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Post by Action Reel on Aug 22, 2022 22:44:56 GMT -5
RULES:
YOU CAN POST ALL AT ONCE, OR RESPONSE-SHOOT.
YOU GET 4 TOTAL POSTS NO MATTER WHAT.
500 WORDS HARDCAP PER POST.
DEADLINE IS SAME AS REGULAR DEADLINE. SUNDAY 12 noon pacific/3pm EST.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 22, 2022 23:50:19 GMT -5
Masuda Teijin takes the podium post-Clash. Stephen Singh has an empty seat, yet name placard promises a word from the challenger at some point.
Masuda: Everyone stop tweeting horseshit. My opponent just wants to stall everything. Anyone that feels that he has been railroaded to this podium like a cruise missile has no idea what sort of creature they spout about… but I know this slippery fiend. The first time we locked eyes after outsmarting perennial threat, Jessie Lee, I read him cover to cover.
Reporter: And what sort of man did you find?
Masuda: Can a champion, PLEASE, have time to build a moment? Thanks, bruh. Now, the moment everyone has been waiting for in the Hardcore Division heats up in the only way we can: blazing the middle like a grill cheese fresh off the griddle. My opponent doesn’t understand what it means to hold this belt because he’s seen its very simple conventions as commonplace. Laughed at my generosity. Turned a wicked smile into some semblance of personality because he is but figment lurking behind our once noble profession. Anyone that says Stephen Singh, or Romeo Finet, will carry this division better than I have; please, look to my trailblazing albeit short tenure as Hardcore Champion.
Reporter 2: So... you want the fans to believe that you’re the only one with the Title in mind?
Masuda: The term is "legacy". I’m building it with match - even as those talking heads above neglect to showcase what I can do every week. I bring new boundaries to hardcore. Singh is just another weed from WCF. Yeah, I watched him as a ring rat. I know he’s capable of the highest caliber in this business. That doesn’t scare me. Nor do sideways jeers whenever I attempt to be genuine. He’s a mountebank that has already deceived this company more than once. He defrauded our Cruiserweight Championship on a whim with a clowning mask to boot… but friend, this is not Cruiser Clash.
You’ve miscalculated this caper. You won’t tilt me because I can summon the same demons in the PR business. You're not unique nor special. Just another clout chaser. How long before the façade breaks? Every professed “Stephenite” shall have their day in court for Sunday’s bout, but how long can your following hope to last? A match with Masuda Teijin isn’t about reaching the pinfall—it’s survival. Only their unfiltered chorus shall reckon this day between us. When the internet, your latest tool and prancing skullduggery, finds out your claim to this belt stands on no ground but the air you’ve conflated since crowning from the same anus that WCF dumped Odin Balfore and Shadowlove onto AW's squared circle. We are better without you. For I aim to prove at Uprising that what we need is stability… not another of Lerch’s toxic charlatans--
His words are cut short by a frenzy of camera flashes: The arrival of Stephen Singh.
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Post by Stephen Singh on Aug 24, 2022 11:28:35 GMT -5
Singh is pale, his gait slow, the least bit of gloss over his eyes which do not flinch at the flash photography, he's been under Bright Lights since Teijin had night lights.
You paint me with an old brush, Masuda, used up, crusted over, and whose broad strokes aren't just inaccurate but serve to agitate the ever-loving shit out of me.
His eyes shift to the cameras and reporters.
That’s not a popular confession. People–especially any longtime Faithful Stephenites–don’t want to hear humanity from their Superstar; they want the calm invincibility that I’ve spent my career projecting. They’re accustomed to me staying above it all, raining verbal vitriol downward onto your empty head. They’re still going to get the violent punctuated pugilism they’re accustomed to but they’re going to get a Superstar whose sights are set higher than one win, one match, one man. They’re going to get a Golden God turned Hardcore Heathen, a man who is done looking for a clean way around with a dirty win but a bloody way through with a REAL victory. So here I am, Masuda, a raw nerve exposed, a livewire twitching and ready to send 10,000 volts of violence up your narrow ass.
