Amber Ryan Vs. JC Vs. Matt Knox

Writers Note: Please do go and read Mac's RP "Time" before this if you haven't already, as its a precursor for events covered in this piece also, its a damn fine piece of writing and the guy is just fucking brilliant <3





“You smoked another cigarette and we shared another coffee and it was just another morning that made me realise that this is all it takes to be happy.”

― Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles; in search for The Great Perhaps




Mac Bane’s House
Baltimore MD
24.10.2020
4:46pm



Machines had always made more sense than people.

In a spray of gravel that bit through her torn jeans, Amber allowed the dirt bike to idle contentedly- the heavy rumble punctuated by a faint albeit constant rattle somewhere in the engine that she still hadn’t quite managed to diagnose. Aesthetic more than anything, she mused, potentially an issue down the line- but for the moment, it was running and that was more than it had been doing that morning.
That was the beautiful thing about machines- they were predictable, reliable when treated with respect. There could have been an argument made for people being similar, that given the opportunity, they too could fulfil a greater purpose than simply shit stirring. However they couldn’t be adjusted with logic, they’d argue and complain cause sentience came with the curse of opinion and ability to voice it- most importantly though, people couldn’t be taken into the garage and dismantled when their rattling became incessant and annoying.

Boots crunched across gravel as she rolled the dirt bike back inside - she’d bought it as a project, the thing hadn’t been run in 10 years and while the temptation had been there to buy something shiny and new… She’d always preferred the challenge of something broken, something with the potential for better- it wasn’t perfect but she didn’t want it to be.
Amber smiled contentedly as the Baltimore sun rested low in the sky- she hadn’t told Jack she’d bought the bike, much less the fact she’d taken it out without a helmet. At speed, it was almost certain death you came off- but that was part of the thrill, the exhilaration of dancing with death while you deliberately stomped on it's toes. He never quite got it, that the idea of risk and reward, throwing caution to the wind for what could potentially be disaster, could also be beautiful.

Chaos 100 had been a gamble no doubt, one that hadn’t paid off for many. Part of her was frustrated with not being able to do more without jeopardizing what they had left- however a greater part was relieved… Maybe they’d all simply get the chance to move on, to take a deep breath…
Until Chaos 101 was released and all those anxieties flared, she could taste the bile in the back of her throat a week before even stepping into the fucking arena. Everything she’d wanted, everything she’d fought for… an opportunity. Why the hell then did it feel so damn hollow and far away...

Leaving her boots at the door, she softly padded across the floor in her socks while the kitchen was filled with the heady aroma of coffee, mingling with the familiar stench of fuel in her pores. Everything was still warm meaning Mac wasn’t far away, hearing him murmur something on the back porch- his voice soothed those raging anxieties long enough that her hands slowed their shaking and her heart didn’t burst out of her chest.

Maybe this was all it really took to be happy.

Of course though, a world title would absolutely never go astray.

With coffee firmly in hand- black and bitter, just like the inside of her chest. She almost scoffed as she lingered in the doorway, an in-joke that had become widely accepted as fact and an adaptation over time. Adaptation seemed so strange, the concept that change was necessary and the defiance which it faced- too early, too late, not the right place nor the right time. Not now, not ever. Everyone wanted to see change in the world, but only if it meant everyone else did first.

“I heard you fire it up, mission accomplished?"

Mac gave her a knowing smile as she lightly dropped into the seat beside him- the kind of smile that seemed to defy the effects of gravity and logic and left her feeling weightless and giddy, the kind of smile that in spite of lacerations and discoloured bruises still felt like sunshine on the edge of oblivion.
In the glow of the afternoon sun, even for the briefest moment, she realized she couldn’t imagine life without him.

“It runs, but there is still a rattle in it that I can’t quite figure out”

He’d always had a confidence in her that she envied, that she wished she might be able to harness in herself..

“There was never any doubt that it would end up that way, love.”

A squeeze of the hand was returned in kind as Mac looked off into the distance.

“Such a beautiful night, it all seems so perfect right now.”

Perfect had never meant much to Amber- the idea of something without flaws created no challenge, no incentive for change, no reason for it to be any better or worse than it was right now. Perfect, for all the good it might have been, was also quickly obsolete.

“Whatcha doin?”

Playful and suspicious, Amber tried to peek around Mac.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Amber HATED surprises, however Mac’s sincerity softened her reaction.

“Close your eyes Red.”

“This better be good Bane.”

Complying, the first splatter of stars across an inky sky faded into darkness behind her eyelids, her pulse drowning everything else out like an earthquake resonating out from somewhere between her ribs.

