Under the Skull
Jan 8, 2020 7:46:02 GMT -5
“The RevolutiDaddy” Wesley and Quixote Della Torre like this
Post by Deleted on Jan 8, 2020 7:46:02 GMT -5
Sounds of pummeling match that deep intake of breath from excessive blows to the breadbasket. Someone else, the one being tortured, inhales under duress. Close-ups of gritted teeth pan outwards until we see the juggernaut expression on the face of one Masuda Teijin. He bites down on a thread spool while some ruffian lands body blows and rib shots. Each strike lands with increasingly hesitant force until even that Mad Max extra walks away from the wall bracing Teijin’s weight.
:Biker Dude, this is sick. I’m done.
:Teijin I didn’t pay you for compassion! Keep punching me, dammit!
:Biker You let someone else murder your punk ass. I’m out, brother.
:Teijin I thought you Hell’s Angels were made of sterner stuff? Imaimashí…
His miscreant disappears into the night of what cameras now reveal as a dark alleyway against a nondescript skyline glowing above him. Time passes with Teijin now soaking blows from nature, as wind batters his exposed chest. His expression, however, seems pleased. Almost as if he desired isolation in a place where nobody would ever find him. Until, to his chagrin, a figure does find him chained there.
:Shoda There you are, little chicken… Jubei wouldn’t take kindly seeing you in such a state, would he?
:Teijin Fuck off Shoda. How did you even find me?
Shoda, a former enforcer of his uncle’s employ turned mid-tier boss, unshackles him from the wall. Teijin hits wet asphalt with a thud and splash of that industrial building’s runoff. Pearlescent water pools under his chin, smelling of paint thinner. Shoda maintains a bouncer’s intensity.
:Shoda I’m not going to waste my time explaining how your little stunt brought us together. Just know that your face bears your namesake. The mask of a Masuda is no plaything! A stamp deserving better than your brand of disgrace! Something that no beating could ever teach you, Teijin.
:Teijin You don’t know me!
:Shoda But I do… it’s you that doesn’t know yourself!
Hard cut from a Sin City dystopia to the breakfast nook of a high-rise apartment. Teijin has on white slacks and a designer wool sweater. An acai berry bowl with granola garnish finishes his healthy meal. Across from him, dressed like a high school English teacher, the careful ear of yet another therapeutic outlet assigned by AW brass listens to his every word. Hateful scoops from that froufrou bowl of dietary fiber and bullshit further wedge the two apart in that rather sparse studio suite.
:Holcomb They said you weren’t one for sharing. But that had to be liberating, Mr. Masuda.
:Teijin Dreams are like creamsicles.
:Holcomb Excuse me?
:Teijin You think one of them will be enough to make you happy. But there’s always enough shame for a second from the freezer.
:Holcomb Do you want to get another from your… refrigerator?
:Teijin Nope.
:Holcomb Why not?
:Teijin Because you only got those frozen smoothie bars. I want ice cream! Not more lies!
:Holcomb What?
:Teijin I don’t want heart healthy options. Or fucking quinoa – and I don’t need people probing my brain!
He stops himself seconds before shattering that mashup of fruit and ancestral grains. Dr. Holcomb did her best to avert disaster too after sensing the rage building between his limbs. She then offers an olive branch to keep him seated, and if possible, encourage him to expound on that dream.
:Holcomb Teijin… everyone that has passed you off to this point never broke through your heart of stone. And, to be honest, I’m struggling too. You build walls higher than anyone can climb, and then continue building until all we see are your defenses. Is that what you want to be? A cold, unresponsive redoubt?
:Teijin What should I be?
:Holcomb There’s no blueprint for life. We make our own.
:Teijin I’m following my design as you just said. So explain why we’re here, pretending to be nice for a stuffy brunch of fruit and—what is this stuff again?
:Holcomb Granola…. But if want to know why we’re sharing bowls of cereal this morning, Teijin, it’s because you’re violent and unpredictable. A petty, unlikable thorn stuck in every foot in the AW locker room.
He smiles.
:Teijin Say it again… but this time, say it like you mean it.
