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Supercard Archives / Re: FINN WHELAN (c) v GOTH -WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE
« on: April 12, 2024, 01:13:46 AM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XVII // EVERGREEN
I CONFESS, I’M A MESS. I'VE BECOME MY OWN ANTAGONIST, LOST IN A WAR I’LL NEVER WIN. SINKING LIKE I'M MADE OF LEAD DOWN THE HOLE INSIDE MY HEAD. SO IF I'M IN TOO DEEP, BURY ME UNDERNEATH THE EVERGREEN.
ARANKAI
••••••
In the reality of it all, though, can prophecies last forever? Eventually, that forecasted story told of a possible future only matters if they’re in the near future. Otherwise, the belief in them fades away, and they become nothing more than folklore – no better than chaff upon the wind. For example, the storybook that men and women die for because they’re not able to look past their own feeble inequities – The Bible, if you’re not catching on – is full of prophecy.
Isaiah prophesied of a leader who would come from Yahweh, and he would take the shape of the sin in the world and leave everyone after him purified. Job foretold his own death. John, at the end of the Bible and probably in his acid-trip of old age, divined the entire world ending with four horsemen and demonic angels.
It’s hard to believe that books in the Apocrypha don’t fall in line with the other authors, but you know…
Everything is told how man wants it, not actual divination.
The end of the world is a story that is told time and time again, and in the early two-thousands, we had a book series that was fiction in which the rapture would happen and everyone who was not loved by God lived through the trials and tribulations of the prophet John. I can remember the chaos that disseminated from that, people thinking they knew the signs of the coming of the end of the world, and how much everyone in the non-secular circle tried to evangelize…
…or you know, The Harbinger book series came out and they predicted that the end of the world would come from the teachings of Revelation, that they had mathematically counted out the date and time. Yet that date and time passed like the end of the Mayan Calendar, and here we all stand, born from our shame and continuing our suffering.
The point of my diatribe here is to say that prophecies only matter if they happen in short spurts of time. Now, I said that this prophecy of mine would be that you fight and fight and fight and you push me hard and you show me that you want this championship, that you want everything in this world and the mantle of Champion in the face of an era that by all rights should be yours. You were the chosen one, you were the one that had the contendership and that was ripped from your very bones like the cake of an obese kid who doesn’t need another slice. You’ve had chance after chance after chance, and this time is your golden moment, the one where you’re truly going to trip me up. Because you’re at your best.
But your best is not good enough.
It is a short time away…just a few days, and here we are on the precipice of another momentous occasion where you’ve been given yet another chance to shake the ground. You seek to throw me off my game by calling yourself fucking Jesus of Nazareth. Aligning yourself as the goddamn Messiah again in some form of allusion to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Now, I’m all for some delusions under the sky above, but this one takes the cake. I’ve been wrestling for quite some time, and I’ve never seen someone so fucking touched in the head as to believe they are the new messiah of the world.
That pretty much goes against that cute little storybook you claim to believe, right? Didn’t the Messiah walk with the lame, hold counsel with men who were of little faith in the Lord, and be seen with the less fortunate and those dredges of the world? I can’t imagine any savior of the lost flaunting their worth with their five thousand dollar suits and looking like a pompous little prick thinking their shit doesn’t stink.
Or is it because your entire previous argument was littered with hypocrisies and inconsistencies that it would make someone with a bad neck get whiplash time and time again?
You need redemption and you’re willing to risk your career…but you’re also the best in the business and no one can hold a candle to you! But really, you’re ready to retire if you don't attain the championship. Oh, and if you don’t get this championship one more time after the billionth time you’ve failed to attain it, then you can’t rest on any of your other laurels because those don’t matter! But no insults to your peers, you just deserve more because…you think you do?
Oh and the fear comment? Cute, but nothing really in this wrestling business makes me scared. Disappointed. Annoyed. Sure. Those I can get along with, but it’s laughable if you think I fear you. The only thing I fear is losing the ones I love, and I’m pretty sure I don’t love you.
But also, the whole…The light I am shining! But also…I AM DEATH! RaRRRawaRRRexclaimationpointoneoneone!
If you were going for intimidation, try to think before you speak. I know it’s hard. You’re missing a few brain cells, but you’ll get there. Bless your heart.
And let’s be absolutely certain you understand this: I don’t fucking admire you, you limp-dicked bitchfuck. Your name was never on my bucket list, Goth. In fact, I would have been happy to have never faced you. I think you’re a stain on this company just as much as any of the other Saviours, and I don’t think their presence is necessary either. Look on the roster and tell me how many men on this side of the bracket are men that are worth a goddamn thing? Men like Alexander Raven have risen so many times from the ashes, have come back and created something with their own two hands. He deserved this more than you. Even when fucking Michael Harris was here, he worked his ass off to become the name that everyone wanted to attack. Even fucking whatever that wanker Crimson fuck that wouldn’t get off his own dick had more charisma in his pinky finger.
There is no fear stricken into my bones by anything you can say or do. And that’s not because I’ve put you behind me, or put you on the backburner, or whatever you think I’ve done. I know you like to assume the things that I have going on in my mind, but here’s the thing: I’ve made it pretty clear that none of you have ever been right in any assumption that you’ve ever made about me. I’m scared of this, I fear losing shit, I’ve underestimated, I’m not…whatever the fuck you want to sit there and say, the fact of the matter is that when it comes down to it, I know how to buckle down and do what I’m paid for.
