Post by English/Corpse on Aug 28, 2016 19:59:01 GMT -6
VoW Presents
A Casanova English Original
Dystopia
A Casanova English Original
Dystopia
Alyson erupted in cheers as Jerry announced the winner of the match. Casanova English had finally been beaten after and 11 month reign as champion and almost three years in the VoW spotlight mianeventing PPV after PPV. Finally it was all over. Oddly, Alyson couldn't careless about any of that. She just knew this would make it easier to get some answers for Mr. English. Somehow he was connected to the murder of her father. Detective Kuban didn't seem as excited sipping gingerly on a domestic beer. He was trying to keep his darker habits at bay while he was around the young and impressionable Alyson. He didn't want her thinking the drugs would effect his performance, but of course they did. The coke made him more alert, more ready. The weed brought him down; put him to sleep. That's where he left it. That's where he left it years ago when he bubbled up his last hit of heroine. The shit you go through for your job. Wrestler, cop, garbage man, carpenter... you just trade your body for cash. Just whores getting fucked by the man; the government our pimp. “So that is good he lost. It will be a lot easy for VoW to get him to come back to Canada for questioning.”
Kuban was ahead of her on that. He had been trying to contact Casanova's employer all week. He even asked they have an event in Canada soon. Sadly they had a Japanese tour planned. “Yeah, I've already been in contact with them. Told em I had a few questions for their World Champion.”
“Well former World Champion. I think that girl with the um goth make up... Emma. Yeah shes the champion now.” Alyson squints at the small television screen as it zooms in on a bloody Casanova. “What about that Carson guy?”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, that guy that cost him the match. Maybe he knows something about Casanova. He was part of The Orphanage.” Alyson shyly bit her lip; a curious twitch when she was thinking.
“That was what was on Connolly’s wall when I checked his apartment. The name of that weird fuckin'.” He darts his eyes to the younger lady. “Weird frigging group the suspect has.”
Alyson's eyes light up. It was the first time Detective Kuban had used the word suspect while working the case.”So you think we will get to talk to him?”
“Well the thing is. I know that Mr. English has been technically working without a contract. It was up 6 months ago half way through his title run. The original contact states that if he is champion he cannot forfeit the title so work continues as usual. If we can hold him off from signing the contract we can get him back here to discuss the murders at the prison.” Kuban knew that if he could only talk to the pro wrestler that he could get inside his head that he could tell if he had anything to do with the murder. He couldn't figure out how he could be connected. Alyson's theory on relation didn't seem like it was that far off. Last week when he visited the family home of Casanova English his mother had said she had no idea who Dean MacDonald was.. though her face told a different story. She then back tacked saying she did know him from the news and not personally. That wasn't the question he initially asked. He didn't ask if they had a personal relationship he asked if she heard the name. To be on that quick of a defensive it told Kuban that she did know Dean MacDonald somehow. Maybe a friend was a victim. Her name never appeared in the list of woman who brought charges forth. Then again she also couldn't confirm who Casanova's father was. It was all too suspicious for Kuban. With the appearance of the victims daughter it has only gotten stranger. Alyson smiled at him with hope as she flicked the TV off with the conclusion of Heatstroke.
To be honest Alyson impressed and intrigued Detective Kuban, her father was a killer and a rapist. Here she was trying to find him justice. Here she was glowing like the moon in the darkness of night. She had a hope and ambition in her that Kuban watched die in himself decades ago.
AUGUST 19TH
ST PAUL MINNESOTA
VISIONARIES OF WRESTLING
ST PAUL MINNESOTA
VISIONARIES OF WRESTLING
I'm sitting across a long fucking table, across from me three suits. Three suits I have never seen in my life. Three suits who looked they haven't shed a droplet of sweat in their life, let alone ever entered a wrestling ring. One of them pushes the contract my way, it scrapes gently across the table and to me it sounded more like nails on a chalkboard. “If you wouldn't mind looking over that Mr. English that would be great. I assume you will be pleased with the cash incentive we have drawn up. You are important to this organization and I think when I speak I speak for the entire board when I say I would like to keep you on the Visionaries roster.”
I let out a unsatisfactory grunt as I pull the sheets of paper up and begin scanning it with my eyes. I'm the only one on this side of the table. No members of The Orphanage. No lawyers, just me at the VoW team directors; or lawyers. To be honest I didn’t know who these assholes were they just signed a pay check each week. The raise was significant, but as I continued reading in the document I see no mention of the rematch clause. I just got the Visionaries World Championship robbed from me and they think they can pay off my pride in cold hard cash. That's not how this works. Most of my career thus far hasn't been truly about the championship. It has been about finding and beating the every best talent available in the world. That's what I've been trying to do. Turn VoW into a place that is worthy that is different. I wanted to give this place a different heartbeat.
