Post by Downfall on Nov 20, 2022 14:50:08 GMT -5
For a moment, he's framed in the light of Pine Street, neons from the laundromat sign, the Asian market washing in pink and hellish red across his back; His posture, as he comes out of the room where Michelle is staying, is defeated.
There's a moment, just one, where he hesitates, where he turns his shoulder back towards the door, opens his mouth, wanting to say something, wanting to go back in there and spill his heart out to her.
Moments pass, they always do.
I haven't ever seen Daniel this shaken up, though.. I've had him as a barely-willing tenant for six months.
Seen him change, from a confused, lost soul wanting to do the right thing to a ruthless, angry, vindictive tyrant.
All of that... and yet, something about... her shifted him, made him pause. What was it about this girl?
When I'd asked Dion that, a few days ago, he was as surprised as I was by her reappearance.
He'd had a theory, in some ways, that Daniel's more ruthless, reptilian demeanor emerging had started shortly after Michelle walked away from him in January.
There was a direct throughline to this thinking... It was as if he seemed to believe in his mind that it was binary, that he couldn't have this relationship, trace his new path and fight with honor, and also fight his way to top of wrestling.
That had only grown more pronounced in his mind as he was met with disappointments this year.
I don't know how I feel about Daniel, still.
Since he came into my life and took over this dilapidated shitpile that was the only thing my brother owned, he's been a menace.
And yet, he's protected me. Saved me. Fought for me.
Who's the real Daniel Fehl?
I step closer and feel him tense. Curious how close contact makes him coil up like a serpent. It's as if he needs to allow consent before he'll let someone into his bubble.
"Daniel, how's she doing, bud?"
He fixes me with a baleful stare... not unlike the smoldering, eye of the dragon I beheld over his shoulder as the dojo burned a few months ago... a fixed, deeply-burning intensity that holds as much power as staring into the sun.
He exhales.
Absently, he goes over to his duffel bag, and as he unzips it and pulls out a few implements, I can see a glint of gold.
"You didn't - " I start, but he just looks up at me and fixes me with that stare. Steal the Hardcore belt?- I want to say but can't... I know that he wasn't finished with Corey Black, but that's... too far, isn't it?
Instead he extracts a leather jacket, hunting through the pockets on a mission. His shoulders squared.
Aside from the glint inside of the bag that very much looks like a golden belt, I can now see the end of the crowbar poking out of it, an ebon blade.
He shoulders into the leather jacket, extracting a pack of smokes.
"Going outside, Ru," he says to me, pushing open the window onto the fire escape, "I know the landlady here... she'd want me to abide by the fire code..."
"Daniel, wait - " I felt, for a second, as if he was opening up. He's already gone.
I look down at that bag, with it's ominous contents... the glint of a golden strap, and the end of the black iron crowbar sticking out.
I'd rather take my chances with the basilisk on the fire escape, all told.
Have you ever experienced a moment so perfect, a sublimely building chorus of serendipitous steps that brought you to the instant where you experience that one second you wanted to freeze in time forever? A first kiss. Sunlight rippling across the water.
Feelings of security.
Feelings, that you're on top of the world.
Transcendent, affirming, reminders that everything hasn't been in vain.
To know that as much as you want to stay in that moment, it's impossible. Our future actions may taint it, twist the beauty into something ugly.
If you live in ego, and c'mon, who of us in this business isn't so much of a fucking narcissist that we don't believe these streaks of dominance are evocative, it feels like this song is for you and only for you.
That your rise is unparalleled, that it's never been seen before.
That it can't be stopped.
If there is one central thesis I've come to in this year, it's that trying to hold on to those moments while they last is an anxious, human idiosyncrasy that, is little more than trying to hold back the howling void of chaos that permeates our existence.
I recognize this now.
If I too, am guilty, of trying to hold on to those moments only to let them slip through my hands, it's all in service of one, undeniable truth.
The only constants lie in chaos. Nature hates symmetry.
Truth is... nothing gold can stay.
Fuming at my presence, clearly wanting to be alone, that stony barrier remains erect as I join him, leaning against the cold railing, overlooking a bustling night over Japantown, in silence for a beat.
