Post by Aphrodite IX on Apr 19, 2021 22:40:24 GMT -5
Aph was sore all over.
The big debut and she’d nailed it. Walked right in to a man walking away and a chance to come out of nowhere and paint herself a bullet on her chest. She’d hoped for all kinds of stupid and wild things, but the idea that she’d come out and become the number one contender in her first match was just too ridiculous. If the world wasn’t in the state it was, she’d have been out doing copious amounts of drugs and partying until the vomit had been all seven colours of the rainbow.
Aphrodite had a rule. No matter how dangerous her conduct was toward herself, she wouldn’t put other people at risk without informed consent on their end. She could decide all the risks she wanted toward herself, but she wasn’t enough of a monster to hurt other people. All told, a global pandemic had real pros and cons for her lifestyle. Still…that made pro wrestling such a beautiful thing for her. A place where she could go and fight people who had consented to any amount of harm she could find ways to put them through.
They could die together.
Ethically.
It was a beautiful nightmare.
Normally when she’d tell someone she wanted to be hurt, they’d slap her ass a little then finish shortly thereafter. There was nothing to it. No pain. No risk. No satisfaction. If she couldn’t get hurt and she couldn’t get off, her time was largely being wasted, a calculation that drove her to delete Tinder from her phone after a while. The men were too boring and the women were too gentle. She didn’t want to be humanized. She wanted to be an object, a canvas for whatever sick ideas they had in their heads if only for one night. Sometimes, late at night she’d dream about meeting a real life serial killer and having to fight for her life.
“I will dominate you.” said another man who flinched when she got the knives.
Reality was so boring.
The comfort in finding a home, a place which would accept and push her toward all her wildest dreams…well, it was burned into every bruise on her body. She would test the limits of everything around her, find the point at which everything breaks…because she knew for certain that given enough pressure, everything breaks. Then she would hit it just so and watch as it all just…shattered.
She could only hope to find herself among the pieces.
I am beyond excited.
I mean look. There’s a sort of hilarious euphoria that hits when you walk into a company, whip a bunch of ass, and get a shot at the World Champion lined up first time out. I know a lot of folks would be really humble or use this as a chance to brag about how great they are but honestly, it’s just how it is. I leave it out there and a lot of the time, that’s enough to make some weird shit happen. Will lightning strike twice and my fine ass be crowned on the first attempt? Who the fuck knows? Statistically, probably not but baby, if I have any chance I’ll take it.
Chelsea, I gotta be honest. I am excited to see what you’ve got out there. I want to know just what kind of person I’m gonna make bleed when the time comes. A lot of folks, they like to do research and deep dive the histories of the big champs but that’s just not the kind of person I am really. I want to see who you are when you step between those ropes in front of me. Are you a fighter? Are you a technician? Are you a coward? The choices are endless and honestly, I cannot wait to see what I’m getting.
What a fun little idea this match is, huh? Champions and challengers standing beside each other. A little of the old brand ego combined with a little bit of a preview without us ever actually squaring off. It’s a clever little bit of bullshit. I watch you, you watch me, we both watch our opponents scream and yell as we make them hurt. It’s fun for the whole family, really. The moment that bell rings, it’s like letting myself off the leash. I’m just ready to chase and bite and pounce until everyone’s just about done with moving for the day.
I see someone across the ring looks like a mirror image to me and honestly, I hope it’s not like last week where they run off in a pout before I can even lay a finger on them. It’s so much more when you see someone a little like yourself out here. Last time it was someone who was also Not. This time it’s someone who could almost be twinsies with me. Cutesy little name like Cerise, lined up to get herself a world title shot. I’m sure she worked real hard for it too. Really fought her way up the ranks or whatever. I wonder how it’d feel for her to lose to a doppelganger who rode the express.
There’s this thing so many wrestlers have where you want to be scary. You all want to be broody and mean and intimidating like any of that means shit. You posture and you tell your little stories of why people should be scared of you or intimidated. I guess sometimes it works. Mostly you just get people saying ooga booga back and then you fight it out and all the head games amount to some macho jerkoff session in the back. You want people to read you as all dark and tortured because you think it makes you what? Authentic? Tough?
It just makes you funny.
A fun little joke.
Then people like me come along and hey.
You get your punchline.
