As he dragged me to my feet
I was filled with incoherence
So, another match and another loss. I can't say that I'm not used to this stuff. I can say that Paroxysm isn't. Or wasn't. I don't really know what he's used to know, ya now? No? Oh. Well, I know that I'm fucked yet again. I don't know much, but I know that these aren't guys and gals to take lightly. Old Aidan? Ahh... that's another story. Vintage Aidan Cash isn't walking through that door anytime soon. Nor is Paroxysm... wait... WAIT! Do you hear that?
That's the sound-
The sound of silence
-------
I opened my eyes and tried to look around the room. Instantly my head throbbed the throb that only alcohol can induce. Alcohol and a good knock down drag out fight. Instinctively, I began to rub my forehead with my left hand - bad idea. A sharp pain shot through the left side of my body that made my entire body arch in pain. So, I slowly lowed my arm back to my side & gingerly tilted my head down to examine the damage - a blood soaked shirt and a swollen fist are all I can see. God only knows what bruises lie underneath my shirt. Well, and me. Me and anyone else who sees me shirtless. Which is everyone when you're a professional wrestler. Most professional wrestlers at least. Some wear stupid full body costumes and ridiculous masks. But I'm not Paroxysm, and neither should you. That made more sense when I was high. Anyhoo, where was I? Fuck, not that question again. I meant, within this RP, oh right, the pain. GOD DAMN THIS PAIN! I knew instantly that nothing was broken. Which is, and was, good. How did I know that? Because I didn't let out that high pitched yelp I always let out when I move a broken bone or rib. The one benefit to breaking so many bones is that I got really good at self-diagnoses. Maybe I should selfishly spend more time taking selfies & then I wouldn't be in this predicament.
I daintily - yeah I said daintily, fuck off to you if you have a problem with that - rolled myself out of bed. I was careful to not make any sudden moves like I've just been pulled by the cops because it already hurt so much to breathe. But, if I can just make it to the whisky and the coffee maker, I thought, this will all be better. At least marginally so. So, I groped every table, chair, & wall along the way till I finally made it to the counter... only to realize that this wasn't my house. Or my hotel room. Or where ever the fuck I stayed last night. If it was, there would be a coffee pot here and at least 3 bottles of liquor.
That was the first "revelation way after it was obvious" that I made. The second one was that I had to puke, which I realized when it splattered on the wall behind the sink. Oops. I need something to cover up that smell. God I really wish I had some... wait a minute. I frantically started searching my clothes for a flask. Well, as frantically as I could, which was similar to how a sloth masturbates. Jackpot! I found my flask and took a swig. [Speaking of sloths masturbating, never look one in the eyes while he's punching it - it's not going to end well]. After a big swig, the flask still wasn't empty - a god damn festivus miracle I tell ya. I set the not empty flask down on the counter, a little too quickly it would seem, as the next thing I knew I was face down in puddle of my own vomit.
Then, from behind me, I heard a thick Irish accent call out - "Whatcha doin down thar ya sill drunken basterd?" It was a voice I was vaguely familiar with in my drunk-over state. I shoulda recognized the voice sooner, but I had to turn around to see that it was Johnny Malloy's. "Ah, ya lookin for some more tipple?"
"Yeah. Where's your whisky, you old crazy mick."
"Ah fuck you yah fucking fuck," he walked closer, "here take my hand and I'll help ya get some dignity back. Floppin around one's own vomit is no way to go through life." Johnny helped me to my feet with the gentle touch of a freshly castrated bull. As he dragged me to my feet, I was filled with incoherence.
I only knew a little bit aboot Johnny at the time of this meeting. I knew he knew Paro & that he knew Specialist. I'd later find out that he knows where Paroxysm actually is. And I'd learn first hand that, despite his age and lifestyle, Johnny still has quite the right cross. He's a late 40's full blooded mick by way of Boston and a former professional wrestler. For reason's I never understood, he'd taken up residence in the corn husker country - Omaha, Nebraska. While I nurse this drunkover, this is where I am today. God's country. Smells like shit year round. Looks even worse. Only good thing in the Nebraska, is that when the weather's right - and it rarely is - those corn fed girls and their tight little jeans... oooh yass. Unfortunately for ol' Aidan, it's the middle of winter.
Johnny was a real good host. He got me situated on the couch with a glass of whisky. While I nursed my wounds, he cooked up some breakfast and told outlandish story after outlandish story about back in his day and all that. I was pissed at how much I hurt, because these sounded like entertaining stories - I even told him this and made him promise to tell me all this again when I was sober.
"Yah, that'll be the day. A lush like you doesn't just sober up outta no where. It takes somethin more than that ya know?"
"Yeah, right. Well, I'm 30 something. Ain't found my muse. Ain't gonna find my muse now."
"If yah eva got yore head outta yore ass, yah just might."
"Yeah yeah yeah. Just pour me another my good man."
"Yah, good idea, have a little more." He mocked me, but he still refilled my glass. "I mean jus look at erryone else - they format thar RP's, they have sweet banners with thar names and all that. And you... yah look like, well I don't really know how to describe you. But I will say, I know Lance Storm, and you look nothing like Lance Storm."
"For fucks sake old man, haven't I broke kayfabe enough in this RP? Lets say I manage to do something amazing - let's say I hang around in this next match for a little bit. Maybe even make a few decent climbs up the top of the ladder, right? No fucking way I'm gonna make it all the way up. Not like I am. I know, you know it, Paro knows it... hell, even [] knows it..."
[As much as I love him, Aidan's right- he's not winning this match.]
"I'm just gonna go out there, hope that Sandman and Primo beat the fuck out of each other, hope that Jerrick can do something to distract Pain and McLovin - I only say this because I think he knows that he needs to do something to make up for his lackluster performance as my one time tag team partner - let's say all that happens. I still have to have enough energy left to climb up the ladder and grab that brief case. And then what happens? Huh? Would you want a drunk like me to have a surprise Universe Title shot in his back pocket? No. Don't gimme that 'oh what ya used to be / find your muse' bullshit. My only love is this whisky and whatever other drugs I can get my hands on. If I could just find Paroxysm, this could all be over..."
"Can't ya see it, rube? That's your muse. The search for our masked friend. Embrace it."
"Yeah. I'll embrace something..." I grabbed my glass and raised it to my face... but I passed out before I could actually drink any of it. I awoke a few hours later with whisky spilled all over my shirt and still unsure why I was in so much pain.