Post by "Lady Luck" Fujiko Mine on May 15, 2015 17:32:41 GMT -5
If only.
That’s what Noelle Smith has been banking on for the past month and a half or so.
If only Fujiko’d done this, if only Fujiko hadn’t done that, over and over, ad nauseum.
Her desperation is beginning to show through. She’s taken the title that Mirage has been carrying around, and calling herself the ‘true’ champion.
I imagine Noelle has been doing this most of her life. ‘I would have totally gotten that job if it wasn’t for so and so! Maybe I should take their kinkos uniform and call myself a rightful employee!’
Grow up, Noelle. I like you, and respect you, but for you to to go to the ridiculous lengths that you’ve gone to in your quest to become the Mid-Atlantic Legacy champion?
It’s ridiculous.
I really should have allowed you to challenge me for the title and beaten you before this nonsense got to the point that it has by now. To let this drag on was to let you have some kind of break that led you to this.
But now we are here. You and me, for the Mid-Atlantic Legacy championship in a ladder match.
Believe it or not, Noelle...I’ve been really looking forward to this. Why?
It isn’t enough for me to win the championship. This is the test I’ve truly been looking for.
I won this championship so that I could defend it against people who thought that I would be a pushover. People like you, Noelle...and the people that support you. Seth Lawless, Chandler Scott, and my number one fan, Tony Carmine.
So getting to show that I’m the real deal at the show known as Glory Road will be sweeter than most desserts. Against you, no less, who my doubters were quick to latch onto.
There is no doubt whatsoever that you’re amazingly talented, Noelle. It was a pleasure getting to team with you in defeating MBS, and it got me the chance to see you up close and personal. But you have to remember Noelle, that in this business, almost doesn’t count. And that’s what you got. Even if you've you've committed tocommitted to fact that you won, you still lost. How? because the referee, whose decision is final, said I beat you. It's really that simple when you think about it. You can say that you're the deserving champion until the cows come home, but that doesn't make it so. If that was the case, then sure. You're the champ.
But, it's not. So go ahead and beat me, and then you can say that the wrong that was done to you was righted...but until your name is in the history books, and you are announced to the world as the new Mid-Atlantic Legacy champion?
You're just a pretender, love.
And to be honest, I plan on keeping you that way. Noelle Smith: The almost Mid-Atlantic Legacy champion.
I like the way that rings much, much better.
So, are you okay with repeating your same mistakes, Noelle? By that, I mean...underestimating me. Because I feel like that’s the real reason that you’re upset. Not exactly because I didn’t ‘do the right thing’ or what not. I mean, you’re really buddy buddy with Tony, and everyone knows he does worse than me on a daily basis. You can’t deny it, and neither can he. So you can’t be all that upset over that. I think you’re really just mad because you thought that you had this in the bag. That you got overconfident and thought that you had this match won-
-until you didn’t.
I won’t call into question your training, honey; because it’s clear we’ve been trained by two of the best. But what we do in the ring at the end of the day is on us.
You can try and base your argument on guilt, Noelle...but I’ve made it clear that my goal here is to be the best. Being friends with you doesn’t make me the best. Having the honor of being the first female to hold a singles championship in the history of this amazing company? That’s a step in the right direction.
So say what you want about what I did to win the championship back in Charlotte. The main difference between you and me in that match is I kept going until the bell rung, and you didn’t. You essentially quit. So here’s an if for you: If you’d paid attention, maybe you’d be the champion right now. IF you could have been quicker, maybe you’d be champion right now.
If.
But you weren’t paying attention. You weren’t quicker. I was, on both counts.
There are no excuses coming from me. That’s what she keeps her focus on. She keeps saying that I’m delusional, and that I’m the one whose grip is slipping.
Tell me, Noelle...aren’t you the one making the excuses? Aren’t YOU the one going around calling yourself the true champion, when you didn’t win the match?
That’s not me.
That’s all on you. Same for the tag team match. You focused more on trying to worry if I was going to turn my back on you to see the victory that we had in hand. That’s why I tagged myself in to finish the match. Not because I dislike you, or I wanted the glory, but because you refused to see that I wanted the win badly enough that I wasn’t focused on some sort of slight on you
The same goes for this ladder match.
I picked this match for us to combat in, Noelle; because there will be no excuses to be made for the loser. The winner won’t necessarily be the better wrestler, but they might very well be the smarter one. Because it’s isn’t just about getting a ladder, and getting up it to the title. We always have to be paying attention to what is going on. Where the other is. How close they are in relation to the championship. How loose the belt is hanging. Things like that.
Stuff that Noelle might not pay so much attention to.
You see, Noelle is coming into this a bit blinded. Blinded by jealousy, blinded by anger and hurt. She was hurt by what I did, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. She’s jealous that she wasn’t able to do what I did, in both senses. She wouldn’t have been able to pull the trigger on getting back into the ring on the hopes that the ref didn’t see the elimination, and that she wasn’t the one to be the first female to win singles gold. And she’s blinded by both. So she’s going to focus on beating me.
