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allykat4416 · 7 years

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The Punch Heard ‘Round the World

So @tigresjumeaux and I wrote some Stengel Sisters the other night and it hurt a lot. She wrote Rory and I wrote Milan. Enjoy! Heads up, as always, for language and flashbacks to abuse.

She was riding high, and she wasn’t sure if if her instincts just letting her know she was on fucking point tonight, but she felt like she’d taken enough uppers to fuel a damn Kentucky racehorse. She was close to quivering, and she bounced her foot to move something. If she kept all that energy pent-up, she was afraid she was going to explode. When the car pulled up to the entrance gates of Luna Park, she pushed her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and smirked.

It wasn’t totally unfamiliar, but it was definitely idiopathic as hell. But Milan Stengel did not give a damn where it was coming from, she just loved the thrill. She wasn’t afraid of Clark, and hell, she wasn’t even scared of the new girl. Logically, she shouldn’t be. Nobody placed first the first year. She hadn’t even done that, and if she couldn’t? Nobody could.

There was a twinge of nerves still, somewhere deep in the pit of what she assumed was her heart. She liked to pretend it didn’t exist anymore. Milan could hear Rowan telling Remus and Gabriela that this was Coney Island, some place deep and significant to their history. It was painfully boring, so she pointedly coughed and pointed for Blue Streak to turn up the radio.

“But we’re almost there, we’re just going to have to find a place to park this thing, and-”

“I don’t give a damn. Turn it up.”

“But we’re-”

“Up.”

And then Jay-Z’s rhythmic rapping filled the car, boasting about the Big Apple. She could see Talia rolling her eyes and shaking her head at her, and Milan could only smile. She wanted to say something, but she was so damn up right now that she could very easily lash out. Talia...as much as it sickened her to admit, didn’t deserve to get clawed. So when she opened her mouth, it was only to follow along with Alicia Keys.

Let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York!

“You’re not slick,” Maverick huffed as the car parked.

“And you aren’t shit, Maddie-Jo, shut the fuck up,” She simply quipped, throwing the door open and grandly stepping out. Her expression melted from something vicious and derisive to beatific and beckoning in record time, hand that was clenched into a fist opening up to a wave. God, she loved being up like this. The flashbulbs seemed brighter, the air seemed colder, and everything felt so much more.

She could ignore her sister for exactly 364 days a year (365 during those beloved leap years) at most during a good year where she could convince herself not to pick up that damn phone. Charlotte’s arrival had made that a hell of a lot easier, bless that tiny, memeing redhead. Kings Dominion had elected to carpool with Carowinds this year, for whatever reason - Rory suspected Charlotte had more than a little to do with it - so rather than a cramped car, the combined crowd of coasters enjoyed a damn nice Charter bus. It was certainly more comfortable, and she could ride free of worries about seat belts snagging in her satiny burgundy dress. Charlotte had seated herself directly next to her, and Timmy was half asleep in the seat behind them, headphones in, expression surly, and legs stretched out across the seat next to him.

When they had crossed the state line into New York, even Charlotte’s loud and shrill rendition of “New York, New York,” couldn’t tear her mind off of the fact that today was, in fact, the one day of the year she absolutely could not ignore her sister. Milan had a knack for taking advantage of the proximity to terrorize her, so the inevitable win for Millennium Force was so much sweeter. That was on top of the fucking photographers - oh, the photographers! Always wanted to see the reigning queen of coasters taking a happy picture with her rough-and-tumble sister, and of course a group photo of the gigas. She wondered if they’d focus of Lottie or Milan this year, as they were both inevitable winners…

She scoffed aloud at the thought and desperately hoped that Clark had a damn good year - maybe that clingy asshole could pull the rug out from under her. Who’d be laughing then, bitch?

Oh, God, everything was so bright. The reception halls were a muted gray, but even those seemed more vibrant than they admittedly probably were. For the briefest moment, she regretted wearing heels; this heightened sensitivity to everything didn’t exclude the things that made her feel bad, and there was the slightest pinching around her tiniest toes. She was sure she’d be feeling horrid by the end of the night, at least in her feet.

Everything else, however, she intended to feel just fine.

Milan could make out some vaguely familiar faces in the crowd, she was fairly sure she saw Kara talking with some other people from her new home in Dorney Park. God, Kara had been kicked from pillar to post. She wasn’t special, Kara was easily replaced, in a park that had been easily replaced. It was hilarious, in a way, to Milan; both of them had been sent to Ohio in 2000, and Kara had failed so spectacularly. Milan made sure that she would hunt for her face in the crowd when she accepted her award tonight.

