Post by Jet Somers on Oct 8, 2009 23:01:04 GMT -5
"Get away from me," Jet Somers is leaving the arena. He hasn't even changed out of his gear as he stalks to his Prius. A random young fan has run up begging for an autograph.
"Come on, Jet! You're my hero!" says the adolescent.
He stops momentarily to turn and look over his shoulder in an ultimately dismissive way. "Kid, there are no heroes here."
He walks away, leaving the poor kid confused and possibly disillusioned.
---------
In the dark of the hotel room, Jet gazes out through the rain-streaked glass, through dingy blinds, through the blinking, intermittantly working letters of the "_O VA_ANCY" sign. He is so lost in thought, he doesn't even hear his cell phone ringing on the nightstand, at least not at first. After staring for a while, he puts his head against the blinds and closes his eyes, crushing the slats against the panes. An audible sigh of frustration escapes him.
"Why do I still set the bar for this place so high? Each week, I think I've figured out how to leap the pitfalls, only to be blindsided by even more douchbaggery and shenanigans. Even when what might questionably be the most honorable man on the roster other than myself is my opponent, my on allies, and I use the term very loosely, come to steal it away. This business is a vampire that sucks the will to resist right out of you. You either run away, or you become part of the problem. There's no solving it, there's no overcoming it. So I just keep banging my head," and he punctuates each word in that phrase with a significant bump against the glass, "against the wall of shame this business represents, and all that comes of it is a paper thin guarantee that I can keep my sister safe."
"I've sold my soul to this devil, and Persephone has escaped hell in order to bide her time in a hospital bed, sneaking cigarettes and entertaining a cornucopea of visitors with varying degrees of malicious intent and dangerous obsession. The reward? Mistrust. Betrayal. Hatred. Unwanted rivalries with criminals I could not care less about. It's ridiculous. It's all a big joke and I'm the punchline."
Jet's head snaps to the left as he finally hears the cell phone ringing. He gets up reluctantly and wanders over to the phone.
----------
She can't blame the guy. He's had a lot on his mind lately. Not just the obvious endangerment of his sister, her employer and best friend, but the complete change of scenery. He has become completely enveloped by the touch and go nature of alliances and gimmicks that, in the end, don't hold water.
But, a girl can only drop so many hints. If she was ever going to catch his eye, she might as well poke him in it.
Of course, her resolve is almost broken after the fifth ring. She wouldn't bug him with such a small and selfish request, but she had a bit of good news to share. News she knows Salem, KvK, or Korpi probably won't think to share... they aren't bad guys, like Jet thinks, they are just a little... preoccupied with themselves at times. And they don't consider Jet part fo the group, by any means. Not that he cares. Anyway...
She's about to just call it a bust, when Jet finally answers, "Hello?"
"Hey, Jet, you sound down?"
"Yeah, maybe because Klaus just robbed me of the only chance I had for a simulacrum resembling a real fight."
"Hey, come on, Jet, you know the nature of this place. You gotta let that shit slide off your back, right?"
"Yeah, thanks, Sherry. Anything else?"
Fuck, she should know better than to gloss his sensibilities. Jet saw himself as the diamond in the rough, and suggesting that he should shine a little less, even to try slip through the cogs enough to lay low and watch Jezebel's back. Jet would always champion the right side, even in the darkest of night he'd do his best to see by his own light. That was his problem, he measured everyone up by standards so high no one could possibly hope to reach them. Everyone fell short in his sight. Which made her underlying intent all the more daring.
"Well, um, guess what?"
Jet sighs. He's irritated, not really at Sherry, but at shit in general.
"What?"
"They're releasing Jez!"
"Oh? Hey, that's... " you can hear his demeanor improve instantly. "That's great! I can't believe the hospital didn't call!"
"Uh, well, they did, but they said you weren't answering."
"Huh? Oh, well... hey thanks for calling Sherry! I really appreciate it."
"No problem, Jet. Hey, I know you want to go see her as soon as possible, but after that, you wanna go grab a bite to eat, maybe celebrate?"
"Hey yeah, but only if you bring the munchkin!"
Sherry's second of elation at his answer is slightly deflated at the stipulation, but it's better than nothing, right?
