|
|
Post by Josh Duncan on Feb 3, 2015 22:56:52 GMT -6
1 RP Max. 300 word minimum. Deadline is February 14th at 11:59 PM Eastern.
All participants are to post their RPs here.
|
|
sasso
PWP Competitors
Posts: 3 
|
Post by sasso on Feb 13, 2015 14:02:35 GMT -6
12.23.14
Kendall was alone for the holidays.
That's the real bitch about that season, if you're someone whose social networks are largely superficial. Everyone you surround yourself with goes off to be with their real loved ones, leaving you out in the cold. Her relationship with her own family had always been strained at best; her late brother had always had the most patience with her. Well, her cousin Decker had always looked out for her as well, but he was in a bad place now too. Not to mention, she'd gotten on his bad side while playing a juggling act of trying to keep multiple parties happy as General Manager of Sin City Wrestling.
Pfft, what an unfulfilling job that was. She'd thought being in a position of prominence would get her more respect, but nope. In fact, she was more of a laughing stock than ever right about now. It was becoming more, and more apparent that she didn't have any control over the faction named after her; meanwhile, she had just let herself be bullied by another group of wrestlers into giving one of them a title match. Normally she loved any kind of focus; she'd say any attention was good attention. Right now though, it was impossible for her to ignore her current predicament. This gig seemed like just another dead end, much like her other attempts to gain some semblence of fame, and adoration. Hell, maybe she gave up on those other avenues too quickly. She'd showed more perseverance in advancing her career as a staff member of SCW than she had as an in ring performer, or her attempts at breaking into the entertainment field, but felt as empty as ever.
"Pfft," She uttered to herself, sat by her lonesome in her apartment. How pathetic, she had a fancy job title, and responsiblities ... and yet. And yet she was still just a dime a dozen run of the mill girl with daddy issues who never got enough affection growing up. It seemed like she'd been a hamster running on a wheel for the past few years. The harder she tried to stand out, the more she became just another expendable chick with big dreams. Damn this introspection shit sucked, this was why she preferred to stay busy, and keep her head in the clouds. That sentiment, or rather the desire to make it disappear was why Kendall decided that it would be a good idea to get drunk.
This was a horrible idea; Kendall had very little tolerance for alcohol. That naturally led to even worse ideas, such as incoherently pouring her guts out over twitter. But the worst idea of them all came as an attempt to garner some respect. She was going to hop off the hamster wheel, and completely change the course of her life.
And that was how Kendall Kingham ended up in a death match tournament.
===
2.7.15
Baltimore, MD
Most people with common sense are perfectly aware of two facts: A short, intense training montage leading up to a big match doesn't actually change your skills. This isn't the movies, and improvement takes time, and hard work. Secondly, there's no real way to 'learn to wrestle a deathmatch'. Naturally then, Kendall's first reaction after signing up for this tournament was to find someone to 'teach her how to become a deathmatch wrestler'. She ended up settling on SCW's Vegas Champion Michael Norcia, a blue collar, grizzled veteran, and colossus of a man whose innumerable scars told the story of his experience in these matches. He had decided to humor the girl, since she was on his good side, thanks to him being an initial beneficiary of her beginning to show actual signs of competency at her job. Kendall had received instructions to meet him in his home state of Maryland, with Norcia ending the exchange with a sarcastic DM telling her to 'wear something studious'. Hence the outfit that caused him to blink upon her arrival; a schoolgirl uniform that looked straight out of a porn wardrobe-something that had the Neck Breaking Beast from Baltimore looking less and less impressed as the seconds ticked by.
“...Not quite what I meant Kendall,” Norcia said, his voice rough from a years long relationship with Jack Daniels.And it clearly wasn’t when one took in the surroundings- rough, unpainted brick walls made up the large warehouse, fitted with both a boxing and wrestling ring, as well as a bevy of the appropriate weights, machines and bags one would expect from a place he proudly calls the Charm City Fight Club. He took his chosen craft seriously, as anyone who put in the sheer amount of time and effort into their career as he has, but there she was--Cute, clueless Kendall asking help with something that he felt one had to experience first hand rather than learn through conventional methods. Sighing, he brings a milk jug filled to the brim with water and a nitric oxide pre-workout to his lips for a quick swig before he regards her again. “...Not important. Let’s get the basics out of the way. What do you know about deathmatches?”
“Oops, my bad; I know what you’re thinking by the way, and it’s not like that. I went to a private …” Noticing that his patience is growing thin, she refocuses herself, “Oh, right … um they’re worse than a hardcore match, but people don’t usually actually die in them like that Cage of Death thing Brytain was in. Uh, take blows with the back, and don’t let arteries get hit,” She adds, blatantly copying advice she saw Annie Zellor get on twitter, “Annnnd sometimes there’s that explodey stuff in it, and it looks like one of those cool Michael Bay movies, all ‘Kaboom! Pewww! Kapow! Explosions!” As she starts wildly gesticulating to go with her explosion noises, that allows Norcia an opportunity to cut back in.
“..Right,” he began in a low tone, honestly surprised that the girl wasn’t too far off the mark in some regards considering that she wasn’t exactly known for being anything resembling a genius. All common sense answers as they were though, he continues on. “You’re not wrong. You’ve got to go into it with a certain mentality though,” he says as he puts the jug he was holding down at his feet, only to begin the process of removing his beloved Slayer hoodie as he rose. “You’re going to get hurt. It’s going to suck a lot. You’re going to bleed. You’re going to hate yourself for even remotely thinking that it was a good idea to sign up for this shit. And…” he trails off, pulling the hoodie over his head with a final yank to reveal his final point.
“...You’re gonna walk out a lot less pretty than you walked in,” his words sounded almost bitter as he dropped the garment to the ground, leaving him bare from the waist up. It wasn’t a secret that he had done his time in such matches, but the simple truth was that the scars that were seen on television screens paled in comparison in person. The deep, ragged ditches in his flesh were that much more pitted and puckered and the discolorations where scar tissue grew in were much more apparent. He doesn’t seem to mind these facts too much, at least with the years that had since passed, but even though she saw him on a regular basis? A visual representation of what she was signing up for seemed appropriate to him. “...Can you deal with that?”
“Ewwwwww, sorry … ”Inhaling sharply she lets the air out slowly, “Well, that’s the thing, that question you asked? I’m pretty sure nobody thinks that answer’s yes. Like, okay I mighta signed up for this not quite knowing what all of it was about. But I knew it was bad, I might kinda had a few drinks that night when I decided to …” Her voice trails off for a moment, “But that’s not the point! Like, I feel like I’m in this circle in my life, and stuff. I keep trying thing, after thing, and I hope it’ll change how people see me. I mean, I know nobody respects me, I .... just think it’s easier be amphibious to it- why let ‘em know?” Her teacher for the day decides not to correct her, and say ‘oblivious’ out of curiosity for where she’s heading with her rambling, “But you know, I was thinking, maybe I don’t stick with stuff and maybe I just don’t take enough chances. I try stuff, but with a safety net, and I don’t plunge far enough in. So I said screw it, this’ll probably suck, it’ll suck a lot going forward but I can’t keep going on like this. I gotta do something, and maybe it’s not a good idea, but I get a sneaking suspicion people don’t usually think my ideas are good anyways so …” Her expression starts to turn sullen, “I’m screwed, huh? This Marigold chick is gonna be all ‘rah I’m Satan’s onion!’ and try to blood sacrifice me or something, isn’t she?” By this point her eyes are darting around as she speaks, the reality of the situation sinking in further, the longer she talks.
For a few long moments, silence reigns over the expanse of the gym. He didn’t quite think it possible, to hear the woman in front of him actually possess some measure of self-awareness, or at least as much as she’s showing. She was the stereotypical blonde more often than not, it seemed-woefully oblivious to everything. She’s had brief flashes, sure...but this? It’s almost more than he knows how to deal with. Eventually, he’s breaking that silence in the form of a deep, drawn out sigh as he reaches up to stroke along the stubble lining his jaw. “...Well, shit. Wasn’t expecting that,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything, as a dull grin tugs at his lips. Her plight isn’t what he finds amusing, really. It’s the fact that, years after the fact, he finds himself in the role of parent again.
“Look, you’ve got a decent grasp of the situation. Better than what I was expecting,” he starts off in a slow enough manner, seemingly needing to take his time lest he use the wrong words to express his thoughts. “And yeah, I’m not going to lie to you-you picked a really shit way to make your stand, but honestly? You’ve got a Hell of a lot of guts to follow through with it. So, we’re going to go ahead and make you a God damned wrecking machine, alright? I’m not saying that you’re going to win, but that’s the beauty of this thing. You don’t need to win to be remembered. All you’ve gotta do?” he trails off, reaching out to offer a reassuring, if not mildly condescending, ruffle and pat of her head. “Is fuck them up worse than they fuck you up, ‘cause they might not remember who wins this entire thing...but they’re gonna remember where they got those scars from and sometimes, that’s your saving grace. They’re never gonna forget you.”
Tilting his head, he offers the girl a bit more of a smile as though he were speaking to a kid in little league who got caught looking on the last out of the game. “So, you ready to make some memories, Kendall?”
After a brief pause, she answers, “I think so!” After reconsidering, she perks up, and puffs out her chest in an ineffectual but adorable attempt to show resolve, “No, I know so!”
She wasn't truly sure if she actually meant what she said there, but knew it was too late to turn back now.
===
2.8.15
"Mrmmmphhrrrghh ..." Comes the soft mumble from the young blonde, not looking quite as adorable as per usual in her current condition. If she had the presence to formulate words properly, the previous utterance would have come out as 'my head', but she was in no such shape to do so. It's a lot easier to be aware that your head is throbbing, than to properly express that sentiment when you wake up hung over as all hell. Truthfully, she wasn't quite sure why she felt in such rough shape. Only bits and piece of the previous evening were coming to her; in the meantime her focus was on turning over to shield her eyes from the light. What she wasn't remembering was that Norcia had initially attempted to show her how to swing some weapons. This was mostly futile, although she did show surprisingly good form when going to kneecap an imaginary opponent with a tire iron- something he chose not to delve into. So, he decided if he couldn't teach her proper weapon form, he'd go to plan B: get her shitfaced drunk.
He had figured she was something of a lightweight, although he hadn't anticipated she'd get 'white girl wasted' quite so easily. Still though, his intentions were good; drinking was a time honored tradition of the deathmatch circuit, and he had left her with a note reading 'moderation' for future reference. So, he figured he might as well teach her how to fight while her inhibitions were loosened enough to stop thinking about the situation she was stepping into. There was some irony in this; her whole journey had started because of an evening of hitting the bottle, and she was being instructed to turn back to it so she could salvage her mission. Right now though, all Kendall was focused on was shielding her eyes from the sunlight shining in through her hotel room window. She accomplished this by turning over, and burying her face in her pillow. Her hope had been to fall back asleep, but that proved to be a fruitless endeavor. So instead she let her mind race; scattered as her thoughts were at the moment, certain things were starting to click in her head. Or at least she thought they were.
The more time passed, the more certain she became that she needed to speak her mind on the tournament now, while all the thoughts were still clear in her head. She just needed to gather herself a bit more, and make herself presentable before getting a camera set up. Kendall's head was throbbing far too much to must the energy to put on any air of pretention, or to go 'rah rah chaos, bloodshed'- any of the things she considered 'deathmatch-ish'. Perhaps more unwise was that being brutally honest here probably would rub the ownership of SCW the wrong way, if she touched on the wrong subjects. She was willing to risk that, though; this whole entry into the tournament was one giant bad idea by someone known for bad ideas, what better way to prepare for it? Besides, if she was going to have any respect for herself coming out of this, she knew she couldn't be afraid to be herself here.
===
On Cam
You know, it's funny ...
Bear with me by the way if I don't make much sense here. My head feels all muddied up right now, but at the same time I feel like I'm seeing things really clearly. I know that might sound odd, but I think like having to concentrate so much energy on keeping my train of thought means I don't have any left to filter my thoughts, or what I see. Just getting raw reality here; I dunno, I'm not a scientist or anything.
But I was saying, it's funny, not in a 'ha ha' way. I had all these reasons I wanted to do this tournament, and I'm in this process of throwing a lot of them away right now. I was saying this to someone privately, but I'll repeat this for the rest of the world to hear. A lot of people don't respect me, I know that. If anyone who is familiar with me saw the first time I made an appearance as GM of SCW, that crowd got to me bad- the tape doesn't lie. But you know, it's just easier to block that out. Now I get not everyone in this field, or every fan of PWP knows a lot about me, but there are some of you who do. I think that at least most of them should have a pretty good idea that I've caved to a lot of people's wishes, and been something of a pushover with the hopes that people would think better of me for giving them what they wanted. It didn't work though, so I was sitting around during the holidays, drinking- turns out I'm a lightweight, but that's a different story- and I saw that Deathmatch tournament tweet from Mr. Duncan. So I said to myself 'Damnit Kendall, you're gonna do that, and people are going to take you seriously!' I was gonna change people's minds about me, let me just read a few of the tweets about me since I signed up for this.
'You are pathetic, WHEN DID YOU START MAKING SENSE?!, Wait ...Kendall-chan is in the tournament too? Hashtag snerk" That last one was by a member of my roster by the way, Suzume, like a month after I'd made it pretty clear I was doing this. Well, they're all by members of the roster ... just driving home the month after point.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not pointing this out to feel bad for myself. In a lot of cases, I gave people reasons to think that way about me. I'm saying that I decided I needed to stop moping in private, and start changing people's perceptions. Then a weird thing happened, I was I guess feeling a bit bold that I took this chance, and I started getting a bit braver. I started trying to just do what made sense to me, instead of being spineless, and that's when I started getting reactions like the middle tweet of that group. It didn't click for me then, I don't think it quite did until I was trying to gather my thoughts this morning. I can be a bit slow to pick up on stuff, but I eventually get it. Anyways, this morning is when I got that it was worrying a bit less about what people thought that got me any respect at all. But even past that, I saw that there are still people out there who only want to see me a certain way, or see what they want to from me. I couldn't even be mad at that either, because I've done that whole selective thing too. I think I get it now though, that I can't control what everyone thinks of me. Especially so in a business like this, right?
What I can do though, is make sure I have respect for myself. That's all I can worry about here, right? I mean, if I had high hopes about my role in the um ... court of public opinion I guess you'd call it I'd probably be disappointed here. There's gonna be people who only know me by reputation, probably a couple who say they've never heard of me, and I doubt the ones who do know me have great opinions. I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna be everyone's endearing underdog story, that's Annie Zellor.
That's why I'm pushing forward in this tournament more than anything else. I'm not gonna lie and say I'm not a bit scared. Like, I think anyone who doesn't have any fear in a situation like this has a couple screws loose in the head. The last guy I wrestled for example, a year and a half ago, dude named Kilroy Evans. Always smiling like crazy, threw himself through a stage light one time. I mean, that type of fearlessness can make a pretty good wrestler. Me, I'm actually pretty normal, believe it or not. I can't pretend I don't know that if a piece of broken glass hits an artery if I land wrong, it's really bad news. Here's what I'm not afraid of though: I'm not afraid to admit I've got some jitters, I tried to block them out for the past month or so, but they're real. Also, I'm not afraid to face my fears, and work through them.
I'm perfectly aware that there are a lot of women in this who are as at home in this type of match as you can get. Laurel-Anne Hardy, Brytain, you name it. I've seen how tough Whiskey, and Suzume are firsthand, I know how good Cordy, Nina, and Summer are. Sorry, I'm not gonna rattle off everyone's name here, you'll just have to trust that as a GM of a major promotion I'm familiar with who people out there are. Because I don't see a huge point in listing them all off, and breaking them down. Yeah I know what they can do, I've watched my first round opponent Mari there in 4CW. She's tough, she's good, you know she's gotta be used to inhumane punishment if she chooses to see Griffin Hawkins naked on the reg. But you can throw most scouting out in a situation like this. I might not be what you consider a death match wrestler, but I know from prep I've done from this, first time I had an actual match, and first time I stepped in a practice ring to hit the ropes that when you're stepping into something new? Throw what you thought you knew out the window. The last thing you're gonna be thinking about is what you scouted, when you have a C4 explosive going off, or a barbed wire bat going into your back.
I know I can work through the unfamiliar, though. First match in a big promotion I had, I think all four opponents by now have or had held a world title. No, I didn't win but I wasn't out of place back when nobody knew who I was. I started in SCW as an intern for an interviewer, people kept thinking or hoping I'd go away, but I ended up as GM where I was expected to fail. I stuck with it even though I was way more over my head than I wanted to admit then, and I got the hang of this whole thing without sinking the place. No, it hasn't all been good for me, I've got regrets in my past. But I know when I set my mind to it, I've got the mentality to push back when I'm tested, and to keep on fighting when I look over my head.
Admittedly a lot of my training yesterday's kind of a blur now, but I remember I got asked if I was willing to accept walking out of this a whole less prettier than I walked in. And I can say now, I'm not just ready to accept that. But I'm ready to walk in knowing that as great as the prizes here are; the PWP Championship shot, the cash, none of those are gonna have the lasting value of the scars I get. Because they'll be there to remind me that I made the choice to take control of my destiny; to stop being pushed around, and keep pushing forward instead, no matter how bad it got.
Fin.
|
|
sam
PWP Competitors
Posts: 6 
|
Post by sam on Feb 14, 2015 9:24:17 GMT -6
When the Queen of the Deathmatch tournament was announced, it was an opportunity Suzume couldn’t pass up; she was in a mood, maybe a bit hysterical, incredibly violent, and in a need for catharsis in the worst way. But as it approached...catharsis wasn’t what Suzume Mitsuyoshi needed anymore. She didn’t need the release like she needed it back at PWP 13; she didn’t need the emotional release...she didn’t need the physical relief that she could get in the tournament.
She needed rest.
Week after week after week after week after week, her rivals in both Sin City Wrestling and the Shooting Star Wrestling Alliance attacked Suzume--not in the course of their matches, but afterwards...beforehand...often with some kind of weapon, or with multiple attackers. AJ Thomas with brass knuckles; the combined efforts of Dom Harter, Lani San Diego, and Alejandro Escobar--collectively known as Kendall’s Friendship Coalition--attacked her following her two SCW main events thus far in har career.
To call it tiresome would be to assume Suzume wasn’t already tired of it.
It was to the point that Suzume could barely remember the last time she had a clean match; it was to the point that she was lucky if she walked out of the arena with memory of the match, and even luckier if she passed concussion protocol. She’d spent more than a couple nights in hospitals recently, more often than not avoiding telling Whiskey Ayano--or, indeed, anyone else--that it was happening. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but she felt like it’d be worse if she had people worrying about her…
If she dealt with it on her own...it was easier.
It was easier to count the nights she didn’t cry herself to sleep. It was easier to count the nights she didn’t take some kind of painkiller, washed down with whatever was in reach--alcoholic or not. It was easier to count the nights she didn’t numb the physical and emotional pain as deeply as she possibly could, just to make it to the next day. It was easier to count the days that she didn’t consider just going home and calling her experiment in Western wrestling a failure…
But for some reason, no matter how much she wanted to...no matter how terrible she felt after each show, no matter what happened in each match...she couldn’t actually make herself do it.
She couldn’t make herself quit.
She couldn’t make herself leave.
It would be simple--she’d done it once before, she’d left Raleigh and gone back to Kobe, Japan...gone back to K*J, albeit just to train...she’d gone back to refocus herself. It would be simple to just do it again. It would be simple to pack up what few belongings she really had and just go back home. But she didn’t; every time she got attacked, every time she got beaten, every time she got assaulted...no matter how many times it happened--we’re up to 5 shows in a row now, for those keeping score--she couldn’t justify leaving…
No matter how much it hurt.
No matter how much she wanted to.
No matter how many nights she spent, barely remembering what had happened on that particular occasion…
She had to push forward.
DATE: 11 February 2015
“Suzume, I’m sorry; there’s no possible way I can clear you.”
For the second week in a row, she’d been ambushed after a Sin City Wrestling main event...for the second week in a row, she was attacked, all because she had the luck(?) of the draw to pull the Jackpot case with the Global Title shot. All because Dom Harter was the Global Champion, and had footsoldiers that would actually do what he told them to.
For the second week in a row, she was left in a heap by Kendall’s Friendship Coalition.
It was a recurring pattern in Sin City Wrestling--if she wasn’t assaulted, she was screwed; if she wasn’t screwed, she had the misfortune to drop her opponent on her own head; if it wasn’t that, well...who knows? Suzume could barely remember her SCW career at this point...all she knew was that, for the second week in a row and the fourth time in 8 matches in her career there, she was in the doctor’s office, getting tested for a concussion.
Once at the hands of Lani San Diego’s Wattslayer.
Once after a No Disqualification tag match between KFC and Blazing Ransen Shoujo, the combined effort of Suzume and Whiskey Ayano.
Once after February 4th’s main event against Sam Strachon, in which--after already being in the hospital with a concussion earlier in the week--Lani again assaulted Suzume and caused her to be under suspicion of a concussion, this time with any number of shots to the head. Each one sounded like a concussive burst inside Suzume’s head.
Then, again, tonight...it wasn’t enough for Lani to stomp Sam Strachon’s head into the mat, Dom Harter had to assault Suzume almost immediately after the match, and ultimately, powerbomb her through a table. The back of her head smacked so hard against the arena floor, she lost hours of her life to just...black.
So news of another concussion didn’t exactly surprise Suzume…
But it didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.
”...Ie, is not good enough…have to clear Suzume, she has matches.”
“I’m sorry, Suzume; I can’t. Until you’ve recovered from this, I can’t clear you to compete.”
She just sorta...stared at the doctor, very obviously irritated with him. Her hands gripped the edge of her seat to the point that her knuckles turned white, glancing at the entrance of the office every so often...she wasn’t sure when the SCW crew would finally get around to letting Whiskey Ayano out of their locker room, but she didn’t want to be sitting here when it happened...she didn’t want to be being attended to when Whiskey finally found her. She gritted her teeth, looking at the doc again, trying her hardest not to turn her own coping mechanism into a sneer and an outburst.
It took every ounce of willpower the Joshi had in her reserve…
And then some.
”Annnnnd...when is Suzume going to be recover?”
“Honestly? I don’t know...it could be a few days; it could be a few weeks…”
“Weeks” rang through Suzume’s head--if she wasn’t medically cleared by the 25th, she lost out on her Global Title shot; as it stands, “a few days” would likely result in Suzume missing out on her chance to get even with AJ Thomas...it would likely keep her out of the SSWA SuperShow on Monday. She just sorta...stared ahead, barely even aware of the fact that she was shaking her head just the tiniest bit.
”...Ie.”
“I’m sorry?”
Suzume sighed, reaching up and face-palming...maybe not the smartest thing she could’a done, cause any kind of physical trauma to her head in front of the doctor testing her for a concussion, but she couldn’t really help it. She shook her head more obviously this time, dragging her hand down her face.