Ugh, and there was Steel Dragon 2000. She had half a mind to go over and gloat to Satoshi for riding her coattails and then fizzling out into obscurity (where he, of course, belonged.) Clark wasn’t here yet, but she knew he was always an easy punching bag. She just wanted to fight, to rip into some people and be passive aggressive and ride this feeling of espresso mainlined into her veins for as long as it lasted.

And when she turned around, she burst out into a near witchy cackle.

There was nothing in this world that Milan loved more than taking the absolute piss out of Isabel Aurora Stengel. It warmed her soul, what little bit of it she figured she may have had left, to see her buddied up with the new redhead. It’s like the universe reached down and gave me a gift on a silver fuckin’ platter! So she moved toward them with purpose, chin high and spine straightened. Her ears were ringing, and any joy she had felt was lilliputian compared to the sheer giddiness of seeing Intimidator 305 and Fury 325 walking in together.

“Well,” She drawled, her voice pitching up and her lips curling into a smile. “Look here. My two least favorite people in this whole wide wicked world.”

Rory’s heart sank when she saw Blue Streak’s car parked in a reserved space, front and center in front of the reception halls. There go any hopes of getting settled. She had to bite her tongue to keep herself from making some snide, pessimistic comment if only to avoid ruining Charlotte’s buzzing excitement. She threw on her aviators before exiting the bus, if only to dim the incessant flashes of light that came with walking in. Thankfully, she wasn’t the center of attention this time - normally the photographers were all about the biggest coaster at Kings Dominion, the second Stengel, and Rory was so not about that shit. She looped her arm through Fury’s as they made their way in, offering waves and an occasional half-hearted smile when prompted by her companion, who was nearly prancing down the walk with excitement. Or nerves. She wouldn’t put either past Charlotte.

The main hall was silvery-toned and warmly lit, with thankfully short maroon carpet and white-draped tables. She was greeted with the sounds of raucous laughter from the corner - sure enough, there was the gaggle of Jersey boys, with Wren and Davey off to the side. She had to smile at that; those idiots could make anything fun. Even--

The tightening of Lottie’s hand around her arm confirmed it, and Rory sighed, reluctant to look up. Even being in the same room as my sister. The color had drained from Lottie’s face, and Rory gritted her teeth, set her jaw, and looked up with defiance already burning under her skin.

Sure enough, there she was, striding toward them as though she owned the place. She’d offered some sort of demeaning, self-entitled greeting that Rory was too angry to hear, and Rory jutted her chin out, stepping forward in a small, unconscious effort to put herself between Force and Fury. Because Lord knows she’s going to fucking try to make friends or some shit. And I want to fucking fight.

“Ay, world’s best coaster and world’s worst person. How d’ya do, you fucking bitch?” She couldn’t help but to bare her teeth in a clenched smile, her voice a blatant snarl. “Cameras are on us Stengels and the new chick, so act natural!”

Milan snorted, rolling her eyes. Her fingertips felt numb now, and she hoped that if Rory could see her shaking, she knew it was because she was ready to knock her damn lights out. “I’m doing delightful, sister dearest. Certainly better than you, but that’s par for the course. I’m always doing better than you, aren’t I?” Auric eyes flitted up to the stage. “How funny that someone who shares my name can only crack the Top 10 once in her lifetime. Sad, isn’t it?”

She held her sister’s fiery gaze for a moment more before slowly rolling them over to her ginger companion, and she broke into a wider grin. Rory bristled, and Charlotte...well, Charlotte had turned white as a ghost, head down and shrinking back as if she could perform some weird sort of osmosis with Rory and hide.

Damn, did Milan relish in how she visibly flinched away. She’d file that for the memory banks. If this was what she was up against? If this was the biggest and baddest that Carowinds had had to offer? Good heavens, she had this in the bag. What sort of winner would shy away from a heavyweight champ? If Charlotte was anything to fear, she would have met her eyes head-on and held her ground.

But she didn’t. Charlotte tucked her tail and ran back behind the big, bad Intimidator 305 for some weak line of defense. She had precisely nothing to fear from the teal Beemer. Of course I don’t. I’m Millennium motherfucking Force. I fear no one.

