Welcome to Wrestleworld! We offer here a world unlike any other you've seen before, led by Director, Jaywalker, and the Architects he has assigned to manage the 4 Championships of Wrestleworld that each represent their own culture and wrestling style! Feel free to look around and explore before joining, and enjoy your stay!
Wrestleworld
Welcome to Wrestleworld! We offer here a world unlike any other you've seen before, led by Director, Jaywalker, and the Architects he has assigned to manage the 4 Championships of Wrestleworld that each represent their own culture and wrestling style! Feel free to look around and explore before joining, and enjoy your stay!
Wrestleworld
Would you like to react to this message? Create an account in a few clicks or log in to continue.
The author of this message was banned from the forum - See the message
R E D L E T T E R S Clients
Posts : 29 Join date : 2020-05-06
Subject: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Drago(n) Fri Oct 16, 2020 2:07 am
“Who died and made you a savior?”
Detroit women always find a way, don’t they? If you crossed the northern border, you'd have to pay to find a woman willing to be rough with you, but Middle America breeds charitable spirits.
Jetlagged, dehydrated as hell, struggling with the way a black cloth mask really chafes along the face, Drago both looks and feels like shit. Even with the mask, he’s doing his damnest to make loving eyes towards the apple of his eye, Ximena Moreno, while her fierce grip around the handle of her coffee mug reminds him of how she once wrapped around his heart. But somewhere in between all of the traveling across the country chasing his dream, they grew in different directions. Still, in the middle of a national pandemic running wild across Michigan and TV in the corner of the cafe basking any wondering eyes with more traumatization, she knows his order. London Fog, with lavender. It was the drink she introduced him to on their first date, and it’s the only warm beverage he’d get when she’s around. Hell, it's more on brand given this shitty little hole in the wall is the only place he could afford to take her out when both cut class and opted to spend less time buried in text books, and more time with one another. Once they’re seated in a booth, she sets down her coffee, notices her ex’s feet shifting to be beside hers, then firmly places his mug down on the other side of the table. Following suit, Drago sighs underneath his breath, but follows her direction as he practically crashes into the cushion out of exhaustion as he sets his mask down.
“Is that really the best question to ask this year,” Drago muses in between sips of his delicious drink, “of all years?” Laughing at the elephant in the room doesn’t get much applause, but it’s okay. From her midnight black hair shaved down one side, to her gauged ears, to her heavily tattooed arms, there’s something about goth chicks looking annoyed. She cuts through the non-answer with all of the subtlety of a katana.
“I’m asking you in a very specific context.” Ximena’s hazel eyes stay firmly locked on his, and her hands reach across the table to clasp one of his and pull his attention to her. A normally pretty cutting tone that often causes innocent bystanders to feel like they’re slighted her drops, replaced with a serious, warm, and direct one, despite laying down each bullet point in her case. “You bought a house Nathaniel, I’ve known you for years, and if I did a credit check on you, it’d be like you didn’t exist. No credit cards, no leases, nada. The goldfish I won for you at the fair ended up being my responsibility until you finally took a break from fighting. Do you even have a succulent? I’m happy. I’m also a bit taken aback.”
Drago chuckles underneath his breath and Ximena leans forward, curiously trying to figure out the joke.
“I was hoping you’d say succubus, I had this really fun flirty line abou-”
Ximena’s dark nails dig into his hands, and a half playful, half serious stare redirects him.
“When I was twenty one, it felt cool doing the lonely desperado thing, but I think I’m going to have a nervous breakdown if I hear an elderly woman say the word ‘housekeeping’ again. Before you ask, there’s a guest bedroom and the master be-”
“When you were twenty one, the only thing you’d commit too were regretful haircuts. I’ve always been here, and I tried keeping up with you for a while, but somewhere between Boston and Belfast I felt the life being sucked out of me. You’re a dandelion, babe.”
Adorned in a midnight black peacoat jacket matching both his dark pants and his doc martins, there’s a bit of surprise from the man dressed as the grim reaper’s streetwear attire.
“Eh?”
“You go wherever the wind takes you, without ever growing roots that get too deep.”
“Everytime I see you I’m amazed that the girl I met in Catholic school grew up to be such a beautiful woman doing such good work with nonprofits, but that ain’t me. I do good with the tools given to me, in my own way. Somewhere along the journey I forget if I was running towards something or running away from something. Coming home feels nice. I think I started traveling out of spite of those who thought I’d never survive on the road, but those people have families and kids either forget about the bad blood when they watch my matches or forget I exist entirely. You know, the thing about drinking poison to hurt other people? It kinda hit home after a while.”