Hard cut to Dr. Holcomb throwing him out into the corridor of her fancy apartment turned clinic. Masuda shrugs with his patented smirk. He strolls down flight after flight of stairs until reaching a busy lobby with all sorts of people caught in the common bustle of life. There he sits people watching until the lights go down. When the tap of security sends him on his way into that civic backdrop of Birmingham, Alabama.
”So here we are again, Action eyeballs. Petulant faces full of nachos and chewing tobacco. I have my vices, we all do, but I find that being an asshole is an art form few master. Me, I’m a student learning by the day. Whether that involves concocting sex dreams – disturbed stories wholeheartedly stolen from creepy pasta boards – or simply plugging my eardrums during ‘share time’, rest assured that I am out here ruining sidewalks across the world one Juicy Fruit© at a time.”
As promised, he then spits a wad of gum in middle of the same sidewalk. Another angle pans to his side profile as he stalks darkened streets around the second most important city in Alabama.
”I’m not the mad hatter people want to portray of me. Joaquin has nothing on me. Twitter, dirt sheets – even that rumors dude – nobody understands what’s rumbling in my tummy tum tum. I’m the indigestion who exists to keep people like Anthony Leonhart awake every night. Whose worried words will cram into a web browser for some early 2000’s Blogspot trash he somehow thinks will remedy all the garbage I need to unload on him. And don’t blame me for my deluge, French Gandalf, blame booking. They put us in the back of the fridge like a goddamn fruitcake. The nerve of those people! But now it’s time for leftovers to casserole the competition and steal a show.”
Most might enjoy some of their own blend of catchy wordplay. Teijin, ever the model of self-hatred, retrieves his vape pen in lieu of smiling. Wherein rings of billowy ass-hat-ery finally bring a smile to that stone-faced brat. His walk lasts for a while until coming upon a grand visage stories above him.
”So I’m not going to let them film the unwelcoming ass someone sculpted on Birmingham’s tribute to the working soldier. This towering Ozymandias idea of Vulcan, or Hephaestus, whichever pagan love stories you prefer. Because we should have a choice in our homoerotic fantasy. This is indeed America… something you and I, Anthony, take for granted. A refuge from pasts we want to bury at the bottom of an ocean trench. Yet pirate treasure and serial killer victims have a way of resurfacing whether we like them to or not. So let’s embrace what brought us to the ring before we commence with the violence.
Cameras cut from him leaning against a nearby tree in that residential park to the metallic sheen from a sculpture read and the passions which yet survive of Hephaestus’ perfect posterior. Another hard cut comes back to a nonchalant shrug from Teijin and his vapor rings.
”For the sake of art! But we didn’t come here for grand gestures or spectacles, Anthony. Nor was a simple scuffle between hungry dogs any indication of what’s going on here. We’re fighting for survival. We’re fluffers for what people came to see in Odin to FPV to Lissie Fucking Hope. Or did you forget to read that subtext in your international contract? Yeah, I mean, it’s 2020, BUT the oldest franchise in baseball just hired its first-ever Japanese-born player. Where do we fall into categories of Swedish darlings and model minorities you might be wondering? Step into my magic school bus and let’s find out, shall we.”
His smile grows extra wide after that one.
”Kidding. They don’t waste production budgets on people of our prestige. We’re Coach+ at best. Sure, there’s more legroom, but we’re still eating Hungry Man© knockoffs like my boomer dad did – minus all the spam. Fucking spam….”
Another aerial shot gives another perspective of that large icon of Hephaestus. The bolt forged in his palm brings a closer look to its craft, and more so, its connection to blue-collar soldiers.
”I’ve always been one for big gestures. It’s why I wore that mask in the first place. People always want to assume we’re hiding behind elaborate masks. Me… I just think that shit looks cool. It’s funny how I came here under the premise of “Goryo” which are accursed Japanese spirts of vengeance. Something cultural pushed by my family so they could avenge what happened to my uncle. Idiots.”
“Honor can be such a fickle thing… it’s always so butt hurt too. If I could honor kill my link to the name Masuda – oh, I would – but that’s not why we’re put on this blue rock. You learn to move past what people demand oh you. Start thinking for yourself. Like this ugly behemoth above me… we’re bound to the work we make. And that is our statement to the world.”
