Post by Brenna Gordon on May 30, 2019 20:28:20 GMT -5
"Isn't it amazing, how people can make themselves so willfully blind to the truths that don't suit them?" The question is murmured softly as the visual cuts in on a room that may be familiar to the aficionados of Pure Amusement Wrestling when it was around; a balcony situated at the broken hull of a Spanish galleon, the jagged edges forming a railing of sorts which allows one a view of what lay beyond. Just how the pair of Berlin Anderson and Brenna Gordon made it past the locked gates and other security measures is a mystery best left undisturbed, though the hulking amusement park attractions look almost skeletal, menacing without the bright lights to make them look more alive.
Safe.
The woodlands has tried to take back over this domain, though it's only gotten as far as undergrowth yet. Curls of kudzu here and there try to choke the metal monstrosities but there's no blood in the veins to suppress, only patches of red rust undeterred and unsubmitted. Standing with her profile to the camera, she who is Born of Myth idly runs her fingers along one of the largest protruding splinters while the nomad steps up on a creaky wooden ladder with a bag slung over one shoulder. A loud fizzle of phosphorus is heard, then a crackle as orange lights cast down below--one of the giant censers, hanging overhead by the remnant of a mast pole, has been lit. "Second nature to so many."
"No matter where either of us go, we're surrounded by it, aren't we? We can't entirely escape falling victim to it ourselves, though you're admittedly better at keeping your vision clear than I am." The smoke is quick to surround the mistress of this abandoned space. Brenna takes a deep breath of it before she chuckles softly to herself, her head turning to look up at her anam--her gaze remaining upon him as he descends from the ladder. Even with her head turned away from the camera, her words are clear... as is her amusement. "I blame your sunny disposition. Or maybe it's all the places you've been that I have yet to visit myself."
"You'll see Morocco next." And as he descends, he pulls an ornately carved wooden mask from his bag and holds in front of his face. "Would you like my mask? Would you like my mirror? You can look at yourself, you can look at each other, you can look at the face of your god."
"God..." Ink-stained fingers stroke along the wooden mask, eventually trailing off of it as she moves past him, advancing into the fading light. The camera moves in front of her, making it so that both she and her partner are visible from the front as she shakes her head. "As tempting as it would be to follow that particular line of philosophical thought in a different direction, I suppose that NSFW's collective conceit follows along those same lines, doesn't it? Because that's the best word to sum up my biggest problem with them. I've never seen a pair that's more intent on humble-bragging, on concealing how they're doing the exact same things that they've condemned other people for beneath a veneer of the self-righteousness I mentioned before. It's okay if they hang their Experts Tag Team Championships on the ropes to flaunt their presence because they said the right thing about them not mattering here in Valor, and they made them unfocused in the background so as to make people curious enough about them to do some Googling about them. It's okay if they throw shade at us about how being a couple isn't enough to make us a good team when they're dating themselves, or go on about how thrown-together teams could never hope to win against them when, if memory serves, they started out much the same. So what if it wasn't a GM of some show that did it? Thrown together is thrown together, but we're supposed to act like they've been together since the womb."
A pause; those too-big eyes narrow, growing darker... though it could be the light. "It's okay for them to talk like I'm going to abandon you, the only partner I have ever willingly chosen in all my years in the business, because I once punched someone I was forced to tag with after being insulted and disrespected for literal weeks before leaving her culturally-appropriating ass to the wolves. Melody Malone, the Siren of Charlatanism, earned her fate... but hey, let's just make assumptions to disrespect someone else's relationship because we're too Goddamn up our own asses to do even a shred of research ourselves."
He lets the hand holding his mask drop. "You have to trust your tag partner, you know. But yet I shouldn't trust your knowledge and opinion on them. I should do my own research, as if asking someone I know who was in the company doesn't count as such... but yet there they are, as you said. And I wonder, why would I be tied to a company that tours the globe, when I'm a nomad? Hm. Should we pretend we're strangers to one another after this long, I wonder?"