Reporter: So you’re admitting that Masuda’s words have you agitated? That he’s…getting to you?
His words agitate me insomuch as they expose his shortcomings. I chose him as a thoughtful, worthy competitor. He spracks off about legacy and pushing the boundaries of hardcore so I thought my efforts would be well-spent here. But instead of conjuring a single novel thought, he trots out the same “You’re just a WCF burnout” that has slobbered out of everyone’s cockwasher from the moment I took off the mask.
He turns toward Masuda at the other end of the long table.
I thought you wanted to push the envelope, Masuda? Do something new? Instead, you’re recycling lines from Jesie Lee and John Black. I don’t want to maul another mook, I wanted to paint the ring red with a worthy opponent! You said let’s push the envelope, I was ready to set the damn thing on fire. But now that you’re seeing it up close, it’s a little too hot for you. If your conception of “blazing” is a grilled cheese fucking sandwich then I’m glad to take that title off your hands so you can end up working a grill again. You’ve got to be better at that then you are at making sushi…since that Fugu put me in the fucking hospital.
I’m the toxic charlatan? While you poison me to try and get out of this match? There’s always four fingers pointing right back at you, fuckchop. You want me in the hospital, do it yourself. No tablecloths, no servers, no chopsticks–unless I’m shoving them up your nose where your fucking brain should be. Curl up those dainty little starfish you call hands and and step into my kitchen, Masuda: your fish fraudulence failed and now you’re fucking cooked.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 24, 2022 19:38:45 GMT -5
Masuda nods to the reporters.
Masuda: At least he's back in the limelight where he exists. A media vampire like the rest of his kind. It's funny how you think I'd spend a moment listening to John Black or Jessie Lee, but it's good for the division to make their names heard. As for the envelop: Today's the day. Let's get to fucking shit up!
Masuda removes his jacket and takes the microphone off its cradle as he rises.
Masuda: You want to talk about borderline impressions. Your edge dulled years ago, but that cocky WCF entitlement makes you believe this one will be an easy snatch. This probably won't be last time I have to explain this to you because wrestlers famously have goldfish attention spans, but you can't just recapture that green and black by asking me to up the ante. Because I'll slam my entire career on this goddamn table. Do something wild to get us both figuratively cancelled by the charming elite pushing around payroll like the liabilities we signed off on waivers.
You want to get our hands dirty? Or would you rather post a vine to match your outdated, overused cheap pops to a fanbase still wearing faded Slam Tees every Monday. I've had to listen to you deep throat the mic for weeks. Poking, prodding but never really having the gull to go after me. You think wisecracks work on a bullshitter - ha! If you had any semblance, any heartthrob or pang left of your old self you'd look me in the eyes and say what you really want to say.
He approaches, microphone in hand, leaning close to Singh's level.
Masuda: Your "sickness" is a machination. You should learn when to shut the fuck up. I've refused interviews, pressers and all gesticulations because talk is cheap. Want to paint this town red. Then prove you're not skulking behind another corner to backstab me. I want to respect you, Stephen, but you're just another whore for TV.
I ate the same fugu you did, dipshit. My chef's prepared that dish under close inspection enough to where he might as well serve it blindfolded. You're either sick from the jetlag or playing the simpletons that think I need Machiavellian ploys to retain this belt. I prefer to keep my beef ring fed, exposing snakes where they slither. You've got a better chance at preparing your own blowfish filet than facing me for this belt. And before you snerk, telling these people I'm being protected by the bookers, you should spend an afternoon witnessing the fallout of what I do in this division. There's no skill to be hardcore. It's all heart and pure sense of violence absent of all proper technique. Sunday is not about winning: It's only survival. There I'll bury you with the rest of the toxicity your neon gangrene carries because the truth will come to light. But by all means - draw first blood you insufferable prick!
