W H A T C O M E S U P . . . | lethal lottery
Sept 11, 2016 3:05:28 GMT
Valentina Lemay, Ernie Parker, and 3 more like this
Post by Finn Whelan on Sept 11, 2016 3:05:28 GMT
W H A T C O M E S U P . . .
When you join this world of wrestling, no one tells you what it’s truly going to be like. When you step in, the only thing a recruit to the sport sees in the training facility is an opportunity to have your name flashed up in lights, scrolling on a marquee, plastered across posters and fans cheering you on. It’s about the glory and the fame; nothing more than that and nothing less. There is an extremely strong pull in your psyche when you see those men and women training, fighting, shoving, and beating one another to a pulp in exhibition style matches that make you throw everything normal in your life away -- a safe career, a family, even a shot at some form of long-life expectancy, just to get the blood in your veins pumping and your brain riled up for a fight. Just like when you’re growing up, they tell you that you can do anything that you can set your mind to. Yes, even you can be a star, a champion, someone for those little kids to look up to. You can be on television, man.
But when you join, they leave out information. They leave out the things that are probably the most important to know and to look at before you take a flying leap into the unknown. They don’t tell you about the amount of blood, sweat and tears that is going to spill from you for the next twenty to, if you’re lucky, thirty years of your life. They don’t tell you about the endless amounts of travelling that you’re required to do. They don’t tell you that there isn’t, wasn’t, and never will be a common goal for the competitors you work with. You think you’ve joined the greatest sport with the best people -- like minded people, driven people, people you can work with and respect as athletes and sports-addicts. Little do we know, we have people who ended up choosing this as their second choice in life. “I tried this one thing and failed, so it must be easy to live out the life of a wrestler. Just a little bit of training in the ring.”
I can’t say that it was my first choice. This business kind of chose me. I was a crack addict, living on the streets of Seattle with nothing; no home, no family, and no reason to continue life. My only decision that I ever made was to find the next fix, the next two to three hour euphoria that a single line could induce. I didn’t give up anything pertinent to become what I am today. Jobs were few and far between; I didn’t dare go to the shelters, but did some under the table jobs, cleaned some dishes in restaurants I tried to pilfer food from, and incidentally, ate out of trash cans behind those very same five star restaurants. Lucid, I could talk myself out of any type of trouble, but chasing the dragon? Yeah, there was some pretty fucked up shit, I won’t lie. Jail cells were better than the shelters. Friends were nonexistent if they couldn’t get shit out of you. And the addiction? It could kill you; it likely would have me if I hadn’t been sitting outside that Seven-Eleven right off the freeway.
I look now at what I have. Three years ago, if you would have asked me where I was standing, it wouldn’t be in a four-thousand square foot house in an area close to popular ski slopes many traversed the midwest to visit. It wouldn’t be sitting in front of the television on a Thursday night for the Football season opener for a team I never gave a shit about prior to this moment. It wouldn’t be with my arm wrapped around the only person in the existence of mankind that could soften my temper, and push me to always do the thing I believed was the most correct for any situation. And it most certainly wouldn’t be standing in front of the masses on a Sunday night in the middle of New York City at a historic event center.
I’ve been in three companies so far, and none of them have quite measured up to Epic Online Wrestling. Two brands from the start, two warring brand owners fighting for superiority over the other. It’s almost as if it is a match made in heaven. There’s a point, per se. It’s something other than just blandly fighting day in and day out, fighting for something you can never attain because of old glories and egos needing to be pushed and consoled. There are far too many false egos made in this sport by money changing hands and relationships with powerful people. It’s truly the only way that some of these wrestlers have made it anywhere in this business. They could sound like a sloth, a heathen, a neanderthal, and yet they would still rise on top because their dick is currently in the hands of a powerful player in the game. This is what I abhor, and what I have yet to see -- preferably would never wish to see -- in the hands of a company like EOW.
I know what the rest of the roster I belong to thinks of one another. There is no respect, no form of honor in the way that we will gnash our teeth and spray epithets of loathing every week. And why should there be? Respect is earned. It’s earned from coworkers, administrators and fans. Of the eight of us performing that night, my respect is honestly limited down to one, and it’s one I give in hesitation merely because I know what could be done, but not what will be. The rest? Showboaters, snake oil salesmen. While many of them can be considered “wrestlers”, which ones truly wanted to join this sport, and which ones are using it for a rise into another area of fame? Which will step outside of the company when they believe they were robbed?
