Post by Jayson Price on Feb 7, 2021 20:35:25 GMT -5
A light rain is falling as the scene opens on the outside of a small diner that sits on the outskirts of Portland, Oregon. Night has fallen and it's mostly quiet, save for the occasional passing car that briefly lights up the empty parking lot. Inside a waitress can be seen serving a table of truck drivers that have stopped by for some coffee before heading back out on the road. As the scene shifts to the inside of the diner, sitting alone in a booth in the back corner is Jayson Price. A cup of coffee and a half eaten slice of pie sit on the table in front of him as he stares out the window at nothing in particular, enjoying the quiet and solitude of the scenery.
"What am I really even doing here?"
Places like this have become a sort of ritual for Price since he decided to return to wrestling. Away from the distractions of the big cities and the media, it's a place to sit and take stock of his life, contemplating the decisions that have brought him to where he is. As the waitress walks past, stopping only for a moment to top off his cup, Price barely even acknowledges her presence as he watches the rain drops slide down the window.
"Maybe I should have just stayed retired. I've done so much already, there's nothing left for me to accomplish. I finally even made it to the Hall Of Fame, so why do I feel like I still have something to prove to people?"
Lately these little trips have been more about reflecting on what seems to be a career in a downward spiral, a man that appears to be a shell of his former self. When Price came to Action Wrestling he expected it to just be a continuation of WCF where he built a legacy as a winner. But quickly Price realized that AW wasn't the same world as WCF was, and that what he knew no longer applied. The losses have already begun to pile up, whispers about whether he ever actually had it or if he was simply protected can be heard in the hallways, the seed of doubt already firmly planted in the minds of the AW faithful. This is the guy that so many people had talked about?
"I could be sitting on a beach somewhere, sipping on a drink and watching the sunset on the horizon. Instead here I am, starting over again for no reason other than I can't seem to stop. I keep trying to prove the people that say I don't have the heart for the business anymore wrong, but what if they're right? Maybe I am just skating along, living off name value alone. Part of me knows that I don't belong here, this isn't home and it never will be because I'll never be accepted for the things that I've done and said. To these people I'm just an alcoholic that spent years embarrassing himself and no amount of accomplishments can hide that. And as much as I want to prove them wrong, the way these past few weeks have gone aren't exactly helping my case. I need some kind of sign to tell me that I'm not just making a fool of myself trying to keep going."
As if on cue, a car pulls into the parking lot of the diner, the headlights shining through the steadily falling rain and the window. A lone figure hurries out of the car and into the diner, shaking off his coat at the entrance as he scans the room before finally locating Price in the corner. Price's gaze finally leaves the window as he turns to watch Frank Venable slide into the booth opposite him.
FPV: "Couldn't you have picked a place a little bit easier to find?"
Price: "It's quiet and the people mind their own business. What could be better?"
FPV: "A place that is actually on the map."
As Frank motions for the waitress to come take his order, Price takes a moment to study Frank. They've known each other for a long time, going back to when Frank was just a rookie making his debut in the WCF. There aren't many people in this business that Price has respect for but Frank has managed to earn at least a little bit. Not that Price would ever tell him that. When it was announced that Price and Frank would be a team for the Battlebowl, it was a bit of a surprise. With his recent struggles, Price assumed he'd be left out of the tournament in favor of someone a bit more worthy, but again that's not something he'd ever say aloud. The idea of teaming with Frank was an intriguing one though, to say the least. Price could sense that Frank wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, their history was sketchy to say the least. But Frank was the one to reach out to Price first, he wanted to talk about a plan for them to pull off the improbable and actually work as a team. As the waitress finishes pouring Frank's drink, he finally brings Price out of his deep thought.
FPV: "Got something on your mind that you'd like to share?"
Price: "Just trying to figure out what kind of person only orders a glass of water at a restaurant."
FPV: "We're not all alcoh- wait, is that coffee? Since when do you drink cups off coffee and not pints of whiskey?"
