Post by Silver Eagle on Apr 29, 2017 3:15:48 GMT
I freeze and burn, love is bitter and sweet, my sighs are tempests and my tears are floods, I am in ecstasy and agony, I am possessed by memories of her and I am in exile from myself.
---
The pain was new. It was fresh. It was real. She had been through many matches in her young career, facing opponents of all shapes, sizes and abilities. She had taken beatings that many never thought possible. She had been through fire, slammed on tacks, kendo sticks to the head and been hurled around and chewed like a dog toy more times than she could remember. Once, the repeated beating to her head had once left her in a coma for several months, shaving time off of her career and almost costing her life. But this, this was different. She had posed atop of the stage with fiery determination in her eyes, taking in the roar of the audience as those who supported her cheered on, one step from both revenge and redemption. But step no more, no walk onwards, no hop, no skip, no jump. There was no march into battle, no charge into no man’s land, no once more into the breach, my friends. The whole world came crashing down upon her knee all at once, and that world was made of cold, hard steel. Over and over again it came down, Seren Beyer assaulting her with all her might, jarring and insulting her as she did so. “I’m doing you a favour,” she had said. “I’m doing this to help you,” she had said. Or so she was told, her dialect was often difficult to understand, and the pain that was ripping through her leg was unbearable.
She couldn’t support herself, the medical staff carrying her back as she whined and moaned and complained, her boss, BKH, begging her to let the staff look her over, that the match had been called off and that she needed care now. “I can fight. I can fight on one leg. Please. Please, Mr. Huff. I need to end this tonight, I need to. I can do this. I can do this on one leg and ahhh…” The pain ripped through again as she collapsed in a heap, bodies flooding around her with featureless faces and foreign voices, a language she could not understand as tears flowed. She had felt pain, it was expected, but this… this was something else. Pain to her knee, pain to her mind, pain to her ego. She was told no. She hated being told no. “I can d-do this. Let her back in, please? Send her to the ring. I need this. I-I need this.” Temperature rose, flames burned, snakes hissed and hell itself began to open and swallow her up.
That was until an angel appeared, one winged and beautiful, a golden lady of a single smile and desperation in her now crimson eyes. She gripped her tightly, yet gently, she melted in her arms as she carried her to the ambulance. The red sea of people faded away as her wife carried her through the pearly gates to healing. “Don’t do this bird. We need to get you to the hospital, and now. We need that knee looking at.” There was a terrified softness to her voice that calmed her. “Please? For me, for you.” Anastasia nodded meekly, finally convinced to abandon her fool’s errand of attempting to compete with a yet unchecked injury. Sophie El, sat by her side, placing her head in her lap as she wiped the tears away, kissing her eyes gently. And placed in her own lap was her championship belt, the Rising Phoenix, and she cradled it like a child as the sirens echoed out and they drove into the English night.
---
I’m hurt.
It’s a hard thing to admit to, especially given how close we are to one of the marquee matches happening south of the border in Phoenix Wrestling, but I’m honest. I’m sure the whole world saw what happened to me, and I think Frisky D is smart enough to have been paying attention to everything I have been up to. I don’t know whether she is as in depth as I am when it comes to studying opponents, I don’t most wrestlers are, but seeing my knee brutalized before I could even get to the ring the other week must certainly be something on her mind. Whether she wants to use it as an advantage… course she is, she isn’t an idiot… It’s something she is going for, and everyone knows it. A lot of people have mentioned it, mentioned how I’m being silly I’m being for going on with this match.
But I am a champion, a fighting champion and that’s what real champions do. They don’t back out when the going gets tough. They don’t use sneak tactics just to make a defence or stack up wins. They do the right thing, with skill and precision and pure determination, no matter the cost no matter the odds. I honestly believe I am the one pure and righteous champion in this company right now, and that is how it’s going to stay. I’m going to fight, even if I have to crawl on hand and my one good knee, I will. And I will do things the right way, the true way and nobody is getting in my way.