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Post by Stephen Singh on Aug 26, 2022 14:01:45 GMT -5
What you fail to see is that all these references to TV whore, the WCF, alleged machinations…you’re not talking about the man that you’re facing Sunday. You’re talking about a man that died years ago. The man you’re facing Sunday is on his Last Chance, who throws his body and soul into every single match here because it’s the only Golden Goddamned thing I’ve got left to give to. You walk in there expecting a snake, you’re going to get maimed by a shark–a perpetual motion machine of a predator who predates just about everything else in this pond.
I’m bored with you, Masuda. I’m bored with you spending every penny in that vacuous skull to come up with a ten dollar word you barely understand to obfuscate your obvious objective: looking down your nose at the rest of us. I know that because I DID that, Masuda. But I can’t look down mine anymore because it got chewed off by the grindstone I’ve pinned it against for the past year. You brought a thesaurus to a knife fight and I’m going to shove the book up your ass.
You’re threatening to “slam your career” on this table? Be careful, I’m not sure it could hold up under the weight of TWO YEARS OF FLOUNDER IN OBSCURITY AND ONE SINGLE FUCKING TITLE REIGN. You’re too insignificant to even be a fucking punchline here. You’re allegedly elevating this division but you don’t even listen to Lee and Black’s promos? You’re supposed to be a champion, keeping eyes and ears on all contenders. You’re supposed to be the rising tide lifting all boats, Champ. But you’ve drowning in this ocean, Masuda. You not a rising tide, not a Typhoon, or even a Tugboat. You’re more Shchlockmaster than any of those you fucking impostor. You think I aimed for your strap because it was low-hanging fruit? That was just the unpleasant reality of YOU once I took a harder look. I wanted to earn something with my BLOOD the same way I did with that Cruiserweight Title at Evolution. I didn’t want an “easy snatch…” A playful smirk crosses his face. I would have called your mom for that.Masuda leans closer and says something off-mic causing Singh to launch to his feet, his shoulder colliding on the way up with Masuda. The champ grabs his jaw in a moment of surprise before immediately firing a right hand square between the eyes of his challenger. Singh cocks back a fist but the stage is flooded with Action Wrestling security. |
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2022 9:37:35 GMT -5
Post-post Clash interview as Masuda Teijin leaves the GM's office:
Masuda: See, with me as Champion, this division can be fun. We deserve a higher spot on shelf. So much for chimps knuckle dragging to the ring. We're survivalists and artist of pain.
But... you want to know exactly what I said that cut his jib from smirking to violence. Maybe, I said something crude like he was an upwards failure on good credit: the Jayson Price method. Or that he was still trying to be the next Creeping Dead. Nope. I told him what needed to be said.
He's not a shark. He's a clueless invader. An exterminator and mercenary waiting outside as he pulls a lever, watching the home I built fumigate. He talks me down to an ant because "he's seen this shit before", yet does anybody really believe that Singh is purifying my division? Only bootlickers actually see a world better with him at the helm? Allow me then to remove that heroic veneer once and for all.
Reporters ask rapid questions, Masuda waves them down.
Masuda: Enough! I'm only here to appeal to the people, young and old, tuning in every week. The ones that buy our PPVs - not like WCF faithful that probably pirate our content over shared Discord parties. I opened that can of Logan-infested worms for shits and giggles. Because I also like to paw at my prey before I kill it. Now I'm going for the Achilles.
Singh's counterfeiting saw that little devil embarrassed on Cruiser Clash when Joey Bunga delivered a corporate missive of his termination like a Dilbert strip. Raging Dead already trotted this line years ago. It's been done before and way better. Try harder.
But, to his credit, Stephen finally took the proper steps: defeated Robby Big Dick, sank a combination of either Jessie Lee or John Black, and then waited to face me. We're anything if not orderly in our business. The sort of farsighted management you'll see from a company that draws smart marks to its seats. You know, ones that never cheer for "cheap" pops. Fans that know what it takes to be a champion.
