Live, Love, sLaughter

Back in Okayama. RAIKO's dojo. You ever watch anime? You know how in some of them, a character gets surrounded by fiery energy and shit? Aura. Overused word, in my opinion. Yet as I looked across the ring at Tango, I could practically see it. Red hot, bubbling fury practically radiating off the frumpy jackass standing opposite of me. Outside the ring once again was RAIKO, same crossed arm posture pretty much saying “Fuck you” wordlessly. I didn't figure she'd get involved, but with how I had turned up the temperature during my last visit, there was a nonzero chance she might.

I wasn't sure what the name of the rookie in the ring with us was. Buzzcut, babyfaced beanpole wearing a standard striped ref shirt. I could practically smell the fear on him. Must've watched what I did to Fujinaka and Masada. Speaking of, both were off in different sections of the dojo. But their eyes were training directly on me and the pissed off hobo. Masada’s eyes, in particular, were boring a hole through me.

The kid raised his hand before throwing it down. Match on! Neither Tango or I wasted a moment; immediate rush to the middle of the ring, trading blows. Fast. Heavy. Fists meeting the flesh of the face, smashing again and again like a jackhammer. Blood, adrenaline, both racing through my body. And no lie… Those punches fuckin’ hurt! RAIKO wasn't kidding when she said this guy was dangerous. Been wrestling long enough that you learn a lot about someone after they hit you a few times. Torvald Tango’s fists were delivering a simple message to me: “I'm not here to win, I'm proving a point.”

Yeah, there's people out there, PRIME included, where winning is the most important thing. Could be for a number of reasons; money, ego fulfillment, desire for status. I don't consider such people threatening, at least I'd say their motivations aren't. Naw, the wildcards? The people that fight for something different, extra on top of victory? Those people are threats. Tango was one such person. And credit to the dude… he wasn't just hanging with me. He was starting to overpower me. I kept swinging, but I felt myself starting to step back. More and more ground was given up until I was just about backed against the ropes.

Not good. I knew I had options, but I went with what immediately popped into my head. Which was my head! The height difference between us made it so the desperation headbutt I fired off connected with his sternum. He wheezed, his body stumbling back in a minor retreat. Perfect. My hand shot up, going to his eyes. Nails roughly dragged across his face. He yelped, his own hands shooting up for protection and damage surveillance. A front kick to the kneecap dropped him into a kneel. I felt the smirk form on my face.

“Hehehe!”

My right hand? The hammer. His stupid hobo looking head? The nail. Smashing, again and again. A trickle of blood escaped from a laceration on his lip. That feeling again… the euphoria I felt seeing someone else bleeding and in distress from my hands… I needed more! I took off, hitting the ropes. Stupid move. As I rebounded, he recovered in a hurry. I dunno if this motherfucker had just played possum or if he happened to be tough enough to push through the beating. Might be both? Didn't really matter, since he snatched me up and tried to drive me through the ring with a spinebuster! As the air escaped my lungs like the crowd during a Vickie Hall promo, a minor sense of panic set it.

He didn't attempt a pin, grabbing my hair and dragging me to my feet. I kinda wished he had; trying to kick out while struggling to breathe would've sucked, but at least it may have bought me some time. As much shit as I've talked, Tango ain't dumb. He had the advantage and he wasn't interested in giving me an opening to take it for myself. He scooped me up and sent me back down with a body slam. I'm trying to catch my breath, you dick! But again, smart fuckin' move. Ring psychology ain't just picking a body part and working it over. Body needs oxygen to operate. You get someone compromised in the way he had me, you keep the impact moves coming.

Yanked to my feet again. I felt him wrap his arms around me from behind in a waist lock. I threw a reckless elbow backwards. It caught Tango’s cheek, but his grip stayed firm. Another one thrown, but he swayed his head to the side. Welp. Change of plan. I feigned yet another elbow. When he went to dodge, I stomped down hard on his foot.

“Fuck!”

THAT broke his grip as he hopped back in pain. I threw backwards horizontally, my shin and foot connecting with a Pele kick. It sucked landing on my back again, but I felt the canvas shake. I wasn't the only one on the ground. I pushed up to my feet, my breathing beginning to steady. TT tried to get up, but a mid kick put him right back down. A soccer kick to the ribs drew a groan and Tango rolled onto his back. I cackled.

