Post by Deleted on Feb 27, 2017 21:50:48 GMT -5
#OOC: I would have posted this a lot sooner, but you can blame New Japan Pro Wrestling for that one, lol. Anyway, Google Docs peg this at 1500 words. Also, like the last RP I posted all the dialogue that have these: < insert witty remark about Mr. Mxyzptlk > thingies are, of course, the characters speaking in Japanese instead of English.
I hope you enjoy! ^__^
Fighting against Damon Xalvador in my debut match with Union Battleground was exactly how I expected it: disappointing. But I guess that was to be expected, right? You step in the ring with someone who wraps chairs around heads for a living--thinking that made them badasses--and you really shouldn’t expect them to give you a battle.
I think I proved that much on the night.
Now, the next on the list of expendables the bookers seem intent on tossing my way is some chick who runs some...crisis hotline or some bullshit like that.
Okay, she’s cute, and all, but...seriously, guys? Seriously?
“I can’t stop this feeling...deep inside of me!” Saint Saito sang loudly to the beat of Blue Swede’s 'Hooked on a Feeling' that played through her earphones, unmindful of any and all whom she passed as she ascended the stairs in her apartment building in Tokyo, Japan. “Girl you just don’t realise...what you do to me!”
She was in something of a good mood, today. Or rather, she was trying to remain in her good mood after reading on her phone the bookings for the next couple of shows at her new gig. As much of a disappointment her debut match was for her all those nights ago, she at least would have thought have made enough of an impression to warrant more than some tattooed SJW, or whatever Camila Martinez was supposed to be.
Not only that, but she was not working the first pay-per-view event. No, she was on the follow-up show like some mid-card jabroni!
But as slighted as she had the right to be, upon reading what she read Saito decided not to let it bother her that much, even though it clearly did. A time will come when she piled up enough corpses on the bookers’ desks that even they will be crying for mercy from the New Ace.
Not that they’ll receive it when it does.
“When you hold me…” she continued to sing when she was at her front door, sliding her hand in her right pocket to grab for her keys, “in your arms so tight! You let me know...everything’s alright!”
It was when Saito opened the door and stepped through the threshold to her (and her cousin Haruka’s) brand new apartment, that she got the shock of her young life.
“AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!” Saito exclaimed as she took a step back at the sight of a teenaged Japanese girl standing in her hallway, a small sponge cake on a plate in her delicate hands. Saito blinked away her shock and saw the girl for who she was: Sakura Saito, one of her cousins.
“<Welcome home, Sara-chan!>” Sakura exclaimed happily, holding up the cake for her cousin.
Saito yanked the earphones from her head and glared. “<What the hell, Sakura-chan?!>” she demanded as she slammed the door shut, her good mood rapidly fading away. “<How the hell did you get in here, anyway?!>”
“<Um...oneechan gave me her key...>” answered Sakura, her smile growing a little lesser with her cousin’s outburst. “<She said it would be fun to surprise you…>”
Saito pinched her nose and swore. “Haruka. Bitch,” she muttered in English. She removed her jacket, slipped out of her boots and into some warm slippers, and stepped past her cousin and into the small living room, where she promptly launched herself into the nearby couch and took a load off.
“<You’re in a bad mood,>” noted the younger of the two Saito girls, who seated herself beside her older cousin. “<Boyfriend troubles?>”
“<No,>” answered Saito.
“<...Girlfriend troubles?>”
“<No!>”
“<...Oneechan...stole the last chocolate doughnut?>”
Saito groaned with annoyance. It was clear that her younger cousin was not going to leave her alone. She took out her phone and ignored Sakura’s constant ‘Sara-chans’ as she brought up Union Battleground’s webpage. “Read it,” she told Sakura in English, tossing her phone to her.
