Post by Carlson Rex on Mar 9, 2021 0:13:06 GMT -5
Synergy is over. The stands are empty. The ring crew is taking down the ropes and doing a check on the equipment. Carlson Rex sits, rather stiffly, in a seat in the front row of the arena. He has one of those add water, cooling towels draped around his neck. He has been able to change into his "civilian" clothes. His arms are crossed, resting on his knees, which are at proper level due to his feet resting on the security railing. Carl Sabre is nowhere to be seen. Carlson sits alone. His eyes are not exactly focused on what is going on before him. There's a crash as a set of folding chairs falls from the flatbed being used to carry them to storage. Carlson doesn't flinch. One of the ring crew approaches him.
Crewperson: "Hey. We're going to be taking down the barricade momentarily. Just so you know."
Carlson looks at the woman and nods. He stands up and wordlessly departs the stands, heading down to the arena floor and through to the back. He wipes his face with the cold towel as he walks to the dressing area and retrieves his gear bag, his gear neatly tucked inside. He winces as he slings it over his shoulder. His muscles going to remind him for days of what it feels like to be in the vice like grip of Donovan Hastings. With his bag over his shoulder he exits and heads toward the exit. As he walks, Carl Sabre joins him. The pair walk side by side, neither saying a word. They hit the double doors that lead out to where the talent parks. Carlson stops while Carl moves on a few steps, then turns and looks back at him.
Carlson: "So, what now?"
Carl looks thoughtful.
Carl: "Food."
Carlson: "Works for me."
The two continue into the parking lot, passing a few rows still half full with vehicles. The hard working staff and crew.
Carlson: "It'd really help if you'd say something. Scream. Yell. Throw something at me?"
Carl stops this time, Carlson take a couple of extra steps then stops. He doesn't look back.
Carl: "What for? Because you got knocked colder'n Lake Michigan in late December?"
Carlson's head droops.
Carlson: "You know what I mean."
Carl: "I do. And, yet, I don't. You finally realize that you aren't a clone of ol' Kahuna. That's a good thing. What you did tonight was pretty damn admirable, considering you're starting from more than just the beginning. You have to try to figure out just what and who you are. WHILE trying to keep yourself not only relevant, but positive. Losing isn't easy. Believe me, I get it. Considering the complete mismatch of styles and skill level, you did okay tonight."
Carlson: "Did I? Because I don't remember much good. Or, well."
Carlson wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pressing the towel in.
Carl: "Don't tell me you're going to be a cry baby."
Carlson looks back at Carl and smirks.
Carlson: "This isn't going to be easy. I'm basically restarting my life from the time I was fifteen, you know."
Carl: "So? Don't expect me to feed your ego, when it isn't deserved. My job isn't to fluff your ego, my job is to make you as ready as you can be for the life you have chosen. Like it or not, that's what this is now. You're not going to quit. The only way out of the ring is to get so messed up by someone you can't get into an arena."
Carlson: "Is that it? Is that the only way? I can't just hand you this damn bag and take a walk and never look back?"
Carl thinks that one through.
Carl: "You could do that. That doesn't sound like the young man who wrote a letter to us twelve straight days, almost begging to be given a chance, because you saw a rerun of a match from so long ago."
Carlson: "That may have been a life destroying mistake."
Carl: "It just might."
Carl starts moving again. Ahead of them, Carlson's recently repaired Nissan sits, not a vehicle within a hundred yards.
Carl: "Or, it might be a life starting one. Rarely does one get a true second chance. This time, you get to restart with some experience, some insight. And, if you move your ass, maybe some dinner."
Carlson sighs and readjusts the strap of his gear bag and starts walking.
Carlson: "So, if I'm really starting over, does that mean everything? Ring gear, the works?"
Carl shakes his head as he arrives at the car and waits for Carlson to unlock it.
Carl: "Let's not go overboard here, son. I think the look you have is good. We just need to find your inner wrestling spirit."
Carlson: "So, what. We need to find a Palm Reader? Or, a Fortune Teller?"
Carlson pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. Carl opens it and pauses.
Carl: "Not a bad idea. I'll google that in the morning."
Carlson gives a nervous laugh. He opens the back door and tosses his bag in, the closes that door and opens the driver's side door.
