Post by Deleted on Nov 29, 2020 16:25:45 GMT -5
It’s proven to be a rough two weeks, in a sense. I had my jaw broken by Mike Bishop in Dystopia. I did my best to hide the injury, but once the tape delay was released, Dystopia management decided to announce it to the world via Twitter. Of course, I haven’t lost a match yet since the injury was disclosed. Even with a broken fuckin’ jaw, I’m still doing what I do best. Kendrick Kross in the first round of the Uprising Tournament, Dani ‘Speedy’ Ella in Valiant. And now I look to the upcoming week, where I have a Chaos Title Match in Valiant against an old friend in Zoey Adler, and the brash, loudmouth champion, Jackie Fowler. Then just a few days later, I go up against Chris Mosh in the second round of this tournament. I really am the Ironman of Wrestling.
Michael grins to himself as these thoughts swirl through his mind. He does his best to distract himself from the possibility of what’s coming. The morning of Thanksgiving, he received an email from Ash Devereaux, the head EMT of Uprising. He knew what this was about. He was told he needed to report to him this weekend, and Michael has been concerned about the issue ever since. He failed to disclose the broken jaw, hoping for it to be a non-issue. Michael has remained confident (and proven) that he could wrestle with a slightly fractured jaw, but others have doubted his ability to do so. Logan Lewis expressed concern for his well being privately. Antoinette Wolfe, the owner of Dystopia, expressed concern for her roster and the chance that it would dwindle down to nothing with such injuries. And of course Peter Smythe, the ringside doctor for Valiant strongly urged Michael to take a month off.
Not one of these people seem to understand. I have to work. And none of them actually care about me and my health. Except Logan, of course. It’s all business for them. Pete, Ash, Wolfe… they just care about the business. But none of them get it. I have to work.
Michael repeats the sentiment to himself, unsure how to properly express the need. He does a variety of tasks that help him to keep his mind off his demons. From working out in the gym, to wood-working in his shop at home, to (most importantly) getting in that ring, they all help to keep said demons at bay. In fact, the time he spent away from the ring before 2020 consisted of some of the darkest days he’s had; even darker then the years immediately after his discharge.
Yeah, can’t think about that shit. Life is good now. I got my work. I got this tournament… I swear Devereaux better not try to take this away from me.
He ponders the possibilities as he navigates through the Eldorado Casino where the Uprising staff offices are. With his standard attire of a black t-shirt, blue jeans and work boots, he does his best to keep his head down and not attract the attention of any Uprising fans that may be gambling their savings away at the casino. To go along with his casual get up, he also has an Ace bandage wrap around his head, going from his jawline to the top of his head. The doctor’s at Valiant recommended it, hoping to keep his jaw from moving more than necessary. Of course, this has just been a minor inconvenience. Other than looking ridiculous, it hasn’t caused any problems. The real problem is the diet he’s been on. Soft foods, soups and some protein shakes kindly prepared by Logan make up the entirety of his food intake at this point.
Damn I need a good steak.
He lets out a soft chuckle as he continues walking. It isn’t long before he finds himself in front of the door of Ash Devereaux’s office. He lets out a sigh, not looking forward to what’s about to come. He lifts a hand, knocking abruptly on the cool metal door. He awaits for the invitation to enter before grasping the door handle and pushing his way inside.
“Ahh, Marou. Thanks for coming in.”
Devereaux stands from his seat at his desk and approaches Michael with his hand extended. Michael seizes it as they firmly shake hands.
At least he doesn’t shake hands like a dead fish. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
“Well, didn’t seem to have much choice. Figured I’d get this over with.”
“Hopefully this won’t cause too much pain. I just wanted to discuss some options.”
Michael smirks, knowing this is the good doctor’s way of pussyfooting around the idea of taking time off work to heal.
“Please, have a seat.”
Ash sits back at his desk as Michael sits down opposite of him. As he sits, Michael speaks up, offering a simplistic reply.
“The way I see it, doc. There’s only one option. Keep doing what I do.”
