Post by emmanuelle on Oct 27, 2021 22:55:21 GMT -5
Dallas, Texas
American Airlines Arena
In just a few moments of counter-wrestling brilliance, Emmy had secured maximum points. Sure, there may have been a matter of a referee possibly not doing his job right but, hell, it wasn’t her problem! The young star had made it very plain that she would take victories however they would come in this tournament and having a match end so suddenly with her hand raised in victory and with minimal wear and tear on the body was very much a godsend. The plan that she had concocted in her mind to become a double champion again was very much going according to plan: in the semifinals of one tournament and getting out of the first match of another with her tournament destiny still very much in her own hands. She noticed the usual gathering of reporters when she made her way to the back. They would see the confidence that bordered on arrogance, the easy smile, everything she wanted them to see. One of her small hands was clutching around a wrist, leading some to speculate that she was possibly hurt.
“Wrist control, wrist control, wrist control! That was always something my trainer Carlos rambled on about when I was training. ‘You gotta maintain fuckin’ wrist control when you can! Wrestling is about maintaining control of your opponent and wrist control is one of the easiest ways to do it!’ You know, I shouldn’t be this good. If I can't out-athlete you, I’ll outsmart you. If I can’t outsmart you, I’ll overpower you. If I can’t overpower you, I’ll out-wrestle you. I just went out there and beat one of the biggest, baddest guys on Proving Ground, with a little small-joint manipulation and a roll-up. Five points for me, zero points for the overrated douchebag.”
Emmy pauses for a moment, not only taking a few quick gasps of air but also noticing a big commotion as Indy Darling and other Proving Ground officials make their way towards the ringside area. Thinking nothing of it, she continues.
“Looks like someone is having a temper tantrum. But, in any event, that match just now. Something felt a little strange to me. In fact, you guys are the wrestling nerds around here, right? I know some of you watch as much wrestling as I do: you all know that Lance is as tense and as powerful as they come. He also knows that I’m pretty good technically. Why would he come out there and just play around with fire then have the audacity to be mad when he gets burned? Maybe it’s because I’m used to people trying to go full-tilt with me from bell to bell, but he almost felt a little restrained. Everything is easy to me but this felt...too easy.”
More commotion occurs as the same group of officials and Indy make their way back from the stage area, a confused press corps murmuring and Emmy just looking on in confusion as what just happened starts to make its rounds through the gathering.
“Hey, you……..”
Emmy by this point had singled out one of the younger female reporters to question. The woman, smaller even than Emmy and wearing large glasses, pointed to herself in confusion before even daring to speak.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. What’s going on?”
“...The General Manager just fired Lance.”
Emmy’s eyes darted over to the quickly disappearing group of officials and management before turning back to the reporter. Genuine confusion was etched on her face for a few moments until the woman simply shrugged her shoulders and chuckled.
“Welp. One less Roidy Magoo to deal with. Anyway, you guys have been only mildly annoying tonight but I think I’m going to get cleaned up. I’ve got a flight to catch later tonight.”
“Excuse me, Miss Emmanuelle, do you have any thoughts about your next opponent? You’ll face Tara Fenix, the woman who beat you for the Warrior Rising Championship in the Tokyo Dome. Are you prepared for the rematch?”
The Silver Starlet, who by now had been walking towards the locker room when the question was asked, spun around in an instant and marched right over towards the reporter who asked the question. It was the same person who she was talking to a moment ago. Emmy’s presence and intense stare were more than enough for the woman to take a step back even though Emmy didn’t clench her fist or raise her voice.
“Watch what happens when we fight again. You’ll get your answer then.”
With that, Emmy turned away and went back to the locker room. She would disappear for about an hour or so from the view of anyone, getting cleaned up and letting the warm water relax her still-aching body. Lance may have been going half-assed in her eyes, but the brute still threw her around a bit. She already knew by the time she left the arena what the state of the tournament was and exactly how crucial the next contest was.
Later That Night
Dallas, Texas
Omni Dallas Hotel
Emmy had a habit of treating herself after wins. A night out, maybe a hot date (or two), some high quality food and even higher quality liquor. Not tonight though. The losses of both her titles had steeled her resolve to become better, to reach her full potential. Instead of enjoying the social life that Dallas had to offer, she was swimming. The Omni Hotel had a massive Olympic-sized pool for it’s visitors and Emmy was the only one inclined to go for a late night swim. There was no lifeguard on duty and patrons weren’t usually allowed to use the pool after certain hours...but a few dollars and a selfie with an awestruck fan easily solved that problem. Being in the water made her comfortable. Memories of that time of her life were strange now. Back then, she had toned herself considerably down to fit in. She was focused on being a good teammate, albeit in a different way from when she was younger and playing basketball. She conformed to societal norms. She was soft-spoken, friendly, and even a little shy. This attitude was definitely a far cry from the trash-talking little basketball point-guard she was as a child and the self-assured pro wrestler she would become. This time in the water also made her remember a time when the woman she was and the woman she’d eventually become first met...and how they didn’t agree on the path forward.
Several Years Ago
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
“The Red Stick”
It was not one of Emmy’s better days in training. The training regime that Carlos employed was brutal: a five mile run at 3 AM, stretches and calisthenics after daybreak, weight training in the afternoon followed by merciless in-ring instruction and even more running, stretching and cardio before the end of the day. The only time anyone got any rest was when they were allowed to eat or sleep. Thirty-five or so aspiring pro wrestlers had been whittled down to about twenty in just a month’s time. She had survived the shock of such brutal training and was quickly picking up instruction. On this particular day, however, she was a step off. She didn’t have much explosion in her movement. Her holds and counters were sloppy instead of the usual crispness. Everything that she seemed to have learned was getting lost. Sure, most of her class was doing FAR worse, but she was the one having the most abuse hurled her way.
“What is this horse shit? I don’t know what’s been going on all day but you look slow today, Emmy. You’re wasting my valuable training time with your sloppy-ass wrestling.”