Carlson: "Fuck, Carl. I was just kidding about that."
Carl: "I know. YOU were."
Carlson mumbles under his breath and gets in, putting on his seatbelt and closing the door. He then starts the motor up, shifts into reverse and backs out of the parking spot, lights going in, and out into the wilds of Chicago to forage.
Crewperson: "Hey. We're going to be taking down the barricade momentarily. Just so you know."
Carlson looks at the woman and nods. He stands up and wordlessly departs the stands, heading down to the arena floor and through to the back. He wipes his face with the cold towel as he walks to the dressing area and retrieves his gear bag, his gear neatly tucked inside. He winces as he slings it over his shoulder. His muscles going to remind him for days of what it feels like to be in the vice like grip of Donovan Hastings. With his bag over his shoulder he exits and heads toward the exit. As he walks, Carl Sabre joins him. The pair walk side by side, neither saying a word. They hit the double doors that lead out to where the talent parks. Carlson stops while Carl moves on a few steps, then turns and looks back at him.
Carlson: "So, what now?"
Carl looks thoughtful.
Carl: "Food."
Carlson: "Works for me."
The two continue into the parking lot, passing a few rows still half full with vehicles. The hard working staff and crew.
Carlson: "It'd really help if you'd say something. Scream. Yell. Throw something at me?"
Carl stops this time, Carlson take a couple of extra steps then stops. He doesn't look back.
Carl: "What for? Because you got knocked colder'n Lake Michigan in late December?"
Carlson's head droops.
Carlson: "You know what I mean."
Carl: "I do. And, yet, I don't. You finally realize that you aren't a clone of ol' Kahuna. That's a good thing. What you did tonight was pretty damn admirable, considering you're starting from more than just the beginning. You have to try to figure out just what and who you are. WHILE trying to keep yourself not only relevant, but positive. Losing isn't easy. Believe me, I get it. Considering the complete mismatch of styles and skill level, you did okay tonight."
Carlson: "Did I? Because I don't remember much good. Or, well."
Carlson wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pressing the towel in.
Carl: "Don't tell me you're going to be a cry baby."
Carlson looks back at Carl and smirks.
Carlson: "This isn't going to be easy. I'm basically restarting my life from the time I was fifteen, you know."
Carl: "So? Don't expect me to feed your ego, when it isn't deserved. My job isn't to fluff your ego, my job is to make you as ready as you can be for the life you have chosen. Like it or not, that's what this is now. You're not going to quit. The only way out of the ring is to get so messed up by someone you can't get into an arena."
Carlson: "Is that it? Is that the only way? I can't just hand you this damn bag and take a walk and never look back?"
Carl thinks that one through.
Carl: "You could do that. That doesn't sound like the young man who wrote a letter to us twelve straight days, almost begging to be given a chance, because you saw a rerun of a match from so long ago."
Carlson: "That may have been a life destroying mistake."
Carl: "It just might."
Carl starts moving again. Ahead of them, Carlson's recently repaired Nissan sits, not a vehicle within a hundred yards.
Carl: "Or, it might be a life starting one. Rarely does one get a true second chance. This time, you get to restart with some experience, some insight. And, if you move your ass, maybe some dinner."
Carlson sighs and readjusts the strap of his gear bag and starts walking.
Carlson: "So, if I'm really starting over, does that mean everything? Ring gear, the works?"
Carl shakes his head as he arrives at the car and waits for Carlson to unlock it.
Carl: "Let's not go overboard here, son. I think the look you have is good. We just need to find your inner wrestling spirit."
Carlson: "So, what. We need to find a Palm Reader? Or, a Fortune Teller?"
Carlson pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. Carl opens it and pauses.
Carl: "Not a bad idea. I'll google that in the morning."
Carlson gives a nervous laugh. He opens the back door and tosses his bag in, the closes that door and opens the driver's side door.
Carlson: "Fuck, Carl. I was just kidding about that."
Carl: "I know. YOU were."
Carlson mumbles under his breath and gets in, putting on his seatbelt and closing the door. He then starts the motor up, shifts into reverse and backs out of the parking spot, lights going in, and out into the wilds of Chicago to forage.