Price: "I figured you'd bitch if I wasn't at least a little bit sober for our meeting."
FPV: "Listen, I can sense the tension here, but I'd actually like to win this thing. I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but I do know that you haven't been having the best of luck lately, so I thought maybe us sitting down and hashing some things out might get us on the same page. Now we might not have the best history-"
Price: "Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you part of the Pantheon group that superkicked me into a coma?"
FPV: "Like I was saying, it's not the best history, but I still feel like there's a mutual respect between the two of us. We both came from the same place, we spent years fighting the same people, we even accomplished many of the same things. I might not have always agreed with everything that you did and said, but I can't deny that you were one of the best that ever laced up a pair of boots in WCF. And if Corey can keep vouching for you after all the crap you've put him through, then I feel like I can trust you to get the job done when I need you to."
Price: "Haven't you been paying attention to the news lately? I'm washed up. I'm finished. The people that put this tournament together gave you a massive middle finger when they put me with you, Frank."
FPV: "Cut the shit, Price. You've been here less than a month, nobody expected you to already be holding the World Title. This is a whole new world here in AW and you just need to figure out the landscape. And I know that you'll get there, you were a damn Man Made God once upon a time."
Price: "That was a long time ago, man. You and Corey are doing your own thing now with that moniker. Although it was kind of disappointing to see you let that scrub in a while back. What was his name? The fat guy, uh, KJ? AJ? It was something fucking stupid."
FPV: "It was RJ and, yeah, that was us trying to build toward the future but it blew up a little bit. But the point is, I know you and I know what you can do. Whatever struggles you're dealing with right now you can get over. But I need you in the right state of mind going into this first match of this tournament. Nightingale and I...there's some history there."
As Price takes a sip of his coffee, he can sense a change in Frank's demeanor, even as he's fighting to keep his composure. Price has already started to do his homework so it's no surprise to him that just mentioning the name of James Nightingale has Frank in a mood. Price knows the feeling, there's a list a mile long of names that Price would rather never hear again. But it's rare for Price to see Frank like this, normally he's one of the more level headed people even in the heat of battle. The tightening of the brow, the slight tap of his thumb on his glass of water, Price is starting to wonder if maybe it's Frank that needs to get into the right state of mind ahead of their match.
Price: "You all right there, Franky boy?"
FPV: "Yeah, I just, uh, need to use the restroom. If she comes back around tell her to pour me another water, would ya?"
Price: "Yeah sure."
As Frank slides out of the booth and makes his way toward the restroom, Price once again turns his attention out the window. The rain has subsided and the moonlight is starting to poke out from behind the clouds.
"Frank's worried that I'm going to drag him down. I don't blame him, he's trying to hype me up but we both know that he drew a losing hand. And to top it all off, we've got to start this tournament going up against a team with a guy that he's been locked in a feud with. And not just your run of the mill kind of feud, but that kind of feud where you just know it's going to end with one guy in a body bag. What's funny though is that, in another life, Nightingale and I probably would have been the best of friends. We've got a lot in common, what with the mental issues and predisposition to violence. But that's another life and the one that we're in right now has us meeting for the first time standing across from one another inside of the ring. And while Nightingale might ask for his opponents to pray for mercy, I've never been one much for praying. I'm more the type that is going to fight until there's no fight left in me, even if that means I'm dead. This aura of death and despair isn't the kind of thing that scares me, although I'm sure it works real well with the kids. But I'm the guy that's suffered a broken neck, twice, not to mention being put into a coma. And I keep coming back to fight. Pray for mercy? Pray that you've got the balls to pull a gun and put a bullet in my brain because that's the only way I'd ever be 'eradicated'. But because we all know that's not going to be the case, things are going to need to get settled inside of the ring. And as fucked up in the head as I may be right now, I'm still going to bet on myself and Frank. Why he still has faith in a guy that the world still views as an alcoholic that once spent the better part of a year in a vagina, I'll never know. But he does and I'm starting to get really fucking tired of losing."