I don’t need accolades to make me something in the eyes of the world. The second I resigned back with the company was the moment in which Christian and Mark got excited because there would be something different than the same old diatribe that had been glug-glugged out like an old, used pornstar on her five thousandth film. I wasn’t going to use the same old stereotypes or the same tired I’ma beat you like an old man shit that everyone in this company uses to try to get under everyone’s skin.
They knew I was going to assess the situation that I had in front of me and I was going to analyze and figure out how to come out on top. They handed me Kayla as a partner when we hated each other, and look at the brilliance that’s shot out. Shiny championships since October. I screamed about wanting the Internet Championship because I wanted to be recognized as being part of the cream de la creme of this company. Instead, I got saddled with a tournament that while I was utterly disappointed, I still made the best of every chance I got.
I turn the shit I’m given into gold. Quite literally. I have two championships and you better believe that I’m not going to lose either of them any time soon.
You see, Goth…you need this. You need this redemption, this chance, this opportunity because you feel like you’ve failed miserably and you need everything this match can provide you with because you, yourself, feel like a worthless piece of trash in this company. That you’re not able to attain, that you’re unable to do jackshit, and no amount of wordsmithing yourself as the Right Hand of God can erase the fact that you believe yourself to be nothing without this championship.
That’s the first fallacy of this business. You can be the demon in the closet that keeps even the strongest of men awake at night, and not have a championship. But this ‘If I don’t get it then I’ll retire’ bullshit is trite and pedantic and already made me yawn.
Look at the championship and tell me that it deserves a man like you, who will throw everything out the window if they can’t have it this one final time. Hint.
It doesn’t.
It deserves to be in the hands of a man who will fight for it no matter the cost, and who would be willing to fight to the end of the earth, through that tribulation supposedly prophesied, if it meant to keep it in their grasp.
What war have I fought and won, you asked?
This is a never-ending one, and I continue to win over and over and over again.
Because I am evergreen, Goth. And in your own words, you’ve already told me that you’ll never last the sands of time.
••••••
He stood at the basin in the bathroom of the apartment that felt familiar, but so far away from him. In the sink drain swirled clear fluid from the tap and blood from his hands. His body shook, and he was certain that when he showed back up on her doorstep, he would be back in the world of rejection and hurt just as he’d been just over a year ago.
He’d made sure to chuck his boots over the pier and to arrive back moderately clean, but the blood refused to wash off his hands. Perhaps it was an omen that he wouldn’t come out of this as scot free as he had been. But it was family. He had no choice.
He had no choice.
She banged on the door, and his eyes darted up to it, sweat dripping down his brow and across the sides of his face. He could hear her voice, but it seemed so far away, like she was screaming across the entire river that ran down the city sides. Everything felt like it was in a tunnel now that the adrenaline had worn off, and as he stood there, he could feel every muscle in his body going limp.
“What the fuck happened?!” Kayla yelled, not frantic but not angry either. It was a strange sound, he thought, to hear her sound both simultaneously concerned and annoyed.
He’d run down the street then, slamming the door to his Toyota Corolla with little more than an afterthought as he looked up at the name of the club. High Horizons. An epithet, he supposed, to the thoughts that its owner thought he had high hopes entirely. His feet slammed hard against the stairs and he merely looked at the guard with muted fury before being let in without question. Bodies gyrated and bass boomed, and Finn could barely see anything in the darkened decor with flashing lights that most clubs had these days in order to hide the criminal affairs going on.
His eyes darted across the scaffolding, looking above for any sign of impending trouble. It wouldn’t be like Kei to cause harm in front of people, but the lack of security was concerning. Normally, there would be men stationed in various, hard to see. But they weren’t there, and Finn had no clue where they could be.
He bumped into a blonde-haired club-goer who only giggled and waved at him as he tried to sputter out an apology. But it didn’t deter him. His eyes focused in on the door, ajar, upstairs on the balcony. Kei’s office. It was never unlocked, and never opened. Not unless someone was in there, or someone was in a hurry to be somewhere else.
Finn took the steps by twos, which was far too easy. He crossed the balcony area, shifting through the random tables and bartending girls, and stopped in front of the door.
Finn opened the bathroom door, and he looked down at Kayla’s face. She was utterly confused, a little annoyed, and shocked at the appearance of her tag team partner. As he turned and went back to the basin, he finished washing the final remnants of blood from beneath his nails. He braced himself then against the counter, closing his eyes and trying to settle his heart down.
“What happened?” She insisted, taking a step into the bathroom. “You went running out of here and wouldn’t even wait for me and I–”
“I couldn’t bring you with me.” He insisted.
“Yes, you could have.”
“No,” he turned his head and looked at her, blue eyes open and his nostrils flaring. “I couldn’t have. Believe me.”
There was nothing there, of course. A whole lot of to do for nothing, he thought, as he pushed open the door and found an empty office. Dickie’s phone pinged the same location he was standing in, so he had to be in this area. Or maybe his phone was just left somewhere. He bashed his hand into the door and turned around, looking back into the sinful solace of the club.
There were multiple levels, he knew this. But getting anywhere was going to be a bitch if there was any of Kei’s guards nearby. He sighed, and then headed for the hallway, noting that when he’d been here before, there was an elevator that took a key that he just so happened to have. He grabbed his keys from his pocket as he stepped into the metal cage, closing it behind him and then looking at the controls. Four buttons. Only one required the key. He stuck it into the metal casing next to the button and turned it, pressing the button immediately afterwards.
