Post by The Ace on Mar 23, 2013 11:34:58 GMT -6
It had been about six weeks since Jason Conway had made the decision to return home to Miami, it had been about six weeks since Jason Conway had returned to his job as an officer of the law and the house still felt so empty, so lonely, and that is why he didn't spend as much time there as he used to. He spent his days chasing down scum and going to mandatory counselling assigned to him by an overprotective Captain who intended to help him deal with the grief of losing the love of his life in a senseless accident almost four months ago now.
The young psychologist had been seeing him for about four weeks, and Jason had only agreed to it because it was a condition of his return to work. The smartly dressed young woman regarded him with the sparkle of youth and of a life not yet scarred by tragedy. Not real tragedy. Not personal tragedy. Not heart-wrenching tragedy as he had known it. How could she help him deal with any of this when she didn't have the first clue of what he had been through and was still going through.
Jason lay on her couch, slumped and his eyes closed as he tried to shut out the world, but her voice insisted on finally breaking the silence between them as she reached out to him, an inextinguishable flicker of chirpy optimism laced her demeanor and it annoyed the hell out of him, but just like everything else these days, he kept it inside. Bottled up. He processed his feelings silently on his own time, privately, internally. There was no reason to share them anymore, and even if there were, the person he used to share them with was gone.
Dead.
Psychologist: So in our last session, you were telling me about your brother Richard. Today I want to continue that theme if we can. Tell me more about your other brother, Jacob.
Jason: Jake. He hates being called Jacob.
Psychologist: I'm sorry, Jake. Tell me more about Jake.
Jason: What do you want to know?
Psychologist: Whatever you want to tell me.
Jason: There's nothing to tell.
Psychologist: Okay. Let's try this another way. I'm going to mention some people that you know and I want you to tell me the first word that comes to your mind when you hear their name. Okay?
Jason says nothing. The psychologist uses her own discretion to continue.
Psychologist: Margaret.
Jason: Mother.
Psychologist: Thomas.
Jason: Father.
Psychologist: Richard.
Jason: Brother.
Psychologist: Karen.
Jason: Partner.
Psychologist: Kathleen.
Jason: Regret.
Psychologist: Solitaire.
Jason: Adorable.
Psychologist: Laura.
Jason: Lost.
Psychologist: Jake.
Jason says nothing.
Psychologist: Jake.
Jason: Envy.
Jason then opens his eyes and turns his head to look at the red head sat opposite him and she smiles warmly at him.
Psychologist: Good. That's good. Now, can you tell me why you feel that way?
Jason swings his legs out and sits up on the couch.
Jason: Isn't it obvious? That bastard has everything. A loving wife. Two beautiful kids. And a licence to beat the holy hell out of anybody he damn well pleases without any fear of legality. How could I not be envious of that?
Psychologist: Surely you must realise it's all an act. He works to a script. It isn't real. Just a fantasy. Make believe. Your brother is an actor.
Jason seems offended by this.
Jason: Really? Let me body slam you through that desk over there, let's see how much of act it is. My brother's busted his ass to train and get his body into shape to endure the pain he does on a weekly basis, you have no idea what it's like for him. I've seen it sister, I was there and believe me it was no act. People like you are the reason I don't blame him for when he chooses to take a lead pipe to some ignorant asshole's head. Some days I wish I could do that. That's why I envy Jake...
Jake Conway's cellphone buzzes with the opening of 'Greed' by Crematory alerting him that it was a call from Roberto Verona. He removes the Iphone from his jean pocket and chuckles to himself as he sees 'Bertie Calling' written across the screen. He answers the phone.
Jake: Hello....Bertie...no listen, calm down. Yes I saw Xander's promo. What can I say. You picked him, and he feels you haven't lived up to your end of the bargain...frankly I don't see how any of that is my problem. No...YOU need to talk to him, not me. I'm not the one who made him all the wild promises. No, not today. Even your money has its limits Verona, its Saturday, today Xander is YOUR problem. I promised my daughter we'd go to the mall and I'm not about to break it off just to sit and watch you two wield your dicks as if they were mighty sabres. I don't care how much money you want to throw at me this time, take some damn responsibility...
Jake abruptly ends the call.
Solitaire: Come on daddy, Mommy's waiting in the car.
Jake smiles as he grabs his daughter by the hand and leads her out of the house.
Jake: Come on pumpkin, let's go and bankrupt Uncle Bertie...
Joe, in the words of the late great Michael Winner, calm down dear. You know after the amount of losses you've managed to rack up in your pathetic little career, and after over two hundred and fifty matches in this company I would have thought you'd have learned to accept defeat a little more gracefully than this. You want to throw a hissy fit about how you lost to me at Crossroads, fair and square I might add, after stealing my moment of victory by wrapping a steel chair around my skull, just how petty are you Joe?
