goddamn mouth!

 

[Lockhart] Should I have said blackberries instead?

 

Nightshade glares at Lockhart.

 

[Nightshade] I know what you’re doing and it’s pissing me off! What’s next? Maybe I should go get an avocado that’s past its expiration date? How about a pineapple that won’t shut the fuck up about it’s stupid phone sponsorship?!

 

Lockhart, not the least bit affected by Nightshade’s vitriol, merely shrugs.

 

[Lockhart] Maybe you should get a rose? You seem fond of them.

 

Nightshade’s eyes go wide with anger. She opens her mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. After a second or two, she moves along without a word. Moving out of the produce aisle, she walks along the back of the store. She peers down the different lanes of products as she walks. When she gets to the cereal section, she stops. A man is there with a young boy, maybe 4 or 5 years old. He’s looking down at the child.

 

[Man] You know which one you want, buddy?

 

[Boy] Ummm… That one!

 

The boy points to a box of Lucky Charms. It’s about chest level with the man, but the boy would never be able to reach it.

 

[Man] Good choice! You want some help grabbing it?

 

[Boy] Yeah!

 

The boy’s tone is enthusiastic, happy. The man playfully scoops the child up from behind under the armpits, eliciting a giggle from the child. He holds the boy at a level to grab his desired cereal. The man then jovially swings the child towards their shopping cart, allowing him to drop the box inside. He gently places the child on his feet afterwards.

 

[Man] Good job, Ollie!

 

[Ollie] Thanks, dad!

 

The two share a high five before moving down the aisle.

 

[Lockhart] We missed out, huh?

 

[Nightshade] On what? Disappointment? Abuse by a blood relative? We didn’t miss shit! That was cute and all, but that’s not how life really is.

 

[Lockhart] That’s not true at all. You’re letting our pain talk.

 

[Nightshade] Thanks, Dr. fucking Phil. Hey, gimme a quick reminder. Who’s fault is it that my default is to go right to the negative? Is it the bitch standing next to me? I think it is!

 

Lockhart can only shake her head as the two move along. After grabbing bacon, ground beef, various kinds of lunch meat, chicken and some diet soda, Nightshade makes her way to the checkout. The line to the self checkout was longer than she cared to wait for, so Nightshade found herself waiting in line. A young man wanders up next to her, giving Nightshade a look that starts to get on her nerves.

 

[Nightshade] What?!

 

[Man] I know you! You’re that tranny wrestler from PRIME!

 

Nightshade glares at the college aged man. His polo shirt/khaki shorts combo, along with smelling like he bathed in Axe body spray, wasn’t giving Nightshade confidence this conversation was worth her time.

 

[Nightshade] That term’s not really acceptable anymore, but whatever… What do you want?

 

The young man seems to try and psyche himself up, as if this question will be either profound or deep.

 

[Man] So I gotta know… Do you still have your junk or did you get it cut off?

 

A look of disgust crosses Nightshade’s face, while Lockhart blushes and looks at the ground.

 

[Nightshade] That’s none of your damn business!

 

The man raises his hands defensively.

 

[Man] Woah, why you getting all uppity, bitch?! Not my fault you’re screwed in the head!

 

Nightshade can feel the blood rushing to her face. She might not have been planning to get herself thrown out of, potentially banned from and maybe even arrested at, this particular grocery store today. That wouldn’t stop her from knocking this asshole down a peg. But as she went to take a step forward, a voice called out.

 

[Cashier] Sir, if you don’t stop harassing other customers, I will call the cops!

 

The man merely rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath before sulking off. Nightshade glares at him for a moment as he departs before she starts loading her groceries onto the conveyor belt.

 

[Cashier] Jeez, what a douchebag! Sorry about that!

 

It’s at this moment that Nightshade actually bothers looking at the employee. She’s probably about Ria’s age. Deep blue bangs poke out from under the front of her toboggan, with more hanging out back to about the middle of her neck. She has moderately sized earring gauges in her lobes, along with a nose ring. Her makeup is heavy and dramatic. Both her slender arms bear sleeve tattoos.

 

Her look reminds Nightshade a bit of herself. What she did, though… They way she acted… It made Nightshade think of someone else. The image of them flashed in place of the woman for the briefest moment. Her warm smile, the low pigtails, the friendly aura… Cally. The woman gives Nightshade a quizzical look.

 

[Cashier] Everything okay?

