Post by bad guy™ on Jan 16, 2017 18:28:53 GMT -5
Act I, Scene I: Torture Me With a Good Time
"Well, I mean, she’s not wrong Hideo. You’re kind of a pig…"
YAY! The new issue of Sundome hit on Amazon a couple of days ago and I just HAD to order it. It’s winter break from school; I return on the 23rd, and I knew I wasn’t going to have any intensive training with Johnny Michaels for a few days…namely because I called him up on the phone and told him I had the flu. Told my dad I was going up to Pittsburgh to see Aaron. Told Wayne I was getting myself prepped for classes and got a couple of days off. Let’s just hope Movie Man doesn’t make a phone call to any of the men in my life and out my dirty little secret that I was just blowing his ass off to read a manga for a few days. That would be…ahem…awkward. But can anyone be mad at me? I’ve only been training for a couple of months and I already have a contract offer from WFWF, who the f*ck else can claim that one? Trevor Wolf, maybe, but I’m convinced Smol Doggo never had any PROPER in ring training. Most of the WFWF has to be thankful he’s at least house trained and accepts payment in the form of Kibbles and Bits and treats for tricks I would imagine. Point of the matter is, I’m stressed as f*ck right now, k? Sure, I’m excited that classes are starting, that I’ve got a boyfriend, and being this close to making my dream a reality but it’s weighing on me like a two ton brick of lead. It’s all I think about, and it’s the moment more people than just myself have been looking forward to. I pride myself on acting older than I am…namely because it gets me out of being carded for beer whenever I want but still.
I have the hopes and dreams of too many other people all riding on my shoulders. Problem is, those shoulders? They’re too thin to carry all of them. At some point I’m going to drop these hopes and I’m unsure how to cope with this. I can’t confide in my dad, because he’ll try to pull me away. I can’t tell Aaron, he just doesn’t understand the scope of what’s going on bless his little…beautiful…ahem…heart for trying at least. Wayne would understand, but I feel as if I’m little more than his mooching lodger.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
Now you understand why I’m taking a break from everything, and lying to everyone, just so I can read a f*cking Japanese comic book about a semi-flat chested girl who causes a guy severe sexual frustration. Sorry, boyfriend. They wrote a book about our relationship. It provides me some sense of sick stability in this crazy little life I’m building over here.
"Kurumi…HEY."
Over my head goes my precious book, being grabbed from my clutches. That’s what I get for facing the wall and, apparently, forgetting to lock the door. As I roll to a seated position, well, there she is.
"GIVE THAT BACK, SCARLETT."
Scarlett is eyeing the cover of my precious book, analyzing it and realizing it’s a dirty manga. I’m never going to live this one down.
"Ya know, you’ve got a boyfriend, Skype, and a door you keep forgetting has a lock if you’re that desperate…"
"Save it, Scarlett," I say, grabbing the book out of her hands in a fluster and stashing it in my desk weeeeeelllll across the room. Turning to face Scarlett, I closely guard the drawer of my desk, grasping the ledge with the grip of a Titan.
"Hiding something in there?"
"No."
"Are you lying?"
"Yes."
God dammit, she got to me AGAIN. Ya know, I’m straight as an arrow and I really like Aaron. I would, however, proudly take a turn at driving Miss Daisy crazy over there if I had enough booze in my system. My crowning mistake. Just throwing that one out there. Girl’s got me spinnin’ around. But enough about the ginge’s wet dreams.
"You know, I really don’t care. I was just messing with you by taking the book. Whatever’s your jam, not my concern."
"At least my manga has stories. Penny’s got stacks of Playboy magazines under her mattress!"
"You act like I don’t know that. I bought her the freaking subscription for Christmas last year."
Not all heroes wear capes, ladies and gentlemen.
"Sigh. You need something, Scar? Or are you only here to harass me?" I don’t anticipate a straight answer.
"Actually, yes. I do need something. I’m on a mission, and it’s better to do when Penny is out with her girlfriend."
"What’s Man-Hands got to do with this?" If you couldn’t tell by now, I’m not a fan of Penny Shannon.
"You sound like your father."
Like father like daughter, I guess. At least some trait other than narcissism, self-righteousness and an obsessive crush on Scarlett Quinn passed down to me. I sit on the bed and kick my legs up, Scarlett pulling herself on herself and leaning against the wall at my feet.
"I’ve got presents. Was asked to pick these up. Keep in mind, from two different people you’ve told lies to today," says Scarlett, reaching into her bag. First, she tosses me a little cardboard box which almost pokes my eye out. "From Johnny. He says he hopes you get well soon."
Cold and flu PM. Well that was considerate. I can totally mix this with the bottle under my bed.
"And from my dad, congratulating you on making the Dean’s List last semester and excited to see you being SO proactive in getting ready for this semester at State," Scarlett rolls her eyes halfway through her sentence and tosses a plastic shot bottle of rum at my chest.
"Liquor and sleeping pills, if I didn’t know the context I’d say you’re either Bill Cosby or are threatening me with a good time."
She laughs. THE NERVE!
"Ok, now I’m positive you’re Sam’s."
"Is this what you didn’t want Penny here for? Make sure she didn’t jump to the conclusion of you seducing your co-ed housemate?"
"Who I choose to mix pills and rum with is MY choice, girlie. I actually wanted to know if you saw the Supreme Gauntlet list WFWF.com put out."
"I’ve not. No concern to me as long as Brennan made the cut."
"He did."
"Well deserved," I respond, making a faux sign of the cross. Sarcasm not intended, guy deserves it. Former partner of dad’s, and clearly trying to reform his life. He may come across as scummy, but I can’t knock someone trying to better their own life.
"Girl power in it too."
"Rockin’ it. Not Penny’s biggest fan, but we deserve a spot up there with the boys."
"Penny’s taking some time off. If you’ve not noticed. She’s still mentally coming to terms with the fact that she lost to Dex in her own yard."
"She’s the only other girl in WFWF though? Unless we’re counting Michael Kyzer."
Scarlett leans against my knees, pulling her phone out of her pocket and, of course, all of my breath is gone.
"W…wa…what are you doing?" I can feel my face hot as hell. This is Aaron’s job to do this. Buuuuut…I’m in an open relationship with a wrestling ring, an undergraduate degree and a boy the whole country away. I guess I deserve stress relief somehow…
Scarlett rests her elbows on my knees and turns her phone around, kicking the volume up and turning it sideways. Supreme Gauntlet announcement video? Brennan, cool. Trace, not surprised. Josh Dean, not deserving. Austin Hayes, new blood. Anna Ahriman, never wrestled a match in her life. Joe Bish…
"WHAT?!" I shoot up from my laying position, Scarlett dropping her phone in my lap and catching my shoulders before I wipe her out with a headbutt. She stares dead into my eyes.
"You did it, girlfriend," Scarlett kissing my forehead, grinning from ear to ear. "Finally, someone I can support getting skyrocketed."
Very uncharacteristically, I pull away from Scarlett and rise to my feet. To be honest, I don’t quite know what’s going on. My head is spinning, and my ears are on fire. I slowly walk to the door, grabbing the handle tightly for support. Gingerly turning the corner, I bump into the hall table and topple Vanessa’s vase. Again. I’m just trying to make it to the bathroom, stupid sh*t getting in my way. I reach the door and walk in, Wayne shaving in the mirror.
