Post by The Gardner Effect on Jul 14, 2013 15:39:22 GMT
And then... Another four-way. Looks like this is going to have to become my specialty match for the next couple of weeks; ladder matches be damned. I win this one and I'm taken to a second four-way... This time with the Diamonds Championship on the line. I can already taste it. Feel it on my hands. It has to have my name on it. But before I get my hands on that beauty, I have to go through three other women... Two of which I know all too well.
You're right, Tifa, in most of what you say. Next Monday night is put up or shut up time for now; only a fool would disagree with that. I also agree that we've met in the ring one too many times, and one too many times you've gotten the best of my team. Turns out that your training has actually paid off, and you're turning into one fine wrestler. Hell, what do I know? You may be stealing this one as well, right from under my nose...
Although I bet Freya hasn't told you some of the principles of how not to get your teeth kicked in, and seeing yourself having to face the angriest, most voracious of the company one after the other is getting to you, isn't it?
I'm sorry to break the bad news to you, Tiffy, but it's only going to get worse from now on. Wrestling is an asylum, and it's ready to absorb you whole, and before you see it, you're either going mad, or corrupted by your own ambition. I shamelessly admit I'm in both groups. If you're not ready to endure the pressure, you're in the wrong business.
So I want you to see this next match not as the third time you're going to face me, but it's your golden opportunity to become the ultimate hotshot and shut up all the naysayers like me. But in order to shut me up, you have to grow up first, and building a cocky attitude just for the sake of sounding as cool as the rest of the guys in the back isn't growing up... It's a ticket to your dentist.
You see, Tiffy, I don't need to "feel like" I'm the greatest wrestler; I AM the greatest wrestler in IWF right now. I'm aware people like to see it as simple as a mathematical operation - Alysson Gardner has lost five of her last six matches in IWF. But how many times have I actually taken the fall, again? That's right. One. When I was put in a handicap match. And it took Eternity a cheap light trick to get the best of me. But it's ok - we are in a business in which only wins matter, and I WILL get this win and advance to the Final Four. And you'll have a choice to make: either you'll keep standing out from the rest, being this one-of-a-kind fighter that you are, or you let this industry corrupt you entirely, and you become one of the loudmouthed pricks that like to brag about what they haven't earned.
You ARE talented, there's no denying that. A prodigy, if you will. You'll have plenty of chances of proving your worth and winning as many shiny golden belts as your heart may desire.
But not this time.
It took Spike quite a while to come back home after the number he did on me and Christian. As I heard his car parking in front of our house, I braced myself for what was to come... As well as felt once again the pain I went through when he held my neck with unmeasured power, choking me for seconds that seemed an eternity until my brother, broken nose and everything, jumped into the situation and protected me from what would easily develop into a BAD ending if he wasn't there.
I see Spike opening the door, and he's staggering; it's like his legs are giving up on him, even though I can tell he's not drunk. Hell, he's not one to drink until he's high, I should know. But he's weak and it shows in his body.
He spots me on the couch, curled up in a ball as I hug my own legs, and he's quick to sit by my side, without hugging me or anything. His head is low, as if he was ashamed of something. Proud as he is, I know - I could bet my every singly penny on it - he wants to apologize but doesn't quite have the words to do it without coming off weaker than he already feels he is. Well, at least he's trying: "Aly, I... I..."
"You broke Christian's nose," I snarl at him. I know, not the best attitude, but I can't help but be mad. Spike looks at me with a quasi-Puss on Boots look, as I growl at him again. "You tried to choke me, you hurt me, and you broke Christian's goddamn nose... and all this because we wanted to PROTECT you."
"... protect... me? What are you...?" he chokes in his words. His mind is so messed up with this whole situation, it's like he's blocked what caused this whole crap in the first place.
"That video," I said, breaking out of my shell. "Chris brought us home so we could talk about that goddamn video Cyrus gave you, so we wouldn't--"
"Ah, that DVD with you talking to Chris?" - his temper starts building up again, as he stands up and paces around nervously. Somehow I know he still doubts me. So I have to shout back at him.
"Yes, I did talk to Chris about River, but the video you got was EDITED!" I roar at him. "You know anything about video editing? Crop footage, edit audio and shit?! They taped my conversation with Christian and they EDITED IT!"
At that moment, I knew Spike felt partly like an idiot; the other part was too proud to admit that. "But you still lied to me," he growled; "Why didn't you tell me River was around AGAIN?! Why do I have to know about every bloody thing from the grapevine?!"
