Post by Lisa Frankenstein on Nov 18, 2020 20:19:31 GMT -5
At what point does it become selfish? Dragging her partner around, trying to rebuild a clearly hobbled division while she sits poised for bigger and better things. It had been an easy decision for Lisa. She’d sat on a shot of her own off the back of the Crown of the King Cobra and given it away without a second thought.
Lisa was here for the team, but now it was someone else’s opportunity she was playing with. Ana was ruthless. She was never just going to accept a loss. So now they were here, risking another win, while Lisa worried about holding her back.
“So it turns out jump-starting a division isn't as easy as just waving a belt around and saying all the other teams are shit.”
This week they were in Albuquerque, where Lisa had lived for several years at the height of her career. At the time it had just been a staging area. 4 walls and a bed, where she intimately knew everything within about a five minute walk and then nothing beyond that. A great deal of wasted years she was trying to get back.
That’s what had brought her to the Paseo del Bosque trail. A 16 mile multi-use trail running through the heart of the city and along the banks of the Rio Grande. When Lisa was last here it was also a lot greener. In 2003 a forest fire obliterated 250 acres of forest land and allowed a man with a chainsaw and a dream to carve his name in the landscape (or at the very least into a three and a half star review on Yelp).
What was left behind was a 16 mile stretch of trail dotted with burnt out husks, carved into howling coyotes and forlorn looking eagles. And one witch Lisa was sure was giving her the eye. She hadn’t done well with witches lately.
“You'd think that'd be enough. We established our position, invited everyone cool and then beat the crap out of the ones who showed up. We made these titles worth winning, job done, Mission Accomplished. Every hot new team should have been lining up to call their shot. We were, that's how we won them in the first place.
Then again not everyone is like us, because when people say they want a challenge, they generally mean one they think they're going to win. Not so much an option when you're fighting kicky and stabby over here.
So the Children of the Moon aren't coming. We asked them nicely, they were flattered and then we never heard from them again. The Sharpes aren’t coming. I think one of them OD’d. The Skull Kids definitely won’t be here, because that one is just awkward.
No, perhaps shouting a power of shit will wake them all up; but for the time being the best they could cobble together is two toothless mercenaries who would wrestle in vats of their own piss if you were willing to cover the flat rate.”
Lisa found herself wandering in the vague direction of a firefighter standing on a dragon, because art is subjective. Especially when it’s yours and you’re the one with the chainsaw.
“And maybe that’s unfair. As two men with a palpable hatred of the human form, especially their own, they absolutely could be a formidable team. If only they'd had more than a couple matches together before being thrown in the meat grinder and churned up into chunks of sad.
We have been habitually unmaking people for the past several years, until all you've got left for us are two mercenaries who will fight literally anyone for a payday. One of whom I've beaten, legitimately, nine thousand and forty seven different times.
MDK is the Eddy Poe of losing to Lisa Seldon. He can’t help himself. Everyone is begging for him to stop but he keeps plugging away, finding new ways to embarrass himself. It’s annoying too. Every tournament I run into him I wax tediously about how this could be the time he realises his potential and everytime he comes out hot and gets fucked somewhere about the semifinal by me.”
She hummed and hawed to herself.
“Or Kaelan, or Aoki, or what’s her face who used to be your champion until she lost her smile and fucked off to do a cam show. For whatever I might have seen in him, MDK has proved himself to be a third string shoulda, woulda, coulda but never was. A perennial fixture in so many title histories, but never because he was on the right end of it.
He can certainly take a punch, he can throw one too, but it’s become evermore clear that MDK has a ceiling and I’m there dancing on top of it like I’ve done several times on his face. And that was just on my lonesome.”
She shrugs that one off while settling into a lean on the sculpture. It’s not overly clear if that’s allowed or not, but thankfully there’s no one about to tell her otherwise.
“I liked Matt, and I won’t pretend I didn’t see something in him; but I also used to own a betamax player and no one watching even knows what that was. So maybe don’t buy your stock off of my tips.
Still. I wanted to see his potential. I’m worried we already have.”
Lisa kicks off from the statue and takes a walk off toward a roadrunner somewhere. Honestly it sounded better online.
“You could say similar things about Santana but at least he’s built a reputation. Then he quantum leaped into a younger version of his own body and you get the impression he's a guy in a new car still trying to get used to the biting point. It’s certainly a better look for him and it’ll probably be nice for him to enjoy the cold weather without his knees clicking, but he’s still trying to break it in while we’re out just trying to break his jaw.