"What’d you girls break this time?" he asks jokingly. His tone turns serious when he sees my face, however. Dad-mode kicking in. "Anna? You ok?"
Wayne grabs me at my shoulders as I start to go down, easing my fall. I’m on my hands and knees, crawling to the Porcelain God. This is so embarrassing, and it only gets worse as I barely get the lid up before the vomit makes its way up my throat, out of my mouth and splashes into the bowl. I’m dry-heaving at this point.
"SCARLETT! GET SOME WATER FROM THE FRIDGE."
"RIGHT," she shouts, barreling down the steps like thunder.
What the f*ck do you mean I’m in the Gauntlet? I’ve never even had a match! Unless you’re accounting for the training matches I’ve had against Michaels, that he always makes me lose to him in might I add, I don’t got this. I don’t got any of this. F*CK. Is this some kind of sick joke? I mean, I know Trace hates my dad; and I knew his wrath would be something I’d at some point have to contend with…but this? A chance at the WFWF Championship, of which I’m soooooo not prepared for, is almost torture. Everyone knows what this business…vomit…what it means to me. They may not know me, but if they know my dad they know what to expect. His last match out, he failed at achieving his dream...and I’m getting that chance before the ink on my contract has even dried? No f*cking pressure or anything, right? Oh God MY DAD. He’s gotta be losing his mind! This was th…vomit…the one aspect of the business he didn’t want me near, at least this early. He can’t even be proud about it. He’s going to be so disappointed.
Scarlett comes into the bathroom and kneels next to me, holding my hair up and rubbing my back from top to bottom.
"You’re the first person I’ve ever encountered who vomits at the prospect of a world title match," she says, trying to lighten the mood.
"I’m…nervous."
"This is beyond nerves, Anna. Nerves are butterflies in your stomach."
"Well they WERE in my stomach, to be fair. Ugh. God."
"Classy."
I throw up a bit more, can’t really help it. I roll against the wall and Scarlett releases my hair, flushing for me and sitting on the floor across from me, handing over the bottle of water, of which I empty faster that the machines probably once filled it. I’ve gotta take a few deep breaths if I want to get words instead of bile to come out.
"So what the hell happened? Are you ill, Anna?" asks Wayne, coming back into the bathroom to clean off the shaving cream from when he evacuated the premises.
"Cough. Gag. You could say that."
"I showed her the Gauntlet announcement. Surprise got to her."
"If I remember correctly daughter-o-mine, you didn’t take the news of your first WFWF Championship opportunity very well. You were certainly excited, but I’m pretty sure you got sick a couple of times."
"I was facing Phillip Schneider inside of a sick, ultraviolent fantasy of his. Forgive me if the thought of being impaled by rail spikes didn’t sit all that well with me, regardless of what was at stake."
"B…but hey…you won that…" I can barely get that out.
"Heh. That I did. And you know what? No matter who they throw at you? I’m confident in you. You’re the daughter of Samael Ahriman. You were trained by Johnny Michaels. Your boyfriend is a Knight. Your mentor was Shawn Malakai. And as far as I’m concerned, you’ve been living here long enough; I would consider you an honorary McGurk. The five greatest names in the history of the WFWF are running through you, and rooting for you. Not much of a believer of heaven or hell, but wherever Shawn’s at, know he’s pulling just as hard girl."
I try to irk out a smile, but I cover my mouth, toss up the lid and start vomiting again. Yay. At this rate, I’ll be making my debut inside of a cramped bathroom, dead. If I die, someone look into Frank Lynn, would ya? Don’t want the McGurk’s being blamed for my death. Scarlett sighs, rubbing my back again.
This was not how I imagined sensual touching with between and a not-that-curious, just-wanting-a-one-time-good-time me would go.
Wayne leans in and whispers something to his daughter before she lightly scratches my back one more time and leaves the room.
"You gonna be ok to walk?" asks Wayne.
"I….I guess?" OF COURSE I’M NOT! I’M STILL PAYING TRIBUTE HERE GOSH.
Wayne grabs something from in one of the sink drawers, a hair band, and uses it to tie my hair back. He grabs me under my arms to my feet and very slowly gets me down the stairs. He guides my tripping ass out the front door and plants me in one of the porch chair. Sitting on the table next to me is a glass of Ginger Ale and my pack of Kools, soft, clearly courtesy of Scarlett. I take a sip of the Ginger Ale, the carbonation feeling so good in my empty stomach. Popping out the smoke and lighting up, the menthol is delicious on my throat. I glance over at Wayne who is smiling.
"Any better, Anna?"
"Sigh. Much."
"Good."
I take a few more puffs, the nicotine hitting my head finally and I can feel the stress level dropping in scores. My mind is racing, but hey. Cigarettes? Nice.
"Trace really got you with the company’s announcement, didn’t he?"
"You could say that."
"And it’s not your debut that has you antsy, I know that. Detective Wayne solved this case the moment Scarlett told me what she said. Though I need to have a chat with her about her bedside manner, though I implore you to forgive her for the last comment she made. She wasn’t wrong, but she could have realized that that was your problem. She’s not much older than you, though. She doesn’t have that kind of intuition yet. And even if you guys are becoming close to best friends, she just doesn’t realize that your mindset is different from the way hers was."
"How so?"
"When Scarlett signed onto the WFWF, she was doing it purely to spite Vanessa and myself. She hated us for trying to keep her out of the WFWF."
"I know the feeling."
"Actually, my dear, you don’t."
"My dad didn…"
"No, Sam didn’t want you to become a wrestler. I don’t think a wrestling parent would ever want their child to join the business. We did what we did to make sure you unruly teenagers didn’t follow in our footsteps. You could go to college, you could go to tech school; hell, I think Sam and myself would have been just as proud of you and Scarlett respectively if you became shift managers of a local McDonalds. We’d be proud no matter what. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of what Scarlett did even if it was to spite me. She has a mind of her own and above all else that’s what any parent wants for their child. Someday you’ll realize that yourself. But that’s not really the point here," Wayne begins to sigh. "It may not look it now, but Scarlett hated us. She went into the WFWF with nothing but blind rage. That’s why she dropped the McGurk name for Quinn. Everyone knew who she was, but she didn’t want to be associated with us. She was solely interested in making a name for herself, which is fine; but her ultimate goal was to surpass me. And it wasn’t just out of friendly competition like you and your dad have. She wanted it so that she could rub it in my face as venomously as she possibly could. A sort of ‘F*ck the McGurk’s, Quinn will reign’ kind of thing. That’s not you."
Well, I mean, he’s not totally wrong. Getting a Triple Crown would really irk dad, but I’m still carrying my last name, and I do it with pride. But the WFWF Championship first? Or, at least, a shot at it? Like…what?
