Mentioned: Seraph, Demonica
Appearances By: None


Hot Off The Presses
A Breaking News Story


“The Hollow” by A Perfect Circle


My evening had begun simply enough at my hotel. I’d been over charged for a movie I didn’t even order… about twenty fucking dollars over-charged. Some asshole from down the hall had ordered the movie for my room. Bastard. So, I’d ended up watching about half an hour of it. I thought it would be one of those movies that would get better as it went on. Unfortunately, I was sorely mistaken. The movie just dragged on and on and on, like a really bad porno movie or horror flick. You know the type?

So, I’d left my television set - stupid idiot box - to crawl into the shower. I’d just finished bathing when I heard someone knocking on my chamber door. I had barely enough time to pull on my hotel robe and tie up the cord before opening the door. There, standing in the door, had been Seraph. I stood at the door of my hotel, my back pressed against the frame and arms loosely crossed over my chest. I watched him nod once to me before he stepped into the elevator, smoothing back his hair.

My own hair was tousled and still damp from my shower. I slipped back into my room, tying the cord tighter around my hips. I let the door swing shut; walking passed the television and flipping it on, just for background noise. Thankfully, the movie was long-over. I don’t think I could have stood another moment of listening to the main character’s voice. I moved into the bedroom to change, listening to the news in the other room.

“And now to our breaking news story: we have Dan McCloud out in the field. Dan?” A female reported said, obviously speaking from the studio. I heard the decibel levels change faintly. I could hear screaming and hollering in the background.

“Thanks, Linda. I’m here in Edmonton, Alberta where big-time franchise, New Era Wrestling’s Gwenivere Jordan is staying,” the man began to speak. I winced faintly as I finished putting on my bra. I walked into the main room, buttoning up my jeans that looked worse for wear. In fact, the pale skin of my thighs and just beneath my rear were quite noticeable through torn threads of denim.

“Recently, Gwenivere Jordan and her wrestling partner and friend, Monica ‘Demonica’ Macon, have been under scrutiny of the American Justice system after they were accused of sexual assault, all forms of abuse, battery and a number of other charges,” he continued. My stomach started doing flip-flops. I looked closer to the reporters and found that they were standing in front of my hotel in the parking lot. Yes, reporters. Behind them were men and women, holding signs. Some were telling me to go some place not nice, and others were in full support of me. Obviously, one of the reporters had said where I was staying… or I had stalkers. Aww, how cute.

“A video tape was released on Friday of last week of the wrestling pair and their accuser, Francine Fern. Miss Fern insists that, despite her willingness in the video, she was drugged by Macon and given as a present to Jordan. When asked why she was a present, Fern is quoted as saying that Jordan was ‘distraught about the death of her father, and I was there to cheer her up’,” the reporter continued. I turned back to the bedroom to finish getting dressed.

I may hate cameras and reporters with a passion, but this was just too good of a media frenzy to pass up. Press from all around North American had gathered in front of my hotel. Was it really that slow of a news day?

I’d made my way to the parking lot. Seraph had obviously gotten away, for his car was nowhere in sight. I had joined the ranks of the people making asses of themselves on national and international news. I, however, stood out the most, and not just because I look weird to being with. I had moved to the front of the swelling mob and stood perfectly still. I crossed my arms over my chest, the leather of my vest and micro fibre dirt biking shirt beneath shifting with my movements. I’d also dawned a pair of dark sunglasses. As of yet, nobody had recognized me. Thankfully.

“We’ve attempted to contact both Jordan and Macon for an interview, but both were unavailable,” Dan said, beginning to close his segment. I snorted faintly and stepped forward.

“Like Hell, I’m not, ya lyin’ bastard,” I shouted at him as I began to close the ten-or-so foot gap between myself and the reporters. I found myself swarmed soon after: the fans slash protestors at my back and the reporters at my front. I began to feel horribly claustrophobic, managing to move some of the people behind me away with my elbow. I just needed a little bit of space. There were representatives from TSN, MSNBC, Global, CNN and Sportsnet. I turned my attention to Dan, eyebrow raising cynically.

