Post by The Ace on Jul 16, 2017 18:04:56 GMT
It didn't happen very often these days, but as The Conways' flight took off, and his wife finally settled in the seat next to him, Jake found a whole new appreciation for the one major advantage that the heavy travel schedule of this European Tour offered the couple - an escape.
An escape from the memories of that Spanish hotel room.
An escape from the bloody promise left on that bed.
An escape from the circular police interviews that were plagued with the unenviable task of separating fact from the rumour and superstition that obscured the scarlet writings of Rowan MacDonnough.
None of the hotel staff had seen any unauthorised personnel enter or exit the hotel room around the time that the note must have been left, and there was nothing conclusive on any of the security footage, and whilst this was enough for some of the more superstitious maids to entertain the notion of unholy demons walking among them, it was not enough for the police to build any kind of worthwhile case on.
As a result, the Spanish police had taken possession of the bloody note, more as a courtesy to an insistent Kathy who demanded that they do something, than as hard evidence of any real threat, and so The Conways were finally allowed to leave, albeit on a much later flight than they had originally planned.
Kathy rested her head on Jake's shoulder, closed her eyes and took a deep breath as Jake took a moment to marvel at her remarkable resiliency. A lesser woman may have already been broken by the mind games, but Kathy Conway drew on a former lifetime's experience in dealing with sometimes very disturbed individuals, and in doing so reminded Jake of her undeniable strength of character.
It was easy for him to sometimes forget exactly where she came from and exactly what kind of life she had chosen to leave behind to instead be a part of his, and it was her experiences in that life, a life she hardly ever felt the need to burden him with, which allowed her to process and handle the mental and physical challenge that Rowan had represented so well - better even than Jake himself in fact.
The haunting sting of a very deliberate kick from Rowan still resonated in his jaw as he caressed it gently. It was a shot he had been long overdue considering the number of years that Kathy had put her own well being at risk to protect him throughout his career, and in that Jake was quick to concede that now their relationship had reached a whole new level of equality.
Last Monday, Kathy had reminded the world that they were truly unbreakable, and that brought a smile to Jake's face.
You may not fully appreciate it yet Derek, but you sunshine are a prime example of why I am still here, and why I still wrestle.
You see it really doesn't happen as often as I'd like it to these days, but every now and then an undeniable opportunity presents itself to me in this business. The kind of opportunity that the natural competitor in me thrives upon. The opportunity to be tested, the opportunity to be taken to my physical limits, and the opportunity to face the next big thing in professional wrestling.
That's what we represent to each other Derek, an opportunity.
Derek Brooks as a man represents my opportunity to stand across the ring from the future of this business and show the world that as bright as the future might be, the past still has a few more lessons left to teach before it inevitably fades away and the man I see as the future of the Imperial Wrestling Federation becomes its present.
I've been a professional wrestler for nearly fifteen years now, but I still remember the days when I was cutting my teeth in this business. Back then, I was just like you Derek. I had the same attitude, the same swagger and the same mouth - all of which worked beautifully in a combination that landed me on the wrong side of an ass whooping more times than even I care to admit.
I spent many of my early years in this line of work on the cusp.
I spent so much time on the edge of greatness that I forged a reputation that in time became the exact opposite of what I thought I wanted it to be - what I thought I needed it to be.
I wasn't the greatest, I was just dependable - and back then there was no greater slap in my face than every wrestling promoter in the world insisting that I just didn't have what it takes to be the face of a major wrestling organisation. Nobody expected me to draw a dime, and so I was relegated to the role of a solid mid card act with a handful of catchphrases.
I was the warm up act for all the real talent - the Lance Ryans, the Falcons, and the Adam Knites - all the people that the fans had actually paid their hard earned money to see, and so it was that for a while I begrudgingly accepted my position as the guy who would be paid well for making the real superstars of our profession look even better every week on television, tempering my own wants and needs for the betterment of the business.
I wanted, I needed to be considered in the same breath as the undisputed legends of professional wrestling.
I wanted, I needed to be named among the true greats in this business - men like Spike Kane and Angel Blake.
