Post by Seth Iser on Feb 23, 2024 17:27:43 GMT -6
The eyes are the gateway to the soul.
If you know how to read it perfectly you get the entire DNA of who an individual can be just from what you pull from within them. You get a peak directly into the things that motivate a man the most; then you peel the layers of that onion a little further so you can peer into their anxieties and fears. Then…once you know how to push those buttons the way you want them to, you get to see how they truly react when they’re in crisis. Crisis is defined differently…by different souls. Sometimes if you’re a person like Hunter Valentine there’s more than one crisis of the soul that’s intertwining at the same time. A man...hungry for his own respect at the core of it while also throwing one of the most marginalized groups in the history of mankind under the bus to try to land a cheap insult on his old partner. It’s quite a telling read of what goes on in his soul, especially in this modern age.
Yet...he doesn’t have the right to lash out in the manner he’s done of late. Never has, really…God knows I’ve lashed out in horrendous ways a multitude of times in my career as well, I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t point out that I’ve committed my own fair share of transgressions over the years that have inflamed tensions beyond repair between myself and far too many co-workers. But the heart of it all is that disrespect. I saw it in his eyes when he was spewing his verbal diarrhea. But does he realize that he’s not the only person who has been disrespected in this company’s history? Of course not because there isn’t a more disrespected man in professional wrestling than me.
The things I’ve done for our sport I should be treated with a level of levity…or respect yet I feel dismissed as just a token ‘legend’ or just someone who is merely a bodyguard taking a paycheck. Yes, I like being paid appropriately. I have a family to provide for, but truly I don’t ask for much but what I deserve and yet I just feel nothing but the chill that pure disdain brings. Ten years ago, I’d pull a ridiculous stunt to try to echo my point just out of the poison that was out of control in my own being. Perhaps I’d take a physical assault too far like the time I poured alcohol down Roger Wright’s throat or spiking Matt Slater on his cranium one time too many when people claimed him to be the best at this artform. No...those kinds of childish tantrums while they might be effective at creating a wound, maybe a soundbite or god forbid get innocents blacklisted because one obviously doesn’t care anymore…it only belabor the points they try to make. Rather…I did it in the manner professional wrestling should be conducted.
I called Al Envy out in front of the entire world and made it clear if you could read my eyes what I intend to do. He’s the embodiment of yet another…wound, another crisis even that I take as more than one direct shot to my pride. I’ve spent years rebuilding my style as a professional wrestler considering the wear and tear I’ve put my body through in the past; it has been profitable in other promotions. I’ve won my fair share of accolades…and yet…far too many snot nosed punks, veterans that don’t know worth a damn, and the sheep who buy the tickets look down on the older school principles or my specific tactics and just whitewashes what I’ve accomplished my whole career! It goes back to what another brilliant technician that went through these doors called me…
“You will always be a ruthless violent cheater.”
Those words have haunted me for a long time. I’ve gotten clean from the drugs; my anger no longer has enslaved me and yet…the poison of those words from Matthew god damn Slater I still feel around my neck like a god damned noose. While Envy isn’t Slater, they’re viewed on a similar level of brilliance in the artform of our industry. Hell, I just saw a man step a little bit outside his own comfort zone and turn the match that would be a disadvantage into his own element because he never stopped thinking on how to dissect someone. The man is brilliant and still knows quite the array of holds, counters, and moves.
So who better to prove my point against?
So yes, I have a little bit of bitterness toward Al Envy. Hell, let’s take it a step further, I’m envious of the man in some ways. He has what deserves to be mine as well. Some people might take this point and scream that the bitter old man hates Al Envy. I don’t hate often these days even if disliking is still quite common. I do neither toward Al. We’re two different personalities with our own approaches to the sport; I recognize how good he is at this point. Hell, the man is worthy of my respect and that’s something I don’t just throw around. This challenge came from my own pride, my own ego, and my own desire to show the entire wrestling industry how to break apart a man who helped give the letters NEW its meaning.
I’ve cleaned myself off my previous wounds, Al. Truly I have. I’ve overcome the demons of drugs, and my poisonous anger. I’ve finally undone the wound Bobby Backdoor has placed upon me over a decade ago and got paid in full of what Bobby owed me as part of this little arrangement. For a man who has lived over four decades, it’s still a little odd breathing fresh air like this and not being weighted by my own self sabotage.
