Post by Ash Blake on Nov 6, 2020 5:30:08 GMT -5
You have reached the voicemail box of Carter Shaw, please leave a message after the tone.
"Hey! It's Ash. I'm just wondering if I should send the Lost Breed a consolation Edible Arrangement basket? I mean clearly they fell short of whatever they were planning to do and got thoroughly outgambited, but it's the thought that counts. Would that read as condescending?"
Did you think I'd be impressed
With this neon necropolis?
"I like to think I'm an optimist," Ash begins, holding a cracked, punctured Tragedian mask to her face. "I try to see the best in people. That's what this has all been about, why I try so hard to genuinely reach my opponents rather than use them as solipsistic punching bags to work out my own issues without any regard for their humanity. And to that end, relatively speaking, I've been shockingly nice. Bearing that in mind, I would just like to say one thing off the top to my dear opponent this week, Mr. Corey Bull."
Ash lowers the mask, an uncharacteristic sneer on her face.
"Go fuck yourself, you goddamned loser."
The mask falls to the floor.
"I don't owe you a thing, and I sure as hell am not going to pretend to build your house of cards before I knock it over. Because just like ol' Winston DiVito, you don't deserve it. But there's a difference between you two, Corey.
"Winston makes my blood boil. I see red when his busted mug pops up in my mind's eye, but what I feel for you is something different. Something even more primal than rage. Bone-deep disgust. I get sick to my stomach at so much as the mere mention of your name.
"Do you know how malaria works, Corey? It's actually a parasitic infection. Parasites enter the bloodstream from the mosquito's saliva and from there travel to the liver, maturing and reproducing. At least, that's how the doctor explained it to me when I— not important."
She shakes her head to accent the point.
"The thing is, Corey, you can fancy yourself a monster, a destroyer, a fucking deathdealer, butcher of the world all you like, but when you strip it all away, down to its barest essentials, you aren't any of those things. You're just another parasite, leeching off the stability and mental-well being of your opponents until it's time to go in for the kill.
"But you know what the difference between Malaria and Corey Bull is?
"Malaria can actually finish the job."
Ash breathes a sigh of relief, as if a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.
"There, cat's out of the bag. And with it, a distinction: Corey Bull must have the highest body count ever amassed by someone with no killer instinct to speak of. That's something, I guess, but what does it tell you when one of the biggest men on the roster goes out and is forced to punch above his weight-class so freakin' always?"
A beat. Ash blushes.
"Trying to watch my profanity; my mom watches these, y'know?"
Another beat, as Ash realizes what just came out of her mouth.
"I shouldn't have said that, should I? Because the mere mention of living family members is enough to trigger some kind of Pavlovian response from you, right? Being the biggest, the strongest, allegedly the preternaturally toughest man on the roster isn't enough for you; you have to go out and terrorize the people close to your opponents, just for that little extra edge. That mental advantage. All the while either unknowing or uncaring as to how many people would kill for the physical gifts you've been blessed with.
"What do you think someone like Howard Black could do if he were built like you? Hell, what do you think I could do if I woke up suddenly seven feet tall with the ability to lift a small car? Even better, maybe you can answer just how badly Carter Shaw would've beaten your brains in if he had what you have?
"You remember Carter, don't you? Mutual friend, you could say. You targeted him, set your sights on him and why? Because he did what you couldn't. And you couldn't stand it. So you kidnapped his sister. You burned his mother's house to a crisp, to what end? Right, to get in Carter's head. To throw him off his game. To make him easy pickings for someone like you.
"I've gotten to know Carter a little bit since we put pen to paper, and there's one thing I could've told you: at that point, the last place on earth you should've wanted to be was inside Carter's head.
"But you poked, you prodded, to no end but ironically your own. You could push him around all you wanted until he got to look you square in the eye. To size you up. And, well, the best laid plans of mice and men do often go awry and everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.
"And Corey, I don't need to remind you hard you got hit.
"That's just you, though. Six foot ten, three hundred, eighty-five pounds every time you step out from behind the curtain, only so you can hit the mat harder than a redwood in a logging camp every time you square off with someone you absolutely have to finish.
"Like me. See, you have to maim me, end me, kill me to take this belt from my waist and be what you tell everyone you are.
"But I don't need to destroy you.
"Like I told Keynan before you; I just have to win. And I've found ways to do that against better men than you for my entire career thus far.
"Maybe there's your solace, even if you come at my family like you did to Carter:
"I'm not gonna kill you, Corey.
