008 (Ready To Fall) [iiW]
Aug 13, 2016 17:56:08 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Aug 13, 2016 17:56:08 GMT -5
(the present: Florence, Italy)
Friday, June 27, 2014
Larry Gowan crept away from the wedding reception, glancing guiltily over his shoulder before he vanished around the corner of the castle, pulling his iPhone from his pocket. The reception here was spotty, but he had enough of a signal that he could make the call. The desire was stronger than any other and he needed to hear Chauncy's voice right now or he was seriously going to lose his shit in the worst possible way. He was likely on the ignore list by now— it didn't matter. He'd still get to hear that familiar and adorable accent on the brief greeting. For a few seconds he could close his eyes and pretend all was right with the world again. Around the corner, someone laughed and it cut right through him as bits and pieces of conversation were snatched by the wind and carried to his ears. Everyone was having a blast. He just wanted to curl up in a corner and die.
The wedding party were off somewhere, having photos done and he'd finally managed to slip away from the watchful eye of Hannah Collins. She'd been doing her best to cheer him up and keep him engaged in conversation but it was wearing on him. Biting his lip, he slid his thumb across the screen to unlock it and then fumbled at the contact list, almost missing his name on the first scroll— his eyes felt gummy as he blinked, leaning back against the rough stone wall. He was utterly oblivious to the fact that it was still the middle of the night back in California. It rang six times and then dropped into voicemail. He took a deep breath and began to speak at the tone.
"I know you don't want to hear from me so I'll keep this brief," his voice shook slightly with the effort to hold his emotions in check. "But I remembered what today is— there was this niggling in the back of my head the whole way here and now I realize what it was. June 27th, 2004. That was the night we gave the Knights the official name. Remember? We were sitting in that little bodega in Mexico and you were going through the pockets of my jacket, ribbing me about the amount of junk I was carting around in my pockets. That was the day, remember? That was the day I knew that you—" his voice shattered and he fell silent, breathing slowly. "I wish you'd have come. Rori looked like a princess and—" he sniffled, "it was really lovely— the ceremony, I mean. You'd have liked it."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I should respect your boundaries and just let you alone but uhm...." he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck before tilting his head back and closing his eyes, "I guess... if you listened this far it's an accomplishment. For what it's worth, happy anniversary, Sk—Chauncy. I love you." He ended the call before he started babbling even more incoherently, opening his eyes to see Lex Collins standing in front of him.
"Han was worried 'bout you," Lex said softly, "tried to tell her you just get kinda spastic at weddings but between you an' me, she's a lot more perceptive'n she lets on."
"It's our anniversary," Gowan said softly, dropping the phone back into his pocket.
"Yeah," Lex replied, "I heard."
"Even if he hates me, I couldn't just pretend like I don't remember."
"Of course not." Lex leaned against the wall beside Gowan, folding his arms across his chest, "here's the deal, alright? You make it through this trip an' I'll talk to him. Hell, if you want, I'll jump the guy, hog tie him an' make him fuckin' have a real sit down with ya, alright?"
"You don't have to do that," Gowan began, only for Lex to cut him off with a derisive snort.
"The hell I don't— you two are the best damn tag wrestlers I've ever seen an' I ain't gonna just stand by an' watch all that history get rotted away by that goddamned poison FTW poured all over both our lives—"
"Think it's too late for that," he murmured, pushing off from the wall.
"Never say never," Lex replied, reaching out to rest a hand on Gowan's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Part of bein' one of the good guys means never givin' up. Pretty sure you taught me that a long-ass time ago."
LG shook his head, moving away from Lex as he pasted a smile on his face that came nowhere close to lighting up those pale blue eyes. "Nothing I ever taught anyone was worth shit..."
(the past: Las Vegas, NV)
Saturday, October 13, 2012
"Synergy," Larry Gowan's voice rang out over the gym, his cerulean blue eyes fixing on each of the students in turn as he acknowledged their presence. "It's a buzz-word, I know. Corporations throw it around while they try to get employees all jazzed up around a conference table. We're here to motivate you today, but I'm no Tony Robbins and this isn't a load of hot air that amounts to nothing but a cheap sales pitch I could've lifted from Alec Baldwin's character in Glengarry Glen Ross." A few sparse chuckles made it clear that the reference didn't fly over every head that packed the small gym. "A few of you know what I mean when I say that tag team wrestling... true, actual TANDEM wrestling is a dying art and the people who are contributing to its demise are those who can't wrap their heads around the second word: TEAM."
