Post by Spartan on Mar 15, 2020 19:34:30 GMT -5
“You’re a fuckin loser, Son.” those were the acidic words spitting from the acrid tongue of one, Jerry Eisenhower and they were directed in all their venom at Tristan John Cross.
Cross was in the middle of the dilapidated wrestling ring that he called a training facility with his trainer and mentor, Jerry Eisenhower. Both men had differing viewpoints on how situations should be handled, and despite working the clinch together right now, this was one of those moments. Both men were locked together in combat while Eisenhower spat barbs from his toxic from his mouth, both the words and the breath that accompanied them were suffocating.
“A real fuckin loser.” Eisenhower continued his verbal abuse of his trainee while in the collar and elbow. “How else can ya not be, you’ve got Russian money at your back. You can do what you want and you still try to play game of fuckin honor, Son. There ain’t no honor in this shit.”
Eisenhower drops out of the tie up and uses his momentum to flip much larger Cross over his shoulder while maintaining control of his wrist. Eisenhower wrenches on his arm pulling it back and across his back while driving his knee into the gap between Tristan’s shoulder blades.
“Look, Son. You still got a lot to learn, but today’s lesson is for free and it’s gonna be real simple. Honor is for losers, and in this industry there are only two types of people: the winners and the losers. And right now you are a god-damned fuckin loser.”
Eisenhower transitions his body and grapevines Cross’ arm with his legs and rocks back pulling his arm back with him.
“I can see your gears grinding. Nah, Smith Jones ain’t got no honor. It’s all a facade. He talks a game but he will do what he needs to maintain his position. That’s why he beat a loser like you, Son. Look back, take the Russian broad’s money and spend it on whores. Use to win. It’s not like you are doing it for the fans anymore anyway. They still boo you, because you’re a class traitor, Son. Time for you to embrace it and stop being a fuckin loser.”
Tristan Cross taps and Eisenhower releases the hold. Both men get to a seated position facing each other.
“Why you always gotta be so mean, Jerry.” Tristan questions through deep breaths as he tries to replace the oxygen in his lungs.
“Mean? Son, I ain’t being mean. If I was being mean I’d tell ya ya Mom was a slut and I was fucking ya Daddy. I’m just telling ya the truth, Son. See, this business, it don’t go for the nice guys. Sure, they have a bit of success here and there but nice guys don’t last. Ya wanna last, ya wanna have real long term success. You gotta wake up and smell the roses, Son.”
Like the old man that he is, Eisenhower pauses to catch his breath but continues on uninterrupted.
“Look at Corey Black, twenty years still going strong - Asshole. And Odin Balfore, he’s still picking up motherfuckers and dropping them on their heads and he’s a bigger asshole than Corey Black. Point is, those two - they don’t care about what anyone else thinks. AND THEY STILL GET FUCKIN CHEERED, Son.”
“But they don’t always do things the right way.” Tristan looks at Eisenhower, squinting through the corrosive sweat that is dripping off his forehead into eyes.
“Don’t ya get it, Son. They don’t care. The people don’t care. They just get it fucking done - by any means necessary - it’s the killer instinct. That you lack. Find it and you’ll fuckin be something, Son. Be a pussy and you’ll remain a nobody. And you got everything at your disposal now, Son. Irina and the Russian money - take it, spend it, fuck shit up. And I’ve had enough for the day drive to the bar. I want a drink.” Eisenhower spits a phlegmy wad onto the canvas he gets to his feet,
He waits the ropes for Cross to get to his feet and open the ropes so he can climb out of the ring. Cross, ever the good student knows this and helps Eisenhower out of the ramshackle contraption.
“Meghan Kelser. Maxine Riggs. Second generation superstar, a rookie trained by legends of the ring - teaming up to chase tag team glory in a company that is the pinnacle of the sport. It has the hallmarks of a daytime television movie, doesn’t it.”
Spartan walks into shot and sits his granite carved frame on a wooden stool that is obviously too small to support the ginger behemoth. He is clad in what can be described as his everyday garb, black shorts, black singlet, black hat turned backwards. It’s pretty standard fare for the ginger giant.
