Post by Deleted on Mar 25, 2016 22:29:52 GMT -5
Allow an Introduction or Two
<DING-DING-DING!>
<DING-DING-DING!>
<DING-DING-DING!>
<DING-DING-DING!>
<DING-DING-DING!>
(Quenton’s phone goes off multiple times, his text notification tone the ringing of a bell, not unlike the one that goes off during a boxing or wrestling match)
Quenton [groggily]: What the hell.
<DING-DING-DING!>
<DING-DING-DING!>
<DING-DING-DING!>
<DING-DING-DING!>
<DING-DING-DING!>
(Quenton picks up his phone, at this point annoyed at the impromptu alarm clock that has invaded his attempts at quiet slumber; must be a popular guy.)
Quenton: It’s too early for this.
(He stares at the screen as best one can immediately after waking up; the backlight might as well be a floodlight with how his eyes are practically closed due to his eyes not yet adjusting to the brightness of the phone. What he can make out with his limited vision is his notifications bar stating ’10 NEW MESSAGES’ on the top and the various names on the bottom that sent them. They all basically serve as congratulations due to Quenton’s new job opportunity: WFWF Superstar. Although he appreciates all the texts (even if he would prefer people would wait until after he’s awake for the praise), two of those names in particular serve importance to him.)
Elijah: [text]: Look at you, Mr. Big Time now! I knew you had it in you. Yo, we’re celebrating tonight! You’re buying, bud
Eden [text]: Hey, heard from Eli, congrats!
(Those two individuals are Elijah and Eden Irving, Quenton’s best friends since childhood. Some might consider their relationship fate; others might say who else you become friends with being one of the few children who live on a dead end block thanks to some jerk deciding to build homes that goes right into a park field. Like best friends do, they know what makes the other tick right down to the millisecond and no one is above annoying the other for their own enjoyment. But the group knows when one needs the other two.)
Quenton [text to Eden]: Thanks bud. See y’all then. And tell Eli I haven’t forgotten about that 20 he owes me.
(Quenton finally rolls out of bed and does his usual routine: a varying amount of stretches, starting with neck rolls, and moving on down throughout his with body with shoulder rolls, especially with his left shoulder which has a six-inch scar from his collarbone to his pectoral. He stretches out his arms, to his fingers and hands. He does a small amount of squats, no more than twenty or so before he extends his left leg for fifteen seconds, followed by switching legs.)
<DING-DING-DING!>
Elijah: [text to Quenton]: You’re mistaken, my friend. That was not a loan, but merely a donation.
(Quenton chuckles to himself and shakes his head as he sends his reply.)
Quenton [text to Elijah:]: Then next time I see you, I’ll provide an even larger kind of donation. A fistful.
(All the upcoming celebration aside, Quenton would rather prefer just getting his first match over with. He had enough experience necessary for the brass in the WFWF to sign him. But just three years of a career can’t possibly be enough to prepare you for the biggest stages and the brightest of lights. It’s more anticipation than nerves, though. He’s eager to perform in front of tens of thousands. Just that alone is more than anyone ever thought of when he initially set out to being a professional wrestler. Despite what everyone thinks, this stocky frame didn’t come from a successful life of amateur grappling; he’s always been like this. As it turns out, puberty did the short, chubby kid well. He’ll never be the tallest athlete but when you have a man the size of a wall running full-speed towards you, flight takes hold more often than fight he’s noticed.)
(However, this isn’t pickup games of football or baseball. In the WFWF, no one is going to be intimidated simply by his girth to the point of no longer being motivated to start some drama. In that world, that drama is encouraged. Someone sees someone like Quenton and they think an impressive challenge to conquer. He might know his way around a ring, he may have tricks up his sleeve that others won’t be aware of right away due to his small time career. But everyone is eager to be the one to falter a debut and eliminate momentum before it even has the time to get ready. Simply put, the competition will be as tough as it ever is to start, much less before he gets into a title hunt or better.)
(Quenton’s phone goes off once more, this time with two different notifications. The first, a Twitter notification:)
WFWF
@officialwfwf
Brandon Bison looks to continue his winning ways vs the debuting Quenton Alexander @ Dark Matter! Come see the future of the WFWF in action!
Quenton: It’s official. It’s finally real. I’m a WFWF Supe-
<DING-DING-DING!>
(Quenton’s thoughts are interrupted by another text message.)
James [text to Quenton:] Good on you, kid. Don’t get complacent now. Tomorrow, 8am sharp. Be damned if anyone associated with me loses their first go.
Quenton: That James, ever the inspiration.