He glanced over at Chauncy who was nodding. "I know you've all heard that clichéd garbage about there being no 'I' in team so I'm not going to waste my time or yours drilling that into your heads. You've already listened to Adrien and Richard Specter talking about risking your body for this business. You've seen firsthand just what can happen to folks who don't take the environment inside those ropes seriously. You've gone through the fundamentals so we have the blocks to build with. We just need to give you the detailed instructions, as it were."
His British partner rested a hand gently on Gowan's shoulder, cutting in smoothly. "The bookers like to throw around absurd terms. They like to book those 'strange bedfellows' matches, thrusting opposites together in the hopes that they can turn this art form of ours into some contrived reality based on some manufactured drama. There are companies out there who still book misogynistic claptrap, keeping men and women segregated—"
"Those are the same folks who will try to convince you that dumping a bag of thumbtacks in the ring is going to draw in a crowd..." Gowan made a disgusted face, shaking his head, "but I digress. Today, we're going to teach you the hardest thing about tandem wrestling— communication." Gowan looked around at the faces, at the few in the back that he knew were already capable of carrying themselves in a team, still feeling quite overwhelmed that Gryphon had chosen them for this part of the seminar. "These days, folks spend far too much time with their head buried in some device... a cell phone... a computer... the art of face-to-face interaction has become some archaic concept and that honestly pains me," he put a hand to his chest and staggered back as though he'd been stabbed. He paused while a few students chuckled, "Chauncy and I could stand here and spin all sorts of tales about how you need to work together, sleep together, train together... however you want to spin that but if you can't get past making eye contact," his eyes roamed around the crowd, stopping on a raven-haired girl in the back row who was staring down at her lap, very obviously trying to text stealthily. "Sorry, are we boring you, Miss Summers?"
The girl looked up, flushing bright red as she let her cell phone drop from her hand. "No... I just..." she stammered, cringing as a few heads swivelled to look at her. "I'm so sorry, Uncle LG. Go ahead."
"I can preach about synergy and synchronicity and communication until I'm blue in the face and they're words that don't mean a thing. Honestly, bombarding you with knowledge will do nothing to make any of you successful. We're going to SHOW you." Gowan walks towards the white board they have set up on an easel, picking up a dry-erase marker and rolling it across his knuckles. "Promoters tell you that tag team wrestling is a dying art form. A few companies don't even support the division, sadly. Some folks in the business will laugh and roll their eyes when you tell them that you're a tandem guy— they assume you're lazy because you spend half as much time in the ring as someone in a singles match. Sure, on a basic level that's true but what they don't get is that when you're outside on the apron, you're still IN the thick of things."
"It's this stigma that keeps GOOD wrestlers from dipping a toe into the waters." Chauncy interjected, shaking his head in disgust, "it's true. That's why so few places have tag team divisions these days and those who do only have a few teams to fill them to the point where the booking stagnates after a few months, leading to those ridiculous scenarios I mentioned earlier."
"And then on the other token, we have companies that still care about this niche. Like Sex and Violence Wrestling," he glanced over at Chauncy, "or even Millennium Wrestling Alliance, where the Knights of Anarchy will be wrestling next week in a promotional tournament to determine the next contenders for their coveted tag team titles. I guess what we're trying to impress upon you is that true TEAM wrestling is rare. It's a lost art— some might say that's because of the trend away from the old school mentality of wrestling—"
"We are not entertainers," the word was said with a hint of disgust as Gowan shook his head at Chauncy's tone.
"On some level, we are but we're not here to teach you theatrics. Every single one of you has enough charisma to handle the crowd—"
"Lawrence, they paid good money to learn from us, not sit here and listen to you prattle on until these poor folks' brains are so knackered they just want to tune you right out."
"Sorry," he laughed self-consciously as he flipped the marker through the air to Chauncy who caught it easily. Clasping his hands behind his back, Gowan's gaze swept the room again, realizing that they were dangerously close to bickering in front of a room full of people. Looking for a familiar face, they finally settled on Misty Whitmore, the FFW rookie with the pixie-cut hair. "Right, so back to our topic at hand— the fundamentals of a successful tag team. You can throw two people together at random and they can be successful— I've seen it happen a million times over the years. Two guys or girls who know how to wrestle can make it through a tag match well enough without actually being a legitimate team. All of you in here can fake it as long as you've got the most important aspect of being a team down. You know what that is?"