This made no sense. It was a triple threat match, Carson cost me the title. I didn't even lose clean. Emma didn't beat me on her own terms. I was blindsided by a man I trusted... I was betrayed by my own child. Ironic. I push my fingers through my hair almost accidentally ripping the few stitches from my forehead. I try and calm down, let out a puff of air. I couldn't get arrested. I couldn't get drug out of here... not with that detective looking to question me. I had to play this somewhat cool. As I lowered the contract down past my eyes flipping the page and scanning it briefly I avert my gaze to the three men who have now broken a sweat. Now they know what it feels like to have a scorpion cornered. You really give it no other choice. “So what in the fuck is this?” I ask flicking the page with my finger letting the snap sound echo off the white wall of the conference room. “I look over this and there seems to be a name missing from the entire document. Do you gentlemen know whose name that is? After all you do watch the programming you pimp out to the mindless right?” Their eyes attempt to drift from mine, but I keep them present. I round them up. I rob their attention. “Emma Carlisle...”
I glare at them, but all three of the suits have a blank stare in return before one of them asks. “Sorry sir, but why would Miss Carlisle's name be on your contract?”
I scoff like it is the dumbest fucking shit I have ever heard, because it wasn't far off. “Certainly you are all familiar with that fact that she just beat me for the World Championship at Heatstroke. I'm sure you all remember. It was last night, probably around the same time you got a phone call letting you know how big your bonus is going to be. A bonus you got from my year long struggle as champion for this company. Now, I want to know why I wouldn't get a rematch for the championship. Why that isn't right here in this document in plain writing?”
“Well, VoW is under no obligation to offer you a rematch.”
“I beg to differ. I think you are obligated. I think the fact that this God awful hell hole is still standing is fact enough of the obligations you owe me. This would just be the tip of the iceberg in an ideal world.”
“Well Mr. English you have to understand for the 3 years VoW has been around as an organization you have been at the very top. You have been the min event the majority of the time, you have been the main challenger for the championship. We have decided that it is time VoW gives the stoplight to more people. We want to make this a place where anyone can come and find stardom.”
“That's not what this is about? That is not what wrestling is about. It is about who is the best. It is survival of the fittest and the most intelligent. Now, you want equality. You want to spread the spotlight... what you want doesn't matter. Who the best is has control and that is the honor in this sport. That is what makes it incorruptible at the end of the day.” I shake my head laughing to myself as my eyes find that despicable excuse of a contract once more. “Is this about Rayne? Did Omega draw up this contract.”
“We thought it would be in the interest of fairness to not have Mr. Omega attend this meeting, but he had nothing to do with this contract Mr. English. This is the offer on the table. The raise is generous; and we are not telling you that you won't get another title shot. We are just telling you that we need to establish the main event in VoW.” They are looking at the main event of VoW. The man that put them on the map. The man that feeds their fucking kids. “This has nothing to with Rayne, but as you are aware the Canadian police would like to question you about a federal case. With that in mind this is the offer on the table. We would very much enjoy to maintain your presence on the roster. So please Mr. English sign our contract so we can continue with this mutually beneficial business relationship.”
What beautiful corporate speech. I pull up the contract once more, if I don't sign this I am going to have to go back to Canada and answer to the questions of Detective Kuban. So I read it over again. I look it over carefully pulling a cigarette from my pocket; popping it between my lips. One of the suits shoots me a sharp look, but I raise my eyebrows and he backs down facially anyway. I light the cigarette slowly and inhale deep. I blow a plume of smoke past the contract into all of their stuck up noses. Slowly I push the burning ember of the cigarette through where I was supposed to sign. It leaves a perfect circle and I stare through it laughing at the establishment.
I won''t be a slave to the corporate machine.
PRESENT DAY...