He swore at himself halfway down the ride that he didn’t bring anything for defense into this hellhole. And then, he swore at himself that he was going to die in a fucking club that played Tiesto, but that was neither here nor there. There were a lot of things left unsaid, and here he was, diving into a fucking den of wolves for a family member again that couldn’t figure out their ass from their front.
Nevertheless, it was eerily quiet when he stepped out of the elevator.
“I don’t know what started it all.” He explained, shaking his head as he sat down on the rim of the tub. “When I got in there, it was quiet. So quiet I could hear a fucking pin drop. There was nothing, not even a breath of anything in the air. I took a few steps in and it was just…silent. Dark.”
Kayla leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as she listened. She thought maybe she could interrupt, but thought against it.
“There was a hallway that led to another room, and I remembered that it was one of those places that Kei liked to bring people because it was essentially soundproof with the club’s bass. I didn’t think–”
“That’s fucking obvious.” She scolded, rolling her eyes.
“--thanks for that,” he added, replying to her. “I didn’t expect,” he amended, “for there to be nothing down there, but when I got in there…it was just the two of them. Kei had his back to Dickie and I don’t know what was said…”
He pushed open the door and the blonde haired man was busy reaching for something in a cabinet. It was then that he heard the squelching sound of something being pressed into a body, and he watched as he brother stepped forward, pushing as much pressure on the back of the Japanese man as he twisted something into him.
Kei cried out, started swearing in Japanese and turned to take swipe at Dickie, who leapt out of the way while simultaneously ripping the knife that was in his hand out of the man’s body. Blood sprayed the walls, just like it did when Kei’s people tortured others down here for information, or for simply failing to follow suit. Dickie stumbled backwards, his grimy hair thrown into his face and he fell to the floor, stumbling.
Finn stared on in shock for a full thirty seconds before he looked between the squirming man on the floor and his brother, who simply stared at his own bloody hands in his own form of stupor. “What the FUCK did you do?!” He finally yelled, leaping forward and reaching down for his brother’s body.
“I don’t…I just…he’s a fucking parasite…I…I….” Dickie stuttered over his own words.
“We don’t kill a fucking Yakuza member in their own fucking house!!” Finn snarled, pulling him back while kicking the knife away from him. “The fuck are you, an idiot?! Goddammit!”
“I’m sorry, I just…”
“Just what, lost your fucking brain somewhere in Cambodia?”
“He wanted me to fucking kill you!” He swore, and Finn stopped, looking at him with widened eyes. “I…I don’t know. He just kept saying nothing was going to go right unless you were out of the picture, and if I wanted to attain…I don’t fuckin’ know, greatness or capability or whatever the fuck, I had to get rid of the problem, and the problem was you.” Dickie looked up at him with the same pleading eyes he’d given his friends when they found out he’d tried to slit his wrists for stupid reasons. “I couldn’t…I....”
“So you killed him instead?!”
“Well, it gets rid of the problem!”
“You…imbecile…” Kei sputtered from the floor, and rolled onto his stomach. He looked at Finn and he looked at Dickie with a venomous expression of betrayal. His eyes fell on Finn, and he crawled to his feet and launched himself at the Seattle Saint. Of course, all of this took two seconds to happen, and Finn wasn’t prepared. A fist came down into his face, though it was not with much force. However, the heavy body of the Japanese man nearly being dead weight caused him to struggle to fight back, though he tried to blockade himself from getting hit anymore by the man. Blood spattered his clothes, his hands. Anywhere Kei touched.
Until he felt the warm spatter of blood across his face as the knife he’d kicked away was suddenly in the neck of the Japanese man. Kei Hideshima fell to the floor, holding a weak hand to his neck, before the life faded from his eyes. Finn scrambled to a sitting position and then looked up at Dickie, whose hand was trembling.
“I’m sorry…”
A thud of raucous footsteps sounded behind the door, and a few of Kei’s men arrived. They took a look at the scene and then looked at Dickie. His hands carried the blood of their leader, and everyone knew it. Finn’s breath froze in his chest. They could do one of two things…and one of them would be a death sentence for both of them.
Finn rose to his feet and moved past Kayla, who seemed shocked at the story just as much as he was. Finn shook his head. “They accepted his murder as a play for power.” He explained, heading out into the main room with Kayla following him. “Kei is dead. Dickie reigns. This whole night has been fucked up beyond belief.”
••••••
But what is the significance of the word “evergreen”?
Evergreen, Goth, symbolizes immortality and eternal life simply because their leaves continue to stay green through the entirety of winter. It’s why the pagans of the ancient world chose them during the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. And why the German Christians chose the Yule Tree. Everything dates back religiously to a pagan element, so why would this not be the same?
Immortality.
Eternal life.
Life and hope.
Growth.
These are all things that are representative of “evergreen”.
Throughout my tenure as a wrestler, there are things that I have done that have solidified my status at this point. I have won tournaments that no one thought I would place. I have been inaugural champion, and I have fought wars that you cannot even comprehend. My entire life has been a jumbled and chaotic mess, and what have I done time and time again except for stay eternally within the bounds of the top? Every company I join, I eventually find myself just a few matches in and I am suddenly the face of it, the man who can do nothing more than rise and rise again.
This isn’t because I’m given the world, and I am given a chance after chance. You see, ninety-five percent of the time, I’ve had to prove myself to the brass so they know just what I can and cannot do. I didn’t start out in this business the best – no, I fought for it. I’ve been a part of battles that you could never win because you don’t have the strength inside of you to pull it out of you, to become better, to fight for the things that matter. You already believe that they are yours by rights, and you haven’t had to contest for them the way I have.