"Yeah, Jez and Hayvn are going to be ecstatic to be together again, but Jez is still going to need her rest. So, yeah, I'll bring her."
"Great. I'll see you at your place soonish. Later!"
Sherry hangs up, slightly victorious, a very little closer to her crush.
----------
As the meal ends, last laughs had, old stories rehashed, Jet tosses Sherry a hug and pops Havyn a kiss on the forehead. Melanie admires from the next table the way Jet is so close with them, but completely oblivious to the way the hired woman is gushing over him. His aloofness is a quality that can be reshaped into something... dangerous. Mr. Kasem almost fed on turning his employee's smallest flaws into their most effective weapons. This was going to be fun... if only they could win him over to their side.
As Sherry and Havyn make their exit, Melanie signs her credit receipt and closes the faux leather pad. She smiles and announces her presence.
"Cute kid, she yours?"
Jet turns around. He's visibly taken aback by the vision before him. He smiles a trademark Opie smile.
"No, she's my neice," he explains.
Melanie laughs the titter of angels.
"I know, Jet, I was making a joke," she smiles a suggestive smile. "I'm a fan."
His smile fades as he makes the connection. Only wrestling fans were likely to know about his relations. He makes to put on his jacket.
"You hate it, don't you?" Jet pauses as Melanie's question hits home. He doesn't even turn around.
"It's hell itself, I swear. I can't wait to get out of this hole. It doesn't matter who I face, who I align with, who I throw my support behind. It's the same old song and dance every time the cameras roll. Travis Roberts? An old, really tall, really showy guy. Beneath that facade, he's KvK, he's Mickey Dragon, he's Moss Edwards, he's Brandon Brown. They're all clowns in this twisted circus, and beneath the make up, they're just like everyone else. Cold, shallow, talentless, nameless. It takes a colorful and gaudy patina to make them anything worthwhile, at least to their rabid fans, only we're not using grease paint here, we're using gimmicks and flashy showmanship, edgy personas and vices, drunkeness and swear words. It's so... fake. I'm an athlete, I don't belong with these... these... actors."
Melanie stands up, "Have a nice night, Jet." The seeds were planted.
Jet is still leaning on the chair, his jacket halfway on, when she walks confidently out the door.
"Come on, Jet! You're my hero!" says the adolescent.
He stops momentarily to turn and look over his shoulder in an ultimately dismissive way. "Kid, there are no heroes here."
He walks away, leaving the poor kid confused and possibly disillusioned.
---------
In the dark of the hotel room, Jet gazes out through the rain-streaked glass, through dingy blinds, through the blinking, intermittantly working letters of the "_O VA_ANCY" sign. He is so lost in thought, he doesn't even hear his cell phone ringing on the nightstand, at least not at first. After staring for a while, he puts his head against the blinds and closes his eyes, crushing the slats against the panes. An audible sigh of frustration escapes him.
"Why do I still set the bar for this place so high? Each week, I think I've figured out how to leap the pitfalls, only to be blindsided by even more douchbaggery and shenanigans. Even when what might questionably be the most honorable man on the roster other than myself is my opponent, my on allies, and I use the term very loosely, come to steal it away. This business is a vampire that sucks the will to resist right out of you. You either run away, or you become part of the problem. There's no solving it, there's no overcoming it. So I just keep banging my head," and he punctuates each word in that phrase with a significant bump against the glass, "against the wall of shame this business represents, and all that comes of it is a paper thin guarantee that I can keep my sister safe."
"I've sold my soul to this devil, and Persephone has escaped hell in order to bide her time in a hospital bed, sneaking cigarettes and entertaining a cornucopea of visitors with varying degrees of malicious intent and dangerous obsession. The reward? Mistrust. Betrayal. Hatred. Unwanted rivalries with criminals I could not care less about. It's ridiculous. It's all a big joke and I'm the punchline."
Jet's head snaps to the left as he finally hears the cell phone ringing. He gets up reluctantly and wanders over to the phone.
----------
She can't blame the guy. He's had a lot on his mind lately. Not just the obvious endangerment of his sister, her employer and best friend, but the complete change of scenery. He has become completely enveloped by the touch and go nature of alliances and gimmicks that, in the end, don't hold water.
