Post by Justin Kaard on Oct 29, 2015 11:55:55 GMT -5
Justin was barely cognizant of the referee raising his hand. He was aware enough to know that meant the match was over and he was fairly sure that having your hand raised meant you won. But as his vision swam in and out of focus, he swore he thought he saw a second referee raising someone else’s hand as well. His arm was yanked roughly as the referee raised his arm a little higher. He could hear two people arguing but he couldn’t make out the words.
It all snapped back. The match! Non Compos Mentis, Eira. His hand was being raised. He’d won! He was the new North American champion! But that was the problem with a sudden influx of reality, it wasn’t always pretty.
His head was throbbing as he pulled himself to his feet. No, scratch that. Throbbing was far too much of an understatement. It felt like Kelli Starr had decided to hold one of her impromptu Hardstyle competitions, complete with strobe lights and explosions, in his head. He got to his feet and watched Mentis do his best weeble impression, unfortunately he only wobbled.
The two referees standing center of the ring, Justin couldn’t remember their names, were arguing. Each of them was pointing at the wrestler behind them, each of them were saying they made the final count. Justin’s shoulders sagged as his head dropped. For several heartbeats he actually thought he’d won.
With a derisive snort, he rolled over the ropes and made his way towards the back. He didn’t see Eira back there, which both worried him and relieved him. Worried because she might be seriously hurt because of something he’d done. People got hurt all the time in matches, it wasn’t personal, but Justin doubted Eira would see it that way. Though he was also very relieved that she’d already been taken away because that meant he did not have to deal with the fall out of that right here and now. One catastrophe at a time, please.
Mentis passed through the curtain and caught Justin’s eye. Pokémon rules applied, they made eye contact, they had to fight. Justin stormed up to the guy that had six inches and a hundred pounds on him and shoved him. Hard.
Sean Rhodes stumbled back a step and fixed Justin with a hard stare, “You want to think about what you do next very carefully, boy.”
Rhodes shoved Justin back.
Justin’s eye twitched. Boy? The dismissal caused his heart to do its best impersonation of a humming bird and his vision to take on a red tinge. It wasn’t the first time he’d been dismissed; it probably wouldn’t be the last time. But as far as he was concerned it was one time too many.
He wasn’t deaf, he heard the chatter backstage. Justin Kaard, the gift wrapped champion, couldn’t win a title unless it was handed to him. It was true of the Tag Team title that he’d held with Nacho, but that hadn’t been his choice. Nacho saw him as Jacob Roth’s successor so it just made sense to give him the belt. It made sense to everybody but Justin. He’d never wanted it, not like that. But he’d done his best to carry it on in his missing, presumed dead, friend’s memory. Eventually it had gotten too heavy for him, so he did what he thought had been the right move at the time, and that was to vacate the belt and take a leave of absence from PCW.
When he came back he ended up fighting through hell with Nacho Grande, his former friend and partner. Justin had fallen in with what could be called a “rough crowd” in the same sense that the Hell’s Angels were just a little misunderstood. Marshall’s Law put Justin in a position to become the number one contender for the World Title when they’d interfered in his final match with Nacho against his wishes. It wasn’t long before the rumors started again. Justin Kaard, the gift wrapped champion, couldn’t win a title unless it was handed to him.
Even after he’d won the title, sort of, in a ladder match with Mr. Showtime, the rumors persisted. “Showtime took a dive” they said. “Kaard only won because Marshall wanted him to” they said. Over and over the rumors circulated and persisted until he’d taken the beating of his life against Grimm and lost the title. And Justin just knew that it wouldn’t be long before the rumors started anew over the North American title.
Justin lashed out with everything he had. He punched Sean Rhodes in the face, opening up the skin along his cheekbone and letting loose a little trickle of blood. Beyond that, Justin might as well have hit a stone pillar.
“That might have been the dumbest thing you could have done, kid.”
