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Sins of the Son; POTW I, Martin Robertson [feat. Erik Draven]
Topic Started: Jun 22 2016, 01:51 PM (25 Views)
Michael Draven
Member Avatar
EWA Minority Owner
one day you will see
and dare to come down to me
yeah c'mon, c'mon, now take the chance
Let's dance





Buffalo, NY
Saturday, June 18, 2016 - 11:09 AM


He sat in the black van with the dark tinted windows, staring out at the building a hundred feet away, just as he'd done every day since his arrival in the All America City.

The HK Wrestling Academy.

Michael Draven had taken it upon himself to travel to Buffalo after Battlelines, arriving a few hours ahead of the Youth's enormous Prevost luxury bus. He'd spent the last eight days watching their comings and goings. Misty and Alyssa Marie going on shopping trips to the Walden Galleria Mall, Robertson going on Mighty Taco runs, Morris making trips to a physical therapist for his arm. Kage and Haven, however, rarely left the Academy, leading Draven to believe they were actually living there. Some sort of residence on the top floor, perhaps, with a sprawling view of the city's skyline. Certainly would be Alex's style.

He'd parked his Jeep at Niagara Falls State Park, figuring the constant flock of tourists would shield the vehicle from attracting attention. He'd purchased the van at a shady used car lot for $500. It ran like shit, and didn't have a clean title, but he had no aspirations of leaving Buffalo with the van. It was simply a tool to use as part of this plot.

A plot formed after observing none other than the legendary Grady Smith in action.

Michael hadn't been able to understand how Grady was able to, so easily, goad Haven into fighting him. He'd watched Grady and Haven in the ring together repeatedly, and finally, it came to him - the foolproof plan that would force Haven to meet him in the ring one last time.

Of course, it would have to wait until after Path of the Warrior...but he would need to ensure the plan would work. He'd only have one shot at executing it. And so he was here in Buffalo, watching. Observing.

Surprisingly enough, no one from the HK Wrestling Academy had inquired about the mysterious van in the parking lot. Draven assumed that Haven knew he was here, and was content to allow it, likely chalking this bit of business up to little more than more obsessive behavior from Michael Draven.

Perhaps he was right.

His phone rang suddenly. Draven looked down, rolling his eyes.

Erik Draven. His older brother.

He'd called twice yesterday. Erik never was the type to give up easily. Sighing, Michael answered the phone.

"I'm a little preoccupied, Erik --"

"Cut the shit, Mikey. You're in Buffalo, probably stalking Haven in another attempt to get him to fight you."

Goddammit.

"Meanwhile, where you need to be is Albany."

He'd spoken to Maggie. How else would he know?

"She left, Erik. The week before Battlelines. That's why she wasn't at the show --"

"She wasn't at the show because I told her to take the night off, you idiot. Listen to me, Mikey, and listen carefully, because I'm only gonna say this once. I love you. You're my brother. Maggie is the best thing that's happened to you...maybe ever? So you have a disagreement, she bolts home to New York...and you let her walk away? You wouldn't let Haven walk away from you, and you hate his guts, yet you stand by while the woman you love leaves without even putting up a fight? You're a Draven. Get your balls out of your purse and fight for her."

"She's pissed because I didn--"

"Because you didn't help her against Calder. Yeah, I know. I've talked to her, Mikey, which is why I'm telling you. Go to her. I'm not wrong about this."

And with that, the line was dead.

He stared out the window, at the HK Wrestling Academy, pondering the words of his older brother.

He missed her.

He hadn't thought of her much in Buffalo - he was too consumed with formulating his plan. But now that Erik's words were fresh in his mind, the yearning for her embrace hit him like a tidal wave.

It was a twenty minute drive to Niagara Falls to pick up the Jeep. He could be in Albany in time for dinner.

Michael Draven started the van, and pulled out of HK Wrestling Academy, determined to get his girlfriend back.




"Martin Robertson. Mr. Perfection himself.

I'd be lying to you if I said I wasn't looking forward to this match at Path of the Warrior with you, Marty. It's not the match I had planned for, and truthfully, you weren't my first choice, but...

This is definitely the first time I've ever fought the son of a man that I've also fought before. Which makes this a pretty unique contest.

Do you remember the NWF, Marty? It was the last of the great wrestling promotions before the industry died...the last promotion I competed in before Erik and I reformed the EWA last year. Thirteen years ago, this was. The promotion didn't last long - the guy running it, Darren something-or-another, was a real jackass. No real idea how to run a business. Not sure what happened to him, actually. Probably died of gout or something stupid like that. But I digress.

I faced your father there, as I did in other promotions, but that was the only time I ever managed to defeat him. It was also the closest I came to ever being the World Heavyweight Champion, other than when I nearly beat Alexander Haven for that title.

