Post by Evan De Parker on Oct 26, 2012 20:52:08 GMT -4
A tiny silver bell rings overhead as the foggy-glass door of this particular southern California antique shop is pushed open. Strawberry-colored rays from the cloudy, red-skied October evening infiltrate the dimly-lit shop, giving several porcelain dolls, tea-cups, and trinkets a brilliance that they lacked before.
Evan Envi steps into the store, his ebony-mahogany John Lobbs tapping across the thin carpet as he enters. We pan up, past the dark Balmain jeans, past the black Versace button-up... And up to that young, arrogant, misinformed smirk that had been absent from his face for upwards of two months.
The small, plump lady from behind the counter smiles kindly up at the APW Xtreme Champion as he strolls into the store.
”Hello!”
”Good evening.”
The sounds of M*A*S*H carry from a small, appropriately old-fashioned television set that sits on a stand behind the counter. Evan offers the shopkeeper a charming smile as he strides past the counter and toward the far corner of the small shop-- the picture frames.
”Is there anything I can help you find?”
Why don’t you tell her to shut up.
”I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know, eh?”
He looks up at her and offers her a quick wink. The lady can’t help but blush slightly, slinking back down into her chair, turning her attention to the television. Evan rolls his eyes back toward the picture frames.
You’re looking for eight-by-ten...
”I know...”
Something heavy.
”I know.”
”Pardon?”
Evan winces slightly, quickly aware that he’d spoken aloud. It was a rarity but... Damnit, it was just a tad bit embarrassing every time, now wasn’t it?
”I’m looking for something really durable. Like-- something that won’t break.”
The woman with some slight effort, pushes herself out of the chair and makes her way around the counter toward Envi. During that time, his eyes have scanned each and every single frame on the shelves. All sixty-eight of them. Twice. He’s already made his decision.
”When you say ‘durable’ do you--?”
”Something that you could slam against someone’s--”
Watch yourself.
”--pavement. Their driveway or something, and it wouldn’t give. Ya know?”
”Hmm...”
Evan’s eyes remain planted on her during each movement, no matter how microscopic. She pushes her Coke-bottle-esque glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, standing even on her tiptoes to find the type of frame Evan had described. She gives a small grunt of satisfaction as she spots one-- the exact one Evan had hoped she would spot.
She pulls it off the shelf and hands it to Envi, who admires it, pretending to take it into consideration.
”Brass?”
”Yes, mhm! This one’s seventy-one years old.”
I guess that makes you one-hundred.
”I’ll take it.”
The woman gives Evan a smirk.
”You’re a lot quicker than most of the people that come through here.”
”Hah. What can I say? I’m a man who knows what he wants.”
Another bright smile at this, and she hobbles her way back to the counter. Evan’s eyes scan a few more items in the store before he follows her, delicately placing the frame down on the counter. He waits for her to enter the price, pays the total, and accepts his change.
”Appreciated.”
As Evan retreats from the counter, there is a long, uneasy gaze between the two. Evan’s sincerity has all but subsided and as a result, so has the clerk’s.
Can we leave now?
”Yeah...”
Evan, without another word and without waiting to catch the lady’s predictable uncertain glare, pivots on his heel and walks out the door at the same pace at which he came.
He clutches the brass picture frame with a sense of maternal covetousness as if it were threatening to abandon him.
”Let me ask you something.”
”Mmhmmmm?”
”Did I do something wrong?”
We blink into color and we are now in the master bedroom of Evan Envi’s Los Angeles estate. He is lying on his bed, staring blankly up into the cool-white painted ceiling. Michelle Weaver sits cross-legged on the floor adjacent to him, rummaging through a pile of washed-and-dried clothes on the floor, timidly deciding which ones are worth the journey across seas.
”Pardon?”
”In APW. Did I do something wrong?”
Michelle’s blonde hair seemingly flies every which way as she swivels her head toward Evan and gives him a grim smile.
”You want me to answer that truthfully?”
Evan nods, though it’s hard to tell with his head lying against several pillows.
”Well. Yeah. If you could be so kind.”
