Post by Dionysus on Nov 13, 2022 13:19:58 GMT -5
It is 3 AM. I am standing on Benjamin's porch. With both hands in the air. It is weird to see the man who raised you like a father holding a gun to your chest. "Easy," I said, knowing I made a mistake. "Its just me." Benjamin sighed, lowering the pistol in his hand. "Jesus kid, you could've called first; I nearly lost you for a second." "I uhh...I didn't want to wake you," I replied sheepishly as I lowered my arms. While he didn't necessarily live in a dangerous neighborhood, Benjamin kept safety of himself and others as his top priority. I probably should have called. Benjamin opened the door wider and invited me in. I obliged, closing the door behind me. "I was hoping we could talk." "And it couldn't wait 'til the mornin'?" he replied grumpily, setting the pistol into a drawer near the kitchen and locking it. "I'm on my way up north. I arranged to speak with uncle Anton." Benjamin stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at me with a hard look. "You better go sit your ass down and tell me what's going on. I'll make some coffee." His home was small, but was enough for just himself. Benjamin's wife, Darlene, had passed around the time I was in college, and he remained a bachelor in the home they built. At least until he decided to cozy up with my mother. I approved, of course; he helped raise me after my father disappeared and they had been close friends for years. I think they both finally decided to give it a try. I sat down at his kitchen table, observing various letters and notices of bills due from months ago. Perhaps he was busy tidying up the place. A few minutes passed in silence while I collected my thoughts, and Benjamin returned from the kitchen, two piping mugs of coffee in hand. He set them down on the table, one in front of me. "You want any cream or sugar?" "Appreciated, but I'm imposing on you as it is." Benjamin waved his hand dismissively, grumbling something unintelligible as he made his way back to the kitchen. "So why in the hell are you going to see that slime? Hasn't he ruined your life enough already?" Benjamin chastised as he came back with a bowl of sugar. He sat down across from me, pulling his mug closer to him. I looked Benjamin dead in the eyes. "He's the only person I can talk to. Trust me, if there was anyone else, literally anyone else, I wouldn't even bother. But still..." I trailed off, not knowing how he would react with what I was about to tell him. "He knows what happened to my father. I'm going to find him, Ben." Benjamin shook his head, rubbing some sleep from his eyes. "Kid...we've talked about this before-" "I know, Ben. I know that in all likelihood he made a new life for himself and is perfectly fine without us. But don't you think he would have said something to any of us? Or at least to me?" "Why would he, if he's that happy?" Benjamin asked pointedly. I clammed up. He had me there. "I just...I just want to know for sure. Despite the years he's been gone, he's still my father. I just..." Benjamin's expression softened, letting his reason overtake his weariness. He reached out a hand, taking mine and stroking it with his thumb. "I get it, D. Believe me, I wanted nothin' but knowin' who my own old man was. He ended up being a deadbeat. Maybe it'll be different for you, kid." He took a long drink from his mug, then looked at me, asking "But if I could give you some wisdom, its this: there's a reason why people tell you to never meet your heroes. You build up this expectation of who they are in your head. They become larger than life. And then you do meet them, and you realize that they're just people, with flaws and imperfections. That image you created is shattered, and you look at'em differently from then on. I don't want to get your hopes up that you'll find your pops, but if you do, go into seeing him knowing he won't be the man you think he is. It'll save you some heartache." My eyes welled up with tears. Benjamin was here when my father was not. He could have argued with me, yelled at me to not go. Hell, he could have tried to stop me. Not that that would have worked; I had a good few inches on him...not to mention being a professional wrestler. Still, his warmth and sage advice is what always helped guide me to what I needed to do next. Even though in that moment I couldn't utter the words without breaking out into sobs, he knew how appreciative I was that, despite his disagreement, he wanted what was best for me. I added a spoonful of sugar to my own mug, having cooled some as we sat there. I took a drink, allowing the warm bitterness to linger within. "You know, there's another reason why I want to find him." "And what's that?" I let a clever grin cross my face as I looked up from my coffee. "I want to show him that we've moved on without him." It took Benjamin a moment before he burst out laughing. "You mean you wanna bring him to the wedding? He'd probably kill me if he saw that." "Then you better hope he's either dead or happy with his new life." We finished our coffee while talking about otherwise unimportant