S01E11
Mar 8, 2013 12:29:07 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2013 12:29:07 GMT -5
“Sometimes,” I say softly to the camera “I wonder why I’m do what I’ve done. Why I say the things I’ve said, why I fight the matches I’ve fought. It’s difficult to find the rhyme and reason behind everything I do. And I’m not a gambling man, I won’t claim to know when to hold and when to fold,” an uncertain look crosses my face, “I am, however, willing to bet that when I wake up on Monday morning - when I open my eyes and take in the sights and sounds of San Diego once more - at that time I will be able to tell anyone and everyone exactly why I fought the previous evening...”
It’s early morning in Philadelphia and I’ve decided to go for a walk. The sun is just rising to the East; it’s trying vainly to penetrate the thin dusting of snow that is falling today and failing miserably at the task. All the more reason for me to pile on the extra layers; my face is all you can see in this shot, my stubbled jaw and sunken eyes, hidden beneath the Red Sox baseball cap and black hooded top. Seeing as how I have to hold the camera myself, I can’t quite capture the body shot.
“It could be said I’m doing this because as the Exodus Pro International Champion, I have a duty and an obligation to be at their events, to show my face, compete against their roster and boost their ratings with my undeniable star power!” I chuckle at the last few words; a top draw in professional wrestling I am not. “But then again, I’m not a recognised Exodus Pro International Champion. Am I?”
“The UWL World Tag Team title this is not. My name isn’t in the Exodus Pro books, it hasn’t gone down in the annals of history; nobody will say that the ‘Tenacious Little Bastard’ Dom Harter is the Exodus Pro International Champion!” I pause briefly, allowing myself time to take a deep breath through my nose. “Yet. You see, this belt–” I point the camera at the left shoulder; the glimmering golden fascia of the title belt is still visible under the mild dusting of snow. “–this isn’t why I’m fighting. This is just a damn trinket I must carry with me for the time being. A burden I must bear. A cross I must carry as I walk to the inevitable showdown that Collins is busy preparing for me.”
“A chump!” I spit the word with more than a hint of revulsion. “That’s what Rourke called me for my actions. That’s what Collins more-or-less told me I was because I took what is rightfully mine. I’m not about to take that laying down. No, no, not me. But their time will come. One day, sooner or later, I will get to make them regret saying those mean, horrible things about me. I’ll get the chance to make them wish they’d not been such butthurt little losers, denying me my rights because they thought I was disrespectful to them…but not now.”
I shake my head in disappointment; the digs Collins made about me being egotistical and disrespectful for my actions on E-Pro #5 cut a little close to the bone, especially considering what he said about my main promotion, Frontier Grappling Arts. And, admittedly, his innocent act on Twitter had me raging harder than I should have.
After five seconds of scowling I try to compose myself once more, resuming the confident aura and sly grin I’ve been trying to maintain.
“Then, there are plenty of people, you know the types, Exodus Pro wrestlers who would be jumping at the bit to take my place in this tag match.” The jab had to be taken at Jon Collins. “To be the one to strike a blow at LEGION. To be the one to get to say they fought bravely against and defeated Katherine Reynolds and Magnus Gunner.”
“Not me.” I say nonchalantly, my nose creasing up as I do so. “The success or failure of LEGION is of little importance to me in the grand scheme of things. Collins can rally the troops. He can call on Rourke, Park, Lenton, V, Cannon, the Harmonious Revolution, the Knights of Anarchy and anyone else and they will stand by his side and they will fight his fight. But, somehow, it’s me that got picked…”
“It’s me that has to get his hands dirty, to dig down and put in the hard work to defeat these followers.” I chuckle again. “I don’t say that derisively, mind you. I’m not judging you for placing your trust in someone, for taking a leap of faith and believing that another being has the answer. In this world there are leaders and there are followers, various shades and qualities but it boils down to it. Where I come from, I’m considered a follower too. The difference between us, Gunner and Reynolds, is the quality of our respective leaders. You see, my leader is twice the man Iwakuma is. Double the charisma, twice the in-ring ability and he has the self-belief in himself, the trust in me, that we don’t need a massive army to do our bidding.”
“You can wreck havoc, create anarchy and leave a trail of destruction in your path…” I bark, “…but when you start to play the numbers game like LEGION does, then I begin to think you reek of cowardice. Your bellies are turning a little bit yellow at that point. Iwakuma, Ulysses, Gunner, Reynolds, Chase, Gouken, Haroshi, Ichi.” I roll my eyes and sigh; remembering all those names was quite a task in itself. “Compare that to Drake and Harter.”
The smirk on my face widens as I chuckle once again.