---
The knee brace was niggling her, but at least she could walk. It had been a serious concern of hers these past few weeks after what had happened in SSWA. Huff had not cleared her to compete yet, so at least she was able to rest her injury, and even though she was determined to make Beyer pay for what she did, Anastasia had reluctantly obeyed his wishes and kept out of conflict. Her doctor had cleared her to compete at Tempest, even though he did have some doubts, but the knee brace had really helped, and she would be wearing it at least for a few weeks. As well as aiding in her ability to remain on two feet, it did offer some protection as well, and the attack she was sure to receive come bell time would be softened because of that. She wasn’t quite sure if that was really in the rules or not, but her Papa seemed to think so, staring back at her with eyes that matched her own. They were sharing one of their secretive dinners once more, her wife was visiting family and Ana had made a sly excuse about her knee troubling her.
Conversation had been fairly routine, playing catch up on a whole life of events, Ana going through all of the chapters in her life like a grand fairy tale, and whilst her father listened intently, she always had this thought that he knew everything already, and was merely humouring her. “I long to hear the story of your life, which must captivate the ear strangely,” he had said. She often tried to keep the subjects of their talks away from her wife, her own little world, given that her Papa and her spouse had a history of fallouts, and he seemed to play the same card. The stories he gave were interesting enough, his time when he was known as Isaac Bongartz, multi time World Champion and renowned violinist. These parts she enjoyed, his tales about travelling with her Uncle, Kamijo and Leander Apollo, his classical concerts in Berlin, the matches he took part in during his time with them. He had briefly gone over the subject of his own father, Petyr he was called, a doctor by trade, but he seemed to be still holding something back about that. She had heard stories, but they seemed like nightmares, and he didn’t seem like he wanted to scare her. He was friendly, caring and the opposite of all she knew. “Not all sons were like their fathers. A son chose the man he would be.” Bobby B. Barabbas muttered.
“Not all daughters were like their fathers. A daughter monster chose the monster she would be,” was her quick witted response, drawing a grin from the German. It seemed his influence had made her much more confident, especially when it came to her promo work. It was always her weak point, years ago she actively avoided interviews and such, considering her former lisp and occasional stutter, but a little guidance from one of the most charismatic managers in the business had started to change that. Covering up that it was his advice was another story altogether, nobody could know who he truly was. Nobody. Ever.
“You are still stroking that belt like a cat, Little Wing,” he murmured, and sure enough she was. She looked down upon her prize, the one she had defended with all her heart against Finn Whelan mere weeks ago. She had held it ever closer since that match, scraping through the time limit held over her with only two seconds to spare. The realization of how close she had come to losing her prize without being truly defeated was still hanging over her, and that fact was almost as troubling as her knee.
“It’s mine. No one is taking it.” She smiled, angelic and innocent. “I just like holding it, it’s comforting. And so many people have their titles stolen these days that I prefer it to be safe. That’s all.”
“And I’m sure you have plans to keep hold of it in Mexico. How is your knee? It didn’t seem to trouble you much when you entered the room.” He sipped his drink, his gaze coating her with a protective armour, defending against any and all.
“It will be well enough come Tempest.” She was hoping. It was true that her knee was healing well, walking was a pleasant bonus, but she had to ensure that she kept herself both protected and in prime condition. Her upcoming match was against a rookie, a really raw rookie, but one who might well have the potential to upset her. She had to be ready.
“I am pleased to hear that, more so than you could possibly believe. Are you sure I can not inspect it, I do not trust many doctor’s within our trade, and a second opinion would be both beneficial to you and would give me peace of mind.” Barabbas said. This wasn’t the first time he had requested to monitor her health, like he was trying to take the place of her physician
“No, Papa. It’s fine. I trust my doctor’s evaluation. Ghostie was wi--” She halted herself. ‘Shit.’ she thought to herself, ‘I mentioned wifey. That was was bad, that was a bad decision, I can see him turning already.’
“Ah, your wife. Trustworthy as always, is she?” There was so much venom in his voice, and the normally cool and calm Pied Piper was beginning to transform into the snarling wolf she had only seen on television.
“Papa, we don’t tal--”
“--I do hope that she is treating you well at home, for once. That foolish girl has caused you enough hardship over the past year.” His eyes were scanning all about, his fingers drumming a clawed beat as he howled out his response, barely pausing for breath
“Pa--”
“--and if what I hear is true, and the offer has been made for her to come to your place of work, you know what they are intending, do you not?” She froze, eyes wide and breathless. ‘How did he know about the offer? I didn’t say a word!’ There was an offer on the table, unsigned, undecided, but an offer that may well bring the match that everyone was begging for during the Iron King Tournament. The biggest potential rematch of Anastasia’s young life. Wife Vs. Wife.
