Valquist: Moving On

My name is Valquist. A former architect, a seasoned veteran. Alone, without the presence of my best friend, my family. Bound to an un-turning road, driven by the desire to do that which is right, my path is now singular. Infinity, my home, even during its darkening, though I have ignored my path’s calling, and have been labelled as desperate for trying to appease my long past, in the grander scale of time my absence has proven temporary. My preaching tone is of enlightenment in a world set in its ways. A world of black and white. The sun once set on my un-turning road, but a new day has been cast, and I will once again honour the mantra of Full Measures. Isis Derrida and Valquist.

I am The Valquist and this is a story about my motivation.

_______________

Infinity City

Battle Zone Network HQ

A plethora of crisp sunset lighting began to rain optimism on a cheerful Battle Zone Network, the lead sports broadcaster in the city, a resurgent corporation tasked with dragging the bloodied hands and knees of its people from off the ground. Within the confines of a glassed skyscraper, at the very top level, decked with fine décor and even finer celebratory scotch, Valquist was left to wait in silence, left to overlook a once fine city attempting to make its way. One thought plagued Val’s mind like an infestation of ticks slowly eaten away at his short black hair and his fair chocolate brown skin.

I lost, and that can never change. That is all I remember. A temporary blip, against Lucas McCann. Losing was my only legacy, and when the sun set I did not look back. Neither to reflect or prove my worth.

Eventually as the sun was finally setting, the man Val travelled far and wide to see was finally on hand. A bright white smile was accompanied with an even whiter suit, complimented by aged brown skin. Mr. Osman, the CEO of BZN was jubilant, great news was moments from his dried lips, and upon seeing Val in the flesh the two shook hands, Val noticing how Osman’s skin was as tough as sandpaper, covered in chalk.

“Do you not miss this, Val?” Osman remarked, sighting my former allegiance with the Network.

“We barely wetted our lips before it was over,” Val responds, regretful of the past. “Isis and I were always on the periphery, our only feats were away from this City. Away from you.”

BZN, for eight long months, were the network sponsor for Infinity Wrestling, a federation closed by Osman just a few days before Christmas of 2013. The federation hinted at a return the following year, but Mr. Osman refused the wrestling programme a rebirth, believing that the federation boasted negligent and power surging leaders. Val and his partner, Isis Derrida, were scheduled to debut a year removed from the Infinity opener, but that day was never to come. Val and Isis were bonded by the road, competing in two promotions simultaneously, but the duo were to outlive the federations’ existences. Now the Infinity Wrestling Federation sits vacant, its vast reach across the city used for charitable deeds.

“I do not miss the chaos,” Osman furthered, “the city is on the mend, our neighbours have quelled their hostility, and we’re no longer in political dilemma with the United Nations. We’re finally recognised for what we are, different. Infinite. With everybody moving on with their lives, I recommend that you do the same. Follow in Isis’s footsteps.”

“I have always been taken by the idea that you never leave. Even if nobody is left to hear or witness even an ounce of jubilation. Wrestlers go through an extraordinary trial of patience, disappointment and endurance. It’s hard to let that go, the opportunity to put yourself through it all again, just to relive that spark, a moment so pure, and on many levels, a moment so selfish.”

“All of your friends, your enemies, they’re gone,” Osman reminisces. “Isis has not been champion for nearly two years, you have not competed in nine months. It’s time to let this part of your life go, before you drag ageing elements back into your life. I saw the press call, that you’re getting back into the game, for whatever reason.”

“Isis has found happiness, all I have is a weary sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. An emptiness that I can’t budge.”

Osman paused the conversation for a second so he could pour a twenty year scotch. He gestured with another glass if Val wanted any, but Val waved off the invitation for a sip of a two hundred pound bottle.

“Val, you were hardly complementary of VOW the first time, and yet you forget the misery of defeat. Time is never fond of such memory, but I remember the discouraged phone call. Your omnipresent disappointment. Your unmatchable high standards, and an evaluative tongue that worded a case for any other outcome than a Valquist defeat.”

“A year has passed and I have achieved nothing with my life.”