"So what’s got you so wound up is the pressure you’re under, eh?" asks Wayne, clearly rhetorically. I nod just to acknowledge. "Sure, this Gauntlet is for the WFWF Championship when you win it all. Anyone would have pre-game jitters for that, and tack on that it’s your debut? I’d probably chuck up a couple of butterflies myself. But you have so much more on your shoulders. You’re not in this business for your dad, you’re here because you love it so much because of your dad. You want to put a stamp on the books with the Ahriman name, solidifying them as the Royal Family of Wrestling over the Burton’s, Dean’s and McGurk’s. I respect that more than you can imagine. But your dad didn’t want you near the poison that can be the WFWF Championship. But the perfect cure for poison? It’s the antidote of support. Everyone knows the relationship you had with Shawn. I loved that man as much as anyone else; and clearly so do you to the point where you’re mimicking his attire. I saw the design you and Vanessa drew up. Your boyfriend is the son of one of my best friends. Aaron Knight, Michael ‘Thunder’ Knight’s only child. So you have the Ahriman name, Malakai name and Thunder name on your shoulders. You also don’t want to disappoint the man who taught you the technical aspects of this business in Movie man. And, as far as I’m concerned, you’re my daughter. You have been since Sam introduced you to our f*cked up family."
"Not helping the pressure, Wayne."
"Instead of surpassing these great names, your goal is to live up to the expectations placed upon you. But let me tell you this. Win or lose, if you feel disappointed, the only person you will be disappointing is yourself. It’s in your head. Not a single one of us…Sam, Phoe, Shawn, Scarlett, Vanessa, myself, Johnny, Aaron, Thunder, Robin and even Penny, though I implore you to not tell her I said that, will NEVER be disappointed in you. You are a beautiful young woman, Anna. You’re intelligent beyond your years, a superb athlete; and good god you are so freaking clever. When the best happens, we will always be here to revel in your victory, even Shawn in spirit. And when the worst happens, you have the largest safety net to catch and comfort you than anyone could ever have."
I cannot help but allow tears to flow from my eyes. Before I can rise from my seat, Wayne is standing next to me, wrapping his arms around me, tucking my head into his chest. I’m man enough for a young woman to admit that I am weeping at this point.
At this point, I know I am almost ready. I just have one piece of business to take care of first.
Act I, Scene II: The Drive
I’m a rather experienced driver, all things considered. I don’t leave Tempe all that often, namely because Johnny would kill me if I didn’t show up for training; or, ya know, unless I lied and told him I was sick. I’ve totally never done that before in the last f*cking act. But I made the drive from Ira, Vermont all of the way to Tempe, Arizona completely solo. The only accompaniment I had was the occasional text session with Aaron whenever I pulled off for a rest; because I’m clearly not the type to text and drive. Only drink and smoke. Gotta draw the line somewhere, right? I think I made a good choice. This GARMIN GPS dad got me occasionally talks to me, telling me to take wrong-way one-way left turns all of the time like I was in some kind of f*cking NASCAR race or some sh*t. Of course mom and dad would constantly call me, asking for check-ups, clearly mom was watching out for traffic accidents on every small road I could be traveling on en route to Tempe or wherever my travels took me. I like the quiet loneliness the open road provides me in my born-before-me Buick that eats gas easier than Phillip Schneider ate new talent back in the old days. However, on the trip I am making now…I’m not REALLY alone. I’ve got this baby.
Before I left to head to my new home, a surprisingly sizable room on the upstairs floor of Wayne McGurk’s house, my dad gave me something. No, idiots, it’s not his sword Sakabato. I might have martial arts skills, but I’m not the f*cking Last Samurai. Do I look like Tom Cruise? He gave me his WFWF Tag Team Championship. After David gave him the belt following Horizon, dad brought it home and I couldn’t help but coddle the thing. So beautiful. I mean, dad let me hold the one he won with Tugarin, and the International Championship, but this one if completely his. With the WFWF Tag Team Championships now defunct because f*ck Trace Demon and that c*nt Lila Sleater, Brennan and dad got stripped. Good on Brennan being a sneaky sumbitch and stealing the titles before the ring hands could collect them. So now and forever, this title is his. Or, well, he thought it would be forever. He MAY kill me. Father forgive me for what I am about to do.
This championship means the world to my dad. He beat Drakz the Destroyer. Hopefully, some day, so will I. But as cool a memento as this championship is, it truly doesn’t belong to me. Sure, I would love to join David Brennan in parading around with one of the titles just to rub it in everyone’s faces that another title won from one of the best in WFWF history simply got handed to someone else who is totally undeserving (lookin’ at you Dex boy). I can’t, however, justify keeping my shotgun partner over here. If the situation ever arose where I would need to fill in as champion, that’s one thing, because I would have to fight. I’m chill with that. But parading around with a defunct title that was not won by myself, but rather my father? Nah man.
So that’s how I got myself here. When I’m back in the Northeast, I’m always here to visit Aaron in Pittsburgh, Shawn’s grave, or mom and dad in Vermont. But ever since I found out I was in the Gauntlet, I can’t stomach the thought of going to see him. We’ve talked on the phone, and just as Wayne said he would be, he’s being ultra supportive win or lose…I just don’t want to look him in the eye until I get this first Gauntlet match with Bishop under my belt. Scarlett and Aaron have offered to fly out to Chicago to be my emotional support. I know mom and dad will be there too, but I gave the backstage crew explicit rules to not let them into the locker room until after the show. That way I can look them in the eye after I’ve taken my first steps.
GARMIN is yelling at me to make the left turn here on the upcoming dirt road. I oblige my Director Dictator and I can immediately see the frozen over coast of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s…beautiful. I never got to go to the coast much as a child…hell, I still am, so rather as a kid. When I first arrived in Tempe, Scarlett took myself, Man-Hands and her girlfriend to a Malibu beach house we had all rented out for the weekend and had a good time; but there’s nothing like the cold air of the northeast in the winter near the water. F*ck the ninnies who can’t handle this weather. You see some beautiful sights.
YOU HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR DESTINATION.
Uhhhh…he lives HERE? I get that he’s not in Boston anymore, but this house is crazy even for a coast home. Hell. A little old, and it still has charm, but the location of it in relation to the coast reminds me of the scenery of a horror movie.
Well, regardless of if this place was taken straight out of a fancy mansion hosting horror movie, this is the address I found and where GARMIN brought me. Home of David Brennan, the rightful owner of this half of the WFWF Tag Team Championship. Now, I know this sounds weird, but I have to do it. Brennan deserves this title, not me. I’ve got other things to worry about, I need this off of my chest. I understand that Brennan is also in the Supreme Gauntlet like myself, even if he is in the different pool. I have to get through Joe Bishop and company first, but at some point, he and I may very well have to face off against one another with the WFWF Championship hanging in the balance. That does not mean, however, I cannot extend an olive branch of civility. Brennan is not the person I want to be on the bad side of, but I’m fresh meat in this company. I don’t expect to form a best friendship with matching bracelets with the reformed alcoholic, but a mutual respect is a good way to start anyways. And if it never goes any further than that, I’ve still succeeded at my job.
A woman exits the front door of the house, and in response I leave my car. Title is staying in the front seat though, just to play it safe.
Walking up the driveway, I now realize I need a bit more conditioning. Now, the mysterious woman and myself are face to face. You are NOT who I want to see. But, ya know, civility.
"Well you’re certainly not Chris," says the woman. Well, that’s pretty f*cking clear considering I have tits but whatever.
"Uhh…no. My name is Anna," I respond as cordially as I can, extending my hand, which the woman reaches for and shakes.
"I’m Natalie. What can I do for you?"
"Uhh...well…I have something for Mr. Brennan."
"I’m sorry ma’am. David is a bit busy at the moment, but I can take a message and ensure he gets it."
