To Everything...

[Erin Gordon]

"I... don't think that's a good idea, B&E."

"Why not? I can't go into this without as much to work off as I can, Stevie. You know that."

"Yeah, well-- I get that. Really, I do. But this isn't... and I know that look. I'm not talkin' you out of this, am I?"

"Probably not."

"Alright, alright. Just... be careful."

Steven Kingsley probably would've had more luck wishing a bull luck before setting it loose in a china store, Erin realized as she dumped the fifth packet of sugar into the coffee that sat in front of her. The cheap Formica of the table, the old vinyl of the booth--even the dated décor around her wasn't doing much to make her feel at home, even if such was what damn near every restaurant to ever set up shop in Blooming Valley looked like before they went under. Even the flicker of fluorescent lights wasn't helping, not when she was so keenly aware of the knife's edge her boot heels rested on as she tore open yet another white paper package and upended it over her coffee . After all, even if she had all the logical reason in the world to be there, to ask what was teetering on the end of her tongue... that didn't mean that the man sitting across from her would feel the same way. Not when his newly turned-over leaf was still raw and vulnerable, if the fading bruises and scrapes from being assaulted by The Usual Suspects after a Hellish bout with Johnny Cannon were any indicator. Maybe her boyfriend had been right about this after all, though was there any going back from this? Could she turn this whole shebang around, make up something? If she wasn't such a shit liar, she'd ask about what to get Stevie for Christmas, but she'd already picked up his gift on Black Friday--

"Do you always dump that much sugar in your coffee? Or is Stevie rubbing off on you?" That trickster's smile was as plain as day on Dom Harter's lips as he looked at the Oncoming Storm, a brow raised. While she had only ordered coffee, there were at least two heaping plates of breakfast in front of the Tenacious Little Bastard--or was it three? She couldn't remember, and she didn't bother looking to find out all over again. She wasn't sure she trusted herself to look him in the eye, not yet.

"Oh, uh..." An awkward clearing of her throat, her hand reaching for the spoon to try to at least make the overwhelming sweetness she was about to subject herself to a little more even. She attempted to smile even if the thought of even sipping the abomination she had created made her want to grimace. "Nah. I guess I was just... woolgatherin', is all."

"Riiiiiight. Whatever that means," he replied. Silence reigned as he wolfed down more of those fluffy yellow scrambled eggs that she'd never be able to duplicate no matter what she tried... though it didn't rule for long enough, not when he tilted his head to one side. She could feel him appraising her, weighing and measuring what he saw--she swore he could see through her in that moment, even as he gestured at the space between them with a toast-bearing hand. "Are you gonna order anything other than your diabetes special, there? You're making me feel kind of guilty."

"I'm not hungry, thanks." Her hands wrapped around the mug, her thumbs twiddling behind the ceramic. The warmth against her palms did nothing to settle her, but then again... at this point, nothing would. She forced herself to get on with it, knowing that she might just keep dragging her heels for all eternity if she didn't. "So, uh, you probably wonder why--"

Another wave of rye cut her off neatly after that last word.

"Nah, Stevie told me you had something you wanted to ask me about. And since you're not the cheating kind... I figured it had to be important." That bit of a rib was delivered with a shrug, that smile of his widening. She swore it almost softened around the edges, as if he was rewarding her for not punching him in the mush for making that crack. "So go on, Erin. What's up? What do you need from me?"

Even with his permission, forcing the words out was harder than she thought they would be. "...I need to know what I'm in for when I get in the ring with Izzy."

At the mention of that name, she saw something in his eyes that made Stevie's warning of being careful about how she approached him seem absolutely inadequate. For a moment, she wondered if she had slipped on that razor's edge and was headed for an absolute shredding... but then Dom let out a sigh as he slumped a little in his seat, his tone going almost deadpan.

"Weren't the tapes of her matches enough, woman? Shit..." He shook his head, chagrin creeping into his voice. "You do know how that went, right? How I wasn't exactly the, uh... fairest in how I dealt with her?"

"Yeah, but... you're probably the person that pushed her hardest. You drove her to her greatest extremes in the ring, Dom--and I need to know as much as I can about facin' that down before I get in the ring with her myself. We both know you fucked up in how you handled a lot of shit, but that don't change the fact that you can help me out here." The Oncoming Storm leaned forward, her elbows propping themselves up on the edge of the table as she met his gaze--the flat prairie of it not doing a damn thing to cover the seriousness in her eyes. "She won't hesitate to tear me apart and we both know it. I can't afford to sleep on this one."

