Post by The Crimson Ghost! on Feb 7, 2009 19:27:28 GMT -5
The match had been all him. Sure, they all got their cheap shots, had all ganged up on him, but he had responded by destroying them, as he knew he fucking would! Hastings and Roberts both got tastes of his true might, but against that fool Dylan James, he had given the full extent of his wrath, first slamming the loser's head into the very chair that had been used against him, and then another Kamikaze Smasher, after which the 'straight edge' punk lost not only his Edge, but any hope of winning the match. It felt good, destroying those who opposed him, and not only had he torn them apart, but the fans had cheered him on as he did it. Of course he didn't trust to keep such support, but to have it while he did...it felt good, all the same. As his head fell back down to his pillow, he smiled to himself, truly fatigued now, heart heavy with the usual panic one had when going for the title.
This was a Triple Threat, comming up. Meaning that focusing too much on either opponent was right out. Komosube knew he could get overwhelmed. It happened more then once in his wrestling history, and he had been trying recently to remedy that. Oh, it was easy this week, against overhyped dung-heaps. A drug-addled hippie, a man frightened of his own death and some twerp who didn't even know who he was, was not a good test of Aito's abilities, was no true testament to his ability to outlast and pick his moments. No, it would be this upcoming match that decided things. Two men that were clearly champions, one of which had actually been a challenge for Komosube. He longed for a match with Brandon Brown, one on one. Last time, he might have lost, and he didn't like not knowing for sure his superiority.
And then there was Deathman. Aito just wasn't sure how to keep the fucker down. Over the past couple of weeks Deathman just seemed to get stronger and stronger, less and less human with every match. Aito laughed at the superstitious, but he was beginning to suspect something was afoot with Deathman. But, he had seen Deathman actually fall from a mighty Superkick from Brandon Brown, and generally had seen the GoD slow down with time, so he wasn't invincible. Komosube didn't think so, at least.
But the problem was, in order to keep Deathman down, he would need to divert ALL his attention, all his energy, to the Lord. And in that time, he was vulnerable, vulnerable to Brown. He didn't want to be pinned by Brown. Such a thought caused him to grimace and his body to tense, which unknownst to him would awake the slender, buxom form next to him. No, no, he needed to count on Deathman and Brown's hatred for each other. Needed to hang back, stay down when struck, and let them deplete themselves against each other. Then, send the mask-wearing burn unit out of the ropes, maybe into the audience. It would take a while to get back down to the ring. And in that time, a Kamikaze Smasher, from the top rope, would end Brown. Yes, he'd need to sneak this past them, he'd need to play against his usual philosophy-
He felt the form against him, the nubile figure pressing her breasts against his arm, so that her thighs would go around his hand. He heard her speak, hear her voice wavering, in one of her black moods, and instantly regretted his coming back to Japan for the week.
"You don't sleep when next to me. You never do." Emi's eyes looked at him, studying the muscular, thick frame with sorrow and self pity.
He replied, suddenly very tired. "I have a lot on my mind. Just go back to sleep."
She spoke without any malice, or indeed any jealousy. "I know you don't care for me. I've never asked you to be faithful away from me, I know you fuck others. It's ok, though."
"I don't fuck anyone else. Don't be so dramatic." He said the lie without so much as batting an eyelash. Last thing he needed was another suicide attempt in the bathtub. He made a mental note to hide anything pill or drug related.
"What does she look like? I bet she's pretty." He saw out of the corner of his eye her hand trailing down her stomach, past the modest strip of pubic hair and down to her reddish, plump netherlips, and new she was rubbing herself, even as he knew the tears were swelling in her eyes. "She's prettier and fucks harder, I'll bet. Or is it more then one? That's it, I'm just one link in the chain, a whore you visit at your leisure. But I forgive you, Aito. I love you more then myself. When you hurt me, it doesn't heal, and one day you'll kill me, but I know you can't act any differently. Kill me, Aito. I know you have to." By now she was openly weeping and frigging herself quickly, the whimpers and sobs and tears and juices all coming independently of each other. Komosube merely sat there, grimacing more, knowing how this would end up. Unless he prevented it. He took her face in his hands. He was tempted to break that face, but he fought the lifelong urge and caressed her softly.
"Shut the fuck up. I can barely stand you; imagine me having to put up with another woman's useless garbage?!"
He kissed her, without meaning it, and the two loved for a second time, until they both came hard, and she collapsed atop him, tears still flowing, but she was happy as she understood it.