"You don't wanna talk about Corey Black, I'm guessing."
He's pissed at the mention, lighting the cigarette tensely, brow furrowed deep.
"You've begun smoking more lately... calms the shakes when you're up, I see. Have you ever - "
"Corey Black came in, targeting me, promising to be my downfall, then he wrote me off as if I wasn't worth his time. You don't get to do that." It was as simple as that, to him.
"So you were angry about it," I start, "Of the things he said about you."
"So when you beat Corey Black half to death with a crowbar, you were showing him that he was the weak one... And now, you put him on the shelf, you got your revenge... how does it feel?"
That stops him, for one second I can see that he doesn't have an answer; The moment that came, wasn't what he thought it would be, and he's disappointed. All of this tells on his otherwise deadpan face through a stormy shift in his eyes.
"We aren't talking about that," he says then, obstinately.
"Kay, fine, let's talk about the white lady you have poking around the office."
"Michelle's..."
"Your first love, I get it... but that woman's mind is a complete blank, Danny... she came to us not knowing how she got here, only the clothes on her back, so regressed by a lack of memory and instinct that she's basically a child..."
"She was directed here. She knows something... and she knows you."
"She doesn't know me," he says, dispiritedly, looking away.
"Smells like a trap," I put in.
"No," he refuses it, "Michelle wouldn't do that to me, she's - "
"She's what, Danny?" I throw my hands up, "God, I remember a few days ago when you brought her in outta the rain, you were mooning over her like you'd found the meaning and joy of life again."
He turns on me, snapping, "She was the reason I even did this, all of this... almost all of my career I dedicated to her, to giving her a better life than the one we had growing up." He jumps to her defense so fiercely, with such protectiveness, that I'm again reminded of that baleful eye staring at me, furiously commanding me to get out of the burning building.
"She was your dream," I say, coming to some understanding.
Disgusted with himself, he flicks the butt off spinning to the alley. "Dreams tend to turn to ashes around me, you've experienced that, Rumiko."
We stare out over Pine Street and the city lights beyond.
"If she is what you say... then the bond between you two is something special, Danny... Something she needs to be reminded of..." And maybe, I don't need to add, having her around will rekindle some of the humanity you've allowed yourself to lose this year.
"Go to her, remind her of what you've had... tell her how much she means to you."
He's still unsure of himself, but he looks back into the officespace, and he sees her moving around.
I've realized this more and more in this year.
I committed to fully to the slaughter I was willing to bring over the past month that I've strewn bodies in my wake. Humbled champions.
Defeated fan favorites, cruiserweight legends in minutes.
I was screwed out of what I believed so strongly to be mine by Corey Black that, if he was able to pick himself off the mat and push through to the next few rounds and face me, then he'd prove himself worthy of the belt he cheated me out of.
Instead, he fell apart, and fell victim to Kidsgrove, and victim to me; and now I hold on to an empty belt.
The triumphal, satisfied feeling I'd wished I could savor, of pulling my crowbar back under Corey Black's throat, squeezing a rain of his claret out like pulpy juice, turns to nothing but ash in my throat.
I don't have that satisfaction. The meaning behind it isn't there.
As I search for answers to that, it becomes plain;
Fact is, you can name them all... pick at moments where my attention faltered, where I fell short of what I promised;
Standing here in the light of day, do those matter?
Because as I'm coming into this semi-final match against our illustrious World Champion, the disparity between our fortunes and our respective year is as plain to me as not only what we've experienced, but what we earned from it.
I recognize, Gerard, why coming face-to-face with me terrifies you; Because I represent a destabilizing element that smashes through your glib facade.
I burn through people's defenses because, ultimately, I'm an avatar of chaos and destabilization; Shattering all of their preconceived, perfect little fantasies.
I'm the ghost in the machine that brings it to a halt.
I'm more real than you've ever allowed yourself to be.
Your rise here in AW wasn't surprising, after seeing what you were able to accomplish in Pure Class Wrestling, but you aren't contrasting an egotistical little boy in Kyle Shane now.
You're confronted by someone more implacable, more unforgiving than the god damn Reaper.
