Post by Awesome Stick Labor on May 3, 2015 16:07:12 GMT
Duty.
A grappler's life—no matter what happens on-screen or off—is filled with a solemn duty. I have traveled all over the globe, performing sing-alongs or read-alouds to children or signing autographs at some magnificent convention and visitors centre, but nothing will ever compare with the duty I have to perform in Salt Lake City. I am pulling a double shift—working a tag match 'longside Jack as well as headlining the card later on in the night. How many women in the Imperial world can truly say they've been directly involved in a Man of Steel Championship match—a MEN'S title contest under normal circumstances—as well as headline a show? Not many...that is, if I'm correct.
I normally don't like to do this, but on this night, there is someone in the locker room that simply doesn't grasp what I am about to attempt at Convergence.
And I'd really like this person to simply relax...and take carefully constructed notes.
Eliza my dear, I saw you get on the camera a few moments ago, and...well, I have to get a little something off my shoulders.
If you don't mind, pull up a chair—front and centre—and enjoy a nice spot of tea.
I am not a grandstander, love; in fact, I did something that the majority of the roster would never do under any circumstances. I gave you a nice serving of warm praise, not because you were just some nineteen-year-old lassie who has no virtual in-ring training or guidance, but because you were legitimately worthy of such adulation. In fact, I did mention that I saw you as a future force to be reckoned with in the Imperial world. Did I not misinterpret myself in that regard...or was I just grandstanding for my own sake? The answer to the question isn't as simple as you might think.
But honey-bear, all the spots of praise that I've given you won't mean a thing once you step out into the real world and experience everything I've had to deal with on this cold, unforgiving planet.
How old did you say you were, aged 19? Sweetheart, 'tis arrogant and presumptuous for a lassie like you to think that you don't have enemies around you—only defeated foes—but that is, unfortunately, not how reality operates. I am aged 33, and throughout my entire life I've had to deal with a broad spectrum of people—drunks, thugs, hooligans, wankers, bastards, etc. Yet they had all had a common thread: they were my enemies, and they would stop at nothing to eat me alive, and if I dispatched of one, another would show up to take his or her place.
In grappling, darling, when you defeat an enemy, there is ALWAYS one more who will do nothing else except carve you up like some deformed Halloween jack o' lantern. Just because you've beaten the likes of, for example, Crystal Hilton, Alexis Caffery, or even Rayne and Eternity, doesn't mean that people like Mercedes Vargas can step onto the pitch and spike you from behind with a booking-worthy slide tackle, injuring your kneecap in the process and turning you into a poor, wretched soul.
My dear, that is not grandstanding. That is a real-life lesson that I know all too well—and it's one that you'll figure out the hard way in due time. 'Tis only a cold, sobering fact—or as they say, “that is the way of things.”
You have no earthly idea about what really goes on around you to think for a fleeting moment that I am, in fact, someone who doesn't know what she's talking about. In fact, whether you like it or not, you have a much bigger enemy than you'll ever realise. Her name...is Kathy Conway, and now that I've got your full and undivided attention, make yourself comfortable as I spin a tale of impulsiveness, sex, and lies.
It would stand to think that Kathleen Elizabeth Conway, daughter of parents that were both involved with some form of public service, was a simplistic woman who dreamed about the no-frills way of living; yet within her ever-beating heart lies a dark side—a rebellious streak that, despite the fact that she wanted to follow in her father's footsteps, led her into an alcohol-fuelled binge that saw steal a man named Jake away from her very own sister Tiffany.
See Eliza? That, unto itself, is rather unsporting. If ya learn anything from this, this ought to show you just how impulsive and black-hearted Kathy truly is—truly a wolf in your grandmum's house so tp speak. If you're not careful, she will steal your wants and desires just to satisfy her own personal whim.
But guess what, my love? I'm not planning on letting that happen.
Wait, wait...it gets better.
Didn't ya know that Kathy Conway was once a wrestler? In fact, she dates back to the defunct New Championship Wrestling promotion, but she never had much success in the grappling industry. Yet the root of the problem is quite simple: she was too afraid to spill her guts in front of the masses. She never had the HEART for the wrestling industry, often stepping aside so that a certain Jake Conway—the man Kathy stole from her own flesh and blood—could shine in the arenas of the world. All she wants to be is a little crutch for her sweet, little boy toy, and as a result of her friendship with the corporate madman Roberto Verona, she is now YOUR Commissioner.
