Post by raze on Mar 9, 2024 12:47:46 GMT -8
Jericho Cross sits in his training room, near the corner at the window, where it meets the weapon wall. Row upon row of practice weapons, replicas and a few real ones line the wall, with one blank space, where one would normally sit. The weapon, a wooden replica of a medieval English arming sword. The wooden ones were good for hitting the heavy bag and were sturdy enough not to crack. He iswearing black basketball shorts and a Megadeth T-shirt, which has had the sleeves cut off.
Sweating from a hard day of training, he had decided to take a sword to the bag for a bit, work out some frustration and get in the right mindset for his title match. Rowena would be made to pay for her mistake in a match made for both of them. He wasn't ready to completely give in to the urge to go fully back to his old self. He didn't feel a need to. He could do just enough to win and retain his current self, the self he worked hard for since that incident a few years ago. He had relapsed into his worst self, though it did save his life. Still, he'd take a step back and stop pushing it all down and let himself get it out, just long enough to win and then use that as his new measure of what would be the healthier level of restraint. He'd take Douglas Crane's advice because he knew he was right.
His introspection as he sits down let's him look within for the answers on how to let it out in more measured ways. He hasn't had a chance to test himself at his peak. Tolson's match had ring rust, same with Rebecca, even though he won. He went to Travis for the rest of the process of knocking it off. Then came the thing that set him off: after being attacked with a title, did it again next show and cost his spot in a 3 way dance wherein all three competitors were excited about it and an aim at blowing the crowd away. And then came a tag team match. His behaviour was very unlike him and it cost him. He had to try a different tack. For now, he just had to look within to find the way to take some of the locks off his soul.
'Fuck the measured approach. Go back fully'.
'No, no need'.
'Douglss was right. Take his advice.'
'I am. I don't need to go back to my old self'.
'Your old self made you a name! It solved all your problems. It's how you could put down teams, completely alone, how you could jump an entire stable on your own and succeed. Do ít!!'
'I'm doing that already. Brains and brawn together'.
'Let it back in. If you could do all that made you a global sensation, a reputation as a force of nature, and one of the most dangerous men alive, you could definitely put down Rowena, tough or not! She's only one person and even if Stanton hops in or sends another, you've won against much worse.'
'So what? I still don't need to let him back in. I will not go to extremes, I will find a balance that serves me best'.
'You were worse than Rowena. You were worse than Sinister Circle, worse than Vulgar Display, even combined, they couldn't hold a fucking candle to the sheer pandemonium you had wrought! You brought the apocalypse to that company. Twice!! Show Crane what he wants to see! Show them all!! Show them the Raze that was constantly standing toe-to-toe with a 7'3 giant, planted your feet and matched him punch for every. Fucking. Punch! You were feared.'
'I was an unconstrained animal. I let it win'.
'Then what's the harm?'
'I almost killed three competitors, possibly more, and two were never seen again. If I go back to that path, I might not come back this time!'
'Reveling in what you truly are is what you were doing. A living engine of destruction. Chaos incarnate. Entropy itself! The Dread. Fuckin. King! You earned the right to use the word 'king', so run with it. Return to your throne'.
'I'm smarter now'.
'You were smarter than you think you were in that state. A heat of the moment, balls-out burst of rage? Sure, easy to trick you in those moments. But in being devil you were, you were observant, insightful. Fun. Time to let go of the bar, throw them up and revel in it.'
Jericho shifted his weight and straightened his back. He had slumped during the meditation and just realised it, as well as noticing the drawn up shoulders. Clear signs of stress, brought on by his struggle for control . That urge was more a compulsion, one he'd been exorcising with the heavy bag. On one side, he could choose to be that respectful, nice older wrestler, who offered advice and insight to the smart younger ones. On the other hand, be the one Satan himself could be bested by through sheet tenacity.
But this wasn't merely over the amount of restraint he should scale back on; this was a war for his very soul, winner take all, just like before. Had Douglas started this? Had he wanted to see the other extreme of Raze? Or did he really just want him to stop locking away more than he ought to?
No. Crane explained it, but Rowena Byrne started it. His desire to strangle the life out of her until she fell still was just a passing notion, an expression of intent to violence, but it was enough to make him worry. He had to let some out, the only question was how much.
'All of it. Go full devil, revel in that'.
'Be him? Old Raze? No'.
'"Old Raze?" No. True Raze. The real you.'
