Post by trouble on Sept 25, 2017 20:30:29 GMT -5
She hadn't meant for it to happen like this.
This wasn't her first time at PCW and that was a fact that bothered her, embarrassed her. A stain on a record she had hoped would be pretty clean. You see, she could deal with losing. Losing was understandable to her. No. Losing was ACCEPTABLE to her. She could understand and accept that someone outmatched her, outwitted her, even outperformed her. These were all things that logically happened in competitions, wrestling being one of those. Her thigh high boots slapped against the wet pavement, creating a sort of squelching sound with ever step. Raining again, it seemed like it was always raining around here.
What she couldn't understand, and most certainly couldn't accept was her own shortcomings. Her own failures. She hadn't been released by PCW because the talent of the roster had been too high, or there wasn't a place for her. No. She had been released because she couldn't hack it. That's right. She hadn't been good enough to compete and the PCW leadership had recognized that and called her out on that. She had failed.
She pulled her hood strings hoping that she could avoid some of the wet weather by drawing her hood in closer. It had turned into a light rain now, a drizzle if you would, but she had been out fifteen minutes already and was feeling the bone chill of one who is soaked through. Her first match back, her return to PCW was drawing ever closer and she had someone to see before she competed. Someone who she visited before every major event in her life, and this was no exception. In fact, this return to PCW might possibly even be THE most important event to yet cross her path.
She quickened her pace, flipping back the wet hair that was starting to impede her vision with a quick flick of her head. The water running down her face caused the street lights to bounce off her eyes in a slightly impairing way, casting bizzare shadows. She really did love the night time. It was quiet, it was peaceful, but there was always the looming prospect of trouble at any time. Really all in all, she was to PCW and night was to day. Beautiful. Quiet. Dangerous.
She walked another ten minutes, alternating between flipping her hair out of her face and keeping her eyes roving for any potential dangers. Just because she was a wrestler didn't mean there wasn't things that couldn't hurt her outside the ring. Even in the ring, her return match was no walk in the park. In one corner she had the unpredictable, the unsavory, Razor Blade. Ugly as a bear's first shaving lesson, and just as powerful too, from what she had seen of Razor Blade you didn't know if you were going to get the sharp end or the dull end. That would something that would remain to be seen.
In the other corner, was... well what was there even to be said about the man who called himself Warden West. A mountain of a man, who seemed as hollow as the caves that would exist inside such a mountain. She was a woman who did her research, but there was not much footage of Warden West. She only knew that he seemed to hold some scrawny young teenage boy in high regard, but not just your typical high regard. No, Warden West appeared to think the boy was some kind of god. If she had learned anything about PCW in all her studying before her return, it was that nothing good ever came of messing with the religious types. Not that it mattered, she wasn't afraid to go toe to toe with anyone. After all, wasn't that the basis for competition.
Her squelchy steps slowed as she neared her target destination and the streets she walked became as familiar as her childhood home. She was on a fairly busy street now, not quite a main street, but a street that was a main street for anyone who lived in the area. Her eyes scanned the signs, looking for the familiar white background with blue writing. After a couple familiar and some new signs, she found the one she was looking for. Cafe Demetri.
She threw open the familiar old metal door, the usual creaking sound giving her a reason to smile. It was comforting here, probably the reason she always met her person here before huge life events. She scanned the tiny little ten table cafe, neat as always, for the person she was looking for. It was remarkable really. The staff at Demetris somehow always managed to keep the place spotless, rain or shine. If dirt or mud or spills appeared they were gone almost as quick as they came to existence. The white walls, painted thirty years before, were still white with only the slightest, slightest hint of discoloration. The tables were cute, old thick wooden ones, some with bench seating, others with stools and chairs.
As her eyes scanned the room, she noticed him sitting in the back of cafe, hood up in the back corner. She had taken her own hood off upon entering, and that was unusual that he hadn't which meant he didn't want to be seen. Not by her, but by others. She took the queue and casually walked her way to the back of the cafe, hoping that the attention was being drawn off her by the open mic contestant currently playing the small stage. It was just another twenty something year old male with an acoustic guitar, nothing special but for once she was grateful for the cover of a mediocre musician. She only wished she could of done something about the squelching boots, but luckily no one seemed to notice.
“You're late you know,” the hooded male spoke as she sat down in the stool across from him. A coffee was waiting there for her, already made to her liking. He always had been a gentleman before he was an asshole, she thought as she sipped her room temperature coffee. She wasn't going to complain, that was just asking for her to dig herself into a hole.
