Post by daturawashere on Dec 29, 2022 4:09:52 GMT
OOC: I want to thank the lot of you for having me. I have done nothing but enjoy hanging around CU:LT and building to this. <3
October 15, 2022
Tampa, Florida
“Hey, Spooky.” As my eyes flutter open, the sound of Salem’s voice rouses me from a dream. I was walking down a little garden path that ended at a small cemetery gate. There were no bells and whistles, no signs… just an iron gate with a single bar stuck in the ground to keep it from swinging open. I pulled it up and walked inside. It was cold. Colder than it should have been. I don’t know how I knew that.
Inside of the cemetery was a sprawling green decorated with headstones that seemed to stretch on for miles. The majority of them had no names; it was like time was simply waiting for his next victims. As I walked, the crunch of the ground sounded intense underneath my Doc Martens, as if I were stepping on the bones of everyone below me.
Who was below me? Where was below me?
My fingertips grazed the marble and granite finishes, and as I looked off into the distance, I finally spotted a row of stones with names. I rushed over to them, desperate to find any semblance of sense in this place. And I did. A row of familiar names greeted me as I stood there slack jawed.
“How’d you sleep?” Salem asks. I jar myself from my stupor and wave her off, attempting to downplay the anxiety that rattles in my chest.
“Fine. Fine.” I blink several times attempting to wipe the image from my mind. No, No, Elizabeth, I think to myself. They’re not dead. Just gone.
Salem catches the distant look in my eye, as I remember all of those names we used to run with. And that was just one company. That was just Visionaries of Wrestling. What about Girl Power? UWF? UWA? How many names and faces have we abandoned since then? Hundreds? More? A chill runs up my everything. Salem goes to speak, but I playfully put my finger over my lips in an attempt to lighten the mood.
“I’ll be quiet,” Salem mutters, giving me a side-eye for the ages.
“No, no. I’m only kidding.” I sit up in bed and drift slightly to the side, leaning my shoulder into hers. “You talk as much as you like. I rather enjoy when you do.”
“My smart mouth and my hot bod is about all I got left.”
“Well, I’d say that is quite a winning combination.”
“At least I have somebody in my corner.”
“Always. I don’t plan on losing you again.” I stop. There it is again. Loss. As if people are just names to collect and hold onto. I attempt to speak, but this time, it is Salem who cuts me off.
“Come here.” With her right hand, she snatches my arm and leads me from my bedroom into the living room. After rummaging through her belongings, Salem produces a small, silver ceremonial knife. At first, I cannot help but think it’s a gift, so I reach out, but Salem shakes her head. “Should we cut our palms, make a pact, combine our blood?”
My head snaps to the right. All I can do is stare at the witch and her knife until an unfamiliar feeling flushes my cheeks, and my eyes divert to the floor. Embarrassment? No. That isn’t it. The fluttering in my chest, the bubbling in my stomach. I feel high. My bottom lip finds its way between my teeth, and I direct my gaze back to Salem before smiling and nodding emphatically.
Salem lays out her palm with no hesitation and carves a diagonal line across the skin. She does the same to my outstretched hand before clasping their palms together. It feels warm, wet, and painful.
“We are what we are,” Salem says. That pain cannot dampen the smile that appears on my lips.
“We are what we are,” I answer.
“I am you. You are me. Together, yes?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. You have no idea how happy you make me.”
“I have…some idea. This is how it needs to be.” I wrap my bloody fingers around Salem’s hand and give it a squeeze.
“Thank you. I am going to go back to bed.” Salem nods and we release each other for the evening. As I make my way back to my room, I listen to the emphatic droplets of blood tapping ever so gently against the hardwood floor and acknowledge the reality of what just happened. As I get back to bed, I use my free hand to wrap my palm up with cloth. Once satisfied, I collect my phone and jump on Twitter. A single Tweet greets me:
December 28, 2022
Tampa, Florida
“Casanova, darling. All things come to an end, don’t they?” I allow my eyes to drift from the camera downward, focusing my attention on the pink line that crosses the length of my palm.
