Post by Evan De Parker on Aug 25, 2012 16:55:41 GMT -4
Now...
"When I started... When I hit it big with what my family thought was 'some wrestling gig' in 2007, I was Evan Heir. At the time, it was a play on words. I thought it was witty, y'know? Evan Air. I flew high. I did things that I thought would scare the living shit out of my opponents. I did things that I thought might get me noticed... Uh, risk-taking, death-defying... Anything that got me attention.
"But that name, man. I knew what it was about. Everyone else did too."
We blink into color.
Though Evan Envi is the man speaking to us, he isn't the man we see.
Instead, it is a caucasian male in his mid-twenties, a gray beanie pulled down over his head, pushing his dark brown hair in front of his eyes. He stands at a crosswalk, dressed in a peculiar fashion-- red beach shorts, a red, yellow, and orange Hawaiian-themed button shirt, and lime green flip flops. He pulls a lit cigarette to his mouth, taking a drag as he moves across the crosswalk, his free hand shoved into the pocket of his shorts.
"I had money. I flaunted it.
"It became who I was-- everyone associated me with my fortune before my wrestling. So to call myself 'Heir' was completely accurate. I was an eighteen-year-old, snot-nosed high school graduate punk with a God complex. A God complex because in my life, I never really had to work to get what I wanted. Daddy was loaded, and I milked the hell out of it. It was his money I was boasting and bragging about-- and I wasn't even ashamed of it, hahaha.
"Because what the hell was anybody gonna say to me, huh? Shit... At eighteen years old I went in there and I became the biggest star they had! The guys? They wished they could be me. And the ladies? Hah, they were the most vocal part of my fanbase. But regardless, everybody had an opinion. Nobody was indifferent toward Evan Heir... Everybody wanted something from me. And I gave EVERYBODY everything I had.
"I left my heart out there in the ring every single night, and... Motherfuckers stomped it half to death!"
The man flicks his cigarette into the air, blowing one final puff of silver from his lips before looking both ways, presumably prepared to cross another street.
We see that his eyes are red and swollen, enamored by the series of dancing lights around him caused by the buildings, traffic lights, and the street lights that illuminate one-by-one. This man is finding his way out of the heart of Los Angeles.
"So I left. I left the business.
"I didn't wanna do it anymore. I became disenchanted with all the politics and I realized that even though it's what I love, it's not something that belonged to me at that time. Everyone wanted to take credit for Evan Heir. Everyone that I faced, everyone that I teamed with, everybody that I talked to. They had to take credit for somehow molding me into what I was becoming.
"They all wanted to be able to say, I knew him back when...
"That was the first time I left."
It's grown darker and the man moves across considerably less-populated streets in western Los Angeles. He looks severely out-of-place in his newfound surroundings. Joggers, bikers, and couples with nearby residency on their daily strolls all stop and observe the wanderer, who doesn't look their way at any point.
Briefly his eyes pass over the lens and we meet the cold and emotionless eyes of the familiar, yet nameless individual.
"About two years ago I found myself in the saddle again, as they say. Came back, thought I was hot shit, and decided I'd go by my birthname.
"Evan Harrison.
"And that's when I fucked up."
The man breathes heavily as he makes long strides, uphill over the grassy terrain. He drops to one knee, catching his breath as the sun finally sets on him, casting an orange glow over his face.
He rips the beanie from his head, shaking his hair wildly before running one hand through it, pushing any sweat or kinks to the wayside. In the distance, he sees a winding road which gives way to five large houses that look to be well above the traveler's price range. However, in the very back, at the tippy-top of the lush slope stands a mansion that dwarves the other multi-million dollar properties. We know it to belong to the man known as Envi.
And suddenly, it's Evan Envi's face that we see. Like the man before him, his eyes are at half-mast, pink, and glazed. He sits in a thick, silver haze inside the home theator of his estate, no evidence of its source aside from the dimming embers in his ash tray.
"Because I came back and I foolishly aligned myself with A.C. Smith. For almost a year I put up with his bullshit and his hot air. Now let me tell you guys something about him..."
Evan folds his palms together in front of his mouth, taking a moment to consider his words before he continues.
"A.C. Smith is gonna tell everyone that he made Evan Harrison. That disrespectful son of a bitch has had the audacity to take credit for MY career-- and it's because I'm the most successful part of his. Because despite Smith's personal accomplishments, his continuous pats on the back, his tainted World Title victories... I'm the most famous thing about him.
