Me! (Evan Envi vs Rick Young)
Jul 21, 2016 19:48:19 GMT -5
Post by The Mason on Jul 21, 2016 19:48:19 GMT -5
July 21, 2016
Green Valley, AZ
1:01 A.M.
“Finally.”
Evan Envi pushed open the door of the Green Valley, Arizona hotel suite. The rush of cold air welcomed him and he stopped just a foot past the doorway, dropping his bags on either side of him, extending his arms to embrace the man-made breeze. Humming gently under her breath, Sadie Jacks-- better known to most, if at all, as Sadie San Francisco-- moved past him, shrugging a gym bag and duffel bag to the floor in front of the sofa.
“Any particular reason you wanted to book a suite thirty miles out, instead of right there?” Sadie asked.
“Scenery, hot-dangit!” Evan responded, matter-of-factly. “And a wise man told me, you never wanna sleep in the same town you’re fighting in. Not if you can avoid it.” He finally made his way into the suite, peering into every corner, pushing open the door to the bedroom and the bathroom before pointedly adding, “because wrestling fans are crazy. And they stank.”
“Ah. Feeling a little self-important, aren’t we?” Sadie muttered, sinking down onto the sofa.
Evan shook his head, rejoining her in the living room with a calm expression written across his face. “We’re rebuilding the foundation for hope here, woman. We are important. Got that recognition. We’re makin’ that Wal Mart Supercenter money! We’re inspiring crippled war vets to rise up out of their wheelchairs and stuff! Shoot, Sadie, tell me about self-importance.”
“Right.”
She spared a glance his way, noting the look of annoyance that he wore as he performed his routine-- leaning into the bathroom, looking into the suite’s kitchen, inspecting it as if he’d storm out of the room if it didn’t meet his standards. As he’d always done in her presence though, he mumbled something nearly-inaudible and took a seat next to her on the sofa, eyes planted on the blank television screen ahead of them.
“Ever heard of this guy?” Evan asked.
“Who? Young?”
“Obviously, Young.”
Sadie shook her head a bit. “I know he’s been around. I know he’s not the first one in his family to do it. Other than that… guy might as well be invisible on my radar.” With an air of sarcasm and a smirk, she added, “I’m afraid I don’t have the intel on this one, Chief.”
“Convenient,” Evan grumbled, closing his eyes, sinking back into the sofa. “Guy’s been at it for sixteen years or something-- and we’ve got nothing. He’s ghost. That’s Harrison luck.”
Sadie shrugged. “So he’s got years on you and he’s still a mystery. That’s not exciting for you at all?”
“For me?” Evan laughed aloud, bitterly, as if the statement itself was ridiculous. “A surprise in this business is fun for everybody except the first dude in the ring. I don’t like being surprised. I don’t like being caught off-guard.” He caught himself as his voice raised, clearing his throat before going on. “First night out. I’d like for it to go smooth, y’know?”
Sadie laughed a little, lying back on the couch, head across the armrest, legs curled up in front of her. She didn’t bother to look ahead at Evan as she replied. “You act like you’re the narrator of some huge all-encompassing story. You act like it’s not Rick Young’s FGA debut too.” She laughed again, this one close-lipped and suppressed… or suppressed best she could. “Don’t be such a diva, Evan. Just wrestle him. Beat him. Move on. You have bigger things to worry about, I’m sure.”
“Says the feeble-minded,” he said.
“Says the one that gives a shit about your future,” she corrected. “I followed you all the way to Arizona because I believed in whatever you said we were doing here. So do it. Don’t make excuses as to why you might not. Just…” She shook her head at him. “Just get it done for your own sake, dude. Save the drama for when it matters.”
“My caution is warranted,” Evan reassured her. “You just don’t remember what it’s like.”
An indistinguishable look crossed her lips and she sat upright, placing her weight on her elbows. “Shit, just get it done, Ev. It’s week one.”
Cheeks flushed, he looked away, gaze falling outside the window. After a moment, he pushed himself to his feet, hands shoved into his pockets as he made his way through the suite. Sadie closed her eyes, drifting away simultaneously with the rhythm of Evan’s footsteps.