You managed to mark your two hundred and fiftieth match not only by laying out the Greatest National Champion in the history of this company with a cheap shot, but also by not getting your piddly ass pinned. Surely such a moment will be remembered as one of your greatest, if only for the novelty of it, you should be proud. You should be happy. You managed to beat Mike Laszlo and now people are starting to believe in Joe Everyman again. Because of me, people are actually starting to see your heart again instead of just questioning it.
At Crossroads I had two choices, I could have ended another career with a snap of my fingers, but instead I chose to leave it on life support. I left each of your devoted Everymaniacs with a little bit of hope, I let you continue to chase your dreams however futile that particular endeavour might be after six years. You should be thanking me, you should be kissing my feet that I have spared you long enough to make your case for this year's Coliseum. You have one more chance for redemption, it may well be your last, so instead of wasting your time with nonsense about how I cheated you out of a fourth title reign, how about you step up and do something you've never done, Joe?
Seize the moment.
For it may never come again. However, if you absolutely insist on having something to blame for coming up short a couple of weeks ago, blame your own sense of chivalry. In your shoes, I'd have slapped my way passed She-Hulk if the win really meant that much to me, but therein is the difference between us Joe. That's why you're the hero and I am not, that's why I'm a Champion and you're scrambling to be just another contender.
Go ahead Joe, enter the maze, fight it out with all the other rats who want to lay claim to that last morsel of cheese in the Coliseum. Fight it out with Jacobsen who, after failing to beat me to keep his National title, has now all of a sudden remembered he has a quest for retribution against Roberto to complete. Like you Joe, Andrew has had his chances to step up, it isn't my fault and it isn't Roberto's fault that neither of you have ever made the most of all the chances you've been afforded.
On the ping pong table of life some of us are the ball and others are the wiffle bat and after Roberto and I are done bouncing both of your piddly asses across the canvas, I think you'll understand which you are. Jacobsen, don't be as myopic as Joe about all of this. Don't get ahead of yourself. Don't get any illusions about your station. For the two of you, this match shouldn't be about beating Roberto or myself, this shouldn't be about making some grandiose point to the two best wrestlers in this company today, this should be all about survival. This should be about edging one week closer to your respectively hopeful Coliseum entries. Nothing more.
If you let your envy and greed blind you that, if you make this match about anything more, if you close your eyes for any other reason than to pray to whatever deity you believe in that we might just spare you and make you look like the Coliseum contenders you want us to believe you are, we will leave you in the dark...permanently, and then the next Comic Con panel you boys attend together, you'll be fielding even more questions about what it was like to lose to the greatest wrestlers of the modern era from your adoring public.
The Everymaniacs and the Jacobsenites are waiting with baited breath.
How long they continue to wait, well that much is up to the two of you now, isn't it?
The young psychologist had been seeing him for about four weeks, and Jason had only agreed to it because it was a condition of his return to work. The smartly dressed young woman regarded him with the sparkle of youth and of a life not yet scarred by tragedy. Not real tragedy. Not personal tragedy. Not heart-wrenching tragedy as he had known it. How could she help him deal with any of this when she didn't have the first clue of what he had been through and was still going through.
Jason lay on her couch, slumped and his eyes closed as he tried to shut out the world, but her voice insisted on finally breaking the silence between them as she reached out to him, an inextinguishable flicker of chirpy optimism laced her demeanor and it annoyed the hell out of him, but just like everything else these days, he kept it inside. Bottled up. He processed his feelings silently on his own time, privately, internally. There was no reason to share them anymore, and even if there were, the person he used to share them with was gone.
Dead.
Psychologist: So in our last session, you were telling me about your brother Richard. Today I want to continue that theme if we can. Tell me more about your other brother, Jacob.
Jason: Jake. He hates being called Jacob.
Psychologist: I'm sorry, Jake. Tell me more about Jake.
Jason: What do you want to know?
Psychologist: Whatever you want to tell me.
Jason: There's nothing to tell.
Psychologist: Okay. Let's try this another way. I'm going to mention some people that you know and I want you to tell me the first word that comes to your mind when you hear their name. Okay?
Jason says nothing. The psychologist uses her own discretion to continue.
Psychologist: Margaret.
Jason: Mother.
Psychologist: Thomas.
Jason: Father.
Psychologist: Richard.
Jason: Brother.
Psychologist: Karen.
Jason: Partner.
Psychologist: Kathleen.
Jason: Regret.
Psychologist: Solitaire.
Jason: Adorable.
Psychologist: Laura.
Jason: Lost.
Psychologist: Jake.
Jason says nothing.
Psychologist: Jake.
Jason: Envy.
Jason then opens his eyes and turns his head to look at the red head sat opposite him and she smiles warmly at him.
Psychologist: Good. That's good. Now, can you tell me why you feel that way?
Jason swings his legs out and sits up on the couch.
Jason: Isn't it obvious? That bastard has everything. A loving wife. Two beautiful kids. And a licence to beat the holy hell out of anybody he damn well pleases without any fear of legality. How could I not be envious of that?