I have fought friends.
I have fought with my family.
I have fought foes that would wipe the floor with your resurrected Christ carcass and I have succeeded and come out on top.
I am evergreen, because no matter what I do – if I slip and make a mistake and lose, I come right back again like an elastic band. I don’t search for redemption because I don’t need it. I don’t seek an end because I’ve still only just begun. This business is cutthroat and brutal, and the smallest amount of weakness you show, anyone will chomp down on your throat to say they’re better than you.
Eventually, the sun sets for all of us. One day, my bones may creak and my muscles may ache, and upon that day I will sit there and tell everyone that it is time that I ride off into the sunset and I’ll actually mean it. I have weathered emotional hurts, fought demons that no one can see, and yet I still ride without the thought of an accolade. I don’t do this sport to have a title attached to my name, or a list of laurels that show me as a competitor. You can have a list ten miles wide of things you have done, but ultimately mean nothing to the world once you’re gone. After all, it only cements some kind of credibility if you believe the places you’ve succeeded are credible.
I don’t know about you, but I think the fact that I am here again in such a short time says more than you would think.
The last time you won this championship, Goth, was over ten years ago. You held it for a total of sixty-three days after you hot potato’d it twice, both extremely short reigns. I won’t be a hypocrite and say my first reign was any better…thirty-five days, and I fucked it up because…well, I didn’t seem to give a shit before. I’ve held this out of your grasp now for fifty-three days alone as of today.
It has taken you ten years to get to this precipice again, and you’ve gotten a second shot in fifty-three days.
You said you were the best to face J2H, but ten years in the making doesn’t make you the prodigal son. It makes you look like you are being handed a dowry that you don’t fucking deserve.
Time and time again, you’ve tried to attain this championship. Only to have failed over and over again because in the end, you’re actually scared of what you’ll have left. Oh, you can sit there and tell me that you’ll try to be a fighting champion and that you’ll put some kind of legacy out there…but what happens when the thing you have been chasing for years is finally yours?
You lose your interest. Just like you did before. You were incapable of maintaining a defense and now, you think it will be any different? That you’ve finally become what you think you need to be for this championship?
Absolutely not.
It is the same tried tryst, a story about what you never had and the only thing left you have to acquire to mean something. If you’re going to put so much stock into a championship, you’ve already lost. Because it’s not about the championship itself. No, that is just an inanimate object set to show a placement in the stash. It doesn’t mean anything if the man holding it means nothing.
Paint yourself as Moses or the Messiah or whoever the fuck you want to stylize yourself to be in order to set yourself apart from the others but I want you to remember this loud and clear.
I am Finn Fucking Whelan, and I don’t need to paint myself as anyone other than who I am to strike hesitance in anyone that will come across me.
I am synonymous with greatness. Synonymous with the everlasting.
And I don’t need to blaspheme anything to get ahead. Go ahead. Try your luck.
Just don’t come crying to me when you come out disappointed.
••••••
“I don’t know what this means,” Finn muttered, sitting on the couch and looking at the confused expression on Kayla’s face. “I don’t know what comes of all of this and I don’t know what I can do about any of it.”
“Dickie…Dickie runs a fucking Yakuza clan?” She sputtered, dropping down next to him once more and looking out the window onto the darkened streets of the city. Her posters seemed to stare down at the two of them, waiting for them to converse, to finally have it out and figure out what their standing was. The television was on low, a monotonous tone that at least drowned out the beating of both of their hearts. She inhaled, and then she turned to look at him. “Do you think he’s going to make that beta male dingo his underling? Because it’ll go up in flames if he does.”
He couldn’t help it. He snorted and then laughed, loudly. Raucously. Like he hadn’t laughed in days and the sound of it finally lifted some chokehold on his body. She snickered slightly, and then, too began to laugh. It sounded in harmony and as if peace was near them. Like the thought of their lives having been fraught with so much and now there was the calm before the storm, a time where they could simply exist. And so they laughed.
And laughed.
Until they couldn’t anymore, gasping for breath and shaking their heads.
Once he came back to reality and the amusement faded, he leaned forward on his elbows, resting them upon his knees and looked at her. Really looked at her. Her looked at her black hair, glossy in the dim light, and her brown-green eyes, and her face. Looked at the smile she still had as she wiped a tear from her laughter away and then realized he was no longer laughing with her. He smiled, and without the hesitation he might have had barely a week ago, he cupped her cheek in his hand.
She didn’t try to block him. Didn’t try to swipe his hand away. Her smile faded and her brow furrowed.
“I love you.” Finn said, quite sure of himself. Maybe it was because of the night’s events, or maybe it had simply been something that needed to be said, but out of his lips it came and there was no taking it back. But nevertheless, it was true, and it had been put out there. When her lips parted, he shook his head. “Unless you’re calling me a dickhead bitch, then I don’t want to hear anything else.”
“Finn.”
“Think about it.” He cut her off. “We’re tag team partners, and I may not show it at the best of times, but I care, Kayla. I don’t want to fuck us up. So think about it. Think about if you want to be involved in…” he waved his hand upwards, and shook his head, finally looking away from her, “this. This shit with my family. And if you don’t…well, then I get it. But think about it. And tell me when you’re ready.”
He rose to his feet and smiled slightly, before taking a step around the corner of the sofa and heading for the door.
Everything would be changed. Maybe for the good, and maybe for the bad, but sometimes…
…to be unyielding and stay strong and true through all of the trials and tribulations of life were what it truly meant to be evergreen.
