Crossroads [Gordon RP #1 vs. Merric - COTI]
Jun 30, 2021 21:05:46 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz, Hyperion, and 2 more like this
Post by Kris on Jun 30, 2021 21:05:46 GMT -5
"...I can't believe it."
Erin Gordon's voice, an already flat and stoic thing most of the time, was utterly bereft of emotion as she watched the monitor that was set up in her locker room. Propriety demanded that she had one to herself rather than sharing with Aiden Merric, something she was all too grateful for as she stared at the video feed. The news she was hearing was hard enough to process without the near-constant noise of Aiden and Tucker bickering amongst themselves. With it...
Ain't no point thinkin' about that, Erin. Not when there's more important things to focus on.
Storm-colored eyes remained locked on the visage of Felix Ziko as he continued to explain how AWF was going to come to an end. It was like a car accident, Erin couldn't help but think. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't tear her attention away from it. If anything, her mind was reeling with the gory details of what this meant not only for herself, but for everyone on the roster--shit, the PAs and the backstage workers and the whole nine yards. How were they gonna explain this to their friends, their families? A sinking feeling took hold of Erin's stomach, fingers gripping the leather of the United States Championship hard enough to turn her knuckles white as her mind turned to where it always did no matter the subject.
How the Hell am I gonna break the news to Benson?
Homeward.
Simplicity has always served Erin Gordon well since the beginning of her career in AWF.
Might as well go out with it, too.
The June sun's high in Blooming Valley, and the humidity's skyrocketing right alongside of it. Even through the distance of a camera's lens, it's obvious that it's the kind of sticky summer day that only a cold shower, an A/C cranked to max, and a beer pulled from the deepest part of the fridge can help. In spite of how relief is so close, the reigning United States Champion has chosen to bring things as full circle as she can. The door to the barn is already open since there's no way she's risking giving any of her cattle heatstroke and the title that sits upon one shoulder wasn't there before, but otherwise? She's sitting on that same stool in that same spot, the unyielding gaze locked on the camera's lens.
"This still feels... I can't find the words to describe it."
The sigh that falls free of the Oncoming Storm's lips betrays more emotion than the tone of her voice. It speaks of sadness, of disbelief--of a new kind of grief that's beyond her experience in swallowing down, so it's left nowhere to go but outward. A shake of her head.
"I reckon I ain't the only one in this position, either. The rug's been pulled out from under each and every last Goddamn one of us, from the ring guys to the stuffed suits in their offices and everyone in-between. None of us on the roster were holdin' the grenade of AWF's demise in our hands when it went off, but there's no denyin' that we've all been hit with the shrapnel. As... strange as it feels to say it, I'm one of the lucky ones in that I've got the farm, here, to keep me and my son afloat whether or not I find somewhere else to wrestle. Other folks, though... they ain't so fortunate. If'n you ask me, the lawyers that're responsible for this whole damn mess should hafta' sell their mansions and their fancy cars so they can provide for the people that've lost their jobs because of their bullshit."
That last word comes dangerously close to being snarled by the Oncoming Storm... and with good reason. When one considers how this is yet another crime that lawyers have committed against the working class, it's a wonder that Erin's not foaming at the mouth and baying for their blood. A scoff.
"But what happens to those assholes ain't up to me, though I reckon the world'd be a better place if it was. Naw, right now in a world that's chock full of shit I can't control? I got to keep my focus on what I can. I can't change that AWF's final show is on the Fourth of July any more than I can change the fact that this will be the last time I will lace up my boots as the United States Champion. What I can do, though, is leave Clash of the Icons with my title... and if Aiden Merric didn't believe me before when I said it, he sure as shit will now."
Erin leans forward.
"There ain't a Goddamn way that you're takin' my title, mate."
...at least she doesn't try to mimic Aiden's accent, though the faintest uptick of a corner of her mouth suggests that she may have considered it. The Oncoming Storm shakes her head as she settles back.
