Post by cyriddle on Jun 27, 2023 16:22:42 GMT -5
Substance
Substance is the keyword that Cyrus Riddle valued throughout his life and career more than most others. The frequently coveted “loyalty,” as he thought to himself in reflection, only worked outside of the business confines. Broken loyalty in the wrestling business oftentimes added depth to a disconnection, and therefore, created more substance in story between new enemies. Additionally, he frowned upon the idea of the “loner.” Nobody he had ever encountered could ever truly call themselves a loner, as they would frequently find themselves embroiled in situations where alliances and adversaries became a necessity to achieve survival.
As it stood, over the lapse of time, simplicity always faded, vanity disappeared nearly as fast as it arrived, and those granted rocketed stardom are rarely heard from in the present day. Unfortunately, as he thought to himself, some of the self-proclaimed greatest and most badass and heartless in the business, are merely clinging on to yesteryear accolades while still touting the same rubbish about themselves that they always have, even if the evidence of the claims has all but become nonexistent.
Substance
Substance continues to rule as the word of importance. One can claim whatever they wish, but actions speak louder than the claims. The amount of time we are afforded is less relevant than what was accomplished in said timeframe. Similarly, what we’ve done in the past rarely gets recognition in the new age, as relevancy has become the new drug that requires frequent use to keep riding the high. But, without substance, none of it will stand the test of time, and everyone will only be as good as their last performance, their last victory, or their last failure.
June 25, 2023
Colorado
8:45 PM
Izzy had taken to her new room and residence with swift ownership. Utilizing shelf and wall space, she adorned her room with her books and artwork, which she spent tireless hours creating with a vast array of tools which were purchased for her by Kim. Her room was definitely the reflection of a child artist who enjoyed her imagination. From what Cy could see, she covered the gamut of subject matter, from basic animals to random paint splatter patterns that reminded him of tortured artists who would fling paint at canvas and justify its meaning via intricate bullshit. For Izzy, it was as simple as “I wanted to see what pattern it would make.”
As he stood in the doorway, admiring the spirit of her artwork while she rummaged through her bookshelf for a book he would be tasked with reading to her, one penciled drawing in particular caught his attention.
“Izzy, what’s that one?”
His forehead wrinkled slightly, more so out of curiosity than deciphering. He stepped closer, glancing out of her window at the vibrant twilight dimming into night as the moon yearned to take the stage from his counterpart which had started to rule the majority of time in this season.
“Which one, dad?”
Her tiny tone, English accent asked him as he walked closer and stood by the picture, using his index finger to point up at it slightly. He could almost hear Kim standing outside of the room at this moment, as she enjoyed the juxtaposition of their conversations based on their tones and accents alone, as Cy countered Izzy with an accent and base that was often likened to Jason Statham.
“This one here, with the robed people and trees.”
Izzy appeared puzzled at first, but motioned for Cy to come close to her before she began to whisper.
“The forest goddesses.”
Cy opened his eyes wide toward her and nodded his head, as if mystified by her proclamation.
“Ah, those birds, yeah. I’ve heard they do wondrous things in the deepest parts of the woods.”
With an excitement that her dad knew, Izzy gave a starry eyed succession of nods.
“I’m gonna be one someday.”
“Are you now? And how do you plan on reaching that goal?”
Izzy innocently shook her head, smiling.
“It’s destiny, dad. You know about it.”
“Ah, do I now? And what’s my knowledge of this destiny?”
Izzy leaned in further, forehead to forehead with Cy, and grabbed his arm to point at his wrist, where a tattoo of a crescent moon and star conjoined into his skin.
“The Nightdyne.”
Riddle looked down at his wrist, lost in the tattoo for a few seconds. For a tiny placement on his bodily canvas, this specific piece had the most meaning, or substance, than any of the others. It was a symbol of his past, his training, his origin story, and his first true family. But, how did she know the name?
“Uncle Chris told me.”
“Of course, Uncle Chris. He’s quite the historian, yeah? And what did he tell you?”
“Just that it was how you started and that it meant a lot to you both. He said you need to find it again.”
His mouth running brother, Chris Michaels, aside, Cy felt that last sentence a little more than the rest. It was a clear inference that he had lost his way, and he could not bring himself to defend himself against that claim. Izzy could see the far away look in his eye as he let those words resonate with him, which turned her expression into a frown.
