Post by âThe Better Manâ Warren Kidd on Jan 11, 2024 17:46:15 GMT
Warren Harper had had a much better Christmas than he had ever had any right to expect. His confidence as precisely the kind of father figure that Damien not only needed but deserved was growing. Heâd spent more time with the remarkably bright boy over the holidays this past year than he had at any other point in Damienâs life - and damn, had it felt good.
For the first time in four years, Warren had felt useful. Warren had felt like he belonged in Damienâs life, as opposed to just being an occasional presence. There was no better feeling in the world than feeling like he belonged. There was nothing that filled his heart with more warmth and gladness than reading Damienâs message from December 27th over and over again on his own.
Damien: Thanks, Dad. Best Xmas ever. Love you!
Even now, less than ten days into new year, the buzz Warren felt every time he pulled up the photograph that the message was attached to on his phone hadnât yet faded away. Perhaps, Warren hoped, it never would.
Damien was central in the picture, the real life Bluey by his side, the plushie held close to his chest, and the biggest, brightest smile in the universe on his face. Warren stood behind him, hands on Damienâs shoulders, a smile on his own face. Vivienne knelt on Blueyâs left, Shea on the right, the two best friends petting the puppy together.
This special picture was the closest thing Warren had to a family momento, at least in recent memory. Florence had elected to sit out the photo opportunity, just as his half sister, Dawn had. Florence made sense - she was just the nanny - but Dawnâs discomfort in front of a camera because of a poor self image just broke Warrenâs heart.
Her absence from the single most precious moment in Warrenâs life had kept this from being picture perfect. Dawn was far more comfortable taking this photo than being in it. It was a most unique anxiety, one as Warren discovered on their backpacking around Europe, which Dawn had been a slave to most of her life. They had far, far fewer photos together from that trip than Warren would have liked, because of it. Dawnâs stubbornness about it was too exhausting for Warren to challenge most of the time, so he had learned to leave it well enough alone.
The one time he had tried to break through that particular wall, whilst they were under the Eiffel Tower in Paris, Dawn had almost broken down over it. A teary eyed confession had been involuntarily yanked from somewhere deep inside her that sheâd spent years inking her broken frame, all her tattoos were meant to distract from having lost the cosmic genetic lottery so spectacularly, especially when compared to someone as naturally âfucking hotâ as him. If people were too busy admiring the art, they didnât care that her face and body were so horribly mismatched - or at least they didnât care enough to not proposition her for casual one night hook ups.
Caitlin had been the one to change all that, or at least lie about it convincingly enough for Dawn to believe that her now ex wife really did see her differently, loved her more. By some curious and most twisted quirk of fickle fate, Warren heard faint echoes of his own dwindling honeymoon phase with Dean every time Dawn was forced to reflect on the deterioration of her own matrimonial bond.
It was hard not to think that such fundamental unlovability was due to something inherent in the cursed Kane blood. History had shown Kanes to be notoriously flighty lovers, more enamored with the idea of emotional stability than actually being capable of achieving it long term. Warren had fallen short of almost every family expectation ever placed upon him - except that bloody one, it seemed.
Dawn: Did you know about Vivâs three ways?
The instant message notification abruptly kicked him out of another quiet reflection about how quickly his life always seemed to go to shit. He sighed, such was the price of being not only Dawnâs gay best friend, but also her big brother. She obviously needed someone to gossip with, like always.
He clicked the banner notification and began typing in the chat window.
Warren: You mean with the Devilâs Threeway with Dean & Xavier, sure. That was years ago, why bring that up now?
Dawn: I said three ways plural, as in more than one. Did you know that she was the special guest unicorn for your buddy Cyrus and his leggy doctor friend too?
It was thanks to Dean and Dawnâs prior promiscuity that Warren even understood half of these kinky euphemisms, and whilst he wasnât particularly surprised by the revelation - Cyrus was exactly the kind of irredeemable asshole that Viv melted easily for - this was the first heâd heard about that particular episode of his best friendâs life.
Warren: Whatâs this got to do with us?
Dawn: Nothing. Just interesting, itâs all coming out now. Ulfâs not the father, according to Viv the timeline of her âhot girl summerâ fits, soâŚ
Warren: Havenât we ruined our own relationships enough? You want to fuck up others?
Dawn: Speak for yourself. Caitlin ruined us by cheating, not me!
Warren: Vivâs a big girl, Iâm sure she can handle this if she wants to. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
Dawn: Coward!
Warren didnât rise to Dawnâs goading as he once might have. A few sessions of IWF sponsored anger management some years ago had changed his life significantly, not so much the therapy itself, but it was where Cyrus Daniels had become more of a casual acquaintance rather than just another professional rival. Theyâd shared more than a few casual laughs over how useless the therapy actually was.
Determined now more than ever to be a better man, Warren simply set aside his phone, took a deep breath and began his daily meditation exercises to purge himself naturally of his darker impulses. Heâd tried everything else, this was Sheaâs suggestion, meant as a half joke about the absurdity of easily broken âNew Year, New Meâ promises, but through spending time with Damien, Warren knew something in his life needed to change soon, he just wasnât sure exactly what.
