Post by Misha LeCavalier on Dec 20, 2016 19:18:48 GMT -5
If there was anything Misha LeCavalier wasn’t, it was a people person. People were taxing; she found most of them to be an unnecessary annoyance. Because of that, Misha kept her circle of loved ones small. Two people stood at the forefront of that circle: Catalina LeCavalier and Kara Ayers.
Catalina was Misha’s younger sister. Although she was three to four years older than Catalina, the two were almost inseparable as children. Rarely did they bicker or fight in their youth. Instead, they constantly encouraged and supported each other—they were symbiotic. That early bond carried over into adulthood.
And of course, there was Kara. For whatever reason, Misha had felt a close attachment to Kara upon their first meeting. Being a wrestler, Misha had grown accustomed to meeting and mingling with the unsavory and scrums of the earth. Kara was the polar opposite. She was pure and seemingly innocent, almost to the point of nativity. Those qualities thoroughly intrigued Misha. She sparked and peaked feelings that Misha had never felt before. She was most intriguing indeed.
Catalina, Kara, and Misha shared an apartment in New York. Although, if she being completely honest, it was more like a pit-stop than an actual living residence. The constant weekend wrestling trips to Australia and the U.K. were grand nuance at times. It wasn’t the wrestling that bothered her; that was the easy part. It was the incessant travel, the jet lag, the coughing adults and sneezing babies on the plane.
However, she stowed her frustrations and keep pressing on.
She couldn’t say with a clear conscious that professional wrestling was her first love, because it wasn’t. Wrestling was more akin to a wild lady of the night, a scarlet mistress. At times in her life, Misha had tried to distance and separate herself from the sport. Total emergence in anything can lead to madness—life on the road had taught her that lesson first hand.
And yet, every time she began to walk away, that fateful mistress sent telegrams, wrote letters, and left messages on her iPhone. Misha was entrapped, snared in that competitive industry. And while it sometimes meant that her other ambitions had to sit one on the back-burner for a bit, she enjoyed the ride—it was that ride, that mistress that brought North Atlantic Wrestling to her attention.
New York City, NY
December 9th, 2016
Catalina LeCavalier passed through the living and strolled into the kitchen. It’d been a long, strenuous day at the gym and she was quite parched. After grabbing a bottle of SmartWater, she took a seat at the kitchen table. Catalina took a couple of sips as she scrolled through her Twitter feed on her iPhone 7. She shook her head at random bits of shenanigans and then sat her phone down. As she did, her eyes began to wander of over to the white iPad Air that sat on the table.
“Hmm,” she said. “That must be Misha’s.” The screen flashed due to an incoming notification. Catalina scooped up the tablet and unlocked it; Misha rarely kept a passcode on her devices.
She quickly peered at an opened email from NAW personnel. “Oh my. Let me close this; I don’t want to meddle.” She tapped on the home button and swiped up to clear the email application. As did, she noticed that the Adobe PDF application was also open. “Hmm, now what’s this?”
ꔓ Debut
ꔓ Submit/Knockout John Blade
ꔓ Make People Despise Me (Peers)
ꔓ Out-wrestle the Entire Femme Fatale Division
ꔓ Submit/Knockout/Hurt Kandi Washington
ꔓ Main Event a Meltdown
ꔓ Win the Femme Fatale Championship
ꔓ Win the New Horizon Championship“Hmm, have we resorted to snooping now, dearest?” Misha said from across the kitchen. Her voice caused Catalina to jump back just a bit. She quickly sat the iPad back down on the table.
“Umm, n...no,” Catalina said as she quickly took another sip of water. “I, I was just…”
“Looking through my personal belongings?” Misha jokingly asked as she strolled over to the table and took a seat opposite of her sister. “I bet you were you planning on rifling through my pictures next.”
“No no!” Catalina exclaimed. “I...I’m sorry. All I saw was a bit of your email, and your checklist thing.”
“Catalina, you know I am simply pulling your leg.” Misha crossed her legs and leaned back a bit. “I have nothing to hide from you; you know this.”
“Yeah…” Catalina’s voiced trailed off a bit. Misha watched as her eyes lowered to the floor for a moment. A question found it’s way to the tip of her tongue; however, a look of hesitation was plastered on her face.
“Lift your eyes, Cat,” Misha said. Her tone was a bit more stern than normal. Catalina eyes rose. “What do I always try to instill into you?”
Cat let out an audible sigh. “Confidence…”
“That’s correct.” She folded her arms. “Now, I feel as if you’ve got something to say. Therefore, please go on.”
“Yes, I’m sorry.” Cat shakes her head. “Well, I...I did see that email from from that promotion. North Atlantic, is it?”
