Send The Pain Below
Oct 27, 2016 19:57:31 GMT -5
Post by Savannah Taylor on Oct 27, 2016 19:57:31 GMT -5
Wednesday, October 26th, 2016
Springfield, Illinois
OFF CAMERA
The chipper sound of the television announcer drifts from the small bedroom of the hotel room and drifts through the open bathroom door. The fluorescent lights illuminate the seafoam green paint on the walls, the almost blinding white appliances and matching towels. Standing at the sink, gazing into the fairly decent sized vanity mirror is Savannah Taylor. Clad in an oversized pair of crimson sweat pants and a charcoal grey sports bra, her bare feet shift slightly on the cool tile floor as she gazes upon her reflection. A normal, everyday occurrence usually brought someone who looked as run-into-a-pole gorgeous as Savannah much joy, but for the Las Vegas native, it was a different story.
Turning her body slightly, Savannah glances at her back, taking note of the handful of jagged looking scratches still marking her back, one of many reminders of the hell she went through nearly two weeks ago at Retribution. If she closed her eyes, she could still picture being hurled through plate glass not once, but twice. The sound of her one hundred and twenty pound frame being hurled into the glass like she was a lawn dart was not something that would leave her mind anytime soon. She reaches back with her right hand and delicately traces along one of the jagged lines. Dropping her hand, she turns around and looks at the ‘main attraction’ so to speak. The scar that ran in a diagonal line on the right side of her face from about the middle of her forehead and down to just above her eyebrow was not as red and raw as it was the day she got it, but it still felt that way. She lost count of the number of stitches she received at the emergency room, but it was more than enough to change her. The last time something like this occurred was nearly two years ago. But this thing with Magnus Gunner was different. This was something that she HAD to do. SHE had to be the one to end whatever he had planned before it started. Sure she was victorious, but taking in her appearance, every scar and every bruise that dotted her enviable frame, it cost her more than she gained. She had several bruises, all in varying shades and stages of healing, that seemed to be more prominent on her back and stomach. Touching her stomach, she almost winces as her hand brushes up against one of the more prominent bruises on her exposed flesh.
Savannah heaves a sigh as she turns and leaves the bathroom. She picks up her t-shirt resting at the foot of the bed and slips it on, the cool black cotton with it’s vibrant red three headed dragon placed in the very center of the chest. The shirt was as oversized as the pants were, which suited Savannah just fine. She was content in hiding herself for as long as she could until she felt her body was back to a more publicly presentable state. She wasn’t sure when that would be, or if it would even happen. Since her Magnus Gunner-induced downward spiral began back in the summer, she had lost about six pounds. She had let the issues in her personal life affect her to the point where they were not only starting to affect her career, but her wellbeing as well. If it hadn’t been for a much needed intervention/training week with a certain Fallen Angel, who knows what would have happened? She still wasn’t where she wanted to be both physically and mentally, but she felt she was getting better as each day passed. She sits down at the head of the bed and draws her knees up to her chest. She reaches out onto the nightstand and grips the white styrofoam Dunkin Donuts cut, the coffee having cooled somewhat as she takes a long swig. The taste of the warm, pumpkin flavored liquid brought a slight smile to her face as her silence was broken by the sound of her phone ringing. Picking up the gold-colored iPhone 6S Plus, she types in her password to unlock the screen and presses the green answer button when she sees the caller is her uncle.
Savannah Taylor: Hey Uncle Eric.
Eric Taylor: Savannah! How is my favorite niece?
Savannah rolls her eyes as she chuckles to herself.
Savannah Taylor: Veeeerrrry funny.
Eric Taylor: Hey, can’t blame me for trying.
Savannah Taylor: Good point. So what’s up?
Eric Taylor: I was just calling to see how you were doing, how you’ve been doing since that……..whatever the hell it was you were involved in two weeks ago.
Savannah Taylor: You…..you were?
The surprise was evident in her voice as she took another sip of her coffee.
Eric Taylor: Why wouldn’t I be? You’re family.
Savannah Taylor: Well, it’s just that….you’re pretty much one of the only ones who has called, texted, emailed…..anything.
Eric Taylor: Come on. You’re not serious, are you?