“I thought as much. I mean, you can defeat the likes of Jackson and V, they were impressive victories and I’m sure you take pride in those, Gunner. They give you that little glowing sensation inside, the one you’ll deny needing, no doubt. And you, Reynolds, your tenacity is to be admired. It’s a trait we share, one which I pride myself on as well. This never say die attitude I carry around with me, this refusal to quit, they were drilled into me at a young age. They were instilled in me because my leaders knew I’d need them to succeed … So my question to you both is this … why do you need LEGION?”
“Why can’t you take Exodus Pro by the scruff of the neck yourselves and drag it kicking and screaming down the street? Why can’t you make Exodus Pro your own personal bitch without the numerical advantage?” There’s the sense of derision I was lacking earlier. “Is it because you’re nothing more than a scourge. A plague. A pox on the ass of professional wrestling! You two are the scum sucking bottom dwellers that people like Iwakuma needs, the blind and the disillusioned souls seeking relevance. The weak and the feeble minded tools that can’t accomplish anything on their own…”
“But my own personal disliking of you two isn’t the reason I’ll be stepping into that ring on Sunday evening.” I say calmly, shaking my head as I do so. “It’s not the belt I carry, it’s not the blow I can deal to LEGION, so why am I taking that redeye out of Ontario to drag my ass to California? Why am I going out of my way, doing somebody else’s dirty work?”
One corner of my lips rises as I smirk for the camera. “Think of me what you will, but I’m doing this for the honour of another. Because this war, this cause means something to her and, what can I say, I’m a follower. I’m doing this so when I wake up on Monday morning and I can see that smiling face, knowing that I fought by her side, for her honour, that you damn dirty proles, is something worth fighting for!”
“That is the reason this Sunday you will be stepping into the ring with both Heather Halliwell and ‘The Tenacious Little Bastard’ Dom Harter and that is the reason why I get the joy of kicking your yellow bellies from pillar to post.” I chuckle once last time for the camera before turning it off. The sun is over the horizon by now so I should be getting home to see the smiling face I cherish so much.
Last week, off camera
I told Heather I was travelling up to Boston for a family reunion, which wasn’t technically a lie. There is a get together, it’s just not going to take the four days I told her it would. One day a year of these people is more than enough for me; I’m like a camel filling its hump, a few hours around my aunts and uncles, having my grandparents ask me the same questions each and every time they see me - what am I doing with myself? Have I met a nice girl yet? Do I think we’ll settle down? When will they have great-grandchildren? – that’s enough to last me for twelve months before I even dare to contemplate missing their company.
The other days are just for me; not that I’m trying to get away from Heather and her friends. Far from it. It’s just, a few weeks ago I found out that an old face from my past has resurfaced; the dad of one of my ex-girlfriends, a man who hates me with every fibre of his being. And, trust me, the feeling is mutual. Arthur Webster is someone upon whom I wish the greatest harm imaginable. And now, it would seem, he is back to his old tricks. And he’s sloppy.
I do not, however, know where to find Arthur. He’s not listed - as I expected him not to be - and I don’t have the knowledge or ability to track him via unconventional means. The only clue I do have is the private investigator whom he hired, the one who approached my acquaintance that night in the diner to try and uncover some clues about me and my past.
Gerard McDonough, he’s the reason why I’ve come to Boston, why I’m away from my girlfriend, from the new life I’ve made for myself. He and Arthur, they’re both the reason why I’ve spent countless nights tossing and turning, sleeplessly roaming the streets, watching late night television and trying to quash the flashbacks of my precious Jonquil. Trying to remove the sight of my raven-haired beauty whenever I close my eyes. Doing what I can so I don’t hear her words whenever I find myself in a moment of silence; we can be together one day, Dom… she taunts me in my head.
Despite what some people may believe, I loved Elsie with all my heart. She helped to shape me into the man I am today; at the start of our relationship I was little more than a nervous boy in a man’s body, unsure of my abilities, oblivious to my inner-self and unaware of what I ultimately could achieve if I put my mind to it. Her friends said I ended up as more of a project to distract her rather than a boyfriend, but I didn’t pay them any mind at the time, nor do I now. We benefitted each other, Elsie and I. She helped me become who I am and, in return, I helped her escape who she was. Who she no longer wished to be. However, circumstances changed, as they always do, and the good times couldn’t continue. There was only so long we could spend our evenings in each other arms, a short window of time in which we coule while away our days opening our hearts to one another. A limited time for which she could love me.
I feel a tear forming in the corner of my eye, I hurriedly wipe it away; thinking about Elsie always brings about the same reaction, no matter how much time passes. The despondency and melancholy brought to the surface by the bitter memories of how it ended, the aftermath of the worst decision I ever made. The destruction of my life brought about by one man and his accusations.
