Post by Emevlas Stastias on Jul 14, 2016 20:42:40 GMT -6
That moment with Reya there was a thing of beauty. I get someone in their return match, I feel like I sufficiently annoyed that Ruby bitch at the announce table, and I get to wrestle for the first time in over two months for VoW. One question, though. Did you miss me? Did you miss me after I was absent from your screens for over 50 days? Did you miss my sharp tongue? Are any of you jonesing for a second Emevlas Stastias match in VoW? Because, I will tell you right now, after the shit I went through in EWC, I am SO ready for a second VoW match. I want this. I’m kinda put off that a returning wrestler as popular and well-respected as Reya Serra isn’t instantly in the main event of the show. But hey, it really doesn’t matter, so long as I get to invade your screens for a while and entertain you. Something I wish Katie Moicelle would learn, and learn quick.
The Shoot – A False Passion of The Christ
Location: An apartment in inner city Seattle, Washington.
Date: July 10th, 2016
Though, when I said I’m not ignoring Reya’s VoW history like she did, I meant that. I mean every word of that, because I mean damn near everything I say. That’s nothing new. But then, you can’t go through the same process every time, either. You gotta do your research on this shit. So, on camera me, tell us what we’re looking up on the VoW site!
“GAH! Don’t scare me like that!”
I look over to the camera as if it were never there to begin with… although I’d set it up previously… joke lost there. The camera cuts to a view of my screen showing the summary of the very first Breakthrough for a couple seconds, before cutting to my (loverly) face looking at that last result with a… let’s say miffed? Expression.
“Seth Iser defeats Reya Serra. OK, then… he’s a tough one, I can understand losing to that asshole, but in the first main event? C’mon, Reya!”
My expression grows ever more miffed as I realize who I’m really facing: a ginger punching bag. The camera cuts back to the screen, showing Breakthrough numero Six, the first match. A slight hint of excitement gleams through my eyes.
“Then Reya beats a comic book character. Not quite Seth Iser levels here, not quite main event levels, either, but it’s a start. It’s-It’s definitely a start.”
The camera cuts yet again to the next Breakthrough Reya was on: the seventh one. That was a big day, one where Stacy Jones debuted, and… then the camera cuts to me cringing.
“Ooh… shit… Damn, Reya… losing to Casanova English, jeez… that’s gotta sting even more than the Iser match must have, Jesus.”
This package is going to look like a teenager’s video log once I’m done editing it all up… as there’s yet another cut, to the very next show. There was an Xcel Title tourney that Reya was involved in.
“Lost in the first round? To this Mister E nobody, really? I mean, I understand losing to the now World Champion kinda stings, but you gotta recover from that as quickly as you can! Then somehow, scrolling up here, you still went to the semi-finals. How? That’s not how a tournament works!”
The camera cuts to me sitting in a barstool, with my face buried in my hands in frustration. I hold this position as I begin to speak.
“You know, when I agreed to face Reya Serra, I agreed to face a legend on her grand return to Visionaries of Wrestling… but what do I go and realize? I’m facing a fucking punching bag!”
My hands sink down to my nose, still masking my mouth. At least now I get to look at the camera. Eyes can show a lot of expression, even without hands and teeth helping them out.
“This match isn’t going to be a challenge anymore, it’s going to be an inevitability.”
My hands move away from my face, in a shrugging motion before continuing.
“Was there EVER a show aside from the one where you actually fucking beat a comic book character, where you were directly involved in winning? I’ll be the very first one to admit, I never beat a comic book character, but that’s because I was never given the chance to. Seriously, you could barely touch the now World Champion, before he was even considered a threat for the Xcel Title. And that’s really sad. You couldn’t touch Seth Iser in the very first show two years ago. You stepped onto the court and they jammed on you like they were Shaquille!”
I show a visual representation of that last line as I say it. I’m real proud of that one. Darn you, de la Rocha!
“I mean, I thought you were an honest to Jeebus LEGEND in VoW. That’s basically why I wanted this match! But, lo and behold, I find that no matter how hard you’ve fought, or really who you’ve associated yourself with, be it Stacy Jones or Katie Moicelle, you just haven’t been able to pull off a win. It’s almost SCARY, Reya!”
Time for some Pepsi. I’m really glad I don’t have acid reflux, because if I did, I don’t think I’d be wrestling at all. I get up and walk to the refrigerator, and when I open it, I notice… I only have one left. I suppose I should go and get some more at some point, but for now, I guess I’ll use this refreshing cola as a symbol. The box that the can resided in doesn’t remain in the fridge for long after, as I grab the box with the spare fingers on my right hand and chuck it towards the trash can. Doesn’t even come close to making it. I’ll never be a basketball star, now… I open the Pepsi, and take a sip.
