Post by queenofthering on Oct 30, 2019 22:58:54 GMT -6
I.
Monday, October 28
United Club, O’Hare Airport: Chicago, IL
Early afternoon
“Goddamn Dane…”
It’s been 24ish hours since one Only Star, Eric Dane, upped and peaced out from High Octane Wrestling, leaving his Industry cohort, one Queen of the Ring, Lindsay Troy, high and dry without a tag team partner for their upcoming pay-per-view bout.
Some people would be of the mind to reach out to their coworker to find out what was going on, and if they were alright, and if they needed anything, and if there was anything they could do.
Lindsay Troy, though, is not that person; at least, not when it comes to Eric Douchewaffle Dane. Since she found out he quit, via fucking Twitter, no less, she’s been keyed up, stewing and seething. And most certainly not reaching out to the man.
On a good day? She and Dane are “frenemies” at best. Their history is long, dating back to 2014 when Lindsay was an employee of Eric’s in DEFIANCE Wrestling. On a bad day, they are oil and water, ready to tear the other’s throat out.
Right now, Lindsay wants to go for Eric’s jugular. And she would’ve, if the man didn’t book it out of Chicago the day before.
She leans back in one of the United Club’s oversized leather chairs, one impossibly long leg crossed over the other, fingers flying over her phone’s touchscreen. A perk of having status on the airline. Next to her in a cup holder is her drink of choice, a rum and coke, and across from her is her husband, Tyler Rayne. The now-retired Golden Boy of PRIME Wrestling watches his wife, chin cupped in his palm, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
“You talk to him?”
Lindsay lifts her eyes to look at Tyler and responds with a pointed, “No.”
“Is this where I say, ‘I told you so?’”
“Do you want to wear this drink?”
Tyler smiles. “Not especially.”
“Right answer.”
“I’m just saying, love, was this really unexpected?” Rayne knows not to press too far, but the point needs to be made. “From what you told me, it’s not like the man raved about the place.”
“True, he didn’t, but no offense, Ty, you’re about the last person who should be having this conversation with me, given the fact that you hate the man just as much as I do. Did.” She pauses. “Fuck. Whatever. Let’s not do this here in public, alright?”
Tyler holds his hands up in surrender; better to keep the peace than try to win the argument. Lindsay returns to her phone, returns to the silence.
After a moment, she leans forward, eyebrow quirking skyward.
“Huh.”
“Hm?”
She grabs the rum, takes a swig. Shoves the phone in Tyler’s face. The screen is opened to Duce Jones’ Tweet.
#MoneyMakerOfTheMonth
#WrestlerOfTheMonth
#TheKidComingUp
Now… If only there was someone who wanted to step up for the #NorthAmericanOpenInvitatiinal
Oh well, guess I just gotta run my mouth some more, this coming Friday…
“Well I’ll be a son of a fuck…” Rayne leans his head around the phone to look at Troy. She throws a grin his way.
“Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?
Wednesday, October 30
Dallas Museum of Art: Dallas, TX
Late afternoon
Helen’s face may have launched a thousand ships, but Lindsay Troy's wit and snark could slash and sink them.
It’s unseasonably cool in the Big D; a high in the mid-40s with splatterings of rain throughout the day called for a leather jacket and extra hair product. Frizz is real and it must be managed.
Troy's reclining on the benches in front of the Genesis, the Gift of Life glass mural by the art museum’s front entrance, watching passers-by hurry to get out of the mist. Initially, Jonathan Barrows thought her request for a cameraman for an outdoor taping was a little odd - kids these days with their hand-held videos means every wrestler now can be their own videographer - but she's old school. She likes her promo shoots done by a professional.
Besides, she promised to buy the guy a late lunch and a coffee for getting him out in inclement weather. She's not heartless.
The area is cleared, the equipment set up, and the staffer gives her a nod and the countdown.
Showtime…
“Young Mister Jones…”
She flashes her trademark smirk; the one so sharp, it could cut glass. The one Duce is familiar with, but the GCWA Faithful are not.
“It has been too long.