Santana hasn’t been a young man for a very long time. He’s creeping up on retirement age. A two piss a night man. And while the mind of a sixty year old man in a twenty year old body sounds dangerous, you have to realise it’s the mind of a man who spent probably 40 plus of those years getting his brain scrambled more often than an NFL Cornerback so let’s not get carried away with ourselves.
I’m sure this will be a great move in the long term and the perfect chance for him to right a lot of the things he did wrong - an incomprehensible list going by the look of his old face. For now though he’s just a very pretty looking relic and the main reason people think there’s no talent in the murder divisions, unless your measure of talent is how much blood you wake up to on your pillow every morning.”
She rolls her eyes. To be fair she’s probably doing well enough in that contest herself.
“Together this duo of angry looking bowling balls are outclassed on every level from teamwork and skill to having all their bones in the right places. Even in a Deathmatch, where I spent a whole year scooping every Deathmatch tournament going while Ana did all those stupid 4CW spooky cells and spanked Aoki multiple times over in the exact kinda way he likes.
And none of this is to say I’m not aware of our own infallibility. We’ve already lost these belts once, even if we did smash through and win them right back. Conversely they’ve just enough chemistry together to be dangerous and while I like to talk up the intricacies of tag wrestling you can get pretty far with holding onto a tag rope and taking turns dropping on people their heads.
There are no free wins at this level, you take every match seriously or you lose and this one is no different. Still, you’re stacking up a set of 5 time champions against two guys who got together because it was cheaper to car pull and never dared reach beyond that.
We’re going to win. We’re going to murder them. It’s not going to be pretty and we’re probably going to come out of it looking like we got pulled through a jet engine like a bad guy in a Die Hard movie. MDK and Santana are two seasoned killers who are going to do everything they can to mess us up; everything you’d expect from two guys who fight like the rules are just suggestions and all your blood and vital organs are just in there trying to slow you down.
We’re going to suffer for this win, but when it’s done, we’re going to have our belts high and their flesh in our teeth.”
Lisa ends her walk, reaching out a hand and spinning around it like the least impressed Tuesday afternoon pole dancer you could think of. Three and a half stars for this place feels generous.
“Good luck to the only two men willing to step up. It’s not going to like you’d hope, but you did it, you called your shot. Enjoy it.”
Lisa was here for the team, but now it was someone else’s opportunity she was playing with. Ana was ruthless. She was never just going to accept a loss. So now they were here, risking another win, while Lisa worried about holding her back.
“So it turns out jump-starting a division isn't as easy as just waving a belt around and saying all the other teams are shit.”
This week they were in Albuquerque, where Lisa had lived for several years at the height of her career. At the time it had just been a staging area. 4 walls and a bed, where she intimately knew everything within about a five minute walk and then nothing beyond that. A great deal of wasted years she was trying to get back.
That’s what had brought her to the Paseo del Bosque trail. A 16 mile multi-use trail running through the heart of the city and along the banks of the Rio Grande. When Lisa was last here it was also a lot greener. In 2003 a forest fire obliterated 250 acres of forest land and allowed a man with a chainsaw and a dream to carve his name in the landscape (or at the very least into a three and a half star review on Yelp).
What was left behind was a 16 mile stretch of trail dotted with burnt out husks, carved into howling coyotes and forlorn looking eagles. And one witch Lisa was sure was giving her the eye. She hadn’t done well with witches lately.
“You'd think that'd be enough. We established our position, invited everyone cool and then beat the crap out of the ones who showed up. We made these titles worth winning, job done, Mission Accomplished. Every hot new team should have been lining up to call their shot. We were, that's how we won them in the first place.
Then again not everyone is like us, because when people say they want a challenge, they generally mean one they think they're going to win. Not so much an option when you're fighting kicky and stabby over here.
So the Children of the Moon aren't coming. We asked them nicely, they were flattered and then we never heard from them again. The Sharpes aren’t coming. I think one of them OD’d. The Skull Kids definitely won’t be here, because that one is just awkward.
No, perhaps shouting a power of shit will wake them all up; but for the time being the best they could cobble together is two toothless mercenaries who would wrestle in vats of their own piss if you were willing to cover the flat rate.”
Lisa found herself wandering in the vague direction of a firefighter standing on a dragon, because art is subjective. Especially when it’s yours and you’re the one with the chainsaw.
