Post by Lissie Hope ♥ on Nov 17, 2019 22:10:07 GMT -5
Conroe, Texas | I will always have an emotional attachment to the small-town, Texas charm of my birthplace. Conroe was deceptively quiet; despite the city-center being only a stones-throw away from a major highway, an asphalt trail that could open the floodgates to so many opportunities, the town still possessed a rich heart. Despite the slower pace - folks sitting on their front porches warmly greeting any wayfarer that found themselves meandering off the beaten-path, hard-working farmhands in the distant feeding livestock and growing crops - there's still a gluttony of passionate emotions bubbling to the surface. The people in a small-town are notorious for concealing secrets, because although there's comfort in knowing all your neighbors, when a secret is revealed? It's amplified. It can ruin you. When someone knows your secret, you can't jog through the park without someone giving you a knowing glance. You can't hop from diner to coffee-shop to neighborhood bar along Main Street with unbridled enthusiasm, because the apprehension of having your livelihood examined and shamed keeps you tucked under your covers at night. When the secrets of my home were revealed, when my father was exposed as an abusive drunk, a thieving predator - the ghoul who corrupted my innocence, the diabolical fiend who held his stranglehold of my upbringing like a dagger to my throat - I expected empathy. But they protected him. They gave him power.
Conroe is my home. Conroe is also my prison.
But Conroe is where I learned to survive.
Conroe is my home. Conroe is also my prison.
But Conroe is where I learned to survive.
Six feet under, surrounded by the moist dirt and the crushing concrete, I shoveled all of my doubts and self-loathing into the hole. I buried my internal turmoil: my stunning lack of confidence, my constant paranoia, my self-sabotage. I could feel the rope cinching tighter around my throat, I could feel my chest compressing and squeezing all of my organs. The weight of the world was on my shoulders, and the pressure to succeed was paralyzing. Because despite proving all wrong at Uprising and climbing the ladder to retrieve the All-In briefcase, I still entered Wrestler of the Year as an underdog. An afterthought. Everyone thought I would have been bounced by now, either by the legendary Hector Rodriguez or the seemingly unbeatable Dandy DiVito. Nobody thought I would be soaring into the Final Four with the World Championship wrapped around my waist.
Hell, despite the tough talk and my public self-assurance, in the back of my mind I didn't even think I could achieve the impossible, either.
But my salty tears watered that grave. And the single, vibrant red rose would bloom into the World Champion and All-In winner standing before you today!
So these days, I feel like a super-hero.
And like all super-heroes, we have origins. We have a story. A place in time where we were created, where we were molded. You find out who held a role, who served a purpose, who contributed to the rise of the legend. Was there a severe cataclysmic event that resulted in the new epoch? Was it a rapid transformation, or a slow, transitional metamorphosis? Do you work to become a super-hero, or are you born one?
Do you have a place you can call home?
I have many. I was shaped into a young woman from my time in Texas. I was trained into a warrior during my time in New Orleans. And I have won it all, defied all odds, and become one of the best in this industry, all in front of the glamorous fans in Las Vegas.
But above all else, all of this was done in an Action Wrestling ring.
I've poured out my heart, I've spilled my guts, my blood; I've given everything I've got to Action Wrestling. And I have reaped the rewards, I have authored my own legend, and as if I was made of clay, I was molded into a champion under these lights. For far too long, I let this industry control my flailing limbs, my malleable mind, and my elastic heart, but although I can be as delicate as a rubber band stretched too tight, I've learned what it takes to rise above. To succeed. To achieve. To become the best fuckin' champion to ever hold this belt.
And I have Action Wrestling to thank. Because this is my home, my sanctuary, the place I can always point to in my origin story.
What's yours, Frank?
Where's your home?
You've built up quite a legend in WCF and you arrived in Action Wrestling with much fanfare. A two-time World Champion. A two-time People's Champion. Your accolades are impressive and unrivaled. You were billed at Evolution in a star-studded affair with perhaps the most glorified superstar that has ever graced this ring, an Action original, a two-time World Champion. And you raised a shit-ton of money for charity in the process... that's pretty damn incredible, and it's something that no one can ever say a bad word about it. You are certainly a giving man, one with a heart of gold and a bank account that shits diamonds. A businessman. An entrepreneur.
But you aren't a champion.
You aren't even in the fuckin' picture.
Roy Speede gave you credibility in this company. You didn't earn it. The fans gave you a seed in this tournament. But you didn't earn that, either. Your jaunt in the Dub so far has not gone according to plan, has it? You had a chance to earn number one contendership to the World Championship, and you failed at that. You and Corey Black have had chances to make a splash in the tag team division. You've failed at that, too. So why are you here, Frank? What do you hope to accomplish? Why are you trying to step on my throat and take this championship that I've fuckin' earned? I've fought for it, I've bled for it, I've given everything in my power to win it. And I did it all in the company that I was born into. A company in which I've originated. A company I'm more than capable of carrying on these broad shoulders.
