Post by Deleted on Nov 3, 2017 5:12:21 GMT
Every cell in her body twitched.
That was the first thing Anna Mathews noticed when she woke up on the seventeenth of October. The ever so subtle way everything moved as if finally reconciling with the actions of the night before and absorbing the shock. In Japan, in Budokan of all places, the two parts of her finally met. Old and new. It was funny, what people called her.
Dumb.
Ugly.
Not fully realising just who they were insulting or just how wrong they were. How could they? None of them actually took the moment to look into her eyes. None of them saw what she saw. That somewhere beyond all that madness was intelligence beyond understanding, the posing and posturing of somebody that knew who she was and was perfectly okay with it. The bearing of all things, good and ill, with her own odd grace. The her that was. The her she could become again. Nobody else that was around ever could understand what that meant. Nobody else ever had to deal with their history, their identity, the majority of their existence being lost to them.
Regaining what she had meant being whole again. It meant no second guessing, no doubts about what she was. No question of being a good person or not. No blanks left to fill by other people’s opinion. The Anna they knew was a Mad Lib, the blanks filled by a rabid consumpion of whatever she was around at that point. Like a toddler, she waltzed through life simply trying to figure it out.
It also proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that this whole wrestling thing was the right decision. The whole purpose of lacing up the boots and picking up the course old Anna had to lay down was to remember. And all of this happened when she pushed her bounderies. That it caused her to win the VERY BIG, VERY POWERFUL United States Championship albeit with its share of controversy.
A tremble. It would pass. It would have to pass. Time moves forward, after all. And besides, there was work to be done.
Days pass, weeks pass. Deadlines move farther away. None of that managed to slow her down. Most of the moments of her life belonged to other people. The planet hopping adventures, the date nights, the carting around from place to place. All of that and so much more was for them. But on those nights where she can't fain sleep, those moments where she could slip away from people’s grasp or glances, those were dedicated to one thing: learning.
Some say you never stop learning. Perhaps that’s true in its own twisted way. But not many people can learn from themselves. It took this long for her to even think of searching the TARDIS video archives for herself. What she found there was a tapestry of lessons that couldn't be taught from a trainer. The crushing blow of defeat when you're so close to victory. The redemption felt when you’ve overcome the odds. The pain you have to cause and the damage done to other people's dreams.
She had seen the person she was smash a magic 8 ball against one opponent's head, toppling friends ass over teakettle, extinguishing former flames with violence. She had heard words that were once hers in varying degrees--the tenacious challenger, the lunatic champion, the world weary veteran. All of this was her. She could feel it in the depths, her multitudes, her unpredictability, her genre savvy, her strength. Anna didn't choose to be a Time Lord. Time chose her. But she chose to be this. The reason why doesn’t matter so much anymore.
Suddenly, her taking to this profession like a duck to water made sense. Being a champion made sense in the ease she gave it. The odds from the here and now didn’t phase her because hell, she had been through it several times before in other places with rotating faces in differing circumstances. And while she can't play them back in her head as a memory, she can see the whole situation as it was.
This being a ladder match didn't mean a thing. Everybody else would either have to steer clear or get the fuck out of the way.
_________
“It’s funny how everybody tries to put words in your mouth when you don't say anything to them.
It’s happened a lot during this whole series how most of my competition said Anna said this, she said that. Jan van der Roost tried to start shit about it, Talia Ureano tried to make excuses based on fictitious quotes, James Edwards practically made fake news his entire promo. And except for the Rooster, Hammerstein--whose balls I was gonna bust anyway--and Talia who had the worst phrasing in history, I kept my mouth shut. But given these repeated attempts of putting words in my mouth, I think it’s time to give them exactly what they want.
When I signed on to defend the Estrel Medal, I did it solely out of an obligation to my old self and to Buck U Productions as well as my ongoing obsession for a good fight. I wasn't attached to it. If I would’ve lost it in the first or second week, I wouldn't have been bummed out whatsoever.
I think it was the thing with you, Blaise, that pushed my ass down the rabbit hole. I can't even remember the reason why you couldn't show. There has to be one, surely. It all wouldn’t have happened otherwise, I don’t think. After that, I’d think about the matches during those times where I’d been jolted out of sleep by some nightmare or another and the more I replayed them in my head, the more frustrated I got.
