When all else is gone... and shadows of doubt fill the void.
Jan 15, 2023 21:42:23 GMT -5
Lee Stone and markflynn like this
Post by TheNewBreed on Jan 15, 2023 21:42:23 GMT -5
The honeyed white ash door of Johnathan Cable's VIP Suite Apartment swings open before him as Darina and John make their way into his home away from home high above the bustling streets of Las Vegas. The smart white LEDs of the atrium flip on as the motion sensors detect the pair entering, and soft white light emanates from recessed fixtures running the sides of the small room, followed by a small crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling of the bedroom balcony loft upstairs above the dining room table in the next room over. As John makes his way into the open living room, Darina unwraps her glove straps from around her wrists and makes her way in to the kitchenette and opens the freezer.
“What the fuck, John?” Darina exclaims as she opens the fridge after the freezer.
“What now?” John asks, a tone of agitation in his voice.
“There's just a couple of trays of ice in here. Do you even eat, or just... like... sweat at the gym to make your own energy?” she asks incredulously, surprised there isn't even a bottle of ketchup in the door. It doesn't look like he has even used the thing in the few months he's been here.
“Yes. Of course I eat. You know when I'm on the road or just busy I have people that handle all of that and deliver my meals. No reason to stock food in a fridge if I'm only here to sleep and shower and go to the next meeting, you know?” he explains, surprised she even questioned the lack of food here. He guessed it might be strange there wasn't ANYHING in there, but he didn't see the point.
“So... it's like fast food for us normal folks. You just have a chef make your McDouble and bring it to you instead! Damn. That must be nice.” she chuckles to herself.
“Realistically, if I had to make time to make food I would only get half of things I do every day done. I can't spend my time like that.” he casually says as he stretches out on the stark white leather of the three cushion couch framed in the same honeyed white ash wood as the door and the rest of the accents and furniture in the apartment.
“I mean... you do you boss. As long as it doesn't effect my crew or my jobs anyway... you gotta get that shit outta here, John. I can't...” she starts, but trails off.
“You got a washcloth or a hand towel or something around here?” Darina asks looking through the empty drawers hidden inside the island between the kitchen and the living room, interrupting herself with the new train of thought.
“Yeah... um... probably in the closet in the bathroom. Pretty sure that's where Housekeeping was putting the extras.” John answers as he rubs his face, his head throbbing from the blows she had scored earlier while her guards were still chasing him around the hallways of the CCPE Arena after the West Coast Rumble.
Darina made her way into the bathroom, emerging a moment later with a cream colored hand towel and spun back through the kitchen to grab a tray of ice from the mostly barren freezer. The straps of her gloves dangle at her sides as she walks to the living room and sets the towel and the ice tray on the short, light colored end table and takes a seat in a matching white leather and ash wood chair sat diagonally near the end of the couch with the table between them. She slides her hand out of one, then the other glove, and drops them on the table with a loud THUNK as they hit the wood.
John looks over at the gloves with a screwed up quizzical look on his face.
“What the fuck?” he mutters as he sits up and grabs one of the gloves.
John feels the weight of the accessories... damn near a pound if he was right... full steel knuckles and a thin metal plate across the back of the hand, he finds out as he runs his fingers across the embedded metal inside the cloth.
“Were you trying to kill me?” John looks at her accusingly with wide eyes, shocked at the lengths she was willing to go to hold her own.
“John... I've known you a long time now. Not as long as Aaron has mind you... or Tristan for that matter... but for long enough now. There was a time... apparently not now... but a time... when you would have destroyed a squad twice the size of the one I had on staff last night. I mean, these guys aren't my field agents or anything, but they ain't no slouches. They hold their own just fine in your normal bar fight or bouncer brawl, but they aren't ready to fight guys like you on a regular. They just aren't in the same level as the roster in the WGWF.” Darina starts to explain.
“Yeah, no shit. I think one of those guys might've pissed themselves in the hallway. You might want to have housekeeping check on that.” John chuckles painfully as Darina pops the tray of ice and plucks a few cubes out to put in the towel.