When the sea of blank faces failed to respond, Gowan's eyes lifted to where Brad Jackson stood against the back wall with his arms wrapped around his wife. "Brad, what's the most important part of being a team?"
Those heavily muscled and tattooed shoulders rose and fell in a shrug as he glanced down at Lyv. "The most important part? Trust— absolutely."
"In part," Gowan nodded, "yeah. You can't really function as a team if you can't count on your partner to be there for that tag or to break up the pinfall. There's a certain element of trust that goes with being successful. That's why you so often see friends," his gaze drifted to Misty again, "or lovers teaming up." His eyes went to where Sabra Nikolayev stood against the far wall, just a few feet from Gryphon— the man responsible for this seminar. "Sabra, what makes a good tag team?"
The beautiful Russian considered the question for a moment before answering, "chemistry— that sort of knowing your partner is there for you, what they will do, and how they will do it. You can train hard with someone and it can be missing." Gowan was nodding, grinning at her words, "it is something that just... is."
He snapped his fingers, turning around to where Chauncy was writing the words on a whiteboard easel. So far they had TRUST and CHEMISTRY written down. Tapping a finger against his chin, he looked out over the students one more time. "Anyone else have a thought? How 'bout you, Alyvia?" His eyes drifted to Jackson's wife where she stood in front of her husband, still holding the kendo stick she'd been using on the students during the workout session. "Tell me what makes a successful tag team in your books. Why did you team with Brad?"
Lyv looked down at the floor as though gathering her thoughts for a moment before looking up and meeting the eyes of the man who'd asked her the question. "I teamed with my husband because...." she looked up at Jax for a brief moment and smiled, "he trained me. He taught me everything I know."
Gowan nodded, glancing at Chauncy, "so, familiarity? Proximity?"
Lyv laughed self-consciously, her cheeks blushing slightly. "That sounds pretty stupid, doesn't it? It's just that we've had fantastic chemistry from day one and I just knew we'd work. We complement each other."
Nodding, clearly enthused, he looked over at his partner as the Brit jotted COMPLEMENTARY STYLES on the board below the first two words. "Chauncy, what's the most important part of tag team wrestling?"
The younger half of the Knights of Anarchy turned back to the board and scrawled three words: TOTAL RING AWARENESS. He tossed the marker to Gowan who snagged it deftly from the air. "Total ring awareness, Lawrence. Trust and chemistry will only take you so far. Complementary styles are wonderful to have when you're working out finishes and tandem moves but it's not the whole show. You can trust your partner to have your back. You can flow seamlessly and read each other's cues in the ring, but if your partner is lollygagging on the apron, unable to follow the flow, you're right up the bloody creek without a paddle. That's why you rarely see any successful rookie tag teams," he paused, his eyes going to Misty, "no offense, Miss Whitmore. In order to be a good teammate, and a good partner, you need to be able to run the moves in your head. You need to be aware of what's going on in the ring and where you fit into that. If he's in trouble on the mat, you need to be able to get in there and break it up. If he's looking for a hot tag and a double team setup, you need to be there," he clapped his hands loudly, "that's why this is a good springboard for most of you." Chauncy began to pace, "once the fundamentals are there, you can build. You need the foundation before you can turn to someone you have that chemistry and trust with. I've been blessed with that— not only is Lawrence one of the most talented grapplers I've ever faced in the ring—"
"Don't tell that story," Gowan winced, face palming as he flushed bright red. "They don't need to know how I was oblivious to the fact that I was facing you because you were in a mask—"
Chauncy snickered and looked out at the students. "He figured it out when he went for the schoolboy and I botched it. He grabbed the back of my tights and I fell wrong."
Gowan's face was crimson now as he turned his back to the students, legitimately facepalming.
"Pulled my knickers right down, and there I was in the middle of Madison Square Garden with my bare bum out for the world to see— needless to say, I got my comeuppance that day. I thought I knew what I was doing but I was just as green then as some of you. Ring awareness, I misjudged and in that moment, we were both embarrassed."
Gowan cleared his throat as the class dissolved into laughter. "Could have at least told them that was almost seven years ago. You've come a long way since then."
Chauncy smiled at his partner, "of course I have. I've got one of the best teachers." Turning his pale blue eyes back on the class, he continued "we're going to teach you team talk. I know what you're thinking but I can assure you this is a great tool even if you're only going to be playing Euchre— my Aunt Elizabeth refuses to play us now because we always win."