”Means no. Suzume has matches she already agreed to, she has things she has to do; can’t take them away from her.”
“Unfortunately, you’re in no state to do them...least of all that ridiculous Queen of the Deathmatch tournament, god knows what you could do to yourself! I’m sorry, Suzume, the answer’s no; get checked out in a few days, if you’re cleared from there, you can return to training. Until then, I’m not clearing you for any physical contact.”
Suzume huffed, but the doctor was unmoved, writing something into a notepad before swapping it for a prescription pad, tearing it off and handing Suzume the sheet. The Osaka native glanced down at it, but it might as well have been Greek to her: “Amitriptyline.” She returned her gaze to the doctor briefly, head tilted to the side.
“Get that filled in the morning. It’ll help with the headaches, and get some sleep tonight.”
As Suzume got up to her feet, teeth gritten to avoid an outburst at the doctor, who she knew--subconciously--was only looking out for her wellbeing. As she turned to leave, hopefully to find Whiskey freed from the locker room, the doctor made a quick correction to his statement.
“NATURAL sleep, Suzume; avoid any alcohol tonight.”
This news brought even more grumbles out of the Osaka Joshi, but she turned and left anyway, clutching the prescription sheet in one hand, fiddling with her ring gear pants with the other, quietly murmuring to herself in Japanese.
We open to a cluttered bedroom, and to find Suzume Mitsuyoshi splayed across the bed--one leg hanging off the side, the other straight out to the point of her toes are pointed forward; one arm across her stomach, the other under her head. She sighs to herself a little bit, turning her head to look at the camera...then back to the ceiling...then back to the camera...then back to the ceiling.
She repeats this process three, four, five times, each time looking more like she has something she wants to say...but never once does she get anything out. It’s just...silent...like she isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do from here. She stares up at her ceiling for a while, fidgeting on the bed just trying to get comfortable…
Eventually, she pushes herself up to a seated position, turning from splayed out and taking up the entire bed to seated just on the corner, staring directly into the camera…
”Kendall-chan…”
With no amusement in her voice, no smile on her face, she raises one hand up right by her head, pointing the middle finger straight up into the air with a bit of a scowl.
”You know what is for…
“Everyone else? Good luck…”
It’s all she has, reaching over to kill the recording with a huff.
OOC: So, for some reason, I thought the deadline was tomorrow...when I realized it was today, I wanted to get something up, and I work from 10am to 10pm today...so I prolly won’t get any more done anyway x.x
|
|
|
|
Post by marisolhawkes on Feb 14, 2015 17:47:16 GMT -6
OOC: Personal issues kept me from making this better. Honestly I forgot all about this until Nina Stokes told me about this. Sorry that this isn't my best. Thank you for the chance though. Really am grateful for it.
You are my prey
And I am the hunter
When I am done
You will be stunted
You run your mouth
Thinking you will take it all
Yet all you will be doing
Is stumbling then fall.
~Marisol Hawkes
So I have wrestled three events. Well...I will have wrestled three events before the twenty eighth of February. An extreme rules match for 4CW, a ladder match for ACE, a debut match for Pride and then this. The queen of death match tournament. Some people call me nuts for wrestling four matches in one month and have two more booked after this tournament, but in order to be considered a hunter it is what you have to do. In order to get people talking about you, you have to make sure that you get your name out there. Which is what I am doing.
I consider pro wrestling like a game. You have to know when to hunt and when not to hunt. You have to know when to keep your mouth shut and when to stand up for what you believe in. In this case, my first round opponent Kendall really thinks she has this tournament in the bag. She thinks that running her mouth about my boyfriend is going to get her far in this tournament. Kendall doll, you can't just go from an interviewer to wrestler in a flash. Let alone think you can come into death matches like this one and think life won't change for you. I can instantly slam your head into a trash can over and over. Or maybe wrap a chain around your neck and hang you from the top rope? You have to consider your life before jumping into things like this Kendall. You are not crazy enough to hang out with the big dogs when it comes to anything hardcore match related.
The only reason why I am fucking crazy enough to hop into this match is because I am the Queen of Extreme in 4CW. I have headlined constant extreme rules matches and I have made a mark in that division. People still talk about me no matter if I win or lose and that is the way controversy always is. I am really hoping that I get to face Brytain Rollins again. You see, before this queen of death match thing, I face Rollins in Pride Pro on the twenty second and you know that is going to be one hell of a match. I want to give the fans of PWP the same thing that the fans of Pride saw. One hell of a match between two gals that want it all in this business.
You have to be willing to die for a death match. The sixteen of us women that are competing in this match are here for one reason only. We are here to prove that we can hang with the big dogs. It is very interesting to see some of the names on the bracket. There are plenty of dream matches to consider and then there is reality.
Reality is that I am going to win my first round match. Confidence? Yes. Will I go far in this match? That depends. How much will I have left in the tank? Will I give it my all? These are questions that everyone asks, but I know that I have enough confidence to make final four at least. What about the others? We haven't heard from the others which is quite sad to be honest. I guess the others don't want it as bad as I do huh? That is fine by me. I am ready and willing to go when it comes to gaining my crown.
|
|
|
|
Post by Mackenzie Roberts on Feb 14, 2015 18:23:23 GMT -6
Queen of the Deathmatch:
“What am I getting myself into?
Is this tournament really for me or am I getting into deep?
I need to challenge myself though and maybe that is why I am doing this. Maybe that is why I am ready for a big match like this and maybe I will get to where I want to be on top of this mountain. I want to be talked about, and I need to be talked about.
LAW has become my oyster and all I have to do is take one more step towards that goal that I have put my mind too. But now I have to look at this match in PWP. I have to look at this tournament and tell myself that this is what I need to do this is what I want to do. I’ve always wanted to be a wrestler I have always wanted to enter that ring and fight my butt of to become something. I am close in LAW and now I look at this tournament and I need to see what I can do against the best. The women that are in this tournament are going to give me the toughest time that I have had in the ring. But I know that I am going to give them the best that I have ever given.
Whomever wins this tournament is going to get talked about for a long time. I want that I want the attention I could garner if I win this. I look at everyone in this tournament and I can see how good they are, but I can see the weaknesses in them as well. This tournament is huge, I am going to win it or at least try my hardest.”
“~ Mackenzie”
Mackenzie started to pull her boots up and tie them. She looked at the camera and quickly put her hair up in a bun. She was getting ready for the tournament that could make or break her. She knew that it was going to be tough she knew that she might bleed. She knew that it was going to be a lot of fun. She closed her eyes and looked deep into the camera.
Mackenzie Roberts: PWP, a new place for me to show off my talents. To show off my looks and to win matches.
I might be the least known name in this tournament and I understand that. But I have the most to gain as well. I want to fight hard and I want to keep going because I want to prove to everyone that I can be good in this business. I have been thinking about this tournament for some time now although I have been preoccupied with what I have been doing in LAW. I didn’t want to not be here though at PWP 15. I wanted to be here because like I said I want to prove to people that I am good in that ring.
I have seen a lot of the girls in this match fight before and I know that they might take me out and all of that but I am here to fight. I want to fight because I need to get better. I have started from the bottom and I have been working my butt off to get to the top.
I know this tournament isn’t going to be for the faint of heart. I know that blood will be spilt and to be honest I am not sure if I am doing the right thing. Look at my face see how pretty it is, am I really wanting to mess this up? Do I want my Hollywood looks messed up?
Mackenzie giggles a little bit and ties her boots back up and nods her head.
Mackenzie Roberts: Everyone is talking about who is going to win this tournament. Who is going to put their body on the line the most? Who is going to keep on going, and keep on fighting even when the pain gets too much? That is what I have to factor in I have to look deep inside of myself and be the Queen Bitch that I know I am. I am not going to sit here and talk about every single person in this match because well that would be pointless and it would get me nowhere I have to talk myself up. I have faith in myself and I have heart, you see I am not just going to have one match and lose. I can’t allow myself do that I have too much pride in myself to allow that to happen. I need to look at myself in the mirror after this tournament and be prideful of what I have done. Being one and done that is not me. I cannot allow myself to be down because quite simply I am the best.
I have become the best because I have worked every damn day to get better in that ring. I have looked at other people in the face and I have stepped up against them. I have become a bitch and I am again prideful of that. Usually people are proud to be bitches but I am proud of that fact. I love when people talk behind my back and say why does she say that. I say that to get buzz, I say it so I can get into people’s heads. That is my game and it will always be my game. I get into your head I let that doubt get into your mind and I pounce. I am going to be pouncing in this tournament and I am going to surprise people. I want to do that I want to be the lesser known person in this because that way when I win people will talk about me forever. I know there are names like Nina Stokes, Marisol Hawkes, Laurel Anne Hardy, Artemis Kaiser, and Annie Zellor. I know those are the names people think are going to win. But when it comes down to it I am ready and I am going to hurt people in this tournament because I am the Queen Bitch and I might as well get on my throne.
Mackenzie winks and blows a kiss to the camera and she walks off as the camera fades. |
|
|
|
Post by rileyowens on Feb 14, 2015 19:51:27 GMT -6
Kill La KILL
The Voice of Reason (Again) Jan. 18th, 2015 “Shit. So this is where you stay huh?” asks Scarlet as she peers around the massive Fourier of Gwen’s New York home. “Yup, this is my home away from home for the time being” I say. Scarlet takes a couple more steps inward as I close the door behind her. “And you say this Gwen chick lives alone?” As I turn my attention back towards Scarlet, I can’t help but laugh a little bit. I’m not trying to laugh at her or anything; it’s just, I had the same bewildered look on my face the first time Gwen’s invited me to her New York home as well. “Yeah. When I’m not here, it’s usually just her.” To be quite honest, it's not the design or amount of objects in the house that is shocking; no, it’s the sheer size of the place. “It must be nice having a rich ass girlfriend.” A smirk runs across her face; I just roll my eyes. “I told you she’s not my girlfriend.” Scarlet just shakes her head and laughs. “You are so cute when you get flustered, I love it.” Maybe she saw the frustration in my eyes, because a couple seconds later she pats me on the shoulder. “Sometimes I forget we just met. I’ll lay off the heavy jokes for a while, at least until we are better acquainted.” She smirks again. “So, are you going to give me the grand tour or what?” - - - After the tour, Scarlet and I take a seat in the family room. “Xbox On” I shout out fairly loudly to the Kinect as I hand Scarlet the second controller. I turn to her. “Do you game much?” She lets out a small laugh. “Naw, not really. Some of my friends back in California are big into video games and shit; I just never got into it. I would usually just sit and watch them play.” I tap a couple of buttons and the Call of Duty Advanced Warfare screen pops up on the huge 60 inch TV screen. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. Think of as our first bonding session.” “Deal,” she says. The game loads up and I begin to set up the match type. “Oh yea, you said you had something to ask me?” “Indeed I do” I say, still looking at the TV. I hit the pause button and then turn to her. “I wanted to ask you about the Deathmatch you competed in a few weeks ago.”She nods her head. “Yeah. Rumor has it you’ve been pretty vocal about having one; now you’ve got your wish right?” “Yeah,” I say as I chuckle a bit. “I’ve seen hundreds of those types of matches; I think I know what to expect. But, you just got out of one. So, what can I really expect?” Scarlet lets out a small grunt. “Look, I’m not going to sit here and sugarcoat shit; the match was rough, but I’m sure you probably already knew that. The ring was like Japan after Hiroshima―blood and dead bodies everywhere.” I avert my eyes a bit at that the reference. However, I don’t doubt the validity of her account. I compose myself and turn back to her; I’m met with her intense gaze. After a few moments, she shakes head. “You’ve got a confidence issue don’t you?” “Hmm, what do you mean?” I reply, a little shaken. “You’re scared aren’t you?” I want to say something, but I don’t; I just look down at the floor. “You aren’t scared of the pain and violence; you seem comfortable with that. You are afraid disappointing people aren’t you, like at GPW’s Bash?” I look up at her for a second. I want to say something, but I just nod my head. “Who are you afraid of disappointing Nina? Your fans? Gwen?” “And myself.” “Hmm,” Scarlet says. She then shrugs her shoulders. “If you are scared, if you are pussying out...then just quit. Show the world that the naysayers are right about you.” I attempt to speak, Scarlet pipes up again before I can. “And you claim to be a fighter.” “Wha?” “Nina, are you a fucking fighter?” I don’t speak, but, I slowly nod my head. “Good, then you need to start acting like it. Your career hasn’t been perfect, but you’ve fought and made something out of it. You’ve defeated a bunch of big name ‘stars’ who were supposed to crush you. And, you did well in GPW’s battle royal, when EVERYONE thought the outsiders would stink up the place.” Scarlet shakes her head. “Quit doubting yourself. You’re good; but you’ll never be great if you don’t change your train of thought. You aren’t doing this tournament for the fans or Gwen―fuck em’. Don’t worry about them being disappointed.” Scarlet pokes me sternly in the chest. “You’re doing this tournament for you. And as long as you go out there and leave it all in the ring, then you shouldn’t have any negative feelings towards yourself.” “You’re right, you're right. I’m sorry.” Scarlet pats me on the shoulder and smiles. “Don’t be sorry, just be confident. My bad for being direct; that’s just who I am.” “No, it’s fine,” I say. “I needed that lesson.” “It’s going to click in your mind soon enough. Until then, I’ll have to keep reinforcing it.” She smirks a bit. “And I’m sure your girlfriend will as well; we think alike.” “You’re the worst tag team partner of all time.” I give her the meanest of side-eyes and then pick up the Xbox controller. “Just for that comment, I’m about to bust your ass in this game.” “Oh, so feisty,” she says with a laugh. A Slight Obsession
Feb. 2, 2015
I’ve probably written this before, but it was my brother who actually showed me my first wrestling match ever. Back then, it was harder to get hold of overseas wrestling; so, all I really knew was the stuff that came on TV.
My love for Japanese wrestling came during my first year of college. To be quite honest, during my teens years wrestling was kind of on the back burner for me. I was too busy doing the typical “girl stuff;” you know, clothes, boys, etc. When I got to college though, my passion was re-sparked. You know how it is your first year of undergrad; you are trying your dandiest to fit in and connect with someone.
There was a guy who lived in the same dorm suite as me; he was my next door neighbor actually. We talked one day, and wrestling came up; later that afternoon he invited me over to watch some with him. He was nice and seemed cool, so I told him I would. When I got there, he tossed in an old tape; and that tape blew my mind. It was a compilation of matches between two guys named Tiger Mask and Dynamite Kid. In a matter of 20 minutes or so, my love of wrestling was rekindled. I loved everything about the Japanese style: the speed, the strikes, the focus on actual wrestling. My dorm mate could tell I really liked it.
He and I began to hang out more; we connected on many levels besides wrestling as well, so it was natural. However, a couple times a week we would dedicate two or three hours to just sit down and just go through his Japanese collection. During one of our sessions I was rummaging through his collection when I ran across a set titled “Deathmatches.” I asked him what they were, and he did his best to explain them. After failing miserably, he decided to pop one in just let me watch. He hated, HATED Deathmatches. I later learned that he was super squeamish; the site of blood and extreme violence literally made him sick to his stomach. So, understandably, he never was a fan of Deathmatches. Those particular tapes had been given to him by his dad, so he kept them out of respect.
We watched them a few times, or should I say I watched them a couple times; he could tell that I oddly enjoyed them, so he actually gave the original copies of those compilations; I still have them laying around in storage somewhere.
You know, I can’t really explain what attracted me to those types. A lot of people, like my friend, are turned off by the amount of violence. Personally, I love those types of matches; the violence doesn’t bother me one bit.
Ha, I guess I shouldn’t say that; kind of makes me sound a bit Sadistic. I, I guess it would be more accurate to say that I respect what Deathmatch wrestlers do. Like Lucha or Strong-Style, I kind of see Deathmatch wrestling as a style, a form. So if you look at it that way, those types of matches are something to be respected and appreciated.
However, there is another reason why I enjoy them. A Deathmatch is all about versatility and adaptability. You know, everyone always walks around saying that they are the best at this and the best at that. But, only select handfuls are confident and comfortable enough to step out of their comfort zone and enter into these types of matches. To me, if you aren’t willing to try and lean a bit about each style, then you can’t be considered the best of anything.
I’m one of those select few who is willing to step out of her comfort zone; I want to be known as great.
When PWP 15 was announced, I declared my intention right away. Quinn and Matthews Enterprises where both a bit, weary, of me entering; however, I was given the green-light to go ahead.
My goal is to win this tournament. I know, much easier said than done; I realize that. It’s going to be grueling, and it’s going to be brutal for sure. However, all the pain and suffering that I’m about to endure―it’s all going to be worth it in the end. This tournament is going to test me, not just physically, but mentally. It’s no secret that I tend to take a beat sometimes in the ring; size will do that to you. But now, it’s time to see if I can not only endure―it’s time to prove that I can fire back and thrive!
And it just so happens I’ve got the perfect opponent to thrive against.
Last month I made my grand debut over in Girl Power Wrestling; the company allowed me the honor of competing in its first 30 woman battle royal. To be quite honest, it was kind of a surreal moment for me. When I was greener than the grass in your front lawn, GPW made an offer to sign me. The company gave me an open contract; all I had to do is finish up my training.
What most people don’t know it that I actually was going to sign to GPW. For whatever reason, I had about five of six offers on the table; which freaking ridiculous if you think about it. For months, GPW was the front runner. And just when I was about to sign―HKW came a knocking.
But I digress. That battle royal was my home coming so to speak. The prodigal daughter who has wrestled all over the world finally made her way to the place that she belonged.
On the night of my debut I went up against 29 other wrestlers. And to be honest, that wasn’t even the hardest part of it all. The hardest part was living up to other people’s expectations, especially my own. The general consensus was that the GPW roster was going to wipe the floor with “outsiders” like myself.
I couldn’t let that happen now could I?
The last two competitors in that match received title matches. I went on the defeat 27 of those 29 wrestlers; if one more wrestler had been eliminated, I would have walked away with one of those title shots.
The person who cost me my chance of glory, the person who robbed me―was Artemis Kaiser.
You can’t imagine just how furious I was. That loss was one of the reasons why I officially joined the GPW. The plan was to work my way up the ranks; eventually after months and months, I would have faced her, and probably earned a title shot on my own. Ha, but I guess Fate and Fortune was on my side when this Deathmatch tournament was created. Not only do I get a chance to achieve my career goals, but I also get a shot a bit of vengeance.
PWP 15 is going to be Nina’s time to shine, blood gushing and all. I’ve got no choice but to do what I seem to do best―go out there and kill it.
“Failure should be our teacher, not our undertaker. Failure is delay, not defeat. It is a temporary detour, not a dead end.” -Denis Waitley
Lotus: Blood Lust (Audio Log)
Feb. 12, 2015
When I first got into this business, everyone had some type of opinion about me. A portion of the men thought I was a nice piece of ass―nothing more, nothing less. They didn’t respect the hard work I put into training, they didn’t acknowledge my dedication to the craft. All they saw was an “object” in which they could stick their dicks in.
Now, you’d think I’d be more welcomed by the women in this sport; you know, bonding and minority solidarity right? But in reality, the women were just as bad, if not worse than the men that I encountered. They were conniving, manipulative bitches who were jealous with envy.
If you had polled those men and women, Nina Stokes would have been destined to be a failure in this sport. No one really thought I was going to amount to much; they all thought I was going to job-out for the rest of my career...or simply quit.
To those people, I was predestined to fail. [Slight pause, quiet laughter is heard]
You know what’s funny though? Destiny isn’t some predetermined course of events that can never be changed. Destiny isn’t rigid and static―it’s dynamic. And, it’s not only dynamic; it’s something that can be directed, if you’ve got the right amount of determination and willpower.
Now, everyone and there mom knows about the beginning of my career. It should have been a time of glory and triumph; but instead, it was shrouded by chaos and controversy. I was on a fast track to proving all the doubters and naysayers right―until I started to wise up and decided to make a change. “Fuck all the bullshit” I told myself. “I’m here in this profession; I’ve made it. Now, it’s time to thrive!”
It was at that point that I reached out and took control of my Destiny; that’s when I started to truly focus. And look at me now:
I’m a mainstay on HKW’s Defiance brand; every other week, people tune in to watch me kick someone’s ass.
Matthews Enterprises signed me. Now I’ve got sponsorships; and, almost unlimited access to the media.
I’ve just debuted in GPW and PW Frontier; people across this entire planet have seen me wrestle and do my thing.
And of course you’ve got my success here in PWP.
You know, sometimes when people debut here PWP, they are treated with kid gloves; I never received any of that. My first match here was against Violet, one of the most feared and revered female wrestlers on the planet. In her home promotion, LAW, women were literally scared shitless when they had to face her. Nonetheless, in my first match here, I stepped into the ring and beat her. Then there was that tag team match―at the very end, I got the victory for my team. And lastly, there was Savannah. Savannah isn’t a legend, but her name does hold some weight; furthermore she’s a regular in this company. [Brief pause]
I each of those matches, I was “Destined” to lose. In reality though, I walked away each night the victor. And why is that?
Because I took control of my own Destiny. And I’m going to once again when I step into the ring with Artemis Kaiser.
[Two Second Pause]
Artemis, you and I aren’t strangers; no, in fact, you and I are very much acquainted aren’t we? You know, before I came into GPW people told me that I needed to be weary of one person. It wasn’t Jo McFarlane, the GPW World Champion; and it wasn’t Gaia, the woman who has literally carried the company for the past six months.
No―I was warned to look out for you Artemis.
Most people would have been fearful; however, I’m not most people love. Not surprising, the warnings began to pile in. And with each and every one of them, I grew more and more excited. Surly those comments were meant frighten me, but all they did was amp me up.
All they did was make me want to knock your head off. [Brief pause]
During that 30 woman battle royal, you and I went at it a couple of times didn’t we? And every time we did, the crowd went wild. Now, people told me you were a hard hitter; they weren’t lying. The only issue was you just didn’t hit hard enough. I absorbed every single you threw at shot―and returned each shoot.
You do remember that, don’t you Artemis?
Because I remember the look on your face every single time I got back up and squared up with you...even after you tried to crush my wind-pipe. I remember how flustered and frustrated you were. You were probably wondering, “why won’t this bitch stay down!?”
In the end though, you were one of the final two in that match weren’t you? You earned yourself a good little title match. But Artemis, let’s be perfectly clear about something. There’s no doubt that you view eliminating me as some sort of victory. But the fact of the fucking matter is you didn’t defeat me Artemis; the act of the matter is you couldn’t keep me down and you couldn’t stop my onslaught. In the end, my elimination was the result of a slippery rope.
You weren’t the victor Artemis―you were a fucking opportunist!
Wrestlers are taught to make the most of every opportunity. So hey, I can’t really fault you for that can I? But don’t you dare fix your lips to ever say that you “beat me.” Don’t you ever use that match to indicate that you are somehow better than me. Because the truth is for an undisclosed amount of time you and I were the best wrestlers in that ring…
That night, Artemis Kaiser and Nina Stokes were on the same damn level.