Ernie Parker, though he’s the general manager of the Livewire brand, was absolutely correct in setting straight the rosters in whom exactly would be sitting in the Redemption Challenge. I’ve heard what my coworkers think of me, and I’m most certainly ready to set them straight. Despite what you’ve heard, I am a credible threat I, like many others, have things to prove to the roster, to Valentina Lemay, and most of all, to the fans. I’m quite literally one of those people that you shouldn’t underestimate. I won’t be sitting at the end of a show, nursing my wounds and vying for the Internet Championship. No, my Irish “prick” self -- thanks Jason -- will be heading onto the next three shows, vying for points, and finding my way for that Ultimate Championship at EPIC I.
We all have opinions, and all our opinions are arbitrary and defined by our personal decisions. There is no doubt that my personal opinion is that I will rise to the occasion, just as I’ve risen to the occasions before. When I get there, it’ll be another story. But I have a goal.
Honestly, the first thing that anyone would ever say to a person coming in this business now, as opposed to ten years ago, is that if you have a heart that is easily destroyed by even the smallest of terrible words, you might as well get out before it kills you. But what happens when you honestly just don’t care?
•••
September Eighth, Two Thousand and Sixteen
4:15 p.m. | Dillon, Colorado
Every day, cars speed past Dillon Lake on Interstate 75, heading through the glorious mountains that a little under forty percent of Colorado has the privilege of calling home. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Colorado is not all mountains, despite what the advertisements would have you believe. Much of it is the golden plains that one historical bitch wrote about when calling America “beautiful”. The lake sits just on the opposite side of the Eisenhower Tunnel, a stretch of road bored into the mountain one-point-seven miles long and eleven-thousand feet above sea level. Much of Dillon sits between Silverthorne and Breckenridge, two notorious ski resort areas that thousands of people flock to every year during the winter months to experience skiing near the treeline. Of all the places in Colorado, including Denver, the cost of living is skyrocketed comparatively, and most people that live in this area have had families that have lived there for thousands of years. Celebrities find “mountain” homes here, and the status that comes with living in this area is prominent.
But that’s not why we’re here.
The last three weeks of Finn Whelan’s life have been a tumultuous affair. After coming home to their Seattle apartment and finding the corridor destroyed, Finn’s first instinct was to get the hell out of there. There was nothing more important than the safety of his wife, and of the precious cargo carried in her itty-bitty stomach. Though his wife was a former competitor, could probably still compete, and probably could very likely kick the ass of whomever was targeting the couple, he didn’t find it appropriate to stay in one spot. In fact, he didn’t give their correct address to anyone, preferring a post office box in South Park, Colorado. Paranoid? Yes! Absolutely. But the safety of the only people in the world he cared about was more important than titles, matches, and a company that didn’t give a shit.
He left Honor Wrestling after he’d lost, yes, but contrary to what others would argue, the loss had nothing to do with his decisions. Instead, he felt his family outweighed the costs of continuing to be away for several days due to all the signings, the events, and the actual cards. But think what you will, yeah? Your over-sized ego needs to be stroked.
“Son of a bitch!”
Ah, the usual. We find our subject just a couple of miles out from where the Interstate passes the lake itself, to a grassy knoll just on the opposite side of the hill. It’s apparent that it’s not exactly a popular spot, as there are no true paths to reach it. However, when you’re married to one of those most headstrong women in the world, you don’t exactly need a path to go anywhere.
Aaron Asphyxia, with her multicolored hair tied into a ponytail, stands in fighting position, a kendo stick in hand and a determined smirk on her face. She taps the ground with the tip of the stick twice, raising it into position. Across from her stands her target, Finn, who is weaponless, and at the moment, t-shirtless. A few welts, the size and thickness of the stick, can be seen in flaming red patches underneath the dark tattoos that adorn his back and arms. He is a lanky, lean muscled man, and quite clearly, not the first person you would determine to be a wrestler.
The shorter woman takes three steps quickly forward, aiming the stick at Finn’s shins. With an unfinished curse, Finn dodges it, as well as the next three shots aimed for his head and his torso. Aaron is, and has always been, extremely fast. Only four-foot-eleven, Finn towers over her when they stand next to one another, but now, Aaron’s task was to speed up her husband’s movement. And the only way to do that, according to his mentor, was the threaten physical harm.
“Jesus-fuck-Christ!” He growls, raising his forearm and coming in contact with kendo stick. The force in which they’d collided made a loud snap in the air, echoing in the raised hills around them.