“No, it’s time to listen, Val.” Osman demanded of him. “You know what these federations are like, they’re all the same. Infinity was no different. They all have favourites, and collude, appreciate their own before the outsider. They never feel like justifying decisions, and always tell you that if you’re down with their way of thinking or expression, then there’s the door. VOW gave you that ultimatum Val, and you walked. I just want to know why you’d ever think about wrestling again. It has caused nothing but frustration and heartbreak, especially because you and Isis were such a special and different combination in the ring. You were the essence of Infinity, you carried our values and your own, truly, and you never backed away from a cause of worth. But you did in VOW. Three matches without a cause for celebration, and you chose the door. Without Isis there was little keeping you, and the second you tasted defeat you clearly implied that this was no longer for you. Your father and I have accommodated you and given you the olive branch to start anew, here in Infinity, but the longer you are reluctant in the future, the longer I cannot help you regain a footing in this often cruel world.”

“I broke the un-turning road, Donald,” Val declares, a rare occurrence in which he used Osman’s first name.

“Isis was the one to abandon the road,” Osman replies as if a truth. “You were left to deal with his absence, ripped from your comfort zone, I do not blame you that you found the road hard by yourself. To not have his support through every petty and major decision a wrestling company threw at you, I’m surprised you weren’t home sooner. On the most part, these promotions are a disease, congregated by the uneducated who boast a superior view once they believe they are akin to everlasting promotions. These people Val, they mould themselves into carbon copies of what is in front of them, what has been before them, and into anything other than themselves. Trust me, I have dealt with hundreds of the heads of these promotions, and if you lined them up in front of me now I would not be able to distinguish one from the other.”

“I understand your concern, Oz, but I wouldn’t be here unless I was sure of it. Even if this proves to be a onetime thing, I owe it to myself to close this chapter of my life.”

“Wrestling is a disease, Val, I’m only looking out for your interests. Christ, you’re a forty year old man, I shouldn’t have to plead a bad decision to you, I just believe that the ship has sailed. Your life is here, in Infinity, with the BZN. You’ve done miraculous work in the city since your return, I just don’t want to see this new Valquist torn asunder because of an urge, a sentiment for the man you were, not the defined man that stands before me. But regardless of my thoughts, you know that it’s not in my nature to deny you, no matter how destructive the path you take. You’re one of my own, Val, both you and Isis are family. Just don’t tear this family a part when we have finally achieved a calmness, a peace.”

“We have all helped the city we love recover, even if it by miniscule margins, but now it’s time for me to act selfishly, and pursue something that has riddled me with guilt. Regardless of how I once thought, VOW is still standing, and they were more than accommodating. I guess time heals old wounds for both parties.”

“Just for the love of all things sacred to this city, do not let this wrestling culture consume you. Return there the man you are today, and leave the man that has become a vital element in this organisation, and to the people have now finally look up to you.”

“I won’t take this lightly, if that’s what you mean,” Val responds with a smile.

“And Isis? Have you spoken to him about this revelation?”

Val pauses, just for a static moment, Osman knew that his protégé would not speak to his best friend, no matter the cause.

“He and Lana do not need to be a part of this. I know he will be watching.”

“You have always known best, Val,” Osman shakes, walking back towards the elevator, waiting patiently for the mechanical lift to arrive at the top level. “You’ve never needed my luck, or any help, so it’s time to face the facts of reality. You’re here because you miss Isis, and you’re speaking through me to get to him. It’s time you deal with your past with Isis, and come to terms that this was always your path, your goal, and even without him there, you’re the only one that will make your dream a reality.” 

“Thank you, Donald,” Val says, smiling as the CEO of the Battle Zone Network disappears, leaving Val alone with nothing but Infinity City to overlook. Val is reluctant to look anywhere other than Osman’s desk and leans his balled fist into his desk.

Tuesday 24th March 2015

Duckworth Center

Winnipeg, Manitoba

Amidst a well-oiled production team, well on their way in setting up for the upcoming show, Val’s deemphasised arrival in the Duckworth Center was just the remedy the wrestler was asking for on his return to the company. Management and wrestler’s alike passed him by whilst he sat on top of a production crate, quietly catching up on the Derrida & Valquist bulletins. Heavy rumours of Infinity Wrestling’s return had the bulletin speculating Val’s future, even going into some depth about Val’s revelation that we be lacing up the wrestling boots again in VOW. What is evident though in the oil stained backstage area is the intoxicating smell of catering, with hundreds of employees tucking into various white meats and salads. In this down time Val’s intent is not to stuff his face, but to spend a great time reading about his father’s comments in the weekly bulletin of his company.