Misha nodded. “That’s correct.”
“Is it something that you’re seriously considering?” Catalina paused for a quick second. “I know it is in our blood, to wrestle. But, you...you already work so hard...and so much. Training non-stop, flying out to the U.K and such...” She shook her head slightly in frustration. “Sometimes I worry that you are pushing yourself a bit too hard. I know you’ve got a lot of ambition and drive, but, I don’t want you getting overwhelmed. I, I don’t want you getting into a bad headspace, like last time.
Last time—that phrase invited a gang of emotions to flood Misha’s brain. That was a story for another time. She took a deep breath as she attempted to paddle past said emotions.
“This situation is completely different than the last, dear.” Misha nodded. “Back then, I was a struggling lion. I was mentally overwhelmed, partially due to wrestling six days a week, but also due to the fact that I was half away across the world by myself.” She paused. “Over in Europe, I was alone...more accurately, I should say I felt alone. I felt as if I couldn’t tell you or father about the issues I was dealing with.
“However, I understand that wasn’t the case back then. And, it sure isn’t the case now.” Misha let out a small sigh. “I’ve got you here with me; I know that you have always got my back. And, ever since I met her, Kara has had my best interest at hand. She makes sure that I know that I am loved. Furthermore, she wants to see my career continue to prosper.” Once more, Misha nodded. “I can assure you, Catalina, I’m in a good headspace. That’s one of the reasons why I’ve decided to engage in this venture.”
Her answered seemed to put Catalina at ease, a little bit anyway. “Okay, that’s fair. But, umm, why the checklist?”
“Normally, I simply walk into a promotion and wrestle. Nevertheless, it’s important to create goals and benchmarks. I elected to put my goals in a tangible form, so that I can see them and reflect on them.”
“I see,” Cat said. “I just...just be sure to be careful, alright? And, umm, kick some butt too.”
“Of course, dearest,” Misha replied.
...The life of man—solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.
These very words were unleashed upon the world in 1651 when Thomas Hobbes wrote and published one of the most influential literary works in the history of mankind, The Leviathan. For the ill-informed, The Leviathan details Mr. Hobbes’ personal and professional thoughts on sovereignty and society. Modern philosophers (and those looking to become philosophers) still refer heavy to his work throughout the course of their studies.
When Hobbes crafted his famous thoughts centuries ago, he was thinking in the natural realm of society and macro-living. Ironically enough, there is no way that he might have possibly foreseen that his words would also apply to the careers of most professional wrestlers.
How telling…
But, I’m certain my words alone will not be able to convince you all of this point. So, how about we look at the life and journey of the prototypical wrestler, shall we?
The path to becoming a wrestler begins with training. Incoming hopefuls and prospects shell out massive sums of money in order to “learn the basics.” Some of these prospects actually receive proper care and attention from an attentive trainer. Others? Well, they inevitably end up getting played and swindled.
Those who do not end up getting swindled must then embark on a painful, agonising six to twelve month odyssey. The intensity and veracity of that pain differs depending on one’s location. In Europe and Japan, prospects are beaten to a pulp by their “all knowing” veterans for an indefinite period of time, until they are deemed ready to wrestle. Or, to be more exact, until the veterans get tired of beating ass, or the student’s pockets have run dry.
American students constantly berated with verbal jabs and jousts. They are told they are worthless, meaningless, etc. The mentally warfare is akin to basic training in the military…
Accordingly, a good majority of those people eventually wash out.
The survivors are then tossed head first into a “dog-eat-dog” world. All the blood, sweat, and tears they shed in wrestling school doesn’t mean a thing, because they must then “prove themselves” to the entirety of the wrestling world.
And, but of course, there are all the little nasty nuances that go along with the industry as a whole:
One’s travel schedule is normally long and tedious (if you want to make a name for yourself). The pay is often meager, inadequate, or non-existent starting off. It’s burdensome separating yourself from the masses and truly standing out. And above all else, someone, somewhere is always judging you. Day by day, you are continually analyzed and critiqued by promoters, by your peers, and by the ficklest of fans.
In short, we are nothing more than sideshows to be gazed upon.
It’s not an easy life to lead. It’s not one that everyone can sustain for a long period of time. At this point, those with only a couple years of experience can almost refer to themselves as veterans…
Then, you’ve got people such as you and I, Mr. Blade. People who have endured the beatings and the pain. People who have actively done everything they can to separate themselves from the masses. People who have become successful and established a bona fide name for themselves (whether for better or worse). You and I are stunning outliers in Hobbes’ equation.