“Now it’s your turn…. what’s your plan here, Anthony? I know a clinched O-ring when I see one. You might be the most retentive I’ve ever crossed in my entire life. So while you’re going to waste this week telling everyone how badly you’re going to break my spirit and my body. Look at yourself before you vomit anything about my floundering career. Think about what that means for your future too. Some of us don’t advance from this point because we’re destined to bottom feed. Sadly, you’ve spent all this time convincing yourself that you can dominate AW’s roster… JFC! Do you really think foreigners like us can ever hope to rise over homegrown talent? Go ahead and ask trodden talent like Kennedy Matthews or Jaice Wilds. This system is against us from day one, and it will never relent. So bang on that cage you French bulldog. Nobody is going to adopt you. Your only choice is making the best of the gigs set in front of you. Otherwise, you’re just chasing a waterfall.”
A close up Teijin illuminates his vape rings against a chilly morning. The shot includes every element of that monument park from fir trees to the fuming background of rooftop exhausts.
”I’ve been the voice box in our little disagreement. I acknowledge that. Because I like stoking flames – especially when the fire can’t handle my jokes. Why though? Simple… people like you disgust me, Anthony. And it’s not because you’re just a bully with a vague mission hell-bent on causing torment to others. It’s because your craft annoys me. Day one, you wanted to wedgie my jockey shorts and take my lunch money. Only to find out I had no lunch money to begin with… had to be obnoxious, for you, amirite?”
“My advice… listen to what your heart says. It might have another POS pulse like mine does, but at least you’ll feel like there’s a reason to fight me. Hell, listen to what Eleanora whispers into your ear at night. Scheme if you must. Just know that whatever you two goblins come up with won’t be enough to make me back from this match. You threaten me like some dad shouting at the family cat. There’s tremor in your voice, totally, but I’m not listening. I play chicken with trains then whiz on the third rail.”
“No, scratch all that. Destroy me daddy. Bring your impact driver and tear me in two. Because dying in the ring is a hell of a lot more fun than listening to you finger wag at me like Sonic. If you’re truly a force of nature to be reckoned with… leave nothing of me behind. Otherwise, I’ll just order another bowl of that French onion soup. Fairly warned though, a win for Teijin is the end of your pretty little face on social media.”
Teijin walks off into the chilly darkness, crossing his arms to stay warm as dusk peeks over the horizon.
Close up of the suite #1023 as seen before, where Teijin reappears looking disheveled. He knocks several times until Dr. Holcomb opens the door at a crack. Her single brown eye holds on his desperate appearance before engaging the young superstar.
:Holcomb I have another client, Teijin. You’ll have to come back.
:Teijin Look… I’m not one to apologize for things that come out my mouth.
:Holcomb You don’t have to strain yourself. A simple but sincere “I’m sorry” will do.
He grimaces with that first syllable glued to his tongue. After a long moment—another painstaking eternity in his company—Dr. Holcomb closes the door.
:Teijin Fine, you earned it! I. Am. Sorry! So sorry that no one but me can fix what’s bonkers in here. That no one but me can see why there’s never going to be a complete and utter failure. I’m sorry for the hole I want to make in your door… no, I’m not going to do that. I for me to say it—now open up!
The door swings open where the patient counselor waits in her threshold. Teijin groans, realizing that he fell right into her trap. They have coffee and discuss matters off the record. Personal things only member of the Masuda family would know, which via privilege, must remain in her modestly expensive dwelling. All bodes well until she asks what he plans to do about maintaining all his stressors inside AW.
:Holcomb This is more than a fight for you, isn’t it?
:Teijin What do mean by that? I thought you weren’t going to crack my coconut open.
:Holcomb Not sure what that means… please, just humor me on this.
:Teijin Fine.
:Holcomb You’ve waged guerrilla warfare on this Anthony Leonhart. What you consider simple “trolling”. Although I already know your brand of heroics, Teijin. You want to play to Byronic hero and look like a bad guy while doing it. Good people can wear black and metal spikes too—and it doesn’t diminish their agency for good.