“H-how do you kn--” was her reply, once again cut off.
“Of course I know. I am your Father and I keep my ear to the ground on such matters. If this comes to pass, this proves that it has been her intention all along, and she will manipulate and trick you. She is a thief, a sneak thief in the night who only ever thi--” She knew why she did it, though she had no control over it, a backhand across the table that connected with such force that Barabbas tumbled from his chair, pulling down the table cloth and covering himself with liquor and glass.
“Don’t speak about my wife. You have no right to speak about her like that, like anything. I never want you to say another word about Sophie again, do you hear me? DO YOU?” She was towering over him now, fire in her eyes and venom spewing from her throat, engulfing the fallen Piper as crimson dripped from his broken lip. She quivered as she stared him down, her hair wild and free and her talons now in fists. He smiled. Why was he smiling?
“You are so much like your Mother. It makes me proud.” That smile once more.
“I’m going… Don’t walk me to the door.” She gathered her things silently, a sense of urgency as she vacated the restaurant, not turning back once as she carried her belt like it was a newborn baby. He watched her leave, not moving from the spot until she was at the door.
“From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire…” he uttered as she paced from the room and away. That grin of his was there once more.
---
I’m in a weird situation, all things considered. Not just concerning my knee, which I will say is healing really well, thankies to all the well wishers, but… it’s so rare that I’m not the underdog. It’s rarer still that I am classed as the veteran. It’s something that I really have not gotten used to yet. Frisky D is a relative unknown to the business, only having a handful of televised matches in her short, makeshift career. I mean, the opportunity that has been given to her at this stage in her career is monumental, I never got a chance at a real title belt until I was a few years into the game, and what she has within fingertips of her many would die for. Back when I started, I would have killed to have a chance like she has. But instead, I’m the chance within reach and I’m the one who will have to break those reaching fingers.
I… might have sounded mean these last couple of shows, but this is how I feel. I’ve worked so hard, so hard to get where I am today, to claim a title to call my own that I will do nigh on anything to keep hold of it. Cinderella stories are often talked about in this business, and Frisky’s is the exception. Because we have already passed midnight, time is up and I’m going to smash the proverbial glass slipper over her head. This isn’t instant success, just add hot water because for her, there is no success, and facing me she is just in hot water. And she is about to sink, she’s about to drown and she is about to dissolve.
Gosh darn, I’m starting to get good at these!
I like Frisky, she’s a spunky little thing. I was really impressed the way she dealt with Kamigawa a few weeks ago, holding a victory over him is a huge thing. Well, it would have been if this was 2014, Kamigawa is merely a shell of what he used to be, when he formed Gods & Monsters and ran roughshod over the west coast. These days, I really can’t tell if the same man is in there. I mean, I used to sit in the back and watch what he did and dread that one day I might have to face him. These days, I would just shrug. He’s nowhere close to what he was, and I don’t know what caused it but he seems to have lost what made him feared on the coast and in Japan.
Now, that might seem like I’m trying to take something away from Frisky, and maybe I am in a little way. It’s still a monumental achievement for someone as inexperienced as she is, and it really does show the potential she has to beat someone like Kamigawa, even when his game has dipped. But now she has to face someone who is at the top of their game, who will go faster, hit harder and soar higher than anyone not just in this company, but in the entire world. And I know she is going to give it her all, she’s going to throw all and sundry at me but I am the be all and end all of this division, and I’m just going to end her chances come Tempest.
Wow… I am getting good at these.
Frisky, I wish you luck, because luck may well be the only thing on your side come Tempest. I’m going to give you something that everyone in this industry experiences, and that is the feeling of getting knocked off that horse so hard that you don’t know whether you can get back up again. When I win, you will question everything you did, everything you felt and everything you know. I’ve been there, I know what it’s like. It will just be up to you whether you get back up again. If you do, well done. Keep at it. If you don’t? You’ll just be another name soon forgotten. Choice is yours.
As for the result of our match? You have no choice in that outcome, no matter how much you try. This title is mine. MINE. And it is going nowhere until I say it is.