“I figured you’d say that. Too damn stubborn to take medical advice.”
“I just know my body, and know that I can handle it. If it was anything severe, I’d take the time off. But I don’t need to. It’s a minor fracture. I’ve already had two matches since it happened, and won both of them.”
Ash sits back and listens to Marou, not interrupting or contradicting him in any way.
“Of course, Mr. Jackson has expressed concerns to me about keeping the talent healthy. Us allowing you to wrestle with an injury, no matter how small, is a risk we’re hesitant to take. But the big issue was the withholding of information. You should have disclosed the injury to us immediately.”
“I wanted to ensure that it wasn’t too bad before I spoke up about it. I had very little time between shows and didn’t want to get caught up in red tape. And besides, it should be privately protected information, protected by HIPPA or some shit.”
“Typically, yes. But as an independent contractor contracted to us, you’re required to share any information with us that may affect your ability to perform.”
Michael rolls his eyes, annoyed with the bureaucratic bullshit. It definitely wasn’t his specialty. He probably should have spoken to his agent Emily about this beforehand. Oh well, live and learn.
“But this hasn’t affected my ability to perform in any way. I beat Kross at the first show, and I’ll beat Mosh at the next one.”
Ash leans back in his chair and throws his feet up on the desk in front of him. Clasping his fingers together and resting his hands on his abdomen, he pauses before speaking again.
“Listen, Michael. I think we’re getting off track here. I didn’t call you in here to tell you you can’t compete. I’ve already gone over your medical x-rays and kept a close eye on your performance in Valiant. I’ve cleared you to compete already, from a physical standing.”
Michael lets out a sigh of relief. But that relief is fleeting.
If I’m not in here for that, why am I in here.
“The reason I wanted to meet with you was to see where you’re at mentally.”
Oh boy, here we go.
“Whoa, you can stop there, doc. I’m fine mentally. I don’t need a shrink, or someone to talk to or any of that shit. I’m good.”
Ash smirks as he plants his feet down and leans forward in his desk.
“I’m not suggesting otherwise. I’m simply saying I know what you’re going through. I’ve seen it before. Hell I’ve done it.”
“How the hell do you know anything about what you think I’m going through?”
“I was in the 173rd Airborne Brigade from 2006 to early 2008. I’ve been there.”
Marou looks puzzled for a minute, not knowing about the docs military experience.
“No shit? I was in the 1st Infantry Division… we relieved your unit in 2008.”
“I know. And that’s my point. You aren’t the first soldier to get out and dive headfirst into whatever work you can find to distract yourself from what you’ve seen.”
How the fuck does this guy know so much about me? Fuckin hell.
Marou softly nods his head, unsure of where to take this conversation next. He knows there’s truth in Devereaux’s words, but he’s not about to shed light on those vulnerabilities.
“Listen, I won’t deny that it helps. But that’s not the point. I’m a wrestler now. I’ve got a good chance at coming into this company, winning this tournament, and being the first Uprising Champion. That’s all this is. I don’t want the time off because of the threat it poses to my career. Not because of some shit that happened over a decade ago.”
Ash patiently waits, not speaking too quickly.
“Okay then. I’ll take your word for it for now. But if I ever detect that that changes, we’ll revisit this conversation. And if you ever feel that it’s becoming too much to bear, I’m not hard to get a hold of.”
Fat chance of that happening, but okay.
“Hey, thanks doc. I appreciate it.”
Michael and Ash both stand from their seats and once again clutch each other’s hands with a shake. Michael assumes the meeting is over, not sure what else there would be to discuss. He gives a grin toward the doc, thankful that he doesn’t interrupt the departure. With a subtle nod of the head, Michael releases Ash’s hand and exits the room.
Now that I know I’m actually going to be able to compete, I suppose it’s time to post a promo. Can’t let Mosh out-talk me.
Michael pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans and navigates through the apps until he finds the camera. He holds the camera up to him and hits the capture button, making sure the camera is in video mode.