“Is that why you stopped being a wrestler?”
Cy snapped out of his daze for her question, shaking his head.
“No, I mean, I would argue that you never really stop being a wrestler once you are in the industry. It becomes part of your chemical makeup.”
“Why do you love it so much?”
Izzy the inquisitive, forever seeking answers. Cy loved the wonder she maintained, and the thirst for knowledge and answers she sought out. Her standing question was most certainly loaded, but as Cy contemplated his response, he began to smile.
“Wrestling was the only constant in my life as a child. Your grandparents were very busy trying to maintain the life we lived. So, every week we would have our family wrestling outing. We would go to the matches wherever they were being held in London, and we would get a substantial amount of quality time together watching and experiencing something we loved. We would cheer, boo, laugh, everything.”
He paused to show her some of the old childhood photos he had left, which he kept on every phone he ever owned.
“I became consumed by it. I read the magazines, watched the weekly shows, the pay per views, bought the merchandise, and studied it. I loved the technical work, and I loved the showmanship. And when I was old enough, I decided to train because I had already decided that wrestling would be my job.”
Izzy smiled at him.
“Do you still love it?”
“Of course I do.”
“You should do it again. You looked happy there.”
Cy smirked, raising his eyebrow.
“Do I not look happy now?”
“Yeah… but that’s different happy. You should be different happy.”
“Different happy? Well, if that’s what we are calling it, I’ll try my best.”
“Pinky promise.”
Izzy held out her little pinky to Cy, waiting for him to make the most sacred of human agreements that can only be on par with Severus Snape and Narcissa Malfoy’s unbreakable vow… the coveted pinky promise.
“Pinky promise.”
Cy obliged and looped his pinky with Izzy’s, affirming their agreement.
“Okay, now, it’s time for a book and bedtime, Miss Motivation. What’s the story for the evening?”
From under her pillow, Izzy grabs the very book she chose. With a smile on her face, she handed him the book, cover down, and tucked herself in comfortably. Cy turned the book over and cracked a smile, nodding.
“Alright then. ‘The World Needs Who You Were Made to Be’ by Joanna Gaines.”
=========================================
“Beyond any other trait in this industry, beyond any other concept and strength that can be admired, I admire the present day diversity the most.”
Cyrus Riddle appears before our eyes, shoulders back, posture straight, and head held high. Wearing a black polo shirt, accessorized with a gold Rolex with matching gold aviator corrective lenses, he stood against the homestead backdrop of the Colorado mountains. The white clouds and blue sky behind him only aided in the wondrous reflection of the scenescape in the water below, as if the ground were a parallel dimension to the sky.
“For many years and through many generations, we’ve seen the transformations taking place before our eyes. The traditional wrestler and contemporary wrestler are so dichotomous that no one person can be typecast as they used to be. Skill and substance have trumped the need for aesthetically pleasing and less talented individuals. Now, more than ever, you need to deliver an experience and a prowess to make it, and not just a gym membership. However…”
Riddle’s hands clasp together and his joined index fingers prod just underneath of his bottom lip as he turns to his left slightly, where the sun glistens off of his freshly oiled beard.
“This new way of operating in professional wrestling is not absolute. There are always exceptions to rules, and oftentimes those exceptions are the most abhorrent ones. Which brings us to the now, and the matter at hand. WGWF Dark, just before you all have the privilege of being graced by the Monday Night Brawl spectacular, you will all have the opportunity to bear witness to an event unlike anything you’ve had the honor of seeing before your eyes on a WGWF screen. For the first time in what has felt like an eternity, yours truly makes his triumphant return to the ring to once more have no mercy, no tolerance, and to give my opponents no escape. For the first time in an overdue amount of time, I step between the ropes to deliver the experience you’ve all yearned for, to exhibit skills that you’ve salivated over seeing, and I will give you that in abundance… at the expense… of Amber Mansley.”
A snarl forms on the lips of the Englishman after the mention of Amber Mansley’s name, clearly unimpressed. Followed by a not so subtle eye roll, he audibly exhales.
