Post by mandi on Jun 13, 2017 19:34:59 GMT
The rage had come, of course it had come. It was only natural. Few things in the world were likely to infuriate the diminutive blonde more than people interfering in her matches. Victory had come. But victory by disqualification which was no victory at all. It was tainted, unclean. A blight on all that she hoped to accomplish. Worse, for the second time in a row, she failed her partner. Failed to protect him, failed to defend him, and it ended with him being shelved for gods only knew how long. But this was not the rage she was familiar with, not the snarling, angry outbursts, the fire that blazed hot, but brief. This was...different, something deeper than anger. And it brought with it, an old, familiar friend.
“Faithy.”
The word was a breathy whisper in her ear, but it might as well have been a scream. The young woman's eyes snapped open.
“You. Are dead. I killed you.”
A chuckle, dry, hissing laughter just shy of being mocking.
“Oh Faith. Haven't you figured it out yet? You can't kill me, I am you. I am your rage, your violence. I am your need. I am all of the things that make you, who you are. You call your demon, because you feel like you need to be normal, to fit in. But everyone's got demons Faithy. Some people just hide them better. The thing is, that no one every really succeeds in slaying their demons. Put them to sleep, bury them deep, wrap them in chains and lock them away...but they're still there. Watching. Waiting.”
“Go away.”
“It doesn't work like that. You don't get to keep ignoring me. Look at you. Look what you've become. What we've become. A pale shadow of what we were. You need me.”
“I don't.”
“You do. The Collective-”
The noise that came from the blonde could only be defined as a snarl. She pushed herself to her feet without verbally responding, pacing restlessly around the space she lovingly refers to as The Armory. From time to time, her fingers reached out to trace alone one of the many, many weapons hanging in the racks that lined the wall. Shields, swords of every type known to man, spears, even a trident or two.
“Clearly are not fast learners. There was a time, when someone might have been foolish enough to make the mistake of interfering in your affairs, but only once. But these idiots just keep trying their luck. Perhaps they think themselves untouchable. And your partner...”
“Can we not talk about him please?”
“How many times has he said that there was something missing Faith? That you are not who you were? That there is something, some quintessential part of you missing? And now, now you have the opportunity to prove him wrong. He was a friend once Faith. He could be a friend again.”
The blonde scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“Like that's going to happen.”
“You're just angry because he tells the truth. He isn't wrong. You have been diminished. But you can change that, at Redemption. You just have to let me in again. Let me in, and then let them experience the fury.”
She didn't like to admit that there was truth there. The darkness frightened her, but she'd depended on it, and without it, some quintessential part of herself was missing. She lost her edge. And in losing it, she'd lost herself. Started slipping and sliding. It had to stop. She had to reclaim herself. And this...it was maybe the first step in that journey.
--- --- --- --- --- ---
“There are certain...rules of engagement, rules that are unspoken, but rather universally agreed on. Rules that are in place to create order, and obeyed out of an unspoken acknowledgment and respect. You don't have to like a person to acknowledge their work, their efforts, and the fact that they take the same risks that you do, each and every time they climb between the ropes. When I was younger, much younger, the people who trained me taught me that wrestlers are like one big extended family. And like in any family, there are black sheep. There are the distant cousins who are only barely tolerated, and then there are the idiots who act a fool so many times that they're disowned and kicked out of the family. You see, those of us, who have any kind of respect for what we do, and who we are...you won't catch us doing stupid, ignorant shit like interfering in matches we have no fucking business being a part of. Why? Because that shit is not only disrespectful, it's the wrestling equivalent to a toddler stomping their feet and screaming in the candy aisle because Mommy told them no.”
Now, given what we all know about the blonde, at this point, we would expect her to be seething, snarling rage. And maybe that rage is there, it certainly must be, but it burns beneath the surface, rather than spilling over. Which suggests that the time she's spent training under the likes of Aurora of Aurora, Arkia, and Andreas has brought with it some measure of self control at least. It's dusk, the sun slowly dropping in the horizon, and the falling darkness has brought with it cooler temperatures. Which is probably the only thing keeping the rust red rock she sits on from frying the skin of her legs left bare by the shorts. She takes a moment, presumably to collect her thoughts, tapping the ash from her cigarette into the bowl at her side.
“If you were actually wrestlers, Tony, Geno, I wouldn't have to explain these things to you. If you had any kind of respect for the cruel, harsh mistress we all court, then maybe...maybe...you might stand some chance of redemption. But no. No, as it is, you are simply common thugs, pretending. Certainly you have no respect for the sanctity of the ring, you've proven that over, and over, and over. And you cannot imagine how infuriating that is for those of us who worship in that temple. You treat this like a game. Like being a wrestler is just the hat you've tried on this week, but when you get bored of it, you'll find another. So you break the rules. The unspoken, universal rules. And you spit in the face of everything that has been sacrificed and lost in that twenty by twenty foot hell of steel and canvas. But your time...oh you poor things. Your time is ending.
