Post by Swarm on Jun 27, 2022 12:45:04 GMT -5
Please note that all chapter names are links to a piece of music connected its respective chapter. This music can work both as a precursor to the reading itself or, if set on loop, background music. Regardless, I hope you enjoy what I've put together and thank you for reading.
_______Volume I_______
It’s Just a Burning Memory
The thick air backstage at the Allstate Arena hung like a curtain and smelled of physical exertion and anxiety. At least that was Deirdre’s view of things. This was something of an informed interpretation. He had spent the better part of the last several hours watching from the sidelines as lighting operators, pyrotechnicians, directors, stagehands, a veritable cornucopia of people solved a million and one small catastrophes that emerge during a live broadcast; Work that if done well is invisible to the thousands of fans in attendance in Chicago as well as the countless numbers watching at home. “Invisible”. Deirdre reinforced the word in his mind. He had come to sincerely appreciate the work of the crew in a way he couldn’t have before things had changed for him. Before he was a broken thing. Perhaps it wasn’t just the invisibility he identified with. After all, they were all here in service of the “stars”. Deirdre thought to himself how appropriate that metaphor really was. The bright lights at the center of their own little universe in which all other celestial bodies are dragged and forced into the orbit of. He was instantly proud of his metaphor and thought it best to write it down lest he forget. Deirdre scrambled to retrieve his pen and notepad from his breast pocket. He set upon documenting his thoughts, wiping a clammy forearm on an equally clammy forehead. “God, it’s so hot.” He thought to himself shaking his head in frustration. Deirdre scribbled clumsily trying his best to maintain a grip on the pen while contorting his arm unnaturally as to avoid saturating the pages of the notepad with his damp forearm. The gloves helped as much as they hindered; His clammy hands beneath the leather something akin to the slipperiness of an ill-fitting... Deirdre chuckled in advance of his own crass punchline but distracted himself enough in the process to lose his grip on the pen and pad. He fumbled unsuccessfully to salvage his grasp watching as they went tumbling down to the side of his chair and to the dirty floor.
_Deirdre Barlow_
Dammit!
He exclaimed. His outburst turning heads and eliciting indistinguishable murmurings. This had become a frequent soundtrack to his days; Concerned murmurings. He had prepared many times for this. Rotate the side of the chair to face the notepad, brace on the opposing side... Before he could even so much as begin to reach down a crewmember approached and retrieved his fallen pen and notepad. Deirdre accepted the offering and felt every square inch of its implied indignity.
_Deirdre Barlow_
Oh, thank you I was actu...
Before Deirdre could finish his sentence the crewmember interrupted.
_XWA Crew Member_
Don’t sweat it, pal! Skimming Deirdre’s notepad. Ohh is this for autographs? Are you here to meet the wrestlers?
Deirdre could see that they believed they meant well. He saw in their eyes a look that had become all-too familiar; The combination of pity and fear of potential liability his existence now represented to these people. A look in the eyes reserved for broken things.
_Deirdre Barlow_
I’m just fine right here thank y...
He fought against the raging torrent of his emotions growing and fought hard not to scream in this person’s face, not to tell them to f*** off and die. Beneath the carefully managed surface, Deirdre was a bubbling cauldron of rage. That was something nobody ever told him about despair; How God damn angry you are all the time.
_XWA Crew Member_
Buddy it’s no problem! Here I can take you to...
The crewmember began to circle around Deirdre’s chair and grasp the handles. Deirdre shook his head with increasing emphasis, politely mumbling objections as this well-meaning individual turned taking his autonomy into a mechanism of patting themselves on the back for their kindness. He felt the rage bubbling over and spilling out the sides like the tears forming in and burning the corners of his eyes. He finally composed himself enough to grasp ahold of his press lanyard and hold it up to his invader.
_Deirdre Barlow_
I’m press!
The words came out like a squealing brake; He could only manage to control his volume and tone so much. The crewmember nodded, blushing, and scurried off; Off to be fixated on their own embarrassment to be sure. “Three”, Deirdre thought to himself, “Three times tonight.” He had been assumed afan. Somebody in need of assistance. Deirdre tried to shake off the incident and took to reviewing his notes. He had become increasingly proud of his developing prose, finding not only solace in developing his voice but, more importantly, purpose. He skimmed through the pages until he reached where he had left off. “Oh yes!” he thought to himself, “Celestial bodies and all that.” Deirdre set to document and expand his metaphor.
He wrote these words and paused; Ruminating; Fixating. Dreams. Deirdre used to have dreams, he used to have ambitions. In a flash the memories come all at once. Those dead eyes. The bright lights. His eyes burning under their glow. The helplessness. The feeling of... Deirdre at once shook off the spectre of the past. He could not afford that, not right now. Not ever. He stuffed it down as deep as he could, submerging them in the valley of his thoughts beneath the layers of understanding he was developing about himself, about his situation, about the world around him. This understanding would grow and flourish into a worldview which itself would inform a philosophy and foster a hardened resolved. Deirdre would come to understand that it is the world that is broken. A world that was built by wicked, powerful men who contorted everything around their convenience, around their accessibility, around their interests. Every design choice, every institution reinforcing their dominion. As such, it would always be the most wicked of them who would thrive, and it would be everyone else who would suffer the consequences. Even the ones who once dominated the world and bent it to their will, as they grew old and weak, they too would suffer. This understanding would become both shield and sword for Deirdre Barlow. It would protect him from this world and offer him mechanisms to strike back at it. But Deirdre had not yet come to that view of things. He was still, on this night in September, an infant of sorts. His new life less than two years old. On this night he did not see the world for its brokenness; Only himself within it. A broken thing. But he was beginning to learn. He looked to his right, seeing first EBR emerge from a nearby corridor and thought to himself “Of course, we’re all broken things, aren’t we?”.
_EBR_
I just think we need to do something to really hammer the point home, you know what I mean? Something that makes a clear, visual statement. Like tearing down the Berlin Wall.
EBR speaks over his shoulder to an at-first unseen party behind him. As they approach what is referred to at times as the gorilla position, the figure emerges and is Deej... It is DGX. Deirdre observes the two, Their behavior, their very body language existing in stark contrast. To EBR, it would seem as if they were the only two in the world. His loud speech cutting through the room as he brandishes a large champagne bottle serving, at this present moment, mostly as a prop augmenting his hand gestures. DGX however is ever observant; His head on a swivel catching glimpses with the eyes of the crew just as quickly as they turn their heads away from him; They possessing a palpable resentment for both men.
_DGX_
.... I think we uh... He locks eyes with another crewmember as he passes, now toying with their resentment toward him, enjoying it. He softly chuckles. ... I think we have made where we stand pretty clear so far...
He was not wrong. For the last several months these two had participated in what could be described as a terroristic attack on the egg... Xtreme Wrestling Alliance. They, along with Alex Sean had attacked wrestler after wrestler as a means of extorting the company for high paying contracts; Contracts that they had received. As always, they got everything they wanted and yet on this night when it was time for them to give the audience what they had paid for, they opted to stay in their private locker room; Part of those fat contracts they had been given and funded through layoffs. These crewmembers did not just hate DGX and EBR because they weren’t nice, they hated them because coworkers of theirs were at home looking for work because of them. And yet here they were. Flaunting it, throwing it in the faces of everyone.
_DGX_
... And for that matter I don’t think the fall of the Berlin Wall so much as a political statement as it was one step in the broader dissolution of the Soviet empire.
_EBR_
Listen I don’t think either of us are qualified to say what did or didn’t happen I’m just saying it left a mark and that’s what I think we need.
_DGX_
You want us to like, knock down a wall? DGX peers around the room. I mean I guess we could...
_EBR_
Figuratively. You know what, forget the wall. I just... I dunno. EBR pauses, then glances toward the curtain dividing the backstage from the entrance. ... What are your thoughts on all that?
DGX takes a quick glance toward the curtain then a monitor displaying the pay-per-view broadcast. On the screen is Alex Sean; The Xtreme Wrestling Alliance World Heavyweight Championship brandished high above his head.
_DGX_
You know to tell you the truth I think I’m a little proud.
EBR glances at the monitor.
_EBR_
Oh, not him winning I mean um...
Deirdre observes as EBR’s eyes focus on the screen; A screen now adorned with not only the new champion Alex Sean but his newfound ally, longtime nemesis King Kraig. Considering their own history, EBR and Kraig that is, no wonder he’s concerned. Deirdre thought of this disturbance in the relative harmony of Rated X and smiled to himself.
_EBR_
You know what, never mind.
