Post by Old Line Jeff on Apr 28, 2022 8:51:23 GMT -5
After Dusty Griffith had taken the NPW Openweight Championship and the CWA had subsequently collapsed, Ronnie Long had returned home in a sullen mood.
He tried not to let it show. As serious as he was about his wrestling career, he knew his time in the ring was drawing to a close, and he had to be more concerned about what happened outside of it. Spring comes early in Georgia, and his days after losing the title were filled with work - mowing lawns, planting new trees, and ever so much fertilizer. In the evenings he would check his messages, and if it was someone from the XHF, or from the new W:UK, he’d groan.
His wife, however, was no fool.
“He finally got inside your head, didn’t he?” Deanna brought the subject up out of nowhere. She was driving a farm use pickup truck, mostly rust colored with patches of slate gray, while he stood in the back slinging sacks of fertilizer at the trunks of the peach trees.
The ‘he’ she was speaking of was, of course, Daeriq Damien.
Ronnie paused, and tried to answer.
She was right, of course, and he didn’t want to admit it. No - he was willing to admit it. He just hated it. But…
Nope, there wasn’t anything to say.
He threw the fertilizer sack with a little extra venom, and she didn’t press the subject. But later that night, she sat next to him on the bed while he listened to messages and reviewed the contract he’d been offered.
“You’re really willing to go so far after this as to move to England?”
He shook his head. “Well, it’s not really going to be much different from me flying to Canada all the time for NPW. Maybe jetlag will take a day out of my workday, but you know I didn’t get much done right after matches.”
This time she didn’t answer. He knew her moods. She wasn’t going to be ‘that wife’, she wasn’t going to forbid him to go or threaten to leave if he did. It had been 20 years, they trusted each other. That didn’t, however, mean that she was happy.
She wasn’t.
“Who’s Mr. Blood?”
“I barely know. He’s the new boss. We talked a little bit. I told him I didn’t want to rejoin the XHF but I wasn’t going to make a scene if we did, I know we need the resources.”
Another pause.
“Who’s Eddie Havok?”
“I… barely know. He was in the CWA World Title tournament, but he had to wrestle Frank Windsor in the first round and it didn’t go too well for him. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy, though, from what I’ve seen.”
“Pfft.”
Deanna had a noise - halfway between a sigh and a raspberry - that she made when she was mild-to-moderately displeased.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing sweetie. I’m sorry I’m not being more supportive. Good night.”
And she rolled over and went to bed.
He didn’t say anything else. It wouldn’t have helped.
—--
“So, my friend…”
Back in NPW, the first time Ronnie Long had smelled the harbors of Halifax, Nova Scotia, in the summer, it had… made an impression. A mix of dirty water, mud, rust, dead fish and motor oil.
Daeriq Damien’s voice sounded just like a Halifax harbor in the summer. Especially when he tried to use a word like ‘friend.’ Just a faint hitch before he spoke it, like he wasn’t entirely sure he was using the word properly.
Personally, Long suspected Damien simply didn’t understand the word to begin with.
“What do you think of London?”
Long gave Damien a sideways glance, then decided to test something.
“Pfft.”
It was the same noise Deanna made when she was displeased with something.
“Not impressed?” Damien didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s a bigger Denver with different air and different accents. And you know how I feel about Denver.”
“Maybe if you’d spent more time getting acquainted with the better parts of Denver you’d feel differently. Everything looks like a dirty back alley when you never leave the back alleys. That’s a metaphor for your wrestling career, isn’t it?”
Of course, Long was wearing shades so he couldn’t make eye contact, but he stopped walking and stared at Damien in silence.
“You’ve spent so much of your career following Jeff Andrews around like a dog that I don’t suppose you even have a preference when it comes to where and how you wrestle - aside from the being afraid to get back into the hardcore scene, of course.”
He didn’t bother answering. Long was used to the little needling comments. Damien had been making them to him for over two decades. It was almost like a compulsion. Even on those occasions he was (maybe?) genuinely trying to be nice he made them, answering them just brought more, and he usually didn’t even notice if they were ignored.
Thinking surly thoughts as he plodded down the sidewalk, Long suddenly realized that Damien had quit following him.
He turned.
“What?”
“I’m waiting for you to tell me what you like about wrestling.” Damien said, a conceited smirk on his lips.
“I…”
The smirk deepened.
“You don’t know. All that god-given talent you’ve got, all the success you’ve had, and you don’t even know why you keep crawling back to the game. But Ronnie? It’s a trick question.”
“You don’t like wrestling.”
“But you do have your dark side, and you do have to feed it.”
“Now just do what I say, and we’ll keep that dark side indulged, and make you enough money on the side for you to buy your wife an expensive gift that’ll keep her happy. Or at least quiet.”