"No. I don't believe in revisionist history." Brenna scoffs, rolling her eyes. "If I did, then I would be ignoring how, for all that they have long since worn away that veneer I mentioned... they've got a long line of wins together, so they're obviously doing a lot right on that front. In the ring, they know exactly what they're doing, but they've let it go to their heads, carrying them right up one another's asses in the process. Why else would they declare EWC's entire tag division as being plunged into irrelevance just because they quit right after losing the tag championships to--and you'll love this--a couple they ragged on for a lot of the same shit they're throwing at us?"
"Do you think this is Default Plan A, B, or C that they've picked for us?" The orange glow from above has dimmed to nothing, and the heavy smoke streaming down from it settles low like fog. As Berlin paces slowly, it swirls around his legs. "There's very little about me that's default model anything. And some might accuse me of facade, acting special, but the truth is? If I'm concealing anything, it's in an attempt to be less confusing. Let me see if I can put this simply. You come into a company, both new to it, no one to vouch for either of you. You flaunt belts from elsewhere, drop names unfamiliar to our regulars, and don't seem to have a passing glimmer that you were handed a tag title contendership match in your first appearance beyond talking about how you're going to turn the division upside down and make it suit your opinion of what's right, yes? Did I confuse anything?"
At Brenna's shake of the head, he continues. "Because there's someone here that reminds me of a bit, and it's Spiral. No penchant for excessive, uncalled-for violence simply to prove how much of a spooky, spooky badass you are yet, but that's how the arrogance comes across. And I wouldn't ask or advise complacency with what's been given to you, exactly, but... you're in unfamiliar territory. Mind The Gap."
"And while we find ourselves in similar waters with the opportunity we've been given in regards to what winning here will mean, at least we admit that we are venturing into the unknown here. Hell, we're outright embracing it with arms wide fucking open because it's what we've always done, be it alone... or together." Wading into the smoke without so much as a hint of hesitation, slender fingers entwine themselves with Berlin's own. The pair advance as the camera slowly begins to lift, moving overtop the pair. "We don't feel the need to run down the list of cliches that all but define you both, the same taglines about how you live and breathe tag team wrestling and how you bleed this business and ad nauseum--emphasis on the nausea--because we're confident that our actions will do it all for us, and we trust the fans to be smart enough to see it for themselves. Is that why you keep rattling off those lines... you don't think people will notice that you're a tag team unless you repeatedly announce it?"
"It'd be pretty hard to miss, they don't seem to shill their individual strengths... ever. Yet I'm the one paying lip service to the business. For lip service, it's had a pretty damned good track record. Don't tend to toot my own horn, but if it's going to be brought up? Eighty percent win rate, retired three Valor competitors." His head turns to Brenna. "You do have someone who's familiar with the terrain. Well-established here. Exclusive. Has made repeated statements that this place is his priority. Step where I step."
"Always." For a moment, her smile is genuine--soft, even--before those sharpened edges return to her teeth. "Between your knowledge of the terrain and my knowledge of our opponents, our chances of putting Mike and John on their asses is higher than either of them wants to admit. John's a technical wizard, but so am I. Mike is quick and hits like a truck when she wants to... honestly, that's both of us. But what's going to tip the scales in our favor is how quickly they dismissed not only the tag division as a whole, but us because we aren't like them, pandering to people in exchange for them overlooking our sins. We wouldn't even be a blip on their radar if I hadn't dared to call them out on their bullshit, but you know what? Both my anam and I are fine with being in the middle of their cross-hairs. We don't want there to be any excuses when they inevitably miss the mark the same as they have with every word they've spoken since coming here because we aren't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy and Toto--and until you're willing to own your shit and actually pay attention?"
Brenna and Berlin look at one another for a moment, Berlin quirking a brow as if to ask if she's really going to finish this particular line the way he thinks she's going to. She smirks faintly. "Then you'll never so much as take a single step toward the Chimera Championships."
By now, the camera is directly behind Brenna and Berlin as they advance forward into the semi-darkness, the smoke slowly beginning to thin out as they reach the end of the censer's range. Reaching into her pocket, she who is Born of Myth pulls out a lighter before plunging a hand into Berlin's bag. It takes a moment of feeling about, but she withdraws one of the bundles of incense he lit earlier. Holding it aloft, she sets it aflame... and when she does? It is revealed that they are standing before a mirror. There is no bright hue to it; this is no glass with the back painted in tin. The obsidian may be dark, but it's been polished to a perfect reflective surface. The eye can pick out wonderful detail, the leaves on the trees behind them...
