Post by emmanuelle on May 26, 2022 22:59:22 GMT -5
Tokyo, Japan
I love coming to Japan most of the time. The culture, the food, the big paychecks after wrestling at a big show. But when I’m here, for some reason it feels like I can relax a little more. Most people know who I am and who my family is…and they don’t bother me. In fact, because of who my father is, I’m pretty…”connected”, if you get my meaning. Both of my parents are, but my dad especially. And that comes with some pretty amazing perks, all told. Nobody’s trying to scam me when I go out to eat, I get good hotel rooms, and I get a lot of free shit. Honestly, I think that’s one reason why I became a wrestler in the first place. When I was in college, my dad insisted on trying to pay for everything. Even after I insisted that I would walk-on as an athlete and use academic scholarships and the occasional loan and odd job to do things, he tried to shut me down. It was like he wanted me to be beholden to him. Remember when I said I like coming to Japan most of the time? The time that I don’t is when I know he’s in the country too. And I know that he’s here on business. The kind of business that I’ve been trying to leave behind since I was a teenage girl. So, I’m in town with Sena and Sonya, getting Sena ready for one of his biggest matches to date. I can’t just let the guy train himself to death, right? We were just sitting around playing soccer in a cool little roof-top indoor park. Small enough to play five-a-side, you know?
[Emmy is playing around with some of her friends on the pitch, most of them being really uncoordinated and not particularly good at soccer. She stands off away from the action, chuckling a bit to herself until a ball is passed to her. She hadn’t played the game since middle school but was still able to dribble past some of the girls who were playing with them. Heh, that poor dope Sena was standing in the opposing goal, looking awkward as hell with the massive goalkeeper gloves and knee pads. She didn’t feel a need to embarrass the poor guy. She passed the ball off to Sonya, a deft little pass right towards goal that she would tap in right between Sena’s legs.]
“That was too fucking easy! Way too fucking easy! Sena, shut your five-hole sometime! I thought you played goalie before!”
“That was back when I was in elementary school!”
“Excuses, excuses….”
[Emmy hears her phone ring, thinking that it was someone from Project: Honor’s office. It was. She reads a text message from an intern informing her that she had been challenged. Sena has abandoned his post to run over to Emmy, as has Sonya. The platinum blonde girl laughs a bit.]
“What’s so funny?”
“Casanova English challenged me. I’ve been in Japan and didn’t really go on social media all that much. I didn’t even realize he had called me out.”
“Casanova, isn’t that the psycho guy who tried to hurt your pregnant friend? What’s funny about facing him?”
“I mean nothing’s funny about it, I just didn’t really think he cared enough to want to wrestle me again.”
[Sonya’s brow furrowed a bit at the comment. She knew that Emmy would be prepared and was probably more annoyed than concerned. The taller woman thought that would be a huge mistake.]
“You saw the way he looked at you when you beat him. You should take this a little more seriously than you are, Emmy.”
“I take this guy seriously. I know what he’s about, don’t worry. My flight’s booked, and I have to make sure I get out there and handle business.”
“So…you’re going to leave mid-training camp?”
“Yeah. And?”
“You said that you would be here every step of the way to help me get ready.”
“I will be. There’s FaceTime, stuff like that. And Sonya’s been kind enough to be like a contingency plan coach. She’ll be with you every step of the way until I get back. It’s going to be….”
[Emmy’s phone buzzes again and she gets another message. This one causes her far more concern than the call to face Casanova. She was honestly expecting that and was mentally preparing to face him again. She knew he wouldn’t stop until he either got his way or was beaten soundly. The number and name filled her with a sense of dread. She didn’t want to let on that anything was wrong, especially since it was her father calling her, but Sonya could see that change of expression in her eyes…if only for a few seconds.]
“I’ve got to go for a while, guys. I’ve been summoned to dinner before I catch my flight back to the States. I’ll be back in a few days.”
[Sena kept quiet as Sonya and Emmy exchanged a quick hug. After that, Emmy grabbed her bag and took off, out of the facility and back to her hotel room so she could change.]
Cass.
