Post by Gerard Angelo on Aug 28, 2022 7:13:58 GMT -5
Rōnin.
Loosely translated to “drifter”, or “wanderer”. For nearly seven hundred years a ronin was a samurai warrior in feudal Japan without a master or lord, known as a daimyo. A samurai could become a ronin in several different ways: his master might die or fall from power or the samurai might lose his master's favor or patronage and be cast off.
Usually, a rōnin could find a new daimyo as Japan was chaotic. But as shoguns started to bring peace to the country, it became harder to find for rōnin. If they remained masterless, they were expected to commit ritual suicide according to the code of bushido.
Some chose to buck tradition and become bodyguards and sell-swords to the highest bidder.
Some of these men decided to band together, forming an organization, selling their skills and services across the country. As time went on they lived in secret, a hushed whisper as these men became a legend, the boogeymen in the night.
In 1853, when Japan opened its borders to the West, these men were hired across the globe, morphing into a ruthless agency of assassins that stretched to every corner of the known world. The more success, the higher the price went. Someone high profile was taken out? Their name was mentioned in whispered accusations.
This was the way.
This was Rōnin.
=====
Lissie fucking Hope.
Why is it you? Why are you the one here facing me?
Despite all its greatness, Action Wrestling insists on trying to make you a thing, Lissie Hope. Management bends over backward to give you the spotlight. You’re getting your own fucking premium live event for fuck’s sake. You get put in high-profile matches when you’ve done nothing to earn it.
I had to earn my way into a number one contender's match. Then in the said match, I had to defeat three of the best wrestlers in the world.
Yet you just got handed a match. How does that work? How is that fair?
I’m sure you’d blabber something like, I’m Lissie Hope and list a bunch of your accolades like nobody can read your bio on TopEFed.com. To that, I would ask what blackmail you have on Torture because you ain't that same person anymore, Elisabeth.
The Lissie Hope of 2019/20? Yeah, that was a person who made a mark on this industry. A person who everyone needed to be wary of. But this current version of you is just a shell of that woman, coasting on her accomplishments while you argue for hours on Twitter because someone complimented a person you dislike.
These idiots that populate the arenas we perform in and discuss our business with Wikipedia-level knowledge may go fucking gaga whenever they see you but we both know the truth, even if your over-inflated ego won’t let it register in your brain.
You no longer have it in you to stand on your own two feet. You’re someone that needs a crutch to lean on now. Your biggest win this year was when Addy won you guys those tag titles. The rest of the time? You were losing match after match that was supposed to matter. Saying before each one this it, this is the one that springboards you back into being the Lissie Hope of old before falling flat on your face each time.
Beating Ash Blake was going to rid you of those Phillidor demons and complete your redemption.
You lost.
The Trials of Despair. Winning that was going to bring us the old Lissie back.
I fucking ended that pipe dream.
Battlebowl. You were supposed to win that. You’re destiny, no?
Blake turned your destiny into a fable. Again.
Havoc was supposed to be your redemption.
You failed.
Cypher was a thorn in your side for months. You called him over to the hallowed ground that is Action Wrestling so you could exorcise the demon that was bothering you and your little blonde plaything at the time so you could finally move on.
You lost.
Seems to be the theme of your life. Losing matches, things, and people that you care about.
Oh, but at least you beat Cassidy Adler before he gave a shit. Congrats.
=====
The sweat dripped down his face, dripping off the end of his nose down onto the screen of the treadmill. He took in mouthfuls of air as he ran, the corded muscles of his bare torso flexing with each stride. Gerard went through all of the information as he ran. He had a full plate between training for his title defense at Uprising and trying to find anyone that could give information on the infamous Ronin. He thought maybe he could find someone in the know from his father’s military contacts or flexing a little Angelo power at the company. That would have to wait until after Uprising. He might not have respected Lissie but taking her lightly was a mistake, one so many before him had made. Gerard wouldn’t be caught lacking. He had a couple more hours of film study later on tonight. His thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing. He slowed the machine to a jog and answered his phone.
“Sean?”
“Yeah it’s me dickhead”, his brother said, “Get dressed we’re going out tonight!”
“I can’t. I’m preparing for my match.”
“You already beat that chick.”
“You can never be too prepared.”
“Jesus, you sound like fucking dad. Just come on. My friend Tim said a model’s birthday party is happening at Valhalla tonight.”
“Sean, they aren’t going to let you and your creepy friends hang out with them.”
“That’s where you come in.”
Gerry rolled his eyes.
“I have to watch film.”