...Throughout my eight years in the sport, you and I have never met. Nonetheless, I know of you, Mr. Blade. I’ve heard the chatter; I’ve heard the rumblings. And, I have noticed that people who speak about you regularly fall into one of two camps.
A. There is the camp that says that you are a joke, that you are nothing more than a wretched journeyman wandering to any promotion that will have you.
What a sordid outlook.
B. And then, there are those who proclaim you to be a mighty warrior. Oh, they still call you a journeyman. And yet, they describe you as a man who fights with all of his heart.
Call me a romantic or an optimist, but, I’d like to think the true nature of your character falls closer to camp B. At the very least, it would make more a much more intriguing bout at Meltdown, yes?
Mr. Blade, I realize that some fans talk trash about you; I also realize that some of our peers do as well. However, the fact of the matter is, you’ve won championships. The fact of the matter is, you’re showcased by North Atlantic Wrestling. And furthermore, you are still in this business, when others have quit or faded away...
That’s an accomplishment in and of itself.
However Mr. Blade, let me be perfectly clear—I’m going to thrash you. These are not words of false prophecy, a show of arrogance, or a spell of delusion. Sure, you’ve been blessed with the gift of longevity. And while you may be a man who fights with all of his heart—I am so much more superior...
I’m well aware that you aren’t going to believe a word I am saying right now. You’re going to look at me, and see just another pretty face. Or, you’ll attempt to say that I’m merely blowing hot air. You’re going to underestimate me; you’re going to take me for granted.
In truth, I sincerely welcome that train of thought. Assumptions such as those fuel my ever-burning fire; and those very assumptions shall lead to you becoming concussed, or desperately tapping to save one of your dear limbs.
...I wanted to go up against a name, Mr. Blade. Therefore, I chose you. And, I did so to prove a point. Whether you view it as disrespectful or not, most of the wrestling world isn’t privy to NAW or it’s roster—and yet, the wrestling world does know you, Mr. Blade. That is why you are the perfect first opponent for me. You shall be the magnificent catalyst that starts my journey here in NAW.
What a fitting role, hmm?
—And to the rest of the roster, I pray that you all take heed of this match between Mr. Blade and myself. It will be but a small taste of what is to come in the future; and I need you all to know what lays ahead.
Ignorance isn’t bliss, especially when you are afforded the opportunity of knowledge. Therefore, watch and pay attention.
You see, there is something that you all must realize and come to terms with. I am not here to pander, nor am I here to play petty games. I am as talented as I say I am. I am here in NAW to succeed; this match against John will set the tone.
Oh, and just know that my success here in this promotion shall be will be defined by my standards—not yours.
Arrivederci.
Catalina was Misha’s younger sister. Although she was three to four years older than Catalina, the two were almost inseparable as children. Rarely did they bicker or fight in their youth. Instead, they constantly encouraged and supported each other—they were symbiotic. That early bond carried over into adulthood.
And of course, there was Kara. For whatever reason, Misha had felt a close attachment to Kara upon their first meeting. Being a wrestler, Misha had grown accustomed to meeting and mingling with the unsavory and scrums of the earth. Kara was the polar opposite. She was pure and seemingly innocent, almost to the point of nativity. Those qualities thoroughly intrigued Misha. She sparked and peaked feelings that Misha had never felt before. She was most intriguing indeed.
Catalina, Kara, and Misha shared an apartment in New York. Although, if she being completely honest, it was more like a pit-stop than an actual living residence. The constant weekend wrestling trips to Australia and the U.K. were grand nuance at times. It wasn’t the wrestling that bothered her; that was the easy part. It was the incessant travel, the jet lag, the coughing adults and sneezing babies on the plane.
However, she stowed her frustrations and keep pressing on.
She couldn’t say with a clear conscious that professional wrestling was her first love, because it wasn’t. Wrestling was more akin to a wild lady of the night, a scarlet mistress. At times in her life, Misha had tried to distance and separate herself from the sport. Total emergence in anything can lead to madness—life on the road had taught her that lesson first hand.
And yet, every time she began to walk away, that fateful mistress sent telegrams, wrote letters, and left messages on her iPhone. Misha was entrapped, snared in that competitive industry. And while it sometimes meant that her other ambitions had to sit one on the back-burner for a bit, she enjoyed the ride—it was that ride, that mistress that brought North Atlantic Wrestling to her attention.
New York City, NY
December 9th, 2016
Catalina LeCavalier passed through the living and strolled into the kitchen. It’d been a long, strenuous day at the gym and she was quite parched. After grabbing a bottle of SmartWater, she took a seat at the kitchen table. Catalina took a couple of sips as she scrolled through her Twitter feed on her iPhone 7. She shook her head at random bits of shenanigans and then sat her phone down. As she did, her eyes began to wander of over to the white iPad Air that sat on the table.
