Post by Damon Cross on Sept 6, 2022 8:59:17 GMT -8
He has no reason to be here. None at all.
Yet the man known as Damon Cross walks the halls of the Vlad Blackheart Memorial Coliseum, a black silk button-down worn open, stylized flames rising on the sleeves and hem, a black tank top worn beneath with a golden chain around his neck, the insignia upon it an upside-down cross. Well-worn and faded denim completes the look over a polished pair of Doc Martens, a pair of gold-framed sunglasses masking the eyes of the Redeemer.
He’s ten pounds lighter these days. Restless as hell, barely sleeping and spiny to the touch. When he speaks, his tone is uncharacteristically acidic if even bothers speaking at all. According to some, he barely does that at all. He doesn’t eat as much, doesn’t even drink for that matter. Restless? Angry? Lost? All of the above? Is there even a word that encompasses it all? If there is, it’s probably German and you could sprain your tongue trying to pronounce it.
This two monsters beat the living crap out of one another. Match was epic. Entire The Cult came down to support Sickle. They chased off any people Damon Cross had down with him. There was a referee bump and Daniel & Poseidon hit a real 3 man powerbomb on Damon. They leave the ring and Sickle locks in Memento Mori. When the referee comes too he notices that Damon isn't responding and declares Sickle the winner.**
Monday night, the first evening of the Vlad Blackheart Memorial Tournament. One week removed from Wrestlefest VIII. Damon could recall a time, last year in fact, where he went to the limit, nearly matching Super Tiger’s never-to-be-duplicated performance before falling to her in the end and in the ladder match after the fact. At that point, he felt as if he could go no lower. Yet ahead of him was the best year of his career, bar none: three World Heavyweight Championships, six year-end awards in NFW, marriage to his dear Danielle and Leina accepting him as a father. A new house, a new lease on life. Freedom from his pain. Acquittal on all charges.
And now? Nothing. At least where business is concerned. Where his ability to provide a proper living for his family is concerned.
Other people are present, of course. Agents, producers and the like. A few wrestlers who aren’t booked for the evening are present as well. Most reach out with a greeting of some sort, but Damon is in a fog; they’re neither seen nor heard. Just white noise beyond the mist. As personable as Damon is known to be backstage, they can’t make heads nor tails of this. And the whisperings start. They scratch at the edge of his senses like a mouse scrabbling for scraps in the moments before the light turns on to send it scurrying. His jaw sets, but he keeps going. Toward the locker rooms. Only to be halted a few paces away by a familiar face.
Ronnie Lester: Dame… hold up a minute, man. Where’re you goin’?
Damon Cross: Ronnie…
Old friends meeting once again. Ronnie isn’t as active as he used to be, but he still finds things to keep him busy backstage. Damon pauses, meeting his friend and former partner’s gaze through the shades, then moves to walk past.
Except… Ronnie steps in his path.
Ronnie Lester: I know what’s goin’ on, brother. I saw it. It’s bullshit, I agree. But don’t go doing something you’re going to regret later, yeah?
Blinking behind the shades, which he takes off slowly, Damon fixes a tired, angry gaze on Ronnie. Not one to be turned about by such things, the Wicked One still takes a step back. He’s experienced this stare before, you see…
Ronnie Lester: Damon-
Damon Cross: No.
Cross holds up a hand, shaking, before lowering it.
Damon Cross: This needs to be said. Whatever happens, happens.
Brushing gently past Ronnie, who can only stare after him, Damon makes his way toward the first doors past his old friend on the right. He takes a deep breath before pushing them open and stepping in. No warning, no knocking. The camera follows and, over the shoulder of the Redeemer stands Juan and Javier Cortez, in close conversation with Carmen Viviana Esquivel. All three turn as the door opens and at once their expressions shift. Juan and Javier look very much concerned and Carmen’s typically stern visage softens considerably… not a familiar look to those who know her.
