S01E06 - Twitter Invitational
Feb 7, 2013 6:22:32 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 7, 2013 6:22:32 GMT -5
December 2011
I can’t turn up my television set much more without being considered rude; the shouts coming from next door are beginning to drown out the sounds of gunfire coming from the game I’m playing, the grenades exploding in the near vicinity are little match for the ferocity of the sounds coming from next door. Even the sounds of twelve year olds calling me a camping bastard during the intervals and telling me what they did to my Mom last night, they’re all drowned out by him.
He came around about half an hour ago reeking of a bar; the stench of stale smoke and cheap vodka clung to him, pungent enough to even penetrate my door. At first I had assumed it was a booty call; it being past midnight on a Saturday night, but I was wrong. That brute of a man just started banging on the door as soon as he made sure he had the right number, hollering open this f#####g door until she eventually did so; bleary eyed and clearly recently risen from her slumber, Elsie still managed to look like a vision of beauty.
My infatuation with Elsie has grown in the recent weeks, ever since she kissed me on the cheek after her friends’ birthday party. My thoughts were gradually turning to her more often than not; the image of her smiling face floating around in my mind made me smile, it made me happy. In an effort to see her more often, I’ve taken to having breakfast down at the Boulevard Diner where she works, secretly hoping she doesn’t find it creepy or disconcerting. She didn’t seem to. And there was one day last week when we went to the zoo together because we were both bored and at a loose end. That was a rather pleasant day too.
Now, however, her brute of a boyfriend has returned drunkenly to her apartment and is shouting at her, cursing her out for being a frigid bitch. I can’t hear Elsie’s retorts, the walls and doors are thick enough in this building to allow for a modicum of privacy when having conversations, just not when you’re racing like a madman. I exit out my game and stand just inside my doorway, helplessly lost before I even begin my Quixotic attempt at chivalry. He’s got a good three inches in height over me and probably twenty or thirty pounds, all of which is muscle from the looks of him. Muster up that courage, Dom, you can do this.
The crash of something either ceramic or glass smashing against a wall or the floor sounds out from the neighbouring apartment as I swing my door open and march across the hall, pushing open Elsie’s unlocked door as both of them, Elsie and her boyfriend look in my direction. The thrill of actually being in her apartment soon wears off as he lurches towards me and says, the f### do you want?
Elsie is shaking her head at me; I see the tears forming in her eyes even if she’s doing her best to hold them back; she’s putting on a brave front. Her boyfriend takes another step towards me, towering over me by maybe more than the three inches I originally thought. His biceps appear to be the size of tree trunks and his chest looks like it might be chiselled out of stone underneath that t-shirt. He grunts at me as I respond, I want you to leave Elsie alone and he laughs.
It might be the alcohol slowing him down but he throws a lazy punch; a blind man could have spotted that coming from a mile away; I dodge it easily as the brute staggers and falls to the floor. Was that me, or did Elsie just breathe a sigh of relief? Her boyfriend gets back to his feet, stumbling as he does so, taking far too long to do a simple task. He shakes his head to clear the cobwebs, as if it’ll do any good, switching to a southpaw fighting stance as, acting out of a chivalrous sense of pride, I put up my fists as well.
Brian, stop! I hear Elsie shout, turning my head to see what she’s doing; just then, out of nowhere, the bastard blindside me, knocking me flat on my ass with a reasonably hard left hook. Elsie scrambles towards me, putting herself between the two of us as Brian stops dead in his tracks. My head is spinning but I imagine he has an incredulous look on his face. The annoyance of seeing his girlfriend protecting someone else must be too much for him, because with a simple F### this s### he walks towards the door. He struggles at first, failing to grip the door knob, before he finally does so and leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him on the way out.
I start to gather my senses, wincing slightly at the pain in my right cheek as I manage to open my eyes and focus; Elsie is above me, offering up a pack of frozen peas. Her tears have all but disappeared, a wan little smile on her face as I take the bag from her; without her usual make-up on, the lack of mascara and eye-shadow, she looks even more beautiful than I thought possible. And I know that smile is for me and only me. The reward for my chivalry.
That was very stupid of you, Dom she says before kissing me on the cheek. But very brave. Thank you… And with those two simple words, that single conciliatory gesture, I know that I’ve got my foot in the door now. I may yet be able to get the girl of my dreams.
Tuesday night/Wednesday morning
The scene opens with me sitting Indian style, my arms folded on my lap, on top of the rusted old dumpster in the alley behind the Boulevard Diner. The street lights above and behind me illuminate the area well, as does the security light the diner has installed above their fire exit.