“But every time I’m watching you, you’re going on about trying to teach, educate, and save.”
“In a land of people trying to portray themselves as Gods, the only person with a respect for a God seems like an adequate f-”
“We’re not about to have a match, Nate. You don’t have to explain a thing, I’m not your opponent. Why are you the one who has to teach them? So what if everyone else remains ignorant and misinformed? Doesn’t that work in your advantage?”
“I think there’s beauty and potential in all types of bodies, no matter the shape, the look, the color, whatever. I made it this far by laying out anyone who disagreed with the sentiment. Iunno if I’m some ordained savior equipped with a halo and rosaries, but I’m the best they’ve fuggin’ got, okay?”
“Doesn’t this feel… familiar?”
A growl roars up from the center of Drago’s chest, but he bites his lip and stays on his best behavior.
“In what way?”
“You take it on yourself to try changing a place that’s completely resistant and uninterested in your vision, and you end up resenting them and yourself because they told you who they really were, and you didn’t believe ‘em.”
“I-”
“Nate. Nathaniel. Service is a choice. Every ounce of my being screams for joy when I see your picture on my timeline, and it’s gonna make me feel incredible when I look at twitter or insta and see #ANDNEW after By the Sword. Say Wrestleworld resists you at every chance it gets, that it rejects your vision, and that you’re the exception instead of the rule. What happens then?” An interrogating stare’s met with cold, dead eyes looking through her to the booth behind her.
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Say you win the championship, and nothing changes. Then what?”
His hand starts slithering back to the safety on his side of the table, but noticing the recoil, she clings even tighter.
“That won’t happen.”
“Aren’t you being a little short-sighted, Nathaniel? Give us the strength to change the things I can, and to accept the things I cann-”
Both fists slam down across the table hard enough to leave their drinks overflowing from their cups, and Drago erupts from his seat with piss and vinegar bleeding through his tone.
“Do NOT quote the serenity prayer at ME.”
The cafe, as social distanced as it is, goes completely silent. Through the rushed breathing, the clenched fists, the veins throbbing in his forehead, and the locked jaw tryin’ to hold back from saying things he might regret, Drago returns to his seat.
“Fine. Say EVERYTHING I do is for nothing. Say I leave it all in the ring, and it’s all for nothing. I need to sleep at night. I need to be able to say I didn’t leave wrestling behind, wrestling left me behind. My visions for a world where everyone’s special because nobody is, and if I go kickin’ and scratchin’ and screaming’ on my way down, so be it. But I’m nothing if I don’t try. I made it this far by resistin’ my fate, and that wasn’t a one time deal for me. You believe me, right?”
“I do. I’ve seen how far you’ve come and I know you can go further than I could dream, but I want you to be happy.”
“Then believe in me. There are things too important to sit on standby and let others take the reigns. This ain’t an issue I can run away from, it’s left and right these genetic freaks are popping up and sideshow attractions matter more than skill. I’m not running away from it anymore, I’m hunkering down and turning this lane I made for myself into a freakin’ highway. I’m running up my expiration date like an odometer to get here, I didn’t get this far to temporarily open a window where someone who didn’t win a genetic lottery or get born into the right circumstances can sneak in, I came to kick the motherfuckin’ door down.”
Drago's bids adieu to the final airport Sbarro he's planning to see for a very long time. After a little family reunion, driving around his old stomping grounds and seeing the familiar sights for one last moment of admiration, he pulls a blanket out of his suitcase to help him stay down as he sits down at a seat facing the window of an almost entirely empty airport terminal, so he can watch planes roll in through the midnight sky.
“My heart still yearns for the days of Pokemon cards and bottle rockets on the coffee table, dual pistols, full-akimbo with my Capri Sun in my left hand and a remote in my right, while I’m sitting on the plastic wrapped couch glued to whichever meatheads would slap each other around in a ring for show. Back in those days wrestlers might pop up on morning shows for housewives or late night talk shows to captivate you with what they’d do in the ring. Repping Motor City, something about how it rubbed against the grain clung to me. Can’t play music for shit, but it doesn’t matter - these men made it clear that plucking a string wasn’t the only way to become a Rock Star.”
Continuing with unpacking his bag, Drago pulls out a treasures from his plunder into wrestleworld, including wrestleworld T-shirts, wrestling world gear, and an American Dream edition Stephanie Matsuda toy doll. It's a shame how much free stuff you get when it's easily affordable, so much so that he couldn't even give it all away.
