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omgnsfwisnsfw-blog · 5 years

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17: Humility

Recognition. The good kind, John clarified. It was a nice feeling. After all, John Bishop Church was used to recognition that came from a place of infamy. It’s something he had barely addressed and maybe was poorly equipped to. But an unspoken bond between two entirely different people had determined that it wasn’t necessary. That he didn’t owe them anything on that account. The exhilaration subsided for him rather quickly. Going into the new year, there were still many unanswered questions. And a nasty taste in his mouth from the realization of just what awaited him. The festivities inside the Microsoft Theater had ended long ago. The audience, the celebrities, and most of their fellow professionals had departed. Either for more celebration or quiet reflection. John’s jacket was draped over the back of his chair. His bow tie was loosened and dangling over the front of the buttoned up shirt. The physical representations of their two Honors sat in the middle of the round table amongst the dishes of a lavish dinner. His partner dozed softly with her face buried in the crook of her elbow. As a small remainder went through the process of tearing down the set of the show - John looked at his watch. There was time still. Whenever Mike was close, that fear of being the focus of attention, of having to speak outside of the confines of a private conversation, went away. There even was some confidence in it. John, for the most part, let Mike’s emotions flare for the both of them. But he wasn’t concerned about Dominic’s inflammatory statements that were meant to provoke a response. There was something beyond that. He had carefully framed himself in the camera's lens. This is about you. I figure you would like that. He looked directly at the camera. Look at you. Mr. Rumble in the Bronx. Mr. Sole Survivor. Mr. Pay-Pay-View. Rookie of the Year. Undisputed Champion. Nothing can take those accolades away from you. Twenty years in the business and you’ve finally done what you’ve always set out to do. You’re on top now. John shrugged. And believe me, I wouldn’t belong in this business if I didn’t have those same aspirations. But understand that what you have is not what I desire in this upcoming match. With his elbows on the table, he learned forward - hands clasped. Dominic Sanders. All of this time you think that you pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. And my partner? Well, some of you may find this funny, but in the time that I’ve known her, she has taught me to try and find the good in people. To not get dragged down in any of the negative vibes they put off. And I tried with you. You made it impossible. The betrayal of Mike’s friendship didn’t help. But this won’t come to a surprise but I never considered you as a friend. He chuckled at that notion. Not that it matters. You clearly don’t value that. You prefer the company of sycophants and people that you can use for your benefit. As long as you’re on top it doesn’t matter if they get trampled underneath. Another value you don’t possess is honesty. We all lie. Sometimes to spare harm to others. Something I didn’t understand until recently. But every word that comes out of your mouth is a half truth or outright lie. You let Griffin Hawkins win. Considering his reign as International Champion is more memorable than yours ever was - I highly doubt the credibility of that. The truth is that you had this ill conceived idea that you had his number. And he called your bluff. And I’m not one to get into semantics but of course you would be proud of a disqualification victory over Mike and I. Spare us your back-handed compliments. He looked over at Mike just off camera. She had walloped Rob Garcia with a cane that Lazarus had introduced into the bout. At that point, the match itself was pointless. But I’m not telling you anything new. And I get you. You’ll try to frame yourself as the good guy in this. Using past tragedy as the catalyst to all of this. Calling us terrorists through your subservients. You don’t get it, though. You don’t get to be the good guy after all of you’ve done. You’ve spent the last few months vomiting the same vile misogynistic tripe about Candy as your predecessors did. You orchestrated an attempt to end our careers. All because we don’t fit into your vision of the company. Your reasoning paints your brand of villainy as trite as they come. And so you try to come off as this disadvantaged veteran who has finally overcome every bit adversity put before him. But in reality, you’ve just succumbed to the lowest common denominator of human nature. He cracked his knuckles one by one. And so that brings us to this opportunity. You see, your friends broke my partner’s hand. And maybe a title defense two weeks ago wasn’t the best idea. NSFW will be back shortly. But in the meantime, it’s