“You know, for somebody named Fury, she’s very...submissive.” She looked down the bridge of her nose disdainfully, lips twitching into a smirk she couldn’t suppress. “I can see why you’d keep her around, Isabel.”

“It’s also funny that somebody sharing a name with you could actually function socially,” she growled back. “I think that’s sadder. That our fuckin’ figurehead is someone that literally everyone hates. What fun is victory when you’re the only one who gives a flying fuck?”

If there was one thing Rory did actually envy about her sister, it was the ability to dish out venom in that cloying, smooth tone. The hair on the back of her neck prickled when Force sacrificed their staredown to turn her gaze on a tensed and cowering Charlotte, whose face was frozen in an awkward attempt at a smile with round, terrified eyes. Fuck. I should have told her to go sit down...

“It’s fun, being able to make friends without having to dig through the pile to find the ones with humiliation fetishes. No offense to Talia, of course.” She did genuinely feel bad for badmouthing Talia, even if it was to get at Milan. She did have her questions for the stratacoaster, though… “And I wouldn’t talk that way about someone bigger and badder than your sorry ass - ride the high tonight while she’s new, yeah?”

Because whether she likes it or not, she’s taking your fucking title next year. And I am going to pop bottles and laugh my ass off.

Milan could only toss her head back and laugh disdainfully. She’d had quite some time to perfect it, and she saw it now as a form of art. “Can’t I just throw it up in my baby sister’s face that she’s always going to be stuck in my shadows? And can I not remind the new girl where she sits on the totem pole, which is, FYI, way the fuck below me, thanks? It’s a free country, 305. Land of opportunity, where we can do whatever we want.”

She had absolutely zero attraction to the redhead, except for possibly her fist to Charlotte’s jaw, but she knew exactly what would eat Rory alive. So she smiled saccharinely, lifting her shoulder up in a cutesy little shrug, and narrowed her eyes at Fury. “American Dream, we can take whatever we like too.”

Rory snorted, an incredulous grin spreading across her face. “You go right the fuck ahead and flaunt your victory. If you think that’s why I hate you, why anyone hates you, then you keep on believing if it helps you sleep at night. We’re all just jealous of the high and mighty Millennium Force.” Her hand twitched at her side when Milan went for Charlotte, and her head was nearly swimming with anger. Her feet felt rooted into the ground, braced, aching to pounce on her and strike at that face until swollen golden eyes peered out from a black and purple background.

“American Dream’s got bounds, Force.” Her voice slid back into its normal range, less of a rage-tinged screech now. “We can only take what we want when there’s something to choose from.”

She tilted her head, never breaking her gaze upon Charlotte. “I don’t know what my sadist-wannabe of a sister has done to you, or if you’re some masochist and you’re a match made in Hell, but rest assured the only beatings you’ll get from me are in the polls.”

And God, she didn’t want to think about what sort of depraved shit Rory had probably made Charlotte do behind closed doors, but if she could handle that and still be such a weak little opponent the day of? She wanted to read a book about Fury just to understand why the hell she was so damned weird, then.

“Considering Little Miss Dominatrix probably has you trained for this shit, I advise you to sit and stay, 325.” She turned back to her sister, whose face was starting to show the slightest tinge of redness across her cheekbones. “Whatever could be the matter, dear Isabel? You’re flushed. Are you getting sick?”

Rory shrugged, half-hiding her hand as it curled into a fist. God, there were so many fucking quips she could go for - from excuse me, wrong Kings Dominion coaster to an array of comments about Milan’s own sex life and the sheer irony of her comments. She knew damn well Charlotte wouldn’t say anything (but oh God, how she wished she would. Damn diplomacy and terror), so she supposed she’d fight this one alone.

“Not sick.” She brushed a bit of hair back behind her ear and damn it, she could feel her flushed skin. “Just holding back a lotta laughing. You’re one to talk about training, yeah? We all know you’re just Intamin’s little show dog, and sure, you’re pretty and all, but man did they breed one hell of a bitch.” Fuck. She failed to manage the shake in her voice, and she bit her tongue until it drew blood. Don’t let her see you crack. Don’t let her see you crack.

Milan had been waiting for that exact moment, that little quiver in 305’s voice, to step forward and rest her hand on her sister’s face, cupping her cheek and digging her nails in the skin. She tried to not think about how much it felt like looking into a mirror; the universe had one sick sense of humor to make them almost identical. “If I’m a bitch, Isabel,” She purred, so close their noses were nearly touching, “Then what in seven hells does that make something like you?”

