QUESTIONS & ANSWERS (CHAPTER 15: Midnight Ships) [iiw]
Apr 20, 2023 5:51:22 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Apr 20, 2023 5:51:22 GMT -5
Reno, NV ||| November 21, 2020
(off camera)
The folding chair was dented, hinges so rusted it was a wonder it took his weight at all. The locker room was still a work in progress, only a handful of lockers to the left and a huge open space with patched drywall where another alcove had been created to house more. It was roped off with caution tape, the whole room smelling strongly of paint.
He’d looked over the run sheet for the night, surprised to find that he wasn’t listed for any of the tournament matches that were happening for the first dozen signees. He’d been among them but his name was curiously absent in the brackets, instead scrawled at the top alongside the words LOCAL TALENT – an obvious dark match addition. He wasn’t too worried about that, having worked literally hundreds of those over the years. It was probably the reason Jackson had made the change, putting the trust in him to set the tone, to warm up the crowd.
Even the smell of paint couldn’t cover up the stench of water damage thick in the air, magnified by the steam of the shower he’d taken after his match. That half-assed coat was darkening in spots, old water stains visible the longer he stared at them. Like Rorschach blots, they taunted him, reminding him that like everything else in his life, UPRISING looked promising on the outside but was just more of the same old sugar-coated bullshit. He heard muffled music and the roar of the crowd, ambient noise it was easy to disconnect from. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see movement on the monitor, and could tell that the opening contest between a former martial artist named SAW and a Juggalo who called himself Twiztid Insane had begun. He’d never heard of either and that bothered him more than he really wanted to dwell on, just dredging those words up from his subconscious all over again.
You’ll never be good enough for that spotlight, dummy. Nobody wants to watch you and they certainly don’t want to hear you speak.
Nobody would care if he left – he wouldn’t, of course. He never did.
A faint breeze from the overhead vents made him shiver, the last of the adrenaline sweat cooling on his skin. He bowed his head, heels of his hands coming up to press on his eyes until the burning ache stopped. The chair creaked and groaned at the movement but it held. He ignored the human tide around him, the ebb and flow of the other wrestlers coming and going until he was alone again in the silence and he let his hands fall, registering the smears of black on his palms. He had no idea where in the show it was now – someone had tossed a bloodied towel on the table and the tail of it was covering the monitor’s tiny little screen. It wasn’t until he turned his head slightly that he realised he wasn’t alone after all.
His vision was hazy, halos around the edges and that dark-haired vision in the doorway certainly looked like an angel, even without that ethereal glow. At first, he didn’t recognize her, didn’t register what he was truly seeing until a smile crossed her lips.
“Hi,” she said softly, looking sheepish as she edged closer, “I hope I’m not intruding.”
He forgot how words worked, staring at her in a mixture of confusion and the sudden realization that she was talking to him – it was his agent. The woman who had helped him negotiate the contract that hadn’t been worth the paper it was printed on. “Lauren-Jane. Hello!” The moment the reality set in, the fact that she was here and had seen his shame at being bumped from the first official broadcast first hand made his face burn with shame. Thankfully it was still smeared with enough paint that it served as camouflage but the warmth was there even as he slowly rose to his feet.
Over the past few weeks, they’d chatted on the phone and online, finding conversation easy even as the topic drifted further and further away from the paperwork that had already been negotiated and filed. He couldn’t remember her telling him that she was going to make the trip to come all the way to Reno. If he’d known, he would have felt differently about that match he’d just had. Not that it would have changed his efforts. He always believed in putting on the best show possible, from the moment he emerged from behind the curtain to the moment the final bell rang. Win or lose, what mattered most was how he could make them feel.
He took a few steps forward, unsure if a handshake or a hug was the right gesture of welcome given their relationship. LJ’s smile was warm as he opted for the latter, one huge arm wrapping around her shoulders to give her the gentlest squeeze. “I am… very happy to see you. I was not expecting–”
“I know. It was a little last-minute. Luke had a pair of tickets for the inaugural event so…” she shrugged as he stepped back from the embrace, averting her eyes as a blush crept over her cheeks. She tucked her hair behind her ears, fidgeting slightly. “Anyways, I saw your match.”