“I’m sorry. My shoulder is bothering me….”
“And I’m supposed to care why? You think your opponents are gonna give a damn when you go out there to do this shit? You think fans are gonna give a damn when they see your shoulder taped up or whatever. ‘Awwww….she’s HURT, guys! We may not get our money’s worth, but she has a hurt shoulder so it’s okay!’ Bullshit!”
“I’m trying to do my best….”
“Well you’re not succeeding.”
“I. AM. TRYING.”
“DO. IT. TRYING. ISN’T. GOOD. ENOUGH.”
Emmy was truly trying, but everything looked off balance. Her headlocks weren’t as tight as they should have been. All the basic moves that she had done so well usually were just falling flat if they connected at all. It was an absolute disaster. The horrible day nearly got worse as she tried to pick up a fellow trainee for a scoop slam. The pain in her shoulder nearly caused her to drop her sparring partner on their head and neck. Disaster was averted and the person fell safely on their back but Carlos had seen enough.
“Get out. Get out of there right now. You’re in no condition to keep going. HEY, BLONDIE, YOU DEAF!? GET OUT OR I’LL THROW YOUR SCRAWNY ASS OUT!”
One of Carlos’s assistants and several of her classmates jumped in to make sure she and the sparring partner were fine, but Emmy shrugged off all attempts to check her out and made her way towards the showers, the madman of a trainer pouncing instantly on the first bit of weakness she had shown the entire camp.
“HEY! I didn’t say you could fucking leave the gym!”
“I don’t care. I’m out of here.”
“Oh, that’s how it is huh? When shit is easy and going fine you’re good, but when you get stuck with some adversity you get all pissed off, you pick up your ball and go home? You’ve been good, damn good, but today you’ve been like shit. You almost dropped Camille on her fucking HEAD. HER HEAD, YOU IDIOT! You can do these moves over and over again but the point of practice, the point of y’all getting beat to shit everyday is to get you ready for the real world! I’m not gonna be able to coddle you or hold your hand or coach you. If you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, you can get yourself hurt or killed or get someone else hurt or killed.”
“You KNOW we’re hurting and you’re training us like we’re going to fight in some war!”
“That’s the point.”
Emmy turned around and looked at her trainer with an incredulous expression.
“Look, you’re gonna get banged up. You’re going to get heckled. That’s just the way it is in this business. If you don’t think you can handle a little tough criticism, a little pain and being out of your comfort zone, go back to California and be a little secretary like you were doing before I picked you up. Physically you’re good enough but mentally you’re softer than fucking puppy shit!”
“You know what? Screw this. I’m done. I’m done.”
Emmy turned her back to her mentor, grabbing her bottle and heading towards the barracks-like rooms for trainees in the back of the building, all while being heckled by her trainer.
“YOU GUYS SEE THIS!? THIS IS WHAT BEING SOFT IS! YOU CAN HAVE ALL THE MOVES, ALL THE CARDIO IN THE WORLD BUT IN THE MINDSET YOU WILL NOT MAKE IT! YOU’LL CRY LIKE A LITTLE CHILD AND PACK YOUR BAG AND GO HOME, JUST LIKE EMMY’S GETTING HER SHIT NOW TO LEAVE, TO GO LIVE UNDER MOMMY AND DADDY IN LUXURY WHILE THE REST OF YOU MAKE SOMETHING OF YOURSELVES….”
Emmy heard all of this, tears streaming down her face, hurriedly packing a bag and retrieving her belongings. She didn’t know what she was going to do. Maybe go back to California and see if she could get her job back. Perhaps take up her mother and father on a long-standing offer to work with them. She didn’t even bother to look towards the doorway when a formidable presence stepped inside and quietly shut the door, drowning out the tirade of the head trainer. He was not exceptionally tall, standing only a shade above six feet, but compared to Emmy he was like a giant. His body was bulky, muscular but not in a cartoonish fashion. A young guy out of Japan, Shiro was a rugby and football star recruited to be a wrestler because of his athletic ability and his looks.
“Shiro, don’t even try to talk me out of this. I’m done and I’m done today. I’m sick of living like I’m in the army, I’m sick of him yelling at us, I’m sick of THIS in general.”
“He is testing you.”
The hulking man’s English was heavily accented but perfect. Emmy had packed her little red duffel bag full of her possessions and clothes and had it draped over her good shoulder. He made a slow nod of his head towards her left shoulder which was taped up pretty heavily.
“It’s nothing. It looks worse than it feels.”
“He knows that you are good. He knows that we know that you are good, the best one among us. That is why he pushes you so hard. He expects you as the leader of our class to be at your best.”
Emmy rolled her eyes. So him being a complete asshole was justified because of her ability? His using her as an example for the rest of the class wasn’t abusive?
“Move, Shiro. I don’t want to stay here and-”
“Why did you come here?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Why did you come here? Everyone has their reasons for being here. Camille is here because wrestling is a better outlet for her than some of the things she used to do in the street. Zeke is here because he wants to support his parents. I am here because I want to go back to Japan and become one of the top wrestlers there. Why are you here? What are you doing this for?”
“I don’t really know. -sigh- Look, I decided to come here because I was bored at my office job. I don’t want to work for my family and I don’t want to be bored. I don’t know, I thought wrestling would be something different, something fun. When I got a chance to see it live, to experience a show and feel the energy, it just felt like something worth trying to be a part of.”
“Do you not still feel that way? Is this not your dream? We all have different reasons for doing what we do. Maybe your destiny is to be a great wrestler, but you should not walk out after one bad day. Remember, all of us have been yelled at, pushed to train hard. No one is exempt from that. Please unpack your things and stay. There are a lot of people in our class who will not say it but look up to you and would be sad if you leave. Later, you may be sad with yourself if you do not see this to the end.”