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Chinatsu sat on the couch, watching tv, with Aragato doing whatever he did behind her. She was pretty sure he was preparing for his match somehow, but she didn't get how babbling incoherent gibberish(even along Aragato standards) and pacing back and forth was supposed to help you. She tried to ignore it, and watched the News Program, the special tonight being an inside look at the dangerous life of a professional wrestler.
"...As we see the car Alex 'Chance' Mason was dropped on, not even during any kind of match, but during a lover's-"
She spun around, wide-eyed as Aragato began flipping out without warning, smashing his fists repeatedly into the walls, screaming at the top of his lungs, eyes wide.
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You hold her in your arms, your voice gone from hours of crying. Her body's cold, now, and your entire body stained with her blood. She's dead, you miserable fuck, you undeserving maggot! You stand, no longer wanting this world, whatever's left of your soul is dead here. Damnation's already hit you; your shell of a life simply limps on, like long-dead stars in the sky. You don't even notice your legs carrying themselves, the feel of jagged glass ripping into your face just lets you know your alive.
Now you descend, weightless, inhaling deep, flying into the sky. pieces of window were flying with you, and you thank God for the tugging of your body downward. Finally, it ends. You hurtle down, faster and faster, and the pain wracking your entire body is almost too much, but you finally drift away, into the mercy of Death.
It would only be later you realize the Fates were tricking you, keeping you alive.
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The motion of Chinatu shaking you rapidly snaps you out of your insanity. The lie subsides, and you shudder. You look at her, puzzled. Why had you acted so hostile when the oversexed one implied relations with this girl? No part of you cares what she does with her life, her or the loose twin, for that matter. All that mattered this week was the person inside Savana. The man was your target. Your mission. The method of match was irrelevant, because the strategy was the same. Hit "Savana" with everything you had, until he no longer stood. Then, you let him fall, pin his shoulders to the mat, or let the referee drop his hand to the mat three times. You would kill him 20 times, and the 21st would be finality incarnate. Yes, Aragato. Your Suicide continues.
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She was a pretty woman, no doubt. Right now I was just bugging her in the parking lot, incredibly bored. She seemed not to notice the skeleton mask and hood, even as I donned my FCW black t-shirt, and loose-fitting jeans. I had an obligation to remain masked. I was a Luchadore, after all. She right now was laughing wide, smiling in disbelief. She thought I was joking, probably.
"No, Crimson, you can NOT be serious. I mean, what would the point be of us hanging out? I mean, I feel the boredom thing, but c'mon. I don't think my husband would like me just hanging out with some guy, much less a wrestler..."
I rolled my eyes, tired of these arguments. When I finally told her the reason, her eyes widened, and asked me if I was serious.
"Dead serious, Hazel. I mean, it's meant to be enjoyed with others, and I promise you, it's the ultimate. It's from Afghanistan, you wouldn't believe how hard it is to smuggle in. You might not get this opportunity again..."
She bit her bottom lip, eyes glowing. And about an hour later, we were in her house, curtains drawn down, and she was laughing, eyes half-closed. She inhaled and exhaled like a pro, and it took a while for it to take effect. I sat back myself, by now used to the trip, but happy I had taken it with someone else. Last thing I wanted was some freak out in my motel room. I hadn't notice the door open behind me, but I heard it slam, and looked over to my left as Mitchell Dennis walked by my, eyes wide, looking at Hazel, glancing at myself. I waved, and he absent-mindedly waved back before turning to Hazel.
"What, what are you doing, Hazel??"
She looked at him, slightly giggling, but her buzz was definitely faltering.
"Oh...baby, I just thought-"
The rest of the argument was pretty hectic, and I yet again felt like an intruder watching. Mitchell looked pretty upset, and turned to leave when I stood, stopping him.
"Hey, look man, what's the matter? You opposed to narcotic-induced mood stimulants on base principal? It was me who brought it into the house, if anything, get pissed at me, man..."
He waved his hand and shook his head, dismissing my martyrdom.
"No, no, I'm not so uptight that I can't handle the idea of bud, Mr. Ghost, it's just-..." He raked his hands through his hair, clearly stressed, while Hazel looked at him with sympathetic, albeit high, eyes. "It's just, Hazel comes in, doing all this without any kind of warning...Brings some weirdo in to our home...No offense." He looked at me warily and I gestured that it was perfectly fine, that I understood.
"Well, hey man, I totally feel you on those points, Mitch. Hey, look, I brought a lot of this shit, and you are the man of the house, you wanna get in on this?"
