Post by Blair Buchannan-Vanderbilt on Feb 26, 2024 21:19:54 GMT -6
prelude:
Derek and Blair
A Love Story
In the heart of Paris, under the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower, Derek and Blair's love story began to unfold. It was a chilly evening in late December when they shared their first date at a super-exclusive restaurant nestled within the iconic landmark. The ambiance was enchanting, the air thick with anticipation as they savored each exquisite bite and exchanged stories that danced between laughter and shared secrets.
From the moment their eyes met across the candlelit table, there was an undeniable spark between them, a magnetic pull that seemed to defy explanation. As they wandered the cobblestone streets of Paris hand in hand, their laughter echoing through the night, it was clear that something special was blossoming between them.
As their relationship deepened, Derek found himself faced with a dilemma. He was not only falling for Blair with every passing moment but also tasked with managing her career comeback. Aware of the potential pitfalls of mixing business with pleasure, Derek proposed a radical idea—why not start off their relationship as both lovers and manager-client duo?
His reasoning was simple yet profound: by establishing their personal and professional dynamics from the outset, they could navigate the complexities of their relationship with clarity and intention. It was a bold move, but one that Blair couldn't help but admire for its honesty and pragmatism.
For Blair, the realization that she was falling in love with Derek came in a moment of vulnerability. She had confided in him the true reason behind her return to wrestling: the longing to reunite with her estranged daughter, a desire that had been tucked away in the depths of her heart for far too long. In Derek's unwavering support and understanding, Blair found solace and strength, knowing that she had finally found someone who saw the real Blair, and not the carefully crafted facade she’d constructed since she was a teen. He accepted her for her flaws. He acknowledged her brilliance. He saw, and treated Blair as his equal.
As their love story unfolded, each passing day brought with it new moments of intimacy and connection. It was on a crisp winter morning, the soft strains of a ballad filling the air, that Derek knew he was falling deeply, irrevocably in love with Blair. Awakening to the sight of her silhouette bathed in golden light, fingers dancing across the keys of his mother's baby grand piano, singing softly in a way one does when they don’t think anyone is watching:
Blair Singing:
"And I, I'll never know the reason why
With the world at your feet, it was me that you'd choose
'Cause I'm hell on Earth in stiletto shoes
And I, I think I might've died tonight
Somewhere between your breath and mine
We're Heaven on Earth, they intertwine
Lookin' at you when I wake up in the middle of the night
I'm thinkin', "Goddamn, I must've been good in a past life"
Lookin' at you, you're the only thing I've ever done right
I'm thinkin', "Goddamn, I must've been good in a past life"
"And I, I'll never know the reason why
With the world at your feet, it was me that you'd choose
'Cause I'm hell on Earth in stiletto shoes
And I, I think I might've died tonight
Somewhere between your breath and mine
We're Heaven on Earth, they intertwine
Lookin' at you when I wake up in the middle of the night
I'm thinkin', "Goddamn, I must've been good in a past life"
Lookin' at you, you're the only thing I've ever done right
I'm thinkin', "Goddamn, I must've been good in a past life"
He felt a surge of emotion swell within him—a profound sense of belonging and purpose that he had never known before. He was going to protect this woman from ever getting hurt again.
Their love story culminated on a magical New Year's Eve in 2023, a night filled with champagne toasts and whispered promises. As the clock struck midnight and the world erupted in celebration, Derek dropped to one knee beneath a canopy of stars, a ring gleaming in his outstretched hand. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of their love and the promise of a future together, Blair knew that she had found her happily ever after.
Their journey was one of love, laughter, and the kind of deep connection that transcends time and space. From the streets of Paris to the quiet moments shared in the glow of dawn, Derek and Blair's love story was one that told power of destiny, and the enduring beauty of love in all its forms.
Part One
Copy / Paste
Smoothie King Arena
New Orleans, LA
A sleek black Lincoln Navigator glides into the private garage and loading/unloading area reserved for N.E.W talent, crew, and the caravan of 18 wheelers responsible for transporting the Ignite set from city to city, and state to state. The air is electric with anticipation as the vehicle comes to a smooth stop. The door swings open, and out steps Alexander, Blair's impeccably dressed long time assistant. Following closely behind is Denise, Blair's mother–and business manager–a woman of equal parts drama and wickedness. Her eyes gleam with a predatory intensity as she surveys the chaos backstage, while at the same time spitting venom at someone over the phone on her daughter’s behalf.
Then, like a queen descending from her chariot, the one and only Blair Buchannan emerges. Dressed in a little black Gucci dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, with diamond studded spaghetti straps that fell delicately off the shoulder, and black YSL stilettos that click against the concrete floor like a warning. As she struts through the maze of corridors, assaulted by the harsh fluorescent lighting above, Blair still manages to exude an aura of power and entitlement.
The trio move with purpose through the backstage area of the arena, a force to be reckoned with. They make a show of ignoring the mere mortals that dare cross their path, as crew members scurry out of their way, and even some of the talent take a respectful step back so they can make their grand entrance.
Blair Buchannan: “Ew! Is this entire city covered in urine?! I mean, honestly, the hotel? Smelled like piss. The car service? Piss again…and now here too?!”
Alexander: “I don’t smell anything. It might just be you, Blair. Maybe it’s your perfume. Which one are you wearing?”