Price turns his head toward the restroom, expecting to see Frank headed back toward the table by now, but there's no sign of him.
Price: "Where the fuck is he?"
Price slides out of the booth and heads back toward the restroom.
"What am I really even doing here?"
Places like this have become a sort of ritual for Price since he decided to return to wrestling. Away from the distractions of the big cities and the media, it's a place to sit and take stock of his life, contemplating the decisions that have brought him to where he is. As the waitress walks past, stopping only for a moment to top off his cup, Price barely even acknowledges her presence as he watches the rain drops slide down the window.
"Maybe I should have just stayed retired. I've done so much already, there's nothing left for me to accomplish. I finally even made it to the Hall Of Fame, so why do I feel like I still have something to prove to people?"
Lately these little trips have been more about reflecting on what seems to be a career in a downward spiral, a man that appears to be a shell of his former self. When Price came to Action Wrestling he expected it to just be a continuation of WCF where he built a legacy as a winner. But quickly Price realized that AW wasn't the same world as WCF was, and that what he knew no longer applied. The losses have already begun to pile up, whispers about whether he ever actually had it or if he was simply protected can be heard in the hallways, the seed of doubt already firmly planted in the minds of the AW faithful. This is the guy that so many people had talked about?
"I could be sitting on a beach somewhere, sipping on a drink and watching the sunset on the horizon. Instead here I am, starting over again for no reason other than I can't seem to stop. I keep trying to prove the people that say I don't have the heart for the business anymore wrong, but what if they're right? Maybe I am just skating along, living off name value alone. Part of me knows that I don't belong here, this isn't home and it never will be because I'll never be accepted for the things that I've done and said. To these people I'm just an alcoholic that spent years embarrassing himself and no amount of accomplishments can hide that. And as much as I want to prove them wrong, the way these past few weeks have gone aren't exactly helping my case. I need some kind of sign to tell me that I'm not just making a fool of myself trying to keep going."
As if on cue, a car pulls into the parking lot of the diner, the headlights shining through the steadily falling rain and the window. A lone figure hurries out of the car and into the diner, shaking off his coat at the entrance as he scans the room before finally locating Price in the corner. Price's gaze finally leaves the window as he turns to watch Frank Venable slide into the booth opposite him.
FPV: "Couldn't you have picked a place a little bit easier to find?"
Price: "It's quiet and the people mind their own business. What could be better?"
FPV: "A place that is actually on the map."
As Frank motions for the waitress to come take his order, Price takes a moment to study Frank. They've known each other for a long time, going back to when Frank was just a rookie making his debut in the WCF. There aren't many people in this business that Price has respect for but Frank has managed to earn at least a little bit. Not that Price would ever tell him that. When it was announced that Price and Frank would be a team for the Battlebowl, it was a bit of a surprise. With his recent struggles, Price assumed he'd be left out of the tournament in favor of someone a bit more worthy, but again that's not something he'd ever say aloud. The idea of teaming with Frank was an intriguing one though, to say the least. Price could sense that Frank wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, their history was sketchy to say the least. But Frank was the one to reach out to Price first, he wanted to talk about a plan for them to pull off the improbable and actually work as a team. As the waitress finishes pouring Frank's drink, he finally brings Price out of his deep thought.
FPV: "Got something on your mind that you'd like to share?"
Price: "Just trying to figure out what kind of person only orders a glass of water at a restaurant."
FPV: "We're not all alcoh- wait, is that coffee? Since when do you drink cups off coffee and not pints of whiskey?"
Price: "I figured you'd bitch if I wasn't at least a little bit sober for our meeting."
FPV: "Listen, I can sense the tension here, but I'd actually like to win this thing. I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but I do know that you haven't been having the best of luck lately, so I thought maybe us sitting down and hashing some things out might get us on the same page. Now we might not have the best history-"
Price: "Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you part of the Pantheon group that superkicked me into a coma?"