This isn't about what you did to Chris. This isn't even about you interfering in not one, but two of my fucking matches, although let's be honest, that does color my opinion of you pretty heavily. This is about something more. This is about a respect of what we do. But you know nothing of respect. You don't look around you and see people who have given up years of their lives, people who have been bent and broken mentally and physically by the demanding monster that is professional wrestling. You don't look at the ring and see the sacrifices made there. You don't see the shadows of the giants who came before you, names and legends that you can never hope to live up to. You don't see the shadows of the blood spilled. You don't feel the joys, the triumphs or the despairs. You might dwell in our world, but you aren't really part of it. And you, have worn out your welcome.
Now I know, that this the point where you start throwing dismissive little comments at me. Calling me Barbie and whatever other unoriginal little insult you can come up with...I assure you gentlemen, over the last three and a half years, I have heard them all. You'll attack Masaru's appearance, and his sexuality because that's all you can manage to do. Empty words. You're the wind, we, are the mountain. This may be the point where you scoff and wonder how I can have any confidence in our ability to win this match. Maz and I after all, have not been on the best of terms, and you two are established partners, you have a rapport, etc etc etc. It's simple really.”
She pauses, taking a long drag from the cigarette, slowly exhaling the plume of smoke before snuffing it out in the bowl. In truth, it's more of a tool to help her maintain her control than anything else, forcing her to stop and take a few seconds to compose her thoughts before pushing forward.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Cliche, but no less true. Your actions have given us common ground. Beyond that, Masaru and I, despite recent differences, have a long history here in Phoenix. And you will be hard pressed to find anyone who can adapt more readily than I do. I know myself, what I am capable of. I know what Masaru is capable of. The two of you, saunter about and you think, no no. Not think. You're so very, very certain you can't touched. At Redemption, we won't just prove you wrong. At Redemption, we are going to end you, leave you broken, bloodied shells, just another sacrifice to a demanding goddess. Which is only fitting really, since you pay her no homage, no respect. You violate the sanctity of her temple and shrine. And you will be held accountable for your crimes. You like to call names and demean, and try to make people something other than what they are. Like if you say it enough, it will become truth. But I am, what I have ever been, and what you will never be. Warrior.
Isoroku Yamamoto is said to have said “I fear all we have done is awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.” after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Give that some thought boys. It's pretty relevant to your present situation.”
The smile that follows this statement is not a friendly one by any means, and it fades quickly. Because there is still one more person in this match who needs to be addressed. She draws in a deep breath, slowly exhaling.
“Masaru...we have not seen eye to eye of late. And that is my fault, not yours. Because...because you have been right, and stubborn, bull headed fool that I am, I didn't want to admit it. I have been less than I was, because I was denying a part of myself, but no longer. And I hope, that this match can make the beginning of repairing the bridge between us. We were friends once, and I hope that we can be friends again. I'm not Rori, and those are shoes I can't even begin to possibly think of filling. But I can promise not to disappoint.”
--- --- ---
Word Count: 1836
“Faithy.”
The word was a breathy whisper in her ear, but it might as well have been a scream. The young woman's eyes snapped open.
“You. Are dead. I killed you.”
A chuckle, dry, hissing laughter just shy of being mocking.
“Oh Faith. Haven't you figured it out yet? You can't kill me, I am you. I am your rage, your violence. I am your need. I am all of the things that make you, who you are. You call your demon, because you feel like you need to be normal, to fit in. But everyone's got demons Faithy. Some people just hide them better. The thing is, that no one every really succeeds in slaying their demons. Put them to sleep, bury them deep, wrap them in chains and lock them away...but they're still there. Watching. Waiting.”
“Go away.”
“It doesn't work like that. You don't get to keep ignoring me. Look at you. Look what you've become. What we've become. A pale shadow of what we were. You need me.”
“I don't.”
“You do. The Collective-”
The noise that came from the blonde could only be defined as a snarl. She pushed herself to her feet without verbally responding, pacing restlessly around the space she lovingly refers to as The Armory. From time to time, her fingers reached out to trace alone one of the many, many weapons hanging in the racks that lined the wall. Shields, swords of every type known to man, spears, even a trident or two.
“Clearly are not fast learners. There was a time, when someone might have been foolish enough to make the mistake of interfering in your affairs, but only once. But these idiots just keep trying their luck. Perhaps they think themselves untouchable. And your partner...”
“Can we not talk about him please?”
“How many times has he said that there was something missing Faith? That you are not who you were? That there is something, some quintessential part of you missing? And now, now you have the opportunity to prove him wrong. He was a friend once Faith. He could be a friend again.”
The blonde scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“Like that's going to happen.”
“You're just angry because he tells the truth. He isn't wrong. You have been diminished. But you can change that, at Redemption. You just have to let me in again. Let me in, and then let them experience the fury.”
She didn't like to admit that there was truth there. The darkness frightened her, but she'd depended on it, and without it, some quintessential part of herself was missing. She lost her edge. And in losing it, she'd lost herself. Started slipping and sliding. It had to stop. She had to reclaim herself. And this...it was maybe the first step in that journey.
