Oh no! I'll never be ready for Overdrive

Stygian makes his way down a New York street with Lilith and Lilah in tow. He’s dressed in a shirt that looks like Eddie Van Halen’s “frankenstrat” guitar; red with black and white stripes criss-crossing it in random intervals. He rounds out his attire with some acid washed jeans and his typical Red Wings. Kinda looks like an 80’s hair metal rock star, only without the makeup or aquanet-teased platinum tresses. Lilith has platinum tresses, but she has opted against the Vince Neil look as well. She’s wearing an IWF “Cult of the Black Dragon” t-shirt that’s been cut, clipped and ripped into a form-fitting halter top and jeans so tight, you wonder if they weren’t stitched on to her that way. Lilah has a pink midriff t-shirt and while lowrider skinny jeans, though not as skinny as Lilith’s. The three of them round the block, with Stygian looking at his Droid occasionally.

Stygian: It’s just three blocks this way.

Lilah: So explain it to me again.

Stygian: Okay, Lilah, there are satellites orbiting the Earth and my phone can talk to them…

Lilith: Interrupting I think she knows how GPS works, lover.

Lilah: Yeah, duh. I know how GPS works.

Stygian: With her, I can never be too sure.

Lilah: Well I didn’t mean GPS. Why did you help Corey Casey win his match, again.

Stygian: I had two reasons. First, I wanted to get my hands on Dan Alexander. I owed that son of a bitch for faking his death and getting me arrested. I didn’t want to wait for a match, because I didn’t want to beat him in a match. I wanted to hurt the man. He’s been back for three weeks. I waited long enough. That son of a bitch owed me a debt.

Lilah: I think you totally broke his back.

Lilith: That’s the speculation. He may never walk again.

Stygian: Then I may consider us even.

Lilah: Okay, so you wanted to hurt Dan, I get that. That night in Salt Lake was awful; the way they come up and arrested you. But why help Corey Casey win the match.

Stygian: Corey Casey has very little in this life that’s sacred to him. Jessica Matthews, his kids? I honestly don’t know how much they mean to him.

Lilith: And you really aren’t the kind of a guy who goes after a man’s family.

Stygian: I try to avoid it. It’s classless. I’m an asshole, but even I have standards. I don’t hit a man where he lives. Jessica Matthews, Corey Casey’s kids? There’s no gain in beating up a mother and tormenting small children.

Lilith: No matter what you did at Chuck E. Cheese?

Stygian: I never struck any women or children.

Lilah: Unless you count the girl in the costume.

Stygian: That’s not fair; the padding of the costume took most of the blow.

Lilith: You lit her on fire!

Stygian: I put her out!

Lilith: By stomping on her!

Stygian: Besides, she wasn’t related to anyone in IWF.

Lilah: You still kicked the hell out of her.

Stygian: I was deliberately trying to be reprehensible.

Lilith: I remember. I’m just pointing out that even you break your code sometimes.

Lilah: Technically, anyway.

Stygian: Technically, yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to pull a Steel Angel and start Stalking Corey’s wife and kids. If he leaves you two out of this, and I think he will, then Jessica and the kids need never meet me.

Lilah: But we met them at the Christmas party.

Stygian: You know what I mean.

Lilith: Jase, this is Lilah, I’m quite sure she doesn’t.

Stygian: Let’s just make it simple, my gripe is with Corey Casey, not his finacee and children. Steel Angel needs…

Lilah: Interrupting. I think he was going by Dark Archangel then.

Stygian: Whatever the hell he was calling himself, Steel Angel needed to go after Corey Casey’s family. Steel Angel is about as scary as a unicorn.

Lilah: Unicorns can be way scary. Big ol’ horse with a giant horn on its head?

Lilith: I have to admit, I never considered the possibility, but a unicorn has a remarkable capacity to inspire terror. It’s vastly underutilized, but it’s there.

Stygian: Okay, fine. Steel Angel is about as scary as Lilah in a pillow fight.

Lilith laughs, and Lilah shakes her head.

Lilah: Still doesn’t answer why you helped Corey win.

Stygian: Because Corey has very few things in this world which he draws pride from. Few things hold more value to him than his vaunted “Double Cage Horror” streak. Now he owes that streak to me.

Lilah: Wouldn’t it make more sense to have Dan beat him?

