Cracks In The Surface
Sept 15, 2016 19:48:25 GMT -5
Post by Savannah Taylor on Sept 15, 2016 19:48:25 GMT -5
Tuesday, September 13th, 2016
Las Vegas,Nevada
OFF CAMERA
Nearly two months. Seven weeks. Fifty one days. Even more hours, minutes and seconds. That is pretty much the exact amount of time since Savannah Taylor’s life was changed forever. The exact amount of time that she realized things were about to take a turn for the worse in ways that she couldn’t possibly fathom at the moment. First receiving a frantic phone call from her sister early in the evening while she was still backstage at Vertigo was reason enough for her to get up and leave the arena, despite it being in the middle of a show. She had informed the appropriate people that she had a family emergency back in Las Vegas and would be leaving for home immediately. Then came the incident before she had even left the arena. The symbol of perhaps the biggest demon from her past being felt and seen in the flesh after such a lengthy period of time was enough to send a chill down her spine. To this day, she could still recall the feelings she had the moment the little boy presented her with the burlap sack.
But her world would soon turn on its ear when not long after her sister called her that her father called her. Only her father was informing her that her mother, who at the time was fighting breast cancer, had taken a turn for the worse. Every muscle in Savannah’s body was pulling her forward, first to her rental car which would take her to the airport, then when she was back in Vegas, to the hospital where her mother was. She felt an odd sense of calm when she was with her mother, father, and sister in the same room. That sense of calm was short lived when mere hours after Savannah had arrived, her mother, her body giving up and not wanting to prolong the inevitable any longer, had passed away. The once vibrant and confident Savannah Taylor has slowly become a shell of what people were used to seeing. In the days and weeks that would pass, Savannah felt like she was moving underwater in slow motion. Everything around her seemed to be a blur. Sure, she would put on the front whenever she was doing her job, but other than that? She was slipping away. In the midst of all of this chaos, Savannah committed perhaps her biggest and most regrettable mistake to date. She had pushed away the one person in her entire world that had been there for her when no one else would. The one person who treated her like she was something special, even at times when she failed to believe that herself. She had pushed away the one person that she had ever truly and one hundred percent loved more than anything or anyone in the world, and she still does. That fact alone was enough for Savannah to want to hide away from the harsh light of the public eye. That is exactly what she has done too. If she wasn’t working for FGA or elsewhere and wasn’t making the required appearances on behalf of Juicy Couture, she kept to herself. Not because she didn’t want to talk to anyone, though that was part of it. Since her mother’s passing, she had slowly been feeling like she wasn’t worth anyone’s time. Her subpar performances in the ring had done little to bolster her confidence. Now with the fact that Satan himself, Magnus Gunner, had come back to haunt her and make her life generally miserable,
Savannah walked casually up the sidewalk leading to the front door of her father’s home, the mid afternoon sunshine beating down on her bare shoulders. With her sister nearly three thousand miles away beginning her freshman year at the University of Maine and Savannah travelling for work, she was concerned about how her father was doing in the weeks since his world was also turned upside down. Savannah felt bad that she couldn’t be there more for her father, but with her travel schedule being the way that it was, she wasn’t always there for him the way family should be. Slipping her car keys into the front pocket of her pants, she turns the doorknob and steps inside the familiar foyer, letting the door click shut behind her.
Savannah Taylor: Dad?
She calls out to a seemingly front of the house, with the somewhat formal living room off to the left side of the front door. She looks around the entryway, taking note of the sage green paint on the walls, paint that had been there for years, but was new and bright to Savannah. Art hung carefully on the wall opposite the living room, black and white photographs depicting various flora and fauna behind white mats encased in gilded picture frames.
Savannah Taylor: Dad? Are you home?
She calls out again, getting no answer. Making her way towards the back of the house, she stops just shy of the door leading into the den. Sitting in a chair that wasn’t quite facing the door yet it wasn’t entirely with it’s back to the door was her father. He sat as still as possible, breaking his stationary position long enough to take a sip from the cut crystal glass perched on the mahogany side table. His head doesn’t turn as his oldest daughter walks into the room.
Savannah Taylor: There you are. I was wondering where you were or if you were even home.
Martin Taylor: I haven’t left.
His somewhat gruff reply takes Savannah back a bit as he finally turns his head towards his daughter. His eyes, a usually rich shade of sapphire blue, appeared glazed over, as if his mind were millions of miles away. He had a five o’clock shadow on his face as he clutched the glass in his hand.
