Post by The Crimson Ghost! on Feb 5, 2009 17:24:34 GMT -5
You hate him, so much that sometimes you don't sleep. You just sit there, drinking yourself stupid, keeping in that black awful thing that wants to choke out. At times in the ring you picture him and you strangle the poor fucker and beat him until he can't breathe anymore, but you stop yourself from really hurting anyone. You want to kick them in the face so hard that their eyes are forced from the sockets, glass lifeless orbs clotted with blood and hanging by a thread. You want to shove your hand into their mouth and grab their tongue so it can't wiggle away, and then pull it until you hear ripping and sobbing and see blood spray from the gag reflex as tendons fall from the ripped end. But why? Why does he rule you so much? Why do you despise him? Your fucking stupid, you fucking freak, he was your hero. Can you not forgive that an old man might worry about his legacy?! Are you so selfish that you would turn your back from all understanding?! Think. What did he do? WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU?!
[shadow=red,left,300]He stared at the pages, longing in confusion, brows furrowed. It confused him to no end, but he couldn't shake the feeling. Infatuation at seeing something so perfect, neck so slender, and when laughter erupted from this perfect being, something about it made Aito smile. He wanted to be around that, forever, and say things his heart kept secret from the Universe, and himself. He didn't hear his father stumble in, semi-drunk like always, but quickly jerked, trying to think of where to put his american nudie magazine. (No.) Not like this, He couldn't find what Aito was looking at. He looked at his father, looking up at the man(who wasn't that much taller then Aito, even now.) he worshipped. Dano grinned down at him, ruffling his hair. He winked, and for a moment, Aito believed that things in the next world were on his side.
"Ehh, curious, eh? Fuckin' A, that's my boy! No harm in studying the course before you race, I say!"
with a drunken hiccup, Dano slapped the back of his hand against Aito's chest. It didn't hurt, didn't even sting a little, and Aito recognized it as an endearing gesture. The following sentences ended his world, as he understood it. Dano reached for the magazine, after glancing behind him to make sure the wife wasn't looking.
"Hey, I need to borrow that...Uhh, yer ma says she'll take it away, I gotta, uhh, hide it..."
Aito's stomach knotted, and he kept a firm grip on the magazine. The paper warped from two opposing forces going in two opposite directions. Clinically speaking, Aito at this point and time was the stronger of the two, but in his mind's eye Father was God, and there was no overpowering God. Dano's face scrunched in frustration, not wanting it to be this much of a hassle.
"Hey, c'mon, I'm not gonna bogart it or sully the goddamn thing...let go, fucking Hercules!"
(No.) No, Aito wouldn't yield, not at all, not a single God damned bit. He understood the consequences. Tears almost formed, but he fought them back. He wasn't a loser. But he heard the paper rip, saw the entire half of the publication give way, and wanted to vomit, right there. Both son and child fell the opposite direction on their ass, and a single leaf of paper flew from the explosion of force, gently wisting down, soundlessly landing on the hard wood floor, to the far right. Aito didn't move. Maybe He didn't see it, maybe he'd just be pissed, maybe take what was salvageable from the magazine, and then Aito could burn the damndable evid-
(No.) Dano got up, in complete silence, deftly picking up the picture, looking at it a long while in silence. Aito by this time was already on his feet, hands at his side, furrowed brows and eyes set deep in his chubby face. Neither of them moved for a long moment, before Dano looked back up to Aito. Back to the picture. Back to Aito. Aito kept his eyes on his father the whole time, saw the two steps forward. Saw the back of God's hand linger in the air for an eternal second, could almost see the air particles be rushed through the gaps of the fingers, creating less and less resistance as the back of the hand smashed into Aito's right cheek.[/shadow]S M A C K.[shadow=red,left,300]The pain was indescribable, it cut through the flesh, jolted down the spinal cord, ripped the splachnopleuric mesoderm tissue of his heart and lingered there, festering in the neural plate. He counted every single blow to his face.[/shadow](10 to each cheek)[shadow=red,left,300]The tears now felt so heavy, and he could not swallow, having something blocking the way, made it so impossible...