“C'mon, bitch! You were gonna teach me a lesson, right?!”

I kicked him again, causing him to roll away once more. Right next to the ropes. I grabbed the top strand, placing a foot right on Tango’s sternum. Then the other. My hands moved to the middle rope and I pulled down, pushing all 165 of me downward through my feet!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

I let go of the rope and I know the expression on my face said “Fuck you” to the young boy. But my eyes? They also said “Fuck you”. My hands flew back to the top strand and I vaulted myself up, only to come down in a double stomp on Tango's chest! It wasn't graceful. Shit, I fell back onto my ass. But the way he sputtered, gasped, writhed… Over these last two trips to Japan, I kept unlocked old feelings, old sensations. This wasn't just me trying to win a match. I was dealing my pain onto others, delivering my own form of justice. Does that make me a sadistic bitch? Maybe. If you think so, I very much appreciate the compliment!

I roughly pulled Tango up to a vertical base before hauling his stupid ass to the nearest corner. My foot went under his chin and pressed against the man's throat while I used the ropes for leverage. Another count for the choke. Again, I broke at four. I calmly waltzed to the opposite corner, that devilish grin still plastered across my lips. I was about to fuck this dude UP! I went charging forward, ready to blast him with some Kneemotional Damage.

And then he lariated the fuck outta me.

Seriously. I went flipping like a fuckin’ Olympic gymnast. Judges would've totally given me an 8. My body called me a dumb bitch. Both things can be true. Didn't exactly get much time to ruminate before I got yanked off the mat. Up I went, hanging there before getting dropped on the back of my goddamn head! Hanging brainbuster, and lemme tell ya… Shit knocked me goofier than normal. Tango made the cover on me!

ONE!

TWO!

THR–KICKOUT!

Tango pounded on the mat in frustration. I could flick my bean about how that was never gonna be enough, but I knew I was in a bad way. He slid out of the ring and flipped up the apron. Out came a steel chair. Now before you ask why the hell there would be steel chairs under the ring of a dojo, it's cuz RAIKO and Tango do seminars on top of the physical training. RAIKO may be a one eyed demon with the patience of a honey badger, but it turned out this teaching thing kinda suited her. Outside of Kohime and her children, these students are probably the most important people in the world to her. Not that she'd ever say that shit out loud.

As Tango came into the ring with the chair, rookie bitch tried to get him to drop it. Some quick Japanese barking from RAIKO put a stop to that. She'd made it clear between this trip and last; what happens, happens. This was up to Tango and me to figure out. He stalked, chair hovering low but ready. I gingerly climbed to my feet. I knew he was behind me. I knew he had a chair. That's what ring awareness does for ya. I turned around and he took a swing that would make Aaron Judge proud! Problem was that I ducked. He whipped around and as he did, I leapt up. The chair hit the ground.

Lock. Cutter. Onto the chair! The cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

No bell. No Nick Stuart making exclamations after. Just a satisfaction from seeing a man bloodied and battered at my hands. And honestly? That fuckin' mattered more than the trappings and trimmings the big stage offered right now.

Back in Seattle. I'd still be making the occasional appearance for RAIKO’s promotion, but I'd slaughtered two of her students and concussed her assistant trainer. I wasn't missing an edge at this point; both fuckin’ sides of my sword were sharp! So training sessions would be pretty damn minimal going forward. It was a matter of showing my work in the ring now.

Seattle had overtaken Vegas as my second home. Truth was Vegas was only ever a matter of convenience for me. SHOOT Project was based there, then PRIME was. Janelle and I shared a luxury apartment. After she left, Kohime moved in a while later. Damn near everyone else left Vegas when PRIME went touring again. Kohime left. And honestly, my home had been with Angel and Bex for a bit now. It was just a matter of logistics.

Anyway, I was sitting in the kitchen with a plastic smock draped over me, sitting in a chair. My hair, particularly my bangs, had been trimmed by Bex. Angel had applied premium black hair dye to my follicles with streaks of burgundy throughout. I could've gone to a salon to get this done. But we all three agreed that this would be a pretty easy time together. So here I sat, fuckin' plastic cap on my head while the dye settled.