“Oooh-kay!” Rory’s reply was shrill. “Only my little masochist is allowed to touch me like this! I’m uncomfortable.” Milan’s palms were cold and smooth, and she could count every damn ring adorning those fingers against her cheek. She locked her eyes with Milan’s, so fucking similar but there was something there in that damn Stengel gold that Rory never saw when she looked in a mirror.

Or, rather, something is missing. Like a fucking soul. “So get your hand off of me, yeah? Other people who pull this shit end up with broken noses, and I know you’re Queen Millennium and all that shit, but you ain’t an exception. Paws off, you cunt.”

“Oh, so I’m a cunt now?” Milan laughed. “I’ve been called worse by people whose opinions matter to me far more than yours ever will, Isabel,” She purred her name, like she was tasting every syllable. She stuck a bit of her tongue out, biting with a grin. She took in every last detail of her sister, how they both had a stubborn strand of raven hair that fell straight down the middle of their foreheads (and how Rory didn’t care enough about her appearance to bother fixing it), wide amber eyes lined almost as dark as her own, smooth coppery skin…

She took her hand away from Rory’s face, leaving tiny crescents upon her cheek. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get my award, get my ass kissed, and possibly maybe totally get fucked eight ways ‘til Sunday at a nice hotel in Brooklyn Heights later tonight.”

“Yes, I’m sure Talia calls you all sorts of nasty names in the bedroom, and you love every moment,” Rory replied, her eyes narrowing. “But I’d waltz my happy ass away from me before I decide I wanna do worse than name-call. Later, Force.” Thank God she’s fucking off. She knew it would cause a scene or whatever bullshit she fed herself to stop herself from punching Milan square in the jaw, but she honestly didn’t know how much longer she could go. “Have fun pretending everyone loves you and is jealous of you. Have fun pretending you’re the best and not something to be replaced by someone bigger and shinier.”

And that was all it took.

Her jaw clenched, lips pressed together in a smile so tight she could physically feel it stretching her face. She was well aware of the small crowd that had started to gather (fucking SkyRush was leaned forward like she was a child at a candy shop), but for possibly the only time in her life, the audience didn’t matter a damn bit.

“Everyone does love me, you fucking moron,” She hissed. “I don’t know what insane fucking logic you took to get that, but I’m irreplaceable.” She held her arms out, leveling the little semicircle of people around them. Her eyes fell upon a familiar blue pair that just looked tired. Of course Clark was tired. He could never handle the pressure. “ In this room, in this industry? To all of you?” Clark had let one stray tear slip out and he quickly wiped it away. She wanted to laugh.

“I am God.”

“You’re…” Rory let what Milan had said resonate, into her brain and play through a few times just to be sure she had heard what she thought she’d heard. How the all-loving fuck can anyone say that in full seriousness? What the actual FUCK?

At that point, all was forgotten - Charlotte was miles away, the room was silent (that might have been real, though), and Milan’s shit-eating, self-entitled grin was the only thing there in the room with her.

“Yeah.” It was low and hoarse with exasperation, with rage, with sheer hilarity. “God fucking awful.”

And Intimidator 305 held back no longer. She decked Milan right in that wretched, Stengel-gold cat eye.

She didn’t even register the pain until a moment after Rory’s fist had gotten very up close and personal with her face. She wasn’t sure if she’d imagined that horrid little growl, or if it really had come from herself or her sister, but she knew she was clawing the second her head snapped back and lunging for Rory.

She knew she heard Jesse ask if it was Girls Gone Wild or the Golden Ticket Awards. She wanted to tell the little punkass there wasn’t any damn difference if you cared enough. Clark probably thought it was hot. Sick bastard.

She knew she’d made contact when her nails found purchase in russet skin, and she dug in for all she was worth. Her other hand grappled for Rory’s hair, reaching and trying her best to yank a good fistful. Her bones felt like they were buzzing, and the ringing in her ears was almost unbearable.

But she hadn’t grown up with strong backhands to the face before she even knew how to properly tie a shoe to just lay down and die in front of Intimidator without a fight. She knew her mouth was forming a thousand curses, and she almost bit Fury’s arm rather than Rory’s when Charlotte had reached in to pull them off each other.

She was also desperately hoping she did say “Go to Hell, Charlie.”