I tell you this not to brag about defeating your father, Marty. Truthfully, I was extremely lucky to do so, as most anyone was in those days. Grady Smith was the toughest son of a bitch around in those days, and generally, when a man stepped into the ring with Grady - going by whatever nickname he'd chosen for himself that week - the man counted himself lucky to survive, much less emerge victorious.

I tell you this because the NWF, as I'm sure you remember, was where Grady Smith wrestled his final contest before coming out of retirement this year. It was Grady Smith against SmirtDogg, and you and I were both there that night.

I was huddled backstage, 24 years old, watching in awe as Grady took everything that Hailey threw at him, and managed to come out on top, despite having his ankle broken in the match. A one-legged man, defeating someone who was considered to be a great in this sport. It was unfathomable. I was in awe of the man. Of his heart, determination, and courage.

You were sitting in the front row, 12 years old, watching your father deliver one of the finest performances in the history of this industry. You had tears in your eyes when you heard his ankle snap, and you cheered and screamed with the thousands of other fans when he hit the Chokebuster and won his final match.

Afterward, the NWF threw him a retirement ceremony. One of the few things done right in that company. I watched you, the son of the legendary Grady Smith, as you hugged your father that night. The pride in having Grady as your father beamed from you like the light from a radiant sun.

And yet...at some point after that, something went terribly wrong.

Wrong enough for you to develop hatred for your father. Hatred so strong that it makes me wonder if you shouldn't be following Prudence Collins around, instead of Alexander Haven.

Joining the Youth was a slap to your father's face, Marty. But I suspect you knew that. I have the distinction of being, according to anyone who knows anything in professional wrestling, Alexander Haven's #1 rival. But if there was ever a #2, it was Grady Smith.

And you chose to not only align yourself with Haven, but to adopt him as some sort of a pseudo father figure.

I'm not going to stand here, Marty, and preach to you about how great of a dad Grady Smith was, and how you've spat on everything he's done for you over the years. Truth be told, I have no idea what kind of father he was to you. Professional wrestling is a tough business, and in those days, it was even tougher. We often wrestled for multiple promotions, 4-5 times a week, all on various television markets. We had as many as a dozen bitter rivals at one time spanning numerous companies. It was a hard, demanding life, and I have no doubt Grady missed out on a lot of your childhood.

What I will tell you is that the man himself is a man of integrity. Whatever shortcomings you feel he had as a father, I can assure you they were not out of malice or ill-will.

But here's the rub - you're a member of the Youth. You have Alexander Haven and Chris Kage whispering god-knows-what about the man into your ear, hovering over your shoulder, poisoning your mind with their beliefs.

Speaking the truth to you - man to man, like I'm doing right now? Waste of time. I know it, so you don't even need to respond saying as much.

I have nothing against you personally, Marty. I have a problem with the people you've chosen to associate with. I have a problem with your blatant disrespect of a man that I'm honored to consider a friend.

And so at Path of the Warrior, I plan to teach you a lesson in humility.

A lesson in respect.

Make all the "Micro Draven" jokes you'd like. I'm sure you'll put out a promotional video with your Youth buddies, mocking me for my faux relationship with Alex's wife. Maybe you'll even get her to bring back her clever ruler! You'll have a jolly good time, laughing it up at Michael Draven's expense, just as you've all had for the last eight months.

At Path of the Warrior, Martin Smith - that's right, I'm calling you by your given name, the name you don't deserve to carry - there will be no laughing. There will be no jokes. There will be no mockery.

There will only be pain.

Pain, and embarassment.

Embarassment in front of those who you consider your peers in The Youth.

Embarassment in front of the man who you consider "the father you never had", in Alexander Haven.

And embarassment in front of your real father, Grady Smith.

The mockery you've made of the Smith name ends at Path of the Warrior, Martin.

I just hope your father can forgive me for the lesson I teach you.
"




Albany, NY
Saturday, June 18, 2016 - 7:17 PM


She wasn't at her family's home, but her aunt, after a moment of internal debate, provided him with the name of the motel she was staying at. A touch on the rough side, but he'd seen worse. He stood outside, grabbing the bottle of Jameson's he'd picked up along the way, as well as a box of fine chocolates.

He turned around to head toward the motel room, and tripped on an uneven edge of concrete, toppling to the ground, somehow managing to hold onto the bottle of whiskey and preventing it from shattering into so many pieces.

The skies suddenly opened in a downpour, drenching him as he lay on the hard pavement. He laughed aloud at his misfortune.

It was as if the gods were sending him a message - stay away. This was a bad idea.

He cursed his older brother under his breath for talking him into this nonsense, and shook his head, scrambling to his feet and walking briskly to her door. Two sharp knocks brought the sound of footsteps, muffled through the closed door and the heavy rain pouring down on him.

She opened the door, beautiful as ever, and stared at him.

"Hi."
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