Post by Wasp on Feb 25, 2014 11:49:42 GMT -5
He had hit this point before in his career, and he had not responded well. Wasp had gotten into wrestling late. He was into his mid thirties when he wrestled his first real professional match. His first venture had been good for awhile, until a slew of corruption had coursed throughout the place, ultimately ending in its closure. However that had not happened here, and he really had no one to blame, except for himself that was.
He was sitting in a Starbucks, sipping at a Venti Hazelnut Macchiato, and wondering what he would do next. Would he disappear for years as he had done last time things had gone so drastically wrong? It was true the tag titles were no longer in circulation, but there was more, wasn’t there? Yet he still found himself tied up with his tag team partner, High Tide, fighting the odd duo of Saniti and Q. To what end?
He sipped at the large, overpriced drink and set it back down on the average, bland coffee shop table. For that matter where had all the shit they had caused gotten them? What had these “Pirate Quests” done for them? Nothing, absolutely nothing and to be honest he was growing quite sick of it. He slammed his fist down on the table out of instinct more than out of anger, and then he realized he was in a coffee shop.
He uttered a short but sincere apology, most to the elderly that were usually found in coffee shops at early hours of the morning before the thoughts of PCW flooded his mind once again. The match versus Saniti and Q didn’t mean anything. No, it meant something, every match did, but in the bigger picture it meant nothing. Saniti and Q could beat them, the Freebooters, twelve times in a row, and there would be no greater prize. There would be no belts, there would be no title matches. Nothing.
This match could however be a vehicle for not the Freebooters, but himself. He could go out there and show the management he still had what it took to compete, even in the face of defeat. He could go out there and show that High Tide wasn’t a crutch he leaned on; it was a limb he could do without.
He didn’t even want a title shot, he realized and that was a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. No, he thought as he drained the last of his drink and tossed the cup into the waste receptacle, he just wanted the chance to prove he at least deserved to be in a division that DID have a belt. He would work his way up the ranks again, and gladly. It wasn’t that he was fully opposed to working with Tide, just not every damn match.
And yet there was a part of him that wondered just how alike he and Tide still were. After all, Tide would go to any means to get a belt, and knowing him he thought he deserved a shot at another title. Wasp shook his head as he pushed the glass door open, walking out into the cool morning breeze, there were changes that were happening around PCW and maybe, just maybe it would be a good time for him to change a little bit too. And it would start in his next match; he would give Saniti and Q, and even the fans a match he knew he was capable of delivering.
He was sitting in a Starbucks, sipping at a Venti Hazelnut Macchiato, and wondering what he would do next. Would he disappear for years as he had done last time things had gone so drastically wrong? It was true the tag titles were no longer in circulation, but there was more, wasn’t there? Yet he still found himself tied up with his tag team partner, High Tide, fighting the odd duo of Saniti and Q. To what end?
He sipped at the large, overpriced drink and set it back down on the average, bland coffee shop table. For that matter where had all the shit they had caused gotten them? What had these “Pirate Quests” done for them? Nothing, absolutely nothing and to be honest he was growing quite sick of it. He slammed his fist down on the table out of instinct more than out of anger, and then he realized he was in a coffee shop.
He uttered a short but sincere apology, most to the elderly that were usually found in coffee shops at early hours of the morning before the thoughts of PCW flooded his mind once again. The match versus Saniti and Q didn’t mean anything. No, it meant something, every match did, but in the bigger picture it meant nothing. Saniti and Q could beat them, the Freebooters, twelve times in a row, and there would be no greater prize. There would be no belts, there would be no title matches. Nothing.
This match could however be a vehicle for not the Freebooters, but himself. He could go out there and show the management he still had what it took to compete, even in the face of defeat. He could go out there and show that High Tide wasn’t a crutch he leaned on; it was a limb he could do without.
He didn’t even want a title shot, he realized and that was a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. No, he thought as he drained the last of his drink and tossed the cup into the waste receptacle, he just wanted the chance to prove he at least deserved to be in a division that DID have a belt. He would work his way up the ranks again, and gladly. It wasn’t that he was fully opposed to working with Tide, just not every damn match.
And yet there was a part of him that wondered just how alike he and Tide still were. After all, Tide would go to any means to get a belt, and knowing him he thought he deserved a shot at another title. Wasp shook his head as he pushed the glass door open, walking out into the cool morning breeze, there were changes that were happening around PCW and maybe, just maybe it would be a good time for him to change a little bit too. And it would start in his next match; he would give Saniti and Q, and even the fans a match he knew he was capable of delivering.