It was Sakura’s quick reflexes that kept the phone from landing in the cake in her lap. A few moments pass as she read the words on the screen, and then she frowned at her cousin. “<I don’t see the problem, here, Sara-chan…>” she told her. “<It says here you’re set to fight…>” she re-read the booking, and frowned again. “<Some tattooed lady. I don’t understand.>”
“<Right?!>” acknowledged Saito. “<My second match in this gig and they set me up with that. Is it so hard that the goddamn New Ace of Pro Wrestling gets someone who might--might--give her a challenge?! Someone who might last more than two minutes against me and not turn our fight into a one-sided beatdown? ‘Cause, I do enjoy a little back and forth when I’m punching someone--ya know. But noooooo, two matches in and all I get is some wannabe tough guy Welsh asshole and then some social justice bish who runs a crisis hotline! I’m sure that between matches she just looooves to hold hands with all the poor widdle battered women or the emo kids who cut themselves because mommy or daddy didn’t love them enough, too. Makes me sick, just thinking about that…>” She shuddered.
“<’Crisis hotline?’>” repeated Sakura, who checked her cousin’s phone again. “<It doesn’t mention anything about a crisis hotline, here, Sara-chan,>” she told her. “<Her finishing move is called the Crisis Hotline--it says it’s a variant of the Gorilla Clutch--but…>”
“Ehh…” Saito shrugged nonchalantly. “<It’s not like I give a shit, either way, Sakura. I just saw the words ‘Crisis Hotline,’ and decided not to read any further than that. Anyway, doesn’t matter. Whether she lends a sympathetic ear to the totally pathetic or not, that’s irrelevant. The fact remains that those assholes in booking have given her to me...and now she’s going to die because of it.>”
“Mmmhmm…” Sakura kept on reading. “<What’s an ‘Illuminati,’ and why did she sacrifice her father to them?>”
“<And, you know...she tried trash talking me on Twitter the other day, too,>” continued Saito, ignoring Sakura’s enquiry. An amused smirk slowly crept up on her features. “‘You’re sloppy and you lack chakra!’” she misquoted in English, not that she cared all that much about her lack of accuracy. “‘I’m going to kill you, then I’m going to kill myself!’ and all that jazz. <I mean...what the hell? Talk about delusional! I’m on Twitter, getting trash talked by some crazy bint whose greatest highlight during her time in the company is beating some asshole’s side piece. Barcelona Bad Girl here’s got no clue that instead of being some kind of worthy opponent or a threat to me she’s actually not even the kind of bitch I slap just for fun and she’s talking like I’m the one getting my ass kicked when that bell rings.>”
Saito cocked her head and thought about it, before breaking out into a short burst of laughter. “Hey, you know...it’s pretty funny when you think about it...” she continued speaking, this time in English. “That bish is already dead as far as I care. There’s really no way around that--ya know--the only way she’s going to walk out of that arena come Wednesday is in a goddamn body bag. But in spite of all that, I actually want her to keep up with all that trash talking bullshit she seems set on. That way, when that bell rings and she thinks she got me all intimidated and quaking in my boots with all her ‘Chakra’ bullshit, I’ll be there...running over her head like a freight train for about two minutes before I get bored and go find something better to do with my time. Like anything else.”
“Mmmmhmmm… <Why are there so many blonde-haired people in this roster?>” It was pretty clear that the younger Saito girl was not listening to her elder cousin. Her eyes were glued to Union Battleground’s roster page on Saito’s phone.
“And…hey… <Are you even listening to me?!>” Saito demanded when she finally noticed what her younger cousin was doing.
“<Hmmm, what?>” Sakura peeled her eyes from her cousin’s phone and turned them toward her. “<Did you say something, Sara-chan? No, wait, you were monologuing like you were cutting one of your promos, weren’t you? I assume you were--since you were speaking English, and all--and I don’t listen to all that...>”
A twitch of annoyance appeared in Saito’s eye, and she snatched her phone from Sakura’s fingers. She glanced at the cake on her younger cousin’s lap. “<Go make yourself useful and give me some of that cake before your sister comes home and puts her man paws on it>” she ordered, somewhat half-seriously. Actually, no, she really was being serious: this is Saint Saito, after all.