In essence, I’m truly the perfect representation of what it means to be a Professional Wrestler from how I conduct myself to the ways I represent the industry and train the kids. That knowledge also goes for how I’ve become the ultimate Professional Wrestler of the old school way. And this old man is greedy for his spot for true respect as well as the proof that in your own home state that I have become a superior tactician, hell maybe even superior technician to you.
You bring the legend, this makes it all the easier because you got comfortable while I’ve been reborn as a hungry wrestling machine; however if you bring the same hungry bastard that won all those championships that matches my own drive instead?
…Then it makes the conquest I’m planning over you truly worth it.
The interstate drive down thirty-five hasn’t been one I’ve taken in a while. When you no longer wrestle every single night, you almost get used to being cramped up in an airplane. I could buy first class with my money but I’d rather not fruitlessly spend when I absolutely don’t have to. But my old friend Vincent Moretti wanted to join me and for old time’s sake, we did what wrestlers used to do all the time: take your car and start driving down to where we needed to be. I can tell from the marker signs and how traffic is starting to get packed that we’re not too far from our destination: Dallas Fort-Worth.
Even if I consider myself a better wheelman then Vincent Moretti ever was, I can’t deny his vehicle is significantly more comfortable then my old silverado was when I did this practice far more often.
I have been watching the most recent match Al Envy had put on with Alexander Koresh…and his family, on my phone just studying it for a tell on the Texan. It’s harder to do when your driver jerks the damn wheel every so often and urgh…there he did it again on that turn. I peer in his direction with an annoyed sneer protruding from my face and he just puts on a sheepish grin; he did it intentionally. Vincent’s in casual gear wearing a Vegas Golden Knights hockey jersey and a pair of jeans with his silver hair slicked back; a stark contrast from the usual suits he tends to wear but we are just driving. I’m also going with comfortable casual attire at least for the car ride…especially by my standards: a sleeveless blue West Virginia t-shirt and a pair of blue basketball shorts that do go over my scarred knees.
My eyes return back to the phone and see Envy hit his DDT for the fifth time, I just study his lower body. The legs…wait…make that a sixth time now and fast… I notice something very different…especially compared to how I perform mine.
“That’s it…” I mouth out loud.
“What’s it?” Vincent questions out of genuine curiosity.
“His DDT…” I blink, continuing my thought, “He never swings his leg like a pendulum. It’s more of a one motion fall rather than having the entire body work like clockwork to maximize the impact. The swiftness surprised Alexander but there’s a different line of counters for that…”
Vince barks up a laugh, “Is this why you wanted me to drive? You wanted to get some last minute studying in and it actually worked?”
“I was wondering why his DDT was bothering me…” I muse, “He’s sacrificing impact to try to be harder to counter with his variation of it. But if you do that pendulum motion with your leg correctly like I’ve mastered…you spike them fast on the mat while making it harder to counter. It’s also such a subtle motion that most people don’t even catch it with their eye but if they’re doing the move properly…they do that motion with their leg. Nobody does that shit anymore. Some try to do it with both legs but that turns into a hop and fall rather than one swift, concrete motion. Everyone does and learns a thousand moves…nobody masters them.”
“Now who do you sound like?” Vincent raises an eyebrow before barking up a laugh, “Shit...I can hear Noish laughing his ass off in the afterlife.”
“I do sound like Noish there, don’t I?” I lean back on the chair, half of a smile creeping on my face while shaking my head, “God rest his soul but he’s right.”
“It’s what I expect from your mind. It’s why some of those people throw the legend tag line at you, brother.” he grins knowingly.
I feel a quick glint of rage when he says that word even though I know his own meaning behind it. I still come from an era of professional wrestling where legends just took paydays and coasted on reputation and nothing more; it’s one of those unsolved wounds I still have. But I take a breath, keep the impulse from yelling at my friend from getting the better of me and just glance at Vincent with an agitated expression. I just let it go for now. I don’t want to say anything to ruin the good vibe of the car ride. Not every comment is a slight after all…another hard lesson I’ve learned. Though Vincent glances at me briefly after that momentary silence…and he can see through my eyes I didn’t care for what he said.