“My son, Val, is not currently under contract to the Visionaries of Wrestling, but has agreed to appear for a single date at the end of March at a pay-per-view event entitled Nothing Else Matters. Val informed Mr. Osman of his decision, a decision quickly accepted by Val’s mentor and former employer. I for one am tremendously proud of my son’s achievement, his un-turning road, but for the sakes of professionalism I will let my son speak on his own behalf regarding his impending returning to professional wrestling.”

- Oria Valquist, CEO of Derrida & Valquist. Father of Valquist.

That segment, just a slither of a long winded speech about the cities growing optimism, was read in its entirety by Val, who after several hours was unmoved, was finally approached by a member of VOW’s staff. A lightly toned black skin male approached, script in hand, and offered to shake Val’s hand. Wiping off any dirt from his grey suit bottoms and white top combination, Val attempts to smile with sincerity but his attempt to the employee looks half-hearted and lazy. The employee in question, Darius Yates, VOW’s backstage interviewer, was not fazed by Val’s demeanour, having seen this kind of antics for his entire career.

“Mr. Valquist, it is good to see you here so early. It’ll give us the time to do a few takes for your promo,” Yates says, happy with his schedule.

“The one take will be fine,” Val implies, “and whatever is written for me on those pages, I’d like to avoid if I can.”

“How about we make time for both?” Yates states, trying to reach a compromise.

“We’ll see,” Val replies, giving no indication that he was going to be easy to work with.

“Then let’s get straight into it.”

Val follows Darius to the set, a simple blue curtain backdrop with three cameras all facing one chair. The cameramen are all ready to go and Darius attempts to bring in the make-up crew before Val sends them away as he sits down.

“Alright Val, just face the this central camera,” Darius states, “you’ve got no bad side, so these other two will capture with side on, so don’t look into them. Now, is their anything you need before we begin?”

“Are the cameras rolling?”

“They are now,” Darius replies. “Just read from the prompter and give us all the personality you’ve got.”

“The single biggest problem I have faced, is being told how things are,” Val says, not reading off the printer, causing Darius to turn away and silently swear into his covered hands.

“Moments ago Darius Yates asked me if I needed anything, and the most blatant truth is that I needed distance. Distance from management, distance from this profession. My entire wrestling career has been at the very edge of a promotions existence, it is there where I have always best operated. On the fringes, with Isis. I would push him closer to the fire, become his architect and let my message speak through his actions, but my friend no longer walks the same path, and so I do not allow him to walk mine. Isis and I have had a parsimonious career, clutching at nothing, reaping no reward, only suffering anguish and frustration. A personal low point came by my own accord, against Lucas McCann, when I was without my friend, without an excuse, realising that the new path I walked was never what I wanted. I never see the world with just my eyes, everything was a tandem effort.

Now, all I am left with is a singular vision, staring down the barrel, and all I see is Ryder Blade. Harbouring an excuse this time will prove fruitless, I have only myself to blame should I return to Infinity City a different man. It’s a rare luxury being able to have just one sole focus, to focus every ounce of energy in achieving just one goal. It’s deflating when it never goes your way, having done so much to earn your badges, but it’s even greater realising that a simple victory can immortalise a moment. To those who do not remember my name, or have never been introduced, I am Valquist. My entire existence within professional wrestling has been an endless journey of disappointment, mixed with the occasional drop of satisfaction and relief. My feet are firmly grounded in reality, my motives have always been to maximise my entertainment potential. My legacy is not in leaving a track record of success, or proving my worth as a champion. It’s always been a selfish act, what will I remember when I close my eyes at night? We as wrestlers do what we do for our own self-worth, because we all know that every kingdom we ever step will one day crumble, whether we accept it or not. We will leave this industry only with our own memories, and I am no different. I once shared my memories with Isis Derrida, but now the shadow of his presence has faded and I am left without a memory of my own when I close my eyes. That’s why I look forward, down the barrel of a gun, only dreaming of the path that lies ahead. The reality of Ryder Blade, and the impending reality that I’m here for anything other than a victory, by any measure.