“Yeah... well... I ain't no green eared rook, John. I know if I gotta put you down I better bring a better weapon than my wits, and those gloves level the field every time, don't they? You really are so wrapped up in whatever it is you got running through your brain you can't see the world around you, aren't you?” she asks with a sneer.
“What the fuck does that mean?” John fires back, surprised at her statement.
“John... seriously... since you came back... you aren't the same guy you used to be. You took all those years away from the ring, and you lost something.” she says softly, knowing that what she is about to say isn't what he wants to hear.
“Darina... I'm in the best shape of my life. I haven't lost a damn thing.” John scoffs in response as she wraps up the ice cubes and hands him the pouch.
“Put that on your head so it doesn't swell so bad.” she orders him nonchalantly as he takes the towel and presses it to his temple and cheek with a light wince.
“I'm not talking about being less able, or losing a step, John. I'm saying you lost something else... something important to this industry, and if you plan on getting the World Belt back around your waist... you're gonna need to find it again... like now.” she says, just confusing John even more.
“What is it then, that I supposedly lost, Darina? If I haven't lost a step, and my skills aren't diminished, then what the fuck do you think I've lost in the ring since I came back?” he asks, peeking from behind the ice pouch.
“Your kill or be killed mentality. You used to wage war in that ring, every time. When you and Seabass climbed through those ropes, there wasn't any difference than every time he strapped up with us to go kill people for money. You laid your life on that mat under those lights every night... and there wasn't anything you wouldn't endure to get that win. You gave your heart and soul to those fans, and you were a warrior... a real one. Now... you seem like you're just making a show of being a wrestler.” she says sadly, pity creasing her face as she looks across the gap at him holding the ice to his face. John starts to say something, but she rolls her eyes and flips her ponytail before cutting in on him.
“Now look... I know you don't want to hear this... but maybe you need to, and if there ain't anyone else around to tell you, then maybe it needs to be me. I had hoped not to need to talk to you about this, honestly. I mean, I have known you now for a long time, but it isn't like we've ever been close, you know? You're my boss, and to your credit, you have always kept it professional with me and Owen, and we both appreciate that... but this is personal... for you... and to be fair... I think you really need to think about what you even came back for.” she says softly, knowing this is a hard conversation for him to have, let alone for her to be the one to bring up to him.
“I came back to prove to myself I still had what it took to be a champion. I wanted to... I wanted...” he stammers and stumbles, trying to put into words his passion for the business, but stalls.
“John... you are literally sitting on a two and seven record right now. You have won a tag match at the Cannabis Cup, and a singles match at relaunch against Bam Miller. Every time you climb into the ring with Fred or JMont, they have your number... every time... and NOW... you're booked against Mark Fucking Flynn at CCPE vs the World in a few days in a match you went out there and got yourself booked in months ago. You should have just rode this Supershow out and focused on the WGWF for a while and get yourself in a position to actually become a champion again. I just...” she explains before John pulls the ice pouch from his face and sighs.
“Look... I don't think I ha...” he starts, but Darina rests her hand on his shoulder sliding over to the couch next to him.
“John... look me in the eye and tell me you're the same Beast who threw yourself and Slater off the stage into the equipment table a few years ago because there wasn't any risk you weren't willing to take to take revenge for all the bullshit he did to you. Look me right in the eyeball and tell me with a straight face you're the same Beast who took Kyle Shane to task, turned his entire world inside out, and walked away with the WGWF Intercontinental Championship.” she says pointedly, staring a hole through him with every word.
“I...” he start, but she cuts him off.
“Tell me you're the same Beast who took the PCW World by storm and held their Tag Titles for an entire year with Seabass waging war with the Freebooters week in and week out. Tell me how you're the same monster who went to war with MDK and the Killer Clown Queen and her entire posse and came out with the WGWF World Title not once, but twice... against all odds.” she snaps at him, her passion finally spurring her to scold the man further.
“But I didn't get to kee...” he starts to make an excuse, but she starts in on him again.