“Gwen!” A reporter from TSN shouted. I winced a bit, turning to look at her. Her voice had been shrill and her body matched what one would imagine someone with a highly pitched voice. “Francine Fern’s attorney says that you and Demonica are menaces to society. How do you reply?” Slowly, I pulled off the sunglasses, gazing at the woman who spoke. I hadn’t put on make-up. My hair had been brushed into an elastic, though wisps of black remained in my face. The only thing really on my face were studs and rungs.

“I don’t really thing that me and… Monica… are menaces. We just know what we like,” I said, faintly shrugging. “I’m just a person like everyone else,” I added. I could tell by the sceptical looks on the reporters and camera men’s’ faces that they didn’t believe me in the slightest and figured me out to be some sociopath sadist with ultra-violent tendencies. Perhaps I was, but even I had limits. Besides, what’s the fun in putting your submissive under during play time? That’s what I thought: none.

There was a scuttle about them. It was like they had read my thoughts. Fucking conservative bastards. As one, they all began exchanging glances and shouting for my attention. It was at that point that I silently wished I’d gone up to Alaska for the week with Demonica and Darkstar. They would have let me stay in their secluded, little hidey-hole, wouldn’t they?

“What do you think of Francine Fern’s statement that you and Miss Macon are ‘crazy’ and should be put in an asylum?” The reporter from Global asked. I rubbed my temple before slipping in the shades again. I laughed faintly, scratching my forearm lightly, thoughtfully.

“I think she’s a psycho. Or she’s obsessed with Monica nad I and this is the only way she can comprehend so stay in our lives. It’s pure theory, mind you. But it makes sense,” I began, folding my hands into my pockets. Dan looked at me curiously, not understanding completely. I sighed, rubbing my hand across my face.

“A submissive loves their dominant: one-night stand or not. After their broken, they’re obsessed and extremely jealous. Let me put it this way,” I did a forty-five degree turn, gazing at my supporters, and then my antagonists behind them. I reached out and grabbed the wrist of a young man. Granted, he was probably older than me, but oh well. I reached up and grasped his shoulder. He was about six-foot, three, with long, red hair that was tied back, exposing a shaved undercut. He had on a baggy, black Led Zeppelin hoodie and a pair of raddy blue jeans that matched my own. “Oh your knees.” I ordered, my voice low and breathy. He stared into my eyes, curiously: my eyes, however, gave nothing away.

I could see his understanding flash in his eyes. He had been looking for a hint of submission. He’d found none. Without a word, he was on his knees beside me, one hand against the inside of my knee, the other lacing fingers with my own. It was quite the display. The crowd had backed off for the most part, creating a circle around myself, the man on his knees and the press. Were this the eighteen hundreds, I would have been burned at the stake by now. I looked up to Dan slowly, my hand tenderly stroking through his red locks.

“It’s all a game, you see. Every person in existence struggles to find a dominant. It’s a very hard task, since most are submissive. I am a rarity if you will. Miss Fern is a submissive: a masochistic one at that. Demonica and I broke her, eyes, but she wanted it. It’s not about sex, like many people thing. I gazed passed the press, reading specially a sign that read “B.D.S.M.: Ban Depraved Sex Mistresses”. I shook my head faintly.

“It’s not all sex. Hell, sometimes there is no sex involved whatsoever. For the Sub., it’s all about being cared for or desired. For the Dom., it’s all about control and sadism.” I was getting off topic and I knew it. Stop fucking babbling, moron! So, I shut up and waited for the next question, if there were any. My fingers coiled between the man’s locks, giving his hair a swift tug when e had come to close to my ‘no-no’ spot. He backed off, his hand returning to hold my knee.

“Do you have any regrets about yours and Macon’s actions?” Dan asked me, moving the microphone towards me.

“Why should I regret something if I did nothing wrong to being with?”


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