Post by distortedamber on Jul 31, 2022 7:55:26 GMT -5
… “Danger knockin' at my door
Don't come round round here no more
I check the locks, shut the windows down
This monster's back in town.” …
‘Monster’ - Walking On Cars
“Red, c’mon it's been almost three hours…”
It probably hadn’t been nearly that long, but Avalon knew it had been almost that long since breakfast and that alone was something worth noting. Almost as long as since she’d surely been overcharged for a bagel from the pretentious little deli just down the street- cause after all there was absolutely no way anyone was spending $12.77 without expecting it to be topped with something more exciting than the world's most expensive cream cheese.
She’d already spent everything she’d gotten out of prison multiple times over, with promises made to acquaintances urging that she’d be ‘good for it’ as soon as she got back on her feet and a few odd jobs just to keep her nose a touch over the poverty line. Somehow an overpriced bagel seemed like an earned luxury for the effort of just getting here, and an over-indulgence she’d likely guilt herself to death over later while scraping pennies at a dollar store.
Ruminating on how much lighter her poor wallet already felt in her pocket, Avalon exasperated the already long sigh she’d been holding onto. Leaning heavily against the door frame, she could only take in the small comfort of still having all her fingers despite Red’s best efforts. She’d gotten lucky this time, a learned reaction perhaps, a little twitchy from constantly looking over her shoulder or simply cause the woman just beyond the door seemed to always be that little bit quicker… uncanny. Almost inhuman.
Yeah, that’s what that was. Had to be.
It wasn’t as though she expected to be welcomed with open arms though, however she’d certainly expected to get more than two and a half syllables out before bodily harm was fleetingly, albeit alarmingly announced. A lot had changed over four years, it was easy to forget the way that time had passed- still there were three things in life that were certain though- death, taxes and the indisputable fact that Amber motherfucking Ryan would rather be dead than ever accept change… and probably taxes.
Perhaps the ‘Painted Hurricane’ was a blessing and a curse all at once to someone like Avalon, a constant in a world forever in flux and could always be relied upon to be unrelentingly unreliable and determinedly prickly.
Avalon has fucked up, and she knew it. She’d been living with the consequences and paid a debt that wasn’t ever even hers to bear- something that rankled through every synapse even now. Slamming a fist against the door frame, Avalon could hear the faint clicking of doors hastily closing behind her, the universal sign of busybodies retreating back beneath their respective rocks, a sure sign that her paranoia had been valid and noted.
She hadn’t come here to make friends with the neighbours though, she’d come here to make amends, while quietly hoping to find sympathy from the devil… however…
“I bet your neighbours are pretty friendly. I’m sure they’d love to ---”
Avalon didn’t even have time to wipe the beginnings of the coy smile from her face as the door seemingly ripped open, almost pulling her forward with it. Staggered but otherwise determined to appear unfazed, the younger woman straightened up slightly and hoped that she didn’t have any bagel crumbs still stuck to her face.
“You’re the fucking worst, you know that?”
Amber’s low snarl made the three inch height difference between the women seem insignificant while tangles of brilliant red framed steely blue green eyes that had a knack for emboldening and decimating all at once. Avalon swallowed hard, trying to compose herself- hell, she’d rehearsed this for hours on end pacing back and forth in a cell as well as what felt like far too many hours on a series of buses memorable only for the litany of different smells that managed to be overwhelmingly unique and still socially repugnant.
All she had to do was say the words…
Apologise.
Promise better.
Ask for another---
“Let me guess, you’re here to apologise… Gonna try to stand there and tell me you’ll do better this time around. Come asking for a second chance cause you’ve changed”
God fucking damn it.
“No, I just…”
Stammering, Avalon tried to swallow her panic but only managed to nervously choke on the end of her sentence. Breathe. Or what. Or she’s gonna eat you alive.
Fidgeting nervously, internally searching for a reason to keep the door open, to keep some faint shred of hope alive that she had something to come back to- despite knowing how easily she’d managed to throw it away.
“Parents know you’re out?”
Unexpectedly Avalon found a softness in the redhead's voice. It had been her parents exasperation that had brought the pair together- Avalon’s tendency to alienate anyone and everyone with good intentions and a reasonable head on their shoulders led to school after school and gym after gym exiling her, blacklisting and sending her searching for a unicorn that might curb her natural aggression into something productive. Amber Ryan sure as fuck wasn’t that unicorn, but be damned if she hadn’t managed to work some mircales in the meantime.