When it boils down to the core of this aged wrestling process, stripped of all the gimmick, the crude rapping, and the ‘riveting’ backstory, will Ryder be able to handle his own against the Valquist? I’m as real as it gets, my words are drawn purely from a place of honesty. Coming back I’m doused in mystery, covered with question marks, and it’s only right that Ryder doubts my credentials. I am on the right side of forty, but I’m wise enough to avoid the games, the trivialisations of these characters. When one by one your friends fade away, it’s natural to detach yourself. From everything. We have all lost that something special in this business, the person that makes you tick. Isis was just that for me. We fuelled each other’s interests, we were sources of great inspiration and motivation, but as humans age we learn that the darkest of realities exist, and one day they will come true. Whether we believe we can cover up that one day we will have the rug swept from our feet, and that we will stand alone in whatever endeavour, running from the truth only makes your heart weep that little bit more.

Independence. Having achieved a state of lonesomeness I lost my motivation. Isis really was my everything. Without him I struggled to wake, struggled to exercise properly, and genuinely lost perspective. There is no point belittling anybody, because most, coupled humans, whether tied in friendship, relationship, marriage, or somewhere in between understand the relevance, the adjusting process. With Isis, I never looked back, never needed to. He kept my focus on the importance of our careers, as wrestlers, as the best competition tag teams could offer. I still refuse to look over my shoulder, for I only envision a coldness that will lumber me with guilt and regret. Isis was my other spiritual half, never shrieking from opposing anyone that tried to trample on our methodology. He always spoke with eloquence, methodically, laden with facts and emotion. Isis was always better at expressing a darker edge to the blade, it allowed people to overlook my reservation. Isis paved my un-turning road, allowing me to become the architect for our matches, our future.

Walking away from the path I had forged, I sunk, believing Isis had abandoned my cause. Isis had abandoned the culmination of a lifetime’s work and hardship, all for a selfish gambit. That is why I talk as if possessed by his majesty. When I make my return to VOW, no one will know of Isis’s name, the man not the terror, but the likes of Ryder Blade and management will read this wondering why my praise for my friend is extremely elevated, yet equally disheartening. It all boils back to your mention of motivation. My heart sinks realising that I have been in this profession for such a long time, and that every one of the allies and enemies have moved on, found new lives and identities. Yet, for whatever reason, my olive black ass is still carrying the flag of a generation that no longer cares.

Wrestling has only ever broken my heart. Whether running a federation or being a part of one, the only constant that I have endured is loss. Winning has always been a secondary nature because you question the worth of said victory because the weight of your actions will always come undone. Federations are never around forever, the Ryder Blade’s and Valquist’s of this world will be a part of this movement for a second relative to its age. Perhaps my heart and my head grew tired of the constant disappointment wrestling offered. I had become invested, nothing but full measures, but the worlds around upon which we had built, and the wrestlers that occupied its space, would never compare to our commitment. We live in an age where wrestling promotions are booked as prosperous and never-ending, they entice you with the promise of fierce competition and championship titles, but the paths which they all follow lead to destruction. Even my beloved Infinity Wrestling followed suit, it couldn’t escape the disappointment, and lost its motivation because commitment levels were far below the already low expectations.

It has been nine months since I stepped between the ropes, nine months since I felt the slap of another man’s knuckle across my face and chest. It’s not easy to forget the reality of injury and perseverance, the roar of an electric crowd, but as my former mentor recently mentioned, it’s easy to let time erode of bad feeling and an ill-sentiment that I carried not only towards VOW, but to every federation that myself and Isis had ever stepped. We would train religiously, both mentally and physically, for the roads outside of Infinity proved draining to our weary heads comes the close of a show. Our bodies drained of fluid and motion. We would both lay flat, unable to move, but knowing that our pain was shared. My last match actually took place in VOW, a match which I lost, but given the time and my attitude, a match I truly believed I deserved to win. Accepting another viewpoint when you aged and enlightened, it stings to be told that your proven methodologies and believes would not hold up in the court of law in another federation. Isis often caused chaos by vocalising his concerns that decisions of the past were done selfishly, and in the favour of the federation’s management. We did not hide from our beliefs, and we were always met with cold brutality that we were no longer welcome should we continue to speak our minds, even though as I profess, we spoke from a chord of honesty.