Gerard McDonough finally appears; his grey Taurus pulling into his designated parking space. A moment passes before the red-haired investigator steps out from the vehicle, his weathered face wearing an unimpressed expression. I recognise the dark cloud hanging over his head, it’s the same one that has constantly drifted above me this last year. The effects of meeting Arthur Webster. I start the engine of my rental car as I watch Gerard storm into his office building; one day I’ll build up the nerve to approach him, but that day isn’t today. And I’ll be damned if this isn’t going to put me in a bad mood for the foreseeable future.
It’s early morning in Philadelphia and I’ve decided to go for a walk. The sun is just rising to the East; it’s trying vainly to penetrate the thin dusting of snow that is falling today and failing miserably at the task. All the more reason for me to pile on the extra layers; my face is all you can see in this shot, my stubbled jaw and sunken eyes, hidden beneath the Red Sox baseball cap and black hooded top. Seeing as how I have to hold the camera myself, I can’t quite capture the body shot.
“It could be said I’m doing this because as the Exodus Pro International Champion, I have a duty and an obligation to be at their events, to show my face, compete against their roster and boost their ratings with my undeniable star power!” I chuckle at the last few words; a top draw in professional wrestling I am not. “But then again, I’m not a recognised Exodus Pro International Champion. Am I?”
“The UWL World Tag Team title this is not. My name isn’t in the Exodus Pro books, it hasn’t gone down in the annals of history; nobody will say that the ‘Tenacious Little Bastard’ Dom Harter is the Exodus Pro International Champion!” I pause briefly, allowing myself time to take a deep breath through my nose. “Yet. You see, this belt–” I point the camera at the left shoulder; the glimmering golden fascia of the title belt is still visible under the mild dusting of snow. “–this isn’t why I’m fighting. This is just a damn trinket I must carry with me for the time being. A burden I must bear. A cross I must carry as I walk to the inevitable showdown that Collins is busy preparing for me.”
“A chump!” I spit the word with more than a hint of revulsion. “That’s what Rourke called me for my actions. That’s what Collins more-or-less told me I was because I took what is rightfully mine. I’m not about to take that laying down. No, no, not me. But their time will come. One day, sooner or later, I will get to make them regret saying those mean, horrible things about me. I’ll get the chance to make them wish they’d not been such butthurt little losers, denying me my rights because they thought I was disrespectful to them…but not now.”
I shake my head in disappointment; the digs Collins made about me being egotistical and disrespectful for my actions on E-Pro #5 cut a little close to the bone, especially considering what he said about my main promotion, Frontier Grappling Arts. And, admittedly, his innocent act on Twitter had me raging harder than I should have.
After five seconds of scowling I try to compose myself once more, resuming the confident aura and sly grin I’ve been trying to maintain.
“Then, there are plenty of people, you know the types, Exodus Pro wrestlers who would be jumping at the bit to take my place in this tag match.” The jab had to be taken at Jon Collins. “To be the one to strike a blow at LEGION. To be the one to get to say they fought bravely against and defeated Katherine Reynolds and Magnus Gunner.”
“Not me.” I say nonchalantly, my nose creasing up as I do so. “The success or failure of LEGION is of little importance to me in the grand scheme of things. Collins can rally the troops. He can call on Rourke, Park, Lenton, V, Cannon, the Harmonious Revolution, the Knights of Anarchy and anyone else and they will stand by his side and they will fight his fight. But, somehow, it’s me that got picked…”
“It’s me that has to get his hands dirty, to dig down and put in the hard work to defeat these followers.” I chuckle again. “I don’t say that derisively, mind you. I’m not judging you for placing your trust in someone, for taking a leap of faith and believing that another being has the answer. In this world there are leaders and there are followers, various shades and qualities but it boils down to it. Where I come from, I’m considered a follower too. The difference between us, Gunner and Reynolds, is the quality of our respective leaders. You see, my leader is twice the man Iwakuma is. Double the charisma, twice the in-ring ability and he has the self-belief in himself, the trust in me, that we don’t need a massive army to do our bidding.”
“You can wreck havoc, create anarchy and leave a trail of destruction in your path…” I bark, “…but when you start to play the numbers game like LEGION does, then I begin to think you reek of cowardice. Your bellies are turning a little bit yellow at that point. Iwakuma, Ulysses, Gunner, Reynolds, Chase, Gouken, Haroshi, Ichi.” I roll my eyes and sigh; remembering all those names was quite a task in itself. “Compare that to Drake and Harter.”
The smirk on my face widens as I chuckle once again.
“I thought as much. I mean, you can defeat the likes of Jackson and V, they were impressive victories and I’m sure you take pride in those, Gunner. They give you that little glowing sensation inside, the one you’ll deny needing, no doubt. And you, Reynolds, your tenacity is to be admired. It’s a trait we share, one which I pride myself on as well. This never say die attitude I carry around with me, this refusal to quit, they were drilled into me at a young age. They were instilled in me because my leaders knew I’d need them to succeed … So my question to you both is this … why do you need LEGION?”