Deirdre glanced over his notes once more, his eyes focusing on the top of the first page: “September 27th, 2013 - XWA Doomsday”. He felt it important to remember this date though he was still unsure as to why it felt so significant. It had been an eventful night for the Xtreme Wrestling Alliance to be sure. Gain Dermal had revealed himself to be Danger Liam in one of the more obvious anagram mystery man situations when you stop and think about it, really. Derrick Jedi had defeated and injured Dan Bennett after dressing up in whatever the blackface of Kabuki Theater is. Deirdre paused, then scribbled on his notepad “Derrick Jedi, Kabuki blackface?” before returning to his train of thought. And of course, most notably, Alex Sean had finally won the XWA World Heavyweight Championship; A title that had eluded him since he was in the inaugural XWA World Heavyweight Championship tournament nearly twelve years prior. It had, however, come at the cost of every principle he ever insisted he stood for. In the wake of his crushing defeat to EBR at SuperBrawl VII and visible decline as an athlete, Sean had retreated into his worst, most loathsome qualities. He had proven all of his naysayers ultimately correct; That his supposed code was a mere façade; Dispersed with as soon as it had become too inconvenient to maintain. For a moment, Deirdre’s thoughts were interrupted by the audio of the television broadcast emanating from the small monitor.
EBR audibly cackles.
_EBR_
A little melodramatic, don’t you think?
He peers around the room, a smirk across his face in a very jovial, “amiright” kind of manner. Alas, he just as quickly reads the grim faces of the standers by, clearing his throat and focusing back on the curtain. There was undeniably a sense of things in the room. It was clear on the faces of the staff in attendance and, as Deirdre would later discover, clear to the thousands of fans in attendance. A feeling that something had changed. Deirdre could sense it as soon as Alex Sean had launched a fireball in the face of Trace Demon and secured his first and what would come to be only Xtreme Wrestling Alliance World Heavyweight Championship that things now were different. It would not be, however, until many years later, after he had become the senior editor of the Ringside Observer and after his understanding of the world had taken form that he was able to put into concise words the feeling that permeated the building on that night. He would write these words eight years later when the XWA had unceremoniously ceased operations and he was tasked with writing its epitaph.
That would come to be Deirdre’s view of things but on this night sitting on the sidelines in the impossibly muggy backstage area, he could only faintly sense this change to reality. He could also sense that everyone else could sense it as well. That the room could be read by all but the most delusional parties...
_Alex Sean_
WHO’S THE F***IN’ MAN NOW YA’LL!
Alex Sean bursts through the curtain, the Xtreme Wrestling Alliance World Heavyweight Championship draped over his shoulder. DGX greets him with a hearty woop followed by a dap between the two men. They pause just shy of an embrace, DGX gracefully framing against Sean as to avoid his perspiring body to absolutely thrash his stylish outfit. He then turns to EBR who holds out a hand. Sean stares at it and opts instead to close the distance for a big hug; His sweat marinating EBR’s outfit which, to be fair, is not nearly as fashionable as his tag team partner. Deirdre takes a moment to scribble on his notepad “DGX: Great Dresser.”
_Alex Sean_
Aw hell yeah son look who brought the champagne that’s whassup!
Alex Sean had not yet dispensed with his faux urban patois. Most seemed to believe it to be a phase and history would later prove that to be pretty much true. EBR lifts the champagne bottle, catching eyes with Sean just as Bullseye and King Kraig make their way to the backstage area.
_EBR_
Yeah I kinda got this for myself... Just sort of figured we’d all kinda... bring our own...
There is a stilted pause. Sean is visibly disappointed.
_Alex Sean_
Oh....
_EBR_
I mean... it’s cool though. I mean I guess... EBR looks at the label appearing to eyeball the amount of fluid ounces. ... we can share... sure...
_Alex Sean_
Sigh. ... no man... it’s... not the same if it’s reluctant champagne. It’s f***in... tainted, dawg.
_Bullseye_
Yeh mane, sh**’s tainted. Tainted champagne.
Sean nods affirmingly.
_EBR_
There’s nothing... Huff. ... tainted...
_DGX_
Hey anybody keep up with Dan?
Dan Bennett had betrayed the entire XWA to rejoin his frat buddies in Rated X and in exchange had his leg broken earlier that evening by the racistly clad Derrick Jedi. Alas, the group looks around befuddled regarding his present status.
_Alex Sean_
Look ya’ll I was... Pointing to the curtain. ... out there! And besides, you’re f***ing harshing my vibe, bro.
_Bullseye_
Vibe is f***ed.
_Alex Sean_
Word. Look, guys... Sean raises up the World Heavyweight Championship. ... We did it. We came back, we said hey motherf***ers: This is our time!
_Bullseye_
Our time!
_Alex Sean_
This is OUR place!
_Bullseye_
Oh you know it!
_Alex Sean_
And we... will not... you know what actually I WILL have some of that champagne.
Sean grabs the champagne from EBR’s grasp. He quickly dispenses with the foil and raises the bottle up high.
_EBR_
Yeah, that’s cool... sure man.
_Alex Sean_
Tonight, guys, we changed the game. This is gonna be good for us but also... man... this is good for everyone!
Sean pans his head around at the remaining crewmembers, several of which had pay cuts to pay for his contract.
_Alex Sean_
This is like a revolution, man! We’re stormin’ the capitol in this bitch!
To his credit, Sean had never looked as much of a leader as he did in this moment. Surrounded by allies; Some longtime friends, others longtime foes. For better or worse he had united these men under a single banner and on this night possessed the disposition of a measured leader. Deirdre observed this being observed by others, DGX nodding his head impressed at the poise and dignity...
_Alex Sean_
Sniffling back surfacing tears. BBBBBYYYAHHHHHH!
Sean howls in a cringe-inducing outburst of emotion. The proud looks of his companions replaced by side-eye glances. They all visibly appearing to be beginning the process of forgetting they just saw that.
_Alex Sean_
Guys.... This is our time and right here and now? This sh**’s just the beginning!
With that, Sean pops the cork carelessly in the direction of several crewmembers and tips the overflowing champagne directly into his open mouth; Chugging the bottle indulgently to the enthusiastic cheers of DGX, King Kraig, and Bullseye, and polite clapping of EBR; His muted response no doubt correlated with watchful eyes as the champagne bottle empties. Deirdre observed this display of arrogance; The circus at the center of the room oblivious to the thousands of fans leaving the building disappointed, and that was even before a group dressed like ninjas led by a believed-to-be dead former commissioner literally kidnapped somebody. Deirdre would document that event in very short order and scribble beneath it “Dumb.” Perhaps Alex Sean was right after all. Deirdre observed Sean’s aging face, his tenuous alliances, the growing resentments surrounding him, it was as clear as day even to a broken thing such as himself. This really was just the beginning.
_Alex Sean_
So, what’s next, ya’ll!?
_Deirdre Barlow_
Dammit!
He exclaimed. His outburst turning heads and eliciting indistinguishable murmurings. This had become a frequent soundtrack to his days; Concerned murmurings. He had prepared many times for this. Rotate the side of the chair to face the notepad, brace on the opposing side... Before he could even so much as begin to reach down a crewmember approached and retrieved his fallen pen and notepad. Deirdre accepted the offering and felt every square inch of its implied indignity.
_Deirdre Barlow_
Oh, thank you I was actu...
Before Deirdre could finish his sentence the crewmember interrupted.
_XWA Crew Member_
Don’t sweat it, pal! Skimming Deirdre’s notepad. Ohh is this for autographs? Are you here to meet the wrestlers?
Deirdre could see that they believed they meant well. He saw in their eyes a look that had become all-too familiar; The combination of pity and fear of potential liability his existence now represented to these people. A look in the eyes reserved for broken things.
_Deirdre Barlow_
I’m just fine right here thank y...
He fought against the raging torrent of his emotions growing and fought hard not to scream in this person’s face, not to tell them to f*** off and die. Beneath the carefully managed surface, Deirdre was a bubbling cauldron of rage. That was something nobody ever told him about despair; How God damn angry you are all the time.
_XWA Crew Member_
Buddy it’s no problem! Here I can take you to...
The crewmember began to circle around Deirdre’s chair and grasp the handles. Deirdre shook his head with increasing emphasis, politely mumbling objections as this well-meaning individual turned taking his autonomy into a mechanism of patting themselves on the back for their kindness. He felt the rage bubbling over and spilling out the sides like the tears forming in and burning the corners of his eyes. He finally composed himself enough to grasp ahold of his press lanyard and hold it up to his invader.