“Do you remember all of the names? I do. I think about them often.” My right hand clenches and unclenches against the armrest. “And yet, when I look around, it is as though almost all of them have disappeared. Owen Gonsolves is still wrestling; Seth Iser is still kicking around. Where are the others, Casanova? Have we outlived them all?” I shrug.
“The truth of the matter is, we are relics, living monuments to a time neither of us want to return to. But we are also the remnants of something beautiful, something… unique, I think. Visionaries of Wrestling was not just a collection of random people thrown about an arena. No. We were the best of the independents. And you, Casanova, you were our champion for over a year.” I lick my lips and grin.
“I hope this makes as much sense to you as it does to me. If we are being honest with ourselves, I never came close to accomplishing what you did. I envied you. Despite your flaws, despite your obvious personal issues: I looked up to Casanova English.” I scrunch my face and shake my head.
“And as I looked up, watching the World Heavyweight Champion defend his title week after week after week, I thought to myself: wouldn’t it be nice? Wouldn’t a marquee with my name next to yours look so beautiful?” My face lights up, but it is only momentary. A deflated look returns behind it.
“But. Casanova. All things come to an end, don’t they? I wrestled my last match for Visionaries of Wrestling six years ago. Six. That isn’t when I debuted, that isn’t when I was at my peak, that was my last match. And I never got that opportunity because the walls came crumbling down. When Visionaries of Wrestling shuttered its doors, there was a time I thought of chasing you. But I gave up. I surrendered that hope.” I run my tongue over my top row of teeth.
“Hope is a funny thing, isn’t it? It ebbs and flows. Our careers took separate paths and the world forgot about the chance we had together. Such a shame, really. But you. Oh, you…” I cannot help but laugh. “You built this glorious place, this beautiful reminder of the carnal and macabre. Had you told me all those years ago that Casanova English would put together something like this, I wouldn’t have believed it. Not because I didn’t believe in you, Mister English. Because I knew the world wasn’t ready for something like Combat Unlimited. It still isn’t.” I shift my eyes again, this time to the side. I feel the leather in the handrest against my hand and I cannot help but smile.
“How do you think I was supposed to avoid a beacon like this, Casanova? How did you–” I stop and raise my right pointer finger in order to wag it. “That’s right. I remember.” A giggle passes through my lips. “At Super Saiyan, you said that I was nothing but a faint glimmer in your memory. You said, and I quote, ‘the memory of you nearly faded from my existence already.’” I wince and feign devastation, placing my hand over my heart. I let this sit for a moment before giggling again.
“That’s okay, Casanova. I forgive you. Because as time went on, you remembered. I am proud of you for that. As the blood trickled out of your mouth, I bet you remembered the wild eyed addict that haunted the locker rooms of Visionaries of Wrestling and Girl Power Wrestling. I bet you remembered, in that moment, that there are some people who were crazier than you.” I lean in and whisper: “Who are crazier than you.”
After running my hand through my hair, I look up toward the ceiling. “And it’s funny, to me. That this match, which came together based on internet rumor and speculation and hype has the potential to have one of the most interesting endings in this company’s history… because there are only two ways this can go. Either, my dream of beating Casanova English, of proving that I have always been just as good as you are, goes up in smoke. Or, or, or.” I wag my finger again. “Casanova English can never wrestle in CU:LT again.”
With a grin I return my eyes back down to center, and I extend my hands outward in question. “I do not know what is going to come of us after The People V. Casanova English, but there are a few things I do know:
“One, this will be the goriest, most violent match in the history of my very long career.
Two, you will bring The Unprofessional in all of his glory, and I will take him to his limits.
Three, regardless of whether I win or lose on New Year’s Eve, I promise, Casanova English. You will never forget me again.” After taking in a deep breath through my nostrils, I exhale through my mouth. I repeat this several times, attempting to stifle the explosion in my chest.