A car, a dark grey Taurus, trundles past the alley opening twenty yards to my right as I finish my cigarette (there goes my resolution for this year) and toss the butt to the ground below. It lands with a quiet splash, floating in one of the many puddles as I run one hand through my hair and begin to speak. “Let me preface this by saying” I say as I try to delay having to deliver this promo. “I can respect what female wrestlers are capable of inside that squared circle. It’s something that was instilled in me when I was young–er, up north of the border when I was plying my trade in Ontario.”
The memories of those days leaves a bitter taste in my mouth causing me to scowl slightly before continuing. “It’s why, at March of War, when I look across the ring at Summer and Heather Halliwell, I get chills…” and they’re multiplying “…up and down my spine. Goosebumps that run down the length of my arms; the excitement that bubbles up inside of me at the prospect of facing you two is a thrill I haven’t experienced in quite some time.”
A whimsical smile appears on my face as I swing my legs down over the edge of the dumpster. “I’m almost ashamed to admit this, but some of the toughest opponents I’ve ever faced have been women. They’re the opponents that have pushed me, taken me to my limits. The likes of Tara Michaels-Davidson and Hannah Rickman, they’re the giants that some women want to stand on the shoulders of. To tread the path that’s been paved for them and claim they’re the innovators, the trailblazers, the queens...” I pause momentarily, a disgusted look crosses my face as I look away to my left. “When we all know they’re nothing, they’re nobodies. Or worse…”
I chuckle to myself as I move my arms from my lap to my side; my leather jackets falls open at the front revealing my new Rockin’ Riley t-shirt, hopefully a jibe that Heather won’t take to heart. Hopefully. My nervous habit flares up again, I run one hand through my hair, trying to hold back the crooked smile on my face. “Thrown before me I have the likes of Taryn Graves and Michael Alexander–” his name is mentioned with a hint of revulsion in my voice, “–and Bryan Axel. The young or upcoming stars, the what-they-lack-in-experience-they-make-up-for-in-dedication-or-natural-talent types.”
“F### them!” I bark. “I want a challenge. I want a real competitor standing across that ring from me, someone who has held a promotion up on their shoulders like Atlas held the celestial sphere! What pride is there–what glory could I derive from beating somebody who just wants experience? Am I supposed to get some joy from driving some pretty boy wannabe head first into the mat, over and over, time after time until he ain’t pretty no more?” A shake of the head tells the audience that no, I am not. “And what satisfaction am I supposed to get from beating an executive assistant? If I earn a title shot by beating people like that, then I might as well have had my name drawn from a hat! A spin of a wheel to pick a random challenger…”
“No, to earn that title shot, to get any sense of accomplishment out of this I need Summer and Heather in that ring with me, across from me, against me. You see, I can travel the length and breadth of this country fighting nobodies, the kids trying to make a name for themselves and I’d get nothing out of it but some frequent flyer miles…” which would be more true if flying didn’t frighten the bejesus out of me. Three cheers for anti-anxiety medication. “I need to face the woman who conquered Rocky Mountain Pro, who took those Femme Fatales by storm and made her name in this sport. That is an opponent who I can gain a measure of joy from, who I can be proud of beating inside that squared circle.”
I settle down slightly as my tone becomes relaxed, calm even. “I know you’re good, Summer. There’s a handful of RMP alumni that made FRONTIER Grappling Arts their home, just like they seemingly made telling me how talented you were – or are – their sole reason to exist. Your name is spoken in revered tones, you’re praised by the people, put up on a damn pedestal…” the right corner of my top lip turns up in disgust. “All the better to knock you down from, I say.”
“But I’ll relish the challenge!” I state bluntly. “An opponent like you, someone with your skill, your legacy, your experience, that’s where the satisfaction lays. Facing Carlos Cobelli you barely even broke a sweat did you? You got no joy from that, no pride. But, I promise, you’ll have to work a hell of a lot harder if you want any chance of walking out of this match with that title shot. You’ll have to dig deeper, find energy you never knew you had, to claw and scratch and fight every inch of the way…” I smirk. “And get hella lucky!”