See, I’m just a girl who likes to throw herself around and put herself in danger of severe harm. I didn’t come to this business to win titles. Like, I’ll take them if I can get them, sure. But I just want to stir things up a bit. Give a little, get a little at one of the world’s only sanctioned pain exchanges. I could have boxed or thrown myself in a cage, but there’s no other business in the world where I can jump off of increasingly tall heights at you and sometimes, just sometimes, we can crawl through broken glass together.
You take this business so seriously when really, it’s all so…
Absurd.
It is an absurdist art.
So here’s a joke for the girl in the clown makeup.
Your shadow walks into the bar.
You find out you were the shadow all along.
See?
Hilarious.
Two years ago.
“Again.”
Eden Black gave the order and Ashley obeyed. She tried to sink a lockup, but found herself out of position. Eden quickly shot in on her and took her down to the mat. For someone who had a reputation for being one of the more violent wrestlers of her generation, as a trainer Ashley found Eden to be a little overly gentle. Eden released the hold and gave a little shrug of discontent as her performance.
“Zephyr, sub in please.” Eden said, with no small amount of exasperation. Her young daughter stepped into the ring looking ready to fight, while outside the ring her cousin Tara looked on. “Okay, now just a lockup.” Ashley nodded, reaching in to grapple the young child. She was barely able to process what happened before she hit the mat with considerably more force than the mother had applied.
“Pathetic.” Zephyr said nonchalantly before rolling out of the ring to receive a Sour Patch Kid from Tara. The insult cut deeper than the takedown.
“You just got taken down by a nine year old girl.” Eden said. “Do you know why?”
“You’re raising a secret ninja assassin?” Ashley said flippantly.
“I am explicitly not.” Eden said with a sigh.
“Is it because I suck?” Ashley offered.
“Not…exactly.” Eden said. “You’re sloppy though. Reckless. You leave yourself wide open all the time. I watch you approach everything and you’re nothing but openings. If you wrestle a match like this, you’ll go down easily.”
“I think you’ll find I already do that.” Ashley said. “Ask any of my exes.”
Eden pinched her nose.
“I know what you’re looking for.” Eden said. “Half of why I agreed to train you despite you being perpetually behind on payments and messy as hell is because I see a bit of who I was in you. I’ve had a deathwish. I hope that maybe with that insight, I can give you some of the guidance I needed back when I was...”
“The Black Empress?”
“Different.” Eden said insistently. “Look, I can’t say I don’t want to try and get you on a different path. You get a lot of slack, I get my chance to change your mind. That’s the trade we’ve got going on here. But if you want people to seriously wreck you, you’re going to have to make it past the lockup, so you may want to reconsider your approach and get actually, you know, kinda good.”
“Shit. That’s a good point.” Ashley said. She pulled herself from the mat and stared her teacher in the eyes. “Okay.”
Eden smiled.
“Again.”
Chaos.
That’s another idea that wrestlers love. You all like to think you’re these big dramatic balls of wild energy, then come out and wrestle the same basic match, telegraph enough that you’re in big runs of counters, and find the same old ways to bring it home. You want to see yourselves as dangerous and unpredictable, but it’s all just for clout. You don’t have anything in you I haven’t seen before.
It’s not that I don’t understand the concept. I got taught early on that you need the fundamentals if you’re ever going to go somewhere new. But then you go and you win a title and suddenly it’s all high tension. You find yourself stuck in a rut, sticking to the same old thing that got you to the dance in the first place. Sure, it may be excellent, but what do you get from it? A few pounds of gold over your shoulder traded off for stagnancy. Disgusting.
Substituting a ‘K’ for a ‘C’ doesn’t make you a breathtaking free thinker.
Honestly, I am positively D Y I N G for one of you to show me something that, I don’t know…impresses me? Scares me? I grew up watching wrestling, I’ve seen a bunch of champions come and go. But throw in a little bit of real disruption…have something arise that you genuinely didn’t see coming? And suddenly the whole game goes up in the air.
You can rest easy champ.
You may get embarrassed here, but yours isn’t the title I’m going to be hurling around the arena in a month. You get to keep your title and have your little pissing match with my shadow where both of you can play pretend that you’re bigger and tougher and scarier than you actually are before coming out and having a safe, stagnant old time.
I’ll be on the other show.
Proving that if it bleeds, it can die.
