Post by Lisa Frankenstein on Jan 21, 2019 19:46:51 GMT -5
As a shameless, tournament obsessed psychopath, 2019 has started out quite well for Lisa. A solid run in the Super 6, round 2 in the Crown of the King Cobra. Considering she spent a great deal of last year crashing out in the opening rounds, it’s not surprising she looks quite pleased with herself.
“Last time out I talked a pretty big game. I wasn’t just here to win a match, I was going to rip my opponent’s head off and plant it on a spike as a warning to others. I was here for this tournament and I already had my sights on the final. Everyone else was just getting in the way.
Even more than that. I was on my way to building a legend with the Crown of the King Cobra.”
She arrives, crossing the screen at a shallow pace until the camera is forced to follow.
“Edwards didn't buy it. He thought I was just spewing hot air and he had every intention of exposing me as a fraud. He was so confident in it too. He told me I was going to panic, run out of step and leave him with a disappointing stroll into round two. Now he’s out on his arse and suddenly my words carry a lot more weight.”
The scene itself is expectantly sprase for what we’ve come to know of her. A locker room at whatever she has tonight. Evolution, King’s Road, if she could just get some of these places to close down, she could afford a bit more time on stage setting. Drop a few tour dates and she’ll be promoing from the Berlin Wall in no time.”
“At what point do you think it was he stopped questioning my resolve, do you think? Was it when I was resetting my own nose after he tried to tear it off my face? Was it when I weathered his best shots and clawed my way back? Was it only right at the end, when he was staring down at the mat waiting for the hammer to fall? Was that where he realised I probably wasn’t just trying to be funny when I promised this was going to be the making of me.”
She stops and switches down gears.
“I mean, he probably wasn’t thinking any of that. He was probably just like hey whose teeth are these. Then the whole world turned off.
I suppose it doesn't really matter either. I'm here, he's not and now we're looking on to round two with Datura.”
Then starts to ramp it up again.
“Now, I’m aware I don’t come across as a particularly serious person. When I’m not cleaving skulls I’m tweeting nonsense and pictures of cats at social media managers to see which of them are going to retweet it like it’s a big bold statement of intent.
When you travel as much as I do you get bored easily and you gotta find things to fill your day.
I guess it’s that kinda thing that makes it easy to question me. I’m not some devastating force of nature. I’m a nonsense merchant. The fact that I’ll be fighting at least twice a week and have been doing this for beyond a decade means nothing.
Nobody is impressed by the Tasmanian devil. Not until the fangs come out anyway.”
She already has her ring gear on, and unconsciously paws at the tape around her fists as she continues to mark out the dimensions of the room.
“Datura is very into that line of thinking. In the lead up to her match with Maverick, she lambasted him for lying to her. She called him an actor and made a big song and dance about it, prancing about a stage and even briefly breaking out into some freestyle slam poetry.
It was, bizarrely, the most theatrical performance I’ve ever seen by a wrestler. And that includes the time a bunch of us were actually in a movie.”
She bites her lip before rolling on.
“Also while we’re on the subject, she got really into narrating that guy’s match. Like she was stalling for time or didn’t know we couldn’t all just watch it ourselves. If I had known that was going to be the case, I’d have done a bunch of really weird shit just to try and see her weave it into a narrative.
Live and learn.”
A little shrug escapes her.
“Anyway, Datura is an odd sort. And that's fine because wrestling is an odd sport. I mean thinking about, in the lead up to any match we have a massive argument about our opposing ideologies. Then a bell rings, we knock the piss out of each other and who is left standing gets to be right.
I could say literally anything I want. I could say Datura spends her days off chasing down goats and eating them alive to fuel her magic powers like she's the fucking chupacabra. I could denounce every title, every accolade she's ever won. I could spit on her whole career, then score a sneaky roll-up and magically be declared right.
It's insanity. Philosophical discourse decided by the angriest people in the world. A collection of people whose answer to any problem, no matter how serious, pointed or ridiculous, is to have a fist fight over a giant gold belt.”
She shakes her head, despairing at the thought. She’s met a lot of wrestlers. None of them should be allowed to make decisions.
“Datura isn't exposing anyone. She's not proving every opponent she meets is a liar. She's just winning matches and talking down to people. It’s done her well so far, but that run is coming to an end.”
“I don’t need to prove myself to her or defend my stance or justify where I fit amongst her mad ideals of what a person should or shouldn’t be as they work their way toward the ring. I don’t have to play her games, I just have to beat her. I’ve been doing that for a decade now. I’ve gotten quite good at it.”
She offers herself a little smile, because she’s quite conceited.
“Datura paints things in black and white. You’re all in or you’re lying to yourself. I don’t buy into that. I’m not a contradiction, I’m a dichotomy. I’m equal parts irreverent and malevolent and I don’t wither away to nothing every time I promote my upcoming Deathmatch with a stupid picture of my face.
I can do all of that, then still see out the night stamping someone’s teeth out of their head with my heel. In your little sliding scale, I’m an irregularity, I guess. That’s fine. Wrestling thrives on those.”
A little wink comes our way. She’s getting better at them.
“Anyway, that's my proposal. I’ve come to round two with eyes for the final. I’m going to make sure I leave this tournament as the name everyone is chasing next year. I’m going to take the fucking fight away from all of you, stack bodies to the sun and celebrate everyone of them by saying something really fucking stupid. Because I am stupid, and obnoxious, and loud, and violent, and incredibly, undeniably successful.
In that we’re quite a contrast. Let’s see who gets to be right.”
She doesn’t much more time on that, and casually takes off out of the room. We linger, watch the door sling back, then leave it there.