Natalie, starring this winter in My Drunk’s Keeper.
"This is something I’m positive he would like. Work related." This gets a cocked eyebrow from Nicole.
"I never caught your last name?"
"I’m Anna Ahriman."
"…oh…"
"Yeah…I probably should have opened with that surname of mine. Sorry."
"It’s fine. Misunderstanding."
"Yeah, I get it. It’s beautiful back here though. View is phenomenal."
"That it is. When David told me he wanted to leave Boston, I was surprised. But when I saw the place…I got it."
"For sure."
So much small talk. So much awkwardness. Natalie breaks it.
"So what brings you here? I recognize your name, but not you."
"I probably should have led with that too, but like I said, I have something work related for him. May I please see him?"
"I’m not sure that’s a great idea."
"Ok...I can respect that. I can give you what’s for him. It’s my dad’s half of their tag titles. I want him to have it. I need him to have it."
Natalie looks at her feet for a moment, then back at me dead in the eyes.
"No…it’s yours to give to him. Follow me."
I follow her to the back, but I’m not paying much mind to her as we walk around. I’m too busy looking at the beautiful coast. It’s even colder up close. I love it. I hear a door creaking open, and I turn around to see none other than the man of the hour himself walking out his door. David f*cking Brennan.
Welp. Time to ball up and finish this first piece of business. It’s time for The Queen to begin the rise to her reign.
Act 1, Scene III: Queen One to King Bishop Eight
Supreme Gauntlet. David Brennan. Joe Bishop. Dex. Austin Hayes. Frank Lynn. Ante Whitner. Trace Demon. Josh Dean. Anonymous. Anna Ahriman. How the hell did this wind up being the two groups of pools? Outside of Brennan, myself and whoever Anonymous winds up being…this is what any sane person would call a Murderer’s Row of potential tournament draws. Good. F*cking. God. Don’t get me wrong, I may have never wrestled before but I’ve been watching longer than I can remember. I know what these guys, sans Anonymous, are all about.
Trace Demon is a right c*nt. Convenient that he sells the company and STILL WINDS UP IN A TOURNAMENT WITH A WFWF CHAMPIONSHIP ENDGAME. F*cking cute.
David Brennan, all things considered, is a pretty ok guy in my short experience with him. He might be cleaning up his life; but once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. I’m not entirely sure he’s completely sober but nonetheless, he’s at least deserving of this title opportunity.
Austin Hayes is an interesting pick. He’s young, cute, and looks like he’s for the talent to get somewhere. I’m glad we god pooled together.
Anonymous…anyone who doesn’t think that sh*t is somehow going to be Trevor Wolf is high on some heavy ish.
Ante Whitner is the Golden Opportunity holder. He outlasted to have a shot at my boy Brennan’s title whenever the f*ck he wants it. He’s also a former ally of my father’s. Easy advantage to cash in on later.
Dex. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Frank Lynn has more than proved his worth since he got here. He even managed to pull out the WFWF Rookie of the Year award. If anyone can play spoiler, it’s him. Here’s lookin’ at you, old man.
Josh Dean, I have no respect for that sell-sword pig. Saviors of sh*t. Couldn’t stop Drakz when it mattered most.
Then we’ve got WFWF’s largest case of untapped potential in the history of the company. I’m not sure how I really feel about Joe Bishop personally. I’ve never met the guy myself, and from what I’ve seen on TV I probably am better off having not. He seems self centered and brash. I can, however, admit to admiring his in ring prowess. Sure, he’s untapped as he’s never been able to reach that big one yet, but that’s more a case of wrong place wrong time than any lack of talent. And given the politics of the WFWF that I’ve heard from my dad, I guess I get why he’s in this…rut, I suppose you can say. But here he is now, getting potentially the shot of his life. It’s a round robin style tournament with the winner of each bracket having to face off to determine who’s the man, but it’s the opportunity he for sure deserves.
Here’s the problem with that.
I’m getting the same shot.
It took Bishop half a decade to be placed into prominence, and here I am JUST having signed a contract; a young girl of just eighteen, and I’m on the same playing field with the same potential outcome as someone who’s spent his entire career trying to achieve.
Many are going to claim that this is revenge of some sort. Trace Demon, before he sold the WFWF, had one of his men ‘scout’ me and offer me a contract because I was competent and it was a chance to torture Samael Ahriman’s daughter on live television every week. And maybe they’re right.
Many are going to say that this is nothing more than nepotism. I am an Ahriman, and my last name carries heavy weight around these parts. I’m my father’s daughter, so I had to inherit his talent and charisma right? I’m a perfect cash cow. They lost my dad and gained his daughter. And maybe they’re right.
No one is going to say that I earned this shot. To be fair, I didn’t. So I have a famous last name, I have ties to the McGurk dynasty and my trainer is one of the greatest to ever step foot inside of a WFWF ring. I’ve never wrestled an official match in my life, and when I step in between those ropes against Joe Bishop, that first match with be a championship hunt for the most prestigious of titles in all of sports.
No one is going to say that I earned it.
I’m going to prove to them that I deserved it.
I’ll admit to being nervous. I’m greener than grass, I’ve never been in front of a crowd that large and I’m in way over my head when it comes to the other talent in the pools. I do not claim to be the best wrestler ever…I’m not even officially a wrestler yet until that bell rings for the first time. I won’t be one of those noobs that come into the business trying to show everyone that they’re the best ever and wag their dick around only to realize they’re nothing more than a one inch pecker in a pond full of ten foot crocodiles that are much more pleasurable and much more capable of preventing you from walking straight the next day.
But you know something? That’s fine. I’m going into this wanting to win. I have nothing to prove to anyone except for myself, however. If I gain the respect of Joe Bishop when I beat him or any other wrestler in the back? That’s pretty f*cking cool. But I felt for the longest time that the hopes and dreams of mom, dad, Aaron, Thunder, Wayne, Vanessa, Scarlett, and Shawn on my shoulders and it was causing me to feel like I was drowning in that pond. Wayne helped me realize that these were not weights to push me down, but rather floaties to preserve my life in victory and defeat. That’s why I took that drive to Maine to give David that title. It was one bad ass souvenir, don’t get me wrong. But it wasn’t mine. It wasn’t right for my father to give it to me. If he wanted to give me something to have as a sort of charm, he could have given me the hair tie he used to keep his face clear when he’d have high profile matches. I dislike Drakz because of everything I have seen and everything he has done to my father, but as nice as it would be to give him the business and piss him off with the title; it means nothing if I carry around a title I don’t own. My name isn’t Dex. So the belt is Brennan’s to do with what he wants. He made the mark on history. Not me.
I will, however, have no issue parading around with the WFWF Championship on my shoulder when I survive my group and go one on one with David Brennan and, some day, gain arms long enough to box with the god Drakz himself.
But until then, I have to start with Bishop. He has all of the reason in the world to fight tooth and nail to the death. He’s stronger than me. He’s faster than me. I am, however, smarter than him. I’m crafty, and when I’m pressured or cornered, I come out guns blazing. When I’m done with Joe Bishop…poor guy is going to have to wait for another half decade to get this opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe he can crawl back to his old ass buddy ‘King of Demons’ Trace Demon. In fact, he probably should. But I get to make my move first.
