Post by mandi on Mar 16, 2017 10:48:08 GMT
“Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter?”
It’s meant to be humorous, but falls flat. Because things are still tense between mother and daughter, they have been since the day Syn Skyler slammed the door in her daughter’s face almost a year ago. But...well, blood is thicker than water, and no matter how angry she might have been, no matter how disappointed, there was only so long mother could sever ties with daughter before it started to eat at her. And that, that was exactly what had happened. And with a wedding to plan, and the half a million other things the diminutive blonde was undertaking...well, she could use some extra hands. So, despite still being wounded, distrustful, she’d opened the door when Syn had turned up at it, welcomed her into her home and begun the process of repairing a bridge that might have been too far burned to do much good. Faith looks up from the spread of photos, dress designs, cake designs, a million choices to be made that she keeps putting off and stares at her mother with a raised brow.
“What?”
“This. All of this. Fancy dresses? Expensive cakes? Flying everyone to Greece? None of this is you.”
“People change Mom.”
“I’m not refuting this Faith, but this is a pretty dramatic change. I mean, you have not one, but two fairly important matches coming up. Usually, you’re neck deep in highlight reels and match footage.”
It isn’t an invalid argument. But one perhaps, that she was hoping wouldn’t be brought up. Truth of the matter is, she’s been avoiding the upcoming match since it was announced, finding any and every possible task to distract her, any excuse, any reason. Because it feels like she’s been thrown in the fire with no way out. It isn’t that she doesn’t appreciate the opportunities...but it just seems like she’s done nothing but disappoint, getting by just barely, by the skin of her teeth. She doesn’t answer right away, instead pretending to be very interested in a stack of dress design photos.
“Faaaaaith.”
“Why? Why bother? I spend, three quarters of my life pouring over footage, studying, researching, training, and for what? The same tired bullshit. The same people running me into the ground, most of them don’t even fucking know me. The same two faced cunts trying their damnedest to fuck with everything I hold dear. I fight, and I fight, and I fight. I break myself. Everytime I walk out of that ring, I leave little pieces of myself behind and for what? I am, almost exactly, right where I was two years ago. And every time I start thinking that I’m making a little headway...I slide right back down again. I can’t decide, if it’s because I’m trying too hard, or not hard enough. Either way, it’s just...it’s exhausting. A vicious, ugly circle stuck on repeat.”
“You’ve always been a fighter. Even when you were little. Someone would tell you that you couldn’t do something, that you were too small, too young, and you’d trip all over yourself to prove them wrong. It used to drive me crazy, but now I think, that stubborn determination has always been there, because it needed to be. I know it’s frustrating. I know that it’s hard for you to see in yourself, the things the rest of us see. So ask yourself this Faith. Did you walk through the fires, just to give up now? Did you conquer your fear of heights, defy your family, to just roll over and play dead because you’re frustrated?”
Frustrated. Well. That’s something of an understatement. It’s worse, because she isn’t frustrated with anyone or anything other than herself. She’s the problem, and she just can’t seem to work out how to fix it. And the harder she fights, the more she struggles, the worse it seems to get.
“It’s not frustration Mom. It’s...you don’t know what it’s like. You retired on your own terms, in your own time. But for me...I can hear the clock ticking. And it just gets louder every time I fall flat. Every time I reach and fall the damned thing ticks just a little louder, reminding me, always reminding me, that I’m on borrowed time. Every time I fail, it makes me feel like all this work has been for nothing.”
“It’s only for nothing if you let it be Honey. C’mon, I’ll review tapes with you, offer the insight that comes from older experience. I dislike this melancholy you’ve fallen into. You were obnoxious and maddening before, but I much preferred the hot headed Spartan.
The young blonde sighs before pushing herself upright. There will be no escaping it, not now. And her mother isn’t wrong, there are better things to be done than dwelling in her own head.
I’ve said it elsewhere, but it bears saying again, that this feels like being thrown out of the pan and straight into the fire. And I know, I know. I’ve been told that this match wouldn’t have been booked if people didn’t think I could walk right through said fire but...well I don’t have the best track record with that do I? So...there we are. Yet again, for reasons I don’t understand, reasons I will never understand, opportunity has been dropped in my lap. And instead of being excited about it, I am filled with apprehension and dread. Because...well, my track record kind of blows when you get right down to it. It’s like I choke under the pressure. People will trip all over themselves to try to reassure me, tell me I’m being too hard on myself, and maybe they aren’t wrong. But that doesn’t change the way I’m left feeling. Doubtful. Questioning every decision, every action, and through it all, that gods damned clock keeps ticking. It’s enough to drive a girl crazy really.