Stygian: No. If I helped Dan break the streak, in Corey’s mind it wouldn’t be broken. He’d always have it to fall back on that he didn’t really lose. He could always hang his hat on that. No, no, helping him win messes with his head more. The fact that I held his fate in my hands, the fact that I could have taken it from him, but instead I am the one who preserved it? Trust me, in the long run, that will mess him up more than if I’d cheated him out of the streak. I cheated him into the streak. The thing he values the most in his professional life, he owes to me. It’ll burn him up.

Lilith: It’s already started.

Lilah: Yeah, he hit you with a sledgehammer.

Lilith: How are you doing, by the way?

Stygian: I’m alright.

Lilith: You got hit with a sledgehammer.

Stygian: Corey was beat; he couldn’t put much on it. I got checked out by the doc, he says I’m fine. I’m fine to compete this week. Well, if there was a competitive match to be had this week. This week isn’t so much a competition as it is an ass kicking.

The trio stops outside of a small costume shop which seems to be adopting a “while the iron is hot” mentality, displaying a healthy selection of adult and children’s costumes of The Avengers; Captain America, Thor, Iron Man, Hulk, Black Widow and Hawkeye—in the front windows. Stygian looks up at the sign, then down to his phone.

Stygian: This is it. Lil, would you mind?

Lilith: Not at all. You’re sure they have it?

Stygian: I called them, they’re holding it.

Lilith: Should I take Lilah?

Stygian: Probably.

Lilith: Come along, darling.

Lilith takes Lilah by the hand and leads her into the shop. Stygian turns around as they vanish into the closing doors.

Stygian: I’m not sure if this is truth in advertising or exploiting the disadvantaged: I’m competing in a handicap match and both of my opponents are in fact mentally handicapped. Now normally I’m steadfastly against abusing the mentally retarded, but hey, as long as there’s a steady pay check in it; I’ll beat up just about anyone they put across the ring from me. I suppose in that way I’m less of a sociopath than Cody Taylor. Cody struck Loca Rocsi in the stomach and aborted her unborn children just to do it. I wouldn’t have done that…for less than…a hundred grand. Minimum.

The big man smirks and looks up at the sky for a moment, then back to the camera.

Stygian: I used to believe in honor, in the glory of competition. Titles used to be important to me. There was nothing more important to me than being the world champion of whatever company I was in. That was back before I’d had my first real screwjob in this business. I don’t mean Chelle Fury lowballing me when my contract came up in UECW. That was at least honest. She came out right and said “I’m not going to pay you what you’re worth, if you don’t like it, leave.” I mean that tag team job Corey Casey and Rick Christian did on me when Corey let Rick “test me.” Yeah, that was the moment where I realized that this is a business. Loyalty doesn’t matter. They’ll send you walking on a whim just to play their games, and your contract isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. That’s the game Rick Christian and Corey Casey demand I play, so I’m playing it. You want me in that ring; you pay me to be there. You pay me and I’ll beat the living hell out of whomever you want to stick across from me. I don’t care if it’s some local jobber, The Ninja, a group of circus midgets, Steven Hawking or these two idiots you fished up from the bottom of the gene pool.

Stygian: Whose idea was the handicap match? Was this your design Corey? This seems like something you would do. Is this supposed to wear me down before Ragnarok? Are there going to be a series of these matches, each one getting progressively worse so that I’m at the end of my rope by the time that we step into whatever match we come up with at the end of the month? Is that what the plan is, Corey? You stay out of the ring, send in all these heavies to soften me up, bit by bit they break me down until there’s nothing left of me come Ragnarok? That’s a good plan, Corey. It’s a solid plan. It’s right out of the Art of War: “Save your strongest troops for when your enemy is at his weakest.” No, Corey, it’s a sound tactic…or it would be if you had anyone better to throw at me than King Hippo and some roided up Wrestlezone.com troll with a hard on for a certain world champion in a certain other company. This was it, Corey? You sat back after the show, changed out of your trunks, hopped in the shower, sat there soaking in the hot water, watching the water circle the drain as your body is arrested in pensive thought. You say the idea out loud, just to hear it reverberate off the steam-condensed walls, just to see if it makes sense. “What if I sic King Hippo and the kid who thinks he’s Straightedge Hardcore on him?” If you ever need any proof that the “rule of three” works, look no further than this match here. This is what happens when Corey Casey gets an idea and he doesn’t have Chuck Matthews around to bounce it off of. You see, that’s how IWF runs: Chuck Matthews, Brandon MacDonald and Corey Casey built this company and deliberately divided up the ownership three ways so that neither of them has more power than the other, and there has to be a two thirds majority for any ruling. All of the big, company-shaping ideas have to go through all three of them and be approved by two. Really Corey Casey, you should bounce all of your ideas off of Chuck.