"Because you didn't NEED to know about it! She went to Chris, she wanted to leave with Xander, Linda told her to fuck off and that. Was. IT!" I shout at him as loud as he does. "You didn't NEED to be disturbed with some shit that didn't even happen! But then Cyrus freaking Daniels taped that crap, edited it, and you fell like a sucker!"
Again, not the best choice of words. Spike is holding his anger as he kind of knows I'm right. I see as he plops down onto the couch again, hiding his face with his hands. "Where are Christian and Linda?"
"At the hospital," my voice is faint. "Taking care of Chris' broken nose. Rose is in the bedroom taking care of Xander." I sigh, as Spike seems to chuckle at the situation. For months at stake, that was exactly what I wanted him to do - break Christian. But right now, roles were reversed, and I was siding with my brother in a situation where we shouldn't really be supposed to pick sides. "If only you stopped to talk to me and listen to me, none of this would've been happening."
"About the video? Maybe," I heard Michael scoff; "but you still hid that crap from me, Alysson. You hid that-- I want to freaking know what's going on with MY son, goddamnit!"
"We're already gone through this, Michael! It was a situation that solved itself!" I throw my arms up in despair, as I realize my argument isn't getting inside his mind. "You're already bending yourself backwards because of Rob and Hope, and those bloody Australian bastards are gunning at YOUR family and you've already got enough headaches as it is!"
"Exactly, and I don't need you to be another!"
"... WHAT?!"
"If you're going to hide shit from me, if you're not going to tell me what happens with MY son, I'm gonna have to--"
"Are you saying you don't trust me?"
Silence.
Then there's Emma Danielson.
Heh.
How many times has it been, Emma? I've already lost count of how many times we've been put across the ring from one another, with something important on the line or not. Fate keeps binding us together, it's crazy. We've been over this already; match after match after match for the NCW Women's World Championship. You took my patience and my resolve to the limit, especially with the mast match, where we had to break out every single dirty trick in the book to get by. I remember that all too well; that was my most intense series against you. And this is part of what makes me love you so much.
But this time, it's different from anything we've been through before. This is basically a #1 contendership match for a championship that one of us will have the honor of debuting. And I have to fight for what I stand by, and right now I stand by the fact that I'm the best female wrestler of IWF, and I have to correct a major, serious mistake, as this point system is doing me no justice. I'm sure you can understand that, and you know that I'm going to fight for my win no matter who's across the ring from me.
Heh, I don't even think I should be telling you this, of all people; we can both agree that our best matches are against the ones we love the most. I could fight Ayla ten times in a row and for ten times in a row, no matter who would've won, we'd have stolen the show. I could fight you four times in a row again, and I'm sure we'd be the unsung main event of the night.
But this time, Emma, I have to fight for something greater. I have a legacy to stand up to, and I want to make sure the world understands what I'm saying not as a cheap bravado of an old veteran who's gone off the deep end, but as a TRUTH. I AM the greatest. And I won't let ANYONE stand in my way back to the top.
Not even you.
"Michael Patrick Kane, are you saying that you don't trust your own wife?" Yeah. That made me go out of my mind, and now I'm pissed. Spike stares daggers at me; somehow I touched a nerve there, and he was left wordless for a couple of seconds.
"N-No, that's not what I said. Listen, I--"
"Okay, I've had enough," I say, as I spring from the couch and stomp my way to the bedroom, where my niece is taking care of 'my son'. I can hear Spike following me closely - "Alysson! Wait! Stop being a-- God freaking darn it, Alysson!"
"Don't follow me!" I growl as I catch my adopted niece by the arm, mindlessly interrupting her 3DS gameplay as rudely as one could - "C'mon, Rose, let's go see your father at the hospital." The 13-year-old doesn't even question, as she knows the atmosphere is as heavy as they come; and uncle Spikey is still following them closely.
"Don't be such a bitch, Alysson! Let me--"
"There's NOTHING for you to explain! Since it's so important to you, you stay here and take care of YOUR son; I'm gonna check on MY brother."
"Oh yeah?! Is this how it's gonna be now, huh? Fine then, you go see him, and you can discuss what else you're gonna be hiding from me!"
"Go to hell!"
And just like that, I powerwalk out of my own house, as I hear the sounds of doors slamming and things crashing inside it. Pausing on the stoop, I have to take in a deep breath and swallow back the tears brought on by the first serious quarrel I'd ever had with my husband. "L-Let's go, Rose," I choke on my own feelings as we walk away.
What is this that I hear? Sex jokes? Really? Feels like it's 2007 all over again, doesn't it?
