Post by The Vanguard on Sept 26, 2021 10:17:56 GMT -5
"Try to hit me again," the commanding voice of the martinet came, clipped, through his gritted teeth, and he stood with clenched fists over his partner. His friend.
Dion wasn't injured, so much as angry, as he reclined against the ropes. Wiping his nose with the heel of his hand, he looked as if he could spit nails. "This impromptu martial arts session was fun, but I think we're done here."
It's one of the gyms for Dion's venture with the wrestling school. Daniel had to confess, he has no knowledge of how Dion and his business partners are doing here, but thankfully there are no saucer-eyed trainees in the gym at this moment. What had led up to this was simple, as they had come to work on simple drills in the ring and go over tag team maneuvers with a bean bag, it had turned to a challenge.
Daniel catches his arm roughly as Dion goes to step out of the practice ring. "No, we aren't done. I want us to run some drills against each other. Now, stand up, roll up your sleeves and get your ass in here."
Dion had bristled, then, and stood up, curtly assessing the smaller man. "No, I think you're running aggro and I want no part of it."
Squinting his eyes, he had shook his head a little,. "No, you don't get to back out of the work. We're a team, and -"
"Yeah, Daniel," Dion had snapped, "We are a team, and that means two equals. I know you haven't forgotten that, which is why your attitude of trying to assume control is frustrating. I know how to run a drill and I know how to get our timing down on all of our moves together. Why are you pushing this?"
Daniel's voice rose in accordance, "Because we need to evolve and get better, and that means that we need to tighten up the screws on the whole thing. Because we can't live or die by what we accomplished at Havoc, or at Uprising... nor can we sustain just being the team coasting off one meme forever. We have to be the best we can be."
Dion blows out a breath, gives it a beat, and for one long second that plays out between them, his hand stays in the air and it's not for certain if he's going to ball his fingers into a fist. But then, Dion smiles, despite himself, allowing his partner some grace, albeit giving him a sarcastic edge. His hand flattens, and he clasps Daniel on the shoulder.
"I appreciate your single-minded dedication to your craft. But we've always worked well because you have your way, and I have mine. So taking us from running some practice drills against a bag into us taking swings at each other is not going to get us anywhere. Now, I'm going to go outside and go back to the car, you can join me. Or not. Maybe take your time."
Dion gets down out of the ring, and walks past Michelle. In the ring, Daniel is pacing back and forth. He doesn't seem to be cooling down. Even more than that, he kicks the heavy bag out of the way as he turns towards it.
As he gets down from it, he approaches Michelle, but he's surprised to see her, too, staring at him and keeping herself at a distance like one from an unfamiliar snake. He whirls on her, "What, you too?"
Michelle raises her hands, trying to absolve herself from having a dog in this fight. But he's fuming as he sits down on the apron. He uses his teeth to strip the tape from his fingers, agitated. "Am I wrong?" he asks her.
"Are you wrong in-in what sense, are you wrong to kick your own partner in his ribcage, or -"
"Michelle, we need to get better. We both said that we want this team to be a force in the Tag division on Clash, and now we've got tag teams forming that we can't just laugh off. I want us to eclipse what the Following did by actually taking on teams that mattered and winning, and sometimes it feels like we just - "
" - Okay, I get that, but I mean, the Two Gents down on Cruiserclash get away with silly shit every week and they've become more about branding and selling merchandise. But they're five-time champions."
"I don't want our team to follow the Two Gents model, I want us to eclipse what Two Gents have actually done." He looks at his hands, and grimaces. Like he knows what he's trying to express, he just can't quite get it out. "But I know that our mantra has always been that he and I make each other better, I just - "
"You're going about it all wrong," a voice from off to the side put in. Nate Nawrocki, once and always Redd Dogg, now in his first week of new sobriety. His pallid skin and haunted, ringed eyes peeking out from under a Carhartt cap. But he seems steadier today, not as twitchy and not harboring a secret desire to roll his old mentor.