Emmy thought about his words for a moment. The big lug didn’t say much but when he did there was a level of maturity and gravitas that the rest of the class and even the trainers respected. She looked at her bag then back at the beds, a small smile forming on her lips.
“I think you’re right. Who put you up to this, by the way?”
“What do you mean?”
“To come here and talk me out of leaving. Who put you up to it?”
“No one put me up to anything.”
Emmy smiled again, rubbing some of the long strands out of her face before tossing her duffel bag away, giving the man in front of her a tap to the chest with her fist.
“Arigato, Shiro.”
The man simply nodded and stepped aside. Emmy made her way out the room where Carlos was standing, waiting with arms folded across his chest. The rest of the students were busy with drills. Their performance had picked up considerably and there seemed to be more constructive coaching than the usual stream of profanities and insults that were a staple of a Carlos-led session.
“Come here.”
“Carlos, can this wait a little while?”
“Come here. That’s not a request.”
Emmy made her way over with a frustrated huff. Her eyes opened up wide with confusion and panic when Carlos grabbed her by the wrist to pull her closer. What the hell was he doing? Then she felt his hands going over her shoulder and arm, her face making small winces as he pressed and squeezed at various points.
“You swam in college or something?”
“I was a water polo player. Got bored with regular swimming pretty quickly in high school so I- ow!- crossed over to water polo.”
“I see. Kinda feels like you have Swimmer’s shoulder. Don’t notice anything broken or dislocated. Nothing out of the ordinary wear and tear. You’re going to take a few days off and get that looked at.”
“Look, it's just some soreness. I can…”
“Stop being stubborn and listen for once. I want you to shut it down for a few days and get this looked at. Last thing I want you doing is overdoing it and winding up tearing your rotator cuff or something. You’re still going to be helping around here and doing chores so you’re not COMPLETELY off the hook but go rest.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve been known to confuse a few folks. What’s bothering you?”
“Why do you do it this way? You train everyone to exhaustion. You break us down, you insult us, you stretch the hell out of us when you teach us things in the ring. Why are you so brutal towards us? Why did you scream at me like that earlier? I’m in there working my ass off, giving everything I have and you’re making jokes about it!”
Carlos let go of the injured shoulder he was examining and his eyes fixed right on Emmy’s. There was a calm, casualness to what he said that shook Emmy a bit.
“I was trained this way. When I first learned how to wrestle, my family sent me to Japan to learn, to build off what I had learned from my uncles and father. The regime was hard. There’s stories of shit that happened to some of the guys that I can never tell anyone. But everything was done with one goal in mind: break down someone completely. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Find what they struggle with and confront it while you’re training them because if something happens during a match and they aren’t prepared, they freeze up. Maybe they’re too tired to finish a match. The crowd is booing the hell out of what they’re doing and they can’t think of something on the fly to get them back. Maybe they’re having a tough time at home and can’t force that shit to the side to operate professionally. I’m not hard on you because you struggled today. I’m hard on you because you HAVEN’T struggled until today. You have answered every challenge I’ve given you, you’ve surpassed the loftiest of expectations. You’re tough, you’re quick on your feet mentally. The only thing left is the will. Today was the first time I saw a crack in the foundation. You can fix it...if you want to. You have a chance to be one of the most phenomenal talents in the world, I truly believe that. All you have to do is get this up here…..”
He tapped Emmy a few times with the tip of his finger on her forehead.
“....when you get this right, you’ll be great. Do you hear me? Great. Maybe better than anyone I’ve ever been around. All you have to do is start working like it. Push hard, but be smart. Hold yourself accountable, but give yourself a break now and then too. Be willing to put in the work and fight through the pain, but also know when you should be resting. Balance is hard and honestly I never learned how to do it as a wrestler. I’m not talking about just in the ring here, I’m talking about life. Keep yourself balanced, keep yourself focused, you hear?”
Emmy nodded. With that the discussion was over. Emmy had finally been pushed to the breaking point, but with the blunt advice of her trainer and one of her classmates, she worked past it. She did just as Carlos suggested, getting her shoulder looked at by a doctor. Thankfully for her there was no significant damage and she was back in action two weeks later. She led her class in drills, even though the number of students would slowly dwindle away. Injuries would claim some. Disagreements with their training would claim others. But she remained. She was the gold standard of the gym, her classmates would joke. Even though Carlos would tear into her for the occasional fuck up, he never again called her soft.
She had proven herself, physically and mentally. She chose to see something through where she could have easily quit and left for the comfort of Los Angeles. But she stayed. The girl that Carlos saw as a fan and the wrestler he had envisioned she could become had finally met.
He figured it would make for a hell of a show.
Present Day
Jon M. Huntsman Center
Salt Lake City, Utah
Emmy arrived VERY early to Utah. So much so that she was there when the ring crew and all were setting up the ring and all the bells and whistles for Proving Ground. She had even hijacked a camera crew once the ring had been assembled, standing dead center in it as she recorded a message. She didn’t smile much, the confident swagger that Emmy was noted for was toned down considerably. Even so, her voice was clear, her body language was firm. There was no doubt that anything the woman was about to say was coming from the heart.
I like getting to the arena a day early when possible, especially when they put the ring together. Every time a ring is built, it’s built differently in some respect. Some minor details change. You may find a soft spot here, maybe the ropes aren’t as tight, things of that nature.
Hey, Tara. Proving Ground seems to be in a very strange place right now. Very strange rivalries, a General Manager’s tenure that seems to be teetering towards absolute chaos. People losing their shit and getting fired. So many different things going on, even a switch to the people participating in our tournament since Meathead Supreme got himself fired. But here we sit, both of us on five points apiece, both of us with a chance to put this little round robin in a stranglehold. I don’t tend to ask for Project Honor or the Proving Ground staff to do much for me other than make sure my check is in the mail, but I wanted them to make sure that this message not only reached you but reached all the fans out there who have been curious about what’s going on. “Emmy’s not in the best shape. Emmy’s gotten quiet on Twitter. Is she okay for this match? Is she a little intimidated since she lost to Fenix before?”