'This is the real me.'
'Is it?'
The simple question threw him off, causing him to shake his head.
'This isn't the real you, it's a construct. An attempt, and a good one at that, but in the end, it's merely a simulacrum. The persona you have crafted may be what's appealing and new to you now, but my way of it? That's where your truth can be found. You found it before and changed everything forever. Do it again, bring a shiny new Armageddon and the stark truths that come with it.'
'Fuck. That. No.'
'Let me ask a different way'.
'And then you shut up?'
'Oh, why not, fine.'
'Fine.'
'Release me'
No one was there. No cameras, phone call, no one but him and nothing to talk into that was in use. Still, it didn't stop him exasperatedly saying "Oh, fuck you!" rather loudly, as he stood up- wooden sword in hand- and struck the heavy bag, the impact resounding like thunder. He had forgotten how much that other voice mirrored his own propensity to be a smart arse.
'Remember Big Tall Paul?'
*Slam!*
'Remember him climbing that balcony with you?'
'Shut up'.
*Wham!*
Remember what that shotgun blast did to his head from what was it, twenty-odd, maybe thirty feet?'
A flurry of hits from the wooden longsword hammered the bag, sounding like gunshots at times.
'You've fought this like a warrior, you deserve credit for that, but why keep fighting me? Use a little more of the old ways, the True Raze, see if it help this new one you like so much. But if it doesn't...'
He'd had enough. Dropping the weapon, he grabs the water bottle and storms out of the room, heading down the long, hall to his room. The medication would help. As he looked through the drawer, he happened to glance up at the clock. He'd gone a good amount of the day, having missed the morning dose, as well as the one for the previous night. Kicking the bottom of it in frustration, he pops out a couple of pills, tosses the blister pack back in, slams it shut and knocks back the dose. Maybe now, the thoughts would become his own again. It was all fine now, but it did make three things clear, as well as something from his interactions with Rowena and Joshua.
1. Suppressing that part of himself to such an extreme wasn't the best idea.
2. Crane was right.
3. Reasoning doesn't work in 1WM.
4. He had to tear Rowena Byrne apart, make sure she needed help leaving after the match. That way if she retained, he still took a blood debt from her. It'd still be a payment of sorts. Maybe that would be enough for him.
5. If this kind of internal bickering is going on, it was a clear indicator he needed a new solution. If that meant using opponents to do that... fuck 'em. It was time to set the nice part away and let the vicious side back out.
He went back to his training room. He'd practice his swordsmanship, any one of the three schools he had learned and if he got his hands on a kendo stick or, in a pinch, a baseball bat, he'd show what he could do with it. It worked for him in hardcore matches of the past and it could serve him well again. His opponent was a deathmatch lover, whose father was a deathmatch legend. She'd be tough and well in her element, but so was he. She'd be faster than him, but that was nothing new, nothing he hasn't accounted for before, even in his match against Rebecca McKenzie.
Picking up the sword, he thought about the alternative choices he'd have, like kendo sticks and pipes. He thought about the time he used a baseball bat as a sword, disarming opponents and counterattacking with a finesse no one had expected.
'Despair' flashed in his mind. Just that one word.
'What?'
'Bring Despair out of retirement. He can help. You think no one's taking this chance to come at you?'
'I don't care'.
'Bring Despair'.
'No. He stays retired'.
A few more strikes, bolstered by solid footwork. Deliberate, careful stepping. Sure footing, some call it. Just as important as striking or partying, vital during feints and ripostes. Discipline and focus. Years of practice and training, even while training to get in the wrestling business. He was counting on people who didn't know him personally, to forget that particular piece of information. For all he knew, even some who do know him might forget, though Eva, Leon, and Munin wouldn't. Samson probably had by now.
Focusing on his footwork and technique helped a little as he waited for the medication to kick in. His plan wasn't complex, but in these matches, it never needs to be. No plan survives contact with the enemy anyway. If he had the chance, he'd use whatever suitable weapon could be used to remind people he brought more to the table than just grab weapon, swing weapon. He'd bring his hardcore roots. He'd bring his wrestling. He'd bring his strength. He'd bring his myriad striking options. He'd bring what he spent all those years building. He'd bring his two greatest strengths on top of it all; the toughness and adaptability he had established throughout his career before, during, and after GZW, the company in which he became world famous. And infamous. It was time to be more like he was and fuse it with who he is now and use that to find his way forward.