It is easy to understand these wrestlers, their motivations, if they are skin deep or thick of flesh and talent. It’s easy for me to look from the outside and cast judgement purely based on appearance and the decorum in which the authority figures and wrestlers would speak. As old as it’s saying, everything has been done before, and for years I believed that myself and Isis were the perfect twist to the modern wrestling tale, and having been removed from that perch of comfort, thrust into the harsh reality of standing alone to fight a cause in which you only half believe without your partner, I have been provided an avenue to express my sudden urge to compete. To me, Ryder is the perfect template on which to elaborate. A traditional up-and-coming wrestler with an abundance of energy and enthusiasm, with just the right manner of professionalism expected from a man that will roll with the punches. A man who is driven by his own stories and agendas, yet when pinched and tickled by these words, will react furiously, in the hopes of defending his lifestyle, defending his path to success. It’s the equivalent of trying to make yourself look bigger when confronting a rival, puffing out your chest and leaning forward with purpose.

Wrestlers in the past, they always followed a particular mould, one that rightfully gravitates around management, for they are the ones that decide whether or not to continue with the show. But that’s not the point. The mould when reacting to someone that has called you out, it’s always a singular path. Ryder will no doubt listen when I say that I doubt his competency given a competitor that speaks with sense, and fights with an equal level of ruthlessness, a hardened reality that will grind with him until he must prove his worth. Identifying imperfections and weaknesses have become second nature in this line of work, and those judging me on these words alone should rest easy. Ryder Blade, the Cool Champion, has yet to earn his own distinctions because with a name so generic in the context of modern wrestling, and an equally uninspiring tale of bad-assery and extreme nature, because when push comes to shove and he is forced into attempting besting Valquist, I speak with an open mind when I say that he has yet to acquire the mettle, or the grace, of a distinguished champion. 

I speak directly to you, Ryder, when I say that I harbour no resentment, just a competitive respect that I’ll honour, even when our encounter is an afterthought. By no means will I ever discredit an opponent, but understand this, head my advice when I tell you that this business grows up quickly, and just like me when your friends fade, one by one, make sure that you have something to fall back on. Something to look forward to, not something to regret, because I promise you, I’ve been in your position before. What you’ve got, the Blademeister, the cool attitude, and every association under the sun that depicts an individual that lives on the edge, an unpredictable anti-hero that pushes the boundaries of acceptability. Nothing is eternal, and from my position, feet rooted to the ground, having walked a million miles in your shoes, unless there is a drastic change between your last match, and your next, I only see one outcome. 

Nevertheless, I wish to extend my gratitude to both you, and VOW, for allowing a moment in time where I can, for one night only, enjoy the thrill of the fight. When the old regime saw my back facing away the exit sign, I had no idea that this home of Visionaries would still be thriving in the light of a new day, even though the sun had set. You’ve all proven to be an exception to the common laws of wrestling. Long may the light and vision of those that fill your time, lead you into greater enlightenment and recognition. Wrestling needs a success story, even if it is only to me, you have proven just that.

I, in this instance, will not carry this sentiment into my match, not only might I be wrong, and cruel to state that Ryder has adopted a vulnerable, shallow, beatable persona, but mostly because when the chiming of the bell vibrates the base of the ring mat, and chills spring down my body, I will only concentrate on delivering a victory. The infinity of the path I walk will spare Ryder no thought of weakness, no thought to alter my perception, I will not allow a second wheel dictate my movement, steering me away from the future that I can no longer see. Squabbling over the legitimacy of one’s words, especially when judging whose words jump from the page leaving a lasting impression, the expectation of evaluation and caring for my competition has grown as thin as my bristly black hair.  

My un-turning road yearns for acceptance, an end. I must appease my past, and rectify my mistakes. Isis will live within my spirit, but for once I must see through this battle, even if it has taken me a ludicrous amount of time in doing so. 

I must prove my own worth.

Nothing Else Matters?

Moving on matters.