Avalon though, if nothing else, was a creature of terrible habits.
“I… uh… yeah, I think so. Haven’t seen them yet- I made the mistake of being released on a Friday, which seems a bit too close to Sunday morning for travel arrangements, probably.”
Amber nodded thoughtfully, in spite of Avalon’s dismal attempt at humour which only served to further disconcert the younger woman. Avalon had expected screaming, shouting, a myriad of colourful and obscene language only ever seen on the scale that a World Champion might manage… and alot more door slamming than she’d already experienced.
Somehow the calm was almost more alarming than the storm that would usually have preceded it. Gears turned in the silence that filled what little space was left between them, perhaps if either of them really concentrated they might have heard the indistinguishable click and creak of doors opening just a crack, doors groaning against the weight of grown women trying to make out subtleties as they were filtered through cheap wood and their own deafening need to pry.
“Look Red, I can explain …”
Amber shot her a knowing look, stopping the younger woman dead. Even after all this time, it's like Amber could just pull a string and send Avalon into a goddamn tail spin, puppeteering her part-time protege effortlessly like she’d been doing it all her life.
“I know, Ava.”
Stepping back into the apartment, Amber’s departure gave Avalon a brief glimpse into the dragon's lair confirming that even her sense of style- minimalist and barely lived in, probably because it was, somehow, had also been unaffected by the passage of time. Some things really didn’t change… maybe in this case that was a good thing.
“Well? … Do us both a favour and get inside already, you’ve already given the fucking neighbours enough to talk about.”
******
“Surprise.
Bet you didn’t think you’d be seeing this pretty face again, let alone so soon. Just don’t go questioning the concept of time and we’ll all be fine- yeah?
There's enough existential crises happening in the wrestling industry and be damned if whatever legacy I end up creating is stemmed from further fuelling the insecurities of those looking for a reason to rebel against their continued existence.
Honestly guys, how the fuck are you not already exhausted?
Seriously though, it's been a minute Level Up. Hell, it’s been a minute and a half and maybe some of you were lucky enough to forget me- in that case, good for you and don’t forget to take those meds. Blue pill, not red pill guys. We have enough issues with unmedicated masses believing they are the Chosen One, without being held responsible for more wannabes failing to dodge all the proverbial bullets they keep inviting.
I guess this is the point where y'all expect me to come out rambling about all my achievements that I’ve earned since I showed up and stunned a bunch of ‘professionals’ into silence and put my foot down across the proverbial throats of the wrestling industry. Maybe you’re waiting to yawn at a laundry list of good deeds and resume padding, insignificant victory after insignificant victory that can be tallied as little more than wasted expenditures of energy against your presumed greatness.
If that's the case- keep waiting.
Truth is, I haven’t been out on the road grinding like everyone else. I didn’t get myself a fancily worded contract full of small print, terms and conditions you know for a fact none of us ever intending on *actually* reading. I didn’t get on my high horse and drive that motherfucker straight into the ground despite the fact no one would have blamed me if I did.
I didn’t capitalise on my achievement, I went back to California and kept training ungrateful rookies who are getting offered contracts straight out of the Corvid Wrestling Academy (look guys, a cheap plug!) while yours truly is giving them all the training they’ll ever need to be professionally kicked in the face.
Am I really qualified to be taking these kids and never-wills with intentions greater than their ability, should I be someone looked up to as a role model for all those getting into the industry- coming from nowhere and proving that you can be *someone* if given an opportunity.
Fuck no.
My qualification comes from experience, it comes from my own fuck ups. I’ve spent too many years in martial arts and combat sports, systematically getting myself barred and banned from everything that required a level of emotional discipline, a bitch disposition and a willingness to suck for my place.
Hell, pro-wrestling has been the only one stupid enpugh to accept that my short-comings are actually what makes me potentially successful, even then the number of schools that washed their hands of me is more than I’m willing to admit.
Here I am though. Back again like some punk bitch pretending like anyones gonna take her seriously and mean it.