July 21, 2016
Green Valley, AZ
9:51 A.M.
“Are you cooking bacon on my skillets, you deviant?!”
Evan Envi poked his head out of one of the hotel bedrooms, peering into the kitchen. His younger cousin, Mason Mannion stood with his back toward Evan, attention on the stovetop as he-- as the vegan had suspected-- fried bacon on a cast-iron skillet. He shot a glance over his shoulder at Evan and shrugged a bit.
“It’s the hotel’s skillet,” Mason corrected. “And I didn’t think you’d notice. I was watching some… Nat-Geo thing where they were talkin’ about smell, and how you can’t smell stuff when you’re asleep and…” He trailed off, mumbling something as he turned back to the stove.
The question hung in the air, but Evan didn’t ask it. His cousin didn’t wear the same smile and didn’t radiate the same positivity and arrogance he had weeks… months… years prior. He’d trekked through the Lion’s Den for nearly eight months before anything had been taken from him. All things considered, the business had been kind. Nonetheless, Evan could hear the disappointment in his voice here and now. It was the first time he’d physically seen the kid since Bound by Honor. He looked utterly lost.
“I’m fine, if you’re wondering if I’m fine.”
“I’m very convinced,” Evan muttered. “Pay attention. You’re burning your sacred, salted pig flesh.”
Mason sighed lightly. “That’s no way to talk about bacon.”
“And this is no place for your fried meats. The only reason I’m allowing it is because you look like a broken man. And you got your titles taken by a character from the movie Showgirls. So I’m sorry.” Evan gestured toward the stove. “Enjoy your pig flesh.”
Mason mumbled something as Evan pivoted, eyes traveling the room in search of Sadie. Without much effort, he caught movement in his peripherals, glancing toward the balcony where Sadie sat, reclined in a patio chair, legs crossed heel-over-heel, resting on the rail. Making his way out to the balcony, Evan winced a little, quickly trying to adjust to the sun-baked wooden floor beneath his bare feet.
“How’s he holding up?” Sadie asked in a distant tone.
Evan shrugged. “Like a kid that just lost his title.”
She cast him a sideways look, expression growing serious. “Does it bother you?”
His response wasn’t immediate. Evan drew a short breath and threw his hands up a little, purposely avoiding the gaze Sadie had set on him.
“You mean-- is it gonna get in the way of day one? No. No, Rick Young isn’t getting off that easy. Mason and Beck have to worry about the Den. They have to worry about themselves. I…” He hesitated again before going on, keeping his voice down as if afraid Mason would overhear. “...I didn’t come here to burden myself with whatever Brute Camp was doing down below, y’know? I came here because Evan Envi is a freakin’ hero, man. And I deserve to showcase that in FGA. And… they deserve to have someone to root for.”
A calm, knowing grin pulled at the corners of Sadie’s lips. “There we go.”
Images of Mason and Becky, traveling through his mind, were replaced by the face of Rick Young; an unfamiliar one, one with, as far as Evan was concerned, no story attached to it. His fingers shook a bit with each passing second, heart rate steadily increasing, but he wasn’t sure whether to attribute it to nervousness or excitement. He drew one more deep breath before looking out, over the unfamiliar city which seemed to stretch forever from his vantage point.
July 21, 2016
Green Valley, AZ
5:22 P.M.
”Well, well, well.
It was only a matter of time before THE CHIEF HIM-DANG-SELF made it to FGA. And truth to be told, 2016 isn’t the first time I’ve had my eyes on the place. Two years ago, down on my luck after blowing an opportunity at the SCW Global Championship and then failing in Phoenix Wrestling’s final Iron King tournament, I was looking for a place to start fresh. I wasn’t looking for a place to start over easy, but I wanted to go somewhere where the locker room didn’t recognize my face yet. Somewhere where the fans didn’t chant my name, or boo me out of the house yet. Y’know? I craved that… that adrenaline rush that you get when you’re all cocky, feelin’ yourself, and you step into a world you’re unfamiliar with and you STILL beast… STILL killin’ it…
Money called though and I took the managerial position back in Sin City quick-like. To be totally human, I figured the best way to go would be to take it easy and heal the ol’ bones while I took in the corporate bucks, but even that has its faults, man. People still go above and beyond to get at you, even when you’re behind a desk. But-- but we won’t get into all that. I didn’t come to FGA to dwell on the past.