Blair Buchannan: “Adore Me!”
Alexander: “Oh it’s one of yours? Well, that explains it then!”
Blair Buchannan: “You spiteful little fa-...”
Denise Buchannan: “Don’t let that little poof get you out of sorts, Cherie. He’s clearly gone nose blind from all of those…what does my hair dresser call them? gold raindrops?”
Alexander: “They’re called golden showers, and that’s horrible!”
Denise Buchannan: “...Oh I agree, but what is it your people love to say? love is love?…”
Blair just rolls her eyes in between seducing any reflective surface they pass by and taking selfies on her phone while her mother and assistant continue to verbally tussle with one another. Finally, they reach their destination: Blair's opulent dressing room. With a flick of her wrist, Blair commands Alexander to open the door. He immediately abides and they step into their inner sanctum, slamming the door shut behind them with a resounding thud.
Inside, the dressing room exudes opulence personified–no doubt a reflection of Blair's infamous tour rider in which she demands every detail of her dressing room be up to par with her taste for the extravagant. On more than one occasion, a production assistant’s job was lost over a snack that didn’t align with Blair’s strict vegan diet, or an off-white candle when she specifically requested an all white decor.
As Blair settled into her dressing room, Alexander, her faithful assistant, bustled about with purpose. He darted around the room, meticulously arranging Blair's wardrobe options on a wheeled clothing rack. With deft movements, he positioned the rack near the vanity mirror where Blair was engrossed in touching up her makeup. Blair didn’t bother hiring hair or makeup because she was so particular about her appearance. The way she presented herself was nothing if not intentional. Every detail, even down to her eyelashes, was carefully curated to craft what Blair learned was the public’s perception of what the ideal woman should be. It was her ultimate armor. Besides that, it was a skill she–like all beauty queens–perfected during her pageant days.
With each garment he presented, Alexander awaited Blair's judgment. Blair, the epitome of a beauty queen, nodded either in approval or disapproval. In response, Alexander swiftly sorted the outfits, sliding them to the right side of the rack for acceptance or to the left for rejection.
As Blair and Alexander engaged in their routine wardrobe selection, a sharp knock interrupted their proceedings. Startled, they glanced towards the door as a soon to be jobless production assistant barged in, uninvited and unannounced.
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: enthusiastically. ”Sorry to interrupt, Ms. Buchannan, but I have your itinerary for the evening.
The production assistant extended the paper towards Blair, who simply looked to her mother and scoffed, a smirk playing on her lips. In turn, Denise shifts her gaze to the P.A slowly and silently moving her head from side to side and wagging her finger as if to say: tisk tisk. With a dismissive wave, Blair turned back to the mirror to continue reapplying her makeup. As Blair's disregard for the production assistant hung palpably in the air. Alexander, ever the loyal sidekick, intercepts the paper with a swift motion.
ALEXANDER: Rolling his eyes. “...aha okay thank yewwwww. Run along now. I’m sure there’s a t-shirt that needs to be pre-ripped!”
With a deft maneuver, Alexander hustled the production assistant out, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he muttered a cutting remark under his breath.
ALEXANDER: smiling sweetly. “Time to master the art of disappearing while we forget you ever exist..”
As the door clicked shut behind the departing production assistant, Blair's voice cut through the silence of the room, dripping with disdain as she continued to touch up her makeup.
BLAIR: “ Alexander...why was there a poor in my dressing room?”
ALEXANDER: “It got lost on the way to the unemployment line. Don’t worry, after a strongly worded letter from yours truly, I’m sure Human Resources will point them in the right direction.”
BLAIR: “Do I look worried? It might be time for more botox, did you bring the needles?”
ALEXANDER: “I’ve got them right here.” He says and begins rummaging through his messenger bag.
DENISE: “Why don’t I take a look this?” Denise interjects and snatches the paper out of Alexander’s hand before peering over it. “Well would you look at that…”
With a haughty flick of her hair, Blair returned her attention to the mirror, unfazed by the intrusion as she prepared to conquer the evening ahead.
BLAIR: "Spit it out already,Mama!” Blair declared, her arms crossed with an air of authority.
Denise reclined regally in an armchair, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
DENISE: "It’s your favorite, Cherie! A tag team match..and look. They have you teaming with someone who calls himself Omar Azul…"
Blair's disdain was evident.
BLAIR: "My partner is that little blue weirdo!?"
DENISE: Denise raised an amused eyebrow. "You mean that grown man who dresses like a blue dragon?"
Blair's annoyance was crystal clear as she nodded in confirmation.
BLAIR: "That's the one."
Denise chuckled, finding amusement in the eccentricity of Blair's partner.
DENISE: "Well, at least he adds a bit of color to the mix."
Blair, however, remained unimpressed.
BLAIR: " If I’m in need of color, I’ll go to a Romero Britto exhibit. Or i’ll watch cartoons…although it seems these days if I want to see an animated character all one needs to do is peek right out into the hall!"
Alexander, ever the optimist, found humor in the situation.
ALEXANDER: "Oh, come on, Blair! You have to admit, it's entertaining."
BLAIR: “....and you’re what? The Pink Donkey? No, just a lil’ queer jackass!”
ALEXANDER: “I sure do hope Omar’s a fire breathing dragon. All those synthetic fibers on your body? not to mention in your hair? One breath from him and you’ll go up in smoke just like that!”