But he did it. They did not fall, even as Dano dropped the picture[/shadow](Mickey Tetsuba, him and Aito talked about having pet dinosaurs and struck up an instant kinship)[shadow=red,left,300]and walked out of the room, having never said a word to his son. That was they last day they spoke. The next day Aito found Micky, throwing the fucker down and for the next 4 minutes had done nothing but smash his fist into the young boy's face, breaking that beautiful nose with every blow, blood coughing and splurting from what used to be a soft, flawless mouth, almond eyes the whole while wide-eyed and staring up at Aito. Not a hint of anger, not a hint of rage, just fear, and bewilderment, as Chen kept hitting. Didn't stop till he just heard wet stuff. Even then he wanted to keep going, even as 4 teachers stopped his fight fist, and tried to pry him off the lad. Aito could heard off in the distance a child laughing, and thought it strange that it sounded like his laugh. Who was copying him?! WHO?![/shadow]
This might have stilled the hate in the hearts of others, but in Aito it lingered, grew, sunk ever deeper into his soul. It continued all through his Sumo career, having never been defeated. After they pounced on the impure blood excuse and ejected him from the sport, it continued in the professional wrestling circuit in Japan. He remembered his first match, the promoters telling him that he was up against their big hotshot, some punk they were trying to push to the top, some almost teenage Yakuza who wanted the fame of the sport and none of the danger. He remembered how they lectured to him the importance of not harming this punk's image, yadda yadda yadda. He nodded in understanding, and twenty minutes later had the punk upside down tied up in the turnbuckle, keeping his legs locked against the turnbuckle and landing vicious stomps to the fool's throat, ending the fight by throwing the sucker out of the ring, comming the closest he ever came to happy watching the punk's head almost splat when smashing against the wall of the stadium(he survived, somehow, though he never wrestled again. That was his first match.) Now, he thought back, to months ago, sweating in his locker room, raking his hands through his hair.
[shadow=red,left,300]The room was small and stuffy, and built low, to force the living to humble themselves. On the north wall was a giant mural of his father, Dano "The Drunken Tiger" Chen, giving his trademark grin to the painter. Though decidedly anti-Japanese in his lifestyle, they had given him a Japanese funeral, and wake. The rest of the men were promoters, tag team partners, rivals, men who had seen Dano at his best and at his worst, or so they thought. They all kept their heads down in silence, as Komosube grew more and more hostile. He had been drinking himself to death for the entire week, and was staggering and shouting at the top of his lungs at the picture, still, they would not fall. He wouldn't give the old asshole that much.
"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, YOU MISERABLE OLD SHIT! YOU THINK YOU FOOL ANYONE?! FUCK YOU, AND YOU, AND YOU YOU SHIT-FESTERING LEPER!!!! HEY! YOU, IN HEAVEN, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! YOU THINK YOU HAVE THEM FOOLED?! THEY SIT HERE, AND THEY BOW, BUT THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR LEGACY! THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING BUT MAINTAINING THE LIE THAT YOU FUCKING MATTERED! YOU THINK YOU DID ANYTHING SPECIAL?! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHGGH! FFFUCK YOU!!!!"[/shadow]
He was standing, in his black suit, tie undone, middle button unbuttoned. After taking the "gifts" of the buzzards who stalked the corpse of a great man and throwing them against the picture, and storming out, he went back to America, and gave his all to GiW, giving his viciousness to their cause, keeping the harlot safe, understanding Declan's need to protect what he cared about(but did he really understand? Really?). He figured that while Declan wanted the title and glory for himself, he would at least grant Hiroshima the chance to prove themselves against himself. After all, was Declan not a legend in the making, eager to prove himself the best, same as Komosube, same as any competitor in the industry?! Komosube had a lot of respect for Prescott, and had thought that would maybe be a two-way street. He had seen the press conference Declan put on.
No lights were on in his room, and he sat there in the dark, bare chest and skin covered with diamonds of sweat, moppish hair clinging to his face. Aragato sat off in the distance, beyond Komosube's peripheral vision, but Komosube felt him all the same. The only person to truly have Komosube's respect, and loyalty. The first man who had shown him what true viciousness was, the first man who saw the monster inside Komosube, and had shown no fear. Even now, with the psycho slipping further into madness, Komosube trusted Aragato, in a way he didn't even trust himself. He spoke, voice breaking, keeping it in, pushing it down, trying. Trying so hard. So fucking hard.
"My father came from nothing, from a nothing little street in Mongolia, escaping Hell before it slipped into Communism. He had seen horrors, seen people die that haunted him until his dying day, they told me. He knew nothing but how to fight and how to charm people, and spent the remainders of his year making a family. Not just a biological family, but he found a home in the squared circles of Japan, and every single day of his life he gave his all into anything he did. Even later, when people called him an Idol, when they tried to push him up to Legend status, he never became swayed or tainted by the people who loved him. Never forgot who he was, or sacrificed his ideals. Can you understand that? Can you fucking comprehend that??"