[Sighs]
You know what though, simply being on the same level, well, that just isn’t enough for me. I don’t just want to match you, I don’t just want to go toe-to-toe with you―I want to definitively beat you.
I want to be on a higher level than you!
And in a very short time, I’m going to get that opportunity. You are one of the reasons why I joined GPW. And, I’m not new to wrestling; I know you’ve got to pay your dues and work your way up the ranks. I was quite content in doing that until GPW management finally booked us in a match. But now, I don’t have to wait any longer. Now, I don’t have to be constrained by some stupid 10 minute time limit. And now, I get to have you in one of the most violent match forms ever created by man.
You see Artemis, you don’t know what you’ve done; and, you don’t know just what exactly you are about to face. The grandest goal I have, the thing I want the most in the world―is to become a champion! As a young girl sitting in front of the TV, I visualized myself standing on the top rope, holding that shiny piece of metal. And no, it’s not just about the money and glory Artemis, not for me any way. It’s about fulfilling my dream and being able to call myself one of the best wrestlers in this business.
That night in GPW, I had my Destiny in my hands; I was right on the cusp of greatness―and then you kicked that Destiny right out of my grasp. And I had to watch, once again, as my dreams were shattered right before me!
That’s something that won’t be forgiven. [Brief pause]
Well, once again I’m holding my Destiny in my hands, and this time the outcome WILL be different. Artemis, this Deathmatch tournament is going to be my true retribution. And you know what, it’s kind of fitting. GPW is your home. PWP though? Well, over the past few months I’ve made PWP MY home, or one of them anyway. I’m undefeated here love. I’ve proven myself to be one of the best female wrestlers on the roster.
No, scratch that. I’ve proven myself to be one of the best wrestlers on the roster, period.
It would be “poetic justice” in its purest form for you to walk into PWP and get mollywhopped by yours truly. And, that’s exactly what’s going to happen Artemis; so, I hope you are mentally prepared to take that “L.”
I know I’m prepared for this―“encounter.” Yeah, that sounds like a good term for what’s about to go down. It damn sure won’t be a Judo or kickboxing match. And to be quite honest, I don’t know exactly much of a “technical wrestling” is going to go down in the ring. The only thing that I can really promise you is a lot of aggression, a lot of intensity―and of course, your eventual downfall.
Hmm, just listen to the sound of that, “The Downfall of Artemis Kaiser.”
Now, before you say I’m just blowing smoke out of my ass, let me explain the reasoning behind my certainty. Let me be blunt dear; you are arrogant. You’re arrogant, haughty, and you think you are better than everyone one else. Now I’m going to sit here and spew some bullshit about how you aren’t a good wrestler; that would be a lie. You are a good wrestler. However, are you the best wrestler walking on God’s green earth? Are you the best of the fucking best?
I think not Artemis.
The fact of the matter is Artemis you aren’t as good claim to be. Or, more accurately, you just aren’t as good as you think you are. Because, in my opinion, if you were truly the best of the best, then MSW would never have closed; your “star-power” would have been able to keep things afloat. If you were really the best in the world you would have been able to pull RWD out of the rut it was it in before it closed.
If you really were the badass wrestler that you think you are, then I’d be addressing you as the GPW World Champion, wouldn’t I Artemis?
You can stiff-arm everyone in GPW, and you can try to intimidate everyone in this tournament if you like. But that shit isn’t going to work on me. In the past, maybe it would―not anymore though.
You’ve been running unchecked for a long time now. Well, now I’m stepping to check you...and check your chin.
[Brief Pause]
Artemis, what are your dreams? What exactly did you hope to accomplish by entering this tournament my dear? Is it because you just a little bit sadistic and you wanted to see a little blood? Perhaps you foolishly thought you were going to waltz in PWP and demolish everyone in your path. Or, did you want a little taste of gold again?
What’s driving you Artemis?
I’ll tell you what’s driving me. Week after week I walk to the ring and perform; match after match I deliver. I give 120 percent each time and step into the ring―and yet, people still question my dedication. Even after winning seemingly impossible matches, people STILL question whether I can make it in this business or not…
And it makes me sick!
The winner of this tournament will receive $25,000 and title shot, along with a nifty trophy. And don’t get me wrong Artemis, I want it ALL. I want to reclaim that title shot you stole from me, plus more. Nonetheless, my ultimate goal is to prove something to every single person who watches this event: Nina Stokes is versatile…
Nina Stokes is legit…
And Nina Stokes is on her way to become the best!
I’m not going to let you embarrass me again; I’m not going to let you shatter my dreams again. There will be no glory at the end of this tournament for you. For you, there will only be Death―By Harley of course.
[Brief pause]
Don’t think that I’m ignorant to the situation at hand. Yes, I’ve spent a lot of time on Artemis; because the fact of the matter this match between Artemis and I is personal. However, Artemis is just a large tree; and, I’ve still got to have my sights set on the entire forest. The winner of this tournament gets an amazing opportunity―not just to have their name written in the history books of wrestling, but to also go on and compete for PWP’s top prize.
Time and time again in my short career I’ve had come in and try to alter my Destiny. Not this time though. This time, the power and control is truly in my hands―and I’ll be damned if I let it slip away again.
After I crush Artemis, there are others that I’ll have to get through.
I’m talking about people like Cordy Stevenson. In the past year, Cordy has done more than most people will do in their entire career. She’s been killing the game over in FGA; and if you can thrive there, then you can thrive anywhere. It’s likely that she and I will face off in the second round, provided Ms. Drew doesn’t throw a monkey wrench into things...no disrespect to you Amy.
Cordy, you and I have talked a few times; you’re an amazing person and an amazing wrestler. No one can take that away from you. And under different circumstances, I’d be a lot friendlier to you, honestly. But if you make it to the second round of this tournament then you’re just another opponent. You’re just another person who wants to break me; another soul who wants to see me fail. And I’m sorry Mrs. Owens...I mean Ms. Stevenson―I just can’t let that happen. There’s no way in hell I’m to conquer the beast that is Artemis, only to lose in the next round to you. I’d rather not defeat Artemis at all than to come up short again.
In the semi-final round, two names stand out to me: Laurel Anne Hardy and Annie Zellor.
Laurel, I know you very well love. You are a peer, but most importantly you are a friend. You’ve held me up during some rough times; therefore I have all the respect in the world for you. And, I know Deathmatches are one of your specialties. But you need to know that if we are pitted against each other, and that bell rings, our friendship will be put on hold for 20-30 minutes. The fact of the matter is you’ve got nothing to prove in this tournament Laurel. You’ve ruled Frontier for nearly two years; you’ve had success in Exodus, FGA, and countless other places. I don’t mean to question your resolve, but at this point in your career, this tournament probably doesn’t really mean shit to you.
But it means a lot to me!
I’m on the very cusp of breaking that glass ceiling and rocketing to the top of this industry. I haven’t had the type of success that you’ve had; I haven’t achieved the accolades that you have. So, while this tournament may be all fun and games to you I NEED to this!
I need to win! [Deep breath]
If we meet, then I’m not going to hold back, just as I expect you wouldn’t I’m going to bring the fight, and defeat you...if it comes to that.
The same thing goes for you Annie. Like Laurel, you’ve had your share of success. FGA loves you; hell, just about everyone in wrestling loves you. You are wrestling’s “sweet heart,” but you can still kick just about anyone’s ass in that ring.
Annie, I’m aware of the polarizing effect that you seem to have on the people and the crowd; normally, your opponent is transformed in the “bad guy,” no matter what. That tends to throw your opponents off; they can never handle the jeers; that creates an advantage for you. Honestly though, I’m comfortable playing the role of “bad guy.” When or if we meet in the ring, my goal is to win Annie―by any means necessary love. [Silence]
On the other side of the bracket are a whole host of characters: Marisol, Whiskey, Suzume.
These are people that I have looked up to when I was struggling early in my career; they have held me up through hard times. Like Laurel, these are people that I consider friends.
And yet, I’ve always got to remind myself―they are my peers.
When I first got into the business I had this nasty habit. Or more accurately, I had this nasty mind-set. You see, I was training and wrestling matches; hell, I was even winning a lot of matches. But, I still didn’t consider myself “a part” of the industry, because I was still in wrestling. So, I would run across these so called “big stars,” and I’d be in shock in awe. I used to lift those wrestlers up and put them on a pedestal; I used to think they were all so much better than me. That mentality stuck with me, even after I started working in all of these high caliber places. It took a lot of reality checks from my friends Gwen and Scarlet to break me of that mind-set.
Marisol, Whiskey, Suzume, all of those who think they are the shit―I know you all are expecting to come in and win this thing. I know you all believe you are superior; that’s all well and good. Here’s what you need to realize though...
Nina Stokes is in this tournament to prove to the entire world that she can match up with the “best of the best.” [Slight chuckle]
Fuck that―Nina Stokes is here to prove that she’s better than “the best of the best.” February 28th is MY night. But, that’s enough talking. It’s time to go out there and kill it...or someone.
END
|
|
|
|
Post by Ashley Sullivan on Feb 14, 2015 20:57:13 GMT -6
February 15th
The hooded sweatshirt pulled down over Ashley's upper body to cover her and obscure a good portion of her face had nothing to do with the bitter cold of the outside world beyond her Philadelphia apartment. It had everything to do with her own confidence. After talking to her boyfriend Colton and mulling over his words for a almost a month, she had decided that he was indeed spot on with what he had said to her back then.
She had gone through a tremendous amount of changes in her life and career. They, however, were in no way connected with the cosmetic changes she had taken in an attempt to stand out from the rest of the wrestling herd. She was easily recognizable in a crowd. Whenever a blur of pink and purple hair went flying into a ring for a company she was working for, everyone knew exactly who had arrived. It was not that defined her though. That was the job of her particularly unorthodox ring style. With her relatively small body, she was never going to be able to throw fellow competitors around like as rag dolls as some in the wrestling business did. She would be lucky if she could even make someone budge if she ran at them with a running start. If she was going to make wrestling a major part of her life instead of a colossal failure, she was going to have to adopt a style that suited her. With her basic trying from the Jones family at their gym in Philadelphia as a foundation, she eventually grew to be comfortable with something of an high-flying style. She learned to let the flow of the match guide her and take it from there. A wrestling match became a form of art for her, a way of expressing herself. That kind of unpredictability made her nearly impossible to scout but much loved by fans for the entertainment she brought them each and every time she went out to the ring.
The loved the wrestler they knew as Ashley Sullivan, but they honestly know the person? That was something she tended to keep a guarded secret. Only a select few knew that the wrestler and the person were not entirely the same. That was due to confidence issues for the most part. The real her was boring and essentially down to Earth. The wrestler took her slight immaturity and turned up the volume to an extreme level. The personality she presented to wrestling fans was different that most of the rest of the profession. It made her unique. And it was a lie.
She was tired of living that lie. It was time the line between the wrestler and the person was wiped out. "To thy ownself be true." That was the quote she remembered from high school when she thought about do this. If people took to real her just as they had with the wrestling personality than they would prove to be true fans. If they did not, she was not going to go out of her way to appease people that superficial.
Making sure the big reveal went down the best way though, that would be the thing. Without enough confidence in her own abilities to have it done right, went to a professional stylist to have her hair done and dyed back to the original color it had been at the very beginning of her career. The last thing she wanted was it do go horribly wrong and it to come out with completely ridiculous.
Staring at the camera lens of her laptop, it was do or die time. Pulling the hood back, the newly colored brown hair flowed down the sides of her face as she pressed the record button on the screen with a mouse click.
"Don't adjust your screens people. This really is me. It's the same old Ash, just without the crazy pink hair and all that stuff. It was something I was thinking about for awhile. I get that the old hair made me look different and all but, let's be honest here, just looking different doesn't make you special. It's what you do.
It's that kind of thinking, wanting to DO something different that made me want to throw my hat into this PWP Queen of the Death Match tournament. You know, for pretty much all of my wrestling career, I've been known as something of a tag team specialist. From being half of the HKW tag champs in Decent to the FGA tag champs as the Spitfires, there's no denying that I'm pretty damn good at sharing the spotlight with a partner. Call me just a little bit selfish though but doing something on my own. Something not a lot of people in this business have the balls to do. Fitting that it's filled with some of the most bad ass women in wrestling. Guess we'll have to show the boys how it's done huh.
Now I'm not going to sit here and puff out my chest and trying to look all big and bad, well that'd look pretty sad for one, but this really only my first stab at breaking out on my own. If I end up walking away with that trophy and the cash, awesome. The things that I really want to get out of it though are the titles. Yep, both of them. The PWP title shot against Brad Jackson and being able to call myself Ashley Sullivan, Queen of the Death Match. I like the sound of that."
|
|
|
|
Post by whiskey on Feb 14, 2015 21:35:23 GMT -6
[[Nashville Tennessee, January 1st, 2015]] It had been early in the morning when Whiskey had awoken amidst the pile of limbs in her bed, the pain rattling around in her skull and the taste of bile and sex on her tongue telling of what she could only assume was a rather successful New Year’s Eve. She lay on her back as she took a physical inventory. Fingers moved, toes moves, her wrists hadn’t accidentally been left in cuffs nearly causing her to dislocate her shoulders while she shifted during her sleep again and near as she could tell there were no open wounds on her anywhere. … a good start to her twenty-fifteen, all things considered. Blinking back the bleariness and willing away the nausea of realizing she wasn’t still drunk and well on her way to pay the piper for the double shots she vaguely recalled Mika chucking down her gullet last night, she casts a look around. Indeed she hadn’t gone to bed alone last night, her roommate Mikaela was tucked in snugly beside her… if one’s definition of snugly meant having your head draped over the side of the bed because you were too considerate to puke on the comforter. The lack of smell though convinces Whiskey that her friend was safe for now. Curled up near her feet was her Korean friend Ling… as the rusty gears in Whiskey’s mind gain some momentum she begins to recall that the adorable ‘aspiring Joshi’ had been late to the festivities at the bar, and had made the equally terrible mistake of trying to play catch up with two seasoned vets of drinking with an Ayano as well as Whiskey herself… still she has been a welcome addition to the fun. Suzume was… nowhere to be found oddly enough. Slightly worried, the Drunken Joshi slipped out from the warmth of limbs and blankets, padding quietly out from her bedroom, she was relieved to find her friend and tag partner unconscious on the living room couch, a glass of water on the coffee table a rather telling sign of how she’d ended up there. The Fireball walked over to her friend and gave her hair a light ruffle before rearranging the soft fleece that had mostly fallen off of her friend in her sleep. Noting that nothing was amiss Whiskey walked back through to the kitchen, fishing out a few light beers to start her morning and jump-start her daily buzz. She cracks the top on the first one and seats herself on the counter beside a pile of unwashed dishes, wincing as the first sip causes her stomach to consider a revolution before settling down. Not a bad start to the new year at all… Whiskey had often commented on the state of her life in the previous three-hundred-and-sixty-five days. Especially last night and into the early hours of the morning before she and her friends had returned home - as it would remain for just a little while more - to sleep. Knocking back each and every shot with a complement to whichever friend was in earshot or and emphatic “Fuck twenty-fourteen”. Each exclamation earning a boisterous roar of approval from the other seasoned alcoholics that occupied the bar and had no place better to be. The thing is, Whiskey didn’t look at her previous year with any bit of hyperbole. In her view… it consisted of very few bright spots, and a whole lot of disappointment. She was more than happy to see it fade into the distance as she continued forward with her life. Even then, as she sorted through the events that had transpired, it had kind of amazed her that she’d been able to see herself out the other side… still alive and with an opportunity to improve her lot. Seemingly now more than ever. If nothing else though, it did quite a bit to assure Whiskey that of all her defining characteristics, she was able to hold on, she was able to survive. It was what she’d had to do ever since she’d found herself tearfully begging her parents to allow her to pursue pro-wrestling until they finally - begrudgingly - caved to her demands. It was what she had to do when she’d gotten there, when her romantic notions of western pro-wrestling’s yesteryear clashed head-on with the ideals of every trainer and trainee at said dojo. It was what she had to do when she was broke and homeless wandering from state to state, begging for change for bus fare and a meal at every stop… … that was what she had to do for over ten years now. Nearly twenty-six and over a decade since she first started training, it seemed like an insurmountable amount of obstacles had been put in her way - whether by fate or design - to throw her off of what she wanted… made only more and more frustrating by what she’d assumed were simple goals. Whiskey just wanted to be a successful pro-wrestler. Instead it was a constant stream of derision and vagrancy, an unwanted pregnancy, a manager who had loathed her, an audience that had turned against her, a stable that had dissolved around her, and a glorious opportunity that had vanished in the trace of a size- HOLY SHIT boot of a man named Legacy. Again and again. Time after time Still, for how much she’d been set back or cast down… beaten bloody, broken and left without much in the way of a chance, she had pulled through to where she was now. … where she was now…As she finishes draining the first beer she casts a look around her apartment’s kitchen, the grout on the tiles, the scuffed paint on the walls and the spackle where various implements of destruction - fists, feet, bottles and a rowing oar in one memorable case - had punched holes through the drywall altogether. She had only a couple weeks left here, in Nashville. The city that had claimed her as her own, the apartment she’d gotten for next to nothing because of pity and charity… Whiskey could not have asked for a better place to end up and yet… she couldn’t wait to wash herself of it. Every stain and scuff, every dent and hole in the place she’d called home bore the brunt of both the highs and lows in her life… and while the highs were stuff she loved to wax nostalgic about on nights out with friends, much as she’d done the night previous… the lows she saw in this place could never be replicated in stories. Nor should they be, they were hers to mull over in the dead, quiet hours, and hers alone. Could she shed them entirely when she and her friends packed up and she’d find herself moving out of the southern states? No, and it would be foolish to abandon those lessons learned even if she could. Could she lessen the sting and seek to improve her lot moving forward? Well she could try. Cracking the second beer she takes a hearty swig as she spots the sun through the small window over the sink start to crest the horizon, the blinding light making her eyes squint and her headache scream, after a moment she looks away before sliding off the counter. If she should find more difficulties and obstacles in her way, she’d do as she had always done. She’d survive. She would push forward. She would keep fighting even if the blood, sweat and heartache was so bad she felt she should just curl up and die, because… … her eyes widen at the thought… … because why?A rustle from the bedroom and a soft groan catch her attention, likely the blinds were slightly open and errant rays were assaulting her guest and roommate, she finishes the beer quickly before wandering through to help them… and then maybe catch another forty winks herself. Her reason for moving forward stayed in the back of her mind though… … because the honest answer was that the Deep-South Dragon didn’t have one...~~ The camera comes on to reveal a huge close-up of the Deep-South Dragon’s face. Whiskey checks the settings on the camera before our view shifts to the roof a moment before we find our view to be from the top of her living room coffee table, facing the couch and a motivational poster (Naturally: “HANG IN THERE KITTY!!!”) on the wall above it. “So there was a large part of Whiskey that wonders why she thought to join in on this-u Queen Of The Death Match tournament. A large part of her that wanted to understand why it was almost a gut reaction to hearing about it that said - with ZERO reservations - ’Yes, Whiskey must-u do this’”Walking on-screen and flopping backwards onto her couch is - of course - Whiskey Ayano, an almost empty bottle of gin in her hand. “Whiskey’s not having second thoughts, mind you. Quite the opposite, she’s excited for this… she wants this-u. The question that Whiskey had to figure out though, is why? Having only competed in two deathmatches before - neither of-u which really went her way - did she decide that this was for her? Why is Whiskey so motivated for it? Why has the anticipation kept-u her up at night… nights when-u she should be sleeping before matches elsewhere or a hard days training at-u the HKW gym…”She swirls the bottle of gin in her hand briefly, eyes observing the liquid as though awaiting an answer before they turn back to the lens. “... why?”With that the Deep-South Dragon drains the remainder of the bottle before setting it on the coffee table in front of her. She reaches off-screen a moment and pulling a brand NEW bottle of booze - this time some vodka - before addressing the camera again as she cracks it open. “To simplify matters, let’s get out of the way why Whiskey ISN’T doing this-u. The conjecture that some of her opponents might make leading up to when this goes down. To erase any and-u all speculation when Whiskey and fifteen other women are bleeding across the mat on the twenty-eighth of this month… because Whiskey knows all of us will have-u our reasons for following through on this”“Whiskey is not-u doing this to build up for some great monster like her first-u deathmatch, when she goaded V-kun into a match and the violence just seemed to spiral out-u of control. She doesn’t have Legacy-kun on the horizon. There’s no end-state for her that revolves around a world championship… unless of course Whiskey wins-u, but let’s face facts, that’s a one-in-sixteen shot-u at the moment, so Whiskey is leaving that on the back burner”
“This time Whiskey isn’t doing it-u as some helping hand in her friend’s… issues. While Laurel-chan IS in this tournament, and Whiskey’s MORE than certain excited to meet-u any number of her friends within this tournament, she can say that she’s in it-u for something much deeper than to simply have fun… no matter how much-u bloody, violent, flesh-rending and enjoyable it-u was last time”
“So that brings us back to the beginning Whiskey thinks. Why? Why is she here with so many people she likes, loves, one she loathes… and a few she knows next-u to nothing about, let alone enough to want to introduce them to barbed wire in a most-u intimate way?”She holds a finger up as though to illustrate her point. “The answer Whiskey came up with was that-u for once, it’s purely for her experience. It is purely so Whiskey can prove to herself something that feels… uh, she thinks the word is ‘intangible’, at least for the moment-u. It’s something in her guts that’s telling Whiskey that if she comes through the other side of-u this, she’ll finally be able to identify who and why it is. Even if it all boils down to Whiskey’s self-destructive tendencies leading her into a violent conclusion, Whiskey still wants to know… something that’s telling her that in order to make that discovery about herself, she has to give into a full blood and guts scenario…”
“... to tell the truth, both similar matches Whiskey has been in she has managed to learn something about herself. Against V-kun Whiskey learned that she doesn’t have to consistently be the smashmouth joshi she’s often perceived as, and while she didn’t exactly win that match-u, she still stood even with a man who has-u been in this scenario countless times because - for the first time in her life - Whiskey was visceral… was methodic. She had gotten under V-kun’s skin and utilized his anger to pick her spots and wear him down, and even Whiskey’s shocked that it-u almost worked!”