--- --- --- --- --- ---
“There are certain...rules of engagement, rules that are unspoken, but rather universally agreed on. Rules that are in place to create order, and obeyed out of an unspoken acknowledgment and respect. You don't have to like a person to acknowledge their work, their efforts, and the fact that they take the same risks that you do, each and every time they climb between the ropes. When I was younger, much younger, the people who trained me taught me that wrestlers are like one big extended family. And like in any family, there are black sheep. There are the distant cousins who are only barely tolerated, and then there are the idiots who act a fool so many times that they're disowned and kicked out of the family. You see, those of us, who have any kind of respect for what we do, and who we are...you won't catch us doing stupid, ignorant shit like interfering in matches we have no fucking business being a part of. Why? Because that shit is not only disrespectful, it's the wrestling equivalent to a toddler stomping their feet and screaming in the candy aisle because Mommy told them no.”
Now, given what we all know about the blonde, at this point, we would expect her to be seething, snarling rage. And maybe that rage is there, it certainly must be, but it burns beneath the surface, rather than spilling over. Which suggests that the time she's spent training under the likes of Aurora of Aurora, Arkia, and Andreas has brought with it some measure of self control at least. It's dusk, the sun slowly dropping in the horizon, and the falling darkness has brought with it cooler temperatures. Which is probably the only thing keeping the rust red rock she sits on from frying the skin of her legs left bare by the shorts. She takes a moment, presumably to collect her thoughts, tapping the ash from her cigarette into the bowl at her side.
“If you were actually wrestlers, Tony, Geno, I wouldn't have to explain these things to you. If you had any kind of respect for the cruel, harsh mistress we all court, then maybe...maybe...you might stand some chance of redemption. But no. No, as it is, you are simply common thugs, pretending. Certainly you have no respect for the sanctity of the ring, you've proven that over, and over, and over. And you cannot imagine how infuriating that is for those of us who worship in that temple. You treat this like a game. Like being a wrestler is just the hat you've tried on this week, but when you get bored of it, you'll find another. So you break the rules. The unspoken, universal rules. And you spit in the face of everything that has been sacrificed and lost in that twenty by twenty foot hell of steel and canvas. But your time...oh you poor things. Your time is ending.
This isn't about what you did to Chris. This isn't even about you interfering in not one, but two of my fucking matches, although let's be honest, that does color my opinion of you pretty heavily. This is about something more. This is about a respect of what we do. But you know nothing of respect. You don't look around you and see people who have given up years of their lives, people who have been bent and broken mentally and physically by the demanding monster that is professional wrestling. You don't look at the ring and see the sacrifices made there. You don't see the shadows of the giants who came before you, names and legends that you can never hope to live up to. You don't see the shadows of the blood spilled. You don't feel the joys, the triumphs or the despairs. You might dwell in our world, but you aren't really part of it. And you, have worn out your welcome.
Now I know, that this the point where you start throwing dismissive little comments at me. Calling me Barbie and whatever other unoriginal little insult you can come up with...I assure you gentlemen, over the last three and a half years, I have heard them all. You'll attack Masaru's appearance, and his sexuality because that's all you can manage to do. Empty words. You're the wind, we, are the mountain. This may be the point where you scoff and wonder how I can have any confidence in our ability to win this match. Maz and I after all, have not been on the best of terms, and you two are established partners, you have a rapport, etc etc etc. It's simple really.”
She pauses, taking a long drag from the cigarette, slowly exhaling the plume of smoke before snuffing it out in the bowl. In truth, it's more of a tool to help her maintain her control than anything else, forcing her to stop and take a few seconds to compose her thoughts before pushing forward.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Cliche, but no less true. Your actions have given us common ground. Beyond that, Masaru and I, despite recent differences, have a long history here in Phoenix. And you will be hard pressed to find anyone who can adapt more readily than I do. I know myself, what I am capable of. I know what Masaru is capable of. The two of you, saunter about and you think, no no. Not think. You're so very, very certain you can't touched. At Redemption, we won't just prove you wrong. At Redemption, we are going to end you, leave you broken, bloodied shells, just another sacrifice to a demanding goddess. Which is only fitting really, since you pay her no homage, no respect. You violate the sanctity of her temple and shrine. And you will be held accountable for your crimes. You like to call names and demean, and try to make people something other than what they are. Like if you say it enough, it will become truth. But I am, what I have ever been, and what you will never be. Warrior.
Isoroku Yamamoto is said to have said “I fear all we have done is awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.” after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Give that some thought boys. It's pretty relevant to your present situation.”
The smile that follows this statement is not a friendly one by any means, and it fades quickly. Because there is still one more person in this match who needs to be addressed. She draws in a deep breath, slowly exhaling.
“Masaru...we have not seen eye to eye of late. And that is my fault, not yours. Because...because you have been right, and stubborn, bull headed fool that I am, I didn't want to admit it. I have been less than I was, because I was denying a part of myself, but no longer. And I hope, that this match can make the beginning of repairing the bridge between us. We were friends once, and I hope that we can be friends again. I'm not Rori, and those are shoes I can't even begin to possibly think of filling. But I can promise not to disappoint.”
--- --- ---
Word Count: 1836
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