This was the first time since she'd called Darling a couple weeks ago that he'd said something crazy. They were teleconferencing, him from the States, her from Mom's living room (the images in the background were an almost comical contrast) - the individual pieces had come together with a lot less debate than she'd expected. But the last one...
"Jesus shit no." Teresa peered down at the screen and crinkled her nose. "And he's calling himself V now? Jack, do you remember Nashville? With the barbed wire? And the explosives? There is a lot of hyperbole around this job. And I haven't been scared of a lot of people but he is... a cold hearted brutally efficient motherfucker, and I wouldn't want to be in the same city as him if I could help it."
A long silence on the other end. "Exactly. You might be unfamiliar, but that's pretty much what you want out of your friends -"
"Does somebody like that make friends? I think he makes
arrangements. Crazy and dumb is manageable, but crazy and smart is..."
"It's a risk vs. reward sort of thing. We're all pretty comfortable with what we have so far. I think he's a manageable risk."
A deep breath. Teresa tried thinking of the real reason she was so hesitant. V would be a really, really awful person to have as an enemy, but honestly, the same could be said about any of the names on this list. Really, the issue here was -
"OK." She spoke fast enough to cut herself off. "I guess I'll do all the contacting. Best to get the weirdness out of the way."
Darling grinned and lit a cigar. "That's exactly what I was thinking."
New Orleans reminded Teresa of a haunted mansion during the daytime more than anything, an intermingling of stateliness and ruin.
She walked the last few blocks, past stores lined with cast-iron balconies and crawling vines until making it to a store with a row of dirty looking herbs in glass jars on the windowsill. She pulled a business card out of her purse and held it up to the door. THE AUTHENTIC, it said in a flourishing typeface. The front looked strange, mostly low cut grass with a long circle of stone-ringed sand in the center and a couple of empty buckets she had to step around on her way to the entrance.
She creaked the screen door open and looked around. He'd told her to meet her here, but there wasn't a customer in sight, and her clothes didn't make her feel more comfortable. She came in a dress of all things, maybe expecting that everyone in this part of the country wore them along with big umbrellas to keep the sun from beating down on them.
A line of dolls to her left, black candles to the right emitting something familiar and heavy-smelling, a display counter and a staircase further ahead. She'd talked to him on the phone, but it had been a long time since she'd seen him in person, and she wasn't exactly sure what she expected him to look like outside of a show. She wasn't expecting him to make the transformation to everyday citizen as evenly as someone like Darling did: a casual shirt and a beer and an after work sort of smile. Nor was she expecting him to appear in exactly the same state she saw him in backstage, mainly because she found it hard process anything like that removed from its environment. It would be weird, like an anachronism. The expectation was... something uncomfortable but not frightening, nostalgic but not expected, not too much or too little in the way of exotica.
The door jangled a few minutes later, and whether or not he fit those expectations or digressed from them was entirely in the eyes of her judgment. It wasn't whether he cared or not-- it was more, it hadn't occurred to him one way or another. Jeans, a grey shirt with a red iron cross and the words 'Teller-Morrow Auto Repair', a ballcap pulled low over his eyes in some perhaps-lame attempt at being unnoticeable. Likewise slumped shoulders. He treated the shop as if he'd seen it before, going straight over to her, though without rush. "Hey, Teresa. You look out of place. Then again, who wouldn't."
"Well, you do a decent job of it." She started at him for a moment, swaying in time to a gust of wind outside. Then she squinted one eye and opened the other. "Do places like this usually have people inside of them? For the rent paying?"
"Usually, I'd think," he nodded. "Then again, maybe they stepped out for a drink or something. I don't think they're too afeared of people stealing from them." The door fell shut behind him, and he took up most of the frame. He did rather fit in-- perhaps it was the tattoos of bleeding things on his exposed arms. "Hey, I figured it was better than some random restaurant. 'Tis the season and such." He hadn't asked her what she wanted yet despite not having a reputation for patience or small talk, because he figured she'd get there in her own time. He hadn't formed a very definite opinion on her previously, but what was there was rather positive. She was very effective at her chosen career, attractive enough without trying at it, and her verbal meanderings didn't make him want to slap duct tape over her mouth. The last was a narrow category to be in.
She propped her elbows against the table and took a breath. Against all rational reason, she felt a little comforted seeing him incognito. He reminded her of one of her mom's live-in boyfriends between the drinking and the screaming and the asshole moments. She had a habit of starting conversations with the most intriguing bit, sideeffect of a lifetime of talking to people with short attention spans for fun and profit. "Talking to you about this was Darling's idea."