FPV: "Like I was saying, it's not the best history, but I still feel like there's a mutual respect between the two of us. We both came from the same place, we spent years fighting the same people, we even accomplished many of the same things. I might not have always agreed with everything that you did and said, but I can't deny that you were one of the best that ever laced up a pair of boots in WCF. And if Corey can keep vouching for you after all the crap you've put him through, then I feel like I can trust you to get the job done when I need you to."
Price: "Haven't you been paying attention to the news lately? I'm washed up. I'm finished. The people that put this tournament together gave you a massive middle finger when they put me with you, Frank."
FPV: "Cut the shit, Price. You've been here less than a month, nobody expected you to already be holding the World Title. This is a whole new world here in AW and you just need to figure out the landscape. And I know that you'll get there, you were a damn Man Made God once upon a time."
Price: "That was a long time ago, man. You and Corey are doing your own thing now with that moniker. Although it was kind of disappointing to see you let that scrub in a while back. What was his name? The fat guy, uh, KJ? AJ? It was something fucking stupid."
FPV: "It was RJ and, yeah, that was us trying to build toward the future but it blew up a little bit. But the point is, I know you and I know what you can do. Whatever struggles you're dealing with right now you can get over. But I need you in the right state of mind going into this first match of this tournament. Nightingale and I...there's some history there."
As Price takes a sip of his coffee, he can sense a change in Frank's demeanor, even as he's fighting to keep his composure. Price has already started to do his homework so it's no surprise to him that just mentioning the name of James Nightingale has Frank in a mood. Price knows the feeling, there's a list a mile long of names that Price would rather never hear again. But it's rare for Price to see Frank like this, normally he's one of the more level headed people even in the heat of battle. The tightening of the brow, the slight tap of his thumb on his glass of water, Price is starting to wonder if maybe it's Frank that needs to get into the right state of mind ahead of their match.
Price: "You all right there, Franky boy?"
FPV: "Yeah, I just, uh, need to use the restroom. If she comes back around tell her to pour me another water, would ya?"
Price: "Yeah sure."
As Frank slides out of the booth and makes his way toward the restroom, Price once again turns his attention out the window. The rain has subsided and the moonlight is starting to poke out from behind the clouds.
"Frank's worried that I'm going to drag him down. I don't blame him, he's trying to hype me up but we both know that he drew a losing hand. And to top it all off, we've got to start this tournament going up against a team with a guy that he's been locked in a feud with. And not just your run of the mill kind of feud, but that kind of feud where you just know it's going to end with one guy in a body bag. What's funny though is that, in another life, Nightingale and I probably would have been the best of friends. We've got a lot in common, what with the mental issues and predisposition to violence. But that's another life and the one that we're in right now has us meeting for the first time standing across from one another inside of the ring. And while Nightingale might ask for his opponents to pray for mercy, I've never been one much for praying. I'm more the type that is going to fight until there's no fight left in me, even if that means I'm dead. This aura of death and despair isn't the kind of thing that scares me, although I'm sure it works real well with the kids. But I'm the guy that's suffered a broken neck, twice, not to mention being put into a coma. And I keep coming back to fight. Pray for mercy? Pray that you've got the balls to pull a gun and put a bullet in my brain because that's the only way I'd ever be 'eradicated'. But because we all know that's not going to be the case, things are going to need to get settled inside of the ring. And as fucked up in the head as I may be right now, I'm still going to bet on myself and Frank. Why he still has faith in a guy that the world still views as an alcoholic that once spent the better part of a year in a vagina, I'll never know. But he does and I'm starting to get really fucking tired of losing."
Price turns his head toward the restroom, expecting to see Frank headed back toward the table by now, but there's no sign of him.
Price: "Where the fuck is he?"
Price slides out of the booth and heads back toward the restroom.