The Sound of Silence

[Erin Gordon]

November 23rd, 2016
Gordon Farms
Blooming Valley, PA
(off camera)

1:56 AM

"Shit." That one word left the lips of the Oncoming Storm as quiet as a sigh in church as she looked at the amber numbers of the clock on her cable box, the silence almost deafening now that she'd turned the TV off. She'd lost track of time again, sucked wholly into the tapes of every match involving Julian Tijerina that she could get her hands on. The notebook with the AXN Champion's match history on it had long since fallen to the wayside, the abandoned object she commandeered from her son's school supplies buried beneath the well-worn quilt she'd wrapped herself up in as night fell and the first chill of winter made its way into the living room. Here in a few weeks, she'd be shoveling snow as often as she shoveled manure and snowblowing paths to the barn and the coop and probably a couple other places... and while Benson was getting old enough to pitch in a little more, that still left a lot of work to do. Such seemed to be what her life had become, thinking about it. Work hard to make an impression and to ensure the future of her and hers in professional wrestling, work hard to keep the farm that she'd hung onto with a white-knuckle grip so her son could have it some day... work hard to keep herself together, even if she now had Stevie around to help out.

He needs to start herdin' my ass to bed at a decent hour so I'm not havin' to snag naps at noon.

Scoffing to herself, a hand rose to absently shove a few lanky strands of blond from in front of her eyes as she stood, the years-old flannel of her robe falling to surround her legs as she moved out into the kitchen. She knew that he was already upstairs sound asleep, same as Benson. It was hard to tell just who the snoring she could faintly hear was coming from, a thought that earned a low chuckle as she set about pouring herself a cup of coffee. She knew how her brain worked when it came to studying, now that she was older--it took time for her mind to wind down, to carry off what she'd learned to the appropriate places to be recalled later. If she tried to sleep now, she'd lose every last bit of information from what she had just watched--from how he moved in the ring to the ways she had watched him connect with the Kedavra Knee... to the pronunciation of his last name, an obstacle she hadn't expected to encounter. Spanish was, after all, one of the two languages that was taught at Saegertown High School--but she hadn't taken anything past the twelve week introductory class. Back then, she had thought the idea of educating herself like that was a waste of time. As she tried to recall how all of the announcers had said that multiple syllable monster, though, she was reminded of how she'd let herself down by not making that attempt to learn.

"Tig-er-een-a." Her first attempt to get it right was met with a low huff of irritation, the blond taking a sizeable swig of coffee as her footsteps quietly carried her over to the window that let her look out into the barnyard. There wasn't any snow on the ground at the moment, though she knew that wasn't gonna last. The forecast was all but promising to unload more of that damnable white stuff over the weekend, though she'd be in Rhode Island when it did. It'd be warmer there than in Blooming Valley, as a matter of fact--though not as warm as that one city in Mexico that Stevie had mentioned when he heard her trying to say Julian's last name. Tijuana, wasn't it? So if she just tried to make it sound like that...

"Tijernah?" Where'd one of the syllables go?! Groaning in irritation, Erin's frown deepened as she took another sip of coffee--the caffeine doing exactly bupkis to help her with this particular stumbling block. Dumping out what was left into the sink, she rinsed out the mug as she did one final look-over of what she could see out the window. Nothing looked out of place, as far as she could tell... though that'd probably change drastically once dawn came and everyone else woke up. She'd also be in for it if they caught her mucking up something so allegedly simple as pronouncing a name. As much as she loved them, the last thing she needed was for Benson to snicker when he thought she couldn't hear her or Stevie to try to help her again. Closing her eyes, she did her best to recall the voice of the announcer anew before she did her best to follow along.

"Tijerina." The twang in her voice still made it sound strange, alien--the accent completely shot to Hell and back... but at least she recognized it this time. That'd have to do she decided. Even if she mangled his name in front of the cameras, at least she knew she'd be making an honest effort of it. Besides, while saying his name right was a sign of respect to be certain? What would matter infinitely more was treating him with respect between the ropes.

...which, in this case, meant doing her level best to punch his lights out.