BLAIR: “You’re a pig from HELL, you know that?”
Alexander snaps his fingers to emphasize his last word. As Blair's scowl deepened, Denise's laughter rang through the room, adding to Blair's frustration. Denise regains her composure and looks over the itinerary once more.
DENISE: “Alright now, enough fooling around let’s get back to business at hand, shall we? Your opponents tonight...Josh Cole and Bianca Davis…Ah, the infamous Josh Cole. That boy always finds a way to be in your vicinity, doesn’t he?"
Blair's eyes narrowed at the mention of Bianca.
BLAIR: "You have no idea. But it's Bianca Davis that really gets under my skin."
Denise leaned in, her curiosity piqued.
DENISE: "Oh? Do tell."
Blair's frustration was evident as she recounted Bianca's blatant mimicry of her persona.
BLAIR: "Bianca has been parading around with this gimmick that's a blatant rip-off of mine. Ever since I disappeared, suddenly she's got a background in Pageantry and she’s apparently a Supermodel? That became a wrestler?! Why? Why would a Supermodel leave such a glamorous lifestyle to pursue a full time career in wrestling?"
ALEXANDER: “I don’t know…why did you?”
BLAIR: “Uhhh, because I was sexually assaulted by that big name photographer and when I tried to speak out I got blacklisted until the Me Too movement?”
ALEXANDER: “Oh…right.”
Denise, ever the provocateur, found amusement in Blair's plight.
DENISE: "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Cherie."
Blair's scowl deepened as she dismissed Denise's comment.
BLAIR: "Flattery? More like plagiarism. The cow acts like she’s the pinnacle of luxury, but wouldn’t know high end if it bit her in that extended back she calls an ass. Every day is a long ass day for that bald headed scallywag.”
ALEXANDER: “Not bald headed scallywag!”
Alexander, sensing the tension, attempted to diffuse the situation with a touch of humor.
ALEXANDER: "Well, Blair, imitation or not, you're still the original queen bee of Ignite!"
Blair's scowl softened slightly at Alexander's attempt to lighten the mood, but her irritation remained at a level 10.
BLAIR: "It would be one thing if she was just real and admitted she liked my style and wanted to try it on. I get it. I’m pretty fly. I’d want to be me too! We could have been tight. I would have at least respected her then. But no…she had to fake the funk and act like she didn’t hit copy paste on my biography for her new persona. Acting guilty because she knows she was doing some intentionally shady shit. I guess when I left she figured she could fill a void and that I was gone for good. That’s how you can tell she’s not really on my level. ‘Cause one thing about me? I always have a plan B…"
Denise, ever the provocateur, offered a different perspective. "Perhaps imitation is her way of paying homage to the great Blair Buchannan."
Blair's expression softened at her mother's unexpected words, begrudging respect shining through her irritation. "Maybe. But she's way too insecure to admit something like that. Otherwise she’d be confident in her own identity and wouldn’t have to wear mine. But then again, nobody was talking about her prior to 2021...so good for her. At least she’s getting attention now. Even if it’s misguided attention from a public who missed me so much they’d cling to anyone that reminded them of me."
The room fell into a thoughtful silence as Blair and Denise contemplated the challenges that lay ahead in tonight's match. With a quizzical expression, Blair notices a peculiar cord dangling from the side of her chair, beckoning her with irresistible curiosity.
With a mischievous grin, Blair seizes the cord, her eyes dancing with mischief. Without hesitation, she yanks it with all her might, expecting nothing more than a harmless prank. But to her utter astonishment, the chair roars to life like a lawnmower, its wheels spinning wildly beneath her. Blair's eyes widen in disbelief as the chair lurches forward, propelling her out of the dressing room and into the hallway beyond.
Blair takes one look over her shoulder at her mother, who is shouting for her to come back in slow motion but only bubbles come out of her mouth and muffled sound, as if she’s under water. Blair whips her head back to keep her eyes on the road as the door swings open as if by magic, welcoming Blair into the unknown with open arms. As she careens down the corridor, laughter bubbles up from deep within her, the absurdity of the situation washing over her like a wave.
People in the hallway stop and stare, their jaws dropping in disbelief as Blair whizzes past them, her laughter echoing in the air.
Blair Buchannan: “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!”
She squeals, drifting as she turns sharp corners. feels like a character in a cartoon, and it occurred to Blair that cartoons can do whatever they want...and not a moment too soon as it appears New Edge Wrestling’s original backstage reporter, Veronique Prince, is hightailing it trying to catch up with Blair. No, like she’s really sprinting like an olympic athlete. Holy shit, she’s even jumping over obstacles in the way as if they’re hurdles. .
“Blair, Blair!” Veronique pleads, speaking into her microphone as she runs next to Mobile BB. “..can I have a moment of your time to talk about your upcoming match?!”
“NO, BITCH! YOU SUCK!!!” BAM Blair brings an open palm slap down like a hammer, popping Veronique in the face. She ends up losing her balance and falling to the concrete, rolling on the ground like some anime character. Actually, thats exactly what she looks like because when she finally does stop rolling, her face is tomato red and there’s a large animated sweat drop hanging over her head.
“AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHAHAHAHAHA!” Blair is laughing with her full chest, fully cracking the fuck up to the point where she’s cackling as her hoverchair swerves toward the gorilla…
The scene then switches to the belly of the arena where the Ignite ring and stage was set up. The arena pulses with anticipation as the crowd eagerly awaits Blair's grand entrance. Suddenly, the lights dim, and a hush falls over the audience as a gigantic guillotine appears at the entrance ramp.
Perched atop the ominous contraption is Blair, her presence commanding attention as she brandishes a megaphone, her voice booming throughout the arena.
"Off with her head!" Blair declares, her words echoing with theatrical fervor as the crowd erupts into cheers.
As a mashup of every song Blair has ever heard and thought might make a good theme song plays throughout the arena, the guillotine begins its slow descent down the ramp, pulled by an unlikely group of figures—Blair's ex-husbands and her child's father. Hunter, Johnny, Pugh, and Roger Wright, united in their task, pull the guillotine with determined purpose.
Blair, perched atop the guillotine like a queen on her throne, waves regally to the audience—or so she thinks. In reality, the faces of the fans in the crowd are all eerily familiar, each one bearing the unmistakable likeness of Blair's daughter, Marie, albeit at the age of four which was around the last time she’d seen the child.
Blair slowly descends on the ring wrapped in a pink bubble like Glinda The Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz and, as her bubble pops once her feet touch the canvas, so do all of the little Marie’s in the stands. Then, just like that everything is how it should be. Blair is in the ring with a microphone in hand, surrounded by two thousand screaming fans–some who love her, and some who just love to hate her. She was unphased by the boo’s, but boy oh boy did she lap up those cheers. Eventually the crowd began to die down and Blair was able to retrieve a microphone, from a less incompetent production assistant than the prior one, before speaking.
“You got a lot of nerve, Bianca Davis!”
Blair says with a cocky smirk as she aggressively tosses her hair behind her back
” I mean…you come here, into the house I helped build…the place I’ve got sweat equity in…where I sacrificed going to so many sample sales because there was yet another new bitch they were trying to get over and needed to use my name in the billing...and claim to be The Queen of N.E.W!? Is it crack that you smoke? Cus whatever it is that is strong as hell. You make about as much sense as a LaToya Hicks promo. If we’re talking Hierarchy then obviously Jesse’s wife would automatically get that title by virtue alone. But she’s not. So then lets talk Monarchs, Seniority, hell…even some basic common logic will do. Ask anyone…anyone at all who they would assume the Queen of N.E.W is, in that scenario. “
I don’t even have to say it
…you already know…
“ Because it’s that effing obvious! You, as an unknown, look like a damn fool acting like you’re royalty. Listen here, you trollop! You’re no Royal, so how could you even think you’re the queen when you aren’t even one of the Welsh Corgis that followed the Queen. You aren’t even on the palace grounds! So that then begs the question…if you aren’t the queen of New Edge Wrestling…then what are you the queen of?
Are you the Dairy Queen?
Perhaps you’re the Queen Mary?
I know you’d like to think you’re the Queen Bee but everybody knows that’s Beyonce, I’m not even contesting it.
Yeah so..really, if anything, you’re just a Drama Queen so girl sit the hell down and shut up. In fact, Ladies and gentlemen, and all you beautiful souls out there, gather 'round because Blair, the one and only, has got something to say! Now, let's cut to the chase because there's no time for pleasantries when we're talking about the biggest showdown at Tension In Texas.
Bianca, oh sweet Bianca, you think you can waltz into the ring, and just get handed the Trans Atlantic Title like it's yours by divine right? Well, let me tell you something, darling. That title belongs to someone who's earned it, someone who's bled, sweat, and fought tooth and nail to claim it time and time again. And guess what? That someone is me!
You see, Bianca, you may parade around with your Queen Bee gimmick, strutting like you're the monarch of the wrestling world. But let's get real for a moment, shall we? You didn't even have the audacity to adopt that persona until I disappeared from the spotlight. Suddenly, you decide to swoop in and claim the throne? Please, spare me the theatrics.
Let's talk about credibility, Bianca. While I've been out here grinding, giving my heart and soul to this industry, you've been playing dress-up, pretending to be something you're not. Miss USA?? A supermodel? Give me a break! The minute I heard that you hired a makeup artist, I knew something was up. What kind of Beauty Queen doesn't know how to do her own makeup?
Oh, right. One that grew up with a silver spoon in their mouth and not haivng to ever do shit for themselves. Sorry, I’m still not buying it. How does a spoiled, lazy, self indulgent little weirdo not only compete–but WIN–one of the most prestigious competitions in this country…with zero talent…zero charisma…non existent work ethic or regard for policy and tradition which The America and USA Pageant Systems are both very very big on?
It doesn’t. it didn’t.
it’s simply not possible.
the broad is a fraud.
And let's not forget the Trans Atlantic Title, a symbol of excellence that I’m very very big on and happen to take very seriously.. Do you even understand what it means to hold that title, Bianca? It's not just about the glitz and glamour; it's the highest honor one can earn, second only to the World Title. Now, to be quite candid here, the World Title situation has always been a bit of a circus.
I’m in no way degrading it but, look at it right now. It’s a hot ass mess. However, Trans-Atlantic?.Very few blemishes on that baby, and anything that could have taken from it’s credibility definitely didn’t happen while I was under contract. That pristine reputation the Trans Atlantic Championship has? Of the currently active members in N.E.W, you’ve got ME to thank for that. The TA Title Legacy and my own are intertwined. Connected, forever. So excuse me, your highness If I don’t want some two-bit imposter fucking NOBODY as far as New Edge Wrestling is concerned, getting her grubby little groupie ass mitts on MY belt so she can tarnish MY legacy. You best think about that one again.