“In Whiskey’s second deathmatch, Whiskey not only got to see the world through Laurel-chan’s interesting worldview, but also discovered how far she’s willing to go for her friends… even-u if ‘for’ her friends meant smashing them with light tubes. Whiskey saw how brutal and vicious she could be even in the midst of having an absolute blast-u. Who won that match didn’t matter to her, it wasn’t the point of it-u anyways. It was just simply madness… and fun… and as warped as-u that might seem Whiskey appreciated it then and appreciates the experience it gave her even-u now”A long pause as she stares past the lens, a fond smile on her lips. “Still… despite Whiskey’s love for Laurel-chan, she’s not like her… she doesn’t see deathmatches as being a form of art or expressionism. On the flip side, Whiskey also doesn’t believe a deathmatch is merely hitting one another with-u whatever comes to hand until somebody says ‘fuck-u it’ and lays down, no… a deathmatch is something more if it-u means that you can reflect on it days, weeks and months after the fact-u and pinpoint something… tangible. A change or a new profound realization about-u yourself”
“Whiskey remembers seeing tapes back in the day, on her brother’s old-u VHS player with his old pirated tapes. Regional territories and pageantry, everything Whiskey would long for in-u this industry, and everything she missed the heyday of… but deathmatches are a callback to those days. Whiskey remembers in the midst of those tapes - all shot from one angle, with poor audio and rowdy, roughneck fans-u - the deathmatch stood out as a different type of beast-u, and she would feel it. She still thinks most anybody would feel it-u…”A wistful sigh escapes her lips as she sets the bottle on the table and leans forward, her eyes glowing with excitement as her mind waxes nostalgic. “... the deathmatch was the end of all things in-u a feud. Two or more people who’d had such a lasting hatred-u for each other, be it over a title, a woman, or simple pride-u, and had no recourse left in-u their dislike than to drop any and all pretenses of rules. A deathmatch was never about-u the weapons… it was about distilling what-u Whiskey and ALL pro-wrestlers do down to it’s rawest, most-u barbaric form”A long pause as she reaches up and taps her temple. “Concussions and drinking have knocked many of the names and-u faces of those brave few she used to watch, but Whiskey will never forget the adrenaline bursting through her as she watched it-u on television. Nothing was diluted, no single emotion was-u mitigated by the fact that SOME of those matches had been filmed even before Whiskey was born… they are still as real to her now as they were then-u. No rules. No scruples. Just one side versus the other and-u everything in between the starting and-u finishing bell was free game-u”
“Of course that has changed as-u time went by… too much of a good thing, Whiskey guesses. For the longest time-u the emotion and raw physicality was bastardized… minimized and turned into something that-u meant less than nothing. Every backyarder or person-u that couldn’t work adopted it as-u their ‘style’ instead of what it was. The purest form of wrestling that it-u was. It went and became goddamn trendy in an-u ‘MTV’ kind of fashion, getting dubbed ‘trash’-wrestling, instead of what it should-u have been, of what it WAS in all those-u tapes Whiskey watched years ago…”The Fireball steeples her fingers under her chin as she contemplates what she’s about to say. “Don’t get Whiskey wrong, she’s not saying deathmatch workers need to be looked down upon-u, but they should know what lies behind it. Luckily like most things fake… like any ‘fad’ this ‘Garbage’ wrestling phase has-u passed, for the most part. Nowadays when-u Whiskey hears the words deathmatch, and sees spools of barbed wire and buckets of thumbtacks she still gets that feeling… she still tunes in-u because it means something”She waves down as though someone is trying to protest her point. “Okay, before anybody jumps down-u Whiskey’s throat saying that a deathmatch tournament dilutes what she’s saying… please-u know you’re a damn fool… because the format-u of what is going to be done to people in that ring does NOT water down it’s importance. Every single woman walking the ramp at PWP fifteen is-u doing so for something… and even though it-u might not be for the same intangible reason Whiskey is-u, it will still be pure”
“What-u a line up it is… usual suspects such as Laurel-chan and-u Whiskey’s own tag partner Suzume. Noted violent contenders such as Bryt-chan and-u Artemis Kaiser. One woman who is trying to make herself-u less-and-less of a mockery in the eyes of her peers in Kendall-chan… even-u Nina and Annie-chan, who have NEVER been involved in a deathmatch before have-u signed on to compete… and you want to say that this tournament means nothing? That it’s pointless because we’re going to be carving each other up-u without rules?”She snorts before taking a long swig from her bottle of vodka. “Whiskey won’t accept that, and neither will anyone else-u of this field of fifteen. It’s why Nina-chan was the first to jump when she saw it-u, it’s why Kendall views it with an-u air of legitimacy… it’s why Annie-chan - having recently just found out-u what this tournament entails - still opted to stay in it…”
“NONE of us-u are going to back out, none of us are ashamed of-u the stigma of ‘garbage’ or ‘trash’ wrestling because we all know better…”
“It’s also why Whiskey is approaching this solely to discover a bit-u more about herself. As she said, no big monster to build for and no friend that-u needs a favor, this time it’s solely Whiskey for Whiskey’s sake… and-u that means Whiskey is coming into the Queen Of The Death Match with no intentions of-u falling. Whiskey wants this… she WANTS this so badly it-u hurts. She wants that intangible quality defined and she wants everything that-u comes with that goal…”The Drunken Joshi starts ticking off points on her free hand. “She wants the wins, she wants the glory, she wants every other person-u from this field of sixteen to be ringside-u when the last drop of blood hits the canvas-u to ‘know’ that Whiskey was the best person that night. That she EARNED that skin-rending moniker, that she EARNED that-u shot at the PWP title”
“To give anything less-u than her best, to show anything less than-u the grit that Whiskey has tried to hang onto - that has-u seen her through some very dark days and some really bad-u times - and-u to define that which Whiskey hasn’t been able to identify in herself-u quite yet. Whiskey doesn’t care if it’s a friend, a GM, a perfect stranger, a lover or even her tag partner… she will enter that-u ring with full intentions of winning, and if-u that means Whiskey has to go places nobody has-u ever seen her go, if she has to press-u your face into the glass until you scream for her to stop or smash you unconscious with a steel chain-u she WILL go that far…”Whiskey pauses… lips pursed as she takes a long calming breath. “... and-u at the end… friend, foe, lover, partner and whoever else is-u in this thing… Whiskey hopes you go back to your individual feds knowing that Whiskey was-u the better woman that night, and that you all helped her achieve something even she couldn’t define-u before”She starts to reach for the camera, lifting it up off the table it shakes in her hand. “... and Whiskey thanks you for that-u… now let’s all get ready to bleed”Cut to black. |
|
|
|
Post by ketamine on Feb 14, 2015 22:08:47 GMT -6
February 13, 2015
The blindfold wrapped around her eyes was sticky and damp with her own sweat, wisps of her bright pink hair falling down out of her ponytail and plastering to her cheeks as she moved. Twisting and turning with each vibration of the canvas under her feet. The shuddering mat under her feet was the only thing that gave her an idea of which direction they were coming from, what attack they might use.
The bass beat of “I Am A God” by Kanye West bounced off of the concrete walls and drowned out any sound. Vibrating up through the soles of her feet and she struggled to differentiate the pounding bass beat from the footfalls of the men attacking her.
There were three, as best she could tell. But knowing the man who had put them in the ring with her, there would be more. They wouldn’t stop until she was down and stayed there. Either that, or until she brought all of them to their knees.
She wasn’t fast enough, hands seized her arms at the elbows and wrenched them backwards. She let momentum carry her forward and she used him to brace herself as she lashed out with a bunny kick that connected solidly with something that felt a lot like flesh and bone on the other end of her boots. Seizing her body up, she thrashed backwards and felt her skull connect with bone. A grunt, right next to her ear and the grip on her elbows loosened up just enough for her to shimmy free.
Ignore the wave of dizziness, because they didn’t stop coming. A blow caught her between the shoulder blades and she stumbled. Another at the temple and she was done on her knees.
The bass pounded on, deafening. She’d essentially created her own sensory deprivation chamber inside of this broken down warehouse. She felt them closing in and she rolled out of the way until she felt the ropes under her clammy palms and used them to slide herself out onto the apron for a reprieve.
It was a trick she’d picked up from Tristan Baylor, the mother of hardcore wrestling. The woman who had destroyed careers from the other end of a sledgehammer for what ran close to a decade. The woman who was more of a mother to her than the dead one rotting in the North Carolina clay.
One of them had reached over the ropes, got a firm grip on her hair and was hauling her back into the ring. She hissed her displeasure and as her feet hit what she thought was probably the second rope, she bounced off of it, twisted in the air and broke the grip while she drove her elbows into… something soft.
The thumping rap music simulated the roar of the crowd, how they drowned out everything else. Sucking up the sound in their cacophony. The blindfold made her more aware. Aware of the sweat trickling down her back, the way the vibrations of their feet felt just slightly different than the vibrations of the music. The crowd. One and the same, in this case.
The song changed to some Lil Wayne track and Brytain stumbled back, felt her spine connect with the turnbuckle and a slow grin crossed her lips. She scaled it, fumbling slightly over the ropes as she used touch alone to guide her to that place where she felt the most comfortable.
She waited until she felt the slight change in the air and she launched herself off of the ropes, connected with… something. Knees and elbows digging into soft flesh until she was airborne again, her own momentum sending her over the top rope and skidding along the thin mats they’d laid down around the ring.
She was on her feet and climbing back into the ring as the music abruptly shut off, her ears ringing as she tried to adjust to the lack of it. Reaching a shaking hand up, she pried the blindfold down and let it hang limply around her neck.
Predators eyes.
That’s the first thing that leapt to her tongue when she caught his dark gaze on her. He leaned against the ropes, arms dangling as she crawled over to him in the now empty ring.
Panting softly, she rested her chin on the rope and tilted her head softly. A moment passed and when she trusted her voice again, she murmured softly, "What do you think?"
His lips twitched into a slight frown as he cast his gaze to Project Venom. Three of them were bleeding, the other four didn't seem any wore for the wear. "Not good." Syn reached out and pushed a damp curl behind her ear as his frown bled on to her face. The odds hadn't been great but still... this.
Frown turned to a scowl as she rocked back on her heels. "Fuck," she hissed. Her performance had been pathetic and she couldn't blame the handicap. It wouldn't be the first hardcore match she'd fought blind and deaf. The crowd drowning everything out and blood in her eyes. Or, on one occasion a concussion so bad that she'd temporarily lost her sight. She'd finished the match sightless. This, though... this wasn't her best. Not by a long shot. The scowl deepened. "I'm not on my game," she muttered.
He let those words sink in. Words that she'd come to on her own, voiced from her own lips but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he'd been thinking it. Just been too kind to say them out loud. She wasn't at her best, not even close. And her... less than best wasn't going to get her through the Queen of the Deathmatch tournament in one piece. Wasn't going to give her the edge that she needed to win.
And a win was what she was angling for. It was what she needed. Brytain slumped down on the canvas, flopped back and stared up at the dim fluorescent lighting.
When IWF had told her that they weren't signing her beyond a handful of matches, her pride had taken a hit. One that maybe, if she were being honest, she was still struggling with. True, it was because they were closing their doors but it had brought back that bitter taste in her mouth, the one she remembered so well from the days when she'd been blacklisted from the sport that she loved so much. This thing that was all she knew how to do, if she were being honest with herself.
It had brought back the memory of all those doors that had slammed in her face before Star had taken a chance on her. Brought her in to PDW. But then...
It wasn't just her wounded pride that needed a win. It was that frustrated, angry part of her that had been so close to glory so many times only to be shut out. Not quite good enough on that night. She wasn't stupid, she knew that she'd accomplished more than most people would in their entire careers. She'd won matches that most people would have ended their careers on. She was in the fucking PCW hall of fame and in her entire run there, she'd only been bested once and that had been her own doing. Her own loss of control that had made her forget about the win and focus only on causing as much damage as she could.
Her fingers brushed her stomach, inched down to her hip bone. She wasn’t aware of her movements until she brushed against the puckered scar that Smith Jones had left that night. One of many. She’d never forget him now. Every time another shard of glass worked it’s way out of her skin, she’d think of him and that night.
And now she was starting over… again. So many new beginnings and so many bittersweet endings. So many rugs yanked out from under her and now, here she was, looking down the barrel of yet another debut match in a company that she wasn’t familiar with.
Starting at the bottom again.
And again.
The bitter taste rolled over her tongue again. There were three World Championship belts in their closet at home and none of them were hers and it rubbed her fur back more than she wanted to admit.
More than she would admit to Syn.
A reminder of all those times when she was close enough to touch it and not entirely close enough to close her fingers around it. Another time whens he’d been weighed, measured and found wanting.
That creeping suspicion that maybe she just wasn’t good enough crept up on her again. Brytain sat up, almost physically shaking that feeling off. The tournament was going to line up with her debut to the company. She’d face Marisol at Pride Pro’s Seek and Destroy and then in a few weeks she’d face her again in the tournament. If she could pull it off…
It would be a good leg up. A reminder to the world that had maybe forgotten her since her run in PCW…
A world that constantly tried to make her less than what she was. A world that constantly tried to infantilize her and keep her at the bottom of the pack. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up on the canvas. The room spun and she let her eyes flutter closed until it passed.
“Again,” she murmured.
Syn arched an eyebrow but he didn’t say anything. Slipped a tire iron under the bottom rope and fixed her with a meaningful stare that she knew meant something like he expected better from her.
Or maybe, it was just a shadow of his trepidation whenever she went into something like this.
Fingers clenched around the metal and she shook her shoulders out to loosen them.
It was now or never. New chapter, old Brytain. She just had to remember who that girl was.
xxx
"I'm not done yet," Brytain Rollins tilted her head, staring down into the camera as she adjusted her iPhone and licked her lips. "I guess the popular theory is that I can't handle it anymore. That once I had some spark of something that maybe meant I could go places in this business but now that's dead and gone and hey, you know what? Fuck you, you cocksucking cunts." She smiles sweetly into the camera, a mess of contradictions. Her words contradicting the smile contradicting that lingering thought in the back of her head that maybe she really wasn't cut out for this thing she loved anymore.
A slight shrug of one shoulder, mentally pushing that dark thought back where it belonged. "The world might have briefly forgotten who the fuck I am... what I can do when I want something bad enough to reach out and take it and maybe... I don't know. Shit, maybe for a hot second I forgot too. I forgot how to be that person who lived out of the back of a car because I couldn't afford a roof over my head. Because I was wrestling for peanuts just to wrestle. A couple dollars a night, just enough to put some food in my stomach and nothing left over for luxuries like warm showers and shit. I forgot how to be that girl who was so goddamn hungry.
Literally and metaphorically, I guess but the metaphorical part is what's important. The part of me that trashed the fuck out of my body because it was what I was good at. And what I was good at was going just a little bit farther. Pushing just a little bit harder. Because I wanted it just a little bit more.
Part of me... I guess forgot that. Or all of me. Jury's still fucking out on that one."
Another shrug. This one less about pushing those thoughts back. "I forgot how it felt to have that fire."
Her eyes cloud over for a second as her fingers unconsciously drift down to the scar at her stomach. "There's this weird thing that only people have been to fucking hell and back will ever understand... but you leave something behind every time you step into that cage or that ring or that cell. And not just the blood and pieces of your own flesh. When you stare down something like the Cage of Death, I guess you leave a little bit more than usual. I forgot myself there, I walked away..."
She tilts her head, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips faintly,"I guess saying that I walked away is a little misleading because let's be honest. Nobody walks away from the Cage, even if you win. Especially if you win."
The frown twists into something like dark amusement, "Not the point. I left something vital and necessary in that Cage a year ago. I left some key piece of me that makes me... me. I left that part of me who wants it bad enough to fucking grind someone's face into the canvas to get it.
It.
Kind of ephemeral, that pesky it. A desire, a want... a fucking need.
I don't know if you'd call it a need to win or a need to be just a little bit better than whoever is on the other side of the ring. Maybe some days it's just a need to feel your fist connect with bone and know that you're dealing pain. I don't know what it is but I had it once and then it was gone.
And I drifted around from one company that closed it's doors to another. I was... I don't know. Ambivalent, maybe? I just didn't care the way I used to care. Started thinking that maybe I was done. That this business didn't have anything else for me. Frustrated, I guess, that no matter how hard I thought I was pushing it wasn't good enough. Maybe it just turns out that I wasn't pushing as hard as I thought I was.
Sometimes, I guess lost things find their way back home because... hello, Brytain, welcome home. I've lost blood and years off my life to this business and maybe if I were someone else... if I didn't need the pain and the damage and the feeling of breaking someone down until they can't get back up again... if I didn't need that I would have walked away. I should walk away.
But I can't walk. Because once this business gets into your blood it stays there. It gets it's teeth in you and it doesn't let you go that easy.
So fuck a Marisol whatever her last name is. Fuck an Annie Zellor. Fuck a Laurel Hardy. Because while we might play nice on twitter and maybe some of you I genuinely like... in this ring you mean nothing to me. You're just a piece of meat standing in my way. You're between me and something that I want more than you do. You're something that will bust open and bleed.
Cause, see... here's the thing that people don't get about death matches...
They think that this shit is trope-y. It's a lesser art form than people who hold so tightly to the old way of doing things that they wipe their shiny white boots off because they wouldn't wanna risk smudging that canvas.
Hey, Smithy. What's up, darlin'?"
The tongue in cheek reference will slide over almost everyone's heads who hadn't followed the year long, bloody battle that stretched from one company to another, stopping only when they were both dead and slipping into some sort of uneasy truce that can only be attained when you've almost died with that person.
"They think it's a lesser art form because anyone can walk in the ring, pick up a baseball bat and fuck someone up with it. But here's the thing about it. Anyone can but not everyone can. You have to have a mindset that's more than just I want to win you have to want to see what the person standing across from you looks like on the inside. You have to be willing to put your body through hell, destroy it. Not just willing but ready, wanting.
You have to look across the ring and not see Whiskey Ayano. Not see Laurel Hardy. Not see that fucking cunt Cordelia Stevenson. You have to see a thing. A piece of flesh and bone that breaks. You have to forget friendship and whether or not you like someone outside of this ring and you have to be willing to go through them.
No matter what it takes.”
A faint smile as she stretches slightly, shirt riding up to reveal bruises mottling her rib cage.
“Hello, Brytain. Welcome home.”
xxx
"I hate on cam promos," Brytain muttered as she slumped down into the warm bath water. Everything was warm and it felt amazing against muscles that had been stretched a little too taut, bruised a little too deep. She wiggled around until her back was pressed up against Syn's chest and her body had slipped so far under the warm water that he'd wrapped an arm around her chest to keep her head from sinking below the surface.
She could feel his chest rumble with laughter, vibrating through her spine and right into her rib cage.
"I know, love..." he murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head. "But this business seems particularly fond of them. I suppose at some point, you'll have to get more comfortable in front of the camera."
She scowled playfully up at him. "Maybe we can pretend I can't talk and you'll have to do it for me. I'll be way scarier that way. I'll just stand behind you and scowl a lot. Look super intimidating."
Syn arched an eyebrow, kneading the sore muscles in her shoulders and back with his free hand to loosen them up. She sighed softly in contentment and he tightened the arm slung across her chest to keep her from blissfully disappearing under the sudsy water.
"If you stand behind me, no one will be able to see you," he teased dryly. Couldn't resist taking a dig at her height even as she could feel his arm tighten around her again. This time out of something other than an amused desire to keep her limp body from slipping right under. He never realized it more acutely than when he was about to watch her disappear into the mess and destruction of something like this how small she was. How fragile she sometimes felt in his arms.
"Stop it," she murmured, voice slurring as she relaxed sleepily against his chest. "I can feel your grumpy cat face even if I can't see it. You're worrying again."
A soft kiss on the top of her head as he bent down to murmur softly in her ear, "Always."
"And I've watched you do worse," she said, cocking her head up slightly to look up at him. Into those purple and green eyes that she'd come to love even if they weren't the eyes she'd first fallen in love with. Well, one of them was. If you wanted to get technical. And even though it soothed something jagged and broke inside of her to fall into them, it also reminded her of the time she'd knelt in the back of an ambulance, squeezing his limp hand for dear life as she threatened and begged anything that would listen not to let the ruptured eye in his skull take him from her.
It reminded her of that feeling of loss so acute that it felt like it was shattering everything inside of her all at once.
He caught the dark look fleeting through her bright blue eyes and bent down to press a soft kiss against her upturned lips. "I've felt that too, you know," he said finally, when he'd pulled back just enough to speak. "I've washed your blood off of my hands too many times, love... I can't help but worry."
An effort to lighten the mood. Her lips quirked slightly as she teased, "Even if it's hypocritical?"
"Even if..."
|
|
|
|
Post by Artemis Kaiser on Feb 14, 2015 22:30:28 GMT -6
 You all stand before a storm.
A storm that is willing and ready to rip all apart that stands in her way.
Be prepared.
I have ditched all my inhibitions.
I have become a nightmare.
I have become the monster that my family wanted me to be.
Just for all of you.
Feel special.
Feel happiness in the fact that all I do in this tournament is not just for myself.
It is for you.
To show you.
To show you all.
That happiness will be the last bit you can cling to.
It will be your crutch.
It will be your life preserver.
It will keep you from falling.
It will keep you from drowning in the sea of despair.
Because I am coming to hit you all.
And I am going to hit you all fuckin' hard.
I | RESEARCH AND REMEMBRANCE
Deathmatch – [noun] – /deTHmaCH/ - a match in which many of the normal rules do not apply, typically leading to a more violent contest.What did Artemis get herself into this time? A tournament that promotes ultraviolence and copious of blood, that is what. Josh Duncan, the owner of PWP, probably decided that he needed more blood in his life. The best way to do it is to have females shed as much blood as possible. Females see more blood than males, anyways. Artemis, against her better judgment, opted to join in on this competition. The reward for winning is a world championship shot. Artemis smirked at the thought of it. Who would be able to stop a woman that cleaved her way through a league of extraordinary women? People would have to get behind whoever wins. No, people had to get behind Artemis, the warrior drenched in the blood of her enemies.
The Pro Wrestling Project was not a foreign environment for the Kaiser family. The artist formerly known as Peyton von Licht made his first steps into the American wrestling circuit through PWP. Josh Duncan came to him and told the then rookie that he was eligible for a tournament to crown the first PWP Heavyweight Champion. Sadly, for the starry-eyed boy, James Shark, the eventual winner, in the first round, met him. He put up a decent fight, displaying his potential as a wrestler. In the end, Peyton found himself on the ground for the three count. Peyton thanked Josh Duncan for the opportunity and went on his way to advance himself as wrestler.
Skip to nearly a year later, Artemis found herself in the same federation. She called Peyton to humor him on the matter. Peyton Kaiser, as he goes by now, laughed on the matter. He often thought of returning back, but decided to take a break from wrestling. “Maybe one day,” Peyton told his older sister. Perhaps he would be back if PWP became a hypocritical cesspool. Artemis was taking a shot at PWP now. This time, she was here to conquer fifteen other women.
This was due to a need for violence. Glory was nice, but as of late, Artemis found herself in a berserk anger. She lost her RWD championship, she lost the GPW Gift Exchange battle royal, and she was angry about it. Artemis’ mind fell into a mode that was dangerous to everyone. “Queen of the Deathmatch” screamed out “pain and anguish”. It was an excellent opportunity for Artemis to beat someone down, without remorse, without any boundaries or rules to stop her.