I came to fight Rick Young.
And… alright, alright, like, MAYBE not you specifically, Young, you self-important son of a gun! But I came here to compete and expand the wrestling world I knew and that starts by beating dudes like yourself that’ve been around this and every other block for over a decade and a half, earning their name in places that died before I even got my shot in a pro ring. I respect where you come from, Young, and I respect the fact that you’re still sticking around, still trying new things, still hungry for that fight.
Still. After all this time.
And, the thing about time is that it wears on normal men. Breaks ‘em down, kills their spirits, changes their values and all that. And Rick, maybe it won’t be Saturday night or Sunday morning, but this Vertigo’s gonna catch up to you. You’re gonna start your career here in FGA with an emphatic loss to a man that is immune to the venom of time! Me!
Hm…
...
Heroes don’t get broken down, man. Our spirits don’t get killed. Our values don’t change. You’re a normal dude and you’re hungry for the fight-- you’re hungry for the spotlight that comes after it, but Rick, I’m your resident hero and I crave it.
The world needs someone to believe in, now more than they ever did. In the context of wrestling, they aren’t gonna believe in a man that can’t make a decisive first impression. I gotta beat you, Rick, and it’s kind of a shame that one of us has to have such a staggered start here in FGA. I dig your whole style. You’re kinda sick. Kinda crazy. Kind out there. I can totally behind that.
Guy like you probably doesn’t know his own limits.”
We flash into a world of color, finally, as the lens cap is pulled off of a handheld camcorder, revealing the stoic face of Evan Envi before the corners of his lips finally tug into a smile.
”So I’ll show you now.
This is as far as you make it, Rick. Whatever impact you were planning on making-- whatever example you may have wanted me to be at Vertigo-- save it for the next one. I am your ceiling, my friend, and only a real hero’s gonna excel. A real wrestler, Rick. Me.
Watch yourself.”
Fin.
Green Valley, AZ
1:01 A.M.
“Finally.”
Evan Envi pushed open the door of the Green Valley, Arizona hotel suite. The rush of cold air welcomed him and he stopped just a foot past the doorway, dropping his bags on either side of him, extending his arms to embrace the man-made breeze. Humming gently under her breath, Sadie Jacks-- better known to most, if at all, as Sadie San Francisco-- moved past him, shrugging a gym bag and duffel bag to the floor in front of the sofa.
“Any particular reason you wanted to book a suite thirty miles out, instead of right there?” Sadie asked.
“Scenery, hot-dangit!” Evan responded, matter-of-factly. “And a wise man told me, you never wanna sleep in the same town you’re fighting in. Not if you can avoid it.” He finally made his way into the suite, peering into every corner, pushing open the door to the bedroom and the bathroom before pointedly adding, “because wrestling fans are crazy. And they stank.”
“Ah. Feeling a little self-important, aren’t we?” Sadie muttered, sinking down onto the sofa.
Evan shook his head, rejoining her in the living room with a calm expression written across his face. “We’re rebuilding the foundation for hope here, woman. We are important. Got that recognition. We’re makin’ that Wal Mart Supercenter money! We’re inspiring crippled war vets to rise up out of their wheelchairs and stuff! Shoot, Sadie, tell me about self-importance.”
“Right.”
She spared a glance his way, noting the look of annoyance that he wore as he performed his routine-- leaning into the bathroom, looking into the suite’s kitchen, inspecting it as if he’d storm out of the room if it didn’t meet his standards. As he’d always done in her presence though, he mumbled something nearly-inaudible and took a seat next to her on the sofa, eyes planted on the blank television screen ahead of them.
“Ever heard of this guy?” Evan asked.
“Who? Young?”
“Obviously, Young.”
Sadie shook her head a bit. “I know he’s been around. I know he’s not the first one in his family to do it. Other than that… guy might as well be invisible on my radar.” With an air of sarcasm and a smirk, she added, “I’m afraid I don’t have the intel on this one, Chief.”
