Post by The Ace on Oct 25, 2012 13:33:10 GMT -6
After Collision
10/21/12
10/21/12
The scene opens with The Ace sat in his office, there is a sudden knock on the door.
The Ace: Come in...
The door slowly opens and Mercedes Vargas pops her head around the door, looking rather on edge as she scans the room with her eyes and seeing that Kathleen Conway is apparently not there, Mercedes breathes a sigh of relief as she enters the room, she makes herself look more presentable as she brushes her hair to the side and stands before The Ace, hands clasped together infront of her, a picture of modesty, she smiles at The Ace, who greets her in an uncharacteristically business like manner.
The Ace: Ah Miss Vargas, please have a seat...
Mercy raises an eyebrow in question as confusion colours her expression. She takes a seat.
Mercedes: Gee, she's got you on an even shorter leash than I thought, you've never been quite so formal Jake...
The Ace: That's Mr Conway to you, and if you're referring to Kelly -
Mercedes: Actually, Mr Conway, I was referring to your wife...
The Ace: Oh yes, well, my personal affairs are really none of your concern Miss Vargas...
Mercedes: You can call me Mercy, you know, we're all friends here...
The Ace deflects the subject as he clears his throat.
The Ace: And what can I do for you, Miss Vargas?
Mercedes smiles.
Mercedes: Now there's a question to inspire a girl's imagination...but perhaps that's a discussion for another time, I just stopped by to ask about being booked next week, it is the Pay Per View after all...
The Ace: Unfortunately we already have a stacked card for Road To The Gold...
Mercedes frowns, almost deliberately pouting.
Mercedes: That is a shame, I was hoping you could squeeze little ol' me in there somewhere...I'd be ever so grateful....
The Ace leans back in his office chair and notices the flirtatious twinkle in her eyes, the twinkle that he was sure could bring any man she waved her finger at in her usual way to his knees, combine that with the hint of her accent and even the most resolute of men could be made to succumb to her charms.
The Ace: Well, there is the Wired Preshow if you don't mind being thrown into that, at the moment it has an intergender tag match between the team of Mike Laszlo and Charity against Joe Everyman and Cynthia Warren...
Mercedes: So the random oddball tag teams of this year's Road To The Gold tournament's most lovable losers continues I see, I guess I should have expected that. Who would you make my partner? I suppose it'd be asking too much for you to be my partner since you have a National Championship shot? Congratulations on that, by the way. I can think of no-one more deserving.
The Ace nods.
The Ace: Thank you...and no, it won't be me.
Mercedes sighs.
Mercedes: A girl can dream...
The Ace: Your partner would be Davey Ortega...
Mercedes: You know, with the amount of nobodies that I have to face in this match, its either Christmas or a bad joke, and its a little too early for Christmas...
The Ace: Sorry. It's the best I can do.
Mercedes: I'm sure it's not your fault, Ja - Mr Conway, this can't be an easy job, especially when you've got a big match to prepare for aswell. I don't blame you. I'll be rooting for you this weekend, I hope you will return the favour.
Mercedes smiles as she stands up, she turns away and heads to the door, the say of her hips as she walks teases The Ace, suddenly she stops and looks over her shoulder.
Mercedes: You know, I didn't think it was possible, but you're even more handsome when you're trying to be all coy. Don't worry, I won't tell Kathy if you won't...
With that, Mercedes leaves, as The Ace plays with his collar and swallows hard.
The Ace: Damn...
The scene switches to absolute darkness and the only thing we hear is the opening riff of 'Coward' by Black Light Burns play as the blinking amber lights of a Spade symbol outline draw our attention in the blackness.
Just before the lyrics kick in, the sound of a clap cuts the song and the room bursts into light forcing our eyes to readjust to The Ace who stands there in all the overstated majesty of his light up leather jacket with its parallel lines of blinking lights running down the front. He is also wearing his amber tinted shades and a smirk across his face.
The Good Lord Giveth And The Good Lord Taketh Away.
That is the life lesson one is supposed to learn from death, and it is a life lesson my opponent this week probably knows all too well, and whatever you may think of me watching at home and whatever Xavier Cross may think of me as he prepares his words of war this week whilst he watches this, I am not going to be so crass as to dig up the memories of a woman who's either spent over two years either buried in the ground or resting in ashes on his mantle piece...
That just isn't my style.
My point is simply this, if you are of a religious persuasion, surely you must appreciate that whatever can be said about life can also be said about light, and of course there are those who find even greater meaning in an amalgamation of the two concepts and purposely regard the gift of light as the gift of life - in which case, I'm sure Xavier doesn't need me to harp on about how he lost the light of his life two years ago. Indeed, I only bring any of this up at all because I expect him to chastise me fully for the manner in which I earned my title shot last Sunday.
Light, or the absence of it, will be Lex's excuse to help him sleep at night, not mine and I make no apologies for it, I went out there and did what I needed to do, regardless of the circumstances of the situation, so before you even think of playing that card against me Xavier, perhaps you'd do well to remember that over two years ago, you did the very same.
Like I was last Sunday, two years ago you were at a crossroads in your life, it was time to sink or swim, your metal was tested - could you overcome the insurmountable odds and win inspite of all you had lost? Could you claw something back from the jaws of defeat and make it mean something?
You could, and you did. I saw it. I was there. I heard every word of your teary eyed speech before you went out there and whooped my piddly ass from pillar to post in memory of your wife, Cari. As tragic as it all was, her death gave you a real purpose, a reason to keep on fighting...and perhaps it is rather callous of me to even suggest that my overcoming Lex Sense is in any way comparable to you overcoming your grief, regardless, my mortality was also brought into focus last week, and like you Xavier, I found myself triumphant, defiant in the face of certain death, resolute to make my shot count to the very end.