Assuming, of course…
You have the guts to kill it.
The big debut and she’d nailed it. Walked right in to a man walking away and a chance to come out of nowhere and paint herself a bullet on her chest. She’d hoped for all kinds of stupid and wild things, but the idea that she’d come out and become the number one contender in her first match was just too ridiculous. If the world wasn’t in the state it was, she’d have been out doing copious amounts of drugs and partying until the vomit had been all seven colours of the rainbow.
Aphrodite had a rule. No matter how dangerous her conduct was toward herself, she wouldn’t put other people at risk without informed consent on their end. She could decide all the risks she wanted toward herself, but she wasn’t enough of a monster to hurt other people. All told, a global pandemic had real pros and cons for her lifestyle. Still…that made pro wrestling such a beautiful thing for her. A place where she could go and fight people who had consented to any amount of harm she could find ways to put them through.
They could die together.
Ethically.
It was a beautiful nightmare.
Normally when she’d tell someone she wanted to be hurt, they’d slap her ass a little then finish shortly thereafter. There was nothing to it. No pain. No risk. No satisfaction. If she couldn’t get hurt and she couldn’t get off, her time was largely being wasted, a calculation that drove her to delete Tinder from her phone after a while. The men were too boring and the women were too gentle. She didn’t want to be humanized. She wanted to be an object, a canvas for whatever sick ideas they had in their heads if only for one night. Sometimes, late at night she’d dream about meeting a real life serial killer and having to fight for her life.
“I will dominate you.” said another man who flinched when she got the knives.
Reality was so boring.
The comfort in finding a home, a place which would accept and push her toward all her wildest dreams…well, it was burned into every bruise on her body. She would test the limits of everything around her, find the point at which everything breaks…because she knew for certain that given enough pressure, everything breaks. Then she would hit it just so and watch as it all just…shattered.
She could only hope to find herself among the pieces.
I am beyond excited.
I mean look. There’s a sort of hilarious euphoria that hits when you walk into a company, whip a bunch of ass, and get a shot at the World Champion lined up first time out. I know a lot of folks would be really humble or use this as a chance to brag about how great they are but honestly, it’s just how it is. I leave it out there and a lot of the time, that’s enough to make some weird shit happen. Will lightning strike twice and my fine ass be crowned on the first attempt? Who the fuck knows? Statistically, probably not but baby, if I have any chance I’ll take it.
Chelsea, I gotta be honest. I am excited to see what you’ve got out there. I want to know just what kind of person I’m gonna make bleed when the time comes. A lot of folks, they like to do research and deep dive the histories of the big champs but that’s just not the kind of person I am really. I want to see who you are when you step between those ropes in front of me. Are you a fighter? Are you a technician? Are you a coward? The choices are endless and honestly, I cannot wait to see what I’m getting.
What a fun little idea this match is, huh? Champions and challengers standing beside each other. A little of the old brand ego combined with a little bit of a preview without us ever actually squaring off. It’s a clever little bit of bullshit. I watch you, you watch me, we both watch our opponents scream and yell as we make them hurt. It’s fun for the whole family, really. The moment that bell rings, it’s like letting myself off the leash. I’m just ready to chase and bite and pounce until everyone’s just about done with moving for the day.
I see someone across the ring looks like a mirror image to me and honestly, I hope it’s not like last week where they run off in a pout before I can even lay a finger on them. It’s so much more when you see someone a little like yourself out here. Last time it was someone who was also Not. This time it’s someone who could almost be twinsies with me. Cutesy little name like Cerise, lined up to get herself a world title shot. I’m sure she worked real hard for it too. Really fought her way up the ranks or whatever. I wonder how it’d feel for her to lose to a doppelganger who rode the express.
There’s this thing so many wrestlers have where you want to be scary. You all want to be broody and mean and intimidating like any of that means shit. You posture and you tell your little stories of why people should be scared of you or intimidated. I guess sometimes it works. Mostly you just get people saying ooga booga back and then you fight it out and all the head games amount to some macho jerkoff session in the back. You want people to read you as all dark and tortured because you think it makes you what? Authentic? Tough?
It just makes you funny.
A fun little joke.
Then people like me come along and hey.
You get your punchline.