Rhodes punched him back. Looking back Justin would have loved to say that he took the punch and didn’t move. That he stood up to the best that Mentis could give and stared him down. Yeah, we all know that’s not what happened.
For the second time that night Justin saw stars as he looked up at Rhodes from his newfound seated position. He tasted copper. Fixing Mentis with the hardest, coldest glare he could muster, Justin spat the blood from his mouth. He hoped privately that there weren’t any teeth mixed in with it.
“Stupid kid,” Mentis muttered as he turned to walk away.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” Justin screamed as he scrambled back to his feet, “we aren’t fucking finished!”
He moved to charge Mentis from behind but was stopped by a wave of official types. Mentis turned back and shook his head laughing.
“You’ve got guts, kid; don’t ever let anyone tell you different. But you need to know when to walk away.”
Justin surged forward again, or tried to. There were just too many hands holding him back. He felt his strength ebb, his anger fade, and his righteous indignation just up and leave. Suddenly exhausted, he slumped back against the wall. This wasn’t over; it was just over for now.
Justin didn’t remember the drive back to hotel he was still staying at, he didn’t remember the fight with his brother that nearly destroyed said hotel room, and he certainly didn’t remember putting a sizable dent in South Carolina’s liquor supply. He did however; remember the hangover when he woke up the next day. His brother Eric, the only person besides hotel staff with a key to his room, burst in bright and early and yanked the curtains open.
“The day star,” Justin hissed, “it burns us!”
He pulled the covers over his head and tried to pretend the world didn’t exist for like five more minutes. Eric refused to let him have his five minutes of denial as he upended the mattress, spilling the younger Kaard brother on to the floor.
“C’mon, I’ve let you stay passed out as long as you can. You have your super-secret meeting that you refuse to tell me about at one and then I’ve got a few places lined up for us to check out at three.”
Justin sat up with as much dignity as he could muster, which wasn’t much. It’s hard to look dignified when you get dumped on the floor by your stupid older brother.
“I’m not meeting the guy until one, why the hell did you wake me up so early?” Justin whined.
“Early,” Eric asked incredulously, “It’s almost noon, genius.”
So much for bright and early.
Justin grumbled as he pulled himself up. He grumbled as he made his way into the bathroom and took the coldest shower he could. He grumbled as he dressed for the day. He grumbled slightly less as he sipped the cup of coffee his brother provided when he came back.
The brothers walked in relative silence in the chilly, for South Carolina, fall afternoon. They could have driven, it certainly would have been quicker, but the diner where Justin was supposed to meet his mysterious benefactor was a little over a mile away from the hotel he was staying at. Nothing like a brisk walk in cold weather to fight a hangover.
“So are you going to tell me what that bender last night was about?” Eric asked, breaking the silence.
“Nope.”
Eric sighed in annoyance, “Let’s try this again. What the hell was up with that bender last night? I thought you were over shit like that. Like isn’t that the entire reason you went to Japan for a year and a half? To grow up and mature?”
“Does this little diatribe of yours have a point, Eric?”
Eric Kaard smacked his little brother upside the head, “My point, you pedantic ass, is that you left to get away and get over the exact kind of behavior you’re exhibiting right now. This sullen, poor, woe is me, better get black out drunk bullshit.”
“I’m twenty two, Eric.”
“Going on twelve by the looks of it.”
Justin sighed, “It’s this entire situation with Rhodes. I don’t know if I can beat him. Two matches in a row, I’ve gone out and given it my all. While I haven’t lost the matches, I sure as shit didn’t win them either.”
Eric stopped in his tracks as Justin kept walking.
“Christ all-mighty, Justin,” the elder Kaard exclaimed, “Are you really that fucking arrogant? You’ve had three matches since you assaulted your way into a contract and you’ve only won one of them while drawing the other two. So suddenly that means the whole world is against you and nothing you do is good enough. Fuck’s sake, little brother. I expected this kind of shit out of you when you were sixteen. Clearly you didn’t spend enough time in Japan.”