"Now that's not to say that you ain't capable of it--even if neither of us had the showin' we necessarily wanted to have at Call To Arms, one bad night don't erase the fact that you've got one Helluva record to your credit. Shit, your title cabinet's far fuller'n mine will ever be regardless of if I wind up not findin' a new home once AWF closes its doors or not... but look at all the good that did Cross Recoba. And yeah, you're meaner than Hell with no problem goin' the extra mile to hurt your opponents... but look at how much that helped Neo James Carner. You're bigger'n stronger than me, absolutely... but look at how much that helped damn near every opponent I beat in the middle of the ring, free'n clear. Hell, while we're at it, the whole bein' friendly with me thing? Look at how much that helped Adam Sanders and Betsy Granger. You can sit there and you can talk about all the advantages you've got, how you're out for blood and all that other good shit, but the fact remains that every last one of those things you can claim to have on me?"
The faintest hint of a smirk.
"They've all been claimed by others before you... and they've all been overcome by me."
The reigning United States Champion nods firmly.
"I might be nothin' but a dumb hick in the eyes of a lot of folks--my own included, sometimes--but there's a reason that the only loss I have to my credit in my entire time here in the AWF came from someone havin' to cheat to get the job done. And while you can certainly make the choice to try goin' that route? I wouldn't recommend it, not when I don't have the same compunctions about whuppin' your ass that I did when it came to the literal kid that pulled it off. I kinda' wonder what happened to lil' Frankie sometimes, wonder if maybe his parents finally decided to actually be parents--but that ain't here nor there. Naw, what matters here is that no matter the odds that get stacked against me, I damn near always find my way to the winner's circle 'round these parts. And if you think for one single, solitary, Goddamned second that I'm gonna let you cow me before the bell even rings... well. Just remember who was on the business end of a shotgun when they decided that trespassin' on my land and endangerin' my boy was a good idea."
The storm of Erin's temper is stirring in the deeps of gray eyes, the memory of how close Aiden Merric came to being near her son getting her dander right up.
"Did you think you were gonna escape from havin' to pay dearly for that fuck up, Aiden? Shit, did you really think that me havin' you sneak a cell phone you didn't really need to sneak was gonna be enough for me to call it square?"
The Oncoming Storm shakes her head firmly, though that hint of a smirk is back. There's something almost... vicious about it, as a matter of fact.
"Nuh-uh, you sumbitch. In all my years of bein' even remotely close to professional wrestlin', you're the one who's come the closest to layin' a finger on the most important person in my life, the literal reason why I laced up my boots in the first place. I swore that if anyone ever got that close that I'd end them, and while I ain't gonna sit here and make ridiculous and overblown threats of violence? We both know that I don't need to. I'm a woman of my word no matter what, Aiden, so you best believe me when I say that two things are gonna happen at Clash of the Icons. Matter of fact, you can take what I'm about to say as gospel."
Leaning forward, both of Erin's elbows settle upon her knees, the unforgiving weight of her gaze firmly upon the camera's lens. Surely Aiden recognizes that intent focus, the way that she's unyielding in how no matter what he says... his fate's not in his hands anymore.
It's in hers.
"One, you're gonna know full well that you were in a fight for your life... and two?"
The United States Championship belt is grasped by the hand opposite of it, the leather and gold that represents so much more than the sum of its parts moved until Erin is lifting it right up next to her face. Thanks to how the sun hits metal and flesh alike, it's hard to tell where title ends... and champion begins. They are one and the same, intertwined by forces of nature that no man can ever dream of tearing asunder.
"When AWF closes its doors, I will be the last United States Champion."
Least of all some Aussie asshole that don't know his place.
Fade.
"So what happens now?"
"Can't say I know for sure, Benson. Wrestlin' ain't a certain thing in the best of times." Looking up from the old Webster grill that she'd set up on one corner of the back porch, Erin's expression was one of careful control as she looked at her son. With how he was sitting with his legs folded Indian-style in front of himself, it was hard to believe that he was taller than her now--and that didn't even touch on how much he was becoming the spitting image of his father as the days went on. The rare, wry smile that tugged at the Oncoming Storm's lips was just as much at that bittersweet resemblance being noticed as it was from the topic at hand. "This ain't the first time a company's closed outta nowhere on me--"
"But is it gonna be the last?" The frankness only served to deepen that resemblance between departed father and still very much so present son, even if the eyes that bored into Erin's were the mirror image of her own.
