Post by Justin Kaard on Sept 18, 2015 20:25:02 GMT -5
September 1st
Justin stood facing the small area that served as his “private dressing room”. The rest of the men he’d come to call friends all hung back, respecting his privacy. With a heavy heart he began to pull down the memories he’d accumulated in the last year. Pictures of matches, magazine covers, fan letters, all of it packed neatly into a small leather satchel. In the last eighteen months he’d acquired more memorabilia related to his career than in the last ever.
He stopped to look at one picture in particular. It was taken during his first match with Nippon Pro Wrestling, catching him mid space walk right before he would go on to win his first bout in Japan. A smile tugged the corner of Justin’s mouth as he carefully placed the picture into the bag and zipped it close.
“And you are sure I cannot convince you to stay?”
Justin turned and bowed his head in respect, “Watashi wa watashi no kettei o okonatta, gomen'nasai, Matsumoto-Sama.”
The older man scowled; “Your Japanese is even worse than when you first arrived in this country. It insults me to hear you speak it so poorly.”
“Guess I just had a bad teacher then,” Justin grinned devilishly.
Minoru Matsumoto, the owner of Nippon Pro Wrestling, let out a deep belly laugh. He was a mountain of a man in a land of people not known for imposing physical stature. More imposing than his size however was the way he carried himself; had he been born two hundred years ago it would not have been a stretch to imagine him on the battlefield in full Samurai regalia.
“So you have made your decision then, Kaard-San? Nothing I can do to change your mind?”
Justin shook his head, “I have and I’m sorry, no. My contract is up and while I’ve had an incredible time here, it’s not home. It’s been well over a year since I’ve seen my family and friends stateside. And as much as I hate to say it, Matsumoto-sama, I’ve accomplished everything I wanted to in NPW. It’s time to take what I’ve learned from here, from you, and continue my career.”
“Personal and professional growth is never something to be sorry about. You’ve come a long way in your time here. When I first recruited you I saw you for what you were. You were blank piece of iron, perfectly capable of doing what needed to be done, but clumsy and unrefined.”
Justin snorted, “I think that’s the first time I’ve been referred to as clumsy.”
“But you were,” Matsumoto pointed out, “like an unworked piece you had one solution to everything. In your case it was to gracefully throw yourself off everything in sight on top of your opponents. Now that you’ve been forged and reworked you approach things differently, you’re no longer the impulsive young man from the past.”
“I really hope you’re right, Matsumoto-Sensei, and thank you, for everything you’ve done for me here,” Justin nodded thoughtfully.
“Just remember, Mr. Kaard, you have a home at Nippon Pro Wrestling anytime you like. You are always welcomed here.”
September 8th
It was very surreal being back at a PCW event. It was true, Justin had been a presenter at the Icey awards a little over a month ago, but that had been a whirlwind trip with no time to reconnect with old friends. This trip had been a little more relaxed with more time to spend reconnecting. Or at least that had been the plan. The PCW landscape had changed dramatically since Justin had last been a part of it.
Of the few friends Justin had, only one was still with the company and he hadn’t shown any inclination to catch up on old times. That left a locker room full of strangers and old adversaries; needless to say he hadn’t spent much time there. Still as the crowd roared in anticipation, Justin couldn’t help but be affected by their infectious enthusiasm. He cheered along with the crowd as Alexa Black hooked the leg of Derek Cosmos for the three count.
After the match Justin just winced in sympathy as she took affront to her partner and spiked his head into a chair. As a recipient of a number of chair shots it was all he could do. The entire arena rumbled with anticipation as the remaining member of Psychedelica started to make her way back. That rumble blossomed into an explosion when she was cut off at the pass.
Grimm and Justin’s former teammate, Michael Wryght, strode down the ramp, their body language giving off every predatory cue in existence and a few that they just made up on the spot. The look in their eyes as they zeroed in on Kelli spoke volumes. Prey. Justin’s muscles started to twitch but he willed himself to stay still. He wasn’t employed here anymore; it wasn’t his place to get involved.
“You are no longer the impulsive young man from the past.”