Stygian: Because I can guarantee you, the second you came up with this idea, hastily shut off the shower taps, wrapped yourself in a towel and went sprinting up to Chuck, leaving a line of little wet footprints all the way back to your dressing room…the moment you bounded up to Chuck Matthews, bouncing on the spot in your schoolgirl exuberance, drenching everyone in the vicinity like a wet dog as you yip and yap: “CHUCK! Chuck, guess what, I have an idea to wear down Stygian before Ragnarok. It starts this week with a handicapped match. The first week is like this: a handicapped match!” And Chuck cants his head to the side, because like the rest of us, he’s really tired of having to indulge the mechanizations of your mind. He’s tired of having to engage you on an intellectual level when really, you’re the sort of a person who farts in the bathtub and then bites the bubbles for amusement. But Chuck cants his head to the side and waits for the next piece of inane drivel to tumble awkwardly from your lips, and you don’t disappoint when you share the next piece of this master plan: “Chuck, it’s a handicapped match! Stygian has to face King Hippo and that dumbass from Chicago who does that really bad impression…you know the one.” And this next moment, if you’d been smart enough to go to Chuck Matthews with this idea, is where your poor little Corey Casey heart would have been broken up like Loca Rocsi’s womb, because Chuck would have sighed, rolled his eyes and said the one thing IWF needs him to say to roughly 99% of your ideas, “Corey, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?”

Stygian: This is it, huh? This is the best IWF can throw at me. The man who retired Brandon MacDonald. The man who destroyed Bill Goldberg. The man who quite soon will have taken on and taken out the “holy trinity” of IWF. I’m the seven foot tall, 315 pound monster. I’m a four time world champion. I’m one of the best wrestlers in the world and quite possibly the best big man in the history of the sport…and you’re going to wear me down with a pair of Capcom mini bosses? This is your grand plan, huh, Corey? Two opponents who don’t equal one quarter of me? This is really the best you could come up with, Corey? I realize you’re like every other American, and certainly every other IWF fan in thinking that if you don’t see something, it hasn’t happened. I know you think I only have had one match in the last four months, but really, I’ve been over in Japan working my ass off. I’ve kept in phenomenal shape, hell, just look at me. I’m not rusty, I’m not slow, my timing isn’t off…I don’t need a couple of sparring partners. I’m ready to take on the best in the world, right now. Get them in the ring, sign them up, cut me a check and I’ll take on anybody…including these two nobodies.

Stygian looks back over his shoulder into the costume shop, but it’s so bright that he can see little past his own reflection and that of the street but the Avengers costumes.

Stygian: I honestly planned on them being out by now. I wanted to start with the Second City Saint…I really need what they’re picking me up from in there. Of course, I should know better than to turn Lilah loose in a store and expect a timely errand. That’s fine. He turns back to face the camera and leans up against a parking meter. See the nice thing about being me is that I don’t need a script to work from. There’s no guy back there holding cue cards. I don’t need to watch Monday Night wrestling and do even a veiled rip off, much less a blatant rip off of better wrestlers. I can shoot from the hip, make it look good, and hit you with my best shot every time.

Stygian: So I’ll start with King Hippo. This has to be a step up for you, doesn’t it? I mean you go from struggling to keep your pants up and getting your fat ass bounced around a YMCA gym by a 170 pound weakling in his underpants to getting demolished on a major cable network by me. The level of prestige has gone up, the quality of competition has gone up and the severity of the beating you’re going to receive has gone up. You see, I’ve lost most of the motivation I used to have for this job. What can I say, I’m disillusioned with this business. I used to care about wins, about losses, I used to think titles mattered. Anymore, I don’t. I care about my paycheck. I care about my paycheck, and the fact that I get it by beating up people. That’s what this all boils down to. The bottom line, for me, is the bottom line. It’s at the top of my list. I care about getting paid. Your partner told me that I should have paid attention in wrestling school. I guess I didn’t. I mean I can still count my losses on one hand since I went solo. But I should have paid attention in wrestling school. Stygian sighs. If only. Ever since I struck out on my own, I’ve lost four matches. Four. I can count on my hand the number of men who’ve beaten me. Devlin Raine, Kaden Kessler and Jason Hawk. The fourth man? James Shark seems to think he defeated me. He won a match I was in, but he pinned Connor O-Shannon and not me. But for argument’s sake, let’s put James Shark on that list. What do we have? Three world championship caliber wrestlers, and Jason Hawk…well, Jason had five people and a set of brass knuckles to help him.