_Deirdre Barlow_
I’m press!
The words came out like a squealing brake; He could only manage to control his volume and tone so much. The crewmember nodded, blushing, and scurried off; Off to be fixated on their own embarrassment to be sure. “Three”, Deirdre thought to himself, “Three times tonight.” He had been assumed afan. Somebody in need of assistance. Deirdre tried to shake off the incident and took to reviewing his notes. He had become increasingly proud of his developing prose, finding not only solace in developing his voice but, more importantly, purpose. He skimmed through the pages until he reached where he had left off. “Oh yes!” he thought to himself, “Celestial bodies and all that.” Deirdre set to document and expand his metaphor.
He wrote these words and paused; Ruminating; Fixating. Dreams. Deirdre used to have dreams, he used to have ambitions. In a flash the memories come all at once. Those dead eyes. The bright lights. His eyes burning under their glow. The helplessness. The feeling of... Deirdre at once shook off the spectre of the past. He could not afford that, not right now. Not ever. He stuffed it down as deep as he could, submerging them in the valley of his thoughts beneath the layers of understanding he was developing about himself, about his situation, about the world around him. This understanding would grow and flourish into a worldview which itself would inform a philosophy and foster a hardened resolved. Deirdre would come to understand that it is the world that is broken. A world that was built by wicked, powerful men who contorted everything around their convenience, around their accessibility, around their interests. Every design choice, every institution reinforcing their dominion. As such, it would always be the most wicked of them who would thrive, and it would be everyone else who would suffer the consequences. Even the ones who once dominated the world and bent it to their will, as they grew old and weak, they too would suffer. This understanding would become both shield and sword for Deirdre Barlow. It would protect him from this world and offer him mechanisms to strike back at it. But Deirdre had not yet come to that view of things. He was still, on this night in September, an infant of sorts. His new life less than two years old. On this night he did not see the world for its brokenness; Only himself within it. A broken thing. But he was beginning to learn. He looked to his right, seeing first EBR emerge from a nearby corridor and thought to himself “Of course, we’re all broken things, aren’t we?”.
_EBR_
I just think we need to do something to really hammer the point home, you know what I mean? Something that makes a clear, visual statement. Like tearing down the Berlin Wall.
EBR speaks over his shoulder to an at-first unseen party behind him. As they approach what is referred to at times as the gorilla position, the figure emerges and is Deej... It is DGX. Deirdre observes the two, Their behavior, their very body language existing in stark contrast. To EBR, it would seem as if they were the only two in the world. His loud speech cutting through the room as he brandishes a large champagne bottle serving, at this present moment, mostly as a prop augmenting his hand gestures. DGX however is ever observant; His head on a swivel catching glimpses with the eyes of the crew just as quickly as they turn their heads away from him; They possessing a palpable resentment for both men.
_DGX_
.... I think we uh... He locks eyes with another crewmember as he passes, now toying with their resentment toward him, enjoying it. He softly chuckles. ... I think we have made where we stand pretty clear so far...
He was not wrong. For the last several months these two had participated in what could be described as a terroristic attack on the egg... Xtreme Wrestling Alliance. They, along with Alex Sean had attacked wrestler after wrestler as a means of extorting the company for high paying contracts; Contracts that they had received. As always, they got everything they wanted and yet on this night when it was time for them to give the audience what they had paid for, they opted to stay in their private locker room; Part of those fat contracts they had been given and funded through layoffs. These crewmembers did not just hate DGX and EBR because they weren’t nice, they hated them because coworkers of theirs were at home looking for work because of them. And yet here they were. Flaunting it, throwing it in the faces of everyone.
_DGX_
... And for that matter I don’t think the fall of the Berlin Wall so much as a political statement as it was one step in the broader dissolution of the Soviet empire.
_EBR_
Listen I don’t think either of us are qualified to say what did or didn’t happen I’m just saying it left a mark and that’s what I think we need.
_DGX_
You want us to like, knock down a wall? DGX peers around the room. I mean I guess we could...
_EBR_
Figuratively. You know what, forget the wall. I just... I dunno. EBR pauses, then glances toward the curtain dividing the backstage from the entrance. ... What are your thoughts on all that?
DGX takes a quick glance toward the curtain then a monitor displaying the pay-per-view broadcast. On the screen is Alex Sean; The Xtreme Wrestling Alliance World Heavyweight Championship brandished high above his head.
_DGX_
You know to tell you the truth I think I’m a little proud.
EBR glances at the monitor.
_EBR_
Oh, not him winning I mean um...
Deirdre observes as EBR’s eyes focus on the screen; A screen now adorned with not only the new champion Alex Sean but his newfound ally, longtime nemesis King Kraig. Considering their own history, EBR and Kraig that is, no wonder he’s concerned. Deirdre thought of this disturbance in the relative harmony of Rated X and smiled to himself.
_EBR_
You know what, never mind.
Deirdre glanced over his notes once more, his eyes focusing on the top of the first page: “September 27th, 2013 - XWA Doomsday”. He felt it important to remember this date though he was still unsure as to why it felt so significant. It had been an eventful night for the Xtreme Wrestling Alliance to be sure. Gain Dermal had revealed himself to be Danger Liam in one of the more obvious anagram mystery man situations when you stop and think about it, really. Derrick Jedi had defeated and injured Dan Bennett after dressing up in whatever the blackface of Kabuki Theater is. Deirdre paused, then scribbled on his notepad “Derrick Jedi, Kabuki blackface?” before returning to his train of thought. And of course, most notably, Alex Sean had finally won the XWA World Heavyweight Championship; A title that had eluded him since he was in the inaugural XWA World Heavyweight Championship tournament nearly twelve years prior. It had, however, come at the cost of every principle he ever insisted he stood for. In the wake of his crushing defeat to EBR at SuperBrawl VII and visible decline as an athlete, Sean had retreated into his worst, most loathsome qualities. He had proven all of his naysayers ultimately correct; That his supposed code was a mere façade; Dispersed with as soon as it had become too inconvenient to maintain. For a moment, Deirdre’s thoughts were interrupted by the audio of the television broadcast emanating from the small monitor.
EBR audibly cackles.
_EBR_
A little melodramatic, don’t you think?
He peers around the room, a smirk across his face in a very jovial, “amiright” kind of manner. Alas, he just as quickly reads the grim faces of the standers by, clearing his throat and focusing back on the curtain. There was undeniably a sense of things in the room. It was clear on the faces of the staff in attendance and, as Deirdre would later discover, clear to the thousands of fans in attendance. A feeling that something had changed. Deirdre could sense it as soon as Alex Sean had launched a fireball in the face of Trace Demon and secured his first and what would come to be only Xtreme Wrestling Alliance World Heavyweight Championship that things now were different. It would not be, however, until many years later, after he had become the senior editor of the Ringside Observer and after his understanding of the world had taken form that he was able to put into concise words the feeling that permeated the building on that night. He would write these words eight years later when the XWA had unceremoniously ceased operations and he was tasked with writing its epitaph.
That would come to be Deirdre’s view of things but on this night sitting on the sidelines in the impossibly muggy backstage area, he could only faintly sense this change to reality. He could also sense that everyone else could sense it as well. That the room could be read by all but the most delusional parties...
_Alex Sean_
WHO’S THE F***IN’ MAN NOW YA’LL!
Alex Sean bursts through the curtain, the Xtreme Wrestling Alliance World Heavyweight Championship draped over his shoulder. DGX greets him with a hearty woop followed by a dap between the two men. They pause just shy of an embrace, DGX gracefully framing against Sean as to avoid his perspiring body to absolutely thrash his stylish outfit. He then turns to EBR who holds out a hand. Sean stares at it and opts instead to close the distance for a big hug; His sweat marinating EBR’s outfit which, to be fair, is not nearly as fashionable as his tag team partner. Deirdre takes a moment to scribble on his notepad “DGX: Great Dresser.”
_Alex Sean_
Aw hell yeah son look who brought the champagne that’s whassup!
Alex Sean had not yet dispensed with his faux urban patois. Most seemed to believe it to be a phase and history would later prove that to be pretty much true. EBR lifts the champagne bottle, catching eyes with Sean just as Bullseye and King Kraig make their way to the backstage area.
_EBR_
Yeah I kinda got this for myself... Just sort of figured we’d all kinda... bring our own...
There is a stilted pause. Sean is visibly disappointed.
_Alex Sean_
Oh....