“It doesn't matter if you got to keep the Belt, John. You won it... twice... once against Tristan Slater, and then against against MDK. YOU DID THAT... You won the fucking thing twice... and while you might have gotten screwed over for the reign you deserved, you still won the damned Title, John. You used to be a warrior... waging war against the best of the best every week... and since you've come back... well.. honestly, you've been a business man in a suit acting like a wrestler... and if you plan on winning against Mark Flynn, or Peter Vaughn, or even JMont... you're going to have to get your shit together and find that killer instinct again. Hell, John... be a fucking monster or be a business man... the world doesn't have space for you to be both, so pick your lane, and get the fuck in it for fuck's sake.” she says, exasperation dripping from every pleading word.
“Well... I guess tell me how you really feel, Darina. Damn.” John says, dejectedly, still in his own head about the events of the evening.
“Look... I'm sor...” she starts with an apologetic look on her face, but John looks up at her and cuts her off.
“Don't ever be sorry for telling me what you think I need to hear. You're not wrong. I've been trying to balance the ring and the business, and I'm failing at the ring part, obviously. Ten years ago... if someone like Sonya Benson had humiliated me in the ring like she did when she jumped me and Lexi on BRAWL... I would've shown up at her house and tore that place apart just to make her think twice about ever stepping into my business again. If Flynn and Vaughn and Debonair had broken Sebastian's arm, there wouldn't have been enough walls between us to keep me from tearing them all apart. Real Talk.” he states, a fire burning in his eyes as he thinks about his hay day... when things were simple and the only thing that mattered was taking his opponents to task and making sure they remembered who they went to war with.
“What's the difference between Seabass and Slater?” she asks, innocently, but prodding into a far deeper subject that even John hadn't really thought about.
“I guess... at the heart of it... until tonight... I wasn't really sure if Slater was gonna betray me again. I mean... I know we've put the past behind us... but I know what that Belt does to people, and I know what it used to mean to him. But tonight... when he took that hit and sacrificed himself so I could keep pursuing my dreams to be the First WGWF World Heavyweight Champ in the modern era... I knew I was out of line. I know now he's being honest with me with every word between us... and I need to make sure he knows I have his back too.” John says as he puts the ice pouch back on his face.
“Well what are you gonna do about it all?” she asks.
John takes a minute, sighs a heavy sigh, and looks back up at her from the pouch.
“What I'm not gonna do is sit here and sulk about losing my Title tonight. What I'm not gonna do is worry one more second about the friends in my corner. What I'm not gonna do is tear myself apart for the losses lately. What I'm not gonna d....” he states matter of factly each thing in turn before Darina cuts in on the monologue.
“That's all great... good direction to start with and stuff there, John... but seriously... what you GOING to do? You haven't even mentioned Benson in a month or more, and by now, it's too late to deliver on that. You might as well give it up, honestly. No sense in worrying about the past, and she's got her hands full with Punisher and the TV Title right now anyway.” she asks as she gets up from the couch and heads into the kitchen again with the empty ice tray.
“That vile bitch needs to have a come to Jesus moment though... but you're not wrong. I have bigger things to worry about than a little bit of garbage on my face. Hell... maybe I can ask Raven to give you a contract and you can go in there and tear her to pieces for me. I'm sure a few people in the office and the locker room would happily cheer you on for that one.” John jokes as Darina fills the tray in the sink and puts it in the freezer.
“If I wanted a contract, I'd ask him for one myself... No thanks. I got enough contract to worry about without having to keep my eyes on the entire roster too. You're enough to keep track of all by yourself.” she says with some venomous snark as she makes her way back to living room.
“Agreed.” John chuckles to himself.
“What about Flynn? What's the plan going into this Super Show thing anyway?” she asks as she stands near the couch. John lays down and rests the ice pouch on his face before responding.
“Honestly... I have no idea. Mark Flynn is good... he is. He isn't as good as he thinks he is... but he isn't looked at as one of the best in the business for nothing. It's why I booked the match in the first place. I don't want to pad my win loss with easy wins... you don't forge a legacy like that... and that was my entire reason for coming back... to forge a legacy of my own... to write my name in stone instead of scrawling it in pencil across the history books.” John says before moving the pouch again and looking at Darina from the couch.
“A legacy doesn't come without waging brutal wars... and I damned sure haven't been at war these last few months. There HAS been a war waging ALL around me... but I haven't been invested in it like I should've been. Time to fix that I think...” John trails off as he thinks about the match coming up with Flynn and all of the bullshit that CCPE has been at the core of since Relaunch.