I’m not focused on beating her. I’m just focused on making sure that I leave Glory Road with the Mid-Atlantic Legacy championship, AND with enough in the tank to win the Gold Rush Rumble. Noelle is going to have to do the same, but she’s not going to be as smart about it as I am.
Bold claim, maybe, but I know it’s true.
I learned how to survive in wrestling from the best. And I’m going to use every single one of those skills to not just win, but survive.
That’s what this show is going to be all about. Survival.
I’ve shown that I can do that. I will show that I can do it again. Not just against Noelle Smith, but against everyone that enters the Gold Rush rumble.
That’s not what this is about right now. This special is just for Noelle.
Make no mistake, Noelle...when the bell rings on our match, I will have both MY Mid-Atlantic Legacy championship, and the one that you thrifted and have been masquerading around as a champion with. You can train with Chandler Scott, Tony Carmine, Kerry Windsor, and whoever else you like. You can warn me, keep making threats, and treating me like an extreme underdog.
That’s just fine with me. I don’t mind it that you have support from the FGA world champion, and the frat daddies. I don’t mind it that you have support from Kerry, and your boyfriend. I don’t even mind that some call you the rightful champion.
In the end, it’s motivation for me. It keeps me driven. I don’t need much to motivate me after your behavior, but I will take as much motivation as possible.
When I beat you and retain my championship, it won’t matter who thought I would be able to win or not. It won’t matter who thought I deserve to win or not. Because when I make it my reality, the only thing you’re going to be doing is telling me that I am the better woman.
So Noelle, I’m really hoping that you have your A game, like I know’ll say you will.
I’m bringing absolutely everything that I have, and taking everything that you’ve got, too; in order to be the one to climb the ladder and outperform you. While you’re focusing on whether or not you were robbed, I’m going to be using every resource I have to beat you. I called for this match so that when it’s over and I win, your excuses will stop. And you will learn that for everything that you said you were going to do, it’s not going to be enough. I’m going to be the one to survive, still the Mid-Atlantic Legacy champion. Not you.
Why? Because you take all of this too much as a personal affront. I didn’t, and don’t cheat because I wanted to screw you over. I don’t do this because I’m not confident in my abilities. You focus far too much on the little picture, and that’s your fatal flaw. You aren’t thinking long term. Maybe that’s the way Kerry taught you. Maybe that’s just how your mind works. I don’t know. But what I do know is that I do this because I need to survive.
You wrestle each match like you’re going to get back up on the horse each time, and like it’s no big deal.
I FIGHT like this match is the last one I will ever get. That’s the real reason why fans, friends, and family support me. I have no quit in my system.
You wanna point at my cheating and say everything is tainted, fine. That’s in your eyes. But from my losses to Johnny Karma and Mia Scott, who did I blame?
Myself. Not once did I make excuses about them. Mia was the better woman that night; because she is an amazing athlete and wanted the win more than me. Karma beat me because I was careless and he was smart enough to see it coming. No excuses.
But I refuse to let someone get the drop on me like that again. Not if I can help it.
So I will do everything in my power to make sure that you don’t. I am okay with you not accepting this, but you’re wrong when you say that I’m desperate for love.
I’m desperate to survive. You are merely okay with whatever comes to you.
I learned a long time ago that the kind of complacency that you show, Noelle...doesn’t work for me. I learned that moaning and crying about what I ‘think’ I deserve isn’t helpful to me. In fact, as you’re about to learn: It makes you look worse.
Despite your best efforts, Noelle...you are the bad girl coming into this. You’ve tried your best to paint me the villain, and all your mud slinging….just has you covered in your own vitriol.
It’s kind of depressing, because you’re trying so hard to point fingers at me, and call foul...and as you try harder, more and more people are watching me.
Me, the one focused on winning this match to survive. The one focused on winning this match not to ‘right a wrong’, or for revenge. I’m focused on winning this match to show everyone who Fujiko Mine really is. A dangerous, entertaining, smart, and capable FIGHTER.
One last request? Don’t be too sore when Lady Luck turns her back on you, sugar.
Maybe next time you’ll learn that she gets what she wants.
<3
<Off Camera>
Fujiko’s bleary eyes opened, taking in the sandy brown visual in front of her. The past twenty four hours had been an absolute whirlwind of stress, anxiety, and fatigue. It all began with the words she was both anticipating and dreading at the same time.
"It is time for you to meet her."
Whether or not Fujiko herself was ready no longer mattered. She would not be allowed to let this moment pass her by. The window of time was far too small, and too rare for her to even contemplate letting this happen any other time. So off she went, Hiro leading the way on the plane from the home she’d had in Milwaukee to Karnataka, India.
Cool wind greeted her as the horse drawn cart slowed up at a village, near the Bhima river. She let her mind focus on the Seere she sported, an unassuming dull orange that helped to mask her, complete with a veil on top. She wasn’t interested in being noticed, not that she would in such a remote village. She was to be there in secret, the same with Hiro. He’s already risked life and limb to get to this point of his journey, and even though the journey neared it’s end, he would not get careless. Fujiko didn’t question the methods he’d used to get them to the small village he’d called ‘Chas.’ All she could focus on was what awaited her.