“Fuck you,” spat Justin, “if we weren’t in public I’d punch you in the fuck.”
“You’d try,” Eric mocked.
“I’m just incredibly frustrated with the situation. I’m frustrated that I’ve ended up with the short end of the stick through no fault of my own. So yeah, I kind of do feel like nothing I’m doing is good enough. I’d rather lose a match than keep up with this false finish and screwy ending bullshit,” Justin vented.
“And I’d rather not be back in Greenville, but here I am. Justin, I shouldn’t have to tell you at twenty two that life doesn’t always work out the way we want it to.”
“Well thank you for being incredibly pandering. Any other useless platitudes you’d like to lay on me, Eric? Maybe tell me that there’s other fish in the sea. Or how about don’t cross the road if you can’t get out of the kitchen. I know that things don’t always work out the way we want them, what I’m saying is this non-finish bullshit really saps the energy from a guy.”
“Did you just quote Boondock Saints at me?” Eric asked, bemused.
“Think I didn’t?” Justin grinned.
“Well played.”
“And then their whole solution to this situation is to have me face off against Rhodes not once, not twice, but potentially five times. I’m starting to think the entire upper management of this place is permanently geschtonkeflapped.”
“Geschtonkenwhat now?” Eric asked, confused.
“Geshtonkenflapped, you know, shpongled?” Justin offered helpfully.
“It’s like you’re trying to communicate with me but you just don’t quite have a grasp of the English language.”
“Never mind,” Justin waved it off, “I just don’t know how to beat Rhodes, let alone how to beat him three times over five matches.”
“Then don’t worry about it,” Eric shrugged.
“Come again?” Justin blinked in confusion.
“Don’t worry about how to beat him five times or even three times. Instead worry about right now, how are you going to beat him right now? You know you can’t beat him in a stand up fight so don’t try to. Make him play your game instead. There are very few people that can keep up with your speed and Non Compos Mentis definitely isn’t one of them.”
Justin thought about what his brother had said. He had an annoying habit of being right and knowing the right thing to say at the right time. Justin privately wondered if that was a trait all older siblings shared or if it was unique to his. The only way Justin was going to have a chance against the bigger, stronger, and arguably meaner, Rhodes was to dance around him and try to take him off his feet.
It was a workable plan. Not perfect by any means because one good blow from Rhodes could derail the whole thing. Justin absent mindedly touched the bruise on his cheek.
They arrived at the diner and Eric pulled open the door, “I’ll grab a cup of coffee and wait for you by the door. Good luck with whatever this is, I guess.”
The diner was mostly empty, the lunch rush having just passed. Eric, Justin and an older man sitting in the back corner were the only three people on this side of the counter. Justin cautiously made his way towards the back.
“Are you…” he started.
“You know I expected to be talking to the new North American champion, but I guess that was too much to ask,” the older man interrupted.
Justin narrowed his eyes suspiciously; this was not the person he’d spoken to on the phone. The voice was too harsh, too gravely.
“Well I already know you’re not who called me. Safe to assume you’re not the one who bailed me out. So that leaves me wondering just who the hell you are”
The old man sipped his cup of coffee, “Who I am isn’t really important. I’m just the middle man. You and I have a mutual friend, one who helped us out when we were down and in need. In my case it was giving my life a purpose. In your case it was bailing your stupid ass out of jail.”
“My, how awfully evasive of you,” Justin remarked dryly.
“Who I am doesn’t matter. I work for someone who’s interested in you, in your talents. My job is to decide if you’re ready to take that next step. And so far, kid, I’m less than impressed.”
“Well I’m sorry for not living up to your standards, you crust old…”Justin was cut off.
“Oh it’s not my standards we’re judging by, Junior. But that defiant streak of yours, that’s going to serve you well, make sure you don’t lose that,” the old man interrupted with a wheezy laugh. “But you ain’t ready, kid. Not by a long shot. We’ll be in touch though.”