One day I would like to be able to share my life with Isis again, joining all my friends in their new lives, and perhaps only I can bring an aura of finality. Valquist is a name without a given meaning, a directional path, a place on the spectrum. I am now the sum of my own actions and perhaps it’s time I lay the name to rest, forever.”

Monday March 30th 2015

Duckworth Center

Winnipeg, Manitoba

Nothing Else Matters, the show marking Val’s return, had finally arrived and with less than an hour before he would open the nights main card against Ryder Blade, Val lingered by himself in a private locker-room already dressed in full attire. The same attire he wrestled his last match with Isis. Orange trunks with a black and white lining, black boots with orange filament, and a sleeveless orange hoody. Déjà vu was the overbearing sense as Val waited to be called upon. Val’s usual ritual was intact. A pre-match shower, a half an hour warm up and a meeting of pleasantries between the combatants. Ryder Blade had already left Val’s vicinity, the two sharing one solitary sentence.

Good luck out there. 

Reminiscing about the last time he was in this predicament, a multi-man match that was won by Lucas McCann, well over nine months ago, on that night Val lay restless in the shower, and Isis came to him in a premonition. Seconds later his best friend sent him a rallying cry, a good luck message that Val never lived up to. Tonight, Val listened to the silence around him, appreciating the unfurnished squalor that was provided for him. Val felt alive, nervous, anxious, and determined. In this moment of solace Val believed that he had justified his decision to Mr. Osman, to return to professional wrestling, even if this was to be Val’s first or last appearance in the Visionaries ring.

A knock on Val’s door prompted the beginning of the night’s festivities, the pre-show match was shortly rounding off, and the production manager was rushing around in a fit to ensure that everybody knew their cues. Opening the door, Val was left quietened when there was nobody there to usher him to the ring. An eerie silence followed as Val made his way through the hectic backstage area but then Val reached the curtain and the reality of who knocked sunk his stomach.

A white male both taller and physically impressive, waited for Val with a smile on his face. Isis Derrida, at last, had re-joined Val’s path of enlightenment. Isis had short brown hair and was a catch with each gender; easy on the eyes and easy on the lips in terms of listening to. Isis stood in his wrestling gear, nearly identical to Val’s but during this interaction the baby blue eyes of Val’s best friend never quick meet his own set of hazelnut.

“Valquist the Valliant,” Isis remarks, bringing back another case of déjà vu. Val did not believe that he was seeing reality, rather he was being tested in this defining moment.

We Own It by 2 Chainz featuring Wiz Khalifa blared through the violently loud speakers, ushering Val’s return to the ring, but he was static, watching Isis in front of his path.

“Full Measures is a measure of our own worth. Tonight when our worth and value is tested, there is nothing, no odds that will overcome us. No greater value that will topple us. No force strong enough to dethrone us. No gods who can contain us.”

Isis spoke words that have bonded them since childhood. The Full Measures battle cry. Val limbered up, finally approaching Isis, standing a few feet away from his friend.

“I have to let you go, Isis,” Val responds coldly. “You always told me that I was a great man, and that I was never to squander my potential, to raise the infinite flag of our city. These words, this whole story I have always seen as necessary and important, it must end. I must let you go Isis, or your spirit will torment me forever.”

“I know you’ll do us both proud, you always have and always will.”

“You’ll always have a place on the un-turning road, but this a road whose course does not turn back. It’s finally time to take the next step on the path that I created for the both of us, but in order to do that I need to say goodbye. For me, the only way to do that is to get past the fact that none of this is real. It’s time to live in reality again Isis, and accept that we are done. That begins tonight, Ryder Blade is the first step of the un-turning road.”

The production manager behind Valquist was concerned why he had not yet taken to the stage for his match, but she saw that he was lost, fighting a battle of mental strength. Val stood alone, stuck in thought, his words only present in his own mind. The female tapped Val on the shoulder, bringing him into the reality, into a new era.

Val turned, no longer was Isis standing in the way of the un-turning road.

We Own It continued to play and Val took his place on the other side of the curtain, met with a rapturous applause from the Visionary crowd in Manitoba. Val walked to the ring, alone but happy, without the dark cloud that had dominated his life for far too long.

“Goodbye, Isis.” 

_______________

Valquist.

VOW: Nothing Else Matters
Twitter: @thevalquist