I’m actually flattered and somewhat apologetic as I record this message to send to you. I wasn’t informed that you actually wanted to have another match with me until…well, when the card was announced and I found that you and I are fighting each other one more time. You know, I could see the look in your eyes when I came out the winner of the Seven Stages of Hell. You wanted to fucking kill me, didn’t you? Yeah. I saw the frustration. The rage. The absolute disgust at being beaten out of something you wanted by a person who you think is inferior to you, who you don’t think is on your level.
And yeah, no, don’t pretend to respect my ability. Because if you did, I wouldn’t be fielding challenges from you. I was planning on taking the week off, maybe go to Malaga or Puerto Rico for a fun time, but you force me to work this week. And it’s fucking annoying. You’re doing this for the same reason you were so excited about stopping me when we last met: you see something in me that you don’t like. Is it the fact that I look nice and pretty or came from a nice background that hurts you?
Or maybe that I don’t have the similar fucked up mentality that you do about wrestling. You seem to have an almost religious fervor to do what you do. You are a violent, tough son of a bitch, but there always is something extra to your violence. Something that normal wrestling back and forth just doesn’t cover. Like, when I wrestled Tara, it was about being the best. Even though I ultimately came out on the short end of our meetings, we had this mutual understanding. This bond that we were wrestlers, we wrestled, and then we moved on with life.
When I wrestle Arata, that’s deeply personal. You don’t know the whole story and honestly you don’t need to. It’s not something that either of us takes for granted. We don’t want to just win. We want to beat the shit out of each other. We want to dominate. We want to be the best, but it was about more than just competition. It was a clash of beliefs, a clash that is stalemated right now at two wins apiece.
Everyone that I’ve fought all over the world, from MYOJIN to Rebecca Filth to Brandon Hendrix even to the BOB crew…I felt something when I wrestled them. Their wrestling is a reflection of how they live life. Look, I’m probably the last person to wax philosophical about wrestling, but you can tell a lot about athletes as people in their approach to their given sport. I Saw it as a kid footballer. I saw it as a basketball player and water polo player. I see it now as a wrestler.
When I step in the ring with you, Casanova…I don’t feel anything. Nothing but self-pity, anger, recklessness masquerading as bravado and calm. A bullshit artist masquerading as a savior. A man with everything to lose acting as if he’s playing with house money.
Okay, I’m done being philosophical. Here’s the skinny: When you go to the ring, you’re a liar. You’re lying to your opponents, your fans, your friends, your enemies and most importantly…you’re lying to yourself. And you want to know how I’ve figured out that you’re lying? Every fucking thing that you preach about is about control. It’s not about competition, it’s not about benefiting other people. It’s all about you. The irony in that is that everyone sees exactly that….except you.
That said, I don’t mind wrestling you again. I know that I have a date with the Grand Champion coming up. There’s nothing that can be done to stop that, by you or anyone else. That contract is signed and I will have my chance to retake the Grand Championship and pick up where I left off with my legacy building.
It’s really funny. In some ways, we’re a lot alike. Both wrestlers with tremendous talent. We both don’t jive well with things like authority figures and expectations for our behavior. We both have a bit of arrogance in how we approach things. And we both have an interest in shaking up the status quo. The difference between us is that you take shit personally that’s not even personal. This match, this rivalry that you’re trying to build by calling me out? It’s not important to me. You are not important to me. You’re just an angry man with a massive ego who is lashing out instead of actually attending to his pain.
But, you didn’t call me out for me to do psychoanalysis while you lay down on the couch and tell me about how shitty your mom and pop were, right? You called me out to fight, right? Cool by me. And once this match is over and you’ve been beaten I don’t want to see you anymore. Not that I’m afraid of you or not wanting to wrestle you, of course. I’m just bored with you. Playing with lifeless dolls got boring for me when I was in third grade, bro. It’s time to grow up and actually process the shit that’s wrong with you because this, moping around like a fucking anime character every time you get in your feelings ain’t healthy.
Ya wanted me, Cass? You got me. Remember now, there’s no refunds or returns with this order, okay?
I have ambitions, goals, desires that I want to attain. And I can’t let people like you get in my way when it comes to attaining them. I’m sorry if that’s not interesting or entertaining to you, my guy, but this is professional wrestling. This isn’t some personal war between us that needs to be settled on the street. It’s grown men and women fighting, solving their problems between the ropes. We settle scores, decide who is the best, and go on with life. And I’m going to go on with my life after beating you. You’re not going to stop me from becoming Grand Champion again. You’re not going to build up your name at my personal expense, and you’re not going to use my body to heal the trauma that you’ve had inflicted upon your life. Do we understand each other?