On Camera
“Yanno, I’m wandering around the casino that houses the Uprising shows, and you know what I keep hearing? I keep hearing about how excited the fans are to see Don Tirri back on the big stage. I keep hearing about how Logan Lewis is the hottest new talent in wrestling, and how excited they are to see more of her. And I keep hearing how brutal Chris Mosh was in his match against Forge Mitchell.”
Michael smirks into the camera, making this part up. Of course he hasn’t really been around anyone in the casino long enough to hear these things, but it makes for a good promo.
“But more than anything, I keep hearing ‘Holy shit, did you see what Michael Marou did to Kendrick Kross last week?’ I whooped his ass so bad, even the referee knew he couldn’t continue. So yeah, Mosh did his best, taking on Forge with a few light tubes. And he’s been very proud of that fact on Twitter. But I beat Kross with my bare hands.”
Obviously, there was some barbed wire, and other toys at his disposal, but that’s not the point.
“Now I’m not making the mistake that a lot of folks are making in this tournament. I’m not taking my opponent lightly. I saw what kind of guy Chris is. I know what he’s capable of. I know what I’m stepping into the ring against. But see, he doesn’t seem to know what he’s gotten himself into.”
The smirk vanishes from Michaels face as he takes a more serious approach.
“Chris seems to think we’re friends. He’s gone on multiple times to say that he likes me. That we’re going to steal the show. Apparently he doesn’t know who the hell I am. So let me be very clear now, Mosh. I have no interest in being your friend. I have absolutely zero desire to steal the show. I’m going into this match for one reason:To win. I don’t care if you like me. I don’t care if you think we’re going to go out and celebrate the show with brewskis afterward. Look at me however you want. You’re merely the next stepping stone on my path to greatness. The next rung on my ladder to the top.”
Michael strolls throughout the casino, not paying any attention to those passing by. He stares intently at the lens of the camera, speaking just loud enough to hear him over the hustle and bustle of the casino.
“I told Kross the same thing. I’m winning this tournament, and you’re the next one in my way of doing so. After this is all said and done, I will stand tall at the top of this company as champion. Spew your doubts. Exude your confidence. None of it matters. I’m on my way to the top of this proverbial ladder, headed straight toward that ‘brass ring.’ I’ll grasp it tightly and you’ll be left at the bottom, looking up and wondering what went wrong.”
At this point, Michael has carried himself to the exit of the casino, finding himself within the much quieter confines of the parking garage. This allows him to lower his voice just a bit more, no longer having to match the volume of the mass of gamblers.
“Let me assure you though, nothing went wrong. My ascension has nothing to do with your merit. You’re a talented cat, Mosh. You have everything it takes to be a second-tier title holder. And if I wasn’t here, I’d have all the confidence in the world that you could go through this whole tournament and stand at the top. But while you’re second-tier… I’m God-Tier. I’m the Ironman of professional wrestling. You’re more like Titanium Man. Deceptively powerful, but not quite a match for Ironman.”
Michael carries on his monologue, having fun with the comic book references. Of course, originally the ironman moniker was never meant to be an homage to the Marvel Character. He meant it more in the wrestling sense, meaning he’s able to go a lot longer in the ring then most wrestlers. It started when he had two matches in one night once in Valiant, and three matches in a night the following week. But as things often do, the moniker came to mean something else when the ‘twitterverse’ mistook the intent. Now he’s embraced the emblem of the Avenger.
“I hope I’ve been clear, Mosh. Because I know how this is going to go down. I’m going to step into that ring with you. We’re going to put on a show, and I’m going to defeat you in the middle of that ring. Afterwards, you’re going to stew and brood over your loss, swearing for future vengeance on me. You’re going to dwell on the idea of meeting me in the ring again and recouping your loss. Meanwhile, I’ll move forward, all but forgetting your existence. You won’t be a blip on my radar, but I’ll be your whole world. I’ll move on to round three while you’re shoved back down the bottom of the ladder, wondering when you might get your comeuppance. And I can tell you now, it won’t happen. Because in a few weeks time, I’ll be winning the finals of this tournament, holding that gold plated strap up high, leaving you as a distant memory. And I mean no offense by that. I’m just a realist… you aren’t on my level.”