So far, he had been able to keep this simple resolution. He breathed slowly. Eyes closed, mind clear of almost everything exceptâŚDamienâs angelic face. Warren smiled just as his little cherub smiled back.
I love you, Warren thought.
I love you too, both of you, very much, Damienâs voice became Maxâs in his head.
Damienâs eyes shifted softer - Maxâs eyes.
Damiens lips became fuller - Maxâs lips.
Soon the thought became the memory of his own brief time as a guest star in Dean and Maxâs relationship - yet another relationship heâd fucked up just by being himself.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Lost and alone, rendered helpless in the moment, Warren wept silent tears, mourning his long lost love as he hadnât even when she had died. The belated sense of grief sprang fresh within him as he realised that the most important thing missing from his relationship with Dean was also the one thing no amount of reflective change would ever be able to replace.
Maxine Valentine was dead, and he just couldnât love Dean Harper the same without herâŚ
For the first time in four years, Warren had felt useful. Warren had felt like he belonged in Damienâs life, as opposed to just being an occasional presence. There was no better feeling in the world than feeling like he belonged. There was nothing that filled his heart with more warmth and gladness than reading Damienâs message from December 27th over and over again on his own.
Damien: Thanks, Dad. Best Xmas ever. Love you!
Even now, less than ten days into new year, the buzz Warren felt every time he pulled up the photograph that the message was attached to on his phone hadnât yet faded away. Perhaps, Warren hoped, it never would.
Damien was central in the picture, the real life Bluey by his side, the plushie held close to his chest, and the biggest, brightest smile in the universe on his face. Warren stood behind him, hands on Damienâs shoulders, a smile on his own face. Vivienne knelt on Blueyâs left, Shea on the right, the two best friends petting the puppy together.
This special picture was the closest thing Warren had to a family momento, at least in recent memory. Florence had elected to sit out the photo opportunity, just as his half sister, Dawn had. Florence made sense - she was just the nanny - but Dawnâs discomfort in front of a camera because of a poor self image just broke Warrenâs heart.
Her absence from the single most precious moment in Warrenâs life had kept this from being picture perfect. Dawn was far more comfortable taking this photo than being in it. It was a most unique anxiety, one as Warren discovered on their backpacking around Europe, which Dawn had been a slave to most of her life. They had far, far fewer photos together from that trip than Warren would have liked, because of it. Dawnâs stubbornness about it was too exhausting for Warren to challenge most of the time, so he had learned to leave it well enough alone.
The one time he had tried to break through that particular wall, whilst they were under the Eiffel Tower in Paris, Dawn had almost broken down over it. A teary eyed confession had been involuntarily yanked from somewhere deep inside her that sheâd spent years inking her broken frame, all her tattoos were meant to distract from having lost the cosmic genetic lottery so spectacularly, especially when compared to someone as naturally âfucking hotâ as him. If people were too busy admiring the art, they didnât care that her face and body were so horribly mismatched - or at least they didnât care enough to not proposition her for casual one night hook ups.
Caitlin had been the one to change all that, or at least lie about it convincingly enough for Dawn to believe that her now ex wife really did see her differently, loved her more. By some curious and most twisted quirk of fickle fate, Warren heard faint echoes of his own dwindling honeymoon phase with Dean every time Dawn was forced to reflect on the deterioration of her own matrimonial bond.
It was hard not to think that such fundamental unlovability was due to something inherent in the cursed Kane blood. History had shown Kanes to be notoriously flighty lovers, more enamored with the idea of emotional stability than actually being capable of achieving it long term. Warren had fallen short of almost every family expectation ever placed upon him - except that bloody one, it seemed.
Dawn: Did you know about Vivâs three ways?
The instant message notification abruptly kicked him out of another quiet reflection about how quickly his life always seemed to go to shit. He sighed, such was the price of being not only Dawnâs gay best friend, but also her big brother. She obviously needed someone to gossip with, like always.
He clicked the banner notification and began typing in the chat window.
Warren: You mean with the Devilâs Threeway with Dean & Xavier, sure. That was years ago, why bring that up now?
Dawn: I said three ways plural, as in more than one. Did you know that she was the special guest unicorn for your buddy Cyrus and his leggy doctor friend too?
It was thanks to Dean and Dawnâs prior promiscuity that Warren even understood half of these kinky euphemisms, and whilst he wasnât particularly surprised by the revelation - Cyrus was exactly the kind of irredeemable asshole that Viv melted easily for - this was the first heâd heard about that particular episode of his best friendâs life.
Warren: Whatâs this got to do with us?
Dawn: Nothing. Just interesting, itâs all coming out now. Ulfâs not the father, according to Viv the timeline of her âhot girl summerâ fits, soâŚ
Warren: Havenât we ruined our own relationships enough? You want to fuck up others?
Dawn: Speak for yourself. Caitlin ruined us by cheating, not me!