:Teijin I’m not a hero. I just want to take matches to the edge.
:Holcomb We all fall for this archetype. Thelma and Louise. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Ambiguous darkness: We’re suckers for it. And you’ve donned that cowl just like all the rest have before you. You expect there to be a final, life-redeeming sacrifice in lieu of solving issues. And nobody can tell you otherwise.
:Teijin Like a death wish?
:Holcomb Nope.
:Teijin Yeah, it is! I would rather be carried out that ring than rise above it!
Dr. Holcomb polishes her glasses. An expert tactic that gives his rage nowhere else to go but down.
:Holcomb You see a cause to attack Leonhart. Maybe it began with an altercation, but you aren’t just some punk. You’re the nephew of a wrestling icon who died by tragic means. He was a forced icon in your heart, but also a means of escaping those terrible years in Hawaii. You hate the fact that he was never there in any positive capacity—only for shame, disgrace and discipline. A second unloving father figure.
:Teijin Shut up.
:Holcomb I will, but you know that I’m right. Fighting Leonhart was never about avenging that fight last month. Nope. You see the worst qualities of Jubei in that French newcomer. Beating him will feel like beating Jubei. Anything else is cursory. Tangential walls you think will protect you from what’s really eating inside your truly beautiful heart. But what do I know? I’m just a sports mentalist and mentor. Action Wrestling put their faith in me to turn your career around before it becomes a fiery plane crash.
:Teijin It’s all about money. Ticket sales and other bullshit. Not because they care about me.
:Holcomb Companies invest large sums in their talent. Managing talent takes more emotions than compassion, but it doesn’t mean you have to respond with your own cold-hearted diplomacy. Find what makes you happy and stick to it. Don’t play games that have no reward. Don’t fight everyone in the vain hope that it’ll give you a release from torment. All of these are roads to pain and suffering. Something Action Wrestling won’t tolerate any further.
:Teijin Then what am I supposed to do? Become some delusional babyface?
:Holcomb Be who you need to be, but stop forcing yourself into bad situations. Think twice; act once. There’s nothing more to it, Teijin. Win on your own terms and the rest will fall into place. Yet don’t forget that your person is more precious than any outcome. The rest of the road leads to victory.
:Teijin Damn… that’s deep. But yeah, I’m not doing any of that.
:Holcomb Then get the fuck out of my apartment.
:Biker Dude, this is sick. I’m done.
:Teijin I didn’t pay you for compassion! Keep punching me, dammit!
:Biker You let someone else murder your punk ass. I’m out, brother.
:Teijin I thought you Hell’s Angels were made of sterner stuff? Imaimashí…
His miscreant disappears into the night of what cameras now reveal as a dark alleyway against a nondescript skyline glowing above him. Time passes with Teijin now soaking blows from nature, as wind batters his exposed chest. His expression, however, seems pleased. Almost as if he desired isolation in a place where nobody would ever find him. Until, to his chagrin, a figure does find him chained there.
:Shoda There you are, little chicken… Jubei wouldn’t take kindly seeing you in such a state, would he?
:Teijin Fuck off Shoda. How did you even find me?
Shoda, a former enforcer of his uncle’s employ turned mid-tier boss, unshackles him from the wall. Teijin hits wet asphalt with a thud and splash of that industrial building’s runoff. Pearlescent water pools under his chin, smelling of paint thinner. Shoda maintains a bouncer’s intensity.
:Shoda I’m not going to waste my time explaining how your little stunt brought us together. Just know that your face bears your namesake. The mask of a Masuda is no plaything! A stamp deserving better than your brand of disgrace! Something that no beating could ever teach you, Teijin.
:Teijin You don’t know me!
:Shoda But I do… it’s you that doesn’t know yourself!
Hard cut from a Sin City dystopia to the breakfast nook of a high-rise apartment. Teijin has on white slacks and a designer wool sweater. An acai berry bowl with granola garnish finishes his healthy meal. Across from him, dressed like a high school English teacher, the careful ear of yet another therapeutic outlet assigned by AW brass listens to his every word. Hateful scoops from that froufrou bowl of dietary fiber and bullshit further wedge the two apart in that rather sparse studio suite.