So what do I have to offer? Why should I not just be disregarded like a little trash panda scrambling among the scraps for her 15 minutes?
Good question. Let's examine the facts.
Shock and horror- I don’t have a pedigree like a Dane Preston or Joe Montuori, hell even my own partner has built a legacy that makes me look far more amateur than I already do. I don’t have a wealth of matches under my belt, let alone against guys the calibre of our opponents in this Multiplayer Championship tournament. Shane Donovan, as crazy as the motherfucker might be, should have no reason whatsoever to want me as his partner in a tournament that promises only the best teams to succeed.
Wait, what was that?
Yeah. Teams. Two people who can and will choose to work together to a common goal, not just two guys tolerating each other to hate fuck their way to another title they’ll never care nearly enough about cause of the guy holding the other strap. See, I might be a lot of things- but a liability is not one… not this time at least.
Shane Donovan doesn’t need to worry about whether I’m gonna throw him under the bus, he doesn’t need to be concerned about whether I’ll be willing to put it all on the line. He doesn’t need to look over his shoulder and wonder whether I’m truly invested in being a team.
In truth, he doesn’t have a choice.
He has to trust me, he has to rely on the fact that I’m half as good as he believes I am. He has to put aside any minor concerns and trust his instincts, ignore that gut feeling that tells you not to do that last trip of LSD or throw that first punch at a guy built like a tank without tracks.
We have cohesion that no other team can match. A team with so much fucking undeserved ego and bluster that it's astounding we haven’t ripped each others heads off, cause that's precisely what we are… a team.
There isn’t a number of titles that will change that fact, no handshakes or mutual agreements not to fuck each other that can smooth the cracks. Everything both of you have achieved, your very legacies will be the precise reason that you’ll fall in the first round…
… and to a fucking rookie no less.
Isn’t that just the most beautiful thing in all of this?
It's not even a case that I’ve got nothing to lose- see, I come out of this as a win-win. I lose, it's expected. It's predictable and everyone moves on with their lives. I win though, aside from the fact that Shane’s doing a vile shot of god knows what for his hubris, and it's your reputations that get damaged. You lose a little of that lustre, it's a chip off the edges of the statues you’ve erected to your own careers.
I win and it changes everything- and trust me guys…
I will.
Not because I’m better, not even cause I have a superior partner. Piss, whinge and carry on as you will that you can coexist and I’ll call you a pair of liars ready to pick each other's carcasses clean for a sniff of gold.
No, what it really comes down to is the fact that I don’t have a choice in the matter, boys…
I don’t have a choice but to win, cause I refuse to make the mistake of crawling back under my god damn rock again.”
******
“Flic, I can explain…”
Explaining anything while somewhat upside down on a couch, that seemed eternally musty despite the best efforts of her housemate, was almost made immediately invalid purely by the absurdity of the scene. Avalon’s hair pooled in the carpet below as her feet dangled lazily, the loll of her head as her eyes tracked the movement of her eternally afflicted housemate- what she was afflicted with, Avalon wasn’t sure but was no doubt a side effect of the burgeoning pro-wrestler being consistently on her bullshit.
“You’re supposed to be flying out in- what… 5 hours?”
Normally softly spoken, the underlying frustration in Felicity’s voice seeped through as she readjusted the scrubs that seemed to swallow her petite frame, stained with a dark something that both of them refused to acknowledge.
“4 hours and…”
Avalon awkwardly reached into her pocket to retrieve her phone, only to recall that it was on the coffee table behind her before Felicity cut her off with an exasperated sigh.
“You haven’t even packed yet, have you?”
Their relationship had started as one of convenience, two young women brought together by Craigslist, sky high rent and an open-mindedness to each other's career-choices. Besides, this was California… you could be anything in California. However it had grown into one of symbiotic friendship and mutual annoyances of being women in male-dominated industries- Felicity, an Emergency Room nurse commonly drenched in the better parts of California's finest addicts and gangbangers and Avalon… Well, that was a little more ‘complicated’ these days.
“I’m going to… Probably.”
It had only been a week and a half or so since she’d been offered the opportunity- a grizzled veteran seeking out new blood to renew their sense of competition and prove they still had something to offer, even if it was opinionated snark and embittered perspectives. Shane Donovan had caught her on a bad night- and by bad, she meant average- working just one of the many ‘paying’ gigs she’d been taking on in hopes of not falling further behind on her half of the rent.
