Post by Frank Venable on Feb 7, 2021 20:36:38 GMT -5
FPV RP #25 - Reports of My Demise
Pain. All over my body.
It was clear as day looking at my reflection in the mirror. I was in a bad way, had been for some time. That last farce of a match with Nightingale at Revolution did nothing to help matters, aside from a bruised ego my neck was in shambles. The MRI I had undergone gave a grave diagnosis, and the doctors advised me to perhaps take it easy in the coming months, retire for little while then return when I was fully healed and ready to go, lest I risk a career ending injury.
They made just one mistake. They gave me a choice in the matter.
The look on Pasternak's face when I told him to put me in for Battlebowl was one of shock, awe, and just a little bit of concern. Despite his insistence I take time off, I told him to "put me in with anyone, anyone at all. I just want to ruin Nightingale's day." The next day I saw that I had been randomly paired with none other than Jayson Price. Though I was annoyed at this pairing at first, the more I thought on it the more I grew to like the idea of working with Price. Our conversation earlier in the day had been enlightening, minus the odd jab here and there. And despite all that I had said about Price during our short rivalry in APW and in the run-up to The Final One, the idea of me winning with him suddenly didn't sound all that farfetched. Perhaps I could finally be the person who motivates him to be the goddamn Jay Price of yesterdecade and derail Nightingale's momentum all in one fell swoop.
At least, that was the goal. But it's hard to be a superman when all you can think about is the black hole of pain that is your neck. They were right. Dr. Valasquez, Pasternak, every doctor that's seen me the past six months, they were all right. I need to stop doing this. I need to give this career up before it kills me. Sometimes I sit in my hotel room thinking about what the repercussions would be if I decided to quit right then and there, and every time I do, another thought immediately enters my mind.
"I'm in too deep, and I need to win."
Pills. I knew I had them somewhere on my person. I fished them out of my back pocket, a whole baggie of little capsules to make me feel my old self again. I hadn't needed them for some time, over a month or so, and I thought I had started to get better about using them. That was, of course, before Revolution. Now I needed them more than ever. I needed to project a very specific image to the AW Fans and to Nightingale. That I was Frank Patrick Fucking Venable, and nothing so gauche as a package piledriver would put me away that easily, that I still had what it took to come out on top, but it's hard to project that image hunched over and moaning in pain over a bathroom sink. As I began to take the first pill...no, one isn't good enough, I need more. As I began to take the first three pills, I thought "If Price could see me now he'll never let me hear the end of it after every time I've called him a drunk in the past."
Right on cue, I heard a knock at the door.
It was clear as day looking at my reflection in the mirror. I was in a bad way, had been for some time. That last farce of a match with Nightingale at Revolution did nothing to help matters, aside from a bruised ego my neck was in shambles. The MRI I had undergone gave a grave diagnosis, and the doctors advised me to perhaps take it easy in the coming months, retire for little while then return when I was fully healed and ready to go, lest I risk a career ending injury.
They made just one mistake. They gave me a choice in the matter.
The look on Pasternak's face when I told him to put me in for Battlebowl was one of shock, awe, and just a little bit of concern. Despite his insistence I take time off, I told him to "put me in with anyone, anyone at all. I just want to ruin Nightingale's day." The next day I saw that I had been randomly paired with none other than Jayson Price. Though I was annoyed at this pairing at first, the more I thought on it the more I grew to like the idea of working with Price. Our conversation earlier in the day had been enlightening, minus the odd jab here and there. And despite all that I had said about Price during our short rivalry in APW and in the run-up to The Final One, the idea of me winning with him suddenly didn't sound all that farfetched. Perhaps I could finally be the person who motivates him to be the goddamn Jay Price of yesterdecade and derail Nightingale's momentum all in one fell swoop.
At least, that was the goal. But it's hard to be a superman when all you can think about is the black hole of pain that is your neck. They were right. Dr. Valasquez, Pasternak, every doctor that's seen me the past six months, they were all right. I need to stop doing this. I need to give this career up before it kills me. Sometimes I sit in my hotel room thinking about what the repercussions would be if I decided to quit right then and there, and every time I do, another thought immediately enters my mind.
"I'm in too deep, and I need to win."
Pills. I knew I had them somewhere on my person. I fished them out of my back pocket, a whole baggie of little capsules to make me feel my old self again. I hadn't needed them for some time, over a month or so, and I thought I had started to get better about using them. That was, of course, before Revolution. Now I needed them more than ever. I needed to project a very specific image to the AW Fans and to Nightingale. That I was Frank Patrick Fucking Venable, and nothing so gauche as a package piledriver would put me away that easily, that I still had what it took to come out on top, but it's hard to project that image hunched over and moaning in pain over a bathroom sink. As I began to take the first pill...no, one isn't good enough, I need more. As I began to take the first three pills, I thought "If Price could see me now he'll never let me hear the end of it after every time I've called him a drunk in the past."
Right on cue, I heard a knock at the door.
Jayson: Frank! You good? You've been in there for over twenty minutes now.
Congratulations Frank Venable. You played yourself.
FPV: Everything's fine Jayson, you don't have to worry.
Jayson: Bullshit! No one needs to take a twenty minute shit, hold up...