I CONFESS, I’M A MESS. I'VE BECOME MY OWN ANTAGONIST, LOST IN A WAR I’LL NEVER WIN. SINKING LIKE I'M MADE OF LEAD DOWN THE HOLE INSIDE MY HEAD. SO IF I'M IN TOO DEEP, BURY ME UNDERNEATH THE EVERGREEN.
ARANKAI
••••••
In the reality of it all, though, can prophecies last forever? Eventually, that forecasted story told of a possible future only matters if they’re in the near future. Otherwise, the belief in them fades away, and they become nothing more than folklore – no better than chaff upon the wind. For example, the storybook that men and women die for because they’re not able to look past their own feeble inequities – The Bible, if you’re not catching on – is full of prophecy.
Isaiah prophesied of a leader who would come from Yahweh, and he would take the shape of the sin in the world and leave everyone after him purified. Job foretold his own death. John, at the end of the Bible and probably in his acid-trip of old age, divined the entire world ending with four horsemen and demonic angels.
It’s hard to believe that books in the Apocrypha don’t fall in line with the other authors, but you know…
Everything is told how man wants it, not actual divination.
The end of the world is a story that is told time and time again, and in the early two-thousands, we had a book series that was fiction in which the rapture would happen and everyone who was not loved by God lived through the trials and tribulations of the prophet John. I can remember the chaos that disseminated from that, people thinking they knew the signs of the coming of the end of the world, and how much everyone in the non-secular circle tried to evangelize…
…or you know, The Harbinger book series came out and they predicted that the end of the world would come from the teachings of Revelation, that they had mathematically counted out the date and time. Yet that date and time passed like the end of the Mayan Calendar, and here we all stand, born from our shame and continuing our suffering.
The point of my diatribe here is to say that prophecies only matter if they happen in short spurts of time. Now, I said that this prophecy of mine would be that you fight and fight and fight and you push me hard and you show me that you want this championship, that you want everything in this world and the mantle of Champion in the face of an era that by all rights should be yours. You were the chosen one, you were the one that had the contendership and that was ripped from your very bones like the cake of an obese kid who doesn’t need another slice. You’ve had chance after chance after chance, and this time is your golden moment, the one where you’re truly going to trip me up. Because you’re at your best.
But your best is not good enough.
It is a short time away…just a few days, and here we are on the precipice of another momentous occasion where you’ve been given yet another chance to shake the ground. You seek to throw me off my game by calling yourself fucking Jesus of Nazareth. Aligning yourself as the goddamn Messiah again in some form of allusion to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Now, I’m all for some delusions under the sky above, but this one takes the cake. I’ve been wrestling for quite some time, and I’ve never seen someone so fucking touched in the head as to believe they are the new messiah of the world.
That pretty much goes against that cute little storybook you claim to believe, right? Didn’t the Messiah walk with the lame, hold counsel with men who were of little faith in the Lord, and be seen with the less fortunate and those dredges of the world? I can’t imagine any savior of the lost flaunting their worth with their five thousand dollar suits and looking like a pompous little prick thinking their shit doesn’t stink.
Or is it because your entire previous argument was littered with hypocrisies and inconsistencies that it would make someone with a bad neck get whiplash time and time again?
You need redemption and you’re willing to risk your career…but you’re also the best in the business and no one can hold a candle to you! But really, you’re ready to retire if you don't attain the championship. Oh, and if you don’t get this championship one more time after the billionth time you’ve failed to attain it, then you can’t rest on any of your other laurels because those don’t matter! But no insults to your peers, you just deserve more because…you think you do?
Oh and the fear comment? Cute, but nothing really in this wrestling business makes me scared. Disappointed. Annoyed. Sure. Those I can get along with, but it’s laughable if you think I fear you. The only thing I fear is losing the ones I love, and I’m pretty sure I don’t love you.
But also, the whole…The light I am shining! But also…I AM DEATH! RaRRRawaRRRexclaimationpointoneoneone!
If you were going for intimidation, try to think before you speak. I know it’s hard. You’re missing a few brain cells, but you’ll get there. Bless your heart.
And let’s be absolutely certain you understand this: I don’t fucking admire you, you limp-dicked bitchfuck. Your name was never on my bucket list, Goth. In fact, I would have been happy to have never faced you. I think you’re a stain on this company just as much as any of the other Saviours, and I don’t think their presence is necessary either. Look on the roster and tell me how many men on this side of the bracket are men that are worth a goddamn thing? Men like Alexander Raven have risen so many times from the ashes, have come back and created something with their own two hands. He deserved this more than you. Even when fucking Michael Harris was here, he worked his ass off to become the name that everyone wanted to attack. Even fucking whatever that wanker Crimson fuck that wouldn’t get off his own dick had more charisma in his pinky finger.
There is no fear stricken into my bones by anything you can say or do. And that’s not because I’ve put you behind me, or put you on the backburner, or whatever you think I’ve done. I know you like to assume the things that I have going on in my mind, but here’s the thing: I’ve made it pretty clear that none of you have ever been right in any assumption that you’ve ever made about me. I’m scared of this, I fear losing shit, I’ve underestimated, I’m not…whatever the fuck you want to sit there and say, the fact of the matter is that when it comes down to it, I know how to buckle down and do what I’m paid for.