Great.
Tokyo, Japan
When your parents say meet them somewhere, you’ve got to go, right? So I went. My dad was kind this time, the rendezvous spot wasn’t that far from my hotel. A nice little steakhouse. A Yakuza front, right in one of the most glamorous, tourist-friendly spots in Tokyo. You wouldn’t even notice if you didn’t have an eye for the signs: the rough looking old guys. The young toughs. The whores. The squeaky clean front-men that were too clean. It’s funny to me when people say that they’re losing influence because of the laws passed here. They’re just getting better at hiding.
[Emmy was greeted like a celebrity when she entered the establishment, dressed in an all-white dress suit with matching heels. Her father, in contrast, wore an all-black suit, a stark contrast with his gold-rimmed glasses and graying hair. When his daughter arrived, only the smallest of smiles crept onto his face as he motioned for Emmy to have a seat across from him. He had already ordered food for the both of them, food that he knew his daughter would enjoy.]
“So…Dad, what’s this about?”
“Emmy. I think that you and I need to have a serious talk about your future.”
“What do you mean? We’ve been over this a dozen times. I love you, I love mom….but the work that you guys are into, the lifestyle…I don’t want that.”
“Why have you been so stubborn? Do you know how hard it is to watch you destroy your body in a wrestling ring? You know back when I was your age, our family controlled the wrestling hustle..we didn’t get hustled by it.”
“Things change.”
“Do they now?”
“Mmhmm.”
“.....Is there anything that...that we could do to change your mind? To bring you home? To have you at least run some of the legitimate businesses for us? Emmy, you’re a sharp girl and a strong girl too. You resisted us at every turn, but we need you now. Your mom and I….we’re not spring chickens anymore, sweetheart. We don’t have a son, most of my other associates aren’t worthy. We need you.”
Right there. I realized right then and there that I had a serious problem on my hands. My family wanted me in the business before. Now they needed me. How does a child say no when their parents of all people NEED them? You’d have to be soulless to do that, right?
I love coming to Japan most of the time. The culture, the food, the big paychecks after wrestling at a big show. But when I’m here, for some reason it feels like I can relax a little more. Most people know who I am and who my family is…and they don’t bother me. In fact, because of who my father is, I’m pretty…”connected”, if you get my meaning. Both of my parents are, but my dad especially. And that comes with some pretty amazing perks, all told. Nobody’s trying to scam me when I go out to eat, I get good hotel rooms, and I get a lot of free shit. Honestly, I think that’s one reason why I became a wrestler in the first place. When I was in college, my dad insisted on trying to pay for everything. Even after I insisted that I would walk-on as an athlete and use academic scholarships and the occasional loan and odd job to do things, he tried to shut me down. It was like he wanted me to be beholden to him. Remember when I said I like coming to Japan most of the time? The time that I don’t is when I know he’s in the country too. And I know that he’s here on business. The kind of business that I’ve been trying to leave behind since I was a teenage girl. So, I’m in town with Sena and Sonya, getting Sena ready for one of his biggest matches to date. I can’t just let the guy train himself to death, right? We were just sitting around playing soccer in a cool little roof-top indoor park. Small enough to play five-a-side, you know?
[Emmy is playing around with some of her friends on the pitch, most of them being really uncoordinated and not particularly good at soccer. She stands off away from the action, chuckling a bit to herself until a ball is passed to her. She hadn’t played the game since middle school but was still able to dribble past some of the girls who were playing with them. Heh, that poor dope Sena was standing in the opposing goal, looking awkward as hell with the massive goalkeeper gloves and knee pads. She didn’t feel a need to embarrass the poor guy. She passed the ball off to Sonya, a deft little pass right towards goal that she would tap in right between Sena’s legs.]
“That was too fucking easy! Way too fucking easy! Sena, shut your five-hole sometime! I thought you played goalie before!”
“That was back when I was in elementary school!”
“Excuses, excuses….”
[Emmy hears her phone ring, thinking that it was someone from Project: Honor’s office. It was. She reads a text message from an intern informing her that she had been challenged. Sena has abandoned his post to run over to Emmy, as has Sonya. The platinum blonde girl laughs a bit.]