---

November 24th, 2016
Gordon Farm
Blooming Valley, PA
(on camera)

"Hello darkness, my old friend... I've come to talk with you again." It's only the way that Simon and Garfunkle originally sang that line that makes Erin's own singing voice anything remotely pleasant--that is, how it's not really singing at all. Otherwise, well, that's not something that should be considered. She's got enough on her mind as it is to add something irrelevant. The farm's transition into winter, getting Christmas squared away for a son whose interests continue to outpace any research she can possibly do and a boyfriend she's still not entirely accustomed to having... and, of course, her debut in FGA. It's that last one that has occupied the lion's share of her attention, both on a conscious and a subconscious level. The hanging bag that subtly sways behind where the Oncoming Storm is seated on an old steel folding chair has seen ample use, enough to where the vinyl's showing obvious signs of wear and tear despite being less than a year old. Dressed simply in a pair of gray sweatpants and a Portland Pro t-shirt she grabbed out of the clean clothes without realizing that it wasn't hers, gray eyes regard the camera with a prairie-level sort of honesty. When she begins to speak anew, that rural twang that's probably never going to fade shows itself. "For someone that's only been lacin' up her boots as a pro since April? I sure am becomin' familiar with this whole startin' over from scratch business... and I don't like it, not one bit. I had the time to start establishin' myself in Sin City Wrestlin', at least--worked my way up through the card pretty good, though I can't say that I took full advantage of the opportunities I earned there before things went South the rest of the way and the place closed. And Visionaries of Wrestlin'?"

A hand reaches up, shoving an errant strand of hair out of her gaze that has slipped loose of her ponytail as she exhales just loud enough for it to be considered a sigh. There's a lot of complicated feelings on that subject, after all--but she doesn't let herself flinch away from it.

"Before I even had the chance to make up for how I stumbled in my debut, that place went belly-up for reasons that I don't ever think went public. I sure as shit wasn't told why, but then again--why would tellin' me be a priority? I was one of the last people to sign a contract if not the last one, and I fumbled my debut against someone that many thought I'd steamroll right over. And y'know what they say... last hired, first fired. Or first to be left in the dark until the news story breaks about your job closin' up shop, in this case. Was it a shitty way to end things? Yeah, though I reckon they got their reasons just the same as SCW's top brass did, or any other promoter that's pulled the plug did. And really, there ain't no point in chasin' my tail over that when I need to be movin' on with my life and my career--not when I'm goin' into the big leagues. I can't afford to be distracted when I'm goin' up against someone of my first opponent's worth, and I sure as shit can't afford to stumble this go round." The blond shakes her head, oddly supporting her point in the process. "I mean, I'm goin' up against a guy that's got a world title in another company to his credit in my debut. That, right there, cranks the stakes right up to eleven since the only time I got in the ring with someone of that caliber one-on-one? I fought my ass off... but I lost. And I ain't here to try my heart out only to come in second place. I'm here to make a name for myself to secure my son's future, and if that means havin' to dig deeper and deeper every show to get the job done? Then it's a good thing that I got plenty of experience with a shovel, 'cuz that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

Erin nods to herself as she leans forward, her elbows finding her knees as her fingers join together--her gaze intensifying as she turns her attention more directly toward her opponent.

"Now, there ain't a question in my mind that the man I'm gettin' in the ring with is gonna roll up his sleeves and do his damndest to outdo me so that he's the one to win his debut at my expense. I mean, that's what any champion worth a damn is gonna do, right? And from the tapes I watched, Julian Tijerina--" That last name is one that the Oncoming Storm verbally stumbles over a little, but it's a passable attempt considering her lack of exposure to foreign names. "You've got a lot of tools at hand to bring me down with. Your experience, your strength, your speed... and I can't overlook how one of your strengths is probably the one thing I have the most trouble with. My mat game ain't so great, after all--and you probably know that already, huh? You probably got plans to pick me to pieces in fifteen different ways, and back-ups for your back-ups if none of'em pan out. And hey, if none of that works out? You'll just pull somethin' out of your ass and make it work regardless because you're just confident like that. You've proven yourself time and time again, after all. Why would you need to be worried about a rookie that's not just greener than grass, but startin' to go gray?"

The Oncoming Storm runs a hand along her hair, shoving that same bit of blond out of the way of her eyes in the process. It doesn't stay up where she put it this time, either--but at least it's somewhere that's a bit more tolerable.