“It's raining outside, I tried to get here as quickly as possibly without causing any injury to myself. You know that already. Well how have you been, I'm assuming you've talked to your sources and you already know what my big announcement is?” she spoke quickly. He never did stay long. He was important in her life and he knew that, yet always chose to leave just as quickly as he arrived. Part of that was no doubt her fault though, she wasn't exactly the best at keeping touch and doing simple friend things like visiting once and awhile, or even telephone calls.
“Of course I do, but you know that already,” he mocked her slightly, grinning from behind his hood. “So Ms. Lewitt the one time failure of PCW makes her return against the “sharpest of the sharp” Razor Blade and the “Cosplayer of the Century” Warden West. What THRILLING and astounding news,” the man said with just a slight hint of venom in his voice, but the sarcasm was all too evident.
She actually recoiled a bit from this, even though she should have expected this. He wasn't inherently mean, he just held her to really high standards. “Okay, okay, no need to be a dick. I get it you're not super impressed. I get it. This is important to me though. You know how I left there, or should I say, was forced to leave. You know how competitive I am and that PCW was the one stain on my record, my resume. I wasn't forced out by newer, better competition, I just couldn't hack it. This is my chance to prove myself again and I've worked damn hard for it. I've trained like I've never done before. I've done more research in the last two months, than I've done in the rest of my life combined. The least you could do is show some sort of interest or at the very least not mock me,” she lashed out surprising even herself with her fury. She had mellowed a lot since her last trip through PCW, but she could feel that old anger rising inside her.
“You'll do fine Arica, you've come a hell of a long way since your last attempt,” the voice behind the hood softened for only a second before it took a hard line once again. “You know what you have to do. You're not there to make friends. You're not there to be involved in drama. Everything that isn't winning your matches is not a priority right now. That comes later. Go into that ring and win by any means necessary. You have a referee who's distracted? Low blow. You have a referee downed? Find a weapon, secure a victory. Don't let your new “calm” temperament fail you in the ring. There was one good part of “Trouble” in your last go around and that was your unrelenting fury built upon your anger. Go into that ring, get angry, and do what you have to do to win. Don't fail yourself like you did last time,” the voice spoke firmly, almost as an adult would talk to a child in it's directness.
The hooded male dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table and without another word and only the slightest nod to Trouble, rose and exited Cafe Demetris, leaving her to wonder what the hell she had gotten herself into, and if she would ever be able to impress that man. Only time would tell.
This wasn't her first time at PCW and that was a fact that bothered her, embarrassed her. A stain on a record she had hoped would be pretty clean. You see, she could deal with losing. Losing was understandable to her. No. Losing was ACCEPTABLE to her. She could understand and accept that someone outmatched her, outwitted her, even outperformed her. These were all things that logically happened in competitions, wrestling being one of those. Her thigh high boots slapped against the wet pavement, creating a sort of squelching sound with ever step. Raining again, it seemed like it was always raining around here.
What she couldn't understand, and most certainly couldn't accept was her own shortcomings. Her own failures. She hadn't been released by PCW because the talent of the roster had been too high, or there wasn't a place for her. No. She had been released because she couldn't hack it. That's right. She hadn't been good enough to compete and the PCW leadership had recognized that and called her out on that. She had failed.
She pulled her hood strings hoping that she could avoid some of the wet weather by drawing her hood in closer. It had turned into a light rain now, a drizzle if you would, but she had been out fifteen minutes already and was feeling the bone chill of one who is soaked through. Her first match back, her return to PCW was drawing ever closer and she had someone to see before she competed. Someone who she visited before every major event in her life, and this was no exception. In fact, this return to PCW might possibly even be THE most important event to yet cross her path.
She quickened her pace, flipping back the wet hair that was starting to impede her vision with a quick flick of her head. The water running down her face caused the street lights to bounce off her eyes in a slightly impairing way, casting bizzare shadows. She really did love the night time. It was quiet, it was peaceful, but there was always the looming prospect of trouble at any time. Really all in all, she was to PCW and night was to day. Beautiful. Quiet. Dangerous.
She walked another ten minutes, alternating between flipping her hair out of her face and keeping her eyes roving for any potential dangers. Just because she was a wrestler didn't mean there wasn't things that couldn't hurt her outside the ring. Even in the ring, her return match was no walk in the park. In one corner she had the unpredictable, the unsavory, Razor Blade. Ugly as a bear's first shaving lesson, and just as powerful too, from what she had seen of Razor Blade you didn't know if you were going to get the sharp end or the dull end. That would something that would remain to be seen.
