Post by emmanuelle on Nov 11, 2021 23:56:02 GMT -5
I remember the last time I was in a cup final. It may surprise a lot of you that it wasn’t in a pro wrestling ring or the basketball court or anything like that. The last time I had a chance to win a trophy was in college. I played for four years at UCLA on their Water Polo team. For those of you who have never seen it, think of an indoor soccer game but in an Olympic swimming pool. It was a long, difficult road for the girls who were in my senior class. We had worked our asses off to make it to the National Championship game our first two years, coming up short both times. We hit a snag our third year, but in our senior year we roared back into the final. Unfortunately, our old nemesis from Stanford was waiting. And we lost. We failed to end our careers on a high and restore the winning tradition that we had the decade before. We would leave empty-handed again. The younger girls, the ones who still had games to play down the road, were hurting but managed to accept the loss. There were no more games for us seniors. Our captain and my roommate at the time, she had given all she had. We just took one look at each other and she broke down in tears. I mean for fuck sake, this girl was almost a shoe-in to be on the Olympic team, there would at least be some other games to play! Here I was, a seldom used substitute, comforting a battle-hardened team captain who was coming to grips that the end of her college career was at hand. The team bonding nights, the road trips, the competition. All of it was done. What do you tell someone who is dealing with that reality, that FINALITY? Nothing. I just held her there for about thirty minutes until we had the strength to go get cleaned up and changed.
I asked her about it a while after we had graduated. She wasn’t upset that it was over for her. She was upset because she felt like she had failed US, her fellow seniors, to lead us to a title. That’s the kind of responsibility that she openly placed on her shoulders and I may never respect a single person in regard to athletics more in my life because of that.
Okay, some of you probably watching this are like “Emmy, get to the fuckin’ point, will ya? What’s this all about?” The point is that I REMEMBER. I remember losses pretty easily. I remembered all those quiet bus rides home in junior high when we lost a basketball game...and the coach’s not so polite response when anyone dared to crack a joke or smile during those rides. Shit I remember losing a game of badminton to my gym teacher who I thought was a total nerd. I remember every loss we had at UCLA, granted those were rare for us. But that loss, that kind of finality and heartbreak rolled into one package, it sticks with you. You don’t FEAR it because you’ve already experienced it once before. Every time I lace up my wrestling boots and prepare to fight in that squared circle, I realize that my time in the ring could be done in an instant and I’d have to find a new way to make money...if I survive. Every time I go to a ring, I go with that memory, those images in my mind.
I make a promise to myself and my former teammates that every time I go into that ring, I refuse to feel that sort of pain ever again. And now with a trophy just moments from my grasp, I refuse to let anyone stand in the way of claiming it. Not Lance Williams, Not Brandon Hendrix. Not Percival. Not Tara. Not a goddamn soul.
November 8, 2021
Paradise Gentlemen’s Club
City of Industry, California
There was just something about strip clubs that made Emmy feel at ease. Even among some of the sleaziest assholes in a given city, she felt right at home with all the lights and all the beautiful women who would entertain. There were times of course where she would have to play a cameo role as a bouncer when certain patrons got too pushy with the girls and whatnot but why not lend a hand when she could? She would be the one any horny, stupid man would least suspect: more than pretty, athletic and enticing enough to be a stripper if she so chose with a voice as sweet as a wedding cake. Who would think that she could throw around men twice her size with little effort or land a strike to the nose or balls of some idiot to the point they would either squeal in an octave not usually possible for a man or be left a bloody mess? In short order, Emmy became a bit of a legend in California’s gentlemen’s “establishments” among fellow patrons and the entertainers alike. It was hardly a problem for her to get VIP seating and treatment straight away.
Such treatment was on tap as she was settled in on a large, plush couch, a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve bourbon on a table beside her. It was a pain in the ass for just about anyone to get (priced at over $5000 a bottle) but when the Platinum Standard comes around, people attempting to curry goodwill tend to elevate their game. The only two people in the room at this time were Emmy, of course, and Delilah, the woman stripping for her. Emmy, a shameless sucker for any woman with red hair and blue eyes, and Delilah, a lifelong wrestling fan, hit it off instantaneously. In an unusual way the two had become fast friends. Delilah could easily tell when Emmy was angry or happy when most people couldn’t. Still sporting her sky-blue lace lingerie, she settled herself onto Emmy’s lap before leaning in to whisper.
“Emmy, I’m afraid if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you this instant I’ll be forced to smother you with a pillow.”
“...Am I THAT out of it?”
“Girl, you were in outer space there for a second. You didn’t even take one look at my ass before I sat down.”
“I don’t want to bore you with it. It’s kinda complicated. You probably want to go out there and get some other-”
“Aww bullshit. Nobody out there tips more than you anyway. Plus I’m your friend. Granted I put on freaky dances for you and you pay, but just because we have a healthy personal relationship doesn’t mean I can’t help!”
“Fine…..Well, I have a tournament final coming up. Okay, not a “final” per se, but what could be a final round. Me and this woman are tied on points and could face each other again if stuff works out. I haven’t beaten her yet, but I’ve gotten close. I had her in that last match! I was THIS CLOSE to making her tap but the time limit hit.”
