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Post by Deleted on Jul 21, 2017 17:34:04 GMT -5
cheap thrills :: two
Since the last time we’d seen Tiffany, it was just after Asylum went off the air. She’d been fairly silent on all fronts, and that was weird. She was a talkative person, generally speaking, and bubbly all the time. Nothing could get her down. But even that wasn’t true, as Dorian had discovered. For the past six months, he’d always received multiple messages throughout the day from her. Now, for the past week, he’d received two. Two.
Dorian sat at the island counter of the New York abode that all the Rampages used as their headquarters. Officially, it was owned by himself and Shania, because Reece was too goddamn flighty to trust. He had paperwork in front of him, things he hadn’t bothered to look at for days, what with the chaos surrounding Tiff.
He tapped his pen against the marble tile, staring at the numbers in front of him. The risks and benefits he was supposed to be going over would normally be a piece of cake for him to do, but right now, his mind just wasn’t in it to do the math. His eyes slipped up to his silent phone, and then back to the paper.
It went on like this for quite a while. Shania’d come into the kitchen a couple of times, and she watched him wearily every time as she moved about the room, pulling out food and dishes.
“You’ve been staring at that page for an hour.” She said, finally.
“I know . . .” Dorian replied, his head resting in his hand, propped up on the counter. His eyes drifted up to his phone again. “Fuck it, I’m calling he--”
Shania snatched the phone up before he grab it, and held it away with her perfectly-manicured fingers.
“You’re not calling her. You’re not texting her.” She told him. “Tiffany is a big girl. She can handle this herself.”
“She hasn’t called or anything for five days. Something is wrong.”
Shania shook her head, walking away with the phone then with a grin on her face. “Mmmmm. No. She’ll call when she’s ready. And I’ll give this back when she does.”
Dorian couldn’t have cursed anymore than he did as she left.
“Maccario with another sick right slap to Black’s chest.”
The room was dark, the blinds shutting out as much of the sun as they could. Decorations fitting a young teen’s room hung in various places -- pink and orange flowers, bright colors that designers seemed to think gravitated towards girl. A corkboard with pictures hung above the white-washed desk, filled with pictures of a young blonde with friends, animals mainly. But the focus was clearly in the center: a picture of the same girl, just sixteen, standing next to a larger man who held a championship belt.
“Zahra looks livid down there, doesn’t she?”
“She certainly does . . . what is she doing?”
Tiffany sat cross-legged in the center of her bed, her arms around a rather large stuffed Stitch, her eyes glued to the television. A DVD played of her match with her father versus Matthias Black. There was no indication, even at this time, that there was anything wrong with him.
But she knew the rest.
“Are you watching this again?”
Aubrielle Nikolaev opened the door to the room, popping her head in and looking at her daughter with an exasperated look. Tiff turned her head, stopping the video.
“I have to, Mom.” She replied, watching as the older woman stalked into the room, opening her blinds and letting in light. “I have to see what I’m up against. I can’t find anything about Black’s other promotions. I can’t--”
“Your hair hasn’t been washed in three days and you’re wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday.”
“Matthias--”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Tiffany, it’s a match.”
“It’s not just a match!” She retorted, pushing Stitch to the floor and rising to her feet. “And you would know that if you watched the show. Landon is banking on me to win this thing, and to do that, I need to know what I’m up against! I rewatched his match with Moxley, and they dominated that one. I watched his match from last show and I just . . .”
The defeated look on Tiffany’s face was hard to erase.
“Black is a monster, and that scaffold isn’t going to get me much room to do much of anything.” She bit her lip. “He destroyed Paige, and Paige is a contender to the Trans-Pacific championship. He laid her out. And she’s stronger than me. When it comes down to it, I’m better at putting my skills to work, and I can withstand a lot of pain. I usually can recover well. But . . . I can’t do offense. There’s no way in crapola that my punches and kicks are going to do anything.”
“So do defense?”
“It’s not that simple, Mama. Black’s smart, and he’s got more power behind those hands than I ever will. If it were a normal match up, I could go after him with my aerial skills, but I can’t even do that. All I can do is hope I evade him because I’m faster. But if that doesn’t work . . .”
It was so strange to see her so nervous about the match. Tiffany had always been so positive about everything, and it semi-broke Aubrielle’s heart. She sat down and wrapped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
“I just . . . I need to win this. Gage Landon is counting me to take back his company for him. I know I have to do this. Papa would have wanted me to stand up against them. And . . . I want to do this. If not for Papa, then for me, myself. It’s important that I do. I know I’m gonna get broken. I know I’m gonna be bruised up. But I refuse to just let them win. Matthias may have power and skills, but . . . I have the want to put him out of our misery. I need to do this. I need to.”
She exhaled, her shoulders slumping.
“No one sees that.”
But Aubrielle shook her head.
“No, Tiff. Everyone sees that. You heard the crowd when you stood up to take her spot.” So her mother had watched the match. “They are one hundred percent behind you. Use their cheers. Use their energy. Be the star that shines brightly for that company, like you were for your father. You are your own reckoning force, Tiffany.”
Tiffany smiled slightly.
“Now do the unexpected: defeat him like the Maccario you are.”
“How?”
“Survive. You say it all the time. Can't stop . . ."
"Won't stop."
TEXT MESSAGE :: DORIAN RAMPAGE’S OLD-ASS- NOT-SMARTPHONE
Tiff - (407)555-4386 I know what to do Meet me at the school in Orlando Miss you, c u soon.
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