(James Titus. A local legend of sorts in the Chicago wrestling scene. One of the first to figuratively and literally break the color barriers in the sport and be successful as well. Or rather, he would have been if he actually sought out fame and fortune. His career will always be a ‘what if’ had he not decided to retire in his prime. He wasn’t a case of ‘Those who can’t, teach’ either. He could, and could well. But when asked he usually deflects and says being a trainer was his truer calling.)
(James has been at Quenton’s side since he entered the squared circle. He’s never really been sure why; James sought him out and offered to be a proper training coach. With the way James works him, Quenton sometimes wish he turned him down. Just because people think he’s a tank doesn’t mean he can go without stopping like one. Deep down, he appreciates the help. After all, he got a contract with the best wrestling company in the land just a few years in. All that training had to pay off at some point.)
(He can deal with all of that tomorrow. Tonight, is a celebration.)
Elijah [yelling to the room]: Hey y’all! Next round’s on my friend here! He’s about to become a big star!
(The patrons on the floor all cheer, as Quenton quickly yanks Elijah: back to his seat as the two laugh.)
Quenton: Christ dude, I’m not that loaded.
Elijah: Yet, you mean.
Quenton: I mean, I haven’t gotten paid yet. And even then, this isn’t going to be an often situation, all of this. (He points around the club they’re in.)
Elijah: Well then, in the meantime, this will help cover it. (Elijah reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a roll of what looks to be twenty dollar marked bills, its shape held by a rubber band.)
Elijah: Oh, and you can take your bougie twenty out of that, too.
Quenton: Where the hell did you get all of that?
Elijah: I told you before, if that wrestling gig doesn’t work out, Merriweather Security is always looking for people with your…talents.
Quenton: You mean beating people up?
Elijah: Only when people try to step off. We’re not savages like you people.
Quenton: Really? You people.
Elijah: Negro, I’m as Black as you, you can’t try that mess on me. You’re fixing to get paid for literally beating a man down to the point he’s debilitated.
Quenton: Says the man whose last job involved him sending a guy to the hospital.
Elijah: It’s called ‘keeping the peace.’ Besides, he started it, I just finished it.
Quenton: A concussion finishes things, alright.
Elijah: All I’m saying is, you have nothing to stand on here.
Quenton: Whatever makes you sleep at night. I still don’t think a security job pays that well.
Elijah: That’s because you’re not smart like me.
(The two friends go back and forth as they sit at their table inside Mr. G’s. A self-described “Super Lounge and Entertainment Center,” it’s been a Southside hotspot in Gresham for decades. It’s survived the worst the city has had to offer: brutal thunderstorms, pipe-freezing blizzards. Not even an electrical fire could shut down the place for very long. The closest it has ever been to a permanent close? When a fight that started outside the venue spilled inside and left seven injured after the fight turned into a shootout.)
(All the celebrations: weddings, graduations, concerts marred by the complicated relationship the city has with its residents and their tendency to shoot first and ask later. The one saving grace, other than no one being killed in the incident, was how the neighborhood came together in support of the building staying open. For all those faults, it’s a positive aspect of the history of the neighborhood. It would be insulting to the legacy of the establishment to have to permanently close its doors. So instead, the owners now had an excuse to renovate the interior.)
(The seats, they’re plusher than they’ve ever been. The floors are no longer with the markings of shoes that couldn’t be buffered out, not that the sheen will last for long everyone hopes. The lighting technology has been upgraded, so now the configurations open more exciting possibilities. The re-opening gave the place more business than they’ve seen in past years. It goes to show how even buildings can be taken for granted until they become memories and unfortunate regrets of not visiting more. Mr. G’s however, that won’t be for quite some time.)
Elijah: Speaking of smart, where’s Eden?
Quenton: She didn’t come with you?
Elijah: No, she said she was coming in after work, but it usually doesn’t take her that long to-
Quenton: Holy sh*t.
Elijah: What?
Quenton: There she is.
(The two men sit dumbfounded at the sight of the person walking towards them. Eden is usually seen as a ‘tomboy’ type, but she has never been one to abide by any sort of role society claims a woman should have. If she wants to wear sweats and a long-sleeve because it’s that sort of day or if she wants to wear a form-fitting dress dressed to the nines because she’s feeling herself, she’ll do so and doesn’t care what anyone thinks outside of her close circle. Today she is most definitely feeling herself.)
(The strapless dress/skirt combination pops thanks to its dark purple hue combined with her own darker skin. There is a black bow tied around her waist that goes along with the dress, the strap from the bow lies on the side without impeding her motion. The ruffles of the skirt freely flow due to the twirl she does after finally standing directly in front of the boys. Her hair is a neat, small afro that reflects due to the angle of the lights above them.)