Bravo, Isabella, bravissimo; you've just proved to be the vaccum-headed teenager in this match. Tifa Heafy ain't got nothing on you.
Must I really remind you how your ass was brought into the Heiress to the Throne tournament in the first place? While I was fighting handicap matches for punishment and having to partake in misery team matches to see if I could prove further that I AM the best female wrestler this company has to offer... You had to pull off all the stripping abilities to convince the "lower heads" of two old farts to get you in, while you danced on nothing but a skimpy black bra on national television chain.
Holy damn, you must have been SO proud of yourself that night.
What IS a pity, though, is the fact that you have absolutely no idea what kind of terrain you're stepping into; which is a pretty funny realization, coming from the girl that mentioned little ole me in your first night in the company. What was it again, a "collective desire to get in my panties"?
Yeah, we're definitely back to 2007.
That was a nice pretty little speech there about how you're destined to greatness, especially coming from someone who has no clue how four-way matches work. Sure, you can blame your greenness; and unlike Tifa Heafy, who's actually being trained by my one of the greats in Freya Kane, you're trying to get that alluring breakout on your own. That's actually pretty awesome, I won't lie. Maybe someday you'll become a hot shot, an idol, a champion, and nobody will ever question your prowess. But it won't be this week. It won't be during this tournament.
And it won't be on my expense.
This is the kind of match you don't have to rely on luck or how fit your partner is to keep up with you in a fight. Do you know what kind of match is this, Isabella? You should know. You're a professional wrestler. Go get yourself some mat education 101 before barking up my tree, puppy. I've been in more four-way and six-way matches and battle-royales and clusterfucks than you've had MATCHES. And I've won more matches than you've asked for permission to drop your smart ass remarks about how Eternity is the Mad Hatter or how bubbly, cocky airheaded preteens suck... Although I may have to agree with you on that last one.
Sadly for you, this is the only thing we'll ever agree with, because I shall make the night of July 15th the night you'll realize that this old war dog MADE you. If you're in the Heiress tournament, it's because of me. And it will be because of me that you're going to get sent back to oblivion with nothing but your hollow promises.
Almost heartbreaking, really.
There's something you girls have to understand: there are moments in which it's not a win or a loss that makes a wrestler... And there are moments in which only the win matters. This time, it's the second situation. And I'm coming for that win, even if it means breaking one of you in half or breaking MYSELF in half to get it. And I'm going to
A throne that should have never been anyone else's but mine.
You're right, Tifa, in most of what you say. Next Monday night is put up or shut up time for now; only a fool would disagree with that. I also agree that we've met in the ring one too many times, and one too many times you've gotten the best of my team. Turns out that your training has actually paid off, and you're turning into one fine wrestler. Hell, what do I know? You may be stealing this one as well, right from under my nose...
Although I bet Freya hasn't told you some of the principles of how not to get your teeth kicked in, and seeing yourself having to face the angriest, most voracious of the company one after the other is getting to you, isn't it?
I'm sorry to break the bad news to you, Tiffy, but it's only going to get worse from now on. Wrestling is an asylum, and it's ready to absorb you whole, and before you see it, you're either going mad, or corrupted by your own ambition. I shamelessly admit I'm in both groups. If you're not ready to endure the pressure, you're in the wrong business.
So I want you to see this next match not as the third time you're going to face me, but it's your golden opportunity to become the ultimate hotshot and shut up all the naysayers like me. But in order to shut me up, you have to grow up first, and building a cocky attitude just for the sake of sounding as cool as the rest of the guys in the back isn't growing up... It's a ticket to your dentist.
You see, Tiffy, I don't need to "feel like" I'm the greatest wrestler; I AM the greatest wrestler in IWF right now. I'm aware people like to see it as simple as a mathematical operation - Alysson Gardner has lost five of her last six matches in IWF. But how many times have I actually taken the fall, again? That's right. One. When I was put in a handicap match. And it took Eternity a cheap light trick to get the best of me. But it's ok - we are in a business in which only wins matter, and I WILL get this win and advance to the Final Four. And you'll have a choice to make: either you'll keep standing out from the rest, being this one-of-a-kind fighter that you are, or you let this industry corrupt you entirely, and you become one of the loudmouthed pricks that like to brag about what they haven't earned.
You ARE talented, there's no denying that. A prodigy, if you will. You'll have plenty of chances of proving your worth and winning as many shiny golden belts as your heart may desire.
But not this time.