A terse quiet lingered in the air. It was maddening enough to her that she finally took a swig of the sugar-laden beverage before her to distract herself with it, not wanting to consider the idea of her request possibly putting tension on Dom's friendship with her boyfriend--and there was reason for the concern, she had to admit. The Tenacious Little Bastard was trying to move on with his life, and there she was... asking him to go back to the past. When he finally spoke, it very nearly made her drop that mug of coffee sludge.

"You got that notebook of yours with you?" At her nod, the beginnings of a smile graced his lips once more. "Alright. The first thing you have to keep in mind..."

---

"Izzy Anders." There's an almost careful edge to the way that the Oncoming Storm murmurs the name of her next opponent, that tone akin to the sort of one she'd use if she was trying to talk down a bull that's seeing red--and on some level, maybe she is. No amount of talking is gonna save her from being gored, though, and she damn well knows it. That truth has her going silent for a moment, only the sound of her boots crunching down what was left of the frostbitten grass filling the quiet as she walks along. It's a minor miracle that there's not more snow on the ground, considering how close Ol' Man Winter was to making his grand entrance... but she knows enough to count her blessings instead of question it. Just how many blessings would be left after she got into the ring with Izzy remained to be seen. Her exhale is rimmed in a cloud of mist and a chuckle that's bereft of humor, her hands shoving themselves deeper into the pockets of the beaten-up Carhartt coat she's got on as she resumes speaking. "Management ain't takin' it easy on me, are they? Though I can't say I'm surprised, not really. Not when there ain't an easy bout for me to have in this whole damn company, somethin' my debut proved--but I know that my win over Julian ain't somethin' I can focus on, not now. I have never shared a ring with someone like you, Izzy, and that's the God's honest truth. The thought of what I'm gonna have to endure, to dish out to get a win over you is an intimidating one, and I don't think the odds of me comin' out the winner have ever been lower. Not against Julian, not against Tarja, and sure as shit not against that worthless coward Amy Jo Smyth."

There's a momentary curl of the lip, disgust writing itself large over Erin's features at the mention of the (not-so) Good Doctor... but it recedes as she lets out a long exhale, those gray eyes shifting from looking at the camera indirectly to meet the lens full on as she slows to a stop.

"But even if those odds are slim? They're still there, and that's all the more I need. Hell, thinkin' about it... the only thing that'd motivate me even more is if you tried to tell me that I didn't have a chance at all of comin' out of this thing in one piece, much less the winner. I've done nothin' but defy the odds since I first stepped through those ropes... but that's kind of obvious at this point, huh? I don't need to keep repeatin' myself on that front, not with someone as smart as you are. You know that you're gettin' in the ring with a threat just the same as I do, even if you might try to deny it. You're vicious in that ring ordinarily, an absolute killer one could even say--but you ramp it up big time each and every time that there's even a snowball's chance in Hell of you not comin' out on top. Most of the time, it works like you want it to. That's how your name became one and the same with the Mid-Atlantic Legacy Championship in just about every way known to man, after all--but once in a blue moon, someone comes along that you can't just overkill into oblivion one on one. Someone like Cordy Stevenson." A pause; there's a soft huff of air, almost like a sigh but without any real force behind it. "You ain't been in the ring since you lost to her and you're lookin' to get that momentum back. Nevermind that you lost to the woman that won the FGA World Championship at the end of the night, nevermind that you had a strong showin' up to that point--you still got that axe to grind, and for what it's worth? On that level, I can't blame you at all. Not a single, solitary bit. There ain't a single one of us in this business that's taken a loss that hasn't wanted to get right back up on that horse to return to winnin'. I get that. The problem, at least from where I sit, comes in with how you ain't just got that axe to grind. Oh, no... you got yourself a whole hardware department worth of'em, and you're carryin' around most of'em for no real reason. Worse yet? I almost wonder if you're not carryin'em by buryin' them into your own skull, what with the crazy talk you're spewin' about how you're gonna 'burn FGA to the ground'. And for what? 'Cuz you didn't find the level of attention you got from folks when you was kidnapped to be to your satisfaction."

For a moment, Erin chews over this bit of information--her expression hard to read, though one can see her lower lip bulge a bit from her tongue running over her bottom teeth. It's a familiar expression when one considers her first big one-on-one win... and compares Amy Jo Smyth's entitlement to Izzy Anders' own. Ultimately, she scoffs derisively.