That was lesson number two, my dear Eliza. I hope, for your sake, that you never lose the heart and soul that you've got for the gig, because it would absolutely pain me to see you as someone's lapdog.
On the flip side, I am my own woman—I am NOT Jack's personal assistant.
So Eliza, I want you to turn on your computer monitor and watch as I personally rid the Imperial world of the cold, calculating tart known as Kathleen Conway. I want you to learn about my hatred for this bitch FIRSTHAND as I break her physically and emotionally. In all facets of the game, I am faster, quicker, and wiser than she will ever be, and the best news of all—unlike Kathy, I have a much bigger dream in my mind than being somebody's personal crutch. I shall enjoy crushing her heart, tearing her apart from limb to limb, and stealing her very soul.
When I get through turning Kathy Conway into a deformed shell of her once proud and vibrant self, you're next Eliza. I will be going into the Iron Maiden with an aura that will encapsulate the entire planet. After all, once you beat an enemy another shows up to take its place, and unfortunately for you—and the rest of the lot that comprise the Iron Maiden—you'll be locked in my sights.
In the end...logic is the beginning of wisdom, darling, not the end.
I will spit in Kathy Conway's face AND win the Iron Maiden.
I fucking guarantee it.
**********
A grappler's life—no matter what happens on-screen or off—is filled with a solemn duty. I have traveled all over the globe, performing sing-alongs or read-alouds to children or signing autographs at some magnificent convention and visitors centre, but nothing will ever compare with the duty I have to perform in Salt Lake City. I am pulling a double shift—working a tag match 'longside Jack as well as headlining the card later on in the night. How many women in the Imperial world can truly say they've been directly involved in a Man of Steel Championship match—a MEN'S title contest under normal circumstances—as well as headline a show? Not many...that is, if I'm correct.
I normally don't like to do this, but on this night, there is someone in the locker room that simply doesn't grasp what I am about to attempt at Convergence.
And I'd really like this person to simply relax...and take carefully constructed notes.
Eliza my dear, I saw you get on the camera a few moments ago, and...well, I have to get a little something off my shoulders.
If you don't mind, pull up a chair—front and centre—and enjoy a nice spot of tea.
I am not a grandstander, love; in fact, I did something that the majority of the roster would never do under any circumstances. I gave you a nice serving of warm praise, not because you were just some nineteen-year-old lassie who has no virtual in-ring training or guidance, but because you were legitimately worthy of such adulation. In fact, I did mention that I saw you as a future force to be reckoned with in the Imperial world. Did I not misinterpret myself in that regard...or was I just grandstanding for my own sake? The answer to the question isn't as simple as you might think.
But honey-bear, all the spots of praise that I've given you won't mean a thing once you step out into the real world and experience everything I've had to deal with on this cold, unforgiving planet.
How old did you say you were, aged 19? Sweetheart, 'tis arrogant and presumptuous for a lassie like you to think that you don't have enemies around you—only defeated foes—but that is, unfortunately, not how reality operates. I am aged 33, and throughout my entire life I've had to deal with a broad spectrum of people—drunks, thugs, hooligans, wankers, bastards, etc. Yet they had all had a common thread: they were my enemies, and they would stop at nothing to eat me alive, and if I dispatched of one, another would show up to take his or her place.
In grappling, darling, when you defeat an enemy, there is ALWAYS one more who will do nothing else except carve you up like some deformed Halloween jack o' lantern. Just because you've beaten the likes of, for example, Crystal Hilton, Alexis Caffery, or even Rayne and Eternity, doesn't mean that people like Mercedes Vargas can step onto the pitch and spike you from behind with a booking-worthy slide tackle, injuring your kneecap in the process and turning you into a poor, wretched soul.
My dear, that is not grandstanding. That is a real-life lesson that I know all too well—and it's one that you'll figure out the hard way in due time. 'Tis only a cold, sobering fact—or as they say, “that is the way of things.”
You have no earthly idea about what really goes on around you to think for a fleeting moment that I am, in fact, someone who doesn't know what she's talking about. In fact, whether you like it or not, you have a much bigger enemy than you'll ever realise. Her name...is Kathy Conway, and now that I've got your full and undivided attention, make yourself comfortable as I spin a tale of impulsiveness, sex, and lies.
It would stand to think that Kathleen Elizabeth Conway, daughter of parents that were both involved with some form of public service, was a simplistic woman who dreamed about the no-frills way of living; yet within her ever-beating heart lies a dark side—a rebellious streak that, despite the fact that she wanted to follow in her father's footsteps, led her into an alcohol-fuelled binge that saw steal a man named Jake away from her very own sister Tiffany.
