WRITERS NOTE: This first flashback sequence is an immediate continuation from the one featured in 'The Business of Personal Business', so if you haven't read that oen the this one might be a little harder to follow in places.
Otherwise I hope you enjoy, and to Myra and Cross- good luck <3
“Here he is, the man who knows things and who should want to help me. But it is so hard to bring up things with any weight at all to a man like this. A man like this doesn’t have real conversations.”
― Megan Abbott, Die a Little
Undisclosed Hotel
Woodstock, VA
04.11.2006
11:37pm
Another shove, rattling and violent.
It was desperation now as her strength wavered against the stopping power of well crafted Italian leather shoes that seemed far too grown up for the boy wearing them.
Amber snarled something, although it didn’t really come out as words- instead she doubled down, biting into her lip out of instinct before the flash of lukewarm iron spilled across her tongue and started dribbling just a little down her chin.
“Come on Amber, you’re being unreasonable.”
Dominic Del Gado edged his foot further into the space, finding a little more purchase as the strain in Amber’s bruised and battered body took its toll. Spite was no doubt a powerful motivator, but it wasn’t a long term solution.
She could imagine it now, a common sight for a place like this perhaps, a well dressed 17 year old boy trying to force his way into a room that he obviously wasn’t welcome in- around here though, no one would intervene even if they did walk past.
Personal business stayed that way and nobody here was paying enough to be bothered by the muffled grunts and expletives of yet another domestic dispute.
“I really don’t understand why you’re so adamant about not hearing me out.”
In all honesty, Amber hadn’t really considered much of anything outside of being petty and inconvenienced. Dominic walked around with his head held so high he had little other choice, but to look down his nose if he wanted to see where he was going- and wore privilege like it was last year's trendiest laundry basket. Maybe it was just the idea of him wanting anything from her, or somehow ending up in service like some blood splattered pawn trying to ignore all the dried puddles of red staining the board.
No, the only thing someone like Del Gado would ever want from her was something that money couldn’t buy…
“... Cause you’re a stubborn asshole who can’t understand someone not wanting to grovel at your feet.”
A small chuckle crept through the door as he eased off slightly, as though her perspective was some kind of minor epiphany.
“Is that what you think this is… Don’t you think that if I just wanted a yes man, I’d pick someone who doesn’t punctuate it by telling me to go fuck myself. Honestly, I wouldn’t be standing here arguing with you if I didn’t think it was worth both our time.”
There was something oily about his words, something vaguely unsettling about the way that they left a residue smeared across her logical thinking. Now felt like the perfect opportunity to slam the door down and the idea of him going to pay someone to polish out whatever scuff it might leave was a small, albeit kinda pathetic, win on her part. Now felt like just the moment to prove how she’d grown into her backbone, that she’d become just as prickly on the inside as she had out, that a few choice words and the illusion of choice wouldn’t allow him to just walk in like he…
… and he was already halfway across the sparsely decorated room before Amber found her wherewithal once more. Hand still resting on the door, while her brain frantically tried to compute the blank spot in her immediate memory. Just a moment of time, mere seconds perhaps- brief yet rather poignant and now entirely lost in a blur she could no longer remember finding herself lost in.
In spite of his social status, he said nothing of the sparsity of the room nor it's woefully outdated decor and cigarette smoke stained carpets instead just briefly rubbing the sole of his shoe into a small burnt patch that crunched slightly under his weight.
Amber, on autopilot closed the door softly whilst trying to put the pieces together, the momentary loss of time almost more worrying that the fact she was now alone with Dominic Del Gado and she had no reasoning to either problem.
“Look, I know you just well enough Amber, that you like to earn your money. Granted I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of getting punched in the face time and time again for it, I like to think that it might grow thin eventually- what if though, I could offer you something steady. Something far more real than the promises of a wannabe tough guy trying to play bookie.”
Amber didn’t move from the door, watching through narrowed eyes as the 17 year old conducted himself like a businessman more than two decades into his trade.
“You sound exactly like the guys you’re telling me you’re better than. Besides, there are a thousand other no-names who’d give you their right nut for the same bone you’re trying to throw me.”