“But see, girls, that where all the good news stories end. Because when you step into the ring with Jaice and I, your climb to the pinnacle of the sport - it comes to an end. You’re not going onto the semi-finals of this tournament and you’re most certainly not going to find yourself in the middle of the ring seeking glory at Battlecade. As much as it would make for the perfect happy ending to a soppy little daytime movie. Well - this ain’t the movies, this ain’t scripted. This is Alpha Pro Wrestling. This is where the best of the best compete week in, week out. This is where legends are made. This is where careers are destroyed. Which side of the coin do you fall? Don’t get me wrong, girls - I know you are talented. You don’t get here if you’re not, but you need more talent to get by in this ring. You need fire, you need passion, you need an indestructible will to succeed. And then, sometimes that’s not enough. Sometimes, you just won’t get it done. That is how good the talent in this building is. And girls, this week on Metal. You meet some of that talent smack back in the middle of the ring. Which means there can be one outcome of our match this week. Spartan and Jaice moving onto the next round, the Cowgirls from Hell consigned to the realms of defeat. Then we really get to see what you are made of.”
Spartan twists and contorts his body to find a more comfortable position.
“I’ve been here long enough to see plenty of hot shots, next big things, superstars and legends walk through the doors of Alpha Pro Wrestling thinking they are going to start to run things around here. I’ve the vast majority of them tuck tail and run out the door faster than they walked in with egos shattered and pride destroyed. So I’m not in the least bit intimidated by your history or your pedigree. I’m not. Nor will I ever be worried about what you have and haven’t done outside of an Alpha Pro Wrestling ring, girls. Because, this joint right here, this joint in the summit of Mt. Everest looking down upon the rest of the wrestling world. Only the best of the best make it here. We have plenty of tourists that try to ascend our peaks, and we leave them as a trail of dead bodies in the snow. We leave their frozen shells littering the path to the top, just to make sure everyone knows what it takes to climb this mountain. We give you the chance to climb, but if you can’t cut it - we give you a chance to quit too. Can’t see we’re unjust girls, but when you can’t cut the mustard when going past base camp is a step too far for your ability. When you realise that we are Everest you’ve only ever walked up a steep hill. Don’t go crying to Daddy that it was too hard. Hitch your socks up and try again. Otherwise you’re just a never pathetic schlub that wants everything easy in life. And if that’s the case then I’ve got no sympathy for you. And I am going to enjoy lifting you into the air and dropping you back down with the Revolutionizer. And it will be MY pleasure to see you crushed and defeated.”
Spartan adjusts again.
“If that sounds harsh, girls. It’s meant to. I’ve got all the time for the Lex Collins’ and the Damon Warrens’ of the world who intently come to fight and prove themselves, but those fly by nighters. I got no time for them. This is where the real fight and the fake fail. We’ve yet to see what side of that ledger you fall, girls. I understand that, but I promise after our match, I will know. I will know if you are real or I will know if you are just another of those people. That’s a gift of mine. I win. I lose. But I always know the type of people I fight. I know who are afraid. I know who aren’t. I watched your debut and I’ve listened to your talk - I think I can pick where you fall after Metal. But what I do know at Metal is that your defeat is as close as inevitable as it can be in this match. Not because you don’t have the talent to win. You might, but what you don’t have and of this much I am certain. You don’t have the heart to withstand the assault that I am going to unleash upon your frames, girls. See, I’ve been within touching distance of the World Title, I’ve held the North American Title, I’ve held the Hardcore Title, and I want gold around my waist once again and intend to put gold around my waist again. It’s just unfortunate you two that you are in my way this week.”
Spartan shrugs.
“Sorry. Not sorry. Why should I be sorry about defeating you girls. I shouldn’t this is what we do. We fight until we stop. I might be late to this. I might lack then generational learning. I haven’t trained for years. But this is in my blood. This is in my blood as much as my children are in my blood. I’m sure you’ve heard how far I’d go for them. Now imagine how far I would go to defeat you.”
“Yeh, you can’t.”
“Now Jaice is in the ring with me. Your chances of victory have halved again. So what I say is this, girls. Come to the ring at Metal. Bring your best. Lose with pride and a little of panache if you so desire. But come back next week and prove you belong on the long ascent to the top of the Everest that is Alpha Pro Wrestling. This is where only the strong survive.”
