Trip To Devil's Castle

“I know you don't like the idea, but I have my reasons for it.”

I keep my voice level, earbuds in while my phone sat on the nightstand belonging to Angel Quinley. Plopping down on the bed also belonging to her, my right leg crosses over the left as I sink ever so gently into the mattress. Buzzing with concern on the other end of the call was my close friend, one Kohime Mori. Her voice, her tone… I know it's best if I just shut up and let her vent her distress. But my decision won't be altered. This is gonna happen… It's gotta happen, whether she approves or not.

“Look. ‘Hime… I get your concern. Yeah, she's probably gonna hurt me. That's the point. Something needs to change.”

So what's sweet Kohime upset about, one might ask? Is it the housing situation? No. Earlier in our talk, we cleared the air. Fact is, close as we are, our lives are going in different directions. Her and Nate are serious. Angel and I are getting there. So no biggie. We agreed we'd find the time to give our friendship the attention it deserves, no matter the distance. So what's the problem?

RAIKO.

Why were we talking about RAIKO? Like I said, something needs to change. Been doing a lot of thinking, not an unusual activity for me. My postulation led me to a simple conclusion; I am a fraud. Now, before those douchebags that hate me start clapping like mentally deficient seals while squawking “I knew it!”, allow me to explain. When I say that, I mean I'm a fraud for what I've tried to be rather than being what I am.

I looked at people like Anna Daniels, Justine Calvin and Lindsay Troy and wanted to be like them. Makes sense, I'd say. Some girls had Karina Wolfenden. I had these women. Now I ain't blaming them for my predicament. That ain't anybody's fault but my own. Between that, seeing so many other great wrestlers between SHOOT Project and PRIME, both men and women. I tried to be something I'm not. I'm not a bad technical wrestler. I'm not a bad high flyer. But the fact is I'm a brawler by default. In all honesty, that doesn't even cover it. I'm a deathmatch wrestler. I can go ahead and put whatever coat of paint on that I want, it's the truth. High flying and technical wrestling are compliments, not the base.

I did my best to run from it. I tried to be Cecilworth, Dawkins, FLAMBERGE… Tried to trade violence for victory. Blood for technique. And doing so dulled my natural skill. Believe it or not, there's an art to being a deathmatch wrestler, at least as far as being successful at it. Controlled rage. Mixing strategy with sadisticness. The idiots that just smack each other with weapons? They're the dregs. They're the dollar store paper plates you buy to save a few bucks when you're having a large gathering. No skill, no brains. I might not be fine china, but I ain't shitty styrofoam.

I know I'm better than those unrefined slobs. I know I'm better than this. And I'm honestly disgusted with myself for letting other people drag me down. Why the fuck should I give a shit what they say? Why should I allow the opinions of people that either don't care or don't understand me dictate my actions? Silence finally finds its way onto the end of the call. Time to plead my case a bit more.

“I need this, Kohime. I'm trying to keep my head above water and I just found a log to latch onto. It may or may not carry me far, but I'm at least getting air in my lungs. I can still fight.”

That right there. That's why I need to meet with RAIKO. I know how to fight, but there's things I need to remember. And I'm not sure there's a better potential door woman to my past than her.

This… is gonna suck. I love Angel. I tell her that multiple times a day. Enough so that I sometimes worry if it might be too much. I don't want those words to be just words, ya know? I mean it every time I say it. I do my best for her as she does for me. I know it hasn't been easy being my girlfriend. Angel got the tough assignment. Chad, Sid, things never got serious or deep enough for them to see the sides of me Angel has. She gets my best, but she's had to see my worst too.

Let me assure you, she's done everything she can for my benefit. She's been lovey when needed, tough when I'm whiny, goofy when I need the pickup… Angel isn't perfect. I don't want or need perfection, I just need her. At the same time, I worry if I'm piling onto a plate so full it'll spill. She's going through her own shit. I try to be what she needs when she needs it. Let me make this clear; I'm not bitching right now. This is just how I am. I ask myself at least once a day if I'm enough for her, if I'm who she needs. That ain't on Angel, that's deep rooted problems on my end.