Now, as I stand here before you, hungry for my sixth reign as Trans Atlantic Champion, I want you to know, Bianca, that I'm coming for what's rightfully mine. No gimmick, no facade, just pure unadulterated talent and determination.
but please, by all means
feel free to bring your ceptor
…because as far as Tension In Texas is concerned? Prepare yourself, Bianca, because you're about to face the harsh reality of the ring. And when the dust settles and the crowd roars my name, there will be no doubt in anyone's mind who the true queen of this ring is. And mark my words, it's not going to be you, Bianca. It's going to be Blair, reigning supreme once again. So you can copy me, and bite my style all you want. You’re doing a shitty job at it, but it doesn’t matter. After all, who cares?! If you’re going to imitate anybody, it SHOULD be me. I’d want to be me if I were you too. I just wish you would have more respect for me or at least yourself and level up because some of the shit you wear I wouldn’t be caught dead in. Either way, enjoy hitting CTRL+C and CTRL+V on my career while it lasts, honey. Because, come Tension at Texas, i’m walking out with that title. So…
I guess that means i’m gonna have to
CTRL + ALT + DELETE
your swagger jackin ass
ta-ta!
Part Two
The Morning After
Val: "Holy Shit!!!"
As Blair slept, the echo of Val’s voice shouting reverberated through her subconscious like a distant thunderclap. Gradually, consciousness reclaimed her from the depths of slumber, pulling her back into reality. Blair held up a hand, and waved it lazily.
Blair: “Mmm Swear jar.” she grumbles, still very groggy.
Blair stirs in bed, her eyes fluttering open as she emerges from the depths of a bad dream. Relief washes over her as she realizes she’s in her Austin hotel room, and that insane chain of events was all just a figment of her imagination. But as she tries to shake off the remnants of sleep, she's met with the unwelcome presence of a pounding headache.
"Ow," Blair mutters, holding her head in her hands as the throbbing intensifies. The slight hangover from the night before settles in as a not so gentle reminder of the chaos that ensued at her bachelorette party.
Images of the wild night flash through Blair's mind: Val planned out and delivered an extravagant night out in Austin for Blair’s prenuptial celebration complete with the endless stream of shots, and the impromptu karaoke session that ended with Blair trying her best to mimic Mariah Carey’s iconic whistle register.
and then of course, there was the small matter of…
the kiss.
Blair: “Oh!”
She says, touching two fingertips to those pouty lips of hers. All at once the memories come flooding back. Well, some of the memories at least. She remembers dancing…she remembers them kissing…some giggling…and that was it. Val sits up, clutching the bedsheet around her chest. Blair, who at this point has spent ¾ of her life in the nude around complete strangers at one time or another simply let the satin sheet slip down around her waist, leaving exposed those perfect–and I do mean perfect–tits, courtesy of Dr.Diamond in Beverly Hills.
Val: “Like, Blair…I think we might have like, totally had sex last night!”
Blair: “You think so? I don’t know…despite popular opinion, I can usually tell if something’s been in my pussy or not….annnnd….yep, everything feels normal.”
Val: “Well then like..whyyyyy are we like…totally naked and like…we like…kissed!”
Blair: “Oh relax, Val! It was all just silly hot girl shenanigans! It’s not like that was my first time kissing a girl and..I mean, no offense but I don’t think it was yours either…anything else that happened can just be chalked up to silly drunk bitch shit what’s the use in getting stressed out over it if neither of us even remember. That’s the sign of a Bachelorette Party well done. So kudos! Honestly, It would be weird if something like this didnt happen…”
It was clear that this was a much bigger deal to Val, who looked visibly fraught with nerves, than it was to Blair. With a groan, Blair pushes back the covers and swings her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cool hardwood floor. Ignoring the dull ache in her head, she pads across the room to the bathroom, her steps sluggish with fatigue.
Once inside, Blair winces as the harsh light of the bathroom illuminates her face. She braces herself against the sink, the rush of water drowning out the pounding in her head as she sits down on the toilet and relieves herself–her upper body completely collapses against the wall next to her.
Emerging from the bathroom an hour later, Blair is a vision of composure, her hair styled and her makeup flawless. She strides confidently to the hotel room’s closet, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of the day ahead. Noticing Val has disappeared, Blair shrugs and assumes she went to the gym or something, before she begins selecting her wardrobe for the day.
The door to Blair's hotel room swings open abruptly, startling her from her reverie by the window. In strides Naomi, her friend and confidante, a manila envelope clutched triumphantly in one hand, held high like a victorious banner.
"Blair, you are never going to believe what I dug up on that wannabe, Bianca Davis,"
Naomi declares, her voice alive with excitement as she crosses the room in long strides, her eyes alight with determination.
Blair's expression remains impassive as she watches Naomi approach through the reflection in the mirror as she’s getting dressed, her mind elsewhere. Her focus was perhaps fixed on the upcoming Trans Atlantic Title match, or maybe elsewhere. While Naomi's enthusiasm is infectious, Blair finds herself strangely detached, her thoughts preoccupied.