The next several minutes he couldn't speak. Something blocked his throat, wouldn't let him swallow, and his vision became blurry. The water didn't flow. A single drop came from each eye, slow moving down Aito's face. He almost fought it down again, hid it from the only one he considered family. (No.) He found a way, and choked out the words.
"My father. He built a legacy. Built it with every loss, every win, every draw. He carved his destiny when everyone else told him to lay down his efforts. He stood against forces that tried to make him kneel. I've never liked the man, and I thought I didn't respect what he did, but I understand it now. I never understood the look in his eyes in the last remainders of his life, but I'm told-I, uhh(he choked and swallowed, more tears straining against the corners of his eyes.)-I'm told it was pride. I'm told he was always horrified how far I went against opponents, it sickened him, saw all the violence as needless, but he was still proud. Proud that I always went out and gave everything I had. And now. NOW, I'm being told to lay down, and let Declan get his title run, while Komosube-and Hiroshima, for that matter-stands by and lets his own destiny devour him.(He sobbed for 3 more minutes, face contorting in rage, eyes closed shut to repel the tears, but they strained through.) No. NO, do you understand that?! I'll be GOD DAMNED if I left that round-eye barbarian spit on everything my family worked for. I'm going to go out there, and when that pencil-necked black bastard Jason Reeves asks me about this match I'm not going to say anything, and I'm going to go out there on Saturday, and I'm going to take my destiny. I'm not asking you to make that sacrifice. I will not ask you to betray your friend, Costello. But goddamned if you try to stop me."
Aragato was stone silent, and Komosube could not read the silence for anything but the lack of sound. After a moment, he stood, fists clenched, resolve in his heart, and headed toward the door. He was half-surprised to hear behind him.
"KOMOSUBE!"
Komosube half-turned, looking at the smaller man. Aragato stood after a moment, white face gleaming in the darkness. They stood toe-to-toe, and after a moment, Aragato spat upon the ground, grimacing in an unidentifiable expression. His fist clenched as he spoke.
"Hiroshima."
Komosube felt tears again, but this time, they were of joy, of adulation. Nodding, he grinned wide, and he couldn't wait for the moment Declan poked him on the chest, told him to fall. Komosube knew what his answer would be.
OOC: My absolute favorite rp, where I drop the bombshell, of why Komosube is so pissed all the time. Also, if you look at the history, his dad and stuff, you can kind of tell where he drinks so much from. I never really noticed that before. Bitchin'!
[shadow=red,left,300]He stared at the pages, longing in confusion, brows furrowed. It confused him to no end, but he couldn't shake the feeling. Infatuation at seeing something so perfect, neck so slender, and when laughter erupted from this perfect being, something about it made Aito smile. He wanted to be around that, forever, and say things his heart kept secret from the Universe, and himself. He didn't hear his father stumble in, semi-drunk like always, but quickly jerked, trying to think of where to put his american nudie magazine. (No.) Not like this, He couldn't find what Aito was looking at. He looked at his father, looking up at the man(who wasn't that much taller then Aito, even now.) he worshipped. Dano grinned down at him, ruffling his hair. He winked, and for a moment, Aito believed that things in the next world were on his side.
"Ehh, curious, eh? Fuckin' A, that's my boy! No harm in studying the course before you race, I say!"
with a drunken hiccup, Dano slapped the back of his hand against Aito's chest. It didn't hurt, didn't even sting a little, and Aito recognized it as an endearing gesture. The following sentences ended his world, as he understood it. Dano reached for the magazine, after glancing behind him to make sure the wife wasn't looking.
"Hey, I need to borrow that...Uhh, yer ma says she'll take it away, I gotta, uhh, hide it..."
Aito's stomach knotted, and he kept a firm grip on the magazine. The paper warped from two opposing forces going in two opposite directions. Clinically speaking, Aito at this point and time was the stronger of the two, but in his mind's eye Father was God, and there was no overpowering God. Dano's face scrunched in frustration, not wanting it to be this much of a hassle.
"Hey, c'mon, I'm not gonna bogart it or sully the goddamn thing...let go, fucking Hercules!"
