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Post by Osh Vaughan on Jun 13, 2021 11:36:44 GMT
Junko Souma vs Aleqeueesha Payne
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Post by Deleted on Jun 15, 2021 20:06:25 GMT
A plane flies over Manchester UK almost right above the IIW arena as its fly’s high about the marsh mellow like clouds. The side door of the plane opens as the gust of wind knock back the hair of Ashely Phoenix as it blows back, she puts her googles on as a parachute jumper instructor comes over.
Man- Ok Phoenix this is the spot you wanted us to drop you at. You ready to go you remember what to do?
Ashely- Don’t worry dude I’ve got this been doing extreme sports all my life.
Man- I thought you was a pro wrestler.
Ashely- Oh I am I just like to go a little extreme sometimes to let loose but you must excuse me I’ve got an interview to get too.
Ashely gives the man a salute before jumping out of the plan and falling through the sky. She lets the adreline feels her veins like a drug before pulling her parachute open and begins to guide herself towards IIW. Beneath her a podium is outside the doors of IIW as Michael Morrison stands there next to Ste Davis as fans stand on the opposite side.
Michael- Ste where is the new signing?
Ste- She text me not long ago and said she would be here shortly…
Ste looks up as he sees a shadow hoover over them.
Ste- Morrison what is that?
Michael looks up and tries to block the sun to get a better view.
Michael- I think it’s a woman.
Ste- Oh my god that’s her!
Ashely [phoenix lands perfectly right on the steps of IIW she unfastens her straps from the parachute as Ste walks over to her.
Ste- I know you said you was coming by plane, but I didn’t think you meant this. IIW just signed you what if you got hurt?
Ashely- Calm down Ste like I told you over the phone if it ain’t extreme it ain’t me but let’s get this interview started I see the fans out here I know they’ve been waiting a long time.
Ste, Michael, and Ashely walk over to the podium and begins to the interview.
Michael- Thank you all for coming to this meet and greet interview I’m Michael Morrison and this is media member Ste Davis (Ste waves to the fans) and right over here is who you’ve been waiting for Rise from The Ashes Ashely Phoenix.
Ashely walks over to the podium as little girls in the crowd cheer her name.
Ashely- Hey everyone I’m so happy you all took time out of your day to come see me this means a lot to me to be given a warm welcome here in Manchester.
Michael- Thank you Ashely now let’s get started can you tell us what has brought you to IIW when there were other companies you could’ve sign with?
Ashely- Oh well I must admit the talent here in IIW attracted me especially First-Class women’s division, The talent her with the women is amazing I’ve seen all the work they put in to make IIW the best place for women’s wrestling.
Michael- Why thank you I’m sure the women are happy to have you join the roster and can’t wait to make friends with you.
Ashely- Now Michael and IIW fans why I did not come to make enemies I also did not come to make friends I came to IIW because of the competition and the thought to compete against the best in the world is why I’m here the IIW Women’s Championship is why I’m here (Ashely waves at the camera) Hi Fiona. So, let’s not get me confused on who I am.
Michael- And who are you, Ashely?
Ashely- I’m a myth where I come from, I’m a folktale, I’m a legend for Rising from the Ashes of a fire that tried to end me before life really could begin but I survived that and Ise that to fuel me to be the best because anytime I think of giving up because of a lose or anytime I think about quitting during a match I can always go back to that moment to show me Phoenix never dies we only Rise!
Michael- Powerful message Ashely thank you now can you tell us about your match up with Junko Souma?
Ashely- Well I caught her match on Combat against Kelly Rowland and both ladies put on a great match up, but I must say Junko was impressive and her training Hideo Chiba really showed in the match. I see already I got my work cut out with her, but I like I love strong competition because you’ll never get better facing people lower then you that’s weak mentality, I get stronger and better in the ring each time I take a chance to get in the ring with someone just as good as me.
Michael- Well thank you for your time Ashely I think that will wrap it up for today any last words for the fans.
Ashely-Look forward to putting on a great show for you all and remember a Phoenix never dies it only rises.