Savannah Taylor: Outside of Angela, Samantha and now you….no one.
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line as she heard her uncle clearing his throat.
Eric Taylor: What about your father?
Savannah Taylor: Not even him. I haven’t spoken to him in over a month.
She instinctively reaches up and touches her right cheek slightly below her eye, the memory of how she got THAT particular bruise fresh in her mind.
Eric Taylor: What happened?
Savannah Taylor: He hasn’t spoken to me since before SOMEONE paid him a little visit.
She made sure to put the emphasis on the SOMEONE part.
Eric Taylor: I saw that. Why did he stop talking to you?
Savannah Taylor: Because he blames me for what happened. He blames me for basically allowing this madman to get his claws into my family. He places the blame on me for a lot, actually.
Eric Taylor: What about your sister?
Savannah Taylor: She’s not spoken to me since that incident either. Hell, the last time I tried to call her, the message I got said that this number was no longer in service. Which to me means she got a new number and didn’t tell me.
She manages to drink the rest of her coffee in two to three gulps as she tosses the empty cup into the trashcan next to the bed.
Savannah Taylor: I just want to know if everyone is okay. I want my family around, because we are all that we have. Ever since Mom died over the summer, things have been…..different.
Eric Taylor: How do you mean?
Savannah Taylor: Well Harper is off at college clear across the country. She has her own life going on and is still figuring out just who she is and what she wants out of life. She’s dealing with Mom’s passing in her own way. But Dad……
Her voice trails off.
Eric Taylor: My brother has never dealt well with grief. At all. When our father died, we were both teenagers. He rebelled so hard against everything out mother tried to teach us, but the woman had the patience of a saint. I can only imagine what it’s like with him losing the other half of his heart.
Savannah sits there in silence as she mulls over the information that her uncle was telling her. Part of her wanted to keep what she knew quiet and to herself because she didn’t want to cause any further tensions within the family unit. But on the other hand, the more someone knew meant the greater the chance of getting him some help.
Savannah Taylor: You said that when your father died that he lashed out at Grandma. Did he ever get into alcohol at all? Like did he binge drink or anything?
Eric Taylor: He did get into the liquor cabinet more than once, yes. How come?
Savannah Taylor: Shit…..
Eric Taylor: What is going on?
Savannah Taylor: I went to go see Dad last month because wanted to check on him to see how he was. Harper has just shipped off to the University of Maine and I was off wrestling on both coasts. Plus I was dealing with…..well let’s just say I was dealing with some of my own issues. I got to the house and as soon as I found him, he….well he looked in rough shape. The five o'clock shadow, eyes looked bloodshot as hell, and he had a drink. I don’t know how long he had been drinking prior to me getting there, but I got there early to mid afternoon. I tried to have a conversation with him, but it boiled down to a one sided argument where he basically was ashamed to admit to people that I was his daughter. Then as I went to leave…..well….
Eric Taylor: What happened?
Savannah Taylor: Well the thing is…..he threw the glass he was drinking from right at my head. It caught me right underneath my right eye.
The silence on the other end of the line was nearly deafening as Eric clears his throat.
Eric Taylor: First things first. Are YOU okay?
Savannah Taylor: The bruise had finally managed to go away, thank God. I didn’t break anything, so there is that. I’m just seriously concerned. Who knows how long after Mom’s death he’s been like this. Hell, this could have started before and no one would know a thing about it.
Eric Taylor: I’d be more than happy to check on him for you. I try to frequently.
Savannah Taylor: I’m just concerned that the longer this goes on, the farther away he is going to slip. If he gets too far out of reach……….I don’t want that particular phone call.
Eric Taylor: You let me worry about him this week. You’ve got a tournament to focus on. I know you can do amazing things in it. Who knows? I might even be talking to the future World champion.
Savannah Taylor: I don’t know about that.
Eric Taylor: Hey, you did it before when no one else even factored you into the equation. Who's to say lightning can’t strike twice?
Savannah Taylor: I’ll do whatever I need to in order to win.
Eric Taylor: I know you will. You leave getting through to your father to me. I’ll even try to bridge the gap with your sister.
Savannah Taylor:At this point, I will take any and all help I can get.