_EBR_
I mean... it’s cool though. I mean I guess... EBR looks at the label appearing to eyeball the amount of fluid ounces. ... we can share... sure...
_Alex Sean_
Sigh. ... no man... it’s... not the same if it’s reluctant champagne. It’s f***in... tainted, dawg.
_Bullseye_
Yeh mane, sh**’s tainted. Tainted champagne.
Sean nods affirmingly.
_EBR_
There’s nothing... Huff. ... tainted...
_DGX_
Hey anybody keep up with Dan?
Dan Bennett had betrayed the entire XWA to rejoin his frat buddies in Rated X and in exchange had his leg broken earlier that evening by the racistly clad Derrick Jedi. Alas, the group looks around befuddled regarding his present status.
_Alex Sean_
Look ya’ll I was... Pointing to the curtain. ... out there! And besides, you’re f***ing harshing my vibe, bro.
_Bullseye_
Vibe is f***ed.
_Alex Sean_
Word. Look, guys... Sean raises up the World Heavyweight Championship. ... We did it. We came back, we said hey motherf***ers: This is our time!
_Bullseye_
Our time!
_Alex Sean_
This is OUR place!
_Bullseye_
Oh you know it!
_Alex Sean_
And we... will not... you know what actually I WILL have some of that champagne.
Sean grabs the champagne from EBR’s grasp. He quickly dispenses with the foil and raises the bottle up high.
_EBR_
Yeah, that’s cool... sure man.
_Alex Sean_
Tonight, guys, we changed the game. This is gonna be good for us but also... man... this is good for everyone!
Sean pans his head around at the remaining crewmembers, several of which had pay cuts to pay for his contract.
_Alex Sean_
This is like a revolution, man! We’re stormin’ the capitol in this bitch!
To his credit, Sean had never looked as much of a leader as he did in this moment. Surrounded by allies; Some longtime friends, others longtime foes. For better or worse he had united these men under a single banner and on this night possessed the disposition of a measured leader. Deirdre observed this being observed by others, DGX nodding his head impressed at the poise and dignity...
_Alex Sean_
Sniffling back surfacing tears. BBBBBYYYAHHHHHH!
Sean howls in a cringe-inducing outburst of emotion. The proud looks of his companions replaced by side-eye glances. They all visibly appearing to be beginning the process of forgetting they just saw that.
_Alex Sean_
Guys.... This is our time and right here and now? This sh**’s just the beginning!
With that, Sean pops the cork carelessly in the direction of several crewmembers and tips the overflowing champagne directly into his open mouth; Chugging the bottle indulgently to the enthusiastic cheers of DGX, King Kraig, and Bullseye, and polite clapping of EBR; His muted response no doubt correlated with watchful eyes as the champagne bottle empties. Deirdre observed this display of arrogance; The circus at the center of the room oblivious to the thousands of fans leaving the building disappointed, and that was even before a group dressed like ninjas led by a believed-to-be dead former commissioner literally kidnapped somebody. Deirdre would document that event in very short order and scribble beneath it “Dumb.” Perhaps Alex Sean was right after all. Deirdre observed Sean’s aging face, his tenuous alliances, the growing resentments surrounding him, it was as clear as day even to a broken thing such as himself. This really was just the beginning.
_Alex Sean_
So, what’s next, ya’ll!?
Alex Sean sat behind his gimmick table in the Gold Ballroom at the Marriott Hilton… something or other. He did not particularly care to recall the specifics. It was all starting to blur together anyway. GrappleCon. WrestleSpecial. Xtreme Wreunion. One convention center or hotel ballroom after another. He peered at his surroundings. The short drop-ceiling. The impossibly ugly geometric carpet pattern. This was starting to get old. How long had he been doing these things anyway? Sean thought it best not to get too granular about that. Besides, he thought, what else would he be doing? He instantly regretted the thought; All it brought was the feeling. The emptiness. The void. With a loud exhale Alex lifted his left arm and set to scratching the thinning hair atop of his head. His fingers navigating the wispy fibers until they found empty patches of bare skin. For a moment Sean fixated, rubbing his fingertips in circles on his scalp pondering their degree of visibility. “This has to be close to done.” Sean thought these words to himself to such a degree as to even mouth the shape of them silently. He looked up and to his left at the clock adorning a nearby pillar but found it too small and too far away to interpret its face. Sean squinted and leaned but his eyes had grown too tired. That must be it. “He he… ya can’t let ‘em see ya sweat, kid!” These words rang out from Alex Sean’s left flank, prompting a slow turn of his head toward the source; A bloated, aging figure who was…. Who was he, exactly? Sean squinted as hard at the red-faced man as he did the clock moments prior but just as well found no answer.
_Alex Sean_
Excuse me?
Sean spoke pointedly to the man seated at the table nearest his. He was as much insulted by the insinuation of inferiority as he was insecure about how long the man had been observing him. He thought about his hair and half-unconsciously turned his chin upward as to conceal his thinning crown.
_This f***in’ Guy_
I’m just sayin’ man… It’s a JUNGLE out here, ya feel me? The man peers from left to right suspicious of who is watching. You gotta know how to play the game.
Sean took a moment to assess the bloated man’s set-up; Tablecloth, 8x10s, rare Japanese bootleg VHS tapes. Sean felt assured in his immediate sense of superiority; This guy doesn’t even have a banner.
_Jungle Man_
If you ain’t careful? This absurd creature chuckles diabetically then nods, his head bouncing slightly left, slightly right, and so on. They’ll eat you alive out here!
Sean’s face softens, his eyebrows raising in as earnest a display of curiosity he can muster while taking the piss.
_Alex Sean_
Is that so?
_I Don't Think its Kurt Burton_
Oh for sure, kid. Look… Ya know they got you back here in Section C… That’s just them tryna make to sweat. They wanna see if you CRACK under the pressure. You gotta pay your dues young blood… you got. to pay. Your dues… But man stick with it long enough… Again with the nodding. … Man sky’s the limit. They’ll have you out there in Section B in no time.
_Alex Sean_
Huh… So then… tell me… friend… What brings you back here to the dregs Sean delivers this word with a roll of the eyes. of Section C?
_Nodding Hill Over Here_
Oh I ain’t about that life anymore. He shakes his red face solemnly. Time to let the next generation take the spotlight, you know? Can’t be the center of things forever pal.
Sean’s mouth lies agape as his… colleague stands up and begins to depart his table. The thicc man lumbers away filled with an almost inspiring degree of self-delusion. From the corner of his eye, Sean catches a glimpse of his former hype man, now head of security Lamont Carter approaching the table. Sean had still not fully adjusted to Lamont’s current sort-of southern law man get-up; The cowboy hat in particular being… a choice. Still, he thought it mostly a phase.
_Lamont Carter_
What’s good, man?
_Alex Sean_
Hey uh… Just out of curiosity… Sean cocks his head toward the still slowly lumbering away… maybe FC2002? … How much would I have to pay you to punch that guy in the throat?
Lamont glances toward the target, tilting his head from side to side sizing up his potential foe.
_Lamont Carter_
Well first thing is I definitely COULD do it.
_Alex Sean_
Oh, for sure.
_Lamont Carter_
But there are… He ponders further. … Some variables to consider.
Sean snorts, amused by Lamont’s consideration of the task.
_Alex Sean_
What kind of variables are we talkin’, Bulls?
_Lamont Carter_
Well… First off I ain’t about to be catchin’ a case on account of this sh** and I’m not entirely sure your ass is exactly as ambulatory as I would like for a quick get-away.
_Alex Sean_
Amused. Oh wow, it’s like that, huh?
_Lamont Carter_
No doubt, and also ya know… f***in… look at the guy. Dude’s about one staircase away from cardiac arrest. I ain’t tryna have that sh** on my conscious.
Lamont cracks just as he finishes the sentence, the two sharing a brief laugh and if only for a moment, Sean’s spirits were lifted. Lamont had a way of doing that.
_Lamont Carter_
So uh… What’s goin’ on boss? You need anything?
Lamont peers at the mostly empty Section C of the Gold Room inside… and so on… Sean looked at the nearly full stack of 8x10 glossies, then back at his head of security.
_Alex Sean_
Well… It would appear not, I guess.
_Lamont Carter_
I don’t get it, boss. Where is everyone?
_Alex Sean_
Exasperated. I dunno dude… I mean… ya know… They f***in’… got me back here in Section C, ya know?
_Lamont Carter_
Mmm… Lamont nods affirmingly. They always f***in’ witchu like this. f***in’ Section C.
_Alex Sean_
f***in Section C, man. I dunno… I mean, I was a pretty big deal, ya know?