So please, wade into my widdle pond and take this belt my mommy bought at Toys-R-Us. You think you can break a strong, independent woman that survived a criminal family and abusive husband. Her "snatch" gave this world children - TWICE. Someone I'd model my reign after because childbirth trumps anything we'll ever accomplish, Stephen. Same reason why Teo Blaze ignored your mentorship you slippery, conceited eel. You lack boundaries like every WCF dropout because they never had a foundation teaching them how to be decent human beings. Which is why this hardcore match was never about retaining the Hardcore Title... it's always been about maintaining my division as champion. Something you'll understand, nearly unconscious, staring into the rafters AW built as I leave yet another bloodied ring as champion. Now that's a lesson worth teaching, Mr. Finet.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2022 21:58:58 GMT -5
Masuda, baby blue suit and mirrored shades, sits with Jade Riley during the Uprising pre-show.
Jade Riley: I'm here with Masuda Teijin, reigning AW Hardcore Champion.
Masuda: Yes.
Jade: Straight to business... tell us something fans don't know about you.
Masuda: Once I win at this show, I'm going back to Japan for a respite.
Jade: Oh?
Masuda: We're going to Uncle Jubei's shrine.
Jade: Sounds like a lovely time.
Masuda becomes visibly irritated.
Jade: How about a preview of your competition?
Masuda: It's sad that I should be paraded this way. I'm not a people person, never have been. Yet the moment this belt fell into my hands - I get it. What we do in that ring matters to a lot of people. They won't bend me, of course, but I see the value in fighting for something other my own accolades. Something Stephen Singh has spent weeks in painful detail as means of writing me off my own title defense. Because he's forgotten what the sport means.
For example, he entered Cruiser Clash's roster because he thought nobody would notice. Where WCF alum and perennial champion, Teo Blaze, was a familiar face that he could bully. This is part of Stephen's predatory instinct, apparently, but looks and feels like shooting fish in a barrel. So I don't think it's out of place for me, as Hardcore Champion, to demand more than his best for tonight's matchup. My burgeoning albeit short title resume craves competition. That's why I had to test his mettle; otherwise, I'd never know if he was made of sterner stuff or just another empty cloak.
Jade: Stephen Singh has claimed that your restaurant tried to poison him.
Masuda: Singh prefers absurdity. That I'd lose focus by just insulting my mother and my restaurant. Imagine being so bitter that you'd scoff at a rare opportunity to try a legendary filet of fugu. I had sincerest intentions, but now I've gone deep under this man's poisonous skin. Regret weighs that fossilized, hardened coprolite thumping in his chest.
But why now? Why adopt the flag of an invader when he could simply work up the card like normal people? Because Singh is master of ruin, not success. All those energies wasted on WCF's death rattle only to fail at what Seth Lerch managed for decades in less than a tenth the time. Now he aims to destroy us like a discount Kyle Kemp while copying Odin's cynical strut of AW's ropes. We get it: You don't respect me, this title, our fans or Action Wrestling. But being so pessimistic... you sound more like John Black on a temper tantrum than a legitimate contender. If you want this title, then tear out my heart because I know you don't have one. Winning will never fill that void, Stephen. Satisfied? Good! Now step aside because you're blocking the line for people that actually care about MY DIVISON!
Masuda throws off his mic and exits.
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Post by Stephen Singh on Aug 28, 2022 13:06:04 GMT -5
August 26, 2022
I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to lose it in that moment, to create an altercation. It’s good for the cameras and the dirtsheets, sure. But I wanted to be cool and collected. Like I used to be. Maybe I need to understand the same thing I’ve been trying to get through to Masuda: I’m not that guy any more. If he’d said what he said to the Old Golden God, I’d have smirked and riffed on it, probably piled on a bit before turning it back on him. But that thought didn’t even cross my mind–because no thoughts crossed my mind. He spoke ill of the dead and my mind went blank and I’d happily have made it possible for him to say it to Mother's face.