“The work I put in to just stay ahead…” I mutter as I see the mat slap the canvas for the ref on that match I’ve watched far too often now.
I finish up the study session on the phone closing things out on that application and stay leaned back on the chair. To my amusement, the Fort-Worth traffic has not dissipated in the slightest this evening. The horn blowing has begun with a couple people running out of patience on the interstate; it interrupts the conversation for the second but doesn’t interrupt Vincent’s laughter. The Vegas turned Chicago transplant’s good mood can’t be extinguished.
“The fuckers really think that’s going to make things go faster! Blow hot air from a horn. Where in the hell is the opening?” he asks rhetorically.
“I…” I pause before shaking my head, “I’d rather not answer that because I know where that will go.”
“Damn…you know me too well…” he mocks disappointment but still seems amused by the conversation.
I give a quick glance at the speedometer for a moment, it is reading just ten miles per hour at its peak before returning to going ahead. I might have my arms crossed but a faint, quaint smile glued to my lips for a moment. This is truly how wrestlers in Vincent’s and my generation helped pass time…conversations in the car. It’s also a decent way of keeping your head on straight if you have the right people with you. I needed a more…quiet trip after the hectic insanity that was New Orleans; I’m getting too old for that kind of tomfoolery. Though it seems my thoughts are cursed as the phone rings.. I blink for a moment trying to think of which one of the two are calling…it reads Jesse. A wave of questions go through my brain as I wonder why he’s calling now but I hit the answer button and put it on speaker.
“Hello?” I say flatly.
“Seth.” Jesse’s tone is firm before it goes up a pitch in his agitation, “Andy’s dumbass decided he wanted to get ‘intentionally roofied’ by my cousin, our fuck’n World Champion, for more unity so I thought I’d ca—”
“Woah woah woah—what!? Intentionally roofied?” Vincent interjects, perplexed, “What kind’a cajun shit did he put together?”
“Moretti? Oh god damn it Andy did you inform him too!?” Jesse growls, his irritation picks up, “This isn’t a drug deal!”
“I got clean too god damn it!” Vincent’s voice goes up several pitches to almost a squeak in a brief fury, “And I am not one of Andy’s fuckin’ associates! And on second thought, nevermind! I don’t want to know what twisted concoction Johnny’s mind came up with.”
“Vincent…some things are best left not discovered…” I sigh though it betrays the fact that I find these two shrieking at each other with minimum provocation amusing.
“Oh, you’re both there…” Jesse grumbles; I can imagine a vein popping in his forehead from his own agitation at both this and his present situation as a whole.
“You’re on speaker.” I finally answer the original premise of his question, hiding the grin at the little display of fireworks there by ‘accidently’ putting things on speaker at first, “We’re caught in traffic. Have you made it in yet?”
“I’ll…fly in shortly.” I hear Jesse finally take a breath over the line, he still sounds on edge, “I’m still in Florida. I just wanted…a chance to breathe and that happened which hasn’t helped my mood. Between that main event, the divorce and the absolute dogshit that son of a bitch Hunter pulled I felt overdue to just take some time to myself…”
“Oh I heard about that too…” Vincent interjects, “He actually used a lawyer for once.”
“Yeah, we’re kind of in a stuck fucking situation Vince!” Jesse seethes through the phone, “This makes me wish I could put Big Barry through another fucking glass table just to feel a smidge of relief from all of these stressors. Or that fucking jackoff Andy would make a good substitute.”
“Who said we were stuck?” I raise an eyebrow but keeping my voice low, “Between all of us involved…there’s plenty that can still be done.”
“He’s right…” Vincent confirms with a light grin before he says something more akin…to his old wrestler self, “Let me do you a favor, Jesse. Yes, let me do you a favor and look over it myself. Seth’ll study it as well. I’m sure there’s some wiggle room that Hunter left us if we look through every nook and cranny of the damn thing.”
I hear Jesse let out a sigh, not overly keen on this idea, “I don’t know how many more looks over this damn thing I really want to see but if you want me to bring a copy to you that’s fine. I hate that bastard lawyer of his too. Between Fairbanks the third, the potential legal in divorce papers and that stupid bitch Morgan Reese I’d rather not see another lawyer march through our arena for the next six fucking months!”