Michelle places a lime-colored t-shirt into the bag and groans a bit as she hoists herself to her feet-- apparently for the first time in a little while. She maneuvers herself onto the bed next to Evan and lies down next to him, offering an exasperated sigh.
”In my eyes, or the eyes of saaaay... Nick Watson and A.C. Smith?”
Evan doesn’t answer, not to Michelle Weaver’s surprise.
”You aired your dirty laundry on live television for millions to see. I’d be a little shocked if there wasn’t some backlash.”
”I’m not a goddamn woman-beater.”
”No. I know you’re not. Haha, I mean, I’m still here, aren’t I?”
”If somebody-- man or woman-- interjects his or herself into my affairs while I’m out in that ring, I refuse to accept responsibility for what happens to him or her... That’s the nature of this sport. I’ve never pretended to be a role model. I’ve never pretended to be a hero. I’ve never pretended to be anything.”
”I know.”
”If I had slapped Sally Talfourd across the face do you think I would’ve gotten the same response?”
At that, Michelle pauses to think. She moves herself a bit closer to Evan on the bed and casually throws her legs across the top of his.
”Do you honestly think that it’s the same thing as slapping your sister? Sienna hasn’t stepped foot in a wrestling ring in years. That’s behind her. She--”
Michelle cuts herself off.
”She doesn’t really have any means to defend herself out there, Ev. She’s not trained to take chair shots or punches or-- or slaps on a nightly basis. She’s not a wrestler anymore, and she hasn’t been for years. She’s not Sally Talfourd. She’s not a World Heavyweight Title contender. You were the guy that was supposed to look out for her.”
She’s against you too.
Evan cringes, willing away the silent intruder. Michelle retracts only a bit at Evan’s sudden movement, keeping her eyes trained on his.
”She was never good at protecting me.”
”As children?”
Her tone suggests that she is ready to combat anything Evan was about to say.
”As... As anything. She’s had a habit of looking out for herself. And look where it’s gotten me. I made a mistake trying to get her to be a part of APW. I thought-- I thought she would be here for my benefit, y’know? She was always so damn good at making these business decisions and at-- at enhancing talent. Look at what she did with Pennington. He’s an undeserving nobody and she forced people to take notice! She forced people to give two shits about him!”
Evan sits upright in the bed, abruptly. Michelle jerks her legs away from his, not willing to take a chance on his newfound love for sudden movements resulting in her tumbling out of bed.
”And she played the perfect damsel in distress for Nick. Didn’t she?”
”Uhhh... Is that rhetorical?”
Silence.
”You can’t credit... Or blame her for Nick’s exposure. She never made him do anything.”
”As far as we can tell. Who knows what’s going on behind closed doors?”
”Do you realize how crazy you sound?”
”Not crazy. Cautious.”
”You really don’t like cutting your family any slack, do you?”
”They’re out to fucking get me.”
NOW you see it!
”Babe! You’re paranoid!”
She’s out to get you too. Watch her. Watch her.
Evan groans uneasily and turns, meeting Michelle’s eyes again to reassure himself. The gentleman inside doesn’t trust her, but Evan does. He has to. Who else does he have to turn to?
”Call it what you want. Do you remember where I was before Sienna got involved?”
”Yeah. You were on Meltdown.”
”Let’s be serious for a second.”
”Who said I’m not being serious...? It wouldn’t have made a difference if she distracted you or not on Meltdown because you had no competition there.”
Evan’s cold eyes remain fixed on Michelle and she speaks a little bit louder and a little bit faster out of nervousness.
”I’m not going to sit here and sugarcoat things for you. Not at a time like this.”
”I wouldn’t expect you to. Oh, please, Michelle... Continue.”
”Ev, you’ve been expecting your entire run on Overdrive to be a walk in the park. You expect things to be like they were on Monday Nights... And they’re not. They’re never going to be.”
How would SHE know what you expect?! How would SHE know how things were on Monday nights?! She doesn’t know shit from apple butter! Shit from apple butter!
”You won the Xtreme Title. That’s great. But who did you beat to win it?”
Don’t answer her.
No need.