I asked for some of this company’s valuable time to address a few things. These are some things that I can’t just sit on, even though I realize that this is one of the most important matches I’ve had in this company. More important than beating Oasis for the Warrior Rising title, more important than winning the Seven Gates of Hell match. Even more important to me than our match in the Tokyo Dome. There have always been critics, cynics when it comes to what I can do in the ring. There have been a good many people who have written me off to find out that I’m just as capable as any of the top-tier wrestlers you can find around the world. There’s one critic that I can’t seem to satisfy. One person that I’ll never fully convince that I should be doing this:
Myself.
I know this comes as a huge shock to many of you watching on your phones or at home. I bet it comes as a massive shock to you, Tara. Yes, I love all the shit that wrestling has to offer me as far as perks of the job. I love the travel, the women, the booze, the notoriety, all the Fast Lane living that comes with what we do. I’m addicted to the grind too. I had to learn that sort of thing. It wasn’t embedded in my psyche from some early age to appreciate wrestling the way I do now. I wasn’t some kid who watched wrestling growing up. I can count on one hand how many shows I attended or even watched on television before I started training. But the more time I spend doing this thing, the more I start to obsess over little details. You see, I can accept losing to a degree. It happens. Hell, I’ve lost more in a month in Project Honor than I did in an entire year in another company. If someone was just better than me, I can accept that.
When I lost to you, I don’t feel like you were the better woman that night. I don’t mean that as any bit of disrespect. I went in confident, not thinking that you would bring the fight as strong and as heavy as you did. I was prepared. My game plan was working perfectly, everything was going the way I wanted it! But one fuck up doomed a title reign that I had worked so hard for. One mistake had screwed up everything I had planned for the title.
A whole night of action between us, an epic title match and you were better than me for literally one second. That’s very difficult for a woman of my intelligence to take, you know.
I expected you to carry on my legacy with the title, use the Warrior Rising championship as a springboard to bigger and better things. I was counting on YOU to make the Warrior Rising Championship even more prestigious, to continue my work. But you LOST IT TO LIL FREAKIN PETEY!? I mean, I’ve got nothing but love for the guys in Big Drip even though we clashed a lot over that title but what the hell? How do you beat me and fall at the first hurdle, girl!? You make me look bad by association here! I’m not mad, but I am very much annoyed.
I have replayed the match in my head over and over again. There have not been many losses I’ve taken quite as personally as I have this one, Tara. The thing is, I want to hate you. I want to tell you to go to hell when you say encouraging things on Twitter. I want to sock you in the fucking face anytime I’ve seen you. I watch your matches and hope that you lose just out of pettiness. But when it comes to taking what you did personally and trying to start a vendetta over it...I just can’t. I find ways to let it go, to respect you for doing exactly what you said you were going to do and take the Warrior Rising Championship from me. I’ve actually started to like you as a person. I don’t want to wish bad luck on you or see you fail. I want you to rise up just as fast and just as hard as I want to. When I get to the top of the proverbial Mount Everest here, it wouldn’t hurt my feelings to see you planting your flag right next to mine at the summit.
The problem is that we can’t get to the top at the same time right now. We’re in this tournament, which now has a new wrinkle to it with Lance going bye-bye and a new player slotted into his place. We know what the scores are and we both know that the winner here, if there is one, is in the driver’s seat to win this thing on the last day. We both know what’s at stake. I’ve been on record saying that I’m taking this one match at a time, one day at a time. There’s something else that I’ve been doing lately that seems to work when it comes to this tournament and just wrestling in general: block out the noise. When I had to go against Lance Williams, I kept hearing about his size advantage, his position in the company after losing his title to Myojin, his beef with Indy, I could go on and on and on. I tuned out all the bullshit going on. I just focused on finding a way to get a win against Lance and I did just that. Now, you come into the picture. Everyone wants to talk about this being a chance at “revenge” for what happened in the Dome.
While my ego would take great satisfaction in avenging that loss, I know that I can’t obsess over something that’s already been done. Even though I’m focused on winning and will put everything into beating you, I’m not going to give you the power of me being obsessed over that slip up anymore. I will definitely look for payback but I will not fight you in such a stupid, reckless fashion that you get another win as a result of me making my personal satisfaction more important than the task at hand. This business has taught me a lot in my short tenure in it. Everything doesn’t have to be spelled out completely, you know? Things can be fluid. I can respect you and appreciate you for your kind words and athletic ability, but I can hold you accountable for a broken promise to uphold the standard of the title that forever links our careers to each other. I can have the fire, the urgency required to win a match like this but also appreciate that there is still another match that I have to prepare for and that my hopes and dreams don’t come to an end with a defeat. I can go out there and tear the house down and put on a show for the fans and for Proving Ground...but I can also take any liberties I see fit to ensure victory for myself. I think the last time I fought you, I gave a little too much respect. Not in the sense of fearing you or anything, but in the sense I didn’t treat you like I would just about any man or woman I’ve been in the ring with otherwise. Best believe that once that bell rings, any fondness I have for you and any respect for what you’ve accomplished in this industry will mean diddly squat. The ring is not a sacred place to me; I’m more than willing to sin to get it in if you know what I mean.
I have an opportunity to do something special to close out what I told everyone would be my monster year. In this company and in another, I have a chance to pick up silverware and the opportunity to challenge for gold again. To start the year being a champion and to end it holding a trophy would be a statement of the consistency, the legitimacy that some people dare to say I lack. Beating you doesn’t clinch the trophy here on Proving Ground, but it takes me one massive step away from collecting another big payday. At Night of Honor, I learned that the price of winning in this company against opposition like you is pretty steep.
When we meet this time, you’re going to learn that I have learned that I’m more than willing to pay any price to get what’s coming to me. And what’s coming to me, Tara?
