Post by Abigail on Jun 9, 2024 22:45:30 GMT
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“The like figure whereunto even baptism doth also now save us (not the putting away of the filth of the flesh, but the answer of a good conscience toward God,) by the resurrection of Jesus Christ: Who is gone into heaven, and is on the right hand of God; angels and authorities and powers being made subject unto him.” - Peter III: 21-22.
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Amidst the soft flickering light of seven candles on the cold hard ground beneath her, Abigail knelt, head bowed solemnly and eyes closed for the moment. The only other light in the room washed over her from Heaven itself, above her, separated her from the surrounding darkness around her.
Abby laboured under the brightest and most brilliant spotlight clad in almost all black, save for a scarlet hooded cloak. The hood was pulled down so that the red spider lily nestled on the left side of her head was prominently displayed, offsetting the streak of forest green on the right. Abby took a few deep and slow breaths before she finally spoke.
As the old sayin’ goes, there really is a first time for everythin’, most especially in the pro wrestling business. Whilst the concept of oddball tag teams thrown together quite by random chance is a hackneyed clichè at this point, working with virtual strangers towards a mutual benefit and the overall common good is a life skill I possess in spades and is a virtue I’m particularly proud to have honed over literal decades in voluntary service ta both the church an’ also global humanitarian causes, like charities an’ foundations.
So whilst it’s true that I was more than a little apprehensive ta leave at least part of my fate in the hands of Tytus Rost when Mr Verona first informed me that he’d been randomly assigned as my partner in the mixed tag team stages of my very first Heiress ta the Throne this year, when my head cleared I rationalised that there was no reason I couldn’t at least try ta set aside any differences in socio-political opinions we may have ta work together for one of the most important accolades any of us can ever hope ta accomplish right here in the Imperial Wrestlin’ Federation.
Bein’ a Heiress ta the Throne.
A position that I covet ‘cause I know that if an’ when I make it, it will put me in some truly elite company indeed. What the Iron Maiden does for a female wrestlin’ career in a single night, this tournament does over the course of at least a month, maybe two.
Whereas the Maiden is a sprint, the Heiress is a marathon.
It is far, far easier ta pull off a single impressive performance than it is ta put on a string of successively impressive performances against increasingly hungrier an’ more determined opposition as both the men’s and women’s routinely necessitate. Even a cursory glance at most of the names selected this year suggests that none of us are in for an easy ride at all.
Pax Stormcrow defied the odds when he beat a very game Wraith in the finals last year, so only a fool would deny that he could very well do it again, but by the same token, I’d expect an Olympic calibre athlete like him ta understand that I mean absolutely no disrespect when I say that pulling off something like that once and bein’ able ta pull it off twice, especially in back ta back years, are entirely different propositions.
An’ given that even by his own admission he doesn’t really do well under pressure, often allowin’ his doubts and insecurities get the better of him, I really don’t think he’d blame me for questionin’ just how much of his heart is really in the long road ahead of him this year. Last year, he seemed more focused an’ less distracted than this time around.
Take it from me Pax, it’s a hell of a lot easier ta let yourself down than it is ta let someone ya love down, an’ so whilst I’m happy for your buddin’ love affair with Charlie, I know you’ve given some thought ta if if either of ya stumble this year, it hurts all y’all’s overall chances. So whilst Tytus an’ I may not stand a chance against ya chemistry wise, the most important advantage is still ours, ‘cause win or lose I don’t have ta come home ta the Russian Lion an’ I don’t have ta field any awkward apologies or endure any cold shoulders or resentment when one of ya fucks it up for the both of ya.
Now I know a lot of people have said a lot of things about ya bein’ a flash in the pan kinda competitor Pax, so I won’t retread well worn ground there, except ta say that recent events have shown your beloved Charlie ta be just like you in that regard, and that might well be somethin’ of a benefit ta your personal relationship, but as far as I see it ain’t nothin’ but a detriment ta ya both professionally.