“Where do we even begin, yeah? The dichotomy is clear, innit? Amber is the light, the city, the nightlife, wherein I am the dark, the secluded, and the shadow. She’s the colors of the spectrum, and I am the painfully true shades of gray.”
“This is the exception to the new standard. Entitled social media influencer with enough vanity to occupy the world’s mirrors is the updated gym membership wrestler. Everything relevant about her has to take place in front of a camera, and as it stands nothing about her is relevant, so I would imagine that there is a dire need for validation within her. After all, that’s what the masses are for, aren’t they? People need that instant validation that comes with social media, and that’s where we differ because I see this as me having a job to do, I will get it done, and I have no concern with what anyone with an opinion thinks in regards to how I achieve my goal.”
“Moreover, I’m not someone that you can reach, I’m not in your demographic as it were. Have you really evaluated your standing? Have you truly, in your heart, mapped this path and confirmed it to be intelligent? From where I’m perceiving, it’s as though this business is another notch on your belt. It’s nothing more than a stepping stone to another world. I understand it, from a monetary, longevity, and pure business standpoint. But, on my side of things, where this has and always will be the alpha and omega profession, I find your approach disrespectful. Using something I love, that I’ve poured my life into, as a professional side hustle, instead of applying the craft and getting all you can from it, leaves a disdainful mark.”
Riddle continues his scoffing at her existence in his world, a world that he bled and sweat for over the course of nearly two decades. To him, this was the very world his life had been built around, and he took exception to those who saw it as less than that.
“I mean, I’ve seen a lot of audacity over many years, but none are as laughable, yet enraging, as some botoxed wench coming into my world after a spot of tea and believing she can have the ‘influence’ to effect any significant change aside from inevitably making people change the channel when she shows her smug, yet oddly shaped face that seems to be in permanently disgruntled.”
“This is my world, my universe, my Galaxy. You are treading in waters that I’ve navigated and captained for longer than you’ve been a thought. You know nothing of pain, of sacrifice, or of loss. You, and your entire generation really, are at the biggest disadvantage for long term success because you don’t understand that there are earned times to be put in to reap reward. There is no instant gratification here.”
Cy removes his glass and uses them to point toward the camera, stepping in closer.
“You want a dichotomy, Amber. I am the dark side where the truth presides, and you are the light where lies reign. You do everything for the image, I do it for the substance. You want the material, I strive for that which cannot be held. Things like pride, ownership, personal successes on an emotional and mental level. I have everything to lose, and also everything to gain. You have nothing of both because you aren’t even dedicated to this world you’re stepping into. There’s nothing here for you, and this world is all mine.”
“Thirty-seven championship reigns, multiple world championships, two hall of fame decorations, eighteen years of service for this great sport. I know to you that may not fall with any merit, and even if it did you would revel in your denial to convince us all it doesn’t. But ask yourself… if I’ve done all of that, and yet am still here, in peak physical condition, with the same mental exceptionalism and acuity… what is your purpose and why are you even here? Ask yourself if you can even compete with that level of performance that will not be asked of you, but demanded from you in order to succeed. Because to me, that should be rhetorical to you. I know the answers, I’ve seen the ones like you many times over. Shit, I’ve dated your type before. There’s a lot of pageantry, a lot of grandiosity, and nothing redeemable under the surface.”
After an intense glare, Riddle composes himself, taking a long draw of the fresh mountain air.
“It is perfectly fine, though. I see what I am here. I’m the experience, intelligence, and skill that WGWF needs in this barren time. Although I should feel somewhat offended that I’m relegated to a main event Dark, I understand that my place is simply what it is because of the quality of my opponent. It is abundantly clear to me.”
“Yes, I’m the eradicator in this situation. Just as fast as WGWF allowed you to sign the dotted line, they realized that their monetary investments would be compromised and sent in a problem solver. Amber, this is your first and final appearance, no hyperbole. I am the true heir to the throne of WGWF, and you have the honor of playing first victim. Soon, all of your beloved social outlets will be running the highlight reel of your demise. As for me, I will say now that as far as the show you are all invited to and Amber is involuntarily becoming the sacrifice for… you’re welcome. Signed, Cyrus fucking Riddle.”
Riddle smugly holds up his index and middle finger for an English salute to the camera. Instead of the cliche static or fade to black, the scene ends with a pan up to the sky and a blinding light.