Hiro thanked the driver with a small pouch and a nod, and then helped Fujiko out of the back of the cart. The discomfort of riding in the barely together cart manifested in stiff limbs and protesting muscles, but she kept a cold face. Hiro instructed that she say nothing, and she found it easy to keep to the rule. The man driving the cart kept stealing glances at her, appearing somewhat lecherous. It gave Fujiko something else to do. Focus on anything but his stare, and try and look as vacant as possible. She called back to her gimmick when she broke into wrestling, that of a brain-dead bimbo. Ironic how she’d done what she could to separate herself from that, but found it coming in handy now.
Hiro showed no affection as the cart gained distance from them, trying not to give any hint of their true intent. Once he was satisfied that anyone that was watching would not notice, he spoke in a low tone.
"I am sorry for the accommodations. Hopefully this will be over smoothly."
Fujiko merely shook her head, dismissing him. There was no ill intent, but at the same time, she’d barely heard him. She was far more focused on the village ahead. By her assumption, the answers she’d been dying to have waiting in it, like a treasure chest she knew she needed, but dreaded looking for. Hiro took the lead, and Fujiko kept her eyes trained on his back. Long gone was the customary blue suits he wore, traded for an off white, slightly dirty shirt and similar fabric for the pants. Brown sandals in place of his shiny black dress shoes. It looked as if he was coming into the village to offer his beautiful daughter to one of the men here.
That was the cover, at least.
She followed obediently behind him, and he silently scanned the village ahead. He memorized the information he was given by Kiel Jeeves, not trusting himself or anyone around (even Fujiko) to have it in a form that could be traced. A few members were going about their dailies, with one or so giving him a glance before deciding he wasn’t interesting enough to watch. He kept his glance forward, trying to not appear as if he was waiting for something to happen.
He spent years learning how to blend in, no matter where he was. No matter how good he’d become at it, he would never get rid of the creeping feeling that he was one step away from blowing it.
"There it is." He said simply, as if he was cautioning her to watch her step. She turned her view towards the ground, but kept moving forward. Hiro squinted, seeing the door to the shack was slightly ajar. A blind wave of his hand caught Fujiko’s attention, and she stopped in place. She would only watch as Hiro pressed his feet into the steps leading up to the door. Reaching there, she saw him scratch at his rib cage.
She knew his guns were still on him. In his holsters sat two plastic pistols that he had made just for emergencies. Hiro knew that they would only fire the rubber bullets that would make it through customs, and thus meant he was likely not going to win a firefight. But it could present him with the avenue for escape he needed.
"Please...be careful," She said unconsciously; cursing herself for speaking up. Horrific scenarios flashed over her eyes, forcing the words out. Hiro did not react, instead casually peering inside. He sat for a moment, before turning his back to the door and motioning her ahead. Fear froze her limbs for a short moment, before she forced her legs in motion and up the stairs.
"No more mistakes, Fujiko-chan." He said under his breath as she passed him and entered the shack.
In front of her was not what she expected. She expected to see a small, low quality home to roll out in front of her, with the woman who was meant to be her mother waiting inside. What she saw was some furniture in disrepair, but nothing pathetic. A worn in wicker patio loveseat sat in the middle of the room, with a handmade rudimentary table not far behind it. An old stove, a makeshift countertop, and a door that led to what she assumed were other rooms. A stripped, worn rug. A rusted wash tub and damp washboard. A ten speed bicycle. That was more or less all that furnished the home.
At the stove stood a figure in a burqa. They did not move, even as Hiro shut the door behind them and turned the lock.
The only sound in the room was the bubbling of the pot on the stove, and the heavy thudding of Fujiko’s heart. This kept on for a what seemed like an eternity until the figure turned towards them, and Fujiko saw them.
Those creamy brown eyes that she’d seen in the mirror every time she looked. Her breath abandoned her. Her cheeks flushed, and she felt saline press from her tear ducts. She was suffocating and paralyzed in a room full of breathable air.
"Marcia," Hiro did not stray from Fujiko’s side as he said this. "It is time."
The woman’s response merely was to turn down the burner on the stove and turn fully towards her two guests.
"I brought her, as I said I would." Fujiko still was trying to survive as wave of wave of anger, sadness, and helpless washed over her in tandem. It doubled when the woman spoke, the first words she’d ever heard her mother say.
"I never thought this day would actually come. Part of me thought she might be dead."
She seemed to let the weariness convey what her face could not, at least until she reached back and pulled the covering from her head.Streaks of dull brown peered out between her mostly grey hair, and Fujiko saw her face for the very first time.
It was the invitation she needed to lose all rational thought and control of her legs at the same time. She slumped to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. A small part of her suspected it would hit her hard, but not like this. Marcia, for her part, seemed only slightly better put together.
"What name have you given her?"
"She is called Fujiko."
Marcia let the name swirl in her head, taking it in and recalling the time in her time that she was present with the girl last.
"I remember her as Katharine."
Hiro mused internally. He’d given her a variation of that very name as her middle name, but wasn’t about to explore it now. It wasn’t for now. Now was for Fujiko to get what she’d came for.
"You may have to adjust to what she is called now. From my experience, that name was lost when you left her."