“I can understand not liking court or lawyers but if you don’t mind me asking directly…what was your reason for calling?” I finally cut through, my tone remaining neutral.
“Ah, there’s the business like Seth I’m more used to dealing with…” Jesse’s mood actually relaxes slightly at a familiar tone, “Just…making sure you weren’t going to fly off the handle. There’s a lot on all of our plates right now.”
“Ten years ago I would…” I say with a pause, “But I’m good. I can handle looking at those papers with Vincent when you get here and kicking Al Envy’s ass all over Texas.”
“I am still not used to you being the calm, rational person in conversations…or you being much of a conversationalist at all.” Jesse’s tone is low, still a little bit in disbelief but at least it’s better then the profanity laced tirade he went on a couple minutes ago.
“Half the time I think my fiance wishes I’d shut up a little…” I offer with a shrug but say it as if I were joking. I peer over and see Vincent stifle a laugh, it landed with him at least.
“...I never thought you’d get married. That’s something I still can’t wrap my head around…” Jesse pauses, I can tell just from his tone that probably wasn’t the best thing I could’ve said.
“Who the hell knows where we’ll be in another ten years…” I shrug before finally letting out a sigh, “I’ll probably be retired at that point for sure but…where I am in life, I can’t predict entirely. I just know right now…I’m in a decent enough place in life and don’t want to fuck that or my potential marriage up. I already have one failed one myself…compared to those things, wrestling has always been…easier.”
There is a silence that follows over the phone
“...That got heavier than I thought it would…” Jesse blinks, “Well…we’re at different points in life I think.”
“Doesn’t mean the three of us can’t get better than we are at now, right?” Vincent interjects finally.
“Vincent Moretti actually makes more sense than most of my circle, I never thought I’d see that day either…” Jesse muses half sarcastic and half genuinely bewildered, “Holy shit what a world…what has covid done?”
“Drugs are bad mmkay…” Vincent does his best Mr. Mackley impression, it honestly sounds close.
“Well, we can converse more later…I’ll enjoy the Florida sun before having to deal with Texas…” the boss groans thinking about it.
I finally let out a laugh at that line, “We’re in agreement about that boss. See you in a couple days.”
The phone clicks and a slight wave of exhaustion pours through my body as a sigh escapes from me. Vincent seems far less affected by the conversation then I am. It’s the difference between an extrovert and an introvert if I had to take a guess. That and worrying about my own impending marriage now that I spoke it out loud and eventually making sure that ceremony goes well. I glance at the window and see that we still aren’t moving much. I just put the car seat back and try to get into a comfortable enough position for someone as tall as I am to lay down for a moment.
“I’m taking a nap now…” I grumble, “If we get there and I’m not awake, wake me up.”
“You really trust me to do that?” Vincent snickers, still amused.
“If I wake up with anything missing, you won’t like the consequences.” I reply, channeling some of that old menace within control.
“I’ll call lawyer Thomas Fairbanks the third then…” he cackles, “And follow that up by pleading leniency in court!”
“Fuck you.” I offer a middle finger, hiding my smile before turning my head to shut my eyes.
It won’t be the most comfortable nap I’ve ever had but a quick mental breather does everyone a world of good sometimes; I’m not some robot on infinite sources you know. That’s part of what’s driving me more these days…I know I have a limited amount of time. The knees aren’t going to last forever for starters and I want to prove that I want to be remembered in the light I deem most appropriate for me. The guy who has become the greatest professional wrestling mind this era’s ever seen. This is also the drive as to why I've gotten comfortable at fighting in an uncomfortable situation for my own skillset. It helps grow my own abilities but it's all still Professional Wrestling. It’s all about the little details…I’m sure that might help us with that contract Jesse blindly signed to see what the hell is going on.
It’s the mastery of the little details. Even in something that’s been around longer than I’ve been wrestling in that DDT. Envy’s history makes him great at that aspect; but he isn’t me. I’ve mastered my moves and he’s never had to deal with me approaching him in a rational state merely out to beat him rather then the blood soaked brawls and fights I had been paid for in the past. Just before we lock up I’ll look through his eyes…see in his soul what he’s bringing.