Eric Taylor: Help is just what you have now, kiddo.
Savannah leaned back against the headboard, moving the pillows out of the way. It was a slight weight off of her shoulders to know that at least her uncle was willing to help her get through to her father and her sister. But she couldn’t dwell on that much longer. She had a World Title tournament to get ready for and an Izzy Anders to team with and possibly fight in the quarterfinals. The part that she projected to the public, the side that people were most familiar with, was confident in how she would fare. But the Savannah that was behind the scenes, the person that very few people got a chance to see and know, was less than confident. That Savannah was more than willing to give up her spot in the tournament to anyone who wasn’t a part of it that didn’t bear the name Dom Harter. She just had to decide which Savannah would show up on Saturday. She was hoping...no...she NEEDED the former to show up. She had too much riding on this to mess up now.
There appears to be a theme going on heading into Vertigo this Saturday. That theme revolves around history repeating itself. I recently read a quote that said history repeats itself, but in such cunning disguise that we never detect the resemblance until the damage is done.
Yes I DO know how to read. Fuck you very much.
Now, I can’t speak for the rest of the participants in the World Title tournament, nor will i even begin to. Certain others have a habit of talking themselves up, whether we want to hear them speak or not. But in regards to the tag team match I find myself in, history is definitely repeating itself. With at least Salem and Izzy, I have something of a sense of what each is capable of. I can at least watch their matches back and learn from things.
That is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you, Nero.
Nero let me ask you the question that everyone seems to have been asked in regards to this tournament. Why do you deserve to be World champion? What makes you different than anyone else who is in this tournament? Is it because you are some try hard who wants to do well no matter the odds? Is it because you appeal to some far flung niche market where people go nuts over a multicolored haired waif who speaks like she is five? Wait a second, I think I know the answer. The only reason why you are even in this match, and I’m going to speak as plainly and as slowly as I can because I know you have a hard time understanding adults when they speak……..is because the FGA felt sorry for you. They felt sorry for the poor widdle girl who just can’t seem to get out of her own damn way sometimes. Here’s a newsflash, sweetheart. This isn’t kindergarten recess where you can run around on the jungle gym with your friends. This is real life. This is a big girl’s game. If you aren’t willing to at LEAST put your big girl panties on and deal with the hand that has just been dealt to you, then I’m afraid you stand as much of a chance on Saturday as someone’s favorite character surviving an entire season of The Walking Dead. You may very well be the type of fan favorite character who meets a gruesome end within the first ten minutes of the episode.
Whoops. PROBABLY should have posted a blurb about spoilers or something. My bad.
The point is, Nero, that while Izzy and I are different people, we can be of the same mindset when push comes to shove. You want to know what that means? Nothing good, especially for the likes of you. But don’t worry your pwetty widdle head off. With our combined efforts, Izzy and I can knock your head so hard that you will be speaking the Queen’s English by the end of the night. You know, speaking like an ADULT and not a five year old with a speech impediment. I’ve seen it happen before, so I’m HOPING the same will happen with you. I’m not banking on it though.
Out of everyone in this match,hell, in FGA as a whole, I bet no one is happier about this time of year than you, Salem. I mean, not only are you in contention to possibly become the new FGA World Champion on Saturday, but Monday is a big day for you. I mean, it’s practically your National holiday. Why WOULDN’T you be happy? I can think of one reason for you to be unhappy.
The fact that my tag team partner and I stand between you and your dreams of winning the big one.
You know, I have half a mind to just feed you to Izzy and just deal with the overgrown munchkin myself. But what kind of partner would I be if I left Izzy to deal with you by herself? I’d be a good one, that's what I’d be. But WHEN our paths cross on Saturday, i want you to look into these baby blues. I want you to see me not as someone who knows she is in for a MAJOR uphill battle to reach the mountain summit. I want you to look at me as the yin to Izzy’s yang. She is the hurricane. I am the eye of that storm. I’m the one you really should be worried about, because it only gets worse after I pass over you. Keep that in mind while you prepare for Saturday and after the match while you prepare for your National holiday.
And then there was one.