Carmen Viviana Esquivel: Mr. Cross…
The faintest of nods from Damon, whose attention is on the brothers. Both Javier and Juan look very ill-at-ease. Carmen’s sudden softness isn’t helping matters.
Javier Cortez: Yo, ah-
Juan Cortez: About last week-
Again Damon’s hand goes up, as it had with Ronnie. Except the fingers curl into a tight, trembling fist before he lowers it.
Damon Cross: No… fucking NO.
His voice shakes and he curses himself inwardly for it.
Damon Cross: Three-on-two. Odds in your favor. Literally all you had to do was see to it that I had a fair chance to defend the championship. And… you ran.
A dry, harsh bit of laughter. The Cortez brothers have the good sense to look ashamed, but it seems as if Carmen’s ire is rising for some reason-
Damon Cross: You. Fucking. RAN! Turned tail and bolted like scared dogs! From Daniel Dream and Poseidon! Left me twisting in the fucking wind for Sickle to steal the goddamn title from me!
Carmen Viviana Esquivel: You hold on one damn minute, Cross!
Damon Cross: Oh? What happened to "Mister"?
A hateful, sardonic smile. Carmen storms right up to Damon, who lets her without lifting a hand. He just stares right back at her as the brothers move to flank her… not sure what, in Damon’s mood, he might do.
Carmen Viviana Esquivel: What, exactly, did you expect us to do?! They came out there armed to the teeth! We’re not your damn bodyguards!
One dark brow elevates on Damon’s forehead.
Damon Cross: Armed? Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you three give the Astro Creeps the roughest fight they’ve ever had at Cruel Summer? Even in defeat you made those clowns earn every inch, feel every drop of blood. It was a war for the ages. It was a violent masterpiece. I was proud of each of you for your parts in that.
Shrugging, Damon lets his arms drop.
Damon Cross: But you can’t handle a pair of goons like Daniel and Poseidon. YOU EXPECT ME TO BUY THAT?!
Having Damon scream in her face is more than Carmen is willing to put up with. She angrily shakes off the hands of the brothers and rears back with her right hand. Damon, in response, takes a step closer to her, whispering in a dangerous tone.
Damon Cross: Do it. I’m begging you.
Something about the tone makes her stop, though, allowing Javier and Juan to draw her back a bit. Damon stays where he is, hands in his pockets now, making no further moves.
Javier Cortez: Bad shit went down, man. For what it’s worth, we apologize.
Juan Cortez: What he said. There’s no need to get violent or anything. Let’s just… let’s just move on, yeah?
Silent for a few moments, Damon repeats…
Damon Cross: Move on…
…and sighs, shaking his head.
Damon Cross: Yes, you three do that.
Turning on his heel, Cross moves to leave the locker room. Juan and Javier exchange glances, but it’s Carmen who steps forward… far less violently this time.
Carmen Viviana Esquivel: So that’s that, then? Just gonna walk on us, Cross? So much for loyalty-
Damon Cross: You don’t get to play that card. I helped you three get your foot in the door here in the big leagues. And that act of kindness bit me in the ass. So we’re done. I wish the three of you all the best in the future, but as far as business is concerned, I want nothing to do with any of you anymore. Good evening.
Putting his shades back on, Damon leaves the locker room. Carmen is, in a word, aghast at this development. Juan is at a loss for words, too, his mouth moving like that of a goldfish out of its bowl of water. Javier takes a slow, deep breath before speaking up.
Javier Cortez: Let’s get out of here. We got a lot of planning to do while this tournament is going on. C’mon… we’ll get some dinner then head out.
The others follow after Javier as he starts packing up, moving as if numb.
Outside the locker room, Damon is leaning on the wall by the doors. Slowly, he shakes his head and rubs at his eyes slightly beneath the glasses. Then, he turns and walks out the way he came. Past Ronnie, past everyone else. Without a word.
