The vessel’s legs are covered in army fatigues as they perform the squat.
Remember to keep yourself vertical even when parts go horizontal. Parallel to the floor. The weights on our back feel like nothing at all. More weight, says the man getting crushed by the rock in defiance of his accusers and the sake of his family. His screams will echo into the night. Ours? Not so much. This is feeding season and we begin to gorge on whatever we can find. Media and opinion and noise. The music is ambient. Everything is wallpaper in the next step of conscious evolution.
When we asked you–fine PRIMEverse–what is there left for us to care for?, we meant it. Let’s break it down.
Friends and Acquaintances
We start with the obvious. Take a look at the people we have tried to connect with here. We are adding both friends and acquaintances into this equation because #1: we don’t have that many of either and #2: it pads the word count nicely.
Ria/RIA/Lockhart/Nightshade: Our current comments over the fact that nothing matters in this ‘verse other than chaos has brought about a bit of talk and mock, naturally and most notably from big cole nugget Brandon Youngblood and false diamond Nate Colton.
(don’t think we didn’t notice)
The majority of the roster seems to shrug it off, either ignoring it or giving a subliminal “so?” in response. But one person expressed concern and that person is the one we call sister. Despite all the bluster and anarchy thoughts she posts on the Jabber, the core of Ria–above everything else–is her giant heart. The fact that her tits are often in the way is a trifle. Even with everything that has happened to her, she still cares. A concept in which we can’t really bring ourself to fathom nowadays.
We used to have a heart so big. Hidden under false bravado, chain smoking, and Tool albums. But still very much there. We used to want to connect. To have somebody that understands. And for each person we opened up to, they took a chunk of that with them until that heart became heartsand. In limited quantity, no less! We could never get as close as we should and even if we could
(must we be honest? why not? we have nothing to lose.)
She tends to have a mental breakdown every time she so much as touches a PRIME ring. She can exist in the periphery fine enough amongst the Bang! and what not. But in PRIME itself, things fall apart. It’s almost as if her chaos and the promotion’s chaos can’t bring itself to mesh somehow.
Kohime Mori: Kohime is a sweetheart filled to the brim with potential, but she falls into the same category as Ria in a way. She is loved by everybody, more or less. But her time at the core has been at best frustrating and at worst heartbreaking. It isn’t any wonder she went back to Japan, became Ria’s…whatever, and wants to fulfill her life goal of hugging the shark man whose name constantly gets lost somewhere in our grey matter.
Eddie Cross: Gone. Presumably running up a mountain somewhere.
Thomas Balligua: Now granted, we aren’t super interconnected. But us and Tom have had our moments together in ring and out of it. That man…is fucked up. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Dude hasn’t had a moment to breathe since he got here and quite honestly, he has an overflowing plate. All we can do is support his madness. After all, that is what we’re here for. 👍
Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Ruslan: One would think we would be at odds. After all, we are the proverbial capitalist dog and they are the steel clad communist heroes. And yet, this has proven to not be the case. Somehow, we manage to not have lasting tension between us. We believe that is mainly because all of us have come to an agree to disagree stance on the matter. We don’t get in their way, they don’t get in ours.
In spite of their reputations and in the case of Alexei, his attempts at sneaking cameras into plush toys, we find both Stanislav and Ruslan to be decent people even if a little bit too devoted to the cause. In this messed up world, they might just be the closest thing to the sanest men in PRIME. Considering their alliances–yes, Kenneth, we see you–that is saying something. As long as we don’t cross paths in combat, there are no issues. And if we do, it would be damn stupid to pour our guts out so they can take advantage. We know the art of war as well as they do.
In all circumstances for differing reasons, everything points to distance as opposed to closeness. With what little we have left to give, we can’t afford to give more than sparse fragments. Who the hell wants fragments of a fuck? They all deserve more than we can give.
Okay, so friendship’s a bust. What about wrath? This is the wrestling business, after all. Not wrestling fun time. What about our enemies?
We have none.
Look at the list of people we have had beef or potential beef with. Teddy Palmer and his pepperoni nips. Cecilia Ryan’s steroid delusions. Jacob Mephisto. Larry Tact. Rowan-Morty-whatever. They all have one thing in common. They are no longer here. Teddy blew a gasket the moment we were a slot ahead of him on the card, quite a trivial thing considering. Cecilia buried her own legacy and dragged the legacy of her father along with her. Mephisto turned into mist. Tact ran out to get milk and never came back. And Mortimer was a fucking idiot who learned nothing from his past and was forced to run away from his issues again.
All of our dance partners self-destruct. So why dance with others? Better to dance alone.
With that out of the running, another motivation for giving a fuck is pure greed. Maybe we should aim for the moon and…
Oh, wait. We locked ourself out of that by losing to Jared fucking Sykes. Next.
There’s no next. There’s no category four. Shit.
All there is left in front of us is this pattern. The pattern that we pointed out and got lambasted for. And we got lambasted for what exactly? Speaking the truth? Pointing out that hard work means nothing? Because last we checked, hard work should work for everybody, not just golden boys and flavors of the weak. But it’s our fault, right? We poured out everything we could, rebuilt the PRIMEporium, rolled with the punches, raised the stakes, and took risks. How much more rolling the border up the hill only for it to flatten you is one supposed to take?
We have tried, PRIME. In a world of ever changing rules, we have tried so hard and we are tired. When we asked the question, there wasn’t a single soul that could give us an answer. Nobody. And we can’t find it. So we’re giving you what you actually want. We will embrace the chaos, inject it in our veins, and let it go completely.
We don’t have it in us to hunt for people that can understand. It’s such a tiresome thing to do and people tend to disappoint us anyway. Whether it’s because we have too high standards or whatever it is doesn’t really matter. The only thing that does mean anything right now is that we need to change. We need to experiment with things. What works and what doesn’t. Even down to the smallest bits, like less caffeine and more weightlifting. We are a shifter.
So what do we want to be?
Whatever it is, one thing is clear. We shall be devoted to our art. Professional wrestling is equal parts drama and violence and if anything, we should strive to become the apex of both. By any means.