As Naomi settles into the seat opposite Blair, she can tell Naomi is bursting at the seams ready to expose Bianca with whatever intel she found. But for Blair, the allure of scandal and intrigue holds little appeal, her newfound sense of purpose steering her towards a different path.
With a resigned sigh, Blair accepts the envelope from Naomi, her movements slow and deliberate. As she begins to sift through its contents, her interest wanes with each revelation uncovered. The scandals and secrets that once fueled her ambition now seem inconsequential, mere distractions in the pursuit of her true passion—victory in the ring, earned through hard work and determination.
In that moment, as she gazes down at the damning evidence laid bare before her, Blair feels a sense of clarity wash over her. The old Blair may have relished in the opportunity to exploit Bianca's weaknesses, but the new Blair sees beyond the petty rivalries and vendettas of the past.
As Naomi looks on, practically salivating, Blair is now fully present. She knows full well what will happen if she uses whatever information on Bianca that Naomi,with all her resources, dug up on her. The dirt was no doubt juicy. But she also knows that the stage is set for a showdown unlike any other—a battle of wills and wits that will redefine the course of their destinies forever. And as she sets the envelope aside, her gaze steady and unwavering, Blair knows that she is ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead, with integrity and grace; And nothing could lack more integrity or grace than being a pathetic Mean Girl and taking someone down just because they could.
Blair Buchannan: “I’m good…” Blair says calmly, as she fastens the back to an earring.
Naomi Campbell: “Blair, do you know what this is? This is hardcore irrefutable proof that Bianca Davis, which isn’t even her real name by the way, is lying about everything. Her real name..being a supermodel..which, obviously I knew from the beginning because hello…Queen of the Supermodels here…the pageant thing…all of it! She’s a fraud!”
Blair Buchannan: “Maybe she is! Who cares?! What am I supposed to do? Bully the poor girl into not showing up all so I can win a match? Especially a match as important to me as this one?!”
Naomi Campbell: “But that’s exactly why you shoullllld look inside! Blair, you NEED to look inside that envelope! It’s so much more than just-....”
Blair Buchannan: “Naomi, I’ve got to say I’m disappointed in you. When did you become as bad as those fanatics online? If I use whatever is in that envelope, then I’m no better than some online troll. And I’m sorry, but I want to be better than that. I want to set a better example than that. Even if it’s just for one person…so thank you, Naomi. But no thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
Blair inspects her outfit one last time before gathering her things as she’s about to leave.
Naomi Campbell: “...and where are you going?! Aren’t you supposed to be getting married today?”
Blair Buchannan: “I’ll be back in plenty of time to get ready. I just have a little stop to make first.”
With that, Blair turns on her heel before walking to the door of the hotel room and letting herself out.
Paragon Preparatory School
Austin, Texas
On a serene morning in Austin, the Paragon Prep School sat nestled amidst a picturesque neighborhood, its elegant facade a testament to the privilege that permeated its halls. Inside a sleek black SUV, Blair Buchannan, former beauty queen turned wrestling icon, sat in quiet contemplation, her nerves tangled with anticipation and apprehension. Beside her, Derek–her unwavering confidant, and soon to be husband in a matter of hours–was holding her hand in an effort to quell her nerves.
As the car rolled to a stop outside the school gates, Blair stole a glance at Derek, her voice tinged with nervous energy.
Blair Buchannan: "Thanks for coming with me, Derek. I'm not sure I could do this alone."
Derek Vanderbilt: “Are you kidding? What do I always tell you? With me…you’re never alone.”
With a grateful nod, Blair released a shaky breath, her resolve bolstered by Derek's unwavering support. The driver opened the door, and Blair stepped out onto the sunlit pavement, her heart racing with a mixture of trepidation and hope.
The imposing gates of the private school loomed before her. A teacher or some other type of authority figure, stationed at the entrance, regarded Blair with a cool detachment, her expression a mask of formality.
Blair offered a tentative smile, her attempt at levity masking the turmoil brewing within.
"Lovely day, isn't it?" she remarked, her voice buoyed by the faintest glimmer of hope.
The teacher's response was guarded, her tone clipped and businesslike.
"Yes, quite," she replied, her eyes betraying a hint of skepticism.
Blair clears her throat.
Blair Buchannan: “My name is Blair Bu-...”
Administrator: “I’m very aware of who you are, Ms. Buchannan...or, whatever your last name is this week?”
Blair literally clutched her pearls, taken aback by the Administrator’s obvious disdain for her.
Blair Buchannan: “Um, okay? Well then in that case I’m here to see my daughter, Marie Wright. It’s important.”
Administrator: “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Marie’s grade is currently on their nutrition break, and besides...we have strict instructions from Blair’s actual parental figure not to let anyone who isn’t him near her.”
Blair Buchannan: “You mean him or Shane…” Blair says curtly.
Administrator: “No, actually, as of..well, quite recently actually, Mr. Wright removed even that gentlemen from the list of approved pick-up contacts. Currently, it’s only him.”
Blair Buchannan: “Really?...Wow…that’s new.”
Administrator: “Indeed. So now, if there’s nothing else.”
Blair Buchannan: “Wait a minute wait a minute lady. Now just hold on. I’m not just anybody...I’m..pretty sure I gave birth to that little girl. Doesn’t that give me some rights?”