Because this is my home, Frank.
Action Wrestling is NOT your home.
You're a fuckin' visitor.
An appeased guest.
A goddamned outsider.
I'm not gonna lie... there are times when I feel like an outsider. Where I feel like I don't belong among the greats who have held championships, who have legendary conquests, who have won the hearts and minds of the best fans in the universe. There are people who still side-eye me in the hallways, who don't offer me praise or a kudos or a fuckin' congratulations. There are people who don't think I deserve to be the World Champion, who don't feel I've earned my spot at the top of this company. Everything I've achieved has been at their expense, and they can't fuckin' handle it, so I'm going to prove them all wrong. And unfortunately for you, Frank, I'm going to have to use you as the example.
I'm sorry it has to be this way because I do respect you as a competitor, as someone to emulate, with an impressive legacy to square off against. I wish it was Sam Kidsgrove in your place so I could avenge my first loss of my career, but if it's got to be anyone else to mark my first World Championship defense, I couldn't have picked a better opponent. Not because you've earned it, or because you deserve it, but because you represent everyone that has ever said I wasn't good enough. You embody the small-minded, misogynistic old boys club who would never extend an invite to me. You arrived from the defunct company with all your friends and allies in place, and anyone who ever doesn't buy into that archaic bullshit will never be accepted. Will never be respected. Will never be honored. Will never be glorified!
And it pisses me the fuck off.
We are probably the two most marketable competitors in Action Wrestling, as I am the first female World Champion and you... are the face of Mountain Dew. You are a promoter's wet dream. Tawny skin and distinct features, strikingly handsome, youthful and mature at the same damn time. And your eyes! Your fuckin' eyes, bulging and crystal-clear, as if I'm staring deep into your soul. And that's why you're on the posters. That's why you're selling products. And that's the only reason, because your resume in Action Wrestling doesn't reflect it.
Meanwhile, why am I on these billboards? Why is my merchandise selling off the racks? Why is my name on the marquees? Why am I getting product endorsements?
Because I fuckin' win.
Because I fuckin' deserve it.
Action Wrestling saw what they had in me the moment I arrived. They gave me the tough battles, they allowed me to build my credibility, they shaped the woman and the champion I've become. When I was battling Gravedigger, I felt that he was on a mission to hold me back. To ensure that I would never be the champion I was destined to become. But in hindsight, I now see that what he was doing was giving me the biggest challenge of my life. He was preparing me to walk into the ring with Dandy DiVito and take that fuckin' title off his waist. He propelled me forward, catapulted me to the moon! And now, as I stand as the face of Action Wrestling, as the champion they can get behind, you... the face of a shitty fuckin' soda... have crash-landed at my feet.
But you're not taking my title.
Because I am the hero in this story.
I am the hero that Action Wrestling needs.
I am the one who ushered in a new wave of hot-shots and upstarts and strong fuckin' women who want to compete, who want to win, who want to show the world that this is a new era in this industry. Kitty Petrova and Razzles Mars and Skylar Knight and my number one STAN, Dana Ellis. Tennessee Sinclair and Jacqui M and even that bitch crowing about her championships and undefeated record, Madwoman Szalinski. None of these bad bitches would have felt comfortable signing a contract if they didn't see the impact I've made in this company. They now have something to strive for, someone to emulate, a strong fuckin' woman to chase. All the little girls who have ever thought about doing this for a living now have a role model to look after.
You?
You and your fuckin' clones that made the trek to Action Wrestling after your company died are all the goddamned same. You have nothing that separates you from each other. You look the part, Frank, but you ain't the part. You lack the heart. You lack the determination. You don't own the accolades in the place that matters, among the sea of talent you'll NEVER break through.
I've broken through that glass-ceiling.
I've made my mark on Action Wrestling.
I've beaten the best, and I've beaten the elite.
BECAUSE I AM ELITE!
I OWN THIS ROSTER!
I OWN ACTION WRESTLING!
You're a fraud, Frank.
A Man Made Fraud, if you will.
And I'm going to fuckin' prove it.
New Orleans, Louisiana | There were hues of purple, yellow, and green. So vibrant! The improvised jazz music spilling out into the streets is what drew me in. I remember seeing people of all ages and ethnicities and social standings, sharing Bourbon Street with all of the wanderers and travelers who holed themselves up into hostels. The energy is marvelous; a thing of dreams! When I decided to leave all of the trauma and bad energies behind, I knew this was the kind of city that I could make home. I could be anybody I wanted to be, without all of the baggage that anchored me back in Conroe... and I found a calling. I joined a gym, and all of a sudden, that became my life. I absorbed all of the world-class training. I immersed myself in bettering myself. I wanted to become the best fucking athlete in the world! My mentors saw the potential in me the second I stepped foot in their doors, and I trained my fucking ass off until I received that letter from Action Wrestling, a company that was well on it's way to becoming the greatest promotion in the world. I didn't believe I had what it took. But I believed Robbie, and he was the one who gave me back that power. He was the one who pushed me to take the chance. The leap of faith. And headfirst, I dove.