"My colleagues are gonna kill you."
A grin.
"I'm just gonna watch."
"Hey! It's Ash. I'm just wondering if I should send the Lost Breed a consolation Edible Arrangement basket? I mean clearly they fell short of whatever they were planning to do and got thoroughly outgambited, but it's the thought that counts. Would that read as condescending?"
Did you think I'd be impressed
With this neon necropolis?
"I like to think I'm an optimist," Ash begins, holding a cracked, punctured Tragedian mask to her face. "I try to see the best in people. That's what this has all been about, why I try so hard to genuinely reach my opponents rather than use them as solipsistic punching bags to work out my own issues without any regard for their humanity. And to that end, relatively speaking, I've been shockingly nice. Bearing that in mind, I would just like to say one thing off the top to my dear opponent this week, Mr. Corey Bull."
Ash lowers the mask, an uncharacteristic sneer on her face.
"Go fuck yourself, you goddamned loser."
The mask falls to the floor.
"I don't owe you a thing, and I sure as hell am not going to pretend to build your house of cards before I knock it over. Because just like ol' Winston DiVito, you don't deserve it. But there's a difference between you two, Corey.
"Winston makes my blood boil. I see red when his busted mug pops up in my mind's eye, but what I feel for you is something different. Something even more primal than rage. Bone-deep disgust. I get sick to my stomach at so much as the mere mention of your name.
"Do you know how malaria works, Corey? It's actually a parasitic infection. Parasites enter the bloodstream from the mosquito's saliva and from there travel to the liver, maturing and reproducing. At least, that's how the doctor explained it to me when I— not important."
She shakes her head to accent the point.
"The thing is, Corey, you can fancy yourself a monster, a destroyer, a fucking deathdealer, butcher of the world all you like, but when you strip it all away, down to its barest essentials, you aren't any of those things. You're just another parasite, leeching off the stability and mental-well being of your opponents until it's time to go in for the kill.
"But you know what the difference between Malaria and Corey Bull is?
"Malaria can actually finish the job."
Ash breathes a sigh of relief, as if a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.
"There, cat's out of the bag. And with it, a distinction: Corey Bull must have the highest body count ever amassed by someone with no killer instinct to speak of. That's something, I guess, but what does it tell you when one of the biggest men on the roster goes out and is forced to punch above his weight-class so freakin' always?"
A beat. Ash blushes.
"Trying to watch my profanity; my mom watches these, y'know?"
Another beat, as Ash realizes what just came out of her mouth.
"I shouldn't have said that, should I? Because the mere mention of living family members is enough to trigger some kind of Pavlovian response from you, right? Being the biggest, the strongest, allegedly the preternaturally toughest man on the roster isn't enough for you; you have to go out and terrorize the people close to your opponents, just for that little extra edge. That mental advantage. All the while either unknowing or uncaring as to how many people would kill for the physical gifts you've been blessed with.
"What do you think someone like Howard Black could do if he were built like you? Hell, what do you think I could do if I woke up suddenly seven feet tall with the ability to lift a small car? Even better, maybe you can answer just how badly Carter Shaw would've beaten your brains in if he had what you have?
"You remember Carter, don't you? Mutual friend, you could say. You targeted him, set your sights on him and why? Because he did what you couldn't. And you couldn't stand it. So you kidnapped his sister. You burned his mother's house to a crisp, to what end? Right, to get in Carter's head. To throw him off his game. To make him easy pickings for someone like you.
"I've gotten to know Carter a little bit since we put pen to paper, and there's one thing I could've told you: at that point, the last place on earth you should've wanted to be was inside Carter's head.
"But you poked, you prodded, to no end but ironically your own. You could push him around all you wanted until he got to look you square in the eye. To size you up. And, well, the best laid plans of mice and men do often go awry and everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.
"And Corey, I don't need to remind you hard you got hit.
"That's just you, though. Six foot ten, three hundred, eighty-five pounds every time you step out from behind the curtain, only so you can hit the mat harder than a redwood in a logging camp every time you square off with someone you absolutely have to finish.
"Like me. See, you have to maim me, end me, kill me to take this belt from my waist and be what you tell everyone you are.
"But I don't need to destroy you.
"Like I told Keynan before you; I just have to win. And I've found ways to do that against better men than you for my entire career thus far.
"Maybe there's your solace, even if you come at my family like you did to Carter:
"I'm not gonna kill you, Corey.
"My colleagues are gonna kill you."
A grin.
"I'm just gonna watch."