(No.) No, Aito wouldn't yield, not at all, not a single God damned bit. He understood the consequences. Tears almost formed, but he fought them back. He wasn't a loser. But he heard the paper rip, saw the entire half of the publication give way, and wanted to vomit, right there. Both son and child fell the opposite direction on their ass, and a single leaf of paper flew from the explosion of force, gently wisting down, soundlessly landing on the hard wood floor, to the far right. Aito didn't move. Maybe He didn't see it, maybe he'd just be pissed, maybe take what was salvageable from the magazine, and then Aito could burn the damndable evid-
(No.) Dano got up, in complete silence, deftly picking up the picture, looking at it a long while in silence. Aito by this time was already on his feet, hands at his side, furrowed brows and eyes set deep in his chubby face. Neither of them moved for a long moment, before Dano looked back up to Aito. Back to the picture. Back to Aito. Aito kept his eyes on his father the whole time, saw the two steps forward. Saw the back of God's hand linger in the air for an eternal second, could almost see the air particles be rushed through the gaps of the fingers, creating less and less resistance as the back of the hand smashed into Aito's right cheek.[/shadow]S M A C K.[shadow=red,left,300]The pain was indescribable, it cut through the flesh, jolted down the spinal cord, ripped the splachnopleuric mesoderm tissue of his heart and lingered there, festering in the neural plate. He counted every single blow to his face.[/shadow](10 to each cheek)[shadow=red,left,300]The tears now felt so heavy, and he could not swallow, having something blocking the way, made it so impossible...
But he did it. They did not fall, even as Dano dropped the picture[/shadow](Mickey Tetsuba, him and Aito talked about having pet dinosaurs and struck up an instant kinship)[shadow=red,left,300]and walked out of the room, having never said a word to his son. That was they last day they spoke. The next day Aito found Micky, throwing the fucker down and for the next 4 minutes had done nothing but smash his fist into the young boy's face, breaking that beautiful nose with every blow, blood coughing and splurting from what used to be a soft, flawless mouth, almond eyes the whole while wide-eyed and staring up at Aito. Not a hint of anger, not a hint of rage, just fear, and bewilderment, as Chen kept hitting. Didn't stop till he just heard wet stuff. Even then he wanted to keep going, even as 4 teachers stopped his fight fist, and tried to pry him off the lad. Aito could heard off in the distance a child laughing, and thought it strange that it sounded like his laugh. Who was copying him?! WHO?![/shadow]
This might have stilled the hate in the hearts of others, but in Aito it lingered, grew, sunk ever deeper into his soul. It continued all through his Sumo career, having never been defeated. After they pounced on the impure blood excuse and ejected him from the sport, it continued in the professional wrestling circuit in Japan. He remembered his first match, the promoters telling him that he was up against their big hotshot, some punk they were trying to push to the top, some almost teenage Yakuza who wanted the fame of the sport and none of the danger. He remembered how they lectured to him the importance of not harming this punk's image, yadda yadda yadda. He nodded in understanding, and twenty minutes later had the punk upside down tied up in the turnbuckle, keeping his legs locked against the turnbuckle and landing vicious stomps to the fool's throat, ending the fight by throwing the sucker out of the ring, comming the closest he ever came to happy watching the punk's head almost splat when smashing against the wall of the stadium(he survived, somehow, though he never wrestled again. That was his first match.) Now, he thought back, to months ago, sweating in his locker room, raking his hands through his hair.
[shadow=red,left,300]The room was small and stuffy, and built low, to force the living to humble themselves. On the north wall was a giant mural of his father, Dano "The Drunken Tiger" Chen, giving his trademark grin to the painter. Though decidedly anti-Japanese in his lifestyle, they had given him a Japanese funeral, and wake. The rest of the men were promoters, tag team partners, rivals, men who had seen Dano at his best and at his worst, or so they thought. They all kept their heads down in silence, as Komosube grew more and more hostile. He had been drinking himself to death for the entire week, and was staggering and shouting at the top of his lungs at the picture, still, they would not fall. He wouldn't give the old asshole that much.