He got up to leave.
“Hey, you can’t leave, I have questions.”
He waved dismissively over his shoulder, “Don’t we all.”
It all snapped back. The match! Non Compos Mentis, Eira. His hand was being raised. He’d won! He was the new North American champion! But that was the problem with a sudden influx of reality, it wasn’t always pretty.
His head was throbbing as he pulled himself to his feet. No, scratch that. Throbbing was far too much of an understatement. It felt like Kelli Starr had decided to hold one of her impromptu Hardstyle competitions, complete with strobe lights and explosions, in his head. He got to his feet and watched Mentis do his best weeble impression, unfortunately he only wobbled.
The two referees standing center of the ring, Justin couldn’t remember their names, were arguing. Each of them was pointing at the wrestler behind them, each of them were saying they made the final count. Justin’s shoulders sagged as his head dropped. For several heartbeats he actually thought he’d won.
With a derisive snort, he rolled over the ropes and made his way towards the back. He didn’t see Eira back there, which both worried him and relieved him. Worried because she might be seriously hurt because of something he’d done. People got hurt all the time in matches, it wasn’t personal, but Justin doubted Eira would see it that way. Though he was also very relieved that she’d already been taken away because that meant he did not have to deal with the fall out of that right here and now. One catastrophe at a time, please.
Mentis passed through the curtain and caught Justin’s eye. Pokémon rules applied, they made eye contact, they had to fight. Justin stormed up to the guy that had six inches and a hundred pounds on him and shoved him. Hard.
Sean Rhodes stumbled back a step and fixed Justin with a hard stare, “You want to think about what you do next very carefully, boy.”
Rhodes shoved Justin back.
Justin’s eye twitched. Boy? The dismissal caused his heart to do its best impersonation of a humming bird and his vision to take on a red tinge. It wasn’t the first time he’d been dismissed; it probably wouldn’t be the last time. But as far as he was concerned it was one time too many.
He wasn’t deaf, he heard the chatter backstage. Justin Kaard, the gift wrapped champion, couldn’t win a title unless it was handed to him. It was true of the Tag Team title that he’d held with Nacho, but that hadn’t been his choice. Nacho saw him as Jacob Roth’s successor so it just made sense to give him the belt. It made sense to everybody but Justin. He’d never wanted it, not like that. But he’d done his best to carry it on in his missing, presumed dead, friend’s memory. Eventually it had gotten too heavy for him, so he did what he thought had been the right move at the time, and that was to vacate the belt and take a leave of absence from PCW.
When he came back he ended up fighting through hell with Nacho Grande, his former friend and partner. Justin had fallen in with what could be called a “rough crowd” in the same sense that the Hell’s Angels were just a little misunderstood. Marshall’s Law put Justin in a position to become the number one contender for the World Title when they’d interfered in his final match with Nacho against his wishes. It wasn’t long before the rumors started again. Justin Kaard, the gift wrapped champion, couldn’t win a title unless it was handed to him.
Even after he’d won the title, sort of, in a ladder match with Mr. Showtime, the rumors persisted. “Showtime took a dive” they said. “Kaard only won because Marshall wanted him to” they said. Over and over the rumors circulated and persisted until he’d taken the beating of his life against Grimm and lost the title. And Justin just knew that it wouldn’t be long before the rumors started anew over the North American title.
Justin lashed out with everything he had. He punched Sean Rhodes in the face, opening up the skin along his cheekbone and letting loose a little trickle of blood. Beyond that, Justin might as well have hit a stone pillar.
“That might have been the dumbest thing you could have done, kid.”
Rhodes punched him back. Looking back Justin would have loved to say that he took the punch and didn’t move. That he stood up to the best that Mentis could give and stared him down. Yeah, we all know that’s not what happened.