Substance is the keyword that Cyrus Riddle valued throughout his life and career more than most others. The frequently coveted “loyalty,” as he thought to himself in reflection, only worked outside of the business confines. Broken loyalty in the wrestling business oftentimes added depth to a disconnection, and therefore, created more substance in story between new enemies. Additionally, he frowned upon the idea of the “loner.” Nobody he had ever encountered could ever truly call themselves a loner, as they would frequently find themselves embroiled in situations where alliances and adversaries became a necessity to achieve survival.
As it stood, over the lapse of time, simplicity always faded, vanity disappeared nearly as fast as it arrived, and those granted rocketed stardom are rarely heard from in the present day. Unfortunately, as he thought to himself, some of the self-proclaimed greatest and most badass and heartless in the business, are merely clinging on to yesteryear accolades while still touting the same rubbish about themselves that they always have, even if the evidence of the claims has all but become nonexistent.
Substance
Substance continues to rule as the word of importance. One can claim whatever they wish, but actions speak louder than the claims. The amount of time we are afforded is less relevant than what was accomplished in said timeframe. Similarly, what we’ve done in the past rarely gets recognition in the new age, as relevancy has become the new drug that requires frequent use to keep riding the high. But, without substance, none of it will stand the test of time, and everyone will only be as good as their last performance, their last victory, or their last failure.
June 25, 2023
Colorado
8:45 PM
Izzy had taken to her new room and residence with swift ownership. Utilizing shelf and wall space, she adorned her room with her books and artwork, which she spent tireless hours creating with a vast array of tools which were purchased for her by Kim. Her room was definitely the reflection of a child artist who enjoyed her imagination. From what Cy could see, she covered the gamut of subject matter, from basic animals to random paint splatter patterns that reminded him of tortured artists who would fling paint at canvas and justify its meaning via intricate bullshit. For Izzy, it was as simple as “I wanted to see what pattern it would make.”
As he stood in the doorway, admiring the spirit of her artwork while she rummaged through her bookshelf for a book he would be tasked with reading to her, one penciled drawing in particular caught his attention.
“Izzy, what’s that one?”
His forehead wrinkled slightly, more so out of curiosity than deciphering. He stepped closer, glancing out of her window at the vibrant twilight dimming into night as the moon yearned to take the stage from his counterpart which had started to rule the majority of time in this season.
“Which one, dad?”
Her tiny tone, English accent asked him as he walked closer and stood by the picture, using his index finger to point up at it slightly. He could almost hear Kim standing outside of the room at this moment, as she enjoyed the juxtaposition of their conversations based on their tones and accents alone, as Cy countered Izzy with an accent and base that was often likened to Jason Statham.
“This one here, with the robed people and trees.”
Izzy appeared puzzled at first, but motioned for Cy to come close to her before she began to whisper.
“The forest goddesses.”
Cy opened his eyes wide toward her and nodded his head, as if mystified by her proclamation.
“Ah, those birds, yeah. I’ve heard they do wondrous things in the deepest parts of the woods.”
With an excitement that her dad knew, Izzy gave a starry eyed succession of nods.
“I’m gonna be one someday.”
“Are you now? And how do you plan on reaching that goal?”
Izzy innocently shook her head, smiling.
“It’s destiny, dad. You know about it.”
“Ah, do I now? And what’s my knowledge of this destiny?”
Izzy leaned in further, forehead to forehead with Cy, and grabbed his arm to point at his wrist, where a tattoo of a crescent moon and star conjoined into his skin.
“The Nightdyne.”
Riddle looked down at his wrist, lost in the tattoo for a few seconds. For a tiny placement on his bodily canvas, this specific piece had the most meaning, or substance, than any of the others. It was a symbol of his past, his training, his origin story, and his first true family. But, how did she know the name?
“Uncle Chris told me.”
“Of course, Uncle Chris. He’s quite the historian, yeah? And what did he tell you?”
“Just that it was how you started and that it meant a lot to you both. He said you need to find it again.”
His mouth running brother, Chris Michaels, aside, Cy felt that last sentence a little more than the rest. It was a clear inference that he had lost his way, and he could not bring himself to defend himself against that claim. Izzy could see the far away look in his eye as he let those words resonate with him, which turned her expression into a frown.