"Redd," he says, in surprise. The last of his anger has started to ebb away. "Thought you were still sleeping."
"I appreciate you, Danny... but listen... about this thing with your team. Don't kill something before it begins because you're trying to slap 'em around and make him run like the old Inner Circle."
Daniel didn't look his old apprentice in the face, but Redd was looking at him with a sickly kind of intensity of his own burning on his sallow cheeks. Michelle patted a reassuring hand on his shoulders.
"You can't control something like what you and ya boy got. You gotta trust it, it's instinct. You try to micromanage it, you try to control it, you'll create divisions. You'll create distrust. You open the door for..." and he shivers, remembering the devils that he's allowed in, "bad things."
He looked from Redd's face to Michelle's, searching for answers. Michelle just nods an a tacit affirmation.
Michelle puts in, "You're asking how to make both you and Dion better. But your road is different from his, until it's not... you don't have the same starting point. So you have to think about it in terms of how you can silently support Dion to grow on his own, in his business prospects and grow to be the competitor he can be, take back his own company. You support, not bully him into what you want him to be."
He lets out a frustrated grunt, "This is all so much harder than I'm used to."
"Ain't easy walking a path of redemption, bossman." Redd drawls, then he uncomfortably scratches the back of his neck, addict behavior. "Speaking of which - "
"There's the question of what to do about Jason," Daniel says, grimly, looking from Redd to Michelle. "I turned up no leads, except for finding Redd, who Jason had taunted off his steps... we're back to square one."
"And I appreciate you guys letting me ride witcha for a few stops, but... I ain't fit for-for life on the road anymore," Redd says. "I'd just slow you down."
"No, Redd," Michelle says, "This is more than just a support system. We're all a family, and we're here to look after you."
"And I get that," Redd says, looking her in the eyes. "But... me, you. This Serenity girl Jason made away with. We're all broken family. We're all connected..."
"Because of me," Daniel finally says, grimly. "And it's why I have to fix it."
There's a tense silence for a moment. "Now I get why you're so fixated on getting better, getting stronger. Because you think the door swings the other way, don'tcha Danny." Redd says, locking eyes.
"Like 'Chelle said, we all have our roads," he said, uneasily.
The two men clasped hands, parting as brothers with all of the weight of complicated history falling behind them. And Redd walked to the doorway, watching as Daniel turned to Michelle and admitted "Alright, I gotta call Dion back in, I was being an ass." Redd's smile breaks across his wan face, and he mutters a silent "Good for you, bossman."
It's hours later, when he wakes in the middle of the night... the dream not fading from his mind.
He sees Redd, sitting on the edge of his bed, alone in a hotel room, with his wrists laid akimbo at a loose angle. Redd is still seated in that position, slumped, but the sheets of the dingy-lit room are staining with his blood.
In his dream, an image with gnashing teeth had spoken to him, spiking words through his head.
The voice of his deepest, darkest id, his beast, his Jason-voice. "This is what becomes of all of your family. You push them into this. You corrupt them with your presence. You impose your will on them until they break and they break and they break."
"Happened with them all. It'll happen to Dion. It'll be his blood."
He sat up in the bed, sweating profusely. He reached out for the phone at the bedside, silently probing if the dream's words were real... but he withdrew his hand.
Because he knew they were.
Now that the work of headlining the Tag division towards it's deserved status has begun, the question keeps coming up, what did we want to get out of this?
Did we want to model ourselves after the Two Gents, down on Cruiserclash? They've shown flashes of absolute dominance over their Tag division, mixed in with the antics in the White House and their branded merchandising and Gentsburgers. Except for, when they've fallen short, they've fallen to teams that didn't leave a lasting legacy of their own.
It's easy to reign over a division that keeps breaking apart when it's not in focus.
They've lost the belts to Pine-Prom, to the Gatecrashers, and once they inevitably got them back, those teams felt they had no gas left in the tank to compete.