“<But...Haruka doesn’t have man paws…>” responded Sakura quietly, but she acquiesced, lifting herself from the couch to go find a knife. Saito watched her go, and held up her phone to listen to the rest of ‘Hooked on a Feeling.’
She really liked that song.
I hope you enjoy! ^__^
Fighting against Damon Xalvador in my debut match with Union Battleground was exactly how I expected it: disappointing. But I guess that was to be expected, right? You step in the ring with someone who wraps chairs around heads for a living--thinking that made them badasses--and you really shouldn’t expect them to give you a battle.
I think I proved that much on the night.
Now, the next on the list of expendables the bookers seem intent on tossing my way is some chick who runs some...crisis hotline or some bullshit like that.
Okay, she’s cute, and all, but...seriously, guys? Seriously?
****
“I can’t stop this feeling...deep inside of me!” Saint Saito sang loudly to the beat of Blue Swede’s 'Hooked on a Feeling' that played through her earphones, unmindful of any and all whom she passed as she ascended the stairs in her apartment building in Tokyo, Japan. “Girl you just don’t realise...what you do to me!”
She was in something of a good mood, today. Or rather, she was trying to remain in her good mood after reading on her phone the bookings for the next couple of shows at her new gig. As much of a disappointment her debut match was for her all those nights ago, she at least would have thought have made enough of an impression to warrant more than some tattooed SJW, or whatever Camila Martinez was supposed to be.
Not only that, but she was not working the first pay-per-view event. No, she was on the follow-up show like some mid-card jabroni!
But as slighted as she had the right to be, upon reading what she read Saito decided not to let it bother her that much, even though it clearly did. A time will come when she piled up enough corpses on the bookers’ desks that even they will be crying for mercy from the New Ace.
Not that they’ll receive it when it does.
“When you hold me…” she continued to sing when she was at her front door, sliding her hand in her right pocket to grab for her keys, “in your arms so tight! You let me know...everything’s alright!”
It was when Saito opened the door and stepped through the threshold to her (and her cousin Haruka’s) brand new apartment, that she got the shock of her young life.
“AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!” Saito exclaimed as she took a step back at the sight of a teenaged Japanese girl standing in her hallway, a small sponge cake on a plate in her delicate hands. Saito blinked away her shock and saw the girl for who she was: Sakura Saito, one of her cousins.
“<Welcome home, Sara-chan!>” Sakura exclaimed happily, holding up the cake for her cousin.
Saito yanked the earphones from her head and glared. “<What the hell, Sakura-chan?!>” she demanded as she slammed the door shut, her good mood rapidly fading away. “<How the hell did you get in here, anyway?!>”
“<Um...oneechan gave me her key...>” answered Sakura, her smile growing a little lesser with her cousin’s outburst. “<She said it would be fun to surprise you…>”
Saito pinched her nose and swore. “Haruka. Bitch,” she muttered in English. She removed her jacket, slipped out of her boots and into some warm slippers, and stepped past her cousin and into the small living room, where she promptly launched herself into the nearby couch and took a load off.
“<You’re in a bad mood,>” noted the younger of the two Saito girls, who seated herself beside her older cousin. “<Boyfriend troubles?>”
“<No,>” answered Saito.
“<...Girlfriend troubles?>”
“<No!>”
“<...Oneechan...stole the last chocolate doughnut?>”
Saito groaned with annoyance. It was clear that her younger cousin was not going to leave her alone. She took out her phone and ignored Sakura’s constant ‘Sara-chans’ as she brought up Union Battleground’s webpage. “Read it,” she told Sakura in English, tossing her phone to her.