things before I decided it was time for me to continue north. Benjamin saw me to the door, embracing me as he did so. "Remember, Dion; don't get your hopes up. You know Anton is an evil son of a bitch. But good luck all the same." "All I can do is try," I replied, returning his embrace. The man deserved a medal. Or at least a new Father of the Year mug. -------------------------------------------------------- Permit me to address the elephant in the room. What I was able to do last week was nothing short of a miracle. And yet, an asterisk will linger over that win. I have always been a firm believer of "a win is a win," but ideally I would have preferred having earned it on my own, without interference. But alas, fate decreed otherwise. So this is where I find myself now; the man with nothing to lose having earned one of the biggest upset victories this year. But sitting on that laurel will get me nowhere, as the detractors and naysayers have once again reared their ugly heads to point out the obvious. To them I say, keep watching as I perform yet another miracle. I possess the wisdom, the sapientia, to understand that for my journey to continue, I must deliver once more. Which puts me firmly within Spencer Adams' crosshairs. The first triple crown winner. Current tag team champion and a five-time champion to boot. The man who has yet to lose at all this year. And I am expected to be cast aside by someone who has earned it all...to a degree. See, Spencer can talk all he wants about needing to "elevate the division," but he knows that his current interest in the tag belts would not have come to fruition if the competition was not interesting enough for him. I helped cultivate that division. You stand on my shoulders when you hold that belt now. You stare at two hundred and eighty-eight days of soil being tilled, seeds being sown, and the weeds plucked to give you the fertile landscape you see now. In time, Vanguard vs King Shit will happen. But for now, it is just us. The Antidote. Versus The Crimson Gladiator. A first, if anyone can believe it. You would think two Action Wrestling originals, here since the formation of this organization, would have crossed paths before now. There has probably been a Havoc or two where we have felt each other out, but who can remember those? And looking at your legacy, your accomplishments, it would be foolish to deny you as a ripe candidate for Wrestler of the Year. I hold you in high regard, make no mistake, regardless of where you think I stand with you. That said, I'm not here to make nice with you. I'm here to win. I'm here to move on. I'm here to act as an obstacle that you cannot overcome. To be the one in seventeen and one. See, I represent something you have yet to achieve in this business. A record title run. It is possible you care little about the time spent with each title, but for Mr. Tag Team Wrestling to not hold such an important distinction in this company? You can hold on to the Trios Championship or win the tag titles as many times as you would like; hell, the cumulative time spent with the titles has already surpassed us at this point. And yet, two hundred and eighty-eight is still so far away. And I know the hunger of singles competition gnaws at you like it does for Downfall and I. CJ must feel the same. How long will it be before King Shit stares down the barrel of competition they cannot overcome? Even now, Turmoil plagues your existence. The desire to become Wrestler of the Year gnaws at you like an insatiable hunger. You made it to the precipice in the first tournament...and lost. The second tournament you were not around for. You were unable to crack through to the semi-finals at the turn of the decade. And last year, Dune took you out and inserted himself in a losing effort. This tournament really hasn't gone your way for years, hasn't it? And yet each year you have managed to do enough to get placed into the conversation. Now there are no significant obstacles standing in your way. This could finally be the year Spencer breaks the curse. He goes home to his family, hoisting his child in his arms, and says "I am the Wrestler of the Year." ...Well, I should say there weren't any significant obstacles. Until the unexpected happened. Jill Park lost. That's when the plan went to shit. The man who has had it all now stands against the man who needs to keep up the fight. All I have in the world is this moment. All I have is this one match. Every challenge I face is my greatest challenge. I fought tooth and nail to get to where I am today. I give my all each time I enter that ring. And even in defeat, I give my opponents hell. Anyone who steps in those ropes with me knows you do not get just a match. You get a war. For me, the goal is survival. I must defeat the past in order to secure my future. And that means I must become the one in seventeen and one. Quia Possum Luctari. I fight because I can. Quia oportet me pugnare I fight. Because I must. ------------------------------------ Hmm...Action Wrestling... Spencer Adams vs Di- ...Wait... He looks an awful lot like... |