He began shaking his head quickly, making a million and one excuses why he couldn't, it wasn't professional, etc. etc...
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Hazel wept openly, alcohol bottles littered on the floor, her arms around my neck. I was just fucked up to realize that htis wasn't right. Mitch just kept his eyes closed in his chair, while us two were on our knees, me shaking my head, eyes closed, but hearing her voice. She spoke, while weeping.
"I-I'm so sorry...I love you, I love you so much...I'd rather die then hurt you ever again, just please h-hic!-hold me...Let me love you..."
Mitchell spoke up from his chair. Hazel didn't notice.
"I'll always love you Hazel! Oh, Ohhh God...I-I love you babe...I don't deserve you! I-I'm...I'm not like Austin...I fucking hate him! I love you so much..."
I just shook my head, addressing Hazel.
"I-It ain't me...you don't love me...y-your wackbards, Hazel..."
Hazel began crying harder, eyes tightly shut.
"No, no don't say that, don't say that please! I love you, Mitch-Bear! Please, please take me b-back...I'll do...I'll" She looked around, eyelids tightly shut still, and whispered in my ear, in a loud voice. "I'll do that thing you wanna do...that special thing..."
"Oh, I forgive you, Hazel! I could never stay angry! Oh, God! I fucking love you! LOVE YOU!"
Hazel didn't even notice the voice behind her, getting more and more upset when I stopped her from kissing my face. I finally spoke up.
"No, man, Mitchell's behind you...The dragons are on him..."
Hazel for a moment looked blank, as if the brain was trying to take in the information, before she turned around, crawling to Mitchell, and I didn't even care at the sight of her skirt riding up to reveal flesh underneath. She wasn't Cara, it didn't matter. I watched the two embrace, kissing sloppily, watching Hazel kiss downward before unzipping Mitchell's pants, and kept watching 10 minutes later as Hazel sat on his lap, and watched her yell is pain and discomfort as he went after the other orifice, and watched kiss her neck and grope around to grope her chest, as she rode him. It was erotic, especially as the two were oblivious to me, but it wasn't Cara. It would never be Cara. I collapsed on the floor, and wouldn't wake up until the morning, where my dreams consumed me.
None of us remembered the night before, but there seemed to be no harsh feelings towards each other. They left for the day, but I went back to sleep on their carpet, before locking up behind me and heading out to my own place.
(END PROMO.)
OOC: Yeah, this one was a bit heavier...I had learned lately that I was actually in the possibility of winning the Title, and amazingly my posts didn't suck for this period of time. So, yeah...I think this was my title-winner, so that's pretty cool. No complaints on this one, at least, none I can think of, right now.
This was a Triple Threat, comming up. Meaning that focusing too much on either opponent was right out. Komosube knew he could get overwhelmed. It happened more then once in his wrestling history, and he had been trying recently to remedy that. Oh, it was easy this week, against overhyped dung-heaps. A drug-addled hippie, a man frightened of his own death and some twerp who didn't even know who he was, was not a good test of Aito's abilities, was no true testament to his ability to outlast and pick his moments. No, it would be this upcoming match that decided things. Two men that were clearly champions, one of which had actually been a challenge for Komosube. He longed for a match with Brandon Brown, one on one. Last time, he might have lost, and he didn't like not knowing for sure his superiority.
And then there was Deathman. Aito just wasn't sure how to keep the fucker down. Over the past couple of weeks Deathman just seemed to get stronger and stronger, less and less human with every match. Aito laughed at the superstitious, but he was beginning to suspect something was afoot with Deathman. But, he had seen Deathman actually fall from a mighty Superkick from Brandon Brown, and generally had seen the GoD slow down with time, so he wasn't invincible. Komosube didn't think so, at least.
But the problem was, in order to keep Deathman down, he would need to divert ALL his attention, all his energy, to the Lord. And in that time, he was vulnerable, vulnerable to Brown. He didn't want to be pinned by Brown. Such a thought caused him to grimace and his body to tense, which unknownst to him would awake the slender, buxom form next to him. No, no, he needed to count on Deathman and Brown's hatred for each other. Needed to hang back, stay down when struck, and let them deplete themselves against each other. Then, send the mask-wearing burn unit out of the ropes, maybe into the audience. It would take a while to get back down to the ring. And in that time, a Kamikaze Smasher, from the top rope, would end Brown. Yes, he'd need to sneak this past them, he'd need to play against his usual philosophy-
He felt the form against him, the nubile figure pressing her breasts against his arm, so that her thighs would go around his hand. He heard her speak, hear her voice wavering, in one of her black moods, and instantly regretted his coming back to Japan for the week.