just you and I. I know you don’t think much of me. Trust me, the feeling is mutual. I do relish the idea of being able to test my mettle against a champion of your caliber. He looked to the pair of awards on the table. But Mike and I? We haven’t done so bad ourselves. And Dominic, we both share a commonality in Television Championship reigns. Except yours was brief and uneventful. He tapped a finger against his chin as if to ponder something - a showing of snark he had adopted from McGuire. Maybe this current one will be, too. John smirked - trying his best to emulate his opponent’s obnoxious grin. But don’t worry. That’s not what I’m after. You had to keep lying. You couldn’t be truthful for once. You couldn’t just say that you wanted the power, glory, and fame that came from winning the Undisputed Championship. You stood on that stage... The camera turned to the now broken down Honors stage. Only the podium remained. And with a straight face said that there are some people who don’t appreciate the way you view things. You gave that aw, shucks generic diatribe about how this place is finally coming together. You’re full of shit. Back onto him. He stood away from the table now. Mike was still off camera by design. That’s exactly what I was talking about. You spread that false humility like a plague. You’re like a sociopath trying to pretend to play house. It’s painfully obvious. He looked at his watch one more time - mindful of the time for some ulterior reason. That’s what this upcoming match will be about, Dominic. On paper, it doesn’t matter if I win or lose. Dominic, with all of your achievements, a victory over me should be a mere formality. And you and I, we could have went down the same path. In an impossible feat, I would love to have the experience that you do - but I cherish what I have now. What I’ve learned in the past year has instilled a confidence that taking out a formidable but arrogant opponent isn’t infeasible. Not talking about hypotheticals. When you and I meet face to face in that squared circle, I am going to give you receipts for all of your transgressions. My critics have written me off as diminutive and meek. Those very critics are long gone. Or might as well be for all they manage. All it takes is three seconds. Or if you ask many of my past opponents - about nine seconds before the blood flow to their brain is cut off. But for you? I’m capable of so much more. John reached out for the cellphone. I’ll show you. And he clicked it off the feed. Mike’s phone buzzed. John placed a hand on Mike’s hand. Shaking it gently. Ride’s here. They stirred slowly, one hand reaching up to rub at their eyes. Their cheeks were a little flushed still, the earmarks of maybe two or three visits to the open bar too many. Mmm… what time’zit? Just after 1. Show’s been over for awhile. After our last presentation, you just put your head down. He extended a hand to them. Been a long day. Don’t blame you. He looked at the eight empty champagne glasses. Maybe those. Maybe, yeah. Lil’ too much’a the bubbly stuff. They reached for the offered hand, grabbing it on the second attempt and gingerly getting to their feet. Kinda jelly, y’know. Wishit was me kick’n Saunder’s ass but this’for the best. Y’better at wrestlin’ proper than me. With his subtle assistance, the two gathered up their jackets and belongings and began their exit from the venue. John’s reply was distant. He shouldn’t expect proper. Good. He don’t deserve proper. He deserves whatever you give’m and prolly more cuz you’re a good guy. Best guy. Thanks. With one hand, he deftly texted the awaiting driver that the delay would be worth their time. Navigating the chairs and tables had proven to be an obstacle course with the zig zag nature of their path. You are, too. He paused in contemplation. You know what I mean. I let Candy know we would be retiring for the night. Aw fucknuggets, I forgot th’ cookies I made her. Mph. Anyways...‘m a lil’ drunk’n sleepy right now but if’n y’wanna tomorrow we could do a thing for your match. Really let ‘im have it. John and Mike made it through one of the side exits where the unknowing driver waited for them. Already taken care of. He looked at Mike. They were about to say something but even with a careful pace led by Church, they looked a little green in the gills. The driver, a young man in his 20s, opened the back passenger door for the two. You don’t happen to have a plastic bag in there by chance? Uh, no. That’s a weird euphemism, but don’ worry, I’ve been keep’n one in my suitcase for months now. Mike’s cheeks puffed a bit, followed by a gulp and a rather wretched expression. ...or maybe’s not a good night f’that. Raincheck. John reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a crisp one hundred dollar bill. He passed it to the driver. For your discretion. One benjamin to get fucked. John insisted by placing it in the young man’s palm. Please.

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