Ashely walks off and hopes on a motor bike that was place by the exit and rides off as the scene cuts out.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 19, 2021 5:19:26 GMT
< > denotes foreign language translation. Groans of pain. The buzz of fluorescent lights overhead.They flicker, dancing back and forth from light to dark with all the grace of a one-winged butterfly. The walls are dirty and green except for the blood... a hand print here, a spritz of impact spray over there. It's a mess... it's a grisly, sticky mess. Metal screeches across the concrete floor and panicked breathing-- no, not panicked... pained... maybe panicked and pained-- either way, a Japanese man in a black suit grips the metal leg of a table, scooting it herky jerkily across the floor, and looks up toward the door to freedom with one eye. The other eye--The other is looking down because it's hanging on his cheek on a bungee cord made of ligaments and nerves and muscle. The man whimpers and his hand slips from the table leg, leaving a bloody streak. He tries to catch himself but he's got no strength left in his other arm and when he plants his hand on the concrete, the exposed bone from his forearm juts out further and he passes out from the pain, landing face first on the floor and losing at least one tooth on impact. Within a few feet of him, two more men in suits lie in various broken states, covered in blood. One of them even has the metal leg of a cafeteria style chair protruding from his back, still attached to the chair. Are they alive or dead? Who's to say? Resting against a row of lockers, clad in torn up baggy jeans and what's left of a bloody white t-shirt, another Japanese man with blonde hair and a goatee puffs on a cigarette with reckless abandon, burning it down to the filter within seconds and creating a cloud of smoke around him which threatens to swallow him whole. Reaching down with one dripping red hand, he grips the neck of a bottle of Suntory Toki and raises it to his mouth. Drinking deep and exhaling loudly, he plants the bottle hard on the floor next to him with a heavy thunk and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his fat lips. Wired to the gills, his eyes twitch and dart side to side like out of control pinballs, surveying the damage he's caused.Hideo Chiba laughs.
TWO YEARS AGO Emanating deep from his gut, the noise choking forth from his thick frame would be better classified as amused grunts rather than laughter. Lowering his head, drool rolls over his bottom lip and lands on his ruined t-shirt. He hears noise on the other side of the door, voices. The men on the other side rattle the door knob aggressively before their voices become louder... angrier. Hideo Chiba, death match wrestler, the one and only Man Who Brings Rain of Blood, smiles and fumbles for the crushed pack of cigarettes at his side. Turning it upside down, the crushed up and torn remnants of the last cigarette fall into his palm. He huffs and discards them onto the floor next to him. Staring at the door as it jars with impact from the opposite side, he rests his arms on his knees, bloody hands, filthy fingernails, busted and split knuckles.The voices become louder and so do the impacts on the door.Finally, there's a jingle of keys and the click of a lock sliding out of place. The door opens quietly and there's a moment where there's... nothing. Nothing but the sound of the fluorescent lights overhead, and then a clicking of shoes. Two more Japanese men enter the room, dressed in black suits... one fat and bald; the other taller, more cut with a flat top and a cool scar running from the corner of his left eye down to his jawline.Click.Click.Click.A third man walks into the room, his shiny black shoes clicking along the way. He glides into the room in that smooth and elegant way that you read about but never really witness yourself. Wearing a three-piece suit with gold dragon patterns from top to bottom, there's no doubt this man is the dictionary definition of an eccentric gangster. His face is fat and red, almost a clearer sign of alcoholism and cocaine use than the white smudge at the edge of his right nostril. His hair is shiny and black, molded perfectly into an Elvis Presley pompadour. He looks around the room and nods with approval, a cocky smirk on his face. He reaches inside his jacket and removes a bottle of pills. Popping the top with his thumb, he turns the bottle up and dumps white pills into his mouth. Chewing them open-mouthed, he touches the chair sticking out of the man's back and chuckles obnoxiously. Foam and pill fragments fall from his mouth. He looks at Chiba, locking eyes with him, pinning him in place with his gaze. KING KOTA: < This is too cool. > Chiba doesn't answer, simply staring back