Queen One to King’s Bishop Eight, bitch. Checkmate.
[/b][/center]"Well, I mean, she’s not wrong Hideo. You’re kind of a pig…"
YAY! The new issue of Sundome hit on Amazon a couple of days ago and I just HAD to order it. It’s winter break from school; I return on the 23rd, and I knew I wasn’t going to have any intensive training with Johnny Michaels for a few days…namely because I called him up on the phone and told him I had the flu. Told my dad I was going up to Pittsburgh to see Aaron. Told Wayne I was getting myself prepped for classes and got a couple of days off. Let’s just hope Movie Man doesn’t make a phone call to any of the men in my life and out my dirty little secret that I was just blowing his ass off to read a manga for a few days. That would be…ahem…awkward. But can anyone be mad at me? I’ve only been training for a couple of months and I already have a contract offer from WFWF, who the f*ck else can claim that one? Trevor Wolf, maybe, but I’m convinced Smol Doggo never had any PROPER in ring training. Most of the WFWF has to be thankful he’s at least house trained and accepts payment in the form of Kibbles and Bits and treats for tricks I would imagine. Point of the matter is, I’m stressed as f*ck right now, k? Sure, I’m excited that classes are starting, that I’ve got a boyfriend, and being this close to making my dream a reality but it’s weighing on me like a two ton brick of lead. It’s all I think about, and it’s the moment more people than just myself have been looking forward to. I pride myself on acting older than I am…namely because it gets me out of being carded for beer whenever I want but still.
I have the hopes and dreams of too many other people all riding on my shoulders. Problem is, those shoulders? They’re too thin to carry all of them. At some point I’m going to drop these hopes and I’m unsure how to cope with this. I can’t confide in my dad, because he’ll try to pull me away. I can’t tell Aaron, he just doesn’t understand the scope of what’s going on bless his little…beautiful…ahem…heart for trying at least. Wayne would understand, but I feel as if I’m little more than his mooching lodger.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
Now you understand why I’m taking a break from everything, and lying to everyone, just so I can read a f*cking Japanese comic book about a semi-flat chested girl who causes a guy severe sexual frustration. Sorry, boyfriend. They wrote a book about our relationship. It provides me some sense of sick stability in this crazy little life I’m building over here.
"Kurumi…HEY."
Over my head goes my precious book, being grabbed from my clutches. That’s what I get for facing the wall and, apparently, forgetting to lock the door. As I roll to a seated position, well, there she is.
"GIVE THAT BACK, SCARLETT."
Scarlett is eyeing the cover of my precious book, analyzing it and realizing it’s a dirty manga. I’m never going to live this one down.
"Ya know, you’ve got a boyfriend, Skype, and a door you keep forgetting has a lock if you’re that desperate…"
"Save it, Scarlett," I say, grabbing the book out of her hands in a fluster and stashing it in my desk weeeeeelllll across the room. Turning to face Scarlett, I closely guard the drawer of my desk, grasping the ledge with the grip of a Titan.
"Hiding something in there?"
"No."
"Are you lying?"
"Yes."
God dammit, she got to me AGAIN. Ya know, I’m straight as an arrow and I really like Aaron. I would, however, proudly take a turn at driving Miss Daisy crazy over there if I had enough booze in my system. My crowning mistake. Just throwing that one out there. Girl’s got me spinnin’ around. But enough about the ginge’s wet dreams.
"You know, I really don’t care. I was just messing with you by taking the book. Whatever’s your jam, not my concern."
"At least my manga has stories. Penny’s got stacks of Playboy magazines under her mattress!"
"You act like I don’t know that. I bought her the freaking subscription for Christmas last year."
Not all heroes wear capes, ladies and gentlemen.
"Sigh. You need something, Scar? Or are you only here to harass me?" I don’t anticipate a straight answer.
"Actually, yes. I do need something. I’m on a mission, and it’s better to do when Penny is out with her girlfriend."
"What’s Man-Hands got to do with this?" If you couldn’t tell by now, I’m not a fan of Penny Shannon.
"You sound like your father."
Like father like daughter, I guess. At least some trait other than narcissism, self-righteousness and an obsessive crush on Scarlett Quinn passed down to me. I sit on the bed and kick my legs up, Scarlett pulling herself on herself and leaning against the wall at my feet.
"I’ve got presents. Was asked to pick these up. Keep in mind, from two different people you’ve told lies to today," says Scarlett, reaching into her bag. First, she tosses me a little cardboard box which almost pokes my eye out. "From Johnny. He says he hopes you get well soon."
Cold and flu PM. Well that was considerate. I can totally mix this with the bottle under my bed.
"And from my dad, congratulating you on making the Dean’s List last semester and excited to see you being SO proactive in getting ready for this semester at State," Scarlett rolls her eyes halfway through her sentence and tosses a plastic shot bottle of rum at my chest.
"Liquor and sleeping pills, if I didn’t know the context I’d say you’re either Bill Cosby or are threatening me with a good time."
She laughs. THE NERVE!
"Ok, now I’m positive you’re Sam’s."
"Is this what you didn’t want Penny here for? Make sure she didn’t jump to the conclusion of you seducing your co-ed housemate?"
"Who I choose to mix pills and rum with is MY choice, girlie. I actually wanted to know if you saw the Supreme Gauntlet list WFWF.com put out."
"I’ve not. No concern to me as long as Brennan made the cut."
"He did."
"Well deserved," I respond, making a faux sign of the cross. Sarcasm not intended, guy deserves it. Former partner of dad’s, and clearly trying to reform his life. He may come across as scummy, but I can’t knock someone trying to better their own life.
"Girl power in it too."
"Rockin’ it. Not Penny’s biggest fan, but we deserve a spot up there with the boys."
"Penny’s taking some time off. If you’ve not noticed. She’s still mentally coming to terms with the fact that she lost to Dex in her own yard."
"She’s the only other girl in WFWF though? Unless we’re counting Michael Kyzer."
Scarlett leans against my knees, pulling her phone out of her pocket and, of course, all of my breath is gone.
"W…wa…what are you doing?" I can feel my face hot as hell. This is Aaron’s job to do this. Buuuuut…I’m in an open relationship with a wrestling ring, an undergraduate degree and a boy the whole country away. I guess I deserve stress relief somehow…
Scarlett rests her elbows on my knees and turns her phone around, kicking the volume up and turning it sideways. Supreme Gauntlet announcement video? Brennan, cool. Trace, not surprised. Josh Dean, not deserving. Austin Hayes, new blood. Anna Ahriman, never wrestled a match in her life. Joe Bish…
"WHAT?!" I shoot up from my laying position, Scarlett dropping her phone in my lap and catching my shoulders before I wipe her out with a headbutt. She stares dead into my eyes.
"You did it, girlfriend," Scarlett kissing my forehead, grinning from ear to ear. "Finally, someone I can support getting skyrocketed."
Very uncharacteristically, I pull away from Scarlett and rise to my feet. To be honest, I don’t quite know what’s going on. My head is spinning, and my ears are on fire. I slowly walk to the door, grabbing the handle tightly for support. Gingerly turning the corner, I bump into the hall table and topple Vanessa’s vase. Again. I’m just trying to make it to the bathroom, stupid sh*t getting in my way. I reach the door and walk in, Wayne shaving in the mirror.