"I'm the thing people remember about A.C. Smith.
"Ask yourself-- what do you recall Smith doing before I moved to Overdrive?
"...Nothing.
"And you never had a reason to care. Smith never gave you any besides a bunch of videos hyping up the debut of what for all intents and purposes should have been the next big thing. He showed you the moments that defined his career... Failing to mention that they were feats that were only momumentous to himself. Feats that came few and far between anyway.
"And I won't kid anyone. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I haven't done what I aimed to do on Overdrive. I'm not the Undisputed Champion. I didn't liberate the Nobledrive Nation. And I'm not in the main event every week. I've come to terms with that.
"But what pisses me off is that A.C. Smith somehow thinks that I'm the one that's suffering here when his claim to fame is almost beating Terry Marvin in the first round of the Test for the Best tournament. It was no Noble vs Envi, a contest that people will be talking about for the ages. Hell, it isn't even Envi vs Rivera.
"It's a perfect example of Smith riding the coattails of someone more successful than him. The arrogant son of a bitch-- if you ask him how he feels if Terry Marvin wins the Undisputed Title, he'll tell you 'Oh, well he had to go through all 6'8 and 275 pounds of MEEEE to do it!' He's his own hype man! It's what he's always done, and it's been the same static and the same noise since 2007 and probably LONG before that.
"I'm absolutely sick of it.
"When A.C. Smith decided to attach himsef to me in ACW two years ago, I remember nothing but disappointments. He harrassed and abused my manager and girlfriend with sexist comments, and eventually injured a man that he was never able to beat-- the man I really learned from. I was the star of the tag team. I was the only one of us holdin' any gold. Smith is the reason we never captured Tag Team Championships. I remember a time he made me win an entire match by myself.
"I remember thinking silently how I wished I had a different partner, and never had the nerve to tell him."
Evan moves a hand over his hair, which we now notice is freshly trimmed in time for the Shockwave event. He spares a look out of frame for a moment before rolling his eyes back toward the lens.
"If you wanna know the truth, A.C. Smith taught me one thing, and it was how to have an undeserved, inflated ego. He showed me how easy it was to seem like the hottest shit going without having to do anything to earn it. So when the going got rough, I severed ties with him.
"I did it for self-preservation, because I refused to become a parody of myself like him. I refused to pander to the fans, begging for attention through comedy gags and buzzwords. And the ultimate result?
"I beat him. I beat Smith in the center of my ring and washed my hands of the matter to step away from wrestling again. I took a few months to collect myself.
"Then I came here; I became Evan Envi, an entity entirely of my own. Not a play on my inheritance, not a name that Smith had tainted and claimed for his own-- but mine. I brought myself here with a new focus-- a clean slate. And I did damned good, becoming the first North American Champion, beating the World Heavyweight Champion, tearing through the competition in the Extreme Tournament... Damned good.
"I made a name for myself on my own terms.
"Low and behold, June 4th in Greensboro, North Carolina, Smith comes to Meltdown, my show. He shows up after losing his first attempt at qualifying for Test For the Best, and attempts to run me down. I knew at that moment that he was gonna try to use me as a catapult to relevance. But more importantly, I knew he was gonna become a distraction. He went so far as to give me this."
Evan Envi stares at that picture as if it had smacked him right across his face.
The framed, stained, smudged, and cracked photograph that A.C. Smith hand-delivered to Envi months ago in Greensboro stares right back at him on the cluttered computer desk of his bedroom. It features Evan, his former love interest, Aubrey J. Parker, his brother Tyler, and Tyler's lover at the time, Tracy Jacobs... The woman that spent years at A.C. Smith's side before faking her own death. The four seemed to be amused by something, most notably Evan.
"And it proved to me that A.C. Smith is incapable of making waves without me being there to light a fire under his ass. In fact-- why am I talking to them? Smith, I know you're watching. Let's cut the shit.
"In ACW, you were an afterthought until I showed up. They billed me as 'Mr. Excitement' and within months, I became the super-star you always wanted to be. Six words out of my MOUTH mean more than your six forgettable World Title reigns combined. Smith, you list accolades for the sake of listing them, and you're stuck in this obsolete pro-wrestler mentality. You think that numbers mean something to the people in the audience and the guys in the back...
"Nobody cares about your numbers because your numbers aren't interesting. While I'm guilty of not living up to my word on Overdrive, at least people know who the hell I am. You? You're just lucky to be associated with me right now.