_Lamont Carter_
The biggest.
_Alex Sean_
I’m a six-time world champion, ya know?
_Lamont Carter_
Unrivaled.
_Alex Sean_
I dunno man… I mean maybe it’s the weather…
_Lamont Carter_
Nah man this just the same old story.
Sean nods. Lamont had a way of reinforcing Sean’s assessments of things.
_Lamont Carter_
Like, real talk?
_Alex Sean_
Always.
_Lamont Carter_
This ain’t new man, they been doin’ this for six thousand years, ya feel? This sh** goes all the way back to Yakub.
He also had a way of watching a lot of Youtube videos about Yakub.
_Alex Sean_
I don’t think this situation…
_Lamont Carter_
Six hunnit years of eugenics and wickedness bred the white demon and six thousand years later we STILL payin’ for it. Oh they sneaky, no doubt, usin’ their tricknology and sh** takin’ over the whole world, stealin’ our history, stealin’ our culture, stealin’ our land. Lamont shakes his head solemnly. … It’s f***in Ancient Greece all over again, man.
Sean stares whitely.
_Lamont Carter_
I mean you’re cool though.
_Alex Sean_
Right.
_Lamont Carter_
Yeah man like you f***in’… FRENCH CANADIAN or some sh**, right?
_Alex Sean_
It’s true.
_Lamont Carter_
Like that ain’t even… WHITE, ya know? Ya’ll is like… the black people of Canada.
Sean winces.
_Alex Sean_
Ya know I’m pretty sure like… black people… are the black people… of Canada.
_Lamont Carter_
Oh I dunno dawg I ain’t really ever been up that way to tell you the truth but… ya know… D used to say some sh** that made me question a few things.
_Alex Sean_
About black people?
_Lamont Carter_
Nah dawg f***in Montreal.
_Alex Sean_
Oh… Word… Sean pauses to consider the ramifications. … What’d he say about Montreal?
“Dude, that’s him!”
The voice caught both Sean and Lamont off-guard but was just as quickly associated with the man clad in a… profoundly… ratty Stuart2k1 t-shirt and carrying on his shoulder a replica of… some belt anyway… Sean thought of the many belts he had seen over the years, most of them ugly. He shuddered at the recollection. Next to Belt Guy is a larger, shorter fellow; His neck beard something to behold. Sean considered their more-than-likely basement dwellings and made a mental note to call a mold inspector about that smell in the laundry room. Maybe it’s not mold but why risk it?
_Belt Guy_
I think that’s him! Hey are you…
_Neckbeard_
Dude, show some respect!
Lamont darts his eyes toward the incelibates then back to his employer with an implication of some crowd control. Sean shook his head and waved him off before turning his attention back to the fans. A proud smile creeps across his face and he raises his hand in as benevolent manner as he can.
_Alex Sean_
Guys… guys… Everything’s just fine, come on over.
Belt Guy gives Neckbeard a snarky shake of the head, as if to say “see” before they approach the table.
_Belt Guy_
I told you, dude!
Oh he just came out and said it. Alright then.
_Neckbeard_
I didn’t say it wasn’t…
Sean cannot help but soak in the recognition. The reverence for his long and storied career.
_Belt Guy_
Yeah, whatever bro. Turning to Sean. You’re totally Alex showtime, right?
The words punctured Sean’s lifted spirits like an arrowhead. He thought of the metaphor and then, in an instant, the memories along with it. First the warmth, then red palms. Flashing lights. Their eyes looking down at him. His mind leapt back to the present, but left behind him all jubilance. He once again felt the emptiness. The void.
_Alex Sean_
I did… go by that… for a few years… yes.
_Belt Guy_
That’s crazy, man! Ya’ll did some wild stuff, dude!
Sean forces out a chuckle but behind it there is no joy.
_Alex Sean_
Yeah… we did some crazy stuff back in the day. Ya know I actually did a lot…
_Neckbeard_
I’ll say! I was a huge fan of Rated X!
Until now watching from the sidelines, Lamont makes his presence felt.
_Lamont Carter_
Thems was some good times, boss.
Sean peers back to his friend.
_Alex Sean_
No doubt, man.
_Neckbeard_
Nooo man you weren’t in Rated X! Rated X was um… Alex showtime and…
_Belt Guy_
You’re such a mark dude! You don’t even know who was in Rated X! Alex showtime joined later, first it was Uppertaker and then he hired Pointing his scrawny hand toward Alex Sean. Alex showtime to join him!
_Neckbeard_
Oohhh yeah. Looking at Sean. You guys still talk at all?
Uppertaker had not been in Rated X. At least Sean didn’t… think… he had. There was that whole thing with DGX in 2003 when he was exiled from the promotion. Vampire army, Gangsta’s Paradise theme song. DGX didn’t really talk about it much and it seemed everyone else involved was happy to oblige.
_Alex Sean_
I um… Deep exhale. … You guys want an autograph? I got these 8x10s…
_Belt Guy_
No way bro! Check THIS out…
Belt Guy reaches in the back of his waistband, Sean considering for a moment the possibility he’s about to get clapped. He imagines the funeral, the crying eyes. He imagines Rebecca sobbing. It’s a comforting thought. Alas instead Belt Guy retrieves a musty old magazine. XWA Magazine. March 2002. Sean was not familiar with this issue, he did not know it’s contents. He did recall doing this photoshoot, the one that produced the image of his face brandished across the front cover. He had just cut his hair and dyed it platinum blonde.
_Belt Guy_
Can you sign that for me?
Sean barely registers the words, peering deep into his own eyes. Almost in a trance, Sean barely nods in approval and, without breaking sight of the magazine, clumsily retrieves a silver-inked pen from his side. Alex pulls off the cap and places the tip against the aging fibers of the front cover.
_Neckbeard_
This is so crazy, dude!
_Belt Guy_
I know, right?
Those eyes. So many years separated him from those eyes. That look of certainty. The look of someone with a fire burning at the center of their being, filled to the brim with passion. “Was I really once this man?” Sean asked himself.
_Neckbeard_
Man you GOT to get Uppertaker to sign this too! That’d be epic!
_Belt Guy_
Don’t be a mark, man. Uppertaker retired and they replaced him with a DIFFERENT Uppertaker.
Of course he was. Of course. He assured himself of his certitude. After all, how could he have these memories? How could he recall standing in that room for this picture?
_Neckbeard_
No man you’re thinking of The MadDog! That’s why he got shorter.
_Belt Guy_
I don’t think that was him… MadDog was crazy though! I always heard like… ya know some of this stuff is kinda phony but he really tried to win dude.
How could someone who didn’t live his life know how he felt when DGX had betrayed him for the first time, or when he had finally defeated The shape just over a year later or… He thought of the spearhead, the red gauze. He remembered New Orleans.
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All of these memories rushing to the surface, each burning like a shot of cheap vodka. He thought of how deeply he felt those feelings. How much they burned. He remembered the fire in his belly. Then he felt it again. The emptiness. The void. The cold absence of anything. Any purpose. Any drive. Maybe he wasn’t this man. Maybe he didn’t do those things.
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He looked back into his own eyes, then his gaze drifted to the stack of reflective 8x10s. He saw in them his face now. He looked back into his own eyes. In them he saw no life.
Sean at once is snapped from his trance. He stares upward at what is certainly at least one moderator of a message board.
_Alex Sean_
I’m sorry?
_Belt Guy_
What do you say? Am I right?
He stares blankly at the two men and at once is very, very tired.
_Alex Sean_
I… uh…
Just as Sean begins an attempt at forming words, Neckbeard’s attention is diverted elsewhere.
_Neckbeard_
Dude! I think that’s John McMahon!
Belt Guy is instantly hooked by the premise. He quickly thanks Sean while yanking the weathered magazine out from Sean’s grasp. He had not yet finished signing. How could he, really? That wasn’t really him on the cover anyway. Not anymore. The next hour or so passed with little incident. Sean was silent and Lamont could feel the ponderous, reflective state of his benefactor. Sean knew this wasn’t the answer. He knew this wasn’t going to work, it couldn’t make him feel the way he felt before. It couldn’t fill the emptiness. It couldn’t fill the void. He began to consider a life without this. A few obligations remained to be sure but ultimately this was a dead-end. It wasn’t the first. He thought of tomorrow and what he was about to do. For a moment he felt cautious optimism. It wasn’t the first but if tomorrow goes well, maybe it will be the last. This thought brought him some peace. More time passed and Sean waited. There wasn’t ever so much as a specific cue for when these things are over. On this afternoon, the closest that came to such was in the form of an employee of the venue vacuuming the Gold Room’s hideous carpet bumped into Sean’s table sending close to half his 8x10s tumbling to the floor and beneath the tablecloth. Alas, Sean and Lamont set about breaking down Sean’s table. He paused for a moment to appreciate his large banner. He felt it appropriate to do so; It was a pretty nice banner after all. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed an entrant to the Gold Room; His now-agent, former nemesis, somewhat-recently deposed King of… well it doesn’t really matter now anyway… Kraig. Kraig passes by the stack of 8x10s, giving an approving nod at its low stature.
