Post by kaster on Aug 7, 2023 4:29:31 GMT
The briefcase stares right at him. If he didn’t know any better, he could almost see it breathing in the wind. It’s calling to him. Waiting for its moment in the light. One match, one win, one destiny. If it were that simple, he’d already have done it.
He makes sure to check the lock twice before leaving.
At the gym, his hair moistens with sweat. Muscles tighten, veins pop out and blood rushes through various parts of the body. With a break from in-ring action at the pay-per-view, he can focus on conditioning his body a bit more. Music blares through his headphones while he continues the neverending journey on the treadmill. The playlist is pretty extensive, a combination of rock, rap and various forms of pop. Songs bounce into his ears and echo in his mind.
“Some people call me the space cowboy…”
He almost trips and falls on his face. Not wanting to ruin the moneymaker, he quickly catches himself and slows the pace of the treadmill. That damned song… he never believed in superstition but the recent influx of this particular tune could not be mere coincidence. Fishing through the pockets of his basketball shorts, he clutches his phone and retrieves it to his gaze.
A missed call.
Try as he might, he can’t get a call back. Ring after ring, no voice other than an automated message is heard. A quick text would have to do for now. That could set things in motion.
As he continues his workout routine, the lingering image of that missed call interrupts his natural thought process.
Surely, it would never happen.
Nothing is ever impossible, though. Perhaps that call was a way of making the deal happen. Or it was nothing. He couldn’t be sure.
The song came up two more times during his workout. From that point, it could never be a coincidence.
Caleb Cannin watches the footage of Pax Stormcrow winning at Bloody Assizes. He chuckles and shakes his head. Turning to the camera, he twirls a quarter between his fingers.
"Oh, Paxy, you are so naïve. From the tag match to Bloody Assizes, you have underestimated how much I can alter the course of this entire tournament. I could and would not allow you to take such a gigantic lead by submitting Nick Knight in the middle of the ring. That would have given you ten points and that, my friend, is a big no-no. A pinfall, though? I can live with the fact that you pinned Knight, as much as it pains me to see either of you douchebags take any measure of points. The Heir to the Throne comes down to a game of numbers, but I know half of the guys competing this year haven't had a mathematic education beyond second grade! And if we're on the topic of second grade, I could not think of a better term to describe you, Paxy."
"You're a second grade Olympian, a second grade social media influencer and simply put, a second grade wrestler. I can tie you up into a Pax pretzel with ease! I've kept up with you before and I can do it again. Buuuut… unlike you, I'm not aiming for mediocrity. I will outwrestle you and prove that I, Caleb Cannin, am the best technician on this roster! You can keep your Olympic accolades because I don't manage to be a hopeful for anything. I never hope, I simply do. I don’t have to disappear and come back time after time, I don’t have to have a stupid ass vlog to do all my promos, all I need is a microphone and an arena full of dumbshits that hang on everything I’ve got to say!”
He begins to put on an exaggerated face of exasperation.
“They say that Pax Stormcrow has it all to make it in the IWF! They say his mat wrestling, boy howdy, that’s going to take him straight to the top! But look at what relying on that did for you. Failure after failure with essentially nothing to show for it. Meanwhile, I have made the rounds and I have quickly become a premier superstar on the roster! They want me on talk shows, signings, podcasts, interviews, you name it. It’s not because I had to put on a jockstrap and grapple up against people in high school, it’s because I have the talent AND the charisma to be a top tier professional wrestler. The difference between us, Paxy, is that you and I are operating on separate levels. I’m a professional wrestler and you are an amateur wrestler. I’d put more emphasis on the amateur part, but everyone already knows what you are.”
He mouths the word "loser" to the camera before flipping the quarter high up into the air. When it lands, the camera pans down to his feet, showing a massive pile of quarters on the floor. He scoops up a handful and lets the coins fall through his fingers.