Rayne's slender shape felt oddly normal in the bed beside me. The blanket was stripped down to the small of her back and she lay on her stomach her arm hanging off the opposite edge of the bed to the floor below. This was going to be one of my last night in St. Paul in this old apartment that I called him usually. I wouldn't be taking the trip to Japan, or the nations capital for Armed and Dangerous. This was the end of the line for me when it came to VoW. I though Rayne would be devastated, I thought The Orphanage would be horrified. My children see opportunity in my absence. The VoW suits we're right. It's time to share the spotlight, but they are going to regret it when one of my children snatch it from Death and show you what pain and suffering truly is. This week Winter had that opportunity; and I could see the light glow in her eyes when I told her this was her big chance. The whole landscape is changing. Rayne and I; no one saw that coming. I gently walk my fingers up her back staring at the small, walking up between her dimples and to her shoulders. I push my hand around the back of her neck and she lets out a sexual groan in her slumber. Some things just happen; I didn't set out to ruin Ryan Omega's life. Well not ruin it this way anyway, but lost children always find their way to The Orphanage. I remember it was months ago I saw Rayne; where our relationship began. It was innocent at first. That whole cliché about keeping your enemies closer.
JUNE 30TH
ST PAUL MINNESOTA
THE VINTAGE UNDERGROUND
ST PAUL MINNESOTA
THE VINTAGE UNDERGROUND
The music pounded past my ear drums to sting my brain, the swish of cool beer couldn't even ease the pain as I yawned and looked past the young blonde in front of me who was telling me some passionate story about her sister, but I stopped attempting to read her lips long ago. In fact that information could be unreliable. I started to walk toward the exit. I thought this night out would make me feel better after defending the championship against Ryder in the greatest match in VoW history. I was still thinking I could chase that vision of my father here in this dive club full of punk alternatives and emo princesses that haven’t looked like they aged since the early 2000's. I pushed past the bouncer and to the night air shaking my head to keep from vomiting. What the fuck am I doing? I'm the World Champion, but here in VoW there is no where to go down. Ryder Blade was the closest thing VoW had to a hero and I stopped him. I beat him and destroyed the ideology of this time.
I could only guess who would be coming for my throne next and my throat tightened. I need a smoke. I need a fucking smoke. I search all over, but for the first time in what feels like two years I can't find a God damn cigarette. I crack my neck and begin to strut a little way up the sidewalk sucking the night air sharply. VoW had thrown everything at me, every hero, every bad guy, every degenerate, and now this new flock is what was left. The likes of ChaosSworn and Constance Chapin. The ones that came after I brought this place so much relevance. I shake my head. They want me out of the picture. Collectively they all want to kill me and take the throne I have established. I can't blame them. Look at the trail of blood I've left in my wake. Look at the fun I have had. I must be getting tired of swinging the sword. I must be getting tired with the constant decapitations. They figure the metal that once shined and split flesh like butter now grows rust, but they still have a lot to learn. Across the street in a strapless red dress pale white legs stretched out from underneath elegantly. Black hair floated down around her face as I smirked and walked across the street. She put a Marlboro to her dark purple lips. She painted them as gently and elegantly to match the black makeup around the edge of her eyelids. Just as she flicked the lighter with her matching purple nails I reach out like a snapping crab and relieve Rayne Draven-Omega of her cigarette. Chuckling slightly I flip it through my fingers placing it in my lips now. The faint taste of her lipstick lingering from the tip. “What in the fuck?” I light the cigarette rising eye brows to Rayne's surprise.
I blow a couple lines of exhaust into the air. “Now, it was just over a year ago that I was trying to jamb one of this down your pretty little throat.” I produce a sarcastic frown looking to the angered woman before me. I could tell she wanted to punch me right in the mouth, but she didn't. “Maybe that was crossing a line a little bit. Maybe I shouldn't of tried to play with your addiction. It is considered a sickness after all.”
“That was my last fucking cigarette Casanova.” Rayne narrowed her eyes like we were across the ring from one another, but I am not looking for a fight tonight.
“I'm sorry. I'm just looking out for you. Someone has to. I don't see your so called sister or your husband around.” Snarky she thinks as she steps back angrily.
“Don't talk about my sister, and don't talk about my fucking husband.” I hit a chord, the ol' man. He must be giving her grief. Some kind of trouble in paradise.
“Sorry; seriously I didn't come over here to anger you. I've been drinking, and I found it ironic. When you didn't want this I was trying to hammer it into your lungs.” I hold the cigarette out blowing smoke onto its ember. “Now you do want it here I am to snatch it away at the last second. Right before you make that mistake.”
“Yeah. You looking out for me.” Rayne shakes her head looking to the ground, the anger she had is washed over by sadness. I find myself reaching for her chin, but I stop. The drink was trying to take control.