Few employers were willing to look past a criminal conviction, fewer were willing to pay a semi-livable wage when they did. Side jobs for cash were easy though, all that was needed was a reputation and willingness to swallow one's tongue when potential employers wanted to take ‘liberties’ cause it was ‘their money’ and therefore ‘their time’. Never mind the fact common decency didn’t just function on a timetable.
What got her put behind bars to start with, despite her legitimate innocence for once, was the same thing that was keeping her from being tossed out on her ass again. Of course, there was the Level Up ‘Last Of Us’ gauntlet- a shining bright spark in an otherwise dull existence… Avalon put that from her mind though, months prior she’d scratched and clawed her way to the last 4.
Many had expounded her achievement and showered her with praise, however a very noisy little part of her brain was convinced it wasn’t anything more than a fluke. A dark horse, an unknown among the familiarities and foes- they didn’t know what to make of her and she didn’t have a shred of expectation to live up to.
How could she possibly have failed, if the only failure was simply not showing up.
Shane had been complimentary, in the same way the uncle that gave you alcohol while underage would comment about how much you’d grown. Sincere in premise but otherwise a little out of left field, a factor of undeniable sleaze that most without context couldn’t look beyond.
He’d seen the same thing in her that Matt Knox had, that Amber Ryan had years before…
So why couldn’t she see it too?
“No, not probably Ava. Do you remember the first conversation we had when you moved in?”
Rolling sideways awkwardly in a tangle of legs and cushions, much to Felicity’s chagrin, Avalon straightened up with a crooked smile.
“I don’t see what sleazy guy with the toupe that resembles a hamster has to do with---”
“--- about what we wanted to do.”
“Oh... yeah. That one.”
Avalon swallowed quietly, whether she was willing to admit it or not- she distinctly remembered the conversation. Avalon recalled almost fondly how apprehensive she was to tell anyone about her stupid pro-wrestling ambition, let alone someone who seemed to have their life so thoroughly together. Even the way she immediately tried to justify herself, trying to validate that it was stupid and she knew it was and how Felicity just shrugged and asked if she wanted a coffee cause she had to leave for work in 25 minutes.
No judgement, no questioning or scoffing about the absurdity. ‘This is California, Avalon, you can be anything here… maybe even successful.’
Now those same words echoed in the empty space between Avalons ears, ricocheting as she questioned why it was so difficult to accept that she had a second chance… hell, a third chance even.
Maybe they’d even let her in the building this time without having to go through fifteen channels and five executives, cause they somehow managed to misspell her surname on the initial paperwork and she was too nervous to correct them at the time. Maybe someone would remember her from last time for more than just being another one trick pony amidst a clusterfuck.
Maybe even successful.
“Look, I can’t make you get on a plane Ava, and I’m sure as fuck not gonna pack your bags for you… but I can tell you to go.”
“That's it? Just go? No accompanying lectures about running off with strange men? No ‘don’t come back covered in blood and guts cause I deal with that enough at work’, no ‘Ava, you’re really fantastic and you’ll do great’?”
Of course the last one was facetious, the other two were attempts at procrastination and excuses to prolong what was already a moot point. Felicity was right- granted she always seemed to be right, maybe it came with having one's life together, Avalon mused but wasn’t entirely sure. Brushing her hair out of her face, Avalon’s sigh of resignation filled the momentary silence between them.
“Really? You aren’t even gonna just give me that…”
Felicity shrugged with a chuckle, shuffling tiredly off towards the shared bathroom whilst no doubt preparing herself to complain about Avalon leaving hair everywhere again.
“You’ve never listened before- and I’m running out of good reasons for keeping half a pharmacy in my handbag.”
“Harsh... and a little bit of an over-exaggeration, but okay.”
Pausing in the bathroom doorway, harshly silhouetted by the fluorescent light as it flickered uncertainty, Felicity rested a hand on the door frame exhaustedly, head cocked slightly in understanding and a knowing smile across her tired features.
“Do us both a favour Ava… Just go and pack your fucking bags already. Lord knows, you'll never let me hear the end of it otherwise.”