“This is my tournament to win. In order to do that, I’m going to have to tap you out, Paxy. I’ll say it right to your face and I’ll say it to the whole damn world! My plan is to tear that shoulder to pieces and have you begging and pleading for me to let go. I will not release Clairvoyance until I hear those magic smackings of the canvas. I cannot let go until you scream at the top of your lungs that you want to quit. Because that’s all you have ever been to me, Pax. A quitter. You and everyone else can crucify me for doing the smart thing and keeping my body intact week after week, but my strategies have gotten me this far. It helped me win the Television Championship, it helped me win the Joker in the pack and it will help me the Heir to the Throne. Unlike you, I actually put more than thirty seconds of thought into the match before I step through those ropes. That’s why I stole those ten points from you at Bloody Assizes. I will outsmart you and you’re just pissed that I am telling the truth. Well, the truth hurts. It won’t hurt as much as me ripping your shoulder out of its socket, but it can come close.”
“You can rest well knowing that you will be learning a lesson at Odyssey. That lesson is one in sharing. Because you’ll soon be sharing points with me, Paxy! I will be taking those ten points that you thought you deserved and putting them into my own score. Once again, you will be left wondering why you can’t hit that next level. I can offer a simple solution for you, buddy.”
Finally, he holds up the Joker in the Pack briefcase. Across the case, he has spray painted "FUTURE CHAMP" in purple.
“This is my future. Not yours.”
The day before showtime. Always the worst.
No call and no text either. That only compounded the stress. He rests on the side of the bed, his back turned to the briefcase.
What if he couldn't do it? It is a possibility he shudders to even consider. All the work would be for nothing. The tournament gave some reprieve from those thoughts, but it never leaves his mind. Something also doesn't leave his mind, a phrase from long ago.
"The mind is the part that you can win against. If you break their mind, you've got their spirit, their heart and their body. Break the mind!"
At the time, it seemed ridiculous. The whole point of wrestling is to wear down the opponent's body for long enough to win. Or so he believed.
For once in his life, he actually starts to heed his father's advice. The old man might actually be right about something.
He turns his head towards the briefcase, a smile forming at the corners of his lips.
His mind wouldn't be broken by a simple case. But he could use it to break the mind that he needs to.
He makes sure to check the lock twice before leaving.
At the gym, his hair moistens with sweat. Muscles tighten, veins pop out and blood rushes through various parts of the body. With a break from in-ring action at the pay-per-view, he can focus on conditioning his body a bit more. Music blares through his headphones while he continues the neverending journey on the treadmill. The playlist is pretty extensive, a combination of rock, rap and various forms of pop. Songs bounce into his ears and echo in his mind.
“Some people call me the space cowboy…”
He almost trips and falls on his face. Not wanting to ruin the moneymaker, he quickly catches himself and slows the pace of the treadmill. That damned song… he never believed in superstition but the recent influx of this particular tune could not be mere coincidence. Fishing through the pockets of his basketball shorts, he clutches his phone and retrieves it to his gaze.
A missed call.
Try as he might, he can’t get a call back. Ring after ring, no voice other than an automated message is heard. A quick text would have to do for now. That could set things in motion.
As he continues his workout routine, the lingering image of that missed call interrupts his natural thought process.
Surely, it would never happen.
Nothing is ever impossible, though. Perhaps that call was a way of making the deal happen. Or it was nothing. He couldn’t be sure.
The song came up two more times during his workout. From that point, it could never be a coincidence.
Caleb Cannin watches the footage of Pax Stormcrow winning at Bloody Assizes. He chuckles and shakes his head. Turning to the camera, he twirls a quarter between his fingers.
"Oh, Paxy, you are so naïve. From the tag match to Bloody Assizes, you have underestimated how much I can alter the course of this entire tournament. I could and would not allow you to take such a gigantic lead by submitting Nick Knight in the middle of the ring. That would have given you ten points and that, my friend, is a big no-no. A pinfall, though? I can live with the fact that you pinned Knight, as much as it pains me to see either of you douchebags take any measure of points. The Heir to the Throne comes down to a game of numbers, but I know half of the guys competing this year haven't had a mathematic education beyond second grade! And if we're on the topic of second grade, I could not think of a better term to describe you, Paxy."