:Holcomb They said you weren’t one for sharing. But that had to be liberating, Mr. Masuda.
:Teijin Dreams are like creamsicles.
:Holcomb Excuse me?
:Teijin You think one of them will be enough to make you happy. But there’s always enough shame for a second from the freezer.
:Holcomb Do you want to get another from your… refrigerator?
:Teijin Nope.
:Holcomb Why not?
:Teijin Because you only got those frozen smoothie bars. I want ice cream! Not more lies!
:Holcomb What?
:Teijin I don’t want heart healthy options. Or fucking quinoa – and I don’t need people probing my brain!
He stops himself seconds before shattering that mashup of fruit and ancestral grains. Dr. Holcomb did her best to avert disaster too after sensing the rage building between his limbs. She then offers an olive branch to keep him seated, and if possible, encourage him to expound on that dream.
:Holcomb Teijin… everyone that has passed you off to this point never broke through your heart of stone. And, to be honest, I’m struggling too. You build walls higher than anyone can climb, and then continue building until all we see are your defenses. Is that what you want to be? A cold, unresponsive redoubt?
:Teijin What should I be?
:Holcomb There’s no blueprint for life. We make our own.
:Teijin I’m following my design as you just said. So explain why we’re here, pretending to be nice for a stuffy brunch of fruit and—what is this stuff again?
:Holcomb Granola…. But if want to know why we’re sharing bowls of cereal this morning, Teijin, it’s because you’re violent and unpredictable. A petty, unlikable thorn stuck in every foot in the AW locker room.
He smiles.
:Teijin Say it again… but this time, say it like you mean it.
Hard cut to Dr. Holcomb throwing him out into the corridor of her fancy apartment turned clinic. Masuda shrugs with his patented smirk. He strolls down flight after flight of stairs until reaching a busy lobby with all sorts of people caught in the common bustle of life. There he sits people watching until the lights go down. When the tap of security sends him on his way into that civic backdrop of Birmingham, Alabama.
”So here we are again, Action eyeballs. Petulant faces full of nachos and chewing tobacco. I have my vices, we all do, but I find that being an asshole is an art form few master. Me, I’m a student learning by the day. Whether that involves concocting sex dreams – disturbed stories wholeheartedly stolen from creepy pasta boards – or simply plugging my eardrums during ‘share time’, rest assured that I am out here ruining sidewalks across the world one Juicy Fruit© at a time.”
As promised, he then spits a wad of gum in middle of the same sidewalk. Another angle pans to his side profile as he stalks darkened streets around the second most important city in Alabama.
”I’m not the mad hatter people want to portray of me. Joaquin has nothing on me. Twitter, dirt sheets – even that rumors dude – nobody understands what’s rumbling in my tummy tum tum. I’m the indigestion who exists to keep people like Anthony Leonhart awake every night. Whose worried words will cram into a web browser for some early 2000’s Blogspot trash he somehow thinks will remedy all the garbage I need to unload on him. And don’t blame me for my deluge, French Gandalf, blame booking. They put us in the back of the fridge like a goddamn fruitcake. The nerve of those people! But now it’s time for leftovers to casserole the competition and steal a show.”
Most might enjoy some of their own blend of catchy wordplay. Teijin, ever the model of self-hatred, retrieves his vape pen in lieu of smiling. Wherein rings of billowy ass-hat-ery finally bring a smile to that stone-faced brat. His walk lasts for a while until coming upon a grand visage stories above him.
”So I’m not going to let them film the unwelcoming ass someone sculpted on Birmingham’s tribute to the working soldier. This towering Ozymandias idea of Vulcan, or Hephaestus, whichever pagan love stories you prefer. Because we should have a choice in our homoerotic fantasy. This is indeed America… something you and I, Anthony, take for granted. A refuge from pasts we want to bury at the bottom of an ocean trench. Yet pirate treasure and serial killer victims have a way of resurfacing whether we like them to or not. So let’s embrace what brought us to the ring before we commence with the violence.
