Post by Lissie Hope on Mar 14, 2021 19:06:56 GMT -5
Ash Blake: Perhaps you could be offered an alternative commitment. A sponsorship, you could say.
Lissie gives Howard’s hand a squeeze, her own face lighting up excitedly at the prospect. The Lost Boy’s expression remains darkened.
Howard Black: I’m not interested.
Ash Blake: Not right now, sure. But how about we let you, say, try it on first…
Ash brings her fingers together, tapping them to her chin.
Ash Blake: ...see how it fits.
Lissie gives Howard’s hand a squeeze, her own face lighting up excitedly at the prospect. The Lost Boy’s expression remains darkened.
Howard Black: I’m not interested.
Ash Blake: Not right now, sure. But how about we let you, say, try it on first…
Ash brings her fingers together, tapping them to her chin.
Ash Blake: ...see how it fits.
Dandy and I took quite the crash and burn together this past week on Clash. Carter Shaw. Dandy Divito. Laying motionless, side by side. Unconscious. Was there a moment where Papa Kemp felt like he was watching his two sons sleeping? The one he wishes he had resting next to the son he had to settle for? Here we are again, Kyle. I think we both know how intertwined we are at this point, like it or not. We both failed our Battlebowl bid after getting to that grand finale together. Now we try to concurrently build momentum our own way moving forward through Evolution season. Let’s continue to do it at each other’s expense, shall we? Or, if you really wanna look at it closer, let’s do it together. We’re both living in the same little tier here. Kemp and Shaw. Two of AW’s best who are respected in that regard, but not proven in that regard. You can only pound the ceiling above your head so many times before it finally caves in on you. You’ve been chiseling away at it for what, 3 years now? Perpetuating your own middle of the line standing with a stack of great successes compounded by a severe lack of capitalization. You’re a fuckin’ ski lift, Kemp. We watch you ascend the mountain over and over again...but just wait 10 minutes, it’ll come back down to you. There’s one glaring difference between you and I, above anything else… Kyle Kemp is a leader. Carter Shaw is a follower. That’s the perception, right? Kyle Kemp, leader of men, through various incarnations of people raising the open palm up high and telling the world how ‘helpful’ of an influence you are. Your guidance is strong, right? Strong enough to guide Odin Balfore right off a cliff and Wesley into a lifetime of physical therapy. Regardless, that is how you are seen by the world of Action Wrestling. But you’ve given Dandy DiVito something new to fight for. You’ve given CJ Phoenix a feeling of belonging. And then there’s me. The follower. Ash Blake’s helpful shadow. It’s clear you share this perception, since you took that belief of my willingness to follow and tried to use it to recruit me away from Philidor and into your Following family. And I understand your need to upgrade your supporting cast, of course I do. But while you continue to do so, Lissie Hope will be rockin’ her new Philidor line of wardrobe. I’m not a follower, Kyle. I’ve made my decisions. I’m leading my own life. I’m content with where I am in my life right now. I don’t care how it fits into what everybody else wants to see happen. Because it’s not clay in your hands, it must be clay in Ash Blake’s hand, right? Because that’s how everything works in this world of ‘black and white’. Of ‘right or wrong’. Of puppets and puppet masters. You’re wrong. Meanwhile, you’ve built such a false-god type pedestal for yourself that now you’re stuck trying to live up to your own set example each and every day. Any success that Dandy achieves in the future will find that credit come right back around to him and him alone. But any failure of his? “Well, if Kyle Kemp didn’t spend all week ‘good boy’ing him…” You’ve pushed the image that you’ve wanted to fill for so long, Kyle, that now you’re stuck. Bald tires in mud. Now you’re stuck following yourself. You’ve become the shadow, overcast by your own creation. There’s no winning endgame in this for your longcon. There’s only...this. What you have. Right now. Your Following compound, your own little community. It won’t grow unless you grow. And with the Spencer Adams of AW constantly stealing the spotlight you try to get on yourself? Well, to grow, I guess you ain’t gettin’ the direct sunlight you need. I won’t apologize for my decisions and my actions not fitting the expectations of others. Instead, I’ll keep showing up. Showing up to showdowns like this week’s and continuing to prove my worth through action and the substance of results. And when Lissie, Howard Black and myself snuff out another flame of your momentum, Kyle and Dandy? When Trey’s breakout campaign gets suplexed? You’re back to square 1. Again. Right where you belong, right where you fit. |
Two glasses – two handfuls of ice – two pours of two ounces of Wild Turkey 101 – two men in the rented gym. If there was one benefit Shaw had immediately showed Howard, it was that the Philidor company card could make most places sing. For Carter Shaw, finding the ideal place to train in town, one equipped with the weights and ring the men required to prepare, wasn’t an issue.