Until the vapor of the fragrant offering swirls up to distort their faces. The Aztec's Tezcatlipoca, Smoking Mirror, the exiler of Quetzalcoatl, of war and of prophecy, making the strange even stranger...
And maybe more the truth.
Safe.
The woodlands has tried to take back over this domain, though it's only gotten as far as undergrowth yet. Curls of kudzu here and there try to choke the metal monstrosities but there's no blood in the veins to suppress, only patches of red rust undeterred and unsubmitted. Standing with her profile to the camera, she who is Born of Myth idly runs her fingers along one of the largest protruding splinters while the nomad steps up on a creaky wooden ladder with a bag slung over one shoulder. A loud fizzle of phosphorus is heard, then a crackle as orange lights cast down below--one of the giant censers, hanging overhead by the remnant of a mast pole, has been lit. "Second nature to so many."
"No matter where either of us go, we're surrounded by it, aren't we? We can't entirely escape falling victim to it ourselves, though you're admittedly better at keeping your vision clear than I am." The smoke is quick to surround the mistress of this abandoned space. Brenna takes a deep breath of it before she chuckles softly to herself, her head turning to look up at her anam--her gaze remaining upon him as he descends from the ladder. Even with her head turned away from the camera, her words are clear... as is her amusement. "I blame your sunny disposition. Or maybe it's all the places you've been that I have yet to visit myself."
"You'll see Morocco next." And as he descends, he pulls an ornately carved wooden mask from his bag and holds in front of his face. "Would you like my mask? Would you like my mirror? You can look at yourself, you can look at each other, you can look at the face of your god."
"God..." Ink-stained fingers stroke along the wooden mask, eventually trailing off of it as she moves past him, advancing into the fading light. The camera moves in front of her, making it so that both she and her partner are visible from the front as she shakes her head. "As tempting as it would be to follow that particular line of philosophical thought in a different direction, I suppose that NSFW's collective conceit follows along those same lines, doesn't it? Because that's the best word to sum up my biggest problem with them. I've never seen a pair that's more intent on humble-bragging, on concealing how they're doing the exact same things that they've condemned other people for beneath a veneer of the self-righteousness I mentioned before. It's okay if they hang their Experts Tag Team Championships on the ropes to flaunt their presence because they said the right thing about them not mattering here in Valor, and they made them unfocused in the background so as to make people curious enough about them to do some Googling about them. It's okay if they throw shade at us about how being a couple isn't enough to make us a good team when they're dating themselves, or go on about how thrown-together teams could never hope to win against them when, if memory serves, they started out much the same. So what if it wasn't a GM of some show that did it? Thrown together is thrown together, but we're supposed to act like they've been together since the womb."
A pause; those too-big eyes narrow, growing darker... though it could be the light. "It's okay for them to talk like I'm going to abandon you, the only partner I have ever willingly chosen in all my years in the business, because I once punched someone I was forced to tag with after being insulted and disrespected for literal weeks before leaving her culturally-appropriating ass to the wolves. Melody Malone, the Siren of Charlatanism, earned her fate... but hey, let's just make assumptions to disrespect someone else's relationship because we're too Goddamn up our own asses to do even a shred of research ourselves."
He lets the hand holding his mask drop. "You have to trust your tag partner, you know. But yet I shouldn't trust your knowledge and opinion on them. I should do my own research, as if asking someone I know who was in the company doesn't count as such... but yet there they are, as you said. And I wonder, why would I be tied to a company that tours the globe, when I'm a nomad? Hm. Should we pretend we're strangers to one another after this long, I wonder?"
"No. I don't believe in revisionist history." Brenna scoffs, rolling her eyes. "If I did, then I would be ignoring how, for all that they have long since worn away that veneer I mentioned... they've got a long line of wins together, so they're obviously doing a lot right on that front. In the ring, they know exactly what they're doing, but they've let it go to their heads, carrying them right up one another's asses in the process. Why else would they declare EWC's entire tag division as being plunged into irrelevance just because they quit right after losing the tag championships to--and you'll love this--a couple they ragged on for a lot of the same shit they're throwing at us?"