Another chuckle before I refocus, staring at the camera as I continue, “It will be you, Summer, you and Heather that make my inevitable victory that much sweeter.” I say, biting my bottom lip after the last word. “It’s you two who will grant me that sense of accomplishment, that will make my being here in Exodus Pro worth it. You two will give me the momentum I need to go on and face Fiona Rourke and to take that International title from her. To add it to my collection…” I reference my recent victory in the UWL and the tag team title I now possess. My first title belt in nearly two years. “And for that I’ll thank you in advance. Thank you, Summer, for being as good as you are, for being a worthy competitor. And thank you for giving me a challenge…”
I pause briefly; my final opponent is a tricky subject after recent events. A woman who managed to melt my icy heart with her warm Texan charm. Someone, whom even the thought of, makes me smile. And laugh. And dance the night away in Orlando. I have tried my hardest to stay away from relationships with fellow professional wrestlers since I completely f####d up what I had with Constance Monroe a couple of years ago. If I never have to relive the awkwardness that followed, the sticky situations I found myself in when our friends, our stable mates had to choose between us – although that might just be because they didn’t choose me. But I never had to face Constance, I never had to go up against the woman I was dating, if this is even dating … I’d hate to label this prematurely and end up an Internet joke like Michael Alexander. I mean, there’s a thirteen year age gap between us. Surely it’s time together, it’s companionship, friendship. And a Valentine’s Day together. And then there’s the guilty feeling festering in the deepest recesses of my being about my plans to hang out with Riley. Oh s###, I’m already sabotaging myself aren’t I?
“Heather,” I say softly after what seemed like all too long of a pause. “What can I say about you?” without sounding like Bryan Axel gushing about Summer “There are no disparaging remarks I wish to levy in your direction, no idle threats I want to make.” A shrug of the shoulders as I look wistfully away to one side. “I’ll just speak the truth – not that I don’t usually. There is, in all likelihood, a good chance that we might just be the last two left standing at March of War…” Another shrug as I laugh playfully to myself, interrupting my train of thought. “Graves doesn’t compare to either of us, Alexander can’t hold a torch to me or you. Axel won’t know what hit him before I have the chance to knock him the f### out ... Then there’s Summer. But I want you to know, Heather, if that happens, if you and I are left as the last two…” I pause, looking down quickly before I smile at the camera. “I’m not holding back, nor do I expect you to do so. You and I both came here to Exodus Pro and entered this #TwitterInvitational to earn that shot at the International Championship. I like you, I respect you and I’m gonna go über cliché when I say … this is just business.” And with that I offer up a wink to the camera as feed ends.
As the cameraman walks away, probably hating me and these late night promos I do, I reach into my pants pocket and pull out my cell phone. Is it totally weird if I called her right now? Hmm…
I can’t turn up my television set much more without being considered rude; the shouts coming from next door are beginning to drown out the sounds of gunfire coming from the game I’m playing, the grenades exploding in the near vicinity are little match for the ferocity of the sounds coming from next door. Even the sounds of twelve year olds calling me a camping bastard during the intervals and telling me what they did to my Mom last night, they’re all drowned out by him.
He came around about half an hour ago reeking of a bar; the stench of stale smoke and cheap vodka clung to him, pungent enough to even penetrate my door. At first I had assumed it was a booty call; it being past midnight on a Saturday night, but I was wrong. That brute of a man just started banging on the door as soon as he made sure he had the right number, hollering open this f#####g door until she eventually did so; bleary eyed and clearly recently risen from her slumber, Elsie still managed to look like a vision of beauty.
My infatuation with Elsie has grown in the recent weeks, ever since she kissed me on the cheek after her friends’ birthday party. My thoughts were gradually turning to her more often than not; the image of her smiling face floating around in my mind made me smile, it made me happy. In an effort to see her more often, I’ve taken to having breakfast down at the Boulevard Diner where she works, secretly hoping she doesn’t find it creepy or disconcerting. She didn’t seem to. And there was one day last week when we went to the zoo together because we were both bored and at a loose end. That was a rather pleasant day too.
Now, however, her brute of a boyfriend has returned drunkenly to her apartment and is shouting at her, cursing her out for being a frigid bitch. I can’t hear Elsie’s retorts, the walls and doors are thick enough in this building to allow for a modicum of privacy when having conversations, just not when you’re racing like a madman. I exit out my game and stand just inside my doorway, helplessly lost before I even begin my Quixotic attempt at chivalry. He’s got a good three inches in height over me and probably twenty or thirty pounds, all of which is muscle from the looks of him. Muster up that courage, Dom, you can do this.
The crash of something either ceramic or glass smashing against a wall or the floor sounds out from the neighbouring apartment as I swing my door open and march across the hall, pushing open Elsie’s unlocked door as both of them, Elsie and her boyfriend look in my direction. The thrill of actually being in her apartment soon wears off as he lurches towards me and says, the f### do you want?