“I saw. So, what’s the problem?”
“First I have to beat this big walking muscle-head guy Hendrix again. He’s not terrible either. The guy’s got a lot of losses to his name but he’s a hell of a competitor. I’d have to be careful to not use a lot of energy to beat him just in case I have to go all out for a tiebreaker later on in the evening.”
“What’s bothering you then? I mean, it seems like you’ve already got your strategy in mind for trying to win this tournament. What’s troubling you?”
“I think I’m starting to get addicted to wrestling. I think I’m starting to get more excited about being in matches like this. When I first started, I was looking at things more as a job. Right now I’m thinking more and more about things as fun. I joined up to do wrestling as a way to make money, not as a lifestyle choice. I didn’t expect to actually become friendly with someone who has become my biggest obstacle to success in Project: Honor. The job is starting to become more than just a job and I’m not sure I can deal with that.”
The redhead sat in thought for a moment before shifting herself so that she was facing away from Emmy, her height making it so that she could still whisper in her ear, even as she started to give her a lap dance.
“Look, in some ways I can relate. Being a stripper’s actually fun sometimes. A little too fun. Sometimes you get a...hmm...taste for certain clients.”
Emmy knew what was coming and she didn’t bother to stop it. All she did was smirk when she felt that slippery little tongue tip tease right over the side of her neck, triggering a pleased hum.
“Easy now……”
The redhead didn’t mind when she felt a pair of hands gliding along her hips and over her thighs. Sure, there was a no-touch policy in place, but such minute details didn’t matter when the two were having their fun. Things never got completely out of hand, but boundaries were always pressed. Just how both of them liked it.
“Every once in a while I dip my toes in the deep end, see what I can get away with, but I always remember that this is a job first. The bag always comes first. Yes, you can be friends. Yeah, you can have fun doing what you do for work. But never mix business and other things to the point you can’t do your job.”
The seductive dance finally came to an end and the woman effortlessly rose to her feet after spending the better part of ten minutes getting Emmy to relax.
“You should pay me for being a therapist, you know.”
“I pay you fucking enough as it is. Booking you isn’t cheap.”
“Damn right it’s not.”
“Delilah...thank you. I kinda needed that reminder. You know, wrestling and stripping seem to have a good bit in common. You could probably do well in it if you wanted to, you know, leave this behind?”
“Meh, You forget I know what you all put your body through on a daily basis. I don’t mind it here. There’s a dickhead here and there to deal with and it’s not exactly wonderful on the resume but it’s not a bad life if you’re good at it and I’m DAMN good.”
“Suit yourself.”
“So...you’re back to your regular self. I can see that little Emmy smirk going on again. Are we all cheered up and focused now?”
“Focused, yes. Buuuuuuut...I dunno….I think I could use a little cheering up.”
Emmy leaned back on the couch again, sipping her bourbon as Delilah jokingly rolled her eyes.
“I fucking spoil you, Emmy.”
The blonde grinned as she watched that lace bra loosen and eventually fall to the tile floor.
“I know.”
Clash for the Cup is the culmination of a month-long journey between five competitors. The recently fired Lance Williams, his appointed replacement Percival, Emmanuelle, Brain Hendrix and Tara Fenix have all given every bit of effort they could muster to try and lift the inaugural Clive Darling Memorial Cup. As it stands now with Tara and Emmanuelle tied on eight points, victory for both could mean a trilogy bout between the two rising Proving Ground superstars. Tara was able to triumph in the Tokyo Dome with the Warrior Rising Championship on the line, but Emmy nearly returned the favor when the two squared off in the second fixture of this round robin tournament. The California native had a submission hold locked in tight in the dying seconds but couldn’t produce a victory. Thus, the two shared spoils on the night. This time, there will be no shared glory. The two of them, provided both are victorious by way of pinfall or submission in their respective matches, could collide head on in a playoff final. Not that Emmy seems concerned about the idea. In fact, most of her ire and attention is rightly on the young colossus that is Brandon Hendrix.
“When I look at Brandon Hendrix, I see someone who should be a star. I see someone so big, so physically gifted that he should be fighting at the top of the card no matter what company he’s in. He’s shown flashes of brilliance here and there as far as Project Honor and our Proving Ground brand in particular is concerned. But those are only flashes. It’s not a body of work that stands the test of time. His resume is not something you can build a legitimate career around, a legitimate claim to glory. I told him the first time that he and I crossed paths that it would not go well for him, that he would be embarrassed. What happened? The big man, the guy who should be dominating this tournament but has been upstaged by two little women, went to sleep. I could almost feel him drooling on my arm after he passed out. But you want to know the most ridiculous, asinine thing about what happened that day was? When he took to social media to explain away his loss...HE BLAMED MY HYGIENE ON TWITTER! HE SAID I WAS TOO SMELLY FOR HIM TO COMPETE AGAINST! Are..are you kidding me? The whole thing comes off as so ridiculous. When he got offensive moves in I must have been smelling like roses or something, right? That, THAT kind of childish behavior right there tells me straight away that he isn’t ready for something like this opportunity and that’s definitely part of the reason that he finds himself in this position right now. What position am I talking about? Third place on the table. But I do have to respect him though. As I’ve said, he has ability. He has a massive size difference to work with against someone as small as I am. Furthermore, he’s probably going to come into this match desperate as hell. I’m sure that even someone like him can do basic math. He knows that in order to have ANY remote chance of clinching the cup he has to beat me and he has to beat me in the middle of what my trainer used to call the “cerulean blue”. Cutting corners to try to get a cheap win doesn’t help him at all. He HAS to be decisive. I’m sure some of the people out there are like “Well don’t YOU have to go all out, Emmy?” Probably so. I know that any slip-up here can be capitalized on. But I also know that something weird could happen in the match with Tara/Percival that could see me get the trophy anyway. I at least have that little ray of hope. Because of his previous fuck-up, Brandon has none.”