”A.C. Smith, a guy you’ve already beaten several times-- and Shadow. A guy from Meltdown.”
Whore. WHORE. WHORE. WHORE. WH--
”I’m not saying you don’t deserve that title, but what have you done to show that you want the title? You’ve run away, cost yourself matches-- and for what? Where are you going with this?”
No. NO. She DOESN’T get to talk to us like that.
”Be careful...”
But she can’t. She’s on a roll.
”What about the Xtreme Division appeals to you?”
”Michelle—“
”How many ‘Xtreme Rules’ matches have you wrestled since you came to APW? This isn’t even a style that suits you.”
NO. SHE DOESN’T GET TO TALK TO US LIKE THIS.
”Yes. It is.”
”No. It isn’t. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve preached about good wrestling this and real wrestling that. You hate this shit.”
”You have no—“
”I don’t see how you can go out there every week and intentionally piss off thousands of people. You bitched—you bitched to no end about how the people before you did nothing for the title. Steve Stryker. John Dionysus.”
”Shut up…”
SHUT HER UP!
”And you aren’t any better, Ev! You call yourself the world’s greatest wrestler but when the time comes to do your damn job, you don’t even wrestle—“
”Shut your fucking mouth.”
Michelle’s eyes widen and she pulls herself even farther from Evan, into a stiff, upright position. His entire complexion has changed—his eyes seem angrier. There was no direct glare or frown, but all Michelle can read in those eyes is anger. Tiny beads of sweat have formed on his forehead and she can swear she hears his heart slamming against his chest.
”You have no idea what it takes to commit to a job like this. I’ve been injured out there time after time. Broken ankle, bruised ribs, torn rotator cuff, clavicle fracture… In five years, I’ve seen some shit. I was sidelined for a year and a half when I was twenty years old. Two years into my career, it got shortened because of matches like this.
“Because reckless people like Nick Watson would attack, and flank, and ambush with their only justification being that it was the nature of the business. You see a guy you don’t like, and you take that motherfucker out. That was me. I was always the guy that everyone else in those locker rooms hated. I know what it’s like to come to your job and literally get spat on. I know what it’s like to be denied opportunities because you’re not big enough, and become the communal punching bag because of it. I’ve been there, and I’m happy as all-fuck to be in APW, because I know that won’t happen here. I know my skills are at least appreciated here. And it’s about damn time.
“So Michelle, when the time comes to do my job-- as you so quaintly put it-- I’m always prepared. But I won’t tolerate the fucking blatant DISRESPECT from people like that cretin Watson. I won’t let him interfere in my personal affairs. I won’t let him punch me in the face, unprovoked. I won’t let him jump me backstage. I won’t let him threaten me. I won’t.
“And I’ll be damned if I let you of all people try to make me feel guilty for looking out for my own neck while no one else will. You certainly don’t.
“You’ve never had faith in me. I’ve never felt that you’ve taken me seriously—so no. You don’t get to tell me what I do or don’t do in the ring. I never told you how to flip your fucking hamburgers, did I?”
The two sit in silence for several moments with Michelle continuing to stare right into the Xtreme Champion’s face. Finally, she pushes herself up off of the bed and crosses her arms, speaking in a slow, shaky voice.
”What do you mean, me ‘of all people’?”
Evan looks up at her with a smile.
”Maybe you should take some time to figure that out, eh?”
She raises her head a bit, but still never takes her eyes off of him. Michelle shifts her weight from heel to heel before she finally makes a decision, pivoting away from Evan and scooping her bag up off of the ground. She lowers it onto Evan’s bed momentarily, only for the sole purpose of closing it, securing its belongings.
”So by that, I’m assuming you want me to leave.”
Evan blinks a few times. He had always imagined this day would come. Michelle would get a little too big for her britches… She’d take Sienna’s side. She’d take Smith’s side. Watson’s side. Their side… However, the way Evan always envisioned it, he would beg for her back. He’d do anything to stop her from leaving because she was the one person he still had.
This is not the case. Evan Envi doesn’t respond, but continues to smile up at Michelle.
”Alright.”
