Post by emmanuelle on May 19, 2021 22:58:54 GMT -5
Losses always boggled Emmy’s mind. All through her life and athletic career before pro wrestling she was accustomed to winning and winning well. A pair of state titles in high school, a National Championship while at UCLA. Even in pro wrestling she had managed to find success at a point that many rookies would struggle. In less than a year she had become an accomplished veteran, following the blueprint that her mentor Carlos and manager Seiji had laid out for her. Sure, there were plenty of other opportunities to be had, but the X-Factor title tournament was her chance to truly announce her arrival on Proving Ground and in Project Honor as a whole. Yet, she stumbled at the first hurdle. While there was certainly no shame in losing considering the competition, it still damaged her pride. Even so, the frustration hadn’t totally set in just yet. She made the trudge that no wrestler, no athlete, wants to make: back to the dressing room after a tournament loss.
“Of all the things….a fucking Victory Roll. Really? A fucking Victory Roll.”
Emmy was more amused than upset. Sure she was frustrated to have been eliminated from the tournament but certainly couldn’t begrudge her opponent the win. There was no cheating, no conspiracy to see her out of the tournament. She was done. She noticed that a few people were even cheering her efforts in the ring. Even so…”First is first and second is nowhere.” She sat around replaying the end of the match in her head, slowly picking apart where the crucial mistakes were made.
“Gotta keep your head on straight during these matches, Emmy. You fucking know better. You really do.”
As if calling herself stupid, she tapped her temple with her knuckles before wiping some sweat off her face with a towel. So, what now? Her grand vehicle for mega-stardom had been...well, carjacked. What was going to stop her from floundering a bit further away from title contention? She didn’t really know. For now, a hot shower and comfortable bed would have to do.
Curitiba, Brazil
Taisho Yakiniku
Emmy was grateful she had packed for the somewhat cooler weather, sporting a comfortable lavender jacket over her white shirt with a pair of jeans. She wasn’t expecting to find a Yakiniku spot in Brazil, but perhaps considering how many members of the Japanese diaspora had moved to the country after World War II, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Even more impressive was that their food was actually GOOD. There were no tag team partners to converse with and no entourage surrounding her at the moment. All of her buddies were stuck in the States with travel issues. For the first time since she had started her journey as a wrestler she felt alone. It didn’t make her feel sad or anything, but it definitely made her feel different and somewhat uncomfortable.
“Excuse me, madam, is everything alright?”
Emmy looked up with a surprisingly warm smile and politely nodded. She certainly didn’t feel like talking to the waiter but why pass off negative energy to somebody who didn’t deserve it. Guy was just doing his after all.
“I’m fine thanks. Another beer would be greatly appreciated if you don’t mind.”
“Yes. I’ll get you one right away!”
Emmy smiled for a moment more as the man hurried off to attend to other patrons of the place but let it drop completely as she pulled her phone back out to check some messages. One of them was a rather long text from her friend Diantha.
Hey Emmy, congratulations about your OWA debut and sorry about your tournament loss. I know plenty about losing myself so don’t worry about it too much. You’re too talented to let losses get you down and worried like they do to me sometimes. Remember, when a door closes, another one usually opens pretty quick. Cliche I know but you will get another opportunity soon, I can feel it! Touch base with me once you get back in the states, okay!?
Just as soon as she had finished reading the text, she got the card announcement text that went around to the roster for every show. She was on it and that was no surprise, but the match and the opponent definitely were. The usually nonchalant starlet’s eyes opened wide and before she could catch herself a small chuckle erupted from her mouth before she covered it up. A few patrons looked her way but not for long. For all they knew she was just some tourist girl reacting to a corny millennial joke of some kind. Diantha was right: as soon as the golden door of opportunity that was the X-Factor tournament had closed so abruptly in her face another equally golden door opened up, and the person who would be blocking the way would be a familiar face. For the first time in a while, she knew exactly what she was getting out of the opposition.
Well, things didn’t go exactly the way I hoped they would with the title tournament. Big deal. I can’t really say anything about the match other than I lost it. There’s no conspiracy, there’s no inspired effort to hold me back. That much I’m fairly certain of. In fact, I have to hand it to Project Honor. They have given me several chances to prove myself and prove that I’m worthy of being here and being a champion here. But this one? This latest match looks maybe a little too convenient for my taste. This almost feels like it was set in stone by a certain someone.
But it’s not like you would do anything improper, would it, Scott? All your tenures in OWA and EAW and AWL and now Project Honor and WrestleWorld, you’re just a big saint of a man, babysitting people like the Yung Drip and bravely defending your recently won title against a hungry up-and-comer. Now, anyone with a brain looking at the two of us and giving me a snowball’s chance in the depths of hell of finding a way to beat you in ten minutes would laugh out loud at the prospect. You’re nearly a foot taller and probably twice my body weight. But here’s the thing about you, Scott...I know a lot more about you than the average up-and-comer. You know well who my mentor is, and you know how notoriously hard he is to put down. The funny thing is that I didn’t inherit many of Carlos’s weaknesses as far as being one of his trainees. I’m not sloppy. I’m not obsessed with conspiracy theories. I keep my calm in the tight moments.
