Post by mandi on Feb 5, 2017 3:37:43 GMT
Distancing herself from social media has become necessity, there are too many things to pose as a distraction, too many things to hook their vicious little claws inside her brain and dig and tear. Now, more than ever she needs focus. It’s slipping through her fingers again, despite her best efforts, despite her dedication and her work. Slipping through her fingers. The taste of ash growing stronger in her mouth, the rungs crumbling beneath her fingers. Victory over Mason Daniels had not been as decisive as she would have liked. Failing to secure the Evolution Championship in RISE had stung, more than just from wounded pride. Spiraling. She’s spiraling. And she must stop herself. She must, because what waits at the bottom of the pit is unthinkable. The idea that all that she’s sacrificed, all that she’s done could come to nothing, mean nothing, that at the end of her long journey is...nothing...the void is more frightening than failure. It always has been. And it has always been fear of that void of nothing that has driven her in her most desperate moments. Though she has been cautious, heeding the wisdom of the more experienced, reminding herself that the body doesn’t function without hydration and nutrition, she’s still spent all of her time engaged in two things. Training. And reflection. When not at the RISE gym, or her home gym, she’s here.
Sanctuary. Refuge. Most people believe she’s joking when she refers to this room as “the Armory”, but it’s an accurate description. The walls are lined with racks that hold an assortment of weapons of the ancient variety, some authentic, others merely accurate replicas, most Greek in origin. She collects them, and most, she has some level of skill with, because why possess something you don’t know how to use? There isn’t purpose to it, except to help her center, help her ground, a way to release the anger and frustration. But the room is more than just a repository for old weapons, as evidenced by the low stone table with its curious assortment of items that occupies the center, offering dishes and a small statue depicting a man in armor, and it is this she approaches, depositing a short stick of smoldering incense in one of the dishes before dropping to kneel.
“Great Ares, I praise. Bold one of the flashing eyes, son of mighty Zeus and noble Hera you are, beloved of the golden sea-born Aphrodite. You take joy in battle, the war-cry is your song. Strength is yours, peerless warrior, and firm resolve, and the pure, clear drive to defeat the enemy, the battle rage that pushes us beyond our bounds to achieve victory against the greater foe. To the weak, you lend strength, to the fearful, courage, to those enslaved the will to break the stoutest bonds. Fierce Ares, you whose gifts ensure our survival. Oh god of warriors, I praise and honor you. Grant strength to my arm, and bolster my heart with courage. Let your might, become my armor, and my victory your praise.”
It’s rare, that the modern day Spartan finds herself engaged in actual prayer, rare because she does not often find reason. While open about her unconventional faith, she has never described herself as...well...devout. But sometimes, the spirit is moved beyond one’s normal behavior. So intent is she, that she doesn’t hear the soft, padding feet that mark the entrance of her fiance, who catches the tail end of her prayer.
“Does he ever listen?”
“Prayer and devotion isn’t about whether we think they’re listening or not. It’s about finding inner peace.”
“And did you?”
“Yes...and no.”
The young blonde stands, drawing in a deep, steadying breath before heading for the door, motioning for him to follow.
“The misconception is that the gods grant gifts to those who show devotion. The reality is that they only help us to recognize those gifts in ourselves. Prayer helps me center, it helps me ground, and focus my thoughts and be able to think more clearly. It’s probably something I should do more often, to be honest. So there perhaps, isn’t so much an instance of finding peace here, but a case of finding resolve. I’ve maybe been trying too hard lately, pushing too hard, and bordering on desperate. It’s let me to make a lot of stupid mistakes, mistakes I wouldn’t have made if I’d been thinking, and better focused. Mistakes I can’t afford to keep making. So. Clarity. Focus. And from this point forward, I move on with a clear mind.”
Strangely calm, but then, she’s had the time to do the reflection necessary to reach this point. The brooding artist, as she’s prone to call him, drops an arm across her shoulder, pulling her in close.