"What’d you girls break this time?" he asks jokingly. His tone turns serious when he sees my face, however. Dad-mode kicking in. "Anna? You ok?"
Wayne grabs me at my shoulders as I start to go down, easing my fall. I’m on my hands and knees, crawling to the Porcelain God. This is so embarrassing, and it only gets worse as I barely get the lid up before the vomit makes its way up my throat, out of my mouth and splashes into the bowl. I’m dry-heaving at this point.
"SCARLETT! GET SOME WATER FROM THE FRIDGE."
"RIGHT," she shouts, barreling down the steps like thunder.
What the f*ck do you mean I’m in the Gauntlet? I’ve never even had a match! Unless you’re accounting for the training matches I’ve had against Michaels, that he always makes me lose to him in might I add, I don’t got this. I don’t got any of this. F*CK. Is this some kind of sick joke? I mean, I know Trace hates my dad; and I knew his wrath would be something I’d at some point have to contend with…but this? A chance at the WFWF Championship, of which I’m soooooo not prepared for, is almost torture. Everyone knows what this business…vomit…what it means to me. They may not know me, but if they know my dad they know what to expect. His last match out, he failed at achieving his dream...and I’m getting that chance before the ink on my contract has even dried? No f*cking pressure or anything, right? Oh God MY DAD. He’s gotta be losing his mind! This was th…vomit…the one aspect of the business he didn’t want me near, at least this early. He can’t even be proud about it. He’s going to be so disappointed.
Scarlett comes into the bathroom and kneels next to me, holding my hair up and rubbing my back from top to bottom.
"You’re the first person I’ve ever encountered who vomits at the prospect of a world title match," she says, trying to lighten the mood.
"I’m…nervous."
"This is beyond nerves, Anna. Nerves are butterflies in your stomach."
"Well they WERE in my stomach, to be fair. Ugh. God."
"Classy."
I throw up a bit more, can’t really help it. I roll against the wall and Scarlett releases my hair, flushing for me and sitting on the floor across from me, handing over the bottle of water, of which I empty faster that the machines probably once filled it. I’ve gotta take a few deep breaths if I want to get words instead of bile to come out.
"So what the hell happened? Are you ill, Anna?" asks Wayne, coming back into the bathroom to clean off the shaving cream from when he evacuated the premises.
"Cough. Gag. You could say that."
"I showed her the Gauntlet announcement. Surprise got to her."
"If I remember correctly daughter-o-mine, you didn’t take the news of your first WFWF Championship opportunity very well. You were certainly excited, but I’m pretty sure you got sick a couple of times."
"I was facing Phillip Schneider inside of a sick, ultraviolent fantasy of his. Forgive me if the thought of being impaled by rail spikes didn’t sit all that well with me, regardless of what was at stake."
"B…but hey…you won that…" I can barely get that out.
"Heh. That I did. And you know what? No matter who they throw at you? I’m confident in you. You’re the daughter of Samael Ahriman. You were trained by Johnny Michaels. Your boyfriend is a Knight. Your mentor was Shawn Malakai. And as far as I’m concerned, you’ve been living here long enough; I would consider you an honorary McGurk. The five greatest names in the history of the WFWF are running through you, and rooting for you. Not much of a believer of heaven or hell, but wherever Shawn’s at, know he’s pulling just as hard girl."
I try to irk out a smile, but I cover my mouth, toss up the lid and start vomiting again. Yay. At this rate, I’ll be making my debut inside of a cramped bathroom, dead. If I die, someone look into Frank Lynn, would ya? Don’t want the McGurk’s being blamed for my death. Scarlett sighs, rubbing my back again.
This was not how I imagined sensual touching with between and a not-that-curious, just-wanting-a-one-time-good-time me would go.
Wayne leans in and whispers something to his daughter before she lightly scratches my back one more time and leaves the room.
"You gonna be ok to walk?" asks Wayne.
"I….I guess?" OF COURSE I’M NOT! I’M STILL PAYING TRIBUTE HERE GOSH.
Wayne grabs something from in one of the sink drawers, a hair band, and uses it to tie my hair back. He grabs me under my arms to my feet and very slowly gets me down the stairs. He guides my tripping ass out the front door and plants me in one of the porch chair. Sitting on the table next to me is a glass of Ginger Ale and my pack of Kools, soft, clearly courtesy of Scarlett. I take a sip of the Ginger Ale, the carbonation feeling so good in my empty stomach. Popping out the smoke and lighting up, the menthol is delicious on my throat. I glance over at Wayne who is smiling.
"Any better, Anna?"
"Sigh. Much."
"Good."
I take a few more puffs, the nicotine hitting my head finally and I can feel the stress level dropping in scores. My mind is racing, but hey. Cigarettes? Nice.
"Trace really got you with the company’s announcement, didn’t he?"
"You could say that."
"And it’s not your debut that has you antsy, I know that. Detective Wayne solved this case the moment Scarlett told me what she said. Though I need to have a chat with her about her bedside manner, though I implore you to forgive her for the last comment she made. She wasn’t wrong, but she could have realized that that was your problem. She’s not much older than you, though. She doesn’t have that kind of intuition yet. And even if you guys are becoming close to best friends, she just doesn’t realize that your mindset is different from the way hers was."
"How so?"
"When Scarlett signed onto the WFWF, she was doing it purely to spite Vanessa and myself. She hated us for trying to keep her out of the WFWF."
"I know the feeling."
"Actually, my dear, you don’t."
"My dad didn…"
"No, Sam didn’t want you to become a wrestler. I don’t think a wrestling parent would ever want their child to join the business. We did what we did to make sure you unruly teenagers didn’t follow in our footsteps. You could go to college, you could go to tech school; hell, I think Sam and myself would have been just as proud of you and Scarlett respectively if you became shift managers of a local McDonalds. We’d be proud no matter what. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of what Scarlett did even if it was to spite me. She has a mind of her own and above all else that’s what any parent wants for their child. Someday you’ll realize that yourself. But that’s not really the point here," Wayne begins to sigh. "It may not look it now, but Scarlett hated us. She went into the WFWF with nothing but blind rage. That’s why she dropped the McGurk name for Quinn. Everyone knew who she was, but she didn’t want to be associated with us. She was solely interested in making a name for herself, which is fine; but her ultimate goal was to surpass me. And it wasn’t just out of friendly competition like you and your dad have. She wanted it so that she could rub it in my face as venomously as she possibly could. A sort of ‘F*ck the McGurk’s, Quinn will reign’ kind of thing. That’s not you."
Well, I mean, he’s not totally wrong. Getting a Triple Crown would really irk dad, but I’m still carrying my last name, and I do it with pride. But the WFWF Championship first? Or, at least, a shot at it? Like…what?