Cameras cut from him leaning against a nearby tree in that residential park to the metallic sheen from a sculpture read and the passions which yet survive of Hephaestus’ perfect posterior. Another hard cut comes back to a nonchalant shrug from Teijin and his vapor rings.
”For the sake of art! But we didn’t come here for grand gestures or spectacles, Anthony. Nor was a simple scuffle between hungry dogs any indication of what’s going on here. We’re fighting for survival. We’re fluffers for what people came to see in Odin to FPV to Lissie Fucking Hope. Or did you forget to read that subtext in your international contract? Yeah, I mean, it’s 2020, BUT the oldest franchise in baseball just hired its first-ever Japanese-born player. Where do we fall into categories of Swedish darlings and model minorities you might be wondering? Step into my magic school bus and let’s find out, shall we.”
His smile grows extra wide after that one.
”Kidding. They don’t waste production budgets on people of our prestige. We’re Coach+ at best. Sure, there’s more legroom, but we’re still eating Hungry Man© knockoffs like my boomer dad did – minus all the spam. Fucking spam….”
Another aerial shot gives another perspective of that large icon of Hephaestus. The bolt forged in his palm brings a closer look to its craft, and more so, its connection to blue-collar soldiers.
”I’ve always been one for big gestures. It’s why I wore that mask in the first place. People always want to assume we’re hiding behind elaborate masks. Me… I just think that shit looks cool. It’s funny how I came here under the premise of “Goryo” which are accursed Japanese spirts of vengeance. Something cultural pushed by my family so they could avenge what happened to my uncle. Idiots.”
“Honor can be such a fickle thing… it’s always so butt hurt too. If I could honor kill my link to the name Masuda – oh, I would – but that’s not why we’re put on this blue rock. You learn to move past what people demand oh you. Start thinking for yourself. Like this ugly behemoth above me… we’re bound to the work we make. And that is our statement to the world.”
“Now it’s your turn…. what’s your plan here, Anthony? I know a clinched O-ring when I see one. You might be the most retentive I’ve ever crossed in my entire life. So while you’re going to waste this week telling everyone how badly you’re going to break my spirit and my body. Look at yourself before you vomit anything about my floundering career. Think about what that means for your future too. Some of us don’t advance from this point because we’re destined to bottom feed. Sadly, you’ve spent all this time convincing yourself that you can dominate AW’s roster… JFC! Do you really think foreigners like us can ever hope to rise over homegrown talent? Go ahead and ask trodden talent like Kennedy Matthews or Jaice Wilds. This system is against us from day one, and it will never relent. So bang on that cage you French bulldog. Nobody is going to adopt you. Your only choice is making the best of the gigs set in front of you. Otherwise, you’re just chasing a waterfall.”
A close up Teijin illuminates his vape rings against a chilly morning. The shot includes every element of that monument park from fir trees to the fuming background of rooftop exhausts.
”I’ve been the voice box in our little disagreement. I acknowledge that. Because I like stoking flames – especially when the fire can’t handle my jokes. Why though? Simple… people like you disgust me, Anthony. And it’s not because you’re just a bully with a vague mission hell-bent on causing torment to others. It’s because your craft annoys me. Day one, you wanted to wedgie my jockey shorts and take my lunch money. Only to find out I had no lunch money to begin with… had to be obnoxious, for you, amirite?”
“My advice… listen to what your heart says. It might have another POS pulse like mine does, but at least you’ll feel like there’s a reason to fight me. Hell, listen to what Eleanora whispers into your ear at night. Scheme if you must. Just know that whatever you two goblins come up with won’t be enough to make me back from this match. You threaten me like some dad shouting at the family cat. There’s tremor in your voice, totally, but I’m not listening. I play chicken with trains then whiz on the third rail.”
“No, scratch all that. Destroy me daddy. Bring your impact driver and tear me in two. Because dying in the ring is a hell of a lot more fun than listening to you finger wag at me like Sonic. If you’re truly a force of nature to be reckoned with… leave nothing of me behind. Otherwise, I’ll just order another bowl of that French onion soup. Fairly warned though, a win for Teijin is the end of your pretty little face on social media.”