Psychologist: Surely you must realise it's all an act. He works to a script. It isn't real. Just a fantasy. Make believe. Your brother is an actor.
Jason seems offended by this.
Jason: Really? Let me body slam you through that desk over there, let's see how much of act it is. My brother's busted his ass to train and get his body into shape to endure the pain he does on a weekly basis, you have no idea what it's like for him. I've seen it sister, I was there and believe me it was no act. People like you are the reason I don't blame him for when he chooses to take a lead pipe to some ignorant asshole's head. Some days I wish I could do that. That's why I envy Jake...
Jake Conway's cellphone buzzes with the opening of 'Greed' by Crematory alerting him that it was a call from Roberto Verona. He removes the Iphone from his jean pocket and chuckles to himself as he sees 'Bertie Calling' written across the screen. He answers the phone.
Jake: Hello....Bertie...no listen, calm down. Yes I saw Xander's promo. What can I say. You picked him, and he feels you haven't lived up to your end of the bargain...frankly I don't see how any of that is my problem. No...YOU need to talk to him, not me. I'm not the one who made him all the wild promises. No, not today. Even your money has its limits Verona, its Saturday, today Xander is YOUR problem. I promised my daughter we'd go to the mall and I'm not about to break it off just to sit and watch you two wield your dicks as if they were mighty sabres. I don't care how much money you want to throw at me this time, take some damn responsibility...
Jake abruptly ends the call.
Solitaire: Come on daddy, Mommy's waiting in the car.
Jake smiles as he grabs his daughter by the hand and leads her out of the house.
Jake: Come on pumpkin, let's go and bankrupt Uncle Bertie...
Joe, in the words of the late great Michael Winner, calm down dear. You know after the amount of losses you've managed to rack up in your pathetic little career, and after over two hundred and fifty matches in this company I would have thought you'd have learned to accept defeat a little more gracefully than this. You want to throw a hissy fit about how you lost to me at Crossroads, fair and square I might add, after stealing my moment of victory by wrapping a steel chair around my skull, just how petty are you Joe?
You managed to mark your two hundred and fiftieth match not only by laying out the Greatest National Champion in the history of this company with a cheap shot, but also by not getting your piddly ass pinned. Surely such a moment will be remembered as one of your greatest, if only for the novelty of it, you should be proud. You should be happy. You managed to beat Mike Laszlo and now people are starting to believe in Joe Everyman again. Because of me, people are actually starting to see your heart again instead of just questioning it.
At Crossroads I had two choices, I could have ended another career with a snap of my fingers, but instead I chose to leave it on life support. I left each of your devoted Everymaniacs with a little bit of hope, I let you continue to chase your dreams however futile that particular endeavour might be after six years. You should be thanking me, you should be kissing my feet that I have spared you long enough to make your case for this year's Coliseum. You have one more chance for redemption, it may well be your last, so instead of wasting your time with nonsense about how I cheated you out of a fourth title reign, how about you step up and do something you've never done, Joe?
Seize the moment.
For it may never come again. However, if you absolutely insist on having something to blame for coming up short a couple of weeks ago, blame your own sense of chivalry. In your shoes, I'd have slapped my way passed She-Hulk if the win really meant that much to me, but therein is the difference between us Joe. That's why you're the hero and I am not, that's why I'm a Champion and you're scrambling to be just another contender.
Go ahead Joe, enter the maze, fight it out with all the other rats who want to lay claim to that last morsel of cheese in the Coliseum. Fight it out with Jacobsen who, after failing to beat me to keep his National title, has now all of a sudden remembered he has a quest for retribution against Roberto to complete. Like you Joe, Andrew has had his chances to step up, it isn't my fault and it isn't Roberto's fault that neither of you have ever made the most of all the chances you've been afforded.
On the ping pong table of life some of us are the ball and others are the wiffle bat and after Roberto and I are done bouncing both of your piddly asses across the canvas, I think you'll understand which you are. Jacobsen, don't be as myopic as Joe about all of this. Don't get ahead of yourself. Don't get any illusions about your station. For the two of you, this match shouldn't be about beating Roberto or myself, this shouldn't be about making some grandiose point to the two best wrestlers in this company today, this should be all about survival. This should be about edging one week closer to your respectively hopeful Coliseum entries. Nothing more.
If you let your envy and greed blind you that, if you make this match about anything more, if you close your eyes for any other reason than to pray to whatever deity you believe in that we might just spare you and make you look like the Coliseum contenders you want us to believe you are, we will leave you in the dark...permanently, and then the next Comic Con panel you boys attend together, you'll be fielding even more questions about what it was like to lose to the greatest wrestlers of the modern era from your adoring public.
The Everymaniacs and the Jacobsenites are waiting with baited breath.
How long they continue to wait, well that much is up to the two of you now, isn't it?