They’d arrived at the crack of dawn and gotten immediately to work. Howard hadn’t had a gym partner since Crow had returned home, and he was pleased to find Shaw had as much drive and ethic (if not more?) than him. They warmed up with a HIIT routine, followed by core-focused weight circuit, and wrapped up the first half of the day practicing in the ring with 150 lb. sandbags. Around noon, Shaw had opened his gym bag and revealed the bottle.
Carter Shaw: Heard this was your taste.
Howard scoffed, plopping down on the bench next to him as he toweled the sweat off his face.
Howard Black: Don’t mention this to Lissie?
Carter Shaw: I don’t see her here.
With a pour and the clink, the two cheers and took slugs off theirs. It was the first dedicated time Howard had spent with the younger blue chip – all things considered, it was a refreshing change of pace. Conversation until that point had largely been motivational barks or friendly trash talk – with the work-out halted and the whiskey cold, a quiet settled between them.
Howard Black: You work hard out there.
Shaw let out a dry laugh, another slug from the whiskey whetting his throat.
Carter Shaw: It’s the only speed I know. Born out of necessity. At this point, I guess you could say the chip on my shoulder might as well be a tattoo.
Howard’s eyes drifted towards the ring, Shaw’s words sticking in his head.
Howard Black: Amen… Can I ask you, Shaw…
The Lost Boy hesitated as Shaw cocked an eyebrow at him.
Howard Black: ...why the whole super-villain shtick? You know you don’t need it – hell, Ash and Lissie don’t either. What’s the deal?
Carter Shaw: I’ve never been much into comic books. There’s no shtick here. I do what I need to do. Plain and simple. Have there been some power plays that have...re-calculated my morale gauge a bit? Sure. There’s plenty of things I wouldn’t have done before I joined Philidor. But I do them now. For Philidor. Because of everything they do for me. If me changing and evolving in this sport qualifies me to be a super-villain, then Hollywood needs new writers.
Shaw sips from the whiskey, index finger pointed outward to indicate another thought.
Carter Shaw: And Lissie’ll say the same thing. ‘Cept her morality gauge needs less recalculating. She already knows what it takes to make it. Me? I was a baby in this industry. Can’t just get by on knuckle-bustin’.
Howard's eyes trended down to the glass in his hand.
Howard Black: No. You're right.
Carter Shaw: Ain't about "right", I'm just saying there's a lot of people who'll call you a bad guy for wanting a slice of the pie that already got. You remember saying that about me to Corey Black?
Howard looked back to the man at his right, his eyes lighting up.
Howard Black: ...yeah. Yeah, I did.
Carter Shaw: And you were right. Who gives a crap about what people think is a shtick? I think screw the judgement and tut-tut bullshit. You know yourself and your worth, right? So why not trust your gut and follow the money. After all...
Shaw raised his glass. Howard hesitated.
Carter Shaw: ...you fit where you fit.
With a clink the toast was reciprocated.