“Well, call me in the morning. I'll drive you to the garage. Citizen wanted to go over some material acquisitions R2-IDEA needed for the upgrades. Get some rest, and keep that ice on your head. These bad boys can leave a mark.” Darina chides as she collects her weighted gloves and heads for the door.
“Thanks, Darina... Really. Not for the weighted shots mind you... but thanks for being here and telling me what I needed to hear. Have a goodnight. I'll call you in the morning.” John says as he puts the ice pouch back on his face and lays back on the soft leather cushion beneath his head.
“Sure thing, John. Get some rest, OK? I'll see you in the morning.” Darina says as she sees herself out into the hall and the scene fades to black.
Well... the night is finally upon us, Mark.
Mark Fucking Flynn!
It's been months in the making, hasn't it... all the hours of planning... the countless meetings Page has undertaken to organize this whole thing... the millions of dollars spent on advertising and marketing... and it all comes down to one night... hell... a few minutes for you and me, really.
In the scope of a lifetime... this is more like a blink and you missed it moment... at least... I bet it is for you.
I would bet half my company you're going to sling one line zingers one after another and just poke fun at the lifetime lack of achievements I've accumulated in my long tenure in rings around the world. I bet you bring up how salty I must be about your buddy Peter Vaughn walking away from the West Coast Rumble with MY Title around his waist and how Fred Debonair and JMont brought my dreams crashing down around my ears... and I'd bet you think you're pretty fucking cute when you do it too.
I'd bet you bring up the broken wrist of my friend, Tristan Slater, and how 'once again' you were the smartest one of the bunch, and how it's so easy to just pick us apart and snipe us from the shadows... and I bet you have yourself a full belly laugh as you make snarky ass comments about my face, too.
You seem to make everything into a big ass joke... and you get away with it because you've got a shitload of talent. You back up your bullshit with a brutal beating locked and loaded at all times, just looking for a target to unload your rage and fury on.
Well... I'm you're huckleberry, Son.
It's me... the guy you've been looking for your whole career... but you won't buy that.
You won't buy it until it's too late... and by then... you'll looking up at the lights wondering how you ended up down there on the canvas and how long you've been laying there.
Your whole career you've looked for an opponent who could stand toe to toe with you and you didn't have to hold anything back. You've looked for that guy who made you wonder... in the moment... in the middle of the ring... with the whole world watching...
Am I going to lose?
Is this happening right now?
Yes, Mark... it is, and it will.
All the snarky thoughts and sneering remarks don't matter anymore, Mark.
All the jokes and nonchalant brush offs about how I won't measure up and how I'm out of my league... It's all just hot air in the midsummer breeze, Mark.
Lots of legends have stood across that squared circle and fallen before your might... they have. I can't take away from your accolades or your talent. You have spent years showing off for any audience who would watch you, and watch you they do... droves of fans fill stadiums to see you tear apart one opponent after another... and you rarely disappoint, Mark. Hell, You're lauded as one of the best in the world... and that is exactly why I challenged you to this match.
I know you're going to probably tell yourself, and anyone else who will listen, I'm sure... that this is me trying to ride your coattails for clout or gain some fame from this because I have no Legacy of my own... and partially, you're right.
I made no bones about how I lacked a Legacy when I returned at Relaunch, and how this was my mission going forward... to forge that Legacy for myself before it was too late.
But now... things are a little different.
See you took this match, and I bet you were thinking something along the lines of: this old man won't be much to worry about... I'll make him look good and then I'll go on to the main event and forget he's ever existed. He's a nobody has been anyway... so what difference could this make, right?
Well, Mark... since then... much to my chagrin... you have become a problem.
You think Tristan taking the L in the Rumble so I could keep fighting for my dreams was a lack of trust on his part... but it wasn't. It was a belief he had in me that I could win... and I let him down. I didn't protect him from the damage you inflicted on him in malice... and I haven't done my part in this war you started after Relaunch.
I've been way out of focus... and that's on me. It's shown in my performance the last few months, I've had other things on my mind... but guess what, Mark?
Now... there's only us.