Don't come round round here no more
I check the locks, shut the windows down
This monster's back in town.” …
‘Monster’ - Walking On Cars
Undisclosed Apartment Building.
Atlantic City, NJ.
25th Of July, 2021.
25th Of July, 2021.
“Red, c’mon it's been almost three hours…”
It probably hadn’t been nearly that long, but Avalon knew it had been almost that long since breakfast and that alone was something worth noting. Almost as long as since she’d surely been overcharged for a bagel from the pretentious little deli just down the street- cause after all there was absolutely no way anyone was spending $12.77 without expecting it to be topped with something more exciting than the world's most expensive cream cheese.
She’d already spent everything she’d gotten out of prison multiple times over, with promises made to acquaintances urging that she’d be ‘good for it’ as soon as she got back on her feet and a few odd jobs just to keep her nose a touch over the poverty line. Somehow an overpriced bagel seemed like an earned luxury for the effort of just getting here, and an over-indulgence she’d likely guilt herself to death over later while scraping pennies at a dollar store.
Ruminating on how much lighter her poor wallet already felt in her pocket, Avalon exasperated the already long sigh she’d been holding onto. Leaning heavily against the door frame, she could only take in the small comfort of still having all her fingers despite Red’s best efforts. She’d gotten lucky this time, a learned reaction perhaps, a little twitchy from constantly looking over her shoulder or simply cause the woman just beyond the door seemed to always be that little bit quicker… uncanny. Almost inhuman.
Yeah, that’s what that was. Had to be.
It wasn’t as though she expected to be welcomed with open arms though, however she’d certainly expected to get more than two and a half syllables out before bodily harm was fleetingly, albeit alarmingly announced. A lot had changed over four years, it was easy to forget the way that time had passed- still there were three things in life that were certain though- death, taxes and the indisputable fact that Amber motherfucking Ryan would rather be dead than ever accept change… and probably taxes.
Perhaps the ‘Painted Hurricane’ was a blessing and a curse all at once to someone like Avalon, a constant in a world forever in flux and could always be relied upon to be unrelentingly unreliable and determinedly prickly.
Avalon has fucked up, and she knew it. She’d been living with the consequences and paid a debt that wasn’t ever even hers to bear- something that rankled through every synapse even now. Slamming a fist against the door frame, Avalon could hear the faint clicking of doors hastily closing behind her, the universal sign of busybodies retreating back beneath their respective rocks, a sure sign that her paranoia had been valid and noted.
She hadn’t come here to make friends with the neighbours though, she’d come here to make amends, while quietly hoping to find sympathy from the devil… however…
“I bet your neighbours are pretty friendly. I’m sure they’d love to ---”
Avalon didn’t even have time to wipe the beginnings of the coy smile from her face as the door seemingly ripped open, almost pulling her forward with it. Staggered but otherwise determined to appear unfazed, the younger woman straightened up slightly and hoped that she didn’t have any bagel crumbs still stuck to her face.
“You’re the fucking worst, you know that?”
Amber’s low snarl made the three inch height difference between the women seem insignificant while tangles of brilliant red framed steely blue green eyes that had a knack for emboldening and decimating all at once. Avalon swallowed hard, trying to compose herself- hell, she’d rehearsed this for hours on end pacing back and forth in a cell as well as what felt like far too many hours on a series of buses memorable only for the litany of different smells that managed to be overwhelmingly unique and still socially repugnant.
All she had to do was say the words…
Apologise.
Promise better.
Ask for another---
“Let me guess, you’re here to apologise… Gonna try to stand there and tell me you’ll do better this time around. Come asking for a second chance cause you’ve changed”
God fucking damn it.
“No, I just…”
Stammering, Avalon tried to swallow her panic but only managed to nervously choke on the end of her sentence. Breathe. Or what. Or she’s gonna eat you alive.
Fidgeting nervously, internally searching for a reason to keep the door open, to keep some faint shred of hope alive that she had something to come back to- despite knowing how easily she’d managed to throw it away.
“Parents know you’re out?”
Unexpectedly Avalon found a softness in the redhead's voice. It had been her parents exasperation that had brought the pair together- Avalon’s tendency to alienate anyone and everyone with good intentions and a reasonable head on their shoulders led to school after school and gym after gym exiling her, blacklisting and sending her searching for a unicorn that might curb her natural aggression into something productive. Amber Ryan sure as fuck wasn’t that unicorn, but be damned if she hadn’t managed to work some mircales in the meantime.