Gowan was almost beaming with pride as he watched Chauncy speak. The love and devotion he felt for the man were written all over his face as he looked out over the class. His eyes locked on those of Sabra, and the two exchanged a look. She nodded, as though she understood perfectly what he was thinking as he stepped forward and laid a hand on Chauncy's shoulder. "Communication is important— just like in baseball where the catcher and the pitcher have hand signals— you can have signs. If I tap my thigh, that could mean I'm looking to set up for an Irish whip into a corner kick if I'm the legal man…"
(the present: Florence, Italy)
Friday, June 27, 2014
The night was cool, blacker than black and the countryside stretched in every direction under the starry sky like some panoramic movie set. Larry Gowan leaned against the parapet, staring at the people spread out over the vast lawn like ants. He couldn't help but feel a little like Jon Snow perched atop the wall although there was no siege going on below— just a hell of a party. There was a red plastic cup in his hand, sweating condensation over his fingers as the ice inside melted. He'd taken to dipping into the Johnnie Walker fountain over the course of the night, slipping away whenever Lex or Hannah Collins had been distracted. He'd lost count of the drinks he'd downed at this point, but was definitely feeling bulletproof as he took to Twitter, posting one rambling message after another.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, unchecked as he stabbed the speed dial button for Chauncy's number. It rang six times before rolling over to voicemail. He ended the call and then promptly dialled it again. "Just answer," he muttered, putting a hand to his mouth as he tapped his ragged fingernails against his teeth. "Please," his voice broke on a sob and then the phone on the other end was answered with a loud rattle of someone fumbling before a hoarse voice came to his ears.
"...lo?" Gowan froze, unable to speak at the sound of Chauncy's sleep-clogged voice. "Bloody hell," the Brit muttered, a groan turning into a stifled yawn. "Stop calling me, Lawrence. For the love of— "
"I wouldn't have to keep calling if you'd just pick up," Gowan's tongue loosened and he picked up the glass from the edge of the parapet, bringing it to his lips. He tossed back the last of the Scotch, grimacing as it burned his throat.
"We have nothing to discuss—"
"For fuck's sake, just talk to me!" The expletive cut through the millions of miles that separated them, keeping Chauncy on the line. He set the empty cup down on the edge, turning his back to that open expanse. "I'm not a child— sick of you punishing me's if that's the case. I'm older than you—"
"And you're drunk, Lawrence." Chauncy's voice was like a slap in the face, frosty. "I have no desire to try and converse with you when you're this deep in your cups and on the other side of the planet. Goodby—"
"DON'T YOU DARE HANG UP ON ME!" Gowan's voice broke with the force of the yell, instantly burning as though he'd torn something loose in there. "You rotten, selfish little shit! It's all about you. Boo-hoo, poor Chauncy the teetotaller who just can't stand to be with the complete and utter embarrassment of the guy he promised... PROMISED!" He screamed the word into the phone, "YOU SWORE IN FRONT OF WITNESSES, CHAUNCY! YOU LOOKED ME IN THE EYE AND YOU PROMISED!"
The silence spun out, the bed creaking on the other side of the phone call before Chauncy's voice returned, softer than before. It was as though the emotions were being sucked out of him by the sheer force of his partner's passion. "Lawrence, please stop—"
He shook his head violently; staggering back a half-step, he almost lost his balance. He couldn't breathe right, his chest aching as he tried to keep the emotions in check. "YOU—" Gowan stopped when he heard his own voice echo in the phone, lowering it deliberately. "Y-you c-can't leave me. It's just... you... you said you would be by my side no matter what. For better or worse. Do you remember that? What's so bad? What've I done that makes me such a horrible person to be around?"
"I don't know what you want me to say," Chauncy's voice was softer yet, almost sounding defeated.
"I want you to tell me the truth!" Gowan snapped, clutching the phone so tightly he could feel his knuckles starting to ache. "I'm not going to swallow the lie! I don't know what you want me to do… what I'm supposed to feel about this…"
"I told you how I feel, Lawrence. Either you can't hear what I'm saying or you just don't care. So which one is it?"
The tears were falling harder, sobs wracking his body as he sank to his knees. "I care... are you kidding me? I care, Skippy. I..."
"You promised me." Chauncy's voice was a rough whisper now, "I don't think you're even cognizant of the fact, Lawrence. When I came back into your life, you swore to me that it was over. You swore up and down, left and right that the erratic, self-centered drunkard I knew in SAWF was dead and buried."