 

Nightshade does her best to compose herself quickly.

 

[Nightshade] Yeah, it’s fine.

 

Lockhart gently nudges Nightshade with an elbow. At least in theory, since she’s not actually capable of such action.

 

[Lockhart] You should thank her… That could’ve gotten ugly, you know.

 

Nightshade rolls her eyes and lets out a subtle, but annoyed sigh.

 

[Nightshade] Um… Thanks.

 

[Cashier] Oh, no problem! We gotta look out for each other, ya know?

 

The statement was vague. Was it a women’s empowerment deal? Was this woman trans as well? Did it have to do with both having similar tastes in their appearance? Whatever the reason, Nightshade wasn’t interested in getting a concrete answer. Ria checked out and the woman gave her a pleasant farewell. She loaded the car before climbing into the driver’s seat. Lockhart materialized in the passenger’s.

 

[Lockhart] So you still think everyone is terrible?

 

Nightshade’s face grew red again. She had reached her limit with Lockhart for the day.

 

[Nightshade] Would you just shut up and fuck off?! You’ve been babbling all day! I’ve got enough on my mind without you hanging around spouting garbage in my ear. Tact, the Intense Championship, actually winning a goddamn match! Here’s an idea; how about you fix your complete sham of a life before you try to run mine?! Christ, I wish our mother had taken a morning after pill, just so I wouldn’t have to listen to your pathetic ass!

 

A pained look crosses Lockhart’s face before she simply fades away. Ria, left by herself, rests her head on the steering wheel for a moment. After raising her head, she grabs her phone. After a few taps, she has the contact she saved for Cally pulled up. Her thumb hovers over the call button for what seems like minutes, but is in reality only a few seconds. Instead, Ria locks her phone and tosses it into the passenger’s seat.

—

Larry Tact. When I think of Larry Tact, one thing comes to mind… Wonder Bread. Untoasted, no spread, plain ass Wonder Bread. Shit, you might even be one of those end pieces nobody but the clinically insane likes. Even Solomon Richards is less boring than you and all that dude had going for him was ‘nice guy, tries hard, is Jacob Mephisto’s bitch’! You made Guy’s Grocery Games boring. How do you even do that?!

 

You have your stupid little statements that you release to PRIME, talking about your opponent. Do you even actually write them, Mr. Businessman? For all we know, it’s an intern. If it is actually one of your interns, fire that guy now. He sucks at his job. If it’s legitimately you… Fire that guy now. He sucks at his job.

 

What is your job, Larrexander? Are you a pro wrestler? A vague businessman of businessy business? A random door? Who the hell knows. The fact I have to even ask that question is a problem. I get it, you’re old. That’s about 90% of the roster, so whatever. You want to be able to take care of yourself after you’re totally retired from in ring competition and not end up dead in a ditch. I’d lie and say I respect that, but I don’t. Look at The Anglo Luchador. He’s, like, 70 and he’s campaigning to get actively murdered by me!

 

This isn’t a business to me. This isn’t a job. This is my life. We’ve been doing this since we were 16 years old. I don’t do this for the money. I don’t do this for the fame, even if I am a bit of an attention whore. I do it because we’ve loved wrestling since we were a child. I do it because, quite frankly, I like hurting people. Short of being a dominatrix, I’m not really built for any other job, and they don’t fight back enough for my liking in that line of work.

 

Joking aside, we’re both in a tough spot here. Two winless wrestlers going at each other, cuz PRIME seems to like doing that. I’ve vented my frustrations at being 0-2 already. Needless to say, I’m gonna be a very cranky bitch coming into this match. You don’t need to be a mathmatoligist to know that’s bad news for you.

 

This match means more to me than it does to you. I have an end goal, a point of focus. I want that Intense Championship, Larropher. It’s gonna be a hell of a lot easier to convince people I deserve to fight for it if I don’t have a goose egg in the win column. That makes you collateral damage; not the main point of my fury, just an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. It’s just bad luck for you, really.

 

Go ahead and do whatever you feel is necessary to prepare for this match. Live in the gym. Watch all the tape you can. Drink raw eggs or protein shakes or whatever the hell it is you do to keep yourself looking shredded. The reality, YOUR reality, is that it won’t matter. You won’t keep me from what I want. Not you, not TAL, nobody. I’m gonna slice through you like a blueberry. Starbreak that, bitch.