Post by Old Line Jeff on Jun 30, 2022 22:26:17 GMT -5
The heat in Georgia in the summer is oppressive. This particular day, the morning had started with yellow vapor in the air, and by noon the air smelled like baking hay.
The weather wasn’t the only thing that was hot, though.
Ronnie Long was just sitting, contemplating things.
For one thing, the eyepatch he was supposed to be wearing was hot. He could feel the sweat beading up behind it, but he wasn’t supposed to take it off and especially not supposed to rub his eye. He’d been having issues with blurriness and double-vision ever since the ill fated match with Jamester, and when Deanna had finally gotten him to a doctor he’d given long hell.
Speaking of Deanna, she was certainly hot. Both in temper and, well… she had her hair pinned up and tied back with a navy blue paisley bandana. Along with jean shorts and a red spaghetti strap tank top. Was it wrong that he thought the rockabilly look suited her?
But no, now wasn’t the time to think about such things. She was seething.
It was Daeriq Damien’s fault, of course.
Damien sat there, looking sleazier than usual in a white blazer with no shirt under it and a crucifix necklace against his bare chest. He’d been willing to come to Georgia to talk, but Deanna wasn’t about to have him in the house, so they’d met at a little local cafe. Ronnie’s urge was to rip the crucifix off and put it in his eye. Then they could be brothers in eyepatch-dom
But Kirsty McKinney, his little blonde shadow, was there too, and she was toying with a serrated steak knife.. Despite the heat she was wearing her hoodie hood-up, glaring balefully at him. Her eyes always seemed to have dark rings around them these days. For a pretty young country girl, she was beginning to look surprisingly creepy.
“So where we are…” Damien was saying, talking to Deanna directly. “Is that this has turned out to be more than a momentary hiccup in Ronnie’s career resurgence. He’ll find it harder to watch his back with only one working eye, and frankly, Mr. Blood is a lot more unpredictable than Gus Arnold was. Gus is old school and misses the territories. I haven’t got a bead on exactly what Blood wants, neither has Ronnie. Then, there’s how pretty much everyone else in WUK is in some kind of faction. There’s three Bastards, four Dark Stars, four Donzig-Gunners in WUK plus the two outsiders, and I can’t keep track of who’s who in the Von Kraus faction but a faction it is indeed, And the relocation to the UK is more of an issue than Canada was.”
“So what, exactly, are you going to do to help him?” she snapped.
“For one, handle his booking. He won’t have the kind of relationship with Blood that he did with Arnold, he’ll need someone to advocate for him behind the scenes. For another, someone to manage his transit and lodging. Not that he can’t do it for himself, but it’s a headache he doesn’t need. Trying to time transcontinental flights and workouts is almost as time consuming as actually going through them.”
Damien grinned like a cat with a canary. The crucifix necklace bounced.
“And last, because to put it in Georgia terms, I’m roundin’ up a posse.”
“What kind of posse?” Deanna asked in an almost-neutral tone. She couldn’t hide her disdain for him, not that Ronnie figured she had any interest in trying.
Damien responded with a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “A faction. A heel stable, if you will.” Even when Damien was trying to be friendly and polite, he was greasy. “I got on with Gus Arnold just as well as Ronnie did, and he and I saw eye to eye on quite a few things. We talked about a few things that may or may not materialize, but either way… once we decided to get serious about me managing Ronnie, I started thinking about extra manpower - and some of the kids Andrews*Promotions had on developmental deals back before the coof.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Not to imply that Kirsty won’t be part of the posse herself. She’s my secret weapon, you know. Jeff was not a very good trainer as it turns out, and if you thought that brief run she had in SWAT was unimpressive, well… that was before I came around. I understand the bigger picture, you see. Needless to say, since putting these things together takes time and patience, at least for the time being it’s just going to be me, Ronnie and Kirsty. Since I can’t get physically involved in anything…”
Damien pulled the sleeve of his suit up just far enough to show the bottom of the brace on his arm. Covering it is why he wears a suit jacket in Georgia.
“She’ll be the one there to do that, whether by delivering a quick low blow behind the referee’s back, or handing out a German suplex on the floor. I don’t think she’s ready for full on intergender competition and don’t have interest in women’s divisions, but she’s coming along… frighteningly well.”
“You know I don’t trust you, and talking that way doesn’t help.” Deanna snapped.
“But does Ronnie?” Damien asked, an oily grin on his face.
“No.” Ronnie leaned forward. “This is the only deal I’ll make with you. Four matches. Four matches and I better see some results, or else we’re done.”
“That’s all I wanted. Just a chance. A chance to build a New Foundation.”