How you doing, tag team partner? I would ask if you are ready for Saturday, but I already know the answer. I may be a blonde, but I’m not a dumb blonde. Now I would just like to state for the record that I don’t hate you, Izzy. In fact, I’ve stated that before. I actually don’t mind you. Compared to who i COULD have been partnered with, I will take you in my corner any day of the week. But while the tag team match phase may seem like fun and games, the one on one phase is where all bets are off.
I know the score already, Izzy. I know I don’t have the most sterling of records. I know the fire isn’t quite there, so let me spare you the trouble of reminding me. I've already been reminded by several people, thank you very much. I had to deal with that leading up to my match at Retribution. I had to have everyone and their uncle’s cousin’s next door neighbor’s former college roommate tell me that I didn’t stand a damn chance. Guess what? I fucking won. I have more than my fair share of scars to prove it. So until you’ve walked even a mile in my shoes and have seen the shit that I have had to go through, don’t sit there and pretend like you know me, because you pretty much don’t.
I do have one question slash observation to make, Izzy. Let’s say you and I go on to make the quarterfinals and we face each other. Hell, let’s even say you come out and beat me. I’m fine with that. You have your twisted little heart set on being World Champion. We all want the same thing. But let me ask you this. Are you sure you have what it takes? Do you have what it takes to stand toe to toe with the likes of Johnny Cannon, Tony Carmine, Dan Herrera and Cordy Stevenson? I don’t think you do. See, you talk an amazing game. You make yourself out to be this indestructible and Devil may care force of nature. But up against those names? It’s like Superman meeting a chunk of kryptonite. I don’t think you have it in you to win the whole thing. I don’t think you have the guts to take everyone out in your path on your march to glory. But hey, I could be wrong. I’ve been wrong about things before.
Saturday is do or die for a lot of us. But more so for me. I’ve been to the top of the mountain in the past before, and god dammit, I want to get there again. If I have to get through you Izzy to get there, then you can bet your bottom dollar that I’m willing to lay everything out on the line to get what I want. See, you can hurl whatever insults or threats that you desire at me, but the only thing they do is motivate me. They don’t stick with me. Not now. Not ever.
Deuces.
Springfield, Illinois
OFF CAMERA
“And be sure to catch the hottest wrestling action around as Frontier Grappling Arts presents Vertigo, live this Saturday Night at the Prairie Capital Convention Center. You can catch all the action right here on WGN America! Eight O'Clock Eastern time!”
The chipper sound of the television announcer drifts from the small bedroom of the hotel room and drifts through the open bathroom door. The fluorescent lights illuminate the seafoam green paint on the walls, the almost blinding white appliances and matching towels. Standing at the sink, gazing into the fairly decent sized vanity mirror is Savannah Taylor. Clad in an oversized pair of crimson sweat pants and a charcoal grey sports bra, her bare feet shift slightly on the cool tile floor as she gazes upon her reflection. A normal, everyday occurrence usually brought someone who looked as run-into-a-pole gorgeous as Savannah much joy, but for the Las Vegas native, it was a different story.
Turning her body slightly, Savannah glances at her back, taking note of the handful of jagged looking scratches still marking her back, one of many reminders of the hell she went through nearly two weeks ago at Retribution. If she closed her eyes, she could still picture being hurled through plate glass not once, but twice. The sound of her one hundred and twenty pound frame being hurled into the glass like she was a lawn dart was not something that would leave her mind anytime soon. She reaches back with her right hand and delicately traces along one of the jagged lines. Dropping her hand, she turns around and looks at the ‘main attraction’ so to speak. The scar that ran in a diagonal line on the right side of her face from about the middle of her forehead and down to just above her eyebrow was not as red and raw as it was the day she got it, but it still felt that way. She lost count of the number of stitches she received at the emergency room, but it was more than enough to change her. The last time something like this occurred was nearly two years ago. But this thing with Magnus Gunner was different. This was something that she HAD to do. SHE had to be the one to end whatever he had planned before it started. Sure she was victorious, but taking in her appearance, every scar and every bruise that dotted her enviable frame, it cost her more than she gained. She had several bruises, all in varying shades and stages of healing, that seemed to be more prominent on her back and stomach. Touching her stomach, she almost winces as her hand brushes up against one of the more prominent bruises on her exposed flesh.