The handle turned and the door abruptly swung upon. Jayson Price, The South Street Nightmare himself, stood on the other side of the door catching a full glimpse of the painkillers in my hand and in my bag. The jig was up. There was no hiding this. He knew something about me that only the good doctor Valasquez knew.
Jayson: Well well, what do we have here eh Frank? I never took you for the pill popping type.
FPV: Price, if you were me you'd know just how much of a necessity these things are. If I don't take at least one of these then I'm about as dead out there in AW.
Jayson: Damn. Then I take it you won't be sharing any with me?
FPV: This isn't a joke Price! IF word got out to the public that I was taking these, there's no telling what the press would do to me. I know for a fact that I'd lose the respect of the fans I still have left, so all of this stays strictly between you and me. You got that.
Jayson: Relax buddy, you got nothing to worry about. I don't have any reason to rat you out, so as long as you don't do anything to piss me off your secret'll be safe with me. Gods' Honor.
FPV: Yeah...Gods' Honor indeed.
He smirked at me, then turned around.
Jayson: All good then. I'm off to go "train" for Monday night. We've got a Battlebowl to win, after all.
He walked out the door, leaving me a little uneasy. I could only hope at this point that he meant every word and would come through for me on Monday. I was now on my own in this dingy little bathroom, left to stew and think of all the various ways I could make James Nightingale's life a living hell, just as he had done with mine.
Because when it comes to James and I...things have become so much more than just "personal."
Because when it comes to James and I...things have become so much more than just "personal."
Hello everyone who's reading this. It's me, Frank Patrick Venable himself. Reports of my demise have been...gravely exaggerated.
Don't listen to anything you've heard this past week. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, and I'm damn sure not out on injury. If Nightingale had truly taken me out of action at Revolution, you think I would've been booked against him again the very next week? No. Pasternak knows better than to let a cripple wrestle, and I'm far from being a cripple. I'm here to stay, and after January, and I'm ready to make James Nightingale pay.
You think you can ruin me that easy, James? You've already taken so much away from me, I bet you think you can just continue to take and take and break me down into a pitiful puddle of a man. But you've let one little detail slip your mind. I can take just as easily, and you're going to find out that when I'm out for vengeance, I don't play nice. I already know just what I'm going to do to ruin you just as you ruined me, in fact I've got some overseas tickets booked for....oops, almost let the cat out of the bag early. Besides, that won't be the first thing I take away from you this month James. No, the first thing I'm taking away is your shot at Battlebowl on Clash.
You might think in your twisted, rotten brain that you've somehow "earned" your place in this tournament with your showing at Revolution, standing tall over my twisted, broken body. But a DQ win is hardly what I'd call "defintive," wouldn't you say? Especially considering you got your best offense in after the match was thrown out, free to do whatever you wished with no repercussions. Well this week, things will be different. I'm not the man blinded by sheer rage that met you on the 31st. I'm going to save that anger that got me disqualified and let it out when I need it most. I won't need it this week because I know you've handicapped yourself enough by tagging with NATE as your partner.
I've never seen someone taken advantage of more in my time in AW than NATE. It's so clear to me he shouldn't be signed to this company at all, given his mental faculties, but now is not the time for social justice. If you think you can beat me with NATE on your side, imagine how I feel knowing that I'm going to win with an actual legend on my side.
Jason and I go back too many years to count, we’ve done this song and dance before, we each know how the other ticks. In AW, there’s only one other man I can say that about, and that’s the King of All Wrestlers himself. When Price is on, he’s right there on our level. A proper fucking Man Made God. And after having a little chat with the guy earlier this week, I can tell you that he’s fucking on.
You wanna compare Jayson Price to NATE? It’s not even fair to do so. Jay can him, and Jay can beat you, James. I’ll make damn sure of that.
This is the first Battlebowl I’ve properly taken part in in AW, and I gotta say I’m pretty hyped, but not for the reasons everyone else is hyped. See, with the exception of Dandy, Odin and I, no one in the tourney have never been world champion, they’re all trying to prove themselves and punch their ticket to Evolution with that last spot in Havoc. Everyone’s trying to make their legacy with a win in this tournament, including you Nightingale.
I’ve already cemented my AW legacy. The first three time World Champion in AW history, that’s something no one can take away from me, not even you James. So while winning this thing would be nice, I don’t have to worry to hard about it if I lose after this week.
That means I can focus 100% on my energy on one thing and one thing alone, knocking you out of contention week fucking one and out of world title contention. Because deep down without a world title to your name, you’re never going to get the respect you think you’ve earned, James. Will you ever be world champ someday? Probably so, who knows. All I know is that your path to glory won’t begin this Monday, Price and I are gonna derail that train before it even leaves the station.
Now I dunno about you but that sounds like a tournament well spent to me.
This war of ours is just heating up, James. You may think you’ve won the war at Revolution, but all you did was win a skirmish. I’m going to attack you on all fronts, in-ring and out. I’m going to remind what true misery feels like, and when you curse my name, scream at me for what I’ve done, all I’m going to tell you is this: you brought this upon yourself.
The vengeance begins Monday, James. I hope you’re emotionally prepared.