“So what's wrong? Why at the 90's dive bar?” I ask laughing behind another cloud.
“I could as you the same question.” She fires back like lighting.
I have matched wits with Rayne before; and tonight she didn't seem like she was firing on all cylinders anyway. “Tortured genius.” I say arrogantly as I flick the ash off the cancer stick and it tumbles right onto one of Rayne's open toe black flats. “You know being on top of VoW as long as I have Mrs. Omega I have been chasing myself. I have been trying to defeat my own standard. It's not like I'm even fighting opponents anymore. It's like I am fighting myself. Like I am chasing that standard of a perfect performance over and over again and I feel I'm going to leave myself spent. Leave it all in that ring with nothing to show for it, because to be honest Rayne I don't owe those fans.” I suck on the cigarette hard. “Your husband, VoW or the world a fucking thing.” It was the most honest I had been with anyone. My family. My brothers and sisters in The Orphanage. Here I was drunk, breaking down to Rayne Draven-Omega. She stepped back, confused by what I had just said. I could see she knew exactly where I was coming from. She has been where I am. Her husband had. “So...” I continue. “What beings you here?” I suck her stolen coffin nail as she begins to answer the question.
It was that small gesture that my relationship with Rayne was formed. Out there in the streets of St. Paul outside a dive bar. In the cool of summer air. Talking over a cigarette. How romantic.
AUGUST 28TH
BALTIMORE MARYLAND
BALTIMORE MARYLAND
Lawrence cruised the streets of Baltimore in the black limousine. The street lights flashed on my face every so often. I pushed record on the camcorder and took a sip from the glass of whiskey I held substituting it for the World Championship. I feel bare; completely naked. I don't however feel defeated. Twitter has been buzzing over the past couple days and the news of a my inability to come to a contract extension with VoW has been public knowledge. The idea of leaving this battleground made me sick, but I am leaving it in good hands. The Orphanage still serge. Still has an empire to control. Collectively we take the power of the entire industry, not just VoW. It is merely a small part of the puzzle. “Well I guess this is it. I guess the journey comes to an end not with a bang but with a whimper I don't have to paint a picture of the state of VoW look around. You have a champion called Death that is pawning off that win over me at Heatstroke as something to be proud of. A triple threat where Ryder Blade was only one of many many factors in the equation. Chaos runs on a system far different than The Orphanage it seems. Yet, you all call me the coward.” I shake my head sipping the liquor from the clear class. “It wasn't you who put me down. It wasn't you Emma who stopped my 11 month run as a World Champion. No, so don't sit here atop the throne with your head held high like you're the proud queen of this empire. You are merely the scavenger known as death, no crown belongs on your unworthy skull. No, you just collect the fucking bones of the ones I have laid to peace. Enjoy it while it lasts Emma. It wasn't you or Ryder Blade to put the nail in my coffin. No, it was child I birthed myself. Brett Carson took it upon himself to define his destiny off of my legend. He stuck his nose where it didn't belong, but given his track record I should of saw this coming. To be honest... I nearly forgot about the poor kid. He's been out with a hang nail for over a year. I can't blame you Carson. In your shoes I would do the same thing. Being on the shelf so long. Sitting there watching me go down as the greatest wrestler in VoW history. Watching the group you were a relevant member of for a month go on to become the greatest and most powerful faction in wrestling. It had to be tough watching as history was being made and you were simply being forgotten. So honestly I can't blame you Carson, but I won't let you win. I won't let you bait me into a match with you. I won't let you get the money fight. I will not reward you like that Brett. A disobedient child must be punished, and I think I have the minion in mind that can put you in your place. He can put you right back up on that shelf where you belong to gather dust, yet not an ounce of wisdom.”