Marcia set her head covering on the handmade table, and took his comment in stride. She couldn’t be defensive. He was technically correct, and she couldn’t be selfish in her defense.
"I see. I can try that."
Fujiko forced herself to stop the sadness that came out of her, and bring her head to a place where she could speak. She could have time for that later. She was operating on borrowed time, and at any moment could have her opportunity taken away. Bringing back the veil that covered her face, she looked at her mother with unobstructed eyes. They connected for a few moments, before Fujiko could only say the word that sat on her tongue ever since she was first presented with the potential to ask.
"Why. Tell me why."
Marcia knew it was coming. She had to. She remembered the day, as cliche as it was, like it was yesterday. She remembered every single detail of the day, and had a daily reminder of it for decades now. The regret was a noose around her neck, threatening to hang her, but never fully pushing the chair out from underneath her.
"I wish it was that simple, Katharine…" Hiro shot her a look, but Fujiko was undeterred.
"Why. Why. You tell me why. I want to know….I WANT TO KNOW WHY." She hissed, anger in full control of her tongue. "Why you left me with NOTHING...like garbage you couldn’t be bothered to deal with anymore...WHY."
"It really is not that sim-" She couldn’t finish the sentence, with the quick movements of her daughter. Fujiko had, in the span of the half sentence, gone from a hissing pile of emotion on the floor to an enraged woman with her hands clasped tightly around the neck of her mother. She’d given up a sense of control, screams flowing from her mouth."[/Font]
"YOU LEFT ME FOR DEAD! YOU. LEFT. ME. TO. DIE. A LITTLE GIRL WITH NOTHING! AND YOU DID THIS! YOU. WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WH-"
She could feel her thumbs pressing into the windpipe of her mother, instinct she’d learned from the man who was doing his best to pull her away. Hiro succeeded in removing Fujiko and shutting her up with a hand over her mouth, but only barely. Marcia sputtered, grateful for breath making the full path from the outside to her lungs again. She predictably placed her hands on her throat, and turned away from her attacker.
"Ka--Katharine, please…"Fujiko reached at her, trying to finish what she’d started, before sense caught up to her and forced her hands down. She faded from resisting Hiro’s grasp around her and began to cry again.
"Just...just tell me w-why. Please."
There was a moment as both mother and daughter faced each other, tears with similar DNA in them rolling down cheeks. Hiro, feeling guilt himself, let go of Fujiko but made sure to stand between them, should more violence occur. The tension sat between them for a few precious moments before Marcia bowed her head and spoke.
"There is nothing I can say that will grant me forgiveness from you, I think. But you must believe me when I tell you that I was offered no choice. As a girl who was trapped as a…"
The explanation seems caught in her throat, but she presses on.
"..whore for the Yakuza, I was...beginning to outgrow my usefulness when I became pregnant. I wasn’t allowed to have you in an actual hospital. Instead, I had you in some..back alley ‘doctor’s office’, overwatched by their best doctor." Marcia’s words began to drip with hatred and contempt. Not for her daughter, but for what she endured.
"I begged and pleaded to keep you, and at first, I was allowed to. But as you grew, the more we were seen as a liability. I had to resort to theft to make sure you were fed, and clothed. I had to teach you myself. They weren’t about to spend money they were making on the whore and her child. So not long after you turned five...I overheard a conversation about getting rid of a useless rag and her brat. I didn’t need to stay to find out. I gathered you and what little things I could and ran."
The anger in her voice began to fade, and be replaced with sadness.
"I thought I could get out of the city and maybe to another part of Japan with you, but I had to stop for sleep. I’d been running for days at that point, and had barely slept. I made the mistake of trying to sleep in an abandoned building. When I woke, you were hiding where I told you to, but I heard voices I knew as familiar. I didn’t have a chance to grab you and run, so I hoped I could lead them away. It took me a few days to circle back...and when I had...the building we were in was levelled."
Tears follow pre made paths down her cheeks as she relives the memory of seeing the rubble where she’d last left her child.
"I searched for hours through the rubble, hoping that some how, God had kept you safe for me to come back to you. But I didn’t find you."
There is another silence between them as Fujiko does her best to process this information and Marcia does her best to survive the re-telling. Hiro stays quiet, but the muffled sound of something catches his attention. He perks his ears slightly, trying to hear exactly what it could be.
"After a few days, I had to give up. I was running myself sick looking. I tried sleeping under the rubble nearby, hoping that maybe you’d cry out, or something...but…"
Marcia trails off, wiping tears out of her eyes. Fujiko feels a tug of empathy and feels compelled to step towards her.
Gone were any thoughts about the life that waited for her back in America. She’d forgotten about her anxiety over proving herself against Noelle Smith and the majority of the FGA roster in the gold rush rumble. In the moment, gone was Fujiko Mine the professional wrestler. Gone was the fighter that she’d built herself to be. Here, she was just a sad little girl having the complete displeasure of watching her mother cry. She took another step in, unnoticed by either of the other two.
Taking a deep breath, she gathered up the courage to bring her arms up and embrace her mother.
"GET DOWN!"
She felt the shock of Hiro crashing into her back, and then heard the sound of glass crashing. She had almost no time to process what happened before a bright flash filled the room, followed by the sound of gunfire.