October 15, 2022
Tampa, Florida
“Hey, Spooky.” As my eyes flutter open, the sound of Salem’s voice rouses me from a dream. I was walking down a little garden path that ended at a small cemetery gate. There were no bells and whistles, no signs… just an iron gate with a single bar stuck in the ground to keep it from swinging open. I pulled it up and walked inside. It was cold. Colder than it should have been. I don’t know how I knew that.
Inside of the cemetery was a sprawling green decorated with headstones that seemed to stretch on for miles. The majority of them had no names; it was like time was simply waiting for his next victims. As I walked, the crunch of the ground sounded intense underneath my Doc Martens, as if I were stepping on the bones of everyone below me.
Who was below me? Where was below me?
My fingertips grazed the marble and granite finishes, and as I looked off into the distance, I finally spotted a row of stones with names. I rushed over to them, desperate to find any semblance of sense in this place. And I did. A row of familiar names greeted me as I stood there slack jawed.
Valquist
Emma Carlisle
Ace Watson
Constance Chapin
Gwendolyn Massey
Stacy Jones
“How’d you sleep?” Salem asks. I jar myself from my stupor and wave her off, attempting to downplay the anxiety that rattles in my chest.
“Fine. Fine.” I blink several times attempting to wipe the image from my mind. No, No, Elizabeth, I think to myself. They’re not dead. Just gone.
What’s the difference?
Salem catches the distant look in my eye, as I remember all of those names we used to run with. And that was just one company. That was just Visionaries of Wrestling. What about Girl Power? UWF? UWA? How many names and faces have we abandoned since then? Hundreds? More? A chill runs up my everything. Salem goes to speak, but I playfully put my finger over my lips in an attempt to lighten the mood.
“I’ll be quiet,” Salem mutters, giving me a side-eye for the ages.
“No, no. I’m only kidding.” I sit up in bed and drift slightly to the side, leaning my shoulder into hers. “You talk as much as you like. I rather enjoy when you do.”
“My smart mouth and my hot bod is about all I got left.”
“Well, I’d say that is quite a winning combination.”
“At least I have somebody in my corner.”
“Always. I don’t plan on losing you again.” I stop. There it is again. Loss. As if people are just names to collect and hold onto. I attempt to speak, but this time, it is Salem who cuts me off.
“Come here.” With her right hand, she snatches my arm and leads me from my bedroom into the living room. After rummaging through her belongings, Salem produces a small, silver ceremonial knife. At first, I cannot help but think it’s a gift, so I reach out, but Salem shakes her head. “Should we cut our palms, make a pact, combine our blood?”
My head snaps to the right. All I can do is stare at the witch and her knife until an unfamiliar feeling flushes my cheeks, and my eyes divert to the floor. Embarrassment? No. That isn’t it. The fluttering in my chest, the bubbling in my stomach. I feel high. My bottom lip finds its way between my teeth, and I direct my gaze back to Salem before smiling and nodding emphatically.
Salem lays out her palm with no hesitation and carves a diagonal line across the skin. She does the same to my outstretched hand before clasping their palms together. It feels warm, wet, and painful.
“We are what we are,” Salem says. That pain cannot dampen the smile that appears on my lips.
“We are what we are,” I answer.
“I am you. You are me. Together, yes?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. You have no idea how happy you make me.”
“I have…some idea. This is how it needs to be.” I wrap my bloody fingers around Salem’s hand and give it a squeeze.
“Thank you. I am going to go back to bed.” Salem nods and we release each other for the evening. As I make my way back to my room, I listen to the emphatic droplets of blood tapping ever so gently against the hardwood floor and acknowledge the reality of what just happened. As I get back to bed, I use my free hand to wrap my palm up with cloth. Once satisfied, I collect my phone and jump on Twitter. A single Tweet greets me:
Hearing The Board is set to finalize a match
between @casanovaenglish and iamdatura for
The People V. Casanova English on New Year’s Eve.
between @casanovaenglish and iamdatura for
The People V. Casanova English on New Year’s Eve.
December 28, 2022
Tampa, Florida
“Casanova, darling. All things come to an end, don’t they?” I allow my eyes to drift from the camera downward, focusing my attention on the pink line that crosses the length of my palm.