“Where he’s at, I’ve already been. There were points when I was struggling to the point I wondered if I could be here. I lost my first singles match to Cadillac Jackson. He’s a good wrestler, but someone I know I can beat. The first time opportunity came my way here in the form of the X-Factor Championship tournament. I was beaten by Aiden Reynolds. Some of the pundits applauded my effort, fans were clapping saying shit like “Good job, Emmy! Don’t give up!” I didn’t hear any of it though. I was still very frustrated. I wanted to go home. Go back to WrestleWorld. Go anywhere but here. But the opportunity that closed opened another door: The Warrior Rising Championship. I caught Scott Oasis on one of those weird days where he doesn’t give a fuck and POW! New Champion. Then I went into my little slump where I lost the Warrior Rising Championship. I had fallen into a rough place. My titles were gone, my hair was gone. I had plenty of reason to just stop right there and call it a day. But I kept going fucking anyway. Even after I was beaten for my title, I still had enough pride, enough belief to BEAT BRANDON HENDRIX. Then this tournament started and I kept up the momentum with another win against another heavy hitter, Lance Williams, and my draw with Fenix. This is the difference between the two of us. When Brandon loses, he gets in his fucking feelings. And not in a good way. When people like me lose they get angry. They get driven. They take what they’ve learned and apply it to the next situation they face. He is physically strong but mentally VERY, VERY soft. I plan on exploiting it any and every chance I get. What people don’t understand about this wrestling thing is that it’s just as much mental as it is physical. I’m not talking about putting on a goofy mask and sitting around in dark offices cutting promos or being legit axe-crazy motherfucker. I’m talking about having the willpower to persevere and keep struggling on. I look very much forward to seeing what Brandon’s learned from our last encounter. And...as a token of my sincere goodwill….”
(Emmy chuckles as she tosses a stick of clinical strength deodorant onto a nearby table.)
“I’m going to double down on my hygiene. Just for you, Brandon, I’ll be using CLINICAL STRENGTH deodorant just so there’s no excuses for you to make. With a victory against you, I know that the Cup will be well within reach. And I will reach over your enormous back and shoulders to get it if I have to. My record isn’t sparkling, even though I’m a member of the Ten Wins Club and all that, but I know damn well you have NOTHING to stand on. This Pay-Per-View, this match, it’s EVERYTHING for you. It’s YOUR main event. It’s YOUR opportunity to leave one last impression on people to say that Brandon Hendrix is a threat. For your sake I hope you’re ready to go. When that bell rings, I’m coming at you with everything. Like a surgeon, brother, I will cut my way through you to get to the top.”
The pain of failures past burns deep in Emmanuelle. Collegiate athletics, personal setbacks, losses in the ring. Second place is not an acceptable finish. Anything that doesn’t end with her lifting the prize on offer constitutes failure. There are no places for moral victories or excuses. That’s the philosophy that defines her life both in and out of the wrestling ring...and it’s that philosophy that drives her forward as she makes her push to make her biggest Proving Ground Splash to date.
“I don’t like losing. Honestly, I hate ties even more. Now, if everything falls into place like many believe, I’ll be relieved of that worry when I wrestle Tara for everything. I’m not even going to bother wondering what could be if I had beaten her or if I had done this differently. There’s no point worrying about it now. The only thing that matters right now is making good of the opportunity that lies in front of me. With a shiny piece of silver, a girl from California can change her stars and shake Proving Ground to it’s very core. I could rescue the Warrior Rising Championship and reinvigorate my vision for it as not a newcomer’s title, not a “low card title”, but a title that would be so desperately sought after that outsiders away from Project: Honor would thrust themselves forward to try to take it from me. I could make a dream match of mine with Myojin, should he hold onto his X-Factor Championship. I KNOW that he would love to revisit our match from a while ago and I would definitely like to see if I’m still able to beat him like I was able to before. That title would only sweeten the pot if that’s the match. And then there’s just saying fuck it and go straight to the big dogs, the BIG title. I’ve seen the big lug up close and personal a couple of times and it would indeed be a scary proposition to take it from him. But he’s got his own worries at the moment and may not be the champion come the end of Clash of the Cup. That particular honor could fall on a number of men. There’s one in particular whose name I will not even bother saying who makes me feel genuine disgust whenever I see him. If he’s the one holding the title at the end...I will definitely go for the Grand Championship.``
“As you can see, Tara, I have some plans and ideas swirling through my head if I win this thing. I don’t have any particular title in mind to challenge for yet. But, in all honesty, I want you to win your match. I don’t think you’ll have much of a problem doing it either. In my eyes, this tournament, with all due respect to Indy’s late father, won’t mean a damn thing if I can’t beat you. When you GIVE YOURSELF the #1 Tag, when pundits and fans and your peers, including yourself, let you know that you’re up next in their eyes, the only way to wear such a tag is to beat EVERYONE put in front of you. I’ve beaten a lot of people. Christopher Sabertooth. Stephanie Matsuda. Arata Asakura, damn near every member of Big Drip I think, Lance Williams, Scott Oasis….but my list isn’t complete, my TOURNAMENT is not complete if I don’t beat you, darling. Without beating you, without beating everyone involved in this tournament, that trophy could be made of platinum and diamonds and be absolutely worthless to me...and I’m a girl who really loves her gems and precious metals!”
