If you grew up in a household that was complete in its entirety, you might have had the luxury of listening to someone reading stories and fables to you as a child. For some, it might have just been a ploy to ensure that you'd go to sleep and be out of their hair for a good few hours. But others, particularly ones who knew there were lessons hidden in the words upon the page, realized that these stories might hold some benefit to their children. Aesop was a writer of these short and clean little diddies that held morals within their words.
There was one that sat in the mind of Finn Whelan as he scrolled aimlessly through Twitter on an infrequent basis. The Lion and the Ass, to be exact. Within its two paragraph structure, it described a lion walking proudly through the forest, as the King of the Jungle was known to do. While the other creatures showed respect because of who they were, the ass decided to bray a scorful ass remark for all to hear about the lion because he thought he was that important.
In anger and defense, the Lion turned his head, but saw who had spoken. Instead of attacking as was needed, he chose to not even honor the fool with so much a stroke of his claws.
It was kind of like Alexander Raven and his commentary about a group that, beyond Twitter, didn’t give a flying fuck about him, no matter how much he shouted from the rooftops about how much he despised the whole of Wolfslair. For why? Because they had a team that spoke up for one another, regardless of their own differences? He screamed about the pack mentality, how it only created dependency. Oh, yes, Alexander Raven. Everyone was listening.
No one fucking cared.
That was the thing about Finn that Ginger Pubes was wrong about in the whole of his self-important critique of the dominant group: Finn Whelan was a lone wolf, the white wolf, the one who didn’t need anyone from Wolfslair to support his own needs and aspirations. He hated Alicia Lukas the McWafflecunt, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Austin James Mercer and all of his bullshit, and he’d carried a rivalry with Alex Jones for over seven years that he didn’t think would ever particularly be finished. Miles Kasey and Lachlan Kane? Rising, prominent stars that put their heart and soul into everything – and capitalized when push came to shove. But no matter how they responded to one another, they never were seen together. They didn’t form some bullshit ridden stable that followed one another and ensured a win.
Finn Whelan did not give a shit about the progress and prowess of his stablemates.
He didn’t get here because of them. He got here on his own merit.
So while Raven had a hard-on about Wolfslair on a regular basis, it was important for Finn to remember one specific thing: Do not resent the remarks of a fool.
They meant nothing in the end.
●●●●●●
When Finn bought his home overlooking Central Park on the tenth floor of the J.R. Carpenter Building, he expected complete and utter quiet. That first year or so, he didn’t hold parties, and the occasional guest came over with the intent of leaving at some point within the same day. He’d gotten used to this. He’d gotten used to walking into the kitchen, going through a routine, doing everything that he needed to within the day. Coffee, high protein breakfast he’d stuff in his face that his metabolism would absolutely destroy, and then it was off to work, training, everything else he needed to do. Then he’d come back to his quiet home, do what he wanted and pass out. It was quiet, which was how he liked it. It was just the way he needed it.
And then it all changed.
Kayla was the first. She showed up on his doorstep like a soaking wet cat, looking at him with doe eyes and saying she needed a place to stay for a few days. But those few days turned into a few weeks, and then months, and his routine began to include her. He’d wake up, go get his coffee, and there she was. Dressed in her most provocative clothing (although he wasn’t sure if she had anything other than revealing clothes), sitting at his kitchen table, waiting for him to appear. She was always there, trying to get into his head, trying to wheedle herself into his arms and his bed. He wasn’t oblivious.
Initially, it annoyed him. Now, it was just a question of how long it was going to last, a question of who was going to take the first actual step that wasn’t a game of cat and mouse, a game where the concept of horse was the driver. Kayla took the step forward, trying to assuage the situation between the two of them, and yes, he’d relented. Somehow, he knew she was going to win this little game, and for some reason, he was still trying to resist it. He was trying to resist her. He’d gone through a shitty divorce, been fucked over too many times…and now? So she could get bored of him like she did Billy?
After her, he’d heard the Australian and the little Coloradan talking about their living situation. He’d been to Aiden’s apartment once to pick up a drunk Dimitri and put him in his car. The place had been tiny – a bachelor pad – and now that there was going to be a kid and he had his girlfri– wife. Wife now –, Finn’s parental instincts kicked in and he offered the second section of his floor to them with a low rent cost at least until they could get on their feet.
No one could call him uncharitable.
And while they were mostly silent and he didn’t hear them – save for Aiden screaming at his television set at the late hours of the night when he decided it was a good idea to play Call of Duty – he knew that he was going to end up having them there for a long time. Part of him just wondered if he was desperate to have people around him so he didn’t feel so fucking alone, but at the same time, he questioned himself as to why. Why did he need people there? Why did he suddenly become the saving grace for all these people?