“There are indeed, but you have a work ethic that surpasses their highest potential. Besides, we both know there's little future in all this fighting nonsense- you have all of this potential, yet you’re so determined to waste it on what exactly…”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Amber could hear the springs straining and bending as Dominic bounced gently to gauge it's support- his poker face briefly betraying a vague disgust before the torrent of slick syllables flowed from his lips once more.
He wasn’t wrong, there were plenty of other ways of getting paid that didn’t involve waking up, feeling like she’d been hit by a train- but it was hers…
That being said though- trying to explain the bruises to Cassidy, without falling into a full blown argument, was getting tougher. Hell, even in spite of Grizz’s insistence that she’d eventually get picked up by a professional organization- she couldn’t help but wonder if it was simply another act of false hope to buoy her spirits, a carrot dangling just that little too far out of reach… Placating in hopes that maybe she’d simply just be happy with what she had.
“Besides- as good a mechanic as you might be, you know for being a girl and all, there are few beyond this collection of shoddy tents and death traps who’ll take you seriously… and that criminal record of yours, that doesn't just go away Amber. People look down their noses at the smallest whiff of delinquency so you have to wonder what it is you have to lose?”
Discontent with the state of the bed, Dominic stood slowly whilst adjusting his posture and brushing a few errant creases out of his shirt.
“What I’m offering you Amber, sweetheart, is something that you might not ever end up getting without my help… A real life. Not just some blurry existence on the fringes, but something legit.”
Amber wasn’t sure why she hadn't seen it earlier, maybe the faint haze around the edges of her vision had sunk further beneath her skin or that she’d been so determined to block him out that the now less than subtle nuances of his body language glowed a garish neon with realization.
Approaching, he stood only a few inches taller- but his presence left her drowning in his shadow, he extended a hand out to her as though convinced she’d see the world through his particular lens now she’d been given a glimpse.
Pity. That’s what she felt radiate off him, that she could almost taste on his cologne. All he saw was a fucking charity case he could keep under his thumb, right where he could see her and squash any fuse that burned a ltitle too close to her powder keg personality.
Maybe he really thought he could help her, that he was doing something good- but the way he looked at her made her wanna lose the last dregs of bile her stomach clung to.
“That's all well and good, but you seem to be forgetting something.”
“Oh?”
Sucking in all the air she might manage without choking it down, Amber straightened herself up as far as she could in an effort to exhibit some form of self-authority.
“I like this fighting shit Dominic. I guess I like getting my face kicked in and burying my fist through someone else's teeth gives me the kind of satisfaction that people pay good money for. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not exactly a pet project that you can polish up and put on your mantelpiece nor do I intend to sit by your feet patiently waiting for instruction.
If I’m honest Dominic, and this is with all due respect… but I think I’d rather die a nobody than be rebuilt as anyone's charity case."
Clearing her throat, Amber steeled her glare.
"Now if you wouldn’t mind…”
Not even bothering to gesture for the door, the pair simply stared past each other for a moment as though daring the other to be the first to break.
“You’ve had a rough night. Just… just think about it maybe.”
Piercing blue green into a rich espresso brown, Dominic’s gaze softened as a half smile crept from the corner of his mouth as he took his empty outstretched hand and laid it on Amber’s shoulder just long enough so that he might gently squeeze it as he passed her by.
“It’s just, I’d hate for you to end up making a decision you might regret”
Whether he meant for her to hear or not became quickly irrelevant as the sound of the door opening and promptly closing at her back punctuated whatever thoughts she might have managed to spark, and now alone again, Amber couldn’t ignore the return of the nausea and radiating ache from behind her eyes- only this time the pangs and knots in her guy weren’t from the fights or the stench of cheap, warm beer in her nose… but this niggling, nagging idea at the base of her skull that maybe...
… maybe she had made a mistake.
******
“Can you feel it?
Theres electricity in the air and it isn’t just because someones been fucking with the power plugs again, no… theres this feeling of anticipation building cause opportunity is at stake, a chance to be on of the biggest shows of the year instead of waiting in the wings as just another spectator.