But, a girl can only drop so many hints. If she was ever going to catch his eye, she might as well poke him in it.
Of course, her resolve is almost broken after the fifth ring. She wouldn't bug him with such a small and selfish request, but she had a bit of good news to share. News she knows Salem, KvK, or Korpi probably won't think to share... they aren't bad guys, like Jet thinks, they are just a little... preoccupied with themselves at times. And they don't consider Jet part fo the group, by any means. Not that he cares. Anyway...
She's about to just call it a bust, when Jet finally answers, "Hello?"
"Hey, Jet, you sound down?"
"Yeah, maybe because Klaus just robbed me of the only chance I had for a simulacrum resembling a real fight."
"Hey, come on, Jet, you know the nature of this place. You gotta let that shit slide off your back, right?"
"Yeah, thanks, Sherry. Anything else?"
Fuck, she should know better than to gloss his sensibilities. Jet saw himself as the diamond in the rough, and suggesting that he should shine a little less, even to try slip through the cogs enough to lay low and watch Jezebel's back. Jet would always champion the right side, even in the darkest of night he'd do his best to see by his own light. That was his problem, he measured everyone up by standards so high no one could possibly hope to reach them. Everyone fell short in his sight. Which made her underlying intent all the more daring.
"Well, um, guess what?"
Jet sighs. He's irritated, not really at Sherry, but at shit in general.
"What?"
"They're releasing Jez!"
"Oh? Hey, that's... " you can hear his demeanor improve instantly. "That's great! I can't believe the hospital didn't call!"
"Uh, well, they did, but they said you weren't answering."
"Huh? Oh, well... hey thanks for calling Sherry! I really appreciate it."
"No problem, Jet. Hey, I know you want to go see her as soon as possible, but after that, you wanna go grab a bite to eat, maybe celebrate?"
"Hey yeah, but only if you bring the munchkin!"
Sherry's second of elation at his answer is slightly deflated at the stipulation, but it's better than nothing, right?
"Yeah, Jez and Hayvn are going to be ecstatic to be together again, but Jez is still going to need her rest. So, yeah, I'll bring her."
"Great. I'll see you at your place soonish. Later!"
Sherry hangs up, slightly victorious, a very little closer to her crush.
----------
As the meal ends, last laughs had, old stories rehashed, Jet tosses Sherry a hug and pops Havyn a kiss on the forehead. Melanie admires from the next table the way Jet is so close with them, but completely oblivious to the way the hired woman is gushing over him. His aloofness is a quality that can be reshaped into something... dangerous. Mr. Kasem almost fed on turning his employee's smallest flaws into their most effective weapons. This was going to be fun... if only they could win him over to their side.
As Sherry and Havyn make their exit, Melanie signs her credit receipt and closes the faux leather pad. She smiles and announces her presence.
"Cute kid, she yours?"
Jet turns around. He's visibly taken aback by the vision before him. He smiles a trademark Opie smile.
"No, she's my neice," he explains.
Melanie laughs the titter of angels.
"I know, Jet, I was making a joke," she smiles a suggestive smile. "I'm a fan."
His smile fades as he makes the connection. Only wrestling fans were likely to know about his relations. He makes to put on his jacket.
"You hate it, don't you?" Jet pauses as Melanie's question hits home. He doesn't even turn around.
"It's hell itself, I swear. I can't wait to get out of this hole. It doesn't matter who I face, who I align with, who I throw my support behind. It's the same old song and dance every time the cameras roll. Travis Roberts? An old, really tall, really showy guy. Beneath that facade, he's KvK, he's Mickey Dragon, he's Moss Edwards, he's Brandon Brown. They're all clowns in this twisted circus, and beneath the make up, they're just like everyone else. Cold, shallow, talentless, nameless. It takes a colorful and gaudy patina to make them anything worthwhile, at least to their rabid fans, only we're not using grease paint here, we're using gimmicks and flashy showmanship, edgy personas and vices, drunkeness and swear words. It's so... fake. I'm an athlete, I don't belong with these... these... actors."
Melanie stands up, "Have a nice night, Jet." The seeds were planted.
Jet is still leaning on the chair, his jacket halfway on, when she walks confidently out the door.