“Sure, I can take the trophy home if you stumble and I win. But that would be too Premier League. That would be too easy. That wouldn’t give the same level of satisfaction of pinning your shoulders to the mat or making you quit. That wouldn’t give the same level of satisfaction of seeing that same look of bewilderment and frustration that I had in my eyes after you beat me in the Tokyo Dome in your eyes in the Moda Center. I hope that this doesn’t come across as being personal in the sense that I have this hatred or a grudge against you. None of that. I respect you enough to not even look at it in such a fashion. I’ve had plenty of fights since I’ve gotten into this business, this sport, that were personal, bloody and had more to do with vengeance than competition. For the first time in a long time, shit maybe the only time, I feel on level footing with someone in every respect. Charisma, confidence, speed, power, technique. We are equals. And the best way for me to prove that is by making our record against each other have that perfect balance. You had your massive win in the Tokyo Dome. We had our fifteen-minute Broadway. Now it’s time for me to make sure the record books reflect what you know and I know: I can beat you just as easily as you can beat me any day. Take care of your business and I’ll take care of mine. We’ll meet at the summit with both of our flags waving high….but I guarantee you mine will stand taller this Sunday.”
November 11, 2021
The 1905
Portland, Oregon
Father and daughter sat in the cozy, intimate restaurant, dining on some of the best authentic pizza Emmy had ever tasted outside of her mother’s birthplace of Italy. Her father was one of those older guys who wore his sunglasses inside. Impeccably dressed, skinny and not tall enough to be physically imposing but tall enough to tower over his daughter. The Japanese man had greying but healthy hair and a face that seemed imposing when first encountered but was more than capable of smiles and laughter.
“I’m pleased that you decided to answer my call for a change. It’s not every day that a busy father gets an opportunity to spend time with a busy daughter. When you’re getting up there in age like I am, these are truly moments to treasure.”
“I’m glad we could meet up. I know things kind of cooled off when I left to start training for wrestling and all, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you or Mom.”
“Heh. You’re not the only headstrong one in our family, Emmy. You know the stories I told you when you were young about the life I used to live and how I had to be. It took a long time for me to figure out I was doing things the wrong way. I got cleaned up, I got myself right after meeting your mother and I’ve been building an empire ever since...an empire you seem to want no part of.”
“Well, just like YOU didn’t want things handed to you when you were a younger man, I don’t want things handed to ME, Papa. I’m proud of the business I’m in, the businesses I’ve started without attaching myself to everything you do. Maybe when the time comes when you and Mom settle down and my wrestling is done...but for now, don’t even try to convince me.”
“....I see. In a way, I’m glad that you’re independent. Most people would be more than happy to latch on to other people’s success, family or not, and just coast. You want to forge your own way and that’s good. Just remember your family, that’s all I ask.”
“Of course! Why didn’t Mom come with you, by the way? I know you’re on business out here but she usually goes with you.”
“She’s visiting family in San Francisco. Apparently one of her cousins from Sicily has come to America for the first time so they’re having a get-together to celebrate.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
The older man offered a sly grin after taking a sip of his drink.
“I don’t get along well with Itallians.”
“Ha! You got along well enough with Mom for her to pop me out!”
“Duly noted. It’s mainly because of something that you and your mother share: Determined Passion. When the two of you fixate on something, her with family and religion and you with your businesses and wrestling, it’s almost impossible to stop you. You have all of your good traits and thankfully none of mine.”
“So the cravings for bourbon and scotch come from my straight-arrow mom, huh?”
“....I didn’t know that you liked bourbon.”
“It’s an acquired taste, I guess….I do hope that one day you and mom are both able to see me wrestle. The whole time I’ve been in sports and stuff, both of you were so busy. Most kids had both of their parents at different things. I was lucky to have one of you guys. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy with my childhood and all...but I really want one day for you both to be at something for me.”
“I’ll talk to your mother about it.”