Cross was in the middle of the dilapidated wrestling ring that he called a training facility with his trainer and mentor, Jerry Eisenhower. Both men had differing viewpoints on how situations should be handled, and despite working the clinch together right now, this was one of those moments. Both men were locked together in combat while Eisenhower spat barbs from his toxic from his mouth, both the words and the breath that accompanied them were suffocating.
“A real fuckin loser.” Eisenhower continued his verbal abuse of his trainee while in the collar and elbow. “How else can ya not be, you’ve got Russian money at your back. You can do what you want and you still try to play game of fuckin honor, Son. There ain’t no honor in this shit.”
Eisenhower drops out of the tie up and uses his momentum to flip much larger Cross over his shoulder while maintaining control of his wrist. Eisenhower wrenches on his arm pulling it back and across his back while driving his knee into the gap between Tristan’s shoulder blades.
“Look, Son. You still got a lot to learn, but today’s lesson is for free and it’s gonna be real simple. Honor is for losers, and in this industry there are only two types of people: the winners and the losers. And right now you are a god-damned fuckin loser.”
Eisenhower transitions his body and grapevines Cross’ arm with his legs and rocks back pulling his arm back with him.
“I can see your gears grinding. Nah, Smith Jones ain’t got no honor. It’s all a facade. He talks a game but he will do what he needs to maintain his position. That’s why he beat a loser like you, Son. Look back, take the Russian broad’s money and spend it on whores. Use to win. It’s not like you are doing it for the fans anymore anyway. They still boo you, because you’re a class traitor, Son. Time for you to embrace it and stop being a fuckin loser.”
Tristan Cross taps and Eisenhower releases the hold. Both men get to a seated position facing each other.
“Why you always gotta be so mean, Jerry.” Tristan questions through deep breaths as he tries to replace the oxygen in his lungs.
“Mean? Son, I ain’t being mean. If I was being mean I’d tell ya ya Mom was a slut and I was fucking ya Daddy. I’m just telling ya the truth, Son. See, this business, it don’t go for the nice guys. Sure, they have a bit of success here and there but nice guys don’t last. Ya wanna last, ya wanna have real long term success. You gotta wake up and smell the roses, Son.”
Like the old man that he is, Eisenhower pauses to catch his breath but continues on uninterrupted.
“Look at Corey Black, twenty years still going strong - Asshole. And Odin Balfore, he’s still picking up motherfuckers and dropping them on their heads and he’s a bigger asshole than Corey Black. Point is, those two - they don’t care about what anyone else thinks. AND THEY STILL GET FUCKIN CHEERED, Son.”
“But they don’t always do things the right way.” Tristan looks at Eisenhower, squinting through the corrosive sweat that is dripping off his forehead into eyes.
“Don’t ya get it, Son. They don’t care. The people don’t care. They just get it fucking done - by any means necessary - it’s the killer instinct. That you lack. Find it and you’ll fuckin be something, Son. Be a pussy and you’ll remain a nobody. And you got everything at your disposal now, Son. Irina and the Russian money - take it, spend it, fuck shit up. And I’ve had enough for the day drive to the bar. I want a drink.” Eisenhower spits a phlegmy wad onto the canvas he gets to his feet,
He waits the ropes for Cross to get to his feet and open the ropes so he can climb out of the ring. Cross, ever the good student knows this and helps Eisenhower out of the ramshackle contraption.
“Meghan Kelser. Maxine Riggs. Second generation superstar, a rookie trained by legends of the ring - teaming up to chase tag team glory in a company that is the pinnacle of the sport. It has the hallmarks of a daytime television movie, doesn’t it.”
Spartan walks into shot and sits his granite carved frame on a wooden stool that is obviously too small to support the ginger behemoth. He is clad in what can be described as his everyday garb, black shorts, black singlet, black hat turned backwards. It’s pretty standard fare for the ginger giant.