It's real easy sometimes to forget that for some- this is a blue moon occurrence, this isn’t just a given and that every moment spent in that ring has been scratched and clawed for and that all the hard work can somehow be validated simply by a spot on the card before the potential outcomes are ever mentioned.
See, it's a little strange to me cause for the last year or so… there hasn’t really been a big show without some form of representation from this tag match. Time after time, we’ve shown up and made everything better for us being there- Mac Bane, Mark Cross, Myra Rivers… and yours truly. Main event after main event, show stealing moment after show stealing moment and accomplishment piled upon accomplishment to the point we may as well start getting disqualified from these discussions otherwise no one else will ever get a mention.
… and yet the powers that be, they take all this information. They take a year and somehow manage to roll it into a match given away for free- it's actually rather impressive when you consider it.
Here’s the thing though, they couldn’t just let us be… they had to go and incentivise it.
Ladies and gentlemen, kiddies of all ages allow me to explain something that you will only understand once you’ve been to the top of the mountain- you don’t get where we are without always wanting more.
There’s no such thing as enough, cause the things you always thought would satisfy always seem to leave a little space that you can't fill, there's always a void demanding it's fill and a taste you can't quite wash off your tongue.
Now this might be the point where everyone starts salivating at the prospect of Myra and I verbally eviscerating each other before we ever get on the damn boat, this is where you’d expect me to start saying that whiles she good, I’m better and all the usual crap that comes with walking around ten pounds heavier on one side.
Thing is though, everything Myra has said about respect so far… She’s not wrong.
Shock and horror, please pick your jaws up from the floor cause it hasn’t been mopped in weeks.
Seriously though, few people in this industry can walk up to a microphone and tell the world they respect me and have me believe it- and as such, out of the very same nature of respect… I’ll refrain from saying anything too inflammatory.
Maybe some will call it cheap, but the fact of the matter is that Myra deserves my full attention and at the Supercard, she gets that. Undivided and honest to a fault, she deserves to hear what I might have to say without distraction and disruption…
Besides, our match is winner take all, so why mince words when there’s nothing yet at stake.
This match, however, does pose it's conundrums- and to say I’m intrigued is a vast understatement. Each team is logistically at odds with their partner yet forced to work in cohesion for the sake of momentum- if it weren’t genius I’d almost call it cruel.
Or was I thinking of it the other way around…
Of course everyone wants to win, but to do so as a bystander almost feels like getting pushed on a swing by a kick between the legs. That's the thing, wants to be the one to win the match, to say they have that advantage and that they were the ones to earn their match the rightful top spot- as though it's not already well claimed as ours to begin with.
We face a conundrum with little answer and to anyone who says they can work as a unit and not care if they aren’t the ones to actually win the match- then they’re a fucking liar and deserve to take the proverbial ‘L’.
Sure, this might be framed as a tag team match but I’ll be damned if we aren’t a bunch of individuals in this situations trying to play for our own marbles, where out interests loosely collide with someone close by. As far as I see it, the sooner we accept this, then the sooner we can differentiate why it is the women- as per now the norm- absolutely deserve the main event spot.
Fact is, and I’m sure Myra would hesitantly agree with me- we’ve taken titles that were driven into the ground and made them worthwhile, we went from mid card snoozefests to record breaking and must see while the poor guys are still trying find their feet again after one too many nose dives.
Of course, it's not necessarily their fault. Sometimes they get a little too preoccupied with pissing up a wall to remember that it only really matters when you do it between the ropes.
Oh, don’t get me wrong- I’d be immensely proud if Mac managed to get into that main event, and I know better than most how greatly he deserves that opportunity- however, he also knows that I won’t simply stand aside cause he asks me nicely to.
Between you all and me, I’d just as soon kick my darling husband in the face to get the match I want as I would anyone else on this roster- maybe that makes me an asshole, but it also makes me a fucking professional who understands what that spot on the card truly means.