"Can't say for sure." Erin's gaze returned to the steaks grilling away, tending to them with the same sort of experience-driven ease as she did the cattle said beef came from. Even with her eyes averted, though, her focus was largely settled upon her son's shoulders. "Depends on if anyone comes callin' that strikes my fancy at this point, I reckon. I ain't flashy enough for a lot of the companies 'round these parts."
"What, with a name like the Oncoming Storm?" A cheeky little grin on Benson's part earned a scoff of a chuckle from his mother, only serving to egg him on. It'd been awhile since he'd been able to remind Erin of just who gave her the moniker that had inspired so much, after all. "I keep tellin' you--you do the whole LED lightnin' thing on your ring get-up and it'll go over huge!"
"And I keep tellin' you that it'll be a cold day in Hell before I do that." Even if there was some rebuke in her tone, she was still smiling in spite of herself. "Go get the table set for me?"
"Yeah, sure." An untangling of limbs that were just about grown into later and Benson walked into the semi-darkness of the kitchen, leaving Erin alone.
She could dimly hear the cupboards and drawers being opened and closed, the clink of glass against glass--all the little sounds that reminded her that there was still life in the house that had seemed so dead after Si's passing. It was hard to believe how much time had passed since that afternoon, not to mention how much had changed. Would there always be a part of her soul that felt incomplete without her husband around? Absolutely. Considering how so much of Blooming Valley's ways revolved around death and loss and all that's left behind, that's not much of a surprise. But there was room for life, new and enduring alike... but this wasn't any time to be maudlin, Erin decided as she plucked the steaks off the grill with a fork that had been passed down from her mother when she and Silas first moved into their house together.
Not when there was so much living to get up to.
"Can I have a beer, Mom?"
"How old're you again?"
"Aw, but Mom, the Sipos boys get to have--"
"Well you ain't a Sipos, now are you?"
...even if it sometimes reminded her why some animals eat their young.
Erin Gordon's voice, an already flat and stoic thing most of the time, was utterly bereft of emotion as she watched the monitor that was set up in her locker room. Propriety demanded that she had one to herself rather than sharing with Aiden Merric, something she was all too grateful for as she stared at the video feed. The news she was hearing was hard enough to process without the near-constant noise of Aiden and Tucker bickering amongst themselves. With it...
Ain't no point thinkin' about that, Erin. Not when there's more important things to focus on.
Storm-colored eyes remained locked on the visage of Felix Ziko as he continued to explain how AWF was going to come to an end. It was like a car accident, Erin couldn't help but think. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't tear her attention away from it. If anything, her mind was reeling with the gory details of what this meant not only for herself, but for everyone on the roster--shit, the PAs and the backstage workers and the whole nine yards. How were they gonna explain this to their friends, their families? A sinking feeling took hold of Erin's stomach, fingers gripping the leather of the United States Championship hard enough to turn her knuckles white as her mind turned to where it always did no matter the subject.
How the Hell am I gonna break the news to Benson?
Homeward.
Simplicity has always served Erin Gordon well since the beginning of her career in AWF.
Might as well go out with it, too.
The June sun's high in Blooming Valley, and the humidity's skyrocketing right alongside of it. Even through the distance of a camera's lens, it's obvious that it's the kind of sticky summer day that only a cold shower, an A/C cranked to max, and a beer pulled from the deepest part of the fridge can help. In spite of how relief is so close, the reigning United States Champion has chosen to bring things as full circle as she can. The door to the barn is already open since there's no way she's risking giving any of her cattle heatstroke and the title that sits upon one shoulder wasn't there before, but otherwise? She's sitting on that same stool in that same spot, the unyielding gaze locked on the camera's lens.
"This still feels... I can't find the words to describe it."