Her and about fifty other people, he thought.
He bowed his head, looking down at the dark smudges on his hands. “It wasn’t my best work.”
“Really?” She sounded incredulous, “because I thought that chokeslam looked fantastic. Crisp and absolutely devastating.”
When his gaze snapped back to hers in surprise, she laughed, blushing again. This time he saw it, but didn’t understand the underlying reason. “I did not have you pegged as a fan.”
“Of wrestling? I’m not, really. I’ve been watching it a lot more lately, though. I guess you could call it research.” She didn’t tell him that she’d mostly been watching everything she could find from the old WCWF archives that he was featured in. Even as she thought about it now, she felt the need to explain her obsession, to frame it in that professional light even though it was anything but. “If I’m going to properly represent you, I should at least be versed in what you bring to the table.”
“Of course.” Sev nodded vigorously.
“I was surprised you weren't in the title tournament.”
“I did not wish to be,” he lied, breaking eye contact again. “There are so many other talented people fighting for a foothold. Let them take the lead. I am happy to just be here.”
She could hear that undercurrent of disappointment in his voice, even as he tried to hide it with a smile. “That's rather kind of you. I don't know that I'd be that nice if I were in your shoes.”
“My shoes would never fit you,” he replied, completely deadpan. “Much too big. You would be slopping around like clown.” He mimed the motions, taking wide exaggerated steps in a circle, stomping so that his boots slapped against the floor.
She realised a few seconds too late that he'd been teasing, feigning taking her words at face value. When he turned back to face her, she stared a few seconds longer, watching as a gleam came into his eyes and a grin split his lips. She was really growing to love seeing this side of him, the man behind the facepaint and the unaccomplished journeyman story. A warm smile bloomed on her lips, mirroring his.
Leaning in closer, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You wanna know a secret? I flunked out of clown college before I settled on business school. Always was a fan of those tiny little cars they drive. They must be fantastic on gas.”
The joke was terrible but he threw his head back and laughed, full-bellied and unrestrained. After a moment, she joined in, unable to help herself. His amusement was contagious and she reached out for his arm to steady herself, leaning against him as she tried to contain her laughter. Eventually they tapered off to giggles and then LJ looked up at him, blinking the tears from her eyes.
There was a moment that passed between them, a shiver of understanding and kinship. He didn’t know what it meant, had no words to quantify something he’d never felt before. She immediately tried to dismiss it, chalked it up to that void inside her that was just so desperate for love and acceptance that any little crumb felt like a three-course meal. Reluctantly, she let her hand fall away from his arm just as he registered that it was there.
“I… uhm… I still have another ticket. If you want to come out front with me to watch the rest of the show. The seats aren’t great, but…”
Sev nodded, didn’t even think about it. He’d never done that before, watching a show that he’d helped set the tone for from the audience – he’d always felt like that was taboo, that he wasn’t welcome on that side of the curtain once his duties were finished inside the ring. “I would like that.”
She took a step back, fishing around in her purse before pulling out a little pink packet. A tissue emerged from that and she stepped up to him, one hand braced on his chest as she stretched up on her tiptoes. “Makeup wipe,” she explained, gently rubbing the grapefruit-scented cloth under his eyes and over his cheeks to remove the worst of the smeared face paint.
He closed his eyes, holding his breath while she made him presentable. It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds, not even a full minute but it was the nicest thing he had ever experienced. By the time she was through, he was almost vibrating with tension, trying to hold everything in check. Her fingertips gently patted his cheek before she stepped back, crumpling the soiled wipe in her fist.
“Much better.”
He opened his eyes, exhaling slowly in the hopes that she didn’t notice the odd way he’d reacted to her. Thankfully she’d turned away and was heading over towards the trash can beside the door. Once she’d tossed her trash, she turned to look back at him with a smile.
“You coming?”
He wanted to tell her that he would follow her anywhere but the words caught in his throat. That was probably a good thing, he reasoned. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.