“Dude, you can watch it on your phone all night. Don’t you guys have an app?”
“Fine,” Gerard says while pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll be over in an hour.”
Sean hangs up and Gerard turns the machine off grabbing his towel, wiping his face. He just knew he was going to regret this somehow.
=====
You continue to walk around like you are still this wrestling wunderkind when in reality you’re just someone flailing around, trying to grasp on to anyone or anything to keep you relevant. You think if you keep repeating everything you’ve ever overcome that it will somehow convince me that you’re a real threat here.
I never overlook anyone but I’ve kept tabs on you for the last eight months. It’s not your ability, Lissie, the skill and talent are still clearly there. It’s your mind. You haven’t been in that same headspace for years where you inexplicably won this World title as your first.
It’s long gone and like an addict, you’ve been chasing that high for the last two years. I’ve seen it happen many times to people in this industry. Keep trying to take a little bit more each and every time to get that feeling back. Because you need it. Eventually, you’re gonna take too much and be just another tragic story of this business.
Oh sorry. Did that hit too close to home?
=====
Gerard sat in the back seat of the car service ride, watching old Lissie Hope matches on his iPhone. He peered up from the screen looking at his brother. Sean was tapping away at his phone, the soft clicks joining with Billy and Chris’ commentary. Gerard paused the video.
“So are we picking up this Tim guy?”
“Nah”, Sean says, not looking up from his phone, “He’s at the club already. He got us a table.”
“One of your friends can get in somewhere without me? Who is this guy?”
Sean shrugged, staring at his phone.
“I met him at a party a few months back. He’s a cool guy. Used to sell Joe Rogan DMT.”
“Yeah, he sounds great.”
Sean seemed to miss the sarcasm as he just nodded. Gerry went back to watch the match on his phone. They rode in silence for a few more minutes when the car pulled up at the front of Valhalla. Gerard pulled his shades from his suit jacket, slipping them on as he got out. The line was nearly stretching around the block. Gerard walked to the front of the line with Sean in tow. He dapped up the bouncer who let them pass the sacred velvet rope. Bass boomed and lights flashed as they entered the club.
Gerard followed Sean this time as he led them over to the VIP area where Tim was sitting. He was dressed poorly in dirty jeans and a wrinkled Bahama shirt. A bucket cap was seated on messy blonde curls. He rose from the table and met Sean with a handshake and half hug.
“Tim, this is my brother Gerard.”
Gerry extended his hand which Tim shook.
“Nice to meet you, man. I used to get stoned to Spies International all the time.”
“That’s good to know I guess.”
They all sat down and immediately, Gerry poured himself a half-full glass of vodka from the table. He gulped some down as his brother talked with his friend.
“So where are these models, bro?”
“Over there,” Tim said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. Both brothers looked, seeing a bevy of beautiful women that graced the covers of Victoria’s Secret and Sports Illustrated. One of them looked extremely familiar in fact. Gerard slapped his brother in the arm.
“Look Sean”, he said with a point, “It’s Katia.”
Gerard got up and walked over, calling the name of his father’s wife. She turned around, dress in a short, black dress, one manicured hand clutching a martini.
“Boys”, she said in her accent, smiling, “What brings you here?”
“They wanted to see your friends.”
“I don’t blame them,” Katia said with a laugh, “Your father is away on business so I came to be a good rich wife and drink with my friends. It’s Ivana’s birthday.”
“Get used to it. He’s away a lot.”
“Good thing I can take care of myself. Do you boys want to come hang with us?”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate that,” He said, glancing over his shoulder at Sean and Tim before motioning them over, which they did, trying to act nonchalant.
=====
Lissie. I respect what you’ve done in this business. You came in and proved yourself to be more than just another competitor, more than just another pretty face. It’s not easy to come into a male-dominated profession like this, the boys club, and force everyone to take notice. As a woman, to come in and prove that you’re one of the best, regardless of gender, that’s impressive.
That being said, I can’t fucking stand you as a person.
You’re one of the worst kinds of people. A selfish, self-centered, entitled brat.
Being selfish is part of the game. I’ll admit it before you make a dumb “pot-kettle” reference. It’s the fact that you use this perceived moral high ground that you have to justify it. Nobody calls you out on your bullshit because you confine yourself to this tiny echo chamber with Johnny, Addy, and the rest of your simping fans that just go “yassss queen” every time something moronic falls out of your mouth or is posted on Twitter for the world to see.
You think that whatever you want is just owed to you. That whatever someone else has should be handed to you because you think you deserve it. Like a monarch trying to call their right to prima nocta, you think things are yours by some divine right.