That is not building the type of competitive division Dion and I want.
We want to take on all challengers, and turn them back again and again. We want people to stick together, and raise their game to come back to meet us.
So it is with that said, that this invitational from Cruiserclash for their newest flash-in-the-pan fixation to come up to play with the big boys, holds a lot of weight with me.
The Heritage are just a long line in an unsustainable model, a short-term patch that's meant to give Cruiserclash's tag division an air of competition without any of the hard work that goes into building credibility.
Their only defining trait is that they're Canadian. How is that any less of a joke than Karlie Nash's spiel about defending belts from Mexico?
When two personality-void, pasty white milquetoasts are running shop on your show and beating up your General Manager in an effort to keep themselves relevant for another month, that's when you know you have a problem.
But Luka, James... it doesn't matter if you think you're the baddest team in the frozen north. It doesn't matter if you hire some heavy to do the dirty work. Not one of your antics has amounted to real... lasting dominance over Cruiserclash.
When you had your run with the belts, it was because shoddy refereeing led to them seeing a table break that didn't happen. When you had to defend them in an actual match, you crumbled, against two guys who'd already competed once that night.
As competitors, you're jokes.
But if you consider yourself to be the premier tag team and face of your division, then you're standing firmly in our territory.
Dion and I might have diverging ideas on some of the smaller details, but we are of the same mindset when it comes to who we both want to be. But then... there is a devil in those details, too. Dion is the respectable one, the honorable one, the one who wants us to be shining examples of championship material, the one who wants us to be golden gladiators.
I'm the shooter. I'm the assassin. And ultimately... when it comes down to it, I'm the one who wants to leave people like you in ruins.
Sometimes, you might have to break through some layers of rock to make the road you want.
Prohibition Bar
Minneapolis, MN
Dionysus grinned; while training today was especially grueling, having a familiar face to relax and chat with would be a nice change of pace.
Nestled near the top of the Foshay Tower in the heart of downtown Minneapolis, The Prohibition was one of Dionysus's favorite haunts in the city, aside from The Dakota. It was a place where he could sit and relax, enjoying more intimate company as he saw fit. The whiskey Dionysus had ordered a few minutes ago was sweating onto the table as it sat next to a duffel bag. He started carrying this bag with him at all times, since it carried precious cargo for him. Dionysus looked out from his seat near the window into the skyline; no matter where he traveled to, no matter what sights he would see, to Dionysus, this place was perfection. This place was home, despite its problems. Anything he could do to make his home better, he would do.
In what was slowly becoming a ritual for him, Dionysus pulled the bag closer to him, and began to unzip it. Excitedly, he slipped his hands inside the bag, taking his sweet time to retrieve what was inside. The warmed, hardened leather made for a stark contrast to the cooler metal plates that adorned the tag title belt he was carrying with him. Black leather, silver faceplate and a gold plate on either side adorned with the Action Wrestling logo. His favorite part, however, was the nameplate.
Dionisis
To anyone else, they'd see the obvious typo as an insult and demand it be remade. To Dionysus, however, he deliberately made similar nameplates and would swap them out for the real one when he traveled. That way, should the title ever go missing, or worse it were to be taken, whoever would find it or have taken it, respectively, would end up with some hardware that would be worth virtually nothing...or everything, depending on the right collector. Not that he willingly told people that he swapped out the plates; it was even a secret he kept from his dear friend Daniel.
He ran his hand over the faceplate, still in disbelief. After all this time, Dionysus held tangible recognition of the work he put into a place he considered a second, maybe even a third, home. The reflection in the belt was off, but it showed a man whose driven determination showed weariness and a need to rest. However, it also showed a man who knew the work was not yet done. Half the battle is reaching the pinnacle; the other half is staying there. And sure, it was a division that needed a lot of work, but he was ready, willing and-
Just as he was finishing his thought, Dionysus looked over as a woman was calling his name. Turning, he waved back at Elli, his personal trainer. She had dressed about as simply as he had; a pair of black slacks with a jean jacket covering a faded t-shirt. She walked to the bar to place her order, then took a seat across from Dionysus. "So, back in town huh?" she asked.