Martin Taylor: What brings you by? On your way to somewhere else?
Savannah Taylor: I wanted to see how you were and to spend some time with you.
Martin internally scoffs as he takes another sip of the amber colored liquid contained within his glass, drawing in a breath as the drink hits his mouth with a slight burning sensation.
Martin Taylor: I know you have a match on Saturday in Colorado. You’re just here because you have time to kill before you jet off to somewhere that isn’t here.
Savannah Taylor: That isn’t true. I’m here because you’re my father. I’m here because I love you and I wanted to see how you were doing.
Martin Taylor: You’re only here because you feel sorry for me is all.
Savannah Taylor: That isn’t true.
She looks at her father as he picks up his glass and swigs more of what was in it. As Savannah gets closer to her father, she can smell the contents on his breath. Jack Daniels, and it apparently wasn’t the first one that he had that day either.
Savannah Taylor: How many of those have you had?
Martin Taylor: What is it to you?
Savannah Taylor: I’m concerned. It’s not even three o’clock, Dad.
Martin Taylor: Last time I checked, this is my house and I was free to do as I pleased.
Savannah Taylor: But Dad….
Martin Taylor: But nothing!
He almost roars as Savannah takes a step back in shock.
Martin Taylor: Your mother left. You sister is clear across the country. You’re jet setting across the world. Who do I have? No one.
Savannah Taylor: You have me. I’m here now.
Martin looks at her daughter before shaking his head, sipping his Jack Daniels, the ice in the glass long since melted.
Martin Taylor: You’ll leave before long.
Savannah Taylor: Look, I know my job keeps me on the road a lot and I’m not here as often as I would like, and I’m sorry for that…..
A laugh, sardonic in delivery, escapes his lips as he shakes his head.
Martin Taylor: You’ve got the sorry part right.
Savannah Taylor: Excuse me?
Martin Taylor: You heard me.
Savannah Taylor: I heard you. I just…..
Martin Taylor: Just what? Didn’t think I’d say that? Or you just didn’t want to believe it? Think about it. Your career is at a standstill. You have no edge. You’re going nowhere. I look at you now and I’m almost ashamed to admit you’re my daughter.
Savannah stands there, almost rooted in place. She couldn’t believe the words coming from her father’s mouth. The logical part of her brain was saying that this was the alcohol talking at that she shouldn’t take offense or take personally anything that her father was saying. But the smaller part, the part of her brain she found herself listening to more often, was saying that he was right. She knew the score as of late. Her record was less than sterling. She was going through a lot and dealing with things that no one with half of a brain should deal with. That part of her brain is what scares her.
Martin Taylor: Everytime I look at you, I’m reminded…….
Savannah Taylor: Of Mom?
Something inside of Martin seemed to snap because before he could think, the glass he was holding left his hand and collided with his daughter’s head, specifically the side of her face. The glass drops to the floor with a dull thud on the carpet as Savannah stands there holding the side of her face.
Martin Taylor: Get out.
Savannah Taylor: But Dad…..
Martin Taylor: GET OUT!
He roars as Savannah draws a sharp breath and wills herself to leave the room. She hurries down the hall and fumbles a second before opening the door and stepping out into the sunshine, the door flinging shut behind her. She fishes for her car keys as she hurries towards her car. Opening the door, she climbs in and yanks down the visor to check her face in the mirror. Just below her right eye, a welt was forming, possible bruising as well. She shakes her head as she flips the visor back up and sits back in her seat.
Savannah Taylor: Happy birthday to me.
She says with a sigh as she buckles up. All she wanted was to see her father and spend some time with him, especially in the light of her mother passing. The fact that today was her birthday was of course on her mind, but was a constant thought. She would go home, tend to her face, and prepare for Vertigo this Saturday. But what just happened, on today of all days, would stay with her forever. Talk about a memorable birthday, just for all the wrong reasons.
I’m not going to start out with the usual formalities. I don’t want to come out and make any sort of claims about how the match I’m participating in this Saturday is mine for the taking. Why would I do that? Why would I feed my own ego when I know deep down hardly anything I say matters? What weight does anything I have to say as of late carry around here?
Yeah, you just heard me correctly. A wrestler just admitted a major fault and showed a smidge of humility. Alert the media.