She turns and marches toward the bedroom door. Evan clears his throat and throws a hand up in the air, confident that Michelle will catch his motion in the mirror.
”Michelle.”
She stops, a hand already on the door. She adjusts the bag on her shoulder and turns to look at him. Evan can see that tears are already developing in her eyes, despite her valiant effort to suppress them.
”It was a nice run. I’m sorry you turned out to be such a cunt.”
Evan’s smile fades and he folds his hands, allowing his arms to rest across his legs. He looks blankly up at Michelle, daring her to respond. When she turns her back to him and pulls open the door, he expects her to turn and retort. He expects an expulsion of anger, or sadness. Tears. Something. Anything.
But she doesn’t.
Michelle doesn’t say anything, but steps through the door and out into the hallway. Evan sits, counting the number of footsteps he hears, silently proud of himself for being able to attach the number of clicks against the hardwood to the number of stairs leading down to the front door. He makes a game out of it—correctly guessing the number of seconds it would take for her to reach the door from the bottom steps.
Eight seconds.
He hears the door open. He predicts she’ll slam it—
But he’s wrong on this one. The door closes gently, and Evan decides to play one more round of precog. He estimates ten seconds for Michelle to reach her car, which is parked in the front driveway. He waits to see the flash of lights indicating that the door was unlocked. He waits to hear the door open and slam… And silently curses himself when upwards of fifteen seconds pass. Nothing.
Twenty seconds. Nothing.
Finally, the curious Xtreme Champion pulls himself up and out of bed with a groan. He makes his way to the window at a leisurely pace and squints to look through the glass, peering down into the dark driveway from the confines of his quarters. Evan brings his hands to either side of his eyes, searching for the woman that had just left his house—and then he spots her.
She leans against the hood of her car, her face buried in her hands. She wouldn’t cry inside the house, but Evan was certain that she was bawling now. He could tell by the delicate twitches of her shoulders. For seconds, Evan sits at the window and looks down at the twenty-two year old blonde he had called his girlfriend since the beginning of his APW career.
I didn’t like her anyway.
Evan grins.
”I figured.”
He retreats from the window and quickly closes the curtains.
October 23, 2012
Tokyo, Japan
8:34 P.M.
We fade into color courtesy of a handheld video camera. The person behind the lens focuses on the curious glances of dozens as we drive through the parking lot of the Narita International Airport. The sultry sounds of the Supremes ring melodically through the vehicle.
” I've got this yearning, burning
Yearning feelin' inside me
Ooh, deep inside me
And it hurts so bad…”
”They act like they’ve never seen a limo before… Look at ‘em, Jung.”
Evan points the camera through two rows of seating at the limousine’s driver—an elderly man of clear Oriental descent, apparently named Jung.
”Perhaps they haven’t, sir.”
”God… Why are all of these people here anyway?”
”We are at Narita International Airport, sir.”
”I know where we are. Don’t gimme that shit.”
”Perhaps word of your departure traveled, sir? I know when I was younger, I jumped at the chance to get an autograph from a celebrity.”
”Hm. Yeah. Tell me alllllll about your run-ins with Winston Churchill.”
Jung frowns a bit, giving Evan a dissatisfied look through the rearview mirror, but Evan is already looking out the window again and swings his camera toward the people around. A lot of them had continued their journey into the airport, but as Jung predicted, several of the younger members of the crowd stopped, some-twenty feet away from the limo.
”Pull into a space. She said she would meet us here.”
”Would that be Ms. Michelle, sir?”
Evan doesn’t answer directly.
”Just pull off here. I’ll shoot her a text.”
Jung does as he is told once the pair finally settle into a parking space.
”Lock all the doors, Jung. And hush that radio up.”
The sounds of Diana Ross and the Supremes are abruptly cut short and Evan turns the camera on himself. He turns an overhead light on, making sure that the viewer gets the opportunity to view his stud-esque features in their entirety.
”Good evening, gentlemen. It’s me, Evan Envi, the Action Packed Wrestling Xtreme Champion. I feel the need to reintroduce myself because… Over these past few weeks, you’ve forgotten who I am. Hell—I’ve forgotten. I’ve allowed myself to be…”
Evan pauses, looking off into the distance as he allows his chin to rest in his palm.