"So what’s got you so wound up is the pressure you’re under, eh?" asks Wayne, clearly rhetorically. I nod just to acknowledge. "Sure, this Gauntlet is for the WFWF Championship when you win it all. Anyone would have pre-game jitters for that, and tack on that it’s your debut? I’d probably chuck up a couple of butterflies myself. But you have so much more on your shoulders. You’re not in this business for your dad, you’re here because you love it so much because of your dad. You want to put a stamp on the books with the Ahriman name, solidifying them as the Royal Family of Wrestling over the Burton’s, Dean’s and McGurk’s. I respect that more than you can imagine. But your dad didn’t want you near the poison that can be the WFWF Championship. But the perfect cure for poison? It’s the antidote of support. Everyone knows the relationship you had with Shawn. I loved that man as much as anyone else; and clearly so do you to the point where you’re mimicking his attire. I saw the design you and Vanessa drew up. Your boyfriend is the son of one of my best friends. Aaron Knight, Michael ‘Thunder’ Knight’s only child. So you have the Ahriman name, Malakai name and Thunder name on your shoulders. You also don’t want to disappoint the man who taught you the technical aspects of this business in Movie man. And, as far as I’m concerned, you’re my daughter. You have been since Sam introduced you to our f*cked up family."
"Not helping the pressure, Wayne."
"Instead of surpassing these great names, your goal is to live up to the expectations placed upon you. But let me tell you this. Win or lose, if you feel disappointed, the only person you will be disappointing is yourself. It’s in your head. Not a single one of us…Sam, Phoe, Shawn, Scarlett, Vanessa, myself, Johnny, Aaron, Thunder, Robin and even Penny, though I implore you to not tell her I said that, will NEVER be disappointed in you. You are a beautiful young woman, Anna. You’re intelligent beyond your years, a superb athlete; and good god you are so freaking clever. When the best happens, we will always be here to revel in your victory, even Shawn in spirit. And when the worst happens, you have the largest safety net to catch and comfort you than anyone could ever have."
I cannot help but allow tears to flow from my eyes. Before I can rise from my seat, Wayne is standing next to me, wrapping his arms around me, tucking my head into his chest. I’m man enough for a young woman to admit that I am weeping at this point.
At this point, I know I am almost ready. I just have one piece of business to take care of first.
Act I, Scene II: The Drive
I’m a rather experienced driver, all things considered. I don’t leave Tempe all that often, namely because Johnny would kill me if I didn’t show up for training; or, ya know, unless I lied and told him I was sick. I’ve totally never done that before in the last f*cking act. But I made the drive from Ira, Vermont all of the way to Tempe, Arizona completely solo. The only accompaniment I had was the occasional text session with Aaron whenever I pulled off for a rest; because I’m clearly not the type to text and drive. Only drink and smoke. Gotta draw the line somewhere, right? I think I made a good choice. This GARMIN GPS dad got me occasionally talks to me, telling me to take wrong-way one-way left turns all of the time like I was in some kind of f*cking NASCAR race or some sh*t. Of course mom and dad would constantly call me, asking for check-ups, clearly mom was watching out for traffic accidents on every small road I could be traveling on en route to Tempe or wherever my travels took me. I like the quiet loneliness the open road provides me in my born-before-me Buick that eats gas easier than Phillip Schneider ate new talent back in the old days. However, on the trip I am making now…I’m not REALLY alone. I’ve got this baby.
Before I left to head to my new home, a surprisingly sizable room on the upstairs floor of Wayne McGurk’s house, my dad gave me something. No, idiots, it’s not his sword Sakabato. I might have martial arts skills, but I’m not the f*cking Last Samurai. Do I look like Tom Cruise? He gave me his WFWF Tag Team Championship. After David gave him the belt following Horizon, dad brought it home and I couldn’t help but coddle the thing. So beautiful. I mean, dad let me hold the one he won with Tugarin, and the International Championship, but this one if completely his. With the WFWF Tag Team Championships now defunct because f*ck Trace Demon and that c*nt Lila Sleater, Brennan and dad got stripped. Good on Brennan being a sneaky sumbitch and stealing the titles before the ring hands could collect them. So now and forever, this title is his. Or, well, he thought it would be forever. He MAY kill me. Father forgive me for what I am about to do.
This championship means the world to my dad. He beat Drakz the Destroyer. Hopefully, some day, so will I. But as cool a memento as this championship is, it truly doesn’t belong to me. Sure, I would love to join David Brennan in parading around with one of the titles just to rub it in everyone’s faces that another title won from one of the best in WFWF history simply got handed to someone else who is totally undeserving (lookin’ at you Dex boy). I can’t, however, justify keeping my shotgun partner over here. If the situation ever arose where I would need to fill in as champion, that’s one thing, because I would have to fight. I’m chill with that. But parading around with a defunct title that was not won by myself, but rather my father? Nah man.
So that’s how I got myself here. When I’m back in the Northeast, I’m always here to visit Aaron in Pittsburgh, Shawn’s grave, or mom and dad in Vermont. But ever since I found out I was in the Gauntlet, I can’t stomach the thought of going to see him. We’ve talked on the phone, and just as Wayne said he would be, he’s being ultra supportive win or lose…I just don’t want to look him in the eye until I get this first Gauntlet match with Bishop under my belt. Scarlett and Aaron have offered to fly out to Chicago to be my emotional support. I know mom and dad will be there too, but I gave the backstage crew explicit rules to not let them into the locker room until after the show. That way I can look them in the eye after I’ve taken my first steps.
GARMIN is yelling at me to make the left turn here on the upcoming dirt road. I oblige my Director Dictator and I can immediately see the frozen over coast of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s…beautiful. I never got to go to the coast much as a child…hell, I still am, so rather as a kid. When I first arrived in Tempe, Scarlett took myself, Man-Hands and her girlfriend to a Malibu beach house we had all rented out for the weekend and had a good time; but there’s nothing like the cold air of the northeast in the winter near the water. F*ck the ninnies who can’t handle this weather. You see some beautiful sights.
YOU HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR DESTINATION.
Uhhhh…he lives HERE? I get that he’s not in Boston anymore, but this house is crazy even for a coast home. Hell. A little old, and it still has charm, but the location of it in relation to the coast reminds me of the scenery of a horror movie.
Well, regardless of if this place was taken straight out of a fancy mansion hosting horror movie, this is the address I found and where GARMIN brought me. Home of David Brennan, the rightful owner of this half of the WFWF Tag Team Championship. Now, I know this sounds weird, but I have to do it. Brennan deserves this title, not me. I’ve got other things to worry about, I need this off of my chest. I understand that Brennan is also in the Supreme Gauntlet like myself, even if he is in the different pool. I have to get through Joe Bishop and company first, but at some point, he and I may very well have to face off against one another with the WFWF Championship hanging in the balance. That does not mean, however, I cannot extend an olive branch of civility. Brennan is not the person I want to be on the bad side of, but I’m fresh meat in this company. I don’t expect to form a best friendship with matching bracelets with the reformed alcoholic, but a mutual respect is a good way to start anyways. And if it never goes any further than that, I’ve still succeeded at my job.
A woman exits the front door of the house, and in response I leave my car. Title is staying in the front seat though, just to play it safe.
Walking up the driveway, I now realize I need a bit more conditioning. Now, the mysterious woman and myself are face to face. You are NOT who I want to see. But, ya know, civility.
"Well you’re certainly not Chris," says the woman. Well, that’s pretty f*cking clear considering I have tits but whatever.
"Uhh…no. My name is Anna," I respond as cordially as I can, extending my hand, which the woman reaches for and shakes.
"I’m Natalie. What can I do for you?"
"Uhh...well…I have something for Mr. Brennan."
"I’m sorry ma’am. David is a bit busy at the moment, but I can take a message and ensure he gets it."
Natalie, starring this winter in My Drunk’s Keeper.
