Post by Envi on Nov 17, 2013 15:07:20 GMT -5
a hundred jewels on throats
nov.11.thirteen9:54pm
There was that initial rush when I rolled out of the ring on Monday night. My first victory on new soil had been secured. Decisively, I’d forced a submission from a man billed as a submission expert. I was all smiles, glancing out into the screaming legions of Seattle-based wrestling fans-- the fans that I would be getting very acquainted with for the foreseeable future. I don’t think they were able to see the discomfort on my face as I neared the top of the ramp, and I was pleased with myself for being able to suppress a groan and a subsequent coughing fit for this long.
As I stepped through the curtains… I remember things going dark. Not everything. Just like, spots. There were patches of the world that I just couldn’t see for a moment, making my way (carefully) down the steps and through the guerilla position. As I stepped through the darkened corridors, gingerly, eagerly making my way toward my locker room, I saw the bobbing blonde ponytail of Cassandra McPherson power-walking toward me, a smile on her face initially… followed by a look of concern.
”Aubs? You alright?”
I don’t know what prompted her to ask. I'm under the impression that I looked like shit. Without much time to dwell, I was subject to another coughing fit-- one that forced tears into my eyes. It lasted longer than the others, and Cassandra snaked an arm around my shoulders with one arm, guiding me toward the locker-room by the hand.
”Christ. Maybe you are getting a bug.”
”Ugh… I’m fine… I need some NyQuil or something. And a glass of wine. Those… go together, right?”
”What? Yes. It’s like peanut butter and jelly. They BASICALLY design them to be taken with each other.”
”That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”
I shrugged her arm off of my shoulders as I heard the shuffling of feet around the corner. It ended up being one of the referees, and we briefly exchanged pleasantries before he disappeared down the hall. My desire for independence was stifled as I allowed Cass to guide me by the hand toward the locker-room like some sort of wounded, confused child.
”You did great.”
I remember Talon’s voice. I remember his embrace. But I don’t remember looking at him, or anything, or seeing, walking into that room. I think I kept myself composed for all of two minutes. We’d gotten most of everything packed. Cassandra had buried her face behind the screen of her phone to answer the text… And then I ran to the bathroom, pushing the door aside, and--
I’m too proud. I will only tell you this: From the depths of my belly and out of my mouth poured rose petals and happiness, swiftly, and pleasantly landing in the, what I will tell you was, the most exceptionally clean and pristine locker-room toilet I’ve ever seen in my life. I remember Cassandra sighed from behind me.
”Yeah. We’re definitely going to a doctor.”
Helplessness. I was in no position to protest.
and everyone’s competing for a love they won’t receive
nov.12.thirteen11:00am
”Cassandra, is this really necessary?”
”Yes! Are you insane? What if something’s wrong with you?”
”There’s nothing wrong with me, ha. I have a fucking cold… and you guys are totally blowing it out of proportion and… doesn’t that, like, cause stress?”
”Maybe. But so does dying slow."
”Wow… little morbid.”
We were sitting alone in the doctor’s office, with me on the examination bed and Cassandra hovering over me, occasionally poking at my face with the odd, loose tool… It was one Dr. Branting’s office to be exact. He was a funny little Swedish man that Cassandra and I'd gone to since we entered the wrestling business. He definitely wasn’t the most professional man. I think he told me I had cancer like six times. Never true.
”This doesn’t come at the best time anyway. We’ve got a match to prepare for.”
”I understand that--”
”Not only are Xianlong and Scion in there, but Bails is in the match. I’m not fucking up a match against Anthony. God… no… never. What if they don’t clear me? What if they say I’ve got the swine flu or something?”
”Swine flu? Is that even, like, a thing anymore?”
”Point is, when you throw Caliban into the mix, that’s four people to contend with. That’s four other people that want MY spot in that PURE Wrestling Heavyweight Title match. Do you know what makes it really easy for them to take that away from me?”
”What’s th--”
”Me not being in the fucking match!”
”Okay. You’re like a ten right nowww, and this is a doctor’s office, so you're gonna need to bring it down to a--”
I raised a fist. I don’t know if that’s what prompted Cassandra to close her mouth, or the fact that the door of Dr. Branting’s office was slowly pushed open. The small, frail, Swedish man calmly entered, holding a folder in his hand, drumming his pen along his chin.
”Well, the good news, Ms. Parker, is that you’re still alive. Congratulations!”
”Oh, thanks. Is this the part where you tell me I have cancer?”
”Y… eheh… noooo, no. No.”
For some reason-- and I’m fully aware that I’ve a spot reserved for me in the pits of Hell-- we shared a snicker at this. Maybe it was crude humor. Maybe it was me masking what was originally nervousness. I couldn’t tell you. Cassandra glared, hardly amused from her chair.
”Still not funny.”
”So what’s the bad news?”