It’ll be the gateway to how I kick Al Envy's ass at what's been deemed his own game fifteen minutes from home.
If you know how to read it perfectly you get the entire DNA of who an individual can be just from what you pull from within them. You get a peak directly into the things that motivate a man the most; then you peel the layers of that onion a little further so you can peer into their anxieties and fears. Then…once you know how to push those buttons the way you want them to, you get to see how they truly react when they’re in crisis. Crisis is defined differently…by different souls. Sometimes if you’re a person like Hunter Valentine there’s more than one crisis of the soul that’s intertwining at the same time. A man...hungry for his own respect at the core of it while also throwing one of the most marginalized groups in the history of mankind under the bus to try to land a cheap insult on his old partner. It’s quite a telling read of what goes on in his soul, especially in this modern age.
Yet...he doesn’t have the right to lash out in the manner he’s done of late. Never has, really…God knows I’ve lashed out in horrendous ways a multitude of times in my career as well, I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t point out that I’ve committed my own fair share of transgressions over the years that have inflamed tensions beyond repair between myself and far too many co-workers. But the heart of it all is that disrespect. I saw it in his eyes when he was spewing his verbal diarrhea. But does he realize that he’s not the only person who has been disrespected in this company’s history? Of course not because there isn’t a more disrespected man in professional wrestling than me.
The things I’ve done for our sport I should be treated with a level of levity…or respect yet I feel dismissed as just a token ‘legend’ or just someone who is merely a bodyguard taking a paycheck. Yes, I like being paid appropriately. I have a family to provide for, but truly I don’t ask for much but what I deserve and yet I just feel nothing but the chill that pure disdain brings. Ten years ago, I’d pull a ridiculous stunt to try to echo my point just out of the poison that was out of control in my own being. Perhaps I’d take a physical assault too far like the time I poured alcohol down Roger Wright’s throat or spiking Matt Slater on his cranium one time too many when people claimed him to be the best at this artform. No...those kinds of childish tantrums while they might be effective at creating a wound, maybe a soundbite or god forbid get innocents blacklisted because one obviously doesn’t care anymore…it only belabor the points they try to make. Rather…I did it in the manner professional wrestling should be conducted.
I called Al Envy out in front of the entire world and made it clear if you could read my eyes what I intend to do. He’s the embodiment of yet another…wound, another crisis even that I take as more than one direct shot to my pride. I’ve spent years rebuilding my style as a professional wrestler considering the wear and tear I’ve put my body through in the past; it has been profitable in other promotions. I’ve won my fair share of accolades…and yet…far too many snot nosed punks, veterans that don’t know worth a damn, and the sheep who buy the tickets look down on the older school principles or my specific tactics and just whitewashes what I’ve accomplished my whole career! It goes back to what another brilliant technician that went through these doors called me…
“You will always be a ruthless violent cheater.”
Those words have haunted me for a long time. I’ve gotten clean from the drugs; my anger no longer has enslaved me and yet…the poison of those words from Matthew god damn Slater I still feel around my neck like a god damned noose. While Envy isn’t Slater, they’re viewed on a similar level of brilliance in the artform of our industry. Hell, I just saw a man step a little bit outside his own comfort zone and turn the match that would be a disadvantage into his own element because he never stopped thinking on how to dissect someone. The man is brilliant and still knows quite the array of holds, counters, and moves.
So who better to prove my point against?
So yes, I have a little bit of bitterness toward Al Envy. Hell, let’s take it a step further, I’m envious of the man in some ways. He has what deserves to be mine as well. Some people might take this point and scream that the bitter old man hates Al Envy. I don’t hate often these days even if disliking is still quite common. I do neither toward Al. We’re two different personalities with our own approaches to the sport; I recognize how good he is at this point. Hell, the man is worthy of my respect and that’s something I don’t just throw around. This challenge came from my own pride, my own ego, and my own desire to show the entire wrestling industry how to break apart a man who helped give the letters NEW its meaning.
I’ve cleaned myself off my previous wounds, Al. Truly I have. I’ve overcome the demons of drugs, and my poisonous anger. I’ve finally undone the wound Bobby Backdoor has placed upon me over a decade ago and got paid in full of what Bobby owed me as part of this little arrangement. For a man who has lived over four decades, it’s still a little odd breathing fresh air like this and not being weighted by my own self sabotage.