“Is that why you stopped being a wrestler?”
Cy snapped out of his daze for her question, shaking his head.
“No, I mean, I would argue that you never really stop being a wrestler once you are in the industry. It becomes part of your chemical makeup.”
“Why do you love it so much?”
Izzy the inquisitive, forever seeking answers. Cy loved the wonder she maintained, and the thirst for knowledge and answers she sought out. Her standing question was most certainly loaded, but as Cy contemplated his response, he began to smile.
“Wrestling was the only constant in my life as a child. Your grandparents were very busy trying to maintain the life we lived. So, every week we would have our family wrestling outing. We would go to the matches wherever they were being held in London, and we would get a substantial amount of quality time together watching and experiencing something we loved. We would cheer, boo, laugh, everything.”
He paused to show her some of the old childhood photos he had left, which he kept on every phone he ever owned.
“I became consumed by it. I read the magazines, watched the weekly shows, the pay per views, bought the merchandise, and studied it. I loved the technical work, and I loved the showmanship. And when I was old enough, I decided to train because I had already decided that wrestling would be my job.”
Izzy smiled at him.
“Do you still love it?”
“Of course I do.”
“You should do it again. You looked happy there.”
Cy smirked, raising his eyebrow.
“Do I not look happy now?”
“Yeah… but that’s different happy. You should be different happy.”
“Different happy? Well, if that’s what we are calling it, I’ll try my best.”
“Pinky promise.”
Izzy held out her little pinky to Cy, waiting for him to make the most sacred of human agreements that can only be on par with Severus Snape and Narcissa Malfoy’s unbreakable vow… the coveted pinky promise.
“Pinky promise.”
Cy obliged and looped his pinky with Izzy’s, affirming their agreement.
“Okay, now, it’s time for a book and bedtime, Miss Motivation. What’s the story for the evening?”
From under her pillow, Izzy grabs the very book she chose. With a smile on her face, she handed him the book, cover down, and tucked herself in comfortably. Cy turned the book over and cracked a smile, nodding.
“Alright then. ‘The World Needs Who You Were Made to Be’ by Joanna Gaines.”
=========================================
“Beyond any other trait in this industry, beyond any other concept and strength that can be admired, I admire the present day diversity the most.”
Cyrus Riddle appears before our eyes, shoulders back, posture straight, and head held high. Wearing a black polo shirt, accessorized with a gold Rolex with matching gold aviator corrective lenses, he stood against the homestead backdrop of the Colorado mountains. The white clouds and blue sky behind him only aided in the wondrous reflection of the scenescape in the water below, as if the ground were a parallel dimension to the sky.
“For many years and through many generations, we’ve seen the transformations taking place before our eyes. The traditional wrestler and contemporary wrestler are so dichotomous that no one person can be typecast as they used to be. Skill and substance have trumped the need for aesthetically pleasing and less talented individuals. Now, more than ever, you need to deliver an experience and a prowess to make it, and not just a gym membership. However…”
Riddle’s hands clasp together and his joined index fingers prod just underneath of his bottom lip as he turns to his left slightly, where the sun glistens off of his freshly oiled beard.
“This new way of operating in professional wrestling is not absolute. There are always exceptions to rules, and oftentimes those exceptions are the most abhorrent ones. Which brings us to the now, and the matter at hand. WGWF Dark, just before you all have the privilege of being graced by the Monday Night Brawl spectacular, you will all have the opportunity to bear witness to an event unlike anything you’ve had the honor of seeing before your eyes on a WGWF screen. For the first time in what has felt like an eternity, yours truly makes his triumphant return to the ring to once more have no mercy, no tolerance, and to give my opponents no escape. For the first time in an overdue amount of time, I step between the ropes to deliver the experience you’ve all yearned for, to exhibit skills that you’ve salivated over seeing, and I will give you that in abundance… at the expense… of Amber Mansley.”
A snarl forms on the lips of the Englishman after the mention of Amber Mansley’s name, clearly unimpressed. Followed by a not so subtle eye roll, he audibly exhales.
“Where do we even begin, yeah? The dichotomy is clear, innit? Amber is the light, the city, the nightlife, wherein I am the dark, the secluded, and the shadow. She’s the colors of the spectrum, and I am the painfully true shades of gray.”