There are so many moving parts, ain’t there? We are all pieces of the jigsaw that is Action Wrestling, trying to find where we fit in. With every show - and every title change - and every shellshocking recruitment of a mercenary - the state of the industry changes in an instant. A month ago, Trey Bouchet was still a marginal draw on CruiserClash, comfortable in his element of a revolving door of suplex deathmatches. The physical embodiment of wrestling entertainment, without a single plexpectation to plexceed. But he bitched and moaned until he found himself vying for Time Bomb, and finally, Trey Bouchet has officially arrived. Finally, it’s time to take Trey Bouchet seriously. I don’t. As much as he can’t keep my name out of his mouth, and my feed out of his mentions; I’m not here to talk about Trey Bouchet. There’s someone in this match I haven’t shared a ring with in fifteen months. There’s someone who made my life a living hell, but whom we’ve still yet to find resolution. His hand raised once, and mine raised once - but my eyes are drawn towards the end of the tunnel. And the only thing you find in that tunnel is the fucking sewer rat with a fucked up haircut, a parasite vulturing the remnants of what was once an illustrious career. A legacy that I robbed. A glory I destroyed. It’s been a minute, hasn’t it, Dandy? You were an Action Original, the one who dethroned Lockhart. And for months, I forced you to play defense, even as the reigning World Champion. You were never in a position of strength, because you knew I was always in the back of your head, chirping at what little brain you had left. And when I took you on, and I overcame you and Alex Richards, and I took that title from your waist; that was the end of Dandy DiVito as we knew him. You’ve never made it back to the pinnacle. You went radio-silent, on strike, not because you were justified in vying for the title, but because you were too chickenshit to earn your place like a man. Forgettable performance in Havoc. Shitting the bed after Evolution. I hurt you, Dandy, more than you’d like to admit. It’s never been the same for you since Marc Maron hurled you softballs and you struck-the-fuck-out. And then, that losing streak of what - three matches? - in the summer followed, and you reconsidered everything. Mentally-defeated so badly that you didn’t have the balls to fight through it yourself. You sought a purpose from a perennial underachiever who I embarrassed during the tag team warfare of 2020. He had to pat you on the head and whip you into shape with the leash you let him squeeze around your throat. You’re his bitch, Dandy. You needed him to salvage your career. I credit Philidor for saving my life. My career has never been endangered, even though you were so confident you’d be the one to hinder it. I can take some time away to reflect and repair, and I still come back just as strong, as if I didn’t miss any time at all. I don’t ever need to restore my name, or my credibility. Not like you, anyway. Does Daddy Kemp loosen the noose so you can do podcasts, still? John Thomas has been blowing me up, tryin’ to get the exclusive, but I don’t think anyone’s ringin’ up your phone, Dandy. Tanking your stock so badly you went from Netflix Episode 1070 to playing grab-ass with Piers Morgan. This has been quite the fall, Dandy. Your place in Action Wrestling has been absorbed by Trey fuckin’ Bouchet. It wouldn’t be so surprising and give me this much satisfaction if it didn’t happen to such an insecure, spineless turd. I can’t wait to remove your nuts from Kemp’s throat and fuckin’ feed them to you. I can appreciate a reclamation project. For fuck’s sake, I am one. But no matter how many times you try to correct your failures, you’ll still fall back into these old patterns of digging the blade into my spine as deep as you can - but even if I align with the devil herself, everybody still wants to see me get through it. They expect me to. But there is one thing you could do better than me, Dandy. You could snuff yourself into an early grave. Because unlike me, nobody would give enough-of-a-fuck to stop you. |
The boiling espresso of the Americano coursed through my throat, burning my tongue, and I hissed like a serpent, squeezing my eyes shut. “Is everything okay?” Howie asked, the concern emanating from his eyes. It wasn’t just the piping-hot coffee we were indulging -- a practice that had suddenly become our thing -- but of where we’d just been.
He’d been my guest at my meeting, celebrating three months of recovery. When I’d asked him to join me, he hesitated, but knowing how much it meant to me and feeling honored that I’d asked him to begin with, he welcomed the trust I’d thrust upon his broad shoulders. We paced through downtown Meridian, in a city centre not unlike those we’d grown up knowing. Antique shops and jewelry stores, flanked by the Mississippi River and the unspectacular architecture of a state courthouse. A diner served first-responders and bankers alike - but the hole-in-the-wall dive bar and a tattoo parlor across the street called to me like a siren.
But we kept moving.
“Today’s been great, thank you,” I admitted, and hooked my arm in his. We approached an art gallery, the doors open, inviting us in. I pulled his arm in that direction, and he followed without resistance. We stepped into the clean, open space, the entry-corridor lined with photographs. The nucleus of the exhibit were a pair of abstract sculptures, while the guests lapped the room, absorbing the ambiguous religious imagery.
“They created this piece of artwork out of shards of rusted metal and stained glass that they probably pulled out of a dumpster -- it’s really impressive that they can create something out of nothing. Something so
“Didn’t think this would be your taste.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dunno, just a little surprising.”
I let his observation weigh on my mind a little bit. I didn’t understand where this was coming from. We orbited the centerpiece until we came to a wall the length of the room. I decided to challenge him.
“I don’t understand what’s surprising you?” I asked, clearly annoyed. His eyes were trained on the demonstrative piece of artwork positioned on the wall. “You don’t think I can appreciate simple things?”
“I didn’t, nor would I say that.” he told me, his gaze never breaking the piece. “Just with how you were talkin’ earlier about your meeting and everything - just strike me as someone more concrete. Less abstract.”