Josh Duncan even said that there would be special matches scattered through. Artemis found herself giggling at that. He made it sound like a game show. Was he acting as if this would not be one of the most brutal wrestling events in 2015? “How silly of him,” Artemis thought. Sitting in a bathrobe, Artemis pulled up the bracket. It was time to scout out the competition. Some people in wrestling want the easy way through. They do not want to challenge themselves. Artemis prayed that this tournament would be full of people that could take Artemis to her limit. When the webpage came up, Artemis smiled. There were no feelings of disappointment.
The first name on the list was Whiskey Ayano. It was a shame that was on the other side of the bracket. The only possible way that Artemis could face her would be to get to the finals. Artemis had full confidence that she could do it, but there was no need to get overzealous. The last time she did, she found herself losing the GPW Gift Exchange battle royal. Whiskey was one of Artemis’ favorites. To be perfectly honest, Whiskey Ayano was one of Artemis’ crushes. She was not only a babe, but her skills in the ring were so much more attractive. That Bottleneck Clutch of hers had Artemis nearly salivating. No one would want to end up in that move, but Artemis had a fascination with seeing if she could break out of it. She began to wonder if she had some masochistic tendencies spawning within her.
Whiskey would be an issue in this tournament. She probably had a good amount of hype walking into this match. Hell, Artemis was a fan of her, then how big is her legion of fans? Artemis felt slightly bitter that she owned many of Whiskey’s shirts. She even wore one during a GPW show. If the hype was not enough to make her a threat, it was obviously her skill. Not only was she a talented Joshi, but she bore a neutral mindset. She had no enemies, but she had no friends. Her morals might not all be there. Also, factor in her constant drunkenness. Any person that is able to function properly while being drunk was a problem. Drunken Fist was an incredible thing to see. Drunken Wrestling might not be an official thing, but Whiskey would definitely be a frontrunner for it.
Strategizing against a drunk person is difficult to do, if not impossible. How can you plan for someone who does not know what he or she is doing himself or herself? You cannot, that is the answer. Whiskey might have built a resistance to the alcohol, but Artemis will never know how strong it is. Throughout Artemis’ planning notebook (yes, she has a purple one.), Whiskey’s section had nothing written except for a few words. “Stay on your toes,” she wrote. That was the only advice she could give herself.
As a Joshi, it could be possible that Whiskey competed in many “deathmatches”. She had a lot of experience walking in. That bothered Artemis. Whiskey had expert knowledge on what weapons to use and how effective they were. She could probably strike you down with a chair better than anyone else could. Artemis recalled Whiskey competing in such matches, bleeding half a bucket of blood, and smiling about it. If Artemis’ egocentrism did not prevent her from being intimidated…she would be of Whiskey.
Whiskey’s unpredictability was what Artemis would have to watch for the most if she made it to the finals against Whiskey. Artemis did not want to have a headache, trying to plan for Whiskey Ayano. She could spend more time thinking about her name. Is “Fireball” a reference to the alcoholic beverage? Artemis only had it once, because she was not much of a drinker. It was spicy. Why would someone make a spicy alcoholic drink? In any regard, Whiskey could win the damn thing if Artemis is not careful. Obviously, she would have to see whom Whiskey was facing.
Mackenzie Roberts? She works in LAW right now. She is a primadonna to the fullest. Artemis heard rumors that Roberts does not want to be touched. She finds people to be too dirty. Artemis found it funny she was facing Whiskey first. Whiskey could very well puke on her. What was a girl like her doing in this tournament? She does like to be dirty. Does she not realize she is in a tournament where bloodshed is the norm? She might walk out of this tournament, drenched in her own blood. Artemis felt envious of Whiskey. Whiskey is going to be her teacher. “Welcome to wrestling, bitch. It is a contact sport.”
She trained people. Therefore, she has some knowledge of wrestling beyond that of a normal wrestler. Taking in that she does not like to be touched, she is probably agile. If not, she would be touched. Logically, that makes sense. That seems like it, though. She had experience holding a belt. Mackenzie Roberts had the element of surprise in her hands. Many of the females here have displayed their abilities plenty of times to the point of recognition. Roberts was under the radar, but that is not a bad thing in this case. If she got past Whiskey, she might be an issue.
Another Joshi lingered throughout the tournament. Suzume Mitsuyoshi held more gold in her career than Whiskey Ayano. However, she still had a chip on her shoulder, like Artemis. Artemis appealed to that. There was nothing wrong with trying to work your way out of the shadows. No one wanted to be unknown. In wrestling, you wanted to get your name out there. Some did it through unorthodox means. This was one of those means. Suzume was submitting herself in a tournament where people want and will rip each other apart for little to no reason. It was very possible that she would become famous for her actions. It was also possible that she could become famous off the end of her career.
Someone could easily take a steel pipe or something to her lower back. It breaks the lower spine, leaving her paralyzed. Some of the saddest words that someone could say “I can’t feel my legs” can come from Suzume. People will remember her valiant efforts. Over time, people will begin to forget her. Fans will visit her or send her loving gifts while she recuperates. They will wish for a hopeful recovery, a miracle in medicine to appear. As the grim reality of her being a paraplegic settles, people will forget. It is how society works. As much as it pains Artemis to think on these matters, they happen. Artemis would gladly paralyze Suzume if she got in her way of success.
Ashley Sullivan, another musician, is in here. Artemis had a stigma towards musicians. Every musician she met in the wrestling has been a grade-A asshole. Is Ashely going to be any different? Once again, she was another person trying to worm her way out of the shadows. As she does, she steps into the light. She steps towards Die Sonne. She steps towards Artemis Kaiser. She will burn in the radiance, unable to see her own demise. She will be forced to fall back into the perpetual darkness that haunts her life.
Artemis growled at the next name. Brytain Rollins, a pink haired warrior who shrouded herself in mystery. She saw a few matches, but every time, she felt like Brytain knew what she was doing. She was not fighting just to win. She was managing to keep herself hidden. It was not necessarily she; her style was what was unable to read. She was capricious. Artemis gave up trying to analyze her. The only thing she knew was that Rollins did not want to be found out. Artemis would not pry too much. She might find herself in a world she did not want to interject in.
Savannah fought in PWP eleven times. This tournament would be her 12th time. Artemis looked at her match. She was talented, to say the least. However, she was sloppy here and there. She made mistakes and her opponents who beat her were able to capitalize on it. She made herself too available for her potential opponents to see. With a smirk, she moved along. Savannah might not make it far. She will impress by facing that whimsical fairy of a woman, Brytain, but it will not be enough.
Kendall K. Kingham must love her name for its acronym. Artemis rolled her eyes. She is another general manager willing to stand up in fight. Artemis mumbled something about her being worried about her well-being. She had a show to run. Not only was she wasting time being here to compete, but also what if she was massively injured? SCW would not have a general manager anymore. That place would go up in flames without control. Artemis pondered on this because of Whiskey’s presence there.
Kendall’s opponent made her uproar with laughter. Marisol Hawkes, the woman that ducked Artemis all throughout MSW’s lifespan. She was stepping up to fight here, because she already believes she is the Queen of Extreme. Artemis snickered. She really wanted to meet Marisol in the tournament. She could finally get the payback for her words back then. Artemis wondered if Marisol was a coward still. She would get hit with a weapon and probably run off to Griffin, screaming for love and attention. That is the reason she entered herself in the tournament anyways. She just wants attention. She will get it…in the most painful of ways.
Artemis did not recognize any other names on the lineup. So she jumped down to her match. At the wee bottom of the bracket, Artemis saw her name. She made a gleeful noise until she saw whom she was facing. Her eyes narrowed down at the name. There was nary fear or anger. Artemis just emotionlessly gazed at her computer. With a low inflection, Artemis spoke to herself.
“Nina Stokes is going to die.” II | A FORCED METAMORPHOSIS A room full of weapons is our setting for today. Dimly lit, Artemis entered the room, gazing around. Her eyes land on many of the weapons. She dragged her fingers lightly among the weaponry. She stopped at a kendo stick, removing it from the wall. “My father loves to collect weapons,” she spoke, taking hold of it. She threw a strike in the air, cutting through it with a precise strike. She lowered the weapon, analyzing them again. She placed it back on the wall, continuing down the hall.
The camera panned upward to take note of all the weapons. Memorabilia was the proper word to describe them. Leon Kaiser wrestled for seventeen long years. Along with the championships that were seen in the next shot, he collected weapons. A magnitude of different weapons were scattered in the expansive room. Artemis looked wondrously among them, masked with an easygoing look. She was home, in more than the literal sense. She was becoming comfortable with her surroundings.
“Throughout his life, he has built up a small fortress, full of different weapons. As a child, I would go through here, wondering what all of these could do, I found myself scared by some of them. I never liked coming into this room,” she reached up and grabbed onto a steel chair. With dents within and old blood on, it was evident that it had seen better days. “As a wrestler, he participated in hardcore matches. More than one normally should. At some point, I thought he sought them out,” a bittersweet chuckle escaped Artemis. “My father has bled in front of me. He has even bled on me as I helped him backstage after the grotesque wars he had. As a child and a teenager, I was scared of these matches. I stopped attending shows where I knew he would bleed.”
“I always wondered how my mother dealt with it. My father would come home, head and body full with stitches. He was disoriented, barely knowing where he was,” Artemis said tenderly, putting the chair back in its place. She reached and removed a bat wrapped in barbed wire. “No matter what he might have done or what was done to him, that was one of the few times I could see my father smile. Blood draining down his face, a hazy look on his face, and no words escaping his mouth, but he would smile. A big, bloodstained smile.”
“My mind could not process what he was thinking. How could one smile when they were drenched in their own blood? How could one smile when they were drenched in SOMEONE ELSE’S blood?” Artemis lightly touched the barbs. She drew a droplet of blood. Looking at it, she faintly smiled and brought it to her mouth. Licking it away, she placed the bat back in its place. “This was not the only time I would see that very smile, that damn sadistic smile that haunted my nightmares.”
“My oldest brother, Cameron, would soon don the same smile. He is not an emotional person. With a scowl on his face, Cameron hardly speaks unless he has something important to say. He strides through life, not caring what anyone thinks because his world revolves around only him. He does not live in our reality. He only steps out of it to acknowledge us, attempting to mask his disillusions. With that description, you could see why I felt chills when he smiled the same way my father once did,” Artemis paused, looking for something. She found it; her face told the story.
“With a weapon...with this,” Artemis removed a spike from the wall. She held the dangerous item in her hands, familiar with it. Like the damaged chair, it had blood on it. “I saw him bludgeon a man bloodied. As he wrenched this in the man’s head, I heard him laugh. I heard him laugh joyfully. When he looked down at his foe, he smiled. I immediately felt a cold streak go down my spine. It was not exactly fear. It was the sickening feeling of nostalgia that crept up my spine. My brother was a monster like my father.”
“However, monsters only beget monsters. Grendel’s mother gave birth to a monster who ripped men limbs from limbs. Leon Kaiser was a monster that broke the bones of his adversaries. His son only did what was in his DNA to do. As horrified as I was seeing my brother smiling viciously at his bloody handiwork, I felt a slight happiness surge in me. There, I barely knew that I was going to be a wrestler. I did not know I would work my way into my lineage. I did not know that it was in my DNA to marvel at the bloodshed. I did not know I was a monster too.”
Artemis found a pair of brass knuckles. A sour expression came upon her face as she did. “Nearly a year I have walked through this business. I have collected accolades and fought some of the best. Not once have I have been excited to utilize weaponry. I always regarded myself as an honorable woman, who did not need weapons to prosper. That was when I thought I only needed my natural weapons,” she put out her fists to the camera. Scars littered around her knuckles. These were the fists of a warrior.
“These fists bare scars from when bones would cut into my flesh. A person’s only natural defense against these broke under them. Their defenses left their marks. These scars are constant reminders of the damage I inflict on people. These hands are my primary weapons. They could punch through bone, scattering them upon splendid impact. The mind numbing sounds of bone shattering played brilliant orchestras in my ears. Nevertheless, these fists here are not the only weapons I possess.”
The camera lowered to view Artemis’ legs. “I, of course, have my legs,” she rose one up, making the camera follow. She stretched it out. “People grew afraid of them. When I would feint a kick, people would cower. I knocked a girl out with a kick to the temple in my first ever match. The poor girl has not wrestled since. The diagnosis was a concussion; it ended her career short. She was a promising girl, but made the stupid decision to step in my way.”
“Finally, I had this,” she poked the side of her head. “My mind is the sharpest sword in any arsenal. It is full of different submission holds that can dislocate, fracture, and break bones. They specifically know which ones do exactly what. I know how to move a limb a way to cause the nerves to scream out in pain. It never grows dull, because I always sharpen it. Throughout my career, that was all I needed. I did not need steel, brass, wood, or any foreign material. That thought pattern has since died.”
“My preference not to use weapons is still remnant, but I have adopted man’s natural favoritism towards weapons. That was the first step to making myself ready for this tournament. Weapons will be used; I know this. It might not be to win. It might be to inflict pain. All the females that signed up for this tournament are here to hurt other women. Personal glory might have brought them here, but the contract told them all of what they were getting into.”
“It was a waiver. Josh Duncan does not want to be held responsible for what will happen. Some of the competitors, say Annie Zellor and Mackenzie Roberts, might have cringed at the descriptions. Other disregarded it as they probably signed one akin to it before. Me? I felt something click and all the rest was white noise. If a competitor is not willing to sacrifice it all for the sport, then what is the point of them being here? I knew all of this when I walked into the building to sign the contract.”
Artemis stopped in a part of the room, sitting down underneath overarching weaponry. “The white noise shunned away the conscious telling me that weapons hurt other people. They do, we all know. The voice in my head telling me not to strike people down with anything I get my hands on died. I killed it. I beat it to death. Why do such a thing? Why release that restriction? It will take that kind of ruthlessness to win this tournament. Whiskey Ayano is one of the key reasons why I had to do it. It is women like her that forced me into this state of viciousness.”
“I have always told myself not to push myself too far. I have broken a woman’s neck and acted as if I did not care. I did. I abandoned that ring with the championship that I garnered from it. I acted cocky, but inside I felt pain. I felt sick. The breakage was not on purpose. A mere accident, but I hated the woman I did it too. I tried to look in the mirror and tell myself that I loved what I did. I could not lie to myself like that.”
“People like Whiskey Ayano? Joshi who competed in matches like this will gladly look in the mirror. They will not lie to themselves. There is no lie to begin with. They are proud of the things they do. About a year ago, I could not do that. In a month, I had relinquished all senses of mercy. I have the talent to do so, but I have now reached the point that I need to be to win.”
“I have a sweet younger sister named Sophie. She was in love with a girl that I have set my eyes upon. I told her that I was going to break her. Not just mentally or emotionally, I was going to break her physically. I told that I was going to make sure that Sabrina Baker could not walk again. She stood against me, trying to defend her loved one. I shot her down. I grabbed her by her head and rammed her into a car. I kicked her in the skull. I kicked harder than one should ever kick their sister! NO ONE SHOULD BE KICKING THEIR SISTER TO BEGIN WITH!”
“I ONLY DID IT BECAUSE SHE WAS IN MY WAY! That is the point in my life that I have reached. I look in a mirror every day. I put on some makeup and tell myself that I kicked my sister in the head. Instead of puking from my own self-disgust, I smile. I smile like my father and my brother. I see myself for what I am now. I am the monster. I am one of the monsters that the Kaiser family spawned. What makes it even more fun? I am damn proud of it.”
“About a year ago, Whiskey Ayano would kill me. If I had walked through here like my brother once did, starry-eyed and stupid, I would be gone. Someone like Whiskey would took advantage of my ignorance. While I would try not to use weapons, they would pick up the nearest one and bash my brains in with it. The only person that would be to blame was myself. Now I stand here like her, ready and willing to beat even my own sister down with a weapon. I am ready for the deathmatch. I have no mercy nor guilt in the things I will do.”
Artemis found her favorite toy. She grabbed onto a crowbar, dragging it down. She looked over it, admiring the cold steel. She smiled gingerly at it, holding it tightly. “My first opponent, nay, my first victim is Nina Stokes. Nina and I have a bit of budding history. We met each other once in GPW during the Gift Exchange Battle Royal. I eliminated her. People cheered intensely every time we locked eyes. Every time we would hit each other, fans would grow more excited. People want to see us fight one on one. Josh Duncan capitalized on the idea of us fighting each other. He will make some revenue doing so. However, the fans will be disappointed.”
“Nina, I am not walking in here just to win. I am not here to prove that I am better than you are. My mind is no longer wrapped around being better. That ego that I had was the reason why I lost my GPW Tag Team championship. It was the reason why I lost the battle royal. The Artemis Kaiser you saw a glimpse of is dead. You only have opportunity to preview what you are stepping into the ring with.”
“I am coming at you with hellfire and brimstone. Your face will meet flesh, steel, brass, wood, cement, or anything else I get you close to. You will taste your own blood. The bitter taste will haunt you as you rest in a hospital bed, wishing you stepped away from this tournament. I almost stepped away from this tournament, because I was growing scared of myself. The thing is, Nina, I am only doing this because you stand in my way. Our words exchanged on Twitter were not special. We both want to beat each other, but I was hoping it would come at the end of this tournament.”
She struck the wall with the crowbar. It left a small dent. Chips of brick fell to the ground. “That could be fragments of your skull, Nina. All because you are fighting me first. If you were in the finals, I would not treat you as horribly as I will now. You are my first victim; you will not be my last. Josh Duncan revealed what the reward is. It is a shot at the PWP World Championship. That championship is held high above most others. People from all sorts of federations come to fight for that belt. Winning that belt will elevate me to new heights in the wrestling world. Sadly, you stand in my damn way of getting there.”
“Like the Berlin Wall, I have to tear you down to the ground. Scarlet might try to interfere in order to stop me from doing the things I have to do. All the while, I will be smiling brightly for all to see! As much as I want this to be a match where I could just display my technical prowess, it is not. This is not a flashy type of tournament. This has the capability to be the bloodiest thing that the wrestling world will ever see. There are no restrictions, outside of murder! Wake up, Stokes! You are in danger of your career being ended!”
“What I did to Fable Rowen was child’s play. I did that to prove a point. What I am going to do to you is just to survive and prosper. The animalistic nature of a human being trying to survive is the most dangerous thing to stand against! I do not want to lose in the first round. Therefore, I am a survivor. I want to prosper. People have started terrible wars in order to better themselves. That is what you are going into, Nina! You are going into a damn war. We are not talking about the one you can win. People will call our match ‘Vietnam’ because you will lose, because you will not know how to deal with what I am doing to do to you.”
“I have demolished a teenage girl to advance myself. I have stated this before. What makes you think that I will not stop until you are unable to respond to pleas of the referee? He will have to stop the match. He will have to stop the DAMN DEATHMATCH, because of how bad I am going to beat you down. Please, for your sake, Nina, do not come into this match trying to beat me. This tournament will have a victor, but that victor will be stained in blood. If you think you can save yourself by merely beating me, you will lose. You have to come in this match, trying to survive Artemis Kaiser.”
“This tournament is a gauntlet. At the end of this match, even if you manage to make it past me, the damage I do to you will be too great. You will hobble into your next match, tired and injured. You will not be able to celebrate your victory over me, because the things I would have done to you will haunt you forever. You will look at yourself in the mirror and see your maimed self. I will take something from you, Nina Stokes. I am not exactly sure what, but I will. I will probably enjoy doing so.”
She took a rest, sweating at the intensity of her words. The raw shock from allowing herself such emotion in made her sigh. She stabilized herself, looking down at the crowbar. She smiled gently at it, as if it was her child. She even cradled it slightly. With a moment of rest gone by, she rose her head back up, looking at the camera.
“Throughout all my research, I have come to a conclusion. I have played a small prediction game with myself. I can see who will be making through this bracket. In turn, I will say my words to those people. I call them the ‘problem children’, because they are the ones who are walking in here somewhat like me. They know the risks. They know the evils they have to do,” Artemis laughed at the ideology behind it all.
“Josh Duncan is masquerading this meeting of monsters as a tournament. No one else wants to see it like it is, either. I know it because no one cares. They just want to see us all bleed and hear us scream. And they call us the sadists, girls.”
“I have already mentioned Whiskey. She has the most experience in deathmatches. I have to say that I am a huge fan of her. I have her t-shirts. She is probably going to be my final test. Let us if I can stand before the Fireball. Can she burn me? Can she raze my flesh and put me down. We will both walk into that proverbial, bathed in the blood of previous victims. I will see a smile that indicates that she is coming for my throat. I will not leave these feelings unrequited. I am coming for her throat too. ‘Whose fang will reach other’s throat first?’ many ask. The real question should be ‘which one will cut the deepest?’”
“I have gone to Japan recently. Despite the claims of others, I am not a Joshi or have any relation to Puroresu. I decided it was time to go involve myself in it. I went out and wrestled a few matches as a test. They were in shock of my amazing durability, my ability to stand their blows. I cannot say it was not surprising. In fact, I felt the pain resonate within me. I almost bit a hole in my lip to prevent myself from yelling. Their strikes hurt,” Artemis rose up off her feet. She took off her shirt, revealing the cascades of different bruises.
“I know what Whiskey is capable of. Not only is she experienced in deathmatches, she is deadly with the restrictions on. Her strikes will hurt, but I must stand against them. I know my strikes hurt. I will hope that my training in Japan will aid me in my eventual match against her. It will be a test to see how much I have to evolve. But that is not the only ramification here.”
“She is unpredictable. Whiskey, you will come into one of your matches drunk if possible. I hope that you do fall out of your drunken state, as it might impair you. At my maximum, I wrestle endlessly for an hour and thirty-five minutes. I am not saying that I will wrestle you until you get a hangover, no. I am saying that I will figure you out eventually. People have patterns, even in their drunken state. Your unpredictability will falter and I will capitalize. The only thing is that…I need to survive your onslaught. I have high confidence that I can. I look forward to facing one of my idols. Bring on the Bottleneck Clutch. I will introduce you to the AK93. Who will scream out for mercy first? I hope to see you in the finals.”
With a somber smile, she reminisced on who she thought would be next. “As much as she would like me to mention her, Marisol Hawkes will not make it to the finals. She will fall to Brytain Rollins, who is one of the more prominent problem children. As hard as I looked, I could not find anything on her. She is even more mysterious than Whiskey. That is a problem. I cannot plan for her. Some will say that is my downfall. Nevertheless, I always have a contingency plan.”
“No matter how much you hide about yourself and your style, your physiology is still the same. In simpler terms, I can break you all the same. Your arm breaks like everyone else’s. Your leg buckles like everyone else’s. You have the element of surprise, but I have the element of perseverance. I can reduce and amplify my style to fit around others. I can make myself as unpredictable as you are. Additionally, a steel chair to the cranium will send anyone down to the ground. There is hardly anything you can do to defend yourself against that.”