"You're a second grade Olympian, a second grade social media influencer and simply put, a second grade wrestler. I can tie you up into a Pax pretzel with ease! I've kept up with you before and I can do it again. Buuuut… unlike you, I'm not aiming for mediocrity. I will outwrestle you and prove that I, Caleb Cannin, am the best technician on this roster! You can keep your Olympic accolades because I don't manage to be a hopeful for anything. I never hope, I simply do. I don’t have to disappear and come back time after time, I don’t have to have a stupid ass vlog to do all my promos, all I need is a microphone and an arena full of dumbshits that hang on everything I’ve got to say!”
He begins to put on an exaggerated face of exasperation.
“They say that Pax Stormcrow has it all to make it in the IWF! They say his mat wrestling, boy howdy, that’s going to take him straight to the top! But look at what relying on that did for you. Failure after failure with essentially nothing to show for it. Meanwhile, I have made the rounds and I have quickly become a premier superstar on the roster! They want me on talk shows, signings, podcasts, interviews, you name it. It’s not because I had to put on a jockstrap and grapple up against people in high school, it’s because I have the talent AND the charisma to be a top tier professional wrestler. The difference between us, Paxy, is that you and I are operating on separate levels. I’m a professional wrestler and you are an amateur wrestler. I’d put more emphasis on the amateur part, but everyone already knows what you are.”
He mouths the word "loser" to the camera before flipping the quarter high up into the air. When it lands, the camera pans down to his feet, showing a massive pile of quarters on the floor. He scoops up a handful and lets the coins fall through his fingers.
“This is my tournament to win. In order to do that, I’m going to have to tap you out, Paxy. I’ll say it right to your face and I’ll say it to the whole damn world! My plan is to tear that shoulder to pieces and have you begging and pleading for me to let go. I will not release Clairvoyance until I hear those magic smackings of the canvas. I cannot let go until you scream at the top of your lungs that you want to quit. Because that’s all you have ever been to me, Pax. A quitter. You and everyone else can crucify me for doing the smart thing and keeping my body intact week after week, but my strategies have gotten me this far. It helped me win the Television Championship, it helped me win the Joker in the pack and it will help me the Heir to the Throne. Unlike you, I actually put more than thirty seconds of thought into the match before I step through those ropes. That’s why I stole those ten points from you at Bloody Assizes. I will outsmart you and you’re just pissed that I am telling the truth. Well, the truth hurts. It won’t hurt as much as me ripping your shoulder out of its socket, but it can come close.”
“You can rest well knowing that you will be learning a lesson at Odyssey. That lesson is one in sharing. Because you’ll soon be sharing points with me, Paxy! I will be taking those ten points that you thought you deserved and putting them into my own score. Once again, you will be left wondering why you can’t hit that next level. I can offer a simple solution for you, buddy.”
Finally, he holds up the Joker in the Pack briefcase. Across the case, he has spray painted "FUTURE CHAMP" in purple.
“This is my future. Not yours.”
The day before showtime. Always the worst.
No call and no text either. That only compounded the stress. He rests on the side of the bed, his back turned to the briefcase.
What if he couldn't do it? It is a possibility he shudders to even consider. All the work would be for nothing. The tournament gave some reprieve from those thoughts, but it never leaves his mind. Something also doesn't leave his mind, a phrase from long ago.
"The mind is the part that you can win against. If you break their mind, you've got their spirit, their heart and their body. Break the mind!"
At the time, it seemed ridiculous. The whole point of wrestling is to wear down the opponent's body for long enough to win. Or so he believed.
For once in his life, he actually starts to heed his father's advice. The old man might actually be right about something.
He turns his head towards the briefcase, a smile forming at the corners of his lips.
His mind wouldn't be broken by a simple case. But he could use it to break the mind that he needs to.
Well howdy there pardner.