That’s what Noelle Smith has been banking on for the past month and a half or so.
If only Fujiko’d done this, if only Fujiko hadn’t done that, over and over, ad nauseum.
Her desperation is beginning to show through. She’s taken the title that Mirage has been carrying around, and calling herself the ‘true’ champion.
I imagine Noelle has been doing this most of her life. ‘I would have totally gotten that job if it wasn’t for so and so! Maybe I should take their kinkos uniform and call myself a rightful employee!’
Grow up, Noelle. I like you, and respect you, but for you to to go to the ridiculous lengths that you’ve gone to in your quest to become the Mid-Atlantic Legacy champion?
It’s ridiculous.
I really should have allowed you to challenge me for the title and beaten you before this nonsense got to the point that it has by now. To let this drag on was to let you have some kind of break that led you to this.
But now we are here. You and me, for the Mid-Atlantic Legacy championship in a ladder match.
Believe it or not, Noelle...I’ve been really looking forward to this. Why?
It isn’t enough for me to win the championship. This is the test I’ve truly been looking for.
I won this championship so that I could defend it against people who thought that I would be a pushover. People like you, Noelle...and the people that support you. Seth Lawless, Chandler Scott, and my number one fan, Tony Carmine.
So getting to show that I’m the real deal at the show known as Glory Road will be sweeter than most desserts. Against you, no less, who my doubters were quick to latch onto.
There is no doubt whatsoever that you’re amazingly talented, Noelle. It was a pleasure getting to team with you in defeating MBS, and it got me the chance to see you up close and personal. But you have to remember Noelle, that in this business, almost doesn’t count. And that’s what you got. Even if you've you've committed tocommitted to fact that you won, you still lost. How? because the referee, whose decision is final, said I beat you. It's really that simple when you think about it. You can say that you're the deserving champion until the cows come home, but that doesn't make it so. If that was the case, then sure. You're the champ.
But, it's not. So go ahead and beat me, and then you can say that the wrong that was done to you was righted...but until your name is in the history books, and you are announced to the world as the new Mid-Atlantic Legacy champion?
You're just a pretender, love.
And to be honest, I plan on keeping you that way. Noelle Smith: The almost Mid-Atlantic Legacy champion.
I like the way that rings much, much better.
So, are you okay with repeating your same mistakes, Noelle? By that, I mean...underestimating me. Because I feel like that’s the real reason that you’re upset. Not exactly because I didn’t ‘do the right thing’ or what not. I mean, you’re really buddy buddy with Tony, and everyone knows he does worse than me on a daily basis. You can’t deny it, and neither can he. So you can’t be all that upset over that. I think you’re really just mad because you thought that you had this in the bag. That you got overconfident and thought that you had this match won-
-until you didn’t.
I won’t call into question your training, honey; because it’s clear we’ve been trained by two of the best. But what we do in the ring at the end of the day is on us.
You can try and base your argument on guilt, Noelle...but I’ve made it clear that my goal here is to be the best. Being friends with you doesn’t make me the best. Having the honor of being the first female to hold a singles championship in the history of this amazing company? That’s a step in the right direction.
So say what you want about what I did to win the championship back in Charlotte. The main difference between you and me in that match is I kept going until the bell rung, and you didn’t. You essentially quit. So here’s an if for you: If you’d paid attention, maybe you’d be the champion right now. IF you could have been quicker, maybe you’d be champion right now.
If.
But you weren’t paying attention. You weren’t quicker. I was, on both counts.
There are no excuses coming from me. That’s what she keeps her focus on. She keeps saying that I’m delusional, and that I’m the one whose grip is slipping.
Tell me, Noelle...aren’t you the one making the excuses? Aren’t YOU the one going around calling yourself the true champion, when you didn’t win the match?
That’s not me.
That’s all on you. Same for the tag team match. You focused more on trying to worry if I was going to turn my back on you to see the victory that we had in hand. That’s why I tagged myself in to finish the match. Not because I dislike you, or I wanted the glory, but because you refused to see that I wanted the win badly enough that I wasn’t focused on some sort of slight on you
The same goes for this ladder match.
I picked this match for us to combat in, Noelle; because there will be no excuses to be made for the loser. The winner won’t necessarily be the better wrestler, but they might very well be the smarter one. Because it’s isn’t just about getting a ladder, and getting up it to the title. We always have to be paying attention to what is going on. Where the other is. How close they are in relation to the championship. How loose the belt is hanging. Things like that.
Stuff that Noelle might not pay so much attention to.
You see, Noelle is coming into this a bit blinded. Blinded by jealousy, blinded by anger and hurt. She was hurt by what I did, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. She’s jealous that she wasn’t able to do what I did, in both senses. She wouldn’t have been able to pull the trigger on getting back into the ring on the hopes that the ref didn’t see the elimination, and that she wasn’t the one to be the first female to win singles gold. And she’s blinded by both. So she’s going to focus on beating me.
I’m not focused on beating her. I’m just focused on making sure that I leave Glory Road with the Mid-Atlantic Legacy championship, AND with enough in the tank to win the Gold Rush Rumble. Noelle is going to have to do the same, but she’s not going to be as smart about it as I am.
