Post by iamjacquim on Jul 28, 2017 21:14:06 GMT
The latest video uploaded to the New Japan Fighting Club boards opens to a somewhat grainy shot of a busy night-time street, somewhere in Tokyo. Locals and tourists alike bustle to and fro under the neon lights, some hurrying along with their heads bent low, others strolling casually, admiring the sights and sounds of Japan's unique capital.
As it continues to move down the street, however, the camera turns its attention to one particular walker. Striding along directly beside the lens, hands deep in the pockets of a skeleton pattern jacket and its hoodie pulled up over their head, the subject's muscular yet slender legs and the hint of curves discernible underneath the hoodie hint at the fact that they are female. A moment later, this suspicion is confirmed, as the strider speaks for the first time, in accented Japanese:
'Right here. On the left.'
The speaker is clearly pointing towards a dark, narrow alley, but that is not where the cameraman's attention lies. Instead, the lens is focused on the building directly opposite, on the other side of the road. Even through the late evening gloom, the Western alphabet letters painted across the front of the property are discernible, and as the camera zooms in, they become even more clearly readable:
'TOUKON AKADEMI
PURORESU DOJO'
The camera does not focus on these words for more than a moment, however, before a voice brings it back down to street level:
'Not THAT, jackass. THIS.'
As the camera spins around,t he hooded figure stretches out a hand, indicating the dank alley in front of her. Under the dim light of two lamp-posts, shadowy figures are barely visible leaning out from under doorways, some holding arms up to their eyes in order to see through the gloom and ascertain what exactly is occurring. The camera catches their uncertain movements and threatening utterances, as the hooded female speaks again – this time in English:
'Welcome to our world, dPEEg.'
The figure strides forward confidently as she speaks, her steps taking on a hint of swivel-hipped street swagger as she advances deeper into the alley. A moment later, her cameraman follows suit, staying just close enough to catch her next few words:
'See, for all you like to say you represent Japan, or you're Tokyo's champions or whatever the fuck...you don't know the real Tokyo. Your Tokyo is the Tokyo out there. The Tokyo of glitz and glam and tourist traps. The nice Tokyo. The safe Tokyo. But the real Tokyo? The real Tokyo is right here in the gutter, where the real locals live.'
The woman advances further into the dingy side street, pushing past former shadows, since transformed into teenaged street urchins. They posture and glower at her, some flashing knives and switchblades, but the woman's pointedly aloof demeanour visibly gives them pause, and they step out of her path as she inexorably makes her way towards the back of the alley.
Only when she has reached the very end of the road, and is facing nothing but a garbage dumpster and a cement wall, does the woman stop, turning to her right to point at a specific spot in the corner.
'And right here? Right here was where I lived. Those six feet of floor right there? Those were home for a gaijin teenager with more mouth than brains.'
The woman turns to the camera for the first time, pulling her hoodie off her head to reveal none other than puroresu veteran and renowned loudmouth, Jacqui Monroe. In this instance, however, her tone is far from its usual boisterousness, instead coming across as subdued as the blonde continues:
'One year, motherfuckers. One year, I slept on this floor, in a sleeping bag, on top of an itchy-ass mattress. One year, I used boxes and barrels and shit to make a fort so no one would sneak up on me at night. One year, I was one of these kids, one of these misfits who don't know who they are or where they belong. And if the dude across the street there hadn't happened to see something more in me...I'd probably still be living here now.
Where do you live in Tokyo, Knox, Cashe? The Ritz-Carlton? The penthouse suit at the Four Seasons?'
Jacqui spits onto the pavement, her trademark intensity finally creeping into her voice and steely gaze.
'Hell no, motherfuckers. You don't get to walk into MY city and disrespect MY people and get away with it. Not until your knowledge of Tokyo goes beyond Sega World and the Tokyo Tower. Not until you know how to say shit beside arigato and hentai Until then...out here...you're nothing. You're tourists. And ain't no amount of belts that's gonna change that.'
Jacqui's glower becomes even more intense.
'See, dPEEg...this shit between us is about way more than a fucking loss at SoCal. It's about way more than just wrestling titles, or win-loss records. It's about pride. Respect. Honor. Concepts that are central to Japanese culture. Concepts you two chuckleheads don't have the first fucking clue about.'
The blonde leans into the camera further, as behind her, shadows begin to move into ranks.
'But dPEEg...this weekend...that's all gonna change. 'Cause see...now you pissed off the locals. And this Sunday...the locals are gonna teach you some respect the only way we know how...by kicking it straight up your ignorant, insensitive asses. And in the end, when all is said and done...our people are gonna have Champions they can get behind. And you? You're gonna get to add a new word to your Japanese phrasebook.
Loser.'
Jacqui gives the camera a smirk before reaching in and turning it away from her and around the other way; it appears somebody else has a few words for dPEEg...