Stygian: That’s the level I’m at, King Hippo. You have to be one of the top-level, killer elite to beat me. That or you need someone else in the match who you can pin. That, or you need help. I know it looks like you have help, but really it doesn’t. What you have is a flabby fat ass. Six foot seven, three hundred and seventy five pounds? Yeah, I’m sure you’re dynamite if you can start the match in half a ring with a strap tied around the other guy. You’re big, very big. You’re strong, very strong; hell you might be as strong as I am. But look at yourself in the mirror, Brucey. I’m not calling you King Hippo for nothing, here. I mean, yeah you’re in shape…round is a shape. You’re a freakshow attraction, Hippo. I’m willing to bet you’ve got ten minutes in the tank, and then you’ll be bent over, holding your knees, sucking air. And that would be fine if you were facing some bottom-of-the-barrel hack who didn’t know how to handle a grinning fat boy who makes the ground shake when he walks. That would be fine if you were getting in that ring with some local boy who beats up on washed-up jocks pretending to be Randy The Ram every Friday night in the bingo hall. Those guys see six-seven, three-seven-five and shit their pants. They say “look at that monster come to kill me”. Me? You’re just another pay check to me, King Hippo. I’ve been in the ring with men like that. I’ve been in the ring and I’ve beaten men like you. I did it by wearing them down, tiring them out, and dropping their fat asses down in the middle of the ring. Same thing’s going to happen to you, King Hippo. Just like old times. Waddling around the ring, while someone picks you apart piece by piece and does his victory dance while you’re trying to count the lights in the roof. Hell, if I’m feeling really spirited, I might drag you up and knock you out of the ring just to make you feel at home.

Stygian turns, hearing the bell on the shop door. Out come Lilith and Lilah carrying several opaque white plastic bags bearing the shop’s logo. Stygian turns around and shrugs. He walks up to the pair of them, exasperated. He gives Lilah a stern glare.

Stygian: What is all this? Dammit, I knew better than to turn you loose in a store.

Lilah: I tried to stop her! She went nuts!

Stygian: Wait, what?

Lilah: She was possessed. She couldn’t stop grabbing things off the rack, running to the back to try them on, and then throwing them in the basket. Just look at her!

Lilith stands there with an inebriated looking smile and a vacant, vapid expression in her eyes.

Stygian: She looks…like you…after I use a polysyllabic word.

Lilah: Or a really big one.

Stygian rolls his eyes.

Lilah: She went nuts, she must have bought thirty different things.

Stygian: What is she going to do with thirty Halloween costumes?

Lilah: She said some of them were for me, too.

Stygian: I didn’t think the two of you could find a store where you could buy thirty things off the rack.

Lilah: What do you mean?

Stygian: Most of it wouldn’t fit you! I mean the two of you are all…

Stygian holds his hands out in front of his chest, which is sort of the universal sign language for “gigantic freaking boobs”. Lilith shrugs.

Lilah: Most of it didn’t fit, not really. She said that was the point.

Stygian: …she would. Did you get the thing I sent you after?

Lilah nods and sets down the bags she was carrying, rifling through them one after another before she pulls out a child’s Halloween costume bag, the kind with one of those hangers through the plastic. She hands it to Stygian. He sighs, turning around to face the camera again. He glances back over at the girls.

Stygian: You just keep her out of that damn shop, before she goes back in and tries to buy it. Tie her up if you have to.

Lilith: Don’t tease me…

Stygian sighs, looking back to the camera. He holds the costume up to the camera.

Stygian: “Best In The World, Straightedge Superstar professional wrestler costume.” Hey, I’ve seen this before. Look at this goofy guy on the front. God, I feel like I’ve seen him before. Stygian rubs his chin, the coarse grain of his stubble makes it slightly audible. I feel like everywhere I turn in the wrestling world these days, I see this face staring back at me.