It took Spike quite a while to come back home after the number he did on me and Christian. As I heard his car parking in front of our house, I braced myself for what was to come... As well as felt once again the pain I went through when he held my neck with unmeasured power, choking me for seconds that seemed an eternity until my brother, broken nose and everything, jumped into the situation and protected me from what would easily develop into a BAD ending if he wasn't there.
I see Spike opening the door, and he's staggering; it's like his legs are giving up on him, even though I can tell he's not drunk. Hell, he's not one to drink until he's high, I should know. But he's weak and it shows in his body.
He spots me on the couch, curled up in a ball as I hug my own legs, and he's quick to sit by my side, without hugging me or anything. His head is low, as if he was ashamed of something. Proud as he is, I know - I could bet my every singly penny on it - he wants to apologize but doesn't quite have the words to do it without coming off weaker than he already feels he is. Well, at least he's trying: "Aly, I... I..."
"You broke Christian's nose," I snarl at him. I know, not the best attitude, but I can't help but be mad. Spike looks at me with a quasi-Puss on Boots look, as I growl at him again. "You tried to choke me, you hurt me, and you broke Christian's goddamn nose... and all this because we wanted to PROTECT you."
"... protect... me? What are you...?" he chokes in his words. His mind is so messed up with this whole situation, it's like he's blocked what caused this whole crap in the first place.
"That video," I said, breaking out of my shell. "Chris brought us home so we could talk about that goddamn video Cyrus gave you, so we wouldn't--"
"Ah, that DVD with you talking to Chris?" - his temper starts building up again, as he stands up and paces around nervously. Somehow I know he still doubts me. So I have to shout back at him.
"Yes, I did talk to Chris about River, but the video you got was EDITED!" I roar at him. "You know anything about video editing? Crop footage, edit audio and shit?! They taped my conversation with Christian and they EDITED IT!"
At that moment, I knew Spike felt partly like an idiot; the other part was too proud to admit that. "But you still lied to me," he growled; "Why didn't you tell me River was around AGAIN?! Why do I have to know about every bloody thing from the grapevine?!"
"Because you didn't NEED to know about it! She went to Chris, she wanted to leave with Xander, Linda told her to fuck off and that. Was. IT!" I shout at him as loud as he does. "You didn't NEED to be disturbed with some shit that didn't even happen! But then Cyrus freaking Daniels taped that crap, edited it, and you fell like a sucker!"
Again, not the best choice of words. Spike is holding his anger as he kind of knows I'm right. I see as he plops down onto the couch again, hiding his face with his hands. "Where are Christian and Linda?"
"At the hospital," my voice is faint. "Taking care of Chris' broken nose. Rose is in the bedroom taking care of Xander." I sigh, as Spike seems to chuckle at the situation. For months at stake, that was exactly what I wanted him to do - break Christian. But right now, roles were reversed, and I was siding with my brother in a situation where we shouldn't really be supposed to pick sides. "If only you stopped to talk to me and listen to me, none of this would've been happening."
"About the video? Maybe," I heard Michael scoff; "but you still hid that crap from me, Alysson. You hid that-- I want to freaking know what's going on with MY son, goddamnit!"
"We're already gone through this, Michael! It was a situation that solved itself!" I throw my arms up in despair, as I realize my argument isn't getting inside his mind. "You're already bending yourself backwards because of Rob and Hope, and those bloody Australian bastards are gunning at YOUR family and you've already got enough headaches as it is!"
"Exactly, and I don't need you to be another!"
"... WHAT?!"
"If you're going to hide shit from me, if you're not going to tell me what happens with MY son, I'm gonna have to--"
"Are you saying you don't trust me?"
Silence.
Then there's Emma Danielson.
Heh.
How many times has it been, Emma? I've already lost count of how many times we've been put across the ring from one another, with something important on the line or not. Fate keeps binding us together, it's crazy. We've been over this already; match after match after match for the NCW Women's World Championship. You took my patience and my resolve to the limit, especially with the mast match, where we had to break out every single dirty trick in the book to get by. I remember that all too well; that was my most intense series against you. And this is part of what makes me love you so much.
But this time, it's different from anything we've been through before. This is basically a #1 contendership match for a championship that one of us will have the honor of debuting. And I have to fight for what I stand by, and right now I stand by the fact that I'm the best female wrestler of IWF, and I have to correct a major, serious mistake, as this point system is doing me no justice. I'm sure you can understand that, and you know that I'm going to fight for my win no matter who's across the ring from me.
Heh, I don't even think I should be telling you this, of all people; we can both agree that our best matches are against the ones we love the most. I could fight Ayla ten times in a row and for ten times in a row, no matter who would've won, we'd have stolen the show. I could fight you four times in a row again, and I'm sure we'd be the unsung main event of the night.