“What do you mean?”
Howard takes his eyes from the piece, a hint of hesitation in his voice.
“Do you believe in God?”
“I did,” I said, softly. “Once.”
“The chip and all that stuff? It’s just trinkets and markers for the little serotonin burst; keeps you motivated. But they just because got no inherent power doesn’t mean you can’t draw from them. Does that make sense?” A pause. When I didn’t answer, he turned my face to a painting.
“I like artwork like this,” he admitted, allowing me a second to take in the expansive piece. It was a visage of a landscape, the clouds peppering the sky, the mountains rising in backdrop. At the base of the foreground was the imprint of a shoe, ready to embark on the journey.
“Why?” I asked, digging my fingernails into the bend of his forearm.
“It makes me feel small. I think you need to feel just how insignificant we are in the scope of existence - how our problems and our mistakes are just speedbumps. Crossroads, if you will,” he philosophized. “That powerlessness? I think it makes you stronger in the face of adversity. You need to appreciate the real scope and challenge if you wanna overcome it - can’t climb a thousand foot mountain if you only think the job is only a hundred.”
I rested my head on his shoulder, absorbing his wisdom. I was begging him to keep going, without even saying a word.
“That’s why I like feeling small, Lissie,” he said. “We’re not always going to cast the biggest shadow. But it’s how we understand what we’re up against and how to find the strength and courage to overcome it.”
I didn’t know if he was talking about my addiction. If he was talking about my weakest moment. If he was talking about this match. Or if he was talking about everything, all at once. But all I knew is that he was speaking to my soul. And it was in that moment that I realized, despite what the cynics may believe, that I owe my loyalty to Philidor Holdings. But how did I fit into Howie's life?
You’ve gotta earn your keep in this business, and too often your spot will slip right between your fingers and flit off for good. I’m sure some people saw my performance against Kemp last week – or lack thereof – and probably think I may be staring down the barrel of a gun, face-to-face with a bullet labeled “obscurity”. Truth be told? I don’t blame them for that assessment. I still haven’t put in the tape to see where it all went wrong; the answer’s probably on every level. I ain’t too proud to be ashamed – but I’m sure as hell too proud to stay down. I don’t make excuses. I’m not gonna sit here and talk about Chase Jackson or whine about being screwed. At the end of the day, I’m me – I don’t need nobody to cower behind or take comfort in the arms of so I can feel better about my own failures. That’s why I got nothing further to say to you, Winston – no matter the cackle that escaped those stained teeth, I ain’t giving you any absolution. My time is valuable, and I’m not wasting it on losers and supporting actors. That’s why I’d like to talk to you, Trey. Congratulations, kid – welcome to the big leagues. I ain’t gonna reflect on your time at Cruiserclash, you attitude about your trade, or any of that. What good has it done anyone who’s faced you so far? Sam Kid learned that the hard way, and I gotta say: I like when people eat that guy’s lunch. I don’t got any beef with you – I like your spunk. You may even remind me of me all those years ago. That just remains to be seen. Big pressure on them shoulders, isn’t there? I remember when I first came up, getting my rub in that old, closed company. It feels good to ride that big beautiful way – it don’t matter how it all started or where it’s going, only that you’re there now. My wave to the top consisted of putting a big redneck bastard flat on his back and tapping the sonuvabitch like a dog on my son’s birthday. Some people still think that night was the high water mark of my career. And you know what? I hate that day. I wish it never happened. Reality came at me fast a month later. I found myself a little high on myself, going thrown into the thick of it with the real players. It was my moment: if I performed here, I was a made man. Expectations? Never been higher and the future never been brighter. The reality? I ran face first into a Johnny Fly-shaped wall, ate a Bates-shaped boot, and fell into a Jay Omega-shaped hole. The next week, Joey Flash snapped my elbow on television for kicks… and if I’m honest with myself, I went into that lion’s den broken before the bell even rang. Sorry. Hope I don’t come across like an old timer reminiscing on faded glory. I swear I’m not even thirty-five. My point being I’ve been in your shoes, Trey. I know what it’s like to get a rocket strapped to your back, shot to the moon at a million miles an hour. Feels good, doesn’t it? You laugh a little louder – people say your name a little prouder. You’re living so high and above it you never realize… …it’s such a long way down. I’m gonna do you a favor this week. We’re gonna go out, and I’m not giving you anything less than you deserve: our absolute best. This is your make-or-break, Trey: you wanna a shot at the champ? Consider me the gatekeeper. I’m going to out-wrestle you – I’m going to out-strike you – I’m gonna hit you with the best Northern Lights Suplex in the game, one that’ll have you sayin’ “Wow” mid-air before you hit the mat – and I’m gonna tap you out. Either one of two things is gonna happen: you’re gonna rise the challenge or not. Maybe you’ll prove you belong here – maybe you’ll wake up to that bell ringing and “Endzeit” playing to realize the clock struck midnight and the fairy tale is over. I ain’t passing any judgement or making any predictions. But Trey? You better come at me with everything – harder than you went at Kidsgrove and even harder than you’re gonna go at Ash. If you don’t? I promise you will fail. |
Carter and Lissie sat on opposite sides of the restaurant table, already smiling and chatting as the server had come over to introduce himself. Lissie had a light in her eyes that hadn’t been seen in some time. Carter’s smile heightened at a smirk, but sometimes would let the teeth flash. Both of them look up as the server requests drink orders.