New Orleans is my home. New Orleans is also my playground.
New Orleans is where I learned to compete.
New Orleans is my home. New Orleans is also my playground.
New Orleans is where I learned to compete.
Action Wrestling Fan Expo
Lissie Hope: Meet and Greet
2:30 PM
Lissie Hope arrived at the AW Headquarters and saw fans and admirers wrapped around the block. The World Championship was tucked neatly in a Nike gym-bag, and she exited her Uber with a huge smile on her face. The eyes on a few young girls immediately darted in her direction, and the screams followed. Lissie blew a kiss at her fans who all began clapping and whistling and cheering for their new Champion. Lissie thanked them by patting her heart, and was ushered into the headquarters by the security team.
She glided down the corridor, seeing all of the interactive events still being set up for the big giveaway later that night. Fans would have the opportunity to meet their favorite wrestlers throughout the afternoon, and Lissie was next on the schedule.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the big Mountain Dew display, knowing that her next challenger would take that table at some point, if he hadn't already. And her limbs began to tingle, her nerves in overdrive. The reality of the next match hit her like a ton of bricks.
Chris Avery was assigned to conduct mini-interviews for the Sirius radio show, as Action Wrestling had taken over the wrestling channel for the afternoon. Lissie took a seat beside him on the stool and placed the headset over her ears.
"We have a special surprise for all of you listening on the airwaves. I would like to give a warm welcome to the NEW World Champion... LISSIE HOPE! Thanks for joining me today, and on behalf of everyone in Action Wrestling, I want to give you the most sincere congratulations. You were amazing last week."
"Thank you, Chris! It's a pleasure to be here."
"How does it feel, Lissie?"
"It's still so unreal. I've worked so hard to climb this mountain, to win this belt, and now I never want to let it go!"
"Before you even have a chance to really celebrate, you've got FPV clawing at your heels."
"The work doesn't stop, huh? I knew what I was getting into. When I issued the challenge that I would not only win the World Championship, but become Action's Wrestler of the Year, I knew I would have to dig into the depths of my heart to win these four matches. FPV stands in my way now, and Kyle Kemp or Walter will be the exclamation point at the end of this thing."
"Yours and FPV's stock are at an all-time high right now. Most would agree that you're probably the most marketable faces in the company."
"Frank has earned two high-profile fan votes, and lord knows we have the best fans in the world! I admire the fact that he can lay claim to being the people's choice, and no one will ever take that from him. But here's the difference, Chris. He needed a popularity contest to even get in contention for this tournament. But me? I am this tournament. He is the face of AW products. The sponsorships. I am the face of Action Wrestling.
The thing about all this is clear: Frank has a lot of clout, with a lot of people that don't fuckin' matter."
"We're live, Lissie."
"You ask the average, run-of-the-mill wrestling fan who is the most exhilarating, the most exciting person who has stepped into this ring. And they will say Frank Patrick Venable. You ask a fan who has studied this game, who appreciates this art-form, who has put money on the trailblazers and the trendsetters -- they'll say Lissie... fuckin'... Hope. Every time! FPV is dull, generic. He's banking on the fact that he made a name for himself in a company that he fuckin' helped destroy. And now, he's tryin' to live off that pull in Action Wrestling? A company he didn't approach until he didn't have any other choice? Give me a fuckin' break."
"It sounded like you were about to give him respect -- why did you deviate from that?"
"Because he doesn't respect me! He comes from a circle-jerk of WCF failures who have tried, and failed, to make this company their own. When I battled Gravedigger, and took his ass out, I proved WCF to be the abortion of a company we all knew it was. When I took on Dandy DiVito and ripped the belt from his grasp, I proved to the world that this place was mine for the taking. But still... I have doubters. Still, I have assholes who WANT me to fail. Who NEED me to fail, because they want, so desperately, to take my place. They feel they're ENTITLED to it. They feel I have gotten a free ride to the top of this mountain, who feel I have FUCKED and CHEATED my way to this throne. But you know what I say to these limp-dicked shitstains who find themselves forgotten, loss-after-loss after-fuckin'-loss? Earn this shit, motherfuckers. You want to bury me? You think you're better than me? Fuckin' prove it. I ain't scared of no-one."