But this time, Emma, I have to fight for something greater. I have a legacy to stand up to, and I want to make sure the world understands what I'm saying not as a cheap bravado of an old veteran who's gone off the deep end, but as a TRUTH. I AM the greatest. And I won't let ANYONE stand in my way back to the top.
Not even you.
"Michael Patrick Kane, are you saying that you don't trust your own wife?" Yeah. That made me go out of my mind, and now I'm pissed. Spike stares daggers at me; somehow I touched a nerve there, and he was left wordless for a couple of seconds.
"N-No, that's not what I said. Listen, I--"
"Okay, I've had enough," I say, as I spring from the couch and stomp my way to the bedroom, where my niece is taking care of 'my son'. I can hear Spike following me closely - "Alysson! Wait! Stop being a-- God freaking darn it, Alysson!"
"Don't follow me!" I growl as I catch my adopted niece by the arm, mindlessly interrupting her 3DS gameplay as rudely as one could - "C'mon, Rose, let's go see your father at the hospital." The 13-year-old doesn't even question, as she knows the atmosphere is as heavy as they come; and uncle Spikey is still following them closely.
"Don't be such a bitch, Alysson! Let me--"
"There's NOTHING for you to explain! Since it's so important to you, you stay here and take care of YOUR son; I'm gonna check on MY brother."
"Oh yeah?! Is this how it's gonna be now, huh? Fine then, you go see him, and you can discuss what else you're gonna be hiding from me!"
"Go to hell!"
And just like that, I powerwalk out of my own house, as I hear the sounds of doors slamming and things crashing inside it. Pausing on the stoop, I have to take in a deep breath and swallow back the tears brought on by the first serious quarrel I'd ever had with my husband. "L-Let's go, Rose," I choke on my own feelings as we walk away.
What is this that I hear? Sex jokes? Really? Feels like it's 2007 all over again, doesn't it?
Bravo, Isabella, bravissimo; you've just proved to be the vaccum-headed teenager in this match. Tifa Heafy ain't got nothing on you.
Must I really remind you how your ass was brought into the Heiress to the Throne tournament in the first place? While I was fighting handicap matches for punishment and having to partake in misery team matches to see if I could prove further that I AM the best female wrestler this company has to offer... You had to pull off all the stripping abilities to convince the "lower heads" of two old farts to get you in, while you danced on nothing but a skimpy black bra on national television chain.
Holy damn, you must have been SO proud of yourself that night.
What IS a pity, though, is the fact that you have absolutely no idea what kind of terrain you're stepping into; which is a pretty funny realization, coming from the girl that mentioned little ole me in your first night in the company. What was it again, a "collective desire to get in my panties"?
Yeah, we're definitely back to 2007.
That was a nice pretty little speech there about how you're destined to greatness, especially coming from someone who has no clue how four-way matches work. Sure, you can blame your greenness; and unlike Tifa Heafy, who's actually being trained by my one of the greats in Freya Kane, you're trying to get that alluring breakout on your own. That's actually pretty awesome, I won't lie. Maybe someday you'll become a hot shot, an idol, a champion, and nobody will ever question your prowess. But it won't be this week. It won't be during this tournament.
And it won't be on my expense.
This is the kind of match you don't have to rely on luck or how fit your partner is to keep up with you in a fight. Do you know what kind of match is this, Isabella? You should know. You're a professional wrestler. Go get yourself some mat education 101 before barking up my tree, puppy. I've been in more four-way and six-way matches and battle-royales and clusterfucks than you've had MATCHES. And I've won more matches than you've asked for permission to drop your smart ass remarks about how Eternity is the Mad Hatter or how bubbly, cocky airheaded preteens suck... Although I may have to agree with you on that last one.
Sadly for you, this is the only thing we'll ever agree with, because I shall make the night of July 15th the night you'll realize that this old war dog MADE you. If you're in the Heiress tournament, it's because of me. And it will be because of me that you're going to get sent back to oblivion with nothing but your hollow promises.
Almost heartbreaking, really.
There's something you girls have to understand: there are moments in which it's not a win or a loss that makes a wrestler... And there are moments in which only the win matters. This time, it's the second situation. And I'm coming for that win, even if it means breaking one of you in half or breaking MYSELF in half to get it. And I'm going to
ROCK
YOUR
WORLDS
to prove that I am the true heiress to the throne...YOUR
WORLDS
A throne that should have never been anyone else's but mine.
Well howdy there pardner.