Teijin walks off into the chilly darkness, crossing his arms to stay warm as dusk peeks over the horizon.
Close up of the suite #1023 as seen before, where Teijin reappears looking disheveled. He knocks several times until Dr. Holcomb opens the door at a crack. Her single brown eye holds on his desperate appearance before engaging the young superstar.
:Holcomb I have another client, Teijin. You’ll have to come back.
:Teijin Look… I’m not one to apologize for things that come out my mouth.
:Holcomb You don’t have to strain yourself. A simple but sincere “I’m sorry” will do.
He grimaces with that first syllable glued to his tongue. After a long moment—another painstaking eternity in his company—Dr. Holcomb closes the door.
:Teijin Fine, you earned it! I. Am. Sorry! So sorry that no one but me can fix what’s bonkers in here. That no one but me can see why there’s never going to be a complete and utter failure. I’m sorry for the hole I want to make in your door… no, I’m not going to do that. I for me to say it—now open up!
The door swings open where the patient counselor waits in her threshold. Teijin groans, realizing that he fell right into her trap. They have coffee and discuss matters off the record. Personal things only member of the Masuda family would know, which via privilege, must remain in her modestly expensive dwelling. All bodes well until she asks what he plans to do about maintaining all his stressors inside AW.
:Holcomb This is more than a fight for you, isn’t it?
:Teijin What do mean by that? I thought you weren’t going to crack my coconut open.
:Holcomb Not sure what that means… please, just humor me on this.
:Teijin Fine.
:Holcomb You’ve waged guerrilla warfare on this Anthony Leonhart. What you consider simple “trolling”. Although I already know your brand of heroics, Teijin. You want to play to Byronic hero and look like a bad guy while doing it. Good people can wear black and metal spikes too—and it doesn’t diminish their agency for good.
:Teijin I’m not a hero. I just want to take matches to the edge.
:Holcomb We all fall for this archetype. Thelma and Louise. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Ambiguous darkness: We’re suckers for it. And you’ve donned that cowl just like all the rest have before you. You expect there to be a final, life-redeeming sacrifice in lieu of solving issues. And nobody can tell you otherwise.
:Teijin Like a death wish?
:Holcomb Nope.
:Teijin Yeah, it is! I would rather be carried out that ring than rise above it!
Dr. Holcomb polishes her glasses. An expert tactic that gives his rage nowhere else to go but down.
:Holcomb You see a cause to attack Leonhart. Maybe it began with an altercation, but you aren’t just some punk. You’re the nephew of a wrestling icon who died by tragic means. He was a forced icon in your heart, but also a means of escaping those terrible years in Hawaii. You hate the fact that he was never there in any positive capacity—only for shame, disgrace and discipline. A second unloving father figure.
:Teijin Shut up.
:Holcomb I will, but you know that I’m right. Fighting Leonhart was never about avenging that fight last month. Nope. You see the worst qualities of Jubei in that French newcomer. Beating him will feel like beating Jubei. Anything else is cursory. Tangential walls you think will protect you from what’s really eating inside your truly beautiful heart. But what do I know? I’m just a sports mentalist and mentor. Action Wrestling put their faith in me to turn your career around before it becomes a fiery plane crash.
:Teijin It’s all about money. Ticket sales and other bullshit. Not because they care about me.
:Holcomb Companies invest large sums in their talent. Managing talent takes more emotions than compassion, but it doesn’t mean you have to respond with your own cold-hearted diplomacy. Find what makes you happy and stick to it. Don’t play games that have no reward. Don’t fight everyone in the vain hope that it’ll give you a release from torment. All of these are roads to pain and suffering. Something Action Wrestling won’t tolerate any further.
:Teijin Then what am I supposed to do? Become some delusional babyface?
:Holcomb Be who you need to be, but stop forcing yourself into bad situations. Think twice; act once. There’s nothing more to it, Teijin. Win on your own terms and the rest will fall into place. Yet don’t forget that your person is more precious than any outcome. The rest of the road leads to victory.
:Teijin Damn… that’s deep. But yeah, I’m not doing any of that.
:Holcomb Then get the fuck out of my apartment.