Your struggles to solve Grimm showed you, and has shown me, where your weaknesses lie, Gerry.
You've been stuck on those steps I described earlier. Not quite at that peak moment that you'd want to freeze and save forever, not quite at that perfect pinnacle of a year, but rising, every step getting better in your mind.
How nice for you. Because I'm about to hurt your feelings.
The highest note of your banner year doesn't even compare to one of my low points, Gerry. You haven't succeeded the way you think you have. You haven't outshone anyone.
You've proven yourself weak, egotistical, beatable, and so unbelievably soft.
You think you're battle-tested? Come through the fire as World Champion after overcoming all of Dandy's tricks, having put down every challenger to your title in dominant form?
Perhaps you feel confident when you're faced against me, because Dandy stole the belt away from me and I never came to get it back from him.
Perhaps even, facing me makes ya salivate, that tepid shoot already squirming its way through your sweaty lips as you prepare to say I started chasing the Hardcore Title because I knew I couldn't beat you, 'cause ya did what I couldn't.
Here's where I'll be uncompromisingly honest, Gerry.
The limitations I placed on myself this year have nothing to do with whether or not I believe, if push came to shove, I could measure up against an idiot that four of five fans in Youtube comments still confusedly ask if it's James Raven letting himself go.
I'd wanted, at the start, to cover other ground, to pursue other goals that fit in my wheelhouse.
What have you, on the other hand, done since you faced Dandy?
Look down on the three weeks I held that belt if you want; Kick dirt on the times I fell... But you weren't tested this year like I was tested, Gerard. If you had, you woulda failed.
You never had to defend your World title in seven-ways against randomized also-rans who just showed up and walked out onto a stage.
You didn't have to defend two belts at the same time.
You didn't have your only chance to get the belt back be in ladder matches or in Havoc.
You didn't have to spend over half of your year outstripping everyone around you in active, weekly competition.
You overcoming coulrophobia and putting a Spirit Halloween Joker down after a month is not a struggle worthy of main-eventing a pay-per-view.
And that's the point.
You hold the World title, but you haven't been The Man here. You haven't actually done anything of worth aside from opening every show with a monologue in the ring.
You haven't faced the challenges I have, struggles, success AND failure, rising again everytime despite all of the shit spewed your way... stepped over broken bodies to fight your way to an end goal, only to have it change on the fly.
I have a new goal, and it's to do what hasn't been done before, make the finals two years in a row and overcome. I came this far... I do not intend to be stopped by you.
So take the snapshot in your mind, Gerry. Freeze yourself right where you are, immortalize where you stand atop your mountain in your head...
You'll want to remember yourself as you are, perfect and unblemished, before I tear your feet out from under you. Before I send you falling.
Stay gold long as you can, Ponyboy.
The sun's setting on your Hollywood Ending.
When he climbs back through the window, Michelle is, carefully, walking around the empty, unfurnished upstairs.
Childlike and doe-eyed, she stares around her, still clutching the purse she came with like a talisman, looking lost and frightened.
"Chelle," he says, his voice soft and yearning, and he crosses the room to her. "Babe... you came out of the room, I - "
"What is this place?" She asks, frightened. She looks at him, concentrating hard, "You're... Danny... but who's she?"
"Hi, Michelle, my name's Rumiko, I'm Daniel's... friend..." I go to shake her hand, but she draws back from me, skittish.
"Hey, it's okay, babe, you're safe here..."
"I don't like this place," Michelle says, "Adam told me - I just don't like it... it's old and it smells like..."
You can feel his heart break a little as he swallows, but he puts on a brave face for her. Because, as he said, all of this, in his mind, was ever for her, right? "It's okay, babe... you've been through a shock. We'll get you sorted and you'll be feeling better in no time."
Can there be sympathy for even the devil in moments like this? When you see someone trying, so desperately, to connect with a stranger, to kindle those feelings of human closeness and companionship that they've willed themselves to cut off?
Michelle, afraid, draws back from his touch.
As she back up, her eyes light on the duffel bag. On the small, stolen peek of maybe a golden championship belt, glinting jewel-like underneath the vantablack menace of a curved iron weapon.
She gasps.
"What is this??"