It was Sakura’s quick reflexes that kept the phone from landing in the cake in her lap. A few moments pass as she read the words on the screen, and then she frowned at her cousin. “<I don’t see the problem, here, Sara-chan…>” she told her. “<It says here you’re set to fight…>” she re-read the booking, and frowned again. “<Some tattooed lady. I don’t understand.>”
“<Right?!>” acknowledged Saito. “<My second match in this gig and they set me up with that. Is it so hard that the goddamn New Ace of Pro Wrestling gets someone who might--might--give her a challenge?! Someone who might last more than two minutes against me and not turn our fight into a one-sided beatdown? ‘Cause, I do enjoy a little back and forth when I’m punching someone--ya know. But noooooo, two matches in and all I get is some wannabe tough guy Welsh asshole and then some social justice bish who runs a crisis hotline! I’m sure that between matches she just looooves to hold hands with all the poor widdle battered women or the emo kids who cut themselves because mommy or daddy didn’t love them enough, too. Makes me sick, just thinking about that…>” She shuddered.
“<’Crisis hotline?’>” repeated Sakura, who checked her cousin’s phone again. “<It doesn’t mention anything about a crisis hotline, here, Sara-chan,>” she told her. “<Her finishing move is called the Crisis Hotline--it says it’s a variant of the Gorilla Clutch--but…>”
“Ehh…” Saito shrugged nonchalantly. “<It’s not like I give a shit, either way, Sakura. I just saw the words ‘Crisis Hotline,’ and decided not to read any further than that. Anyway, doesn’t matter. Whether she lends a sympathetic ear to the totally pathetic or not, that’s irrelevant. The fact remains that those assholes in booking have given her to me...and now she’s going to die because of it.>”
“Mmmhmm…” Sakura kept on reading. “<What’s an ‘Illuminati,’ and why did she sacrifice her father to them?>”
“<And, you know...she tried trash talking me on Twitter the other day, too,>” continued Saito, ignoring Sakura’s enquiry. An amused smirk slowly crept up on her features. “‘You’re sloppy and you lack chakra!’” she misquoted in English, not that she cared all that much about her lack of accuracy. “‘I’m going to kill you, then I’m going to kill myself!’ and all that jazz. <I mean...what the hell? Talk about delusional! I’m on Twitter, getting trash talked by some crazy bint whose greatest highlight during her time in the company is beating some asshole’s side piece. Barcelona Bad Girl here’s got no clue that instead of being some kind of worthy opponent or a threat to me she’s actually not even the kind of bitch I slap just for fun and she’s talking like I’m the one getting my ass kicked when that bell rings.>”
Saito cocked her head and thought about it, before breaking out into a short burst of laughter. “Hey, you know...it’s pretty funny when you think about it...” she continued speaking, this time in English. “That bish is already dead as far as I care. There’s really no way around that--ya know--the only way she’s going to walk out of that arena come Wednesday is in a goddamn body bag. But in spite of all that, I actually want her to keep up with all that trash talking bullshit she seems set on. That way, when that bell rings and she thinks she got me all intimidated and quaking in my boots with all her ‘Chakra’ bullshit, I’ll be there...running over her head like a freight train for about two minutes before I get bored and go find something better to do with my time. Like anything else.”
“Mmmmhmmm… <Why are there so many blonde-haired people in this roster?>” It was pretty clear that the younger Saito girl was not listening to her elder cousin. Her eyes were glued to Union Battleground’s roster page on Saito’s phone.
“And…hey… <Are you even listening to me?!>” Saito demanded when she finally noticed what her younger cousin was doing.
“<Hmmm, what?>” Sakura peeled her eyes from her cousin’s phone and turned them toward her. “<Did you say something, Sara-chan? No, wait, you were monologuing like you were cutting one of your promos, weren’t you? I assume you were--since you were speaking English, and all--and I don’t listen to all that...>”
A twitch of annoyance appeared in Saito’s eye, and she snatched her phone from Sakura’s fingers. She glanced at the cake on her younger cousin’s lap. “<Go make yourself useful and give me some of that cake before your sister comes home and puts her man paws on it>” she ordered, somewhat half-seriously. Actually, no, she really was being serious: this is Saint Saito, after all.
“<But...Haruka doesn’t have man paws…>” responded Sakura quietly, but she acquiesced, lifting herself from the couch to go find a knife. Saito watched her go, and held up her phone to listen to the rest of ‘Hooked on a Feeling.’
She really liked that song.