“You know… I always put on the façade that Pepsi turns me into this foul mouthed bitch, but that’s not true at all. I’ve always been like that, and caffeine doesn’t change that.”
I finally get back to the barstool and take a seat.
“Technically speaking, are you part of an older era in this company? I know, silly of Emevlas, she didn’t even debut in the 2000s. How dare Emevlas Stastias, a 36-year-old on the literal verge of retirement, have the gall to say that someone younger than her is from an “old era.” Who the hell is she to talk about old? Well, just hear me out: there’s the older era, and it’s seeped into this newer era. The older era has your Casanova Englishes, your Stacy Joneses, your Ziu Zhongs, and your Valquists, to which I say welcome back, Vallo.”
I take a quick breath before continuing. This might get nasty.
“While this newer era has your Tyron Bickertons, your Ryder Blades, your Ace Watsons, and whether she likes it or not, your Constance Chapins. Going by history, you, Reya, haven’t beaten any of these names I’ve mentioned. So, even if you haven’t been thinking about it and tending to Katie Moicelle this whole time, let me make you think about it, let me question you: with all the names I just provided that you’ve barely even touched, and since I’ve before shown that even at 36 years of age, I am on their level, if not higher, what… in the holy name of the motherfuck, makes you think… your return is really going to be successful?”
I take a swig of my Pepsi, mainly to calm down. Yeah, that got a bit hostile…
“I’m sorry for raising my voice, but let’s be realistic here. I’ve been doing this for things like English’s World Title for so long that you’ll have to forgive me slightly if I come across as cocky. That’s just me, I’ll admit being a cocky bitch. It’s nothing new. At least it shouldn’t be. And when I think I’m getting to face a legend in any company, when in reality, I’m facing a sexy ginger punching bag… it kinda dampens the mood.”
My face becomes a bit “upset” at the mention.
“I mean, history often times repeats itself, first time at tragedy, but the rest of the time in farce. But, there’s a point where the farce becomes annoyance. I could talk to Ryder Blade about that for hours, trust me. But, he’s none of my concern. You’re my current concern, then if nothing else happens, Stacy’s it for me.”
Eyebrows raised, I got an idea!
“This is gonna seem sudden, but I understand that you’re a devout Christian. Christianity is filled with IDEALS that very few people actually follow. You wanna know my IDEAL? That I retired in May 2015, not August 2016. Had I faced Stacy in Battlemania, this match wouldn’t be happening, and Griffin Hawkins of EWC fame would have been my last opponent. The match with Stacy would never be happening and eyes wouldn’t be drawn to Heatstroke this year. Aside from you returning, this is nothing more than a throwaway. A card filler. I mean, look at the other matches on here. There’s a cereal mascot facing the Zero Gravity thief, there’s leaders of separate revolutions in the main event, there’s my Heatstroke opponent facing Tights-nabber McFucked… pretty much every other match on the card, save for a later fatal four-way which was just concocted out of thin air, serves a purpose. They say our match serves a purpose, for Reya Serra to triumphantly return over an aging woman with one more match in her.”
I shake my head with the most cockiness I’ve felt in a long time.
“But, what they won’t tell you is that Reya Serra lost her return match, like she’s lost every other match since last year. No longer will Stacy Jones be the visionary with the most losses ever. That title, once more, will belong to you, Reya.”
I pause for a moment, before…
“With all due respect.”
Camera off… and that’s that done, thank goodness. I didn’t wanna get too hard on Reya, she’s a nice enough woman. But, I’m not afraid of letting this Cult of Personality loose on anyone, and everyone I face hears her soon enough…
Stacy.
Part II – Training? What’s That?
Location: Not Applicable
Date: July 14th, 2016. 5:35 P.M. Pacific
“GAAHH—OW! FUCK!”
Down I fall, right on my back. No matter how close you are to retiring, or how confident you are about your match, you’ve always gotta train. No matter who you are or what your accolades might be. Some go harder than others. Some go harder than the military. But, I most likely go harder than you. With the tune of “Bring Da Ruckus” by the Wu-Tang Clan blasting out a small radio, I fell from about 7 feet in the air to my trainer: a finally healthy brother Equinox. He delivered a nice powerbomb, considering his gimped shoulder. I barely have time to react to the boot that usually follows his powerbomb up. I sit up anyway, and CRACK!