Warren: Vivâs a big girl, Iâm sure she can handle this if she wants to. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
Dawn: Coward!
Warren didnât rise to Dawnâs goading as he once might have. A few sessions of IWF sponsored anger management some years ago had changed his life significantly, not so much the therapy itself, but it was where Cyrus Daniels had become more of a casual acquaintance rather than just another professional rival. Theyâd shared more than a few casual laughs over how useless the therapy actually was.
Determined now more than ever to be a better man, Warren simply set aside his phone, took a deep breath and began his daily meditation exercises to purge himself naturally of his darker impulses. Heâd tried everything else, this was Sheaâs suggestion, meant as a half joke about the absurdity of easily broken âNew Year, New Meâ promises, but through spending time with Damien, Warren knew something in his life needed to change soon, he just wasnât sure exactly what.
So far, he had been able to keep this simple resolution. He breathed slowly. Eyes closed, mind clear of almost everything exceptâŚDamienâs angelic face. Warren smiled just as his little cherub smiled back.
I love you, Warren thought.
I love you too, both of you, very much, Damienâs voice became Maxâs in his head.
Damienâs eyes shifted softer - Maxâs eyes.
Damiens lips became fuller - Maxâs lips.
Soon the thought became the memory of his own brief time as a guest star in Dean and Maxâs relationship - yet another relationship heâd fucked up just by being himself.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Lost and alone, rendered helpless in the moment, Warren wept silent tears, mourning his long lost love as he hadnât even when she had died. The belated sense of grief sprang fresh within him as he realised that the most important thing missing from his relationship with Dean was also the one thing no amount of reflective change would ever be able to replace.
Maxine Valentine was dead, and he just couldnât love Dean Harper the same without herâŚ
~~~
Warren Harper sat in near darkness, cross legged on the floor, a single white strobe light cast down upon him from some unseen heaven. He wore a classic Nick Danger - Saviour of Professional Wrestling - shirt in support of one of the few young men on the roster he still respected in the locker-room, even if The Rising Ace himself no longer marketed himself in such grandiose terms.
Nick Danger.
Itâs been a while, hasnât it, my friend?
Weâve done this dance more than a few times over the last few years, havenât we?
With you as my opponent again this week, there is a familiar sense of comfort and security that few other men can ever give me, and believe me with how my year has started so far personally, I feel like I need something, someone I can depend upon to not let me down, and you Nick, you never have.
People underestimate the value of good old fashioned dependability, especially in this business. Sometimes knowing exactly who your opponent is and knowing exactly the kind of match they always bring out in you is more precious than any single title, accolade or award we could mention.
I mean sure, so none of your matches have ever lit the world on fire here in IWF, so fucking what?
Youâre the kind of competitor Nick that I love facing, not because we can put on instant five star classics, but because youâre one of the few men who has never made me feel the enormity of my fatherâs shadow or the burden of his legacy.
Youâre the kind of competitor Nick that I love facing, not because we can put on instant five star classics, but because youâre one of the few men who has never made me feel the enormity of my fatherâs shadow or the burden of his legacy.
With you, I donât have to worry about representing myself as a Kane, no. With you, I can just have fun out there, entertain the crowd as only we multigenerational talents can. There is nothing at stake for either of us this week, which means I can just enjoy this match for what it is instead of worrying myself sick over what Spike Kane would think of each and every match result that Iâve amassed over the last five and a half years since his death.
As the third generation of a family of beloved Indy darlings, I know you face similar pressures of expectation, but you should realise that itâs not the same as I face. As great as Max and Chris Danger were, and as significant as their careers have become in the more obscure corners of the IWC, they never made it to the big time.
They never made it here in the IWF, you have.
And for that Nick, you will always have my love, respect and undying support. I am eternally grateful that you didnât make it here until long after Spike had died, or he would have cast you out of the PC as he did so many others including my own damn boyfriend at the time he headed things down there, Ollie.
I am so grateful you avoided all his bullshit, and Bob Pooler runs a far more appealing operation down there nowadays. I am glad you are given the freedom to find yourself in a way I never was. Iâm glad you recognise when things arenât quite working out and youâre willing to change it up and try something new.
There is already precious little in our business truly worth salvation, so Iâm glad that youâve not only seen enough sense to ditch the savior nonsense, but also other detriments to your career like James Gilmore. You have already proven yourself a dependable short term champion here in IWF, and believe me, if your career is anything like the only other Ace in the business I have a deep respect and admiration for, I know youâre going to be just fine.
Despite what some will tell you, following the example of Jake Conway and making a successful career in spite of minimal championship successes is still a worthy aspiration, one I honestly wish I had the luxury of myself, but I was born a Kane, not a Conway or a Danger - and thus our professional burdens will never be shared on any comparable level of equivalence.
Still, I respect your hustle Nick, that is why I give you my word that if you give me another fun match this week, I will give you the first opportunity as your new World Champion after Iâm done evening the playing field against my sweetness.
As soon as I realise my dream, I will be the benefactor of yours, Nick, I promise.
Until then, I wish you luck.
Well howdy there pardner.