The drink was just fueling the fire deep inside that was trickling from my mouth now. “I don't feel defeated. I honestly don't. You want to know why? You sent all your heros. You sent all the idols and I put them on their back. I put them into retirement. I destroyed their persona. It got to the point where Ryder Blade was a man of the people. It took a woman who was evil herself with the help of Brett Carson to put me away. When they did that, when my shoulders were finally pinned. You people cheered. You people sided with Death. So stop telling me that I lost. Stop telling me that I am running; and realize I changed your perception. I brought you enlightenment. I reinvented the game.” A wide grim comes over my face and I toss the rest of my drink back throwing the glass on the floor. “I want to tell you we have come to the end of our journey, but you are all still too ignorant. You all deserve this; the departure of The Messiah. Your far too pathetic to understand and find enlightenment even after a year long preaching. Your destine to grow cold and crumble in the cold shadow of Casanova English under the guide of a woman called Death, the ignorance of Brett Carson, and the inability of Stacy Jones. There is still hope; hope in the eyes of my Orphans who under in my absence of VoW will only grow stronger. You think they will stop following my command? That they will stop marching to my war drum? Think again. This place still belongs to Casanova English, and Orphan will usurp the throne from Death's chilled grip and lay down our flag of ownership.” I pull a cigarette up; place it in my lips; light it. Sighing I exhale a cloud of smoke into the cabin of the car. “I'm not going to let my politics or propaganda overshadow what really matters here and that is the wrestling. This week at Breakthrough's iconic 50th show I have my last match in a VoW ring against another original I can't help but muster at least a little respect for. Stacy Jones. See in all the time I have preached for a honorable resilient hero to stop me. Someone who cannot be corrupted the closest thing has been Stacy Jones, because as we established earlier the win over me at Heatstroke was paper. I'd ignite it if management would allow.” I grind my teeth flicking ash to the upholstery below. “We joined up in the company right around the same time Stacy, yet we have had vastly different journeys. You have had your opportunities at this championship; to establish yourself as a contender. In that big match situation though... Stacy Jones can't get the job done. Personal affairs distract her far too much; they always will. Robinson told me that about you when I brought him in as a member. Stacy that is the problem, that is why you have been unable to break through that glass ceiling. That is why you have been unable to establish an honest run at the World Championship. It is the reason why you have been unable to win back the Xcel Championship after being demolished by Ryder Blade. This whole love triangle with Katie and Tyler, and Zelda and Mario, and Link and whatever the hell you have going on has you all distracted from what truly matters. The wrestling.”
My eyes drift to the floor of the limo and I suck gently on the cigarette again. “I know what it is like Stacy. I am guilty of the same thing. Life has attacked me from every angle; I may not be as public as you about it but I have my demons. You just got your kids back Stacy; I've received that knowledge through Matt. You inch closer and closer to not being a complete fuck up, and for that I am proud of you. I truly am. Maybe, one day you can manage as well as I can. I have been through a nightmare psychology Miss Jones. Truly, I know what it is like to suffer mentally. I just have learned to manage it. I have learned to use it in that ring. I've learned to use wrestling as therapy and it's what keeps me going in this ring and in this life. For you once again it will be wrong place wrong time. The frustration I am about to take on you is nothing personal. No, it's the anger I have the the establishment. The disrespect to decline me a rematch after a year long reign as champion just in the name of fucking fairness. Life isn’t fair and an ideology like that in a federation like this... it sets up poor little girls like Stacy Jones to be slaughtered.”
“Stacy what I do to you at breakthrough 50 the big anniversary show is remind you of who I am. Who I am when I walked through those ropes and ripped down your idols. Stacy what I want to do I show the world that for me it wasn't ever about the title. It was about the power,but moreover it is about pushing the envelope. Everyone I got in the ring with changed after matches with me. They burnt out and failed even after putting my shoulders to the mat. Every time we have fought Stacy you have gotten better and better. You are one of the few in the back that has earned my respect, but you are never able to take it to the next level. Never able to truly achieve greatness. Only you know the true disappointment, only you understand the true failures and I can see it in your eyes. The issues with your kids, your struggle with Matt and Winter, your mess of a fucking love life. I know you know what it means to fight... But let me tell you the truth. At Breakthrough 50: Visions Under The Stars... the cheesiest name marketing could come up with its going to be nothing. All that you've experienced over the past month will be nothing compared to the beating I am going to give you at Breakthrough. It's not about just sending a message to you, to these fans, to my brothers and sisters. It's not about putting VoW on notice and making it crystal clear that the board of this establishment have no true vision at fucking all. They want to put out the same bone dry product as the next federation. They want it on the backs of people like you Stacy. People easy to control, easy to manipulate. People who are simple. Who feel. This week is a reminder of what you are giving up. It's a reminder that Casanova English belt or not is The Man... and I deserve that rematch. Not for the gold, but for the respect. I'd stay and beat it out of the entire roster; but I already did that. I've already conquered this plain; I'll remind you. I'll write it in Stacy Jones' blood.” I sneer flicking the camera off and sticking the burning cigarette into the seat cushion leaving a perfect circle. The Messiah was a carpenter; and he had to watch his world burn. I understand that now.
I am The Vision, now the blind lead the blind.