“Those days are dead and gone. All the yappin’ on talk shows and ramblin’ about achievements on any stage you’re invited on means jack shit if you don’t do it in the ring, and I’ve been around the block enough times to treat what we do in the ring with a bit of sacredness. Too many close encounters change you, harden you, and make you realize that ring ain’t a stage - it’s a freakin’ coffin. Get hit when you ain’t expecting it, hit something awkwardly, or fall the wrong way, and the walking down the ramp could be the last walking you get. I’m trying to clear the vibe check, but step into the retirement homes of those old rockstars, crippled and senile off their fucking rockers, and tell me carelessness and recklessness for the sake of spectacle are worth it.”
“Thing is, not everyone’s bright enough to end up at the same conclusion. My opponents were glued to the same televisions I was, but haven’t grown past those childish dreams. Well, I’ve got a bit of good news.”
“There’s still nothing more Rock N’ Roll than wrestling, and I mean that in the sense that all the cool, edgy outsiders rebelling against the establishment are now the establishment they swore to tear down. It’s just hypocrites cosplayin’ as those they’re trying to destroy and pushing merchandise while they do it.”
To this prompt, Drago’s hand slithers behind the Stephanie Matsuda doll and pulls it’s string. In a gritty voice, it growls out it’s edited recorded lines of ‘who cares if it happened outside of wrestleworld, outside of wrestleworld is all I care about!’, ‘back in 2018 I-’, and ‘I fell off my bike, damnit, Claudia!’
“Least, it feels that way each time you two open your mouths like you’re fixin’ to say something meaningful but spew the same hot garbage week to week.”
Toys and games aside, Drago Santiago's fingers rub his temples and try to keep the fire from burning too hot.
“Matsuda.”
Big inhale, big exhale.
“I grew up watching men twice my size and twice my strength act as if being smaller was being lesser, but that doesn’t even begin to compare what it must’ve felt like watching fighting as a Blasian girl and not seeing yourself at all. I ain’t got white tears for you because this industry needs a boot kickin’ it in the ass to make room so more of those girls can see themselves reflected when they watch television, because they know they can be there too.”
“Thing is, you ain’t the change and every boot kickin’ you try to give drags the industry ten paces back. You’re definitely the rock star of today, more involved as a pandering an’ posturing politician than a rebel with a cause. I can’t think of a better nickname than cloud with how your head’s lost in ‘em, so far away that you can’t relate to others or see things from their perspective. For example, -”
“You can’t imagine how absolutely batshit you sound to people at the voter registration drive, who are wearing masks and are six feet apart from each other because of political consequences, watching some deranged lady spend more time talking about herself and some match on an island far away from the realities of the people she’s rambling at. Hell, I thought she’d be empathetic since part-time employees don’t get employer health insurance, and part time is the best phrase to describe her investment in Wrestleworld. I’m going off on a tangent, anyways,”
Another deep breath. So many words, so little time, but there are lines that shouldn't be crossed so he's running with it.
“You can’t imagine how those children in hospitals and terminal wards you’re visiting feel when you shove cameras into their faces and trade their strife for clout. In response to being challenged to list a single god-damned thing she’s done since winning that belt, she reached into ye ol’ bag of tricks and treated democracy as a prop.”
“The identity crisis is impossible to miss.When Matsuda sees herself in the mirror, she sees Jay-Z in 99’, but everyone else sees a modern day Kanye cheesin’ all bright-eyed and bushy tailed in his MAGA hat.”
“We see a fake, a phony, and a fraud who defines herself with success so much that without it, she believes in zilch, nada, nothing. I can’t tell if you’re repeated mentions of a ‘dragon’ are you not knowing my name, or if it’s a Freudian slip, since only a dragon could horde mediocre championships like you desperately do. The only time she sounds authentic is when she’s talking about chasing a belt; mind you, not defending the belt, not improving the belt, not raising her talent and elevating the belt, but seeing her reflection in a new shiny piece of metal. She searches for validation she didn’t receive watching wrestling on television and seeing fighters like her having success, and she watches federations with weak divisions with the focus of a hawk because all gold within arm’s reach her prey to her. As an adult, she hasn’t realized that a belt’s nothing but gold and leather unless you make it mean something, and since winning the American Dream belt, she’s done as much inside the ring as she’s done outside of it: nothing.”
If there's any joy or satisfaction in his words, it's deeply hidden behind all of the flat, monotone, almost disappointed tone of a father speaking to his child.