For the second time that night Justin saw stars as he looked up at Rhodes from his newfound seated position. He tasted copper. Fixing Mentis with the hardest, coldest glare he could muster, Justin spat the blood from his mouth. He hoped privately that there weren’t any teeth mixed in with it.
“Stupid kid,” Mentis muttered as he turned to walk away.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” Justin screamed as he scrambled back to his feet, “we aren’t fucking finished!”
He moved to charge Mentis from behind but was stopped by a wave of official types. Mentis turned back and shook his head laughing.
“You’ve got guts, kid; don’t ever let anyone tell you different. But you need to know when to walk away.”
Justin surged forward again, or tried to. There were just too many hands holding him back. He felt his strength ebb, his anger fade, and his righteous indignation just up and leave. Suddenly exhausted, he slumped back against the wall. This wasn’t over; it was just over for now.
Justin didn’t remember the drive back to hotel he was still staying at, he didn’t remember the fight with his brother that nearly destroyed said hotel room, and he certainly didn’t remember putting a sizable dent in South Carolina’s liquor supply. He did however; remember the hangover when he woke up the next day. His brother Eric, the only person besides hotel staff with a key to his room, burst in bright and early and yanked the curtains open.
“The day star,” Justin hissed, “it burns us!”
He pulled the covers over his head and tried to pretend the world didn’t exist for like five more minutes. Eric refused to let him have his five minutes of denial as he upended the mattress, spilling the younger Kaard brother on to the floor.
“C’mon, I’ve let you stay passed out as long as you can. You have your super-secret meeting that you refuse to tell me about at one and then I’ve got a few places lined up for us to check out at three.”
Justin sat up with as much dignity as he could muster, which wasn’t much. It’s hard to look dignified when you get dumped on the floor by your stupid older brother.
“I’m not meeting the guy until one, why the hell did you wake me up so early?” Justin whined.
“Early,” Eric asked incredulously, “It’s almost noon, genius.”
So much for bright and early.
Justin grumbled as he pulled himself up. He grumbled as he made his way into the bathroom and took the coldest shower he could. He grumbled as he dressed for the day. He grumbled slightly less as he sipped the cup of coffee his brother provided when he came back.
The brothers walked in relative silence in the chilly, for South Carolina, fall afternoon. They could have driven, it certainly would have been quicker, but the diner where Justin was supposed to meet his mysterious benefactor was a little over a mile away from the hotel he was staying at. Nothing like a brisk walk in cold weather to fight a hangover.
“So are you going to tell me what that bender last night was about?” Eric asked, breaking the silence.
“Nope.”
Eric sighed in annoyance, “Let’s try this again. What the hell was up with that bender last night? I thought you were over shit like that. Like isn’t that the entire reason you went to Japan for a year and a half? To grow up and mature?”
“Does this little diatribe of yours have a point, Eric?”
Eric Kaard smacked his little brother upside the head, “My point, you pedantic ass, is that you left to get away and get over the exact kind of behavior you’re exhibiting right now. This sullen, poor, woe is me, better get black out drunk bullshit.”
“I’m twenty two, Eric.”
“Going on twelve by the looks of it.”
Justin sighed, “It’s this entire situation with Rhodes. I don’t know if I can beat him. Two matches in a row, I’ve gone out and given it my all. While I haven’t lost the matches, I sure as shit didn’t win them either.”
Eric stopped in his tracks as Justin kept walking.
“Christ all-mighty, Justin,” the elder Kaard exclaimed, “Are you really that fucking arrogant? You’ve had three matches since you assaulted your way into a contract and you’ve only won one of them while drawing the other two. So suddenly that means the whole world is against you and nothing you do is good enough. Fuck’s sake, little brother. I expected this kind of shit out of you when you were sixteen. Clearly you didn’t spend enough time in Japan.”
“Fuck you,” spat Justin, “if we weren’t in public I’d punch you in the fuck.”
“You’d try,” Eric mocked.