How about you constantly pining for and throwing yourself at Howard Black, despite the fact he was a married man?
All those times you tried to seduce Bacchus despite the fact he was in a relationship with that poor girl Mae you tortured the entire time in Philidor.
Oh, do you remember when you couldn’t let your “best friend” have her moment in the sun and get her World title shot, so you cashed your briefcase in and stole her moment?
The most disgusting thing of all is you making your brother’s tragic death all about you. So selfish that you couldn’t even let people mourn him because you were the actual victim in this.
Every time you open your mouth you show your true colors. The Lissie that was part of Philidor Holdings didn’t have anything to do with brainwashing. That was the real you Lissie. The one you hide behind this facade of being everyone’s girl. The same shit that fat idiot Billy spouts off when you come out because you smile at him and he’s never felt the touch of another human being.
Not me. I see right fucking through you.
You hide behind a victim’s mentality. That's why I can’t fucking stand you. You can do and say whatever you want but the minute there is some pushback against the gospel of Hope, you cry foul. You spout off this fake morality act while being an absolutely terrible person.
I guess the end justifies the means for Lissie, and only Lissie, right? God no wonder that commie fuck simps for you.
You don’t deserve this championship. You can talk about destiny, pillars, and cornerstones all you want but you’re finally going to get told no when I slap you back to fucking reality. You might as well buy a bottle of Wild Turkey preemptively because you’re already off the wagon if you think you’re taking my strap from me. This title is my mistress. I have worked too hard at her conquest to let anyone take her from me.
I’ve never heard someone talk as much as you about being a pillar of Action Wrestling and a cornerstone of the company who goes off and wrestles in a VFW for a litany of Indie feds.
Because that’s what company cornerstones do right? Use that star power that the biggest federation in the world gave you to prop up places that only virgins in the IWC give a fuck about.
What would you do if you won this title, Lissie? Parade the most important championship in wrestling around in CU:LT? Go wave it around in whatever company's owner asks you to come in and give whatever vanilla midget they want to be the guy a rub?
I’d be buried six feet deep before I let that happen.
=====
As the night went on, the drinks flowed and they all got more acquainted. Sean was hitting it off with the birthday girl, who happened to be the same one that was into his at their father’s wedding. Even Tim had the attention of a few women out of his league, though that may have had something to do with the fact that he had several grams of coke on him. Gerard politely talked back to the other women showing him attention but his was on his phone as he kept watching more of Lissie’s matches. He took a sip of his scotch when he felt a skinny, pale, arm drape around his shoulder. Gerry turned his head slowly to look at Tim.
“Can I help you?”
“You need to relax bro. No play makes you a dull boy.”
“This is for work.”
“I respect that. We’re both captains of industry.”
“The fuck are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to say take this”, he said, gesturing with the hand around Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard looks into his hand, seeing a round green pill sitting in his palm. Gerard looked at Tim.
“It’s a bit of molly,” He said matter of factly, “Listen, I know you’re a wrestler but you can’t go into a match with Hope all wound up. You wanna be loose as possible.”
Gerry didn’t know what it was that made him pull the pill out of his hand. Whether it was the alcohol or something in Tim’s voice, he was making sense at that moment. He shrugged and popped the pill into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of scotch. Gerard turned and gave the short model with dark hair a smile.
=====
I’ve said this before. Action Wrestling is in a state of flux. It needs a steady hand to guide it into the future. That’s not you. You’re irrational and emotional. You started a blood feud with a computer hacker because he was angry you rubbed his nose in the fact you were bumping snatches with his ex. When you're not tweeting about a reality show that jumped the shark a decade ago, you’re acting stark raving mad when someone pushed your buttons.
You can’t be representing the gold standard of wrestling companies.
Under my guidance though, Action Wrestling is hotter than ever. My reign over this place has seen ratings go nowhere but up. Breaking television records. AW is doing numbers comparable to the NFL. Everyone has stepped their game up because they all know the best to ever lace up a pair of boots sits on the throne. This is my empire and it’s in its golden age. Call me fucking Augustus.
Do you think you can be the face of the company? To carry it like Atlas holding up the world when you’re a text at 11:11 pm away from having a mental breakdown?
I refuse to let the Action Wrestling World Championship be used as just another prop to get yourself the attention you so desperately crave. It deserves better than you, Lissie. It deserves better than to be another thing to try and fill the void in your broken, black, soul. This is the Era of Angelo and it will not be ended by you.
