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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 31 2016, 07:43 AM (125 Views) | |
| Tritch | Dec 31 2016, 07:43 AM Post #1 |
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Rex Evans, Tommy Evans, The Hills, Beckyyy & Gwen Justice
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I wish I could say this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy and got off a man more cynical, hardened, and mature and shit hamburg, germany - 12.28.16 One click is all it takes, then the sound of paper burning. The shot comes to life all of a sudden as Tommy Evans leans back on a couch, his legs crossed pretzel style, visibly holding his breath. The phone moves around a bit, settling in what appears to be a second person’s lap, as if he didn’t tell Tommy he turned it on. “Robb come through?” The voice of Hunter Caine, Tommy’s best friend and trainee, comes from behind the phone. Tommy nods, finally exhaling a big cloud of smoke before coughing a few times. He makes a motion towards the table in front of him, and the camera moves as Hunter’s arms reach towards something that can’t be seen. “What’d you wanna talk about?” “I wanted to talk about something?” Tommy looks up at the ceiling with a puzzled look for a long moment, then he nods a few times. “Oh yeah. You know training is not just about what’s in the ring, right?” “Right,” another click, more burning, and a deep inhale just above the phone. Tommy shifts his weight on the couch, looking over at Hunter with narrowed eyes. Exhale, coughing. “That’s why you make me travel with you and carry your bags and shit.” He laughs. “This business is about a lot more than in-ring skills. It takes a toll on you physically, but mentally too. Emotionally. It fucks with you. I know more about that than most,” Tommy shoves a hand through his hair, throwing his head back on top of the couch to look at the ceiling again. “You could be the best athlete in the world, but if somebody sees you as one thing you can get typecast. Like it’s fucking Hollywood or something. If they already have too much of one thing, they can make you be something else. “If your older brother is one of the biggest names floating around the industry…” he pauses. For a long time. “Anyways, the point is, you’ve got to be prepared for anything. And you can’t be afraid to put your foot down. You might get dealt a shit hand. You can decide to fold, like I did. Or you can decide to play that shit hand like it’s gold, and win the fucking pot.” “You spent too much time in Vegas, man,” Hunter laughs, until Tommy tilts his head up and looks at him with a completely serious expression. That’s rare, for Tommy Evans. “So what happened?” “You know me, man. I’m aloof. I pretend like nothing gets to me. Sometimes, I seem like a joke. And when I’m compared to him, that seems even more real to the people in suits. I’m just a tiny little stoner who didn’t graduate high school. An idiot that’ll make a real good comedy spot,” he leans forward, grabbing something off the table again. “They don’t see the athletic luchador that was trained by five different world champions.” Click, burn. Exhale, cough. Sigh. “I thought signing with Phoenix Wrestling was my chance to make something of myself. It was just as big as Sin City, but it didn’t have Rex’s name all over it. I thought I could go in, prove my worth, and climb the ranks. Just like he did,” another sigh. “But instead of being Rex’s brother, I was Faith’s husband. And they still just saw the little stoner who would never measure up. “I got the bookings that would draw ratings, not critics. I got booked with the crazies, with the fucking birds,” Tommy laughed, shaking his head and then rubbing his eyes. “PW didn’t give a shit about me until my life started to fall apart. When I cheated on my wife and we started getting into verbal and eventually physical altercations, they started giving a shit. But it was too late. And when I got thrown in the back of a van on their program, and then disappeared… they didn’t give a shit again. They didn’t miss me. They didn’t look for me. “I’m not saying,” he sighs, standing up and walking around the couch to look out the window. “I know that’s an extremely specific example and you probably won’t go through half of that shit, but I’m saying I let the company walk all over me for a payday that I didn’t even need. I didn’t fight to prove myself, I didn’t fight for what I really wanted. “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about that, to think about how I composed myself back then. How I presented myself, how I acted,” he turns back towards Hunter, climbing over the couch to sit on the back of it, resting his elbows on his knees. “People have been telling me to change that. Change the way I act, the way I present myself. But that’s just me. I am who I am. So I’m not going to change for them. Because the truth is, I know what I’m worth. The world doesn’t. So I just need to prove it, and then they’ll change for me.” “That’s deep, bro,” Hunter shifts his weight, moving the phone around and repositioning it at the right angle again. “I’m a fucking international athlete now. I’m wrestling on the regular in Germany and the United Kingdom. But Iron King? That’s how I fucking prove it. I go in there, and I show the Phoenix suits what they squandered back in the day. I show them what they gave up on. By stealing the god damn show every night. By kicking every single person they put in front of me right in the teeth, and then making them tap, or stay down for the count, or whatever the gimmick is for the given round. I prove to the world that Tommy Evans is no joke.” “What if you end up staring across the ring at Faith?” Hunter asks, and Tommy twitches ever so slightly. “Then I’ll put her down just like the rest of them,” he says it emphatically, without stumbling, as if telling himself that just as much as he was telling Hunter. “What’s the first round, street fight?” Hunter reaches forward again. Click et cetera. “Yeah. Been