Lilith: He looks like Kaden Kessler.

Stygian: He does.

Lilah: No, he looks like Chance Rugani.

Stygian: He does.

Suddenly Lilith and Lilah both draw in a sharp gasp, look at one another and then at Stygian.

Lilith and Lilah: Kevin Hardaway!

Stygian: Yeah…him, too. Well, there, Spitta…that’s…that’s really your name, kid? Spitta? You’re named after what baseball players and rednecks do with tobacco? Wow, did your parents not like you? Was that before or after they missed you with the coat hanger? Sheesh…kid. God, I can just tell already that this rant I’m about to go off on is going to…well it’s going to go into…overdrive. But where do I start?

Lilah: You might as well start with the costume. That is why we bought it, isn’t it?

Stygian: yeah, it is. Let’s see, “Best in the World” costume, huh? What have we got here? Looks like a body suit with muscles…that always works in pro wrestling. We have a scraggly black wig looking thing. Oh, hey, it’s a glue on goatee. That’ll be handy for people who can’t grow facial hair, like you…kid. Oh, and we’ve got some tattoos. Crucial if you want to look like a real tough guy. Of course, it’s only the look that you’ve got, kid. You know, in looking at that little video you slapped together, you actually used these tattoos. Here’s one…looks like a Pepsi logo. Oh, that’s hardcore, kid. And then we’ve got these here, says they go on your knuckles: “Drug” and “Free”. Who the fuck manufactures this shit? The Partnership for a Drug Free America?

Lilith: Are they even still around?

Lilah: I think so.

Lilith: I haven’t seen any of their ads since the mid-90’s.

Lilah: I think they still are. They probably started the whole “straightedge” thing.

Stygian: Oh, Straightedge…that’s what this guy’s tattoo says. Right over the stomach. You know Shitter? I can call you “Shitter”, can’t I? Well since I’m going to beat the living hell out of you and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me? I guess I can. So, Shitter, I’ve seen a lot of guys who bought the same pro wrestling costume you did. Kevin Hardaway, Kaden Kessler, Chance Rugani…they all bought this pro wrestling costume and climbed in the ring, just like you did. They all thought they were the “Best In The World” just like this costume says. Is it…do you really feel that way? I mean, I’ve never put on a costume and trotted out on an indy show. I don’t need to be anything but myself to strike fear into the man in the other corner. I don’t need to put on a crap Halloween mask and pretend to be the “best in the world”. I just walk down to the fucking ring. That’s all I need to do to be dominant. But tell me, I’ve never asked any of those men before, does this costume work? Cause I’ve yet to see it really do anything for anyone. I mean, yeah, those people in that…what was that, a boarded up roller rink? Where were you? What company was that? Let me tell you the first lesson you need to learn to get by here, kid…you need to cut out all that indy moonlighting you do. IWF is a big company with a big bankroll. You don’t need to take indy dates and play to half-packed houses for peanuts. You focus your efforts here, you’ll succeed. Plus, it’s kind of rude to take a camera to an indy show and rub it into their faces that you’re moving on to the big time. I can see why you did it, in front of a camera with a live mic in your hand, you’re about as exciting as a flaccid penis. You thought getting in front of a live house would make you seem more exciting; but it really doesn’t. I mean, those are small-time fans, they only pop for hot women, spot monkeys diving off the top rope, and two beered-up nutcases taking gardening tools to one another’s flesh in a way in which said tools were never designed to be used. You’re in IWF now. We don’t do house shows, so I know you didn’t put that pathetic little offering together at one of our shows. Here’s the first lesson, in a nutshell: Get out of the high school gyms and get on our level.

Stygian: You second lesson, Shitter: the show is called Battle Grounds. It’s not called overdrive. It’s Battle Grounds. We have our own cable network and a rabid fan-following…on Battle Grounds. Jesus Christ. Can you even be bothered to get the fucking show name right, kid? Make sure you show up in the right place to get your beating, Shitter. It’s the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York, New York. Insurgency Wrestling Federation. Battle Grounds. Alright? Write that down. I’m going to call in advance to the security guards and give them your picture, just so they know to look out for you, okay? Because god knows, they wouldn’t recognize you. They don’t know what Overdrive is either. I’m even going to set aside some milk and cookies in your dressing room, so you’ll feel right at home, kid. But don’t get confused. I’m not your friend. Don’t even think of it that way. That’s not our relationship, Shitter. Our relationship is a little more succinct. Okay? It goes like this: ant, Stygian points at the screen, and by symbolic gesture Spitta Andretti, boot Stygian points at himself for a few seconds to let it sink in.

