Post by Ace King on Sept 25, 2016 2:25:34 GMT -6
(Writer's Note: Thank you to my dear pal Ruthless Aggression for allowing the use of her character here! This is a flashback CD piece, hence the backdate and the appropriate locations.)
June 29, 2016
Clark Street Grill
St. Louis, Mo.
12:27 p.m.
When preparing for one of the biggest matches of your life, veering off the beaten path may not seem like the best course of action. However, said beaten path usually doesn’t feature as much uncertainty as the one I face.
A Last Man Standing match with the promotion’s fate hanging in the balance is bad enough, but a Last Man Breathing match? There’s another element added altogether.
I’ve never shied away from answering the bell when I need to, but this time feels different; the only certainty I feel right now is uncertainty, so perhaps letting another voice from outside the fray get in my head isn’t the worst thing.
Hopefully, it’s worth the flight from our Orlando show to be here, though I certainly don't mind sticking around to check out the Cardinals-Royals game later.
I take a seat at a table outside, then start poring intently over a menu when I hear a voice. That voice.
“Is this seat taken?”
I snap back into focus, then slowly look up over my sunglasses to find myself staring at one of my closest friends, both business and personal.
“Hey, Ruth,” I murmur, “Thanks for coming; it’s been too long.”
Ruthann Hunter (nee Park) tilts her head to the side before sitting down; it’s just a little awkward right now, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
“You know I’m pretty busy,” Ruth says, taking the seat across from me at the table, “but never too busy for a friend.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” I respond with a nod, “I haven’t seen a lot of what you’ve been doing lately, but it looks like you’re pretty much on top of the world right now, and you’ve always been good at surrounding yourself with the right people.”
Ruth hesitates; this is normal, as she’s never really been the type to trumpet her own success.
“Can’t complain,” she says, “but what are you doing back in CZW again? After everything with The Uprising-”
“I learned a lesson from that,” I say, really not wanting to re-live that particular career choice, “I realized that I didn’t want to find myself as a bitching bystander again, especially with someone like Matt leading the charge.”
A hush falls over the table; ‘Matt’ is a reference to Matt Covey, possibly my greatest rival in the business, and someone with whom Ruth has a not-so-pleasant history.
“Yeah,” Ruth says; she’s trying to stay calm, but I know her blood is boiling. Just as she’s about to say something else, a waiter comes out.
“Well, hey there,” he says cheerfully, “Can I get you two some water to start?”
“Yes, please,” I say, perhaps a little bit too bluntly. The waiter simply murmurs an ‘OK’ and scurries off. Once he’s out of earshot, my attention goes back to Ruth.
“Thankfully, this whole thing with Matt is going to be over soon,” I say in an effort to break the unease, though my voice trails off before adding “one way or another.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid, alright?” Ruth implores, which draws the smallest smirk out of me.
“Doing stupid things has helped shape my career, remember?” I say, trying to suppress a laugh, “but seriously, I’ll do what I need to do, nothing less.”
I can see a smile briefly come across Ruth’s face, though she gets serious again almost immediately.
“Think this through,” she retorts, “A Last Man Breathing match against… Against…”
“Matt, yes,” I cut her off, “And for better or for worse, it’s going to change me. Nothing worth fighting for is ever easy, but trust me: I’ll be fine.”
As I say that last line, my arm reaches out toward her, though my eyes then focus in on the massive wedding ring and I jerk my hand back.
“Oh yeah, you're married, and your kid hates me, right,” I say with a nervous laugh, “My brain might as well be scrambled eggs sometimes, so I forget these things.”
“Heh,” Ruth replies, rather curtly. The waiter returns with our water to briefly break up the awkward silence; I take a drink before speaking up again.
“But like I said, I’ll find a way to end this once and for all,” I say.
“And then what?”
I tilt my head slightly; Ruth’s question has caught me a bit off guard, as it’s something I’ve never really thought about before.
“Then what?” Ruth repeats, “What else could you possibly have to fight for there?”
“The next generation,” I shoot back, “It’s something we helped build, so I want to be part of seeing it continue to thrive.”
“Do you think it will?” Ruth asks, “Especially considering who has the money there? Considering how often things have fallen apart there?”
That thought forces me to stop. I know what I really want to say, but the words just won’t come out. Instead…
“I don’t know,” I sigh, “But I’m part of CZW’s fabric, and it’s part of mine. I feel an obligation to at least try, you know I’ve bled for that place countless times-”
“And so did I,” Ruth interrupts, “but there’s so much more out there, and whether you think so or not, you can do so much more than what you’ve already done.”
I can only offer a shoulder shrug at that point, which doesn’t sit well with Ruth.
“Ace, listen to me,” she demands, “You’re one of the best I’ve been around, and I learned a lot from you. You don’t need CZW anymore, and the world needs to know what you can do.”
“What are you saying?” I ask.
“You should come to Scars and Stripes on Monday,” she blurts out. “This is one of the best places I’ve ever been, and if you just give it a chance, you might find that you’ll like it.”
I don’t know what to think about this; the idea of competing somewhere outside CZW has almost never crossed my mind. Yet…
“I’ll think about it.”
Ruth simply nods, though a small smile crosses her face as she digs into her purse. She hands me a business card with an unknown phone number on it.
“Is this some sort of a pickup?” I say with a smirk, knowing the kind of reaction that will receive.
“Bad Ace,” Ruth fires back. “It’s a number for one of EWC’s road agents. If you ever consider coming here, give him a call. No guarantees, but it’s at least something.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” I respond. I’m about to say something else when Ruth’s phone starts to buzz.
“Shit, I have to be at a media event across town,” she says, hurrying to gather her things. “Take care of yourself, alright?”