Artemis giggled lightly. “Annie Zellor is another problem child that is hard to get a grasp upon. I almost disregarded her, because I thought she would not be in the tournament. She reminds me of my sister, Sophie. She is a sweet girl, but how does a sweet girl survive in a desolate wasteland like this? This tournament is not glitter and sunshine. It is pain and anguish. As grim as it sounds, I am unsure if she will make it out of here the same way she walked in. Many people are depending on that to win. If I face her like I believe, I will have to educate her on that thought pattern. She likes to fly in the sky, but I am a sniper that will shoot her down to the ground. When she is down here,” Artemis stomped her foot on the ground. “I can do anything I want to her.”
“Laurel Anne Hardy has the experience to succeed well here. She can dominate if no one pays attention, but Artemis Kaiser always pays attention. I think her downfall here will be that she will attempt to be artistic and someone will make her pay for that. Yeah, there will be art made, but with her own blood. The macabre style will be splendid. I hope she can look at it and be glad that she could contribute. That kind of mindset is parasitic here in wrestling. Wrestling is not pretty. It is downright dirty. Get over yourself.”
Artemis sighed.
“I have to keep my analytics to myself now, though. I reveal too much and my opponents can create counter strategies. Am I the smartest woman walking into this tournament? No, I can tell you none of us hold that title. No one realizes how messed up this tournament is. This could be the end of sixteen women. It is a horror movie waiting to happen. The people will cheer it on no matter what. It is in their nature. The savage fans will watch gladiators die.”
“Jackson, the PWP World Champion, will be our Commodus, watching over the arena with peaked interest. Who will stand before him next? He is a gladiator like all of us, but I will bring him the same question that Maximus did. When blood of the brave and foolhardy who stand before me stains the ring and my hands, I will look up at him. As the announcement that Artemis Kaiser is the winner of PWP’s first Queen of the Deathmatch, I will speak only once more.”
Artemis stopped for a moment, letting the gravity of her words sink in. A few moments went by before she spoke again. With a thunderous roar, she screamed.
“Are you not entertained?”
Silence once again fell upon the weapon room. The echoes of the infamous line simmer out, leaving Artemis in the perpetual silence. She examined the crowbar again, before putting back in its place.
“When the time comes for Jackson to walk into the ring that fateful day to defend his gold, he will walk a path of broken bones and even more broken dreams. He will subconsciously hear the screams of the fifteen fallen women. When he steps into the ring, he will see me standing across the ring, blanketed by my homeland’s flag. The fans will be cheering for the match to begin. As our eyes lock, there will only be one question left to answer, Jackson.” “Will you be able to survive The Queen of the Deathmatch, Artemis Kaiser?” |
|
|
|
Post by savannah on Feb 14, 2015 22:39:04 GMT -6
"I hate tournament promos."
Fade in on Savannah, sitting on a weight bench in her home gym in Philadelphia. The lights of the City of Brotherly Love can be seen through the window behind her.
"I mean... the amount of research I do to prepare for a regular match against one opponent is one thing- but having to look into 15 possible opponents?
Impossible to do it right and still get the training in to win."
Savannah stood up and stretched, working a few kinks out before staring to pace as she spoke- 'pacing her cage' in other words.
"But then, when I was getting ready to start this impossible task an thought struck me. Why bother?
Let's look at the facts- at least as I see them. First, the one person in this entire competition that I want to get in the ring with is Laurel Anne Hardy.
We have a history that goes back to the dinosaur days of Global Extreme. We almost hooked up in a Barbed Wire and C4 match at Diamond- but the company closed up right before the show.
Now, we get another chance. I already know she'll be in that final match, and I'm training night and day getting ready to kick her ass no matter what the stip is on our match.
Yes- our match.
You see, I want Laurel. This has been in the works for years. The seven other bitches that I have to go through to get to her haven't got a snowball's chance in Hell, because I WILL FIGHT LAUREL THAT NIGHT!
You hear me, Laurel? Get ready, hon because it's finally on!
And when the dust settles and there's only one of us left. I'll take my winnings and I'll head on to Boston, and the wake of poor old IWF."
Savannah nearly growls the last out.
"So I can put a STAKE through its fuckin' HEART!"
Savannah turns to the camera, fire in her eyes.
"That has been my driving force for the past few months… well not the stake part, naturally. Ever since that place fucked me over I have been working hard. My first attempt at showing them failed when Diamond fell. Last month I finally did what I set out to do though. I won Hardcore gold!"
She steps over to a table, picking a belt up off of it and showing it to the camera.
"Pretty, in so many ways. If you're watching Haley- you were the force that got me there. I'm just sorry I won't be able to rub your nose in it come Boston.
But then I thought to myself. 'If one belt told them they were wrong- what would TWO do?'
Maybe it's overkill, but I'm planning on walking through those doors at IWF's final show with TWO Hardcore belts over my shoulders!"
See you in the ring."
Fade to black.
|
|
cordy
PWP Competitors
Posts: 2
|
Post by cordy on Feb 14, 2015 22:46:19 GMT -6
Success Never Looked This Good
Chapter: Queen of The Deathmatch An Inside Glance
"The Queen of the Deathmatch Tournament; man, that was just an insane experience to be honest--" Cordelia began, gesturing with her hands as she fondly reminisced. "--and I truly do believe that it made people see me in a brand new light, y'know? Like, not only was I out of my element so to speak? Well, that's more of what the 'general perception'..." she said, making quotations with her hands, "--at the time was at least -- but I was also stepping into the element of some of the businesses most notable names.” “If you take a look at some of the ladies that competed that night; a deathmatch was nothing new to them. It was the kind of environment that some of the, even seemed to thrive in. Brytain Rollins, Whiskey Ayano? Laurel Anne Hardy!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening and lighting up with admiration and excitement at the mentioning of Laurel’s name. “I mean, Laurel made her name by beating veterans in deathmatches during the early days of her career. People like them? They had earned reputations for their brutality in the ring and in matches of that nature; and there I was, wandering into their domain. I had no real experience with that kind of thing. Many people felt that I didn’t even belong there, and honestly I couldn't blame them." "When you think about where I was in my career at that time, it’s easy to understand why they felt the way that they did. I was known more for my technical ability; my high flying tendencies. I may have shown a bit of that --” She paused for a moment, trying to find the correct word. “--I don’t know, sadistic side? -- in flashes, but it was always in the spur of the moment. I mean, I had been through some wars already at that point in my career. Easily off top, I can name the PDW tag title defense against Hubris at -- I can’t recall the event right now, I believe it was Aversion Therapy, 2013? No Disqualifications; a lot of bad blood there -- yeah. The matches with Team DLC -- both, the TLC match at Legendary 2013, and the Platinum X match at Urban Warfare also come to mind, but other than that I wasn’t really in any situations where I needed to be -- ‘extreme’ if you will. So it was totally understandable why most people wouldn’t see me in that light." “But there was always a part of me that wondered if I could go to those extremes. I remember seeing a match between Laurel Anne Hardy and Steel Angel, at one of PDW’s Blind Fury Pay Per Views, and maaaaaan!” Cordy lets out an exasperated sigh. “That was one of the most brutal things I’d ever seen in my life -- but I seriously grew a certain admiration for Laurel Anne on that night as a competitor. She single handedly changed the way I viewed the business. Those early years of my career were all about establishing respect. I seriously had a chip on my shoulder like you wouldn’t believe. From the way I broke into the business -- you know, I was sort of a media star. I did the reality show while I was in the Body Slam Academy, and a lot of people felt that I had an easy road. So, those years in my career were all about establishing myself, and in a sense trying to pay the dues that most people felt I hadn't paid. Respect from my peers meant a lot to me back then, y'know?" "I mean, who really wants their hard work to go unnoticed or uncredited?” she asked, furrowing her brow disapprovingly. “So, the Queen of the Deathmatch tournament was kind of my way of letting the business know that I didn't want to cut any corners. There were people that held their noses up at me because they sincerely felt that I hadn’t gone through what they went through -- well that tournament was my ‘anything you can do, I can do better’ moment.” “Winning wasn’t necessarily my goal. I just wanted to show that I wasn’t afraid to take risks. I wasn’t afraid to lay it all on the line. I can’t recall if I ever told her this or not, but Laurel Anne Hardy was a big reason behind that mentality of mine. That woman was fearless in the ring man, and she was always willing to do whatever it took when the time called for it; no matter how much of a toll it took on her own body. I wanted to be that fearless. I wanted to create art the way that she did, and in my mind -- there was no better place to do so than the Queen of the Deathmatch tournament.“ * * * *
4/22/14
She was nervous. Butterflies were normal for her preceding a match, she’d always used the anxiety as fuel; however she knew that this was different. It wasn’t just anxiety gnawing at her, but an underlying fear that she just wasn’t ready. But then again, seven months away from the ring with a fractured ankle would do that to you.
She’d only been cleared to compete a little less than a week, and there she was, ready to step out in front of a sold out crowd later in the night against one of PDW’s most prominent names, and her long time rival, Brytain Rollins.
Cordelia wasn’t naive, she realized that she’d probably bitten off far more than she could chew. Prior to her return, Cordelia had kept a close eye on the company, and she knew that Brytain was on as hot of a streak as anyone could be on in the business. Many people felt that the mini-tournament to crown the new number one contender for the Platinum Championship was hers to win.
Not many people gave Cordelia a chance.
And as the seconds slowly ticked away, Cordelia could only wonder how much of a chance she really had. She’d worked hard, rehabbing and getting back into ring shape; pushing herself to limits she’d never known were possible. But every step of the way, in the back of her mind, all she could think about was whether or not her leg would hold up. Physically, her body was ready. Mentally, she wasn’t quite sure if she could say the same.
Just as that moment, a loud roar went up from the live crowd outside; the sound only amplified as it also emerged from the monitor that hung on the far wall showing the live broadcast of the show. Cordelia stopped her nervous pace, and directed her attention towards the monitor, slowly inching forward to see what was going on. Truth be told, she hadn’t been paying any attention at all to what had been going on outside. She'd been trying hard to shake the negativity that seemed intent on conquering her every thought. Until then, she'd been in a complete trance; with the world and everything else in it seemingly on mute. But that roar, that pulsing and thunderous reverberation of over 19,000 excited fans easily snapped her from her thoughts.
Cordelia folded her arms and watched in amazement at what was transpiring. Laurel Anne Hardy, during her Sadistic Madness match with Steel Angel; had just grabbed a fucking scythe and the crowd was going absolutely bananas.
“Holy shit.” Cordelia muttered to herself, not believing what she was seeing. “Wait, why is she wrapped in barbwire?” Cordelia asked incredulously to no one in particular, considering she was alone in her locker room. Her mouth dropped open as she realized what Laurel’s intentions were with the scythe. “No Way!” Cordelia exclaimed, watching Laurel set the scythe down, and locking Steel Angel into a front facelock. “She’s going to DDT him?” Cordelia’s pulse quickened. Her eyes had only been locked onto the screen for a few mere seconds, and already her adrenaline was racing. Instead of completing the move however, Steel Angel countered, delivering a back body drop that sent Laurel’s barbed wire laced body crashing right down across the blade, causing it to gash her outfit and skin. “Oh….my….God.” Cordelia cringed at the sight of the fall. She had seen some pretty intense matches during her short time in the industry, but she’d never before seen anything quite like what was happening on the screen in front of her.
She then watched Laurel’s get driven face first through a half broken light tube and she knew for sure that the match was over at that point -- except it wasn’t. Laurel Anne Hardy managed to kick out at the referee’s count of two, and the crowd absolutely erupted once again.
A part of Cordelia wished that Laurel had just stayed down. From what Cordelia could see, she’d taken a serious beating; and was definitely not in the best of shape after that facebuster through the glass -- but the funny thing was, Steel Angel looked to be in no better shape at all. As much as Cordelia felt for the competitors involved, there was another part of her that longed to see more. This was the most enthralling thing she’d seen in a very, very long time and Cordelia was curious to see just how far they would go.
Just when Cordelia had thought she’d seen it all, the two competitors somehow found a way to up the ante. More light tubes. Thumb tacks. A road sign. Cookie sheets. Any and everything that they could find to use and punish their opponents, they utilized. The scene was as barbaric as anything Cordelia had ever seen, yet Cordelia was fascinated by it, and she wondered just exactly what that said about her?
Steel Angel climbed the ladder, a light tube in hand. He leaped off and smashed it across Laurel’s head. Cordelia saw Laurel’s body go limp, and that was when the worry began to set in. She was absolutely positive that Laurel Anne Hardy had died, right there in the middle of the Izod Center -- at least until Laurel somehow managed to counter Steel Angel’s attempt at his patented Final Judgment maneuver and hit her signature Party Hardy Sitout Powerbomb on the ring apron. “You have got to be kidding me!” was all Cordelia could say at Laurel’s show of resiliency. She held her breath and watched in anticipation as Laurel slowly ascended the ladder that was at ringside, and she watched as Laurel, soaked in blood, wrapped in barbed wire, beaten to a bloody pulp -- soared off and connected with one of the most visually stunning moves that Cordelia had ever witnessed in her life.
The crowd thundered. Chants of Holy Shit, quickly filled the arena and Cordelia was simply left in awe. Laurel somehow managed to drape her body over Steel Angel’s and that, was that.
Cordelia wasn’t exactly sure what she had just watched -- all she knew, was that it left a serious impression on her. Laurel Anne Hardy was a globally renown competitor. She’d competed all over the world and had had a very successful career. But on that night -- she became one of Cordelia Stevenson’s idols.
The limits that she was able to put herself through was simply remarkable; and Cordelia realized right away -- that was the stuff that legends were made of. Cordelia was very confident in her abilities -- but the ringmanship; the showmanship that she’d just seen -- it was truly on an entirely different level. She knew that Laurel Anne fancied herself as an artist, and Cordelia was positively sure that she had just bore witness to the creation of a masterpiece.
Slowly she began to wonder if she could ever do something like that; if she could push her body to such incredible lengths; if she could bear such pain -- or if she could inflict it for that matter, all in the name of creating her very own masterpiece.
The nerves that had plagued Cordelia that entire evening were no longer a factor. Whatever fears she’d had, were drowned by the adrenaline and excitement that coursed through her body. A blood lust had been born in Cordelia Stevenson that night; a sadistic and morbid lust that cultivated a monster.
A monster that longed to be as magnificent as artist as Laurel Anne Hardy was.
* * * *
Rite of Passage“I’m not a malicious person. I never have been, but to partake in matches such as the ones in that tournament? I think you have to find the malice within. Whenever I set foot into the ring; it was never my intention to hurt someone. My thing was, I just wanted to beat them. I just wanted to show my prowess as an athlete and as a competitor. But a deathmatch was a totally different beast altogether, and you had to go in with a totally different mindset. I'll tell ya--" she said, with a slight shake of the head. "You have to be a special kind of person to do that willingly." She paused for a second, and then began cracking up with laughter. "--Or unknowingly, as was the case with Annie Zellor back then." She took a second, enjoying the memory and wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. Once the fit of laughter passed, her expression grew more serious as she got back to the topic at hand. "It was brutal. It was sadistic, and I don’t think many people believed I could make that change. I don’t think they believed I had it in me. But I think we all have that darkness to us, y'know? Most are afraid to tap into it, but I learned that there are definitely times when you should embrace it. Queen of the Deathmatch was definitely one of those times. So when it was announced that I was apart of the field?” she chuckles. “I caught a lot of sideways glances, man. I remember receiving a barrage of text messages asking if it were true and wanting to know what I was thinking. People thought that I was going to get straight up killed and maimed!" A heart-filled fit of laughter racking her body as she recalled the reactions of those close to her. "The crazy thing was? I knew it was a serious possibility, and I was perfectly fine with that. Talk about no fucks given. You don't walk into those kinds of matches thinking that you're going to walk out unscathed. It just isn't going to happen, and quite frankly, I didn’t care. It wasn’t recklessness on my part like some believed that it was. It was simply a rite of passage for me, so to speak. I was earning my stripes in the business. You didn't do that by playing it safe all the time. I understood that, but the people close to me?" She shook her head. "They were having a fit. They were so against me competing in that tournament, and don't get me wrong, I saw where they were coming from eventually. But initially? I'm not going to lie. I took it a bit personal. I saw it as them not believing that I could do it, or that I could not measure up to the competition, but in all actuality, it wasn't anything like that at all. They were worried about the aftermath. They understood that matches like that took years off of peoples' career. They knew that sometimes, people were scarred forever." "Shit like that changed people." "They didn't think I fully knew what I was getting into, but it was a situation I had contemplated endlessly, and in the end, I'm glad that I stuck to my guns, because it definitely gave me and the fans something worth remembering, and that, for me, was what the business was all about." * * * *
02/03/15 "You really doing this deathmatch shit, huh?" Arkia Fisk-Jones asked with a sigh, her voice laden with concern for her friend's well being.
The disapproval in her tone wasn't lost on Cordelia at all. Ever since Cordelia had first mentioned possibly signing up for the tournament when Josh Duncan had announced it, Arkia had been very vocal about that disapproval. Cordelia knew however that it only stemmed from concern. Arkia had always been protective of her in the time that they'd become friends; and Cordelia knew that the idea of her in something as brutal as a deathmatch tournament definitely did not sit well with her at all.
This was the response that Cordelia had gotten from a lot of her close friends.
With her career going the way that it was, many of them saw no need for her to take the risk that she was taking by participating in such an event. She had already made quite the name for herself in the business and with the slew of awards she'd won in FGA's year end awards, it could easily be said that her star was shining the brightest that it had ever been. So in the eyes of the ones she loved, the tournament and its dangers was definitely not worth the risk.
Cordelia felt quite differently on the matter however, and it was what had her looking forward to it with great anticipation. The corners of her mouth tugged upward into a comforting smile. She appreciated Arkia's concern; it was always nice knowing that there were people in her corner that cared for her so deeply. No matter how often they fought with one another, Cordelia knew that Arkia was the type of person that would be in her corner no matter what. A friend like that was very hard to find, especially in the business that they were in; where it seemed like everyone had ulterior motives.
"Yes, Kiwi." Cordelia responded with a curt nod, Kiwi being her nickname for Arkia. "I'm really doing that deathmatch shit." Cordelia said, her tone mockingly matching Arkia's. "I thought we went through this already chica."
She turned her body towards Arkia, who was sprawled out on the bed looking as if she was ready to knock out at any moment, and simply smiled. She'd missed this; the two of them just hanging out and having simple talks such as the one that they were having. Moments like that had become a rarity for the two, with Arkia having moved to Milwaukee to play housewife.
Cordelia deeply missed the days when they'd lived but 20 minutes away from one another in Philadelphia, and from the many talks they'd had, Cordelia knew that Arkia felt the very same way. Arkia hadn't taken to the midwest as she'd hoped she would, but Cordelia wasn't surprised by that in the least. Arkia was an east coast girl. Everything that she knew and loved with the exception of her husband and now, her three children; were back east. It wouldn't be easy for anyone to just up and leave everything behind. Arkia was no exception.
But now, she was back -- even if only for a little while; once again playing mother hen, and Cordelia was loving every minute of it. Life always did find a way to make you appreciate the simple things.
“I know we’ve been through this,” Arkia said, propping herself up on her elbows. “--but mannnnn, don’t be doing that deathmatch shit, Cordy. That’s entertainment for them weirdos.” Arkia distastefully uttered with a shake of her head.
Cordelia couldn’t help but to laugh at her friend’s assessment. “Really, Arkia?” she questioned, leaning back onto the edge of her Cherry Wood dresser with an amused grin
“Yes really, Cordelia Marie.” Arkia retorted, breaking out Cordy’s full first and middle name, Awww shit. Cordy instantly knew that she meant business. “You don’t need to be doing that shit.” she said, glancing up at her friend with pleading eyes.
“Says someone who competed in both the Platinum Chamber AND the Pentagram.” Cordelia responded, quickly reminding Arkia of some of the most brutal matches that she herself had been in.
“Those matches weren’t made for death though.” Arkia quickly replied defensively.
“They weren’t built for death but ummm, some of you guys got pretty damn close to it.” Cordelia said, finishing the sentence off in a sing-songy sort of tone.
Arkia looked down toward her right leg and sighed, reminders of the near death experiences Cordy spoke about flashing through her mind. She was still taking medications for that extremity. "Pretty damn close, you right...so imagine my discomfort knowing these matches you bout to take part in is actually MEANT for it. I almost went out in matches when death wasn't in the name. Deathmatch Tournament?...on real Cordy. Why?"
Cordelia studied her friend for a moment and listened to her words carefully. She heard the question that Arkia posed, and looking directly into her friends’ eyes, she simply uttered the realest answer that came to her mind.
“Because I can.” she said rather defiantly, her voice full of confidence. “And the worlds needs to know that. I love this business Arkia, and although a lot of people don’t necessarily like it, the deathmatch is just another aspect of the business no matter how taboo it seems to be -- and as crazy as it sounds, I want to experience that. I want to show the world that I’m more than what they make of me, and even more than that, that I’m not afraid. I always hear people say that they want to be the -- best in the business -- well how can you be that if you don’t even experience the business entirely?”
She stopped for a moment and then gave a casual shrug.
“I guess it’s a respect thing to be honest. Since day one you know I’ve busted my ass to earn my place. People have always looked at me as if I’ve had the easy road coming into this business. Maybe I have. But I work twice as hard as anyone else that laces up a pair of boots. I guess this is my way of showing that I can step into any venue, under any circumstance and earn my keep.”
Arkia couldn't help but smirk. The words Cordy said, she understood and agreed with completely. They were words she herself had said time and time again over the course of her career. Arkia may not have liked it but she understood. "Hmm.." Arkia smiled at her best friend. The first real close friend she'd ever really had. "You are one of the best out, easy...but I understand the need to show your position. To prove ya standing. This ain't no normal realm though. Those type of matches...they can change you Cordy. Mentally...you a lot stronger than most. Hell, stronger than me but if you aint careful...you know what I'm saying? I ain't stable as you know. Those type a matches I've been through definitely ain't help."
Cordelia nodded, a sly smirk painting her face. “I don’t think that’s a fair assessment though, Kiwi.” Cordelia admitted with a chuckle. “You are definitely not the ideal subject for the topic of mental stability.” She teased, sticking out her tongue. “But I hear you. If nothing else, just know that I hear every word you’re saying chica.” she said, giving an acknowledging nod. But Arkia wasn’t saying anything that Cordelia hadn’t already taken into consideration. She knew exactly what she was getting herself into. “ It’s a risk, I know. But I didn’t get where I am by playing it safe, y’know?”
Arkia chuckled in reply but her face still showed sincerity to the topic. "I'm stable enough to know that this be dangerous shit. Just promise me one thing outta all this aight?"
“What’s that, big head?” Cordelia asked.
"Just don't fuckin die. I aint for walking this Earth with you not around. Hear me?" Arkia joked in the midst of the serious matter, giggling a little bit but her face showing every bit of sincerity.
