Post by Grady Kilbride on Jan 2, 2022 14:59:43 GMT -5
The dog rehoming centre is a cacophony of barks and growls as prospective punters browse for furry companions. Our 'hero', Grady Kilbride stands in the periphery of the caged area, breathing deeply with a pensive stare as the remaining customers leave empty handed. Passing through the kennels, Grady's arrival summons a disconcertingly peaceful hush. Not giving another mutt even a glance, Grady approaches the dog furthest from the entrance and shouts back inside towards the staff.
"This one!"
As a gawky teenage assistant approaches the kennels with a key in his hand, the dogs erupt at him, wilder than before their momentary silence. The clerk opens the cage and manoeuvres the dog out by its lead. Exchanged into Kilbride's grip, the dog becomes docile. Grady's led back into the store where he officially becomes the new owner of an abandoned Rottweiler; a dog deemed far too dangerous for its first guardians. "The Shade" escorts his new friend out the rehoming centre, walking down a rough council estate. Many passers-by are intimidated by the creature, whose collar reads "Abraxas".
"I am not this hound's saviour. Maybe she's here to rescue ME."
"The natural kinship we share is no profound revelation. She was alone, washed up, unwanted, unloved. Testing the patience of those whose wick of kindness was burning faint. How fortuitous then, aye, that she would get plucked out of the abyss right before she was due to expire."
"But this wee dog's more than Grady Kilbride's kindred spirit, friends. She imbues qualities I'm deficient in - FIGHT, for one. Oh, she got fight in spades... no pun intended. And that brings me onto you, Spayde Martinez. Hope the bitch metaphor ain't too on the nose."
"You might've noticed that I've been avoiding your calls all Christmas since we somehow lucked into, or cursed into - in your case, this Cruiserweight Tag Championship nonsense. Why?... well, you don't exactly radiate festive cheer. But mostly I been ghostin' ye because I don't know what the frig I'm doing, as you no doubt already guessed. By miraculous timing and happenstance, I blagged an AW jobber appearance to fill out the numbers in CruiserHavoc. THEN, Torture picked a random time, by drawing lots I guess, and it just so happened that next two eliminations would decide the new Tag Champs. Somehow I stumbled into Bolas and you, Spayde, busted up Romeo Finet and, in mere seconds, our fates entwined dramatically."
"Spayde, you're a killer. A bad breed. Rabid. Vicious. You're never without gold in Action Wrestling - first, the Women's Champion... no matter how sketchy that all seemed, few dared question you. Then you dominated the Cruiserweight division. It's natural you'd mark your return to these parts with gold like a moth to a flame. You didn't bet on sharing it with me. Nor did anyone. And I'm afraid this is no hustle scam or Cinderella story... truth is, you're going to have to be the pack leader on this one. Don't expect me to be anything more than the runt of the litter."
As he sighs, he is pulled askew by the lead as the dog seeks out a dead bird on the roadside. She sinks her teeth in, devouring it bit by bit.
"As for LWO... not much to say that Spayde can't articulate better. You're the stray dogs that never find a home but hang around the local's bins, making a bad smell and eating scraps. Mexico were ashamed of you - poor, unimaginative pastiches of a rich, creative wrestling culture. You bodged every Lucha trope; regurgitating decaying meat like my new tyke here will do to this damn bird soon. America nibbled you then spat you right out. You've got nowhere to call home so you hang around. It doesn't matter how shite I am; at least I'm not you."
"Don't think I don't know that this lucky streak is hanging by a thread... but my biggest fortune's being paired with you in our first defence!"
Predictably, the dog spits up the bird's innards.
"Jugo, Rey, my bark's worse than my admittedly fluffy bite...
But Spayde's gonna EAT YOU ALIVE like the dog's dinners you are!"
"This one!"
As a gawky teenage assistant approaches the kennels with a key in his hand, the dogs erupt at him, wilder than before their momentary silence. The clerk opens the cage and manoeuvres the dog out by its lead. Exchanged into Kilbride's grip, the dog becomes docile. Grady's led back into the store where he officially becomes the new owner of an abandoned Rottweiler; a dog deemed far too dangerous for its first guardians. "The Shade" escorts his new friend out the rehoming centre, walking down a rough council estate. Many passers-by are intimidated by the creature, whose collar reads "Abraxas".
"I am not this hound's saviour. Maybe she's here to rescue ME."
"The natural kinship we share is no profound revelation. She was alone, washed up, unwanted, unloved. Testing the patience of those whose wick of kindness was burning faint. How fortuitous then, aye, that she would get plucked out of the abyss right before she was due to expire."
"But this wee dog's more than Grady Kilbride's kindred spirit, friends. She imbues qualities I'm deficient in - FIGHT, for one. Oh, she got fight in spades... no pun intended. And that brings me onto you, Spayde Martinez. Hope the bitch metaphor ain't too on the nose."
"You might've noticed that I've been avoiding your calls all Christmas since we somehow lucked into, or cursed into - in your case, this Cruiserweight Tag Championship nonsense. Why?... well, you don't exactly radiate festive cheer. But mostly I been ghostin' ye because I don't know what the frig I'm doing, as you no doubt already guessed. By miraculous timing and happenstance, I blagged an AW jobber appearance to fill out the numbers in CruiserHavoc. THEN, Torture picked a random time, by drawing lots I guess, and it just so happened that next two eliminations would decide the new Tag Champs. Somehow I stumbled into Bolas and you, Spayde, busted up Romeo Finet and, in mere seconds, our fates entwined dramatically."
"Spayde, you're a killer. A bad breed. Rabid. Vicious. You're never without gold in Action Wrestling - first, the Women's Champion... no matter how sketchy that all seemed, few dared question you. Then you dominated the Cruiserweight division. It's natural you'd mark your return to these parts with gold like a moth to a flame. You didn't bet on sharing it with me. Nor did anyone. And I'm afraid this is no hustle scam or Cinderella story... truth is, you're going to have to be the pack leader on this one. Don't expect me to be anything more than the runt of the litter."
As he sighs, he is pulled askew by the lead as the dog seeks out a dead bird on the roadside. She sinks her teeth in, devouring it bit by bit.
"As for LWO... not much to say that Spayde can't articulate better. You're the stray dogs that never find a home but hang around the local's bins, making a bad smell and eating scraps. Mexico were ashamed of you - poor, unimaginative pastiches of a rich, creative wrestling culture. You bodged every Lucha trope; regurgitating decaying meat like my new tyke here will do to this damn bird soon. America nibbled you then spat you right out. You've got nowhere to call home so you hang around. It doesn't matter how shite I am; at least I'm not you."
"Don't think I don't know that this lucky streak is hanging by a thread... but my biggest fortune's being paired with you in our first defence!"
Predictably, the dog spits up the bird's innards.
"Jugo, Rey, my bark's worse than my admittedly fluffy bite...
But Spayde's gonna EAT YOU ALIVE like the dog's dinners you are!"
