Post by Deleted on Apr 11, 2017 21:30:01 GMT -5
#ooc: I had to rewrite this because I absolutely hated my first attempt at an RP, lol. Anyway, Google docs has this at 1499 words. Enjoy! ^__^
There is a line from a movie which came to my mind when I smashed that bathroom break Britain Jade in the face the other week: ‘He pulls a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue!’ Ahh, good old Jim Malone; that was one hardcore bastard to the end. How does this fit into what I did? Little bish slapped me in the face so I smashed hers in. It’s as simple as that -- she should be thanking her lucky stars I didn’t sent her to the morgue.
But it seems my actions have had some effect on our supposed powers-that-be. Sure, they’re still handing me the dregs of the roster, but this time with an added stipulation: the victor (ie: Me. Let’s be realistic about this, yeah?) becomes the number one contender for a piece of tin I have no interest in.
So...whoever wins between myself and yet another bathroom break wrestler (Let’s face it: it’s still gonna be me) moves on to...fight in another match. Holy shit, this is the best thing that ever happened to me!!
Hashtag Sarcasm Mode
Outside Sumie Saito’s wrestling dojo in Tokyo, young Sakura Saito impatiently paced back and forth outside the door with a small camera in her hands. She groaned aloud, and listed the number of things she could have done with her weekend instead of waiting for her cousin to arrive. She could have gone shopping in Shibuya, or hang out with her friends and thoroughly kick their asses on Dance Dance Revolution. But no, she’s standing outside her mother’s dojo with her proverbial thumb up her ass while her cousin Sara was busy being thirty minutes late. It shouldn’t take anyone this long to come back from a coffee shop.
“<Where the hell are you, Sara-chan?!>” Sakura demanded aloud, to nobody in particular. She should have said ‘no’ when her cousin asked that she film one of her wrestling promos for her. Well, ‘asked’ might not have been the word. “Do this and I won’t tell Aunt Sumie and your sisters about that boy you’re sweet on,” would be more accurate. Her exact words, actually.
But as if on cue, Sara Saint -- the woman known among the wrestling world -- had finally arrived, dressed in a small jacket and baseball cap, and a short black dress patterned with tiny skulls-and-crossbones, and sipping coffee from a large Starbucks cup. Sakura’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her cousin.
“‘Sup, cuz!” greeted Saito cheerily in English, looking at her cousin through her sunglasses as she took another sip of her coffee.
“<Where the hell have you been?!>” demanded Sakura. “<You told me you were going to take a detour to get us a couple of triple non-fat frappuccinos with whipped cream and chocolate sauce -- where did you get them from, San Francisco?!>”
Saito scoffed. “<Shibuya, actually,>” she answered.
“<Shibuya is the next district over!>”
“Ehh…” was all Saito would offer in response. That, and the tiny half-hearted ‘I don’t really care’ shrug of her shoulders. And then she took another sip of her coffee.
“...<So where’s my triple non-fat frappuccino with whipped cream and chocolate sauce, Sara-chan?> asked Sakura.
The question caught Saito mid-sip. “Oh!” she exclaimed and then offered the large cup of coffee to her younger cousin. “<Here you go, Sakura. I drank mine on the way over here. There’s still most -- well, half...less than half of it left.>”
“...<No, that’s alright, Sara-chan,>” said Sakura, who then prepared her camera. “<Let’s just get this over with so you can take me shopping.>”
Saito coughed and threw the cup of coffee away before she took her position in front of the doors of her aunt’s dojo. The sound of tyres screeching, followed by a loud crash was heard by both young women, though neither had cared enough to take notice. Saito adjusted her cap and sunglasses, and then told her cousin, “<Okay, roll it,>” before she switched to English.
“I’ve got a confession to make,” she began. “When I was first told that I was up for a shot at being number one contender for the Trench War championship, my first reaction was...indifference. See, I won my first championship when I was just a kid. I was fourteen years old and it was a piece of shit but the moment that thing was thrust in my hands, it was one of the best feelings I’ve ever felt in my entire life. And since then, I’ve won title after title, achieved more at seventeen than most of these ‘grown-ups’ have achieved in a whole lifetime. I’ve got enough belts under my -- well, belt -- I’m honestly surprised I’m not shitting gold, by now. But now...now, winning a championship title...it’s become boring to me.”
“Gold doesn’t interest me as it used to,” continued Saito, who began to slowly pace around in a circle as she spoke. “I know it comes across as a huge shocker to a lot of people, seeing as I won so many of the stupid things, but it’s true. The weight of gold in my hands just...doesn’t thrill me anymore, not like the feeling of blood on my fist after I cold cocked some fucker in the face. Becoming a champion doesn’t feel as satisfying to me as the little thud someone makes after I knocked them out does, or the little squeals they make after I fuck them up so harsh they think they’re on a United Airlines flight. Too soon?”