”I’ve allowed myself to be shaken by a man that’s lucky to even be a part of the same thought as me. You, Nick.
“After a few cheap shots, you put this idea in my head that you were dangerous. After you abandoned that stupid Alien Ant Farm song and stopped allowing prostitutes to accompany you to the ring, I thought that you were taking your career seriously. For the first time, I thought you were Nick Watson instead of Nick, Pence Weatherlight’s lackluster protégé.
“Then I really started paying attention.
“I looked at everything you’ve done, and I listened to all the buzz and hype that’s been circulating over these past few weeks and it occurred to me—your name has no sort of relevance unless I’m being mentioned in the same sentence.
“Since your match for the Xtreme Title the week after Shockwave, all you’ve managed to do is come up short. You couldn’t beat me, you couldn’t beat Kurt Noble—you couldn’t even get the job done against Keaton Saint. You’ve fallen time after time, but you want to present yourself as this hero to the APW fans. But goddamn, Nick, even the underdog hero has to win something every once in a while.
“You’re trying desperately to be something that you’re not. You’re trying to be something you… Can’t be.”
Evan looks down, his features hardening.
”And you’re trying to turn me into something I’m not: a villain. You involve yourself in matters that you don’t understand and you try to… Take my family away from me, and you go about it in the most barbaric, counter-productive manner imaginable. Your solution to every situation is violence, so I guess it’s only fitting that we’re solving our differences in one of the most violent matches the wrestling industry has to offer. A Falls Count Anywhere Match.
“In the confines of this match, a submission hold isn’t broken by a rope break. A pinfall doesn’t stop because you’re outside of the ring.
“The match doesn’t end because you crack your opponent’s skull with a lead pipe.
“You said it yourself—Jeff handed you the contract for this Xtreme Title match. You didn’t take it out of respect for the championship, or even a desire for it, but because you wanted to spite me. The derision is appalling. You admitted that you don’t deserve it—why is this match happening?
“How many times do I have to prove that you’re not a worthy contender?
“How many times do you have to prove to everybody watching you that you’re simply not a champion?
“It’s almost funny. You know as well as I do that if I lose the Xtreme Title without making good on my promise to cleanse its tainted history and turning it into the premier championship in this company, then you’ve made a liar out of me. You’ve turned me into just another guy on this roster. And you’d love nothing more than to take away everything that I’ve worked for since coming to Overdrive. Granted, I haven’t been performing to the best of my abilities… And it’s a shame. It really is. Some of these people deserve to see me at my best every week.
“But can you blame me for being off my game lately? I have to look over my shoulder every time I enter the arena, because you’ve put my career at risk—not once, but twice. If my legal team hadn’t intervened, who knows if I’d even be wrestling at One Night in Hell?
“You’re a menace. You’ve convinced yourself that I’m on some sort of mission to take APW under. You’ve convinced yourself that my waist isn’t the rightful home for Xtreme Championship—and let me tell you, you couldn’t be more mistaken. I’m a man of the people, Nick. I KNOW what the people want. I KNOW what gets the people going. I KNOW how to get exposure. What the hell have you done for yourself lately?
“The most prominent thing you’ve done in the past six months is punch me in the nose when I was defenseless. You’re fucking welcome.
“If you held the Xtreme Title, what the hell would you do with it, Nick? Would you be able to defend it against A.C. Smith? Would you be able to go out there and stop somebody like Mark Mania, or Delikado, or CJ Gates from taking it from you? Hell—would you be able to make anybody give two shits when you’re defending it?
“The answer is no.
“Nobody in the entire business lights a fire under your ass like I do. Without me, there wouldn’t be a Nick Watson anymore, I guarantee it, because there would be no reason for you to put forth any effort. I represent every single thing you despise, and you don’t hate me because of anything I’ve said or done to you—but because I have the raw skill necessary to keep myself relevant, even when I don’t have a belt on my shoulder. Even when I don’t have another wrestler on the roster declaring war against me.