“I’m straight-up and honest about who I am and what I believe since I touched down and you can’t even read me, and that’s why you're getting an emergency tooth extraction, a la Drago’s Doc Martins. Stephanie Matsuda’s unable to imagine any paths forward where the American Dream belt leaves on someone else’s shoulder, but I see tens of paths where Jay Jones and Stephanie Matsuda get past me, and I’m studyin’, gameplannin, and working my ass off to burn each of those bridges to the ground. Once time in the ring with Jay told me that he hits harder than most and takes risks where others won't. Matsuda's got ring experience, she's wily as the freaking coyote, and she'd rather chew her arm off than submit to me. I know this is supposed to be where I do an entire speal about me being so far out of their leagues, but nah. Can't.”
“More often than not I’d call it a curse, but a career built on being humbled has got its advantages every blue moon. In getting over myself and shutting down my ego, I’m watching match after match of hers, and I’ll admit: she’s talented, she’s cunning, and above all other things, she’s desperate. She can’t look at me, her own words make it clear she’s looking through me. M. Night Shyamalan twists of Claudia lurking in the dark like the Phantom of the Opera live in her head, rent free. Can you say with a straight face that you think Stephanie’s been studyin’ the ins and outs of counters to krav maga techniques I’ve been practicing for over a decade, when the narcissist can’t memorize my name?”
Venom seeps out, and another pause balances the temper out enough to continue.
“We progress from the woman who is so busy watching her reflection in gold that she’s blinded, to the man whose closest chance of clutching gold comes and passes when he combs his hair. Matsuda’s narcissism is easy to trace; she’s so used to being told she’s the best, she’s the greatest, and she’s at the top of the sport that she gave up attempting to improve.”
Drago shrugs a shoulder, gives a knowing nod, and accepts his competitor for who she is, but...
“Jay Jones, the hell is your excuse?”
“No pedigree, no big successes, no accomplishments, just the lung capacity to full a room with whatever convenient truths he’s pushing this week. When someone else loses or makes a mistake, it’s a sign that they don’t belong in the ring. When he loses or makes a mistake, it’s all serendipity, right?”
No amount of looking through the window up at the stars helps him find a world where this line of bullshit makes sense.
“All that talkin’ means absolute zero to me because it’s the same talk and the same preparation you always do about how you’re a Cinderella Story, until the clock strikes midnight and everyone can see you’re a wicked stepsister. Never thought someone would be fixin’ to open their mouth and say being a battle-tested submission specialist would be a weakness when there’s no rules, but I’ve never met a man incapable of having thoughts. Your creativity ends where your lack of formal training begins. A steel crowbar into Hana’s windpipe is where my creativity begins, and I can’t think of a better place than By the Sword to show you where it ends.”
“Hell, you look back at how hard and vigilantly you fought against my Storytale Killer Kimura, and you assume you can do it again.”
He sucks his teeth, idly considering.
“Dude, you miiiiiiiiiiiiight be right.”
“But the pain that finally brought you to your knees as I was breaking your arm? It ain't about whether or not you can fight the urge to submit, it's about how many times you can do it this time. You’re going to be carrying that around for an entire thirty minutes, so the next time I start twisting it? The third? This isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon, and when another fighter shows weakness or injury… my track record speaks so I don’t have to. ‘I know I choke every single big match Drago hasn’t carried me through, but I REALLY want it this time’ might go over well in interviews and on twitter, but won’t last very long in a ring with me. The ball’s in my court. It takes three seconds to get a pinfall. I don’t need three seconds to rip bone apart.”
“I’ve visited too many friends in hospital beds and attended too many funerals from guys who talked about being invincible so much that they started to believe it to peddle the same bullshit. I ain’t a rock star, I ain’t a God, I ain’t someone greater than life itself. I’m a result of making the hard decision to put the work to be where I am every single day I’m blessed to spend on this side of the dirt. I’m human, I bend so I don’t break, I acknowledge the weak points in my armor because that’s the only way you can learn to defend them.”
“I’m not spendin’ all my time out here tryin’ to convince everyone I’m something different than the person I am, I’m spending that time in the gym. I’m angry, I’m resentful, I have a violent streak, yeah? I embrace it, because every second spent tryin’ to find validation from what others say I should be is a second I’m not getting that validation from myself.”
“I can accept knowing my mortality, my fragility, and my weakness without my ego or my self-image getting in the way, because accepting it makes me strong.”
“Matsuda and Jay Jones can’t.”
“Advantage, Drago.”
Stephanie Matsuda, KING MAVERICK and MYŌJIN like this post
Sat Dec 03, 2022 4:36 pm by 
Subject: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Drago(n) 