Lissie: Water with lemon, please.
Shaw: I’ll take a Macalla-
His head quickly shifted back towards Lissie, his attempted Scotch order being cut short by the biting of his own tongue.
Shaw: Water with lemon sounds good, make that two.
The server nods as Shaw and Lissie reconnect eyes as they get comfortable in their respective booths. A few moments of pleasant silence pass...
Shaw: You made the right call.
Lissie: I would hope you’d think so. We’ve been talking about this for months now.
Shaw: I know, but...just, the agreement being publicly known can change it a bit. This is the first time I’ve gotten to sit with you, just you, since and-
Lissie: If I needed reassurance, I would’ve asked for it.
Her response was sarcastically snide through a genuine smile. Shaw shook his head with a smile as the two glasses of water were placed in front of them. Lissie lifted the slice of lemon off of the lip, squirting a spritz into her water before placing it back where it was. Shaw simply lifts it up and drops the whole slice in.
Shaw: I’m proud of you.
Lissie: Thanks man, that means alot.
Shaw: You deserve everything ya got comin’ to ya. In AW, with Philidor, in life. All of it. Seriously.
As he speaks, he tilts his glass forward towards Lissie, who responds with a laugh, clinking her glass against his. Doesn’t have to be alcohol for a cheers.
Lissie: It feels good. For the first time in a long time, I know my future is bright. I know I’ve got a handle back on the controls, ya know?
Shaw: Man, I don’t think I ever had controls to handle in the first place. When I accepted the sponsorship with Philidor, I did so selfishly. I did it for me. Don’t know if I had ever done that in my life. It felt good. And getting to be a part of this symbiotic relationship is good for me, because I still get to do things for the Philidor fam too. Feed that natural instinct to be there for others. But look at this.
He moves his hand to display the restaurant surroundings. Leaning towards fancy, atleast in mood lighting and polished wooden furnishing.
Shaw: I grew up on makin’ a box of fuckin’ Hamburger Helper last 3 days. I guess you could say I’m making up for lost time, cause I’m ordering their Porterhouse for damn sure.
They share a laugh.
Lissie: Already, at this point, I couldn’t imagine getting to where I am now without you guys.
Shaw: Mmhmm...anyone else you couldn’t imagine helping you?
He smirks with peering eyes, Lissie dropping her head bashfully for a moment.
Lissie: Howie.
Shaw: Howie.
They both sip from their glasses.
Shaw: What do you really think about Mr. Black when it comes to Philidor.
Lissie: What do you think?
Shaw: What do I think? About the 2020 AW Wrestler Of The Year? I think his retirement plans are a cop-out and him getting wrecked by Kemp last week was a hopeful wake-up call. Cause Howard Black? Is one of the best god damn wrestlers on the planet, that’s what I think.
Lissie nods in appreciation and agreement.
Lissie: I would love it if Howie would join Philidor, of course I want him here with me. He’d deserve this kind of support. I’ve never had anything like this. Neither has he. I’m not just talkin’ financial either, it’s like...adding a backbone to a skeleton that was missing something important.
Shaw: Could you imagine? Yourself...Howie Black...me...Our World Champ, Ash Blake...Saltair and Garvey…We’re strong enough as it is, but with Howie in that mix?...
Lissie’s eyes slowly raise towards the far window as the setting sun shines through…
Lissie: He’d be a perfect fit.