“I’m loud-mouthed, I do think I’m the greatest thing to ever step foot on God’s green Earth, and I dare either you or A.C. Smith to tell me I’m not. I am Evan Envi.
“I’m the hottest damn commodity in Action Packed Wrestling. And you’re not, because you’re not good enough to be. That’s a fact. And it eats away at you.
“And after you lose at One Night in Hell, you’ll slink back into obscurity right where you belong. Your fifteen minutes of fame are done. Over.”
Evan stares intently into the camera for a few more seconds and then sighs. He looks out the window at the legions of “fans” that have now formed a larger crowd by the limousine. Several of them have gotten discouraged and taken their attention elsewhere. Evan rolls his eyes back toward the camera.
”But at least facing Nick Watson makes some sense. Right, Smith? At least the people have made it clear that they want to see Nick Watson versus Evan Envi for the Xtreme Championship. But you?
“Smith, where the fuck do you come in? Who let you into this match?”
Evan perks an eyebrow, expressing genuine concern for the situation. His eyes trail away from the camera, but he continues speaking to the six-foot-eight, two hundred and seventy-five pound New Yorker that sits on the other side of the digital world.
”All I’ve heard from you over weeks is a load of hot air about how the only reason I won our match at Shockwave is because of a kick to the groin. You bitch and you moan about it and you complain about how it just wasn’t fair. You even threw a little hissy fit and decided that you didn’t want anything to do with me after the loss. For weeks, you refused to acknowledge my existence. And allow me to clear something up for you right now…
“I kicked you square in the testicles on August 26th because… I could. Nobody stopped me. You sure as hell didn’t do anything about it. The opportunity was right there, so why not?
“I don’t like you. I don’t respect you. I could give a damn about how you feel about the circumstances under which I beat you. The fact of the matter is, you lost the match. You came up short against me just like I told everybody that you would.
“Maybe next time you should try to avoid being kicked in the groin.”
Evan shrugs.
”I don’t have sympathy or remorse for what happened. I do what I want. If, for some reason that presents a problem for you, Smith, then how do you expect to be able to hold your own in an Xtreme Title match? If you can’t kick out of a shot to the marbles and a DDT, why should I be worried about you kicking out of a chair shot, or a nice little shove off the side of the stage?
“We’ve gone to battle numerous times, and I can recall a period where you were able to brag about being the only man I’ve ever faced who wasn’t able to beat you. Then one day… I changed that. I took away your right to say that for the rest of your career, and ever since then all I’ve done is beat you.
“And beat you.
“And beat you.
“The closest thing you’ve done that resembles warranting an Xtreme Title shot is do exactly what Nick Watson did and decide to take on the fraudulent role of the hero. You made it your personal business to avenge every female that was wronged by the hands of a man in this company, and you didn’t care whose career you had to cut short to do it. Once again, you hide behind a façade of heroism so you can boost your own ego and pat yourself on the back.
“I know you well enough to know how selfish your motives are. The entire time, all you wanted was a shot at my Xtreme Title. While you have a much larger claim to that shot than Watson does, one thing remains glaringly obvious:
“This is not your fight.
“This was always between Evan Envi and Nick Watson. Smith, you have no part in this. And on Sunday…”
Evan pauses.
He stops as a series of knuckles tap against the glass of the limousine’s window. Evan sighs and places the camera on the seat beside him, giving us a distorted view of the door. He leans over and pushes it open, revealing a petite female figure. The woman stands outside of the limousine for a moment, clutching her Versace handbag against her side.
Immediately, the tension is evident. The two sit opposite of each other, temporarily frozen in time until Evan breaks the silence in a harrowing tone.
”Get in.”
Dressed a plaid-themed skirt on top of black stockings and high-heeled boots, the woman ducks her head into the limo and takes a seat opposite of Envi.
Within seconds, our scene comes back into focus. Our colors are no longer distorted and we can quickly see the dark blonde hair of Sienna Harrison. She looks uneasily across the limousine at her brother.
”Take us to the hotel, Jung.”
For the remainder of the scene, Sienna continues to look at Evan Envi— her former attacker, her former assailant, her brother—in complete and utter silence.
Darkness.