"You don't sleep when next to me. You never do." Emi's eyes looked at him, studying the muscular, thick frame with sorrow and self pity.
He replied, suddenly very tired. "I have a lot on my mind. Just go back to sleep."
She spoke without any malice, or indeed any jealousy. "I know you don't care for me. I've never asked you to be faithful away from me, I know you fuck others. It's ok, though."
"I don't fuck anyone else. Don't be so dramatic." He said the lie without so much as batting an eyelash. Last thing he needed was another suicide attempt in the bathtub. He made a mental note to hide anything pill or drug related.
"What does she look like? I bet she's pretty." He saw out of the corner of his eye her hand trailing down her stomach, past the modest strip of pubic hair and down to her reddish, plump netherlips, and new she was rubbing herself, even as he knew the tears were swelling in her eyes. "She's prettier and fucks harder, I'll bet. Or is it more then one? That's it, I'm just one link in the chain, a whore you visit at your leisure. But I forgive you, Aito. I love you more then myself. When you hurt me, it doesn't heal, and one day you'll kill me, but I know you can't act any differently. Kill me, Aito. I know you have to." By now she was openly weeping and frigging herself quickly, the whimpers and sobs and tears and juices all coming independently of each other. Komosube merely sat there, grimacing more, knowing how this would end up. Unless he prevented it. He took her face in his hands. He was tempted to break that face, but he fought the lifelong urge and caressed her softly.
"Shut the fuck up. I can barely stand you; imagine me having to put up with another woman's useless garbage?!"
He kissed her, without meaning it, and the two loved for a second time, until they both came hard, and she collapsed atop him, tears still flowing, but she was happy as she understood it.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chinatsu sat on the couch, watching tv, with Aragato doing whatever he did behind her. She was pretty sure he was preparing for his match somehow, but she didn't get how babbling incoherent gibberish(even along Aragato standards) and pacing back and forth was supposed to help you. She tried to ignore it, and watched the News Program, the special tonight being an inside look at the dangerous life of a professional wrestler.
"...As we see the car Alex 'Chance' Mason was dropped on, not even during any kind of match, but during a lover's-"
She spun around, wide-eyed as Aragato began flipping out without warning, smashing his fists repeatedly into the walls, screaming at the top of his lungs, eyes wide.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You hold her in your arms, your voice gone from hours of crying. Her body's cold, now, and your entire body stained with her blood. She's dead, you miserable fuck, you undeserving maggot! You stand, no longer wanting this world, whatever's left of your soul is dead here. Damnation's already hit you; your shell of a life simply limps on, like long-dead stars in the sky. You don't even notice your legs carrying themselves, the feel of jagged glass ripping into your face just lets you know your alive.
Now you descend, weightless, inhaling deep, flying into the sky. pieces of window were flying with you, and you thank God for the tugging of your body downward. Finally, it ends. You hurtle down, faster and faster, and the pain wracking your entire body is almost too much, but you finally drift away, into the mercy of Death.
It would only be later you realize the Fates were tricking you, keeping you alive.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The motion of Chinatu shaking you rapidly snaps you out of your insanity. The lie subsides, and you shudder. You look at her, puzzled. Why had you acted so hostile when the oversexed one implied relations with this girl? No part of you cares what she does with her life, her or the loose twin, for that matter. All that mattered this week was the person inside Savana. The man was your target. Your mission. The method of match was irrelevant, because the strategy was the same. Hit "Savana" with everything you had, until he no longer stood. Then, you let him fall, pin his shoulders to the mat, or let the referee drop his hand to the mat three times. You would kill him 20 times, and the 21st would be finality incarnate. Yes, Aragato. Your Suicide continues.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She was a pretty woman, no doubt. Right now I was just bugging her in the parking lot, incredibly bored. She seemed not to notice the skeleton mask and hood, even as I donned my FCW black t-shirt, and loose-fitting jeans. I had an obligation to remain masked. I was a Luchadore, after all. She right now was laughing wide, smiling in disbelief. She thought I was joking, probably.
"No, Crimson, you can NOT be serious. I mean, what would the point be of us hanging out? I mean, I feel the boredom thing, but c'mon. I don't think my husband would like me just hanging out with some guy, much less a wrestler..."
I rolled my eyes, tired of these arguments. When I finally told her the reason, her eyes widened, and asked me if I was serious.