Avalon though, if nothing else, was a creature of terrible habits.
“I… uh… yeah, I think so. Haven’t seen them yet- I made the mistake of being released on a Friday, which seems a bit too close to Sunday morning for travel arrangements, probably.”
Amber nodded thoughtfully, in spite of Avalon’s dismal attempt at humour which only served to further disconcert the younger woman. Avalon had expected screaming, shouting, a myriad of colourful and obscene language only ever seen on the scale that a World Champion might manage… and alot more door slamming than she’d already experienced.
Somehow the calm was almost more alarming than the storm that would usually have preceded it. Gears turned in the silence that filled what little space was left between them, perhaps if either of them really concentrated they might have heard the indistinguishable click and creak of doors opening just a crack, doors groaning against the weight of grown women trying to make out subtleties as they were filtered through cheap wood and their own deafening need to pry.
“Look Red, I can explain …”
Amber shot her a knowing look, stopping the younger woman dead. Even after all this time, it's like Amber could just pull a string and send Avalon into a goddamn tail spin, puppeteering her part-time protege effortlessly like she’d been doing it all her life.
“I know, Ava.”
Stepping back into the apartment, Amber’s departure gave Avalon a brief glimpse into the dragon's lair confirming that even her sense of style- minimalist and barely lived in, probably because it was, somehow, had also been unaffected by the passage of time. Some things really didn’t change… maybe in this case that was a good thing.
“Well? … Do us both a favour and get inside already, you’ve already given the fucking neighbours enough to talk about.”
******
“Surprise.
Bet you didn’t think you’d be seeing this pretty face again, let alone so soon. Just don’t go questioning the concept of time and we’ll all be fine- yeah?
There's enough existential crises happening in the wrestling industry and be damned if whatever legacy I end up creating is stemmed from further fuelling the insecurities of those looking for a reason to rebel against their continued existence.
Honestly guys, how the fuck are you not already exhausted?
Seriously though, it's been a minute Level Up. Hell, it’s been a minute and a half and maybe some of you were lucky enough to forget me- in that case, good for you and don’t forget to take those meds. Blue pill, not red pill guys. We have enough issues with unmedicated masses believing they are the Chosen One, without being held responsible for more wannabes failing to dodge all the proverbial bullets they keep inviting.
I guess this is the point where y'all expect me to come out rambling about all my achievements that I’ve earned since I showed up and stunned a bunch of ‘professionals’ into silence and put my foot down across the proverbial throats of the wrestling industry. Maybe you’re waiting to yawn at a laundry list of good deeds and resume padding, insignificant victory after insignificant victory that can be tallied as little more than wasted expenditures of energy against your presumed greatness.
If that's the case- keep waiting.
Truth is, I haven’t been out on the road grinding like everyone else. I didn’t get myself a fancily worded contract full of small print, terms and conditions you know for a fact none of us ever intending on *actually* reading. I didn’t get on my high horse and drive that motherfucker straight into the ground despite the fact no one would have blamed me if I did.
I didn’t capitalise on my achievement, I went back to California and kept training ungrateful rookies who are getting offered contracts straight out of the Corvid Wrestling Academy (look guys, a cheap plug!) while yours truly is giving them all the training they’ll ever need to be professionally kicked in the face.
Am I really qualified to be taking these kids and never-wills with intentions greater than their ability, should I be someone looked up to as a role model for all those getting into the industry- coming from nowhere and proving that you can be *someone* if given an opportunity.
Fuck no.
My qualification comes from experience, it comes from my own fuck ups. I’ve spent too many years in martial arts and combat sports, systematically getting myself barred and banned from everything that required a level of emotional discipline, a bitch disposition and a willingness to suck for my place.
Hell, pro-wrestling has been the only one stupid enpugh to accept that my short-comings are actually what makes me potentially successful, even then the number of schools that washed their hands of me is more than I’m willing to admit.
Here I am though. Back again like some punk bitch pretending like anyones gonna take her seriously and mean it.
So what do I have to offer? Why should I not just be disregarded like a little trash panda scrambling among the scraps for her 15 minutes?