”Bad news is… you don’t have any interesting diseases. Looks like you’re only running a slight fever. I mean, some things are gonna come out of the lab over the week and we’ll let you know if anything changes, but for now, I suggest some rest. Ms. McPherson was telling me that you were having trouble seeing and you were vomiting…?”
I wanted to shoot Cassandra a glare, but what could I say? The guy was a doctor.
”Yeah, but, you see… I’m gonna need for you to clear me, becaauuuuuse, there’s this thing, where I have to fight four other people. Like-- there’s this little dweeb named Jordan Caliban that thinks he’s the hottest, and he needs a kick to the face, bad.”
”Uh-huh…”
”And then there’s this guy named Xianlong, or at least I think that’s how you say it. And he’s… he could be a beast, from what I can tell. And he’s the dark horse that could surprise everybody and take my spot in that Heavyweight Title match. And that’s a lot of pressure, you know? I mean, I HAVE to be the first PURE Wrestling Heavyweight Champion. That makes sense, right?”
I noticed Branting had started writing something down in the folder that contained his notes, but I continued.
”And then there’s Anthony Bailey, and… for the past year, I was pretty much obsessed with proving to the world that I was better than him, and so many times, I did, but there’s still this-- this DEBATE. And I don’t want there to be any question. I want to beat him, and I wanna beat this bitch named Ash Scion. And she thinks she’s the baddest fucking thing to ever walk into a wrestling arena but she’s a carbon copy of every tattooed, tit-flaunting, wrestling-prodigy-fraud that came before and did it better. And… and what are you writing?”
”I’m making a note to clear you to compete, no matter how violently ill and unstable you may become.”
He handed me a slip of yellow paper with a wink. Cassandra looked utterly horrified.
”Wha--”
”Awww, doc. You do care about me!”
”Sure. I figure that it’s nothing horrendous. You’ve been on the road for sixteen months. You’ve got a lot of stress. You don’t give yourself the proper time to rest, usually… maybe this is the time. Take these few days, be with your fiancé, and your friends, get h-- uh-- do you need drugs for that? I can write you--”
”I don’t think she’ll be needing anything. Thanks. What the hell...”
”See, Cass? I’m fine. And next Monday, you’re gonna come with me and watch me beat four poor, poor souls half to death.”
”Perhaps.”
”God. Thanks for the support.”
”You’re w--”
”Aaaaand that was sarcasm.”
”Oh…”
”We’ll phone you when we get all of our paperwors. Meanwhile, good luck with everything, Ms. Parker. Ms. McPherson.”
I pushed myself off of the examination bed and Cassandra rose from the chair, sighing. She had bitter words behind those lips, and I giggled to myself, knowing that she wouldn’t dare utter them in the confines of Dr. Branting’s office.
”Thanks for everything. We’ll see you!”
And we would. I didn’t know it then, but we’d be seeing a lot of Dr. Branting.
nov.17.thirteen1:33pm
”I’d like to think that I’m capable of overcoming any and every potential challenge in my way. After all, that’s what a heroine does. She perseveres. And this week… this week, I have to recreate a feat that I’ve pulled off many times in the past, and that’s defeat multiple opponents in that ring. This time, there’s a hell of a lot more at stake than just pride. It’s more than just proving you belong in front of those people, or in that main event. This is about qualifying for the Fatal-Four-Way match to crown the first PURE Wrestling Heavyweight Champion.
Conceivably, anybody can walk away with this though. When there are five people in the ring, there’s so much chaos and confusion, that it’s impossible for any one person to have the advantage-- but I historically thrive in chaos. I’ve fought my way through four, five, six other people before and always came out on the other side clean. Just last week I proved that I could decisively take out two of the best wrestlers in this company! That’s how I got here!
This is the kind of environment I excel in. I’ve done it in the past, and I guarantee that I’ll do it in the future. From underdogs like Jordan Caliban to favorites like Bailey, I’ve learned better than to let my guard down against anybody, even for a millisecond. In the blink of an eye, you could be giving your spot to somebody like Ash Scion, and… Ash, let me tell you-- you intrigue the hell out of me. I watched clips from your past, and I know you’re good at almost getting it done in high-pressure situations like this one, and I know you’ve got a pretty sharp tongue, but for the life of me, I can’t understand why you carry yourself the way you do.
Are you a great athlete? Hell yes! I have to look no farther than your match against Allen Bartsch last week to confirm that. But something that struck me as odd was that despite claiming that you put ‘asses in seats and bodies in graves’, you put your opponent away with a rollup. IN ALL FAIRNESS, it was a very well-executed rollup. I would give you a golf clap if I gave a fuck, but I don’t. What I care about is the fact that you let down the asses you take credit for placing in those seats! You BARELY held your own at the end of our first main event!
So how good are you, really?
And when you’re faced with a loss, how do you handle that? I wanna know if you take the ass-kicking you’re going to inevitably receive tomorrow night as a pearl of wisdom from AJP, or if you’re going to brush it off as a fluke. I NEED to know, because if you’re gonna continue to be a four-star bitch posing as a five-star wrestler in MY industry, taking MY main event spots, then I’d like to know where you stand as a human being so I can tear you down accordingly.