Finn’s Home for Wayward Wrestlers. That’s what he was.
If there was anything positive about it, it was that it bothered the fuck out of Kayla.
It was like she was waiting for him to notice something, to say something to her other than minute small talk. While he’d relented and she shimmed her way back into his good graces, he continued to hold her at an arm’s length. When she moved to lean against him, he got up. When she sat down at the table after he’d made food, he’s engage in conversation, and then move into his room for the night. He wasn’t interested in playing her little game.
Oh he had reason, allright. Aaron had played her games with him, and made him a fucking fool. He wasn’t about to be fucked over again. The emotional toll and damage had been enough – it made him distrustful. It made him weak. And he couldn’t be weak right now.
Sin City Wrestling needed a fucking reckonining, and who would be better suited for it than Finn? Finn, the one who stopped giving a shit. Finn, the one who swiveled his way out of a championship match. Finn, the one who kept getting thrown bones, shattering them in two, and then capitalizing. Finn, the least expected. Finn, the one who had a fucking issue with everyone on the roster and the fact that it’d taken far too long for them to recognize his worth.
He sat in the living room, his eyes on the big screen television set on the far end of the wall. His feet were propped up lackadaisically on the coffee table and his hand was propped upwards as he shifted through the many television channels his cable service provided that he ultimately didn’t watch. He landed on Animal Planet and cringed at the rerun of Crikey! It’s the Irwins!. He had enough of the accent from Aiden. He didn’t need the ridiculously put on positive vibes that the fucking conservationist family decided to post on their own show.
“She’s such a fuckin–” Dimitri – or rather, Dickie, as he prefered – whined, dropping onto the leather couch next to his older brother, manspreading and flopping his head back against it.
“Say it and your fuckin’ balls are gone.” Finn cut him off. He could be a bitch about Kayla. No one else could.
Dickie did a slight doubletake, before tch’ing and shaking his head. “Yours already are.”
“Honestly, you’re not one to talk. Have you told your best friend you’re fucking his sister?”
“I AM NO–” Dickie got instantly defensive, shooting up while the back of his neck went bright red. Finn smirked, not even looking at his brother. He had no confirmation whatsoever about that, but at the same time, the response was all he really needed to put it all together. Dickie was, after all, predictable when it came to Finn or Aiden. “You’re a bitch.”
“Takes one to know one, Dickwad.” He shook his head, laughing as Dickie quite literally crossed his arms and pouted as he turned to watch the television himself.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, but ultimately, the younger man couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He tilted his head again, looking at his brother. “Oi, Finn.” He started, tentatively, his Cockney accent slithering out of his mouth like he was a fucking snake just waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse.
But that was far from what Finn was, and he knew it was coming. Questions about Kayla. Questions about Sin City. Questions about what he wanted, where he wanted to be, what he wanted to do. Questions about why he’d been so silent, why he’d kept to himself so much. Questions about Next Level, which seemed to be on a hiatus. Questions about why he was doing anything that he was doing.
“What?” Finn didn’t even bother trying to avoid it. There was no point. Dickie was about as demanding as their mutual fuck-up of a person that brought them together.
“What’s keeping you from Kayla? I mean. She’s basically thrown herself at you in various ways and yet you still turn a blind eye.”
There it was.
Finn sighed, finally taking his cerulean eyes off the television screen and looking at his grungy lookin’ brother. Dickie didn’t look at him now as he asked the question. Maybe he was too afraid of the answer. Maybe he wasn’t prepared. Or maybe he was asking to dig under Finn’s skin. After all, Kayla had attacked Dickie one time not too long ago, proclaiming to want to help Finn succeed. Kayla was a sore subject that he knew his brother was trying to reconcile with, but at the same time…she was a sore subject for him.
“I don’t need desperate.”
Finn’s words were slow, calculated, and rumbled deeply out of him with his Irish lilt. Dickie’s eyes narrowed as he processed them, and then he looked up at Finn. “How the fuck is she desperate, mate?”
“Everything used to be comfortable with us when Billy was involved with her,” he started. He didn’t even know why he was going down this route. Didn’t know why his mouth was blurting the words that he was. For some reason, they were buried within him and all he wanted to do was to let them out, place them into the air so that they could finally stop compounding his chest. “She’d come over and we’d just…hang. And then Billy was gone, and Kayla needed something from me, and I just…I wasn’t going to be that dick of a friend who used the little head of their dick on a friend who was grieving, no matter how much she begged. So I became her wall to lean on without anything else.”