He raised his eyebrows, mouth pursing tight, then took a couple steps closer. "Smashing." He wasn't sure whether to give her credit for going without false pretense or... "That's slightly surprising. I think."
"You haven't met Reina Morgan, but once you do you'll get that... she has her positives. But she's sort of predictable, in her way. And Darling is someone you can trust well, to be Jack Darling. I feel a bit more secure knowing how someone will react in a given situation."
"And I take it I'm not?" Predictable. He could be using clearer sentences, but he was rather stating the fucking obvious. It was sort of a rhetorical nudge thing. Though he was, in his way, somewhat predictable. "Jack's alright as long as you don't depend on him to be anything more than Jack." Jack, he knew. Reina, he was curious on simply from the two-sentence introduction she'd just gotten. Teresa, he was handling in a dance here. The directness was appreciable, but unfamiliar.
"I haven't taken enough to be sure. And I need to be, because this isn't guaranteed to last forever." Something like a fight outside the sterlized bell to bell routine : something quick and intense and painful. "Maybe as short as a couple months, depending. If people leave because they're worried about their physical safety and the place folds, mission accomplished. If this triggers a steady string of competent do-gooders and we just barely hold on by the tips of our fingers for a very long time, mission accomplished. Generic owner guy actually signs over a deed or something -"
She'd never thought of that. Really really really no interest in it, but from a philosophical perspective, how often did THAT actually happen?
"Pretty much anything outside of a couple people leaving and the whole thing getting dropped overnight or losing some ridiculous disbanding match is fine with me. I'd like to harm people and have the harming people end uniquely, is all." She paused and tapped her jaw, thinking of the best way to explain this next thing. "You ever had to hurt yourself? I don't mean not giving that special girl a goodnight kiss, here. The tear welling swear wording sort of thing."
After a bit of mental scrambling to try to figure out where she was headed with a question like that, "Hmm. Yes." He wasn't of the tendency to launch into some sharing bonding story over it for histrionics or pity. That a lot of people in their business would was something that set his teeth on edge.
"You draw away from it at the last minute and you make the wound worse without fixing whatever went wrong in the first place. I don't expect to feel some sort of last moment remorse, but I feel like I had to cover all eventualities." She guessed that to some people it would be some great troubling irony not to feel anything about it at all, but that would be great, really. Anyway, the subtext - that she liked her chances against almost any three people she could think of - she decided was a natural symptom of the job. "I thought about it for a few seconds instead of just throwing my hands up and yelling Veto at the top of my lungs, because.. you remember that scene in Fight Club, right?"
The smile she gave him was a very chipper one, considering the subject manner.
"You don't have balls," he commented, even though the literal wasn't the point.
"Well you know, they both produce gametes in their respective... erm. Hm." A cough. "You're one of the few guys to ever really give me the chills, you know? Like you aren't doing an impersonation of a character from this really good movie you saw."
She caught herself and turned to him, narrowed her eyes and smirked. "Except for that one bit."
You could follow the reactions along on the face-- expansion of mild surprise, contraction of momentary confusion, then the realization. Something dismissive in the mouth, sort of aw-shucks. "That was meant to be recognized. By somebody, not everybody." He'd almost forgotten about it. "You're one of the few people to almost make me feel slow." He liked having to actually try to follow along, though.
She looked down and bit her lip. It was delightful to hear that for a couple reasons, mainly because she felt a little closer to even with him.
"You ever been to California?"
***
Backstage, Google Arena. The lighting is dense, and Kristen Shelley is making her way through hallways filled with "spooky" lighting and orange streamers that haven't been cleaned up yet. The camera pans around the hall, before focusing on the view of a locker room door. The camera crew sits there for a few moments, and just as they’re about to push their way into the locker room, it flies open and The Blacklist pours out, Darling in the lead, Reina and Teresa flanking him, and V lumbering behind in the rear. Everyone looks a little peeved, but Darling pauses in his tracks as the others stop in a tight formation. The cameras zoom out to show Kirsten Shelley and Jack Darling face to face.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am here with the self-proclaimed Blacklist of professional wrestling -they've made quite a splash a few weeks ago and they've been the hot topic of the entire lockeroom. And I guess we have to start with you at Retribution. An impressive string of victories from the Blacklist, so what are your thoughts on -"
Before Jack can even start Teresa butts in.