The chaotic ballet in my head settles ever so slightly as we snuggle up on the couch. I love these little moments with her, a small escape for us from the cruelty of the outside world. That's why I'm hesitant to start this conversation. It needs to happen, but fuck… This serenity, I don't wanna ruin it. Ain't no choice though. Better to rip off the bandaid now than to let things fester underneath.

“Hey, Angel Face?”

Dried drool licked the corner of Angel’s lip, her crusted eyes fighting to fully open. Her bleating call gives away just how deep in REM she’d been.

“... Mmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeehhhh...”

I hate having to disturb her when we're both so comfortable. We don't tend to get a lot of moments like this. Peace, of mind and body. I poke her forehead. Not too rough, but I need to have this conversation.

“Hey! We need to talk!”

Resistance.

“... Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep...”

Okay… Love her as I do, I am getting a bit annoyed. Like, bitch, I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't a big deal!

“Angelica. Marie. Quinley. I will strangle you until you turn bluer than your hair streaks!”

Okay, that might've been a bit harsh. A groan. Heels smashing into the couch. She flops over, the throw blanket drawn over her head, her eyes staring out from the subtle opening.

“... Whaaaaaaaaat?”

Bout fuckin' time.

“I'm being serious! Look… I'm probably gonna take some time in Japan.”

Brief stillness. I think the point got across now. Truth bullets can be as effective as regular bullets sometimes. Don't test that. Or do, I'm not your goddamn mother.

“...Wait... What?”

Pushing the blanket off her face, she slowly shuffled herself upward, crossing her legs.

“What you mean going to Japan?”

A sigh. Well I have her attention now. Guess I should keep this train rolling while the momentum's there…

“I… I lost my edge. My killer instinct. Something! Something's not right with me. And I figure I could head over there and try to find it. Reconnect to my past. I think RAIKO can help me.”

Will that convince Angel? No idea. But I'm being honest, if nothing else. Maybe she won't care? Maybe she gets pissed? I'm not breathing. Stupid nerves. Won't be able to until she says something. Suddenly, she wasn’t messing about with being overly tired.

“So... Like... How long you going over there for? A week? Months? What we talking here?”

I shrug. I said I'm being truthful. Might as well keep that going.

“I don't even know if she's gonna agree to help me, honestly. But I figure it's more respectful to ask in person. But this won't be like last time. If I'm not there or in a PRIME ring, I'm with you. Okay? You have my word.”

Not sure that'll assuage her anxiety. Angel might not call the emotion that, but I hear it in her voice. You pick that kinda stuff up after you've been with someone awhile.

“Look… I get being frustrated. And feeling like shit. Maybe it could help, and all that. But… Honestly… My question to you becomes… What if it doesn’t? And what if you travel all the way over there and get it in your head this is a silver bullet and get told ‘naw... Now fuck on out of here’?”

It's a fair point. Yeah, no guarantee RAIKO would just open her arms and say yes. I'm essentially operating on hope and the assumption that RAIKO won't be a raging bitch. And that's her default, so…

“I mean… I could get some bomb ass food while I'm there?”

Of course I'd make a dumb joke. I have to lighten the mood somewhat. Especially now that there's a fear that I'm doing something really stupid. Exceptionally stupid.

“Either way... if it helps… good. But if it doesn’t... Well... Won’t know unless you try it, I guess, right?”

I snuggle back up, arms pulling her in. It wasn't exactly encouragement, but close enough. And even if it wasn't… even if this didn't happen… I'd still have her. I'd still have Angel. And that powers my confidence up more than just a bit. I'll take the risk. It'll be okay, I'll be okay. At the end of the day, I'll still have her.

Okayama, Japan. The flight here was a bitch; cramped, restless and too damn long. It was so much of a bitch that the cab ride from the airport to this non-descript office building went by in no time at all. The banner hanging above the door, a bit worn and weathered at this point, actually has “Bushido Thunder Dojo” printed out in English… It's below far more prominent kanji, but hey, at least it's there. Backpack slung over my shoulder, I shove the door open and stride inside.