Father and daughter spent the rest of their impromptu dinner date in near silence. There was not much of a need to say anything. They simply took the time to enjoy one another’s company. While Emmy got her dramatic flair and discipline from her mother, her father taught her how to think, how to enjoy even the smallest of moments. She knew that time spent with family was precious to him and that was probably one of the reasons he initially objected to her pursuing a career in professional wrestling and traveling. But when the old man saw his little girl on television the rare times he would tune in to watch her matches, even he couldn’t deny that his little girl was a budding star.
He was sure that sooner rather than later, she would have her time to shine. Even though the words probably wouldn’t be spoken for a long time, he was infinitely proud of her not only for doing so well but sticking to her choice when things were difficult.
That pride in her somehow made the pizza and liquor he had taste even better that night.
I asked her about it a while after we had graduated. She wasn’t upset that it was over for her. She was upset because she felt like she had failed US, her fellow seniors, to lead us to a title. That’s the kind of responsibility that she openly placed on her shoulders and I may never respect a single person in regard to athletics more in my life because of that.
Okay, some of you probably watching this are like “Emmy, get to the fuckin’ point, will ya? What’s this all about?” The point is that I REMEMBER. I remember losses pretty easily. I remembered all those quiet bus rides home in junior high when we lost a basketball game...and the coach’s not so polite response when anyone dared to crack a joke or smile during those rides. Shit I remember losing a game of badminton to my gym teacher who I thought was a total nerd. I remember every loss we had at UCLA, granted those were rare for us. But that loss, that kind of finality and heartbreak rolled into one package, it sticks with you. You don’t FEAR it because you’ve already experienced it once before. Every time I lace up my wrestling boots and prepare to fight in that squared circle, I realize that my time in the ring could be done in an instant and I’d have to find a new way to make money...if I survive. Every time I go to a ring, I go with that memory, those images in my mind.
I make a promise to myself and my former teammates that every time I go into that ring, I refuse to feel that sort of pain ever again. And now with a trophy just moments from my grasp, I refuse to let anyone stand in the way of claiming it. Not Lance Williams, Not Brandon Hendrix. Not Percival. Not Tara. Not a goddamn soul.
November 8, 2021
Paradise Gentlemen’s Club
City of Industry, California
There was just something about strip clubs that made Emmy feel at ease. Even among some of the sleaziest assholes in a given city, she felt right at home with all the lights and all the beautiful women who would entertain. There were times of course where she would have to play a cameo role as a bouncer when certain patrons got too pushy with the girls and whatnot but why not lend a hand when she could? She would be the one any horny, stupid man would least suspect: more than pretty, athletic and enticing enough to be a stripper if she so chose with a voice as sweet as a wedding cake. Who would think that she could throw around men twice her size with little effort or land a strike to the nose or balls of some idiot to the point they would either squeal in an octave not usually possible for a man or be left a bloody mess? In short order, Emmy became a bit of a legend in California’s gentlemen’s “establishments” among fellow patrons and the entertainers alike. It was hardly a problem for her to get VIP seating and treatment straight away.
Such treatment was on tap as she was settled in on a large, plush couch, a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve bourbon on a table beside her. It was a pain in the ass for just about anyone to get (priced at over $5000 a bottle) but when the Platinum Standard comes around, people attempting to curry goodwill tend to elevate their game. The only two people in the room at this time were Emmy, of course, and Delilah, the woman stripping for her. Emmy, a shameless sucker for any woman with red hair and blue eyes, and Delilah, a lifelong wrestling fan, hit it off instantaneously. In an unusual way the two had become fast friends. Delilah could easily tell when Emmy was angry or happy when most people couldn’t. Still sporting her sky-blue lace lingerie, she settled herself onto Emmy’s lap before leaning in to whisper.
“Emmy, I’m afraid if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you this instant I’ll be forced to smother you with a pillow.”
“...Am I THAT out of it?”
“Girl, you were in outer space there for a second. You didn’t even take one look at my ass before I sat down.”
“I don’t want to bore you with it. It’s kinda complicated. You probably want to go out there and get some other-”
“Aww bullshit. Nobody out there tips more than you anyway. Plus I’m your friend. Granted I put on freaky dances for you and you pay, but just because we have a healthy personal relationship doesn’t mean I can’t help!”
“Fine…..Well, I have a tournament final coming up. Okay, not a “final” per se, but what could be a final round. Me and this woman are tied on points and could face each other again if stuff works out. I haven’t beaten her yet, but I’ve gotten close. I had her in that last match! I was THIS CLOSE to making her tap but the time limit hit.”
“I saw. So, what’s the problem?”
“First I have to beat this big walking muscle-head guy Hendrix again. He’s not terrible either. The guy’s got a lot of losses to his name but he’s a hell of a competitor. I’d have to be careful to not use a lot of energy to beat him just in case I have to go all out for a tiebreaker later on in the evening.”
“What’s bothering you then? I mean, it seems like you’ve already got your strategy in mind for trying to win this tournament. What’s troubling you?”
