Expectations and Disappointments

by **SpartanLea** July 1st 2013, 11:00 am

The Black Sheep

There was no denying the family resemblance. The two women had the same fine boned features, the same nose, the same high cheekbones, like something sculpted out of marble. But that was really where the similarities ended. The elder was poised, elegantly coiffed, a well dressed blonde that just screamed class and wealth. She was dressed in a pair of charcoal grey slacks, a cream colored blouse, her makeup tastefully and artfully applied, a pair of little white pearls dotting the lobes of her ears with a matching string around her slender throat. The younger on the other hand...well. If the blonde were any indication of the norm in the Idas family it might be easy to see why the pink bombshell was such a black sheep. It would be hard to imagine the elegant blonde with any kind of tattoos, or piercings other than those in her ears. Where the blonde stood in her conservative slacks and blouse, Lea was dressed in torn, paint spattered jeans and a Five Finger Death Punch tour shirt, wearing the most unimpressed expression a person could ever possibly wear.

“What I simply can’t understand Lea, is why you continue to subject yourself to all of...well, this. Daddy would have you back you know, if you gave up these ridiculous hobbies you insist on keeping.”

It was an old argument. It really was. It happened, every so often, every couple of years her sister, or her mother, sometimes even her father, made the attempt to reach out and ‘make her see reason’. It never ended well, and this time probably wouldn’t be any different. At least, not if the cold, impassive, unimpressed look on Lea’s face were anything to go by. There was a long stretch of silence that followed the blonde’s declaration...most likely because Lea was reminding herself again, that fratricide, no matter how justified it may be, was not, in fact, legal. It was probably a good thing that the viewer wasn’t treated to the internal monologue running through her head right at that very moment, because it might, very well, have made everyone an accessory to murder somewhere down the line. And we all know that that, would be a very bad thing.

“Ridiculous hobbies? Is that what you think? Oh what am I saying? Of course it is. You people have never approved of anything that I’ve wanted to do in my life. Ever. Everything that I’ve done has had you looking down your prim and proper little noses at me. Well...here’s a newflash for you Sister Dearest. I don’t need you. I don’t need Daddy’s money to sustain me. Look around yourself Cassandra. This apartment? I pay for it. Everything in it? Mine. Ridiculous hobbies? Everything I do, is part of my life, it’s part of who I am. Daddy didn’t approve of the music...my band sells out every venue we play. The only reason we haven’t made it on the charts? We choose not to. Because it’s never been about the money for us. You people keep coming back into my life, with the same, tired old story. I don’t know what you’re expecting to find. Maybe you’re hoping that you’ll stumble across me and find me destitute. Or maybe I’m supposed to be pining away over the family I could have had...except that you were the ones that made the decision to walk away from me. So why the fuck do you keep doing this? Why do you keep turning back up in my life?”

“Because Mom keeps hoping that you’ll come to your senses! Don’t you get it? This whole thing with you and the family breaks her heart!”

“No Cassie. You know what’s really heartbreaking? The fact that my family, my own flesh and blood can’t accept me for who I am. You keep waiting for me to change. But damn Cass, this[/b] is who I am. It’s who I’ve always been. And nothing, is going to make me change who I am. Unlike some people, I believe in this little thing called integrity.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Oh she’s been waiting for this. Just waiting, for years, years of being ostracized, years of being the black sheep, years of being pushed to the side, forgotten and ignored. Lips curve in the faintest of little smiles as Lea regards her elder sister.

“It means, oh sister mine, that you’ve never had the balls to stand up to our father. Never. And just because you let him crush your dreams to dust beneath his boot heel doesn’t mean that I’m going to let him do the same thing to mine. You were going to be a singer Cass. Or don’t you think I remember that? And what about your public school boyfriend? Anything and everything you might have going that made you a real individual instead of some cookie cutter little Barbie debutante, you dropped like a bad habit the second Daddy told you to. You didn’t put up a fight about it. I think that’s what’s always bothered you about me. I had the guts to do what you never could. I made a stand. I put my foot down. And now I’m thinking, that the problem has never been that I was never good enough for you...you were never good enough for me. And you know it. That’s why you keep crawling back. But here’s the newsflash Cassandra. I don’t need you. I don’t need them. Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

It is perhaps, not the best way to end a conversation with her sister, but that’s certainly the way it ends all the same.

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In All My Dreams

From the moment I walked into this place, I’ve had people looking down their noses at me. I don’t belong here, not in their eyes. I’m an outsider. I haven’t spent the majority of my life dreaming of this. I didn’t spend years watching programs on television, idolizing, dreaming, waiting for my chance to reach for the stars. Wrestling wasn’t even on my radar until a few months ago. I had my hands full with my business, with the band. I never would have even And started entertaining the idea of reaching for anything else. And yet, here I am all the same. Where did it start? Well I wish I could say that it was because I wanted to have something else in common with my best friend...boxing and wrestling is all Sib really knows, and a good friend would be doing this so that she could relate better to what she’s going through. But...it wasn’t because of her, it’s because of him. I put myself through hell day after day after day because I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, if I work hard enough, I might prove myself as being good enough for both his attention and his affection. I know I fucked up, I’ll be the first person to admit that I’m not perfect. And if he were anyone else, anyone else at all, I might be willing to just walk away, and let him go. But I can’t. I don’t know what it is about this one, losing him feels like someone put a knife in my chest and twisted it a few dozen times. Days later, the argument still feels like a raw, ugly would still bleeding. So I’ve spent a lot of time here, because at least when I’m here, I can forget about the problems...mostly because I’m faced with a whole new set of them.