In essence, I’m truly the perfect representation of what it means to be a Professional Wrestler from how I conduct myself to the ways I represent the industry and train the kids. That knowledge also goes for how I’ve become the ultimate Professional Wrestler of the old school way. And this old man is greedy for his spot for true respect as well as the proof that in your own home state that I have become a superior tactician, hell maybe even superior technician to you.
You bring the legend, this makes it all the easier because you got comfortable while I’ve been reborn as a hungry wrestling machine; however if you bring the same hungry bastard that won all those championships that matches my own drive instead?
…Then it makes the conquest I’m planning over you truly worth it.
The interstate drive down thirty-five hasn’t been one I’ve taken in a while. When you no longer wrestle every single night, you almost get used to being cramped up in an airplane. I could buy first class with my money but I’d rather not fruitlessly spend when I absolutely don’t have to. But my old friend Vincent Moretti wanted to join me and for old time’s sake, we did what wrestlers used to do all the time: take your car and start driving down to where we needed to be. I can tell from the marker signs and how traffic is starting to get packed that we’re not too far from our destination: Dallas Fort-Worth.
Even if I consider myself a better wheelman then Vincent Moretti ever was, I can’t deny his vehicle is significantly more comfortable then my old silverado was when I did this practice far more often.
I have been watching the most recent match Al Envy had put on with Alexander Koresh…and his family, on my phone just studying it for a tell on the Texan. It’s harder to do when your driver jerks the damn wheel every so often and urgh…there he did it again on that turn. I peer in his direction with an annoyed sneer protruding from my face and he just puts on a sheepish grin; he did it intentionally. Vincent’s in casual gear wearing a Vegas Golden Knights hockey jersey and a pair of jeans with his silver hair slicked back; a stark contrast from the usual suits he tends to wear but we are just driving. I’m also going with comfortable casual attire at least for the car ride…especially by my standards: a sleeveless blue West Virginia t-shirt and a pair of blue basketball shorts that do go over my scarred knees.
My eyes return back to the phone and see Envy hit his DDT for the fifth time, I just study his lower body. The legs…wait…make that a sixth time now and fast… I notice something very different…especially compared to how I perform mine.
“That’s it…” I mouth out loud.
“What’s it?” Vincent questions out of genuine curiosity.
“His DDT…” I blink, continuing my thought, “He never swings his leg like a pendulum. It’s more of a one motion fall rather than having the entire body work like clockwork to maximize the impact. The swiftness surprised Alexander but there’s a different line of counters for that…”
Vince barks up a laugh, “Is this why you wanted me to drive? You wanted to get some last minute studying in and it actually worked?”
“I was wondering why his DDT was bothering me…” I muse, “He’s sacrificing impact to try to be harder to counter with his variation of it. But if you do that pendulum motion with your leg correctly like I’ve mastered…you spike them fast on the mat while making it harder to counter. It’s also such a subtle motion that most people don’t even catch it with their eye but if they’re doing the move properly…they do that motion with their leg. Nobody does that shit anymore. Some try to do it with both legs but that turns into a hop and fall rather than one swift, concrete motion. Everyone does and learns a thousand moves…nobody masters them.”
“Now who do you sound like?” Vincent raises an eyebrow before barking up a laugh, “Shit...I can hear Noish laughing his ass off in the afterlife.”
“I do sound like Noish there, don’t I?” I lean back on the chair, half of a smile creeping on my face while shaking my head, “God rest his soul but he’s right.”
“It’s what I expect from your mind. It’s why some of those people throw the legend tag line at you, brother.” he grins knowingly.
I feel a quick glint of rage when he says that word even though I know his own meaning behind it. I still come from an era of professional wrestling where legends just took paydays and coasted on reputation and nothing more; it’s one of those unsolved wounds I still have. But I take a breath, keep the impulse from yelling at my friend from getting the better of me and just glance at Vincent with an agitated expression. I just let it go for now. I don’t want to say anything to ruin the good vibe of the car ride. Not every comment is a slight after all…another hard lesson I’ve learned. Though Vincent glances at me briefly after that momentary silence…and he can see through my eyes I didn’t care for what he said.
