Post by Gerard Angelo on Jun 17, 2022 14:38:40 GMT -5
(OOC: This is the CD to my Cannabis Cup RP but it's relevant to the story I'm trying to tell. So if you're following, please enjoy.)
He didn’t even bother to wait for the show to end. He didn’t even shower. He threw his street clothes on and exited the locker room of Allegiant stadium, the roar of the live crowd for Evolution echoing throughout the hallways of the stadium, nearly making it vibrate. He pulled his hood down over his face as pushed open one of the side doors and stepped out into the warm Las Vegas evening. He immediately regretted the decision of wearing the hoodie but he did not want to be bothered at the moment.
Gerard reached into the hoodie pocket, pulling out a slightly crushed pack of cigarettes. He flicks it open and pulls a slightly bent cigarette out and a Bic lighter. Gerry flicks on the lighter and burned the end of the cigarette before letting out an exhale of smoke.
His life had slowly started to unravel. It all started around when he discovered his late mother’s death was potentially a murder. Since then it had been downhill. The two men he paid to watch his back had a falling out. One decided he’d rather run around with his girlfriend than focus on the game plan. The other decided he got sick of it. That video of him trying to strangle his father at the wedding was making the rounds on social media and TMZ got a hold of it. He hadn’t heard anything from Action about it yet. He figured everyone was too busy with the big show to worry about one talent’s extracurricular activities. Gerard figured it would be addressed in the coming days with a fine or suspension of some sort.
The icing on the cake was he lost his United States title tonight without being involved in the fall.
He took another deep drag on the cigarette and leaned back against the wall of the stadium, looking out across the packed parking lot, staring at the pink-red sky. He needed to take his mind off things. There was nothing that could be done about anything at the moment as his life was tanking like the stock market.
Maybe it’s the pills.
Gerry shook his head. No, he didn’t have a problem. Everything he did was strictly recreational.
Sure. That’s what every addict says.
Addict. The word brought thoughts of people stealing money and selling items to pay for drugs. Gerard was a world-famous actor and professional wrestler. He maybe got a little rowdy at times, but nothing destructive.
Your spiral didn’t start with the news about your mother. It started when you opened that pill bottle.
Gerry shook his head again, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He opened his phone and went to the Uber app, looking for a driver. He needed something to take the edge off.
=====
Gerard sat in his hotel suite, sitting in one of the high-backed chairs in the room, his feet raised on the ottoman. He clutched a bottle of scotch in one hand, a cigarette clenched between two fingers on the other. The TV was on as he stared at it with heavy-lidded eyes, casually ashing his cigarette on the carpet.
Wow, you’re so fucking cliché. Wrestler drowning his sorrows in the hotel room of insert town he lost in.
“Shut the fuck up,” Gerry mutters, taking a swig from the bottle.
No wonder you lost your fucking title. Look at you. You call yourself the best in the business but you lost to a guy you said couldn’t lace your boots. You’re not even the best in your own company but you want to do this Cannabis Cup? You’re gonna embarrass yourself.
“I said shut up.”
You trying to go out there and prove yourself against the rest of the wrestling world is a disaster waiting to happen. You’re washed. You caught fire for a couple of months and now you’re just back to being a man trying to capture past glory again. You’re everything you talk shit about in the past.
“Get out of my fucking head”, Gerry said, standing up on shaky legs. He stumbles over to the mirror, staring at his reflection. He doesn’t even recognize the man in the mirror. It’s the eyes. They look defeated and hallow.
I can’t get out of your head. I am you. I am the truth. I’m everything you know to be true that your overinflated ego won’t let you acknowledge. You’re a has-been. Living Legend? Please. You’re nothing but an addict now.
“You’re not real. You’re not real.”
Oh but I am. I’m the real you. Just face it, you don’t have what it takes anymore. Short bursts of success followed by draughts of mediocrity. You always think you can hang with the best, get people talking about you. Then as soon as you get that added pressure you fold. Just like tonight. Give you a little bit of success and you fall flat on your face. Just like at Evolution. Just like what will happen at the Cannabis Cup.
“Get out of my head.”
You just want to drown your problems with pills and booze instead of facing them. Trying to coast on that shallow pool of talent you still have and yet still falling short constantly. Good thing your mother is dead so she can’t see just how pathetic you really are.
Gerard stared back at his reflection and it seemed that his lips were twisting into a cruel smile. Gerard snarled and swung the bottle at the mirror. It connected, leaving a crater as cracks spider-webbed across the side. Even behind the cracks, his mirror-self stared back at him, lips still split in that awful grin. He turned away from the mirror but his legs gave out and he fell. The last thing he saw was the carpet rushing up at him before it went dark.