”I know what you must be thinking: ‘The audacity of this woman! The sheer cheek! Walking into the Global Championship Wrestling Association to gun for my belt after she walked out of the Thirsty Boy Wrestling Federation!’
“And I’d say, ‘Duce...you got it partially right. ‘Cause you know I’m audacious. And you know I’m cheeky. I’m cunning, and cagey, and I gameplan better than anybody in this business. My backup plans have backup plans. But that belt of yours?”
She shakes her head, curls flouncing.
“Oh, I’d love to have it, no doubt. And I might take it yet. But you could’ve put an open challenge out on Twitter with no gold to your name and I’ve answered it.
“Y’see, contrary to how lonely you might be feeling about without me in the Land of the Sad Sacks, and how things aren’t the same anymore, I can’t say I liked how things ended there. Scratch that, rewind; I liked how my last match against you ended, with me drilling you upside the head with a pair of flying knees. But the fallout from that tag bout? With our second singles match tossed into turmoil because of the machinations of an owner with a shitty head for business?”
She laughs, scornfully. It feels like a lifetime ago at this point, even though it’s only been two and a half months.
“It left a real bad taste in my mouth.
“I’m the kind of person who, 9 times out of 10, fulfills their obligations, no matter how bad the situation is. That aggression just would not stand, man. I’m sure you understand, Duce. I’m sure you get why I and the others left.
“Now I’ve got a chance to make it up to you. An opportunity to give you, and our fans, that second singles match we didn’t get to have.
“It’ll also give me a chance to rectify an earlier singles loss I suffered at your hands.”
Another smirk. Sometimes it sneaks up, even on her.
“Didn’t think I’d forget, did you?
“We’re one and one, kid. This is the rubber match. Once again, I’m coming to your turf. I know, and you know, that I’ve got the experience advantage, but I’ll admit that you’ve got the champion’s advantage. I’ll concede it.
“For now.
“I’m planning on playing spoiler though, Duce. I hope Tony Savage is taking notes.
“He might be paying some Royalty Tax sooner rather than later himself.”
CRASH TO BLACK
Monday, October 28
United Club, O’Hare Airport: Chicago, IL
Early afternoon
“Goddamn Dane…”
It’s been 24ish hours since one Only Star, Eric Dane, upped and peaced out from High Octane Wrestling, leaving his Industry cohort, one Queen of the Ring, Lindsay Troy, high and dry without a tag team partner for their upcoming pay-per-view bout.
Some people would be of the mind to reach out to their coworker to find out what was going on, and if they were alright, and if they needed anything, and if there was anything they could do.
Lindsay Troy, though, is not that person; at least, not when it comes to Eric Douchewaffle Dane. Since she found out he quit, via fucking Twitter, no less, she’s been keyed up, stewing and seething. And most certainly not reaching out to the man.
On a good day? She and Dane are “frenemies” at best. Their history is long, dating back to 2014 when Lindsay was an employee of Eric’s in DEFIANCE Wrestling. On a bad day, they are oil and water, ready to tear the other’s throat out.
Right now, Lindsay wants to go for Eric’s jugular. And she would’ve, if the man didn’t book it out of Chicago the day before.
She leans back in one of the United Club’s oversized leather chairs, one impossibly long leg crossed over the other, fingers flying over her phone’s touchscreen. A perk of having status on the airline. Next to her in a cup holder is her drink of choice, a rum and coke, and across from her is her husband, Tyler Rayne. The now-retired Golden Boy of PRIME Wrestling watches his wife, chin cupped in his palm, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
“You talk to him?”
Lindsay lifts her eyes to look at Tyler and responds with a pointed, “No.”
“Is this where I say, ‘I told you so?’”
“Do you want to wear this drink?”
Tyler smiles. “Not especially.”
“Right answer.”
“I’m just saying, love, was this really unexpected?” Rayne knows not to press too far, but the point needs to be made. “From what you told me, it’s not like the man raved about the place.”