Elsie is shaking her head at me; I see the tears forming in her eyes even if she’s doing her best to hold them back; she’s putting on a brave front. Her boyfriend takes another step towards me, towering over me by maybe more than the three inches I originally thought. His biceps appear to be the size of tree trunks and his chest looks like it might be chiselled out of stone underneath that t-shirt. He grunts at me as I respond, I want you to leave Elsie alone and he laughs.
It might be the alcohol slowing him down but he throws a lazy punch; a blind man could have spotted that coming from a mile away; I dodge it easily as the brute staggers and falls to the floor. Was that me, or did Elsie just breathe a sigh of relief? Her boyfriend gets back to his feet, stumbling as he does so, taking far too long to do a simple task. He shakes his head to clear the cobwebs, as if it’ll do any good, switching to a southpaw fighting stance as, acting out of a chivalrous sense of pride, I put up my fists as well.
Brian, stop! I hear Elsie shout, turning my head to see what she’s doing; just then, out of nowhere, the bastard blindside me, knocking me flat on my ass with a reasonably hard left hook. Elsie scrambles towards me, putting herself between the two of us as Brian stops dead in his tracks. My head is spinning but I imagine he has an incredulous look on his face. The annoyance of seeing his girlfriend protecting someone else must be too much for him, because with a simple F### this s### he walks towards the door. He struggles at first, failing to grip the door knob, before he finally does so and leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him on the way out.
I start to gather my senses, wincing slightly at the pain in my right cheek as I manage to open my eyes and focus; Elsie is above me, offering up a pack of frozen peas. Her tears have all but disappeared, a wan little smile on her face as I take the bag from her; without her usual make-up on, the lack of mascara and eye-shadow, she looks even more beautiful than I thought possible. And I know that smile is for me and only me. The reward for my chivalry.
That was very stupid of you, Dom she says before kissing me on the cheek. But very brave. Thank you… And with those two simple words, that single conciliatory gesture, I know that I’ve got my foot in the door now. I may yet be able to get the girl of my dreams.
Tuesday night/Wednesday morning
The scene opens with me sitting Indian style, my arms folded on my lap, on top of the rusted old dumpster in the alley behind the Boulevard Diner. The street lights above and behind me illuminate the area well, as does the security light the diner has installed above their fire exit.
A car, a dark grey Taurus, trundles past the alley opening twenty yards to my right as I finish my cigarette (there goes my resolution for this year) and toss the butt to the ground below. It lands with a quiet splash, floating in one of the many puddles as I run one hand through my hair and begin to speak. “Let me preface this by saying” I say as I try to delay having to deliver this promo. “I can respect what female wrestlers are capable of inside that squared circle. It’s something that was instilled in me when I was young–er, up north of the border when I was plying my trade in Ontario.”
The memories of those days leaves a bitter taste in my mouth causing me to scowl slightly before continuing. “It’s why, at March of War, when I look across the ring at Summer and Heather Halliwell, I get chills…” and they’re multiplying “…up and down my spine. Goosebumps that run down the length of my arms; the excitement that bubbles up inside of me at the prospect of facing you two is a thrill I haven’t experienced in quite some time.”
A whimsical smile appears on my face as I swing my legs down over the edge of the dumpster. “I’m almost ashamed to admit this, but some of the toughest opponents I’ve ever faced have been women. They’re the opponents that have pushed me, taken me to my limits. The likes of Tara Michaels-Davidson and Hannah Rickman, they’re the giants that some women want to stand on the shoulders of. To tread the path that’s been paved for them and claim they’re the innovators, the trailblazers, the queens...” I pause momentarily, a disgusted look crosses my face as I look away to my left. “When we all know they’re nothing, they’re nobodies. Or worse…”
I chuckle to myself as I move my arms from my lap to my side; my leather jackets falls open at the front revealing my new Rockin’ Riley t-shirt, hopefully a jibe that Heather won’t take to heart. Hopefully. My nervous habit flares up again, I run one hand through my hair, trying to hold back the crooked smile on my face. “Thrown before me I have the likes of Taryn Graves and Michael Alexander–” his name is mentioned with a hint of revulsion in my voice, “–and Bryan Axel. The young or upcoming stars, the what-they-lack-in-experience-they-make-up-for-in-dedication-or-natural-talent types.”