That snippet of conversation played loudly in his head. He settled back into his seat as Grimm closed the distance. With Showtime hanging back, Grimm started speaking in that terrifyingly quiet ‘Grimm’ manner. Kelli’s plea was lost in the uproar of the PCW faithful, they smelled blood. Grimm continued to back Kelli up until she was against the ring with nowhere left to go. Everyone and their mother could see that violence was imminent.
“You are no longer the impulsive young man from the past.”
Again Matsumoto’s words rang in his ears and again he forced himself to settle into his seat. He didn’t know Kelli. He didn’t know the reason for her issues with Grimm. Maybe Grimm had a perfectly logical explanation for why he was out here. Maybe Kelli had done something to upset or offend him. And maybe pigs would someday evolve into majestic as fuck Pigacorns, but it wasn’t likely. Justin’s mounting moral crisis was abated when Nathan Saniti interjected himself into the brewing brouhaha.
Kelli’s tag team partner made a beeline for Showtime and connected with a hard shot that took Showtime over the guardrail and off his feet. Saniti wasted no time and followed him over. Justin watched as the two men proceeded to beat the hell out of each other less than ten feet away from where he was. The brawl eventually carried the two men away from the ring, leaving Kelli alone with Grimm. The psychedelic princess was still attempting to reason with Grimm but the Hangtown Horror clearly wasn’t interested in talking. His arm shot up and his hand clamped around Kelli’s throat with a vice like grip.
"You are no longer the impulsive young man from the past.”
Fuck it.
Justin grabbed the chair he’d been sitting in and sprinted towards the ring. He hurtled the guard rail and kept charging. Grimm turned as the roar of the crowd hit a fevered crescendo, but before he could react Justin was on him. The chair bounced off Grimm’s skull with a sickening thud as Kaard skidded to a halt. He basked in the horrible realization of what he’d just done for approximately one half second before he was tackled from eighteen different directions by PCW security. Justin did his best to fight out, he wasn’t sure if he planned on hitting Grimm again for running for his life, but he tried to fight out none the less. He had been doing a fairly decent job when more security arrived from the back and hauled him away. The night had been going so well too.
September 9th
Justin awoke on the hard metal pallet that served as a bed in the county lock up. His everything was sore in ways it hadn’t been since his first match, he recognized it as the after effects of a huge adrenaline rush. Well a huge adrenaline rush and spending the night in a jail cell. He sat up with a groan and rubbed the grit from his eyes. Funny thing about wiping your eyes, it makes it almost impossible to see someone coming.
Justin jumped as the guard rapped on the cell door before opening it, "Justin Kaard?"
Justin raised his hand, "Present."
The guard just rolled his eyes, "C'mon smart ass, you made bail."
"I did, how's that again?" he tried to mask the surprise on his face.
"Dunno," the guard shrugged, "some guy came in, paid it, and then left. I didn't get a name."
Justin smiled, this reeked of his brother's handy work. Scott was the only one who knew he'd been headed to Greenville. Consequently he'd been the only one Justin had called after being brought in. It was a pretty damn impressive turn around, Seattle to Greenville was a seven hour flight if you went non-stop. Justin grabbed his wallet, phone, and shoelaces from intake and walked out into the waiting area expecting to see his brother. It was empty save for the desk sergeant
"Hey, the guy who paid my bail, where'd he go?"
The desk sergeant looked up from his paper, "I didn't ask him, he paid your bail and left."
"Well did you at least get a name?"
"He asked to remain anonymous, paid in cash, and then left."
"Well what did he look like. Was he taller, shaved head? Justin asked, giving a brief description of his brother Eric.
The guard scratched his chin, " No, that wasn't him. He was shorter, full head of hair but cut kind of short. Looked a little older, I'd say thirties or forties."
Justin stood there, dazed and confused. Who had paid his bail? Why had they paid his bail? Where was the nearest place to get breakfast? Wait, what? Justin silently cursed the lizard portion of his brain for making him aware of his baser instincts.
Well as it was turning out these were not the kind of mysteries he'd be able to solve on an empty stomach. His phone buzzed as he walked down the street towards what he hoped was a diner. Looking down at his phone, it showed two missed calls and two voice mails. He clicked on the voice mail.
"Hey Justin, it's Eric. Look, I'm really sorry little brother but I can't get out to Greenville for a couple of days. Furthermore, you are a fucking idiot. What were you thinking? Anyway when or if they let you out call me back so I know you're alive and not someone's prison wife. Love you, Justin, even if you are retarded."