“And maybe that’s unfair. As two men with a palpable hatred of the human form, especially their own, they absolutely could be a formidable team. If only they'd had more than a couple matches together before being thrown in the meat grinder and churned up into chunks of sad.
We have been habitually unmaking people for the past several years, until all you've got left for us are two mercenaries who will fight literally anyone for a payday. One of whom I've beaten, legitimately, nine thousand and forty seven different times.
MDK is the Eddy Poe of losing to Lisa Seldon. He can’t help himself. Everyone is begging for him to stop but he keeps plugging away, finding new ways to embarrass himself. It’s annoying too. Every tournament I run into him I wax tediously about how this could be the time he realises his potential and everytime he comes out hot and gets fucked somewhere about the semifinal by me.”
She hummed and hawed to herself.
“Or Kaelan, or Aoki, or what’s her face who used to be your champion until she lost her smile and fucked off to do a cam show. For whatever I might have seen in him, MDK has proved himself to be a third string shoulda, woulda, coulda but never was. A perennial fixture in so many title histories, but never because he was on the right end of it.
He can certainly take a punch, he can throw one too, but it’s become evermore clear that MDK has a ceiling and I’m there dancing on top of it like I’ve done several times on his face. And that was just on my lonesome.”
She shrugs that one off while settling into a lean on the sculpture. It’s not overly clear if that’s allowed or not, but thankfully there’s no one about to tell her otherwise.
“I liked Matt, and I won’t pretend I didn’t see something in him; but I also used to own a betamax player and no one watching even knows what that was. So maybe don’t buy your stock off of my tips.
Still. I wanted to see his potential. I’m worried we already have.”
Lisa kicks off from the statue and takes a walk off toward a roadrunner somewhere. Honestly it sounded better online.
“You could say similar things about Santana but at least he’s built a reputation. Then he quantum leaped into a younger version of his own body and you get the impression he's a guy in a new car still trying to get used to the biting point. It’s certainly a better look for him and it’ll probably be nice for him to enjoy the cold weather without his knees clicking, but he’s still trying to break it in while we’re out just trying to break his jaw.
Santana hasn’t been a young man for a very long time. He’s creeping up on retirement age. A two piss a night man. And while the mind of a sixty year old man in a twenty year old body sounds dangerous, you have to realise it’s the mind of a man who spent probably 40 plus of those years getting his brain scrambled more often than an NFL Cornerback so let’s not get carried away with ourselves.
I’m sure this will be a great move in the long term and the perfect chance for him to right a lot of the things he did wrong - an incomprehensible list going by the look of his old face. For now though he’s just a very pretty looking relic and the main reason people think there’s no talent in the murder divisions, unless your measure of talent is how much blood you wake up to on your pillow every morning.”
She rolls her eyes. To be fair she’s probably doing well enough in that contest herself.
“Together this duo of angry looking bowling balls are outclassed on every level from teamwork and skill to having all their bones in the right places. Even in a Deathmatch, where I spent a whole year scooping every Deathmatch tournament going while Ana did all those stupid 4CW spooky cells and spanked Aoki multiple times over in the exact kinda way he likes.
And none of this is to say I’m not aware of our own infallibility. We’ve already lost these belts once, even if we did smash through and win them right back. Conversely they’ve just enough chemistry together to be dangerous and while I like to talk up the intricacies of tag wrestling you can get pretty far with holding onto a tag rope and taking turns dropping on people their heads.
There are no free wins at this level, you take every match seriously or you lose and this one is no different. Still, you’re stacking up a set of 5 time champions against two guys who got together because it was cheaper to car pull and never dared reach beyond that.
We’re going to win. We’re going to murder them. It’s not going to be pretty and we’re probably going to come out of it looking like we got pulled through a jet engine like a bad guy in a Die Hard movie. MDK and Santana are two seasoned killers who are going to do everything they can to mess us up; everything you’d expect from two guys who fight like the rules are just suggestions and all your blood and vital organs are just in there trying to slow you down.
We’re going to suffer for this win, but when it’s done, we’re going to have our belts high and their flesh in our teeth.”
Lisa ends her walk, reaching out a hand and spinning around it like the least impressed Tuesday afternoon pole dancer you could think of. Three and a half stars for this place feels generous.
“Good luck to the only two men willing to step up. It’s not going to like you’d hope, but you did it, you called your shot. Enjoy it.”