“F### them!” I bark. “I want a challenge. I want a real competitor standing across that ring from me, someone who has held a promotion up on their shoulders like Atlas held the celestial sphere! What pride is there–what glory could I derive from beating somebody who just wants experience? Am I supposed to get some joy from driving some pretty boy wannabe head first into the mat, over and over, time after time until he ain’t pretty no more?” A shake of the head tells the audience that no, I am not. “And what satisfaction am I supposed to get from beating an executive assistant? If I earn a title shot by beating people like that, then I might as well have had my name drawn from a hat! A spin of a wheel to pick a random challenger…”
“No, to earn that title shot, to get any sense of accomplishment out of this I need Summer and Heather in that ring with me, across from me, against me. You see, I can travel the length and breadth of this country fighting nobodies, the kids trying to make a name for themselves and I’d get nothing out of it but some frequent flyer miles…” which would be more true if flying didn’t frighten the bejesus out of me. Three cheers for anti-anxiety medication. “I need to face the woman who conquered Rocky Mountain Pro, who took those Femme Fatales by storm and made her name in this sport. That is an opponent who I can gain a measure of joy from, who I can be proud of beating inside that squared circle.”
I settle down slightly as my tone becomes relaxed, calm even. “I know you’re good, Summer. There’s a handful of RMP alumni that made FRONTIER Grappling Arts their home, just like they seemingly made telling me how talented you were – or are – their sole reason to exist. Your name is spoken in revered tones, you’re praised by the people, put up on a damn pedestal…” the right corner of my top lip turns up in disgust. “All the better to knock you down from, I say.”
“But I’ll relish the challenge!” I state bluntly. “An opponent like you, someone with your skill, your legacy, your experience, that’s where the satisfaction lays. Facing Carlos Cobelli you barely even broke a sweat did you? You got no joy from that, no pride. But, I promise, you’ll have to work a hell of a lot harder if you want any chance of walking out of this match with that title shot. You’ll have to dig deeper, find energy you never knew you had, to claw and scratch and fight every inch of the way…” I smirk. “And get hella lucky!”
Another chuckle before I refocus, staring at the camera as I continue, “It will be you, Summer, you and Heather that make my inevitable victory that much sweeter.” I say, biting my bottom lip after the last word. “It’s you two who will grant me that sense of accomplishment, that will make my being here in Exodus Pro worth it. You two will give me the momentum I need to go on and face Fiona Rourke and to take that International title from her. To add it to my collection…” I reference my recent victory in the UWL and the tag team title I now possess. My first title belt in nearly two years. “And for that I’ll thank you in advance. Thank you, Summer, for being as good as you are, for being a worthy competitor. And thank you for giving me a challenge…”
I pause briefly; my final opponent is a tricky subject after recent events. A woman who managed to melt my icy heart with her warm Texan charm. Someone, whom even the thought of, makes me smile. And laugh. And dance the night away in Orlando. I have tried my hardest to stay away from relationships with fellow professional wrestlers since I completely f####d up what I had with Constance Monroe a couple of years ago. If I never have to relive the awkwardness that followed, the sticky situations I found myself in when our friends, our stable mates had to choose between us – although that might just be because they didn’t choose me. But I never had to face Constance, I never had to go up against the woman I was dating, if this is even dating … I’d hate to label this prematurely and end up an Internet joke like Michael Alexander. I mean, there’s a thirteen year age gap between us. Surely it’s time together, it’s companionship, friendship. And a Valentine’s Day together. And then there’s the guilty feeling festering in the deepest recesses of my being about my plans to hang out with Riley. Oh s###, I’m already sabotaging myself aren’t I?
“Heather,” I say softly after what seemed like all too long of a pause. “What can I say about you?” without sounding like Bryan Axel gushing about Summer “There are no disparaging remarks I wish to levy in your direction, no idle threats I want to make.” A shrug of the shoulders as I look wistfully away to one side. “I’ll just speak the truth – not that I don’t usually. There is, in all likelihood, a good chance that we might just be the last two left standing at March of War…” Another shrug as I laugh playfully to myself, interrupting my train of thought. “Graves doesn’t compare to either of us, Alexander can’t hold a torch to me or you. Axel won’t know what hit him before I have the chance to knock him the f### out ... Then there’s Summer. But I want you to know, Heather, if that happens, if you and I are left as the last two…” I pause, looking down quickly before I smile at the camera. “I’m not holding back, nor do I expect you to do so. You and I both came here to Exodus Pro and entered this #TwitterInvitational to earn that shot at the International Championship. I like you, I respect you and I’m gonna go über cliché when I say … this is just business.” And with that I offer up a wink to the camera as feed ends.
As the cameraman walks away, probably hating me and these late night promos I do, I reach into my pants pocket and pull out my cell phone. Is it totally weird if I called her right now? Hmm…