_Kraig_
Nice job, Alex. This is a substantial improvement from the last convention.
Sean huffs then nods his head toward the floor. Kraig looks at the mess of glossies strewn amongst the carpet.
_Kraig_
Oh, I see. Bending down to clean up the 8x10s. I don’t understand, Alex. I recall you being more popular than this.
Sean shrugs defeatedly and returns to removing his banner.
_Lamont Carter_
‘Ey dawg they kinda… ya know… f***ed my mans here.
_Kraig_
Aghast at the allegation. They f***ed Alex?
_Lamont Carter_
Oh they f***ed him good, man.
_Alex Sean_
I wouldn’t say they…
_Kraig_
Who is they?
_Lamont Carter_
Maaaaannnnn you know. f***in WHITEY. Ya feel?
_Kraig_
Mm. The whites are sneaky, deviant lot…
Sean tunes out. Kraig hadn’t really recovered since the CIA overthrew his government.
_Kraig_
… You know they SAY they’re sending USAID for air quotes. “Humanitarian efforts” but…
He was sympathetic and all that. It had just been a long day.
_Kraig_
… Next thing you know, you’re filling a suitcase with gold bars, jumping on a helicopter, and narrowly avoiding projectiles. Scoff. They say they were Air quotes. “Hungry” but they seemed rather well-fed from my vantage point is all I’m saying.
Sean had heard this speech… a lot of times…
_Lamont Carter_
I mean you already know what I’m going to say.
Kraig nodded, Sean highly doubted he knew what Lamont was going to say.
_Kraig_
But I digress… How did the Caucasian menace target my client, precisely?
_Lamont Carter_
Dawg they put my mans back here in Section C! Ain’t sh** happenin’ back here.
_Kraig_
Mm. They’re trying to marginalize my client. Kraig chuckles. The sneaky white man… Always slippery… like a snake.
Sean stares at Kraig whitely.
_Kraig_
I mean, not you. You’re okay in my book.
Alex Sean was very tired, and he was very much over all of this. He did not feel like performing, he had tomorrow to think about. As if on cue, the promoter of this convention Gunnar Whitman entered the Gold Room. Perhaps Sean owed Kraig something. Kraig had put Sean in contact with Gunnar which in turn, set the events in motion that led to tomorrow. Maybe things will finally change.
_Gunnar Whitman_
Hey buddeh!
Gunnar was a festive sort. Alabama born and bred. Large and jovial and speaking every sentence in a kind of sing-songy way.
_Gunnar Whitman_
How’d everything go today? I was… a lit-tel bus-ee down there in Section A. I tell ya, it’s a jungle down there.
With firm resolve, Kraig approaches Gunnar.
_Kraig_
Hello, White Man.
_Gunnar Whitman_
It’s Whitman but what’s up, pal?
_Kraig_
I’d like to know why my client, Alex Sean, has been relegated to Section C.
_Lamont Carter_
Mm. Relegated.
_Kraig_
Everyone knows Section C is a ghost town.
_Lamont Carter_
sh**’s f***in’ haunted back here.
Gunnar pauses for a moment, softening his demeaner.
_Gunnar Whitman_
I take it things didn’t go as hoped, today?
His words come out with the warmth and compassion of a television sitcom father. It was kind of remarkable. Sean observed this sort of shapeshifting into the exact form of niceness required to dissuade animosity. Damn maybe he really was sneaky, slippery like a snake, all that stuff. Regardless, it worked, and Sean felt a strong urge to resolve things.
_Alex Sean_
Ehh I dunno… Just didn’t find my audience today but maybe next time, right?
_Gunnar Whitman_
Slapping Sean firmly on the back. Maybe tomorrow, amiright?
Gunnar had taken Sean in as something of a pet project. He had booked Sean at as many conventions as he could and now they were talking about the next step.
_Alex Sean_
Lightly chuckling. Guess so…
_Gunnar Whitman_
You ready for that spotlight? It’s preh-tee hot under those lights, you know.
He wasn’t wrong.
_Alex Sean_
Oh I know… I’m uh… I’m counting on it.
But Sean thought of the emptiness, he thought of the void. Alex Sean could not reach within himself and find that flame any longer. He could only hope that perhaps it could come from somewhere else. Anything else.
_Alex Sean_
Excuse me?
Sean spoke pointedly to the man seated at the table nearest his. He was as much insulted by the insinuation of inferiority as he was insecure about how long the man had been observing him. He thought about his hair and half-unconsciously turned his chin upward as to conceal his thinning crown.
_This f***in’ Guy_
I’m just sayin’ man… It’s a JUNGLE out here, ya feel me? The man peers from left to right suspicious of who is watching. You gotta know how to play the game.
Sean took a moment to assess the bloated man’s set-up; Tablecloth, 8x10s, rare Japanese bootleg VHS tapes. Sean felt assured in his immediate sense of superiority; This guy doesn’t even have a banner.
_Jungle Man_
If you ain’t careful? This absurd creature chuckles diabetically then nods, his head bouncing slightly left, slightly right, and so on. They’ll eat you alive out here!
Sean’s face softens, his eyebrows raising in as earnest a display of curiosity he can muster while taking the piss.
_Alex Sean_
Is that so?
_I Don't Think its Kurt Burton_
Oh for sure, kid. Look… Ya know they got you back here in Section C… That’s just them tryna make to sweat. They wanna see if you CRACK under the pressure. You gotta pay your dues young blood… you got. to pay. Your dues… But man stick with it long enough… Again with the nodding. … Man sky’s the limit. They’ll have you out there in Section B in no time.
_Alex Sean_
Huh… So then… tell me… friend… What brings you back here to the dregs Sean delivers this word with a roll of the eyes. of Section C?
_Nodding Hill Over Here_
Oh I ain’t about that life anymore. He shakes his red face solemnly. Time to let the next generation take the spotlight, you know? Can’t be the center of things forever pal.
Sean’s mouth lies agape as his… colleague stands up and begins to depart his table. The thicc man lumbers away filled with an almost inspiring degree of self-delusion. From the corner of his eye, Sean catches a glimpse of his former hype man, now head of security Lamont Carter approaching the table. Sean had still not fully adjusted to Lamont’s current sort-of southern law man get-up; The cowboy hat in particular being… a choice. Still, he thought it mostly a phase.
_Lamont Carter_
What’s good, man?
_Alex Sean_
Hey uh… Just out of curiosity… Sean cocks his head toward the still slowly lumbering away… maybe FC2002? … How much would I have to pay you to punch that guy in the throat?
Lamont glances toward the target, tilting his head from side to side sizing up his potential foe.
_Lamont Carter_
Well first thing is I definitely COULD do it.
_Alex Sean_
Oh, for sure.
_Lamont Carter_
But there are… He ponders further. … Some variables to consider.
Sean snorts, amused by Lamont’s consideration of the task.
_Alex Sean_
What kind of variables are we talkin’, Bulls?
_Lamont Carter_
Well… First off I ain’t about to be catchin’ a case on account of this sh** and I’m not entirely sure your ass is exactly as ambulatory as I would like for a quick get-away.
_Alex Sean_
Amused. Oh wow, it’s like that, huh?
_Lamont Carter_
No doubt, and also ya know… f***in… look at the guy. Dude’s about one staircase away from cardiac arrest. I ain’t tryna have that sh** on my conscious.
Lamont cracks just as he finishes the sentence, the two sharing a brief laugh and if only for a moment, Sean’s spirits were lifted. Lamont had a way of doing that.
_Lamont Carter_
So uh… What’s goin’ on boss? You need anything?
Lamont peers at the mostly empty Section C of the Gold Room inside… and so on… Sean looked at the nearly full stack of 8x10 glossies, then back at his head of security.
_Alex Sean_
Well… It would appear not, I guess.
_Lamont Carter_
I don’t get it, boss. Where is everyone?