With that, Michael winks at the camera and hits the button on his phone to cut the video off. He stands there alone in the parking garage for a moment as he uploads it to the Uprising website, then opens up his texts, shooting a text of encouragement to a new friend.
Michael grins to himself as these thoughts swirl through his mind. He does his best to distract himself from the possibility of what’s coming. The morning of Thanksgiving, he received an email from Ash Devereaux, the head EMT of Uprising. He knew what this was about. He was told he needed to report to him this weekend, and Michael has been concerned about the issue ever since. He failed to disclose the broken jaw, hoping for it to be a non-issue. Michael has remained confident (and proven) that he could wrestle with a slightly fractured jaw, but others have doubted his ability to do so. Logan Lewis expressed concern for his well being privately. Antoinette Wolfe, the owner of Dystopia, expressed concern for her roster and the chance that it would dwindle down to nothing with such injuries. And of course Peter Smythe, the ringside doctor for Valiant strongly urged Michael to take a month off.
Not one of these people seem to understand. I have to work. And none of them actually care about me and my health. Except Logan, of course. It’s all business for them. Pete, Ash, Wolfe… they just care about the business. But none of them get it. I have to work.
Michael repeats the sentiment to himself, unsure how to properly express the need. He does a variety of tasks that help him to keep his mind off his demons. From working out in the gym, to wood-working in his shop at home, to (most importantly) getting in that ring, they all help to keep said demons at bay. In fact, the time he spent away from the ring before 2020 consisted of some of the darkest days he’s had; even darker then the years immediately after his discharge.
Yeah, can’t think about that shit. Life is good now. I got my work. I got this tournament… I swear Devereaux better not try to take this away from me.
He ponders the possibilities as he navigates through the Eldorado Casino where the Uprising staff offices are. With his standard attire of a black t-shirt, blue jeans and work boots, he does his best to keep his head down and not attract the attention of any Uprising fans that may be gambling their savings away at the casino. To go along with his casual get up, he also has an Ace bandage wrap around his head, going from his jawline to the top of his head. The doctor’s at Valiant recommended it, hoping to keep his jaw from moving more than necessary. Of course, this has just been a minor inconvenience. Other than looking ridiculous, it hasn’t caused any problems. The real problem is the diet he’s been on. Soft foods, soups and some protein shakes kindly prepared by Logan make up the entirety of his food intake at this point.
Damn I need a good steak.
He lets out a soft chuckle as he continues walking. It isn’t long before he finds himself in front of the door of Ash Devereaux’s office. He lets out a sigh, not looking forward to what’s about to come. He lifts a hand, knocking abruptly on the cool metal door. He awaits for the invitation to enter before grasping the door handle and pushing his way inside.
“Ahh, Marou. Thanks for coming in.”
Devereaux stands from his seat at his desk and approaches Michael with his hand extended. Michael seizes it as they firmly shake hands.
At least he doesn’t shake hands like a dead fish. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
“Well, didn’t seem to have much choice. Figured I’d get this over with.”
“Hopefully this won’t cause too much pain. I just wanted to discuss some options.”
Michael smirks, knowing this is the good doctor’s way of pussyfooting around the idea of taking time off work to heal.
“Please, have a seat.”
Ash sits back at his desk as Michael sits down opposite of him. As he sits, Michael speaks up, offering a simplistic reply.
“The way I see it, doc. There’s only one option. Keep doing what I do.”
“I figured you’d say that. Too damn stubborn to take medical advice.”
“I just know my body, and know that I can handle it. If it was anything severe, I’d take the time off. But I don’t need to. It’s a minor fracture. I’ve already had two matches since it happened, and won both of them.”
Ash sits back and listens to Marou, not interrupting or contradicting him in any way.