"Now last week, I looked into a TGW camera and I told the people in Detroit not to bother watching Retribution because it was a foregone conclusion that we would dominate that show from bell to bell, and we did. Jack Darling said that he would break Jordan Albrecht in half, and what do you know, Sk8er Boi left Detroit on a stretcher likely never to return. Reina promised that she would introduce Q to some subtle new flavors of leather -" Teresa cracks the back of her hand against her palm,
" - and it happened like the speaking made it so, and as for myself, I promised that I would break the System and score the win over this company's last desperate hope. I did so."
"Every single person either of us we have walked down that ramp to face has been overpowered, outsmarted, or outmaneuvered - and usually, it's all three. That was the case last month when Reina threw Cody Only down on his neck, it was the case a few weeks ago when Jack put his boot through Albrecht's skull, it will be the case long after David Blazenwing has decided to find some more titles to scavenge for. And since everybody knows that The Blacklist is a force that can't be stopped, can't be challenged, and can't be stood up to... I can tell you, with confidence, what WILL happen next, Kirsten Shelley, and it will be a sight that is worth the money. You're going to want to assign a cash value to it so that it sticks in your memory for a long time to come. TGW Corrupted Dreams is going to be broadcast live from Sydney, Australia on November 30th. 8PM. You are going to see... the complete destruction of a professional wrestling promotion, you are going to see the death of TGW as you know it, and all your favorite guys, the ones from the commercials and the silkscreened T-Shirts... you are going to see what they look like up close and personal and twitching. And that's going to happen regardless of whether David Blazenwing or AJ Adams walk out of Animosity the TGW Champion. The only problem is that it should have happened a month ago. Wade Mason... has tried every excuse in the book, every stalling tactic out there to keep his golden boys alive and eating solid food. That time is over. Starting now. We're not going to do this like Retribution where Wade pulls a list of names out of a hat, they've seen enough of us to know what to expect, and now we want to know what we're getting too. The TGW Championship, whether it's Jack Darling or myself or V or Reina - whoever, we want dates. Times. Names. Or things get ugly... uglier around here. I mean, it's plenty of fun to attack them as a group, but I've always thought ruining lives is really about that personal touch, you know?
Russell Franchise has been perfectly safe crawling in his little sandbox, but if he wants to find out what adults can do to him, he's welcome to find out. AJ Adams? Ever since I put his buddy Cody Only on the shelf I've really, really wanted to do the same to him, so here's rooting for you AJ. Blazenwing, telling people that the TGW Championship solidified his career and made him a bonefide legend. I hope he was watching the look on AJ Donavon's face when he won that same title. Because he thought the same thing. Now he's gone. AJ Adams, he felt that same sort of happiness and now? Outside looking in. Blazenwing, I am so happy that title means that much to you, that you're showing it the sort of respect a world-class title deserves, that it's lifted you out of self doubt... because it's going to mean twice as much for me when I suck that life out of your eyes and stuff all those old frustrations back in."Shelley licks her lips and softly shakes her head. "I recently did an interview with the champion, and he said that groups like these are viruses that almost always kill the host, in this case being TGW."
Teresa pauses abruptly and leans forward, staring the interviewer down.
"I don't... I don't think I understand what you're going for- are you trying to make me hit you? Do you think it would be good for ratings if you asked me a bunch of stupid questions until I tore your head off your shoulders? I know your brother works here but nobody should be THAT dedicated to their job. LOOK." She reaches into Shelley's pocket, pulls out a makeup compact and starts examining herself. Finally, Kirsten opens her mouth and says : "What are you -"
"I'm checking to see if I look like someone who gives a shit." Teresa flicks the compact across the room, and Shelley's face falls as you hear it shatter against the wall.
"And I don't. Let's just say that we've thought about things a little more throughly than David Blazenwing has, OK? As it is, this is a collection of fucking demigods who'd rip open any place in the country exactly the same way we're doing this one, and even in all that thinking, we didn't think about the roster's self esteem. If we leave Australia and wittle Bwazenwing doesn't wan't us doing any more damage to his worn down body : GOOD. I don't care whether I don't care that this place just crawled out of Cody Clark's Hungry Hungry Vagina and is on wobbly legs and can't quite digest solid food yet: Corrupted Memories is feeding time. ""There's also the possibility that AJ Adams could regain the TGW Title -"
"Somebody talk to her." Teresa throws her arms up and walks a few steps away, putting the group behind her and Shelley.
"Somebody talk to her before I choke her."Luckily, Reina was in a good position for that, and waved Kirsten over.