When I came out and appeared to have interrupted Fujiko Mine in the middle of her big celebration, I did it so I could not be there to congratulate her on a great match we had at Above and Beyond. Don’t get me wrong. The match that the two of us had was and will continue to be talked about for months to come. Were either of us happy about the result? No we weren’t. I came out there to let her know that the thing that was started that night between us…..wasn’t even close to being over. Apparently a one on one match wasn’t good enough for Miss Mine though. She’s taken it upon herself to make myself and four others to jump through hoops if we want to get a shot at her Pride championship. She acts as if we are her trained circus monkeys, willing to do tricks for a meager reward.
Fuck that noise. But if I must jump through her hoops or play her games in order to get another crack at her, then I’ll do it.
Molly Reid. Noelle Smith. Evan Envi. Mark Storm. All of us made our presence felt last Vertigo. All of us made our cases as to why we should be the one to face Fujiko for the Pride championship. That is probably why this match on Saturday is going to be of the utmost importance. Each of us has something to prove Saturday night. We all want to be the one who, at the end of the night, will be the last man or woman standing and becoming number one contender to the Pride championship. There is just one thing that sets the five of us apart. There is just one thing that makes this match more special.
None of you need this more than I do.
Let's face the facts. With the exception of maybe one other person in this match, there is no one who needs this win more than I do. None of you could possibly know what it is like to have all of the expectations in the world thrust upon you and to fall short in just about every one of them. None of you could possibly know what it is like to have come from a company that has been viewed as a pariah in the wrestling world, and to be treated like a lower life from simply because of where you came from.
Or maybe you do. What do I know?
The cliche thing for me to do would be to sit her and wonder how each and every one of you will fare come Saturday. I could sit here and wonder how you’ll be able to function when not in the shadow of the Patron Saint of Starbucks and crappy puns. I could wonder how you’ll even make it the match on time when you seem to be in seven places at once. Or I could sit back and ponder over the fact that I would have a MUCH easier time explaining the theme of the current season of American Horror Story to a deaf mute than wonder how you even got here in this match in the first place.
Again, I’m not going to do that.
What I AM going to do is go out there on Saturday and show everyone what happens when a woman who has lost more things than she has won is backed into a corner. I’ll show you jst what happens when a woman becomes desperate. You’ll find out that she, and by she I mean me, will do any and everything it takes to win.
By any means necessary.
Las Vegas,Nevada
OFF CAMERA
Nearly two months. Seven weeks. Fifty one days. Even more hours, minutes and seconds. That is pretty much the exact amount of time since Savannah Taylor’s life was changed forever. The exact amount of time that she realized things were about to take a turn for the worse in ways that she couldn’t possibly fathom at the moment. First receiving a frantic phone call from her sister early in the evening while she was still backstage at Vertigo was reason enough for her to get up and leave the arena, despite it being in the middle of a show. She had informed the appropriate people that she had a family emergency back in Las Vegas and would be leaving for home immediately. Then came the incident before she had even left the arena. The symbol of perhaps the biggest demon from her past being felt and seen in the flesh after such a lengthy period of time was enough to send a chill down her spine. To this day, she could still recall the feelings she had the moment the little boy presented her with the burlap sack.
But her world would soon turn on its ear when not long after her sister called her that her father called her. Only her father was informing her that her mother, who at the time was fighting breast cancer, had taken a turn for the worse. Every muscle in Savannah’s body was pulling her forward, first to her rental car which would take her to the airport, then when she was back in Vegas, to the hospital where her mother was. She felt an odd sense of calm when she was with her mother, father, and sister in the same room. That sense of calm was short lived when mere hours after Savannah had arrived, her mother, her body giving up and not wanting to prolong the inevitable any longer, had passed away. The once vibrant and confident Savannah Taylor has slowly become a shell of what people were used to seeing. In the days and weeks that would pass, Savannah felt like she was moving underwater in slow motion. Everything around her seemed to be a blur. Sure, she would put on the front whenever she was doing her job, but other than that? She was slipping away. In the midst of all of this chaos, Savannah committed perhaps her biggest and most regrettable mistake to date. She had pushed away the one person in her entire world that had been there for her when no one else would. The one person who treated her like she was something special, even at times when she failed to believe that herself. She had pushed away the one person that she had ever truly and one hundred percent loved more than anything or anyone in the world, and she still does. That fact alone was enough for Savannah to want to hide away from the harsh light of the public eye. That is exactly what she has done too. If she wasn’t working for FGA or elsewhere and wasn’t making the required appearances on behalf of Juicy Couture, she kept to herself. Not because she didn’t want to talk to anyone, though that was part of it. Since her mother’s passing, she had slowly been feeling like she wasn’t worth anyone’s time. Her subpar performances in the ring had done little to bolster her confidence. Now with the fact that Satan himself, Magnus Gunner, had come back to haunt her and make her life generally miserable,
Savannah walked casually up the sidewalk leading to the front door of her father’s home, the mid afternoon sunshine beating down on her bare shoulders. With her sister nearly three thousand miles away beginning her freshman year at the University of Maine and Savannah travelling for work, she was concerned about how her father was doing in the weeks since his world was also turned upside down. Savannah felt bad that she couldn’t be there more for her father, but with her travel schedule being the way that it was, she wasn’t always there for him the way family should be. Slipping her car keys into the front pocket of her pants, she turns the doorknob and steps inside the familiar foyer, letting the door click shut behind her.