“AHH! SHIT!”
He connected with that boot. And by connected, I mean he damn near hit my nose, which he could have had he went full force. I was exhausted, he was exhausted, but for these matches, we needed to persevere through our training and rehabilitation cycle.
“Hey! Do you know about crossfaces, bro?”
Immediately, without hesitation, RIGHT ON THE NUGGET... Equinox locks me into a crossface. I cry out in agony, and within seconds, I find myself tapping out, prompting Noxy to let me out of the hold.
“I guess I know a little.”
“Ooh, the badass line from the older brother.”
False jazzhands of amazement before I try to get back up to my feet.
“But, seriously, that’s not like you to tap out like you did… you usually know how to get out of a crossface, especially one as garbage as mine.”
“It’s been nearly 2 hours, Noxy… of course I’d start tapping after that much time, anyone would. No one goes over 90 minutes wrestling, it’s bad for you.”
I do manage to get back up, ready to go one more round before packing it up. Despite my tap earlier, it’s just now tied, 5 falls to me, and now 5 falls to him. But Equinox is just too tired to go.
“You done?”
He nods yes. I walk over to him and give him a Bombdrop, and then pin him.
1
.
2
.
3
And that’s the training done for the day, I suppose. I win that cycle, 6 falls to 5.
“I guess we’ll work more on submissions tomorrow?”
Equinox nods with his eyes closed. I can tell, he’s way too tired for and with what the kids call “this shit.” In a way, so am I after having went for 2 hours.
Part 2.5 – The Drive Home
Same date, same street address.
We walk to our car, a 2012 Dodge Charger SRT8, and I’m a bit forlorn and confused as to what happened.
“So, you know why you tapped, other than the time?”
It’s rare that I tap out under any circumstance. Even rarer when it’s during training, so…
“No… extreme pain notwithstanding, I honestly have no clue. I just wanna go home, take a shower, probably go to bed, and call it a day.”
“Without knowing why you tapped?”
I nod, a little ticked off now…
“Yes. Please.”
“You tapped because that was a new one for you. You don’t know how to get out of a crossface. The almighty, all popular Cult of Personality Emevlas Stastias, who’s won 15 world titles, and nearly 40 in her entire career… someone who’s beaten top star after top star in every federation she’s been in… doesn’t truly know how to get out of a crossface.”
That shuts me up for a split second as I get into the car. Driver’s side.
“This coming from someone who doesn’t know how to drive despite being past 40… we all have our imperfections, Noxy. We all just try to hide them with self-confidence and our own hubris.”
That’s going to make for a quiet drive home…
Right, I’ve got a match to do…
The Shoot – A False Passion of The Christ
Location: An apartment in inner city Seattle, Washington.
Date: July 10th, 2016
Though, when I said I’m not ignoring Reya’s VoW history like she did, I meant that. I mean every word of that, because I mean damn near everything I say. That’s nothing new. But then, you can’t go through the same process every time, either. You gotta do your research on this shit. So, on camera me, tell us what we’re looking up on the VoW site!
“GAH! Don’t scare me like that!”
I look over to the camera as if it were never there to begin with… although I’d set it up previously… joke lost there. The camera cuts to a view of my screen showing the summary of the very first Breakthrough for a couple seconds, before cutting to my (loverly) face looking at that last result with a… let’s say miffed? Expression.
“Seth Iser defeats Reya Serra. OK, then… he’s a tough one, I can understand losing to that asshole, but in the first main event? C’mon, Reya!”
My expression grows ever more miffed as I realize who I’m really facing: a ginger punching bag. The camera cuts back to the screen, showing Breakthrough numero Six, the first match. A slight hint of excitement gleams through my eyes.
“Then Reya beats a comic book character. Not quite Seth Iser levels here, not quite main event levels, either, but it’s a start. It’s-It’s definitely a start.”
The camera cuts yet again to the next Breakthrough Reya was on: the seventh one. That was a big day, one where Stacy Jones debuted, and… then the camera cuts to me cringing.
“Ooh… shit… Damn, Reya… losing to Casanova English, jeez… that’s gotta sting even more than the Iser match must have, Jesus.”
This package is going to look like a teenager’s video log once I’m done editing it all up… as there’s yet another cut, to the very next show. There was an Xcel Title tourney that Reya was involved in.
“Lost in the first round? To this Mister E nobody, really? I mean, I understand losing to the now World Champion kinda stings, but you gotta recover from that as quickly as you can! Then somehow, scrolling up here, you still went to the semi-finals. How? That’s not how a tournament works!”