He nudges it behind him with his foot, but her eyes are stabbing right into the crowbar. "No... no.... I know that.... crowbar... crowbar!!"
She puts her hands, balled to fists, to her temples, distraught; It's as if the simple specter of that iron weapon is flooding her mind with brutal imagery, PTSD flashbacks scattershot smashing through her mental palace.
Her eyes snap up to sear into his, burning. "You're a bad man... I know you are now... You're evil."
She turns, and flees the room... leaving me stunned, and Daniel's world falling around him in thunderous sheets.... the moment of contact and softness broken, the one perfect reunion of him and his heart severed...
His gaze travels down, and he looks, grimly at the crowbar. Everything he'd ever done, he'd said, in victory and in defeat, losing his career and trying again, had been for her.
The only thing he said to me in that moment, before he snatched up the bag with the glittering gold, and the black crowbar, was this:
"It looks like it's time to find a new dream."
Walking into the opposite direction of the office Michelle had fleed into, Danny stalked outside, slamming the door.
In all honesty, it's for the best it shook out this way, Gerard.
You should thank your lucky stars that you don't have to defend your gold against me this week, but your exit from Turmoil means that you will have wasted another month as champion without any real substance.
When I said you'd never been the man before, I meant it. Your main character fixation... when you're currently running little more than as an NPC.
Every word out of your mouth since you've been here has just been the same reheated litany of catchphrases and empty promises that informs a long list of men just like you.
Going all the way back to PCW - seeing how your feud with Kyle Shane shook out, you see that all of this overblown ego and talk is the bluster of a mediocre, whitebread wannabe protagonist, the type of man who based his entire identity around the people around him hyping him up as the future of this industry.
So much so that, when you were stymied and not able to beat Kyle the first time, it haunted you.
To quote your own words, Gerry, "You’re facing a desperate man at Mass Destruction. Desperate men do desperate things. You like to say that you win because you want it more than everyone else. Another difference is that I need to win."
Your desperation, your need, makes me smile, Gerard.
You needed to win that title and overcome Kyle Shane so much you've become Kyle Shane. The cadence of speech, the ego, the narcissism, the opening monologues.
How'd it feel to be rejected so utterly?
After your desperation to take over the show, to stand in the spotlight?
Two Deadly Rumbles, a victory in the Icemann Invitational, rocketing up the card by overthrowing someone who was champion for 380 days and when it comes down to it?
You didn't even last a month.
It may seem like I'm digging up old wounds that have no bearing on here and now... but this is exposing a pattern.
Despite all of your skill, despite all of your ability to spin gold and play this type, you still aren't good enough, when the chips are down.
Everything special about you came from someone else... and if Elon shuttered Twitter tonight and your social media game went away, all that's left of you would be just another pretty face obsessed with the same boring, self-fellating hooplah that gets half of this company by.
You were never in control here; Your entire bid for it is laughable.
While I give you all the props in the world for overcoming CJ Phoenix, Lissie Hope, Sam Kidsgrove and Bozo the fucking Clown...
Compare that with me. With what I've done in this company alone. With low-rent shysters sneering at my decrepit, fading body and fallen star every step of the way.
Like Regan Voorhees. Stephen Singh. Dandy Divito. Ash Blake. ......Corey Black.
People experiencing career revitalizations, renaissances, in the midst of undefeated streaks... Movers and shakers who define what it is to succeed at a high level for long periods of time.
When I got them alone, I broke them like matchsticks.
I've beaten Kyle Shane before, Gerry. Also Raven. In point of fact, there isn't a single step you can take that I haven't already danced in the rain and backwards.
You've pulled yourself up, step by step and just as that joy reaches a high note in your chest, you're going to run into me, and I'll be what turns your moment of unadulterated triumph into the same bitterness PCW left you with.
What distorts your dream into a nightmare.
What makes you look back on this night, the night you stepped up to the Beast Unleashed, forever after tainted by the now skewed perception that you weren't ready for it. That sinking, hollow insight that no perfect records last, that nothing gold can stay.
I'm going to capture you in that one, pure, moment of time, Gerry. Where I have you begging me, screaming for me to release you.
I'm going to leave you there.