Besides, I’ve already beaten you. I’m sure you’ll cry about how a certain ex of yours got involved in the match. At the end of the day, I capitalized on an opportunity like I’ve continued to do week after week and month after month.
That was when I was still working my way back to form. I’m on a different plane of existence now. I’m a wrestling god and you are my sacrifice, Lissie.
That’s it. I can see why you were brought to me. You’re one of the last relics from AW’s past that I must destroy before I can rebuild this place in my image. I’ve already taken down most of the pantheon. Odin, Shaw, Dion, Black, and DiVito. Action has grown and it needs to shed its skin.
I’m sure you’ll rant and rave about how you did this and that, not realizing you wasted your best shots at the beginning of your career. You’re gonna hold that proverbial gun to my head, pull the trigger, and realize you don’t have any fucking bullets left.
But I got a whole damn clip.
=====
The rest of the night was a blur. There was dancing. Drinks going down easy. Hands touching everywhere. Gerry danced up close to the model, feeling her grinding into him.
Gerard vaguely remembered Sean telling him he’d see him later as Ivana was trying to suck his face off. He remembered taking another pill from Tim.
The woman he was dancing with spun around and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. He returned it, his hands wandering her fit body.
It was even more of a blur. He felt lips down his neck, teeth sinking into his pec as his shirt was torn open, button flying.
A black dress was pulled off and tossed carelessly across the room despite its price.
He remembered moaning and groaning as two bodies joined before his mind gave over to the ecstasy.
=====
There’s a big difference between you and me, Elisabeth.
You’re the past of this company. I’m its future. My stock is hot, it keeps going up. You don’t even have stock. You’re like an NFT someone got tricked into buying because they smoked a joint and went down a rabbit hole on Twitter.
It took me less than a year to prove I’m the very best wrestler in Action. I’m sure you’ll point to the parallels between us but I have more staying power than you, Lissie. You let yourself be distracted by too much outside of the ring. You trust your heart rather than your head. How has that worked out for you so far?
I’m being real with you here because you can’t even be real with yourself. The whole act you put forward is fake as fuck. You’re an amalgam, Lissie. A chimera. You have a different personality for whatever you’re doing at the time, your own kind of code-switching.
If you’re talking to a female wrestler in this company, you’re this boss bitch, feminist icon trying to lord over all the women as an example to live up to, wanting them to put you on a pedestal.
When you’re with Addy you’re just a bunch of crude, tasteless, sex jokes and late nineties ideas of how a woman should act in this industry.
When you and Bacchus are alone I’m sure you pretend to know who Friedrich Engels is and show an interest in tear gas remedies.
Selfish and fake. I wonder what Robbie would say if he could see you now? Would he be the one to finally talk some sense into you? Or would he just be another enabler like the rest of the people you surround yourself with? Hopefully, he’s rolling over in his grave.
Oh, am I crossing the line? Did I make someone’s tear drip onto their iPhone? Is someone gonna threaten me?
I hope it crossed a damn line and make you take this shit fucking seriously. Because I am.
This isn’t a match you can just walk into and get by on the same bullshit you use every other time. I’m different. I’ve proved that already. I’ve been pinned once and yet I’ve gone through a list of legends that would make the Yankees envious. I’m the smartest man in the game. I’ve game planned you down to the most minute detail. I’m gonna know what you do before you even think to do it.
But you keep watching Big Brother, pandering to the network. Don’t take this seriously at all. Lissie.
Because this is your event.You already got it in the bag.
It’s your destiny.
Fuck that.
This is about me. This is my story. The story of the ascension of Action Wrestling. You’re not dragging all of us back into the past because you feel entitled to the spotlight.
I don’t share that shit.
Sunday, I put down this little Uprising of yours as a god does.
This may be your little event but it’s in the middle of my world. This is my Action Wrestling now, Elisabeth. Love it or leave it.
And I’ll gladly send you packing if you choose the latter with a boot print on the back of your skull.
Uprising ends the same way every damn show ends in my era.
Sorrow for you.
A Hollywood Ending for me.
=====
Gerard opened his eyes before shutting them again. The sun was too bright. He gave a groan and sat up, using the back of his wrist to wipe the drool from his beard, as he looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. He gave a groan of frustration. He needed to fly to New York today. He looked over to his left and saw the naked back of the model going up and down steadily. He hadn’t gotten her name. He peered over, her dark hair covering her face as she made cute snores. He reached out and shook her gently.
“Hey. I need to get ready to catch a flight. This was fun though we should do this again.”
She stirred a bit and grumbled, annoyed at her slumbering being interrupted. She turned and moved her hair out of her face. Gerard’s jaw dropped and he jumped out of bed.