It must have been a friend of Eric's, Justin mused. Someone he met when we lived out here before. It had to be, it was the only explanation that he could think of. He skipped to the next message.
"Hello, Mr. Kaard. My name is Kevin Burke and I represent Pure Class Wrestling Enterprise. I'm calling to inform you that Mr. Malave and the board of directors have agreed not to press charges against you for your actions at last night's Trauma with two caveats."
Justin could hear the frustration in the lawyer's voice. This ought to be good.
"First, the board is seeking a full and formal apology from you in regards to your actions. If you complete this and barring there is no lasting damage to Mr. Grimm they are offering you a tryout. You would compete next week on Trauma, providing you are medically cleared, against Misters Dillinger, Michaels, and Showtime alongside Miss Starr and Mr. Saniti. If these conditions are acceptable to you then you're invited to come to the PCW office located in Myrtle Beach to sign the contract. Any ongoing employment from my client would also be discussed there. If these conditions are not acceptable and we do not hear from you within twenty four hours of leaving this message then we will be forced to pursue legal action. Have a wonderful day, Mr. Kaard."
Justin closed his voicemail and laughed. Only in Greenville, South Caroline, more accurately only in PCW could you physically assault someone and receive a job offer for it. Well it was that or get sued so hard it stopped being funny, Justin knew which one he'd prefer.
It was an interesting match up to be sure. Saniti and Starr were relatively unknown to him, but given what he'd seen the night before they could definitely handle themselves in their own candy coated way. They'd make for interesting team mates. The opposition had promise as well. He had old scores with both Showtime and Stormm stemming from his last run in PCW. This was a good chance to put those to rest and maybe garner some attention if he was at it. And then there was Grimm.
Justin didn't have anything against Grimm, though after last night he was pretty sure Grimm had something against him.
"What have I gotten myself into," Justin wondered aloud, "I've been stateside for less than ten days and I've already drawn a target on my head."
Well the only way to get rid of a target was to make sure the shooter couldn't hit it. Justin would just have to be extra fast. His life most likely depended on it.
Justin stood facing the small area that served as his “private dressing room”. The rest of the men he’d come to call friends all hung back, respecting his privacy. With a heavy heart he began to pull down the memories he’d accumulated in the last year. Pictures of matches, magazine covers, fan letters, all of it packed neatly into a small leather satchel. In the last eighteen months he’d acquired more memorabilia related to his career than in the last ever.
He stopped to look at one picture in particular. It was taken during his first match with Nippon Pro Wrestling, catching him mid space walk right before he would go on to win his first bout in Japan. A smile tugged the corner of Justin’s mouth as he carefully placed the picture into the bag and zipped it close.
“And you are sure I cannot convince you to stay?”
Justin turned and bowed his head in respect, “Watashi wa watashi no kettei o okonatta, gomen'nasai, Matsumoto-Sama.”
The older man scowled; “Your Japanese is even worse than when you first arrived in this country. It insults me to hear you speak it so poorly.”
“Guess I just had a bad teacher then,” Justin grinned devilishly.
Minoru Matsumoto, the owner of Nippon Pro Wrestling, let out a deep belly laugh. He was a mountain of a man in a land of people not known for imposing physical stature. More imposing than his size however was the way he carried himself; had he been born two hundred years ago it would not have been a stretch to imagine him on the battlefield in full Samurai regalia.
“So you have made your decision then, Kaard-San? Nothing I can do to change your mind?”
Justin shook his head, “I have and I’m sorry, no. My contract is up and while I’ve had an incredible time here, it’s not home. It’s been well over a year since I’ve seen my family and friends stateside. And as much as I hate to say it, Matsumoto-sama, I’ve accomplished everything I wanted to in NPW. It’s time to take what I’ve learned from here, from you, and continue my career.”
“Personal and professional growth is never something to be sorry about. You’ve come a long way in your time here. When I first recruited you I saw you for what you were. You were blank piece of iron, perfectly capable of doing what needed to be done, but clumsy and unrefined.”
Justin snorted, “I think that’s the first time I’ve been referred to as clumsy.”