"You know it; when the show goes on in your backyard, you don't get to just take a break," Dionysus replied, setting the belt onto the bag. He picked up his glass of whiskey, the ice having mostly melted by this point. "I figured you'd want to see it up close, now that I can freely travel with the thing."
"Very nice," she fawned, putting her hand on the faceplate. "...Why is the name spelled wrong?"
Dionysus shrugged, "Must've been a mix-up in printing; I can get another made." He took a sip, chuckling as he laughed at his own joke.
Elli looked across at him, confused and about to ask, but before she could the waitress came by with her drink; a gin and tonic. She took the glass into her hand, holding it up in front of Dionysus. "So...I guess a toast? Here's to a new champion."
Dionysus reciprocated, holding his own glass toward her. "And to the trainer who helped get me there."
*clink*
As Elli took a more polite drink from her glass, Dionysus finished his in one go, exhaling in satisfaction and rubbing his hands together. "Right, lets celebrate this proper!" he exclaimed, getting up to go place another order at the bar. "You're okay with doing a few shots, right?"
Elli stared in shock, choking briefly on her drink. "I...I would, but I have an appointment in the morning-"
"Oh it'll be fine," Dionysus interrupted, "lets use tonight to relax and learn more about each other." Thinking it over, Elli nodded in approval, smiling. Cracking his own grin, he continued, "Besides...I'm your morning appointment," before making his way back to the bar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just look at that view. Amazing, isn't it? Everything the light touches...is our kingdom.
...Yes, I've been waiting this entire time to make a Lion King reference. You're looking at a new Dionysus; a championship-holding Dionysus. You'd better get used to the references from here on out.
...It IS a bit of an odd movie, wouldn't you say, though?
I mean really, think about it for a moment. They place a great emphasis on the circle of life, yet its a bit one-sided comparatively. You have the pride who serve as the upper echelons of the savannah's higher social structure. Then you have the outlying regions that play home to the guys like Rosencrantz and Gilden-sorry, Timon and Pumba; not exactly belonging to a particular tribe, but making it work all their own. And then, you have the invading force trying to stake their claim and sink their teeth in a land where they don't belong.
Yes...I'm referring...to theCanadians hyenas.
Its been a hell of a time since Downfall and I claimed what was rightfully ours. What we said in the past still holds true today; we're not here to just sit with these belts and wait for another team to inherit a still broken division. We're here to rebuild, to put Action Wrestling's tag division on the map. So when we're told that we'll have an exhibition with an up-and-coming team from the Cruiserclash division, obviously we are not taking the challenge lightly.
...Or at least, we didn't at first. Then we saw it was The Heritage, and I'll be the first to tell you, we both collectively rolled our eyes.
Look fellas, I get where you're coming from; Canadian excellence personified in what you do in the ring. As far as gimmicks go, its fairly straightforward. And Canadian champions on top of that! Impressive, definitely. A good challenge to test the new champions' metal.
...But is it really?
I mean, I'M certainly not all that impressed. I mean lets face it; the books show you were cruiserweight tag team champions, but it was obvious that it was based on a fluke. Hell, all you managed to do was cement Two Gents' already legendary run. That's like adding fertilizer to a hundred-year-old tree; a bit too late and now your hands smell like shit. Look, I can go on and wax poetic about how you guys are coming up to Clash like the hyenas you are, hungry to make a name and to try and tear us to shreds in the process, but I'm just going to make this as simple as possible.
We are not your friends, buddies.
We are not your buddies, guys.
We are not your guys, friends.
We're The Vanguard; the first and last line of the tag division on Clash. And with you as our challengers...it just makes me want...to sing.
Times have changed
This challenge is the worst
All they have to work on
is their lame shoot and to curse
Should we blame the cruiserweights?