See Eliza? That, unto itself, is rather unsporting. If ya learn anything from this, this ought to show you just how impulsive and black-hearted Kathy truly is—truly a wolf in your grandmum's house so tp speak. If you're not careful, she will steal your wants and desires just to satisfy her own personal whim.
But guess what, my love? I'm not planning on letting that happen.
Wait, wait...it gets better.
Didn't ya know that Kathy Conway was once a wrestler? In fact, she dates back to the defunct New Championship Wrestling promotion, but she never had much success in the grappling industry. Yet the root of the problem is quite simple: she was too afraid to spill her guts in front of the masses. She never had the HEART for the wrestling industry, often stepping aside so that a certain Jake Conway—the man Kathy stole from her own flesh and blood—could shine in the arenas of the world. All she wants to be is a little crutch for her sweet, little boy toy, and as a result of her friendship with the corporate madman Roberto Verona, she is now YOUR Commissioner.
That was lesson number two, my dear Eliza. I hope, for your sake, that you never lose the heart and soul that you've got for the gig, because it would absolutely pain me to see you as someone's lapdog.
On the flip side, I am my own woman—I am NOT Jack's personal assistant.
So Eliza, I want you to turn on your computer monitor and watch as I personally rid the Imperial world of the cold, calculating tart known as Kathleen Conway. I want you to learn about my hatred for this bitch FIRSTHAND as I break her physically and emotionally. In all facets of the game, I am faster, quicker, and wiser than she will ever be, and the best news of all—unlike Kathy, I have a much bigger dream in my mind than being somebody's personal crutch. I shall enjoy crushing her heart, tearing her apart from limb to limb, and stealing her very soul.
When I get through turning Kathy Conway into a deformed shell of her once proud and vibrant self, you're next Eliza. I will be going into the Iron Maiden with an aura that will encapsulate the entire planet. After all, once you beat an enemy another shows up to take its place, and unfortunately for you—and the rest of the lot that comprise the Iron Maiden—you'll be locked in my sights.
In the end...logic is the beginning of wisdom, darling, not the end.
I will spit in Kathy Conway's face AND win the Iron Maiden.
I fucking guarantee it.
**********
Episode III
"TURN THE PAGE"
"TURN THE PAGE"
May 1, 2015 – 5:30 PM
JACK GAITHER'S HOUSE – ARLINGTON, TX
We find ourselves back inside Jack Gaither's simplistically-style living room, where despite a day filled with wall-to-wall sunshine, we see Jack lazing on his leather couch, slowly strumming an acoustic guital and playing a song that he'd heard numerous times growing up.
JACK GAITHER: “On a long and lonesome highway—east of Omaha,
you can listen to the engine moanin' out this one-note song;
you can think about the woman or the girl you knew the night before...”
The ex-QB stoops playing for a moment, taking the time to peer his eyes toward a large, framed United States road map that hangs above his entertainment center, which serves as a poignant reminder of his travels.
JACK: “But your thoughts will soon be wonderin' the way they always do,
when you're ridin' sixteen hours—there's nothin' much to do;
and you don't feel much like ridin', you just wish the trip was through.”
Jack turns his head towards the living room fireplace, where hanging above it is a painting of a silhouetted figure against a backdrop of the setting sun; a caption simply reads "FOR THE WORLD IS HOLLOW AND I HAVE TOUCHED THE SKY."
JACK: “Here I am, on the road again;
there I am, up on the stage.
There I go, playin' star again;
there I go, turn the page...”
We see Fiona McFly walking into the room, grinning from ear to ear as she brings in a plate full of homemade chocolate chip cookies, which are slightly burned but otherwise okay to munch on. She sets the plate on the solid oak coffee table and takes a seat on the white leather recliner.
FIONA MCFLY: Wow...you're fantastic! What's the tune about?
JACK: Travelin'--always goin' on the road.
Jack places his guitar off to the side and props himself up.
JACK: Do ya realize that I've spent a better part of this decade goin' from place to place, city to city...and allI could think about were the endless hours spent on a Greyhound bus and all those other women I met 'long the way...
The Badger alum giggles slightly as she stares at the die-cast metal buses that adorn a small trophy case. These small trinkets belonged to Jack ever since he was young, but more importantly, they now serve as symbols of the endless hours the native Texan spent away from anything resembling home.
JACK: Makes ya realize that the highways are a livin' hell unto themselves—a place where angels fear to tread, and once ya get back home—if ya make it home at all...