“The work I put in to just stay ahead…” I mutter as I see the mat slap the canvas for the ref on that match I’ve watched far too often now.
I finish up the study session on the phone closing things out on that application and stay leaned back on the chair. To my amusement, the Fort-Worth traffic has not dissipated in the slightest this evening. The horn blowing has begun with a couple people running out of patience on the interstate; it interrupts the conversation for the second but doesn’t interrupt Vincent’s laughter. The Vegas turned Chicago transplant’s good mood can’t be extinguished.
“The fuckers really think that’s going to make things go faster! Blow hot air from a horn. Where in the hell is the opening?” he asks rhetorically.
“I…” I pause before shaking my head, “I’d rather not answer that because I know where that will go.”
“Damn…you know me too well…” he mocks disappointment but still seems amused by the conversation.
I give a quick glance at the speedometer for a moment, it is reading just ten miles per hour at its peak before returning to going ahead. I might have my arms crossed but a faint, quaint smile glued to my lips for a moment. This is truly how wrestlers in Vincent’s and my generation helped pass time…conversations in the car. It’s also a decent way of keeping your head on straight if you have the right people with you. I needed a more…quiet trip after the hectic insanity that was New Orleans; I’m getting too old for that kind of tomfoolery. Though it seems my thoughts are cursed as the phone rings.. I blink for a moment trying to think of which one of the two are calling…it reads Jesse. A wave of questions go through my brain as I wonder why he’s calling now but I hit the answer button and put it on speaker.
“Hello?” I say flatly.
“Seth.” Jesse’s tone is firm before it goes up a pitch in his agitation, “Andy’s dumbass decided he wanted to get ‘intentionally roofied’ by my cousin, our fuck’n World Champion, for more unity so I thought I’d ca—”
“Woah woah woah—what!? Intentionally roofied?” Vincent interjects, perplexed, “What kind’a cajun shit did he put together?”
“Moretti? Oh god damn it Andy did you inform him too!?” Jesse growls, his irritation picks up, “This isn’t a drug deal!”
“I got clean too god damn it!” Vincent’s voice goes up several pitches to almost a squeak in a brief fury, “And I am not one of Andy’s fuckin’ associates! And on second thought, nevermind! I don’t want to know what twisted concoction Johnny’s mind came up with.”
“Vincent…some things are best left not discovered…” I sigh though it betrays the fact that I find these two shrieking at each other with minimum provocation amusing.
“Oh, you’re both there…” Jesse grumbles; I can imagine a vein popping in his forehead from his own agitation at both this and his present situation as a whole.
“You’re on speaker.” I finally answer the original premise of his question, hiding the grin at the little display of fireworks there by ‘accidently’ putting things on speaker at first, “We’re caught in traffic. Have you made it in yet?”
“I’ll…fly in shortly.” I hear Jesse finally take a breath over the line, he still sounds on edge, “I’m still in Florida. I just wanted…a chance to breathe and that happened which hasn’t helped my mood. Between that main event, the divorce and the absolute dogshit that son of a bitch Hunter pulled I felt overdue to just take some time to myself…”
“Oh I heard about that too…” Vincent interjects, “He actually used a lawyer for once.”
“Yeah, we’re kind of in a stuck fucking situation Vince!” Jesse seethes through the phone, “This makes me wish I could put Big Barry through another fucking glass table just to feel a smidge of relief from all of these stressors. Or that fucking jackoff Andy would make a good substitute.”
“Who said we were stuck?” I raise an eyebrow but keeping my voice low, “Between all of us involved…there’s plenty that can still be done.”
“He’s right…” Vincent confirms with a light grin before he says something more akin…to his old wrestler self, “Let me do you a favor, Jesse. Yes, let me do you a favor and look over it myself. Seth’ll study it as well. I’m sure there’s some wiggle room that Hunter left us if we look through every nook and cranny of the damn thing.”
I hear Jesse let out a sigh, not overly keen on this idea, “I don’t know how many more looks over this damn thing I really want to see but if you want me to bring a copy to you that’s fine. I hate that bastard lawyer of his too. Between Fairbanks the third, the potential legal in divorce papers and that stupid bitch Morgan Reese I’d rather not see another lawyer march through our arena for the next six fucking months!”