“What’s so funny?”
“Casanova English challenged me. I’ve been in Japan and didn’t really go on social media all that much. I didn’t even realize he had called me out.”
“Casanova, isn’t that the psycho guy who tried to hurt your pregnant friend? What’s funny about facing him?”
“I mean nothing’s funny about it, I just didn’t really think he cared enough to want to wrestle me again.”
[Sonya’s brow furrowed a bit at the comment. She knew that Emmy would be prepared and was probably more annoyed than concerned. The taller woman thought that would be a huge mistake.]
“You saw the way he looked at you when you beat him. You should take this a little more seriously than you are, Emmy.”
“I take this guy seriously. I know what he’s about, don’t worry. My flight’s booked, and I have to make sure I get out there and handle business.”
“So…you’re going to leave mid-training camp?”
“Yeah. And?”
“You said that you would be here every step of the way to help me get ready.”
“I will be. There’s FaceTime, stuff like that. And Sonya’s been kind enough to be like a contingency plan coach. She’ll be with you every step of the way until I get back. It’s going to be….”
[Emmy’s phone buzzes again and she gets another message. This one causes her far more concern than the call to face Casanova. She was honestly expecting that and was mentally preparing to face him again. She knew he wouldn’t stop until he either got his way or was beaten soundly. The number and name filled her with a sense of dread. She didn’t want to let on that anything was wrong, especially since it was her father calling her, but Sonya could see that change of expression in her eyes…if only for a few seconds.]
“I’ve got to go for a while, guys. I’ve been summoned to dinner before I catch my flight back to the States. I’ll be back in a few days.”
[Sena kept quiet as Sonya and Emmy exchanged a quick hug. After that, Emmy grabbed her bag and took off, out of the facility and back to her hotel room so she could change.]
Cass.
I’m actually flattered and somewhat apologetic as I record this message to send to you. I wasn’t informed that you actually wanted to have another match with me until…well, when the card was announced and I found that you and I are fighting each other one more time. You know, I could see the look in your eyes when I came out the winner of the Seven Stages of Hell. You wanted to fucking kill me, didn’t you? Yeah. I saw the frustration. The rage. The absolute disgust at being beaten out of something you wanted by a person who you think is inferior to you, who you don’t think is on your level.
And yeah, no, don’t pretend to respect my ability. Because if you did, I wouldn’t be fielding challenges from you. I was planning on taking the week off, maybe go to Malaga or Puerto Rico for a fun time, but you force me to work this week. And it’s fucking annoying. You’re doing this for the same reason you were so excited about stopping me when we last met: you see something in me that you don’t like. Is it the fact that I look nice and pretty or came from a nice background that hurts you?
Or maybe that I don’t have the similar fucked up mentality that you do about wrestling. You seem to have an almost religious fervor to do what you do. You are a violent, tough son of a bitch, but there always is something extra to your violence. Something that normal wrestling back and forth just doesn’t cover. Like, when I wrestled Tara, it was about being the best. Even though I ultimately came out on the short end of our meetings, we had this mutual understanding. This bond that we were wrestlers, we wrestled, and then we moved on with life.
When I wrestle Arata, that’s deeply personal. You don’t know the whole story and honestly you don’t need to. It’s not something that either of us takes for granted. We don’t want to just win. We want to beat the shit out of each other. We want to dominate. We want to be the best, but it was about more than just competition. It was a clash of beliefs, a clash that is stalemated right now at two wins apiece.
Everyone that I’ve fought all over the world, from MYOJIN to Rebecca Filth to Brandon Hendrix even to the BOB crew…I felt something when I wrestled them. Their wrestling is a reflection of how they live life. Look, I’m probably the last person to wax philosophical about wrestling, but you can tell a lot about athletes as people in their approach to their given sport. I Saw it as a kid footballer. I saw it as a basketball player and water polo player. I see it now as a wrestler.
When I step in the ring with you, Casanova…I don’t feel anything. Nothing but self-pity, anger, recklessness masquerading as bravado and calm. A bullshit artist masquerading as a savior. A man with everything to lose acting as if he’s playing with house money.