The sigh that falls free of the Oncoming Storm's lips betrays more emotion than the tone of her voice. It speaks of sadness, of disbelief--of a new kind of grief that's beyond her experience in swallowing down, so it's left nowhere to go but outward. A shake of her head.
"I reckon I ain't the only one in this position, either. The rug's been pulled out from under each and every last Goddamn one of us, from the ring guys to the stuffed suits in their offices and everyone in-between. None of us on the roster were holdin' the grenade of AWF's demise in our hands when it went off, but there's no denyin' that we've all been hit with the shrapnel. As... strange as it feels to say it, I'm one of the lucky ones in that I've got the farm, here, to keep me and my son afloat whether or not I find somewhere else to wrestle. Other folks, though... they ain't so fortunate. If'n you ask me, the lawyers that're responsible for this whole damn mess should hafta' sell their mansions and their fancy cars so they can provide for the people that've lost their jobs because of their bullshit."
That last word comes dangerously close to being snarled by the Oncoming Storm... and with good reason. When one considers how this is yet another crime that lawyers have committed against the working class, it's a wonder that Erin's not foaming at the mouth and baying for their blood. A scoff.
"But what happens to those assholes ain't up to me, though I reckon the world'd be a better place if it was. Naw, right now in a world that's chock full of shit I can't control? I got to keep my focus on what I can. I can't change that AWF's final show is on the Fourth of July any more than I can change the fact that this will be the last time I will lace up my boots as the United States Champion. What I can do, though, is leave Clash of the Icons with my title... and if Aiden Merric didn't believe me before when I said it, he sure as shit will now."
Erin leans forward.
"There ain't a Goddamn way that you're takin' my title, mate."
...at least she doesn't try to mimic Aiden's accent, though the faintest uptick of a corner of her mouth suggests that she may have considered it. The Oncoming Storm shakes her head as she settles back.
"Now that's not to say that you ain't capable of it--even if neither of us had the showin' we necessarily wanted to have at Call To Arms, one bad night don't erase the fact that you've got one Helluva record to your credit. Shit, your title cabinet's far fuller'n mine will ever be regardless of if I wind up not findin' a new home once AWF closes its doors or not... but look at all the good that did Cross Recoba. And yeah, you're meaner than Hell with no problem goin' the extra mile to hurt your opponents... but look at how much that helped Neo James Carner. You're bigger'n stronger than me, absolutely... but look at how much that helped damn near every opponent I beat in the middle of the ring, free'n clear. Hell, while we're at it, the whole bein' friendly with me thing? Look at how much that helped Adam Sanders and Betsy Granger. You can sit there and you can talk about all the advantages you've got, how you're out for blood and all that other good shit, but the fact remains that every last one of those things you can claim to have on me?"
The faintest hint of a smirk.
"They've all been claimed by others before you... and they've all been overcome by me."
The reigning United States Champion nods firmly.
"I might be nothin' but a dumb hick in the eyes of a lot of folks--my own included, sometimes--but there's a reason that the only loss I have to my credit in my entire time here in the AWF came from someone havin' to cheat to get the job done. And while you can certainly make the choice to try goin' that route? I wouldn't recommend it, not when I don't have the same compunctions about whuppin' your ass that I did when it came to the literal kid that pulled it off. I kinda' wonder what happened to lil' Frankie sometimes, wonder if maybe his parents finally decided to actually be parents--but that ain't here nor there. Naw, what matters here is that no matter the odds that get stacked against me, I damn near always find my way to the winner's circle 'round these parts. And if you think for one single, solitary, Goddamned second that I'm gonna let you cow me before the bell even rings... well. Just remember who was on the business end of a shotgun when they decided that trespassin' on my land and endangerin' my boy was a good idea."
The storm of Erin's temper is stirring in the deeps of gray eyes, the memory of how close Aiden Merric came to being near her son getting her dander right up.
"Did you think you were gonna escape from havin' to pay dearly for that fuck up, Aiden? Shit, did you really think that me havin' you sneak a cell phone you didn't really need to sneak was gonna be enough for me to call it square?"
The Oncoming Storm shakes her head firmly, though that hint of a smirk is back. There's something almost... vicious about it, as a matter of fact.