I don’t need accolades to make me something in the eyes of the world. The second I resigned back with the company was the moment in which Christian and Mark got excited because there would be something different than the same old diatribe that had been glug-glugged out like an old, used pornstar on her five thousandth film. I wasn’t going to use the same old stereotypes or the same tired I’ma beat you like an old man shit that everyone in this company uses to try to get under everyone’s skin.
They knew I was going to assess the situation that I had in front of me and I was going to analyze and figure out how to come out on top. They handed me Kayla as a partner when we hated each other, and look at the brilliance that’s shot out. Shiny championships since October. I screamed about wanting the Internet Championship because I wanted to be recognized as being part of the cream de la creme of this company. Instead, I got saddled with a tournament that while I was utterly disappointed, I still made the best of every chance I got.
I turn the shit I’m given into gold. Quite literally. I have two championships and you better believe that I’m not going to lose either of them any time soon.
You see, Goth…you need this. You need this redemption, this chance, this opportunity because you feel like you’ve failed miserably and you need everything this match can provide you with because you, yourself, feel like a worthless piece of trash in this company. That you’re not able to attain, that you’re unable to do jackshit, and no amount of wordsmithing yourself as the Right Hand of God can erase the fact that you believe yourself to be nothing without this championship.
That’s the first fallacy of this business. You can be the demon in the closet that keeps even the strongest of men awake at night, and not have a championship. But this ‘If I don’t get it then I’ll retire’ bullshit is trite and pedantic and already made me yawn.
Look at the championship and tell me that it deserves a man like you, who will throw everything out the window if they can’t have it this one final time. Hint.
It doesn’t.
It deserves to be in the hands of a man who will fight for it no matter the cost, and who would be willing to fight to the end of the earth, through that tribulation supposedly prophesied, if it meant to keep it in their grasp.
What war have I fought and won, you asked?
This is a never-ending one, and I continue to win over and over and over again.
Because I am evergreen, Goth. And in your own words, you’ve already told me that you’ll never last the sands of time.
••••••
He stood at the basin in the bathroom of the apartment that felt familiar, but so far away from him. In the sink drain swirled clear fluid from the tap and blood from his hands. His body shook, and he was certain that when he showed back up on her doorstep, he would be back in the world of rejection and hurt just as he’d been just over a year ago.
He’d made sure to chuck his boots over the pier and to arrive back moderately clean, but the blood refused to wash off his hands. Perhaps it was an omen that he wouldn’t come out of this as scot free as he had been. But it was family. He had no choice.
He had no choice.
She banged on the door, and his eyes darted up to it, sweat dripping down his brow and across the sides of his face. He could hear her voice, but it seemed so far away, like she was screaming across the entire river that ran down the city sides. Everything felt like it was in a tunnel now that the adrenaline had worn off, and as he stood there, he could feel every muscle in his body going limp.
“What the fuck happened?!” Kayla yelled, not frantic but not angry either. It was a strange sound, he thought, to hear her sound both simultaneously concerned and annoyed.
He’d run down the street then, slamming the door to his Toyota Corolla with little more than an afterthought as he looked up at the name of the club. High Horizons. An epithet, he supposed, to the thoughts that its owner thought he had high hopes entirely. His feet slammed hard against the stairs and he merely looked at the guard with muted fury before being let in without question. Bodies gyrated and bass boomed, and Finn could barely see anything in the darkened decor with flashing lights that most clubs had these days in order to hide the criminal affairs going on.
His eyes darted across the scaffolding, looking above for any sign of impending trouble. It wouldn’t be like Kei to cause harm in front of people, but the lack of security was concerning. Normally, there would be men stationed in various, hard to see. But they weren’t there, and Finn had no clue where they could be.
He bumped into a blonde-haired club-goer who only giggled and waved at him as he tried to sputter out an apology. But it didn’t deter him. His eyes focused in on the door, ajar, upstairs on the balcony. Kei’s office. It was never unlocked, and never opened. Not unless someone was in there, or someone was in a hurry to be somewhere else.
Finn took the steps by twos, which was far too easy. He crossed the balcony area, shifting through the random tables and bartending girls, and stopped in front of the door.
Finn opened the bathroom door, and he looked down at Kayla’s face. She was utterly confused, a little annoyed, and shocked at the appearance of her tag team partner. As he turned and went back to the basin, he finished washing the final remnants of blood from beneath his nails. He braced himself then against the counter, closing his eyes and trying to settle his heart down.
“What happened?” She insisted, taking a step into the bathroom. “You went running out of here and wouldn’t even wait for me and I–”
“I couldn’t bring you with me.” He insisted.
“Yes, you could have.”
“No,” he turned his head and looked at her, blue eyes open and his nostrils flaring. “I couldn’t have. Believe me.”
There was nothing there, of course. A whole lot of to do for nothing, he thought, as he pushed open the door and found an empty office. Dickie’s phone pinged the same location he was standing in, so he had to be in this area. Or maybe his phone was just left somewhere. He bashed his hand into the door and turned around, looking back into the sinful solace of the club.
There were multiple levels, he knew this. But getting anywhere was going to be a bitch if there was any of Kei’s guards nearby. He sighed, and then headed for the hallway, noting that when he’d been here before, there was an elevator that took a key that he just so happened to have. He grabbed his keys from his pocket as he stepped into the metal cage, closing it behind him and then looking at the controls. Four buttons. Only one required the key. He stuck it into the metal casing next to the button and turned it, pressing the button immediately afterwards.
