Post by bloodiedfox on May 22, 2020 16:51:48 GMT -5
So The Anzac Cup was a fucking bust.
Brendan Harding walks the dark streets of Tokyo, hood up and face mask on. The streets are empty, his only company his thoughts.
Everything Peter had said lit a fire under SWAT, so big surprise they came for us with everything they had. We made them work for it, but they got us in the end. Ah well, we'll just have to learn from it.
Of course, that meant we were straight back to separate ways. He was back to America for AWF and I was back to Japan for J-ROK. Part of me was hoping he'd break down, beg me to forget about J-ROK and Dread Wolf and just come back with him. But no, he held strong. He believes in me forging my own path, maybe more so than I do. I don't think he can bear the thought of me ever thinking he was holding me back.
I love him.
I miss him.
So, Tokyo once more. I wish my time here hadn't coincided with a global pandemic. I spend the majority of my time now in one of the most vibrant cities on the planet and the majority of that majority is spent in a small apartment. A nice apartment, sure; I'm not gonna complain about how J-ROK have treated me accommodation-wise. But even a gilded cage is a cage in the end. With everything shut down until the end of the state of emergency, the only change of scenery I get is the apartment block gym and the place I'm headed to now.
See, I must be the only wrestler in history that has to give progress reports. Dread Wolf, my boss slash sponsor slash half-brother feels it's important I give him my candid personal updates, even though he barely hides the fact he's watching my every move anyway. Maybe he thinks the illusion of the freedom to lie comforts me; maybe it's his weird idea of sibling bonding; maybe he thinks my writing style marks me as some future literary great. Fuck knows. Anyway, pretty much all I've had to tell him lately is the fact that my open invitation for a stable to recruit me has so far yielded no response, in spite of me being undefeated in singles competition so far. I guess he thinks that fact is unsettling me, because I received a text telling me to head to The Bar...
Yes, it's literally just called The Bar.
...to meet my “reinforcements.”
This is gonna be an interesting evening, if nothing else.
Of course, that meant we were straight back to separate ways. He was back to America for AWF and I was back to Japan for J-ROK. Part of me was hoping he'd break down, beg me to forget about J-ROK and Dread Wolf and just come back with him. But no, he held strong. He believes in me forging my own path, maybe more so than I do. I don't think he can bear the thought of me ever thinking he was holding me back.
I love him.
I miss him.
So, Tokyo once more. I wish my time here hadn't coincided with a global pandemic. I spend the majority of my time now in one of the most vibrant cities on the planet and the majority of that majority is spent in a small apartment. A nice apartment, sure; I'm not gonna complain about how J-ROK have treated me accommodation-wise. But even a gilded cage is a cage in the end. With everything shut down until the end of the state of emergency, the only change of scenery I get is the apartment block gym and the place I'm headed to now.
See, I must be the only wrestler in history that has to give progress reports. Dread Wolf, my boss slash sponsor slash half-brother feels it's important I give him my candid personal updates, even though he barely hides the fact he's watching my every move anyway. Maybe he thinks the illusion of the freedom to lie comforts me; maybe it's his weird idea of sibling bonding; maybe he thinks my writing style marks me as some future literary great. Fuck knows. Anyway, pretty much all I've had to tell him lately is the fact that my open invitation for a stable to recruit me has so far yielded no response, in spite of me being undefeated in singles competition so far. I guess he thinks that fact is unsettling me, because I received a text telling me to head to The Bar...
Yes, it's literally just called The Bar.
...to meet my “reinforcements.”
This is gonna be an interesting evening, if nothing else.
Brendan turns down an alleyway, heading on a couple of metres before stopping in front of a nondescript door. He raps his knuckles in a 3-2-3 beat, hearing the sliding of bolts in response a few seconds later. He opens the door and steps into...
The Bar. The most suspiciously inconspicuous watering hole in Tokyo. Dread Wolf Industries own it, but it predates them, of that I'm sure. This place has 'yakuza front' written all over it in decades of scrubbed away blood on the walls.
It's a small room, occupancy of about a dozen at most. A stoic old man works a grill at one end of the bar, while at the other end a jovial younger chubby fellow wipes glasses. Seated in the space between them is the only patron until now, an imposing looking woman in combats and a leather jacket with a shock of blonde hair.
The Yuji Nagata looking guy cooking is Oak. The Toru Yano looking guy tending bar is Tanuki. Pretty safe bet Brigitte Nielsen Is The Terminator over there is the reinforcements...
Tanuki greets Brendan cheerfully.
Konbanwa, Brendan-san! Genki?
Genki desu.
Tanuki speaks perfectly fine english, but I'm trying to use Japanese more often to get used to it.
Oak greets Brendan with a grunt and a nod; Brendan responding in kind. The woman doesn't acknowledge him at all. Removing his face mask and unzipping his hoody, he sits on the stool next to her. Neither say anything as Tanuki places a bottle of beer in front of him, Oak then placing a small plate of skewered meat beside it. A few more moments pass in silence. Then...
So...
A needle pulling thread.
Russian accent, and apparently a deadpan sense of humour. Nice.
Brendan chuckles. The woman looks at him, her face neutral, eyebrow raised.
What? You assumed I was robot?
Well you are dressed like The Terminator.
The corner of her mouth quirks up into almost a smile.
I wonder if women would still find me this charming if they thought I was straight?
Brendan holds out his hand.
Brendan Harding. But you probably already knew that.
The woman accepts the handshake.
Roza Pavlichenko.
Well, that is a terrifyingly firm grip.
You done much wrestling, Roza?
The woman shrugs.
Some. Has been a hobby in past when security work was slow. Keeps my CQC from rusting. Plus nearest I get to childhood dream of running away to join circus.
I think most wrestlers are just people who never wanted to grow up and get a 'proper' job.
Including you?
Especially me.
Interesting...
“Interesting...”? What does that mean?
They sip their beers.
How much did our boss tell you?
The Wolf? That I am to be your bodyguard. To watch your back as you do not have allies. Wrestle with you if required. Beyond that, I researched. Watched your matches. You are not bad for someone with little experience.
Flattery will get you everywhere.
I am not here to flatter you. Plus I make it rule not to flirt with men who are spoken for, especially when I would simply be moustache.
“Moustache”? The fuck? Wait a minute...
Brendan grins.
Beard.
Roza waves a hand dismissively.
Beard, moustache, all facial hair at end of day. Point being, you have boyfriend.
True.
Time to prod a potential sore spot...
That's not going to be a problem, is it?
Roza snorts.
Just because Putin is insecure in masculinity does not mean every single Russian is homophobe. It is not my business who you sleep with. Unless you {No Means No} someone; then I cut your balls off and shove them down your throat.
Brendan blinks.
I wasn't planning to.
Good. You do not seem type, but I have been disappointed before.
Well...
Brendan raises his bottle in a toast.
To not being disappointed.
Roza nods, and clinks her bottle against his.
Na Zdorovie.