“Do you remember all of the names? I do. I think about them often.” My right hand clenches and unclenches against the armrest. “And yet, when I look around, it is as though almost all of them have disappeared. Owen Gonsolves is still wrestling; Seth Iser is still kicking around. Where are the others, Casanova? Have we outlived them all?” I shrug.
“The truth of the matter is, we are relics, living monuments to a time neither of us want to return to. But we are also the remnants of something beautiful, something… unique, I think. Visionaries of Wrestling was not just a collection of random people thrown about an arena. No. We were the best of the independents. And you, Casanova, you were our champion for over a year.” I lick my lips and grin.
“I hope this makes as much sense to you as it does to me. If we are being honest with ourselves, I never came close to accomplishing what you did. I envied you. Despite your flaws, despite your obvious personal issues: I looked up to Casanova English.” I scrunch my face and shake my head.
“And as I looked up, watching the World Heavyweight Champion defend his title week after week after week, I thought to myself: wouldn’t it be nice? Wouldn’t a marquee with my name next to yours look so beautiful?” My face lights up, but it is only momentary. A deflated look returns behind it.
“But. Casanova. All things come to an end, don’t they? I wrestled my last match for Visionaries of Wrestling six years ago. Six. That isn’t when I debuted, that isn’t when I was at my peak, that was my last match. And I never got that opportunity because the walls came crumbling down. When Visionaries of Wrestling shuttered its doors, there was a time I thought of chasing you. But I gave up. I surrendered that hope.” I run my tongue over my top row of teeth.
“Hope is a funny thing, isn’t it? It ebbs and flows. Our careers took separate paths and the world forgot about the chance we had together. Such a shame, really. But you. Oh, you…” I cannot help but laugh. “You built this glorious place, this beautiful reminder of the carnal and macabre. Had you told me all those years ago that Casanova English would put together something like this, I wouldn’t have believed it. Not because I didn’t believe in you, Mister English. Because I knew the world wasn’t ready for something like Combat Unlimited. It still isn’t.” I shift my eyes again, this time to the side. I feel the leather in the handrest against my hand and I cannot help but smile.
“How do you think I was supposed to avoid a beacon like this, Casanova? How did you–” I stop and raise my right pointer finger in order to wag it. “That’s right. I remember.” A giggle passes through my lips. “At Super Saiyan, you said that I was nothing but a faint glimmer in your memory. You said, and I quote, ‘the memory of you nearly faded from my existence already.’” I wince and feign devastation, placing my hand over my heart. I let this sit for a moment before giggling again.
“That’s okay, Casanova. I forgive you. Because as time went on, you remembered. I am proud of you for that. As the blood trickled out of your mouth, I bet you remembered the wild eyed addict that haunted the locker rooms of Visionaries of Wrestling and Girl Power Wrestling. I bet you remembered, in that moment, that there are some people who were crazier than you.” I lean in and whisper: “Who are crazier than you.”
After running my hand through my hair, I look up toward the ceiling. “And it’s funny, to me. That this match, which came together based on internet rumor and speculation and hype has the potential to have one of the most interesting endings in this company’s history… because there are only two ways this can go. Either, my dream of beating Casanova English, of proving that I have always been just as good as you are, goes up in smoke. Or, or, or.” I wag my finger again. “Casanova English can never wrestle in CU:LT again.”
With a grin I return my eyes back down to center, and I extend my hands outward in question. “I do not know what is going to come of us after The People V. Casanova English, but there are a few things I do know:
“One, this will be the goriest, most violent match in the history of my very long career.
Two, you will bring The Unprofessional in all of his glory, and I will take him to his limits.
Three, regardless of whether I win or lose on New Year’s Eve, I promise, Casanova English. You will never forget me again.” After taking in a deep breath through my nostrils, I exhale through my mouth. I repeat this several times, attempting to stifle the explosion in my chest.
“So, my darling…
In a few days,
one of us will have our hands raised
and one of us will be left lying in a pool of our own blood,
our history nothing but a distant reminder of who we were before.
Besides, Casanova:
All things come to an end, don’t they?”