"The other thing you think you've got going for you is Biggs. And while I'm sure you'll gloat about what you did to Biggs even decades from now, he'll have already reconciled his differences with his wife and moved onto big things. But not you. Smith, you'll stay stuck in the past, reliving the few glory days you do have and go back to taking up camera time in the beginning of the show until you piss someone off just enough to warrant a Pay-Per-View match.
"And THEN, we get the same old Smith we always get. The possessive, attention-craving, humility-lacking, charisma-devoid meathead that's convinced himself and everyone around him that he has nothing to lose. But you do. Because if you can't beat me at Shockwave, every claim you make against me will fall upon deaf ears. Every opportunity to call yourself the better man... Gone."
Sigh.
"I just want to know where you get the NERVE to tell me that it was you that put me at my best. Who the hell are you, A.C. Smith? Even when I'm not at my best, I'm better than you on the average. And that's not arrogance. That's not a downplay of your skills-- because you've beaten me before. But damnit, it's the truth. Between the two of us, I am simply a better wrestler than you. It's what I've done since before I can remember, and it's what I'll be doing long after you're gone, Smith.
"I'm going to outlast you. But this Sunday at Shockwave, I'm going to outwrestle you. It seems to be the only thing that gets the point across. I-- I want to hurt you. I want to maim you. I would love to bust you wide open and slink you over the top rope like a fucking sacrifice and let everybody see. A goddamn public execution.
"But that wouldn't show you. That wouldn't stop you from making these bullshit claims of superiority. I have to outclass you in that ring, like I've done before. And... Like I'll do once again."
As Evan finishes speaking, our cameras return to the outside where the man continues to stare at his mansion, now sitting on the hill, his knees hugged to his chest and an oddly-placed smile wrapped over his features.
He retrieves another cigarette from his pocket and slides it between his lips, raising a Zippo to the end, but hesitating as his eyes travel from the end of the cigarette to the front door of Evan's estate again.
With the slight shake of his head, the man pushes himself to his feet. He pivots and turns, marching back the way he came. Away from Evan Envi's house. With as little direction as there was when he first appeared, the man has changed his course of action and marches back into the heart of Los Angeles-- and we fade to black as the man flicks the end of the lighter, blinding our lens with a brilliant flame.
Thursday...
"Looking at the picture again."
Sienna Harrison does not say this in a tone that suggests an inquiry-- this statement has the familiar sting of accusation.
Evan Envi is sitting on the edge of his bed, caught red-handed with the framed photograph in his palms. He had tried to maneuver himself away from the door in chuck it behind his bed upon hearing his sister's quickly approaching footsteps, but ran out of time. However, as opposed to giving a look of guilt or distress, Evan glares at her, visibly annoyed at her input.
"Ah shit. Yeah, I guess I got a little carried away in here. Sorry to have disturbed you, sitting here quietly in my room of my house that I pay for, minding my own fucking business."
"It's not gonna help you."
"Would you--?"
"EVAN. It's NOT going to help."
The room is now silent, but there is a faint ringing from the vibrations reverbrating off the walls, courtesy of Sienna's outburst.
"...Sienna, let me ask you a question."
"God..."
"Tell me, please, because I must've missed it over the past four and a half months-- but what do YOU know about helping me? How many times have you offered me any life-changing advice? Where's your womanly intuition? Your elder-sister wisdom? Huh? How many times have you come backstage or down to the ring to one of the shows to support me, Sienna? Hm?"
Sienna doesn't answer immediately, but clenches her jaw with a unique mixture of nervousness and anger.
"You haven't. Because you've proven since the day I signed a contract here that you had no intention of helping me further my career. But jeez, YOU'VE sure managed to snag a lot of camera time."
"You asked me to be here, Evan. I go to every single show you have. I help promote every single match in every city we go to. I've done everything you've asked, baby-bear. You wanted shirts-- I had a thousand printed for you. You wanted your own jet-- two weeks later you had a jet. I don't know what you want from me."
"SUPPORT! Fucking encouragement, Sienna!"
"I think you get excessive amounts of it."
"Not from you. Not since weeks ago." Evan sighs and throws his hands up as if prepared to give up on the subject. "I have to go up against A.C. Smith and you don't have my back. I'm completely alone in this." His eyes dart to the frame and he pulls the picture in front of his eyes once more.
"And it begs the question, sis, why are you here?"
Sienna looks away for a moment, murmuring something under her breath. She shakes her head, taking a moment to find the words.