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[•REC]
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: Thaddeus Duke. The Lionheart. Twenty years my junior but so much more accomplished in only two short years with XWF. I have been aware of your career for some time. Like ships in the night, we have passed in midnight waters, each caught up in our own passages. When the brackets were made, you were touted as a favourite to make the finals. Our darling All-American athlete, the success expected at this point in your career. Defeating a legend like Goth only cemented that thought in those feeble minds.
I was largely invisible, despite my recent successes that included the defeat of JMont himself at Magnificence II. Despite that win, and the subsequent defeat of the retiring veteran Justin York, I was still a NON-ENTITY. Nothing.
I do not lament this.
The sound of water gently lapping against the shore is heard in that pause, the darkness lifting slightly to reveal a desolate beach. It’s night, a starry expanse overhead. A man in a hooded sweatshirt stands with his back to the camera.
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: Eyes will be opened, in time.
They will see.
I am well aware of the time I have squandered. I am aware of the whispers, the rumblings of the small minds and large mouths who wish to blindly tear me down without a shred of hard evidence to back their petty claims. Your two years with XWF were more eventful than mine with 5BW were. The championships speak volumes on this subject without saying a word. Not that I feel as though my 183 days with a title were insignificant. At the time, I was so proud. I was thrilled to even be considered, to even be ranked, let alone considered a contender. And then, it all unravelled in an instant. I was left grasping at threads, desperate to keep it all from disintegrating right before my eyes. I will admit, I was desperate. I started trying to branch out, offering my services as a last-minute substitution for Tara Fenix’s charity event.
I was pleasantly surprised when my name was spoken for the first time with respect. When my opponent seemed aware of my accomplishments and lauded me for my tenure – it was surreal. I had to pinch myself, make sure I was not dreaming. Just like that, my eyes were opened. I saw the company I was with for the stagnant pond it had become and I longed for cleaner waters, to be free from that stench of mediocrity.
The view moves in closer, the faded image of a mechanical steampunk squid crushing the word ENIGMA visible now on the back of the garment he’s wearing. Even without that hint of a foreign accent, even without that eerily calm cadence, his formidable size reveals his identity.
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: In Hawaii that same weekend, I lost another match with that company, my avenue to regain my former championship barred indefinitely. You know what was funny? I did not care.
What once was everything, the greatest accomplishment of my pathetic career, had now been rendered obsolete. Tainted. Ruined in an instant so it was now nothing more than a bauble gathering dust on a flea market table. It meant nothing to me. The petty little insults of another cookie cutter Mean Girl rolled off my back like water from a duckling. Do you know why? Because I had faced Apathy the night before. I had taken an absolute legend in the business to the limit and emerged victorious. I had respect. I had opened the eyes of so many who had been oblivious. I was left with a tough decision, one that I can assure you was not made lightly. My contract was done. I chose not to renew it.
There was no storming out. There was no meltdown backstage, no ludicrous demands. Sometimes, despite your best efforts, things do not work out. Seasons change.
The camera pans down to show that he’s in shorts. Barefoot in wet sand, mere inches from the tide. He takes a few steps forward, letting the water wash over his feet, splashing his ankles.
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: Our ships passed once or twice, Mr. Duke. That was my original metaphor here… why I have come to the shore tonight to speak to you. Mine took on water, became dangerous and detrimental to my well-being. It was easier to come to shore. To discard that damaged old thing. And then there was a choice. Should I chart a new course through those same shark-infested and polluted waters? Or head back out in those muddy waters, wait for my vessel to sink and tread water in the hopes that someone may toss me a life raft, a scrap of the respect that my TWO YEARS of labour should have already earned?
I am sure you know the answer. It is as obvious as the nose on your face. I am here. This was my choice.
He walks further, the water over his ankles now. His head is tilted back to look at the sky.
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: The truth is that we often grow beyond the things that once defined us. That is nothing to fear, Thaddeus. I know you are scouting options, dipping a toe into foreign waters. I wish you nothing but success in all things you do – do not mistake that for forfeiture. I respect you. I am in awe of the things you have accomplished. They are admirable. Enviable.
Over the course of the last two years, even the last six months, we have changed. We have evolved and I see a strength in you that I understand intimately. I will not spill your secret. A wise warrior does not telegraph, after all.