He swore at himself halfway down the ride that he didn’t bring anything for defense into this hellhole. And then, he swore at himself that he was going to die in a fucking club that played Tiesto, but that was neither here nor there. There were a lot of things left unsaid, and here he was, diving into a fucking den of wolves for a family member again that couldn’t figure out their ass from their front.
Nevertheless, it was eerily quiet when he stepped out of the elevator.
“I don’t know what started it all.” He explained, shaking his head as he sat down on the rim of the tub. “When I got in there, it was quiet. So quiet I could hear a fucking pin drop. There was nothing, not even a breath of anything in the air. I took a few steps in and it was just…silent. Dark.”
Kayla leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as she listened. She thought maybe she could interrupt, but thought against it.
“There was a hallway that led to another room, and I remembered that it was one of those places that Kei liked to bring people because it was essentially soundproof with the club’s bass. I didn’t think–”
“That’s fucking obvious.” She scolded, rolling her eyes.
“--thanks for that,” he added, replying to her. “I didn’t expect,” he amended, “for there to be nothing down there, but when I got in there…it was just the two of them. Kei had his back to Dickie and I don’t know what was said…”
He pushed open the door and the blonde haired man was busy reaching for something in a cabinet. It was then that he heard the squelching sound of something being pressed into a body, and he watched as he brother stepped forward, pushing as much pressure on the back of the Japanese man as he twisted something into him.
Kei cried out, started swearing in Japanese and turned to take swipe at Dickie, who leapt out of the way while simultaneously ripping the knife that was in his hand out of the man’s body. Blood sprayed the walls, just like it did when Kei’s people tortured others down here for information, or for simply failing to follow suit. Dickie stumbled backwards, his grimy hair thrown into his face and he fell to the floor, stumbling.
Finn stared on in shock for a full thirty seconds before he looked between the squirming man on the floor and his brother, who simply stared at his own bloody hands in his own form of stupor. “What the FUCK did you do?!” He finally yelled, leaping forward and reaching down for his brother’s body.
“I don’t…I just…he’s a fucking parasite…I…I….” Dickie stuttered over his own words.
“We don’t kill a fucking Yakuza member in their own fucking house!!” Finn snarled, pulling him back while kicking the knife away from him. “The fuck are you, an idiot?! Goddammit!”
“I’m sorry, I just…”
“Just what, lost your fucking brain somewhere in Cambodia?”
“He wanted me to fucking kill you!” He swore, and Finn stopped, looking at him with widened eyes. “I…I don’t know. He just kept saying nothing was going to go right unless you were out of the picture, and if I wanted to attain…I don’t fuckin’ know, greatness or capability or whatever the fuck, I had to get rid of the problem, and the problem was you.” Dickie looked up at him with the same pleading eyes he’d given his friends when they found out he’d tried to slit his wrists for stupid reasons. “I couldn’t…I....”
“So you killed him instead?!”
“Well, it gets rid of the problem!”
“You…imbecile…” Kei sputtered from the floor, and rolled onto his stomach. He looked at Finn and he looked at Dickie with a venomous expression of betrayal. His eyes fell on Finn, and he crawled to his feet and launched himself at the Seattle Saint. Of course, all of this took two seconds to happen, and Finn wasn’t prepared. A fist came down into his face, though it was not with much force. However, the heavy body of the Japanese man nearly being dead weight caused him to struggle to fight back, though he tried to blockade himself from getting hit anymore by the man. Blood spattered his clothes, his hands. Anywhere Kei touched.
Until he felt the warm spatter of blood across his face as the knife he’d kicked away was suddenly in the neck of the Japanese man. Kei Hideshima fell to the floor, holding a weak hand to his neck, before the life faded from his eyes. Finn scrambled to a sitting position and then looked up at Dickie, whose hand was trembling.
“I’m sorry…”
A thud of raucous footsteps sounded behind the door, and a few of Kei’s men arrived. They took a look at the scene and then looked at Dickie. His hands carried the blood of their leader, and everyone knew it. Finn’s breath froze in his chest. They could do one of two things…and one of them would be a death sentence for both of them.
Finn rose to his feet and moved past Kayla, who seemed shocked at the story just as much as he was. Finn shook his head. “They accepted his murder as a play for power.” He explained, heading out into the main room with Kayla following him. “Kei is dead. Dickie reigns. This whole night has been fucked up beyond belief.”
••••••
But what is the significance of the word “evergreen”?
Evergreen, Goth, symbolizes immortality and eternal life simply because their leaves continue to stay green through the entirety of winter. It’s why the pagans of the ancient world chose them during the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. And why the German Christians chose the Yule Tree. Everything dates back religiously to a pagan element, so why would this not be the same?
Immortality.
Eternal life.
Life and hope.
Growth.
These are all things that are representative of “evergreen”.
Throughout my tenure as a wrestler, there are things that I have done that have solidified my status at this point. I have won tournaments that no one thought I would place. I have been inaugural champion, and I have fought wars that you cannot even comprehend. My entire life has been a jumbled and chaotic mess, and what have I done time and time again except for stay eternally within the bounds of the top? Every company I join, I eventually find myself just a few matches in and I am suddenly the face of it, the man who can do nothing more than rise and rise again.
This isn’t because I’m given the world, and I am given a chance after chance. You see, ninety-five percent of the time, I’ve had to prove myself to the brass so they know just what I can and cannot do. I didn’t start out in this business the best – no, I fought for it. I’ve been a part of battles that you could never win because you don’t have the strength inside of you to pull it out of you, to become better, to fight for the things that matter. You already believe that they are yours by rights, and you haven’t had to contest for them the way I have.