Following Lissie's outburst, Chris Avery geared the conversation in a different direction. They spoke of her upbringing, of her training, of the moment she signed her first contract. They spoke of Uprising, and of her losses, of winning the World Championship for the first time. It was a fiery, impassioned interview, but one that provided a ton of insight.
At it's conclusion, fans began bringing in merchandise for Lissie to autograph. She took photos with girls of all ages, and guys with glimmer in their eyes. This was the first time Lissie truly felt like a superstar, especially when she noticed one girl with washboard abs and stringy blue hair.
"Hi Lissie, I'm Amelia Hogan," she said. "From Twitter."
"California Wrestling! I know who you are. It's very nice to meet you!"
"I just want to thank you. You inspire me."
Lissie could feel her eyes moistening.
"We should train sometime. You down?"
Lissie and Amelia exchanged numbers and planned a get-together. Meeting a young, budding protege who owns star potential? She could get used to this.
Las Vegas, Nevada | When I arrived at the arena at Uprising, I didn't know what the fuck was coming. I knew I was set to compete in a match to award the All-In briefcase and hold the most power in all of Action Wrestling, but I did not expect to emerge victorious. I dreamed of it, and I hoped for it, and it became my reality. I put everything I fuckin' had into that match, and so did Dandy DiVito, who on the same night, became the World Champion of Action Wrestling. On that night, we realized that our paths would soon converge. I didn't realize that we would spend the entire month of November in Sin City, and that we would spend months engaged in mental warfare, until it all finally came to a head in Turmoil Round Two. We put our bodies on the line, we gave the world a fuckin' show, and I emerged victorious as the World Champion of Action Wrestling. Las Vegas has seen me at my worst, in a world of self-loathing and depravity. It has also seen me achieve the unthinkable, and it has seen me at my greatest. I reached up and asserted myself as the most powerful woman in this industry.
Las Vegas has become my home. Las Vegas is also my sanctuary.
Las Vegas is where I learned to prevail.
Las Vegas has become my home. Las Vegas is also my sanctuary.
Las Vegas is where I learned to prevail.
I can be the villain, too.
If it is at all necessary, I can be the bad guy.
And that's what makes me dangerous, doesn't it?
The fans will probably be split down the middle in this epic affair, won't they? You didn't win two fan-votes for nothing. I mean, I'm sure I would have given you a run for your money if I needed a fuckin' popularity contest to even get seeded for Wrestler of the Year, but I digress. I let my resume do the talking. But for some odd reason, there are legions of fans who have followed you and your career and have wound up turning on their televisions to see us. They're buying tickets to see us. No matter who wins this week, the fans will have a World Champion that they can rally behind.
But you see, I control the dynamics of this match.
I hold all the power.
You could beat me in the center of the ring, but I've got the secret weapon, don't I?
I own the All-In Briefcase.
If I have to cash it in and become a two-time World Champion and steal your fuckin' thunder, I'll do it. You want a five-second reign? You want to be remembered as a Champion so trivial and so forgotten that you're merely a footnote in the annals of history? So be it.
Because I'm not letting you walk out of Clash with my World Championship. I'm either hitting the Crown of Thorns and pinning your fuckin' shoulders to the mat to begin with, or I will use my briefcase to ensure that I am leaving Las Vegas as the World Champion.
So don't even fuckin' show up, Frank.
The World Championship is not your destiny.
Not this time.
Not this way.
People have gotten in my head enough. They know that I can be easily rattled, that I have paralyzing inner demons that could bubble to the surface at any time. But every time someone has tried to penetrate my defenses, every time someone has tried to attack my weaknesses, all it does is test my resolve. It makes me stronger. Wiser. It gives me the power.
I hold all the cards.
I am the most powerful person in Action Wrestling.
Now it's time for me to play the mind-fucks. No longer will I be walking into the ring with the doubt. The uncertainty now belongs to you! To all of you! To everyone who wants to take a stab at this championship!
You're damn right I'm looking beyond you, Frank.
Whether it's Kyle Kemp, someone with all the potential in the world who has never lived up to it, or whether it's Walter, the only member of this roster who has a claim to being better than me... I don't give a fuck. I'll bury Kemp for good or I'll avenge a brutal loss against a brutal creature. It's a win-win for me.
But you, Frank?
You're a non-entity.
A lightweight.
An empty void.
You are not a challenge to this belt, and you will not emerge as the Wrestler of the Year. Your wins over KOS and Sam Kisgrove to get to this point will become meaningless. Because there will be no headshots this week on Clash, Frank. Instead? I've got your fuckin' head in the scope and blasting you from orbit, sending you back into the hole you crawled of. And you'll always have your WCF accolades, Frank, but you aren't adding an Action World Championship to it. Not at my expense.
Finger on the trigger.
Your face in the crosshairs.
And I'll squeeze.
No hesitation.
Boom.
Killshot.