“Now come with me. We’ve got promotional footage to film.”
He tried not to let it show. As serious as he was about his wrestling career, he knew his time in the ring was drawing to a close, and he had to be more concerned about what happened outside of it. Spring comes early in Georgia, and his days after losing the title were filled with work - mowing lawns, planting new trees, and ever so much fertilizer. In the evenings he would check his messages, and if it was someone from the XHF, or from the new W:UK, he’d groan.
His wife, however, was no fool.
“He finally got inside your head, didn’t he?” Deanna brought the subject up out of nowhere. She was driving a farm use pickup truck, mostly rust colored with patches of slate gray, while he stood in the back slinging sacks of fertilizer at the trunks of the peach trees.
The ‘he’ she was speaking of was, of course, Daeriq Damien.
Ronnie paused, and tried to answer.
She was right, of course, and he didn’t want to admit it. No - he was willing to admit it. He just hated it. But…
Nope, there wasn’t anything to say.
He threw the fertilizer sack with a little extra venom, and she didn’t press the subject. But later that night, she sat next to him on the bed while he listened to messages and reviewed the contract he’d been offered.
“You’re really willing to go so far after this as to move to England?”
He shook his head. “Well, it’s not really going to be much different from me flying to Canada all the time for NPW. Maybe jetlag will take a day out of my workday, but you know I didn’t get much done right after matches.”
This time she didn’t answer. He knew her moods. She wasn’t going to be ‘that wife’, she wasn’t going to forbid him to go or threaten to leave if he did. It had been 20 years, they trusted each other. That didn’t, however, mean that she was happy.
She wasn’t.
“Who’s Mr. Blood?”
“I barely know. He’s the new boss. We talked a little bit. I told him I didn’t want to rejoin the XHF but I wasn’t going to make a scene if we did, I know we need the resources.”
Another pause.
“Who’s Eddie Havok?”
“I… barely know. He was in the CWA World Title tournament, but he had to wrestle Frank Windsor in the first round and it didn’t go too well for him. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy, though, from what I’ve seen.”
“Pfft.”
Deanna had a noise - halfway between a sigh and a raspberry - that she made when she was mild-to-moderately displeased.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing sweetie. I’m sorry I’m not being more supportive. Good night.”
And she rolled over and went to bed.
He didn’t say anything else. It wouldn’t have helped.
—--
“So, my friend…”
Back in NPW, the first time Ronnie Long had smelled the harbors of Halifax, Nova Scotia, in the summer, it had… made an impression. A mix of dirty water, mud, rust, dead fish and motor oil.
Daeriq Damien’s voice sounded just like a Halifax harbor in the summer. Especially when he tried to use a word like ‘friend.’ Just a faint hitch before he spoke it, like he wasn’t entirely sure he was using the word properly.
Personally, Long suspected Damien simply didn’t understand the word to begin with.
“What do you think of London?”
Long gave Damien a sideways glance, then decided to test something.
“Pfft.”
It was the same noise Deanna made when she was displeased with something.
“Not impressed?” Damien didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s a bigger Denver with different air and different accents. And you know how I feel about Denver.”
“Maybe if you’d spent more time getting acquainted with the better parts of Denver you’d feel differently. Everything looks like a dirty back alley when you never leave the back alleys. That’s a metaphor for your wrestling career, isn’t it?”
Of course, Long was wearing shades so he couldn’t make eye contact, but he stopped walking and stared at Damien in silence.
“You’ve spent so much of your career following Jeff Andrews around like a dog that I don’t suppose you even have a preference when it comes to where and how you wrestle - aside from the being afraid to get back into the hardcore scene, of course.”
He didn’t bother answering. Long was used to the little needling comments. Damien had been making them to him for over two decades. It was almost like a compulsion. Even on those occasions he was (maybe?) genuinely trying to be nice he made them, answering them just brought more, and he usually didn’t even notice if they were ignored.
Thinking surly thoughts as he plodded down the sidewalk, Long suddenly realized that Damien had quit following him.
He turned.
“What?”
“I’m waiting for you to tell me what you like about wrestling.” Damien said, a conceited smirk on his lips.
“I…”
The smirk deepened.
“You don’t know. All that god-given talent you’ve got, all the success you’ve had, and you don’t even know why you keep crawling back to the game. But Ronnie? It’s a trick question.”
“You don’t like wrestling.”
“But you do have your dark side, and you do have to feed it.”
“Now just do what I say, and we’ll keep that dark side indulged, and make you enough money on the side for you to buy your wife an expensive gift that’ll keep her happy. Or at least quiet.”
“Now come with me. We’ve got promotional footage to film.”