Dickie stared at the floor as Finn spoke, his eyes slowly continuing to narrow as he listened. Finn seemed annoyed, but at the same time, he knew his brother enough to know that somewhere deep within the annoyance and the spite and the anger, there was a man who was just trying to protect himself from the world that seemed to take everything from him, but didn’t give anything back.
“Then the jealousy started. I’d talk to women innocuously and she’d get her hackles raised and she began to bite at everyone. Any female crossed my path, she had something ridiculous to say, or she’d try to measure herself up to them.”
“Well, yeah, isn’t that the typical alpha female idea? Belittle everyone else to make them look better?”
“But she doesn’t have to. She never did.” Finn’s eyes weren’t even on the television screen. He covered his eyes with his fingers as he leaned forward on his knees, rubbing at them and trying to deduce how to best explain this to his little brother. Lest, of all things, he admits only the innermost workings of his mind. “I didn’t want desperate, and I didn’t want someone so fucking insecure within themselves that they had to treat others less than guttertrash.”
The younger Brit began to laugh hilariously, and he shook his head. “Mate, she does that constantly.”
Finn shook his head. “No. She doesn’t. Kayla is a cunt, don’t get me wrong. But she does it to opponents, she does it to people she can’t particularly stand within the business. For what reason does belittling a fuckin’ waitress do to anyone but show an underdeveloped peace within yourself? You and I both know I’m a dick at the even the best of times, but you know me, Dickie. You know–”
“You’re not a dick to people unless they actually deserve it.”
“Right.”
“But what if – fuck me, I’m playing devil’s advocate for Kayla – but hear me out. What if Kayla feels like she has to? What if she thinks that’s what you like?”
Finn paused his fingers, and turned his head to look at Dickie. “What?”
“What if she thinks that you’re like into that shit?”
For some reason, this bothered Finn. This immensely bothered Finn. He paused for a moment, his already arched brows furrowing into an even more annoyed frustration and rose to his feet, tossing the television remote across the room. It crashed into a vase and shattered it abruptly. “Then she didn’t fucking learn who I was at all, did she?!”
It was an overreaction, probably. Most likely. But he was so frustrated with the woman and the situation that Dickie’s questions brought out an irrationality within him that he probably hadn’t had in such a long time. He grit his teeth and moved to stand next to the bookshelf counter he’d installed himself, leaning against it with annoyance in his features as he tried to calm himself down.
“I think she has.”
His head whipped around faster than the thumbtacks he used in his last match made Hitamashii bleed. Dickie appeared pensive as he looked at his brother.
“I think she’s learned that you’re not going to go after someone who has their tits out and I think…I think she’s slowly understanding that you don’t like insecurity. But I think you’re forgetting that Kayla’s been pretty fucked over herself, and she’s likely insecure because you’re making her fucking insecure.”
That arched eyebrow of Finn’s arched higher.
“She basically just told me she doesn’t know how to act around you. She wants you but you keep rejecting her.”
Finn scoffed, “She wants me because she wants the idea of being able to have me. Kayla Richards doesn’t fucking stop until she gets what she wants, Dickie. And then she tosses you to the curb the second she loses interest in you. I don’t have the constitution to fuckin’ deal with that, and I can’t focus on my career if I’m focusing on her too.”
“You can have both.”
“Your wife left you for soundcloud rapper dick because you focused on your career instead of putting a baby in her.” Finn snapped, cutting Dickie just as lowly as he felt right now. Dickie sputtered for a moment, rose to his feet and pointed a finger in his face.
“You are a fucking dick.”
The smirk that rose up on Finn’s face was particularly a pleasured one. He’d successfully gotten the spotlight off of his own bullshit and onto Dickie’s in twenty-one words. It was accurate that Dickie probably wouldn’t speak to him for a week after this, but it was worth it. Anything to make the tightening in his chest that he’d suddenly started feeling go away.
“You two are fucking perfect for one another, you know that?” Dickie glared as he headed for the hallway that would head to the secondary apartment. “She’s a fucking outfront cunt, but you? You snipe like you’re a fuckin’ five star general. No wonder Aa–”
Finn’s fist clenched. His jaw became taut and his teeth gnashed together. “Say it. Fuckin’ dare you.”
Dickie stared at him. Finn glared back. But no. Dickie couldn’t even go as low as he did. He ran a hand through his tousseled hair and shook his head. “No. I’m not you. You know, maybe though…you deserve to miss out on her. She’s about the only one that can deal with your bullshit. You’d be lucky to find anyone else.”