So this is it. This is the point, where people start questioning. “Why are you still here if you don’t think you can win?” The short answer? Because there’s nothing else I could possibly do. When the doctors encouraged me to retire after my head injury, I tried. I did. When they kept telling me that it was what was best, I wanted to listen. For six agonizing months I shut this world out. I didn’t watch shows. I stayed off social media. And I tried, unsuccessfully, to move on with my life. I was poorer for it. It got to where, when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize the face looking back at me anymore. Nothing seemed to have a purpose. Because this has always been the only thing for me. This is my purpose.
I’m the girl who walked through fire. I’m the girl who went to war. I’m the girl who walked into a No Disqualification match as her third professional match ever, and walked away with someone’s teeth. I’m the girl who sustained two hairline skull fractures and fought her way back. Because that’s who I am. A fighter. Never say die. Never surrender. Knock me down, and I’m just going to return the favor the next time we face. Because unlike some people, I don’t spend my time sitting around making excuses for why I failed. I learn from it.
So. At Redemption, I’m going to do what I’m meant to do, and rise. I’m done being the disappointment. I’m done letting people down. And I’m done biding my time. This is my time. Because it’s the only time I’ve got. Every match. Every fall. It could be my last. The same is true for all of us I guess, but having come face to face with the inevitable, I perhaps hear the ticking clock more clearly.
Do I believe this will be easy? Of course not. Only a fool would think that. Only a fool would look at Anastasia Starling and think “Oh I’ve got this in the bag”. But...one must learn to have faith in oneself. And though I’ve struggled. Though I doubt myself more often than not, I can’t deny who I am. What I am. This is life. The fire in my veins, the force that moves me. Without it, I am nothing. The clock ticks, and when it stops, I will not have it be said that I slipped silently into the night. I will not have all that I have sacrificed and all that I have fought for, be for nothing.
Which in the end, makes me no different than anyone else I suppose. I chase the immortality. The body dies, but the legacy...the legacy remains, and through it, we live forever.
It’s meant to be humorous, but falls flat. Because things are still tense between mother and daughter, they have been since the day Syn Skyler slammed the door in her daughter’s face almost a year ago. But...well, blood is thicker than water, and no matter how angry she might have been, no matter how disappointed, there was only so long mother could sever ties with daughter before it started to eat at her. And that, that was exactly what had happened. And with a wedding to plan, and the half a million other things the diminutive blonde was undertaking...well, she could use some extra hands. So, despite still being wounded, distrustful, she’d opened the door when Syn had turned up at it, welcomed her into her home and begun the process of repairing a bridge that might have been too far burned to do much good. Faith looks up from the spread of photos, dress designs, cake designs, a million choices to be made that she keeps putting off and stares at her mother with a raised brow.
“What?”
“This. All of this. Fancy dresses? Expensive cakes? Flying everyone to Greece? None of this is you.”
“People change Mom.”
“I’m not refuting this Faith, but this is a pretty dramatic change. I mean, you have not one, but two fairly important matches coming up. Usually, you’re neck deep in highlight reels and match footage.”
It isn’t an invalid argument. But one perhaps, that she was hoping wouldn’t be brought up. Truth of the matter is, she’s been avoiding the upcoming match since it was announced, finding any and every possible task to distract her, any excuse, any reason. Because it feels like she’s been thrown in the fire with no way out. It isn’t that she doesn’t appreciate the opportunities...but it just seems like she’s done nothing but disappoint, getting by just barely, by the skin of her teeth. She doesn’t answer right away, instead pretending to be very interested in a stack of dress design photos.
“Faaaaaith.”
“Why? Why bother? I spend, three quarters of my life pouring over footage, studying, researching, training, and for what? The same tired bullshit. The same people running me into the ground, most of them don’t even fucking know me. The same two faced cunts trying their damnedest to fuck with everything I hold dear. I fight, and I fight, and I fight. I break myself. Everytime I walk out of that ring, I leave little pieces of myself behind and for what? I am, almost exactly, right where I was two years ago. And every time I start thinking that I’m making a little headway...I slide right back down again. I can’t decide, if it’s because I’m trying too hard, or not hard enough. Either way, it’s just...it’s exhausting. A vicious, ugly circle stuck on repeat.”