"This week it's what... an eight way match against four mystery opponents... hand selected by Wade Mason himself? And I know the possibilities are supposed to be really really fear inspiring, but I figure if Wade Mason could handpick four people in the world who were good enough to cut it here, they'd already have a job fulltime, and he wouldn't have to hide them for a surprise ratings boost.
Whoever it is, I'm personally going to have an advantage over them, because they don't know me, and if these mystery opponents are all that fear inspiring, I'm gonna know plenty about who they are. We all will. So let me think of the worst case scenarios... Anthony Johns comes to the ring."
She shrugs.
"Yeah, we've seen the videos. So what? Was I supposed to be surprised seeing that tired ass eWo 2007 shit? Let's face it, he hasn't been the same since Jack Darling ripped him open and took the eWo Title from him. And I can't think of three people that would actually TRUST the slimy fuck long enough to work with him. He pretends to be this tough man, yet deep in the core of "The Legend" is nothing but a whining aggravating baby. Whenever he doesn't get what he wants he starts crying and making up catchphrases to show how angry he is. After he loses this week, it'd be Manifest Entity Purple Code Snuffleupagus. And nobody would care.
Who else? AJ Donovan? Here to rejoin the fight, convince his new friends that he's worth a damn thing? The FORMER champion is like eight in the pecking order by now whether you measure by talent OR dedication. And it doesn't get much better as you move down the list. The Allans are probably spitting out more babies as we speak, Cross and Legion are massaging people's thighs in that other federation, Reno Drake is a hell of a talent, but he looks more comfortable watching the action than feeling it first hand. And Frank Murdoch's up in Washington, weeping into his X-Box that his precious fed died, probably doing body shots off Xaria Linette. When all this is over, hopefully TGW will get the point that there aren't any heroes coming to save them outside of their own efforts - and they're pretty pathetic ones at that."Kirsten tries to say something, but Reina immediately covers her mouth.
"Say one word and you will be following your pretty little lips to the hospital. I wasn't finished."Kirsten nods her head in shock.
"Mason, I, for one, have just about had it up to here with your little games. My partners may be a little patient about it, but I don't try to don the Ghandi card, so I don't try to be. If there's anyone that you've seen a problem with out of this bunch, it's me and mainly because no one in this company knows me. Should I care? We all know the answer to that. Why don't you answer that, Kirsten."Reina uncovers her mouth and acts as though she's holding a microphone in her hand. Before Kirsten can even speak, she gets in her face.
"I'm not holding a microphone, you stupid pasty bitch."
She snatches the mic out of her hand and pushes her out of the camera's view, standing in a stance as though she was a reporter on television.
"But I am now. Any of you want to say something? The Blacklist has officially taken over this interview."V grins and waves her over. After a long pause, he spoke:
"Odds are high that you don't know me.
Unlike Jack Darling, I've not been in a high-profile pay per view match where a fellow wrestler plummeted to his death. Unlike Teresa Quaranta, I haven't been multi-time champion anywhere you've probably heard of. Not because I haven't been a champion-- I've been champion in multiple places, but pro wrestling seems to exist in these little bubbles. And unlike BLAZENWING, I'm not here to make you give a damn about shit you never saw. I don't need a past because it won't take much time to get your attention with what I'm doing instead of what I've done.
It is an easy assumption to make that I'm simply muscle that Darling in all his endless money hired. And not wholly inaccurate, if you take out the 'simply'. I wouldn't be here without the money, though I'm happy to take Wade Mason's instead of Jack's. But that's not the motivating property. If you dispose of the moral quandaries, and if you're either stupid enough or smart enough to not worry about being caught, money is not that hard to get. Though I wouldn't take that as an admission of guilt on camera-- what kind of a man would do that, after all?
Oh, I've got my own private motivations in this. But unlike a bad villain, I'm not in the business of using you all as a confessor before I knock off the people in my sights. That's unsuccessful not because it's in the confines of a television show and the classic storytelling scenarios all want happy endings. It's unsuccessful because the whole idea behind a plot is information management.
I have no delusions that I'm anything but the antagonist-- good guys don't look like me, move like me, act like me. Nor do I glory in being Fucking Evil, as I'm sure on sight alone Michael Hyde does, as many fools who've come and (thankfully) gone have. I am what I am. Whatever that is, if it hasn't confused you by now? Stay tuned, we'll get there."Shelley looks expectantly at Darling, who just rolls his eyes and waves with the back of his hand. She looks into the camera like she's ready to give a wrapup... nervously looks back at Reina... and then traces an index finger across her throat.