Dragonfly
Nov 22, 2020 22:12:10 GMT -5
“The RevolutiDaddy” Wesley, David Sanchez, and 5 more like this
Post by Carter Shaw on Nov 22, 2020 22:12:10 GMT -5
Maybe the sky's falling down around the babies
Maybe the world is gonna spin out of control
I don't care anymore
Monday Night Clash
11/15/20
The crowd was almost entirely emptied after the show, another raucous crowd pouring energy and adrenaline into every bit of AW in-ring action. The Philidor lounge, bought and paid for, up in the rafters of the Nascar Arena, had just emptied out as well after an important meeting involving all of the sponsored talent.
But now, Carter Shaw sat alone after they all said their goodbyes for the night. Staring forward at the beautiful glass table in front of him, his sturdy eyes shined with intense focus. His left fist rested against his right palm against his chin. A couple words of frustration were murmured to himself as he thought about the loss on the night he and Derrick Vayden had taken.
He felt so confident after putting himself in a position to make Philidor proud, taking Noris Cranley’s spot due to injury.
He had hoped to put The Following in their place.
He had hoped to stand tall with Vayden, ready to charge into Turmoil for those Tag Team Titles.
Shaw stands suddenly from the chair, sending a straight kick out and down onto the glass table, shattering it to pieces in front of him. He immediately breaks into a pace, balling a fist that instinctively goes to swing at nearby things before his mind gets a hold of it first. He breathes in, breathes out.
Several of his recent losses hit him at once.
He breathes in, breathes out. His body starts to relax as he rests his palms on the edge of the makeshift bar on the far wall. He slowly nods as he lets the anger pass. He looks over his shoulder at the broken table. He slowly pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up his texts. He clicked on Ash Blake, but just as quickly, turned the screen off and put the phone in his pocket. He looks around the room a bit, taking in one final view of the ring from the tinted glass windows as well, before leaving the Philidor lounge.
What if I quit today working for the man
And said I've had enough, well maybe I can
It's all gonna end anyway
Tell me doctor, what's the cure for the wicked man's blues?
And said I've had enough, well maybe I can
It's all gonna end anyway
Tell me doctor, what's the cure for the wicked man's blues?
Wrestling has been an interesting thing to learn throughout this year with AW. I came in with a bit of a pedigree and a bonafide skill set, but none of it would be considered ‘wrestling’, not within the confines of a professional ring at least. I could box with the best of them, I could damn sure fight with the best of them, but wrestling? Between the devil in the details and the fine writing of the rulebooks, I worked myself to the bone learning a whole new world without ever compromising what brought me to the dance in the first place.
I’ve had alot of great learning experiences throughout the year and managed to elevate my game up to the very best AW has to offer. Thanks to that dedication and sweat equity, I’m an accomplished AW star, and let’s be honest, we weren’t really sure if that’s how it was gonna shake out in the end, let alone just 8 months later.
It’s quite the craft, however, putting ALL of the elements and styles together into a hybrid that those that only know this sport can’t handle. It shows in the successes of my peers. You look at Howard Black and Wesley, appropriately doing battle in the finals of the Turmoil Tournament to be crowned ‘Wrestler of 2020’. You look at how they operate in that ring and it’s unlike anything anybody else can bring to the table. You look at Corey Black and, after having lost to him, I can tell ya...he’s the real deal, as if anyone ever really doubted that.
But then there’s times where you don’t want to go out there and wrestle. You don’t want to go out there and exchange collar-and-elbows with someone, you don’t want to shimmy for position in a war of chain holds and tight grips.
Eventually you come across someone you just want to fucking pulverize. You just want to eliminate the backdrop and the setting and take it to the streets where this all started for some of us.
One of those people is David Sanchez.
He’s just someone I want to get a mount position on and rain fists down like hammers to the nail, trying to drive point after point home. I want to catch that sharp elbow just above the eyebrow that not only gets blood in that eye for the rest of the fight, but always leaves a little scar to remember your abuser by.
I’m not typically a blood thirsty guy, you know this. I’m more about the art of the fight rather than the damage it can do. But Sanchez...man, he’s like a fuckin cyst, the way he gets under your skin.
Maybe it’s the politics, but he was a piece of shit before he even managed to find the pinnacle of such a character trait.