_Alex Sean_
Exasperated. I dunno dude… I mean… ya know… They f***in’… got me back here in Section C, ya know?
_Lamont Carter_
Mmm… Lamont nods affirmingly. They always f***in’ witchu like this. f***in’ Section C.
_Alex Sean_
f***in Section C, man. I dunno… I mean, I was a pretty big deal, ya know?
_Lamont Carter_
The biggest.
_Alex Sean_
I’m a six-time world champion, ya know?
_Lamont Carter_
Unrivaled.
_Alex Sean_
I dunno man… I mean maybe it’s the weather…
_Lamont Carter_
Nah man this just the same old story.
Sean nods. Lamont had a way of reinforcing Sean’s assessments of things.
_Lamont Carter_
Like, real talk?
_Alex Sean_
Always.
_Lamont Carter_
This ain’t new man, they been doin’ this for six thousand years, ya feel? This sh** goes all the way back to Yakub.
He also had a way of watching a lot of Youtube videos about Yakub.
_Alex Sean_
I don’t think this situation…
_Lamont Carter_
Six hunnit years of eugenics and wickedness bred the white demon and six thousand years later we STILL payin’ for it. Oh they sneaky, no doubt, usin’ their tricknology and sh** takin’ over the whole world, stealin’ our history, stealin’ our culture, stealin’ our land. Lamont shakes his head solemnly. … It’s f***in Ancient Greece all over again, man.
Sean stares whitely.
_Lamont Carter_
I mean you’re cool though.
_Alex Sean_
Right.
_Lamont Carter_
Yeah man like you f***in’… FRENCH CANADIAN or some sh**, right?
_Alex Sean_
It’s true.
_Lamont Carter_
Like that ain’t even… WHITE, ya know? Ya’ll is like… the black people of Canada.
Sean winces.
_Alex Sean_
Ya know I’m pretty sure like… black people… are the black people… of Canada.
_Lamont Carter_
Oh I dunno dawg I ain’t really ever been up that way to tell you the truth but… ya know… D used to say some sh** that made me question a few things.
_Alex Sean_
About black people?
_Lamont Carter_
Nah dawg f***in Montreal.
_Alex Sean_
Oh… Word… Sean pauses to consider the ramifications. … What’d he say about Montreal?
“Dude, that’s him!”
The voice caught both Sean and Lamont off-guard but was just as quickly associated with the man clad in a… profoundly… ratty Stuart2k1 t-shirt and carrying on his shoulder a replica of… some belt anyway… Sean thought of the many belts he had seen over the years, most of them ugly. He shuddered at the recollection. Next to Belt Guy is a larger, shorter fellow; His neck beard something to behold. Sean considered their more-than-likely basement dwellings and made a mental note to call a mold inspector about that smell in the laundry room. Maybe it’s not mold but why risk it?
_Belt Guy_
I think that’s him! Hey are you…
_Neckbeard_
Dude, show some respect!
Lamont darts his eyes toward the incelibates then back to his employer with an implication of some crowd control. Sean shook his head and waved him off before turning his attention back to the fans. A proud smile creeps across his face and he raises his hand in as benevolent manner as he can.
_Alex Sean_
Guys… guys… Everything’s just fine, come on over.
Belt Guy gives Neckbeard a snarky shake of the head, as if to say “see” before they approach the table.
_Belt Guy_
I told you, dude!
Oh he just came out and said it. Alright then.
_Neckbeard_
I didn’t say it wasn’t…
Sean cannot help but soak in the recognition. The reverence for his long and storied career.
_Belt Guy_
Yeah, whatever bro. Turning to Sean. You’re totally Alex showtime, right?
The words punctured Sean’s lifted spirits like an arrowhead. He thought of the metaphor and then, in an instant, the memories along with it. First the warmth, then red palms. Flashing lights. Their eyes looking down at him. His mind leapt back to the present, but left behind him all jubilance. He once again felt the emptiness. The void.
_Alex Sean_
I did… go by that… for a few years… yes.
_Belt Guy_
That’s crazy, man! Ya’ll did some wild stuff, dude!
Sean forces out a chuckle but behind it there is no joy.
_Alex Sean_
Yeah… we did some crazy stuff back in the day. Ya know I actually did a lot…
_Neckbeard_
I’ll say! I was a huge fan of Rated X!
Until now watching from the sidelines, Lamont makes his presence felt.
_Lamont Carter_
Thems was some good times, boss.
Sean peers back to his friend.
_Alex Sean_
No doubt, man.
_Neckbeard_
Nooo man you weren’t in Rated X! Rated X was um… Alex showtime and…
_Belt Guy_
You’re such a mark dude! You don’t even know who was in Rated X! Alex showtime joined later, first it was Uppertaker and then he hired Pointing his scrawny hand toward Alex Sean. Alex showtime to join him!
_Neckbeard_
Oohhh yeah. Looking at Sean. You guys still talk at all?
Uppertaker had not been in Rated X. At least Sean didn’t… think… he had. There was that whole thing with DGX in 2003 when he was exiled from the promotion. Vampire army, Gangsta’s Paradise theme song. DGX didn’t really talk about it much and it seemed everyone else involved was happy to oblige.
_Alex Sean_
I um… Deep exhale. … You guys want an autograph? I got these 8x10s…
_Belt Guy_
No way bro! Check THIS out…
Belt Guy reaches in the back of his waistband, Sean considering for a moment the possibility he’s about to get clapped. He imagines the funeral, the crying eyes. He imagines Rebecca sobbing. It’s a comforting thought. Alas instead Belt Guy retrieves a musty old magazine. XWA Magazine. March 2002. Sean was not familiar with this issue, he did not know it’s contents. He did recall doing this photoshoot, the one that produced the image of his face brandished across the front cover. He had just cut his hair and dyed it platinum blonde.
_Belt Guy_
Can you sign that for me?
Sean barely registers the words, peering deep into his own eyes. Almost in a trance, Sean barely nods in approval and, without breaking sight of the magazine, clumsily retrieves a silver-inked pen from his side. Alex pulls off the cap and places the tip against the aging fibers of the front cover.
_Neckbeard_
This is so crazy, dude!
_Belt Guy_
I know, right?
Those eyes. So many years separated him from those eyes. That look of certainty. The look of someone with a fire burning at the center of their being, filled to the brim with passion. “Was I really once this man?” Sean asked himself.
_Neckbeard_
Man you GOT to get Uppertaker to sign this too! That’d be epic!
_Belt Guy_
Don’t be a mark, man. Uppertaker retired and they replaced him with a DIFFERENT Uppertaker.
Of course he was. Of course. He assured himself of his certitude. After all, how could he have these memories? How could he recall standing in that room for this picture?
_Neckbeard_
No man you’re thinking of The MadDog! That’s why he got shorter.
_Belt Guy_
I don’t think that was him… MadDog was crazy though! I always heard like… ya know some of this stuff is kinda phony but he really tried to win dude.
How could someone who didn’t live his life know how he felt when DGX had betrayed him for the first time, or when he had finally defeated The shape just over a year later or… He thought of the spearhead, the red gauze. He remembered New Orleans.
All of these memories rushing to the surface, each burning like a shot of cheap vodka. He thought of how deeply he felt those feelings. How much they burned. He remembered the fire in his belly. Then he felt it again. The emptiness. The void. The cold absence of anything. Any purpose. Any drive. Maybe he wasn’t this man. Maybe he didn’t do those things.
He looked back into his own eyes, then his gaze drifted to the stack of reflective 8x10s. He saw in them his face now. He looked back into his own eyes. In them he saw no life.
Sean at once is snapped from his trance. He stares upward at what is certainly at least one moderator of a message board.
_Alex Sean_
I’m sorry?
_Belt Guy_
What do you say? Am I right?
He stares blankly at the two men and at once is very, very tired.
_Alex Sean_
I… uh…
Just as Sean begins an attempt at forming words, Neckbeard’s attention is diverted elsewhere.
_Neckbeard_
Dude! I think that’s John McMahon!