Good question. Let's examine the facts.
Shock and horror- I don’t have a pedigree like a Dane Preston or Joe Montuori, hell even my own partner has built a legacy that makes me look far more amateur than I already do. I don’t have a wealth of matches under my belt, let alone against guys the calibre of our opponents in this Multiplayer Championship tournament. Shane Donovan, as crazy as the motherfucker might be, should have no reason whatsoever to want me as his partner in a tournament that promises only the best teams to succeed.
Wait, what was that?
Yeah. Teams. Two people who can and will choose to work together to a common goal, not just two guys tolerating each other to hate fuck their way to another title they’ll never care nearly enough about cause of the guy holding the other strap. See, I might be a lot of things- but a liability is not one… not this time at least.
Shane Donovan doesn’t need to worry about whether I’m gonna throw him under the bus, he doesn’t need to be concerned about whether I’ll be willing to put it all on the line. He doesn’t need to look over his shoulder and wonder whether I’m truly invested in being a team.
In truth, he doesn’t have a choice.
He has to trust me, he has to rely on the fact that I’m half as good as he believes I am. He has to put aside any minor concerns and trust his instincts, ignore that gut feeling that tells you not to do that last trip of LSD or throw that first punch at a guy built like a tank without tracks.
We have cohesion that no other team can match. A team with so much fucking undeserved ego and bluster that it's astounding we haven’t ripped each others heads off, cause that's precisely what we are… a team.
There isn’t a number of titles that will change that fact, no handshakes or mutual agreements not to fuck each other that can smooth the cracks. Everything both of you have achieved, your very legacies will be the precise reason that you’ll fall in the first round…
… and to a fucking rookie no less.
Isn’t that just the most beautiful thing in all of this?
It's not even a case that I’ve got nothing to lose- see, I come out of this as a win-win. I lose, it's expected. It's predictable and everyone moves on with their lives. I win though, aside from the fact that Shane’s doing a vile shot of god knows what for his hubris, and it's your reputations that get damaged. You lose a little of that lustre, it's a chip off the edges of the statues you’ve erected to your own careers.
I win and it changes everything- and trust me guys…
I will.
Not because I’m better, not even cause I have a superior partner. Piss, whinge and carry on as you will that you can coexist and I’ll call you a pair of liars ready to pick each other's carcasses clean for a sniff of gold.
No, what it really comes down to is the fact that I don’t have a choice in the matter, boys…
I don’t have a choice but to win, cause I refuse to make the mistake of crawling back under my god damn rock again.”
******
Avalon and Felicity’s Shared Apartment
Monterey, California.
28th of July, 2022
“Flic, I can explain…”
Explaining anything while somewhat upside down on a couch, that seemed eternally musty despite the best efforts of her housemate, was almost made immediately invalid purely by the absurdity of the scene. Avalon’s hair pooled in the carpet below as her feet dangled lazily, the loll of her head as her eyes tracked the movement of her eternally afflicted housemate- what she was afflicted with, Avalon wasn’t sure but was no doubt a side effect of the burgeoning pro-wrestler being consistently on her bullshit.
“You’re supposed to be flying out in- what… 5 hours?”
Normally softly spoken, the underlying frustration in Felicity’s voice seeped through as she readjusted the scrubs that seemed to swallow her petite frame, stained with a dark something that both of them refused to acknowledge.
“4 hours and…”
Avalon awkwardly reached into her pocket to retrieve her phone, only to recall that it was on the coffee table behind her before Felicity cut her off with an exasperated sigh.
“You haven’t even packed yet, have you?”
Their relationship had started as one of convenience, two young women brought together by Craigslist, sky high rent and an open-mindedness to each other's career-choices. Besides, this was California… you could be anything in California. However it had grown into one of symbiotic friendship and mutual annoyances of being women in male-dominated industries- Felicity, an Emergency Room nurse commonly drenched in the better parts of California's finest addicts and gangbangers and Avalon… Well, that was a little more ‘complicated’ these days.
“I’m going to… Probably.”
It had only been a week and a half or so since she’d been offered the opportunity- a grizzled veteran seeking out new blood to renew their sense of competition and prove they still had something to offer, even if it was opinionated snark and embittered perspectives. Shane Donovan had caught her on a bad night- and by bad, she meant average- working just one of the many ‘paying’ gigs she’d been taking on in hopes of not falling further behind on her half of the rent.