“But you were,” Matsumoto pointed out, “like an unworked piece you had one solution to everything. In your case it was to gracefully throw yourself off everything in sight on top of your opponents. Now that you’ve been forged and reworked you approach things differently, you’re no longer the impulsive young man from the past.”
“I really hope you’re right, Matsumoto-Sensei, and thank you, for everything you’ve done for me here,” Justin nodded thoughtfully.
“Just remember, Mr. Kaard, you have a home at Nippon Pro Wrestling anytime you like. You are always welcomed here.”
September 8th
It was very surreal being back at a PCW event. It was true, Justin had been a presenter at the Icey awards a little over a month ago, but that had been a whirlwind trip with no time to reconnect with old friends. This trip had been a little more relaxed with more time to spend reconnecting. Or at least that had been the plan. The PCW landscape had changed dramatically since Justin had last been a part of it.
Of the few friends Justin had, only one was still with the company and he hadn’t shown any inclination to catch up on old times. That left a locker room full of strangers and old adversaries; needless to say he hadn’t spent much time there. Still as the crowd roared in anticipation, Justin couldn’t help but be affected by their infectious enthusiasm. He cheered along with the crowd as Alexa Black hooked the leg of Derek Cosmos for the three count.
After the match Justin just winced in sympathy as she took affront to her partner and spiked his head into a chair. As a recipient of a number of chair shots it was all he could do. The entire arena rumbled with anticipation as the remaining member of Psychedelica started to make her way back. That rumble blossomed into an explosion when she was cut off at the pass.
Grimm and Justin’s former teammate, Michael Wryght, strode down the ramp, their body language giving off every predatory cue in existence and a few that they just made up on the spot. The look in their eyes as they zeroed in on Kelli spoke volumes. Prey. Justin’s muscles started to twitch but he willed himself to stay still. He wasn’t employed here anymore; it wasn’t his place to get involved.
“You are no longer the impulsive young man from the past.”
That snippet of conversation played loudly in his head. He settled back into his seat as Grimm closed the distance. With Showtime hanging back, Grimm started speaking in that terrifyingly quiet ‘Grimm’ manner. Kelli’s plea was lost in the uproar of the PCW faithful, they smelled blood. Grimm continued to back Kelli up until she was against the ring with nowhere left to go. Everyone and their mother could see that violence was imminent.
“You are no longer the impulsive young man from the past.”
Again Matsumoto’s words rang in his ears and again he forced himself to settle into his seat. He didn’t know Kelli. He didn’t know the reason for her issues with Grimm. Maybe Grimm had a perfectly logical explanation for why he was out here. Maybe Kelli had done something to upset or offend him. And maybe pigs would someday evolve into majestic as fuck Pigacorns, but it wasn’t likely. Justin’s mounting moral crisis was abated when Nathan Saniti interjected himself into the brewing brouhaha.
Kelli’s tag team partner made a beeline for Showtime and connected with a hard shot that took Showtime over the guardrail and off his feet. Saniti wasted no time and followed him over. Justin watched as the two men proceeded to beat the hell out of each other less than ten feet away from where he was. The brawl eventually carried the two men away from the ring, leaving Kelli alone with Grimm. The psychedelic princess was still attempting to reason with Grimm but the Hangtown Horror clearly wasn’t interested in talking. His arm shot up and his hand clamped around Kelli’s throat with a vice like grip.
"You are no longer the impulsive young man from the past.”
Fuck it.
Justin grabbed the chair he’d been sitting in and sprinted towards the ring. He hurtled the guard rail and kept charging. Grimm turned as the roar of the crowd hit a fevered crescendo, but before he could react Justin was on him. The chair bounced off Grimm’s skull with a sickening thud as Kaard skidded to a halt. He basked in the horrible realization of what he’d just done for approximately one half second before he was tackled from eighteen different directions by PCW security. Justin did his best to fight out, he wasn’t sure if he planned on hitting Grimm again for running for his life, but he tried to fight out none the less. He had been doing a fairly decent job when more security arrived from the back and hauled him away. The night had been going so well too.
September 9th
Justin awoke on the hard metal pallet that served as a bed in the county lock up. His everything was sore in ways it hadn’t been since his first match, he recognized it as the after effects of a huge adrenaline rush. Well a huge adrenaline rush and spending the night in a jail cell. He sat up with a groan and rubbed the grit from his eyes. Funny thing about wiping your eyes, it makes it almost impossible to see someone coming.