"Nuh-uh, you sumbitch. In all my years of bein' even remotely close to professional wrestlin', you're the one who's come the closest to layin' a finger on the most important person in my life, the literal reason why I laced up my boots in the first place. I swore that if anyone ever got that close that I'd end them, and while I ain't gonna sit here and make ridiculous and overblown threats of violence? We both know that I don't need to. I'm a woman of my word no matter what, Aiden, so you best believe me when I say that two things are gonna happen at Clash of the Icons. Matter of fact, you can take what I'm about to say as gospel."
Leaning forward, both of Erin's elbows settle upon her knees, the unforgiving weight of her gaze firmly upon the camera's lens. Surely Aiden recognizes that intent focus, the way that she's unyielding in how no matter what he says... his fate's not in his hands anymore.
It's in hers.
"One, you're gonna know full well that you were in a fight for your life... and two?"
The United States Championship belt is grasped by the hand opposite of it, the leather and gold that represents so much more than the sum of its parts moved until Erin is lifting it right up next to her face. Thanks to how the sun hits metal and flesh alike, it's hard to tell where title ends... and champion begins. They are one and the same, intertwined by forces of nature that no man can ever dream of tearing asunder.
"When AWF closes its doors, I will be the last United States Champion."
Least of all some Aussie asshole that don't know his place.
Fade.
"So what happens now?"
"Can't say I know for sure, Benson. Wrestlin' ain't a certain thing in the best of times." Looking up from the old Webster grill that she'd set up on one corner of the back porch, Erin's expression was one of careful control as she looked at her son. With how he was sitting with his legs folded Indian-style in front of himself, it was hard to believe that he was taller than her now--and that didn't even touch on how much he was becoming the spitting image of his father as the days went on. The rare, wry smile that tugged at the Oncoming Storm's lips was just as much at that bittersweet resemblance being noticed as it was from the topic at hand. "This ain't the first time a company's closed outta nowhere on me--"
"But is it gonna be the last?" The frankness only served to deepen that resemblance between departed father and still very much so present son, even if the eyes that bored into Erin's were the mirror image of her own.
"Can't say for sure." Erin's gaze returned to the steaks grilling away, tending to them with the same sort of experience-driven ease as she did the cattle said beef came from. Even with her eyes averted, though, her focus was largely settled upon her son's shoulders. "Depends on if anyone comes callin' that strikes my fancy at this point, I reckon. I ain't flashy enough for a lot of the companies 'round these parts."
"What, with a name like the Oncoming Storm?" A cheeky little grin on Benson's part earned a scoff of a chuckle from his mother, only serving to egg him on. It'd been awhile since he'd been able to remind Erin of just who gave her the moniker that had inspired so much, after all. "I keep tellin' you--you do the whole LED lightnin' thing on your ring get-up and it'll go over huge!"
"And I keep tellin' you that it'll be a cold day in Hell before I do that." Even if there was some rebuke in her tone, she was still smiling in spite of herself. "Go get the table set for me?"
"Yeah, sure." An untangling of limbs that were just about grown into later and Benson walked into the semi-darkness of the kitchen, leaving Erin alone.
She could dimly hear the cupboards and drawers being opened and closed, the clink of glass against glass--all the little sounds that reminded her that there was still life in the house that had seemed so dead after Si's passing. It was hard to believe how much time had passed since that afternoon, not to mention how much had changed. Would there always be a part of her soul that felt incomplete without her husband around? Absolutely. Considering how so much of Blooming Valley's ways revolved around death and loss and all that's left behind, that's not much of a surprise. But there was room for life, new and enduring alike... but this wasn't any time to be maudlin, Erin decided as she plucked the steaks off the grill with a fork that had been passed down from her mother when she and Silas first moved into their house together.
Not when there was so much living to get up to.
"Can I have a beer, Mom?"
"How old're you again?"
"Aw, but Mom, the Sipos boys get to have--"
"Well you ain't a Sipos, now are you?"
...even if it sometimes reminded her why some animals eat their young.
