King Baby
Nov 13, 2019 16:24:08 GMT -5
Psycho Vulcan Sentai (Kaz), "The Yokai" Kabukii, and 1 more like this
Post by Deleted on Nov 13, 2019 16:24:08 GMT -5
Open to a dark space reminiscent of the days of Andy Warhol and his Factory, wherein we see Masuda Teijin mingling with fashionistas—each one more loosely constructed than the last. Everyone seems to be into Tokyo fusion: Kimonos colored like Yikes© pencils propped up by obscene shoulder pads and starched collars. Aside from that runoff of Blade Runner dystopia, his date reappears in a fishnet shirt with mixed drinks. Teijin doesn’t even look when he grabs it.
Date: You look out of it. Need something stronger?
Teijin: Nah, dude, they test everyone not named McMorris. Especially new dumbasses like me.
Date: You don’t have to add to the bruises Odin gave you.
Teijin: So what’s your aim tonight? Because this Ace stuff is kinda cute, BUT, this panda’s got needs.
Date: Panda?
Teijin: Cause I’m pansexual… come on, you get it.
Date wraps around his drink like a snake covered in glowstix. Chatter could go all night in passive-aggressive directions, but a man ripped straight out of Zoolander appears tapping his mimosa.
Host: Places everyone! The fashion show’s about to begin!
Date picks their seats at the runway’s presidium. Kimonos parade out first followed by adult onesies made from astronaut polymers. Date enjoys himself via Instagram, using the dumpy frowns of Teijin for candid goofs. A tall andro model makes their appearance wearing upturned lampshades glorified by frilly copse of Fred Flintstone themed satin. The model makes a double turn, stern in features, when their eyes meet Teijin’s. Explosions go off in his mind watching that sculpture prattle with popping, Ginsu sharp hips snapping east to west.
Date: Where are you going?
Teijin: Flintstones…
Date: The fuck?
Teijin: I need to see that cave dweller! Save my seat!
He rushes through socialites until and organizers until his defined pecks meet a mountain of a man in black security gear. A massive hand pushes Teijin back several paces.
Teijin: I’m not a creep. I just want to meet—
Guard: No one goes back without a pass.
Teijin: Can I get one?
Guard: Nobody gets in without a pass.
Teijin looks down at his bruised fists. He then sees Odin Balfore grinning back at him, a hand around his throat so large its fingers touched with length to spare. Daydreams of that alluring model melt into that security guard’s Pop-eye chin like a Dalí painting. He apologizes before rejoining the show with his date. An hour passes over the rim of punchbowls ringside. Date gives expert commentary on each emerging talent while picking favorites before their turn. Teijin imagines mannequins dancing off their pedestals. He also realizes how strange it would sound to anyone who never watched Umbrella Academy and cannot stomach weird shit. Date pulls his sleeve.
Teijin: Careful, you ruffled the silk.
Date: Sorry, girl, but your sphinx is back.
Teijin: Where?
Date: I’ll tell you, but only if you answer my questions three.
Teijin plants a cockeyed kiss on Date, peering around him instead for another glance at his living obsession. Artwork on platform heels… and an arm draped over some alabaster designer. His heart sinks under its pericardium, below primary vessels, deeper into a chest cavity to blacken and die.
The site of that obscure fashion show has emptied, leaving only Teijin on the stage hundreds strutted across nary an hour ago. He looks towards a static cam defeated.
I know what happened on Monday night’s Clash was a miracle. Then like some kid with a lottery draft bonus, I went full shithead on the roster. Another ingrate without class. People told me that our roster needed insufferable pricks. Then I look to the fans at Clash, and they want nothing to do with my snark shit. Odin Balfore undercut and undersold what I could do… a brat whom shocked the world by escaping a chokeslam over his knee, as if I escaped a literal ass whooping by elbowing my dad in the nose and dropping him with a piledriver for good measure. But we should all stop right here and wonder “what if” his grip was tighter. I have every night since.
Teijin stretches his arms out wide, showing his silk shirt with Brie Larson spoofed as Mona Lisa.