“So, anyway, from my own perspective, this number one contendership match I’ve been booked in has about the same emotional weight to me as ordering a pizza. Which I guess is an appropriate analogy, given my latest vict-uh, opponent, Hannah Kristiansen.”
Saito stopped pacing and stepped closer to Sakura, bending slightly to keep her eyes level to the camera lens. “See, kicking her ass will be on that very same level, boys and girls,” she said. “Oh, ‘course, I’m sure that she truly believes that she’s got a chance against me, but let’s face it; you saw her last match, I saw it, we all saw it and if any of you were like me you were facepalming every second of it. Shit, even if I wasn’t after that bish Jade I probably would have smashed someone’s face in just to get that tragedy to end!”
“And if that’s an example of giving it her all, then I’m sorry-not-sorry but if the only chance she’ll have against the New Ace of Pro Wrestling is if that redhead British chick acting as our special referee decided not to be impartial, or if somebody cuts in our match and wraps a steel chair around my head when I’m not looking. There ain’t no way in any fresh hell you can think of Hannah is gonna kick my ass, least not fair and square. If we’re being truthful, here, instead of knocking me down long enough for a three-count, the only hope she has against a girl like me is if I simply don’t decide to play with her a little before I kill her, like a mouse that’s played with by a cat.”
“Now, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t hyperbole, these aren’t the words of some kid who likes to brag,” continued Saito, standing a little straighter. She pressed a hand over her heart and said, “I’m one pretty vain puppy, sure, but this is God’s honest truth I’m telling, here: when Captain America here steps into that ring with the New Ace, her chances of walking out of there intact start decreasing rapidly. The moment that bell rings that bish better be thanking God almighty I don’t do worse than straight up murder her, boys and girls. I swear to everything holy that Hannah’s mom and sixteen daddies will cry when they see what I do to her. And that...is God’s honest truth.”
“Now, before I leave you, I have a couple things to say to Hannah Kristiansen and our special guest referee. Now, Emery Layton, I’ll start with you. I have no interest in that piece of tin around that cute little waist of yours, but nevertheless, your asskicking will come in due time. Sadly for you, that’s inevitable. But unless you want to accelerate that eventuality and have me do to you what I’ll do to Kristiansen, here’s some advice for you: cut this match straight down the middle. The second you stop being impartial is the last second you have before I stop your heart.”
“And Hannah? There’s only one thing I have to say to you when it’s all said and done.”
Saito leaned in closer to Sakura’s camera one more time and pulled the sunglasses from her eyes. She stared hard daggers into the lens as she said her promo’s final words.
“Omae wa mou...shindeiru. You...are already dead.”
There is a line from a movie which came to my mind when I smashed that bathroom break Britain Jade in the face the other week: ‘He pulls a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue!’ Ahh, good old Jim Malone; that was one hardcore bastard to the end. How does this fit into what I did? Little bish slapped me in the face so I smashed hers in. It’s as simple as that -- she should be thanking her lucky stars I didn’t sent her to the morgue.
But it seems my actions have had some effect on our supposed powers-that-be. Sure, they’re still handing me the dregs of the roster, but this time with an added stipulation: the victor (ie: Me. Let’s be realistic about this, yeah?) becomes the number one contender for a piece of tin I have no interest in.
So...whoever wins between myself and yet another bathroom break wrestler (Let’s face it: it’s still gonna be me) moves on to...fight in another match. Holy shit, this is the best thing that ever happened to me!!
Hashtag Sarcasm Mode
****
Outside Sumie Saito’s wrestling dojo in Tokyo, young Sakura Saito impatiently paced back and forth outside the door with a small camera in her hands. She groaned aloud, and listed the number of things she could have done with her weekend instead of waiting for her cousin to arrive. She could have gone shopping in Shibuya, or hang out with her friends and thoroughly kick their asses on Dance Dance Revolution. But no, she’s standing outside her mother’s dojo with her proverbial thumb up her ass while her cousin Sara was busy being thirty minutes late. It shouldn’t take anyone this long to come back from a coffee shop.
“<Where the hell are you, Sara-chan?!>” Sakura demanded aloud, to nobody in particular. She should have said ‘no’ when her cousin asked that she film one of her wrestling promos for her. Well, ‘asked’ might not have been the word. “Do this and I won’t tell Aunt Sumie and your sisters about that boy you’re sweet on,” would be more accurate. Her exact words, actually.
But as if on cue, Sara Saint -- the woman known among the wrestling world -- had finally arrived, dressed in a small jacket and baseball cap, and a short black dress patterned with tiny skulls-and-crossbones, and sipping coffee from a large Starbucks cup. Sakura’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her cousin.
“‘Sup, cuz!” greeted Saito cheerily in English, looking at her cousin through her sunglasses as she took another sip of her coffee.
“<Where the hell have you been?!>” demanded Sakura. “<You told me you were going to take a detour to get us a couple of triple non-fat frappuccinos with whipped cream and chocolate sauce -- where did you get them from, San Francisco?!>”
Saito scoffed. “<Shibuya, actually,>” she answered.