Maybe it's a good thing. My previous ironic detachment seemed so deep as to be intrinsic but now it seems as if…I care? I care about the words he says, about the way the fans see me, about the memory of my family, about the memory The World will have of me, I care about MY LEGACY. I always did, if we’re being honest. But now the pretense has been eschewed, the magma no longer boils miles under the surface but is roiling, bubbling just out of sight, ready to spew forth and burn everything for miles. Masuda is still strumming that one note on an out-of-tune guitar about the man I was, no idea he’s soundtracking his own Pompeiian burial the foot of Mt. VeSinghvius.
I respect his efforts in the ring–I truly do. He’s a dangerous competitor and has a vicious hardcore style. But that won’t be enough. He’s miscalculated me over and over again. He brags about minor victories with a feigned pride he knows he hasn’t earned. He’ll keep sticking that chin up and out until I dislocate it at Uprising.
He’s counting on illusory advantages. He thinks I’m not ready to do whatever it takes. He doesn’t understand that I'm not just humbling him, I'm humbling myself. That’s what happens in a match defined by its violence and brutality: to have your hand raised, you must have your head bowed. No man is immortal with a back full of thumbtacks and a steel chair wrapped around their skull. Does he not realize that I drug myself into the office of one of my last great rivals in the WCF to BEG for a roster spot? I took the minimum contract with myriad stipulations to get a chance in the bottom of the whole damn barrel. Tables? Exposed turnbuckles? Barbed wire? If I can kiss Digger's ass just to get a WHIFF of a real ring, I can do those other things a hundred thousand times over if it means a new page in My Legacy. Masuda doesn't know me, just my name. So I write it in our blood this Sunday and grant him a sliver of understanding whenever he comes to.
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Post by Stephen Singh on Aug 28, 2022 13:52:15 GMT -5
Dawn in NYC on the day of Uprising.
A new one always comes. You know that.
I’d claim you've been talking out your ass but it's too sideways for that; more like you’re dribbling this fecal matter out of a colostomy bag. Which Masuda is going to show up on Sunday? The one “only here to appeal to the people” or the "never been a people person?” That one who's all about the paying customers or the one who cares only for “maintaining <his> division?”
Get your fucking story straight so I can at least write a sensical ending to this most boring fucking chapter imaginable in the Book of the Hardcore Title. You can call me a snake or eel but I’ve said the same thing since I’ve been here, my message is sound because my motive is rock fucking solid, and–unlike you–I know exactly who I am. I’m a man absolutely desperate to leave a real legacy, with nothing to lose and no one left to love. So I’m here to build something the right way this time, to write my Action Wrestling chapter in my own fucking blood.
It’s not about survival like you keep saying, it’s about death. It’s there for all of us, everyday; it’s been circling the most intimate parts of my life since I was a child. So I know that there is NO survival for us, only for our legacies. You won’t have one because you don’t know who you are, and you won’t beat me because you sure as shit don’t know who I am.
You think I’m an invader, here to tear this place down? You’re the one trying to hand me a neon green flag, I lit that rag on fire years ago. I’m here because this place CAN’T be torn down; it’s enduring, a place to BUILD UP not burn down. You're mistaken: I DO respect this place. But you’re also correct: I don’t respect you.
Which puts me in a boisterous-but-silent majority. You wanna know why it’s my Animus shoving a knee down your throat and not Downfall’s? Because even with that Gold on your shoulder, you weren’t worthy of that match. Think about that, Masuda. BOTH of you begged for it but even as a Champion, as a self-proclaimed pillar of a division in Action Wrestling, the Big Brains looked you up and down and said, “Nah. Don’t waste Downfall on him.”
How fucking sad. Even as a Daimyo, the Shogun knows you’re a waste of fucking airtime. Shit, maybe just a waste of air. So let me do everyone a favor and squeeze every last bit of breath out of you at Uprising. And with all that extra oxygen, I’m going to light a match and watch your sad, short, uninspired fucking career go up in flames. But don’t worry, I’ll put the ashes right next to Uncle Jubei’s. Start brainstorming a few pretty words now, Mama Teijin, obituaries run on Tuesday.
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