"Dead serious, Hazel. I mean, it's meant to be enjoyed with others, and I promise you, it's the ultimate. It's from Afghanistan, you wouldn't believe how hard it is to smuggle in. You might not get this opportunity again..."
She bit her bottom lip, eyes glowing. And about an hour later, we were in her house, curtains drawn down, and she was laughing, eyes half-closed. She inhaled and exhaled like a pro, and it took a while for it to take effect. I sat back myself, by now used to the trip, but happy I had taken it with someone else. Last thing I wanted was some freak out in my motel room. I hadn't notice the door open behind me, but I heard it slam, and looked over to my left as Mitchell Dennis walked by my, eyes wide, looking at Hazel, glancing at myself. I waved, and he absent-mindedly waved back before turning to Hazel.
"What, what are you doing, Hazel??"
She looked at him, slightly giggling, but her buzz was definitely faltering.
"Oh...baby, I just thought-"
The rest of the argument was pretty hectic, and I yet again felt like an intruder watching. Mitchell looked pretty upset, and turned to leave when I stood, stopping him.
"Hey, look man, what's the matter? You opposed to narcotic-induced mood stimulants on base principal? It was me who brought it into the house, if anything, get pissed at me, man..."
He waved his hand and shook his head, dismissing my martyrdom.
"No, no, I'm not so uptight that I can't handle the idea of bud, Mr. Ghost, it's just-..." He raked his hands through his hair, clearly stressed, while Hazel looked at him with sympathetic, albeit high, eyes. "It's just, Hazel comes in, doing all this without any kind of warning...Brings some weirdo in to our home...No offense." He looked at me warily and I gestured that it was perfectly fine, that I understood.
"Well, hey man, I totally feel you on those points, Mitch. Hey, look, I brought a lot of this shit, and you are the man of the house, you wanna get in on this?"
He began shaking his head quickly, making a million and one excuses why he couldn't, it wasn't professional, etc. etc...
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Hazel wept openly, alcohol bottles littered on the floor, her arms around my neck. I was just fucked up to realize that htis wasn't right. Mitch just kept his eyes closed in his chair, while us two were on our knees, me shaking my head, eyes closed, but hearing her voice. She spoke, while weeping.
"I-I'm so sorry...I love you, I love you so much...I'd rather die then hurt you ever again, just please h-hic!-hold me...Let me love you..."
Mitchell spoke up from his chair. Hazel didn't notice.
"I'll always love you Hazel! Oh, Ohhh God...I-I love you babe...I don't deserve you! I-I'm...I'm not like Austin...I fucking hate him! I love you so much..."
I just shook my head, addressing Hazel.
"I-It ain't me...you don't love me...y-your wackbards, Hazel..."
Hazel began crying harder, eyes tightly shut.
"No, no don't say that, don't say that please! I love you, Mitch-Bear! Please, please take me b-back...I'll do...I'll" She looked around, eyelids tightly shut still, and whispered in my ear, in a loud voice. "I'll do that thing you wanna do...that special thing..."
"Oh, I forgive you, Hazel! I could never stay angry! Oh, God! I fucking love you! LOVE YOU!"
Hazel didn't even notice the voice behind her, getting more and more upset when I stopped her from kissing my face. I finally spoke up.
"No, man, Mitchell's behind you...The dragons are on him..."
Hazel for a moment looked blank, as if the brain was trying to take in the information, before she turned around, crawling to Mitchell, and I didn't even care at the sight of her skirt riding up to reveal flesh underneath. She wasn't Cara, it didn't matter. I watched the two embrace, kissing sloppily, watching Hazel kiss downward before unzipping Mitchell's pants, and kept watching 10 minutes later as Hazel sat on his lap, and watched her yell is pain and discomfort as he went after the other orifice, and watched kiss her neck and grope around to grope her chest, as she rode him. It was erotic, especially as the two were oblivious to me, but it wasn't Cara. It would never be Cara. I collapsed on the floor, and wouldn't wake up until the morning, where my dreams consumed me.
None of us remembered the night before, but there seemed to be no harsh feelings towards each other. They left for the day, but I went back to sleep on their carpet, before locking up behind me and heading out to my own place.
(END PROMO.)
OOC: Yeah, this one was a bit heavier...I had learned lately that I was actually in the possibility of winning the Title, and amazingly my posts didn't suck for this period of time. So, yeah...I think this was my title-winner, so that's pretty cool. No complaints on this one, at least, none I can think of, right now.