The camera cuts to me sitting in a barstool, with my face buried in my hands in frustration. I hold this position as I begin to speak.
“You know, when I agreed to face Reya Serra, I agreed to face a legend on her grand return to Visionaries of Wrestling… but what do I go and realize? I’m facing a fucking punching bag!”
My hands sink down to my nose, still masking my mouth. At least now I get to look at the camera. Eyes can show a lot of expression, even without hands and teeth helping them out.
“This match isn’t going to be a challenge anymore, it’s going to be an inevitability.”
My hands move away from my face, in a shrugging motion before continuing.
“Was there EVER a show aside from the one where you actually fucking beat a comic book character, where you were directly involved in winning? I’ll be the very first one to admit, I never beat a comic book character, but that’s because I was never given the chance to. Seriously, you could barely touch the now World Champion, before he was even considered a threat for the Xcel Title. And that’s really sad. You couldn’t touch Seth Iser in the very first show two years ago. You stepped onto the court and they jammed on you like they were Shaquille!”
I show a visual representation of that last line as I say it. I’m real proud of that one. Darn you, de la Rocha!
“I mean, I thought you were an honest to Jeebus LEGEND in VoW. That’s basically why I wanted this match! But, lo and behold, I find that no matter how hard you’ve fought, or really who you’ve associated yourself with, be it Stacy Jones or Katie Moicelle, you just haven’t been able to pull off a win. It’s almost SCARY, Reya!”
Time for some Pepsi. I’m really glad I don’t have acid reflux, because if I did, I don’t think I’d be wrestling at all. I get up and walk to the refrigerator, and when I open it, I notice… I only have one left. I suppose I should go and get some more at some point, but for now, I guess I’ll use this refreshing cola as a symbol. The box that the can resided in doesn’t remain in the fridge for long after, as I grab the box with the spare fingers on my right hand and chuck it towards the trash can. Doesn’t even come close to making it. I’ll never be a basketball star, now… I open the Pepsi, and take a sip.
“You know… I always put on the façade that Pepsi turns me into this foul mouthed bitch, but that’s not true at all. I’ve always been like that, and caffeine doesn’t change that.”
I finally get back to the barstool and take a seat.
“Technically speaking, are you part of an older era in this company? I know, silly of Emevlas, she didn’t even debut in the 2000s. How dare Emevlas Stastias, a 36-year-old on the literal verge of retirement, have the gall to say that someone younger than her is from an “old era.” Who the hell is she to talk about old? Well, just hear me out: there’s the older era, and it’s seeped into this newer era. The older era has your Casanova Englishes, your Stacy Joneses, your Ziu Zhongs, and your Valquists, to which I say welcome back, Vallo.”
I take a quick breath before continuing. This might get nasty.
“While this newer era has your Tyron Bickertons, your Ryder Blades, your Ace Watsons, and whether she likes it or not, your Constance Chapins. Going by history, you, Reya, haven’t beaten any of these names I’ve mentioned. So, even if you haven’t been thinking about it and tending to Katie Moicelle this whole time, let me make you think about it, let me question you: with all the names I just provided that you’ve barely even touched, and since I’ve before shown that even at 36 years of age, I am on their level, if not higher, what… in the holy name of the motherfuck, makes you think… your return is really going to be successful?”
I take a swig of my Pepsi, mainly to calm down. Yeah, that got a bit hostile…
“I’m sorry for raising my voice, but let’s be realistic here. I’ve been doing this for things like English’s World Title for so long that you’ll have to forgive me slightly if I come across as cocky. That’s just me, I’ll admit being a cocky bitch. It’s nothing new. At least it shouldn’t be. And when I think I’m getting to face a legend in any company, when in reality, I’m facing a sexy ginger punching bag… it kinda dampens the mood.”
My face becomes a bit “upset” at the mention.
“I mean, history often times repeats itself, first time at tragedy, but the rest of the time in farce. But, there’s a point where the farce becomes annoyance. I could talk to Ryder Blade about that for hours, trust me. But, he’s none of my concern. You’re my current concern, then if nothing else happens, Stacy’s it for me.”
Eyebrows raised, I got an idea!