Maybe it’s the stunt he pulled on me at the Execution PPV, when he decided to use that political pull and ban fuckin’ briefcases from the entire city of Chicago, collecting briefcases from thousands of his ‘own people’ just to justify the means of taking one...single...briefcase. My All-In case. Which he did, after having his little Chicago mafian secret service hold me down to the concrete of the parking lot and giving me a boot to the teeth for good measure.
Oh, you think I forgot that shot?
I never forget a shot.
I had the last laugh that night as, not only did I beat Corey Bull on the night in physical warfare, but also let down the Mayor’s plans as my All-In contract wasn’t in the briefcase to begin with. All he had was the ability to melt more metal, which was about to be replaced with this beautiful new Philidor-branded briefcase anyways.
Sanchez. Always spinning his tires in the mud trying to find new ways to be the vile criminal he dreams of being. Turns out it’s alot easier in fictional illustrations than perpetrating in real life, huh? Trying to build this grand empire and trying to connect a string to every facet of life around you so you can be the one pulling it all. It’s all a nice try but boy does it fall short every time you stumble for results in that ring and still try to claim ANYthing in the context of Action Wrestling.
When the sky
Falls to the sea
I won't mind
The cause in me
Falls to the sea
I won't mind
The cause in me
“It’s about time I beat someone outside of the ring,” Carter says into his cell phone. A blast of Florida air hits him in the face as he turns his back to it. “I know it’s not really within my parameters, but I’m hoping you could hook me up with a Philidor connection a little more…'big scale', if you catch my drift.”
A voice, male, can be heard from the phone, but not clear enough to make out words. Shaw nods as he looks off into the distance away from the airport he clearly just arrived in. A few palm trees sway in the wind.
“David Sanchez...Yeah, yeah, I know, but there’s way too much superficial stuff on this guy. I’m not looking to take common knowledge and put it to work, I want something...more.”
More responsive words come from the receiver. Shaw begins to walk a bit, pulling sunglasses from the chest pocket of his flannel shirt and putting them on.
“Garvey, listen. I know I’m just AW talent. And I know my wheelhouse, alright. But if you give me the right connection with the right ‘shovel’, let me show Philidor what I can do.”
More head nods in response to who is apparently Peter Garvey on the other end of the phone call.
“Because I want to. This isn’t just about me branching out, this is about giving a piece of shit a dose of his own medicine. I get to fight this guy at Turmoil, and that’s great and all, but I want to really take him down. I want to do what so many have tried to do and failed. I want to yank the fuckin’ carpet right out from under him, and watch him fall down the hole he dug himself.”
Shaw’s words grow intense, but he’s clearly calmed by Garvey’s response.
“Jared Holmes, huh?” Shaw scrambles a bit to grab a piece of paper from his pocket, writing on the back of his plane ticket. “Ok...ok, I’ll reach out to him, thanks Garvey.”
The phone call seems to be wrapping up, as Shaw seems pleased with at least one new contact.
“Wait, wait. Garvey? Any other Philidor contact in the city of Chicago I could reach out to?”
When I come
Get me a piece
Take my advice
Just let me be
Get me a piece
Take my advice
Just let me be
Maybe it’s just the general existence of The LOSS Breed that makes me want to beat the breath out of Mr. Sanchez. Nightingale and Sanchez coming together to try and find ways to tilt the scale against WALTER. When they realized the two of them didn’t shift any odds in their clumsy favor, Matthias Mintzel got the call. Downfall got the call. J.C. Keeton got the call. Any man with vicious intentions and a lost GPS signal, Sanchez and Nightingale brought them in. ON TOP OF the MS-13 goon squad, and they still ended up having to take their attempts at anarchy elsewhere as they could not figure out a way to get WALTER.
Corey Black did. One on one. At Clash 100. Corey, ofcourse, ate the numbers game as well after that moment via Philidor, but the dynamic of the Loss Breed is no less fascinating.
I can’t preach at David Sanchez about failures, however. While the Lost Breed seems to be a drowning effort of chaos, ironically passing that ‘drowning’ on to Claire Hawkins in a barrel, and in my personal favorite move, Corey Bull as well...I haven’t exactly been soaring to new heights to do my sponsorship deal with Philidor proud.
I think it shows...our individual decisions and motives to sign the dotted line with Philidor Holdings L.L.C. have not quickly translated into a smooth group mentality. The Following won the Trios Tournament, followed by Dandy and Kemp also earning the Tag Title shots on Thanksgiving over Vayden and myself.