“Hmm…” Cordy said, stroking her chin in contemplation. “I can’t make no promises there chica.” She said with a shrug. “I mean -- dying” She held up one hand, palm out and glanced at it, “or being around you and having you bug me for the rest of my days.” Cordy held up her other hand as if weighing the options. “Maaaaaan, when I think about it like that -- dying don’t really seem that bad.” She joked, and cracking a smile at her friend. That’s just how they were and Cordy wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
Kia laughed enjoying the joke but quick to return. "Nigga death ain't no escape. You think I won't find yo narrow ass in the afterlife? Oh I will Mango, I will." Kia smirked confidently at Cordy.
“Go figure.” Cordelia laughed, hearing her friends response. “I really am stuck with you huh?" Cordy asked, playfully rolling her eyes. She glanced back toward Arkia and shrugged. "I guess that's ight. I mean, what would you do without me, anyway?”
Arkia laughed at her friends' response. “What would I do indeed.” she agreed.
* * * *
I hate being typecast.
There is nothing that irritates me more than someone trying to place restrictions upon me; limiting me and my capabilities by telling me exactly what I am and am not capable of doing. Don’t allow your inability to see a bigger picture enclose me within those parameters. I take it as a slap in the face, and truth be told, it only coaxes my rebellious nature. Please don't try to box me in; categorize me as just one thing or another. Sooner or later you’ll just come to realize that there simply isn’t one that can encompass Cordelia Stevenson. Cause just when you think you have me all figured out; there I am -- doing something that you'd never in a million years think that I would do.
I'm adventurous in that sense, y'know? I love the thrill of trying something new; of stepping away from what could be considered my 'norm' and showing the world that it doesn't really exists. I know no boundaries, and the limits people feel to set upon me are only meant to be pushed, broken, and then disregarded entirely. I'm far more than what you see; and I'm far more than what you make of me.
All my life, people have tried telling me what I could and could not do; what I should, and should not do -- and you know something? All I ever did was, what I wanted. No matter whether or not anyone believed I could; no matter whether or not anyone believed that I should have. It didn’t matter if anyone thought that I belonged -- because I did any and everything that I could to shatter their misconceptions of me; to show them that my horizons spread far beyond the reach of their tunneled vision.
And it's something I've had to do since day one in this business.
Because from the moment I first stepped into the ring, I've had to deal with all sorts of generalizations. I was given the cold shoulder because people felt that I was wasting my time. They looked at me and they assumed that I was weak; that I didn't have much fight in me. I don't necessarily know what it was, but there was something that made them look at me and feel as if I would not be successful; as if I could never amount to anything in this business. But, it was obvious that they didn't know who I was, and it was obvious that they simply didn't understand what I stood for.
And to be honest with you guys, I guess that’s why you could say that I am here.
This isn’t a realm that I’m used to. I won’t deny that nor will I try to say otherwise. This is probably the last place anyone would ever expect to see Cordelia Stevenson but ironically, that's exactly why this shouldn't be a surprise to anyone.
If there's one thing that you should know about Cordelia Stevenson, it's that I absolutely love a challenge. Most people would be intimidated by the daunting task that lies before us, and rightfully so. Not one, not two, not three -- but four -- four of the most grueling matches that any of us will probably experience, all in one night. If that isn't a test, then I honestly don't know what is.
Our every limit will be pushed; endurance, strength, determination, our very will to fight -- and most notably our threshold for pain. How much punishment can we force ourselves to endure before we finally break? This is a haven of sadism, and I guess we're all masochists in a sense; putting ourselves through the unspeakable, and why?
I can't speak for any of you.
No Marshawn Lynch, but I do not know why any of you are here, nor will I try to assume such. We all have reasons that are all our own and we all have our individual stories to tell. Whatever they are, they've all brought us here, and this is a common chapter that we will all share.
And I'm honored to share that with you ladies, no matter how this thing plays out.
When all is said and done, I will hold my head high. I will know that I've walked into the lair of darkness itself and danced with the devil intimately on her own sacred grounds. And you all will know that Cordelia Stevenson isn't afraid. I'm not afraid of hurt. I'm not afraid of pain. No, I'm not fond of it in the least, but I understand that in this business, sometimes it's just the cost that needs to be paid. Sometimes blood has to be shed, and if that's the price that I need to pay for respect to be earned, then so be it.
Any length that any of you are willing to go, just know that I am willing to match.
And I know that’s a boisterous claim. I’ve seen plenty of you at work and I know that there definitely aren’t any limits for a good majority of you. I like that. Because I know under these circumstances, I’ll be receiving each and every one of your best shots. I look at these brackets and I know without a shadow of a doubt in my mind that there is no easy path to victory here. The only thing that’s truly promised to any of us in Indiana is pain, torment -- and suffering.
And under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t wish any of those things on my worst enemy.
But these are not normal circumstances, and unfortunately I will bring every single one of those things to whomever may find themselves standing across from me in that ring, starting with Amy Drew.
Whether you love me or you hate me; when all is said and done, each and every one of you will respect me.
I pray for the well being of each and every single one of you, but more importantly, I pray that none of you have to cross my path.
Because there’s a monster residing inside that’s been waiting to come out and play.
And I apologize now, for what must be done.
|
|
|
|
Post by Annie Zellor on Feb 14, 2015 22:50:11 GMT -6
Friday 6th February 2015Today the sun rose over Miami as it does most days throughout the year. But today is a very special day for one young lady in particular. Last night she kissed her adorable shiba inu, Rolf and Bengal cat, Animal, good-bye before setting off on a short break. One day in Miami with her friends and ECWF superstars, Mia Scott and Lacey Cohen – they have a fanfest ahead of their upcoming show and Annie gets to accompany them. Then she and Mia are off to England for a few days; Mia is scheduled to compete on a Pro Wrestling FRONTIER show along with Annie’s #sparklebuddy and tag team partner, Laurel Anne Hardy. As well as fellow FGA wrestlers, Evangelista and Sean Sands. So Annie is absolutely positive that she’ll enjoy that show. And then, by Thursday she’ll be back on American soil, having helped celebrate Leanne’s birthday while she was over there. Perfect. However, there’s work to do. Which is why Annie is sitting out by the pool in Lacey’s luxurious garden, wearing a BRUTAL Apparel baseball cap to keep the sun out of her eyes, as well as her white ‘Donut Kill My Vibe’ t-shirt. Her light brown hair is hanging down by her shoulders in some loose curls, glimmering in the sunlight all the while. “Heyyy guys!” she chirps, excitedly, waving at the camera as she does so. “As you probably know I recently signed up to appear on a PWP show and I’m sooo excited about this. Like, I haven’t had that many chances to compete in a national level before and I’ve never done anything like this before!” she says, blissfully unaware of how true that statement is. “Like, I did get to enter the Queen of Sin battle royal last year and I managed to come third out of, like, twenty-seven of the bestest women around today. So I might like my chances in this tournament.” Annie raises one hand to cover her mouth as she giggles, coyly. “But when I heard all my friends talking about being on this PWP show I just knew I had to sign up. ‘Cause I dunno when I’d get the chance to face people Whiskey Ayano, Suzume Mitsuyoshi-” Annie counts the names off on her fingers as she speaks, “-Nina Stokes, Kasey Summers, Brytain Rollins, Kendall K. Kingham or Mackenzie Roberts ever again. And then Cordy and Ashley are both in it, and, of course, my bestest friend in the whole wide world, Laurel is entering too!” The youngster literally squeals in delight, screaming yaaaay as she throws her arms up in the air. “And I’m just really looking forward to this. ‘Cause I know that whoever I get put against in this tournament that we can put on an amazing match. And all the PWP fans and all my Anniemaniacs watching at home will get to see compete against some awesome competitors. And best of all, there’s a shot at the PWP Heavyweight Championship on the line!” Annie throws up the devil horns and pulls a mini #grrface; her top lips curls upwards slightly as she winks at the camera … before breaking out into a fit of giggles. “I was kinda hoping that Brandon would still be holding the title, ‘cause he was one of those who really helped me when I was in Hard Knox Wrestling. And he kinda took me under his wing to show me some stuff that really helped me improve as a wrestler.” Annie says, sweetly as she reminisces about the good ol’ days. “It would’ve been so cool to get to face him, but if I get the chance to face someone like Jackson then that’d still be such an honor! Like, I can’t even begin to tell you how awesome it’d be to get to face Jackson. And for the PWP Heavyweight Championship!”“But there’s, like, sixteen of us going for that opportunity. And I know it won’t be easy, but anything worth doing is never gonna be easy!” she exclaims, throwing a quick thumbs up at the camera. “I’ve never backed down from a challenge before and I’m sure not gonna start now. So when we all get to South Bend, Indiana on the 28th of February, I just want you all to know that I’m coming to kick some serious butt!” Annie pulls another #grrface – just like before – as she throws up the devil horns again. “And I’m not gonna run away from a challenge – so whether you’re a 4CW wrestler, or a Pride Pro wrestler, or an SCW wrestler – you’ve got a buttwhooping coming your way if you’re in that ring with me!” Annie points to the camera for emphasis, but she can’t maintain the serious disposition. After a moment of silence, she giggles once more. “Sorry…” she says, apologetically. Annie glances down at her cell phone, which is by her legs on the sun lounger, as she checks the brackets for the tournament. The last mistake she’d want to make would be get her opponent’s name wrong. That’d be awful. “And it all starts with you, Sativa. I dunno too much about you; just that you’re a 4CW wrestler–” Annie scowls involuntarily. The only 4CW wrestlers she knows are Tommy Knox and Chris Madison – and those aren’t pleasant memories. Visions of that after match assault flash through Annie’s mind; her cowering on the floor as Tommy repeatedly dropped a knee down across her ribs. Chris stomping at her head and shoulder until security got there to break it up. And the title match at Capital Combat when the #sparklebuddies retained by disqualification; Annie remembers the taunting afterwards more than anything else. The claims that Laurel did it on purpose so that she and Annie retained the titles stung more than Annie ever thought they would. But that was one of her first real exposures to the harsh realities of professional wrestling: people will twist what you say and do in order to fit their own agenda. If she didn’t know it then, then she certainly does now. “–but I have time, so I’m gonna go and watch some of your matches, and I’m gonna study up on each and every opponent I might face in this tournament. ‘Cause I don’t wanna leave anything to chance. So the people like you or Marisol or Savannah or Artemis, I’m gonna do my very best to learn what you’re capable of inside that ring. I’m gonna make sure that I know as much as I can before I ever step into that ring with any of you, ‘cause at the end of the night I wanna walk out of South Bend as the winner of this tournament. I wanna walk away from my first PWP appearance with a title match against Jackson to my name. And I wanna become the Queen-” Annie glances down at the screen again, scrolling up quickly to view the tournament name, “-of the…Death…match…” she says, slowly. Annie sits there in silence for a moment after those words escape her lips. Mouth agape, wide eyed as she looks down at her phone screen again. It really does say ‘Queen of the Deathmatch’ – but surely Annie hasn’t signed up for a tournament such as that? Surely somebody would have told her that she’d signed up for an ultraviolent tournament, especially her friends. Those closest to her who know of her aversions to blood or weapons. With her hands raised to cover her mouth, Annie lifts her knees up to her chest; she continues sitting there in silence, too horrified and dumbfounded to switch off the camera. All she can think of right now is the chilling memory of Laurel Anne Hardy’s face after her match at PDW’s Blind Fury last year. That was Annie’s first exposure to the format; Laurel faced a close friend of hers that night, Steel Angel, in a Sadistic Madness match. And sure, Annie had been a No Limits champion during her time in HKW – but those matches never escalated above chair shots and maybe a table. It certainly didn’t involve thumb tacks. Or barbed wire. And little Annie had never imagined wrapping her own body in barbed wire and moonsaulting off a ladder onto an opponent like Laurel did that night. But the worst memory that came from it all was the sight of Laurel’s blood stained face as she found Annie backstage. The shrill, delighted, chant of Annie-chan and that sick smile that Laurel wore beneath the crimson mask. That vision had haunted Annie’s sleep for nearly six months before she could get a good night’s rest again. Before she and Laurel had formed the #sparklebuddies in FGA and were competing together regularly. In normal matches. And Annie could picture her as someone other than that blood-soaked maniac cackling in delight at the pain she just inflicted upon someone she called a close friend… Is that what Annie is going to have to do in this tournament? Does she still have to compete in this tournament? She can’t. Surely not. The words ‘Annie Zellor’ and ‘deathmatch’ should never be spoken in the same sentence. It’s just unnatural. She couldn’t even go through what her friend Marissa went through recently at the SCW pay-per-view, Jackpot. And that was just a TLC match – even if it did end with her getting a barbed wire covered fist to the face. Annie looked up and noticed the camera was still recording … she could edit out this awkward three minute long silence, but first she’ll have to check on something… @pwpjoshduncan umm i was just wondering what sorta tournament did i sign up for And now to play the waiting game.
Akron, Ohio“That was a long time ago, Jenny…” Johnny says to his niece who, despite her original plan to only stay at his house for a few weeks, is still there two months later. “…I thought you and Annie would have moved past this by now.”“I’m just saying-” Jenny says, only to get cut off. “I know what you’re saying,” he says, interrupting her. “But she’s my daughter and I’d like her to come and visit me again. We were just beginning to bond again after all these years apart and I’m beginning to feel like she’s drifting away again.”The pair of them are in Johnny’s home in Akron, Ohio; the living room in which they’re in stands at approximately twelve foot by fourteen foot and could be described as sparsely decorated. The brown leather recliner on which Johnny is sitting, along with a two seater sofa and a television on a stand in the corner. Since Annie’s visit in the Summer of last year, Johnny has made a concerted effort to improve his life. He’s now six months sober and eating healthily – the absence of pizza boxes on the floor speaks to this. His light brown hair – the same colour as Annie’s – has been shorn down to near buzzcut level, but it’s still greying at the temples. Jenny, meanwhile, is in her mid-twenties and generously described as frumpy; she’s let herself go somewhat since she was in the public eye in early 2013, acting as a valet to former FGA Champion, Blaine Harrison. Her long brunette hair hangs down around her waist. “It’d be awkward, her being here.” Jenny proclaims. “She’s my daughter.” Johnny states, and probably not for the first time. “Whatever troubles you two had when you were little should be left in the past.” There’s an authoritarian tone to his voice as he speaks. “But-”“No, buts.” Johnny says, sternly. “The fact of the matter is that Annie has asked for my help with an upcoming tournament she’s entered–-”“The Queen of the Deathmatch?” Jenny asks, incredulously. “Annie entered the Queen of the Deathmatch tournament?”There’s a pause. “Yes, she accidentally entered that and she’s asked for my help to prepare for it. So she’ll be coming up for a few days and I don’t want any trouble between the pair of you.”“I’ll behave!” Jenny exclaims, trying to hide her excitement; she and Annie have a tumultuous history and Jenny know full well that Annie isn’t built for death matches. The fact she has one is hilarious, if she manages to win that and has to have a second one – that’d be the greatest things ever in the history of the world. But she can’t say this to Johnny – not about his daughter. So she smiles her sweetest smile and says she’ll do whatever is needed to make sure that Annie’s visit is as pleasant as possible. So she gets to enter the Queen of the Deathmatch tournament … and risk seriously injuring herself.
@pwpjoshduncan mr duncan ive decided id like to still be in the tournament if ull let me please It had taken a few days of soul searching, but Annie Zellor had finally decided what she wanted to do. Conversations with friends and colleagues, even parents about what it would mean to enter in a tournament such as this. Most sensible people told her that she was crazy; that there’s no way she’d survive this; that she’s gonna die. Other says that #AnniesGonnaKillYouSo, as she sits in a Sheffield hotel room, perched on the end of her singles bed, Annie decides it’s time to tell the world. “Heyyy guys!” she chirps excitedly, waving at the camera like she usually does. Dressed in her own #grrface t-shirt – the one with the devil horn gesture emblazoned on it – and her hair tied back in a ponytail, Annie has a wide smile on her face as she continues. “I just wanna say sorry about last time, ‘cause I know I just kinda stopped talking in the middle of something and that totally uncool of me. But I promise to make it up to you.” She says, throwing a thumbs up at the camera. “And I know there’s been some speculation about whether or not I’d enter this tournament ‘cause I wasn’t really … aware … of what kinda tournament it was. Like, I just saw my friends had signed up and I wanted to be apart of it. But some people have tried telling me that I shouldn’t do it, and some people have tried to tell me that I can’t do it…” Annie scrunches up her faces slightly. “Well I told the world that I was gonna appear on a PWP show!”“I told all my Anniemaniacs that I was gonna win this tournament!”“So I’m gonna enter the Queen of the Deathmatch tournament! And I’m gonna win it!” Annie exclaims, proudly, throwing up the devil horns as she pulls a #grrface; her top lip curled upwards. “And I know I’ve never been in a death match before, and I haven’t really seen any. But the way I see it, I’ve got like over two weeks to prepare myself for this.”“To get physically and mentally ready for what’s gonna be the toughest night of my life.” Annie says, hesitantly. “To face some of the toughest women in the sport of professional wrestling and face them at their own game. But that’s ok…” she says before pausing, “…’cause I’ve never backed down from a challenge before and I’m not gonna start now! So whether it’s Sativa in the first round, Kasey or Laurel in the second round or whoever else I might get to face – my name is ‘Kickass’ Annie, and I’m gonna come to South Bend, Indiana to do one thing and one thing only – to walk away as the 2015 Queen of the Deathmatch!”“‘Cause, what I lack in experience or knowledge, I more than make up for in heart.” Annie states, boldly. “And I’m gonna put my heart and soul into every match I fight that night, just like I do every match I ever wrestle. And if I get to face one of my friends along the way – Laurel, Whiskey, Ash, Nina, Brytain – I don’t want you to go any easier on me than you would anybody else. I wanna be able to say I took everything you guys threw at me and lived. ‘Cause that’s that being a wrestler is all about, that’s what makes me a better wrestler. And that’s what I want.”“So to my fifteen potential opponents, I’ve got a super #grrface saved up for you guys. So get ready, ‘cause ’Kickass’ Annie is coming to win the Queen of the Deathmatch tournament!” And the scene comes to an end with the traditional fade to black.
|
|
styg
PWP Competitors
Posts: 9
|
Post by styg on Feb 15, 2015 2:50:42 GMT -6
It had taken a little effort, but Laurel had managed to forget whether it was night or day. She'd managed to forget a lot of things.
She was lying face down on her bed waiting for the needle of her own personal Gom Jabbar to strike, waiting for her newest paintbrush to flush its way into her bloodstream and transform into her newest artwork. She could already feel it heightening her awareness and slowing her reactions, all on schedule. She went through one final set of control checks, then retreated fully inside her own psyche and turned her attention to the floodwall that protected the functional, day-to-day facsimile of Laurel Saiko Yunokawa from the impossible roiling inferno that was the real thing. Laurel was practised well enough in negotiating the deeper abstractions of her mindscape that she dispensed of any imagery of stops being removed or locks being opened; she just eased up the frequency cutoff on her defences to allow the first signals through. Slowly, taking care not to mess things up in this preparatory stage, Laurel eased herself into time with the beat in her soul.
She lay still for some uncountable length of time, letting the waveform synchronise with the singularity of her self-awareness, and once she felt harmonised she gradually layered in more and more frequencies until she could physically sense the pulse of waveforms breaking against her skin from the inside. The sweet spot. A feeling of contentment washed over her as she absorbed the rhythm she'd built up, the overlay of arcs and dips reverberating silently around the inside of her skull.
She took one final, calming breath, then dropped the bass.
---------------------------------
"People have weird ideas about hardcore wrestling, anyway," muttered Laurel, starting to ramble. Her eyes were locked on a point in space somewhere beyond the head of her sixth beer. "Like... people are like, oh god, all the blood, all the glass and the thumbtacks, how can you do that!? And... I mean, come on, thumbtacks? Fuckin' drawing pins? Everyone stands on one of them sometimes an' it's no big deal, like, you just pull it out an' that's that. I mean yeah, it stings a bit, but... each one on its own is nothing... and light tubes, they're like, one of the cornerstones of the deathmatch an' they don't hurt that much unless you get slit open by one. Then it hurts like buggery an' lemme tell ya, those things do not break in a way that makes for nice smooth, clean cuts. But that kinda shit, that, like, all-over general upping of how much pain you're in overall, that's just, y'know... it's like a multiplier on match fatigue but it's actually easier to deal with, I think, than just cardio fatigue? For me, at least," she added, "Iunno, is that just me, or...?"Six pairs of eyes remained fixed on Laurel, and behind each pair were very different thoughts. "Your cardio's pretty rubbish though, Laurel," ventured Jay, "I mean, you don't spend much time on it."Laurel seemed to have only half heard him. "I guess... but still. Barbed wire, going into barbed wire doesn't particularly hurt. You get this big sympathetic 'oooh' any time anyone goes into barbed wire, but goin' into barbed wire is nothin' in a deathmatch. I'll tell you what really hurts, an' that's getting out of barbed wire, now that, that is real pain. But no, I mean, all this stuff, all these things that just kinda tick on a little bit more pain over the course of a match, they're not the way people think they are at all. I mean, the concept of bleeding, right? Biggest worry is the disease risk, probably. Especially if other people've been bleeding in the same ring earlier in the night. But nah, it's always the blood loss people talk about an' that is a thing, I guess? But you're in such a different place when you wrestle - or I'm such a different place when I wrestle, and I - for me, okay, for me here, I dunno bout you guys, but I think clearer when I'm busted open anyway. Sharpens everything. That... that offsets the light-headedness unless you're talkin' about a really, really epic. Like Torneo Extremo, okay, or that match at the 50th FRONTIER show -" - the 45-minute bloodbath between Laurel and Evangelista, FRONTIER's award for Match of the Year for 2013 be damned, was only ever spoken of as "that match" - "- some'n like that, yeah, blood loss is a big one. But stuff like that's rare, enough so... yeah? Time you get busted open in a match anyway, you're usually sweating like crazy by then anyway, so the blood mixes with the sweat and looks worse than it is. The real bitch with blood is if you get in your eyes or your ears. Lose your vision, or lose your balance, and that's way, way worse than any amount of pain you can be in. Losin' your balance, that's gonna cost you your match way, way sooner than bein' covered in pins an' glass."She paused and lifted her pint for a drink, then a second later absently set it back down again without having had any. "What you really have to watch out for in a hardcore match is the blunt force stuff, that's what's gonna fuck you up. Nothing hurts like a chair shot. Cuts heal, bruises heal, blood... regrows? Regenerates? Re... plasma... ises?""Blood cells come from your bone marrow," muttered Russ, his first words in some time, "The kidneys regulate it.""Well either way, a concussion, that'll stay with you. I mean... shit... almost everyone at this table's either a wrestler or an athlete, right? We've all had fuckin' concussions. We know how bad they are. But all the time you see people who think chair shots are the baseline an' all the Grand Guignol is where the damage is done, an' I guess that might be a hard thing to wrap your head around if you're not used to the environment yet. I mean I dunno if Annie an' Nina are thinkin' bout this kinda shit... Maybe they're so worried about the decorations they'll forget what a blunt weapon can do. I hope not," she added reflectively, "Maybe I should talk to 'em about it. Reassure them.""Maybe," repeated Matty on rote, "But maybe right now you should talk a bit quieter? People at other tables are starin' at us." 'Us', of course, being an unnecessary but still appropriate lie. "Fuck 'em!" barked Laurel, her voice rising in both pitch and volume in indignation, "You come to a pub to socialise, don't you!? Or did I miss something? If they want everyone to sit in silence they can fuck off back home." And, without looking, she flung a hand in the direction of what she presumed to be the offending parties. "I know, Laurel, but inside voices, okay?""Oh, Jesus... always me, isn't it? Any time we go anywhere it doesn't matter who else is doing what, I'm still the one who fucks up. It's always Laurel's fault." Her friends glanced at each other, unsure of how much of her anger was directed and them and how much of it was directed at herself. "I'm sick of bein' treated as the weird one, like you're all so fuckin' normal. Every day, it's 'ooh, it's Laurel, the crazy wacky one who's always fuckin' up-"- she was cut off mid-sentence by the crash of her beer glass toppling over, as she backhanded it with one of her gesticulations. Everyone stood up and jumped back on instinct, and equally instinctively, Russ cried, "Beer crime!" The only person who remained seated was Laurel, who just watched dejectedly as most of her beer flooded off the table and all over her thighs. After an uncomfortable silence, she whispered the only thing she could think of that was worth saying: "...my lap's cold."---------------------------------
A sense of moisture overcame her, and a new stimulus pinged into her input socket, ready for modulation: her cheeks were damp. With her face buried, her breath had become trapped and condensed. The water's static field was small but screaming, and getting smaller as it dried, and the smaller it got the more it screamed. The energy seeped through Laurel and burst into her own - or diffused, or burst and diffused at the same time - and blossomed into a cosmic firework bouquet of sawtooth blooms, each with seeds of its own to ignite. She couldn't remember truly feeling anything all day until now, until she grew aware of these tiny beads of water on her face. This was realler than anything she'd eaten or touched, realler than anything she'd said or seen, and the screaming of this field was still a distant echo of the Bacchanal ecstasy of the crimson mask. The connection settled into place; breath and blood, literally her own life externalised. She smiled at the conscious acceptance of which of her humours was more essential to her identity, although the smile didn't reach the outside of her lips.