Should we blame the fed?
Or should we blame the guy who booked instead?
NO!
Dion wasn't injured, so much as angry, as he reclined against the ropes. Wiping his nose with the heel of his hand, he looked as if he could spit nails. "This impromptu martial arts session was fun, but I think we're done here."
It's one of the gyms for Dion's venture with the wrestling school. Daniel had to confess, he has no knowledge of how Dion and his business partners are doing here, but thankfully there are no saucer-eyed trainees in the gym at this moment. What had led up to this was simple, as they had come to work on simple drills in the ring and go over tag team maneuvers with a bean bag, it had turned to a challenge.
Daniel catches his arm roughly as Dion goes to step out of the practice ring. "No, we aren't done. I want us to run some drills against each other. Now, stand up, roll up your sleeves and get your ass in here."
Dion had bristled, then, and stood up, curtly assessing the smaller man. "No, I think you're running aggro and I want no part of it."
Squinting his eyes, he had shook his head a little,. "No, you don't get to back out of the work. We're a team, and -"
"Yeah, Daniel," Dion had snapped, "We are a team, and that means two equals. I know you haven't forgotten that, which is why your attitude of trying to assume control is frustrating. I know how to run a drill and I know how to get our timing down on all of our moves together. Why are you pushing this?"
Daniel's voice rose in accordance, "Because we need to evolve and get better, and that means that we need to tighten up the screws on the whole thing. Because we can't live or die by what we accomplished at Havoc, or at Uprising... nor can we sustain just being the team coasting off one meme forever. We have to be the best we can be."
Dion blows out a breath, gives it a beat, and for one long second that plays out between them, his hand stays in the air and it's not for certain if he's going to ball his fingers into a fist. But then, Dion smiles, despite himself, allowing his partner some grace, albeit giving him a sarcastic edge. His hand flattens, and he clasps Daniel on the shoulder.
"I appreciate your single-minded dedication to your craft. But we've always worked well because you have your way, and I have mine. So taking us from running some practice drills against a bag into us taking swings at each other is not going to get us anywhere. Now, I'm going to go outside and go back to the car, you can join me. Or not. Maybe take your time."
Dion gets down out of the ring, and walks past Michelle. In the ring, Daniel is pacing back and forth. He doesn't seem to be cooling down. Even more than that, he kicks the heavy bag out of the way as he turns towards it.
As he gets down from it, he approaches Michelle, but he's surprised to see her, too, staring at him and keeping herself at a distance like one from an unfamiliar snake. He whirls on her, "What, you too?"
Michelle raises her hands, trying to absolve herself from having a dog in this fight. But he's fuming as he sits down on the apron. He uses his teeth to strip the tape from his fingers, agitated. "Am I wrong?" he asks her.
"Are you wrong in-in what sense, are you wrong to kick your own partner in his ribcage, or -"
"Michelle, we need to get better. We both said that we want this team to be a force in the Tag division on Clash, and now we've got tag teams forming that we can't just laugh off. I want us to eclipse what the Following did by actually taking on teams that mattered and winning, and sometimes it feels like we just - "
" - Okay, I get that, but I mean, the Two Gents down on Cruiserclash get away with silly shit every week and they've become more about branding and selling merchandise. But they're five-time champions."
"I don't want our team to follow the Two Gents model, I want us to eclipse what Two Gents have actually done." He looks at his hands, and grimaces. Like he knows what he's trying to express, he just can't quite get it out. "But I know that our mantra has always been that he and I make each other better, I just - "
"You're going about it all wrong," a voice from off to the side put in. Nate Nawrocki, once and always Redd Dogg, now in his first week of new sobriety. His pallid skin and haunted, ringed eyes peeking out from under a Carhartt cap. But he seems steadier today, not as twitchy and not harboring a secret desire to roll his old mentor.
"Redd," he says, in surprise. The last of his anger has started to ebb away. "Thought you were still sleeping."