"You've got to be' kiddin' me, right?" A shake of her head. "That there... I almost got to wonder if you're bein' willfully stupid or if you're just plain dumb. That's almost as asinine as you pointin' fingers at certain folks for not lookin' for you or personally comin' to your rescue. Why the fuck would a buncha' civilians--which is what most people are no matter if they're a fan or a wrestler--saddle up and go huntin' for you like they're the second comin' of the Lone Ranger when they ain't got the trainin' to take on anyone with even a shred of that level of criminal experience? I gave you credit for it before, and I'll do it again--you're a tough broad, probably one of the toughest wrestlers I'll ever get in the ring with. For you to get snatched up? That ain't no simple feat. That speaks of know-how well above and beyond the amateur criminal, as a matter of fact.. but yet you expected regular people, blue collar common everyday people, to risk their life and limb when that's the job of the police. And even then, even if someone had been brave or stupid enough--or both, more'n likely--to do it? You wouldn't of given them any credit anyway. You woulda' turned your nose up at the world even if every last man, woman, and child that wasn't involved in you bein' taken had asked after you and had candlelit vigils for you and all those other things that you feel you're entitled to when you ain't. Yeah... you heard me. You ain't, and I'll tell you why. It ain't just because of any personality trait you got, or how you routinely shat all over the people that were somehow supposed to care about someone that'd been nasty to'em for months. It's real simple, actually."

The Oncoming Storm pauses to let that sink in, to let that hard truth drill itself right between Izzy's eyes--or to make the attempt, at least. At this point, she's not sure if a nuke could dent the thick surface that her opponent's skull has got to be made of at this point.

"You ain't entitled to anything in this world, Izzy Anders. Not a single, solitary thing. Not respect, not love, not opportunity, and sure as shit not the attention of people that have their own lives and problems to deal with. There is no such thing as a free lunch for you or for anyone else--and yes, I include myself in there as well. Why else would I spend hours a day trainin' my ass off, tendin' to the farm, and doin' all I can to make sure my boy'll be a good man when he's grown? There ain't a single thing in my life that I didn't work my ass off to get, Izzy, and I know that I got to work my ass off if I want to get that win over you. And I reckon that if I had kept my mouth shut, maybe things'd be easier for me... but I doubt it. You're the type to try to hold me responsible for what Dom did in the past just on account of who I'm datin'." For a moment, it seems as if Erin's gonna roll her eyes... but she's happened onto something, stumbled onto a vital thread that she's going to take hold of. "Thinkin' about it... every last problem you got with FGA and its roster comes from the past, don't it? The world not payin' enough attention to you when you were kidnapped, the shit Dom pulled that you more than made him pay for by injurin' his shoulder and puttin' him on the shelf, how you're so damn sure that no one can match up to your past glory as the Mid-Atlantic Legacy Championship--the list goes on. I know I already dropped one truth in your lap, but what the Hell... it's the holiday season, the time for givin'. It's simple; the past ain't the only thing that defines us. If it was, no one would be able to get better or improve or, most importantly, learn from their experiences. I wouldn't have gotten over my grief over losin' Si to be standin' here today, livin' the dream I had since I was a kid. Hell, I never woulda' learned the value of puttin' the work in to get what I need to ensure that my boy will be able to afford a good college and out of this backwater county. Dom would still be puttin' the 'Bastard' in his moniker every last literal way possible. Stevie never woulda' left Portland... or met me. And you?"

Reaching up, Erin shoves a few errant strands of hair out of the way of her features before she continues.

"You'd be an entitled brat until the end of time with no chance of pullin' your head out of your ass. It's clear you're meant for greatness beyond what you already have to your name, Izzy--but you're gettin' in your own way in so many ways, I'd be here until next Christmas if I listed'em all. So instead of doin' that? I'm gonna let my actions do the talkin' in the ring at Vertigo. I'm gonna take everything you got to throw at me and I'm gonna dish it out harder 'cuz that's about the only way that I'm gonna get past you--" She holds up one of her hands, palm facing the camera in a 'Hold up.' manner. "No, no... this ain't about gettin' past you 'cuz I'm not goin' out there to go around you. This is about goin' through you, and believe you me--if I can go through all the Hells I've survived, through the economy goin' to shit and havin' to raise my boy alone and Lord only knows what else? Then I can go through you and come out stronger in the end. I will go through you... and maybe when I'm done, you'll turn that critical eye inward and figure out that the blame for all the problems you're havin' belongs solely at your own two feet."

Her piece said, Erin resumes walking--but the camera remains stationary, focusing on the browned and almost barren sight of the countryside holding its breath for the snow that's in the forecast. Even if it looks almost bleak now, time will turn, turn, turn until green and life returns. Because even if her moniker seems to only speak for what is coming for her opponents, the fact remains that just like the land she comes from, the Oncoming Storm can weather anything that comes her way... and thrive in the face of it. Who knows?

Maybe she thrives because of the adversity, and that there makes her more of a problem than Izzy could ever hope to overcome.

---

Word Count: 3127 
All the love to Benny for giving me permission to use Dominic Harter in this. You da best!