The world, chica, and everything in it.
American Airlines Arena
In just a few moments of counter-wrestling brilliance, Emmy had secured maximum points. Sure, there may have been a matter of a referee possibly not doing his job right but, hell, it wasn’t her problem! The young star had made it very plain that she would take victories however they would come in this tournament and having a match end so suddenly with her hand raised in victory and with minimal wear and tear on the body was very much a godsend. The plan that she had concocted in her mind to become a double champion again was very much going according to plan: in the semifinals of one tournament and getting out of the first match of another with her tournament destiny still very much in her own hands. She noticed the usual gathering of reporters when she made her way to the back. They would see the confidence that bordered on arrogance, the easy smile, everything she wanted them to see. One of her small hands was clutching around a wrist, leading some to speculate that she was possibly hurt.
“Wrist control, wrist control, wrist control! That was always something my trainer Carlos rambled on about when I was training. ‘You gotta maintain fuckin’ wrist control when you can! Wrestling is about maintaining control of your opponent and wrist control is one of the easiest ways to do it!’ You know, I shouldn’t be this good. If I can't out-athlete you, I’ll outsmart you. If I can’t outsmart you, I’ll overpower you. If I can’t overpower you, I’ll out-wrestle you. I just went out there and beat one of the biggest, baddest guys on Proving Ground, with a little small-joint manipulation and a roll-up. Five points for me, zero points for the overrated douchebag.”
Emmy pauses for a moment, not only taking a few quick gasps of air but also noticing a big commotion as Indy Darling and other Proving Ground officials make their way towards the ringside area. Thinking nothing of it, she continues.
“Looks like someone is having a temper tantrum. But, in any event, that match just now. Something felt a little strange to me. In fact, you guys are the wrestling nerds around here, right? I know some of you watch as much wrestling as I do: you all know that Lance is as tense and as powerful as they come. He also knows that I’m pretty good technically. Why would he come out there and just play around with fire then have the audacity to be mad when he gets burned? Maybe it’s because I’m used to people trying to go full-tilt with me from bell to bell, but he almost felt a little restrained. Everything is easy to me but this felt...too easy.”
More commotion occurs as the same group of officials and Indy make their way back from the stage area, a confused press corps murmuring and Emmy just looking on in confusion as what just happened starts to make its rounds through the gathering.
“Hey, you……..”
Emmy by this point had singled out one of the younger female reporters to question. The woman, smaller even than Emmy and wearing large glasses, pointed to herself in confusion before even daring to speak.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. What’s going on?”
“...The General Manager just fired Lance.”
Emmy’s eyes darted over to the quickly disappearing group of officials and management before turning back to the reporter. Genuine confusion was etched on her face for a few moments until the woman simply shrugged her shoulders and chuckled.
“Welp. One less Roidy Magoo to deal with. Anyway, you guys have been only mildly annoying tonight but I think I’m going to get cleaned up. I’ve got a flight to catch later tonight.”
“Excuse me, Miss Emmanuelle, do you have any thoughts about your next opponent? You’ll face Tara Fenix, the woman who beat you for the Warrior Rising Championship in the Tokyo Dome. Are you prepared for the rematch?”
The Silver Starlet, who by now had been walking towards the locker room when the question was asked, spun around in an instant and marched right over towards the reporter who asked the question. It was the same person who she was talking to a moment ago. Emmy’s presence and intense stare were more than enough for the woman to take a step back even though Emmy didn’t clench her fist or raise her voice.
“Watch what happens when we fight again. You’ll get your answer then.”
With that, Emmy turned away and went back to the locker room. She would disappear for about an hour or so from the view of anyone, getting cleaned up and letting the warm water relax her still-aching body. Lance may have been going half-assed in her eyes, but the brute still threw her around a bit. She already knew by the time she left the arena what the state of the tournament was and exactly how crucial the next contest was.
Later That Night
Dallas, Texas
Omni Dallas Hotel
Emmy had a habit of treating herself after wins. A night out, maybe a hot date (or two), some high quality food and even higher quality liquor. Not tonight though. The losses of both her titles had steeled her resolve to become better, to reach her full potential. Instead of enjoying the social life that Dallas had to offer, she was swimming. The Omni Hotel had a massive Olympic-sized pool for it’s visitors and Emmy was the only one inclined to go for a late night swim. There was no lifeguard on duty and patrons weren’t usually allowed to use the pool after certain hours...but a few dollars and a selfie with an awestruck fan easily solved that problem. Being in the water made her comfortable. Memories of that time of her life were strange now. Back then, she had toned herself considerably down to fit in. She was focused on being a good teammate, albeit in a different way from when she was younger and playing basketball. She conformed to societal norms. She was soft-spoken, friendly, and even a little shy. This attitude was definitely a far cry from the trash-talking little basketball point-guard she was as a child and the self-assured pro wrestler she would become. This time in the water also made her remember a time when the woman she was and the woman she’d eventually become first met...and how they didn’t agree on the path forward.
Several Years Ago
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
“The Red Stick”
It was not one of Emmy’s better days in training. The training regime that Carlos employed was brutal: a five mile run at 3 AM, stretches and calisthenics after daybreak, weight training in the afternoon followed by merciless in-ring instruction and even more running, stretching and cardio before the end of the day. The only time anyone got any rest was when they were allowed to eat or sleep. Thirty-five or so aspiring pro wrestlers had been whittled down to about twenty in just a month’s time. She had survived the shock of such brutal training and was quickly picking up instruction. On this particular day, however, she was a step off. She didn’t have much explosion in her movement. Her holds and counters were sloppy instead of the usual crispness. Everything that she seemed to have learned was getting lost. Sure, most of her class was doing FAR worse, but she was the one having the most abuse hurled her way.
“What is this horse shit? I don’t know what’s been going on all day but you look slow today, Emmy. You’re wasting my valuable training time with your sloppy-ass wrestling.”