Stygian: You and I do not have the same skill sets at all, this is correct. But what we do have are complimentary skill sets. I hit like a truck, have the agility of an acrobat, and I have motor that burns for hours and hours, you can ask either one of them. Stygian thumbs over his shoulder to the girls. That’s my skill set. You run your mouth at an annoying clip, talk a bunch of shit you can’t back up, do it in this ridiculous cut and paste pro wrestling costume that I’ve seen at least two dozen guys wearing since…

Lilah: June 27th, 2011?

Stygian: Good a date as any, I was simply going to say “mid-2011”, I don’t know why June 27th, 2011 should be special…

Lilith: You know, Lilah has a point, I saw a lot more guys dressed like the guy on the front of this costume after that date. In fact, it seemed to happen overnight. Just about every wrestling company on the planet had one guy who looked like this.

Stygian: Whatever.

Stygian holds the costume up, with the gentlemen with the scruffy black hair on the label, in his trunks that look a lot like the ones Splitta Andretti was wearing that night, and the goofy fake tattoos, even the Pepsi one, up for the audience’s inspection.

Stygian: In everybody else’s hands, this is a child’s Halloween costume. In your hands, this is a career!!! Stygian tosses the costume off camera. Wearing this costume, and getting squished like a grape, that is your skill set in its entirety. That is why you’re getting into that ring with me, Shitter. It’s not because management likes you. Once again, you fail at basic IWF knowledge. Management of this company hates everyone, including and especially each other. Christ, they’ve backstabbed and hood winked each other so often, ambushed one another, tried to kill one another and banged eachother’s families so often that even soap opera fans are saying “slow down”. Brandon was once engaged to Chuck’s daughter, Corey’s sleeping with Chuck’s sister, Chuck’s banged half the female roster…and that’s just in the last year alone. No, kid, management doesn’t like each other; they could really give a damn about any of us. And the fans like you? The fans like anyone who gets in the ring with me, on the off chance that he can beat me, so that doesn’t make you special. Of course the fans hate me Cult of Personality, I’ve made them hate me. These are the kinds of people who cheered Corey Casey when he threatened to crush my wife’s windpipe with a table. You think I don’t consider it a badge of fucking honor that those unwashed, illiterate, Christian, god-fearing, Republican-voting, morons who hold people like you up as something to aspire to hate me? I goad them into hating me. I antagonize them until they hate me. What the fuck do I care? Guess what, once you’re through the door? Sorry dude, already got your money. As long as they buy a ticket, or tune in to their fucking tv’s their money is already going into my pocket. You think I care about their adulation? You think I care about their respect? Do you think I care if they buy t-shirts with my face on them or ice cream bars with my name on them? No. Sorry dude, already got your money. They can hate me, they can detest me, they can even throw their garbage at me, as long as they keep paying me. And people will keep paying me. They’ll pay to see me. I drew more with one gate at the Osaka Dome then you’ll ever see in your life, Shitter. Why? Because people hate me, and they want to see me lose. They want to see someone shut me up. Who knows, they might get that when Corey Casey and I lock it up in three weeks. They aren’t going to see it when I get in the ring, slap off your fake tattoos, rip off your glued-on goatee, and knock the crown off your partner; King Hippo. What they’re going to see? They’re going to see what happens with one of the most physically gifted big men in the history of the sport gets in the ring with a fat fuck and a kid who put on a cheap wrestling costume. It’s time you two got a proper welcome to the Insurgency. What can I say? When you two get down to the ring and that bell rings? It’s clobberin’ time!

Stygian laughs, going over to the girls and looking at the sacks and shaking his head.

Stygian: Lilith, what in the hell are you going to do with all of these?

Lilith looks up at Stygian and then to Lilah with a coy look, and she turns to walk away, glancing over her shoulder as she gets a few paces away.

Lilith: You remember Halloween?

Lilah: Well, yeah…

Lilith: I think we should celebrate it more than once a year.

She walks out of the shot, leaving Stygian and Lilah staring at one another dumbfounded…and then fighting one another to take off at a run after her.