"Do you think this is Default Plan A, B, or C that they've picked for us?" The orange glow from above has dimmed to nothing, and the heavy smoke streaming down from it settles low like fog. As Berlin paces slowly, it swirls around his legs. "There's very little about me that's default model anything. And some might accuse me of facade, acting special, but the truth is? If I'm concealing anything, it's in an attempt to be less confusing. Let me see if I can put this simply. You come into a company, both new to it, no one to vouch for either of you. You flaunt belts from elsewhere, drop names unfamiliar to our regulars, and don't seem to have a passing glimmer that you were handed a tag title contendership match in your first appearance beyond talking about how you're going to turn the division upside down and make it suit your opinion of what's right, yes? Did I confuse anything?"
At Brenna's shake of the head, he continues. "Because there's someone here that reminds me of a bit, and it's Spiral. No penchant for excessive, uncalled-for violence simply to prove how much of a spooky, spooky badass you are yet, but that's how the arrogance comes across. And I wouldn't ask or advise complacency with what's been given to you, exactly, but... you're in unfamiliar territory. Mind The Gap."
"And while we find ourselves in similar waters with the opportunity we've been given in regards to what winning here will mean, at least we admit that we are venturing into the unknown here. Hell, we're outright embracing it with arms wide fucking open because it's what we've always done, be it alone... or together." Wading into the smoke without so much as a hint of hesitation, slender fingers entwine themselves with Berlin's own. The pair advance as the camera slowly begins to lift, moving overtop the pair. "We don't feel the need to run down the list of cliches that all but define you both, the same taglines about how you live and breathe tag team wrestling and how you bleed this business and ad nauseum--emphasis on the nausea--because we're confident that our actions will do it all for us, and we trust the fans to be smart enough to see it for themselves. Is that why you keep rattling off those lines... you don't think people will notice that you're a tag team unless you repeatedly announce it?"
"It'd be pretty hard to miss, they don't seem to shill their individual strengths... ever. Yet I'm the one paying lip service to the business. For lip service, it's had a pretty damned good track record. Don't tend to toot my own horn, but if it's going to be brought up? Eighty percent win rate, retired three Valor competitors." His head turns to Brenna. "You do have someone who's familiar with the terrain. Well-established here. Exclusive. Has made repeated statements that this place is his priority. Step where I step."
"Always." For a moment, her smile is genuine--soft, even--before those sharpened edges return to her teeth. "Between your knowledge of the terrain and my knowledge of our opponents, our chances of putting Mike and John on their asses is higher than either of them wants to admit. John's a technical wizard, but so am I. Mike is quick and hits like a truck when she wants to... honestly, that's both of us. But what's going to tip the scales in our favor is how quickly they dismissed not only the tag division as a whole, but us because we aren't like them, pandering to people in exchange for them overlooking our sins. We wouldn't even be a blip on their radar if I hadn't dared to call them out on their bullshit, but you know what? Both my anam and I are fine with being in the middle of their cross-hairs. We don't want there to be any excuses when they inevitably miss the mark the same as they have with every word they've spoken since coming here because we aren't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy and Toto--and until you're willing to own your shit and actually pay attention?"
Brenna and Berlin look at one another for a moment, Berlin quirking a brow as if to ask if she's really going to finish this particular line the way he thinks she's going to. She smirks faintly. "Then you'll never so much as take a single step toward the Chimera Championships."
By now, the camera is directly behind Brenna and Berlin as they advance forward into the semi-darkness, the smoke slowly beginning to thin out as they reach the end of the censer's range. Reaching into her pocket, she who is Born of Myth pulls out a lighter before plunging a hand into Berlin's bag. It takes a moment of feeling about, but she withdraws one of the bundles of incense he lit earlier. Holding it aloft, she sets it aflame... and when she does? It is revealed that they are standing before a mirror. There is no bright hue to it; this is no glass with the back painted in tin. The obsidian may be dark, but it's been polished to a perfect reflective surface. The eye can pick out wonderful detail, the leaves on the trees behind them...
Until the vapor of the fragrant offering swirls up to distort their faces. The Aztec's Tezcatlipoca, Smoking Mirror, the exiler of Quetzalcoatl, of war and of prophecy, making the strange even stranger...
And maybe more the truth.