"I appreciate you, Danny... but listen... about this thing with your team. Don't kill something before it begins because you're trying to slap 'em around and make him run like the old Inner Circle."
Daniel didn't look his old apprentice in the face, but Redd was looking at him with a sickly kind of intensity of his own burning on his sallow cheeks. Michelle patted a reassuring hand on his shoulders.
"You can't control something like what you and ya boy got. You gotta trust it, it's instinct. You try to micromanage it, you try to control it, you'll create divisions. You'll create distrust. You open the door for..." and he shivers, remembering the devils that he's allowed in, "bad things."
He looked from Redd's face to Michelle's, searching for answers. Michelle just nods an a tacit affirmation.
Michelle puts in, "You're asking how to make both you and Dion better. But your road is different from his, until it's not... you don't have the same starting point. So you have to think about it in terms of how you can silently support Dion to grow on his own, in his business prospects and grow to be the competitor he can be, take back his own company. You support, not bully him into what you want him to be."
He lets out a frustrated grunt, "This is all so much harder than I'm used to."
"Ain't easy walking a path of redemption, bossman." Redd drawls, then he uncomfortably scratches the back of his neck, addict behavior. "Speaking of which - "
"There's the question of what to do about Jason," Daniel says, grimly, looking from Redd to Michelle. "I turned up no leads, except for finding Redd, who Jason had taunted off his steps... we're back to square one."
"And I appreciate you guys letting me ride witcha for a few stops, but... I ain't fit for-for life on the road anymore," Redd says. "I'd just slow you down."
"No, Redd," Michelle says, "This is more than just a support system. We're all a family, and we're here to look after you."
"And I get that," Redd says, looking her in the eyes. "But... me, you. This Serenity girl Jason made away with. We're all broken family. We're all connected..."
"Because of me," Daniel finally says, grimly. "And it's why I have to fix it."
There's a tense silence for a moment. "Now I get why you're so fixated on getting better, getting stronger. Because you think the door swings the other way, don'tcha Danny." Redd says, locking eyes.
"Like 'Chelle said, we all have our roads," he said, uneasily.
The two men clasped hands, parting as brothers with all of the weight of complicated history falling behind them. And Redd walked to the doorway, watching as Daniel turned to Michelle and admitted "Alright, I gotta call Dion back in, I was being an ass." Redd's smile breaks across his wan face, and he mutters a silent "Good for you, bossman."
It's hours later, when he wakes in the middle of the night... the dream not fading from his mind.
He sees Redd, sitting on the edge of his bed, alone in a hotel room, with his wrists laid akimbo at a loose angle. Redd is still seated in that position, slumped, but the sheets of the dingy-lit room are staining with his blood.
In his dream, an image with gnashing teeth had spoken to him, spiking words through his head.
The voice of his deepest, darkest id, his beast, his Jason-voice. "This is what becomes of all of your family. You push them into this. You corrupt them with your presence. You impose your will on them until they break and they break and they break."
"Happened with them all. It'll happen to Dion. It'll be his blood."
He sat up in the bed, sweating profusely. He reached out for the phone at the bedside, silently probing if the dream's words were real... but he withdrew his hand.
Because he knew they were.
Now that the work of headlining the Tag division towards it's deserved status has begun, the question keeps coming up, what did we want to get out of this?
Did we want to model ourselves after the Two Gents, down on Cruiserclash? They've shown flashes of absolute dominance over their Tag division, mixed in with the antics in the White House and their branded merchandising and Gentsburgers. Except for, when they've fallen short, they've fallen to teams that didn't leave a lasting legacy of their own.
It's easy to reign over a division that keeps breaking apart when it's not in focus.
They've lost the belts to Pine-Prom, to the Gatecrashers, and once they inevitably got them back, those teams felt they had no gas left in the tank to compete.
That is not building the type of competitive division Dion and I want.