Like my trainer. Yuudai Maeda. He’s two inches shorter than I am, with this pinched look about his face. He takes what we do very seriously...maybe too seriously, and he’s got some really fucked off ideas on what it takes to really be good at it. Most trainers wouldn’t dream of cutting their students loose to the pros for at least a year...he ran me through the basics...and then all but forced me to sign my name to the dotted line. Because, he says, a real warrior learns by doing. But I still have a lot to learn, even though he claims that I’m a natural. So every spare moment, I spend here. Having people who eat, sleep, and breathe wrestling look down their noses at me because I’m not one of them. This was never my dream. This isn’t my world...but I’m about to make it mine. I’m so distracted by the whirlwind of thoughts dancing through my head that I don’t even see it coming until I’m flat on my ass on the mat, rubbing my jaw with one hand while the smug little bastard stares down at me with a disapproving frown.

“Lea-Chan is distracted.”

A statement, not a question. Like he really needs to ask. Truth of the matter is, I’ve been off my game ever since the whole Twitter blow up...I still need to go by and pick up my stuff. I guess a part of me is hoping that if I leave if there, then maybe...fuck. I don’t know. I guess as long as it’s there, a part of me can still cling to hope. I find myself making a face, because I know I’m busted. And I know what’s coming next. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to sit through one of Maeda Sensei’s infamous morality, discipline, and focus speeches...probably won’t be the last time either.

“How many times I tell you Lea-Chan? How many times? You come to me, not the other way around. If this is something that you wish to do, you must learn to listen. This lifestyle of yours, all the drinking, all the-”

“Oh come on. I don’t drink that much!”

Word of advice? Never interrupt an Asian when they’re set to start telling you how they’re right. I mean I’m fast, but he’s faster, a lot faster. And he’s got this thing for cracking people upside the head, which is exactly what he does to me now.

“No interrupt. You listen. For once. Maybe it actually sink in. You’re hurt, you’re angry. I get it. But when you come here, you leave all that at the door. You give me one hundred percent focus, or you leave. This moping around bullshit, it ends now. I not training you to be weepy little girl. So, I ask you one time. What do you want Lea-Chan?”

It’s a good question, and one I’m not even sure I know the answer to. What do I want? I used to think I knew, but the truth of the matter is, I’ve been bouncing from one thing to another for years. Because nothing has really felt right to me. I started flying because it pissed off my father. I started playing guitar because I was a stupid kid who decided she was going to be a rock star...and sure. I’ve made a way for myself. I’ve got myself set up pretty nice really...but there always seems to be something missing. It’s like how sometimes, you can feel completely alone, even when you’re standing in a room full of people all claiming to be your friend. I mean, the only time that I’ve ever felt like I was really doing something worthwhile was when I started here...so I guess...

“I want this. I want this to be my world. I want, for the first time in my life to actually belong somewhere. And I want...I want to go through life without complete fucking up every single thing that makes me happy.”

“Then we have a place to begin. Unless of course you wish to continue moping like petulant teenager?”

Okay, I guess I kind of deserve that shot. I’m not going to lie, I have been moping around the house like an angsty emo cutter kid. I can’t help it. Emotion isn’t something I process all that well. If you knew my family in any way, you’d know why. But Sensei’s right, it’s time to stop moping, and get a little more proactive. He wants a bad bitch? Then that’s exactly what he’s going to get.

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The scene opens on a dainty, pretty little foot. One with perfectly maintained nails, painted a vibrant pink. Said foot is propped up on the edge of what is, obviously, one of those big ‘garden’ style tubs. You know, the kind of tubs that comfortably fit like three people. The foot is of course, attached to a leg, most feet usually are. In this case, the leg is long, and shapely. The muscles well toned without being body builder gross, athletic, someone who takes a particular amount of pride in their body...and not, apparently, without good reason. A pair of hands appear in the frame, the fingers long and elegant, nails perfectly manicured, tipped in vibrant pink, skimming along the surface of that shapely leg, leaving a trail of glistening moisture in their wake before falling away.

“You. Are an idiot.”

There’s no denying the disdain dripping from the Pink Bombshell’s voice. It’s almost tangible. Almost. There’s the soft sloshing sound of water shifting as she settles back in the tub. The camera pans up, passing over the knees that now jut from the water like the peaks of fleshy mountains, across a brief span of water, and finally up, to reveal a rather nonplussed Lea Idas, pink hair gathered back into an untidy bun to keep it out of the water. Water, which, in fact, comes just barely high enough to keep this thing PG, leaving the very top of of her not inconsiderable cleavage. Shame? Of course not. You should see some of her promotional shots. They’re positively scandalous. Now, you might be asking why the hell shoot a promo from the bathtub, well, there’s a reason for that. Keep your pants on...no seriously, keep ‘em on, because that would just be awkward, and weird. And maybe just a little creepy.