Savannah Taylor: Dad?
She calls out to a seemingly front of the house, with the somewhat formal living room off to the left side of the front door. She looks around the entryway, taking note of the sage green paint on the walls, paint that had been there for years, but was new and bright to Savannah. Art hung carefully on the wall opposite the living room, black and white photographs depicting various flora and fauna behind white mats encased in gilded picture frames.
Savannah Taylor: Dad? Are you home?
She calls out again, getting no answer. Making her way towards the back of the house, she stops just shy of the door leading into the den. Sitting in a chair that wasn’t quite facing the door yet it wasn’t entirely with it’s back to the door was her father. He sat as still as possible, breaking his stationary position long enough to take a sip from the cut crystal glass perched on the mahogany side table. His head doesn’t turn as his oldest daughter walks into the room.
Savannah Taylor: There you are. I was wondering where you were or if you were even home.
Martin Taylor: I haven’t left.
His somewhat gruff reply takes Savannah back a bit as he finally turns his head towards his daughter. His eyes, a usually rich shade of sapphire blue, appeared glazed over, as if his mind were millions of miles away. He had a five o’clock shadow on his face as he clutched the glass in his hand.
Martin Taylor: What brings you by? On your way to somewhere else?
Savannah Taylor: I wanted to see how you were and to spend some time with you.
Martin internally scoffs as he takes another sip of the amber colored liquid contained within his glass, drawing in a breath as the drink hits his mouth with a slight burning sensation.
Martin Taylor: I know you have a match on Saturday in Colorado. You’re just here because you have time to kill before you jet off to somewhere that isn’t here.
Savannah Taylor: That isn’t true. I’m here because you’re my father. I’m here because I love you and I wanted to see how you were doing.
Martin Taylor: You’re only here because you feel sorry for me is all.
Savannah Taylor: That isn’t true.
She looks at her father as he picks up his glass and swigs more of what was in it. As Savannah gets closer to her father, she can smell the contents on his breath. Jack Daniels, and it apparently wasn’t the first one that he had that day either.
Savannah Taylor: How many of those have you had?
Martin Taylor: What is it to you?
Savannah Taylor: I’m concerned. It’s not even three o’clock, Dad.
Martin Taylor: Last time I checked, this is my house and I was free to do as I pleased.
Savannah Taylor: But Dad….
Martin Taylor: But nothing!
He almost roars as Savannah takes a step back in shock.
Martin Taylor: Your mother left. You sister is clear across the country. You’re jet setting across the world. Who do I have? No one.
Savannah Taylor: You have me. I’m here now.
Martin looks at her daughter before shaking his head, sipping his Jack Daniels, the ice in the glass long since melted.
Martin Taylor: You’ll leave before long.
Savannah Taylor: Look, I know my job keeps me on the road a lot and I’m not here as often as I would like, and I’m sorry for that…..
A laugh, sardonic in delivery, escapes his lips as he shakes his head.
Martin Taylor: You’ve got the sorry part right.
Savannah Taylor: Excuse me?
Martin Taylor: You heard me.
Savannah Taylor: I heard you. I just…..
Martin Taylor: Just what? Didn’t think I’d say that? Or you just didn’t want to believe it? Think about it. Your career is at a standstill. You have no edge. You’re going nowhere. I look at you now and I’m almost ashamed to admit you’re my daughter.