I got angry at all of you.
I got pissed at myself.
That was the moment when I realised that this was bigger than a silly chicken medal. To me, it was and still is my reputation at stake. I don't have much of one, yet something deep in my insides tells me that I deserve better. So yeah, that last night when I was officiating, I brought the weapons down and let you guys get to it because I wanted to know what you were willing to do. What price are you willing to pay to make damn sure that I don't leave the goddamned building with gold in hand?
And for the first time in weeks, nobody disappointed me. I saw what was possible in that match as well as mine. I saw my competitors act like they actually gave a shit. Nobody outside of our warped little world realises just how much that means to us.
The old adage that gets floated around every now and again is that a championship is only as good as the person holding it. Hammer, you say that it feels wrong, me holding the medal. I don’t need a shrink telling me why that is. I already know. It feels wrong because I’m not her anymore. But I know what I see when I look in the mirror everyday. I see someone who carries a huge weight on her shoulders. I have seen the beginning and end of civilizations. I have felt love and loss, betrayal and hate. I’ve seen billions of people die, a good portion of that being at my expense. The context is lost, but it’s there.
I carry her weight.
The more I fight, the more I remember. The more I remember, the more I carry. Sometimes, it’s stressful. Sometimes, that weight is so overbearing that I can't think or feel. But it's a load that only I can hold up. Nobody else has the balls to do it. And if nothing else, a champion is somebody that can look at a promoter and say yeah, give me a few more pounds because I like the abuse.
My cousin was a wrestler. So was my brother. So was a menagerie of friends and lovers. And I realise that doesn't make me unique. But whenever you constantly end up the last of a dying breed? Ya learn to become dangerous.
The other half of the old adage is rarely quoted but every bit as true: a champion is only as good as their competition. Which I why I seriously urge each and every one of you to give me every ounce of sweat, every drop of blood, every beat of your hearts. If you think of giving me any less, don't bother coming through the curtain.
Because even with all I have been through the past week--having to beat the brainwashing out of my boyfriend, crossing out my name on a wish list, invasions on Earth and elsewhere, and trying to win more titles if you can believe it--I will still roll up into that ring and do my damnest to make sure none of you get my inheritance.
Even if it finally kills me.”
That was the first thing Anna Mathews noticed when she woke up on the seventeenth of October. The ever so subtle way everything moved as if finally reconciling with the actions of the night before and absorbing the shock. In Japan, in Budokan of all places, the two parts of her finally met. Old and new. It was funny, what people called her.
Dumb.
Ugly.
Not fully realising just who they were insulting or just how wrong they were. How could they? None of them actually took the moment to look into her eyes. None of them saw what she saw. That somewhere beyond all that madness was intelligence beyond understanding, the posing and posturing of somebody that knew who she was and was perfectly okay with it. The bearing of all things, good and ill, with her own odd grace. The her that was. The her she could become again. Nobody else that was around ever could understand what that meant. Nobody else ever had to deal with their history, their identity, the majority of their existence being lost to them.
Regaining what she had meant being whole again. It meant no second guessing, no doubts about what she was. No question of being a good person or not. No blanks left to fill by other people’s opinion. The Anna they knew was a Mad Lib, the blanks filled by a rabid consumpion of whatever she was around at that point. Like a toddler, she waltzed through life simply trying to figure it out.
It also proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that this whole wrestling thing was the right decision. The whole purpose of lacing up the boots and picking up the course old Anna had to lay down was to remember. And all of this happened when she pushed her bounderies. That it caused her to win the VERY BIG, VERY POWERFUL United States Championship albeit with its share of controversy.
A tremble. It would pass. It would have to pass. Time moves forward, after all. And besides, there was work to be done.
Days pass, weeks pass. Deadlines move farther away. None of that managed to slow her down. Most of the moments of her life belonged to other people. The planet hopping adventures, the date nights, the carting around from place to place. All of that and so much more was for them. But on those nights where she can't fain sleep, those moments where she could slip away from people’s grasp or glances, those were dedicated to one thing: learning.
Some say you never stop learning. Perhaps that’s true in its own twisted way. But not many people can learn from themselves. It took this long for her to even think of searching the TARDIS video archives for herself. What she found there was a tapestry of lessons that couldn't be taught from a trainer. The crushing blow of defeat when you're so close to victory. The redemption felt when you’ve overcome the odds. The pain you have to cause and the damage done to other people's dreams.