“I’m sorry. My shoulder is bothering me….”
“And I’m supposed to care why? You think your opponents are gonna give a damn when you go out there to do this shit? You think fans are gonna give a damn when they see your shoulder taped up or whatever. ‘Awwww….she’s HURT, guys! We may not get our money’s worth, but she has a hurt shoulder so it’s okay!’ Bullshit!”
“I’m trying to do my best….”
“Well you’re not succeeding.”
“I. AM. TRYING.”
“DO. IT. TRYING. ISN’T. GOOD. ENOUGH.”
Emmy was truly trying, but everything looked off balance. Her headlocks weren’t as tight as they should have been. All the basic moves that she had done so well usually were just falling flat if they connected at all. It was an absolute disaster. The horrible day nearly got worse as she tried to pick up a fellow trainee for a scoop slam. The pain in her shoulder nearly caused her to drop her sparring partner on their head and neck. Disaster was averted and the person fell safely on their back but Carlos had seen enough.
“Get out. Get out of there right now. You’re in no condition to keep going. HEY, BLONDIE, YOU DEAF!? GET OUT OR I’LL THROW YOUR SCRAWNY ASS OUT!”
One of Carlos’s assistants and several of her classmates jumped in to make sure she and the sparring partner were fine, but Emmy shrugged off all attempts to check her out and made her way towards the showers, the madman of a trainer pouncing instantly on the first bit of weakness she had shown the entire camp.
“HEY! I didn’t say you could fucking leave the gym!”
“I don’t care. I’m out of here.”
“Oh, that’s how it is huh? When shit is easy and going fine you’re good, but when you get stuck with some adversity you get all pissed off, you pick up your ball and go home? You’ve been good, damn good, but today you’ve been like shit. You almost dropped Camille on her fucking HEAD. HER HEAD, YOU IDIOT! You can do these moves over and over again but the point of practice, the point of y’all getting beat to shit everyday is to get you ready for the real world! I’m not gonna be able to coddle you or hold your hand or coach you. If you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, you can get yourself hurt or killed or get someone else hurt or killed.”
“You KNOW we’re hurting and you’re training us like we’re going to fight in some war!”
“That’s the point.”
Emmy turned around and looked at her trainer with an incredulous expression.
“Look, you’re gonna get banged up. You’re going to get heckled. That’s just the way it is in this business. If you don’t think you can handle a little tough criticism, a little pain and being out of your comfort zone, go back to California and be a little secretary like you were doing before I picked you up. Physically you’re good enough but mentally you’re softer than fucking puppy shit!”
“You know what? Screw this. I’m done. I’m done.”
Emmy turned her back to her mentor, grabbing her bottle and heading towards the barracks-like rooms for trainees in the back of the building, all while being heckled by her trainer.
“YOU GUYS SEE THIS!? THIS IS WHAT BEING SOFT IS! YOU CAN HAVE ALL THE MOVES, ALL THE CARDIO IN THE WORLD BUT IN THE MINDSET YOU WILL NOT MAKE IT! YOU’LL CRY LIKE A LITTLE CHILD AND PACK YOUR BAG AND GO HOME, JUST LIKE EMMY’S GETTING HER SHIT NOW TO LEAVE, TO GO LIVE UNDER MOMMY AND DADDY IN LUXURY WHILE THE REST OF YOU MAKE SOMETHING OF YOURSELVES….”
Emmy heard all of this, tears streaming down her face, hurriedly packing a bag and retrieving her belongings. She didn’t know what she was going to do. Maybe go back to California and see if she could get her job back. Perhaps take up her mother and father on a long-standing offer to work with them. She didn’t even bother to look towards the doorway when a formidable presence stepped inside and quietly shut the door, drowning out the tirade of the head trainer. He was not exceptionally tall, standing only a shade above six feet, but compared to Emmy he was like a giant. His body was bulky, muscular but not in a cartoonish fashion. A young guy out of Japan, Shiro was a rugby and football star recruited to be a wrestler because of his athletic ability and his looks.
“Shiro, don’t even try to talk me out of this. I’m done and I’m done today. I’m sick of living like I’m in the army, I’m sick of him yelling at us, I’m sick of THIS in general.”
“He is testing you.”
The hulking man’s English was heavily accented but perfect. Emmy had packed her little red duffel bag full of her possessions and clothes and had it draped over her good shoulder. He made a slow nod of his head towards her left shoulder which was taped up pretty heavily.
“It’s nothing. It looks worse than it feels.”
“He knows that you are good. He knows that we know that you are good, the best one among us. That is why he pushes you so hard. He expects you as the leader of our class to be at your best.”
Emmy rolled her eyes. So him being a complete asshole was justified because of her ability? His using her as an example for the rest of the class wasn’t abusive?
“Move, Shiro. I don’t want to stay here and-”
“Why did you come here?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Why did you come here? Everyone has their reasons for being here. Camille is here because wrestling is a better outlet for her than some of the things she used to do in the street. Zeke is here because he wants to support his parents. I am here because I want to go back to Japan and become one of the top wrestlers there. Why are you here? What are you doing this for?”
“I don’t really know. -sigh- Look, I decided to come here because I was bored at my office job. I don’t want to work for my family and I don’t want to be bored. I don’t know, I thought wrestling would be something different, something fun. When I got a chance to see it live, to experience a show and feel the energy, it just felt like something worth trying to be a part of.”
“Do you not still feel that way? Is this not your dream? We all have different reasons for doing what we do. Maybe your destiny is to be a great wrestler, but you should not walk out after one bad day. Remember, all of us have been yelled at, pushed to train hard. No one is exempt from that. Please unpack your things and stay. There are a lot of people in our class who will not say it but look up to you and would be sad if you leave. Later, you may be sad with yourself if you do not see this to the end.”