You see, we are called Oblivion for a reason- it's not some cutesy pun-worthy name or something to be picked apart by playground vultures still trying to learn how to string together an original insult. We came together almost by accident while trying to avoid the career abyss that threatened to pull us under, we fell in love under the constant pressure of our lives threatening to crumble around us on any given day and we’ve spent the last few years of our careers being told that whatever we’d done elsewhere meant nothing. That we were irrelevant until proven otherwise, just more relics and ruins destined to be forgotten the moment they stepped from the spotlight- so we refused.
We refused to step into the shadows so someone else might fail to appreciate its warmth, we refused to accept anything less than the top cause we spent so long being told that it wasn’t for us.
Time and time again, oblivion nips at our heels and we hold it at bay by throwing whoever is in our way into it's gaping maw.
Don’t get me wrong- this match may just be for individual success, but I’ll have there be not a shred of doubt that we’ll be cohesive and like-minded until the time comes to be otherwise. Make no mistake kiddies, I’d just as quickly save that man as I would bury him under a ton of bricks professionally if it meant getting something I wanted, just as I’m assured he’d do the same thing in my position.
We’ve fought just as much as we’ve teamed and spilled the better parts of each other across enough canvases- and in the end, as we always do… we go home, curl up on the couch together and be cool with it cause we both understand that it's just business.
Can you say the same thing Myra? How about you Mark… I’m intimately aware how capable you both are with different partners, your combined adaptability makes this whole thing just a little more spicy and frankly, I’m kinda enjoying the heat.
That being said though- this is a matter of pride, an indistinct need to be proven as the best and I can't help but wonder whether that's a potential fissure that even your silky smooth tag team partner transitions can’t quite smooth over.
If nothing else, Blast From The Past was proof of that. Mac and Myra took every team to the limit, a dark horse that shouldn’t have been painted while Mark, you got a second chance when everything looked at its most dire and you took advantage in the biggest way in spite of where you’d stumbled previously.
That being said, there were circumstances that were out of control and to say that this kinda feels like a touch of closure might be underselling things. Fact is, we’ll neve truly know how that semi-final was supposed to end and whether that would have changed everything that has led us to the here and now…
Dark horses and underdogs, the scrappers and scroungers somehow made their way to the top and now everyone pretends like they expected it all along…
Credit where credit is most certainly due- everyone in this match has earned their place in the main event of Summer XXXtreme, but that spotlight is only big enough for one.
That's what this comes down to, isn’t it?
At Climax Control we’re all going out there trying to make a statement on behalf of our matches and our titles- we are literally taking that spotlight in our hands and gifting that to the same person we’re trying to beat into sand.
I won't lie, I’ve grown accustomed to that spotlight, even before becoming champion I started making it my own and I’ve gotten a taste for the big time that I’m not ready to part with. Besides, I’ve been told that I was never very good at sharing my toys...
That's the thing, I’ve been going out in top level matches, high end of the card and main events for the last fucking year- this is my home turf, this is my comfort zone and I’d politely ask you boys to wipe your feet on your way out. Come Sunday, I’m going out there to fight for the right to maintain the status quo and I’m giving my opponent the opportunity that she’s come so close to having- if any opponent of mine deserves to share a main event right now, and man I hate to give credit, but it's Myra Rivers.
You don’t get higher profile than the two most dominant women in the company squaring off…
I promise you that I understand the same result occurs if Myra somehow beats me, but the truth is that it's just not the same. Pride doesn't come at the expense of momentum, you can’t have your cake and eat it too, until you’re the last one standing in that spotlight with head held high and strap held higher.
You don’t know this yet, but you will soon enough Myra… but you actually want me to win this match. For us… for our match… for everything we’ve built in this division.
For a year in the making- this is the one time I promise you’ll smile while taking a three count.”
******
Bane Household
Las Vegas, NV
01.04.2021
11:14am
“You gonna answer that, Red?”
Playing ignorant, Amber glanced over towards the phone lying on the coffee table suddenly lit up in harsh fluorescence, ‘Private Number’ begging for her attention on the screen- no doubt the same private number that she’d already ignored almost a dozen times since Dominic Del Gado showed up at Oblivion Garage.