“But see, girls, that where all the good news stories end. Because when you step into the ring with Jaice and I, your climb to the pinnacle of the sport - it comes to an end. You’re not going onto the semi-finals of this tournament and you’re most certainly not going to find yourself in the middle of the ring seeking glory at Battlecade. As much as it would make for the perfect happy ending to a soppy little daytime movie. Well - this ain’t the movies, this ain’t scripted. This is Alpha Pro Wrestling. This is where the best of the best compete week in, week out. This is where legends are made. This is where careers are destroyed. Which side of the coin do you fall? Don’t get me wrong, girls - I know you are talented. You don’t get here if you’re not, but you need more talent to get by in this ring. You need fire, you need passion, you need an indestructible will to succeed. And then, sometimes that’s not enough. Sometimes, you just won’t get it done. That is how good the talent in this building is. And girls, this week on Metal. You meet some of that talent smack back in the middle of the ring. Which means there can be one outcome of our match this week. Spartan and Jaice moving onto the next round, the Cowgirls from Hell consigned to the realms of defeat. Then we really get to see what you are made of.”
Spartan twists and contorts his body to find a more comfortable position.
“I’ve been here long enough to see plenty of hot shots, next big things, superstars and legends walk through the doors of Alpha Pro Wrestling thinking they are going to start to run things around here. I’ve the vast majority of them tuck tail and run out the door faster than they walked in with egos shattered and pride destroyed. So I’m not in the least bit intimidated by your history or your pedigree. I’m not. Nor will I ever be worried about what you have and haven’t done outside of an Alpha Pro Wrestling ring, girls. Because, this joint right here, this joint in the summit of Mt. Everest looking down upon the rest of the wrestling world. Only the best of the best make it here. We have plenty of tourists that try to ascend our peaks, and we leave them as a trail of dead bodies in the snow. We leave their frozen shells littering the path to the top, just to make sure everyone knows what it takes to climb this mountain. We give you the chance to climb, but if you can’t cut it - we give you a chance to quit too. Can’t see we’re unjust girls, but when you can’t cut the mustard when going past base camp is a step too far for your ability. When you realise that we are Everest you’ve only ever walked up a steep hill. Don’t go crying to Daddy that it was too hard. Hitch your socks up and try again. Otherwise you’re just a never pathetic schlub that wants everything easy in life. And if that’s the case then I’ve got no sympathy for you. And I am going to enjoy lifting you into the air and dropping you back down with the Revolutionizer. And it will be MY pleasure to see you crushed and defeated.”
Spartan adjusts again.
“If that sounds harsh, girls. It’s meant to. I’ve got all the time for the Lex Collins’ and the Damon Warrens’ of the world who intently come to fight and prove themselves, but those fly by nighters. I got no time for them. This is where the real fight and the fake fail. We’ve yet to see what side of that ledger you fall, girls. I understand that, but I promise after our match, I will know. I will know if you are real or I will know if you are just another of those people. That’s a gift of mine. I win. I lose. But I always know the type of people I fight. I know who are afraid. I know who aren’t. I watched your debut and I’ve listened to your talk - I think I can pick where you fall after Metal. But what I do know at Metal is that your defeat is as close as inevitable as it can be in this match. Not because you don’t have the talent to win. You might, but what you don’t have and of this much I am certain. You don’t have the heart to withstand the assault that I am going to unleash upon your frames, girls. See, I’ve been within touching distance of the World Title, I’ve held the North American Title, I’ve held the Hardcore Title, and I want gold around my waist once again and intend to put gold around my waist again. It’s just unfortunate you two that you are in my way this week.”
Spartan shrugs.
“Sorry. Not sorry. Why should I be sorry about defeating you girls. I shouldn’t this is what we do. We fight until we stop. I might be late to this. I might lack then generational learning. I haven’t trained for years. But this is in my blood. This is in my blood as much as my children are in my blood. I’m sure you’ve heard how far I’d go for them. Now imagine how far I would go to defeat you.”
“Yeh, you can’t.”
“Now Jaice is in the ring with me. Your chances of victory have halved again. So what I say is this, girls. Come to the ring at Metal. Bring your best. Lose with pride and a little of panache if you so desire. But come back next week and prove you belong on the long ascent to the top of the Everest that is Alpha Pro Wrestling. This is where only the strong survive.”