"You're stressed. And you're like, three seconds away from saying something you're gonna regre--"
"You're right. You're right. Instead of having an argument, why don't you just do something you've never actually done. Why don't you give me some professional advice? Tell me how I should go about beating A.C. Smith again."
"Christ, kid, you're losing your mind."
"Nothing then?"
Sienna sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. She stares at Evan through narrowed eyes for a few minutes, trying to establish whether or not he's serious...
"You wanna know how you're gonna beat him?"
"Yes."
"If you're gonna beat Smith again-- you need to accept the fact that you're gonna lose."
All color seems to drain from Evan's face. The picture falls from his hands and hits the ground at a corner, sending one jagged crack from the corner to the middle of the glass in front of the frame.
"Excuse me?"
"Get ready to go out to Overdrive a week and a half from now with Smith boasting on the microphone about how he 'told you so.' Prepare to have every fan in the arena calling you Evan Harrison. Prepare to have Jeff think he made a mistake in bringing you up from Meltdown and wasting that kind of money on your contract, because you couldn't even beat A.C. Smith."
Evan stares at his sister in utter shock. The gears can practically be seen turning behind his eyes and his mouth is slightly agape. His body language suggests that he's prepared to lunge at her, but he doesn't. Every fiber in his being prevents him from doing it.
But she continues.
"Prepare for the absolute worst. And no matter what, it can't be much worse than that, can it?"
"...Maybe you've got me confused with one of your indy darlings. I don't--"
"You don't prepare for the absolute worst? Well, maybe that's your problem, baby-bear."
Evan points one stern index finger at Sienna.
"Don't interrupt me."
She scoffs. "Evan, you asked for my advice, and I'm giving it to you. I'm telling you to get used to feeling like you fucking lost everything, because you might! With this attitude you have, you could lose it all."
"I won't."
"How can you be sure?"
"I've never been more positive about anything. For the past week, all I've thought about is how I'm gonna beat Smith-- to make him tap, or to knock him out. To keep on pulling once the bell rings, or to relent and save some more for next week.
"I've waited a year for this opportunity, and you think I've got even the slimmest doubt? Sienna, it's all here." Evan points a finger to his head. "And if he's doubting the difference between Evan Harrison and Evan Envi, then I'll clear any confusion up once he's left incapacitated in the middle of Los Angeles. In the middle of my hometown."
"Are you LISTENING to yourself?"
"What is your--?"
"Since when is L.A. your hometown? Whatever happened to Baltimore?"
"Well, no-- Evan Harrison is from Baltimore."
"You are Evan Harrison."
"Close." Evan smirks slightly. "I'm Evan Envi."
Sienna walks closer to Evan and bends down in front of him, her hands on her knees and her eyes searching his carefully. She reaaches forward and places one hand on his shoulder-- before bringing it hard across his left cheek. Evan's facial expression never changes, but his head flies to the right.
"You're Evan Harrison. Ev. Baby-bear. My little brother. I don't care what you call yourself in APW, but when you're with me, you're just Evan. Evan Harrison."
"Envi."
Sienna stands upright, her eyes wide but she quickly regains composure.
"Then I guess I had you mistaken for someone else."
"Yeah. You and Smith both. No worries though, it'll all gonna get cleared up on Sunday."
Sienna laughs, bitterly. "Yeah, I bet. Maybe he'll drop you on your head and you'll go back to normal. Then everyone can see that underneath this facade, you're just little Evan Harrison after all."
SMACK!
It is lightning-fast.
So fast, that Envi's facial expression doesn't even seem to catch up with the action. His hand stings from the blow, and Sienna has been knocked to her knees, a hand pressed over her red cheek. Evan's face remains expressionless-- perhaps with a hint of annoyance from his sister's mere presence, evident throughout the entire evening. But it soon shifts, changing to a puzzled expression.
It is only upwards of a minute later that his eyes drift toward his sister, whose eyes are swelling with tears as she stares at the ground, unsure of her next plan of action.
Within seconds, it's decided.
Sienna Harrison slowly pulls herself to her feet, casually brushing strands of brown hair behind her ear. She never turns to Evan, and doesn't seem to be aware of his existence... With one swoop, she collects her belongings and exits the room. Her footsteps are not deliberate. Just casual. And in seconds, they're gone. In seconds, Evan Envi is alone.
He sits back down on his bed, reaching down to the floor to retrieve the now-cracked photograph as we snap out to darkness.