Emmy thought about his words for a moment. The big lug didn’t say much but when he did there was a level of maturity and gravitas that the rest of the class and even the trainers respected. She looked at her bag then back at the beds, a small smile forming on her lips.
“I think you’re right. Who put you up to this, by the way?”
“What do you mean?”
“To come here and talk me out of leaving. Who put you up to it?”
“No one put me up to anything.”
Emmy smiled again, rubbing some of the long strands out of her face before tossing her duffel bag away, giving the man in front of her a tap to the chest with her fist.
“Arigato, Shiro.”
The man simply nodded and stepped aside. Emmy made her way out the room where Carlos was standing, waiting with arms folded across his chest. The rest of the students were busy with drills. Their performance had picked up considerably and there seemed to be more constructive coaching than the usual stream of profanities and insults that were a staple of a Carlos-led session.
“Come here.”
“Carlos, can this wait a little while?”
“Come here. That’s not a request.”
Emmy made her way over with a frustrated huff. Her eyes opened up wide with confusion and panic when Carlos grabbed her by the wrist to pull her closer. What the hell was he doing? Then she felt his hands going over her shoulder and arm, her face making small winces as he pressed and squeezed at various points.
“You swam in college or something?”
“I was a water polo player. Got bored with regular swimming pretty quickly in high school so I- ow!- crossed over to water polo.”
“I see. Kinda feels like you have Swimmer’s shoulder. Don’t notice anything broken or dislocated. Nothing out of the ordinary wear and tear. You’re going to take a few days off and get that looked at.”
“Look, it's just some soreness. I can…”
“Stop being stubborn and listen for once. I want you to shut it down for a few days and get this looked at. Last thing I want you doing is overdoing it and winding up tearing your rotator cuff or something. You’re still going to be helping around here and doing chores so you’re not COMPLETELY off the hook but go rest.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve been known to confuse a few folks. What’s bothering you?”
“Why do you do it this way? You train everyone to exhaustion. You break us down, you insult us, you stretch the hell out of us when you teach us things in the ring. Why are you so brutal towards us? Why did you scream at me like that earlier? I’m in there working my ass off, giving everything I have and you’re making jokes about it!”
Carlos let go of the injured shoulder he was examining and his eyes fixed right on Emmy’s. There was a calm, casualness to what he said that shook Emmy a bit.
“I was trained this way. When I first learned how to wrestle, my family sent me to Japan to learn, to build off what I had learned from my uncles and father. The regime was hard. There’s stories of shit that happened to some of the guys that I can never tell anyone. But everything was done with one goal in mind: break down someone completely. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Find what they struggle with and confront it while you’re training them because if something happens during a match and they aren’t prepared, they freeze up. Maybe they’re too tired to finish a match. The crowd is booing the hell out of what they’re doing and they can’t think of something on the fly to get them back. Maybe they’re having a tough time at home and can’t force that shit to the side to operate professionally. I’m not hard on you because you struggled today. I’m hard on you because you HAVEN’T struggled until today. You have answered every challenge I’ve given you, you’ve surpassed the loftiest of expectations. You’re tough, you’re quick on your feet mentally. The only thing left is the will. Today was the first time I saw a crack in the foundation. You can fix it...if you want to. You have a chance to be one of the most phenomenal talents in the world, I truly believe that. All you have to do is get this up here…..”
He tapped Emmy a few times with the tip of his finger on her forehead.
“....when you get this right, you’ll be great. Do you hear me? Great. Maybe better than anyone I’ve ever been around. All you have to do is start working like it. Push hard, but be smart. Hold yourself accountable, but give yourself a break now and then too. Be willing to put in the work and fight through the pain, but also know when you should be resting. Balance is hard and honestly I never learned how to do it as a wrestler. I’m not talking about just in the ring here, I’m talking about life. Keep yourself balanced, keep yourself focused, you hear?”
Emmy nodded. With that the discussion was over. Emmy had finally been pushed to the breaking point, but with the blunt advice of her trainer and one of her classmates, she worked past it. She did just as Carlos suggested, getting her shoulder looked at by a doctor. Thankfully for her there was no significant damage and she was back in action two weeks later. She led her class in drills, even though the number of students would slowly dwindle away. Injuries would claim some. Disagreements with their training would claim others. But she remained. She was the gold standard of the gym, her classmates would joke. Even though Carlos would tear into her for the occasional fuck up, he never again called her soft.
She had proven herself, physically and mentally. She chose to see something through where she could have easily quit and left for the comfort of Los Angeles. But she stayed. The girl that Carlos saw as a fan and the wrestler he had envisioned she could become had finally met.
He figured it would make for a hell of a show.
Present Day
Jon M. Huntsman Center
Salt Lake City, Utah
Emmy arrived VERY early to Utah. So much so that she was there when the ring crew and all were setting up the ring and all the bells and whistles for Proving Ground. She had even hijacked a camera crew once the ring had been assembled, standing dead center in it as she recorded a message. She didn’t smile much, the confident swagger that Emmy was noted for was toned down considerably. Even so, her voice was clear, her body language was firm. There was no doubt that anything the woman was about to say was coming from the heart.
I like getting to the arena a day early when possible, especially when they put the ring together. Every time a ring is built, it’s built differently in some respect. Some minor details change. You may find a soft spot here, maybe the ropes aren’t as tight, things of that nature.
Hey, Tara. Proving Ground seems to be in a very strange place right now. Very strange rivalries, a General Manager’s tenure that seems to be teetering towards absolute chaos. People losing their shit and getting fired. So many different things going on, even a switch to the people participating in our tournament since Meathead Supreme got himself fired. But here we sit, both of us on five points apiece, both of us with a chance to put this little round robin in a stranglehold. I don’t tend to ask for Project Honor or the Proving Ground staff to do much for me other than make sure my check is in the mail, but I wanted them to make sure that this message not only reached you but reached all the fans out there who have been curious about what’s going on. “Emmy’s not in the best shape. Emmy’s gotten quiet on Twitter. Is she okay for this match? Is she a little intimidated since she lost to Fenix before?”