On Mayhem, we will steal the show. You and I will collide as equals, as two men who have the respect of the World Champion. I will be honest. I was called here. I was chosen.
This is the future.
Course laid in.
Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.
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Rock Hill, NY ||| APRIL 13, 2023
(off camera)
Despite the fact that Dutch's was nearly deserted, the sound of the baseball game that most of the TVs scattered around the tavern were tuned to and the top forty music it was fighting with made a nice privacy screen for conversation in the back corner booth. The first round of drinks had gone down easily enough while he waited for his guest to arrive – of course he’d shown up early. Had wanted to make sure the place was secure enough, not that he felt like his wife’s psycho rich father had taken the time to bug every location within a 5-mile radius of their home. He just couldn't shake the paranoia that had been clinging in the back of his mind since he’d returned from town to find Archer Starke and some unknown hired goon trying to abduct his wife – four months to the day and every second that ticked by was like a splinter under his skin, agonising and festering.
He saw the man the moment he crossed the threshold, looking as much of a polar opposite to Sev as he possibly could – that expensive suit he had on looked pristine, despite the hour and a half Atticus Stark had spent travelling here from his offices in Manhattan. Sev looked like he belonged in a dive bar like this, wearing an UnderArmour tee and a pair of jeans, a few days’ worth of stubble covering his cheeks and chin. Still, he managed a smile as he gestured to the open seat.
Atticus unbuttoned his suit jacket and slid into the booth, glancing over at the bar. A moment later the waitress appeared with a menu in hand. “Negroni,” he said, “hold the citrus. If he’s ordered food, I’ll have the same.”
“Burger special with extra cheese, no onions and a double side of fries?”
“Sounds delightful. Thanks.”
The moment she departed, Atticus turned his gaze to Sev’s. He took in the foamy head dying down in the pint glass, the three-quarters full pitcher with the cylinder of melting ice in the middle. “Not a fan of beer?” It came out neutral enough, no traces of judgement. It was almost as though he was trying to get a read on the big man. Like his brother, Atticus had looked into the man his niece was planning on marrying the moment the engagement announcement had gone out on social media. Unlike his brother, the more he’d found, the more he thought this gentle Ukrainian-born giant was probably a better match than the one he had tried to orchestrate for her with Rick Ravenswood.
“I do not like it,” Sev confessed with a sheepish laugh, “but did not know what else to order. LJ, she is partial to the chicken wings here but we never order in, so I do not know what else is good. Was not in the mood for a fizzy drink or coffee. So,” those massive shoulders twitched in a lazy shrug, “here we are. The product of poor choice.”
“Not much of a drinker, I take it?”
“Not really,” he lied, thinking about the nearly empty bottle of Russian vodka he had stashed in the icebox at home. It had been there for almost a year before the seal had been broken. Lately, he’d been reaching for it more often than he cared to admit.This business with her father, the stress of changing places of employment and the tournament – it was all starting to add up.
They both lapsed into silence when the drink he’d ordered arrived in a short glass with a thick bottom. The liquor was reddish, darker towards the bottom, reminding him of the blood swirling down the drain when he’d showered after the attack. The scar on his arm itched in remembrance of the knife wound he’d gotten in the scuffle that night. The precise stitches his wife had put in had held, had healed up cleanly enough without infection. Sighing, he looked over at the largest TV above the bar.
“Ah, you’re a baseball fan.”
That brought a chuckle from his lips as he let his gaze shift back to her uncle’s greenish-gold eyes. Other than the colour, they were so much like his wife’s that it gave him pause. Warmth and some strange sort of amusement made them sparkle as he smiled, a dimple forming in his cheek that was almost eerily reminiscent of LJ’s.
“I have never understood the American preoccupation with this game… or with apple pie, for that matter. Both are tedious. Boring.”
The conversation lapsed again and he almost kicked himself for making it so awkward. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to think of something intelligent and coherent to say when Atticus saved him.
“Chelomtsev… am I pronouncing that right?”
“Just Sev,” he corrected, “is easier for most to say.”
“Sev,” Atticus repeated, that smile still there, “feel like I should officially welcome you to the family, at least in a way that doesn’t involve home invasions and bloodshed.”