His first instinct, had he not been training for the last year with a man who did exercises like this on a daily basis, would have been to grab the kendo stick and whack Aaron across the face with it. But the training had indeed paid off, because Finnegan didn’t make a move except to step back and shake out his arm, another glorious red welt was beginning to appear.
“Six-four, me.” Aaron grins; she’s never been competitive, but she did indeed enjoy keeping score at some points.
Sitting on a tree stump, looking thoroughly irritated as she examines her manicure, is Felix Hartley, who has yet to leave O’Hanlon Residence. Felix does not look like she was entirely prepared to trek through the wilderness, though she does wear a pair of UGGs, a tight red tank, and a pair of jeans that looks like they were literally painted on. She winces at the sound, though she doesn’t look empathetic whatsoever. “Did anything break this time?”
“No,” Finn replies, looking up at the woman who could be one of his opponents within the next week and a half. Both had been training, though Felix had also been training through the few clubs that existed up in Silverthorne. He rubs at his arm, but doesn’t back down -- a sign of his endurance that he’d built over time and had fostered a tolerance. He sets his boots into the ground and digs his feet in, raising his hands up to his face to block. “Again.”
Aaron raises her eyebrow. “You’re sure?”
He drops his hands, “My possible opponents on Victory aren’t going to ask me if I’m sure I want to be hit again. They’re just gonna go slugging, and they’re going to fight for the same thing I’m gunning for: a shot at the Ultimate Championship. Do you really think someone like Jack Owyns is going to take three seconds to give a shit?”
Felix answers for Aaron, crossing her legs on the stump. “Um, no.”
“Damn straight.” He agrees, pointing at the red-haired Ass Class and Sass, but not taking his eyes off his wife. “I’m not just going to walk in there and hope for the best -- you of all people know that, Aaron. I have a lot of advantages here, but I’ve got just as many disadvantages. As much as all I really want to do at this point is bash in the face of the first person to doubt me, there’s always going to be a goal. Out of everyone on this list, I have to make sure that I’m the threat. Because honestly, despite the general managers believing in me as a roster competitor, I still have to make sure those idiots I could face agree that the person to watch out for is me. Again,” he adds, demanding it as he raises his fists up.
“Are you sure that’s all it is though?” Aaron questions, taking the stick into her hands once more and grasping it tightly.
To say that Finn hadn’t been acting strangely for the last two months wouldn’t be completely farfetched. We’ve established his paranoia, enough for it to be that they moved from their home of the last two years to a state that even Aaron really didn’t want to be in again. He began taking his training and his matches even more seriously, as if he were waiting for something dreadful to transpire that he absolutely needed to be ready for. Kei himself had been out here already four times.
“Yes.”
It was a lie that he had to continue. Finn knew the culprit that was coming after them, and it wasn’t even them; it was her. The man that wanted Aaron gone was someone from her past, but she wasn’t even sure who he was either. He knew. And he had to keep her safe. If all this training seemed to help in his plight to be the very best, then what harm could it do in participating?
“All right . . .” she sighs.
Before any whacks could be raised, however, Felix suddenly stands up and crosses her arms.
“Okay. Hold on. That. That riiiiiiiiight there.”
She stalks through the high grass, picking her feet up so as to not get anything on her precious shoes, and walks forwards. She’s taller than Aaron, standing at five-foot-nine, so she doesn’t have to tilt her head high, but regardless, she does. She places her hands on her hips. “I feel that, as Aaron’s new best friend--” Aaron sputters, raising her eyebrow, but Felix continues on, holding her palm up. “It’s really, like, super important that we’re not lying to everyone here, because I mean, that ‘yes’ you just pulled was entirely, absolutely, one-hundred percent lie.”
Finn’s nose flares.
“I mean, you hesitated. You hesitated before responding.” She looks back at Aaron. “That’s a sign of lying, right?”
“Well, yeah . . .”
“See!” She walks over and stands behind Aaron, who looks utterly confused at this transpiration of events. Without any warning, either, she grabs Aaron’s cheeks and pulls. “How could you lie to this pretty face!?” She screeches at him.
If it were any more possible, Finn’s nose flares quite a bit more and his eyebrows narrow down the center of his brow. He doesn’t respond, however. Many, many years of being around women now have taught him one singular thing: fucking let them win any argument.
“You can stop--” Aaron begins.
“Are marriages totally based on lies, because--”
“ALRIGH’.” He yells. His voice echoes off the valley around them, and seems to be quite tempered in his Irish brogue that he works so hard to disguise. “Wha’ do ya want from me? The truth?”