She had seen the person she was smash a magic 8 ball against one opponent's head, toppling friends ass over teakettle, extinguishing former flames with violence. She had heard words that were once hers in varying degrees--the tenacious challenger, the lunatic champion, the world weary veteran. All of this was her. She could feel it in the depths, her multitudes, her unpredictability, her genre savvy, her strength. Anna didn't choose to be a Time Lord. Time chose her. But she chose to be this. The reason why doesn’t matter so much anymore.
Suddenly, her taking to this profession like a duck to water made sense. Being a champion made sense in the ease she gave it. The odds from the here and now didn’t phase her because hell, she had been through it several times before in other places with rotating faces in differing circumstances. And while she can't play them back in her head as a memory, she can see the whole situation as it was.
This being a ladder match didn't mean a thing. Everybody else would either have to steer clear or get the fuck out of the way.
_________
“It’s funny how everybody tries to put words in your mouth when you don't say anything to them.
It’s happened a lot during this whole series how most of my competition said Anna said this, she said that. Jan van der Roost tried to start shit about it, Talia Ureano tried to make excuses based on fictitious quotes, James Edwards practically made fake news his entire promo. And except for the Rooster, Hammerstein--whose balls I was gonna bust anyway--and Talia who had the worst phrasing in history, I kept my mouth shut. But given these repeated attempts of putting words in my mouth, I think it’s time to give them exactly what they want.
When I signed on to defend the Estrel Medal, I did it solely out of an obligation to my old self and to Buck U Productions as well as my ongoing obsession for a good fight. I wasn't attached to it. If I would’ve lost it in the first or second week, I wouldn't have been bummed out whatsoever.
I think it was the thing with you, Blaise, that pushed my ass down the rabbit hole. I can't even remember the reason why you couldn't show. There has to be one, surely. It all wouldn’t have happened otherwise, I don’t think. After that, I’d think about the matches during those times where I’d been jolted out of sleep by some nightmare or another and the more I replayed them in my head, the more frustrated I got.
I got angry at all of you.
I got pissed at myself.
That was the moment when I realised that this was bigger than a silly chicken medal. To me, it was and still is my reputation at stake. I don't have much of one, yet something deep in my insides tells me that I deserve better. So yeah, that last night when I was officiating, I brought the weapons down and let you guys get to it because I wanted to know what you were willing to do. What price are you willing to pay to make damn sure that I don't leave the goddamned building with gold in hand?
And for the first time in weeks, nobody disappointed me. I saw what was possible in that match as well as mine. I saw my competitors act like they actually gave a shit. Nobody outside of our warped little world realises just how much that means to us.
The old adage that gets floated around every now and again is that a championship is only as good as the person holding it. Hammer, you say that it feels wrong, me holding the medal. I don’t need a shrink telling me why that is. I already know. It feels wrong because I’m not her anymore. But I know what I see when I look in the mirror everyday. I see someone who carries a huge weight on her shoulders. I have seen the beginning and end of civilizations. I have felt love and loss, betrayal and hate. I’ve seen billions of people die, a good portion of that being at my expense. The context is lost, but it’s there.
I carry her weight.
The more I fight, the more I remember. The more I remember, the more I carry. Sometimes, it’s stressful. Sometimes, that weight is so overbearing that I can't think or feel. But it's a load that only I can hold up. Nobody else has the balls to do it. And if nothing else, a champion is somebody that can look at a promoter and say yeah, give me a few more pounds because I like the abuse.
My cousin was a wrestler. So was my brother. So was a menagerie of friends and lovers. And I realise that doesn't make me unique. But whenever you constantly end up the last of a dying breed? Ya learn to become dangerous.
The other half of the old adage is rarely quoted but every bit as true: a champion is only as good as their competition. Which I why I seriously urge each and every one of you to give me every ounce of sweat, every drop of blood, every beat of your hearts. If you think of giving me any less, don't bother coming through the curtain.
Because even with all I have been through the past week--having to beat the brainwashing out of my boyfriend, crossing out my name on a wish list, invasions on Earth and elsewhere, and trying to win more titles if you can believe it--I will still roll up into that ring and do my damnest to make sure none of you get my inheritance.
Even if it finally kills me.”