“I’m just incredibly frustrated with the situation. I’m frustrated that I’ve ended up with the short end of the stick through no fault of my own. So yeah, I kind of do feel like nothing I’m doing is good enough. I’d rather lose a match than keep up with this false finish and screwy ending bullshit,” Justin vented.
“And I’d rather not be back in Greenville, but here I am. Justin, I shouldn’t have to tell you at twenty two that life doesn’t always work out the way we want it to.”
“Well thank you for being incredibly pandering. Any other useless platitudes you’d like to lay on me, Eric? Maybe tell me that there’s other fish in the sea. Or how about don’t cross the road if you can’t get out of the kitchen. I know that things don’t always work out the way we want them, what I’m saying is this non-finish bullshit really saps the energy from a guy.”
“Did you just quote Boondock Saints at me?” Eric asked, bemused.
“Think I didn’t?” Justin grinned.
“Well played.”
“And then their whole solution to this situation is to have me face off against Rhodes not once, not twice, but potentially five times. I’m starting to think the entire upper management of this place is permanently geschtonkeflapped.”
“Geschtonkenwhat now?” Eric asked, confused.
“Geshtonkenflapped, you know, shpongled?” Justin offered helpfully.
“It’s like you’re trying to communicate with me but you just don’t quite have a grasp of the English language.”
“Never mind,” Justin waved it off, “I just don’t know how to beat Rhodes, let alone how to beat him three times over five matches.”
“Then don’t worry about it,” Eric shrugged.
“Come again?” Justin blinked in confusion.
“Don’t worry about how to beat him five times or even three times. Instead worry about right now, how are you going to beat him right now? You know you can’t beat him in a stand up fight so don’t try to. Make him play your game instead. There are very few people that can keep up with your speed and Non Compos Mentis definitely isn’t one of them.”
Justin thought about what his brother had said. He had an annoying habit of being right and knowing the right thing to say at the right time. Justin privately wondered if that was a trait all older siblings shared or if it was unique to his. The only way Justin was going to have a chance against the bigger, stronger, and arguably meaner, Rhodes was to dance around him and try to take him off his feet.
It was a workable plan. Not perfect by any means because one good blow from Rhodes could derail the whole thing. Justin absent mindedly touched the bruise on his cheek.
They arrived at the diner and Eric pulled open the door, “I’ll grab a cup of coffee and wait for you by the door. Good luck with whatever this is, I guess.”
The diner was mostly empty, the lunch rush having just passed. Eric, Justin and an older man sitting in the back corner were the only three people on this side of the counter. Justin cautiously made his way towards the back.
“Are you…” he started.
“You know I expected to be talking to the new North American champion, but I guess that was too much to ask,” the older man interrupted.
Justin narrowed his eyes suspiciously; this was not the person he’d spoken to on the phone. The voice was too harsh, too gravely.
“Well I already know you’re not who called me. Safe to assume you’re not the one who bailed me out. So that leaves me wondering just who the hell you are”
The old man sipped his cup of coffee, “Who I am isn’t really important. I’m just the middle man. You and I have a mutual friend, one who helped us out when we were down and in need. In my case it was giving my life a purpose. In your case it was bailing your stupid ass out of jail.”
“My, how awfully evasive of you,” Justin remarked dryly.
“Who I am doesn’t matter. I work for someone who’s interested in you, in your talents. My job is to decide if you’re ready to take that next step. And so far, kid, I’m less than impressed.”
“Well I’m sorry for not living up to your standards, you crust old…”Justin was cut off.
“Oh it’s not my standards we’re judging by, Junior. But that defiant streak of yours, that’s going to serve you well, make sure you don’t lose that,” the old man interrupted with a wheezy laugh. “But you ain’t ready, kid. Not by a long shot. We’ll be in touch though.”
He got up to leave.
“Hey, you can’t leave, I have questions.”
He waved dismissively over his shoulder, “Don’t we all.”