The World Series is over... the chance to regain MY Title has passed me by... and it's just you and me... and all the rage I've built up over the last few months at watching everything I ever wanted slip through my fingers, Mark.
It's just us in there, funny man... and you might be all chuckles right now, Mark... but when that bell rings and you find out what it's really like to face a man like me with nothing else to lose and every reason to rip you apart, you won't be laughing very long.
There's just me and you... and a war to wage.
“What the fuck, John?” Darina exclaims as she opens the fridge after the freezer.
“What now?” John asks, a tone of agitation in his voice.
“There's just a couple of trays of ice in here. Do you even eat, or just... like... sweat at the gym to make your own energy?” she asks incredulously, surprised there isn't even a bottle of ketchup in the door. It doesn't look like he has even used the thing in the few months he's been here.
“Yes. Of course I eat. You know when I'm on the road or just busy I have people that handle all of that and deliver my meals. No reason to stock food in a fridge if I'm only here to sleep and shower and go to the next meeting, you know?” he explains, surprised she even questioned the lack of food here. He guessed it might be strange there wasn't ANYHING in there, but he didn't see the point.
“So... it's like fast food for us normal folks. You just have a chef make your McDouble and bring it to you instead! Damn. That must be nice.” she chuckles to herself.
“Realistically, if I had to make time to make food I would only get half of things I do every day done. I can't spend my time like that.” he casually says as he stretches out on the stark white leather of the three cushion couch framed in the same honeyed white ash wood as the door and the rest of the accents and furniture in the apartment.
“I mean... you do you boss. As long as it doesn't effect my crew or my jobs anyway... you gotta get that shit outta here, John. I can't...” she starts, but trails off.
“You got a washcloth or a hand towel or something around here?” Darina asks looking through the empty drawers hidden inside the island between the kitchen and the living room, interrupting herself with the new train of thought.
“Yeah... um... probably in the closet in the bathroom. Pretty sure that's where Housekeeping was putting the extras.” John answers as he rubs his face, his head throbbing from the blows she had scored earlier while her guards were still chasing him around the hallways of the CCPE Arena after the West Coast Rumble.
Darina made her way into the bathroom, emerging a moment later with a cream colored hand towel and spun back through the kitchen to grab a tray of ice from the mostly barren freezer. The straps of her gloves dangle at her sides as she walks to the living room and sets the towel and the ice tray on the short, light colored end table and takes a seat in a matching white leather and ash wood chair sat diagonally near the end of the couch with the table between them. She slides her hand out of one, then the other glove, and drops them on the table with a loud THUNK as they hit the wood.
John looks over at the gloves with a screwed up quizzical look on his face.
“What the fuck?” he mutters as he sits up and grabs one of the gloves.
John feels the weight of the accessories... damn near a pound if he was right... full steel knuckles and a thin metal plate across the back of the hand, he finds out as he runs his fingers across the embedded metal inside the cloth.
“Were you trying to kill me?” John looks at her accusingly with wide eyes, shocked at the lengths she was willing to go to hold her own.
“John... I've known you a long time now. Not as long as Aaron has mind you... or Tristan for that matter... but for long enough now. There was a time... apparently not now... but a time... when you would have destroyed a squad twice the size of the one I had on staff last night. I mean, these guys aren't my field agents or anything, but they ain't no slouches. They hold their own just fine in your normal bar fight or bouncer brawl, but they aren't ready to fight guys like you on a regular. They just aren't in the same level as the roster in the WGWF.” Darina starts to explain.
“Yeah, no shit. I think one of those guys might've pissed themselves in the hallway. You might want to have housekeeping check on that.” John chuckles painfully as Darina pops the tray of ice and plucks a few cubes out to put in the towel.
“Yeah... well... I ain't no green eared rook, John. I know if I gotta put you down I better bring a better weapon than my wits, and those gloves level the field every time, don't they? You really are so wrapped up in whatever it is you got running through your brain you can't see the world around you, aren't you?” she asks with a sneer.
“What the fuck does that mean?” John fires back, surprised at her statement.
“John... seriously... since you came back... you aren't the same guy you used to be. You took all those years away from the ring, and you lost something.” she says softly, knowing that what she is about to say isn't what he wants to hear.