See, I’m just a girl who likes to throw herself around and put herself in danger of severe harm. I didn’t come to this business to win titles. Like, I’ll take them if I can get them, sure. But I just want to stir things up a bit. Give a little, get a little at one of the world’s only sanctioned pain exchanges. I could have boxed or thrown myself in a cage, but there’s no other business in the world where I can jump off of increasingly tall heights at you and sometimes, just sometimes, we can crawl through broken glass together.
You take this business so seriously when really, it’s all so…
Absurd.
It is an absurdist art.
So here’s a joke for the girl in the clown makeup.
Your shadow walks into the bar.
You find out you were the shadow all along.
See?
Hilarious.
Two years ago.
“Again.”
Eden Black gave the order and Ashley obeyed. She tried to sink a lockup, but found herself out of position. Eden quickly shot in on her and took her down to the mat. For someone who had a reputation for being one of the more violent wrestlers of her generation, as a trainer Ashley found Eden to be a little overly gentle. Eden released the hold and gave a little shrug of discontent as her performance.
“Zephyr, sub in please.” Eden said, with no small amount of exasperation. Her young daughter stepped into the ring looking ready to fight, while outside the ring her cousin Tara looked on. “Okay, now just a lockup.” Ashley nodded, reaching in to grapple the young child. She was barely able to process what happened before she hit the mat with considerably more force than the mother had applied.
“Pathetic.” Zephyr said nonchalantly before rolling out of the ring to receive a Sour Patch Kid from Tara. The insult cut deeper than the takedown.
“You just got taken down by a nine year old girl.” Eden said. “Do you know why?”
“You’re raising a secret ninja assassin?” Ashley said flippantly.
“I am explicitly not.” Eden said with a sigh.
“Is it because I suck?” Ashley offered.
“Not…exactly.” Eden said. “You’re sloppy though. Reckless. You leave yourself wide open all the time. I watch you approach everything and you’re nothing but openings. If you wrestle a match like this, you’ll go down easily.”
“I think you’ll find I already do that.” Ashley said. “Ask any of my exes.”
Eden pinched her nose.
“I know what you’re looking for.” Eden said. “Half of why I agreed to train you despite you being perpetually behind on payments and messy as hell is because I see a bit of who I was in you. I’ve had a deathwish. I hope that maybe with that insight, I can give you some of the guidance I needed back when I was...”
“The Black Empress?”
“Different.” Eden said insistently. “Look, I can’t say I don’t want to try and get you on a different path. You get a lot of slack, I get my chance to change your mind. That’s the trade we’ve got going on here. But if you want people to seriously wreck you, you’re going to have to make it past the lockup, so you may want to reconsider your approach and get actually, you know, kinda good.”
“Shit. That’s a good point.” Ashley said. She pulled herself from the mat and stared her teacher in the eyes. “Okay.”
Eden smiled.
“Again.”
Chaos.
That’s another idea that wrestlers love. You all like to think you’re these big dramatic balls of wild energy, then come out and wrestle the same basic match, telegraph enough that you’re in big runs of counters, and find the same old ways to bring it home. You want to see yourselves as dangerous and unpredictable, but it’s all just for clout. You don’t have anything in you I haven’t seen before.
It’s not that I don’t understand the concept. I got taught early on that you need the fundamentals if you’re ever going to go somewhere new. But then you go and you win a title and suddenly it’s all high tension. You find yourself stuck in a rut, sticking to the same old thing that got you to the dance in the first place. Sure, it may be excellent, but what do you get from it? A few pounds of gold over your shoulder traded off for stagnancy. Disgusting.
Substituting a ‘K’ for a ‘C’ doesn’t make you a breathtaking free thinker.
Honestly, I am positively D Y I N G for one of you to show me something that, I don’t know…impresses me? Scares me? I grew up watching wrestling, I’ve seen a bunch of champions come and go. But throw in a little bit of real disruption…have something arise that you genuinely didn’t see coming? And suddenly the whole game goes up in the air.
You can rest easy champ.
You may get embarrassed here, but yours isn’t the title I’m going to be hurling around the arena in a month. You get to keep your title and have your little pissing match with my shadow where both of you can play pretend that you’re bigger and tougher and scarier than you actually are before coming out and having a safe, stagnant old time.
I’ll be on the other show.
Proving that if it bleeds, it can die.
Assuming, of course…
You have the guts to kill it.