“Katia?!?!”
Loosely translated to “drifter”, or “wanderer”. For nearly seven hundred years a ronin was a samurai warrior in feudal Japan without a master or lord, known as a daimyo. A samurai could become a ronin in several different ways: his master might die or fall from power or the samurai might lose his master's favor or patronage and be cast off.
Usually, a rōnin could find a new daimyo as Japan was chaotic. But as shoguns started to bring peace to the country, it became harder to find for rōnin. If they remained masterless, they were expected to commit ritual suicide according to the code of bushido.
Some chose to buck tradition and become bodyguards and sell-swords to the highest bidder.
Some of these men decided to band together, forming an organization, selling their skills and services across the country. As time went on they lived in secret, a hushed whisper as these men became a legend, the boogeymen in the night.
In 1853, when Japan opened its borders to the West, these men were hired across the globe, morphing into a ruthless agency of assassins that stretched to every corner of the known world. The more success, the higher the price went. Someone high profile was taken out? Their name was mentioned in whispered accusations.
This was the way.
This was Rōnin.
=====
Lissie fucking Hope.
Why is it you? Why are you the one here facing me?
Despite all its greatness, Action Wrestling insists on trying to make you a thing, Lissie Hope. Management bends over backward to give you the spotlight. You’re getting your own fucking premium live event for fuck’s sake. You get put in high-profile matches when you’ve done nothing to earn it.
I had to earn my way into a number one contender's match. Then in the said match, I had to defeat three of the best wrestlers in the world.
Yet you just got handed a match. How does that work? How is that fair?
I’m sure you’d blabber something like, I’m Lissie Hope and list a bunch of your accolades like nobody can read your bio on TopEFed.com. To that, I would ask what blackmail you have on Torture because you ain't that same person anymore, Elisabeth.
The Lissie Hope of 2019/20? Yeah, that was a person who made a mark on this industry. A person who everyone needed to be wary of. But this current version of you is just a shell of that woman, coasting on her accomplishments while you argue for hours on Twitter because someone complimented a person you dislike.
These idiots that populate the arenas we perform in and discuss our business with Wikipedia-level knowledge may go fucking gaga whenever they see you but we both know the truth, even if your over-inflated ego won’t let it register in your brain.
You no longer have it in you to stand on your own two feet. You’re someone that needs a crutch to lean on now. Your biggest win this year was when Addy won you guys those tag titles. The rest of the time? You were losing match after match that was supposed to matter. Saying before each one this it, this is the one that springboards you back into being the Lissie Hope of old before falling flat on your face each time.
Beating Ash Blake was going to rid you of those Phillidor demons and complete your redemption.
You lost.
The Trials of Despair. Winning that was going to bring us the old Lissie back.
I fucking ended that pipe dream.
Battlebowl. You were supposed to win that. You’re destiny, no?
Blake turned your destiny into a fable. Again.
Havoc was supposed to be your redemption.
You failed.
Cypher was a thorn in your side for months. You called him over to the hallowed ground that is Action Wrestling so you could exorcise the demon that was bothering you and your little blonde plaything at the time so you could finally move on.
You lost.
Seems to be the theme of your life. Losing matches, things, and people that you care about.
Oh, but at least you beat Cassidy Adler before he gave a shit. Congrats.
=====
The sweat dripped down his face, dripping off the end of his nose down onto the screen of the treadmill. He took in mouthfuls of air as he ran, the corded muscles of his bare torso flexing with each stride. Gerard went through all of the information as he ran. He had a full plate between training for his title defense at Uprising and trying to find anyone that could give information on the infamous Ronin. He thought maybe he could find someone in the know from his father’s military contacts or flexing a little Angelo power at the company. That would have to wait until after Uprising. He might not have respected Lissie but taking her lightly was a mistake, one so many before him had made. Gerard wouldn’t be caught lacking. He had a couple more hours of film study later on tonight. His thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing. He slowed the machine to a jog and answered his phone.
“Sean?”
“Yeah it’s me dickhead”, his brother said, “Get dressed we’re going out tonight!”
“I can’t. I’m preparing for my match.”
“You already beat that chick.”
“You can never be too prepared.”
“Jesus, you sound like fucking dad. Just come on. My friend Tim said a model’s birthday party is happening at Valhalla tonight.”
“Sean, they aren’t going to let you and your creepy friends hang out with them.”
“That’s where you come in.”
Gerry rolled his eyes.
“I have to watch film.”
“Dude, you can watch it on your phone all night. Don’t you guys have an app?”