at the man. Kota points at Chiba, shaking his finger at him. His smile says "proud father," but his eyes say something else... something else entirely.KING KOTA: < You are a wild man. >He chuckles again, sounding like he has something stuck in his throat. He looks around the room, taking in the men lying around him, the blood on the walls, the damaged furniture, the dented lockers... a white fabric curtain with a streak of blood across it is suddenly ripped from its rings as a hidden fourth victim falls from the shower area and thuds on the floor face down. No longer smiling, Kota exhales deeply and looks at Chiba, a hint of sadness on his face. His voice drips with disappointment.KING KOTA: < Chiba-san... all of this for a little girl? >Hideo Chiba's left hand trembles, a result of the pain shooting up his spine, or something more. A trickle of blood rolls down his wrist, over his knuckles, and trails down his pinky. Blood pools beneath with an audible plop and splat of each heavy drop. Drip.Drip. Drip--NOW
His pinky.His left hand.Two knuckles shorter.Hideo Chiba clenches his fist, hiding his deformity behind his back, and walks around the brown mat on the floor. Wearing black track pants and a dirty, sleeveless black t-shirt, he uses his other hand to brush the strands of bleach blonde hair out of his eyes. He snorts and approaches a mini-fridge, opening it up and seeing a few rows of water. Shaking his head, he shuts the fridge and picks up a can of warm Foster's beer from a box below. He cracks it open and drinks, slurping loudly until it rolls over his bottom lip and wets his goatee. Lowering the can, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, raspily exhales, and looks at the girl sitting in the center of the brown mat, staring down at her phone. HIDEO CHIBA: < You are lazy. Get up. It is time to train. > Black hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looks up and away from her phone, glaring at her trainer. She stands up, wearing black track pants, a blue t-shirt, and red amateur wrestling shoes. The walls surrounding them are a dirty blue and the room itself is dim, gloomy... musty. She tosses her phone onto the mat several feet away and places her hands on her hips. She doesn't even attempt to hide her frustration.
JUNKO SOUMA: < I am the one who has been waiting for you, Chiba-san. >
His voice is a growl, guttural and thick with frustration itself.
HIDEO CHIBA: Sensei.
She lowers her gaze, feigning embarrassment at mislabeling him. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she stops looking down at the brown mat between her feet and looks back up at him. She has every intention of sounding like a brat.
JUNKO SOUMA: < You smell bad, teacher. >
Raising an eyebrow, she welcomes whatever he may have to say next. He takes another drink from the can and crushes it in his fist, discarding it with a clink into a pile of crushed empties. Staring down at the pile, appearing hypnotized by it, he retorts. Spittle flies from his mouth as he basically mumbles in response HIDEO CHIBA: < You think you are some kind of big shot now, huh? You won your first match. Big deal. Do you think you are ready for the next step? I know you are not. You are weak and stupid. You must become stronger, body and mind. Your inexperience is obvious. You move too fast. You do not look before you leap. One mistake could have cost you the victory. Your first opponent, she was pathetic. You should feel no pride in your victory. You fight-- >He turns to face Junko and holds his hands out wide.HIDEO CHIBA: < --big girl next time. Very big. >Extending his hand toward her, he holds his finger and thumb an inch apart. Shutting one eye, he narrows the other and stares at her between the tiny space.HIDEO CHIBA: < You? Very small. You will probably lose. > JUNKO SOUMA: < I am ready. I will show you. >HIDEO CHIBA: < Ashely Phoenix... forged in fire. Strong. Very sturdy. > He gestures toward her nonchalantly. HIDEO CHIBA: < You... are not the same, okay? >Lowering her hands from her hips, she clenches two fists.JUNKO SOUMA: < Teach me, then. >Crack.Another beer. Completely ignoring her request, he turns up another can and soaks the front of his t-shirt before crushing it and adding it to the pile. She purses her lips, watching him intently... a competitor who could have been a legend, now nothing more than a sloppy mess in a rundown "dojo" in Manchester, England. Chewing her bottom lip anxiously, she wants to scream at him... ask him why he can't take training seriously just this once... with the fire of anxiety burning in her chest, she has so many questions... she wants to help him-- but he doesn't like to talk about why they had to leave Japan or the things that drive him into the arms of his vices.