Belt Guy is instantly hooked by the premise. He quickly thanks Sean while yanking the weathered magazine out from Sean’s grasp. He had not yet finished signing. How could he, really? That wasn’t really him on the cover anyway. Not anymore. The next hour or so passed with little incident. Sean was silent and Lamont could feel the ponderous, reflective state of his benefactor. Sean knew this wasn’t the answer. He knew this wasn’t going to work, it couldn’t make him feel the way he felt before. It couldn’t fill the emptiness. It couldn’t fill the void. He began to consider a life without this. A few obligations remained to be sure but ultimately this was a dead-end. It wasn’t the first. He thought of tomorrow and what he was about to do. For a moment he felt cautious optimism. It wasn’t the first but if tomorrow goes well, maybe it will be the last. This thought brought him some peace. More time passed and Sean waited. There wasn’t ever so much as a specific cue for when these things are over. On this afternoon, the closest that came to such was in the form of an employee of the venue vacuuming the Gold Room’s hideous carpet bumped into Sean’s table sending close to half his 8x10s tumbling to the floor and beneath the tablecloth. Alas, Sean and Lamont set about breaking down Sean’s table. He paused for a moment to appreciate his large banner. He felt it appropriate to do so; It was a pretty nice banner after all. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed an entrant to the Gold Room; His now-agent, former nemesis, somewhat-recently deposed King of… well it doesn’t really matter now anyway… Kraig. Kraig passes by the stack of 8x10s, giving an approving nod at its low stature.
_Kraig_
Nice job, Alex. This is a substantial improvement from the last convention.
Sean huffs then nods his head toward the floor. Kraig looks at the mess of glossies strewn amongst the carpet.
_Kraig_
Oh, I see. Bending down to clean up the 8x10s. I don’t understand, Alex. I recall you being more popular than this.
Sean shrugs defeatedly and returns to removing his banner.
_Lamont Carter_
‘Ey dawg they kinda… ya know… f***ed my mans here.
_Kraig_
Aghast at the allegation. They f***ed Alex?
_Lamont Carter_
Oh they f***ed him good, man.
_Alex Sean_
I wouldn’t say they…
_Kraig_
Who is they?
_Lamont Carter_
Maaaaannnnn you know. f***in WHITEY. Ya feel?
_Kraig_
Mm. The whites are sneaky, deviant lot…
Sean tunes out. Kraig hadn’t really recovered since the CIA overthrew his government.
_Kraig_
… You know they SAY they’re sending USAID for air quotes. “Humanitarian efforts” but…
He was sympathetic and all that. It had just been a long day.
_Kraig_
… Next thing you know, you’re filling a suitcase with gold bars, jumping on a helicopter, and narrowly avoiding projectiles. Scoff. They say they were Air quotes. “Hungry” but they seemed rather well-fed from my vantage point is all I’m saying.
Sean had heard this speech… a lot of times…
_Lamont Carter_
I mean you already know what I’m going to say.
Kraig nodded, Sean highly doubted he knew what Lamont was going to say.
_Kraig_
But I digress… How did the Caucasian menace target my client, precisely?
_Lamont Carter_
Dawg they put my mans back here in Section C! Ain’t sh** happenin’ back here.
_Kraig_
Mm. They’re trying to marginalize my client. Kraig chuckles. The sneaky white man… Always slippery… like a snake.
Sean stares at Kraig whitely.
_Kraig_
I mean, not you. You’re okay in my book.
Alex Sean was very tired, and he was very much over all of this. He did not feel like performing, he had tomorrow to think about. As if on cue, the promoter of this convention Gunnar Whitman entered the Gold Room. Perhaps Sean owed Kraig something. Kraig had put Sean in contact with Gunnar which in turn, set the events in motion that led to tomorrow. Maybe things will finally change.
_Gunnar Whitman_
Hey buddeh!
Gunnar was a festive sort. Alabama born and bred. Large and jovial and speaking every sentence in a kind of sing-songy way.
_Gunnar Whitman_
How’d everything go today? I was… a lit-tel bus-ee down there in Section A. I tell ya, it’s a jungle down there.
With firm resolve, Kraig approaches Gunnar.
_Kraig_
Hello, White Man.
_Gunnar Whitman_
It’s Whitman but what’s up, pal?
_Kraig_
I’d like to know why my client, Alex Sean, has been relegated to Section C.
_Lamont Carter_
Mm. Relegated.
_Kraig_
Everyone knows Section C is a ghost town.
_Lamont Carter_
sh**’s f***in’ haunted back here.
Gunnar pauses for a moment, softening his demeaner.
_Gunnar Whitman_
I take it things didn’t go as hoped, today?
His words come out with the warmth and compassion of a television sitcom father. It was kind of remarkable. Sean observed this sort of shapeshifting into the exact form of niceness required to dissuade animosity. Damn maybe he really was sneaky, slippery like a snake, all that stuff. Regardless, it worked, and Sean felt a strong urge to resolve things.
_Alex Sean_
Ehh I dunno… Just didn’t find my audience today but maybe next time, right?
_Gunnar Whitman_
Slapping Sean firmly on the back. Maybe tomorrow, amiright?
Gunnar had taken Sean in as something of a pet project. He had booked Sean at as many conventions as he could and now they were talking about the next step.
_Alex Sean_
Lightly chuckling. Guess so…
_Gunnar Whitman_
You ready for that spotlight? It’s preh-tee hot under those lights, you know.
He wasn’t wrong.
_Alex Sean_
Oh I know… I’m uh… I’m counting on it.
But Sean thought of the emptiness, he thought of the void. Alex Sean could not reach within himself and find that flame any longer. He could only hope that perhaps it could come from somewhere else. Anything else.
He stared into the circle that would soon glow red; Soon he would be seen. Sean had spent the last nine years mostly in obscurity. He couldn’t face the world, he couldn’t even face most of his friends. Sean thought of his thinning, graying hair, the burns and scars littering his body, the deepening lines in his face. Gunnar said these things do not matter. The fans never forget, he said, and when they see you again, they will remember you as you were to them. Maybe it would be better for them to forget. How could he explain to Gunnar, how could he explain to anyone? How could he tell them he was nothing but an imposter? Less than an imposter. He thought of the Gold Ballroom, he thought of what Lamont said. “sh**’s haunted” Sean believed was the phrase. What if they see it? What if they take one look at me and see through the façade? What if they see the emptiness, the void? What if they stare into my eyes and see nothing? Sean tried to shake these thoughts. What good is this? What choice do I have? He tried to reprimand himself, regulate his own mind. He was always so disciplined. Except when he wasn’t. Cold sweat ran down his back, he could smell his own fear. He tried to pull it together, tried to impart a sense of scale. This isn’t Legends, he thought. This isn’t SuperBrawl. He thought of SuperBrawl. It all came back in a flood. The jagged edge of the spearhead. The warmth on his belly. Red palms, red gauze, concerned eyes backlit by fluorescent lights. Those eyes. Looking down and believing he was going to die. He thought of New Orleans and wondered if perhaps he did. Sean winced at these thoughts, the memories jagged as that spearhead.
“You alright, pal?”
For a brief moment, Sean was broken from his trance. Thank God.
_Alex Sean_
Yeah… I’m good.
“Gotcha! You ready to do this?”
What choice do I have? Sean searched for something to justify his course but found only fatalistic pragmatism. He thought of his lot and looked upon himself in pity. He was not Alex Sean anymore. Not really. He was something different. Something entirely broken. He could not escape the past, and yet, that life was over.
_Alex Sean_
Let’s do this.
And so he gave the nod to Gunnar Whitman who in turn, gave the nod back. The red light glowed upon him like a burning flame. He stared at the split-screen of his monitor and waited.
_Gunnar Whitman_
Hoooooowwwwwww’s it goin everybody aaaannnnnnnd weeeeeellcome…. to first episode of Iiiiiiiiiit’s shOWTIME! With Alex Sean. Alex, how ya doin, buddy?
He waited and he hoped. He hoped perhaps it could burn through him as it once did. Back when he was someone else.
_Alex Sean_
I’m doing great.
“You alright, pal?”
For a brief moment, Sean was broken from his trance. Thank God.
_Alex Sean_
Yeah… I’m good.
“Gotcha! You ready to do this?”
What choice do I have? Sean searched for something to justify his course but found only fatalistic pragmatism. He thought of his lot and looked upon himself in pity. He was not Alex Sean anymore. Not really. He was something different. Something entirely broken. He could not escape the past, and yet, that life was over.
_Alex Sean_
Let’s do this.
And so he gave the nod to Gunnar Whitman who in turn, gave the nod back. The red light glowed upon him like a burning flame. He stared at the split-screen of his monitor and waited.
_Gunnar Whitman_
Hoooooowwwwwww’s it goin everybody aaaannnnnnnd weeeeeellcome…. to first episode of Iiiiiiiiiit’s shOWTIME! With Alex Sean. Alex, how ya doin, buddy?
He waited and he hoped. He hoped perhaps it could burn through him as it once did. Back when he was someone else.
_Alex Sean_
I’m doing great.