The sun had just started dipping behind the horizon. It, and the daylight, had turned orange, and the light painted Daeriq Damien with what looked like the flames of Hell.
The weather wasn’t the only thing that was hot, though.
Ronnie Long was just sitting, contemplating things.
For one thing, the eyepatch he was supposed to be wearing was hot. He could feel the sweat beading up behind it, but he wasn’t supposed to take it off and especially not supposed to rub his eye. He’d been having issues with blurriness and double-vision ever since the ill fated match with Jamester, and when Deanna had finally gotten him to a doctor he’d given long hell.
Speaking of Deanna, she was certainly hot. Both in temper and, well… she had her hair pinned up and tied back with a navy blue paisley bandana. Along with jean shorts and a red spaghetti strap tank top. Was it wrong that he thought the rockabilly look suited her?
But no, now wasn’t the time to think about such things. She was seething.
It was Daeriq Damien’s fault, of course.
Damien sat there, looking sleazier than usual in a white blazer with no shirt under it and a crucifix necklace against his bare chest. He’d been willing to come to Georgia to talk, but Deanna wasn’t about to have him in the house, so they’d met at a little local cafe. Ronnie’s urge was to rip the crucifix off and put it in his eye. Then they could be brothers in eyepatch-dom
But Kirsty McKinney, his little blonde shadow, was there too, and she was toying with a serrated steak knife.. Despite the heat she was wearing her hoodie hood-up, glaring balefully at him. Her eyes always seemed to have dark rings around them these days. For a pretty young country girl, she was beginning to look surprisingly creepy.
“So where we are…” Damien was saying, talking to Deanna directly. “Is that this has turned out to be more than a momentary hiccup in Ronnie’s career resurgence. He’ll find it harder to watch his back with only one working eye, and frankly, Mr. Blood is a lot more unpredictable than Gus Arnold was. Gus is old school and misses the territories. I haven’t got a bead on exactly what Blood wants, neither has Ronnie. Then, there’s how pretty much everyone else in WUK is in some kind of faction. There’s three Bastards, four Dark Stars, four Donzig-Gunners in WUK plus the two outsiders, and I can’t keep track of who’s who in the Von Kraus faction but a faction it is indeed, And the relocation to the UK is more of an issue than Canada was.”
“So what, exactly, are you going to do to help him?” she snapped.
“For one, handle his booking. He won’t have the kind of relationship with Blood that he did with Arnold, he’ll need someone to advocate for him behind the scenes. For another, someone to manage his transit and lodging. Not that he can’t do it for himself, but it’s a headache he doesn’t need. Trying to time transcontinental flights and workouts is almost as time consuming as actually going through them.”
Damien grinned like a cat with a canary. The crucifix necklace bounced.
“And last, because to put it in Georgia terms, I’m roundin’ up a posse.”
“What kind of posse?” Deanna asked in an almost-neutral tone. She couldn’t hide her disdain for him, not that Ronnie figured she had any interest in trying.
Damien responded with a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “A faction. A heel stable, if you will.” Even when Damien was trying to be friendly and polite, he was greasy. “I got on with Gus Arnold just as well as Ronnie did, and he and I saw eye to eye on quite a few things. We talked about a few things that may or may not materialize, but either way… once we decided to get serious about me managing Ronnie, I started thinking about extra manpower - and some of the kids Andrews*Promotions had on developmental deals back before the coof.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Not to imply that Kirsty won’t be part of the posse herself. She’s my secret weapon, you know. Jeff was not a very good trainer as it turns out, and if you thought that brief run she had in SWAT was unimpressive, well… that was before I came around. I understand the bigger picture, you see. Needless to say, since putting these things together takes time and patience, at least for the time being it’s just going to be me, Ronnie and Kirsty. Since I can’t get physically involved in anything…”
Damien pulled the sleeve of his suit up just far enough to show the bottom of the brace on his arm. Covering it is why he wears a suit jacket in Georgia.
“She’ll be the one there to do that, whether by delivering a quick low blow behind the referee’s back, or handing out a German suplex on the floor. I don’t think she’s ready for full on intergender competition and don’t have interest in women’s divisions, but she’s coming along… frighteningly well.”
“You know I don’t trust you, and talking that way doesn’t help.” Deanna snapped.
“But does Ronnie?” Damien asked, an oily grin on his face.
“No.” Ronnie leaned forward. “This is the only deal I’ll make with you. Four matches. Four matches and I better see some results, or else we’re done.”
“That’s all I wanted. Just a chance. A chance to build a New Foundation.”
The sun had just started dipping behind the horizon. It, and the daylight, had turned orange, and the light painted Daeriq Damien with what looked like the flames of Hell.