I craved the kind of absolute respect that these men have gotten throughout their entire careers even more than I craved the kind of reputation that they had managed to build in this business. I wanted it all. I wanted the accolades, I wanted the glory and I wanted to supersede their legacies, not because I had earned it but because I was simply The Ace, and for that reason alone I felt I deserved the world on a silver platter.
It is only now, many years after the fact, that I realise the extent of my absolute naivety.
It is only now, by looking back upon that particular time in my career that I realise the true myopia of my ambition.
Back then, I had the words and the voice, and even the physical gift, but I didn't have the one thing that separates the good from the great in this business.
I didn't have the maturity to handle the pressures of this industry, and for the longest time the only thing that ever earned me apart from the sheer contempt of all my peers was the unenviable reputation of a wrestler who was good, but never quite good enough. Back then, I had no place at the top of the mountain, and so instead I carved out my own little niche as the barometer by which the talent of every promising prospect that ever breezed through the doors of this fast moving business would be measured.
It was only when I stopped shouting about how great I was that the world really started to listen and take notice of my value.
I realised then that I didn't need to be the loudest or the most arrogant guy in the room, no, all I needed to do was to whisper the truth and everybody who had once ignored me would listen, they would all listen, and in time some of them would even be made to understand both the necessity and the significance of my evolution in this business.
And so, here we are now Derek.
Ever since the Joker in the Pack match at Night of the Immortals, you have been one of the three men that people have been talking about. Since then, the other two men have waged war over the Man Of Steel Championship, and before The Council completely took over the conversation of who would be the next great star to make an impact here in the Imperial Wrestling Federation, you, Derek Brooks, were considered the smart fan's dark horse pick.
Contrary to popular belief, the true stars in our industry are not made over a single night, but if you play your cards right, you can separate yourself from the pack in one night. You were close to doing it once already on the grandest stage of them all a couple of months ago Derek, and now I'm making a call to greatness.
I'm inviting you to my table, Derek. Pull up a chair, sit down and let's go a few rounds.
Step up and show me why you deserve to be hailed as the next great star of the Imperial Wrestling Federation, and I, in turn, will show you why I deserve to be hailed as its next great Imperial Champion.
Now is the time to play your hand, Mr Brooks, and perhaps in time you will understand why I will never be afraid to call your every bluff...
An escape from the memories of that Spanish hotel room.
An escape from the bloody promise left on that bed.
An escape from the circular police interviews that were plagued with the unenviable task of separating fact from the rumour and superstition that obscured the scarlet writings of Rowan MacDonnough.
None of the hotel staff had seen any unauthorised personnel enter or exit the hotel room around the time that the note must have been left, and there was nothing conclusive on any of the security footage, and whilst this was enough for some of the more superstitious maids to entertain the notion of unholy demons walking among them, it was not enough for the police to build any kind of worthwhile case on.
As a result, the Spanish police had taken possession of the bloody note, more as a courtesy to an insistent Kathy who demanded that they do something, than as hard evidence of any real threat, and so The Conways were finally allowed to leave, albeit on a much later flight than they had originally planned.
Kathy rested her head on Jake's shoulder, closed her eyes and took a deep breath as Jake took a moment to marvel at her remarkable resiliency. A lesser woman may have already been broken by the mind games, but Kathy Conway drew on a former lifetime's experience in dealing with sometimes very disturbed individuals, and in doing so reminded Jake of her undeniable strength of character.
It was easy for him to sometimes forget exactly where she came from and exactly what kind of life she had chosen to leave behind to instead be a part of his, and it was her experiences in that life, a life she hardly ever felt the need to burden him with, which allowed her to process and handle the mental and physical challenge that Rowan had represented so well - better even than Jake himself in fact.
The haunting sting of a very deliberate kick from Rowan still resonated in his jaw as he caressed it gently. It was a shot he had been long overdue considering the number of years that Kathy had put her own well being at risk to protect him throughout his career, and in that Jake was quick to concede that now their relationship had reached a whole new level of equality.
Last Monday, Kathy had reminded the world that they were truly unbreakable, and that brought a smile to Jake's face.
You may not fully appreciate it yet Derek, but you sunshine are a prime example of why I am still here, and why I still wrestle.