I have fought friends.
I have fought with my family.
I have fought foes that would wipe the floor with your resurrected Christ carcass and I have succeeded and come out on top.
I am evergreen, because no matter what I do – if I slip and make a mistake and lose, I come right back again like an elastic band. I don’t search for redemption because I don’t need it. I don’t seek an end because I’ve still only just begun. This business is cutthroat and brutal, and the smallest amount of weakness you show, anyone will chomp down on your throat to say they’re better than you.
Eventually, the sun sets for all of us. One day, my bones may creak and my muscles may ache, and upon that day I will sit there and tell everyone that it is time that I ride off into the sunset and I’ll actually mean it. I have weathered emotional hurts, fought demons that no one can see, and yet I still ride without the thought of an accolade. I don’t do this sport to have a title attached to my name, or a list of laurels that show me as a competitor. You can have a list ten miles wide of things you have done, but ultimately mean nothing to the world once you’re gone. After all, it only cements some kind of credibility if you believe the places you’ve succeeded are credible.
I don’t know about you, but I think the fact that I am here again in such a short time says more than you would think.
The last time you won this championship, Goth, was over ten years ago. You held it for a total of sixty-three days after you hot potato’d it twice, both extremely short reigns. I won’t be a hypocrite and say my first reign was any better…thirty-five days, and I fucked it up because…well, I didn’t seem to give a shit before. I’ve held this out of your grasp now for fifty-three days alone as of today.
It has taken you ten years to get to this precipice again, and you’ve gotten a second shot in fifty-three days.
You said you were the best to face J2H, but ten years in the making doesn’t make you the prodigal son. It makes you look like you are being handed a dowry that you don’t fucking deserve.
Time and time again, you’ve tried to attain this championship. Only to have failed over and over again because in the end, you’re actually scared of what you’ll have left. Oh, you can sit there and tell me that you’ll try to be a fighting champion and that you’ll put some kind of legacy out there…but what happens when the thing you have been chasing for years is finally yours?
You lose your interest. Just like you did before. You were incapable of maintaining a defense and now, you think it will be any different? That you’ve finally become what you think you need to be for this championship?
Absolutely not.
It is the same tried tryst, a story about what you never had and the only thing left you have to acquire to mean something. If you’re going to put so much stock into a championship, you’ve already lost. Because it’s not about the championship itself. No, that is just an inanimate object set to show a placement in the stash. It doesn’t mean anything if the man holding it means nothing.
Paint yourself as Moses or the Messiah or whoever the fuck you want to stylize yourself to be in order to set yourself apart from the others but I want you to remember this loud and clear.
I am Finn Fucking Whelan, and I don’t need to paint myself as anyone other than who I am to strike hesitance in anyone that will come across me.
I am synonymous with greatness. Synonymous with the everlasting.
And I don’t need to blaspheme anything to get ahead. Go ahead. Try your luck.
Just don’t come crying to me when you come out disappointed.
••••••
“I don’t know what this means,” Finn muttered, sitting on the couch and looking at the confused expression on Kayla’s face. “I don’t know what comes of all of this and I don’t know what I can do about any of it.”
“Dickie…Dickie runs a fucking Yakuza clan?” She sputtered, dropping down next to him once more and looking out the window onto the darkened streets of the city. Her posters seemed to stare down at the two of them, waiting for them to converse, to finally have it out and figure out what their standing was. The television was on low, a monotonous tone that at least drowned out the beating of both of their hearts. She inhaled, and then she turned to look at him. “Do you think he’s going to make that beta male dingo his underling? Because it’ll go up in flames if he does.”
He couldn’t help it. He snorted and then laughed, loudly. Raucously. Like he hadn’t laughed in days and the sound of it finally lifted some chokehold on his body. She snickered slightly, and then, too began to laugh. It sounded in harmony and as if peace was near them. Like the thought of their lives having been fraught with so much and now there was the calm before the storm, a time where they could simply exist. And so they laughed.
And laughed.
Until they couldn’t anymore, gasping for breath and shaking their heads.
Once he came back to reality and the amusement faded, he leaned forward on his elbows, resting them upon his knees and looked at her. Really looked at her. Her looked at her black hair, glossy in the dim light, and her brown-green eyes, and her face. Looked at the smile she still had as she wiped a tear from her laughter away and then realized he was no longer laughing with her. He smiled, and without the hesitation he might have had barely a week ago, he cupped her cheek in his hand.
She didn’t try to block him. Didn’t try to swipe his hand away. Her smile faded and her brow furrowed.
“I love you.” Finn said, quite sure of himself. Maybe it was because of the night’s events, or maybe it had simply been something that needed to be said, but out of his lips it came and there was no taking it back. But nevertheless, it was true, and it had been put out there. When her lips parted, he shook his head. “Unless you’re calling me a dickhead bitch, then I don’t want to hear anything else.”
“Finn.”
“Think about it.” He cut her off. “We’re tag team partners, and I may not show it at the best of times, but I care, Kayla. I don’t want to fuck us up. So think about it. Think about if you want to be involved in…” he waved his hand upwards, and shook his head, finally looking away from her, “this. This shit with my family. And if you don’t…well, then I get it. But think about it. And tell me when you’re ready.”
He rose to his feet and smiled slightly, before taking a step around the corner of the sofa and heading for the door.
Everything would be changed. Maybe for the good, and maybe for the bad, but sometimes…
…to be unyielding and stay strong and true through all of the trials and tribulations of life were what it truly meant to be evergreen.