“Make sure you tell Aiden you’re fucking his sister.”
“Fuck you.” He snapped, lifting a tall middle finger in the direction of his sibling, and then stalking out of the room. Finn smirked, finally rid of the man who could so easily bring ruin to his life with just a few words. He shook his head, and then turned.
Grey eyes stared back at him from across the hallway. Finn felt the color drain from his face as he stared at Kayla, who must have appeared from her room like a ghost in the night. The expression on her face was a mixture of irate and hurt. And even he could see it. He wasn’t oblivious. She grit her own teeth and tightened her arms about herself. Instantly, all Finn could think about was how much had she heard?
“Kayla,” Finn started.
The only thing he was met with was the slamming of her door as she stalked right back into her room, leaving Finn alone in the middle of the living room.
Just as alone as he’d felt all those months ago when there was no one in the house.
••••••
How much of it was a surprise when you all saw the Climax Control card? Was it a first for you all to note that you weren’t going to see the company’s finest failures rising up to beat the fuckin’ violent fucker down? Yeah, Bill Barnhart and Agostino Romano were finally not across the white square pond from Finn Whelan. No, Finn had somehow remarkably made himself bright. Stronger. Faster. All by saying he had a list. A list. A list of men that I wanted to face in order to somehow…establish myself, so to speak.
And why would I need to establish myself? It’s simple. Rudimentary, even. The last few months since I came back to Sin City, I’ve been thrown up against the same people over and over and over again in a constant display of carnage and brutality. Sure, there was a moment – however brief that it was – in which I was seated outside the realm of mediocrity where I just seemingly didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything, but that’s what happens when you realize that you’re underappreciated and you’re underachieving.
I know that’s hard for some people to work out. And in fact, I’m pretty sure it’s difficult for various members of this company to be able to look and reflect, and then turn around and say that they were fucking up.
I mean, in my case, I was fucking up on purpose. I was so fucking tired of the same monotony, the same bullshit over and over again…but what does that say about Sin City if they can’t gather new blood to contest and fight against? A shake-up, a rise against the system…it was all that was needed. Fucking dismantle the people around you, and maybe you’d have a large chance in the long run of them seeing that you mean business. That you mean that you want to do something more than mediocrity.
As the days grew shorter and the nights grew colder, it was finally realized. It being my rise from the dredges of this company, the bottomfeeding, the repetitive matches that once upon a time seemed the only opportunity that I would ever be given. And perhaps it was too much to ask for at one time, because I hadn’t put forth the correct amount of effort…or some fucking bullshit like that. I’ve never quite wanted to involve myself with the bullshit politics of the companies and place it on my back. I have never and will never give a shit about what the backstage politics are because I am here to wrestle. And I am here to make this company look like the fuckin’ billion bucks that it’s advertised as. You’re not going to get there with people like Hitamashii or Armageddon stinking up your roster. Nor the same as the Troll or even our illustrious World Champion.
Hey Kenny. How you doin’?
At the end of the day, it’s obvious that what Sin City Wrestling has needed was a new breed of wrestler to come in and shake up the scene. And while I’m not new…I certainly am something that the fucking doctor ordered when they realized that my medical advice was sound and reasonable.
I said I was going to come in, and I said I was going to take this company by storm. It’s a slow-moving hurricane, but we’ve finally landed.
We’ve landed on Jack fucking Washington, and oh boy, am I fucking stoked to take on someone with an ego the size of his entire body and then some.
I mean, who else would come around and act like they were relishing in the mockery that was being thrown at them like they weren’t able to recognize their own fucking failures? Because that’s how I see you, Jackie Wash. You’re someone that had a significant amount of success when you came into this company just two months before I did. World Champion. Internet Champion. You wouldn’t go for something so low as the Roulette title, but you know what?You haven’t needed to, have you?
You’re a kid with daddy issues, a kid who underdogged himself into a hole and now you don’t know how to get out of it. So instead of showing a bit of humility after being defeated by an old man who probably would still attend a cyberrave and wear platform shoes and mesh shirting for a championship that you claimed was going to be yours for the next era of Sin City…you turned around and fucking threw it in everyone’s face like you’ve got a massive chip on your shoulder for a company that gave you the opportunity to shine that DIVISION didn’t.
That’s right. I went a few years back. I went back to DIVISION. You were their New Blood Champion, right? The one that arrived and once you won it, the company fucking imploded from the inside. That was what, four years ago? Something like that? From there, you floated on over to here, and since then, you’ve done…well, you’ve done okay.