Justin jumped as the guard rapped on the cell door before opening it, "Justin Kaard?"
Justin raised his hand, "Present."
The guard just rolled his eyes, "C'mon smart ass, you made bail."
"I did, how's that again?" he tried to mask the surprise on his face.
"Dunno," the guard shrugged, "some guy came in, paid it, and then left. I didn't get a name."
Justin smiled, this reeked of his brother's handy work. Scott was the only one who knew he'd been headed to Greenville. Consequently he'd been the only one Justin had called after being brought in. It was a pretty damn impressive turn around, Seattle to Greenville was a seven hour flight if you went non-stop. Justin grabbed his wallet, phone, and shoelaces from intake and walked out into the waiting area expecting to see his brother. It was empty save for the desk sergeant
"Hey, the guy who paid my bail, where'd he go?"
The desk sergeant looked up from his paper, "I didn't ask him, he paid your bail and left."
"Well did you at least get a name?"
"He asked to remain anonymous, paid in cash, and then left."
"Well what did he look like. Was he taller, shaved head? Justin asked, giving a brief description of his brother Eric.
The guard scratched his chin, " No, that wasn't him. He was shorter, full head of hair but cut kind of short. Looked a little older, I'd say thirties or forties."
Justin stood there, dazed and confused. Who had paid his bail? Why had they paid his bail? Where was the nearest place to get breakfast? Wait, what? Justin silently cursed the lizard portion of his brain for making him aware of his baser instincts.
Well as it was turning out these were not the kind of mysteries he'd be able to solve on an empty stomach. His phone buzzed as he walked down the street towards what he hoped was a diner. Looking down at his phone, it showed two missed calls and two voice mails. He clicked on the voice mail.
"Hey Justin, it's Eric. Look, I'm really sorry little brother but I can't get out to Greenville for a couple of days. Furthermore, you are a fucking idiot. What were you thinking? Anyway when or if they let you out call me back so I know you're alive and not someone's prison wife. Love you, Justin, even if you are retarded."
It must have been a friend of Eric's, Justin mused. Someone he met when we lived out here before. It had to be, it was the only explanation that he could think of. He skipped to the next message.
"Hello, Mr. Kaard. My name is Kevin Burke and I represent Pure Class Wrestling Enterprise. I'm calling to inform you that Mr. Malave and the board of directors have agreed not to press charges against you for your actions at last night's Trauma with two caveats."
Justin could hear the frustration in the lawyer's voice. This ought to be good.
"First, the board is seeking a full and formal apology from you in regards to your actions. If you complete this and barring there is no lasting damage to Mr. Grimm they are offering you a tryout. You would compete next week on Trauma, providing you are medically cleared, against Misters Dillinger, Michaels, and Showtime alongside Miss Starr and Mr. Saniti. If these conditions are acceptable to you then you're invited to come to the PCW office located in Myrtle Beach to sign the contract. Any ongoing employment from my client would also be discussed there. If these conditions are not acceptable and we do not hear from you within twenty four hours of leaving this message then we will be forced to pursue legal action. Have a wonderful day, Mr. Kaard."
Justin closed his voicemail and laughed. Only in Greenville, South Caroline, more accurately only in PCW could you physically assault someone and receive a job offer for it. Well it was that or get sued so hard it stopped being funny, Justin knew which one he'd prefer.
It was an interesting match up to be sure. Saniti and Starr were relatively unknown to him, but given what he'd seen the night before they could definitely handle themselves in their own candy coated way. They'd make for interesting team mates. The opposition had promise as well. He had old scores with both Showtime and Stormm stemming from his last run in PCW. This was a good chance to put those to rest and maybe garner some attention if he was at it. And then there was Grimm.
Justin didn't have anything against Grimm, though after last night he was pretty sure Grimm had something against him.
"What have I gotten myself into," Justin wondered aloud, "I've been stateside for less than ten days and I've already drawn a target on my head."
Well the only way to get rid of a target was to make sure the shooter couldn't hit it. Justin would just have to be extra fast. His life most likely depended on it.