Also, aren’t you a little worried about facing a sweet, innocent flower of a woman like myself? It seems like every time I look into the history books to find your name and who took your title from you, women seem to pop up a lot. In your own company, Aria Jaxon, Over in Japan, Azumi Goto, you have your hands full quite a lot with the fairer sex. That alone gives me full confidence that I can hang with you. You’re big, you’re strong, you’re a powerful man both in the ring and outside of it. Hell, you even managed to talk me into signing with your company. If anything, most people would humbly lay down for their boss and be thankful to see another day and all that shit.
Here’s the problem for you, Bossman: This ain’t your company and I damn sure ain’t most people. You have something that I would like to acquire very much and while I don’t have any truck with you and respect who you are, I can’t just let you leave the arena with that Warrior Rising Championship. You, you’ve had a great career. You can go home right now and share war stories with Michael Bishop and Carlos Rosso and all that lot and not have to worry about your reputation being sullied. Your legacy is already set in stone and is unimpeachable by anyone in the sport. No matter what goofy things you do as an owner or the rather weird relationships you forge...you’re a made man.
This is my chance to become a made woman. The Warrior Rising Championship is a chance for me to make myself a lot of money and continue to add to my legacy. And no, this isn’t me asking for a handout or begging you to go easy on me for my sake. I’m not stupid. Your big ass is going to make it as hard as possible for me to claim that title and I expect nothing less. I just want you to understand that if things get a little dirty and I take shortcuts that may seem dishonorable in some circles, that’s why. You know how the game is played, shit you know it better than most people I’ve come across. You’ve made yourself a wealthy man and in a lot of ways I would like to model my career after yours. Maybe not the steroid usage and poorly conceived tattoos, but you get my drift, yeah?
Of all the matches that I’ve had in this company so far, I’m feeling more prepared and more excited about this one than anything else. Not just because it’s for a title, but because who it is against and what it represents to me personally and professionally. If I win this match, this is more than some young girl winning a title and then going about trying to build up the reputation of the belt and herself. This is about laying the foundations of the building of my own empire in and out of the wrestling world. I already have plenty of notable scalps to my name but I would be a liar if Scott Oasis wouldn’t be the biggest I’ve taken anywhere.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll hire YOU someday to be a part of MY company. A lot of people in the world think that old, broken down athletes have no piace once they’re past their prime but I don’t agree with that. You would be a perfect confidant, enforcer, and advisor.
I’m going to show you why I am surely your perfect replacement.
“Of all the things….a fucking Victory Roll. Really? A fucking Victory Roll.”
Emmy was more amused than upset. Sure she was frustrated to have been eliminated from the tournament but certainly couldn’t begrudge her opponent the win. There was no cheating, no conspiracy to see her out of the tournament. She was done. She noticed that a few people were even cheering her efforts in the ring. Even so…”First is first and second is nowhere.” She sat around replaying the end of the match in her head, slowly picking apart where the crucial mistakes were made.
“Gotta keep your head on straight during these matches, Emmy. You fucking know better. You really do.”
As if calling herself stupid, she tapped her temple with her knuckles before wiping some sweat off her face with a towel. So, what now? Her grand vehicle for mega-stardom had been...well, carjacked. What was going to stop her from floundering a bit further away from title contention? She didn’t really know. For now, a hot shower and comfortable bed would have to do.
Curitiba, Brazil
Taisho Yakiniku
Emmy was grateful she had packed for the somewhat cooler weather, sporting a comfortable lavender jacket over her white shirt with a pair of jeans. She wasn’t expecting to find a Yakiniku spot in Brazil, but perhaps considering how many members of the Japanese diaspora had moved to the country after World War II, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Even more impressive was that their food was actually GOOD. There were no tag team partners to converse with and no entourage surrounding her at the moment. All of her buddies were stuck in the States with travel issues. For the first time since she had started her journey as a wrestler she felt alone. It didn’t make her feel sad or anything, but it definitely made her feel different and somewhat uncomfortable.
“Excuse me, madam, is everything alright?”
Emmy looked up with a surprisingly warm smile and politely nodded. She certainly didn’t feel like talking to the waiter but why pass off negative energy to somebody who didn’t deserve it. Guy was just doing his after all.
“I’m fine thanks. Another beer would be greatly appreciated if you don’t mind.”
“Yes. I’ll get you one right away!”
Emmy smiled for a moment more as the man hurried off to attend to other patrons of the place but let it drop completely as she pulled her phone back out to check some messages. One of them was a rather long text from her friend Diantha.