The Houston alum's voice trails off, and he slowly shakes his head. Fiona stands up and, after gently moving the guitar so that it leans against the recliner, sits next to her fiancee.
FIONA: Tell me how you're feelin'...
JACK: There's a man out there I haven't seen in eighteen years, who's tryin' to ruin me. When we go see Dr. Brooks tomorrow mornin', maybe he'd help...
The very mention of his former Criminal Justice instructor from high school--not to mention the ex-bully Russell Janeway prosecuting his upcoming DWI trial--causes Jack to stop for a moment, his eyes plastered on a small photo of him at aged 5, standing in front of a man wearing his full police uniform.
JACK: I never really cared about playin' football. All I ever wanted to do was become a cop and play music...a life that could've been, but it wasn't... How am I feelin'? Old...worn out...
Jack pauses, taking in the stillness that pierces through his home. Fiona gently places her hand on his shoulder.
FIONA: I wanna show ya something that'll make ya feel...young as if the world was new.
The couple stands up and clasps their arms around each other. Slowly, yet with a sense of confidence, the two make their way through the living room area and through the modern kitchen towards the back door. Jack can only take a deep breath as his love nods her head before opening the door. They step outside to an incredible sight: what was once an empty backyard has now been completely transformed into a lush garden featuring plants from all over the world--including several rare trees from Europe and Asia. The former QB can only gasp at the sight before him--a once-empty space being changed in front of his eyes.
JACK: You actually did this...?!
FIONA: I found the plans in a storage bin somewhere, and I just couldn't pass it up. It actually took several months to carefully plant everything. The flora began to grow as soon as the rains started falling.
The couple watches as a neighbor from across the street walks around a giant water fountain that features the inscription "MAY THE WIND BE AT OUR BACK, THE SUN BEAM FROM THE HEAVENS, WITH THE SEA AND STARS TO GUIDE US."
NEIGHBOR: Mr. Gaither, this is incredible! Have you ever seen anything like it?!
Jack heads toward the newly-constructed showpiece, leaving Fiona to give a slight wink and a warm grin.
FIONA: Can I cook...or can't I?
**********
Well, well...lookie what we have here.
Congratulations Jake, you've just become the biggest fuckin' liar in the history of the wrasslin' gig—bar none.
Your prize is gonna be a dick bashin' the likes of which you've never felt before.
Bud, didn't ya ask me about how wounded I felt 'cuz Fiona was pullin' double-duty and main eventin' Converge later on the evenin'? Son, you of all people oughta know that it doesn't sting me one bit. In fact, I'm god DAMN proud of Fifi for earnin' the right to step into the Iron Maiden chamber and prove that she is, without question, the hottest Diamond in the Imperial roster—hell, even hotter than good ol' Ana Banana herself.
But I ain't here to talk about Fiona. I ain't the one workin' the double-shift anyway.
It's my turn to talk about you, Jake.
First of all, I dunno nothin' about this Joe Everyman dude to give a flyin' fuck about him. For all I care, he could be Floyd Mayweather in disguise. Second, didn't you and your corporate jackoffs have lots o' fun last week?! I know y'all didn't, but I sure did enjoy makin' y'all feel like the Seattle Seahawks durin' the Super Bowl. Christ, it thrilled me to TEARS seein' your old tag team partner Rob Diamond come in and put a stompin' on your sorry ass. After all, payback's a bitch for stabbin' him in the back 'cuz ya wanted to put yourself and your precious Kathy over anyone else.
Why would ya do that, son?
Go ahead and wait for the translation—I'll just GIVE ya the answer straight-up. Honestly, it's really quite simple: you care only about makin' dough for the suits that you call “family.” I can see through all the bullshit you pull well enough to know that you are, in fact, a corporate cocksucker who cares about nothin' else except bein' Roberto Verona's right hand man—not to mention Kathy's personal crutch.
That's what hurts your career, boy.
And I'm only gonna exacerbate your problems in more ways than you can count cards in a deck.
For the past five weeks, you haven't even taken the time to acknowledge that I even EXIST, and it's all 'cuz your bitch of a wife is shieldin' you from the inevitable truth: that I WILL waltz into the ring, rip every single part of your body from head to toe, and walk outta Utah with the Man of Steel. While you've been loungin' around in some high-dollar strip club in the middle of nowhere, thinkin' about what you're gonna be playin' on your next round of blackjack, I'm studyin' your every move, every mannerism, ya name it.