Charlie won the Iron Maiden only ta ultimately blow her shot at Immortals, just like Pax finally broke the glass ceiling ta win the top prize in his division only ta fall flat on his face at the very first hurdle soon after, provin’ that y’all are more lucky than ya are consistent, and like I said earlier, ya won’t get very far in this tournament if the best ya can manage is a big win every once in a while.
Ya have yet ta prove ta anybody that ya can consistently perform at the highest level.
An’ while I’m not nearly as arrogant ta suggest that y’all will never do it, I highly doubt you’ll be able ta prove yourselves against the likes of me. Charlie may have been lucky enough ta pick up the scraps after one of her besties put my ass through a glass pod, but I’m still one of the most dominant Women’s World Champions this company has ever produced.
An’ this Tuesday, I get ta show not only you Charlie, but the entire watching world that whilst absolutely anybody can take me out occasionally, absolutely nobody can keep me down ever.
For I am The Archangel an’ I will rise again.
It ain’t nothin’ but a matter of time an’ patience.
An’ I have the patience of a saint an’ all the time in the world.
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Amidst the soft flickering light of seven candles on the cold hard ground beneath her, Abigail knelt, head bowed solemnly and eyes closed for the moment. The only other light in the room washed over her from Heaven itself, above her, separated her from the surrounding darkness around her.
Abby laboured under the brightest and most brilliant spotlight clad in almost all black, save for a scarlet hooded cloak. The hood was pulled down so that the red spider lily nestled on the left side of her head was prominently displayed, offsetting the streak of forest green on the right. Abby took a few deep and slow breaths before she finally spoke.
As the old sayin’ goes, there really is a first time for everythin’, most especially in the pro wrestling business. Whilst the concept of oddball tag teams thrown together quite by random chance is a hackneyed clichè at this point, working with virtual strangers towards a mutual benefit and the overall common good is a life skill I possess in spades and is a virtue I’m particularly proud to have honed over literal decades in voluntary service ta both the church an’ also global humanitarian causes, like charities an’ foundations.
So whilst it’s true that I was more than a little apprehensive ta leave at least part of my fate in the hands of Tytus Rost when Mr Verona first informed me that he’d been randomly assigned as my partner in the mixed tag team stages of my very first Heiress ta the Throne this year, when my head cleared I rationalised that there was no reason I couldn’t at least try ta set aside any differences in socio-political opinions we may have ta work together for one of the most important accolades any of us can ever hope ta accomplish right here in the Imperial Wrestlin’ Federation.
Bein’ a Heiress ta the Throne.
A position that I covet ‘cause I know that if an’ when I make it, it will put me in some truly elite company indeed. What the Iron Maiden does for a female wrestlin’ career in a single night, this tournament does over the course of at least a month, maybe two.
Whereas the Maiden is a sprint, the Heiress is a marathon.
It is far, far easier ta pull off a single impressive performance than it is ta put on a string of successively impressive performances against increasingly hungrier an’ more determined opposition as both the men’s and women’s routinely necessitate. Even a cursory glance at most of the names selected this year suggests that none of us are in for an easy ride at all.
Pax Stormcrow defied the odds when he beat a very game Wraith in the finals last year, so only a fool would deny that he could very well do it again, but by the same token, I’d expect an Olympic calibre athlete like him ta understand that I mean absolutely no disrespect when I say that pulling off something like that once and bein’ able ta pull it off twice, especially in back ta back years, are entirely different propositions.
An’ given that even by his own admission he doesn’t really do well under pressure, often allowin’ his doubts and insecurities get the better of him, I really don’t think he’d blame me for questionin’ just how much of his heart is really in the long road ahead of him this year. Last year, he seemed more focused an’ less distracted than this time around.