Bold claim, maybe, but I know it’s true.
I learned how to survive in wrestling from the best. And I’m going to use every single one of those skills to not just win, but survive.
That’s what this show is going to be all about. Survival.
I’ve shown that I can do that. I will show that I can do it again. Not just against Noelle Smith, but against everyone that enters the Gold Rush rumble.
That’s not what this is about right now. This special is just for Noelle.
Make no mistake, Noelle...when the bell rings on our match, I will have both MY Mid-Atlantic Legacy championship, and the one that you thrifted and have been masquerading around as a champion with. You can train with Chandler Scott, Tony Carmine, Kerry Windsor, and whoever else you like. You can warn me, keep making threats, and treating me like an extreme underdog.
That’s just fine with me. I don’t mind it that you have support from the FGA world champion, and the frat daddies. I don’t mind it that you have support from Kerry, and your boyfriend. I don’t even mind that some call you the rightful champion.
In the end, it’s motivation for me. It keeps me driven. I don’t need much to motivate me after your behavior, but I will take as much motivation as possible.
When I beat you and retain my championship, it won’t matter who thought I would be able to win or not. It won’t matter who thought I deserve to win or not. Because when I make it my reality, the only thing you’re going to be doing is telling me that I am the better woman.
So Noelle, I’m really hoping that you have your A game, like I know’ll say you will.
I’m bringing absolutely everything that I have, and taking everything that you’ve got, too; in order to be the one to climb the ladder and outperform you. While you’re focusing on whether or not you were robbed, I’m going to be using every resource I have to beat you. I called for this match so that when it’s over and I win, your excuses will stop. And you will learn that for everything that you said you were going to do, it’s not going to be enough. I’m going to be the one to survive, still the Mid-Atlantic Legacy champion. Not you.
Why? Because you take all of this too much as a personal affront. I didn’t, and don’t cheat because I wanted to screw you over. I don’t do this because I’m not confident in my abilities. You focus far too much on the little picture, and that’s your fatal flaw. You aren’t thinking long term. Maybe that’s the way Kerry taught you. Maybe that’s just how your mind works. I don’t know. But what I do know is that I do this because I need to survive.
You wrestle each match like you’re going to get back up on the horse each time, and like it’s no big deal.
I FIGHT like this match is the last one I will ever get. That’s the real reason why fans, friends, and family support me. I have no quit in my system.
You wanna point at my cheating and say everything is tainted, fine. That’s in your eyes. But from my losses to Johnny Karma and Mia Scott, who did I blame?
Myself. Not once did I make excuses about them. Mia was the better woman that night; because she is an amazing athlete and wanted the win more than me. Karma beat me because I was careless and he was smart enough to see it coming. No excuses.
But I refuse to let someone get the drop on me like that again. Not if I can help it.
So I will do everything in my power to make sure that you don’t. I am okay with you not accepting this, but you’re wrong when you say that I’m desperate for love.
I’m desperate to survive. You are merely okay with whatever comes to you.
I learned a long time ago that the kind of complacency that you show, Noelle...doesn’t work for me. I learned that moaning and crying about what I ‘think’ I deserve isn’t helpful to me. In fact, as you’re about to learn: It makes you look worse.
Despite your best efforts, Noelle...you are the bad girl coming into this. You’ve tried your best to paint me the villain, and all your mud slinging….just has you covered in your own vitriol.
It’s kind of depressing, because you’re trying so hard to point fingers at me, and call foul...and as you try harder, more and more people are watching me.
Me, the one focused on winning this match to survive. The one focused on winning this match not to ‘right a wrong’, or for revenge. I’m focused on winning this match to show everyone who Fujiko Mine really is. A dangerous, entertaining, smart, and capable FIGHTER.
One last request? Don’t be too sore when Lady Luck turns her back on you, sugar.
Maybe next time you’ll learn that she gets what she wants.
<3
<Off Camera>
Fujiko’s bleary eyes opened, taking in the sandy brown visual in front of her. The past twenty four hours had been an absolute whirlwind of stress, anxiety, and fatigue. It all began with the words she was both anticipating and dreading at the same time.
"It is time for you to meet her."
Whether or not Fujiko herself was ready no longer mattered. She would not be allowed to let this moment pass her by. The window of time was far too small, and too rare for her to even contemplate letting this happen any other time. So off she went, Hiro leading the way on the plane from the home she’d had in Milwaukee to Karnataka, India.
Cool wind greeted her as the horse drawn cart slowed up at a village, near the Bhima river. She let her mind focus on the Seere she sported, an unassuming dull orange that helped to mask her, complete with a veil on top. She wasn’t interested in being noticed, not that she would in such a remote village. She was to be there in secret, the same with Hiro. He’s already risked life and limb to get to this point of his journey, and even though the journey neared it’s end, he would not get careless. Fujiko didn’t question the methods he’d used to get them to the small village he’d called ‘Chas.’ All she could focus on was what awaited her.