“RiRi, listen. We're doing a classic PRIME marathon tonight. Good food, good weed, good company!”

Angel sounded happier than she had in a long damn while. I like to think it was cuz I'd be around a lot more regularly than I had been. I knew she was struggling. I fucking hated it.

“Pizzas and a calzone from Big Mario’s. We're gonna be a bunch of fat asses tonight and it's gonna be amazing.”

Bex and I weren't always as close as I'd like. But the thing people don't understand about her is she's considerate. Like, super considerate. She'll go out of her way for Angel and me to make us comfortable or happy. Never says a damn word about it either. Her and I tend to take turns with the “Big sis/Mama” energy. The nice thing is it never ends up as an argument or anything like that. Shit, even Angel does it. We fill in where there's gaps.

“It sounds like we're gonna have a hell of a night! I sure as shit could use it.”

This harsh edge, the deathmatch mentality I was reembracing? I wanted it. I'm glad I found it again. But I couldn't always keep that intensity and drive up. That's what they were for. Angel and Bex were my safe space, my decompression time where I could still be soft and sweet. I have so many friends now. Some of them probably aren't gonna like my shift in style. Hell, Bex and Angel might not even like it. But I'd slotted into this fairly naturally after I came around.

Found family. That's what I was getting at. I know I could go to so many members of PRIME and they'd help me. If I needed a place to stay, was having financial troubles, whatever. Shit, LT has specifically gotten pissed with me in the past BECAUSE I didn't go to her when she could've helped. But my walls came down more naturally with these two. I had to force myself with others, open the dam enough to let some water flow before closing it back up. There was no dam with Angel. With Bex? There was, but it hadn't been closed much lately. Dozens dead, thousands to millions in property damage.

When the time came, my hair was rinsed, conditioned and rinsed again. Blow dry and brush. I looked in the mirror; heavy bangs covering my right eye, long without being unruly, nice and full thanks to layers. Oh I looked DANGEROUS. And I loved it! The outside matching the inside, and my Trash babies had nailed it!

“Oh this is perfect!”

Deep kiss and a big squeeze for Angel. Peck on the cheek and a squeeze for Bex. I was already getting gear ideas. Helps when your girlfriend has been making costumes for years. Again, we filled each other's gaps. Angel did our gear. Bex organized our gym routines. I provide our emotional support. Fucked as I am in my head, that makes me uniquely sensitive to mental health. Brain ain't right, the body won't be. If I wasn't a sadomasochist, I totally should've been a psychologist instead of a pro wrestler!

My thoughts stayed on new attire. Knowing Angel, she'd end up throwing herself into it fully. When she's invested, there's times Bex and I need to push her towards taking time for her own enjoyment. Thankfully, there was one bit she wouldn't have to do any work on. Red contact on my right eye, the covered eye. Despite my size, I can cut a pretty intimidating glare! You ever had a 5’6” Terminator coming after you? It stops being cute or funny when they keep getting up, no matter what you hit them with. The fact that they seem to hit you harder as the match goes on doesn't help either. Aesthetic matching action.

Later that night, we got into the flow of things. Food was ordered; three pizzas (Brooklyn veggie, standard cheese and a meat pie called the Macho Man. My feminism sensibilities were a bit offended there.) and a meat calzone. We demanded Ami’s presence. She said she'd be by later. While we waited, we started our binging. It was while we were watching a particular match that I found myself having to confront something internally.

Karina Wolfenden versus Boda. ReVolution 58. Angel had picked this match. The way she was glued to the screen, how intensely she watched…

Fuck Karina Wolfenden!

Yeah yeah, I have no reason to be jealous of the multihued bitch. But when you see the woman you love enraptured with another woman, it tends to get your blood bubbling at least a little bit. I know it's more that Karina was Angel’s idol. Her and I are operating in different spaces, unrelated capacities. Still pissed me off. But I'm not looking to hurt Angel’s feelings so fuck it, keep quiet and watch the stupid match. Once the match ended, Wolfenden the new triumphant Universal Champion, Angel hopped up off the couch.

“I GOTTA PEE! WAIT FOR ME!”

Off she rocketed towards the bathroom. I watched her go, but as my eyes drifted back, I saw the way Bex was looking at me. Like an entomologist studying a new breed they've never seen before. Can't say I liked that.