"This is something I’m positive he would like. Work related." This gets a cocked eyebrow from Nicole.
"I never caught your last name?"
"I’m Anna Ahriman."
"…oh…"
"Yeah…I probably should have opened with that surname of mine. Sorry."
"It’s fine. Misunderstanding."
"Yeah, I get it. It’s beautiful back here though. View is phenomenal."
"That it is. When David told me he wanted to leave Boston, I was surprised. But when I saw the place…I got it."
"For sure."
So much small talk. So much awkwardness. Natalie breaks it.
"So what brings you here? I recognize your name, but not you."
"I probably should have led with that too, but like I said, I have something work related for him. May I please see him?"
"I’m not sure that’s a great idea."
"Ok...I can respect that. I can give you what’s for him. It’s my dad’s half of their tag titles. I want him to have it. I need him to have it."
Natalie looks at her feet for a moment, then back at me dead in the eyes.
"No…it’s yours to give to him. Follow me."
I follow her to the back, but I’m not paying much mind to her as we walk around. I’m too busy looking at the beautiful coast. It’s even colder up close. I love it. I hear a door creaking open, and I turn around to see none other than the man of the hour himself walking out his door. David f*cking Brennan.
Welp. Time to ball up and finish this first piece of business. It’s time for The Queen to begin the rise to her reign.
Act 1, Scene III: Queen One to King Bishop Eight
Supreme Gauntlet. David Brennan. Joe Bishop. Dex. Austin Hayes. Frank Lynn. Ante Whitner. Trace Demon. Josh Dean. Anonymous. Anna Ahriman. How the hell did this wind up being the two groups of pools? Outside of Brennan, myself and whoever Anonymous winds up being…this is what any sane person would call a Murderer’s Row of potential tournament draws. Good. F*cking. God. Don’t get me wrong, I may have never wrestled before but I’ve been watching longer than I can remember. I know what these guys, sans Anonymous, are all about.
Trace Demon is a right c*nt. Convenient that he sells the company and STILL WINDS UP IN A TOURNAMENT WITH A WFWF CHAMPIONSHIP ENDGAME. F*cking cute.
David Brennan, all things considered, is a pretty ok guy in my short experience with him. He might be cleaning up his life; but once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. I’m not entirely sure he’s completely sober but nonetheless, he’s at least deserving of this title opportunity.
Austin Hayes is an interesting pick. He’s young, cute, and looks like he’s for the talent to get somewhere. I’m glad we god pooled together.
Anonymous…anyone who doesn’t think that sh*t is somehow going to be Trevor Wolf is high on some heavy ish.
Ante Whitner is the Golden Opportunity holder. He outlasted to have a shot at my boy Brennan’s title whenever the f*ck he wants it. He’s also a former ally of my father’s. Easy advantage to cash in on later.
Dex. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Frank Lynn has more than proved his worth since he got here. He even managed to pull out the WFWF Rookie of the Year award. If anyone can play spoiler, it’s him. Here’s lookin’ at you, old man.
Josh Dean, I have no respect for that sell-sword pig. Saviors of sh*t. Couldn’t stop Drakz when it mattered most.
Then we’ve got WFWF’s largest case of untapped potential in the history of the company. I’m not sure how I really feel about Joe Bishop personally. I’ve never met the guy myself, and from what I’ve seen on TV I probably am better off having not. He seems self centered and brash. I can, however, admit to admiring his in ring prowess. Sure, he’s untapped as he’s never been able to reach that big one yet, but that’s more a case of wrong place wrong time than any lack of talent. And given the politics of the WFWF that I’ve heard from my dad, I guess I get why he’s in this…rut, I suppose you can say. But here he is now, getting potentially the shot of his life. It’s a round robin style tournament with the winner of each bracket having to face off to determine who’s the man, but it’s the opportunity he for sure deserves.
Here’s the problem with that.
I’m getting the same shot.
It took Bishop half a decade to be placed into prominence, and here I am JUST having signed a contract; a young girl of just eighteen, and I’m on the same playing field with the same potential outcome as someone who’s spent his entire career trying to achieve.
Many are going to claim that this is revenge of some sort. Trace Demon, before he sold the WFWF, had one of his men ‘scout’ me and offer me a contract because I was competent and it was a chance to torture Samael Ahriman’s daughter on live television every week. And maybe they’re right.
Many are going to say that this is nothing more than nepotism. I am an Ahriman, and my last name carries heavy weight around these parts. I’m my father’s daughter, so I had to inherit his talent and charisma right? I’m a perfect cash cow. They lost my dad and gained his daughter. And maybe they’re right.
No one is going to say that I earned this shot. To be fair, I didn’t. So I have a famous last name, I have ties to the McGurk dynasty and my trainer is one of the greatest to ever step foot inside of a WFWF ring. I’ve never wrestled an official match in my life, and when I step in between those ropes against Joe Bishop, that first match with be a championship hunt for the most prestigious of titles in all of sports.
No one is going to say that I earned it.
I’m going to prove to them that I deserved it.
I’ll admit to being nervous. I’m greener than grass, I’ve never been in front of a crowd that large and I’m in way over my head when it comes to the other talent in the pools. I do not claim to be the best wrestler ever…I’m not even officially a wrestler yet until that bell rings for the first time. I won’t be one of those noobs that come into the business trying to show everyone that they’re the best ever and wag their dick around only to realize they’re nothing more than a one inch pecker in a pond full of ten foot crocodiles that are much more pleasurable and much more capable of preventing you from walking straight the next day.
But you know something? That’s fine. I’m going into this wanting to win. I have nothing to prove to anyone except for myself, however. If I gain the respect of Joe Bishop when I beat him or any other wrestler in the back? That’s pretty f*cking cool. But I felt for the longest time that the hopes and dreams of mom, dad, Aaron, Thunder, Wayne, Vanessa, Scarlett, and Shawn on my shoulders and it was causing me to feel like I was drowning in that pond. Wayne helped me realize that these were not weights to push me down, but rather floaties to preserve my life in victory and defeat. That’s why I took that drive to Maine to give David that title. It was one bad ass souvenir, don’t get me wrong. But it wasn’t mine. It wasn’t right for my father to give it to me. If he wanted to give me something to have as a sort of charm, he could have given me the hair tie he used to keep his face clear when he’d have high profile matches. I dislike Drakz because of everything I have seen and everything he has done to my father, but as nice as it would be to give him the business and piss him off with the title; it means nothing if I carry around a title I don’t own. My name isn’t Dex. So the belt is Brennan’s to do with what he wants. He made the mark on history. Not me.
I will, however, have no issue parading around with the WFWF Championship on my shoulder when I survive my group and go one on one with David Brennan and, some day, gain arms long enough to box with the god Drakz himself.
But until then, I have to start with Bishop. He has all of the reason in the world to fight tooth and nail to the death. He’s stronger than me. He’s faster than me. I am, however, smarter than him. I’m crafty, and when I’m pressured or cornered, I come out guns blazing. When I’m done with Joe Bishop…poor guy is going to have to wait for another half decade to get this opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe he can crawl back to his old ass buddy ‘King of Demons’ Trace Demon. In fact, he probably should. But I get to make my move first.
Queen One to King’s Bishop Eight, bitch. Checkmate.
I dont know good luck 