Yet the man known as Damon Cross walks the halls of the Vlad Blackheart Memorial Coliseum, a black silk button-down worn open, stylized flames rising on the sleeves and hem, a black tank top worn beneath with a golden chain around his neck, the insignia upon it an upside-down cross. Well-worn and faded denim completes the look over a polished pair of Doc Martens, a pair of gold-framed sunglasses masking the eyes of the Redeemer.
He’s ten pounds lighter these days. Restless as hell, barely sleeping and spiny to the touch. When he speaks, his tone is uncharacteristically acidic if even bothers speaking at all. According to some, he barely does that at all. He doesn’t eat as much, doesn’t even drink for that matter. Restless? Angry? Lost? All of the above? Is there even a word that encompasses it all? If there is, it’s probably German and you could sprain your tongue trying to pronounce it.
ECWF Wrestlefest VIII, August 28, 2022, MetLife Stadium, East Rutherford, NJ
This two monsters beat the living crap out of one another. Match was epic. Entire The Cult came down to support Sickle. They chased off any people Damon Cross had down with him. There was a referee bump and Daniel & Poseidon hit a real 3 man powerbomb on Damon. They leave the ring and Sickle locks in Memento Mori. When the referee comes too he notices that Damon isn't responding and declares Sickle the winner.**
Monday night, the first evening of the Vlad Blackheart Memorial Tournament. One week removed from Wrestlefest VIII. Damon could recall a time, last year in fact, where he went to the limit, nearly matching Super Tiger’s never-to-be-duplicated performance before falling to her in the end and in the ladder match after the fact. At that point, he felt as if he could go no lower. Yet ahead of him was the best year of his career, bar none: three World Heavyweight Championships, six year-end awards in NFW, marriage to his dear Danielle and Leina accepting him as a father. A new house, a new lease on life. Freedom from his pain. Acquittal on all charges.
And now? Nothing. At least where business is concerned. Where his ability to provide a proper living for his family is concerned.
Other people are present, of course. Agents, producers and the like. A few wrestlers who aren’t booked for the evening are present as well. Most reach out with a greeting of some sort, but Damon is in a fog; they’re neither seen nor heard. Just white noise beyond the mist. As personable as Damon is known to be backstage, they can’t make heads nor tails of this. And the whisperings start. They scratch at the edge of his senses like a mouse scrabbling for scraps in the moments before the light turns on to send it scurrying. His jaw sets, but he keeps going. Toward the locker rooms. Only to be halted a few paces away by a familiar face.
Ronnie Lester: Dame… hold up a minute, man. Where’re you goin’?
Damon Cross: Ronnie…
Old friends meeting once again. Ronnie isn’t as active as he used to be, but he still finds things to keep him busy backstage. Damon pauses, meeting his friend and former partner’s gaze through the shades, then moves to walk past.
Except… Ronnie steps in his path.
Ronnie Lester: I know what’s goin’ on, brother. I saw it. It’s bullshit, I agree. But don’t go doing something you’re going to regret later, yeah?
Blinking behind the shades, which he takes off slowly, Damon fixes a tired, angry gaze on Ronnie. Not one to be turned about by such things, the Wicked One still takes a step back. He’s experienced this stare before, you see…
Ronnie Lester: Damon-
Damon Cross: No.
Cross holds up a hand, shaking, before lowering it.
Damon Cross: This needs to be said. Whatever happens, happens.
Brushing gently past Ronnie, who can only stare after him, Damon makes his way toward the first doors past his old friend on the right. He takes a deep breath before pushing them open and stepping in. No warning, no knocking. The camera follows and, over the shoulder of the Redeemer stands Juan and Javier Cortez, in close conversation with Carmen Viviana Esquivel. All three turn as the door opens and at once their expressions shift. Juan and Javier look very much concerned and Carmen’s typically stern visage softens considerably… not a familiar look to those who know her.