Administrator: “Yes of course until you signed them away in exchange for your modeling agency. How’s that going by the way?”
Blair Buchannan: “Oop! No you didn’t...Alright Miss Trunchable…you may have won the battle. But you have NOT won the war…”
Blair points her finger at the Administrator menacingly for a moment before turning on her heel and starting to head back to the car. As she was walking along the gated field on her way back to the SUV, Blair's heart sank, the weight of her past transgressions pressing down upon her, and her resolve crumbling with each step.
But then, a sound—a melody of laughter—pierced through the suffocating silence. Blair's breath caught in her throat as she turned, her eyes locking onto the familiar figure on the other side of the fence.
Marie.
For a moment, time stood still as mother and daughter stood on opposite sides of the divide, their gazes locked in a silent exchange.
Blair Buchannan: “Hi…”
Blair says, her voice caught in her throat and really only a barely audible whisper is what escapes. The golden haired 8 year old little girl just stands there, as her little mind tries to process what’s happening. Sensing this and realizing she has to be the adult in this situation, Blair clears her throat before speaking up, this time more clearl.
"Do you remember me?" Blair's voice trembled with uncertainty, her vulnerability laid bare before her daughter.
Marie nodded, her eyes sort of narrowing.
Marie: "I remember.." She says matter of factly. Her voice was strong, and to the point, despite her tiny packaging. “Hi Blair.”
Tears welled in Blair's eyes as she reached out to Marie, her fingers brushing against the cold metal of the fence.
"I'm sorry," she choked out, her words heavy with regret. "For everything. I know I wasn’t very good at the whole Mommy thing...I guess it’s because I had my own Mean Mommy growing up."
Marie hears Blair and kind of thinks it over for a second before responding.
Marie: “So then you especially should know better.”
Blair laughs through misty eyes, nodding her head. Kids don’t let you get away with anything.
Blair: “You’re right. I should have. I’m not as smart as you.”
Marie: “I know. But I forgive you." She says with a shrug.
Blair's chest tightened at her daughter's words, the weight of her forgiveness a balm to her wounded soul.
Blair: "I want you to know…you are beautiful, Marie," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I know beauty alone does not define you. But I just want you to hear it from me. You are beautiful. Inside and out."
Just then a school bell rings.
Marie: “I have to get back to class now. Bye Blair.”
Before she can say goodbye, the little girl turns and rejoins her tiny friend group to head back into the school. As Marie disappeared into the depths of the schoolyard, Blair clung to the fleeting moment of connection, her heart heavy with both sorrow and hope. And as the SUV pulled away, tears streaming down her cheeks, she knew that this was only the beginning.
Part Three
Introducing Mrs. Vanderbilt
The Wedding Venue
Later that day.
After the wedding ceremony , Val is helping Blair get changed into her reception dress. Blair stands before Val, the air between them tinged with an unspoken tension, she senses the weight of their recent interaction hanging heavy in the room. It seems as though Val is having trouble clasping together the hooks to Blair’s corset. At first Blair was concerned that she’d gained weight but then notices Val's hands, once steady and sure, now betray a hesitancy that speaks volumes, and Blair can't help but feel a pang of regret for the unease she has inadvertently caused.
Closing her eyes, Blair takes a deep breath, willing herself to find the right words to ease Val's apprehension. With a gentle touch, she turns to face her friend, her expression soft and understanding.
"Val," Blair begins, her voice gentle yet firm, "I want you to know that what happened earlier wasn't your fault. We didn't do anything wrong, and I hope you understand that."
As she speaks, Blair can see the uncertainty flicker in Val's eyes, the weight of her own emotions mirrored in the depths of her gaze. It dawns on Blair then, with a sense of clarity that cuts through the confusion like a beacon in the night—Val's feelings for her may run deeper than she had realized.
With a sigh, Blair continues, her words tinged with a mixture of compassion and understanding. "I think I understand why you might be feeling anxious about all of this," she says gently, reaching out to grasp Val's hand in hers. "But please know that I'm not in love with you, Val. What you're feeling—it's a reaction to me, to the persona I've crafted. It's not about me. Not the real me anyway, and it's definitely not about me being gay. It’s probably more about the way you feel when you’re around me? But maybe that’s just a symptom of something else"
“Like..what do you mean?” Val asks, wiping away a rogue tear.
“We’ve both been treated terribly by people and have endured so much trauma that it forces us to develop connections to the wrong people. For me, it’s guys that make me feel like shit. I guess for you, it’s someone who’s nice to you or makes you feel safe or accepted or something. I don’t know, I’m as fucked up as you are it’s like the blind leading the blind here.”
Val laughs, which makes Blair laugh too. Still, Blair's honesty hangs heavy in the air, a truth laid bare in the quiet intimacy of the moment. While the old Blair may have reveled in the power of her allure, she knows now the dangers of playing with someone's heart, and she refuses to be that person any longer.
"I love you, Val," Blair says softly, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "As a friend, as someone I deeply appreciate and care about. And I hope that we can still be friends, despite all of this."
A moment of silence passes between them, pregnant with unspoken understanding, before Val's laughter breaks through the tension, mingling with tears of relief and acceptance.
"Of course, Blair," Val replies, her voice choked with emotion. "And like, now, let's get you dressed so you can like, go greet your guests."