It's no surprise that there's a ring set up there. Be a bit weird if there wasn't one. What does surprise me is two large workout mats taking up space in a building that didn't have a ton of available real estate. They ain't just there for show either; on one, a girl hauls another up and over her shoulder with a throw. On the other, two guys jockey for position in Folkstyle wrestling. They all look like kids, maybe no older than their early twenties. Yeah, I've hit that point of my life… Twenty year olds are kids to me.

My attention doesn't stay there long as some barking in Japanese pulled my attention in the direction it emanated from. I already knew it was RAIKO. Her distinct voice, practically a growling wolf every time she speaks. In this case, she's shouting at two kids in the ring. Can I understand a word of it? Fuck no. Do I bother getting involved? Again, no. It doesn't take much to rile RAIKO up. I assume criticizing her training methods would do so pretty damn easily. My eyes, though, end up drawn to an odd sight.

Standing off to the side, casually leaned against the wall watching, was a white dude. This guy is quite a sight too. If his hair is any indication, he can't identify what the hell a comb is. And that beard on his face? If a mouse popped out and squeaked at me, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised. His tank top was probably white at some point, but the thing is faded and stained. Same with his gray sweatpants, which were probably black once upon a time.

To my chagrin, he makes eye contact. Goddamn it, RIA. Why'd you have to look?! You know a guy like that ain't just gonna gawk at you! No, instead he starts walking over. Well, walking is an approximation of what he's doing. Limping? Wobbling? Whatever his gait is, it barely looks human. I can already feel my nostrils getting offended before I even have the displeasure of sharing personal space with the oddball.

“Hey there, pretty lady. You come here often?”

You ever gargle sand? Cuz it wouldn't surprise me if this guy has. Multiple times. If the sight and smell of him weren't offensive enough, the stupid question he asked certainly was.

“Do I hop a plane to Japan to come talk to a one-eyed psycho that apparently has a hobo living at her wrestling school? No. No I do not.”

I guess dry wit and sarcasm aren't really a thing for this dude cuz his face looks about as vacant as my title history. He also seems incapable of taking a hint, cuz he's still here. Near me. Instead of back across the room. I guess I have an idiot magnet cuz he ain't the first and won't be the last to “grace” me with unwanted company.

“So you wanna go somewhere or something?”

I'm about to offer to take him out back and beat him. Not in a fun way either. Thankfully, this pitiful attempt at flirting is interrupted.

“Tango! Ittai nani yattenda?!”

RAIKO is my favorite person at the moment. I'm sure that'll change back after talking to her for three minutes. But right now? Fuckin' queen.

“Tada kanojo to hanashi teru dakeda yo, RAIKO-chan! Chikushō, kuttsuku na yo!”

Oh. Oh shit. This Tango dude is apparently fluent in Japanese. That explains a lot, cuz I might be wrong but RAIKO comes off as a bit of a neat freak so this would at least explain his presence at the dojo. She stomps over cuz being delicate has never been in her DNA.

“Ignore Tango. He is idiot that eat cat food.”

I have questions I'm not sure I want the answer to. But I don't even end up having to ask cuz the weirdo opens his mouth up anyway.

“Hey! Ain't nuthin’ saying I can't eat cat food! And it's cheaper than tuna. That's just smart savings right there!”

Fucking. Ew. There's a lot of bitching I wanna throw his way, but the murderous gaze RAIKO gives him sends the guy scurrying back over to the ring to, I dunno, supervise I guess? You'd think only having one eye would dilute the ability for the Japanese woman to shoot an intimidating look. You'd be very wrong.

“RAIKO, what the hell is with that guy?”

I'm probably gonna regret asking that, but I have to get some kinda info to satiate my brain.

“Torvald Tango. As you see, he is fucking moron. And he smell. But know Japanese and American. Help with guests at dojo. Very tough man. Has weird brain for wrestling. Good thing.”

I'd correct her on calling English American, but I've heard her bitch to Kohime before. Her attitude is the two are similar but different. If you don't know RAIKO, she's stubborn as hell so trying to get her to change her mind is a waste of time.