“Why can’t you take Exodus Pro by the scruff of the neck yourselves and drag it kicking and screaming down the street? Why can’t you make Exodus Pro your own personal bitch without the numerical advantage?” There’s the sense of derision I was lacking earlier. “Is it because you’re nothing more than a scourge. A plague. A pox on the ass of professional wrestling! You two are the scum sucking bottom dwellers that people like Iwakuma needs, the blind and the disillusioned souls seeking relevance. The weak and the feeble minded tools that can’t accomplish anything on their own…”
“But my own personal disliking of you two isn’t the reason I’ll be stepping into that ring on Sunday evening.” I say calmly, shaking my head as I do so. “It’s not the belt I carry, it’s not the blow I can deal to LEGION, so why am I taking that redeye out of Ontario to drag my ass to California? Why am I going out of my way, doing somebody else’s dirty work?”
One corner of my lips rises as I smirk for the camera. “Think of me what you will, but I’m doing this for the honour of another. Because this war, this cause means something to her and, what can I say, I’m a follower. I’m doing this so when I wake up on Monday morning and I can see that smiling face, knowing that I fought by her side, for her honour, that you damn dirty proles, is something worth fighting for!”
“That is the reason this Sunday you will be stepping into the ring with both Heather Halliwell and ‘The Tenacious Little Bastard’ Dom Harter and that is the reason why I get the joy of kicking your yellow bellies from pillar to post.” I chuckle once last time for the camera before turning it off. The sun is over the horizon by now so I should be getting home to see the smiling face I cherish so much.
Last week, off camera
I told Heather I was travelling up to Boston for a family reunion, which wasn’t technically a lie. There is a get together, it’s just not going to take the four days I told her it would. One day a year of these people is more than enough for me; I’m like a camel filling its hump, a few hours around my aunts and uncles, having my grandparents ask me the same questions each and every time they see me - what am I doing with myself? Have I met a nice girl yet? Do I think we’ll settle down? When will they have great-grandchildren? – that’s enough to last me for twelve months before I even dare to contemplate missing their company.
The other days are just for me; not that I’m trying to get away from Heather and her friends. Far from it. It’s just, a few weeks ago I found out that an old face from my past has resurfaced; the dad of one of my ex-girlfriends, a man who hates me with every fibre of his being. And, trust me, the feeling is mutual. Arthur Webster is someone upon whom I wish the greatest harm imaginable. And now, it would seem, he is back to his old tricks. And he’s sloppy.
I do not, however, know where to find Arthur. He’s not listed - as I expected him not to be - and I don’t have the knowledge or ability to track him via unconventional means. The only clue I do have is the private investigator whom he hired, the one who approached my acquaintance that night in the diner to try and uncover some clues about me and my past.
Gerard McDonough, he’s the reason why I’ve come to Boston, why I’m away from my girlfriend, from the new life I’ve made for myself. He and Arthur, they’re both the reason why I’ve spent countless nights tossing and turning, sleeplessly roaming the streets, watching late night television and trying to quash the flashbacks of my precious Jonquil. Trying to remove the sight of my raven-haired beauty whenever I close my eyes. Doing what I can so I don’t hear her words whenever I find myself in a moment of silence; we can be together one day, Dom… she taunts me in my head.
Despite what some people may believe, I loved Elsie with all my heart. She helped to shape me into the man I am today; at the start of our relationship I was little more than a nervous boy in a man’s body, unsure of my abilities, oblivious to my inner-self and unaware of what I ultimately could achieve if I put my mind to it. Her friends said I ended up as more of a project to distract her rather than a boyfriend, but I didn’t pay them any mind at the time, nor do I now. We benefitted each other, Elsie and I. She helped me become who I am and, in return, I helped her escape who she was. Who she no longer wished to be. However, circumstances changed, as they always do, and the good times couldn’t continue. There was only so long we could spend our evenings in each other arms, a short window of time in which we coule while away our days opening our hearts to one another. A limited time for which she could love me.
I feel a tear forming in the corner of my eye, I hurriedly wipe it away; thinking about Elsie always brings about the same reaction, no matter how much time passes. The despondency and melancholy brought to the surface by the bitter memories of how it ended, the aftermath of the worst decision I ever made. The destruction of my life brought about by one man and his accusations.
Gerard McDonough finally appears; his grey Taurus pulling into his designated parking space. A moment passes before the red-haired investigator steps out from the vehicle, his weathered face wearing an unimpressed expression. I recognise the dark cloud hanging over his head, it’s the same one that has constantly drifted above me this last year. The effects of meeting Arthur Webster. I start the engine of my rental car as I watch Gerard storm into his office building; one day I’ll build up the nerve to approach him, but that day isn’t today. And I’ll be damned if this isn’t going to put me in a bad mood for the foreseeable future.