I asked for some of this company’s valuable time to address a few things. These are some things that I can’t just sit on, even though I realize that this is one of the most important matches I’ve had in this company. More important than beating Oasis for the Warrior Rising title, more important than winning the Seven Gates of Hell match. Even more important to me than our match in the Tokyo Dome. There have always been critics, cynics when it comes to what I can do in the ring. There have been a good many people who have written me off to find out that I’m just as capable as any of the top-tier wrestlers you can find around the world. There’s one critic that I can’t seem to satisfy. One person that I’ll never fully convince that I should be doing this:
Myself.
I know this comes as a huge shock to many of you watching on your phones or at home. I bet it comes as a massive shock to you, Tara. Yes, I love all the shit that wrestling has to offer me as far as perks of the job. I love the travel, the women, the booze, the notoriety, all the Fast Lane living that comes with what we do. I’m addicted to the grind too. I had to learn that sort of thing. It wasn’t embedded in my psyche from some early age to appreciate wrestling the way I do now. I wasn’t some kid who watched wrestling growing up. I can count on one hand how many shows I attended or even watched on television before I started training. But the more time I spend doing this thing, the more I start to obsess over little details. You see, I can accept losing to a degree. It happens. Hell, I’ve lost more in a month in Project Honor than I did in an entire year in another company. If someone was just better than me, I can accept that.
When I lost to you, I don’t feel like you were the better woman that night. I don’t mean that as any bit of disrespect. I went in confident, not thinking that you would bring the fight as strong and as heavy as you did. I was prepared. My game plan was working perfectly, everything was going the way I wanted it! But one fuck up doomed a title reign that I had worked so hard for. One mistake had screwed up everything I had planned for the title.
A whole night of action between us, an epic title match and you were better than me for literally one second. That’s very difficult for a woman of my intelligence to take, you know.
I expected you to carry on my legacy with the title, use the Warrior Rising championship as a springboard to bigger and better things. I was counting on YOU to make the Warrior Rising Championship even more prestigious, to continue my work. But you LOST IT TO LIL FREAKIN PETEY!? I mean, I’ve got nothing but love for the guys in Big Drip even though we clashed a lot over that title but what the hell? How do you beat me and fall at the first hurdle, girl!? You make me look bad by association here! I’m not mad, but I am very much annoyed.
I have replayed the match in my head over and over again. There have not been many losses I’ve taken quite as personally as I have this one, Tara. The thing is, I want to hate you. I want to tell you to go to hell when you say encouraging things on Twitter. I want to sock you in the fucking face anytime I’ve seen you. I watch your matches and hope that you lose just out of pettiness. But when it comes to taking what you did personally and trying to start a vendetta over it...I just can’t. I find ways to let it go, to respect you for doing exactly what you said you were going to do and take the Warrior Rising Championship from me. I’ve actually started to like you as a person. I don’t want to wish bad luck on you or see you fail. I want you to rise up just as fast and just as hard as I want to. When I get to the top of the proverbial Mount Everest here, it wouldn’t hurt my feelings to see you planting your flag right next to mine at the summit.
The problem is that we can’t get to the top at the same time right now. We’re in this tournament, which now has a new wrinkle to it with Lance going bye-bye and a new player slotted into his place. We know what the scores are and we both know that the winner here, if there is one, is in the driver’s seat to win this thing on the last day. We both know what’s at stake. I’ve been on record saying that I’m taking this one match at a time, one day at a time. There’s something else that I’ve been doing lately that seems to work when it comes to this tournament and just wrestling in general: block out the noise. When I had to go against Lance Williams, I kept hearing about his size advantage, his position in the company after losing his title to Myojin, his beef with Indy, I could go on and on and on. I tuned out all the bullshit going on. I just focused on finding a way to get a win against Lance and I did just that. Now, you come into the picture. Everyone wants to talk about this being a chance at “revenge” for what happened in the Dome.
While my ego would take great satisfaction in avenging that loss, I know that I can’t obsess over something that’s already been done. Even though I’m focused on winning and will put everything into beating you, I’m not going to give you the power of me being obsessed over that slip up anymore. I will definitely look for payback but I will not fight you in such a stupid, reckless fashion that you get another win as a result of me making my personal satisfaction more important than the task at hand. This business has taught me a lot in my short tenure in it. Everything doesn’t have to be spelled out completely, you know? Things can be fluid. I can respect you and appreciate you for your kind words and athletic ability, but I can hold you accountable for a broken promise to uphold the standard of the title that forever links our careers to each other. I can have the fire, the urgency required to win a match like this but also appreciate that there is still another match that I have to prepare for and that my hopes and dreams don’t come to an end with a defeat. I can go out there and tear the house down and put on a show for the fans and for Proving Ground...but I can also take any liberties I see fit to ensure victory for myself. I think the last time I fought you, I gave a little too much respect. Not in the sense of fearing you or anything, but in the sense I didn’t treat you like I would just about any man or woman I’ve been in the ring with otherwise. Best believe that once that bell rings, any fondness I have for you and any respect for what you’ve accomplished in this industry will mean diddly squat. The ring is not a sacred place to me; I’m more than willing to sin to get it in if you know what I mean.
I have an opportunity to do something special to close out what I told everyone would be my monster year. In this company and in another, I have a chance to pick up silverware and the opportunity to challenge for gold again. To start the year being a champion and to end it holding a trophy would be a statement of the consistency, the legitimacy that some people dare to say I lack. Beating you doesn’t clinch the trophy here on Proving Ground, but it takes me one massive step away from collecting another big payday. At Night of Honor, I learned that the price of winning in this company against opposition like you is pretty steep.
When we meet this time, you’re going to learn that I have learned that I’m more than willing to pay any price to get what’s coming to me. And what’s coming to me, Tara?
The world, chica, and everything in it.