“Of course, Mr. Jackson has expressed concerns to me about keeping the talent healthy. Us allowing you to wrestle with an injury, no matter how small, is a risk we’re hesitant to take. But the big issue was the withholding of information. You should have disclosed the injury to us immediately.”
“I wanted to ensure that it wasn’t too bad before I spoke up about it. I had very little time between shows and didn’t want to get caught up in red tape. And besides, it should be privately protected information, protected by HIPPA or some shit.”
“Typically, yes. But as an independent contractor contracted to us, you’re required to share any information with us that may affect your ability to perform.”
Michael rolls his eyes, annoyed with the bureaucratic bullshit. It definitely wasn’t his specialty. He probably should have spoken to his agent Emily about this beforehand. Oh well, live and learn.
“But this hasn’t affected my ability to perform in any way. I beat Kross at the first show, and I’ll beat Mosh at the next one.”
Ash leans back in his chair and throws his feet up on the desk in front of him. Clasping his fingers together and resting his hands on his abdomen, he pauses before speaking again.
“Listen, Michael. I think we’re getting off track here. I didn’t call you in here to tell you you can’t compete. I’ve already gone over your medical x-rays and kept a close eye on your performance in Valiant. I’ve cleared you to compete already, from a physical standing.”
Michael lets out a sigh of relief. But that relief is fleeting.
If I’m not in here for that, why am I in here.
“The reason I wanted to meet with you was to see where you’re at mentally.”
Oh boy, here we go.
“Whoa, you can stop there, doc. I’m fine mentally. I don’t need a shrink, or someone to talk to or any of that shit. I’m good.”
Ash smirks as he plants his feet down and leans forward in his desk.
“I’m not suggesting otherwise. I’m simply saying I know what you’re going through. I’ve seen it before. Hell I’ve done it.”
“How the hell do you know anything about what you think I’m going through?”
“I was in the 173rd Airborne Brigade from 2006 to early 2008. I’ve been there.”
Marou looks puzzled for a minute, not knowing about the docs military experience.
“No shit? I was in the 1st Infantry Division… we relieved your unit in 2008.”
“I know. And that’s my point. You aren’t the first soldier to get out and dive headfirst into whatever work you can find to distract yourself from what you’ve seen.”
How the fuck does this guy know so much about me? Fuckin hell.
Marou softly nods his head, unsure of where to take this conversation next. He knows there’s truth in Devereaux’s words, but he’s not about to shed light on those vulnerabilities.
“Listen, I won’t deny that it helps. But that’s not the point. I’m a wrestler now. I’ve got a good chance at coming into this company, winning this tournament, and being the first Uprising Champion. That’s all this is. I don’t want the time off because of the threat it poses to my career. Not because of some shit that happened over a decade ago.”
Ash patiently waits, not speaking too quickly.
“Okay then. I’ll take your word for it for now. But if I ever detect that that changes, we’ll revisit this conversation. And if you ever feel that it’s becoming too much to bear, I’m not hard to get a hold of.”
Fat chance of that happening, but okay.
“Hey, thanks doc. I appreciate it.”
Michael and Ash both stand from their seats and once again clutch each other’s hands with a shake. Michael assumes the meeting is over, not sure what else there would be to discuss. He gives a grin toward the doc, thankful that he doesn’t interrupt the departure. With a subtle nod of the head, Michael releases Ash’s hand and exits the room.
Now that I know I’m actually going to be able to compete, I suppose it’s time to post a promo. Can’t let Mosh out-talk me.
Michael pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans and navigates through the apps until he finds the camera. He holds the camera up to him and hits the capture button, making sure the camera is in video mode.
On Camera
“Yanno, I’m wandering around the casino that houses the Uprising shows, and you know what I keep hearing? I keep hearing about how excited the fans are to see Don Tirri back on the big stage. I keep hearing about how Logan Lewis is the hottest new talent in wrestling, and how excited they are to see more of her. And I keep hearing how brutal Chris Mosh was in his match against Forge Mitchell.”