But it’s not all about crushing dreams and spirits. Not with all of you. For some of you, it’s just about proving that I’m better than you. Like Jordan Caliban… whereas I won a triple threat last week, you actually won a Fatal Four Way. So color me impressed. You went out there, you nailed an impressive Imploding 630 Splash that had the wrestling media outlets buzzing for days… and you snagged the victory away from three other guys.
Now… I’m sure we could go back and forth and argue about the skill level of your opponents last week in relation to those of your opponents THIS week, but we won’t. For your sake. I’ll focus on the here and now-- and the reality is, I’m gonna target you as if you’re already a World Champion, Jordan. You’re exactly what I’m afraid of in a match like this. You’re an unknown, and you’re opportunistic, aaaand I can really appreciate the latter. It’s a trait that helps the strong survive. But, baby-boy, you have to do more than survive in this match. You’re in there with former World Champions, and-- maybe I’m speaking for myself here-- but some of those champions are starving… and they’ll bite your fucking arm off if you even point in the direction of their next feast. And MY next feast is the PURE Wrestling Heavyweight Title. That Fatal Four Way.
Mine.
Xianlong, you’re another dark horse that really makes me fuckin’ nervous. I don’t know you, but I saw the Dragon Choke on Decon Smith last week. I saw the pain and the-- the futility in his eyes, and I knew that our paths were gonna cross sooner or later. See, you’re different. You’re a little quieter. A little colder. You were a MONK! You came here from China and started choking people out like nobody’s business, and you’re good at it! You’re disciplined, and the mind games that break the feeble-minded might not work so well on you, ah?
You’re the one to watch, Xianlong. Your name isn’t on a lot of tongues yet, but I know they’ll see. I see. And I’ll do EVERYTHING I can to put you down, because if someone doesn’t, you could change the entire course of this matchup. As I said to Jordan though-- you’re not facing Decon Smiths in that ring. You’re facing, as far as PURE Wrestling is concerned right now, the four hungriest, baddest performers in the business. How does Xianlong react to pressure?
Do you react like a champion? Because I’ll break you like a champ, X, if that’s what you want. Hell. It’s what I want!
And ANTHONY! Since we’re… ha… since we’re just runnin’ on through the list, why don’t we get a few things straight, hm?
You and I were never equals. I have a lot of respect for you and I understand that you’ve caught me when I have severely slipped in that ring. And-- fuck it… you’ve completely outfought and overwhelmed me before. I’ve made mistakes against you that I’ve NEVER REPEATED. You’ve made me a better wrestler, and that’ll be reflected tomorrow night. As a wrestler, I know you. I know you better than anybody in that ring, and maybe even better than your own partner, Jair.
I know your limits. I know how far you can go. I know your breaking point, baby, and you know enough about me in that ring to make me completely vulnerable at the right moment. I don’t hate you, Bails, but until I have that belt around my waist, I’m in the business of ripping everything you’ve worked for away from you. You’re not going to succeed in spite of me; promise.
You and I, though? We were made for this. We know this. But this isn’t just about us. It’s funny though-- despite Ash, and Jordan, and Xianlong, it’s you that I find myself wanting to prove myself against the most, no matter how many times I’ve done it in the past.
I wanna be on top of the world again, but I need to go through all of you to do it-- to have a shot. It’s anybody’s game… but it’s a tangible dream. One that I’ll turn into reality. Just me.
You know who I am. You know what I can do. But somehow, I feel that you’re not gonna see it coming until it happens, right there in front of you. But it’ll happen, babies.
This is our beginning.”
living in ruins of the palace within my dreams
nov.17.thirteen2:00pm
We should’ve left for the jet for Seattle by now. Cassandra was already outside, leaning on the horn of the car, urging me to hurry. And for the most part, I was ready. I’d made it all the way to the kitchen, bags in hand.
I had to rest. I leaned against the wall, hand over my pounding heart. The spotty vision… the tease of a cough crawling its way up my chest, into my throat… it had all returned, but I kept it out of my mind. I closed my eyes, focusing on that smirk of Anthony Bailey-- the cold stare of Xianlong. I thought of anything that could bring me away from the pain and the sickness.
There was the horn again.
Ash Scion. Jordan Caliban. Rebel. Callahan. Talon. My mind floated through darkness, visiting each of their faces along the way, but it did no good. Instead, I imagined my heart pounding through my chest, bursting through my sternum, exploding right there on the kitchen floor. Momentarily, I imagined dying.
And then relief. Slowly… relief.
”AUBREY, COME ON!”
I pushed the door open, sighing, still clutching my bags as I pushed my way out onto the porch, smirking, throwing one, single obligatory finger up to Cassandra, who responded with another obnoxious honk.
It was the beginning of what would become a very complicated few days.
fin.