I simply nod as Ruth scurries off; I take a look down at the business card again. Even though I’m going to see the Cardinals and Royals tonight, I wonder if I’m about to start an entirely new ballgame of my own.
June 29, 2016
Clark Street Grill
St. Louis, Mo.
12:27 p.m.
When preparing for one of the biggest matches of your life, veering off the beaten path may not seem like the best course of action. However, said beaten path usually doesn’t feature as much uncertainty as the one I face.
A Last Man Standing match with the promotion’s fate hanging in the balance is bad enough, but a Last Man Breathing match? There’s another element added altogether.
I’ve never shied away from answering the bell when I need to, but this time feels different; the only certainty I feel right now is uncertainty, so perhaps letting another voice from outside the fray get in my head isn’t the worst thing.
Hopefully, it’s worth the flight from our Orlando show to be here, though I certainly don't mind sticking around to check out the Cardinals-Royals game later.
I take a seat at a table outside, then start poring intently over a menu when I hear a voice. That voice.
“Is this seat taken?”
I snap back into focus, then slowly look up over my sunglasses to find myself staring at one of my closest friends, both business and personal.
“Hey, Ruth,” I murmur, “Thanks for coming; it’s been too long.”
Ruthann Hunter (nee Park) tilts her head to the side before sitting down; it’s just a little awkward right now, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
“You know I’m pretty busy,” Ruth says, taking the seat across from me at the table, “but never too busy for a friend.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” I respond with a nod, “I haven’t seen a lot of what you’ve been doing lately, but it looks like you’re pretty much on top of the world right now, and you’ve always been good at surrounding yourself with the right people.”
Ruth hesitates; this is normal, as she’s never really been the type to trumpet her own success.
“Can’t complain,” she says, “but what are you doing back in CZW again? After everything with The Uprising-”
“I learned a lesson from that,” I say, really not wanting to re-live that particular career choice, “I realized that I didn’t want to find myself as a bitching bystander again, especially with someone like Matt leading the charge.”
A hush falls over the table; ‘Matt’ is a reference to Matt Covey, possibly my greatest rival in the business, and someone with whom Ruth has a not-so-pleasant history.
“Yeah,” Ruth says; she’s trying to stay calm, but I know her blood is boiling. Just as she’s about to say something else, a waiter comes out.
“Well, hey there,” he says cheerfully, “Can I get you two some water to start?”
“Yes, please,” I say, perhaps a little bit too bluntly. The waiter simply murmurs an ‘OK’ and scurries off. Once he’s out of earshot, my attention goes back to Ruth.
“Thankfully, this whole thing with Matt is going to be over soon,” I say in an effort to break the unease, though my voice trails off before adding “one way or another.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid, alright?” Ruth implores, which draws the smallest smirk out of me.
“Doing stupid things has helped shape my career, remember?” I say, trying to suppress a laugh, “but seriously, I’ll do what I need to do, nothing less.”
I can see a smile briefly come across Ruth’s face, though she gets serious again almost immediately.
“Think this through,” she retorts, “A Last Man Breathing match against… Against…”
“Matt, yes,” I cut her off, “And for better or for worse, it’s going to change me. Nothing worth fighting for is ever easy, but trust me: I’ll be fine.”
As I say that last line, my arm reaches out toward her, though my eyes then focus in on the massive wedding ring and I jerk my hand back.
“Oh yeah, you're married, and your kid hates me, right,” I say with a nervous laugh, “My brain might as well be scrambled eggs sometimes, so I forget these things.”
“Heh,” Ruth replies, rather curtly. The waiter returns with our water to briefly break up the awkward silence; I take a drink before speaking up again.
“But like I said, I’ll find a way to end this once and for all,” I say.
“And then what?”
I tilt my head slightly; Ruth’s question has caught me a bit off guard, as it’s something I’ve never really thought about before.
“Then what?” Ruth repeats, “What else could you possibly have to fight for there?”
“The next generation,” I shoot back, “It’s something we helped build, so I want to be part of seeing it continue to thrive.”
“Do you think it will?” Ruth asks, “Especially considering who has the money there? Considering how often things have fallen apart there?”
That thought forces me to stop. I know what I really want to say, but the words just won’t come out. Instead…
“I don’t know,” I sigh, “But I’m part of CZW’s fabric, and it’s part of mine. I feel an obligation to at least try, you know I’ve bled for that place countless times-”
“And so did I,” Ruth interrupts, “but there’s so much more out there, and whether you think so or not, you can do so much more than what you’ve already done.”
I can only offer a shoulder shrug at that point, which doesn’t sit well with Ruth.
“Ace, listen to me,” she demands, “You’re one of the best I’ve been around, and I learned a lot from you. You don’t need CZW anymore, and the world needs to know what you can do.”
“What are you saying?” I ask.
“You should come to Scars and Stripes on Monday,” she blurts out. “This is one of the best places I’ve ever been, and if you just give it a chance, you might find that you’ll like it.”
I don’t know what to think about this; the idea of competing somewhere outside CZW has almost never crossed my mind. Yet…
“I’ll think about it.”
Ruth simply nods, though a small smile crosses her face as she digs into her purse. She hands me a business card with an unknown phone number on it.
“Is this some sort of a pickup?” I say with a smirk, knowing the kind of reaction that will receive.
“Bad Ace,” Ruth fires back. “It’s a number for one of EWC’s road agents. If you ever consider coming here, give him a call. No guarantees, but it’s at least something.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” I respond. I’m about to say something else when Ruth’s phone starts to buzz.
“Shit, I have to be at a media event across town,” she says, hurrying to gather her things. “Take care of yourself, alright?”
I simply nod as Ruth scurries off; I take a look down at the business card again. Even though I’m going to see the Cardinals and Royals tonight, I wonder if I’m about to start an entirely new ballgame of my own.