But I can’t stand your attitude.
Entitled.
Arrogant.
Self-serving.
You’ve done well, Jack, and that’s visible in your record here in SCW. Even this year, you have more wins than you have losses, but when it comes down to it…you did the one thing that I fucking hate in people when they lose.
You walked the fuck away.
You didn’t take it on the chin, you didn’t sit there and allow yourself to be better. Allow yourself to take it like a fucking man and do better for yourself. And you ever have. Every time you’ve fallen down on the job, you turn around and disappear…only to come back and act like nothing fucking happened. You seem to think you’re better than you ever have been, you don’t reflect on what you could have done better. You just poof into nothingness and that is a bitchmade move. As always, you rebuild your own ego up to be something that you’re not…
…make your way to a title match….win a title…be defeated…and take your ball home for a month because you’re sulking in the corner like a little boy. A fucking little child that has no business being in a wrestling ring if you can’t own your fallacies and your failures. Me? I lost the Roulette Championship because I didn’t care and it fucking showed. It’s something that anyone could use against me, anyone could say, and I’d confirm it wholeheartedly.
I think though…that you would know that I’d turn it around and kick your fucking teeth down your throat the second you had anything to say to me.
I know how hard it is to be a rookie and come into wrestling and not imagine yourself to be the next big thing. To not imagine yourself as someone who is the end all be all of wrestling. But let’s face it, Jack – you’re not. Your ego might give you the idea that you are. That no one is going to remember your recent fuck ups and you can take your win over Alexander Raven as a plus…and yet, who is the one facing Ken Davidson for his championship this week? Is it you? Or is it the man you beat?
But hold on, wait…that doesn’t matter to you, right? Who gives a flying fuck about your past when all you want people to see is the future? When the narrative you drive home is only about what you could do, but not what you have done. The more you neglect to repeat what you have done, the less your story is written in stone. The less anyone gives a flying fuck about you. Fuck, I went to the roster page to see who I hadn’t faced, and I forgot you fucking existed. That is how insignificant you are on the totem pole these days. I know that’s difficult to hear. And I know you’re going to talk some bullshit about who and what I am…but you know what?
You’re just as much a bottomfeeder as the men I used to face.
And maybe that’s exactly where you fuckin’ belong.
I know what you do, Jack. I know you come in, acting like you’re a big fucking deal. And why wouldn’t you? I asked to challenge you, didn’t I? I asked to put my name up against men who have won the championship that is so coveted in this company. But don’t be so deluded that you don’t understand the reasoning. Don’t be so deluded that you think I think you’re one of the best.
I don’t.
I think you’re full of shit.
I think you don’t know how to accurately sell anything that doesn’t have to do with your ego.
I think you’re a worthless piece of trash in this company, no matter what you’ve done. At the end of the day, you’re a self-serving little cuntstain on this roster that needs to be eradicated and removed. You walked into this company as an arrogant underdog that had something to prove, and now you’ve worn out your fucking welcome like a bitchmade two-bit whore who no one likes, no one wants to deal with, and no one gives a shit about.
But you held that championship. I’m not a man that asks for championship trials. I’m not a man that comes up and demands title shots that I don’t deserve. While I know I can be the man that holds the Sin City Wrestling World Championship in my hands and elevates this fucking company, that brings that championship to every event, that contends consistently for it and doesn’t falter like a child, I want everyone else to see it.
I want them to see when I beat you. I want them to clap with glee in their eyes when I destroy every dream that you’ve ever had. I want them to cheer and boo and react when they see me eliminate their chosen Gods. And I want the crowd to chant the name that they should have been chanting years ago.
This time, Jack…you’re cannon fodder. You’re the man that stands in my way of something that I want, and something that I will die to get. So bully me, Jack. Tell me I’m not pretty, tell me that I am worthless…and then watch as the world smiles as I kick your fucking teeth down your throat and end your career like the little pissant wrestler that you forever will be.
Tell me I’m not your worst fucking nightmare, and I will show you something better.
I will show you a wrestler.
I will show you someone who ELEVATES this career to something higher than you will have ever done in the entirety of this world. I will show you a match in which you realize that you knew nothing about this career path. That will make you question everything that you’ve ever done in your life. And I will make you question whether you want to continue with this career or whether you should have just fucking disapperared and stayed away.
Watch me, Jackie.
Watch me as I destroy everything you hold dear.
We’ll see who’s underappreciated then.
