Konami 1 - Who am I?

What does a butler do when her mistress grants her an extra holiday? Especially when she serves as the right hand woman and razor sharp enforcer for the most beautiful faction in professional wrestling. She’s honed her striking and submission techniques to the point that any moment in a match could be the end. Her rapier wit has shown the world just why she and her mistress are not to be trifled with. Ultimately the answer to the question is simply visiting a nice corner cafe and enjoying the pleasant weather. Though cloudy, the threats of rain mixed with snow have not materialized. This means that the silver haired young woman in an uncharacteristically casual oversized sweatshirt and jeans can enjoy the simple joy of a slow and relaxing day out.

Konami has been doing many things in the past two months which she hasn’t done over the preceding decade of wrestling. Wearing a sharp suit, improving her English, researching foreign wrestlers and making the best cup of tea in WLCW are just a few of these. All of it - and seemingly every waking hour - has been in service to her mistress, the Rose Queen. Of course she is respected by Misao for her beauty and power. To serve a woman of such vision is refreshing after the chaos that her previous stable had become. Yet these days off are quite the welcome change of pace. Misao’s presence and demands can be overwhelming even for such a dedicated ally as her. So while her mistress crafts a plot to destroy the embarrassing ugliness in WLCW, Konami is perfectly happy to sit and sip her cappuccino.

With time to herself, Konami has space to reflect a bit. Between relocating to America and the actual wrestling, there hasn’t been much time for such things. She sets the cup down gingerly and watches pedestrians walk by, pitying their humdrum, normal lives which can’t hold a candle to her own. Konami is anything but a normal woman. That’s why Misao plucked her from a potential fall into obscurity. Sometimes she still questions why she was picked when there were so many other women to choose from. Yet she’s here, she’s content and she feels comfortable enough to return to active competition at last. All thanks to the transformation Misao has helped her achieve. A smile crosses Konami’s lips as her gaze shifts to a quaint wooden planter hanging on the other side of the fence behind her chair.

Inside of it are flowers which have been immaculately planted and cared for by the cafe’s staff. None of them are too close to each other, no weeds are allowed to take root either. Undoubtedly they’ve all been plucked from the obscurity of a store shelf to be planted here; it’s too early for such flowers to bloom so much on their own. They provide a splash of color on this gray day, their beauty tantalizing. Konami reaches down and brushes her hand against the delicate petals of a pink one. At that moment she hears a voice amid her thoughts which seems so intimately familiar and yet far out of reach.

On a cold, dreary day in a hip section of Tokyo, Konami sits in a booth at a cafe. She’s nursing a single black coffee and people watching through the large pane window at the shop’s front. A lot of these people must be out meeting friends or dates. Whatever their reasons it’s not of concern to her. All she notices are the bitterness of her coffee and her life at a crossroads. One day she’s had a farewell match in Stardom and left it behind her, the next that promotion itself says farewell. Not that she would have any plans to go back anytime soon if it were otherwise.

She’s transformed herself from the quiet girl who stands in the back into the smart-mouthed, stone cold killer of a true rogue’s gallery of ne’er do wells. No one is safe from her technical skill, from the youngest rookie to the most established star. It’s been so very easy to lose herself in the wildness of this life and she’s begun to thoroughly enjoy causing others pain. At the back of her mind, though, thoughts of someone still linger. Someone who isn’t in her life any longer, whose absence has left a gaping hole in her heart. Konami’s been so absorbed in her work that she’s pushed that person’s identity deep into the recesses of her mind. Yet now that she has time to dig for that identity, it eludes her.

So here she was in a cafe, staring at passers by and leaning back against the dark green pleather of the cafe’s booth. What does Konami do now? There might be a sea of options out there but to her there’s just a void. Nothing to really work forward to, nothing her heart yearns for. Just a void. A void that eventually these simple people will fall into as well. Exactly like the person she’s buried in her thoughts so much that she’s had trouble uncovering who they’re about. At times it’s on the tip of her tongue, but then something happens to distract her.

Like right now. The sound of something being set down on the table draws her attention. Next to her coffee cup is a single red rose. Konami’s eyes follow the rose’s stem to an elegant black glove and then a pale arm. Up the arm and she finds herself looking up at a woman in black with an aristocratic air about her. Though at first cold, the woman’s face warms slightly and she smiles.

<Konami-san? What a surprise to find you here.>

Konami raises her eyebrow dubiously.

The woman is unflappable.

<Employment? Sorry, not sure what you mean.>

Her words are both ridiculously flowery and strangely enticing. Despite herself, Konami is intrigued; it’s not like she has any plans after all.

<Misao-san, you’re a weird lady, but.. I’m listening.>

Konami stands in the baggage claim area of Vancouver International Airport, earbuds in so that she can blissfully ignore any fools around her. No need to get herself wound up about spotting her bags. They are very distinctive, black with red rose patterns upon them. All she needs to do is wait for them to emerge from the mass of hideously pedestrian bags others have brought with them. She’s vaguely aware of others milling around her, grabbing bags or just waiting like her. It’s more than that though - there’s someone else near her; she can feel their eyes locked in on her. Well, if they need something from her they can wait like anyone not named Misao. As she spies her pair of bags, the music on her playlist shifts to an electronic dance beat which is very familiar.

Though she doesn’t know the title, she’s quite fond of it. She moves over to the bags and deftly transfers them to a baggage cart which has seen better days. It’s a bit more of a challenge to do so in the full butler’s attire which Misao has insisted she wear even outside the arena and palace. Konami is capable, so she manages despite the stiff formal attire thanks to the smooth beats flowing through her ears. Almost smooth enough to lead her to dance - almost. Maybe she would if not for that voice asking her a question again.

Konami lowers the headphones and tries to shake the thoughts just as another voice calls to her. It belongs to a foreigner she doesn’t know, but who holds a WWN mic.

You’re facing Britt Baker, any thoughts?

The words of that voice in her head ring through her thoughts. Yet it also pushes her to answer in her customary fashion.

The dentist? She’s good, I almost respect her. But her words are ugly, and she embarrasses WLCW with her presence. So it’s up to me to shut her up. Doc, how will you lock in your finisher after I break your arm? After tonight, people won’t be talking about the D.M.D.

She mimics Britt’s pointing for this and her next words.

They’ll be talking about Submission Sniper KO-NA-MI. I look forward to embarrassing you, Doc.

With that she blows a kiss to the camera and walks off screen, pushing the baggage cart. With each step, though, the same question echoes in her mind.