Felix drops Aaron’s cheeks and presses her hand to her chest, fluttering her lashes sarcastically. “Of course.”
“All right then.” He walks towards them and leans forward a bit, leering over the two of them. Aaron blinks as well, still utterly confused. “The truth.” They too, lean forward, in anticipation. “I’m fuckin’ winning whatever fuckin’ match I get.”
Not the answer that Felix was looking for.
“It doesn’t matter who I face next Sunday on Victory, I’m walking out of there as one of the four participants that will be vying for that championship at EPIC. They can place any seven of you in front of me, and it won’t matter. Look at who they have in this roster; beyond myself, Matthew Page and you, Felix, there’s five other competitors that get a consolation prize of having to face us and fail.”
“That Lethal Lottery, though . . . man, look at what could happen. I could get someone like Bryan Williams, a decorated veteran in the sport apparently. I remember hearing his name a long time ago, signed with . . . what was it, Bayou Championship Wrestling? Yeah, we all don’t want to remember that one, but there it is. He was dating a girl named Psyche, who somehow still exists as a certifiable psycho, and then when he couldn’t capitalize on wins in Bayou, he defected and went to Boardwalk. Last I’d heard, he wasn’t wrestling anymore, but lo and behold, he arrives in the shit-stain of the wrestling world: 4 Corners. He should do really well here, especially with his high caliber of technique and skills. That in-ring intelligence too. Wish it would have served him well all those years ago, because it didn’t."
“And then we have someone like Connor Jacobs. He’s in good with Elijah Carlson and Genevie. He’s the unknown, the person that could be the tipping scales in the balance. I don’t believe in that, but he does seem to have talent that might be unmatched by a lot of the rest of the roster. But that focus . . . I don’t know. Aaron, what’s it like having students with A.D.D.?”
“Their focus is complete and utter shit.”
“And so will Connor’s. I primarily just dislike the dude because of his attitude, but you never know. He could be a surprising figure. I could go without him in the company, but if he’s the person I face, I kind of want to see how he wrestles. Is it completely off base and out of line? Can he endure long? I don’t think so, because stamina is something he lacks, considering all his ‘conquests’ don’t stick around. But hey, I mean . . . I can’t knock what people do in their life, right? It has nothing to do with the sport. I can see him rubbing up on someone like Mysti Savage though, since she works as a webcam gal during the day. That is a true accomplishment -- she’ll be like Kelly Kelly was back in ECW; no one wanted to see her wrestle, they just wanted to see her strip. But if you pay twelve dollars a month, you can totally subscribe to her website and see Mysti live and uncut, in all of her grainy display. It takes a lot of confidence to do something like that, so that shows she’s super confident in herself. But I’m not confident in her abilities. In many of the attributes she supposedly leads me on, it’s not by much, and honestly, I’m more of a scrapper than a wrestler. But you know what, it’ll be a sight to see.”
He leans back, still looking at the girls, but not leaning in their faces. “Matthew Page is a full of himself confident man, and it’s obvious why. He’s leading his career up the rails. But I’m faster, and whatever he throws at me . . . man, I can endure it. Sometimes it’s not about what you can do, it’s how long you can last. How long you can take a beating, and recover. I can do that -- that’s where I’m at. If I get Matthew, it’ll be a test of how long I can endure, but you know what? I can endure much more than what he can throw at me.”
“Jason Kaine is a big talker; states one thing on twitter about being a motherfuckin’ legend, and then goes to say none of his titles matter. Conundrum. But I think he knows what he’s doing . . . right? He’s been in this business long enough to be considered a ‘legend’ . . . despite most people never hearing his name. Kind of like Jack! Owyn’s been in the business thirteen years man, but like I can delineate from Twitter banter, he seems to get himself into holes that he digs, and then blames everyone else for them when he can’t get out. I don’t know about that strategy. But if it works for him, great.”
“Last . . . you, Felix. As much of a championess as you’ve been, I wonder if you can actually hang around with men in the ring. I’m not being sexist,” he pauses, when her cheeks flare and she narrows her eyes, “I’m just stating that you’ve primarily fought women in your career prior. I would surely hope that the training that Aaron put you through helps, because I want to see you up there in the next few weeks, not towing the line in something you’re not meant to be in.”
He stops, silent, with his eyes narrowed, and he leans back in. “Truth enough for you?”
“Well, I mean . . . you didn’t really trash talk.” Felix rolls her eyes, clearly not impressed nor getting the answer she wanted.
To this, Finnegan laughs loudly. “Don’t worry . . . that’ll come.”
[fin]