“This is the exception to the new standard. Entitled social media influencer with enough vanity to occupy the world’s mirrors is the updated gym membership wrestler. Everything relevant about her has to take place in front of a camera, and as it stands nothing about her is relevant, so I would imagine that there is a dire need for validation within her. After all, that’s what the masses are for, aren’t they? People need that instant validation that comes with social media, and that’s where we differ because I see this as me having a job to do, I will get it done, and I have no concern with what anyone with an opinion thinks in regards to how I achieve my goal.”
“Moreover, I’m not someone that you can reach, I’m not in your demographic as it were. Have you really evaluated your standing? Have you truly, in your heart, mapped this path and confirmed it to be intelligent? From where I’m perceiving, it’s as though this business is another notch on your belt. It’s nothing more than a stepping stone to another world. I understand it, from a monetary, longevity, and pure business standpoint. But, on my side of things, where this has and always will be the alpha and omega profession, I find your approach disrespectful. Using something I love, that I’ve poured my life into, as a professional side hustle, instead of applying the craft and getting all you can from it, leaves a disdainful mark.”
Riddle continues his scoffing at her existence in his world, a world that he bled and sweat for over the course of nearly two decades. To him, this was the very world his life had been built around, and he took exception to those who saw it as less than that.
“I mean, I’ve seen a lot of audacity over many years, but none are as laughable, yet enraging, as some botoxed wench coming into my world after a spot of tea and believing she can have the ‘influence’ to effect any significant change aside from inevitably making people change the channel when she shows her smug, yet oddly shaped face that seems to be in permanently disgruntled.”
“This is my world, my universe, my Galaxy. You are treading in waters that I’ve navigated and captained for longer than you’ve been a thought. You know nothing of pain, of sacrifice, or of loss. You, and your entire generation really, are at the biggest disadvantage for long term success because you don’t understand that there are earned times to be put in to reap reward. There is no instant gratification here.”
Cy removes his glass and uses them to point toward the camera, stepping in closer.
“You want a dichotomy, Amber. I am the dark side where the truth presides, and you are the light where lies reign. You do everything for the image, I do it for the substance. You want the material, I strive for that which cannot be held. Things like pride, ownership, personal successes on an emotional and mental level. I have everything to lose, and also everything to gain. You have nothing of both because you aren’t even dedicated to this world you’re stepping into. There’s nothing here for you, and this world is all mine.”
“Thirty-seven championship reigns, multiple world championships, two hall of fame decorations, eighteen years of service for this great sport. I know to you that may not fall with any merit, and even if it did you would revel in your denial to convince us all it doesn’t. But ask yourself… if I’ve done all of that, and yet am still here, in peak physical condition, with the same mental exceptionalism and acuity… what is your purpose and why are you even here? Ask yourself if you can even compete with that level of performance that will not be asked of you, but demanded from you in order to succeed. Because to me, that should be rhetorical to you. I know the answers, I’ve seen the ones like you many times over. Shit, I’ve dated your type before. There’s a lot of pageantry, a lot of grandiosity, and nothing redeemable under the surface.”
After an intense glare, Riddle composes himself, taking a long draw of the fresh mountain air.
“It is perfectly fine, though. I see what I am here. I’m the experience, intelligence, and skill that WGWF needs in this barren time. Although I should feel somewhat offended that I’m relegated to a main event Dark, I understand that my place is simply what it is because of the quality of my opponent. It is abundantly clear to me.”
“Yes, I’m the eradicator in this situation. Just as fast as WGWF allowed you to sign the dotted line, they realized that their monetary investments would be compromised and sent in a problem solver. Amber, this is your first and final appearance, no hyperbole. I am the true heir to the throne of WGWF, and you have the honor of playing first victim. Soon, all of your beloved social outlets will be running the highlight reel of your demise. As for me, I will say now that as far as the show you are all invited to and Amber is involuntarily becoming the sacrifice for… you’re welcome. Signed, Cyrus fucking Riddle.”
Riddle smugly holds up his index and middle finger for an English salute to the camera. Instead of the cliche static or fade to black, the scene ends with a pan up to the sky and a blinding light.