We want to take on all challengers, and turn them back again and again. We want people to stick together, and raise their game to come back to meet us.
So it is with that said, that this invitational from Cruiserclash for their newest flash-in-the-pan fixation to come up to play with the big boys, holds a lot of weight with me.
The Heritage are just a long line in an unsustainable model, a short-term patch that's meant to give Cruiserclash's tag division an air of competition without any of the hard work that goes into building credibility.
Their only defining trait is that they're Canadian. How is that any less of a joke than Karlie Nash's spiel about defending belts from Mexico?
When two personality-void, pasty white milquetoasts are running shop on your show and beating up your General Manager in an effort to keep themselves relevant for another month, that's when you know you have a problem.
But Luka, James... it doesn't matter if you think you're the baddest team in the frozen north. It doesn't matter if you hire some heavy to do the dirty work. Not one of your antics has amounted to real... lasting dominance over Cruiserclash.
When you had your run with the belts, it was because shoddy refereeing led to them seeing a table break that didn't happen. When you had to defend them in an actual match, you crumbled, against two guys who'd already competed once that night.
As competitors, you're jokes.
But if you consider yourself to be the premier tag team and face of your division, then you're standing firmly in our territory.
Dion and I might have diverging ideas on some of the smaller details, but we are of the same mindset when it comes to who we both want to be. But then... there is a devil in those details, too. Dion is the respectable one, the honorable one, the one who wants us to be shining examples of championship material, the one who wants us to be golden gladiators.
I'm the shooter. I'm the assassin. And ultimately... when it comes down to it, I'm the one who wants to leave people like you in ruins.
Sometimes, you might have to break through some layers of rock to make the road you want.
Prohibition Bar
Minneapolis, MN
Dionysus grinned; while training today was especially grueling, having a familiar face to relax and chat with would be a nice change of pace.
Nestled near the top of the Foshay Tower in the heart of downtown Minneapolis, The Prohibition was one of Dionysus's favorite haunts in the city, aside from The Dakota. It was a place where he could sit and relax, enjoying more intimate company as he saw fit. The whiskey Dionysus had ordered a few minutes ago was sweating onto the table as it sat next to a duffel bag. He started carrying this bag with him at all times, since it carried precious cargo for him. Dionysus looked out from his seat near the window into the skyline; no matter where he traveled to, no matter what sights he would see, to Dionysus, this place was perfection. This place was home, despite its problems. Anything he could do to make his home better, he would do.
In what was slowly becoming a ritual for him, Dionysus pulled the bag closer to him, and began to unzip it. Excitedly, he slipped his hands inside the bag, taking his sweet time to retrieve what was inside. The warmed, hardened leather made for a stark contrast to the cooler metal plates that adorned the tag title belt he was carrying with him. Black leather, silver faceplate and a gold plate on either side adorned with the Action Wrestling logo. His favorite part, however, was the nameplate.
Dionisis
To anyone else, they'd see the obvious typo as an insult and demand it be remade. To Dionysus, however, he deliberately made similar nameplates and would swap them out for the real one when he traveled. That way, should the title ever go missing, or worse it were to be taken, whoever would find it or have taken it, respectively, would end up with some hardware that would be worth virtually nothing...or everything, depending on the right collector. Not that he willingly told people that he swapped out the plates; it was even a secret he kept from his dear friend Daniel.
He ran his hand over the faceplate, still in disbelief. After all this time, Dionysus held tangible recognition of the work he put into a place he considered a second, maybe even a third, home. The reflection in the belt was off, but it showed a man whose driven determination showed weariness and a need to rest. However, it also showed a man who knew the work was not yet done. Half the battle is reaching the pinnacle; the other half is staying there. And sure, it was a division that needed a lot of work, but he was ready, willing and-
Just as he was finishing his thought, Dionysus looked over as a woman was calling his name. Turning, he waved back at Elli, his personal trainer. She had dressed about as simply as he had; a pair of black slacks with a jean jacket covering a faded t-shirt. She walked to the bar to place her order, then took a seat across from Dionysus. "So, back in town huh?" she asked.