In the other corner, was... well what was there even to be said about the man who called himself Warden West. A mountain of a man, who seemed as hollow as the caves that would exist inside such a mountain. She was a woman who did her research, but there was not much footage of Warden West. She only knew that he seemed to hold some scrawny young teenage boy in high regard, but not just your typical high regard. No, Warden West appeared to think the boy was some kind of god. If she had learned anything about PCW in all her studying before her return, it was that nothing good ever came of messing with the religious types. Not that it mattered, she wasn't afraid to go toe to toe with anyone. After all, wasn't that the basis for competition.
Her squelchy steps slowed as she neared her target destination and the streets she walked became as familiar as her childhood home. She was on a fairly busy street now, not quite a main street, but a street that was a main street for anyone who lived in the area. Her eyes scanned the signs, looking for the familiar white background with blue writing. After a couple familiar and some new signs, she found the one she was looking for. Cafe Demetri.
She threw open the familiar old metal door, the usual creaking sound giving her a reason to smile. It was comforting here, probably the reason she always met her person here before huge life events. She scanned the tiny little ten table cafe, neat as always, for the person she was looking for. It was remarkable really. The staff at Demetris somehow always managed to keep the place spotless, rain or shine. If dirt or mud or spills appeared they were gone almost as quick as they came to existence. The white walls, painted thirty years before, were still white with only the slightest, slightest hint of discoloration. The tables were cute, old thick wooden ones, some with bench seating, others with stools and chairs.
As her eyes scanned the room, she noticed him sitting in the back of cafe, hood up in the back corner. She had taken her own hood off upon entering, and that was unusual that he hadn't which meant he didn't want to be seen. Not by her, but by others. She took the queue and casually walked her way to the back of the cafe, hoping that the attention was being drawn off her by the open mic contestant currently playing the small stage. It was just another twenty something year old male with an acoustic guitar, nothing special but for once she was grateful for the cover of a mediocre musician. She only wished she could of done something about the squelching boots, but luckily no one seemed to notice.
“You're late you know,” the hooded male spoke as she sat down in the stool across from him. A coffee was waiting there for her, already made to her liking. He always had been a gentleman before he was an asshole, she thought as she sipped her room temperature coffee. She wasn't going to complain, that was just asking for her to dig herself into a hole.
“It's raining outside, I tried to get here as quickly as possibly without causing any injury to myself. You know that already. Well how have you been, I'm assuming you've talked to your sources and you already know what my big announcement is?” she spoke quickly. He never did stay long. He was important in her life and he knew that, yet always chose to leave just as quickly as he arrived. Part of that was no doubt her fault though, she wasn't exactly the best at keeping touch and doing simple friend things like visiting once and awhile, or even telephone calls.
“Of course I do, but you know that already,” he mocked her slightly, grinning from behind his hood. “So Ms. Lewitt the one time failure of PCW makes her return against the “sharpest of the sharp” Razor Blade and the “Cosplayer of the Century” Warden West. What THRILLING and astounding news,” the man said with just a slight hint of venom in his voice, but the sarcasm was all too evident.
She actually recoiled a bit from this, even though she should have expected this. He wasn't inherently mean, he just held her to really high standards. “Okay, okay, no need to be a dick. I get it you're not super impressed. I get it. This is important to me though. You know how I left there, or should I say, was forced to leave. You know how competitive I am and that PCW was the one stain on my record, my resume. I wasn't forced out by newer, better competition, I just couldn't hack it. This is my chance to prove myself again and I've worked damn hard for it. I've trained like I've never done before. I've done more research in the last two months, than I've done in the rest of my life combined. The least you could do is show some sort of interest or at the very least not mock me,” she lashed out surprising even herself with her fury. She had mellowed a lot since her last trip through PCW, but she could feel that old anger rising inside her.
“You'll do fine Arica, you've come a hell of a long way since your last attempt,” the voice behind the hood softened for only a second before it took a hard line once again. “You know what you have to do. You're not there to make friends. You're not there to be involved in drama. Everything that isn't winning your matches is not a priority right now. That comes later. Go into that ring and win by any means necessary. You have a referee who's distracted? Low blow. You have a referee downed? Find a weapon, secure a victory. Don't let your new “calm” temperament fail you in the ring. There was one good part of “Trouble” in your last go around and that was your unrelenting fury built upon your anger. Go into that ring, get angry, and do what you have to do to win. Don't fail yourself like you did last time,” the voice spoke firmly, almost as an adult would talk to a child in it's directness.
The hooded male dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table and without another word and only the slightest nod to Trouble, rose and exited Cafe Demetris, leaving her to wonder what the hell she had gotten herself into, and if she would ever be able to impress that man. Only time would tell.