Wrestlers aren’t supposed to talk about their feelings. My uncle never did—look where it buried him. And don’t worry, Shadowlove, I’m not going bleat about that asshole much more than I already have. Everyone is sick and tired of what he brings out of me… although I have to admit, there was a moment when Odin Balfore had this look of murder in his eye. I saw Uncle Jubei. That’s about when I went ape shit and hit Jubei’s Gotch piledriver. Because if anyone is going to decide my future—it should be me, goddammit.
He lets out a valley girl sigh.
I keep dragging my feet into the ring because you try to avoid an outcome by moving in the opposite direction. Although the reluctant hero always finds conflict. My upstart career sits in its third trimester, engorged on dreams and fan appreciation, yet my star has not yet been born. We slow our role and accept guidance from wise men, scientists—whoever thinks they can tame troubled youth with only 13 successful traits. Books that never mention “don’t be an asshole” in their entirety. Seems lacking if you ask me.
And when it comes to education, I look no further than proven performers. People like the Human Half-breed whose career spans multiple organizations. The day I had too many and professed something beyond admiration for Shadowlove—part of wrestling’s strongest power couple--my light diminished. Nothing I say will wedge me between him and the breathtaking Miss Miyamoto. I sit back and think about neo-Tokyo bullshit because I’m just another fusion byproduct. Japanese-Hawaiian in descent. Another mutt in the window begging for a home. Only that my antics have gone viral with an A-Dub paycheck as ad revenue. Honestly, I had no idea what to do with all that money. Do half-bred mongrels like me even deserve such a reception?
Teijin closes his eyes as if lost in a trance.
When I see my place in the stars… I never imagined them next to the unbreakable spirit of a living god. Odin claimed it, but you, Shadowlove, are divinity in the flesh. Weeks leading up to my signing with AW, I digested every second of #WrestleSzn where you faced some of your biggest challenges. You’re stunning on the catwalk. Even more so in your ring style, sir, because no one on this planet can copy you. No one can learn your relentlessly original technique. You are impossible to prepare for—and I’ll admit to second thoughts. Yet the more I work. The more I find my place in the universe... I only wish they didn’t want me to cut down another legend in the process.
Your Hollywood Elite crumbled. Your chance at the World Title fizzled away like your effervescent personality. Shadowlove, I believe you are pro-wrestling’s cocaine—or something stronger, I guess—for your timeless effort. Also, this innate ability to keep people beautiful yet out of their wits. The ultimate upper in a match of fast-paced Pyrrhic victories. I don’t expect to walk away from this gauntlet… but I’ll be damned to hell if I’m going to let my self-destructive personality let you win. I just can’t do that!
Teijin pulls his hair back with the facial equivalent of a nuclear meltdown.
Action Wrestling is toxic. You saw the truth, Shadowlove, where velveteen dreams retire before history can remember them. We talk of history; also, those doomed to repeat its mistakes. I’m down a road of no return. A-dub wants to exploit my words because they’re seppuku on the mic. Bleed everything these fans pay to see in person or monthly at nine… ninety-nine. My downfall streamed in 4K.
Where will we be Wednesday morning, Shadow? Maybe, they’ll call us bid thieves for match of the night—regardless of the Turmoil semi-final to follow. Maybe because I roll my “ore wa…” I’ll earn tough guy points. That fucking punk squatting in A-Dub’s updated power rankings. I suppose only another legend of the sport will solve our nagging question: Is Teijin any good? Is he more flash sizzling in the ole frying pan—smashing eggs like a brain on drugs? Or am I walking the road to disappointment for the enjoyment of others?
Teijin walks closer into frame, a tear sliding down his cheek.
Wrestlers don’t show emotion. They’re automatons. They live a half-life that degrades sharply until Twitter fans post “Best of” vids for good measure. Teach me what it means to be a real wrestler, Shadowlove, and let this match be my education. My introduction to the limelight. When dreamy pandas melt into a dye cast mold. Reproduced, cloned until half of me exists with every forced division. Divide and conquer me before I destroy the sport, as I have from the bottom bricks of Action Wrestling and working up… up… up. Odin taught me to swim by dunking my head until I almost drowned. Now I get the honor of sharing an Olympic heat with you, Shadow, god amongst humans. Let’s destroy their reality and shatter dreams before another Gen Z newcomer dies the same fate.
Teijin waves for someone off camera, summoning Date from the shadows.