“I think I’m starting to get addicted to wrestling. I think I’m starting to get more excited about being in matches like this. When I first started, I was looking at things more as a job. Right now I’m thinking more and more about things as fun. I joined up to do wrestling as a way to make money, not as a lifestyle choice. I didn’t expect to actually become friendly with someone who has become my biggest obstacle to success in Project: Honor. The job is starting to become more than just a job and I’m not sure I can deal with that.”
The redhead sat in thought for a moment before shifting herself so that she was facing away from Emmy, her height making it so that she could still whisper in her ear, even as she started to give her a lap dance.
“Look, in some ways I can relate. Being a stripper’s actually fun sometimes. A little too fun. Sometimes you get a...hmm...taste for certain clients.”
Emmy knew what was coming and she didn’t bother to stop it. All she did was smirk when she felt that slippery little tongue tip tease right over the side of her neck, triggering a pleased hum.
“Easy now……”
The redhead didn’t mind when she felt a pair of hands gliding along her hips and over her thighs. Sure, there was a no-touch policy in place, but such minute details didn’t matter when the two were having their fun. Things never got completely out of hand, but boundaries were always pressed. Just how both of them liked it.
“Every once in a while I dip my toes in the deep end, see what I can get away with, but I always remember that this is a job first. The bag always comes first. Yes, you can be friends. Yeah, you can have fun doing what you do for work. But never mix business and other things to the point you can’t do your job.”
The seductive dance finally came to an end and the woman effortlessly rose to her feet after spending the better part of ten minutes getting Emmy to relax.
“You should pay me for being a therapist, you know.”
“I pay you fucking enough as it is. Booking you isn’t cheap.”
“Damn right it’s not.”
“Delilah...thank you. I kinda needed that reminder. You know, wrestling and stripping seem to have a good bit in common. You could probably do well in it if you wanted to, you know, leave this behind?”
“Meh, You forget I know what you all put your body through on a daily basis. I don’t mind it here. There’s a dickhead here and there to deal with and it’s not exactly wonderful on the resume but it’s not a bad life if you’re good at it and I’m DAMN good.”
“Suit yourself.”
“So...you’re back to your regular self. I can see that little Emmy smirk going on again. Are we all cheered up and focused now?”
“Focused, yes. Buuuuuuut...I dunno….I think I could use a little cheering up.”
Emmy leaned back on the couch again, sipping her bourbon as Delilah jokingly rolled her eyes.
“I fucking spoil you, Emmy.”
The blonde grinned as she watched that lace bra loosen and eventually fall to the tile floor.
“I know.”
Clash for the Cup is the culmination of a month-long journey between five competitors. The recently fired Lance Williams, his appointed replacement Percival, Emmanuelle, Brain Hendrix and Tara Fenix have all given every bit of effort they could muster to try and lift the inaugural Clive Darling Memorial Cup. As it stands now with Tara and Emmanuelle tied on eight points, victory for both could mean a trilogy bout between the two rising Proving Ground superstars. Tara was able to triumph in the Tokyo Dome with the Warrior Rising Championship on the line, but Emmy nearly returned the favor when the two squared off in the second fixture of this round robin tournament. The California native had a submission hold locked in tight in the dying seconds but couldn’t produce a victory. Thus, the two shared spoils on the night. This time, there will be no shared glory. The two of them, provided both are victorious by way of pinfall or submission in their respective matches, could collide head on in a playoff final. Not that Emmy seems concerned about the idea. In fact, most of her ire and attention is rightly on the young colossus that is Brandon Hendrix.
“When I look at Brandon Hendrix, I see someone who should be a star. I see someone so big, so physically gifted that he should be fighting at the top of the card no matter what company he’s in. He’s shown flashes of brilliance here and there as far as Project Honor and our Proving Ground brand in particular is concerned. But those are only flashes. It’s not a body of work that stands the test of time. His resume is not something you can build a legitimate career around, a legitimate claim to glory. I told him the first time that he and I crossed paths that it would not go well for him, that he would be embarrassed. What happened? The big man, the guy who should be dominating this tournament but has been upstaged by two little women, went to sleep. I could almost feel him drooling on my arm after he passed out. But you want to know the most ridiculous, asinine thing about what happened that day was? When he took to social media to explain away his loss...HE BLAMED MY HYGIENE ON TWITTER! HE SAID I WAS TOO SMELLY FOR HIM TO COMPETE AGAINST! Are..are you kidding me? The whole thing comes off as so ridiculous. When he got offensive moves in I must have been smelling like roses or something, right? That, THAT kind of childish behavior right there tells me straight away that he isn’t ready for something like this opportunity and that’s definitely part of the reason that he finds himself in this position right now. What position am I talking about? Third place on the table. But I do have to respect him though. As I’ve said, he has ability. He has a massive size difference to work with against someone as small as I am. Furthermore, he’s probably going to come into this match desperate as hell. I’m sure that even someone like him can do basic math. He knows that in order to have ANY remote chance of clinching the cup he has to beat me and he has to beat me in the middle of what my trainer used to call the “cerulean blue”. Cutting corners to try to get a cheap win doesn’t help him at all. He HAS to be decisive. I’m sure some of the people out there are like “Well don’t YOU have to go all out, Emmy?” Probably so. I know that any slip-up here can be capitalized on. But I also know that something weird could happen in the match with Tara/Percival that could see me get the trophy anyway. I at least have that little ray of hope. Because of his previous fuck-up, Brandon has none.”