“What?”

Stay neutral, Lockhart. Don't get indignant. Bex shrugged.

“You really don't like her, do you?”

Fuck me! Busted. Goddamn you, Savage! You and your stupid, caring powers of observation! We probably didn't have a ton of time before Angel came stumbling back. Better to keep things short.

“No, I don't. Fuck her.”

That got a laugh from Bex. She wasn't the type to hand such a reaction out freely, so I couldn't stop my visible eyebrow from arching up.

“Something funny?”

Again, trying to keep it mellow. Bex just shook her head softly, her well muscled arms loosely crossing on her chest.

“There's not a competition here, you know? Different worlds. We went to Tampa as kids on a double family trip just to see her at Colossus way back when. And anyways...Angel is crazy about you.”

“Yeah yeah, I kno–”

“No, I don't think you do.”

I don't like getting interrupted. But our little house built on trust was proving to have a pretty solid foundation. Shut up and let Bex say what she was gonna say.

“When I say crazy, I mean she doesn't shut up about you. When you're not here, she talks about missing you constantly. If we're grocery shopping without you, she mentions getting things you like or wondering if you would dig what we’re picking up. It’s more than a missing appendage thing. You’re...an everything to her, RIA. Don't forget that.”

Shit. Sniper shot, right to the heart. Instantaneous death. The words weren't gonna come. If they did, I knew I'd be a bawling mess. That softness, the side only reserved for them, was peeking out. I flopped my arm over, palm up. Open invitation. Bex reached over, wrapping her hand around mine. Mutual squeeze. Warm. Caring. Love without words. Almost as soon as our hands separated, Angel came sprinting back into the living room.

“Okay, food will be here shortly, the volcano vape is percolating, and Ami is on her way! This shit is gonna be fuuuuuuckin liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”

She plopped back down between Bex and me. My arm went over her shoulders. Bex’s arm laced over top of mine onto Angel's other shoulder. This? This was my world. And I won't fucking trade it for a goddamn thing.

Oh Danny boy… This is gonna be fun! I checked out the match against Quinn Fleetwood and Nick Stuart posed an interesting question. Who is willing to go toe to toe and fist to fist with you after what you did to Quinn? Yo. Head bitch right here, front of the fuckin' line! You promise violence. Threaten me with a good time, sweet cheeks! Here's the thing… This shit is gonna be give and take. You wanna promise violence? I'm gonna make sure you get your fill too.

I would like to say this ain't personal, Daniel Christine. But, seriously, Fred Dickhead? You thought that was a good idea?! But that's not all. See, you have something I want. That Alias Title? That's redemption for me. My way of crawling outta this hole that I've been stuck in. A way for me to keep growing, progressing.

I said awhile ago that I'm doing me, holding myself to my own standard instead of trying to measure up to others. And I have a goal in mind, a level I wanna reach. Queens, Lords, Idols, PRIME has all of those. Me? I'm shooting in a different direction. Goddess. PRIME’s own Goddess of Violence! Has a nice ring to it, yeah? And what better way to progress towards such a goal than to down a man that views himself as the embodiment of it?

If that weren't enough, the Alias Title would provide me with a unique opportunity to move in such a direction. So many exciting manners of torture I'd be able to inflict upon others! That's very inciting, you have no idea how much so. I despise your manager. You have the key to a door of unlimited possibilities for me. I didn't need any motivation to wanna break your ass. That's become natural again since I've been rebuilding myself.

What about you, Danny? You wanna hurt me cuz that's what you know. What else you got? I admit there's a beauty to such simplicity. But from my perspective, you're looking to fight a gatling gun with a shotgun. You got two shells and I got a whole fuckin’ belt when we're comparing ammo! Pain and a desire to be the best ain't gonna be enough, my dude. You better find something extra!

I'm sure you'll welcome this fight. Someone ready and willing to meet you at your level, play your game. But I ain't Quinn Fleetwood. In other sports, there's times where a team is a bad matchup for another. I'm that for you. You probably hit harder than me. And I know these conditions are essentially a home field advantage for you. But you know what hurts worse than fists? Barbwire. Explosives. That's MY home!

Let's dance, Danny. At UltraViolence… Forget winning. Do your best to survive. Don't disappoint me, babe.