It's not often that I find myself reduced to the role of a David these days, but looking back it is of some solace to me that in that situation, I can still go on, soldier on, keep fighting - we may not have much in common Xavier, you and I, but I hope you can at least concede as I do that when the human spirit is tested, its resolve is remarkable.
I am also willing to concede Xavier that, right here, right now, you have already proven yourself to be a much stronger man, at least in will, than I could ever be. If I ever found myself in your shoes, without Kathy. left with only some distant echo of her memory in the faces of my two little Angels, I'm not sure I could or would come back to this business. Slapping the initials 'KC' on my wrist tape would not be enough of a memorial for my wife and the love I have for her, and it certainly wouldn't ever be adequate enough a reason for me to lace up my boots again and go out on the road.
But then, maybe that's why you and I are so different Cross. Perhaps that's why these people cheer you and scream your name whilst they boo and hiss at me and pelt me with paper cups. They see in you the lovable triumphant underdog I could never be, they've followed you through every heart break and triumph and watched you emerge through it all with the heart of a champion. In your shoes, I would have told these people to go to hell, my wife was dead, my career was over, I had no purpose and I didn't owe these parasites anything more...
But not you.
Not Xavier Cross.
You stitched up your bleeding heart, bandaged up your broken ribs, laced up your wrestling boots and went out there and took your second National Championship from a man I've never beaten, and as much as I have to respect that much about you Xavier, I still for the life of me have absolutely no idea why you are still here doing this. Hasn't this business taken enough from you already? What more could you possibly owe these people that makes dragging your kids on the road with you all worth it?
Is it that your love for this business well and truly trumps the love you had for your wife? Is the woman who died giving birth to your *** damned child really that replaceable with some touring young hot thing called Natalie? How can you set it all aside, the memories, the love, everything to come back here, in a business as ruthless and unforgiving as the very men it seems to attract to flog a few more Xavier Cross T-Shirts and win a few more Championships?
Is it just me that sees something wrong with that? Is it just me that would have a huge problem with trying to substitute the genuine warmth of a loved one taken before her time with the fraudulent love of parasites and leeches flocking en mass, begging me to sign photos and take pictures for them and their little scrapbooks? I'm not so sure I could smile through the pain for the adulation of the leeches that are pro-wresting fans.
I'd raise my middle finger and tell them all to piss off. This business is just not worth THAT much to me, and to be honest, I'm surprised that it ever could be to you, Cross. Perhaps I have you figured all wrong, and if I do, please tell me, I'd love to know. Perhaps the reason you're still here, fighting, waging wars against better men as they try and break you is not that you're trying to distract yourself from your pain, convince yourself that you have moved on, believe that there is indeed life after love lost, perhaps the reason your still here, is much simpler...
You have no purpose. No rhyme or reason to really be here, fighting, still beating the odds and acting like you still have something left to prove to yourself. Perhaps, the reason you're still here, is because you're looking for that purpose, that reason to continue, maybe you need to replace that in your life as readily as you have replaced Cari with Natalie. Perhaps that is why you're prepared to wage wars with your friends like Adam, perhaps that's why you're willing to face primal giants for the honour of your mentor Brad Kane, and perhaps that is why you're prepared to face me and take the gamble that history may very well end up repeating itself.
After all, we've been down this road before haven't we Xavier? Though the venue and who holds the ten pounds of leather and gold have changed, this is a very familiar place for you and I, isn't it, my friend? Two years ago, I gave you the greatest moment of your professional career and through all the grief and tragedy, here you are again, standing in a road I've already taken, dangling a title I've already won like some golden carrot infront of me, every bit as parasitic as the coworkers you condemn, every bit the leech that all your Hot Cross Buns who clamber over each other for a photo op and a signature, expecting me to do it all for you again...
You want me to give you a reason. You want me to give you a purpose. You want me to give you an excuse to validate your return to New Championship Wrestling, you want me to give you a point for being here other than being the understudy of Joe Everyman when he is either unavailable or much too proud to go out and make a total goofball of himself singing in Karaoke bars. You want me to be the first to legitimise your second National Championship reign, to fuel your rising star, just as I did the first time two years ago. You want to prove you are The Revolutionary for NCW and not just stuck in the ever revolving door like every other revolutionary, including your old friend Brad, but here's the thing X, if I refused to validate the revolutions of men like Nathan Webb and Roberto Verona, why should I validate the revolution of the latest to the party, Xavier Cross?
You know what I take delight in most Xavier? The simple fact that every damn man who has breezed in and out of those company doors convinced that this company needs saving, and that they're the saviour who will revolutionise everything forever has either ended up unemployed, a failure or just fighting for table scraps, just glad to be on TV long enough so they can claim a paycheck. Tell me you're not that naive X, tell me you realise there is nothing here that needs saving apart from maybe your dignity.
This company has gone on for the last five years, and will go on for the next five, regardless of whatever it is that you think you are fighting for, things have changed so much since our last encounter Xavier. You beat me for that National Championship once, yes, that is undeniable. You can and have beaten me...
But only when fate has given you a real purpose. Tempt it again if you must, maybe you'll be run over again, or maybe you'll end up with a few more broken bones, or Natalie will be unexpectedly struck down during your next Skype chat, whatever the reason for waging war with me this week is, I suggest you find it fast Xavier...because right now you have none...
And I'd hate to have to crucify another Saviour for nothing.
I'd hate for Xavier Cross to share his wife's fate as someone barely remembered, easily replaced and ultimately meaningless to mostly everybody around here...whilst their would be a certain beautiful poetry to that...
There would be no purpose.