Elijah: Someone cleans up well.
Eden (laughs): Needed an occasion to wear this old thing, better an occasion than any, right? (Eden takes a seat at their table.)
Elijah (laughs): Look, you broke him. Earth to ‘Ton?
(A couple of snaps later, Quenton finally snaps out of his trance.)
Quenton: Y-Yeah, looks nice.
Eden: Just nice?
Elijah: Don’t bite his throat just yet; the poor boy is still recovering.
Quenton: No, you look amazing.
Eden: Well thank you, sir. You are rather handsome looking yourself.
(Elijah likes to tease the brief fling Eden and Quenton had in their early 20s, but what Quenton won’t admit is he’s never really had anyone, woman or man, that gave him the rush being with Eden brought. Their lives went in different paths and so did their feelings but if there was ever a time that brought them back, now would be it.)
Eden: So, when do we get to see you in action?
Quenton: Ah, I think I’ll get a couple matches under my belt before I embarrass myself in front of y’all.
Eden: Aw, come on. I remember when you couldn’t hit the mat without wincing. I’ve seen you train with James, you’re a beast now.
Elijah: Let’s not get his ego so large before his first match in his new home.
Eden: Let me guess-
Eden/Elijah: (simultaneously): If you leave room for disappointment, it makes failure hurt a little less.
Elijah: It’s like we’re related or something.
Eden: As much as I would love to continue this sibling mind power shtick, I’ve had to read thousands of words of boring academia today, and tomorrow is my off day. I am eager to drown my sorrows like everyone else here. Going to get me a drink, come with?
Quenton: I’ll meet you at the bar.
Elijah: Same.
Eden: Suit yourselves.
(Eden gets up to head to the bar. Elijah notices Quenton staring, visibly smitten at the sight of his sister. He laughs some more before breaking Quenton’s trance again.)
Elijah: You know, if you like her so much, why don’t you marry her?
Quenton: Please, that was a time and a half ago.
Elijah: Don’t they say time heals all wounds?
Quenton: Less like wounds and more like scars.
Elijah: After all you two went through, she still found the time necessary to forgive you and become friends again. What’s the worst that could happen?
Quenton: The exact situation that occurred? Besides, a little weird how you’re suddenly trying to play cupid.
Elijah: As if I didn’t before? I had to lock you outside on our balcony before you first admitted anything to each other. Not to mention, should that “exact situation” occur again, I’m gonna do what I should have done last time and beat your ass.
Quenton: Really? Threatening a wrestler? Whatever happened to “keeping the peace?”
Elijah: I prefer not to have to play big brother to the girl, who acts as if she’s ten feet tall because she was such a wreck she felt as small as an ant. That’s called keeping my peace.
Quenton: What a loving brother.
Elijah: Hey, I’m her brother. Not her therapist.
Quenton: What exactly are siblings supposed to be, then?
Elijah: You say that because you’re an only child. Look at her.
(The two men look towards the bar, where Eden currently is standing, waiting for her drink.)
Elijah: She is the most important woman in my life. I will literally take a bullet for her if I need to. But I know her. She could be on fire, falling thirty feet down to a bed of spikes and if you so much as even put the fire out, she’ll slap you for trying to help. You let her ask. You of all people should know that.
Quenton: Exactly.
Elijah: Come on, I’m tired of being all this lovey-dovey. I’m with sis; let’s drown our sorrows until we regret waking up tomorrow.
Quenton: I hear that.
(Not a moment after the two men stand up to head towards the bar, they hear a familiar shout followed by the crash of a glass.)
Eden: EXCUSE ME?!
Quenton: Oh sh*t.
Elijah:(sighs) Oh joy.
(The two men hurry over to the bar, now crowded with people thanks to the commotion. Once they maneuver their way to the source of the problem, they see Eden with a scowl that can only mean one thing: run. As for the seemingly poor person victim of her wrath, he’s wincing in pain with broken pieces of glass scattered on the floor and soaking wet with alcohol.)
Eden: Did I give you permission to touch me? Did I permit you to speak to me?
Wet Drunk: Damn, girl! All I wanted was to holler at you.
Eden: That’s how you ‘holler’ at someone? Trying to play grab ass?
WD: Look, not my problem if you can’t take a compliment, b*tch.
Eden: Oh, a compliment, was it? Let’s see how well this shoe compliments your bunghole!
(Before she goes to make her threat more literal than anyone possibly could think, Elijah: scoops Eden over his shoulder and heads towards the exit, making sure to keep her dress down as she flails unsuccessfully to be put down.)
Eden: No, let me give Jerk Ass a reason to call me out my name!
Elijah: We are leaving, Tropical Storm Eden.