“Well, I think you’ll be surprised”

She could sense him in front of her, closer to her level though she dared not peek as much as the temptation grew. Breathing deep, his cologne soothed the raw edges of her nerves and the sound of his voice made everything else seem so… insignificant.

“Before you open your eyes, I want to say something. I’ve known countless women in my life. A lot of friends, and only one lover before I met you. None of them have ever given me the feeling that I get with you. You, darlin, are one of the few people on the face of this earth that gets me. You know who and what I am, and you never judge me either way for the things I do.”

No one had ever said such things to her- hell, the idea of even falling in love, of finding someone who felt even remotely the same way for more than just a cup of coffee had been a distant dream for so long, something unfulfilled cause it never seemed possible. Amber had spent so long in her life hating and being hated, that the concept of love and acceptance had unknowingly slipped between the cracks of her psyche. Was this real happiness or was she just light-headed from the fumes of grease, coffee and the faint spiciness of his cologne.

“Please open your eyes.”

Bleary and unfocused for a moment, Mac had kneeled in front of her with the most nervous smile she’d ever witnessed contemplating that this was exactly why machines made far more sense than people… when she saw it… the way it captured the last light of day, the sparkle of joy that seemed to radiate from it's core.

“Amber Ryan, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Before now, she’d never really understood what it was to be speechless. It felt as though her nerves were screaming in unison, her blood slowing in her veins despite her heart rate going through the roof, everything inside screaming to the point it all just became static, her mind racing so fast she never knew it could hurt so bad.... Happiness, confusion, apprehension, disorientation. If they were in a room, it might have started spinning.
Amber swallowed hard as the seconds passed lethargically. Dragging what she could of her voice back from where it had fallen, her gaze shifted from the ring to the man holding it… One looking on in hope and wonderment, like everything in his existence came down to this moment- while she struggled to articulate something she wasn’t even sure she could…

“Mac, I… I don’t think I can”





******



Amber's Apartment
Atlantic City, NJ
26.10.2020
9:03pm


Amber Ryan wouldn’t have been what you’d call the ‘sentimental’ type.

Detached. Indifferent. Apathetic unless it involved booze or wrestling. Perhaps it was why it was unusual to see her sitting cross-legged on the sheets of her badly made queen size bed, a nondescript photo album pulled from the disused spare room of her apartment, normally it sat alongside faded photos and title belts she’d kept hold of from defunct organizations. Trinkets of better days and past conquests.

Amber had barely home more than an hour, her head still spinning from an unexpected marriage proposal that had left her stumbling for anything resembling a response. Mac had taken things surprisingly well, at least on the outside, her inability to commit leaving the Texan stunned but understanding as he’d always seemed to be. She’d tried to stay, honestly she had, she’d tried to act as though she wasn’t a goddamn headcase trying to make sense of her chemical imbalance, tried to act… normal. She lasted barely a day before uttering some half-hearted excuse about having to head back to Atlantic City, while Mac being Mac, the love of her life she absolutely didn’t deserve- let her walk out the door without further question.

At her fingertips the photo album creaked open as though heavy under the weight of nostalgia, the faint stickiness of photos touching for so long threatening to tear asunder as they parted.







A grainy photo and a crappy looking ring, the ropes hanging loose-ish and a young, teenage redhead stands on poorly constructed turnbuckles in front of an apathetic carnival crowd. Uncaring, happy and reckless in her teenage stupidity.







Over the page, attention falls on a photo of four wrestlers- exhausted yet triumphant. Hands clasped and raised in camaraderie- none of them seem familiar except the redhead, second from the right with what appears to be the beginnings of a nasty shiner.







Down the page, there's a photo with no one to be seen, it's terrible quality but that's likely due to the weather as heavy rain pools around a totalled 1970 Chevy Chevelle, resting on its roof by the side of the road.







Another photo, another triumph. This one though seems hollow in comparison to the others. A solitary Amber, staring out into a raucous Atlantic City crowd- a top star in Boardwalk standing oddly alone.







Residue of photo on photo contact tears away as the page is turned again- a similar photo to the last, but a different city, different setting but oddly enough… A very similar Amber.







Same page. Same year however is a very different scenario- it's strange what can happen in a few months. From top of the mountain to a photo shot from behind at a physical rehab facility- the surgery scar along her spine healed, but still very raw.







Amid happy snaps that follow- Mac and Amber being cheesy, goofy lovers. Jack and Amber sharing a laugh backstage- there's one photo that doesn’t quite fit the aesthetic. Bloody. Brutal. Divisive. Champion.