“Anyway, what you want, Ass Lady?”

Ah yes. Ass Lady. It's a nickname RAIKO gave me back when we were both in SHOOT Project. She doesn't tend to use your actual name unless she really likes you or respects you deeply. Kohime gets Mori. Lindsay Troy gets Troy-san. Even if she does like or respect you, sometimes you just get a nicer nickname. If I remember right, Nate Colton is Smart Colton. Benny is Slut Colton. I'm not really concerned with that right now.

“First of all, thank you for taking the time to meet me. I know I didn't give Kohime a ton of details, but it would've been a bit too hard to explain to her. So I've kinda lost my way in PRIME. In trying to find my path forward, I think I've come to realize I needed to go back. I've lost more than a bit of what made me, me.”

RAIKO crosses her arms, her lips curling into the smallest of sneers.

“Have what to do with me?”

Moment of truth. I wouldn't call RAIKO a bad person, especially compared to the dickbags I've dealt with, but she's picky with her altruism. Being close with Kohime might not be enough to help me here.

“Well, I think I've gotten too soft in a few different ways; I've lost a bit of my killer instinct in the ring. I look like a world beater for a few minutes before I trip at the finish line. I've also let my brawling skills deteriorate a bit in favor of being a “better” wrestler.”

The Japanese woman huffs. Can't say I'm surprised. I don't know RAIKO well, but I'm assuming she probably views that mindset as mild disrespect towards herself.

“Better wrestler. Number of moves not make wrestler good. Few moves done well. Hard body. Hard mind. Will to win. These make wrestler good. I not do many move. Mostly strike. Stab. Some throw. It work for me. We need find what work for you.”

We? Well that's an encouraging sign. Best push forward while she's receptive.

“Yeah, I could probably use that cuz it seems like nothing is right now. But it sounds like you're not opposed to working with me? I need something and you might just be the key to whatever it is.”

RAIKO turns, her gaze gently sweeping across the scene in front of her. Everyone, some of them barely old enough to legally drink in Japan (you have to be 20, from what Kohime’s told me), is putting in the hard work. I know she wouldn't accept any less. She turns back to me, face of granite still in place.

“I will help. But you listen. You not half ass. And you show up for weekly dojo show. Will make sure it not happen near ReVival.”

I know she's gonna use me to sell more tickets to her events. But that's fine. I see it as a compromise; she's helping me, so that's how I'll repay her. One hand washing the other. I'm not a huge star in Japan by any means, but I'm not unknown either. My wallet won't love this, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. I'll eat some pain if it leads to shitting success.

Here. We. Are. I'm probably at my lowest and who do I get? A guy that's soaring pretty fuckin’ high. The Saltiest Man walking this Earth. The biggest piece of trash from Philly that doesn't wear orange: Cancer Jiles. King Crumb, I could go on about trying to out wrestle you. I could babble about how you'll cheat and whatever. Naw. Fuck it. Different mentality. How about I meet you at your level? I might need to wash my hands, sanitize them, then wash them again trying to yank that stupid hair outta your head, but I'm okay with that. Probably have to burn my shoes and kickpads after trying to blast you in the junk, but we all must sacrifice for the greater good. And lord knows none of us want you reproducing.

I'm gonna get dirty here. That's how it used to be for me. Principles didn't matter as an undersized teenager getting ragdolled around the ring. You survived how you could. Time to tap back into that. I haven't forgotten Squad Goals, Jiles. That? That was humiliating. First out, on a goddamn stretcher. You think you've faced humiliation? I promise you, sweetheart, you haven't seen the depths of it. I grew up as white trash. I'll show you what a gutter ACTUALLY looks like! I wanna watch you choke and sputter on the filth and grime I've had to live with in my life! You deserve far worse than that, but that's outta my hands. I can't end you. But I sure as shit can scar you. And that? You won't forget that.

And tell your rat if she has a problem with the match, she can meet me in the back early. I'll make sure I throw on a hazmat suit.