Face it, bud: I'm bigger than you in the heart and mind, and by the end of the nigit, I will be BETTER than you will ever be in your fuckin' life.
That ain't a blanket statement, bud. That's a fuckin' fact.
Make no mistake about it: you can try to hurt me in so many pornographic ways, but it don't make a damn difference. Yet unlike you—a man who's too chicken-shit to step up to the next level and accomplish bigger goals in life—I will damn near commit SUICIDE out there in order to take that belt off your shoulders and bring it home to Daddy. Look at yourself in the mirror, dude, 'cuz I see you as nothin' more than an ass-kissin' coward who's been afraid of me ever since I stomped a mudhole in Mohammed Al-Thani's ass to EARN my place within this fuckin' company.
I'm gonna be the cure for all your worst fears, son. Unfortunately for you, that cure also comes with a heavy price—my steel-toed boot givin' your all-American face a nasty rearrangement. I'm bringin' the Man of Steel title back to Texas—where everything is, indeed, bigger and better than you, and you can bet your dick on that.
That's how I...nope, that's how WE see it.
Well, well...lookie what we have here.
Congratulations Jake, you've just become the biggest fuckin' liar in the history of the wrasslin' gig—bar none.
Your prize is gonna be a dick bashin' the likes of which you've never felt before.
Bud, didn't ya ask me about how wounded I felt 'cuz Fiona was pullin' double-duty and main eventin' Converge later on the evenin'? Son, you of all people oughta know that it doesn't sting me one bit. In fact, I'm god DAMN proud of Fifi for earnin' the right to step into the Iron Maiden chamber and prove that she is, without question, the hottest Diamond in the Imperial roster—hell, even hotter than good ol' Ana Banana herself.
But I ain't here to talk about Fiona. I ain't the one workin' the double-shift anyway.
It's my turn to talk about you, Jake.
First of all, I dunno nothin' about this Joe Everyman dude to give a flyin' fuck about him. For all I care, he could be Floyd Mayweather in disguise. Second, didn't you and your corporate jackoffs have lots o' fun last week?! I know y'all didn't, but I sure did enjoy makin' y'all feel like the Seattle Seahawks durin' the Super Bowl. Christ, it thrilled me to TEARS seein' your old tag team partner Rob Diamond come in and put a stompin' on your sorry ass. After all, payback's a bitch for stabbin' him in the back 'cuz ya wanted to put yourself and your precious Kathy over anyone else.
Why would ya do that, son?
Go ahead and wait for the translation—I'll just GIVE ya the answer straight-up. Honestly, it's really quite simple: you care only about makin' dough for the suits that you call “family.” I can see through all the bullshit you pull well enough to know that you are, in fact, a corporate cocksucker who cares about nothin' else except bein' Roberto Verona's right hand man—not to mention Kathy's personal crutch.
That's what hurts your career, boy.
And I'm only gonna exacerbate your problems in more ways than you can count cards in a deck.
For the past five weeks, you haven't even taken the time to acknowledge that I even EXIST, and it's all 'cuz your bitch of a wife is shieldin' you from the inevitable truth: that I WILL waltz into the ring, rip every single part of your body from head to toe, and walk outta Utah with the Man of Steel. While you've been loungin' around in some high-dollar strip club in the middle of nowhere, thinkin' about what you're gonna be playin' on your next round of blackjack, I'm studyin' your every move, every mannerism, ya name it.
Face it, bud: I'm bigger than you in the heart and mind, and by the end of the nigit, I will be BETTER than you will ever be in your fuckin' life.
That ain't a blanket statement, bud. That's a fuckin' fact.
Make no mistake about it: you can try to hurt me in so many pornographic ways, but it don't make a damn difference. Yet unlike you—a man who's too chicken-shit to step up to the next level and accomplish bigger goals in life—I will damn near commit SUICIDE out there in order to take that belt off your shoulders and bring it home to Daddy. Look at yourself in the mirror, dude, 'cuz I see you as nothin' more than an ass-kissin' coward who's been afraid of me ever since I stomped a mudhole in Mohammed Al-Thani's ass to EARN my place within this fuckin' company.
I'm gonna be the cure for all your worst fears, son. Unfortunately for you, that cure also comes with a heavy price—my steel-toed boot givin' your all-American face a nasty rearrangement. I'm bringin' the Man of Steel title back to Texas—where everything is, indeed, bigger and better than you, and you can bet your dick on that.
That's how I...nope, that's how WE see it.
Well howdy there pardner.