Savannah heaves a sigh as she turns and leaves the bathroom. She picks up her t-shirt resting at the foot of the bed and slips it on, the cool black cotton with it’s vibrant red three headed dragon placed in the very center of the chest. The shirt was as oversized as the pants were, which suited Savannah just fine. She was content in hiding herself for as long as she could until she felt her body was back to a more publicly presentable state. She wasn’t sure when that would be, or if it would even happen. Since her Magnus Gunner-induced downward spiral began back in the summer, she had lost about six pounds. She had let the issues in her personal life affect her to the point where they were not only starting to affect her career, but her wellbeing as well. If it hadn’t been for a much needed intervention/training week with a certain Fallen Angel, who knows what would have happened? She still wasn’t where she wanted to be both physically and mentally, but she felt she was getting better as each day passed. She sits down at the head of the bed and draws her knees up to her chest. She reaches out onto the nightstand and grips the white styrofoam Dunkin Donuts cut, the coffee having cooled somewhat as she takes a long swig. The taste of the warm, pumpkin flavored liquid brought a slight smile to her face as her silence was broken by the sound of her phone ringing. Picking up the gold-colored iPhone 6S Plus, she types in her password to unlock the screen and presses the green answer button when she sees the caller is her uncle.
Savannah Taylor: Hey Uncle Eric.
Eric Taylor: Savannah! How is my favorite niece?
Savannah rolls her eyes as she chuckles to herself.
Savannah Taylor: Veeeerrrry funny.
Eric Taylor: Hey, can’t blame me for trying.
Savannah Taylor: Good point. So what’s up?
Eric Taylor: I was just calling to see how you were doing, how you’ve been doing since that……..whatever the hell it was you were involved in two weeks ago.
Savannah Taylor: You…..you were?
The surprise was evident in her voice as she took another sip of her coffee.
Eric Taylor: Why wouldn’t I be? You’re family.
Savannah Taylor: Well, it’s just that….you’re pretty much one of the only ones who has called, texted, emailed…..anything.
Eric Taylor: Come on. You’re not serious, are you?
Savannah Taylor: Outside of Angela, Samantha and now you….no one.
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line as she heard her uncle clearing his throat.
Eric Taylor: What about your father?
Savannah Taylor: Not even him. I haven’t spoken to him in over a month.
She instinctively reaches up and touches her right cheek slightly below her eye, the memory of how she got THAT particular bruise fresh in her mind.
Eric Taylor: What happened?
Savannah Taylor: He hasn’t spoken to me since before SOMEONE paid him a little visit.
She made sure to put the emphasis on the SOMEONE part.
Eric Taylor: I saw that. Why did he stop talking to you?
Savannah Taylor: Because he blames me for what happened. He blames me for basically allowing this madman to get his claws into my family. He places the blame on me for a lot, actually.
Eric Taylor: What about your sister?
Savannah Taylor: She’s not spoken to me since that incident either. Hell, the last time I tried to call her, the message I got said that this number was no longer in service. Which to me means she got a new number and didn’t tell me.
She manages to drink the rest of her coffee in two to three gulps as she tosses the empty cup into the trashcan next to the bed.
Savannah Taylor: I just want to know if everyone is okay. I want my family around, because we are all that we have. Ever since Mom died over the summer, things have been…..different.
Eric Taylor: How do you mean?
Savannah Taylor: Well Harper is off at college clear across the country. She has her own life going on and is still figuring out just who she is and what she wants out of life. She’s dealing with Mom’s passing in her own way. But Dad……
Her voice trails off.
Eric Taylor: My brother has never dealt well with grief. At all. When our father died, we were both teenagers. He rebelled so hard against everything out mother tried to teach us, but the woman had the patience of a saint. I can only imagine what it’s like with him losing the other half of his heart.
Savannah sits there in silence as she mulls over the information that her uncle was telling her. Part of her wanted to keep what she knew quiet and to herself because she didn’t want to cause any further tensions within the family unit. But on the other hand, the more someone knew meant the greater the chance of getting him some help.
Savannah Taylor: You said that when your father died that he lashed out at Grandma. Did he ever get into alcohol at all? Like did he binge drink or anything?