“Hmm,” she said. “That must be Misha’s.” The screen flashed due to an incoming notification. Catalina scooped up the tablet and unlocked it; Misha rarely kept a passcode on her devices.
She quickly peered at an opened email from NAW personnel. “Oh my. Let me close this; I don’t want to meddle.” She tapped on the home button and swiped up to clear the email application. As did, she noticed that the Adobe PDF application was also open. “Hmm, now what’s this?”
North Atlantic Wrestling Checklist
ꔓ Submit/Knockout John Blade
ꔓ Make People Despise Me (Peers)
ꔓ Out-wrestle the Entire Femme Fatale Division
ꔓ Submit/Knockout/Hurt Kandi Washington
ꔓ Main Event a Meltdown
ꔓ Win the Femme Fatale Championship
ꔓ Win the New Horizon Championship
“Umm, n...no,” Catalina said as she quickly took another sip of water. “I, I was just…”
“Looking through my personal belongings?” Misha jokingly asked as she strolled over to the table and took a seat opposite of her sister. “I bet you were you planning on rifling through my pictures next.”
“No no!” Catalina exclaimed. “I...I’m sorry. All I saw was a bit of your email, and your checklist thing.”
“Catalina, you know I am simply pulling your leg.” Misha crossed her legs and leaned back a bit. “I have nothing to hide from you; you know this.”
“Yeah…” Catalina’s voiced trailed off a bit. Misha watched as her eyes lowered to the floor for a moment. A question found it’s way to the tip of her tongue; however, a look of hesitation was plastered on her face.
“Lift your eyes, Cat,” Misha said. Her tone was a bit more stern than normal. Catalina eyes rose. “What do I always try to instill into you?”
Cat let out an audible sigh. “Confidence…”
“That’s correct.” She folded her arms. “Now, I feel as if you’ve got something to say. Therefore, please go on.”
“Yes, I’m sorry.” Cat shakes her head. “Well, I...I did see that email from from that promotion. North Atlantic, is it?”
Misha nodded. “That’s correct.”
“Is it something that you’re seriously considering?” Catalina paused for a quick second. “I know it is in our blood, to wrestle. But, you...you already work so hard...and so much. Training non-stop, flying out to the U.K and such...” She shook her head slightly in frustration. “Sometimes I worry that you are pushing yourself a bit too hard. I know you’ve got a lot of ambition and drive, but, I don’t want you getting overwhelmed. I, I don’t want you getting into a bad headspace, like last time.
Last time—that phrase invited a gang of emotions to flood Misha’s brain. That was a story for another time. She took a deep breath as she attempted to paddle past said emotions.
“This situation is completely different than the last, dear.” Misha nodded. “Back then, I was a struggling lion. I was mentally overwhelmed, partially due to wrestling six days a week, but also due to the fact that I was half away across the world by myself.” She paused. “Over in Europe, I was alone...more accurately, I should say I felt alone. I felt as if I couldn’t tell you or father about the issues I was dealing with.
“However, I understand that wasn’t the case back then. And, it sure isn’t the case now.” Misha let out a small sigh. “I’ve got you here with me; I know that you have always got my back. And, ever since I met her, Kara has had my best interest at hand. She makes sure that I know that I am loved. Furthermore, she wants to see my career continue to prosper.” Once more, Misha nodded. “I can assure you, Catalina, I’m in a good headspace. That’s one of the reasons why I’ve decided to engage in this venture.”
Her answered seemed to put Catalina at ease, a little bit anyway. “Okay, that’s fair. But, umm, why the checklist?”
“Normally, I simply walk into a promotion and wrestle. Nevertheless, it’s important to create goals and benchmarks. I elected to put my goals in a tangible form, so that I can see them and reflect on them.”
“I see,” Cat said. “I just...just be sure to be careful, alright? And, umm, kick some butt too.”
“Of course, dearest,” Misha replied.
...The life of man—solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.
These very words were unleashed upon the world in 1651 when Thomas Hobbes wrote and published one of the most influential literary works in the history of mankind, The Leviathan. For the ill-informed, The Leviathan details Mr. Hobbes’ personal and professional thoughts on sovereignty and society. Modern philosophers (and those looking to become philosophers) still refer heavy to his work throughout the course of their studies.
When Hobbes crafted his famous thoughts centuries ago, he was thinking in the natural realm of society and macro-living. Ironically enough, there is no way that he might have possibly foreseen that his words would also apply to the careers of most professional wrestlers.