I’m not a conventional wrestler, and neither are you, Shadowlove. I look forward to meeting you and Miyamoto-san in person. When King Baby rises unprepared for his crown. Osamā konketsū… forever shall the halfbreeds reign. I just need time to process the throne awaiting me now. Until then, Action Wrestling, I’m not afraid to ask for help.
Date wraps an arm around Teijin to where fans hear him audibly sob. Fade to black.
Date: You look out of it. Need something stronger?
Teijin: Nah, dude, they test everyone not named McMorris. Especially new dumbasses like me.
Date: You don’t have to add to the bruises Odin gave you.
Teijin: So what’s your aim tonight? Because this Ace stuff is kinda cute, BUT, this panda’s got needs.
Date: Panda?
Teijin: Cause I’m pansexual… come on, you get it.
Date wraps around his drink like a snake covered in glowstix. Chatter could go all night in passive-aggressive directions, but a man ripped straight out of Zoolander appears tapping his mimosa.
Host: Places everyone! The fashion show’s about to begin!
Date picks their seats at the runway’s presidium. Kimonos parade out first followed by adult onesies made from astronaut polymers. Date enjoys himself via Instagram, using the dumpy frowns of Teijin for candid goofs. A tall andro model makes their appearance wearing upturned lampshades glorified by frilly copse of Fred Flintstone themed satin. The model makes a double turn, stern in features, when their eyes meet Teijin’s. Explosions go off in his mind watching that sculpture prattle with popping, Ginsu sharp hips snapping east to west.
Date: Where are you going?
Teijin: Flintstones…
Date: The fuck?
Teijin: I need to see that cave dweller! Save my seat!
He rushes through socialites until and organizers until his defined pecks meet a mountain of a man in black security gear. A massive hand pushes Teijin back several paces.
Teijin: I’m not a creep. I just want to meet—
Guard: No one goes back without a pass.
Teijin: Can I get one?
Guard: Nobody gets in without a pass.
Teijin looks down at his bruised fists. He then sees Odin Balfore grinning back at him, a hand around his throat so large its fingers touched with length to spare. Daydreams of that alluring model melt into that security guard’s Pop-eye chin like a Dalí painting. He apologizes before rejoining the show with his date. An hour passes over the rim of punchbowls ringside. Date gives expert commentary on each emerging talent while picking favorites before their turn. Teijin imagines mannequins dancing off their pedestals. He also realizes how strange it would sound to anyone who never watched Umbrella Academy and cannot stomach weird shit. Date pulls his sleeve.
Teijin: Careful, you ruffled the silk.
Date: Sorry, girl, but your sphinx is back.
Teijin: Where?
Date: I’ll tell you, but only if you answer my questions three.
Teijin plants a cockeyed kiss on Date, peering around him instead for another glance at his living obsession. Artwork on platform heels… and an arm draped over some alabaster designer. His heart sinks under its pericardium, below primary vessels, deeper into a chest cavity to blacken and die.
The site of that obscure fashion show has emptied, leaving only Teijin on the stage hundreds strutted across nary an hour ago. He looks towards a static cam defeated.
I know what happened on Monday night’s Clash was a miracle. Then like some kid with a lottery draft bonus, I went full shithead on the roster. Another ingrate without class. People told me that our roster needed insufferable pricks. Then I look to the fans at Clash, and they want nothing to do with my snark shit. Odin Balfore undercut and undersold what I could do… a brat whom shocked the world by escaping a chokeslam over his knee, as if I escaped a literal ass whooping by elbowing my dad in the nose and dropping him with a piledriver for good measure. But we should all stop right here and wonder “what if” his grip was tighter. I have every night since.
Teijin stretches his arms out wide, showing his silk shirt with Brie Larson spoofed as Mona Lisa.
Wrestlers aren’t supposed to talk about their feelings. My uncle never did—look where it buried him. And don’t worry, Shadowlove, I’m not going bleat about that asshole much more than I already have. Everyone is sick and tired of what he brings out of me… although I have to admit, there was a moment when Odin Balfore had this look of murder in his eye. I saw Uncle Jubei. That’s about when I went ape shit and hit Jubei’s Gotch piledriver. Because if anyone is going to decide my future—it should be me, goddammit.
He lets out a valley girl sigh.