“And the voice of reason prevails at last. Good. Now maybe I won’t have to hound you to remember to eat. Speaking of, dinner. You should eat some.”
“You make it sound like I was starving myself.”
“Thirty-six hours without food does sort of imply starving.”
“....alright. I’ll give you that. Food it is. And then there are tapes to review.”
--- --- --- --- --- ---
A new day, a new lease on life, a new me...there are a lot of cliches that might said to apply here. I’m not so arrogant as to assume or imply that this match is in the bag. I’m not as familiar with anyone else involved in this as I would like to be, as I need to be. But there aren’t enough hours in the day to personally dissect the entire life and career of not one, not two, but three individuals. Besides which, there’s only person in this match that I have any form of control over...and that’s me. I can only control what I do, the effort that I put in...for everything else, I just have to have...faith...and trust that my tag partner, as annoying as his complete refusal to use my actual name might be, will hold up his end of things.
Because that’s the thing with tag team matches, it’s not just about one person. It isn’t about what that one person does, but what they are capable of accomplishing with their partner. Ages ago, I remember Phoenix running another tag team tournament, where the partners were random and changed. I remember there being a lot of temper tantruming about it, a lot of foot stomping and name calling and implications that someone was somehow better or above what we were doing. Funny. The more things change, the more they stay the same. The stage is a little different, the cast absolutely is...and yet the story remains...fundamentally the same. Hey there V, looking right atcha there Sweetheart. Tag team wrestling is an art form, one that most of us have completely abandoned because we’re incapable of putting aside our own personal egos in pursuit of a greater goal. There’s no room for ego in a tag team. Being able to work, cohesively with another person, to use their strengths to counterbalance your own flaws...watching a good team work together, it’s poetry. It’s grace. It’s riveting. A good team can keep you on the edge of your seat, and leave you wanting more when the curtain falls. People like to crack jokes, they like to disregard tag team wrestlers like they’re nothing...but really? Those guys and girls are the best among us.
I’m not going to sit here and type a bunch of petty insults...because I don’t need to. I don’t need to throw shade to make my point...and I’ve honestly always found words to be a little on the cheap side anyway. Things have not gone the way that I would have hoped. I’m not going to refute that. My victory over Mason Daniels at last Redemption didn’t come from my own skill and ability but in his predictability in getting angry things weren’t going his way. He cost himself. Which means that I still have a very, very long way to go on my path to redeem myself for my failures.
The difference is, I can own them as that. My failures. I don’t have to sit here and blame anyone else, imply that someone’s trying to screw me over, or any other of the numerous prevalent idiotic behaviors I’ve witnessed. I’ve been so focused on my need to cement my legacy that I let it turn me into exactly what I’ve been accusing other people of being. I let it make me desperate. And that desperation led me to make a lot of unnecessary mistakes. It cost me opportunities. And there’s no one at fault for that, but me. And that is, more or less, the same for everyone. No Illuminati. No shadow plans. No plans for anyone to screw anyone over. Just good old fashioned ‘you fucked up’. Whether it be because your opponent was better than you, or because you personally had a bad day, maybe that stipulation wasn’t your strong suit, whatever. At the end, the only person you can really hold accountable for anything is...well…you. And coming to that realization, ladies and gents, let me tell you, that is one hell of a bitter pill to swallow.
And it’s a lesson that at least one of my opponents could stand to learn. I won’t sit here and say that they don’t stand a chance...but you know, the only way to actually win a tag team match is by working as a team. To be honest, V spent so much time bitching about her partner and running him into the ground, I started to question whether she remembered who she was actually facing or not. That’s not exactly conducive to positive team work. In fact, I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if Iser left her out to dry for being such a fucking cunt....oops. No. I said I wasn’t going to do this. And I’m not. Really. It’s unnecessary…
Unnecessary because this isn’t a side job for me. This isn’t something that I do just for shits and giggles. Losing a match isn’t something I just shrug off and walk away from. Every match. Every single one. Is life or death. Whether there’s championship gold hanging in the balance or not. See, that’s the difference between a warrior, and a pretender. The warrior fights regardless. A warrior never leaves that ring having given less than their best. They walk down that ramp, climb between the ropes and give everything that they are, win, or lose. And they do it without needing someone to dangle a shiny gold carrot in front of them. Because that’s who they are. That’s what they do. And...that’s their fucking job.