Hiro thanked the driver with a small pouch and a nod, and then helped Fujiko out of the back of the cart. The discomfort of riding in the barely together cart manifested in stiff limbs and protesting muscles, but she kept a cold face. Hiro instructed that she say nothing, and she found it easy to keep to the rule. The man driving the cart kept stealing glances at her, appearing somewhat lecherous. It gave Fujiko something else to do. Focus on anything but his stare, and try and look as vacant as possible. She called back to her gimmick when she broke into wrestling, that of a brain-dead bimbo. Ironic how she’d done what she could to separate herself from that, but found it coming in handy now.
Hiro showed no affection as the cart gained distance from them, trying not to give any hint of their true intent. Once he was satisfied that anyone that was watching would not notice, he spoke in a low tone.
"I am sorry for the accommodations. Hopefully this will be over smoothly."
Fujiko merely shook her head, dismissing him. There was no ill intent, but at the same time, she’d barely heard him. She was far more focused on the village ahead. By her assumption, the answers she’d been dying to have waiting in it, like a treasure chest she knew she needed, but dreaded looking for. Hiro took the lead, and Fujiko kept her eyes trained on his back. Long gone was the customary blue suits he wore, traded for an off white, slightly dirty shirt and similar fabric for the pants. Brown sandals in place of his shiny black dress shoes. It looked as if he was coming into the village to offer his beautiful daughter to one of the men here.
That was the cover, at least.
She followed obediently behind him, and he silently scanned the village ahead. He memorized the information he was given by Kiel Jeeves, not trusting himself or anyone around (even Fujiko) to have it in a form that could be traced. A few members were going about their dailies, with one or so giving him a glance before deciding he wasn’t interesting enough to watch. He kept his glance forward, trying to not appear as if he was waiting for something to happen.
He spent years learning how to blend in, no matter where he was. No matter how good he’d become at it, he would never get rid of the creeping feeling that he was one step away from blowing it.
"There it is." He said simply, as if he was cautioning her to watch her step. She turned her view towards the ground, but kept moving forward. Hiro squinted, seeing the door to the shack was slightly ajar. A blind wave of his hand caught Fujiko’s attention, and she stopped in place. She would only watch as Hiro pressed his feet into the steps leading up to the door. Reaching there, she saw him scratch at his rib cage.
She knew his guns were still on him. In his holsters sat two plastic pistols that he had made just for emergencies. Hiro knew that they would only fire the rubber bullets that would make it through customs, and thus meant he was likely not going to win a firefight. But it could present him with the avenue for escape he needed.
"Please...be careful," She said unconsciously; cursing herself for speaking up. Horrific scenarios flashed over her eyes, forcing the words out. Hiro did not react, instead casually peering inside. He sat for a moment, before turning his back to the door and motioning her ahead. Fear froze her limbs for a short moment, before she forced her legs in motion and up the stairs.
"No more mistakes, Fujiko-chan." He said under his breath as she passed him and entered the shack.
In front of her was not what she expected. She expected to see a small, low quality home to roll out in front of her, with the woman who was meant to be her mother waiting inside. What she saw was some furniture in disrepair, but nothing pathetic. A worn in wicker patio loveseat sat in the middle of the room, with a handmade rudimentary table not far behind it. An old stove, a makeshift countertop, and a door that led to what she assumed were other rooms. A stripped, worn rug. A rusted wash tub and damp washboard. A ten speed bicycle. That was more or less all that furnished the home.
At the stove stood a figure in a burqa. They did not move, even as Hiro shut the door behind them and turned the lock.
The only sound in the room was the bubbling of the pot on the stove, and the heavy thudding of Fujiko’s heart. This kept on for a what seemed like an eternity until the figure turned towards them, and Fujiko saw them.
Those creamy brown eyes that she’d seen in the mirror every time she looked. Her breath abandoned her. Her cheeks flushed, and she felt saline press from her tear ducts. She was suffocating and paralyzed in a room full of breathable air.
"Marcia," Hiro did not stray from Fujiko’s side as he said this. "It is time."
The woman’s response merely was to turn down the burner on the stove and turn fully towards her two guests.
"I brought her, as I said I would." Fujiko still was trying to survive as wave of wave of anger, sadness, and helpless washed over her in tandem. It doubled when the woman spoke, the first words she’d ever heard her mother say.
"I never thought this day would actually come. Part of me thought she might be dead."
She seemed to let the weariness convey what her face could not, at least until she reached back and pulled the covering from her head.Streaks of dull brown peered out between her mostly grey hair, and Fujiko saw her face for the very first time.
It was the invitation she needed to lose all rational thought and control of her legs at the same time. She slumped to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. A small part of her suspected it would hit her hard, but not like this. Marcia, for her part, seemed only slightly better put together.
"What name have you given her?"
"She is called Fujiko."
Marcia let the name swirl in her head, taking it in and recalling the time in her time that she was present with the girl last.
"I remember her as Katharine."
Hiro mused internally. He’d given her a variation of that very name as her middle name, but wasn’t about to explore it now. It wasn’t for now. Now was for Fujiko to get what she’d came for.
"You may have to adjust to what she is called now. From my experience, that name was lost when you left her."
Marcia set her head covering on the handmade table, and took his comment in stride. She couldn’t be defensive. He was technically correct, and she couldn’t be selfish in her defense.