“Convenient,” Evan grumbled, closing his eyes, sinking back into the sofa. “Guy’s been at it for sixteen years or something-- and we’ve got nothing. He’s ghost. That’s Harrison luck.”
Sadie shrugged. “So he’s got years on you and he’s still a mystery. That’s not exciting for you at all?”
“For me?” Evan laughed aloud, bitterly, as if the statement itself was ridiculous. “A surprise in this business is fun for everybody except the first dude in the ring. I don’t like being surprised. I don’t like being caught off-guard.” He caught himself as his voice raised, clearing his throat before going on. “First night out. I’d like for it to go smooth, y’know?”
Sadie laughed a little, lying back on the couch, head across the armrest, legs curled up in front of her. She didn’t bother to look ahead at Evan as she replied. “You act like you’re the narrator of some huge all-encompassing story. You act like it’s not Rick Young’s FGA debut too.” She laughed again, this one close-lipped and suppressed… or suppressed best she could. “Don’t be such a diva, Evan. Just wrestle him. Beat him. Move on. You have bigger things to worry about, I’m sure.”
“Says the feeble-minded,” he said.
“Says the one that gives a shit about your future,” she corrected. “I followed you all the way to Arizona because I believed in whatever you said we were doing here. So do it. Don’t make excuses as to why you might not. Just…” She shook her head at him. “Just get it done for your own sake, dude. Save the drama for when it matters.”
“My caution is warranted,” Evan reassured her. “You just don’t remember what it’s like.”
An indistinguishable look crossed her lips and she sat upright, placing her weight on her elbows. “Shit, just get it done, Ev. It’s week one.”
Cheeks flushed, he looked away, gaze falling outside the window. After a moment, he pushed himself to his feet, hands shoved into his pockets as he made his way through the suite. Sadie closed her eyes, drifting away simultaneously with the rhythm of Evan’s footsteps.
July 21, 2016
Green Valley, AZ
9:51 A.M.
“Are you cooking bacon on my skillets, you deviant?!”
Evan Envi poked his head out of one of the hotel bedrooms, peering into the kitchen. His younger cousin, Mason Mannion stood with his back toward Evan, attention on the stovetop as he-- as the vegan had suspected-- fried bacon on a cast-iron skillet. He shot a glance over his shoulder at Evan and shrugged a bit.
“It’s the hotel’s skillet,” Mason corrected. “And I didn’t think you’d notice. I was watching some… Nat-Geo thing where they were talkin’ about smell, and how you can’t smell stuff when you’re asleep and…” He trailed off, mumbling something as he turned back to the stove.
The question hung in the air, but Evan didn’t ask it. His cousin didn’t wear the same smile and didn’t radiate the same positivity and arrogance he had weeks… months… years prior. He’d trekked through the Lion’s Den for nearly eight months before anything had been taken from him. All things considered, the business had been kind. Nonetheless, Evan could hear the disappointment in his voice here and now. It was the first time he’d physically seen the kid since Bound by Honor. He looked utterly lost.
“I’m fine, if you’re wondering if I’m fine.”
“I’m very convinced,” Evan muttered. “Pay attention. You’re burning your sacred, salted pig flesh.”
Mason sighed lightly. “That’s no way to talk about bacon.”
“And this is no place for your fried meats. The only reason I’m allowing it is because you look like a broken man. And you got your titles taken by a character from the movie Showgirls. So I’m sorry.” Evan gestured toward the stove. “Enjoy your pig flesh.”
Mason mumbled something as Evan pivoted, eyes traveling the room in search of Sadie. Without much effort, he caught movement in his peripherals, glancing toward the balcony where Sadie sat, reclined in a patio chair, legs crossed heel-over-heel, resting on the rail. Making his way out to the balcony, Evan winced a little, quickly trying to adjust to the sun-baked wooden floor beneath his bare feet.
“How’s he holding up?” Sadie asked in a distant tone.
Evan shrugged. “Like a kid that just lost his title.”
She cast him a sideways look, expression growing serious. “Does it bother you?”