How telling…
But, I’m certain my words alone will not be able to convince you all of this point. So, how about we look at the life and journey of the prototypical wrestler, shall we?
The path to becoming a wrestler begins with training. Incoming hopefuls and prospects shell out massive sums of money in order to “learn the basics.” Some of these prospects actually receive proper care and attention from an attentive trainer. Others? Well, they inevitably end up getting played and swindled.
Those who do not end up getting swindled must then embark on a painful, agonising six to twelve month odyssey. The intensity and veracity of that pain differs depending on one’s location. In Europe and Japan, prospects are beaten to a pulp by their “all knowing” veterans for an indefinite period of time, until they are deemed ready to wrestle. Or, to be more exact, until the veterans get tired of beating ass, or the student’s pockets have run dry.
American students constantly berated with verbal jabs and jousts. They are told they are worthless, meaningless, etc. The mentally warfare is akin to basic training in the military…
Accordingly, a good majority of those people eventually wash out.
The survivors are then tossed head first into a “dog-eat-dog” world. All the blood, sweat, and tears they shed in wrestling school doesn’t mean a thing, because they must then “prove themselves” to the entirety of the wrestling world.
And, but of course, there are all the little nasty nuances that go along with the industry as a whole:
One’s travel schedule is normally long and tedious (if you want to make a name for yourself). The pay is often meager, inadequate, or non-existent starting off. It’s burdensome separating yourself from the masses and truly standing out. And above all else, someone, somewhere is always judging you. Day by day, you are continually analyzed and critiqued by promoters, by your peers, and by the ficklest of fans.
In short, we are nothing more than sideshows to be gazed upon.
It’s not an easy life to lead. It’s not one that everyone can sustain for a long period of time. At this point, those with only a couple years of experience can almost refer to themselves as veterans…
Then, you’ve got people such as you and I, Mr. Blade. People who have endured the beatings and the pain. People who have actively done everything they can to separate themselves from the masses. People who have become successful and established a bona fide name for themselves (whether for better or worse). You and I are stunning outliers in Hobbes’ equation.
...Throughout my eight years in the sport, you and I have never met. Nonetheless, I know of you, Mr. Blade. I’ve heard the chatter; I’ve heard the rumblings. And, I have noticed that people who speak about you regularly fall into one of two camps.
A. There is the camp that says that you are a joke, that you are nothing more than a wretched journeyman wandering to any promotion that will have you.
What a sordid outlook.
B. And then, there are those who proclaim you to be a mighty warrior. Oh, they still call you a journeyman. And yet, they describe you as a man who fights with all of his heart.
Call me a romantic or an optimist, but, I’d like to think the true nature of your character falls closer to camp B. At the very least, it would make more a much more intriguing bout at Meltdown, yes?
Mr. Blade, I realize that some fans talk trash about you; I also realize that some of our peers do as well. However, the fact of the matter is, you’ve won championships. The fact of the matter is, you’re showcased by North Atlantic Wrestling. And furthermore, you are still in this business, when others have quit or faded away...
That’s an accomplishment in and of itself.
However Mr. Blade, let me be perfectly clear—I’m going to thrash you. These are not words of false prophecy, a show of arrogance, or a spell of delusion. Sure, you’ve been blessed with the gift of longevity. And while you may be a man who fights with all of his heart—I am so much more superior...
I’m well aware that you aren’t going to believe a word I am saying right now. You’re going to look at me, and see just another pretty face. Or, you’ll attempt to say that I’m merely blowing hot air. You’re going to underestimate me; you’re going to take me for granted.
In truth, I sincerely welcome that train of thought. Assumptions such as those fuel my ever-burning fire; and those very assumptions shall lead to you becoming concussed, or desperately tapping to save one of your dear limbs.
...I wanted to go up against a name, Mr. Blade. Therefore, I chose you. And, I did so to prove a point. Whether you view it as disrespectful or not, most of the wrestling world isn’t privy to NAW or it’s roster—and yet, the wrestling world does know you, Mr. Blade. That is why you are the perfect first opponent for me. You shall be the magnificent catalyst that starts my journey here in NAW.
What a fitting role, hmm?
—And to the rest of the roster, I pray that you all take heed of this match between Mr. Blade and myself. It will be but a small taste of what is to come in the future; and I need you all to know what lays ahead.
Ignorance isn’t bliss, especially when you are afforded the opportunity of knowledge. Therefore, watch and pay attention.
You see, there is something that you all must realize and come to terms with. I am not here to pander, nor am I here to play petty games. I am as talented as I say I am. I am here in NAW to succeed; this match against John will set the tone.
Oh, and just know that my success here in this promotion shall be will be defined by my standards—not yours.
Arrivederci.