Post by Coyote on Feb 19, 2014 16:22:38 GMT -6
I am Coyote.
As I look about around the dojo, at my fellow students training, I find myself pondering that statement. Am I Coyote? I mean, I am, in identity, I suppose. That’s what everybody here refers to me as, anyhow. And why should they know any better? After all, that’s how my benefactor has introduced myself to them. And due to the... pervasive rules that come with the identity, has prevented myself from correcting them.
And I’m grateful. Truly I am. For the opportunities at least. For two long years, I put in the work at that pokey little gym in Toronto. I saw two more Coyotes in my time there, and watched them waste the opportunities granted to them. And since day one, I knew I wouldn’t let that be me. I knew I wanted that chance, to be the one the gym put all its muscle behind, to have that opportunity and to make the most of it. So I put in the effort, day by day. Getting there early to warm up. Leaving late, so I could help put the equipment away. Knowing I wasn’t the most gifted, that I had to work hard, and to make the most of each and every chance. I did my time, twice over, to earn this. This hand-me-down name and identity. A gimmick they say is designed to make humility. We’ll help you make your name, but only as a faceless, voiceless entity. Don’t say what you can do. Show it.
And of course I take it seriously. You have to. Since accepting this chance, since flying down here, no-one has seen my face. Not another living soul has heard my voice. And it’s difficult. How the hell wouldn’t it be? Thank goodness they let me use Twitter to communicate, or else I’d have gone mad by now. But I have, to date, upheld my half of this Faustian pact. And now, finally, it comes to fruition. After two years of sweat, toil, and keeping in line, it all pays off. Finally, I get to make my debut. And now I find myself questioning myself. Am I ready? Am I able to do this? More importantly, is Coyote? Is it really me stepping into that ring on Sunday? Am I even me anymore? Or am I just a passenger, here for the ride? This identity seems to have a life of its own. But is it symbiotic, or a parasite? Or am I over thinking things, and I’m just a crazy guy in a mask? And most importantly, does it even matter? What does it matter who steps into that ring? People wouldn’t even notice if I wasn’t there. As long as the mask is there.
But at least I don’t stand alone on Sunday. Anastasia fights by my side. She is still unsure in her abilities, but what she lacks in belief, I make up for a hundredfold. I can see the gifts she has, the talents which brought her to Madame’s eye. Everything I lack in natural talent, she has in abundance. For two years I have slogged away, working to improve myself, to give myself what nature denied me, and here she stands, my opposite. As she trains, I can see the effortless grace in her movements. With time, she will be the greatest of us all. And that is why I have made my mind up about her. That is why she must be protected, and allowed to grow, to reach her potential. She is the rarest and most delicate of flowers, and that is something that must be defended. And God have mercy upon the soul that dares harm even one hair on her perfect head.
That is the only warning that I could possibly issue my opponents this coming weekend. If I was in a position to offer advice, that is. We’re all keen to give a fine first impression. No one wants to take the debut loss. All the tricks will be coming out of the bag. Black will no doubt come out with his full lexicon of assault, Hagane showing the skills that have made him Papa’s chosen student. And this is well and good. But let them know this, if they only learn one thing from me. Harm my Little Songbird, and I will visit upon them a wrath unconceivable. I will teach them that there are things in this world worse than defeat. If I can promise nothing else, I promise this.
Not that I expect too many issues, for although I am sure Duke and Black have been training together, as have Ana and I. Under the eyes of both Madame and Wulf, we’ve worked together, learning to understand how each acts in the ring, and developing our trust. And on our half, at least, the trust is absolute. They can break my body. They can attack my mind. But they will not, and cannot, make me doubt my trust in my Little One. For they do not face Coyote and Ana in that ring, no. They face the combined force of us both, a sum that is exponentially greater than its components.
Wily? Wily, are you OK? You’ve been looking at that wall a while now.
I turn, and look at her. I can’t help but smile. I softly nod, letting know all is well. And as she returns to her training, that inimitable dance in her step, I continue to smile. For as long as she stands by my side, I know who I am.