“This is gonna seem sudden, but I understand that you’re a devout Christian. Christianity is filled with IDEALS that very few people actually follow. You wanna know my IDEAL? That I retired in May 2015, not August 2016. Had I faced Stacy in Battlemania, this match wouldn’t be happening, and Griffin Hawkins of EWC fame would have been my last opponent. The match with Stacy would never be happening and eyes wouldn’t be drawn to Heatstroke this year. Aside from you returning, this is nothing more than a throwaway. A card filler. I mean, look at the other matches on here. There’s a cereal mascot facing the Zero Gravity thief, there’s leaders of separate revolutions in the main event, there’s my Heatstroke opponent facing Tights-nabber McFucked… pretty much every other match on the card, save for a later fatal four-way which was just concocted out of thin air, serves a purpose. They say our match serves a purpose, for Reya Serra to triumphantly return over an aging woman with one more match in her.”
I shake my head with the most cockiness I’ve felt in a long time.
“But, what they won’t tell you is that Reya Serra lost her return match, like she’s lost every other match since last year. No longer will Stacy Jones be the visionary with the most losses ever. That title, once more, will belong to you, Reya.”
I pause for a moment, before…
“With all due respect.”
Camera off… and that’s that done, thank goodness. I didn’t wanna get too hard on Reya, she’s a nice enough woman. But, I’m not afraid of letting this Cult of Personality loose on anyone, and everyone I face hears her soon enough…
Stacy.
Part II – Training? What’s That?
Location: Not Applicable
Date: July 14th, 2016. 5:35 P.M. Pacific
“GAAHH—OW! FUCK!”
Down I fall, right on my back. No matter how close you are to retiring, or how confident you are about your match, you’ve always gotta train. No matter who you are or what your accolades might be. Some go harder than others. Some go harder than the military. But, I most likely go harder than you. With the tune of “Bring Da Ruckus” by the Wu-Tang Clan blasting out a small radio, I fell from about 7 feet in the air to my trainer: a finally healthy brother Equinox. He delivered a nice powerbomb, considering his gimped shoulder. I barely have time to react to the boot that usually follows his powerbomb up. I sit up anyway, and CRACK!
“AHH! SHIT!”
He connected with that boot. And by connected, I mean he damn near hit my nose, which he could have had he went full force. I was exhausted, he was exhausted, but for these matches, we needed to persevere through our training and rehabilitation cycle.
“Hey! Do you know about crossfaces, bro?”
Immediately, without hesitation, RIGHT ON THE NUGGET... Equinox locks me into a crossface. I cry out in agony, and within seconds, I find myself tapping out, prompting Noxy to let me out of the hold.
“I guess I know a little.”
“Ooh, the badass line from the older brother.”
False jazzhands of amazement before I try to get back up to my feet.
“But, seriously, that’s not like you to tap out like you did… you usually know how to get out of a crossface, especially one as garbage as mine.”
“It’s been nearly 2 hours, Noxy… of course I’d start tapping after that much time, anyone would. No one goes over 90 minutes wrestling, it’s bad for you.”
I do manage to get back up, ready to go one more round before packing it up. Despite my tap earlier, it’s just now tied, 5 falls to me, and now 5 falls to him. But Equinox is just too tired to go.
“You done?”
He nods yes. I walk over to him and give him a Bombdrop, and then pin him.
1
.
2
.
3
And that’s the training done for the day, I suppose. I win that cycle, 6 falls to 5.
“I guess we’ll work more on submissions tomorrow?”
Equinox nods with his eyes closed. I can tell, he’s way too tired for and with what the kids call “this shit.” In a way, so am I after having went for 2 hours.
Part 2.5 – The Drive Home
Same date, same street address.
We walk to our car, a 2012 Dodge Charger SRT8, and I’m a bit forlorn and confused as to what happened.
“So, you know why you tapped, other than the time?”
It’s rare that I tap out under any circumstance. Even rarer when it’s during training, so…
“No… extreme pain notwithstanding, I honestly have no clue. I just wanna go home, take a shower, probably go to bed, and call it a day.”
“Without knowing why you tapped?”
I nod, a little ticked off now…
“Yes. Please.”
“You tapped because that was a new one for you. You don’t know how to get out of a crossface. The almighty, all popular Cult of Personality Emevlas Stastias, who’s won 15 world titles, and nearly 40 in her entire career… someone who’s beaten top star after top star in every federation she’s been in… doesn’t truly know how to get out of a crossface.”
That shuts me up for a split second as I get into the car. Driver’s side.
“This coming from someone who doesn’t know how to drive despite being past 40… we all have our imperfections, Noxy. We all just try to hide them with self-confidence and our own hubris.”
That’s going to make for a quiet drive home…
Right, I’ve got a match to do…