Take it from me Pax, it’s a hell of a lot easier ta let yourself down than it is ta let someone ya love down, an’ so whilst I’m happy for your buddin’ love affair with Charlie, I know you’ve given some thought ta if if either of ya stumble this year, it hurts all y’all’s overall chances. So whilst Tytus an’ I may not stand a chance against ya chemistry wise, the most important advantage is still ours, ‘cause win or lose I don’t have ta come home ta the Russian Lion an’ I don’t have ta field any awkward apologies or endure any cold shoulders or resentment when one of ya fucks it up for the both of ya.
Now I know a lot of people have said a lot of things about ya bein’ a flash in the pan kinda competitor Pax, so I won’t retread well worn ground there, except ta say that recent events have shown your beloved Charlie ta be just like you in that regard, and that might well be somethin’ of a benefit ta your personal relationship, but as far as I see it ain’t nothin’ but a detriment ta ya both professionally.
Charlie won the Iron Maiden only ta ultimately blow her shot at Immortals, just like Pax finally broke the glass ceiling ta win the top prize in his division only ta fall flat on his face at the very first hurdle soon after, provin’ that y’all are more lucky than ya are consistent, and like I said earlier, ya won’t get very far in this tournament if the best ya can manage is a big win every once in a while.
Ya have yet ta prove ta anybody that ya can consistently perform at the highest level.
An’ while I’m not nearly as arrogant ta suggest that y’all will never do it, I highly doubt you’ll be able ta prove yourselves against the likes of me. Charlie may have been lucky enough ta pick up the scraps after one of her besties put my ass through a glass pod, but I’m still one of the most dominant Women’s World Champions this company has ever produced.
An’ this Tuesday, I get ta show not only you Charlie, but the entire watching world that whilst absolutely anybody can take me out occasionally, absolutely nobody can keep me down ever.
For I am The Archangel an’ I will rise again.
It ain’t nothin’ but a matter of time an’ patience.
An’ I have the patience of a saint an’ all the time in the world.
===
Abigail held out hope that the almost paralytic apprehension and not entirely unfounded fear of walking the streets of Osaka as a lesbian would pass. Though she dared not walk alone, she also could not risk the unique comfort of holding her lover’s hand in public here, and making them both an unnecessary target for hate and bigotry.
Devoid of any rainbow colours or lesbian and pansexual pride pins, Abigail wore plain white and Eternity wore simple black. It had been years since Abigail had had to definitively separate ‘girlfriend’ into two separate words for her not only her own safety but also the safety of her partner. Whilst it was true that lesbian women were given a lot more leeway than gay men in most hostile environments, for Abby she lived by the mantra that it was better to be safe than sorry in these situations.
At least we ain’t in Russia, Abby thought to himself, be thankful for small mercies, girl.
They stopped at a street vendor and Eternity ordered some authentic local cuisine in perfect Japanese, or at least it sounded perfect to Abby’s American ear. Speaking several languages was just one of the talents that made Eternity endlessly fascinating to Abigail.
Abigail was presented with Takoyaki, a small obviously fried ball of something pickled with ginger and onion. Eternity watched with an innocent smile as Abby took her first slightly trepidatious bite, trusting her partner’s recommendation implicitly. Abby’s uncultured tongue couldn’t decide whether it tasted like chicken or like pork, though the harder it became to chew, Abby was forced to conclude that it was likely neither.
“Good?” Eternity asked.
Her mouth still full, Abby waved her hand to indicate that it was not great, not bad, just okay. She took her time to swallow, “Is it supposed to be this chewy?”
Eternity turned to the vendor and complained. Abby knew from Eternity’s tone that it was a complaint, even though she didn’t catch any of the words. A firm shake of Eternity’s head denied the vendor any payment. Eternity grabbed Abby by the hand so quickly that she almost choked on what was still in her mouth. Abby spat it out instead as they walked away.
“I’ll take that as a no then,” Abby said.
“Only when it’s raw or undercooked,” Eternity finally answered.
“Great, and what is it, exactly?”
“Octopus,” Eternity smiled.
“God, really?” Abby screwed up her face, “Well thanks, put me off visiting the aquarium tomorrow now.”
Well howdy there pardner.