“Where he’s at, I’ve already been. There were points when I was struggling to the point I wondered if I could be here. I lost my first singles match to Cadillac Jackson. He’s a good wrestler, but someone I know I can beat. The first time opportunity came my way here in the form of the X-Factor Championship tournament. I was beaten by Aiden Reynolds. Some of the pundits applauded my effort, fans were clapping saying shit like “Good job, Emmy! Don’t give up!” I didn’t hear any of it though. I was still very frustrated. I wanted to go home. Go back to WrestleWorld. Go anywhere but here. But the opportunity that closed opened another door: The Warrior Rising Championship. I caught Scott Oasis on one of those weird days where he doesn’t give a fuck and POW! New Champion. Then I went into my little slump where I lost the Warrior Rising Championship. I had fallen into a rough place. My titles were gone, my hair was gone. I had plenty of reason to just stop right there and call it a day. But I kept going fucking anyway. Even after I was beaten for my title, I still had enough pride, enough belief to BEAT BRANDON HENDRIX. Then this tournament started and I kept up the momentum with another win against another heavy hitter, Lance Williams, and my draw with Fenix. This is the difference between the two of us. When Brandon loses, he gets in his fucking feelings. And not in a good way. When people like me lose they get angry. They get driven. They take what they’ve learned and apply it to the next situation they face. He is physically strong but mentally VERY, VERY soft. I plan on exploiting it any and every chance I get. What people don’t understand about this wrestling thing is that it’s just as much mental as it is physical. I’m not talking about putting on a goofy mask and sitting around in dark offices cutting promos or being legit axe-crazy motherfucker. I’m talking about having the willpower to persevere and keep struggling on. I look very much forward to seeing what Brandon’s learned from our last encounter. And...as a token of my sincere goodwill….”
(Emmy chuckles as she tosses a stick of clinical strength deodorant onto a nearby table.)
“I’m going to double down on my hygiene. Just for you, Brandon, I’ll be using CLINICAL STRENGTH deodorant just so there’s no excuses for you to make. With a victory against you, I know that the Cup will be well within reach. And I will reach over your enormous back and shoulders to get it if I have to. My record isn’t sparkling, even though I’m a member of the Ten Wins Club and all that, but I know damn well you have NOTHING to stand on. This Pay-Per-View, this match, it’s EVERYTHING for you. It’s YOUR main event. It’s YOUR opportunity to leave one last impression on people to say that Brandon Hendrix is a threat. For your sake I hope you’re ready to go. When that bell rings, I’m coming at you with everything. Like a surgeon, brother, I will cut my way through you to get to the top.”
The pain of failures past burns deep in Emmanuelle. Collegiate athletics, personal setbacks, losses in the ring. Second place is not an acceptable finish. Anything that doesn’t end with her lifting the prize on offer constitutes failure. There are no places for moral victories or excuses. That’s the philosophy that defines her life both in and out of the wrestling ring...and it’s that philosophy that drives her forward as she makes her push to make her biggest Proving Ground Splash to date.
“I don’t like losing. Honestly, I hate ties even more. Now, if everything falls into place like many believe, I’ll be relieved of that worry when I wrestle Tara for everything. I’m not even going to bother wondering what could be if I had beaten her or if I had done this differently. There’s no point worrying about it now. The only thing that matters right now is making good of the opportunity that lies in front of me. With a shiny piece of silver, a girl from California can change her stars and shake Proving Ground to it’s very core. I could rescue the Warrior Rising Championship and reinvigorate my vision for it as not a newcomer’s title, not a “low card title”, but a title that would be so desperately sought after that outsiders away from Project: Honor would thrust themselves forward to try to take it from me. I could make a dream match of mine with Myojin, should he hold onto his X-Factor Championship. I KNOW that he would love to revisit our match from a while ago and I would definitely like to see if I’m still able to beat him like I was able to before. That title would only sweeten the pot if that’s the match. And then there’s just saying fuck it and go straight to the big dogs, the BIG title. I’ve seen the big lug up close and personal a couple of times and it would indeed be a scary proposition to take it from him. But he’s got his own worries at the moment and may not be the champion come the end of Clash of the Cup. That particular honor could fall on a number of men. There’s one in particular whose name I will not even bother saying who makes me feel genuine disgust whenever I see him. If he’s the one holding the title at the end...I will definitely go for the Grand Championship.``
“As you can see, Tara, I have some plans and ideas swirling through my head if I win this thing. I don’t have any particular title in mind to challenge for yet. But, in all honesty, I want you to win your match. I don’t think you’ll have much of a problem doing it either. In my eyes, this tournament, with all due respect to Indy’s late father, won’t mean a damn thing if I can’t beat you. When you GIVE YOURSELF the #1 Tag, when pundits and fans and your peers, including yourself, let you know that you’re up next in their eyes, the only way to wear such a tag is to beat EVERYONE put in front of you. I’ve beaten a lot of people. Christopher Sabertooth. Stephanie Matsuda. Arata Asakura, damn near every member of Big Drip I think, Lance Williams, Scott Oasis….but my list isn’t complete, my TOURNAMENT is not complete if I don’t beat you, darling. Without beating you, without beating everyone involved in this tournament, that trophy could be made of platinum and diamonds and be absolutely worthless to me...and I’m a girl who really loves her gems and precious metals!”