It was time to accept the risk inherent in loosening his grip on the leash. He would walk in prepared, fight like his opponent was more skilled than himself, and whatever happens in the course of this battle, happens. Fuck it. It was time to trust himself.
Sweating from a hard day of training, he had decided to take a sword to the bag for a bit, work out some frustration and get in the right mindset for his title match. Rowena would be made to pay for her mistake in a match made for both of them. He wasn't ready to completely give in to the urge to go fully back to his old self. He didn't feel a need to. He could do just enough to win and retain his current self, the self he worked hard for since that incident a few years ago. He had relapsed into his worst self, though it did save his life. Still, he'd take a step back and stop pushing it all down and let himself get it out, just long enough to win and then use that as his new measure of what would be the healthier level of restraint. He'd take Douglas Crane's advice because he knew he was right.
His introspection as he sits down let's him look within for the answers on how to let it out in more measured ways. He hasn't had a chance to test himself at his peak. Tolson's match had ring rust, same with Rebecca, even though he won. He went to Travis for the rest of the process of knocking it off. Then came the thing that set him off: after being attacked with a title, did it again next show and cost his spot in a 3 way dance wherein all three competitors were excited about it and an aim at blowing the crowd away. And then came a tag team match. His behaviour was very unlike him and it cost him. He had to try a different tack. For now, he just had to look within to find the way to take some of the locks off his soul.
'Fuck the measured approach. Go back fully'.
'No, no need'.
'Douglss was right. Take his advice.'
'I am. I don't need to go back to my old self'.
'Your old self made you a name! It solved all your problems. It's how you could put down teams, completely alone, how you could jump an entire stable on your own and succeed. Do ít!!'
'I'm doing that already. Brains and brawn together'.
'Let it back in. If you could do all that made you a global sensation, a reputation as a force of nature, and one of the most dangerous men alive, you could definitely put down Rowena, tough or not! She's only one person and even if Stanton hops in or sends another, you've won against much worse.'
'So what? I still don't need to let him back in. I will not go to extremes, I will find a balance that serves me best'.
'You were worse than Rowena. You were worse than Sinister Circle, worse than Vulgar Display, even combined, they couldn't hold a fucking candle to the sheer pandemonium you had wrought! You brought the apocalypse to that company. Twice!! Show Crane what he wants to see! Show them all!! Show them the Raze that was constantly standing toe-to-toe with a 7'3 giant, planted your feet and matched him punch for every. Fucking. Punch! You were feared.'
'I was an unconstrained animal. I let it win'.
'Then what's the harm?'
'I almost killed three competitors, possibly more, and two were never seen again. If I go back to that path, I might not come back this time!'
'Reveling in what you truly are is what you were doing. A living engine of destruction. Chaos incarnate. Entropy itself! The Dread. Fuckin. King! You earned the right to use the word 'king', so run with it. Return to your throne'.
'I'm smarter now'.
'You were smarter than you think you were in that state. A heat of the moment, balls-out burst of rage? Sure, easy to trick you in those moments. But in being devil you were, you were observant, insightful. Fun. Time to let go of the bar, throw them up and revel in it.'
Jericho shifted his weight and straightened his back. He had slumped during the meditation and just realised it, as well as noticing the drawn up shoulders. Clear signs of stress, brought on by his struggle for control . That urge was more a compulsion, one he'd been exorcising with the heavy bag. On one side, he could choose to be that respectful, nice older wrestler, who offered advice and insight to the smart younger ones. On the other hand, be the one Satan himself could be bested by through sheet tenacity.
But this wasn't merely over the amount of restraint he should scale back on; this was a war for his very soul, winner take all, just like before. Had Douglas started this? Had he wanted to see the other extreme of Raze? Or did he really just want him to stop locking away more than he ought to?
No. Crane explained it, but Rowena Byrne started it. His desire to strangle the life out of her until she fell still was just a passing notion, an expression of intent to violence, but it was enough to make him worry. He had to let some out, the only question was how much.
'All of it. Go full devil, revel in that'.
'Be him? Old Raze? No'.
'"Old Raze?" No. True Raze. The real you.'
'This is the real me.'
'Is it?'
The simple question threw him off, causing him to shake his head.