"I see. I can try that."
Fujiko forced herself to stop the sadness that came out of her, and bring her head to a place where she could speak. She could have time for that later. She was operating on borrowed time, and at any moment could have her opportunity taken away. Bringing back the veil that covered her face, she looked at her mother with unobstructed eyes. They connected for a few moments, before Fujiko could only say the word that sat on her tongue ever since she was first presented with the potential to ask.
"Why. Tell me why."
Marcia knew it was coming. She had to. She remembered the day, as cliche as it was, like it was yesterday. She remembered every single detail of the day, and had a daily reminder of it for decades now. The regret was a noose around her neck, threatening to hang her, but never fully pushing the chair out from underneath her.
"I wish it was that simple, Katharine…" Hiro shot her a look, but Fujiko was undeterred.
"Why. Why. You tell me why. I want to know….I WANT TO KNOW WHY." She hissed, anger in full control of her tongue. "Why you left me with NOTHING...like garbage you couldn’t be bothered to deal with anymore...WHY."
"It really is not that sim-" She couldn’t finish the sentence, with the quick movements of her daughter. Fujiko had, in the span of the half sentence, gone from a hissing pile of emotion on the floor to an enraged woman with her hands clasped tightly around the neck of her mother. She’d given up a sense of control, screams flowing from her mouth."[/Font]
"YOU LEFT ME FOR DEAD! YOU. LEFT. ME. TO. DIE. A LITTLE GIRL WITH NOTHING! AND YOU DID THIS! YOU. WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WH-"
She could feel her thumbs pressing into the windpipe of her mother, instinct she’d learned from the man who was doing his best to pull her away. Hiro succeeded in removing Fujiko and shutting her up with a hand over her mouth, but only barely. Marcia sputtered, grateful for breath making the full path from the outside to her lungs again. She predictably placed her hands on her throat, and turned away from her attacker.
"Ka--Katharine, please…"Fujiko reached at her, trying to finish what she’d started, before sense caught up to her and forced her hands down. She faded from resisting Hiro’s grasp around her and began to cry again.
"Just...just tell me w-why. Please."
There was a moment as both mother and daughter faced each other, tears with similar DNA in them rolling down cheeks. Hiro, feeling guilt himself, let go of Fujiko but made sure to stand between them, should more violence occur. The tension sat between them for a few precious moments before Marcia bowed her head and spoke.
"There is nothing I can say that will grant me forgiveness from you, I think. But you must believe me when I tell you that I was offered no choice. As a girl who was trapped as a…"
The explanation seems caught in her throat, but she presses on.
"..whore for the Yakuza, I was...beginning to outgrow my usefulness when I became pregnant. I wasn’t allowed to have you in an actual hospital. Instead, I had you in some..back alley ‘doctor’s office’, overwatched by their best doctor." Marcia’s words began to drip with hatred and contempt. Not for her daughter, but for what she endured.
"I begged and pleaded to keep you, and at first, I was allowed to. But as you grew, the more we were seen as a liability. I had to resort to theft to make sure you were fed, and clothed. I had to teach you myself. They weren’t about to spend money they were making on the whore and her child. So not long after you turned five...I overheard a conversation about getting rid of a useless rag and her brat. I didn’t need to stay to find out. I gathered you and what little things I could and ran."
The anger in her voice began to fade, and be replaced with sadness.
"I thought I could get out of the city and maybe to another part of Japan with you, but I had to stop for sleep. I’d been running for days at that point, and had barely slept. I made the mistake of trying to sleep in an abandoned building. When I woke, you were hiding where I told you to, but I heard voices I knew as familiar. I didn’t have a chance to grab you and run, so I hoped I could lead them away. It took me a few days to circle back...and when I had...the building we were in was levelled."
Tears follow pre made paths down her cheeks as she relives the memory of seeing the rubble where she’d last left her child.
"I searched for hours through the rubble, hoping that some how, God had kept you safe for me to come back to you. But I didn’t find you."
There is another silence between them as Fujiko does her best to process this information and Marcia does her best to survive the re-telling. Hiro stays quiet, but the muffled sound of something catches his attention. He perks his ears slightly, trying to hear exactly what it could be.
"After a few days, I had to give up. I was running myself sick looking. I tried sleeping under the rubble nearby, hoping that maybe you’d cry out, or something...but…"
Marcia trails off, wiping tears out of her eyes. Fujiko feels a tug of empathy and feels compelled to step towards her.
Gone were any thoughts about the life that waited for her back in America. She’d forgotten about her anxiety over proving herself against Noelle Smith and the majority of the FGA roster in the gold rush rumble. In the moment, gone was Fujiko Mine the professional wrestler. Gone was the fighter that she’d built herself to be. Here, she was just a sad little girl having the complete displeasure of watching her mother cry. She took another step in, unnoticed by either of the other two.
Taking a deep breath, she gathered up the courage to bring her arms up and embrace her mother.
"GET DOWN!"
She felt the shock of Hiro crashing into her back, and then heard the sound of glass crashing. She had almost no time to process what happened before a bright flash filled the room, followed by the sound of gunfire.