“Fine,” Gerard says while pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll be over in an hour.”
Sean hangs up and Gerard turns the machine off grabbing his towel, wiping his face. He just knew he was going to regret this somehow.
=====
You continue to walk around like you are still this wrestling wunderkind when in reality you’re just someone flailing around, trying to grasp on to anyone or anything to keep you relevant. You think if you keep repeating everything you’ve ever overcome that it will somehow convince me that you’re a real threat here.
I never overlook anyone but I’ve kept tabs on you for the last eight months. It’s not your ability, Lissie, the skill and talent are still clearly there. It’s your mind. You haven’t been in that same headspace for years where you inexplicably won this World title as your first.
It’s long gone and like an addict, you’ve been chasing that high for the last two years. I’ve seen it happen many times to people in this industry. Keep trying to take a little bit more each and every time to get that feeling back. Because you need it. Eventually, you’re gonna take too much and be just another tragic story of this business.
Oh sorry. Did that hit too close to home?
=====
Gerard sat in the back seat of the car service ride, watching old Lissie Hope matches on his iPhone. He peered up from the screen looking at his brother. Sean was tapping away at his phone, the soft clicks joining with Billy and Chris’ commentary. Gerard paused the video.
“So are we picking up this Tim guy?”
“Nah”, Sean says, not looking up from his phone, “He’s at the club already. He got us a table.”
“One of your friends can get in somewhere without me? Who is this guy?”
Sean shrugged, staring at his phone.
“I met him at a party a few months back. He’s a cool guy. Used to sell Joe Rogan DMT.”
“Yeah, he sounds great.”
Sean seemed to miss the sarcasm as he just nodded. Gerry went back to watch the match on his phone. They rode in silence for a few more minutes when the car pulled up at the front of Valhalla. Gerard pulled his shades from his suit jacket, slipping them on as he got out. The line was nearly stretching around the block. Gerard walked to the front of the line with Sean in tow. He dapped up the bouncer who let them pass the sacred velvet rope. Bass boomed and lights flashed as they entered the club.
Gerard followed Sean this time as he led them over to the VIP area where Tim was sitting. He was dressed poorly in dirty jeans and a wrinkled Bahama shirt. A bucket cap was seated on messy blonde curls. He rose from the table and met Sean with a handshake and half hug.
“Tim, this is my brother Gerard.”
Gerry extended his hand which Tim shook.
“Nice to meet you, man. I used to get stoned to Spies International all the time.”
“That’s good to know I guess.”
They all sat down and immediately, Gerry poured himself a half-full glass of vodka from the table. He gulped some down as his brother talked with his friend.
“So where are these models, bro?”
“Over there,” Tim said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. Both brothers looked, seeing a bevy of beautiful women that graced the covers of Victoria’s Secret and Sports Illustrated. One of them looked extremely familiar in fact. Gerard slapped his brother in the arm.
“Look Sean”, he said with a point, “It’s Katia.”
Gerard got up and walked over, calling the name of his father’s wife. She turned around, dress in a short, black dress, one manicured hand clutching a martini.
“Boys”, she said in her accent, smiling, “What brings you here?”
“They wanted to see your friends.”
“I don’t blame them,” Katia said with a laugh, “Your father is away on business so I came to be a good rich wife and drink with my friends. It’s Ivana’s birthday.”
“Get used to it. He’s away a lot.”
“Good thing I can take care of myself. Do you boys want to come hang with us?”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate that,” He said, glancing over his shoulder at Sean and Tim before motioning them over, which they did, trying to act nonchalant.
=====
Lissie. I respect what you’ve done in this business. You came in and proved yourself to be more than just another competitor, more than just another pretty face. It’s not easy to come into a male-dominated profession like this, the boys club, and force everyone to take notice. As a woman, to come in and prove that you’re one of the best, regardless of gender, that’s impressive.
That being said, I can’t fucking stand you as a person.
You’re one of the worst kinds of people. A selfish, self-centered, entitled brat.
Being selfish is part of the game. I’ll admit it before you make a dumb “pot-kettle” reference. It’s the fact that you use this perceived moral high ground that you have to justify it. Nobody calls you out on your bullshit because you confine yourself to this tiny echo chamber with Johnny, Addy, and the rest of your simping fans that just go “yassss queen” every time something moronic falls out of your mouth or is posted on Twitter for the world to see.
You think that whatever you want is just owed to you. That whatever someone else has should be handed to you because you think you deserve it. Like a monarch trying to call their right to prima nocta, you think things are yours by some divine right.