Am I confident? Absolutely. Because Leo and I are practically guaranteed to work better in the ring. Because we can see the bigger picture, and the benefits of doing so. Plus, you know. Not superficial twats.
Sanctuary. Refuge. Most people believe she’s joking when she refers to this room as “the Armory”, but it’s an accurate description. The walls are lined with racks that hold an assortment of weapons of the ancient variety, some authentic, others merely accurate replicas, most Greek in origin. She collects them, and most, she has some level of skill with, because why possess something you don’t know how to use? There isn’t purpose to it, except to help her center, help her ground, a way to release the anger and frustration. But the room is more than just a repository for old weapons, as evidenced by the low stone table with its curious assortment of items that occupies the center, offering dishes and a small statue depicting a man in armor, and it is this she approaches, depositing a short stick of smoldering incense in one of the dishes before dropping to kneel.
“Great Ares, I praise. Bold one of the flashing eyes, son of mighty Zeus and noble Hera you are, beloved of the golden sea-born Aphrodite. You take joy in battle, the war-cry is your song. Strength is yours, peerless warrior, and firm resolve, and the pure, clear drive to defeat the enemy, the battle rage that pushes us beyond our bounds to achieve victory against the greater foe. To the weak, you lend strength, to the fearful, courage, to those enslaved the will to break the stoutest bonds. Fierce Ares, you whose gifts ensure our survival. Oh god of warriors, I praise and honor you. Grant strength to my arm, and bolster my heart with courage. Let your might, become my armor, and my victory your praise.”
It’s rare, that the modern day Spartan finds herself engaged in actual prayer, rare because she does not often find reason. While open about her unconventional faith, she has never described herself as...well...devout. But sometimes, the spirit is moved beyond one’s normal behavior. So intent is she, that she doesn’t hear the soft, padding feet that mark the entrance of her fiance, who catches the tail end of her prayer.
“Does he ever listen?”
“Prayer and devotion isn’t about whether we think they’re listening or not. It’s about finding inner peace.”
“And did you?”
“Yes...and no.”
The young blonde stands, drawing in a deep, steadying breath before heading for the door, motioning for him to follow.
“The misconception is that the gods grant gifts to those who show devotion. The reality is that they only help us to recognize those gifts in ourselves. Prayer helps me center, it helps me ground, and focus my thoughts and be able to think more clearly. It’s probably something I should do more often, to be honest. So there perhaps, isn’t so much an instance of finding peace here, but a case of finding resolve. I’ve maybe been trying too hard lately, pushing too hard, and bordering on desperate. It’s let me to make a lot of stupid mistakes, mistakes I wouldn’t have made if I’d been thinking, and better focused. Mistakes I can’t afford to keep making. So. Clarity. Focus. And from this point forward, I move on with a clear mind.”
Strangely calm, but then, she’s had the time to do the reflection necessary to reach this point. The brooding artist, as she’s prone to call him, drops an arm across her shoulder, pulling her in close.
“And the voice of reason prevails at last. Good. Now maybe I won’t have to hound you to remember to eat. Speaking of, dinner. You should eat some.”
“You make it sound like I was starving myself.”
“Thirty-six hours without food does sort of imply starving.”
“....alright. I’ll give you that. Food it is. And then there are tapes to review.”