Few employers were willing to look past a criminal conviction, fewer were willing to pay a semi-livable wage when they did. Side jobs for cash were easy though, all that was needed was a reputation and willingness to swallow one's tongue when potential employers wanted to take ‘liberties’ cause it was ‘their money’ and therefore ‘their time’. Never mind the fact common decency didn’t just function on a timetable.
What got her put behind bars to start with, despite her legitimate innocence for once, was the same thing that was keeping her from being tossed out on her ass again. Of course, there was the Level Up ‘Last Of Us’ gauntlet- a shining bright spark in an otherwise dull existence… Avalon put that from her mind though, months prior she’d scratched and clawed her way to the last 4.
Many had expounded her achievement and showered her with praise, however a very noisy little part of her brain was convinced it wasn’t anything more than a fluke. A dark horse, an unknown among the familiarities and foes- they didn’t know what to make of her and she didn’t have a shred of expectation to live up to.
How could she possibly have failed, if the only failure was simply not showing up.
Shane had been complimentary, in the same way the uncle that gave you alcohol while underage would comment about how much you’d grown. Sincere in premise but otherwise a little out of left field, a factor of undeniable sleaze that most without context couldn’t look beyond.
He’d seen the same thing in her that Matt Knox had, that Amber Ryan had years before…
So why couldn’t she see it too?
“No, not probably Ava. Do you remember the first conversation we had when you moved in?”
Rolling sideways awkwardly in a tangle of legs and cushions, much to Felicity’s chagrin, Avalon straightened up with a crooked smile.
“I don’t see what sleazy guy with the toupe that resembles a hamster has to do with---”
“--- about what we wanted to do.”
“Oh... yeah. That one.”
Avalon swallowed quietly, whether she was willing to admit it or not- she distinctly remembered the conversation. Avalon recalled almost fondly how apprehensive she was to tell anyone about her stupid pro-wrestling ambition, let alone someone who seemed to have their life so thoroughly together. Even the way she immediately tried to justify herself, trying to validate that it was stupid and she knew it was and how Felicity just shrugged and asked if she wanted a coffee cause she had to leave for work in 25 minutes.
No judgement, no questioning or scoffing about the absurdity. ‘This is California, Avalon, you can be anything here… maybe even successful.’
Now those same words echoed in the empty space between Avalons ears, ricocheting as she questioned why it was so difficult to accept that she had a second chance… hell, a third chance even.
Maybe they’d even let her in the building this time without having to go through fifteen channels and five executives, cause they somehow managed to misspell her surname on the initial paperwork and she was too nervous to correct them at the time. Maybe someone would remember her from last time for more than just being another one trick pony amidst a clusterfuck.
Maybe even successful.
“Look, I can’t make you get on a plane Ava, and I’m sure as fuck not gonna pack your bags for you… but I can tell you to go.”
“That's it? Just go? No accompanying lectures about running off with strange men? No ‘don’t come back covered in blood and guts cause I deal with that enough at work’, no ‘Ava, you’re really fantastic and you’ll do great’?”
Of course the last one was facetious, the other two were attempts at procrastination and excuses to prolong what was already a moot point. Felicity was right- granted she always seemed to be right, maybe it came with having one's life together, Avalon mused but wasn’t entirely sure. Brushing her hair out of her face, Avalon’s sigh of resignation filled the momentary silence between them.
“Really? You aren’t even gonna just give me that…”
Felicity shrugged with a chuckle, shuffling tiredly off towards the shared bathroom whilst no doubt preparing herself to complain about Avalon leaving hair everywhere again.
“You’ve never listened before- and I’m running out of good reasons for keeping half a pharmacy in my handbag.”
“Harsh... and a little bit of an over-exaggeration, but okay.”
Pausing in the bathroom doorway, harshly silhouetted by the fluorescent light as it flickered uncertainty, Felicity rested a hand on the door frame exhaustedly, head cocked slightly in understanding and a knowing smile across her tired features.
“Do us both a favour Ava… Just go and pack your fucking bags already. Lord knows, you'll never let me hear the end of it otherwise.”