'This isn't the real you, it's a construct. An attempt, and a good one at that, but in the end, it's merely a simulacrum. The persona you have crafted may be what's appealing and new to you now, but my way of it? That's where your truth can be found. You found it before and changed everything forever. Do it again, bring a shiny new Armageddon and the stark truths that come with it.'
'Fuck. That. No.'
'Let me ask a different way'.
'And then you shut up?'
'Oh, why not, fine.'
'Fine.'
'Release me'
No one was there. No cameras, phone call, no one but him and nothing to talk into that was in use. Still, it didn't stop him exasperatedly saying "Oh, fuck you!" rather loudly, as he stood up- wooden sword in hand- and struck the heavy bag, the impact resounding like thunder. He had forgotten how much that other voice mirrored his own propensity to be a smart arse.
'Remember Big Tall Paul?'
*Slam!*
'Remember him climbing that balcony with you?'
'Shut up'.
*Wham!*
Remember what that shotgun blast did to his head from what was it, twenty-odd, maybe thirty feet?'
A flurry of hits from the wooden longsword hammered the bag, sounding like gunshots at times.
'You've fought this like a warrior, you deserve credit for that, but why keep fighting me? Use a little more of the old ways, the True Raze, see if it help this new one you like so much. But if it doesn't...'
He'd had enough. Dropping the weapon, he grabs the water bottle and storms out of the room, heading down the long, hall to his room. The medication would help. As he looked through the drawer, he happened to glance up at the clock. He'd gone a good amount of the day, having missed the morning dose, as well as the one for the previous night. Kicking the bottom of it in frustration, he pops out a couple of pills, tosses the blister pack back in, slams it shut and knocks back the dose. Maybe now, the thoughts would become his own again. It was all fine now, but it did make three things clear, as well as something from his interactions with Rowena and Joshua.
1. Suppressing that part of himself to such an extreme wasn't the best idea.
2. Crane was right.
3. Reasoning doesn't work in 1WM.
4. He had to tear Rowena Byrne apart, make sure she needed help leaving after the match. That way if she retained, he still took a blood debt from her. It'd still be a payment of sorts. Maybe that would be enough for him.
5. If this kind of internal bickering is going on, it was a clear indicator he needed a new solution. If that meant using opponents to do that... fuck 'em. It was time to set the nice part away and let the vicious side back out.
He went back to his training room. He'd practice his swordsmanship, any one of the three schools he had learned and if he got his hands on a kendo stick or, in a pinch, a baseball bat, he'd show what he could do with it. It worked for him in hardcore matches of the past and it could serve him well again. His opponent was a deathmatch lover, whose father was a deathmatch legend. She'd be tough and well in her element, but so was he. She'd be faster than him, but that was nothing new, nothing he hasn't accounted for before, even in his match against Rebecca McKenzie.
Picking up the sword, he thought about the alternative choices he'd have, like kendo sticks and pipes. He thought about the time he used a baseball bat as a sword, disarming opponents and counterattacking with a finesse no one had expected.
'Despair' flashed in his mind. Just that one word.
'What?'
'Bring Despair out of retirement. He can help. You think no one's taking this chance to come at you?'
'I don't care'.
'Bring Despair'.
'No. He stays retired'.
A few more strikes, bolstered by solid footwork. Deliberate, careful stepping. Sure footing, some call it. Just as important as striking or partying, vital during feints and ripostes. Discipline and focus. Years of practice and training, even while training to get in the wrestling business. He was counting on people who didn't know him personally, to forget that particular piece of information. For all he knew, even some who do know him might forget, though Eva, Leon, and Munin wouldn't. Samson probably had by now.
Focusing on his footwork and technique helped a little as he waited for the medication to kick in. His plan wasn't complex, but in these matches, it never needs to be. No plan survives contact with the enemy anyway. If he had the chance, he'd use whatever suitable weapon could be used to remind people he brought more to the table than just grab weapon, swing weapon. He'd bring his hardcore roots. He'd bring his wrestling. He'd bring his strength. He'd bring his myriad striking options. He'd bring what he spent all those years building. He'd bring his two greatest strengths on top of it all; the toughness and adaptability he had established throughout his career before, during, and after GZW, the company in which he became world famous. And infamous. It was time to be more like he was and fuse it with who he is now and use that to find his way forward.
It was time to accept the risk inherent in loosening his grip on the leash. He would walk in prepared, fight like his opponent was more skilled than himself, and whatever happens in the course of this battle, happens. Fuck it. It was time to trust himself.