Eric Taylor: He did get into the liquor cabinet more than once, yes. How come?
Savannah Taylor: Shit…..
Eric Taylor: What is going on?
Savannah Taylor: I went to go see Dad last month because wanted to check on him to see how he was. Harper has just shipped off to the University of Maine and I was off wrestling on both coasts. Plus I was dealing with…..well let’s just say I was dealing with some of my own issues. I got to the house and as soon as I found him, he….well he looked in rough shape. The five o'clock shadow, eyes looked bloodshot as hell, and he had a drink. I don’t know how long he had been drinking prior to me getting there, but I got there early to mid afternoon. I tried to have a conversation with him, but it boiled down to a one sided argument where he basically was ashamed to admit to people that I was his daughter. Then as I went to leave…..well….
Eric Taylor: What happened?
Savannah Taylor: Well the thing is…..he threw the glass he was drinking from right at my head. It caught me right underneath my right eye.
The silence on the other end of the line was nearly deafening as Eric clears his throat.
Eric Taylor: First things first. Are YOU okay?
Savannah Taylor: The bruise had finally managed to go away, thank God. I didn’t break anything, so there is that. I’m just seriously concerned. Who knows how long after Mom’s death he’s been like this. Hell, this could have started before and no one would know a thing about it.
Eric Taylor: I’d be more than happy to check on him for you. I try to frequently.
Savannah Taylor: I’m just concerned that the longer this goes on, the farther away he is going to slip. If he gets too far out of reach……….I don’t want that particular phone call.
Eric Taylor: You let me worry about him this week. You’ve got a tournament to focus on. I know you can do amazing things in it. Who knows? I might even be talking to the future World champion.
Savannah Taylor: I don’t know about that.
Eric Taylor: Hey, you did it before when no one else even factored you into the equation. Who's to say lightning can’t strike twice?
Savannah Taylor: I’ll do whatever I need to in order to win.
Eric Taylor: I know you will. You leave getting through to your father to me. I’ll even try to bridge the gap with your sister.
Savannah Taylor:At this point, I will take any and all help I can get.
Eric Taylor: Help is just what you have now, kiddo.
Savannah leaned back against the headboard, moving the pillows out of the way. It was a slight weight off of her shoulders to know that at least her uncle was willing to help her get through to her father and her sister. But she couldn’t dwell on that much longer. She had a World Title tournament to get ready for and an Izzy Anders to team with and possibly fight in the quarterfinals. The part that she projected to the public, the side that people were most familiar with, was confident in how she would fare. But the Savannah that was behind the scenes, the person that very few people got a chance to see and know, was less than confident. That Savannah was more than willing to give up her spot in the tournament to anyone who wasn’t a part of it that didn’t bear the name Dom Harter. She just had to decide which Savannah would show up on Saturday. She was hoping...no...she NEEDED the former to show up. She had too much riding on this to mess up now.
There appears to be a theme going on heading into Vertigo this Saturday. That theme revolves around history repeating itself. I recently read a quote that said history repeats itself, but in such cunning disguise that we never detect the resemblance until the damage is done.
Yes I DO know how to read. Fuck you very much.
Now, I can’t speak for the rest of the participants in the World Title tournament, nor will i even begin to. Certain others have a habit of talking themselves up, whether we want to hear them speak or not. But in regards to the tag team match I find myself in, history is definitely repeating itself. With at least Salem and Izzy, I have something of a sense of what each is capable of. I can at least watch their matches back and learn from things.
That is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you, Nero.
Nero let me ask you the question that everyone seems to have been asked in regards to this tournament. Why do you deserve to be World champion? What makes you different than anyone else who is in this tournament? Is it because you are some try hard who wants to do well no matter the odds? Is it because you appeal to some far flung niche market where people go nuts over a multicolored haired waif who speaks like she is five? Wait a second, I think I know the answer. The only reason why you are even in this match, and I’m going to speak as plainly and as slowly as I can because I know you have a hard time understanding adults when they speak……..is because the FGA felt sorry for you. They felt sorry for the poor widdle girl who just can’t seem to get out of her own damn way sometimes. Here’s a newsflash, sweetheart. This isn’t kindergarten recess where you can run around on the jungle gym with your friends. This is real life. This is a big girl’s game. If you aren’t willing to at LEAST put your big girl panties on and deal with the hand that has just been dealt to you, then I’m afraid you stand as much of a chance on Saturday as someone’s favorite character surviving an entire season of The Walking Dead. You may very well be the type of fan favorite character who meets a gruesome end within the first ten minutes of the episode.