At first it was annoying, just the knowledge that he’d gotten her mobile number had left her sour, but then it was text messages and the emails that went deleted without being read, sometimes a note left on the garage door that promptly went into the bin without ever seeing the light of day or a shiny car loitering a little too deliberately outside a gym.
She knew what he wanted, and the more determined he became- the easier she found it to overlook.
“Hm, probably a telemarketer or something. Had a call from Amazon supposedly the other day saying I needed to update my account details or I’d get billed- I told them I cancelled my Amazon account almost 7 months ago and good luck to whatever poor bastard fell for their nonsense.”
Mac raised an eyebrow, her deflective technique on the rough side and always less convincing than she thought it sounded. He knew, or at least he knew enough to know she was being petulant- the history and depths to which her relationship (a term used very very loosely) with the Del Gado’s didn’t need to be scoured and nitpicked. Dominic had come out of the proverbial woodwork in Grizz’s passing, and she’d be damned if she let him under her skin simply cause he thought it comfortable there.
Dominic just wanted to talk, but Amber had no intention of listening.
“So, how long do you plan on ignoring these telemarketers then- granted they seem awfully persistent. Saw that note crumpled in the rubbish by the way, probably a good excuse to empty the office bin occasionally if you don’t mind me saying.”
Amber bit her tongue, curling up a little tighter on the couch. There’s been a note in Atlantic City too, one she’d surreptitiously forgotten to mention, that the building landlord had told her about it- although Amber had quickly shrugged it off as potential fan mail or something equally inane.
“I dunno, as long as it takes for them to get the message I imagine.”
“... and if it doesn’t?”
Amber hadn’t really considered that, chalking it up to simply hoping that he might eventually grow tired of the chase and disappear back beneath the rock he’d crawled out from. Wishful thinking of course, but it certainly gave her one less headache to mitigate.
“What's stopping you just talking to this guy- you know, just get it over and done with. Tear it off like a bandaid?”
Earnest and sincere, Mac gave her that all knowing smile that tore through her facades like paper.
“These things don’t just get over and done with Mac, you pick up the phone to a telemarketer and next thing you know you’re getting offers for things you’ve never spoken about aloud and nigerian princes determined to hand off their family fortunes”
“That's an email scam, love”
Amber sighed loudly in frustration.
“You don’t read your emails, do you?”
“Do I look like the type of woman who spends their spare time reading emails darling, if some asshole overseas wants to give me money they can show up on my doorstep with a bag marked with a dollar sign… and If Dominic Del Gado wants my attention then he can earn it like anyone else.”
She hadn’t meant to say his name out loud- but the satisfied smile that curled on Mac’s lip suggested he’d been waiting and expecting the verbal slip to eventually come. Admit fault, admit weakness- it only hurts for a little while…
“Look Mac, I don’t have the time nor energy to be dealing with him right now. If I thought talking to him achieved anything besides falling in deeper and giving him space rent free in my head- I’d have done that by now.
Fact is though, I have a far more pressing issue right now named Myra Rivers and if I don’t give her my full attention then this world title is as good as gone…”
“I know but-”
“There’s no buts Mac, there's no side-stepping cleverly around this one. I make a mistake and it's done- right now I’m a world champion standing on the edge of a cliff knowing that if I don’t jump, then I’m gonna get punted off the edge. Hell, I’m like a skydiver with just enough short term memory loss to forget whether I packed my parachute or not…”
Unfurling slightly, she could feel the tension in her knees ease briefly.
“I don’t doubt that you’re gonna go out there and do what you always do… but this week, I’m just not sure I can stand by and watch. I’m not worried about losing, I’m worried about winning… you winning. Cause if you do, then I’m not in that main event and right now that feels like my lucky charm- every defense I’ve had has headlined the show.
Maybe I’m fucking out of my god damn mind and I’m letting superstition creep in where it doesn’t belong but the fact of the matter is I can’t afford to leave anything to chance. Not this time.”
A resignation echoed slightly in her voice as she searched for the right words.
“I love you Mac, truly…”
Sincerity could only mask so much, the hardened professional stepping across the loving wife with a steely gaze.
“... but I can’t just let you have MY spot.”