“Sure, I can take the trophy home if you stumble and I win. But that would be too Premier League. That would be too easy. That wouldn’t give the same level of satisfaction of pinning your shoulders to the mat or making you quit. That wouldn’t give the same level of satisfaction of seeing that same look of bewilderment and frustration that I had in my eyes after you beat me in the Tokyo Dome in your eyes in the Moda Center. I hope that this doesn’t come across as being personal in the sense that I have this hatred or a grudge against you. None of that. I respect you enough to not even look at it in such a fashion. I’ve had plenty of fights since I’ve gotten into this business, this sport, that were personal, bloody and had more to do with vengeance than competition. For the first time in a long time, shit maybe the only time, I feel on level footing with someone in every respect. Charisma, confidence, speed, power, technique. We are equals. And the best way for me to prove that is by making our record against each other have that perfect balance. You had your massive win in the Tokyo Dome. We had our fifteen-minute Broadway. Now it’s time for me to make sure the record books reflect what you know and I know: I can beat you just as easily as you can beat me any day. Take care of your business and I’ll take care of mine. We’ll meet at the summit with both of our flags waving high….but I guarantee you mine will stand taller this Sunday.”
November 11, 2021
The 1905
Portland, Oregon
Father and daughter sat in the cozy, intimate restaurant, dining on some of the best authentic pizza Emmy had ever tasted outside of her mother’s birthplace of Italy. Her father was one of those older guys who wore his sunglasses inside. Impeccably dressed, skinny and not tall enough to be physically imposing but tall enough to tower over his daughter. The Japanese man had greying but healthy hair and a face that seemed imposing when first encountered but was more than capable of smiles and laughter.
“I’m pleased that you decided to answer my call for a change. It’s not every day that a busy father gets an opportunity to spend time with a busy daughter. When you’re getting up there in age like I am, these are truly moments to treasure.”
“I’m glad we could meet up. I know things kind of cooled off when I left to start training for wrestling and all, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you or Mom.”
“Heh. You’re not the only headstrong one in our family, Emmy. You know the stories I told you when you were young about the life I used to live and how I had to be. It took a long time for me to figure out I was doing things the wrong way. I got cleaned up, I got myself right after meeting your mother and I’ve been building an empire ever since...an empire you seem to want no part of.”
“Well, just like YOU didn’t want things handed to you when you were a younger man, I don’t want things handed to ME, Papa. I’m proud of the business I’m in, the businesses I’ve started without attaching myself to everything you do. Maybe when the time comes when you and Mom settle down and my wrestling is done...but for now, don’t even try to convince me.”
“....I see. In a way, I’m glad that you’re independent. Most people would be more than happy to latch on to other people’s success, family or not, and just coast. You want to forge your own way and that’s good. Just remember your family, that’s all I ask.”
“Of course! Why didn’t Mom come with you, by the way? I know you’re on business out here but she usually goes with you.”
“She’s visiting family in San Francisco. Apparently one of her cousins from Sicily has come to America for the first time so they’re having a get-together to celebrate.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
The older man offered a sly grin after taking a sip of his drink.
“I don’t get along well with Itallians.”
“Ha! You got along well enough with Mom for her to pop me out!”
“Duly noted. It’s mainly because of something that you and your mother share: Determined Passion. When the two of you fixate on something, her with family and religion and you with your businesses and wrestling, it’s almost impossible to stop you. You have all of your good traits and thankfully none of mine.”
“So the cravings for bourbon and scotch come from my straight-arrow mom, huh?”
“....I didn’t know that you liked bourbon.”
“It’s an acquired taste, I guess….I do hope that one day you and mom are both able to see me wrestle. The whole time I’ve been in sports and stuff, both of you were so busy. Most kids had both of their parents at different things. I was lucky to have one of you guys. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy with my childhood and all...but I really want one day for you both to be at something for me.”
“I’ll talk to your mother about it.”
Father and daughter spent the rest of their impromptu dinner date in near silence. There was not much of a need to say anything. They simply took the time to enjoy one another’s company. While Emmy got her dramatic flair and discipline from her mother, her father taught her how to think, how to enjoy even the smallest of moments. She knew that time spent with family was precious to him and that was probably one of the reasons he initially objected to her pursuing a career in professional wrestling and traveling. But when the old man saw his little girl on television the rare times he would tune in to watch her matches, even he couldn’t deny that his little girl was a budding star.
He was sure that sooner rather than later, she would have her time to shine. Even though the words probably wouldn’t be spoken for a long time, he was infinitely proud of her not only for doing so well but sticking to her choice when things were difficult.
That pride in her somehow made the pizza and liquor he had taste even better that night.