It had all happened very quickly. Milan had reeled back maybe a foot before pouncing like there were coiled springs in her muscles, expression wild and nails drawn like talons. Rory leapt back, grabbing Lottie’s arm and almost throwing the smaller girl behind her (in the back of her mind, she hoped she didn’t mess up her dress or hair - she knew Fury would be on stage for best new ride….) to avoid Milan’s anger. Talia had thankfully materialized out of the crowd before Milan got the chance to do anything more than grapple Rory’s arm and wrestled the other woman back, one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders.

“Really?” she spat at Rory, yanking Milan back as she practically frothed at the mouth. “Now? You couldn’t have saved this shit for after the awards?” Rory opened her mouth to retort, but caught the tinge of understanding in Talia’s eyes before they hardened and flickered down to her girlfriend, whose eye was already swelling into a shiner. Maybe now they’ll be able to tell us the fuck apart.

For a moment, this wasn’t New York. This wasn’t September 2015, but instead it was February of 2000 in a Maryland suburb. Kara and Kent were sitting, happily munching away at some fast food, playing with the plastic toys on the table top. She and Clark were looking through the window, with nothing to eat and the looming words of how only winners got to.

She was no older than 13, punched in the jaw so hard she’d fallen to the floor. She could almost feel the shoe connecting with her stomach as she struggled to draw a breath. Clark wasn’t there to save her. She doubted he would have even tried. Clark couldn’t have tried.

Her breath hitched, and a cold sheen of sweat broke out over her body. The taste of blood filled her mouth and she was suddenly acutely aware of arms- arms?- around her waist and shoulders.

Oh fuck no, someone’s touching me. I did something wrong, and here comes the punishment.

“You bitch! You don’t fucking know what I’ve been through!” She whirled around to Talia, teeth gritted. “Don’t you fucking touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” Milan drew her hands up and jerked back, her movements almost robotic in their stiffness, and took two quick retreating steps. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, nobody will ever fucking touch me again if I don’t want it!”

No, no, no. Don’t go feeling fucking sorry. It was almost pathetic, the way Milan’s narcissism had peaked and promptly sent her into hysterics - the foundation she wore was beginning to bead with sweat on her upper lip and forehead, and there were tears, fucking tears, involved. It happened every fucking time - Milan would pull her condescending, belittling bullshit and no one would give two fucks. Time after time after time, Rory dealt with being a verbal punching bag. The little fucking doormat sister with a mean st--aw, man, that phrase has been fucking butchered. Fuck you, Phil. And yet after years of incessant taunting and venom and downright abuse...everyone was gathered in the hall, crowded around poor, damaged Milan writhing in Talia’s arms. Even her fucking friends delighted in Milan’s hysteria over the fuck that she had just, once again, been preyed on for fucking fun.

“Ceremonies aren’t usually like this,” she’d whispered to Charlotte. “Don’t go getting scared.” And then she’d pivoted on her heel and stormed off to find somewhere quiet, with Charlotte only a few hesitant steps behind.

There was a euphoria in winning. It was the closest she came to feeling real again that night, when the cold glass of the Golden Ticket was placed into her hands. That was enough to bring the high back, to wave to the crowd and smile. She’d fixed her makeup with a precision that was achingly familiar, called on some old tricks to try and hide the swelling as much as she could.

But the moment the ceremony wrapped up, she went right back to feeling hollow. That’s what happened when Maryland was remembered.

But I was a good girl. I won. Shouldn’t this stop? I won. I did what I was supposed to. I won, I won, I won. I’ll always win, because winners get to live. And I don’t want to die. I have to hold onto this.

Ohio hadn’t been much better. It was hilarious how Richard Kinzel was such a wicked man, threatening to harm her on countless times, but shared a name with someone as delicate and gentle as Rowan. She could hear his words clearer than she could feel the ghost of twisted wrists and knuckles against her cheek.

They’d made her hug Clark as a show of good sportsmanship, which they both thought to be a total heap of bullshit, and she could only whisper in his ear that he could never have saved her. He did not hug nearly as tight as prior years. He understood, when Maryland was remembered, touching was off-limits.

Rory’s words hung heavy in her head, much longer than the bruise around her eye. If that little nerd, who had fallen when receiving her Best New Ride of 2015 plaque, ever bested her...There was no way to stop the memories. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t.

But if it did, she knew she’d never taste anything but blood again.

#personified coasters #rory #milan #OW #allykat's writing

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