You see it really doesn't happen as often as I'd like it to these days, but every now and then an undeniable opportunity presents itself to me in this business. The kind of opportunity that the natural competitor in me thrives upon. The opportunity to be tested, the opportunity to be taken to my physical limits, and the opportunity to face the next big thing in professional wrestling.
That's what we represent to each other Derek, an opportunity.
Derek Brooks as a man represents my opportunity to stand across the ring from the future of this business and show the world that as bright as the future might be, the past still has a few more lessons left to teach before it inevitably fades away and the man I see as the future of the Imperial Wrestling Federation becomes its present.
I've been a professional wrestler for nearly fifteen years now, but I still remember the days when I was cutting my teeth in this business. Back then, I was just like you Derek. I had the same attitude, the same swagger and the same mouth - all of which worked beautifully in a combination that landed me on the wrong side of an ass whooping more times than even I care to admit.
I spent many of my early years in this line of work on the cusp.
I spent so much time on the edge of greatness that I forged a reputation that in time became the exact opposite of what I thought I wanted it to be - what I thought I needed it to be.
I wasn't the greatest, I was just dependable - and back then there was no greater slap in my face than every wrestling promoter in the world insisting that I just didn't have what it takes to be the face of a major wrestling organisation. Nobody expected me to draw a dime, and so I was relegated to the role of a solid mid card act with a handful of catchphrases.
I was the warm up act for all the real talent - the Lance Ryans, the Falcons, and the Adam Knites - all the people that the fans had actually paid their hard earned money to see, and so it was that for a while I begrudgingly accepted my position as the guy who would be paid well for making the real superstars of our profession look even better every week on television, tempering my own wants and needs for the betterment of the business.
I wanted, I needed to be considered in the same breath as the undisputed legends of professional wrestling.
I wanted, I needed to be named among the true greats in this business - men like Spike Kane and Angel Blake.
I craved the kind of absolute respect that these men have gotten throughout their entire careers even more than I craved the kind of reputation that they had managed to build in this business. I wanted it all. I wanted the accolades, I wanted the glory and I wanted to supersede their legacies, not because I had earned it but because I was simply The Ace, and for that reason alone I felt I deserved the world on a silver platter.
It is only now, many years after the fact, that I realise the extent of my absolute naivety.
It is only now, by looking back upon that particular time in my career that I realise the true myopia of my ambition.
Back then, I had the words and the voice, and even the physical gift, but I didn't have the one thing that separates the good from the great in this business.
I didn't have the maturity to handle the pressures of this industry, and for the longest time the only thing that ever earned me apart from the sheer contempt of all my peers was the unenviable reputation of a wrestler who was good, but never quite good enough. Back then, I had no place at the top of the mountain, and so instead I carved out my own little niche as the barometer by which the talent of every promising prospect that ever breezed through the doors of this fast moving business would be measured.
It was only when I stopped shouting about how great I was that the world really started to listen and take notice of my value.
I realised then that I didn't need to be the loudest or the most arrogant guy in the room, no, all I needed to do was to whisper the truth and everybody who had once ignored me would listen, they would all listen, and in time some of them would even be made to understand both the necessity and the significance of my evolution in this business.
And so, here we are now Derek.
Ever since the Joker in the Pack match at Night of the Immortals, you have been one of the three men that people have been talking about. Since then, the other two men have waged war over the Man Of Steel Championship, and before The Council completely took over the conversation of who would be the next great star to make an impact here in the Imperial Wrestling Federation, you, Derek Brooks, were considered the smart fan's dark horse pick.
Contrary to popular belief, the true stars in our industry are not made over a single night, but if you play your cards right, you can separate yourself from the pack in one night. You were close to doing it once already on the grandest stage of them all a couple of months ago Derek, and now I'm making a call to greatness.
I'm inviting you to my table, Derek. Pull up a chair, sit down and let's go a few rounds.
Step up and show me why you deserve to be hailed as the next great star of the Imperial Wrestling Federation, and I, in turn, will show you why I deserve to be hailed as its next great Imperial Champion.
Now is the time to play your hand, Mr Brooks, and perhaps in time you will understand why I will never be afraid to call your every bluff...
Well howdy there pardner.