Okay, I’m done being philosophical. Here’s the skinny: When you go to the ring, you’re a liar. You’re lying to your opponents, your fans, your friends, your enemies and most importantly…you’re lying to yourself. And you want to know how I’ve figured out that you’re lying? Every fucking thing that you preach about is about control. It’s not about competition, it’s not about benefiting other people. It’s all about you. The irony in that is that everyone sees exactly that….except you.
That said, I don’t mind wrestling you again. I know that I have a date with the Grand Champion coming up. There’s nothing that can be done to stop that, by you or anyone else. That contract is signed and I will have my chance to retake the Grand Championship and pick up where I left off with my legacy building.
It’s really funny. In some ways, we’re a lot alike. Both wrestlers with tremendous talent. We both don’t jive well with things like authority figures and expectations for our behavior. We both have a bit of arrogance in how we approach things. And we both have an interest in shaking up the status quo. The difference between us is that you take shit personally that’s not even personal. This match, this rivalry that you’re trying to build by calling me out? It’s not important to me. You are not important to me. You’re just an angry man with a massive ego who is lashing out instead of actually attending to his pain.
But, you didn’t call me out for me to do psychoanalysis while you lay down on the couch and tell me about how shitty your mom and pop were, right? You called me out to fight, right? Cool by me. And once this match is over and you’ve been beaten I don’t want to see you anymore. Not that I’m afraid of you or not wanting to wrestle you, of course. I’m just bored with you. Playing with lifeless dolls got boring for me when I was in third grade, bro. It’s time to grow up and actually process the shit that’s wrong with you because this, moping around like a fucking anime character every time you get in your feelings ain’t healthy.
Ya wanted me, Cass? You got me. Remember now, there’s no refunds or returns with this order, okay?
I have ambitions, goals, desires that I want to attain. And I can’t let people like you get in my way when it comes to attaining them. I’m sorry if that’s not interesting or entertaining to you, my guy, but this is professional wrestling. This isn’t some personal war between us that needs to be settled on the street. It’s grown men and women fighting, solving their problems between the ropes. We settle scores, decide who is the best, and go on with life. And I’m going to go on with my life after beating you. You’re not going to stop me from becoming Grand Champion again. You’re not going to build up your name at my personal expense, and you’re not going to use my body to heal the trauma that you’ve had inflicted upon your life. Do we understand each other?
Great.
Tokyo, Japan
When your parents say meet them somewhere, you’ve got to go, right? So I went. My dad was kind this time, the rendezvous spot wasn’t that far from my hotel. A nice little steakhouse. A Yakuza front, right in one of the most glamorous, tourist-friendly spots in Tokyo. You wouldn’t even notice if you didn’t have an eye for the signs: the rough looking old guys. The young toughs. The whores. The squeaky clean front-men that were too clean. It’s funny to me when people say that they’re losing influence because of the laws passed here. They’re just getting better at hiding.
[Emmy was greeted like a celebrity when she entered the establishment, dressed in an all-white dress suit with matching heels. Her father, in contrast, wore an all-black suit, a stark contrast with his gold-rimmed glasses and graying hair. When his daughter arrived, only the smallest of smiles crept onto his face as he motioned for Emmy to have a seat across from him. He had already ordered food for the both of them, food that he knew his daughter would enjoy.]
“So…Dad, what’s this about?”
“Emmy. I think that you and I need to have a serious talk about your future.”
“What do you mean? We’ve been over this a dozen times. I love you, I love mom….but the work that you guys are into, the lifestyle…I don’t want that.”
“Why have you been so stubborn? Do you know how hard it is to watch you destroy your body in a wrestling ring? You know back when I was your age, our family controlled the wrestling hustle..we didn’t get hustled by it.”
“Things change.”
“Do they now?”
“Mmhmm.”
“.....Is there anything that...that we could do to change your mind? To bring you home? To have you at least run some of the legitimate businesses for us? Emmy, you’re a sharp girl and a strong girl too. You resisted us at every turn, but we need you now. Your mom and I….we’re not spring chickens anymore, sweetheart. We don’t have a son, most of my other associates aren’t worthy. We need you.”
Right there. I realized right then and there that I had a serious problem on my hands. My family wanted me in the business before. Now they needed me. How does a child say no when their parents of all people NEED them? You’d have to be soulless to do that, right?