(As the crowd hoots and hollers over what just went down, Quenton has to play public relations and apologize to the staff and manager-on-call in hopes their voluntary exit is a welcome alternative to an otherwise ban from the establishment. He offers Elijah:’s money roll as compensation for this and anything else needed to make this nothing more than a funny story to tell. Once everything seems to be calm, Quenton finally begins to make his way towards the exit to the waiting Irving siblings. But before he can, that wet, drunken Jerk Ass steps in his way.)
Jerk Ass: Someone is paying for this shirt.
Quenton: Look, sir, it’s a nice shirt, but I had nothing to do with this.
JA: Yeah, your girlfriend-
Quenton: She’s not my girlfriend.
JA: Figured, b*tch like that would be hard to tame-
(Before Jerk Ass could finish his thought, he hit the floor, now a wet, drunken, busted lip mess on the ground thanks to a left from Quenton.)
Quenton (to the manager): Sorry.
(Quenton and crew quickly rush out to the parking lot, and collect their bearings before breaking out into a fit of laughter. That is, before the guys suddenly yelp in pain after having their toes stepped on, literally, by Eden’s boots.)
Quenton: Is that thing loaded, damn!
Elijah: For real, that could have broken my toe, what the hell?
Eden: That’s what happens when you get to have the fun, but I don’t.
Quenton: You don’t consider breaking a glass over someone’s head ‘fun?’
Eden: Not when you actually got to level the guy. What’d he say?
Quenton: Not important.
Elijah: And what did I do?
Eden: You picked me up while I’m wearing a dress, who the hell thought that was a good idea?
Elijah: And politely escorting you out would be better? Better me than the police. And if anything, I’m the victim.
Eden: 1. Police don’t come around here. 2. Pray tell how are you the victim out of all this?
Elijah: I’m out a grand thanks to your stunt.
Eden: You won’t miss it…now what do we do? I barely had a drink before Jerk Ass showed up.
Quenton: I mean, we don’t need a club to dr-wait, a grand?
Elijah: Pays well, dude. And you’re right. Just look right alongside us.
(Mr. G’s has a policy that only certain brands of alcohol are allowed in its establishment. That’s thanks to the convenience mart right next to them with an assortment of alcohol themselves. It’s the Southside; all sorts of interesting configurations are around.)
Elijah: And this time, my man here is paying for sure.
Quenton: I suppose that’s fair.
Eden: Long as they have scotch, I am a happy lady.
(And drown their sorrows the three did. Numerous times, to the point where numerous laws were broken with Quenton driving home very much over the legal limit. Fortunately for him, he’s been worse off and he made it home safely, and promptly passed out on his couch, as he didn’t get home until 2AM.)
(So imagine his horror when he woke up at 8:30 and realized he was hungover and late to a training session with James. By the time he finally became presentable enough to head to The Warehouse, a literal warehouse converted into a gym in Pilsen, it was 10, and his headache was only going to get worse from there.)
(Inside, not unlike typical gym space with machines and free weights as other people train in here as well as Quenton and James. The only difference is a wrestling ring in its own section of the interior, something James had installed after taking ownership and upkeep.)
James: So, I know the stereotype is we’re always late, but unless I am as out of touch as you all like to say my old butt is, I didn’t know 8AM sharp meant 10:03.
Quenton: I know, I’m late.
James: No, late would be five, ten minutes due to traffic. This, this is money wasted.
Quenton: As much as I appreciate this lecture, I have a splitting headache and I just need to-
James: So, you’re late due to partying eh? You look like sh*t, son.
Quenton: That bad?
James: You look like someone who is not going to have a great rest of their morning. Ah well, consider this old school training.
Quenton: Old school?
James: Oh yeah, back in our time, we would party all night, get into town the next morning and be ready for the next show that night. Fun times.
Quenton: Suffice to say, I’m not the old soul like you are.
James (chuckes): No, but best believe you’re going to feel like one after us. Usual start, this time, double.
Quenton: Are you serious?
James: As serious as the heart attack that killed Redd Foxx when everyone thought he was faking. You were late, son. You know what that means.
Quenton: Kill me.
James: Death would be a fair alternative. Now run.
(Quenton curses under his breath as he begins their usual warm-up: 20 suicides from corner to corner inside the ring, followed by a short rest, then running the ropes for minutes at a time, and an assortment of burpees, jumping jacks, rolls around the ring before finally resting before getting into actual moves. Quenton is sitting down in one of the corners of the ring as James walks around in the middle.)
James: You alive?
Quenton: Depends on the definition of alive.
James: Still as smartmouthed as ever. You’re fine.
Quenton: Fate worse than death.