"You know it; when the show goes on in your backyard, you don't get to just take a break," Dionysus replied, setting the belt onto the bag. He picked up his glass of whiskey, the ice having mostly melted by this point. "I figured you'd want to see it up close, now that I can freely travel with the thing."
"Very nice," she fawned, putting her hand on the faceplate. "...Why is the name spelled wrong?"
Dionysus shrugged, "Must've been a mix-up in printing; I can get another made." He took a sip, chuckling as he laughed at his own joke.
Elli looked across at him, confused and about to ask, but before she could the waitress came by with her drink; a gin and tonic. She took the glass into her hand, holding it up in front of Dionysus. "So...I guess a toast? Here's to a new champion."
Dionysus reciprocated, holding his own glass toward her. "And to the trainer who helped get me there."
*clink*
As Elli took a more polite drink from her glass, Dionysus finished his in one go, exhaling in satisfaction and rubbing his hands together. "Right, lets celebrate this proper!" he exclaimed, getting up to go place another order at the bar. "You're okay with doing a few shots, right?"
Elli stared in shock, choking briefly on her drink. "I...I would, but I have an appointment in the morning-"
"Oh it'll be fine," Dionysus interrupted, "lets use tonight to relax and learn more about each other." Thinking it over, Elli nodded in approval, smiling. Cracking his own grin, he continued, "Besides...I'm your morning appointment," before making his way back to the bar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just look at that view. Amazing, isn't it? Everything the light touches...is our kingdom.
...Yes, I've been waiting this entire time to make a Lion King reference. You're looking at a new Dionysus; a championship-holding Dionysus. You'd better get used to the references from here on out.
...It IS a bit of an odd movie, wouldn't you say, though?
I mean really, think about it for a moment. They place a great emphasis on the circle of life, yet its a bit one-sided comparatively. You have the pride who serve as the upper echelons of the savannah's higher social structure. Then you have the outlying regions that play home to the guys like Rosencrantz and Gilden-sorry, Timon and Pumba; not exactly belonging to a particular tribe, but making it work all their own. And then, you have the invading force trying to stake their claim and sink their teeth in a land where they don't belong.
Yes...I'm referring...to the
Its been a hell of a time since Downfall and I claimed what was rightfully ours. What we said in the past still holds true today; we're not here to just sit with these belts and wait for another team to inherit a still broken division. We're here to rebuild, to put Action Wrestling's tag division on the map. So when we're told that we'll have an exhibition with an up-and-coming team from the Cruiserclash division, obviously we are not taking the challenge lightly.
...Or at least, we didn't at first. Then we saw it was The Heritage, and I'll be the first to tell you, we both collectively rolled our eyes.
Look fellas, I get where you're coming from; Canadian excellence personified in what you do in the ring. As far as gimmicks go, its fairly straightforward. And Canadian champions on top of that! Impressive, definitely. A good challenge to test the new champions' metal.
...But is it really?
I mean, I'M certainly not all that impressed. I mean lets face it; the books show you were cruiserweight tag team champions, but it was obvious that it was based on a fluke. Hell, all you managed to do was cement Two Gents' already legendary run. That's like adding fertilizer to a hundred-year-old tree; a bit too late and now your hands smell like shit. Look, I can go on and wax poetic about how you guys are coming up to Clash like the hyenas you are, hungry to make a name and to try and tear us to shreds in the process, but I'm just going to make this as simple as possible.
We are not your friends, buddies.
We are not your buddies, guys.
We are not your guys, friends.
We're The Vanguard; the first and last line of the tag division on Clash. And with you as our challengers...it just makes me want...to sing.
Times have changed
This challenge is the worst
All they have to work on
is their lame shoot and to curse
Should we blame the cruiserweights?
Should we blame the fed?
Or should we blame the guy who booked instead?
NO!