“True, he didn’t, but no offense, Ty, you’re about the last person who should be having this conversation with me, given the fact that you hate the man just as much as I do. Did.” She pauses. “Fuck. Whatever. Let’s not do this here in public, alright?”
Tyler holds his hands up in surrender; better to keep the peace than try to win the argument. Lindsay returns to her phone, returns to the silence.
After a moment, she leans forward, eyebrow quirking skyward.
“Huh.”
“Hm?”
She grabs the rum, takes a swig. Shoves the phone in Tyler’s face. The screen is opened to Duce Jones’ Tweet.
#MoneyMakerOfTheMonth
#WrestlerOfTheMonth
#TheKidComingUp
Now… If only there was someone who wanted to step up for the #NorthAmericanOpenInvitatiinal
Oh well, guess I just gotta run my mouth some more, this coming Friday…
“Well I’ll be a son of a fuck…” Rayne leans his head around the phone to look at Troy. She throws a grin his way.
“Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?
Wednesday, October 30
Dallas Museum of Art: Dallas, TX
Late afternoon
Helen’s face may have launched a thousand ships, but Lindsay Troy's wit and snark could slash and sink them.
It’s unseasonably cool in the Big D; a high in the mid-40s with splatterings of rain throughout the day called for a leather jacket and extra hair product. Frizz is real and it must be managed.
Troy's reclining on the benches in front of the Genesis, the Gift of Life glass mural by the art museum’s front entrance, watching passers-by hurry to get out of the mist. Initially, Jonathan Barrows thought her request for a cameraman for an outdoor taping was a little odd - kids these days with their hand-held videos means every wrestler now can be their own videographer - but she's old school. She likes her promo shoots done by a professional.
Besides, she promised to buy the guy a late lunch and a coffee for getting him out in inclement weather. She's not heartless.
The area is cleared, the equipment set up, and the staffer gives her a nod and the countdown.
Showtime…
“Young Mister Jones…”
She flashes her trademark smirk; the one so sharp, it could cut glass. The one Duce is familiar with, but the GCWA Faithful are not.
“It has been too long.
”I know what you must be thinking: ‘The audacity of this woman! The sheer cheek! Walking into the Global Championship Wrestling Association to gun for my belt after she walked out of the Thirsty Boy Wrestling Federation!’
“And I’d say, ‘Duce...you got it partially right. ‘Cause you know I’m audacious. And you know I’m cheeky. I’m cunning, and cagey, and I gameplan better than anybody in this business. My backup plans have backup plans. But that belt of yours?”
She shakes her head, curls flouncing.
“Oh, I’d love to have it, no doubt. And I might take it yet. But you could’ve put an open challenge out on Twitter with no gold to your name and I’ve answered it.
“Y’see, contrary to how lonely you might be feeling about without me in the Land of the Sad Sacks, and how things aren’t the same anymore, I can’t say I liked how things ended there. Scratch that, rewind; I liked how my last match against you ended, with me drilling you upside the head with a pair of flying knees. But the fallout from that tag bout? With our second singles match tossed into turmoil because of the machinations of an owner with a shitty head for business?”
She laughs, scornfully. It feels like a lifetime ago at this point, even though it’s only been two and a half months.
“It left a real bad taste in my mouth.
“I’m the kind of person who, 9 times out of 10, fulfills their obligations, no matter how bad the situation is. That aggression just would not stand, man. I’m sure you understand, Duce. I’m sure you get why I and the others left.
“Now I’ve got a chance to make it up to you. An opportunity to give you, and our fans, that second singles match we didn’t get to have.
“It’ll also give me a chance to rectify an earlier singles loss I suffered at your hands.”
Another smirk. Sometimes it sneaks up, even on her.
“Didn’t think I’d forget, did you?
“We’re one and one, kid. This is the rubber match. Once again, I’m coming to your turf. I know, and you know, that I’ve got the experience advantage, but I’ll admit that you’ve got the champion’s advantage. I’ll concede it.
“For now.
“I’m planning on playing spoiler though, Duce. I hope Tony Savage is taking notes.
“He might be paying some Royalty Tax sooner rather than later himself.”
CRASH TO BLACK