in my fair share. Shouldn’t cause too many problems. Been awhile since I fucked with weapons and all that, but I still know how to use them,” Tommy reaches toward Hunter, and the phone falls down. Click yada yada. Then Hunter picks up the phone again, repositioning it just in time for the cloud. “Who are you fighting? A piece of bread or some shit?” Hunter and Tommy both laugh a little harder than they probably should, before Tommy shakes his head. “Nah I guess he got hurt at Warfare. They subbed in Flame, one of the alternates.” “Know anything about him?” “Not much, but I just teamed with him at the New Kingdom/Shooting Star Super Card. He won the NKP versus SSWA match for us after I got eliminated. And I know there was a lot of buzz about him coming back to NKP when he showed up a few weeks ago, or something like that,” Tommy slid sideways, stretching out on the couch and putting his hands behind his head. “He’s taller than me but not much bigger. We should be able to put on a show.” “You said yourself though, that’s not all that matters this time,” Hunter put his feet up on the table, moving the phone so it still had a clear shot. “Nah, not all that matters. But it’s still important. Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t trying to steal the show,” Tommy took a deep breath, sighing again. “But I’ll make sure I’m focusing on wearing him down more than being flashy. More kicks, more submits. Less flying shit. This time, at least.” There was a pause. A long moment of silence; Hunter with his feet on the table, Tommy staring at the ceiling. Then Hunter got up, picking the phone up and walking towards Tommy, pointing the lens right down at the determined look on his face. “Yo, you been filming this whole thing?” He didn’t answer, just kept the phone focused on that determination, then he asked… “You really think you can do this?” Tommy’s adam’s apple moved as he swallowed hard, taking another deep breath as he looked past the camera at Hunter. Then he nodded, just slightly. “I know I can.” But that’s not true. The truth is I got on the bus a boy, and I never got off the bus... long beach, california - 1.1.17 “You were in rare form last night,” Mason Mannion walks out on the patio, but he seems to be there alone, talking to no one. Until he turns around, leaning against the railing to look up at the roof. Up there, Tommy Evans lays in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, staring directly up at the sun behind all-black Ray Bans with a cigarette between his lips. “Everything alright?” “No,” the brief, abrupt response causes Mason’s eyes to grow big for a few seconds, before he carefully climbs up on the roof as well, sitting down next to his old roommate. Normally sarcastic and loud, Mason sits there in silence a moment, looking down at the beach. “Do you-” “No,” Tommy reiterates, taking a massive drag before flicking the cigarette off the roof. “I want to smoke this blunt, find a shirt, and go for a ride.” “You look like Tommy Evans, but you’re being broody and sad like the other one,” instinctively, a bit of Mason’s sarcasm slips through. “I don’t like it.” Tommy shakes his head, pulling a rolled blunt out of his pocket and lighting it. “I didn’t need this shit right now. I’ve got Iron King in three days, then the main event of a Young Guns Cup three days after that. I should’ve just bit my tongue, bided my time. I knew this shit would happen.” “Jesus bro, the fuck happened?” Mason asks in a more sincere tone, but Tommy ignores him in favor of lighting the blunt, taking a huge rip and holding it in as long as possible. He pushes up to his feet, standing dangerously close to the edge of the roof before turning to walk along it. “She left,” he finally muttered with his back to Mason, before taking another hit. BIG MASE sat with his arm son his knees in stunned silence, and Tommy shook his head through the big cloud of smoke. “I’m going back to the place where we met, and she’s not coming with me. I’m moving to fucking Germany, and she’s not coming with me. It feels like none of this is worth it anymore.” “Nah man,” Mason finally speaks up, shaking his head. “You know that’s not true. You’ve been working harder than I’ve ever seen you work in your life. You weren’t doing that for Ashlyn De Luca, you were doing that for Tommy fuckin’ Evans. You’re in better shape, you’ve got a better attitude, and you want this more than ever before. Your name is on the tip of everybody’s tongues right now because they know what the fuck you’re about to show them. So don’t let this stop you. Don’t get hung up on love, you already did that once.” Tommy glanced down at his left hand, the faint outline of a ring still visible on his finger. He rubbed it, thinking back to his tumultuous relationship with Faith Skyler. He thought about the way he acted after the divorce - maybe if he would’ve just fought, he wouldn’t have- “I get it, man. Ash is an incredible girl, you don’t want to lose that. If I lost Beck I’d probably go crazy. I’d feel lost myself. But you’ve got a plan, you’ve got a roadmap. Stick to it, and everything else will piece back together along the way. You feel me?” Mason stood up himself, turning towards Tommy, but there was no response. For a long moment, Tommy just stood there with his back to him, the paper burning without ever taking another hit. Then finally he flicked his fingers and brought it back up, taking another deep hit and turning towards Mason. He looks up towards the sky and exhales in a cloud of smoke before looking back down at his friend. “Thanks,” he nodded, and Mason offered a smirk in return. “I’m going to march into Vegas and beat Flame, then march into Reno and beat Avaset. Then I’m just going to keep marching, keep beating. I’m going to win Iron King. I’m going to win the Young Guns Cup. And then…” He took another hit, turning back towards the beach to look out at the beautiful sunrise. “Then I’m going to win her back.” I still haven’t... |
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4:27 PM Jul 10