“Darina... I'm in the best shape of my life. I haven't lost a damn thing.” John scoffs in response as she wraps up the ice cubes and hands him the pouch.
“Put that on your head so it doesn't swell so bad.” she orders him nonchalantly as he takes the towel and presses it to his temple and cheek with a light wince.
“I'm not talking about being less able, or losing a step, John. I'm saying you lost something else... something important to this industry, and if you plan on getting the World Belt back around your waist... you're gonna need to find it again... like now.” she says, just confusing John even more.
“What is it then, that I supposedly lost, Darina? If I haven't lost a step, and my skills aren't diminished, then what the fuck do you think I've lost in the ring since I came back?” he asks, peeking from behind the ice pouch.
“Your kill or be killed mentality. You used to wage war in that ring, every time. When you and Seabass climbed through those ropes, there wasn't any difference than every time he strapped up with us to go kill people for money. You laid your life on that mat under those lights every night... and there wasn't anything you wouldn't endure to get that win. You gave your heart and soul to those fans, and you were a warrior... a real one. Now... you seem like you're just making a show of being a wrestler.” she says sadly, pity creasing her face as she looks across the gap at him holding the ice to his face. John starts to say something, but she rolls her eyes and flips her ponytail before cutting in on him.
“Now look... I know you don't want to hear this... but maybe you need to, and if there ain't anyone else around to tell you, then maybe it needs to be me. I had hoped not to need to talk to you about this, honestly. I mean, I have known you now for a long time, but it isn't like we've ever been close, you know? You're my boss, and to your credit, you have always kept it professional with me and Owen, and we both appreciate that... but this is personal... for you... and to be fair... I think you really need to think about what you even came back for.” she says softly, knowing this is a hard conversation for him to have, let alone for her to be the one to bring up to him.
“I came back to prove to myself I still had what it took to be a champion. I wanted to... I wanted...” he stammers and stumbles, trying to put into words his passion for the business, but stalls.
“John... you are literally sitting on a two and seven record right now. You have won a tag match at the Cannabis Cup, and a singles match at relaunch against Bam Miller. Every time you climb into the ring with Fred or JMont, they have your number... every time... and NOW... you're booked against Mark Fucking Flynn at CCPE vs the World in a few days in a match you went out there and got yourself booked in months ago. You should have just rode this Supershow out and focused on the WGWF for a while and get yourself in a position to actually become a champion again. I just...” she explains before John pulls the ice pouch from his face and sighs.
“Look... I don't think I ha...” he starts, but Darina rests her hand on his shoulder sliding over to the couch next to him.
“John... look me in the eye and tell me you're the same Beast who threw yourself and Slater off the stage into the equipment table a few years ago because there wasn't any risk you weren't willing to take to take revenge for all the bullshit he did to you. Look me right in the eyeball and tell me with a straight face you're the same Beast who took Kyle Shane to task, turned his entire world inside out, and walked away with the WGWF Intercontinental Championship.” she says pointedly, staring a hole through him with every word.
“I...” he start, but she cuts him off.
“Tell me you're the same Beast who took the PCW World by storm and held their Tag Titles for an entire year with Seabass waging war with the Freebooters week in and week out. Tell me how you're the same monster who went to war with MDK and the Killer Clown Queen and her entire posse and came out with the WGWF World Title not once, but twice... against all odds.” she snaps at him, her passion finally spurring her to scold the man further.
“But I didn't get to kee...” he starts to make an excuse, but she starts in on him again.
“It doesn't matter if you got to keep the Belt, John. You won it... twice... once against Tristan Slater, and then against against MDK. YOU DID THAT... You won the fucking thing twice... and while you might have gotten screwed over for the reign you deserved, you still won the damned Title, John. You used to be a warrior... waging war against the best of the best every week... and since you've come back... well.. honestly, you've been a business man in a suit acting like a wrestler... and if you plan on winning against Mark Flynn, or Peter Vaughn, or even JMont... you're going to have to get your shit together and find that killer instinct again. Hell, John... be a fucking monster or be a business man... the world doesn't have space for you to be both, so pick your lane, and get the fuck in it for fuck's sake.” she says, exasperation dripping from every pleading word.