How about you constantly pining for and throwing yourself at Howard Black, despite the fact he was a married man?
All those times you tried to seduce Bacchus despite the fact he was in a relationship with that poor girl Mae you tortured the entire time in Philidor.
Oh, do you remember when you couldn’t let your “best friend” have her moment in the sun and get her World title shot, so you cashed your briefcase in and stole her moment?
The most disgusting thing of all is you making your brother’s tragic death all about you. So selfish that you couldn’t even let people mourn him because you were the actual victim in this.
Every time you open your mouth you show your true colors. The Lissie that was part of Philidor Holdings didn’t have anything to do with brainwashing. That was the real you Lissie. The one you hide behind this facade of being everyone’s girl. The same shit that fat idiot Billy spouts off when you come out because you smile at him and he’s never felt the touch of another human being.
Not me. I see right fucking through you.
You hide behind a victim’s mentality. That's why I can’t fucking stand you. You can do and say whatever you want but the minute there is some pushback against the gospel of Hope, you cry foul. You spout off this fake morality act while being an absolutely terrible person.
I guess the end justifies the means for Lissie, and only Lissie, right? God no wonder that commie fuck simps for you.
You don’t deserve this championship. You can talk about destiny, pillars, and cornerstones all you want but you’re finally going to get told no when I slap you back to fucking reality. You might as well buy a bottle of Wild Turkey preemptively because you’re already off the wagon if you think you’re taking my strap from me. This title is my mistress. I have worked too hard at her conquest to let anyone take her from me.
I’ve never heard someone talk as much as you about being a pillar of Action Wrestling and a cornerstone of the company who goes off and wrestles in a VFW for a litany of Indie feds.
Because that’s what company cornerstones do right? Use that star power that the biggest federation in the world gave you to prop up places that only virgins in the IWC give a fuck about.
What would you do if you won this title, Lissie? Parade the most important championship in wrestling around in CU:LT? Go wave it around in whatever company's owner asks you to come in and give whatever vanilla midget they want to be the guy a rub?
I’d be buried six feet deep before I let that happen.
=====
As the night went on, the drinks flowed and they all got more acquainted. Sean was hitting it off with the birthday girl, who happened to be the same one that was into his at their father’s wedding. Even Tim had the attention of a few women out of his league, though that may have had something to do with the fact that he had several grams of coke on him. Gerard politely talked back to the other women showing him attention but his was on his phone as he kept watching more of Lissie’s matches. He took a sip of his scotch when he felt a skinny, pale, arm drape around his shoulder. Gerry turned his head slowly to look at Tim.
“Can I help you?”
“You need to relax bro. No play makes you a dull boy.”
“This is for work.”
“I respect that. We’re both captains of industry.”
“The fuck are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to say take this”, he said, gesturing with the hand around Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard looks into his hand, seeing a round green pill sitting in his palm. Gerard looked at Tim.
“It’s a bit of molly,” He said matter of factly, “Listen, I know you’re a wrestler but you can’t go into a match with Hope all wound up. You wanna be loose as possible.”
Gerry didn’t know what it was that made him pull the pill out of his hand. Whether it was the alcohol or something in Tim’s voice, he was making sense at that moment. He shrugged and popped the pill into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of scotch. Gerard turned and gave the short model with dark hair a smile.
=====
I’ve said this before. Action Wrestling is in a state of flux. It needs a steady hand to guide it into the future. That’s not you. You’re irrational and emotional. You started a blood feud with a computer hacker because he was angry you rubbed his nose in the fact you were bumping snatches with his ex. When you're not tweeting about a reality show that jumped the shark a decade ago, you’re acting stark raving mad when someone pushed your buttons.
You can’t be representing the gold standard of wrestling companies.
Under my guidance though, Action Wrestling is hotter than ever. My reign over this place has seen ratings go nowhere but up. Breaking television records. AW is doing numbers comparable to the NFL. Everyone has stepped their game up because they all know the best to ever lace up a pair of boots sits on the throne. This is my empire and it’s in its golden age. Call me fucking Augustus.
Do you think you can be the face of the company? To carry it like Atlas holding up the world when you’re a text at 11:11 pm away from having a mental breakdown?
I refuse to let the Action Wrestling World Championship be used as just another prop to get yourself the attention you so desperately crave. It deserves better than you, Lissie. It deserves better than to be another thing to try and fill the void in your broken, black, soul. This is the Era of Angelo and it will not be ended by you.
Besides, I’ve already beaten you. I’m sure you’ll cry about how a certain ex of yours got involved in the match. At the end of the day, I capitalized on an opportunity like I’ve continued to do week after week and month after month.