She moved on to the next epiphany. Before long they started overflowing, then backing up, and then suddenly she was free-falling through an entropic cascade of epiphanies and she had to throw out sine wave grappling hooks at anything she could to slow down. Shards of probability flew away from her like sparks and overwhelmed her sensory field. She felt her brain overheating, and a moment later reality whirring down and sliding, skidding, grinding, crunching into stagnation.
A new shiver, dissonant and alien, surged through the hairs on her arms.
"No," she whispered soundlessly.
She let the grappling hooks go and threw herself into the void.
---------------------------------
Laurel hadn't bothered changing into new trousers when she got home. She just peeled off the old ones, threw them onto a heap of dirty clothes occupying roughly a quarter of her bedroom, and rejoined the others with bare legs. The night progressed with some more drinking, some more ranting about wrestling and life in general from various people, and a goodly amount of time spent with everybody taking turns to sniff the smell of beer emanating from Laurel's thighs. She'd been drinking a ruby porter when it spilt, and of course, many jokes were made about why Laurel's legs might smell like a woman named Ruby Porter. Laurel had found it all wearisome, but played along. One by one, people went home or to their bedrooms (or to Leanne's bedroom in Russ's case), until it was just Laurel and Matty left in the living room. After some idle chat Matty left to make them both cups of tea while his sister rolled a joint, and when he returned, he sat down next to her despite being on the other side of the room previously. He didn't put an arm around her or press against her, but she could feel his concern radiating in the embrace between siblings that needs no physical contact. "You okay?"She rolled her shoulders a little. "Been better."He cleared his throat lightly and awkwardly, then said, "I'm sorry.""What for?" she asked, with a dismissiveness that Matty couldn't work out the sincerity of. "You were right, earlier, about how the rest of us kinda treat you as the... well, what you said. The weird one. It's not fair especially after... after you were in hospital," he said, selecting his words carefully, vetting them for anything even remotely close to 'suicide' and 'attempt', "I think people are joking about it to still try to deal with it."She exhaled onto her tea, watching the ripples. "I am the weird one," she said quietly. Matty shuffled slightly closer. "Everyone's weird in their own way. You were right about that too.""Yeah," sighed his sister, "But I'm not just weird, am I? I'm broken.""You're not broken, Laurie," he said softly. Laurel smiled. He didn't call her Laurie often, and when he did, it meant it was a big deal. "It's nice of you to say that, Matt, but you don't need to. We both know it."To that, Matty said nothing. But after a moment he shifted to face her better and picked his tea back up. "You ready for this deathmatch tournament, then?"Various smart replies flickered through her mind, but she rejected them in favour of an honest, "Almost. Still, uh..." she paused, "Still tryna reconcile a couple things.""Like what?""Like..."...she went back and forth internally; she didn't mind telling Matty pretty much anything, but there were some thoughts it would be easier to articulate with a camera pointed at her... "...like what happens if I get Annie in the second round," she settled on, "Because that could happen. It's... like... a probability worth considering. And, man... can I even fight Annie?" she asked the world, with tremors in her voice. Matty took a sip of tea before replying. "She'll be sad if you don't. She'll do those eyes she does.""I know, but in a deathmatch? To be honest, I really don't want her to be in this tournament," admitted Laurel for the first time outside her own head, "I've been tellin' her for ages she needs to get over her problems with the hardcore stuff because if she wants to be a big star, and she can be, she will be, but she needs to get over this first because she'll be booked into hardcore matches eventually whether she likes it or not. So I've told her we should do a hardcore tag match or something where I can have her back. And now this... then then findin' out we're in the brackets next to each other? Shit. I can do that with my friends. Whiskey or Suzume, or Cordy, or Ashley... I know with them what it is. That's fine. Annie, though... I honestly been thinking that if it is me an' her in the second round, whether I should throw it."Matty furrowed his brow. "She's been in a hardcore match before though, right?" he asked, straining to remember, "Back in Hard Knox... the No Limits?""That was a long time ago," replied Laurel, unconvinced, "An' it was a million fuckin' miles from a deathmatch, too. I mean, Nina's a little bit like that too, but I think I'll be alright with her. Annie just... messes me up. Same as Leanne. Same as Malcolm Drake."Matty nodded. "Tell you what else, Sativa Neveah, if she hurts Annie... I can't be held responsible.""It's a wrestling match," pointed out Matty, "She'll have to hurt her a bit.""You know what I mean," snapped Laurel, "I mean... hurt hurt. Sativa's dangerous, man. She's fuckin' schizo. She smokes too much dope," she griped, her voice muffled slightly by the fact she had her spliff in her mouth to light it. "She trips out on Annie... fuckin' red mist down, I swear. She'll wish to whoever she prays to that she hadn't got me in the second round.""An' you can make it that far?""Eeh... not sayin' I will, but I've beat Summer before. I learned in that match that she can beat me too, like, I mean she's a hell of a wrestler, but I do have that one win over her already.""Not what I meant," said Matty slowly, "I meant you're not too..." ...and he trailed off, but pointed to the subway map of silvery scar tissue fracturing Laurel's pale skin. Six months ago, the siblings had almost reached the point of not speaking to each other over Laurel's lack of regard for her own long-term health. Now, that seemed so long ago it might as well have been from their childhood. "I'll be alright," said Laurel in a flat voice, "This is what I do.""Well, be careful. Don't... y'know. Your body's still fragile from... don't pump yourself too full of shit, okay?""Heh. I have a last person standing match, a title to defend, like two weeks before the tournament. Four deathmatches on the trot in one night? You think I ain't gonne be coked up to my fuckin' eyeballs goin' into this?""I think that solution's not gonna last forever," said Matty, forcing a sing-song lilt into his voice to mask the cracks. "Doesn't have to," replied Laurel darkly, "It just has to last long enough."---------------------------------
Had she vomited? She couldn't tell. Her face was numb. Maybe her condensed breath was still on it. Maybe not. Maybe this was a puddle of her own puke her face was being supported by, or maybe it was just a pillow. She was deeper inside her own soul than she'd ever been before, all but the most ambiguously conscious of thoughts now on the periphery of her perception. That was fine, that was part of the plan; she wasn't exactly a novice tripper and she had anticipated the effect of the cocktail on the outer layers of her sensory field, but adjusting to that was still an analogue process which required active undertaking, rather than a straight digital state change.
She must still be alive, she reasoned, because she could see something. This... yes, she was pretty sure, this stimulus was visual. She tracked it to a dim rainbow sequin, sparkling on the edge of existence. Then she worked backwards through to the point of conception that read, engraved into singularity, "eye is open." She relayed that to her brain for processing and it flickered both lids to see which one it was. The left. Okay. She squinted, and the sequin condensed into a shape.
A pint glass, still a third-full with that cloudy spice melange she'd used to stress test her own chemical and psychological limits. Paracetamol, cocaine and tamazepam dissolved in vodka and cachaça. The plaintive December sunshine filtered through her golden curtains into oxidised brass, making the gritty liquid sparkle.
Day, then.
Concentration was bad right now. Concentration was screwing up some gyroscope somewhere. Off-balance waves wrapped around the inside of her brain like a weighted hula hoop. Need to stop concentrating, a higher brain function informed her. Slowly, carefully, forcing herself not to panic, she worked her way back to the central spiral.
In exploring how deep she could get the one variable she couldn't even guess at, never mind control, was how long she could stay in this place. This would last until she was sick, and she knew she'd be sick. A concoction like the one she'd mixed for herself would not possibly last long in the human body before being thrown up. It was that or die, and she'd drunk it in the perfect knowledge that she would survive; she'd snaked her brain down the tendrils of probability in advance and seen the switches she could make among the spiderweb input channels to ensure her extance.
Manipulating life was easy, actually. Death, now that was hard. But with a bit of luck she might drown in her own vomit.
Through the fog came two noises, hollow far-off noises, but not quite far off enough not to send uneven jolts ricocheting through her beat. The first was a door opening, and the second was a voice saying the exact one word she wanted to hear least.
"Laurel?"
---------------------------------
Slow fade up from a blanket of inexpressive blackness. Laurel Anne Hardy is sitting on a plain white chair at a plain white desk in a plain white room, and her face shows about as much life and variety as her surroundings. There is a grey cloud in her eyes, dulling their usual diamond to iron, and uncharacteristically, her attire - a white Decemberists tee on off-blue acid wash jeans - isn't doing much to raise the energy level.
Slumped on the table, just to the side of her, is the XWA Hardcore Championship, its gaudily-stickered faceplate angled towards us. One chipped and neon-painted fingernail is tapping slowly and purposefully on the gilt edge.
The only other object in view is a simple glass ashtray on the corner of the desk, a single roach still smouldering in it.
"The weight of expectation is a beautiful thing," begins our host, half to us and half to herself, "From basically the second this tournament was announced, the first word on everyone's lips was "Laurel". This is Laurel's kinda thing, yeh? Laurel'll be well up for that." The reflection of a smile flashes across her makeup-free face for one flittering moment. "And, y'know, I am," she continues a second later with the vaguest and shallowest of shrugs, "I know I prob'ly don't seem it to look at right now, but I am excited for this. I am more excited for this than you can possibly imagine, believe me. That's... well, that's kinda the problem," she admits a with diminuendo sigh, "I find myself in this position where I'm finally starin' straight into exactly the thing I've wanted and needed with every atom of my being for months now, and I'm wondering where exactly that need fits on Maslow's pyramid and whether or not physiological needs really do need to come before self-actualisation." She pauses, and the sound of her exhaling cuts across the edge-of-hearing rattle of some kitchen appliance in the next apartment. "It's not as simple as waitin' for the other shoe to drop," she picks back up after some reflection, "Although given just how spectacularly fucked up everything I've touched since about July has got, that is a concern. And obviously the weight of expectation carries with it people who are expectin' or hopin' for me to fail, but that's really not a very big deal at all. That, at least, you get used to," she mutters dismissively.
For just a second, she rubs her philtrum with the side of her index finger. "Nah, I'm afraid... like so much of the shit I've been flingin' at you over the last few months... it's a bit more existential than that." Her tone is shot through with shards of bitterly ironic contrition. "I guess existentialism an' self-discovery go hand in hand," concedes Laurel after some further musing, "But it does seem to leave somethin' of a grainy filter on the world. And so when I'm presented with something tailor-made for Laurel Anne Hardy, I'm left with the conundrum..."
She laughs out loud, the euphoric laugh of someone with only two or three things left to lose.
"...who actually is Laurel Anne Hardy?"
And she leans back, apparently content to let that question settle... or not. She suddenly pulls herself forward again as a new thought strikes her. "I mean, who is Laurel Anne Hardy in relation to Laurel Yunokawa, that's a whole level beyond - an' don't think I don't think about that, or about how that relationship informs everything else I do, because oh my god do I do that. But it's not the heart of the matter right here. Heart of the matter's something much more visceral. What's the equation in people's minds that adds up to Laurel Anne Hardy? Is it glitter times blood? Or maybe broken glass plus broken promises over ego? How do you put an operator symbol between beauty and violence? How do you express the relationship between those concepts in linear mathematics?" Her fingers start to dance across the edge of the ashtray, the roach in it now completely extinguished. "Because make no mistake, no matter how complex and pan-dimensional the equations that make us all up are inside our own consciousnesses, as soon as we interact with each other it all gets stripped down to linear maths. Words are just pictures of ideas, and they're not very good ones. And I don't actually know if the art Laurel Anne Hardy makes is anything like the art her audience sees. Like, author intent is another complicated area, and one I have complicated feelings about, yeh? But I guess the relevant question right here an' right now is, am I conveying what I'm exploring when I wrestle? I don't think like other people. I've come to accept this. I mean, I always have, I've always known it and not really cared, but recently I've finally managed to understand it. Art is the presentation of concepts beyond simple expression - beyond linear equations - and if I think differently to most people, how can I do that in any kind of functional way?"
She bow her head for a moment, and her long hair falls across it. Her shoulders hunch for just the tinest fragment of time, and she blows out a sharp breath as she looks up and pushes her fair off her face. "I mean, you can't really argue with being considered a leader in your field," she admits, "Last time I looked at the bookies, the favourites were yours truly an' Brytain Rollins... if you put enough stock in past form in deathmatches? That's your Queen of the Deathmatch final. I mean... you run a sample survey on who the greatest active female deathmatch wrestler in the world is... the two names you're gonna get given over, and over, and over are Brytain Rollins an' Laurel Anne Hardy. And that's pretty amazing. Thank you," she says, and the sincerity is audible, "Honestly, thank you. But at the same time I don't want to be a caricature, y'know? I've never been that huge on catchphrases and merch and shit because I don't want people to be buying into some fixed image of me, some high concept soundbite or gimmick that plays well to lazy dirtsheet copy editors. I'm grateful for every fan I have - you guys are why I'm here - but I guess I'm paranoid that I'm being reduced down to some image that isn't me and I am not. And if I'm reduced down to nothing but how much violence I can inflict or how many flips I can do in one move then I've failed as an artist, and I don't feel like I have enough information to make any kind of reasonable conclusion about whether the blame for that's all on me or not." This is said with neither hope nor regret, neither fear nor desire. It simply is.
"The weight of expectation is a beautiful thing," repeats Laurel, "And when it dovetails this complexly with a newfound level of self-awareness..."
...there's that laugh again.
And then Laurel sniffs once and, gradually but quickly, straightens up. "I suppose that's the main focus of my work right now, then?" she concludes contemplatively, pitching her target as somewhere between the viewer and the air in front of her, "Questions of self-reflexivity and self-actualisation. Who is Laurel Anne Hardy? Now... I don't expect anyone else to answer that. I've been askin' myself that question every second of every day, from every angle, for the last three months. I already have one side of this. I'm not Laurel Anne Hardy, tag team specialist. I'm not Laurel Anne Hardy, deathmatch icon. I'm not even - no matter how much certain people might shout otherwise - Laurel Anne Hardy, gobby walking headache or Laurel Anne Hardy, sadomasochistic monster. I'm Laurel Anne Hardy, no qualifier, or perhaps a fuckload of qualifiers with asterisks, or if you really need just one, I'm Laurel Anne Hardy, artist. My body is a funnel for channelling abstraction into expression, that's... that's non-negotiable. That's immutable, that's what this physical form is. That's our anchor point, our zero-zero-zero co-ordinate. And yet it's not if people are more excited to see what kind of crazy destruction I can come up with in Queen of the Deathmatch than what concepts I'm exploring."
She picks up the XWA Hardcore Championship for a moment, staring with both love and fear at its bestickered faceplate and her own name on the nameplate screwed into it, then sets it back down again.
"Let's at least clear cut the options a bit. When I'm swinging whatever weapons show up in this tournament, when I'm sending sprays of blood arcing in front of the arena lights, remember this much at least: I am not a hack. I don't rely on bloodbaths to find work because I can't cut it in the real leagues. I'm not some nutter whose mammy didn't kiss her enough as a kid and can only fill the hole inside as an adult by hitting people with stop signs and bunches of bamboo taped together. I am Laurel Anne Hardy, artist, and the deathmatch is the grandest canvas this medium works in. Maybe I'm a failure as an artist, but I am an artist, and I wouldn't be here - here in the Queen of the Deathmatch tournament or here in this medium in general - if all I cared about was crackin' skulls or makin' money. Every move I make at PWP 15 will have purpose behind it, and I ain't talkin' bout follow through or goin' for weak spots, I mean... well, look, you know what I mean by now, right? If you don't, then... well, I guess plus one to the Yunokawa Fuck-Up Scale."
A grin breaks Laurel's face, cresting just long enough to show the irony fading into true warmth.
"When I said this is what I needed, I wasn't lying and I wasn't kidding and I definitely wasn't exaggerating. A fifteen-match festival of release and freedom with fifteen people on whom I run from neutral to love. There's nobody I wouldn't like to face in the final. Hell, there's nobody I wouldn't like to face full stop. Even narrowin' it to nothing but "Laurel Anne Hardy versus," that's fifteen different match of the year candidates right there," she enthuses, perking up a little. For the record, out of the eight names in the top bracket, the one I want in the final more than anyone is Savannah. No disrespect to the other seven, it'd be a pleasure to cap off a night of euphoria with any one of you, but me and Savannah, see... we have some unfinished business... DUHN DUHN DUUUUH!" she suddenly cries, much livelier than she has been up to now in this video. She spreads her fingers apart like fireworks for added effect. Then she chuckles and explains, "Haha, it's really not that ominous. Me an' Faline, see, we've known each other... let's see... shit, almost five years!? An' look, I don't wanna rehash all the GEW / Asylum stuff here, most of you've heard it, an' if you haven't, there are plenty places you can hear about it. But suffice to say for now there are certain unsettled issues between me an' Sav. We're not enemies - not any more. We just have some stuff held over from a long, long time ago that for both our sakes needs some resolution one way or the other. We came close in 2014, a threeway barbed ropes match for my DWF Blood Diamond Championship along with Sah'ta Thor, who - yeah, a lot of history for both me and Sav there too - but hey! Here's a familiar story: the company folded before the match happened, but inconveniently after we'd all hyped ourselves way up for it." Caught up in the memory, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Then she suddenly hits refresh, continuing, "Ain't just Savannah, though. So many good friends in this thing, people I trust not just with my life but with my essence as an artist. Annie Zellor an' Whiskey Ayano are two of my absolute best friends in the world. To be part of this again with Whiskey, because obviously she was part of that first Laurelvitational Deathmatch back in Autumn - and I say "first" because it damn sure won't be the last - she got it. Her and Suzume, they both got that that match was a celebration of love and friendship. I knew they'd get it. And should we cross paths in the tournament I know they'll get it again, just like Nina, Cordy, Ash; they're all good friends, and they're all people I know will give me what we need if things shake out that way. Trust me, if I wasn't in this thing myself, I'd be glued to it just as a fan of some of the most amazing people in wrestling." She grins and nods. "Then there's Summer, my first round opponent, someone I like a lot an' have a whole fucking ton of respect for. This is actually our second match together, and the first was... fine? It was fine. I don't, y'know, look back on it and ask what the hell I was doing or anything. But we both came away knowing we could do better. At PWP 15 we get that chance - Summer versus Hardy II, this time for not for some mere tangible prize but the ephemeral quintessence of the tournament itself, and that's just the first round."
She rubs her hands. "I don't want to spoil too much about what I've got cooked up for this tournament; I want that to be a surprise at the unveiling. And obviously I have no idea whether what I have in mind will translate, or even what I'll do in the moment come bell time, but I know this: I've got a lot, and I mean a lot to explore right now and this tournament is the perfect space to do that in. I want this release, I need this exhibition, and in an artistic twist as beautiful as the weight of expectation, what may very well end up being the most violent night of my career is also where I aim to explore, more deeply than I ever have before, just how much of Laurel Anne Hardy really is defined by violence. And whether you're more interested in the light tube smashes an' chair shots themselves or the questions an' concepts behind them, as much as I really hope it's the latter I promise you that PWP 15 is going to be something you'll want to see. Hopefully I'll see you there... and let's see which Laurel Anne Hardy comes out the other side."
She seems about done...
...and then...
"Oh, and one last thing," she states matter-of-factly, "If there's a LEGO deathmatch in this tournament, and I'm not in it, I will kill someone."
And now we fade out, at that same steady pace at which we faded in.
---------------------------------
It felt like hours before Matty could get a nurse to even slow down for him, never mind stop. Hell, maybe it was hours. He must have glanced at his phone to check the time every three or four minutes, over the entire evening, and he hadn't managed to take it in at all. They were just numbers, meaningless numbers. Just arrangements of lines.
When he finally managed to pounce from his inflexible waiting room chair fast enough to get a nurse to stop, his momentum swung her around one-eighty. Before they'd finished spinning he spat out words like they'd die if they stayed in his mouth a microsecond longer. "Yunokawa, Ward 3 - how's she doing?"
"Are you her partner?" The nurse's reply was impersonally delivered, and that stung Matty, then stung him again with the knowledge that despite being aware of why nurses have to remain impersonal, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but his sister's safety.
"Brother," he stammered.
"Okay, well please stay nearby. Someone will be be along to go through her details with you soon."
He shook his head desperately and his voice went up an octave. "How's she doing, though?"
"We're doing everything we can. If you'd just take a seat..."
...the rest of the words faded out.
Matty's second thought was the reflection that he'd always wondered if medical professionals really delivered a bad prognosis in those words, or whether that was just a TV thing, and now he'd found out and he had absolutely no opinion on that fact at all.
His first thought was the feel of his sister's embrace, and the fear that this echo would become all he had of it.
---------------------------------
Laurel's eyes slowly opened and took in the hospital room around her. Everything was too different for her to be able to take it in right now, and all that was left bouncing around in her drained psyche were four dissonant words:
Well. That didn't work. |
|