“Yes, please…and Val…this is couture…if you get tears on it…we’re gonna have more issues than just a silly kiss.” Blair's lips curl into a playful smile, her heart lightened by the weight of their shared understanding. As Val helps her slip into her next dress, Blair knows that their friendship, forged in the crucible of honesty and compassion, is stronger than ever before. And for that, she is grateful.
As Val and Blair make their way to the reception, Blair’s steps light with the joy of a newlywed, Naomi intercepts Blair with an urgent tone. "Blair, I need to talk to you," she says, her expression serious.
Blair pauses, her brow furrowing with concern. "What's wrong, Naomi?" she asks, the anticipation of the evening fading into the background.
Naomi's eyes gleam with excitement as she delivers the news. "It’s time. The Architect wants to meet you, Blair. He's called a meeting with the investors from all of The Ranch's different locations, and he's been so impressed by all your work that he wants to personally introduce you to the investors."
Blair's eyes widen in disbelief. "Now?! At my wedding?!" she exclaims, incredulous at the timing of the request.
Naomi nods fervently. "Yes, now. There's no time to waste. This could be a huge opportunity for you, Blair," she urges, her voice tinged with urgency.
With a sigh, Blair follows Naomi to the location of the meeting, a study tucked away within the wedding venue. As they approach, Naomi's phone buzzes with an important call, and she instructs Blair to go ahead while she tends to the matter.
Alone, Blair enters the study, her heart pounding with anticipation as she prepares to meet The Architect and the esteemed investors. However, as she steps inside, her expectations are shattered by the unexpected sight that greets her.
Seated around the room are a group of men, their faces shrouded in shadow, their presence imposing and commanding. And at the center of it all stands Derek, her husband, poised and confident as he delivers a line at the end of his speech that sends chills down Blair's spine.
Derek: “-.,,Gentlemen, my new Bride is going to make you all a lot of money this year.”
Confusion clouds Blair's mind as she approaches Derek, her voice trembling with disbelief. "Derek, what's going on?" she asks, her tone tinged with uncertainty. "I was told I was going to meet The Architect."
Derek's expression softens, a flicker of guilt crossing his features as he meets Blair's gaze. And then, with a heavy heart, he reveals the truth that sends shockwaves reverberating through the room.
"Blair, I am The Architect," Derek confesses, his voice tinged with remorse. "I've been behind it all, all this time. And I just explained that to the investors right before you came in."
Blair's world spins as the weight of Derek's revelation crashes over her like a tidal wave. The man she loves, her husband, harboring secrets and orchestrating machinations beyond her wildest imagination. In that moment, Blair is overwhelmed by a torrent of conflicting emotions—betrayal, disbelief, and a gnawing sense of wondering what she got herself into.
Blair stood amidst the opulence of the study, her mind a swirling tempest of disbelief and confusion. The weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the polished mahogany furnishings and rich tapestries that adorned the room. Around her, the other members of the board shifted uneasily, their murmurs subdued by the gravity of the moment.
Derek's concerned gaze lingered on Blair, his brow furrowing with worry. "Are you okay?" he asked softly. She blinked, slowly processing the influx of information bombarding her senses. Everything she had known, for the past three years, seemed to teeter on the precipice of collapse like the house of cards it was.
Before she could articulate her thoughts, the door burst open with a jarring force, and Naomi stumbled into the room, her disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the refined elegance of the study.
"Blair, I need to talk to you now!" Naomi's urgency punctuated the tense atmosphere, injecting a note of frantic energy into the room.
Blair's patience waned thin as she struggled to maintain composure in the face of Naomi's persistence. "Not now, Naomi," she replied, her tone clipped with frustration.
Undeterred, Naomi pressed on, her words tumbling forth in a breathless rush. "Trust me, you're definitely going to want to hear this! Bianca—"
Blair's patience snapped like a taut wire, her frustration boiling to the surface. "For the last time, Naomi, I do not want to hear about Bianca!"
As if summoned by the mere mention of her name, a voice cut through the air like a shard of ice, freezing Blair in her tracks. "Well then I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, sweetie. Sorry I'm late…"
Blair's heart plummeted like a stone as she turned to face the source of the voice, her eyes widening in disbelief. Standing before her was Bianca—a vision, dressed to the nines and wrapped in an avant garde garment of arrogance and entitlement.
Blair exchanges a bewildered glance with Naomi, their silent communication conveying volumes in a single shared expression.
"WTF?" Blair's eyes seemed to ask, while Naomi's response was a silent affirmation of her unspoken warning.
Bianca sauntered into the room with an air of haughty indifference, her smirk a twisted reflection of amusement at Blair's evident shock. "Well, actually, I'm not. You wouldn't believe how difficult it was to find a decent manicurist in this Godforsaken town," she quipped, her tone dripping with disdain.
Blair's mind reeled, struggling to process the surreal turn of events unfolding before her. "Bianca… what are you doing here?" Her voice wavered with a mixture of disbelief and apprehension.
Bianca's laughter rang out like a peal of mocking bells, her amusement bordering on derision. "What does it look like, sweetie? I'm an investor…" She settled into a seat with the effortless grace of a queen claiming her throne, her demeanor one of unapologetic entitlement.
Blair and Naomi's synchronized incredulity echoed through the room, their voices a chorus of disbelief. "YOU'RE A WHAT?!"
XOXO