That was when I was still working my way back to form. I’m on a different plane of existence now. I’m a wrestling god and you are my sacrifice, Lissie.
That’s it. I can see why you were brought to me. You’re one of the last relics from AW’s past that I must destroy before I can rebuild this place in my image. I’ve already taken down most of the pantheon. Odin, Shaw, Dion, Black, and DiVito. Action has grown and it needs to shed its skin.
I’m sure you’ll rant and rave about how you did this and that, not realizing you wasted your best shots at the beginning of your career. You’re gonna hold that proverbial gun to my head, pull the trigger, and realize you don’t have any fucking bullets left.
But I got a whole damn clip.
=====
The rest of the night was a blur. There was dancing. Drinks going down easy. Hands touching everywhere. Gerry danced up close to the model, feeling her grinding into him.
Gerard vaguely remembered Sean telling him he’d see him later as Ivana was trying to suck his face off. He remembered taking another pill from Tim.
The woman he was dancing with spun around and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. He returned it, his hands wandering her fit body.
It was even more of a blur. He felt lips down his neck, teeth sinking into his pec as his shirt was torn open, button flying.
A black dress was pulled off and tossed carelessly across the room despite its price.
He remembered moaning and groaning as two bodies joined before his mind gave over to the ecstasy.
=====
There’s a big difference between you and me, Elisabeth.
You’re the past of this company. I’m its future. My stock is hot, it keeps going up. You don’t even have stock. You’re like an NFT someone got tricked into buying because they smoked a joint and went down a rabbit hole on Twitter.
It took me less than a year to prove I’m the very best wrestler in Action. I’m sure you’ll point to the parallels between us but I have more staying power than you, Lissie. You let yourself be distracted by too much outside of the ring. You trust your heart rather than your head. How has that worked out for you so far?
I’m being real with you here because you can’t even be real with yourself. The whole act you put forward is fake as fuck. You’re an amalgam, Lissie. A chimera. You have a different personality for whatever you’re doing at the time, your own kind of code-switching.
If you’re talking to a female wrestler in this company, you’re this boss bitch, feminist icon trying to lord over all the women as an example to live up to, wanting them to put you on a pedestal.
When you’re with Addy you’re just a bunch of crude, tasteless, sex jokes and late nineties ideas of how a woman should act in this industry.
When you and Bacchus are alone I’m sure you pretend to know who Friedrich Engels is and show an interest in tear gas remedies.
Selfish and fake. I wonder what Robbie would say if he could see you now? Would he be the one to finally talk some sense into you? Or would he just be another enabler like the rest of the people you surround yourself with? Hopefully, he’s rolling over in his grave.
Oh, am I crossing the line? Did I make someone’s tear drip onto their iPhone? Is someone gonna threaten me?
I hope it crossed a damn line and make you take this shit fucking seriously. Because I am.
This isn’t a match you can just walk into and get by on the same bullshit you use every other time. I’m different. I’ve proved that already. I’ve been pinned once and yet I’ve gone through a list of legends that would make the Yankees envious. I’m the smartest man in the game. I’ve game planned you down to the most minute detail. I’m gonna know what you do before you even think to do it.
But you keep watching Big Brother, pandering to the network. Don’t take this seriously at all. Lissie.
Because this is your event.
It’s your destiny.
Fuck that.
This is about me. This is my story. The story of the ascension of Action Wrestling. You’re not dragging all of us back into the past because you feel entitled to the spotlight.
I don’t share that shit.
Sunday, I put down this little Uprising of yours as a god does.
This may be your little event but it’s in the middle of my world. This is my Action Wrestling now, Elisabeth. Love it or leave it.
And I’ll gladly send you packing if you choose the latter with a boot print on the back of your skull.
Uprising ends the same way every damn show ends in my era.
Sorrow for you.
A Hollywood Ending for me.
=====
Gerard opened his eyes before shutting them again. The sun was too bright. He gave a groan and sat up, using the back of his wrist to wipe the drool from his beard, as he looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. He gave a groan of frustration. He needed to fly to New York today. He looked over to his left and saw the naked back of the model going up and down steadily. He hadn’t gotten her name. He peered over, her dark hair covering her face as she made cute snores. He reached out and shook her gently.
“Hey. I need to get ready to catch a flight. This was fun though we should do this again.”
She stirred a bit and grumbled, annoyed at her slumbering being interrupted. She turned and moved her hair out of her face. Gerard’s jaw dropped and he jumped out of bed.
“Katia?!?!”