He waited a few seconds, unsure if there was a punchline coming. The smile on Atticus’ face dimmed a little but didn’t disappear altogether.
“Sorry. That was probably in poor taste, given everything that’s happened. I just thought you might like to hear that not everyone is against your union.”
He broke eye contact, reaching for the now-flat beer. After a disgusting swallow, Sev pushed the glass away towards the edge of the table. “I appreciate that.” He felt a welling of emotion, a lump in his throat that he made an effort to swallow back. “I can see why she speaks so highly of you. Thank you for taking the time to come and meet with–”
“Did you bring it?”
Nodding, Sev picked up the small travel bag his wife used for a carry-on, unzipping it and pulling out something cylindrical, wrapped in a hand towel. Handing it across the table, Atticus took it and weighed it in the palm of his hand. “Certainly feels heavy enough.” He slowly unwrapped the fluffy towel, revealing the ornate cast iron candlestick, imperfect dent and all. He turned it over and over in his hands, rotating it through every direction and then reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out a pair of glasses. He settled them in place and started the inspection all over again, humming and hawing to himself the whole time.
“Is it the same?” Sev rested his elbows on the table, his eyes fastened on the older man.
“It’s been a while, as I’m sure you know. I wouldn’t take an oath on the stand, declaring it… but my gut says, probably. If not, it’s a hell of a recreation.”
“She wanted me to destroy it.”
Atticus nodded, “plausible deniability? I never saw this. We never had this conversation.” He wrapped it back up in the towel, pushing it across the table. “I should’ve done that at the time. Took it to a steel mill, machine shop or something. Had it smelted down to liquid – wasn’t my finest hour, I’m afraid. She was hysterical, distraught and I wasn’t thinking of the bigger picture. I was just trying to clear the scene before someone stumbled on it and started talking about a wealthy man’s daughter and the candlestick in the summer bedroom like some piss-poor game of Clue.”
Sev slipped the wrapped evidence back into the bag, saying nothing. It wasn’t his place to judge a thing that had happened so long ago. The man across from him picked up his glass, taking a tentative sip of his drink before letting out a contented sigh.
“At least they’re using the right vermouth.”
It still looked like diluted blood to him and he couldn’t stop thinking about sharks circling.
Blood in the water. Can’t escape the carnage. No way out but through.
All those adages drifted through his mind, bringing a shiver of dread to slither up and down his spine.
A sigh from across the table pulled him back from his reverie and he saw Atticus was looking at the TV above the bar where some commercial with a dark haired little girl was playing. “I tried to do right by her, I really did. Until that night, I had no idea my brother was auctioning her off to the highest bidder. By the time I knew the truth about everything, the damage had already been done – her mother, God rest her soul, carried that knowledge with her to the grave. Left me a letter with her solicitor, to be delivered after her passing. Heaven forbid there be a scandal for King Archer. She wasn’t even a week in the ground when he put a ring on that floozy’s finger.” His words were bitter and he let out a tired laugh as his gaze drifted back to rest on Sev. “I’m sure Elle’s told you some of this already. I’ve got the impression that you’re a good listener. She needs that. She’s too much like her father in that regard. Bottles up too much.”
“We…” Sev stumbled over the words, feeling awkward for the first time in months. He knew what he wanted to say but the English words eluded him. “В семье не без урода. There is an ugly one in every family – there is kinship. With us. We have both been victims. Both unwanted. I am sure you know this, already. I do not know my parents. I was left in a church, found by nuns. It is like something from an old movie.” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head.
“I know.”
“Ah, then you also know why we are a good fit. I felt it the first time we ever met, my broken soul reaching for its counterpart. Believe me when I say there is nothing I would not do, no lines I would not cross for her.”
“Glad to hear it, son.” Atticus smiled, looking up as the waitress arrived with two steaming plates. He waited for the food to be dropped off before reaching out to lay a hand on Sev’s arm. “Destroy that damned thing. Do as she asked, the sooner the better. Don’t let that vicious piece of shit know he’s got her number. Never show weakness. Never let a predator draw first blood. That’s the worst thing either of you could ever do.”