"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, YOU MISERABLE OLD SHIT! YOU THINK YOU FOOL ANYONE?! FUCK YOU, AND YOU, AND YOU YOU SHIT-FESTERING LEPER!!!! HEY! YOU, IN HEAVEN, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! YOU THINK YOU HAVE THEM FOOLED?! THEY SIT HERE, AND THEY BOW, BUT THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR LEGACY! THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING BUT MAINTAINING THE LIE THAT YOU FUCKING MATTERED! YOU THINK YOU DID ANYTHING SPECIAL?! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHGGH! FFFUCK YOU!!!!"[/shadow]
He was standing, in his black suit, tie undone, middle button unbuttoned. After taking the "gifts" of the buzzards who stalked the corpse of a great man and throwing them against the picture, and storming out, he went back to America, and gave his all to GiW, giving his viciousness to their cause, keeping the harlot safe, understanding Declan's need to protect what he cared about(but did he really understand? Really?). He figured that while Declan wanted the title and glory for himself, he would at least grant Hiroshima the chance to prove themselves against himself. After all, was Declan not a legend in the making, eager to prove himself the best, same as Komosube, same as any competitor in the industry?! Komosube had a lot of respect for Prescott, and had thought that would maybe be a two-way street. He had seen the press conference Declan put on.
No lights were on in his room, and he sat there in the dark, bare chest and skin covered with diamonds of sweat, moppish hair clinging to his face. Aragato sat off in the distance, beyond Komosube's peripheral vision, but Komosube felt him all the same. The only person to truly have Komosube's respect, and loyalty. The first man who had shown him what true viciousness was, the first man who saw the monster inside Komosube, and had shown no fear. Even now, with the psycho slipping further into madness, Komosube trusted Aragato, in a way he didn't even trust himself. He spoke, voice breaking, keeping it in, pushing it down, trying. Trying so hard. So fucking hard.
"My father came from nothing, from a nothing little street in Mongolia, escaping Hell before it slipped into Communism. He had seen horrors, seen people die that haunted him until his dying day, they told me. He knew nothing but how to fight and how to charm people, and spent the remainders of his year making a family. Not just a biological family, but he found a home in the squared circles of Japan, and every single day of his life he gave his all into anything he did. Even later, when people called him an Idol, when they tried to push him up to Legend status, he never became swayed or tainted by the people who loved him. Never forgot who he was, or sacrificed his ideals. Can you understand that? Can you fucking comprehend that??"
The next several minutes he couldn't speak. Something blocked his throat, wouldn't let him swallow, and his vision became blurry. The water didn't flow. A single drop came from each eye, slow moving down Aito's face. He almost fought it down again, hid it from the only one he considered family. (No.) He found a way, and choked out the words.
"My father. He built a legacy. Built it with every loss, every win, every draw. He carved his destiny when everyone else told him to lay down his efforts. He stood against forces that tried to make him kneel. I've never liked the man, and I thought I didn't respect what he did, but I understand it now. I never understood the look in his eyes in the last remainders of his life, but I'm told-I, uhh(he choked and swallowed, more tears straining against the corners of his eyes.)-I'm told it was pride. I'm told he was always horrified how far I went against opponents, it sickened him, saw all the violence as needless, but he was still proud. Proud that I always went out and gave everything I had. And now. NOW, I'm being told to lay down, and let Declan get his title run, while Komosube-and Hiroshima, for that matter-stands by and lets his own destiny devour him.(He sobbed for 3 more minutes, face contorting in rage, eyes closed shut to repel the tears, but they strained through.) No. NO, do you understand that?! I'll be GOD DAMNED if I left that round-eye barbarian spit on everything my family worked for. I'm going to go out there, and when that pencil-necked black bastard Jason Reeves asks me about this match I'm not going to say anything, and I'm going to go out there on Saturday, and I'm going to take my destiny. I'm not asking you to make that sacrifice. I will not ask you to betray your friend, Costello. But goddamned if you try to stop me."
Aragato was stone silent, and Komosube could not read the silence for anything but the lack of sound. After a moment, he stood, fists clenched, resolve in his heart, and headed toward the door. He was half-surprised to hear behind him.
"KOMOSUBE!"
Komosube half-turned, looking at the smaller man. Aragato stood after a moment, white face gleaming in the darkness. They stood toe-to-toe, and after a moment, Aragato spat upon the ground, grimacing in an unidentifiable expression. His fist clenched as he spoke.
"Hiroshima."
Komosube felt tears again, but this time, they were of joy, of adulation. Nodding, he grinned wide, and he couldn't wait for the moment Declan poked him on the chest, told him to fall. Komosube knew what his answer would be.
OOC: My absolute favorite rp, where I drop the bombshell, of why Komosube is so pissed all the time. Also, if you look at the history, his dad and stuff, you can kind of tell where he drinks so much from. I never really noticed that before. Bitchin'!