“Well... I guess tell me how you really feel, Darina. Damn.” John says, dejectedly, still in his own head about the events of the evening.
“Look... I'm sor...” she starts with an apologetic look on her face, but John looks up at her and cuts her off.
“Don't ever be sorry for telling me what you think I need to hear. You're not wrong. I've been trying to balance the ring and the business, and I'm failing at the ring part, obviously. Ten years ago... if someone like Sonya Benson had humiliated me in the ring like she did when she jumped me and Lexi on BRAWL... I would've shown up at her house and tore that place apart just to make her think twice about ever stepping into my business again. If Flynn and Vaughn and Debonair had broken Sebastian's arm, there wouldn't have been enough walls between us to keep me from tearing them all apart. Real Talk.” he states, a fire burning in his eyes as he thinks about his hay day... when things were simple and the only thing that mattered was taking his opponents to task and making sure they remembered who they went to war with.
“What's the difference between Seabass and Slater?” she asks, innocently, but prodding into a far deeper subject that even John hadn't really thought about.
“I guess... at the heart of it... until tonight... I wasn't really sure if Slater was gonna betray me again. I mean... I know we've put the past behind us... but I know what that Belt does to people, and I know what it used to mean to him. But tonight... when he took that hit and sacrificed himself so I could keep pursuing my dreams to be the First WGWF World Heavyweight Champ in the modern era... I knew I was out of line. I know now he's being honest with me with every word between us... and I need to make sure he knows I have his back too.” John says as he puts the ice pouch back on his face.
“Well what are you gonna do about it all?” she asks.
John takes a minute, sighs a heavy sigh, and looks back up at her from the pouch.
“What I'm not gonna do is sit here and sulk about losing my Title tonight. What I'm not gonna do is worry one more second about the friends in my corner. What I'm not gonna do is tear myself apart for the losses lately. What I'm not gonna d....” he states matter of factly each thing in turn before Darina cuts in on the monologue.
“That's all great... good direction to start with and stuff there, John... but seriously... what you GOING to do? You haven't even mentioned Benson in a month or more, and by now, it's too late to deliver on that. You might as well give it up, honestly. No sense in worrying about the past, and she's got her hands full with Punisher and the TV Title right now anyway.” she asks as she gets up from the couch and heads into the kitchen again with the empty ice tray.
“That vile bitch needs to have a come to Jesus moment though... but you're not wrong. I have bigger things to worry about than a little bit of garbage on my face. Hell... maybe I can ask Raven to give you a contract and you can go in there and tear her to pieces for me. I'm sure a few people in the office and the locker room would happily cheer you on for that one.” John jokes as Darina fills the tray in the sink and puts it in the freezer.
“If I wanted a contract, I'd ask him for one myself... No thanks. I got enough contract to worry about without having to keep my eyes on the entire roster too. You're enough to keep track of all by yourself.” she says with some venomous snark as she makes her way back to living room.
“Agreed.” John chuckles to himself.
“What about Flynn? What's the plan going into this Super Show thing anyway?” she asks as she stands near the couch. John lays down and rests the ice pouch on his face before responding.
“Honestly... I have no idea. Mark Flynn is good... he is. He isn't as good as he thinks he is... but he isn't looked at as one of the best in the business for nothing. It's why I booked the match in the first place. I don't want to pad my win loss with easy wins... you don't forge a legacy like that... and that was my entire reason for coming back... to forge a legacy of my own... to write my name in stone instead of scrawling it in pencil across the history books.” John says before moving the pouch again and looking at Darina from the couch.
“A legacy doesn't come without waging brutal wars... and I damned sure haven't been at war these last few months. There HAS been a war waging ALL around me... but I haven't been invested in it like I should've been. Time to fix that I think...” John trails off as he thinks about the match coming up with Flynn and all of the bullshit that CCPE has been at the core of since Relaunch.
“Well, call me in the morning. I'll drive you to the garage. Citizen wanted to go over some material acquisitions R2-IDEA needed for the upgrades. Get some rest, and keep that ice on your head. These bad boys can leave a mark.” Darina chides as she collects her weighted gloves and heads for the door.