“You’ve always been a fighter. Even when you were little. Someone would tell you that you couldn’t do something, that you were too small, too young, and you’d trip all over yourself to prove them wrong. It used to drive me crazy, but now I think, that stubborn determination has always been there, because it needed to be. I know it’s frustrating. I know that it’s hard for you to see in yourself, the things the rest of us see. So ask yourself this Faith. Did you walk through the fires, just to give up now? Did you conquer your fear of heights, defy your family, to just roll over and play dead because you’re frustrated?”
Frustrated. Well. That’s something of an understatement. It’s worse, because she isn’t frustrated with anyone or anything other than herself. She’s the problem, and she just can’t seem to work out how to fix it. And the harder she fights, the more she struggles, the worse it seems to get.
“It’s not frustration Mom. It’s...you don’t know what it’s like. You retired on your own terms, in your own time. But for me...I can hear the clock ticking. And it just gets louder every time I fall flat. Every time I reach and fall the damned thing ticks just a little louder, reminding me, always reminding me, that I’m on borrowed time. Every time I fail, it makes me feel like all this work has been for nothing.”
“It’s only for nothing if you let it be Honey. C’mon, I’ll review tapes with you, offer the insight that comes from older experience. I dislike this melancholy you’ve fallen into. You were obnoxious and maddening before, but I much preferred the hot headed Spartan.
The young blonde sighs before pushing herself upright. There will be no escaping it, not now. And her mother isn’t wrong, there are better things to be done than dwelling in her own head.
--- --- --- -- ---
I’ve said it elsewhere, but it bears saying again, that this feels like being thrown out of the pan and straight into the fire. And I know, I know. I’ve been told that this match wouldn’t have been booked if people didn’t think I could walk right through said fire but...well I don’t have the best track record with that do I? So...there we are. Yet again, for reasons I don’t understand, reasons I will never understand, opportunity has been dropped in my lap. And instead of being excited about it, I am filled with apprehension and dread. Because...well, my track record kind of blows when you get right down to it. It’s like I choke under the pressure. People will trip all over themselves to try to reassure me, tell me I’m being too hard on myself, and maybe they aren’t wrong. But that doesn’t change the way I’m left feeling. Doubtful. Questioning every decision, every action, and through it all, that gods damned clock keeps ticking. It’s enough to drive a girl crazy really.
So this is it. This is the point, where people start questioning. “Why are you still here if you don’t think you can win?” The short answer? Because there’s nothing else I could possibly do. When the doctors encouraged me to retire after my head injury, I tried. I did. When they kept telling me that it was what was best, I wanted to listen. For six agonizing months I shut this world out. I didn’t watch shows. I stayed off social media. And I tried, unsuccessfully, to move on with my life. I was poorer for it. It got to where, when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize the face looking back at me anymore. Nothing seemed to have a purpose. Because this has always been the only thing for me. This is my purpose.
I’m the girl who walked through fire. I’m the girl who went to war. I’m the girl who walked into a No Disqualification match as her third professional match ever, and walked away with someone’s teeth. I’m the girl who sustained two hairline skull fractures and fought her way back. Because that’s who I am. A fighter. Never say die. Never surrender. Knock me down, and I’m just going to return the favor the next time we face. Because unlike some people, I don’t spend my time sitting around making excuses for why I failed. I learn from it.
So. At Redemption, I’m going to do what I’m meant to do, and rise. I’m done being the disappointment. I’m done letting people down. And I’m done biding my time. This is my time. Because it’s the only time I’ve got. Every match. Every fall. It could be my last. The same is true for all of us I guess, but having come face to face with the inevitable, I perhaps hear the ticking clock more clearly.
Do I believe this will be easy? Of course not. Only a fool would think that. Only a fool would look at Anastasia Starling and think “Oh I’ve got this in the bag”. But...one must learn to have faith in oneself. And though I’ve struggled. Though I doubt myself more often than not, I can’t deny who I am. What I am. This is life. The fire in my veins, the force that moves me. Without it, I am nothing. The clock ticks, and when it stops, I will not have it be said that I slipped silently into the night. I will not have all that I have sacrificed and all that I have fought for, be for nothing.
Which in the end, makes me no different than anyone else I suppose. I chase the immortality. The body dies, but the legacy...the legacy remains, and through it, we live forever.
OOC: My deepest apologies. I have worked an insane amount of overtime the last two weeks. I am now preparing to be out of state until late Sunday night. By the time I realized deadline was falling while I was away, it was already Monday. 
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
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