“<Shibuya is the next district over!>”
“Ehh…” was all Saito would offer in response. That, and the tiny half-hearted ‘I don’t really care’ shrug of her shoulders. And then she took another sip of her coffee.
“...<So where’s my triple non-fat frappuccino with whipped cream and chocolate sauce, Sara-chan?> asked Sakura.
The question caught Saito mid-sip. “Oh!” she exclaimed and then offered the large cup of coffee to her younger cousin. “<Here you go, Sakura. I drank mine on the way over here. There’s still most -- well, half...less than half of it left.>”
“...<No, that’s alright, Sara-chan,>” said Sakura, who then prepared her camera. “<Let’s just get this over with so you can take me shopping.>”
Saito coughed and threw the cup of coffee away before she took her position in front of the doors of her aunt’s dojo. The sound of tyres screeching, followed by a loud crash was heard by both young women, though neither had cared enough to take notice. Saito adjusted her cap and sunglasses, and then told her cousin, “<Okay, roll it,>” before she switched to English.
“I’ve got a confession to make,” she began. “When I was first told that I was up for a shot at being number one contender for the Trench War championship, my first reaction was...indifference. See, I won my first championship when I was just a kid. I was fourteen years old and it was a piece of shit but the moment that thing was thrust in my hands, it was one of the best feelings I’ve ever felt in my entire life. And since then, I’ve won title after title, achieved more at seventeen than most of these ‘grown-ups’ have achieved in a whole lifetime. I’ve got enough belts under my -- well, belt -- I’m honestly surprised I’m not shitting gold, by now. But now...now, winning a championship title...it’s become boring to me.”
“Gold doesn’t interest me as it used to,” continued Saito, who began to slowly pace around in a circle as she spoke. “I know it comes across as a huge shocker to a lot of people, seeing as I won so many of the stupid things, but it’s true. The weight of gold in my hands just...doesn’t thrill me anymore, not like the feeling of blood on my fist after I cold cocked some fucker in the face. Becoming a champion doesn’t feel as satisfying to me as the little thud someone makes after I knocked them out does, or the little squeals they make after I fuck them up so harsh they think they’re on a United Airlines flight. Too soon?”
“So, anyway, from my own perspective, this number one contendership match I’ve been booked in has about the same emotional weight to me as ordering a pizza. Which I guess is an appropriate analogy, given my latest vict-uh, opponent, Hannah Kristiansen.”
Saito stopped pacing and stepped closer to Sakura, bending slightly to keep her eyes level to the camera lens. “See, kicking her ass will be on that very same level, boys and girls,” she said. “Oh, ‘course, I’m sure that she truly believes that she’s got a chance against me, but let’s face it; you saw her last match, I saw it, we all saw it and if any of you were like me you were facepalming every second of it. Shit, even if I wasn’t after that bish Jade I probably would have smashed someone’s face in just to get that tragedy to end!”
“And if that’s an example of giving it her all, then I’m sorry-not-sorry but if the only chance she’ll have against the New Ace of Pro Wrestling is if that redhead British chick acting as our special referee decided not to be impartial, or if somebody cuts in our match and wraps a steel chair around my head when I’m not looking. There ain’t no way in any fresh hell you can think of Hannah is gonna kick my ass, least not fair and square. If we’re being truthful, here, instead of knocking me down long enough for a three-count, the only hope she has against a girl like me is if I simply don’t decide to play with her a little before I kill her, like a mouse that’s played with by a cat.”
“Now, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t hyperbole, these aren’t the words of some kid who likes to brag,” continued Saito, standing a little straighter. She pressed a hand over her heart and said, “I’m one pretty vain puppy, sure, but this is God’s honest truth I’m telling, here: when Captain America here steps into that ring with the New Ace, her chances of walking out of there intact start decreasing rapidly. The moment that bell rings that bish better be thanking God almighty I don’t do worse than straight up murder her, boys and girls. I swear to everything holy that Hannah’s mom and sixteen daddies will cry when they see what I do to her. And that...is God’s honest truth.”
“Now, before I leave you, I have a couple things to say to Hannah Kristiansen and our special guest referee. Now, Emery Layton, I’ll start with you. I have no interest in that piece of tin around that cute little waist of yours, but nevertheless, your asskicking will come in due time. Sadly for you, that’s inevitable. But unless you want to accelerate that eventuality and have me do to you what I’ll do to Kristiansen, here’s some advice for you: cut this match straight down the middle. The second you stop being impartial is the last second you have before I stop your heart.”
“And Hannah? There’s only one thing I have to say to you when it’s all said and done.”
Saito leaned in closer to Sakura’s camera one more time and pulled the sunglasses from her eyes. She stared hard daggers into the lens as she said her promo’s final words.
“Omae wa mou...shindeiru. You...are already dead.”