James: And as dramatic as ever. So, this Brandon Bison fellow, what’s he like?
Quenton: New guy, like me.
James: And probably as hungry to make a name for himself, if not more, he’s already got a couple of matches on you there. What’s his build?
Quenton: Six feet two, maybe. 230 pounds-ish. He beat Nitta.
James: Not bad. Decent sized guy. He’s got the height on you but you got about forty pounds on him. That should be fun to see.
Quenton: Especially because he likes to throw down.
James: Hell, I should take your place then.
Quenton: I’m good.
James: Really? Because if you let an old man like me run you into the ground, what do you think he’s capable of?
Quenton: What makes you think he’ll knock me off my feet?
James: Stand and comes towards me.
(As Quenton gets up and walks towards the middle of the ring, James suddenly shoots forward and flips Quenton over him with an arm drag, Quenton equal parts wincing from the reverberation exacerbating his headache and confused at the old man showcasing the remnants of his thought-gone athleticism.)
James: Like I said, if an old man like me can do that to you, what’s this Bison’s cat gonna do if you’re off your game. Hell of a lot worse I’d imagine.
Quenton: Never lose focus, got it.
James: It’s not just that. It doesn’t matter what you think of someone out the ring. Hell, you might end up liking the kid and have a beer afterward. But in that ring, you put everything aside and you scrap, because someone has to win and someone’s gotta take home an L. It’s not just focus, it’s about being smart. Like now, come on back towards me.
(Quenton proceeds to go towards James only for James to grab Quenton’s arm and pull towards the ground, holding his arm in a Fujiwara.)
James: Why would you trust me after what had happened before?
Quenton: Because my guard was down which left me open.
James: Vulnerability, women like that in a guy I hear. Does you butt all in this ring. Vulnerability leaves you on your ass.
(James helps Quenton up, now skeptical of the old man’s sudden change in demeanor.)
James: Look, you’re someone with a hell of amount of potential. But even now, it’s raw. Little things you haven’t picked up on that someone more skilled, who knows what they’re doing would ruin you with before you know what hit you. It’s one thing to get past Bison, someone as raw as you. But even he has the skills to take you out.
Quenton: I’m not gonna let that happen.
James: I know you won’t. Just don’t be surprised if he does.
Whether I like it or not, James is right. I can’t just let myself trust whomever just because I might like them as a person. WFWF is considered pretty damn ruthless. But I was never the type to abandon my people or my principles. So, if that makes me seen as a pushover, so be it. I dare anyone to try and push me over. I was raised with one goal: to not forget where I'm from, but to never come back once I made it out.
Out, that's always the one constant. Go 'out' and enjoy the fresh air. Go 'out' and see the world. Go 'out' and observe and embrace other people, other ways of living. Name a location, there is someone, somewhere, who wants to go 'out' and see it.
Funny enough, no one ever goes 'out' to see where I come from. That is, not unless you've taken a wrong turn when you should have made a left at Alburquerque. Bugs Bunny humor, I humor myself. All seriousness though, that’s how I always lived my life. Exist as far out of the world I grew up in as long as possible. Prove not just to myself, but to everyone else that there’s a way out where I’m from that’s not some statistic to be put in a database misused by people who love to judge us all, but wouldn’t to go out into an area they’re told they wouldn’t be safe in.
I’m not going to lie and say that there aren’t areas more risky than others to live in. You hear all the stories on the news about the number of shootings on the news or in the papers. Crime watches, they call it. All sorts of narrative around them, too. Domestic disputes, gang-related activity whether or not it went awry. And I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t have a history with it. I’ve lost friends, family to those exact incidents. Which is exactly why I’m here in WFWF.
I know what you’re saying: It’s quite the dissonance to try and prove that there is a way beyond violence by joining a company known for its violence. I’ve seen the shows. Men, women, battered, bruised, bloodied, broken. Minds and bodies, scarred at the carnage that has been brought. But I see it as a perfect fit. Because I’ve seen horrible things at a young age, things that children don’t need to see. In its weird, borderline disturbing way, I see that and think how well I would fit.
Just because I know right from wrong, doesn’t mean I’m not willing to do what I need to in order to survive. Brandon Bison I plan to make the first of many to know that firsthand. I don’t know him, he definitely doesn’t know me. We’re going to have the purest of experiences imaginable: a match not unlike chess. We’ll feel the other out, wait to make the first move and the biggest one. But unlike chess, our pieces are plastic. They’re flesh, and bone and we’ll be hoping to connect with other flesh and bone, hoping our shots hurt the other more.
Unless, you’re really into chess. Then I guess that sort of thing is normal. This is my normal.