Savannah stands there, almost rooted in place. She couldn’t believe the words coming from her father’s mouth. The logical part of her brain was saying that this was the alcohol talking at that she shouldn’t take offense or take personally anything that her father was saying. But the smaller part, the part of her brain she found herself listening to more often, was saying that he was right. She knew the score as of late. Her record was less than sterling. She was going through a lot and dealing with things that no one with half of a brain should deal with. That part of her brain is what scares her.
Martin Taylor: Everytime I look at you, I’m reminded…….
Savannah Taylor: Of Mom?
Something inside of Martin seemed to snap because before he could think, the glass he was holding left his hand and collided with his daughter’s head, specifically the side of her face. The glass drops to the floor with a dull thud on the carpet as Savannah stands there holding the side of her face.
Martin Taylor: Get out.
Savannah Taylor: But Dad…..
Martin Taylor: GET OUT!
He roars as Savannah draws a sharp breath and wills herself to leave the room. She hurries down the hall and fumbles a second before opening the door and stepping out into the sunshine, the door flinging shut behind her. She fishes for her car keys as she hurries towards her car. Opening the door, she climbs in and yanks down the visor to check her face in the mirror. Just below her right eye, a welt was forming, possible bruising as well. She shakes her head as she flips the visor back up and sits back in her seat.
Savannah Taylor: Happy birthday to me.
She says with a sigh as she buckles up. All she wanted was to see her father and spend some time with him, especially in the light of her mother passing. The fact that today was her birthday was of course on her mind, but was a constant thought. She would go home, tend to her face, and prepare for Vertigo this Saturday. But what just happened, on today of all days, would stay with her forever. Talk about a memorable birthday, just for all the wrong reasons.
I’m not going to start out with the usual formalities. I don’t want to come out and make any sort of claims about how the match I’m participating in this Saturday is mine for the taking. Why would I do that? Why would I feed my own ego when I know deep down hardly anything I say matters? What weight does anything I have to say as of late carry around here?
Yeah, you just heard me correctly. A wrestler just admitted a major fault and showed a smidge of humility. Alert the media.
When I came out and appeared to have interrupted Fujiko Mine in the middle of her big celebration, I did it so I could not be there to congratulate her on a great match we had at Above and Beyond. Don’t get me wrong. The match that the two of us had was and will continue to be talked about for months to come. Were either of us happy about the result? No we weren’t. I came out there to let her know that the thing that was started that night between us…..wasn’t even close to being over. Apparently a one on one match wasn’t good enough for Miss Mine though. She’s taken it upon herself to make myself and four others to jump through hoops if we want to get a shot at her Pride championship. She acts as if we are her trained circus monkeys, willing to do tricks for a meager reward.
Fuck that noise. But if I must jump through her hoops or play her games in order to get another crack at her, then I’ll do it.
Molly Reid. Noelle Smith. Evan Envi. Mark Storm. All of us made our presence felt last Vertigo. All of us made our cases as to why we should be the one to face Fujiko for the Pride championship. That is probably why this match on Saturday is going to be of the utmost importance. Each of us has something to prove Saturday night. We all want to be the one who, at the end of the night, will be the last man or woman standing and becoming number one contender to the Pride championship. There is just one thing that sets the five of us apart. There is just one thing that makes this match more special.
None of you need this more than I do.
Let's face the facts. With the exception of maybe one other person in this match, there is no one who needs this win more than I do. None of you could possibly know what it is like to have all of the expectations in the world thrust upon you and to fall short in just about every one of them. None of you could possibly know what it is like to have come from a company that has been viewed as a pariah in the wrestling world, and to be treated like a lower life from simply because of where you came from.
Or maybe you do. What do I know?
The cliche thing for me to do would be to sit her and wonder how each and every one of you will fare come Saturday. I could sit here and wonder how you’ll be able to function when not in the shadow of the Patron Saint of Starbucks and crappy puns. I could wonder how you’ll even make it the match on time when you seem to be in seven places at once. Or I could sit back and ponder over the fact that I would have a MUCH easier time explaining the theme of the current season of American Horror Story to a deaf mute than wonder how you even got here in this match in the first place.
Again, I’m not going to do that.
What I AM going to do is go out there on Saturday and show everyone what happens when a woman who has lost more things than she has won is backed into a corner. I’ll show you jst what happens when a woman becomes desperate. You’ll find out that she, and by she I mean me, will do any and everything it takes to win.
By any means necessary.