There were several different ways I could have earned my way onto this Turmoil show. I lost to Corey Black in the first round of the Turmoil Tournament, so I will be watching the Finals that will determine AW’s Wrestler Of The Year from the sidelines. We lost the aforementioned match against The Following, so I will watch from the back as Dandy and Kemp try to solidify their self improvement with Tag gold against Spencer and Lockhart.
So instead, I get dealt the Sanchez card, AW knowing that we would love to get our hands on one another.
How does it feel, Sanchez, to know that I have failed down to your level, even if just for one night? You’re my consolation prize, my participation trophy. Despite all your political connections and strong efforts of deviancy, this is what YOUR status is in AW.
I feel like I’m stooping down to your level in several ways here, Sanchez, and, for a change, I’m ok with that. I’m all about equality, and in your 47 years of living, through all the bullshit you’ve orchestrated, I guess the least you’ve earned is a shot to punch above your pay grade once in a while.
You’re an insufferable piece of shit that has found every way possible to hold your head above those around you, but those days are coming to an end. YOU’VE sparked that downfall by putting yourself in a crowd of thugs and latching onto Nightingale at a time where it seemed he was shooting to the moon with his wars of WALTER. It’s blurred enough lines that I don’t know WHO to blame the failures on. Is it you that brought Nightingale down and played a part in his complete inability to crash through the obstacles? Or was it Nightingale letting down your investment and turning green arrows red all on his own?
Like I fucking told you on Clash two weeks ago when you continued to be the uninvited guest and stuck your nose in my interview. Your gang is nothing but a hand-built blame game. A web so exquisitely detailed, only Nightingale could think up such a trap. The problem is that the trap is set for those who decide to stand beside you.
The trap is for Downfall. For Matthias Mintzel. For J.C. Keeton. It was for Claire Hawkins too, but she was the first to feel it in an attempted murder. Luckily for the witch, no fire or stakes were in the works... and the barrel and water? Didn’t go according to plan for the Angel Of Death and his shadow dwellers.
Sanchez, you find Carter Shaw at the end of the path after failing to be as Hardcore as you want to be at your old age. But unlike those who have already upended your current goals, I will step into Turmoil respecting your fighting ability. Respecting your experience in this ring. Respecting the fact that you’ve got a squad at the ready to respond to a snap of your fingers to come on down that aisle and join our meeting. I will respect it, I will prepare for it, and I will turn your plans on their fucking head. With pleasure.
Because you’ll get everything you deserve in this life. And anything I do to you at Turmoil?
Will...be...justified...
By all the wrong you’ve fuckin’ done in your life. And in the end? It won’t be a stacked pile of briefcases burning. The only thing left burning will be the small bit that’s left of your fucking reputation. Up in flames. Just as quickly as it all began.
You’ve managed to find a way to justify everything you’ve ever done, Sanchez. That’s the art of a politician, doesn’t matter if the foundation is truth or lie; of angels and demons. Like the dragonfly, seen as a symbol of courage and strength in some cultures...seen as sinister in others. Your little safe haven in Chicago does not outweigh what the rest of this world sees, feels, knows about you.
You see the world the way you want to, and hey, we’ve all got our own lenses of perspective on our own being, don’t we? I’m trying to justify my own decisions over here as well, but you are a good-for-nothing, filthy piece of shit no matter how hard you try to spit-shine your image.
I know it.
The world knows it.
Enough of the damn city of Chicago knows it, atleast behind their blind eye.
I’m Mr. All-In. I’VE got the power in AW, the kind of power you so badly want. Because without some sort of synthetic power, you feel useless, don’tcha Sanchez. Without something that clearly defines a separation between you and the rest, you find yourself under the trampling feet rather than the one leading the parade, am I right?
Well then consider the stomping you get at Turmoil a taste. A sample...of what’s to come when I fuckin’ ruin you. I’ve spent my whole life peering outside my circle of ‘low-class society’ at the pricks peering back at me with condescension.
I finally get to drag one of those pricks IN TO my circle.
Let me bring you down to my level, just as you have brought me down to yours with this fucking match at Turmoil. This ain’t a gamble, Mr. Sanchez, this ain’t a crap shoot.
But come Thanksgiving?
I’m rollin’ 7’s, bitch.
I see you in my minds' eye
Fly dragonfly
Fly dragonfly
“It sounds like you were just the man I needed to talk to...I don’t give a shit, this is strictly business...I want to know everything, anything I can...Yeah, I’m willing to get dirty.”
Shaw talks on his cell quietly, having stepped to the corner of a gym.
“So tell me more about City Hollow.”