He didn’t even bother to wait for the show to end. He didn’t even shower. He threw his street clothes on and exited the locker room of Allegiant stadium, the roar of the live crowd for Evolution echoing throughout the hallways of the stadium, nearly making it vibrate. He pulled his hood down over his face as pushed open one of the side doors and stepped out into the warm Las Vegas evening. He immediately regretted the decision of wearing the hoodie but he did not want to be bothered at the moment.
Gerard reached into the hoodie pocket, pulling out a slightly crushed pack of cigarettes. He flicks it open and pulls a slightly bent cigarette out and a Bic lighter. Gerry flicks on the lighter and burned the end of the cigarette before letting out an exhale of smoke.
His life had slowly started to unravel. It all started around when he discovered his late mother’s death was potentially a murder. Since then it had been downhill. The two men he paid to watch his back had a falling out. One decided he’d rather run around with his girlfriend than focus on the game plan. The other decided he got sick of it. That video of him trying to strangle his father at the wedding was making the rounds on social media and TMZ got a hold of it. He hadn’t heard anything from Action about it yet. He figured everyone was too busy with the big show to worry about one talent’s extracurricular activities. Gerard figured it would be addressed in the coming days with a fine or suspension of some sort.
The icing on the cake was he lost his United States title tonight without being involved in the fall.
He took another deep drag on the cigarette and leaned back against the wall of the stadium, looking out across the packed parking lot, staring at the pink-red sky. He needed to take his mind off things. There was nothing that could be done about anything at the moment as his life was tanking like the stock market.
Maybe it’s the pills.
Gerry shook his head. No, he didn’t have a problem. Everything he did was strictly recreational.
Sure. That’s what every addict says.
Addict. The word brought thoughts of people stealing money and selling items to pay for drugs. Gerard was a world-famous actor and professional wrestler. He maybe got a little rowdy at times, but nothing destructive.
Your spiral didn’t start with the news about your mother. It started when you opened that pill bottle.
Gerry shook his head again, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He opened his phone and went to the Uber app, looking for a driver. He needed something to take the edge off.
=====
Gerard sat in his hotel suite, sitting in one of the high-backed chairs in the room, his feet raised on the ottoman. He clutched a bottle of scotch in one hand, a cigarette clenched between two fingers on the other. The TV was on as he stared at it with heavy-lidded eyes, casually ashing his cigarette on the carpet.
Wow, you’re so fucking cliché. Wrestler drowning his sorrows in the hotel room of insert town he lost in.
“Shut the fuck up,” Gerry mutters, taking a swig from the bottle.
No wonder you lost your fucking title. Look at you. You call yourself the best in the business but you lost to a guy you said couldn’t lace your boots. You’re not even the best in your own company but you want to do this Cannabis Cup? You’re gonna embarrass yourself.
“I said shut up.”
You trying to go out there and prove yourself against the rest of the wrestling world is a disaster waiting to happen. You’re washed. You caught fire for a couple of months and now you’re just back to being a man trying to capture past glory again. You’re everything you talk shit about in the past.
“Get out of my fucking head”, Gerry said, standing up on shaky legs. He stumbles over to the mirror, staring at his reflection. He doesn’t even recognize the man in the mirror. It’s the eyes. They look defeated and hallow.
I can’t get out of your head. I am you. I am the truth. I’m everything you know to be true that your overinflated ego won’t let you acknowledge. You’re a has-been. Living Legend? Please. You’re nothing but an addict now.
“You’re not real. You’re not real.”
Oh but I am. I’m the real you. Just face it, you don’t have what it takes anymore. Short bursts of success followed by draughts of mediocrity. You always think you can hang with the best, get people talking about you. Then as soon as you get that added pressure you fold. Just like tonight. Give you a little bit of success and you fall flat on your face. Just like at Evolution. Just like what will happen at the Cannabis Cup.
“Get out of my head.”
You just want to drown your problems with pills and booze instead of facing them. Trying to coast on that shallow pool of talent you still have and yet still falling short constantly. Good thing your mother is dead so she can’t see just how pathetic you really are.
Gerard stared back at his reflection and it seemed that his lips were twisting into a cruel smile. Gerard snarled and swung the bottle at the mirror. It connected, leaving a crater as cracks spider-webbed across the side. Even behind the cracks, his mirror-self stared back at him, lips still split in that awful grin. He turned away from the mirror but his legs gave out and he fell. The last thing he saw was the carpet rushing up at him before it went dark.