His response wasn’t immediate. Evan drew a short breath and threw his hands up a little, purposely avoiding the gaze Sadie had set on him.
“You mean-- is it gonna get in the way of day one? No. No, Rick Young isn’t getting off that easy. Mason and Beck have to worry about the Den. They have to worry about themselves. I…” He hesitated again before going on, keeping his voice down as if afraid Mason would overhear. “...I didn’t come here to burden myself with whatever Brute Camp was doing down below, y’know? I came here because Evan Envi is a freakin’ hero, man. And I deserve to showcase that in FGA. And… they deserve to have someone to root for.”
A calm, knowing grin pulled at the corners of Sadie’s lips. “There we go.”
Images of Mason and Becky, traveling through his mind, were replaced by the face of Rick Young; an unfamiliar one, one with, as far as Evan was concerned, no story attached to it. His fingers shook a bit with each passing second, heart rate steadily increasing, but he wasn’t sure whether to attribute it to nervousness or excitement. He drew one more deep breath before looking out, over the unfamiliar city which seemed to stretch forever from his vantage point.
July 21, 2016
Green Valley, AZ
5:22 P.M.
”Well, well, well.
It was only a matter of time before THE CHIEF HIM-DANG-SELF made it to FGA. And truth to be told, 2016 isn’t the first time I’ve had my eyes on the place. Two years ago, down on my luck after blowing an opportunity at the SCW Global Championship and then failing in Phoenix Wrestling’s final Iron King tournament, I was looking for a place to start fresh. I wasn’t looking for a place to start over easy, but I wanted to go somewhere where the locker room didn’t recognize my face yet. Somewhere where the fans didn’t chant my name, or boo me out of the house yet. Y’know? I craved that… that adrenaline rush that you get when you’re all cocky, feelin’ yourself, and you step into a world you’re unfamiliar with and you STILL beast… STILL killin’ it…
Money called though and I took the managerial position back in Sin City quick-like. To be totally human, I figured the best way to go would be to take it easy and heal the ol’ bones while I took in the corporate bucks, but even that has its faults, man. People still go above and beyond to get at you, even when you’re behind a desk. But-- but we won’t get into all that. I didn’t come to FGA to dwell on the past.
I came to fight Rick Young.
And… alright, alright, like, MAYBE not you specifically, Young, you self-important son of a gun! But I came here to compete and expand the wrestling world I knew and that starts by beating dudes like yourself that’ve been around this and every other block for over a decade and a half, earning their name in places that died before I even got my shot in a pro ring. I respect where you come from, Young, and I respect the fact that you’re still sticking around, still trying new things, still hungry for that fight.
Still. After all this time.
And, the thing about time is that it wears on normal men. Breaks ‘em down, kills their spirits, changes their values and all that. And Rick, maybe it won’t be Saturday night or Sunday morning, but this Vertigo’s gonna catch up to you. You’re gonna start your career here in FGA with an emphatic loss to a man that is immune to the venom of time! Me!
Hm…
...
Heroes don’t get broken down, man. Our spirits don’t get killed. Our values don’t change. You’re a normal dude and you’re hungry for the fight-- you’re hungry for the spotlight that comes after it, but Rick, I’m your resident hero and I crave it.
The world needs someone to believe in, now more than they ever did. In the context of wrestling, they aren’t gonna believe in a man that can’t make a decisive first impression. I gotta beat you, Rick, and it’s kind of a shame that one of us has to have such a staggered start here in FGA. I dig your whole style. You’re kinda sick. Kinda crazy. Kind out there. I can totally behind that.
Guy like you probably doesn’t know his own limits.”
We flash into a world of color, finally, as the lens cap is pulled off of a handheld camcorder, revealing the stoic face of Evan Envi before the corners of his lips finally tug into a smile.
”So I’ll show you now.
This is as far as you make it, Rick. Whatever impact you were planning on making-- whatever example you may have wanted me to be at Vertigo-- save it for the next one. I am your ceiling, my friend, and only a real hero’s gonna excel. A real wrestler, Rick. Me.
Watch yourself.”
Fin.