"I was good..." Gowan mumbled, "for three years. I tried so hard—"
"Sure," Chauncy chuckled bitterly, "you gave me three good years. And now what do we have, Lawrence? Tell me what this is... and why I should want to continue being a part of it. Go on and tell me. I won't hang up on you— you have my word on that."
"I..." he shook his head, lifting a shaking hand to his face to sluice off some of the wetness, "we're..." he fell silent for a second, "I paid for a ticket for you. You could have been here—"
"I don't know Aurora." Chauncy reminded him, "she was your acquaintance and you never saw fit to actually introduce me. Not that it matters much these days. You've been content to keep me as nothing more than your shadow since we put the band back together. I haven't complained because it didn't matter. None of these companies meant anything to me. You chose them and I just went along for the ride."
"So this' about the team?" He was struggling to keep up with the turn of the conversation, failing miserably.
"No, Lawrence. It isn't. This is why we cannot have this conversation," he sighed. "This is why we will continue to lose inside that wrestling ring. Somewhere along the way, we've lost the ability to actually converse with one another. There's no connection any longer. We're just two strangers—"
"Don't say that." Gowan whispered, feeling his heart break all over again, "I'll stop drinking—"
"Bargaining again. Oh yes, I've missed this most of all. I know, you'll stop tomorrow, of course. I've heard that a time or two so you'll forgive me if I forego the cartwheels and dancing for joy." The sarcasm was heavy in his voice, "and what else will you give me? Another three years of waiting for the other shoe to drop? I'm afraid that's not much of a bargain that you're trying to sell me— far too expensive—"
"EXPENSIVE?!" The word exploded from Gowan's lips, "LOVE DOESN'T COST A GODDAMNED THING, YOU ASSHOLE!"
"Doesn't it?" Chauncy countered, his tone never lifting above that near-whisper. "Then perhaps whatever this is, was never love in the first place—"
"FUCK YOU!" Gowan screamed into the phone, "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" With violent motions, he jerked the phone away from his ear and ended the call. Standing there, he was breathing so hard that he was dangerously close to hyperventilating. That was when he heard the voice coming from behind him.
"Drawing the battle lines, are we?"
Gowan whirled around, seeing the impossible sight of his brother Shawn Stevens standing on the ledge. He shook his head but the apparition didn't disappear— he hadn't seen him in months. A thousand replies filtered through his brain but none passed his lips as he turned away again. He'd gotten fairly good at ignoring Shawn over the last couple years. Instead he stared down at the screen on his phone. What the hell had he just done? He stabbed his partner's name in the contact list, initiating the call and bringing it back up to his ear. "Please answer," he murmured, "oh God... please—"
"The AT&T Customer you're trying to reach is unavailable at this time..."
The phone fell from his hand, clattering against the stone as the screen went dark.
"Come up here, Larry," Shawn's voice came to his ears on the wind, "there's a hell of a view."
Gowan turned around, heeding that siren's call without a word. He stepped up on the ledge, knocking the red plastic cup off. It fell, spinning crazily and he laughed to watch the ice cubes spin away from it like a pinwheel. The breeze pulled at him eagerly, teasing him as it combed through his disheveled hair. All the little happy people were down below, celebrating. He wanted to have something to celebrate as well but there was nothing bright on his horizon. The team had fallen apart. So had his marriage. He had nothing waiting for him at home— there wasn't even a home to go to any longer. Just an empty apartment on the Toronto waterfront that reminded him far too much about the years when his secret had been safe behind closed doors.
He wobbled, shifting his weight to compensate as he stepped forward. He would have fallen to his death if an arm hadn't wrapped around his middle, grabbing him and pulling him backwards. He crashed against the stone roof, the wind driven from his lungs.
Lex Collins straddled him, slapping his cheeks to bring him around. "What the fuck were you thinkin'?"
"I..." Gowan blinked at him, "was jus' enjoying the view."
"You stepped off the side," Lex growled, leaning down so that his face was inches from Gowan's as he pinned his shoulders against the rough stone. "If I'd been a second later, you'd be a greasy spot down there—"
"No." He shook his head, licking his suddenly very dry lips. The last thing he remembered was being on the phone with Chauncy and then looking down at the happy people below. "I..." his mouth worked but no sound came out, "get off me," he finally mumbled, his eyes filling with tears, "feel like'm gonna be sick..."
Lex pulled back and then expertly rolled Gowan over just as he started to retch. He lifted his eyes to where Hannah stood in the doorway, looking pale. "You think he's gonna be alright?"
"I don't know," she replied with a tremor in her voice, "but I sure hope so."