"'Cuz while she may not have wrestled that many matches compared to you... she's already made her name by defyin' the odds and makin' anyone that overlooks her pay for it." A firm nod. "Each and every opponent I've ever got in the ring with had more experience than me, and most of'em had accolades and titles and all that jazz to their names. More than a few of'em were dismissive and disrespectful of me--Hell, one of'em tried to claim that I was handed the wins I had before I got in the ring with her just 'cuz I called her on her entitled, childish bullshit. Ultimately, every last one of'em went into their bouts with me confident that their experience and their size and their strength and everything else would be more than enough to put me down--but more often than not? I was the one gettin' my hand raised while they were left with nothin' to do but stare up at the lights and wonder how the Hell I pulled it off. Sometimes it was luck, sometimes it was me takin' advantage of a single mistake--on more than one occasion, someone made the mistake of pissin' me off to the point that I damn near knocked their teeth out and made'em eat every last hateful little word they were fool enough to spout off at me. I can't sit here and tell you exactly how I pulled off those so-called 'miracles', or how I managed to keep up with the likes of Brytain Rollins in beatin' Sandy Makel and Dexter Jacobs... but what I'd like to think is that it all comes down to that one thing, that one little trait that so many try to overlook and talk down and mock 'cuz they don't have it."

A pause; Erin leans forward just a little bit more, making sure to keep her eyes level with the camera's lens.

"Heart."

Settling back into her previous position, she continues--her tone still a measured and flat thing, but there's no denying the conviction to her words.

"I have faced down different kinds of Hell, a lot of which I wouldn't wish on anyone... and I have survived each and every last one of them, comin' out stronger than before in the process. I buried my husband and took on what many told me was impossible in keepin' the farm and raisin' my boy on my own, and here I am--the land still in my name, and my son makin' good grades in school. I took on breakin' into this business a good ten years later than most of the new blood comin' into this business and, while my record ain't perfect? It's a Helluva lot better than most thought I'd ever accomplish. And here I am, on the brink of another thing that is supposed to be impossible for me-- beatin' you in the middle of that ring to put the locker room on notice and make it clear as crystal that I ain't here to be anybody's steppin' stone. I literally can't afford to lose this, not when I'm fightin' for somethin' bigger and more important than fame or glory, or even validation. Each and every time I go down that ramp, I'm fightin' to make ends not just meet, but overlap enough to have enough to put into my son's college fund. It ain't nothin' personal, Julian-- you've been classy to me, classier than most even if I found the whole 'mi amor'--" And there's that bit of butchering the Spanish tongue again, but she's at least trying to make it sound right. Fun fact; Erin can't roll her 'r's worth a good God damn. "--thing to be a little weird since you don't know me, not like that. Or maybe that's like how ol' Mrs. Yeany calls everyone 'honey' and 'sweetpea' regardless of if you're her neighbor or if you're the Pope? I don't know. What I do know, though, is that I hope your well-wishes are still bein' offered to me after I've punched you in the mush however many times it takes for me to put you down long enough to get that three-count. It'd be a nice change of pace if it did, but I can't say I'd be surprised if it didn't. If this business has taught me anything, it's how subjective respect really is."

Silence reigns for a moment as she weighs that topic in her mind, her head faintly tilting to one side before she's carrying on.

"Would I be able to respect myself if I fell short after fightin' my heart out and leavin' it all in the middle of the ring? Probably. I picked myself up just fine after losin' to Tarja, after all, and I hold you in about that same level of respect. I reckon the question of this whole thing isn't about how I'll handle the outcome of our match... it's about how you'll handle losin', since winnin's what you're used to. And I ain't sayin' that you can't beat me, 'cuz we both know you can. I can't ignore that bein' possible, not without payin' for it dearly and turnin' it into a certainty. But you know what else?" "You can't ignore the possibility of me bein' the one that comes out on top, Julian--so here's what I recommend you do. Pack yourself a lunch-- anything you like is fine--get yourself right with God and whoever else you need to, then come down that ramp at Vertigo prepared to fight for your life because that is about the only way that you're gonna match what I'm bringin' to bear 'cuz you know what? That's how high the stakes are for me each and every time that I set foot in the ring. I lace up my boots and tape my wrists and put myself through hours of beatin' my own ass to make sure that I'm strong enough when the time comes. The future of me and mine hangs in the balance with every step I take and every punch I throw--not to mention every kick I'm gonna wind up takin'. Hell, I am literally fighting for my life." Her final words are pointed, driving themselves through that lens and space and time to b1ury themselves in the mind of her opponent--and he best take that question to heart as he's staring down the business end of what has given Erin that edge he'd be a fool to ignore.

"Can you say the same?" Everything fades to black, the Oncoming Storm not looking away from the camera--not budging an inch at all, in fact, in her resolve to make her debut a victorious one.

---

Word Count: 3036