Carmen Viviana Esquivel: Mr. Cross…
The faintest of nods from Damon, whose attention is on the brothers. Both Javier and Juan look very ill-at-ease. Carmen’s sudden softness isn’t helping matters.
Javier Cortez: Yo, ah-
Juan Cortez: About last week-
Again Damon’s hand goes up, as it had with Ronnie. Except the fingers curl into a tight, trembling fist before he lowers it.
Damon Cross: No… fucking NO.
His voice shakes and he curses himself inwardly for it.
Damon Cross: Three-on-two. Odds in your favor. Literally all you had to do was see to it that I had a fair chance to defend the championship. And… you ran.
A dry, harsh bit of laughter. The Cortez brothers have the good sense to look ashamed, but it seems as if Carmen’s ire is rising for some reason-
Damon Cross: You. Fucking. RAN! Turned tail and bolted like scared dogs! From Daniel Dream and Poseidon! Left me twisting in the fucking wind for Sickle to steal the goddamn title from me!
Carmen Viviana Esquivel: You hold on one damn minute, Cross!
Damon Cross: Oh? What happened to "Mister"?
A hateful, sardonic smile. Carmen storms right up to Damon, who lets her without lifting a hand. He just stares right back at her as the brothers move to flank her… not sure what, in Damon’s mood, he might do.
Carmen Viviana Esquivel: What, exactly, did you expect us to do?! They came out there armed to the teeth! We’re not your damn bodyguards!
One dark brow elevates on Damon’s forehead.
Damon Cross: Armed? Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you three give the Astro Creeps the roughest fight they’ve ever had at Cruel Summer? Even in defeat you made those clowns earn every inch, feel every drop of blood. It was a war for the ages. It was a violent masterpiece. I was proud of each of you for your parts in that.
Shrugging, Damon lets his arms drop.
Damon Cross: But you can’t handle a pair of goons like Daniel and Poseidon. YOU EXPECT ME TO BUY THAT?!
Having Damon scream in her face is more than Carmen is willing to put up with. She angrily shakes off the hands of the brothers and rears back with her right hand. Damon, in response, takes a step closer to her, whispering in a dangerous tone.
Damon Cross: Do it. I’m begging you.
Something about the tone makes her stop, though, allowing Javier and Juan to draw her back a bit. Damon stays where he is, hands in his pockets now, making no further moves.
Javier Cortez: Bad shit went down, man. For what it’s worth, we apologize.
Juan Cortez: What he said. There’s no need to get violent or anything. Let’s just… let’s just move on, yeah?
Silent for a few moments, Damon repeats…
Damon Cross: Move on…
…and sighs, shaking his head.
Damon Cross: Yes, you three do that.
Turning on his heel, Cross moves to leave the locker room. Juan and Javier exchange glances, but it’s Carmen who steps forward… far less violently this time.
Carmen Viviana Esquivel: So that’s that, then? Just gonna walk on us, Cross? So much for loyalty-
Damon Cross: You don’t get to play that card. I helped you three get your foot in the door here in the big leagues. And that act of kindness bit me in the ass. So we’re done. I wish the three of you all the best in the future, but as far as business is concerned, I want nothing to do with any of you anymore. Good evening.
Putting his shades back on, Damon leaves the locker room. Carmen is, in a word, aghast at this development. Juan is at a loss for words, too, his mouth moving like that of a goldfish out of its bowl of water. Javier takes a slow, deep breath before speaking up.
Javier Cortez: Let’s get out of here. We got a lot of planning to do while this tournament is going on. C’mon… we’ll get some dinner then head out.
The others follow after Javier as he starts packing up, moving as if numb.
Outside the locker room, Damon is leaning on the wall by the doors. Slowly, he shakes his head and rubs at his eyes slightly beneath the glasses. Then, he turns and walks out the way he came. Past Ronnie, past everyone else. Without a word.
** This is the title match in question, verbatim. No edits, no alterations. Just so y’all know.