Michael smirks into the camera, making this part up. Of course he hasn’t really been around anyone in the casino long enough to hear these things, but it makes for a good promo.
“But more than anything, I keep hearing ‘Holy shit, did you see what Michael Marou did to Kendrick Kross last week?’ I whooped his ass so bad, even the referee knew he couldn’t continue. So yeah, Mosh did his best, taking on Forge with a few light tubes. And he’s been very proud of that fact on Twitter. But I beat Kross with my bare hands.”
Obviously, there was some barbed wire, and other toys at his disposal, but that’s not the point.
“Now I’m not making the mistake that a lot of folks are making in this tournament. I’m not taking my opponent lightly. I saw what kind of guy Chris is. I know what he’s capable of. I know what I’m stepping into the ring against. But see, he doesn’t seem to know what he’s gotten himself into.”
The smirk vanishes from Michaels face as he takes a more serious approach.
“Chris seems to think we’re friends. He’s gone on multiple times to say that he likes me. That we’re going to steal the show. Apparently he doesn’t know who the hell I am. So let me be very clear now, Mosh. I have no interest in being your friend. I have absolutely zero desire to steal the show. I’m going into this match for one reason:To win. I don’t care if you like me. I don’t care if you think we’re going to go out and celebrate the show with brewskis afterward. Look at me however you want. You’re merely the next stepping stone on my path to greatness. The next rung on my ladder to the top.”
Michael strolls throughout the casino, not paying any attention to those passing by. He stares intently at the lens of the camera, speaking just loud enough to hear him over the hustle and bustle of the casino.
“I told Kross the same thing. I’m winning this tournament, and you’re the next one in my way of doing so. After this is all said and done, I will stand tall at the top of this company as champion. Spew your doubts. Exude your confidence. None of it matters. I’m on my way to the top of this proverbial ladder, headed straight toward that ‘brass ring.’ I’ll grasp it tightly and you’ll be left at the bottom, looking up and wondering what went wrong.”
At this point, Michael has carried himself to the exit of the casino, finding himself within the much quieter confines of the parking garage. This allows him to lower his voice just a bit more, no longer having to match the volume of the mass of gamblers.
“Let me assure you though, nothing went wrong. My ascension has nothing to do with your merit. You’re a talented cat, Mosh. You have everything it takes to be a second-tier title holder. And if I wasn’t here, I’d have all the confidence in the world that you could go through this whole tournament and stand at the top. But while you’re second-tier… I’m God-Tier. I’m the Ironman of professional wrestling. You’re more like Titanium Man. Deceptively powerful, but not quite a match for Ironman.”
Michael carries on his monologue, having fun with the comic book references. Of course, originally the ironman moniker was never meant to be an homage to the Marvel Character. He meant it more in the wrestling sense, meaning he’s able to go a lot longer in the ring then most wrestlers. It started when he had two matches in one night once in Valiant, and three matches in a night the following week. But as things often do, the moniker came to mean something else when the ‘twitterverse’ mistook the intent. Now he’s embraced the emblem of the Avenger.
“I hope I’ve been clear, Mosh. Because I know how this is going to go down. I’m going to step into that ring with you. We’re going to put on a show, and I’m going to defeat you in the middle of that ring. Afterwards, you’re going to stew and brood over your loss, swearing for future vengeance on me. You’re going to dwell on the idea of meeting me in the ring again and recouping your loss. Meanwhile, I’ll move forward, all but forgetting your existence. You won’t be a blip on my radar, but I’ll be your whole world. I’ll move on to round three while you’re shoved back down the bottom of the ladder, wondering when you might get your comeuppance. And I can tell you now, it won’t happen. Because in a few weeks time, I’ll be winning the finals of this tournament, holding that gold plated strap up high, leaving you as a distant memory. And I mean no offense by that. I’m just a realist… you aren’t on my level.”
With that, Michael winks at the camera and hits the button on his phone to cut the video off. He stands there alone in the parking garage for a moment as he uploads it to the Uprising website, then opens up his texts, shooting a text of encouragement to a new friend.