I keep dragging my feet into the ring because you try to avoid an outcome by moving in the opposite direction. Although the reluctant hero always finds conflict. My upstart career sits in its third trimester, engorged on dreams and fan appreciation, yet my star has not yet been born. We slow our role and accept guidance from wise men, scientists—whoever thinks they can tame troubled youth with only 13 successful traits. Books that never mention “don’t be an asshole” in their entirety. Seems lacking if you ask me.
And when it comes to education, I look no further than proven performers. People like the Human Half-breed whose career spans multiple organizations. The day I had too many and professed something beyond admiration for Shadowlove—part of wrestling’s strongest power couple--my light diminished. Nothing I say will wedge me between him and the breathtaking Miss Miyamoto. I sit back and think about neo-Tokyo bullshit because I’m just another fusion byproduct. Japanese-Hawaiian in descent. Another mutt in the window begging for a home. Only that my antics have gone viral with an A-Dub paycheck as ad revenue. Honestly, I had no idea what to do with all that money. Do half-bred mongrels like me even deserve such a reception?
Teijin closes his eyes as if lost in a trance.
When I see my place in the stars… I never imagined them next to the unbreakable spirit of a living god. Odin claimed it, but you, Shadowlove, are divinity in the flesh. Weeks leading up to my signing with AW, I digested every second of #WrestleSzn where you faced some of your biggest challenges. You’re stunning on the catwalk. Even more so in your ring style, sir, because no one on this planet can copy you. No one can learn your relentlessly original technique. You are impossible to prepare for—and I’ll admit to second thoughts. Yet the more I work. The more I find my place in the universe... I only wish they didn’t want me to cut down another legend in the process.
Your Hollywood Elite crumbled. Your chance at the World Title fizzled away like your effervescent personality. Shadowlove, I believe you are pro-wrestling’s cocaine—or something stronger, I guess—for your timeless effort. Also, this innate ability to keep people beautiful yet out of their wits. The ultimate upper in a match of fast-paced Pyrrhic victories. I don’t expect to walk away from this gauntlet… but I’ll be damned to hell if I’m going to let my self-destructive personality let you win. I just can’t do that!
Teijin pulls his hair back with the facial equivalent of a nuclear meltdown.
Action Wrestling is toxic. You saw the truth, Shadowlove, where velveteen dreams retire before history can remember them. We talk of history; also, those doomed to repeat its mistakes. I’m down a road of no return. A-dub wants to exploit my words because they’re seppuku on the mic. Bleed everything these fans pay to see in person or monthly at nine… ninety-nine. My downfall streamed in 4K.
Where will we be Wednesday morning, Shadow? Maybe, they’ll call us bid thieves for match of the night—regardless of the Turmoil semi-final to follow. Maybe because I roll my “ore wa…” I’ll earn tough guy points. That fucking punk squatting in A-Dub’s updated power rankings. I suppose only another legend of the sport will solve our nagging question: Is Teijin any good? Is he more flash sizzling in the ole frying pan—smashing eggs like a brain on drugs? Or am I walking the road to disappointment for the enjoyment of others?
Teijin walks closer into frame, a tear sliding down his cheek.
Wrestlers don’t show emotion. They’re automatons. They live a half-life that degrades sharply until Twitter fans post “Best of” vids for good measure. Teach me what it means to be a real wrestler, Shadowlove, and let this match be my education. My introduction to the limelight. When dreamy pandas melt into a dye cast mold. Reproduced, cloned until half of me exists with every forced division. Divide and conquer me before I destroy the sport, as I have from the bottom bricks of Action Wrestling and working up… up… up. Odin taught me to swim by dunking my head until I almost drowned. Now I get the honor of sharing an Olympic heat with you, Shadow, god amongst humans. Let’s destroy their reality and shatter dreams before another Gen Z newcomer dies the same fate.
Teijin waves for someone off camera, summoning Date from the shadows.
I’m not a conventional wrestler, and neither are you, Shadowlove. I look forward to meeting you and Miyamoto-san in person. When King Baby rises unprepared for his crown. Osamā konketsū… forever shall the halfbreeds reign. I just need time to process the throne awaiting me now. Until then, Action Wrestling, I’m not afraid to ask for help.
Date wraps an arm around Teijin to where fans hear him audibly sob. Fade to black.