Those are lines she won't cross.
There are no lines he won't cross.
He never holds back... not even in the slightest.
Digging his heels into the brown mat, he threatens to ragdoll her from the lock-up position. Seething, growling, drool rolling off his bottom lip... he pulls her in close and delivers a knee lift to her mid-section, doubling her over. Taking a handful of her hair in his fist, he forces her upright and strikes her across the chest with a black-gloved hand. The chop sounds like a gunshot and she feels it. She feels all of it. He looks down at the single glove he wears to shield his deformity from the world, and he smiles with admiration--
Her forearm mashes his lips against his teeth.
Hideo Chiba tastes blood but he has no opportunity to relish it before Junko hits him again and again and again, rapid fire. Without warning, he growls and grabs her head with both hands, shoving her down hard onto the mat. He touches his busted lips and sees the blood on his fingertips. Wiping a strand of sweaty blonde hair from his puffy features, he can't hide his anger.
HIDEO CHIBA: < Idiot. You are reckless. Look at what you have done. >
Staring up at him in disbelief, Junko reaches up and pulls down the collar of her blue t-shirt just enough that he can see the red and purple beginnings of a bruise where his devastating chop made contact. He tilts his head to the size quizzically and smirks.
HIDEO CHIBA: < Fair enough. >
Pushing herself to all fours and slapping the mat, she stands and glares at him, ready to continue. Taking a step toward the center of the mat, he gestures toward her with his gloved hand, welcoming her to attack him with all her might. With a girlish shriek, she does-- and when she's within a step of him, he slaps her across the face, disorienting her so that he can bring her in and plant her on the unforgiving brown mat with Ashely Phoenix's own Phoenix Rising. He lands flat on his back upon impact and stares up at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights, the dust, the water stains, and the cobwebs. Junko whimpers and rolls over into a fetal position. Her body shakes with a series of violent sobs.
With her back to him, he reaches over and pats her on the shoulder.
He had to show her how easy it could all come to an end.
It weighed on her.
Sitting on the steps outside the makeshift dojo, Junko absentmindedly scrolls about on her phone, allowing herself to become lost in the hustle and bustle of social media. The shabby wooden dojo door creaks open and Chiba steps out. Junko doesn't move or even acknowledge him as he sits down next to her. He offers her a can of Foster's and she just looks at it with disgust. He shrugs and turns away, staring off into space for a moment before opening a can of his own and taking a drink of it. Exhaling deeply, he makes an obnoxious smacking sound with his lips. She pockets her phone and leans forward, resting her forearms on her knees as she stares straight ahead.
JUNKO SOUMA: < What if you are right, teacher? >
He takes another drink and swallows loudly... but he doesn't acknowledge her.
JUNKO SOUMA: < What if I am not ready? What if this opportunity has come too soon? I am worried that failure will put an end to my dream of becoming a number one wrestler. >
Chiba simply grunts and finishes off his beer.
JUNKO SOUMA: < I have idolized Angel Kandori since I was a child. It is my dream to inspire a generation of young girls as she inspired me. That is why I found you-- >
Without a word, Chiba abruptly stands up and tosses his empty can into the nearby street. He grunts angrily and slings open the wooden door, reentering the dojo and leaving Junko alone on the step. Next to her, she sees the beer he offered her. She picks it up and looks it over, sneering with mild disgust before opening the can and pouring the contents onto the pavement below. Shaking out the last drops, she sets the can gently next to her and sighs.
JUNKO SOUMA: < I hope I am ready. There is only one way to find out. >
She speaks quietly to herself, barely a whisper.
JUNKO SOUMA: < I will fight hard. I will do my best. >
She shuts her eyes and hopes with everything inside her.
JUNKO SOUMA: < I will become a number one wrestler. >
Standing up, she takes one last whimsical look at her surroundings before turning and walking inside the dojo. The wooden door creaks shut behind her.
There's still much training to do.
A number one wrestler isn't created overnight. |
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