Hey Emmy, congratulations about your OWA debut and sorry about your tournament loss. I know plenty about losing myself so don’t worry about it too much. You’re too talented to let losses get you down and worried like they do to me sometimes. Remember, when a door closes, another one usually opens pretty quick. Cliche I know but you will get another opportunity soon, I can feel it! Touch base with me once you get back in the states, okay!?
Just as soon as she had finished reading the text, she got the card announcement text that went around to the roster for every show. She was on it and that was no surprise, but the match and the opponent definitely were. The usually nonchalant starlet’s eyes opened wide and before she could catch herself a small chuckle erupted from her mouth before she covered it up. A few patrons looked her way but not for long. For all they knew she was just some tourist girl reacting to a corny millennial joke of some kind. Diantha was right: as soon as the golden door of opportunity that was the X-Factor tournament had closed so abruptly in her face another equally golden door opened up, and the person who would be blocking the way would be a familiar face. For the first time in a while, she knew exactly what she was getting out of the opposition.
Well, things didn’t go exactly the way I hoped they would with the title tournament. Big deal. I can’t really say anything about the match other than I lost it. There’s no conspiracy, there’s no inspired effort to hold me back. That much I’m fairly certain of. In fact, I have to hand it to Project Honor. They have given me several chances to prove myself and prove that I’m worthy of being here and being a champion here. But this one? This latest match looks maybe a little too convenient for my taste. This almost feels like it was set in stone by a certain someone.
But it’s not like you would do anything improper, would it, Scott? All your tenures in OWA and EAW and AWL and now Project Honor and WrestleWorld, you’re just a big saint of a man, babysitting people like the Yung Drip and bravely defending your recently won title against a hungry up-and-comer. Now, anyone with a brain looking at the two of us and giving me a snowball’s chance in the depths of hell of finding a way to beat you in ten minutes would laugh out loud at the prospect. You’re nearly a foot taller and probably twice my body weight. But here’s the thing about you, Scott...I know a lot more about you than the average up-and-comer. You know well who my mentor is, and you know how notoriously hard he is to put down. The funny thing is that I didn’t inherit many of Carlos’s weaknesses as far as being one of his trainees. I’m not sloppy. I’m not obsessed with conspiracy theories. I keep my calm in the tight moments.
Also, aren’t you a little worried about facing a sweet, innocent flower of a woman like myself? It seems like every time I look into the history books to find your name and who took your title from you, women seem to pop up a lot. In your own company, Aria Jaxon, Over in Japan, Azumi Goto, you have your hands full quite a lot with the fairer sex. That alone gives me full confidence that I can hang with you. You’re big, you’re strong, you’re a powerful man both in the ring and outside of it. Hell, you even managed to talk me into signing with your company. If anything, most people would humbly lay down for their boss and be thankful to see another day and all that shit.
Here’s the problem for you, Bossman: This ain’t your company and I damn sure ain’t most people. You have something that I would like to acquire very much and while I don’t have any truck with you and respect who you are, I can’t just let you leave the arena with that Warrior Rising Championship. You, you’ve had a great career. You can go home right now and share war stories with Michael Bishop and Carlos Rosso and all that lot and not have to worry about your reputation being sullied. Your legacy is already set in stone and is unimpeachable by anyone in the sport. No matter what goofy things you do as an owner or the rather weird relationships you forge...you’re a made man.
This is my chance to become a made woman. The Warrior Rising Championship is a chance for me to make myself a lot of money and continue to add to my legacy. And no, this isn’t me asking for a handout or begging you to go easy on me for my sake. I’m not stupid. Your big ass is going to make it as hard as possible for me to claim that title and I expect nothing less. I just want you to understand that if things get a little dirty and I take shortcuts that may seem dishonorable in some circles, that’s why. You know how the game is played, shit you know it better than most people I’ve come across. You’ve made yourself a wealthy man and in a lot of ways I would like to model my career after yours. Maybe not the steroid usage and poorly conceived tattoos, but you get my drift, yeah?
Of all the matches that I’ve had in this company so far, I’m feeling more prepared and more excited about this one than anything else. Not just because it’s for a title, but because who it is against and what it represents to me personally and professionally. If I win this match, this is more than some young girl winning a title and then going about trying to build up the reputation of the belt and herself. This is about laying the foundations of the building of my own empire in and out of the wrestling world. I already have plenty of notable scalps to my name but I would be a liar if Scott Oasis wouldn’t be the biggest I’ve taken anywhere.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll hire YOU someday to be a part of MY company. A lot of people in the world think that old, broken down athletes have no piace once they’re past their prime but I don’t agree with that. You would be a perfect confidant, enforcer, and advisor.
I’m going to show you why I am surely your perfect replacement.