“I can understand not liking court or lawyers but if you don’t mind me asking directly…what was your reason for calling?” I finally cut through, my tone remaining neutral.
“Ah, there’s the business like Seth I’m more used to dealing with…” Jesse’s mood actually relaxes slightly at a familiar tone, “Just…making sure you weren’t going to fly off the handle. There’s a lot on all of our plates right now.”
“Ten years ago I would…” I say with a pause, “But I’m good. I can handle looking at those papers with Vincent when you get here and kicking Al Envy’s ass all over Texas.”
“I am still not used to you being the calm, rational person in conversations…or you being much of a conversationalist at all.” Jesse’s tone is low, still a little bit in disbelief but at least it’s better then the profanity laced tirade he went on a couple minutes ago.
“Half the time I think my fiance wishes I’d shut up a little…” I offer with a shrug but say it as if I were joking. I peer over and see Vincent stifle a laugh, it landed with him at least.
“...I never thought you’d get married. That’s something I still can’t wrap my head around…” Jesse pauses, I can tell just from his tone that probably wasn’t the best thing I could’ve said.
“Who the hell knows where we’ll be in another ten years…” I shrug before finally letting out a sigh, “I’ll probably be retired at that point for sure but…where I am in life, I can’t predict entirely. I just know right now…I’m in a decent enough place in life and don’t want to fuck that or my potential marriage up. I already have one failed one myself…compared to those things, wrestling has always been…easier.”
There is a silence that follows over the phone
“...That got heavier than I thought it would…” Jesse blinks, “Well…we’re at different points in life I think.”
“Doesn’t mean the three of us can’t get better than we are at now, right?” Vincent interjects finally.
“Vincent Moretti actually makes more sense than most of my circle, I never thought I’d see that day either…” Jesse muses half sarcastic and half genuinely bewildered, “Holy shit what a world…what has covid done?”
“Drugs are bad mmkay…” Vincent does his best Mr. Mackley impression, it honestly sounds close.
“Well, we can converse more later…I’ll enjoy the Florida sun before having to deal with Texas…” the boss groans thinking about it.
I finally let out a laugh at that line, “We’re in agreement about that boss. See you in a couple days.”
The phone clicks and a slight wave of exhaustion pours through my body as a sigh escapes from me. Vincent seems far less affected by the conversation then I am. It’s the difference between an extrovert and an introvert if I had to take a guess. That and worrying about my own impending marriage now that I spoke it out loud and eventually making sure that ceremony goes well. I glance at the window and see that we still aren’t moving much. I just put the car seat back and try to get into a comfortable enough position for someone as tall as I am to lay down for a moment.
“I’m taking a nap now…” I grumble, “If we get there and I’m not awake, wake me up.”
“You really trust me to do that?” Vincent snickers, still amused.
“If I wake up with anything missing, you won’t like the consequences.” I reply, channeling some of that old menace within control.
“I’ll call lawyer Thomas Fairbanks the third then…” he cackles, “And follow that up by pleading leniency in court!”
“Fuck you.” I offer a middle finger, hiding my smile before turning my head to shut my eyes.
It won’t be the most comfortable nap I’ve ever had but a quick mental breather does everyone a world of good sometimes; I’m not some robot on infinite sources you know. That’s part of what’s driving me more these days…I know I have a limited amount of time. The knees aren’t going to last forever for starters and I want to prove that I want to be remembered in the light I deem most appropriate for me. The guy who has become the greatest professional wrestling mind this era’s ever seen. This is also the drive as to why I've gotten comfortable at fighting in an uncomfortable situation for my own skillset. It helps grow my own abilities but it's all still Professional Wrestling. It’s all about the little details…I’m sure that might help us with that contract Jesse blindly signed to see what the hell is going on.
It’s the mastery of the little details. Even in something that’s been around longer than I’ve been wrestling in that DDT. Envy’s history makes him great at that aspect; but he isn’t me. I’ve mastered my moves and he’s never had to deal with me approaching him in a rational state merely out to beat him rather then the blood soaked brawls and fights I had been paid for in the past. Just before we lock up I’ll look through his eyes…see in his soul what he’s bringing.
It’ll be the gateway to how I kick Al Envy's ass at what's been deemed his own game fifteen minutes from home.