“Thanks, Darina... Really. Not for the weighted shots mind you... but thanks for being here and telling me what I needed to hear. Have a goodnight. I'll call you in the morning.” John says as he puts the ice pouch back on his face and lays back on the soft leather cushion beneath his head.
“Sure thing, John. Get some rest, OK? I'll see you in the morning.” Darina says as she sees herself out into the hall and the scene fades to black.
* * * * *
Well... the night is finally upon us, Mark.
Mark Fucking Flynn!
It's been months in the making, hasn't it... all the hours of planning... the countless meetings Page has undertaken to organize this whole thing... the millions of dollars spent on advertising and marketing... and it all comes down to one night... hell... a few minutes for you and me, really.
In the scope of a lifetime... this is more like a blink and you missed it moment... at least... I bet it is for you.
I would bet half my company you're going to sling one line zingers one after another and just poke fun at the lifetime lack of achievements I've accumulated in my long tenure in rings around the world. I bet you bring up how salty I must be about your buddy Peter Vaughn walking away from the West Coast Rumble with MY Title around his waist and how Fred Debonair and JMont brought my dreams crashing down around my ears... and I'd bet you think you're pretty fucking cute when you do it too.
I'd bet you bring up the broken wrist of my friend, Tristan Slater, and how 'once again' you were the smartest one of the bunch, and how it's so easy to just pick us apart and snipe us from the shadows... and I bet you have yourself a full belly laugh as you make snarky ass comments about my face, too.
You seem to make everything into a big ass joke... and you get away with it because you've got a shitload of talent. You back up your bullshit with a brutal beating locked and loaded at all times, just looking for a target to unload your rage and fury on.
Well... I'm you're huckleberry, Son.
It's me... the guy you've been looking for your whole career... but you won't buy that.
You won't buy it until it's too late... and by then... you'll looking up at the lights wondering how you ended up down there on the canvas and how long you've been laying there.
Your whole career you've looked for an opponent who could stand toe to toe with you and you didn't have to hold anything back. You've looked for that guy who made you wonder... in the moment... in the middle of the ring... with the whole world watching...
Am I going to lose?
Is this happening right now?
Yes, Mark... it is, and it will.
All the snarky thoughts and sneering remarks don't matter anymore, Mark.
All the jokes and nonchalant brush offs about how I won't measure up and how I'm out of my league... It's all just hot air in the midsummer breeze, Mark.
Lots of legends have stood across that squared circle and fallen before your might... they have. I can't take away from your accolades or your talent. You have spent years showing off for any audience who would watch you, and watch you they do... droves of fans fill stadiums to see you tear apart one opponent after another... and you rarely disappoint, Mark. Hell, You're lauded as one of the best in the world... and that is exactly why I challenged you to this match.
I know you're going to probably tell yourself, and anyone else who will listen, I'm sure... that this is me trying to ride your coattails for clout or gain some fame from this because I have no Legacy of my own... and partially, you're right.
I made no bones about how I lacked a Legacy when I returned at Relaunch, and how this was my mission going forward... to forge that Legacy for myself before it was too late.
But now... things are a little different.
See you took this match, and I bet you were thinking something along the lines of: this old man won't be much to worry about... I'll make him look good and then I'll go on to the main event and forget he's ever existed. He's a nobody has been anyway... so what difference could this make, right?
Well, Mark... since then... much to my chagrin... you have become a problem.
You think Tristan taking the L in the Rumble so I could keep fighting for my dreams was a lack of trust on his part... but it wasn't. It was a belief he had in me that I could win... and I let him down. I didn't protect him from the damage you inflicted on him in malice... and I haven't done my part in this war you started after Relaunch.
I've been way out of focus... and that's on me. It's shown in my performance the last few months, I've had other things on my mind... but guess what, Mark?
Now... there's only us.
The World Series is over... the chance to regain MY Title has passed me by... and it's just you and me... and all the rage I've built up over the last few months at watching everything I ever wanted slip through my fingers, Mark.
It's just us in there, funny man... and you might be all chuckles right now, Mark... but when that bell rings and you find out what it's really like to face a man like me with nothing else to lose and every reason to rip you apart, you won't be laughing very long.
There's just me and you... and a war to wage.
* * * * *