--- --- --- --- --- ---
A new day, a new lease on life, a new me...there are a lot of cliches that might said to apply here. I’m not so arrogant as to assume or imply that this match is in the bag. I’m not as familiar with anyone else involved in this as I would like to be, as I need to be. But there aren’t enough hours in the day to personally dissect the entire life and career of not one, not two, but three individuals. Besides which, there’s only person in this match that I have any form of control over...and that’s me. I can only control what I do, the effort that I put in...for everything else, I just have to have...faith...and trust that my tag partner, as annoying as his complete refusal to use my actual name might be, will hold up his end of things.
Because that’s the thing with tag team matches, it’s not just about one person. It isn’t about what that one person does, but what they are capable of accomplishing with their partner. Ages ago, I remember Phoenix running another tag team tournament, where the partners were random and changed. I remember there being a lot of temper tantruming about it, a lot of foot stomping and name calling and implications that someone was somehow better or above what we were doing. Funny. The more things change, the more they stay the same. The stage is a little different, the cast absolutely is...and yet the story remains...fundamentally the same. Hey there V, looking right atcha there Sweetheart. Tag team wrestling is an art form, one that most of us have completely abandoned because we’re incapable of putting aside our own personal egos in pursuit of a greater goal. There’s no room for ego in a tag team. Being able to work, cohesively with another person, to use their strengths to counterbalance your own flaws...watching a good team work together, it’s poetry. It’s grace. It’s riveting. A good team can keep you on the edge of your seat, and leave you wanting more when the curtain falls. People like to crack jokes, they like to disregard tag team wrestlers like they’re nothing...but really? Those guys and girls are the best among us.
I’m not going to sit here and type a bunch of petty insults...because I don’t need to. I don’t need to throw shade to make my point...and I’ve honestly always found words to be a little on the cheap side anyway. Things have not gone the way that I would have hoped. I’m not going to refute that. My victory over Mason Daniels at last Redemption didn’t come from my own skill and ability but in his predictability in getting angry things weren’t going his way. He cost himself. Which means that I still have a very, very long way to go on my path to redeem myself for my failures.
The difference is, I can own them as that. My failures. I don’t have to sit here and blame anyone else, imply that someone’s trying to screw me over, or any other of the numerous prevalent idiotic behaviors I’ve witnessed. I’ve been so focused on my need to cement my legacy that I let it turn me into exactly what I’ve been accusing other people of being. I let it make me desperate. And that desperation led me to make a lot of unnecessary mistakes. It cost me opportunities. And there’s no one at fault for that, but me. And that is, more or less, the same for everyone. No Illuminati. No shadow plans. No plans for anyone to screw anyone over. Just good old fashioned ‘you fucked up’. Whether it be because your opponent was better than you, or because you personally had a bad day, maybe that stipulation wasn’t your strong suit, whatever. At the end, the only person you can really hold accountable for anything is...well…you. And coming to that realization, ladies and gents, let me tell you, that is one hell of a bitter pill to swallow.
And it’s a lesson that at least one of my opponents could stand to learn. I won’t sit here and say that they don’t stand a chance...but you know, the only way to actually win a tag team match is by working as a team. To be honest, V spent so much time bitching about her partner and running him into the ground, I started to question whether she remembered who she was actually facing or not. That’s not exactly conducive to positive team work. In fact, I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if Iser left her out to dry for being such a fucking cunt....oops. No. I said I wasn’t going to do this. And I’m not. Really. It’s unnecessary…
Unnecessary because this isn’t a side job for me. This isn’t something that I do just for shits and giggles. Losing a match isn’t something I just shrug off and walk away from. Every match. Every single one. Is life or death. Whether there’s championship gold hanging in the balance or not. See, that’s the difference between a warrior, and a pretender. The warrior fights regardless. A warrior never leaves that ring having given less than their best. They walk down that ramp, climb between the ropes and give everything that they are, win, or lose. And they do it without needing someone to dangle a shiny gold carrot in front of them. Because that’s who they are. That’s what they do. And...that’s their fucking job.
Am I confident? Absolutely. Because Leo and I are practically guaranteed to work better in the ring. Because we can see the bigger picture, and the benefits of doing so. Plus, you know. Not superficial twats.
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