Whoops. PROBABLY should have posted a blurb about spoilers or something. My bad.
The point is, Nero, that while Izzy and I are different people, we can be of the same mindset when push comes to shove. You want to know what that means? Nothing good, especially for the likes of you. But don’t worry your pwetty widdle head off. With our combined efforts, Izzy and I can knock your head so hard that you will be speaking the Queen’s English by the end of the night. You know, speaking like an ADULT and not a five year old with a speech impediment. I’ve seen it happen before, so I’m HOPING the same will happen with you. I’m not banking on it though.
Out of everyone in this match,hell, in FGA as a whole, I bet no one is happier about this time of year than you, Salem. I mean, not only are you in contention to possibly become the new FGA World Champion on Saturday, but Monday is a big day for you. I mean, it’s practically your National holiday. Why WOULDN’T you be happy? I can think of one reason for you to be unhappy.
The fact that my tag team partner and I stand between you and your dreams of winning the big one.
You know, I have half a mind to just feed you to Izzy and just deal with the overgrown munchkin myself. But what kind of partner would I be if I left Izzy to deal with you by herself? I’d be a good one, that's what I’d be. But WHEN our paths cross on Saturday, i want you to look into these baby blues. I want you to see me not as someone who knows she is in for a MAJOR uphill battle to reach the mountain summit. I want you to look at me as the yin to Izzy’s yang. She is the hurricane. I am the eye of that storm. I’m the one you really should be worried about, because it only gets worse after I pass over you. Keep that in mind while you prepare for Saturday and after the match while you prepare for your National holiday.
And then there was one.
How you doing, tag team partner? I would ask if you are ready for Saturday, but I already know the answer. I may be a blonde, but I’m not a dumb blonde. Now I would just like to state for the record that I don’t hate you, Izzy. In fact, I’ve stated that before. I actually don’t mind you. Compared to who i COULD have been partnered with, I will take you in my corner any day of the week. But while the tag team match phase may seem like fun and games, the one on one phase is where all bets are off.
I know the score already, Izzy. I know I don’t have the most sterling of records. I know the fire isn’t quite there, so let me spare you the trouble of reminding me. I've already been reminded by several people, thank you very much. I had to deal with that leading up to my match at Retribution. I had to have everyone and their uncle’s cousin’s next door neighbor’s former college roommate tell me that I didn’t stand a damn chance. Guess what? I fucking won. I have more than my fair share of scars to prove it. So until you’ve walked even a mile in my shoes and have seen the shit that I have had to go through, don’t sit there and pretend like you know me, because you pretty much don’t.
I do have one question slash observation to make, Izzy. Let’s say you and I go on to make the quarterfinals and we face each other. Hell, let’s even say you come out and beat me. I’m fine with that. You have your twisted little heart set on being World Champion. We all want the same thing. But let me ask you this. Are you sure you have what it takes? Do you have what it takes to stand toe to toe with the likes of Johnny Cannon, Tony Carmine, Dan Herrera and Cordy Stevenson? I don’t think you do. See, you talk an amazing game. You make yourself out to be this indestructible and Devil may care force of nature. But up against those names? It’s like Superman meeting a chunk of kryptonite. I don’t think you have it in you to win the whole thing. I don’t think you have the guts to take everyone out in your path on your march to glory. But hey, I could be wrong. I’ve been wrong about things before.
Saturday is do or die for a lot of us. But more so for me. I’ve been to the top of the mountain in the past before, and god dammit, I want to get there again. If I have to get through you Izzy to get there, then you can bet your bottom dollar that I’m willing to lay everything out on the line to get what I want. See, you can hurl whatever insults or threats that you desire at me, but the only thing they do is motivate me. They don’t stick with me. Not now. Not ever.
Deuces.