I am Coyote.
As I look about around the dojo, at my fellow students training, I find myself pondering that statement. Am I Coyote? I mean, I am, in identity, I suppose. That’s what everybody here refers to me as, anyhow. And why should they know any better? After all, that’s how my benefactor has introduced myself to them. And due to the... pervasive rules that come with the identity, has prevented myself from correcting them.
And I’m grateful. Truly I am. For the opportunities at least. For two long years, I put in the work at that pokey little gym in Toronto. I saw two more Coyotes in my time there, and watched them waste the opportunities granted to them. And since day one, I knew I wouldn’t let that be me. I knew I wanted that chance, to be the one the gym put all its muscle behind, to have that opportunity and to make the most of it. So I put in the effort, day by day. Getting there early to warm up. Leaving late, so I could help put the equipment away. Knowing I wasn’t the most gifted, that I had to work hard, and to make the most of each and every chance. I did my time, twice over, to earn this. This hand-me-down name and identity. A gimmick they say is designed to make humility. We’ll help you make your name, but only as a faceless, voiceless entity. Don’t say what you can do. Show it.
And of course I take it seriously. You have to. Since accepting this chance, since flying down here, no-one has seen my face. Not another living soul has heard my voice. And it’s difficult. How the hell wouldn’t it be? Thank goodness they let me use Twitter to communicate, or else I’d have gone mad by now. But I have, to date, upheld my half of this Faustian pact. And now, finally, it comes to fruition. After two years of sweat, toil, and keeping in line, it all pays off. Finally, I get to make my debut. And now I find myself questioning myself. Am I ready? Am I able to do this? More importantly, is Coyote? Is it really me stepping into that ring on Sunday? Am I even me anymore? Or am I just a passenger, here for the ride? This identity seems to have a life of its own. But is it symbiotic, or a parasite? Or am I over thinking things, and I’m just a crazy guy in a mask? And most importantly, does it even matter? What does it matter who steps into that ring? People wouldn’t even notice if I wasn’t there. As long as the mask is there.
But at least I don’t stand alone on Sunday. Anastasia fights by my side. She is still unsure in her abilities, but what she lacks in belief, I make up for a hundredfold. I can see the gifts she has, the talents which brought her to Madame’s eye. Everything I lack in natural talent, she has in abundance. For two years I have slogged away, working to improve myself, to give myself what nature denied me, and here she stands, my opposite. As she trains, I can see the effortless grace in her movements. With time, she will be the greatest of us all. And that is why I have made my mind up about her. That is why she must be protected, and allowed to grow, to reach her potential. She is the rarest and most delicate of flowers, and that is something that must be defended. And God have mercy upon the soul that dares harm even one hair on her perfect head.
That is the only warning that I could possibly issue my opponents this coming weekend. If I was in a position to offer advice, that is. We’re all keen to give a fine first impression. No one wants to take the debut loss. All the tricks will be coming out of the bag. Black will no doubt come out with his full lexicon of assault, Hagane showing the skills that have made him Papa’s chosen student. And this is well and good. But let them know this, if they only learn one thing from me. Harm my Little Songbird, and I will visit upon them a wrath unconceivable. I will teach them that there are things in this world worse than defeat. If I can promise nothing else, I promise this.
Not that I expect too many issues, for although I am sure Duke and Black have been training together, as have Ana and I. Under the eyes of both Madame and Wulf, we’ve worked together, learning to understand how each acts in the ring, and developing our trust. And on our half, at least, the trust is absolute. They can break my body. They can attack my mind. But they will not, and cannot, make me doubt my trust in my Little One. For they do not face Coyote and Ana in that ring, no. They face the combined force of us both, a sum that is exponentially greater than its components.
Wily? Wily, are you OK? You’ve been looking at that wall a while now.
I turn, and look at her. I can’t help but smile. I softly nod, letting know all is well. And as she returns to her training, that inimitable dance in her step, I continue to smile. For as long as she stands by my side, I know who I am.
I am Coyote.