“Christ, I don’t even know where to start with your stupidity. Oh wait. Maybe I do. Let me take a second to applaud you for your brilliant sense of originality. No, really, here-” she pauses here, hands emerging from the water for a mocking little golf clap before she gives a derisive little snort and drops them once more. “Who would have ever thought of implying that their female opponent intends to sleep her way to the top? Who would have ever thought to insinuate that she was an easy slut ready to jump on any cock available to her? Oh wait, that’s right...only every single swinging dick to ever climb between the ropes. If that’s all you got, you really need to step up your fucking game. Because me? I’m not impressed. But then again, I’m not really surprised by that. You’ve got all the charisma of roadkill left baking on the side of the road for a week in the middle of August. Which means, by the way, since your grade school dropout ass might be having a little trouble figuring it out, zero. That’s zero, zilch, absolutely nada. So after sitting through those absolute travesties you like to call promos, lemme show you how this shit’s done.”

It would be nice to say that this attitude’s surprising...but pretty much anyone who’s ever dealt with her can attest that it’s not. Lea’s just one of those people who only has two modes. She’s either the best friend, and most loyal person you could ever hope for...or the biggest raging bitch humanly imaginable. And God help those unfortunate enough to flip the switch into bitch mode.

“Let’s start from the beginning shall we? Actually, let’s start with your complete inability to pay attention to any kind of detail. Yes, yes you are right Snubz, I did win that God awful, gaudy piece of trash strap from Angel Kash, but if you’d bothered to continue watching even ten seconds longer after the bell rang, then you’d know that I did what someone should have done a long time ago. I destroyed that motherfucker. See even I didn’t really want it. Beating Kash was never about winning that piece of garbage. It was about beating her. See, you’ve got it in your head that you know, you understand me...but you know...you don’t know shit. You don’t know why I’m here. You don’t know my plans, my intentions, you don’t know what I’m like. You just jump right in with a fuck load of assumptions. Most of which are built largely around stereotypes because I happen to have a set of tits. Which, I get that they’re a damned nice pair, but they don’t define me, they don’t make me who I am, and the fact that I have a vagina instead of a penis does not make me any less credible, or capable inside the ring. I realize that may be a hard concept for you to grasp...but don’t worry, I’ll help you out with that at Trial by Combat. Because I’m just generous like that, I’m a very considerate and giving person. Especially to those obviously less fortunate than myself. And let’s face it, that’s exactly what you are. Because you can’t even grasp the most basic of facts. This? It’s not some bar brawl sweetheart. It’s not some back alley scuffle that you can win by being able to hit hard. This is wrestling no matter what the stipulations are, no matter what hellish conditions they choose to throw us into it, it’s always going to come down to the fact that this, is wrestling. It’s not just about physical strength. It’s about being smarter than your opponent, more skilled. Brute strength only gets you so far, talent and skill take you the rest of the way. And frankly, I don’t think you’ve got it.

So let me tell you how this is going to go down, you cheap, Sons of Anarchy knock off. You’re going to come out to the ring, cocky as all fuck. And then I’m going to kick your teeth in. Partly because I don’t want to lose. Partly because there’s a lot more riding on all of this for me than just a career. And partly because...well, I just don’t like you. Which is weird, because I have this thing for Harleys and bikers, but you just...no. Just no. You’re like every bad cliche rolled into one, it’s really disappointing when you want to get right down to it. Because I guess I expected more. No actually I expected a lot more. But your only selling point was that you’re going to beat me because I’m a girl. Please. Do you have any idea how often I hear that shit? What is this, the 1920’s? Motherfucker I know bitches that could break you in half without breaking a sweat. So please, come at me at me with something different. And as to your threats about hurting me? Bring. It. On. Do I look like I’m scared? If playing big, bad, and scary is the only you got? You’re gonna have to try harder. I fly a five million dollar private jet, forty five thousand feet in the air, on a regular basis. You know what’s scary? Being forty thousand feet up and having an engine go. That’s scary. You? You ain’t nothing. That’s something you need to understand. I’ve already stared Death in the face, and I laughed. Pain?

Take a good, long, hard look. Do I look like a girl that’s afraid of a little blood and pain? Do I? I’ll let you in on a little secret Snubz. A little fact that not very many people know about me, oh wait, that’s a lie. My tattoo artist knows. My piercer. Past lovers. My best friend. My band...yeah I guess it’s pretty public knowledge. I like pain. The clinical term would be masochist, but I don’t want to use words that are too big for you to understand. The more you hurt me, the more I come back. So whip me, beat me, make me bleed...it won’t change the outcome. I don’t care what stipulation I get stuck with. Barbed wire, weapons, steel cages, fuck yes, bring it on. But it won’t matter, because at the end of the night, when the smoke clears, and the dust settles, you’ll know what it means to Abandon Hope. There’s absolutely no way that I’m leaving Trial by Combat as anything other than a victor.”