ShadowedFlames Posted June 23, 2008 Share Posted June 23, 2008 Ah, yes...art imitates life imitating art. Very nice, indeed. I find it amusing that for a wrestling dynasty-based forum topic, my favorite one to date has had very little wrestling in it. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned in there, somewhere. Good stuff as always; looking forward to the next chapter as always. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted June 28, 2008 Author Share Posted June 28, 2008 [CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] [QUOTE=ShadowedFlames;448351]... I find it amusing that for a wrestling dynasty-based forum topic, my favorite one to date has had very little wrestling in it. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned in there, somewhere.[/QUOTE] *chuckles* Yeah. There is that. I agree, though, and I think I know why. Of course, my opinion is entirely biased, but there we are. See, it's been my experience that writing is about a great many thing. People, places, things. Some of it's good, others of it isn't. But [I]great[/I] writing, the stuff I really, really like to read, is about [I][B]people[/B][/I]. About the things they go through, things that are identifiable, things I can relate to. Of course, feeling that way... it's the way I try to write. Go figure... :rolleyes: [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] I was home. Filling out more aps after a nice, light lunch. When Jen got home. I heard the door but didn't look too intently. Pretty much the routine was, if I heard the door during the day on a weekday, that would be Jen coming in. I soon noticed, however, out of the corner of my eye that it was in fact Jen. I also noticed the slouched posture. The package or box or whatever she had. The way she dropped the package on the dining bar and flumped herself down on a stool. A look up and to the side, as I was seated in my usual chair, confirmed it. She was dejected. "Hey, sweety," I piped up, settling my 'paperwork' in my lap. "How goes?" Oh, she made a good show of it, to be sure. "Hey mom!" she replied almost cheerfully. "Just got back from lunch." She covered her initial... it'd looked almost like despair, well enough. But I'd seen it before she'd realized I had, and hints of it still lingered. So I went fishing. "Take the bus home?" I asked with a smirk. "Oh, no," Jen replied as matter-of-factly as she could muster. "Missy gave me a lift." Whoo boy. So, I guessed, the two of them had talked. Missy probably spilling it about the little 'conversation' she'd had with me earlier. I fished some more. "You guys must have talked. Anything interesting come up?" "Not really," Jen said, turning introspective on me. "She seemed pretty quiet, actually. I asked, but she just mumbled and stuff, seemed not to want to talk, so I let it go." She then got up, scooping up the package, which was pretty good sized, enough for several quite large books or something, and started for her room. "What'cha got there?" I asked before she had a chance to even think about disappearing with it. "Um... some stuff I picked up," she said, nodding towards her room. "What kind of stuff?" She sighed and stood there for a moment. So I put the papers down, rotated my chair to face her, and settled in. Jen sighed again, and turned profoundly sad. "Mom... can we talk about it when Stephie gets home? Please?" Huh. Wasn't expecting that. So Stephie was in on whatever it was, and Jen didn't want to come clean unless her sister were present. I thought it over a moment. "Mom, please?" Jen repeated. "I promise, when Stephie gets home?" Her look wasn't of guilt. She was genuinely saddened by whatever it was. That both threw and touched me. So I relented. "Ok, sweety. When your sister gets home." I turned the chair back to its' accustomed orientation and picked up my papers again. Jen nodded sadly and retired wordlessly with the package to her room. Didn't take but a moment for her to come back. Which meant she'd either tossed the package on her bed, or placed it on the floor of her walk-in closet or some such. Not taking the time to hide it or anything. Not that I thought she would. My girls aren't like that. Still, for her to not want to even talk about it or show me till Stephie got home was a bit ominous. But my girls had always come clean, because they were good girls like I'd taught them, and had learned the value in those kinds of things. So when Jen returned to sit kitty-corner from me on the corner of the couch nearest me, I didn't push her. Jen and Stephie had also learned that I trusted them implicitly. But Jen was still sulky about it. "You ok?" I asked, glancing up. Her mood concerned me. "Yeah," Jen said, nodding slowly. Then she came a little to life. "I was just thinking about Missy." I let her change the subject of the Elephant-in-the-room package topic. "Oh? How's that?" "Well," Jen started, looking thoughtfully at me. "She seemed a bit moody and what-not. Something bothering her." Jen then got a slight smirk on her face. "When you drove her to get her car. You guys must have talked. Anything interesting come up?" I wasn't lost on her repeating my prior question to her about Claire word for word. I smirked back. "Yeah," I replied. I went back to my papers. "Anything Missy wouldn't mind you talking about?" Jen prompted, ducking her head to try and look me in the eye. So I glanced up at her. "Seriously?" I asked. At Jen's nod I sighed, put the papers down in a pile on my satchel on the floor beside me and leaned back with a sigh. "Well... she's pissed at me." That got a rise out of Jen's eyebrows. "She's pissed at [I]you[/I]?!" "Yeah," I replied. "You know. The feud thing." Jen looked at me blankly. "You know," I prompted. "Grace Harper and her." The light came on then, and Jen nodded. "Oh. Yeah. Sorely cut that. But..." And Jen looked at me quizzically. "Missy can't think that was [I]your[/I] fault...!" "Well in a way, to her it is," I explained. "See, Missy says I go to bat... or went to bat," I corrected, "for everyone at Triple-A. And when Sorely cut her, I wasn't there to back her up." Another light came on, but this time I wasn't sure what it was Jen was realizing. But a light dawned just the same, and Jen nodded sagely. "Well," she said, "you did have a tendency to do that. You know," she explained at my 'yeah right' look, "you [I]do[/I] tend to back people up." This time I actually voiced it. "Yeah. Right." "No, mom!" Jen objected. "You do! You can't tell me you actually want me to believe that when someone does something to someone you don't think is right, you're the 'sit back and go oh well' type..." Jen was looking at me like I was growing an extra set of ears. That made me chuckle. "Ok," I relented. "Fine. So I do that. Maybe Missy's right." And that thought put the damper on [I]my[/I] mood. Jen caught on to that real fast. "But mom!" Jen said before I could even think about descending into dark thoughts. She knows me that well. "I bet Missy doesn't realize that it's really not your fault. She just thinks it is." And then she told me what that second light was that dawned for her. "[B][I]I[/I][/B] think Missy's just feeling dumped again." I looked levelly at my shrewd and learning-to-be-wise daughter. "I'm dumping Missy." "Maybe that's the way it feels to her," Jen said with a shrug. "I mean, she keeps saying she's been bounced around all her life. And even though she says she's used to it, I bet she's not, and it really, really sucks for her. And maybe she thinks you leaving, when she really likes you and thought you really liked her, well, maybe deep down it feels like she's being bounced around again." Jen shrugged again. I nodded thoughtfully then. "You may be right," I said. Jen smiled. "Mom, I didn't really come up with that, though. I talked with Stephie before school, you know, before her classes. And she told me what you two talked about last night while I was fixing sandwiches." That made me smile. I pointed at her. "But you realize what that might really feel like to her, not just blowing it off as an explanation." "Well yeah!" Jen said, and the tone she used may as well have been 'well duh!' I just nodded sagely in turn and left it at that. Didn't say anything more, and the silence stretched. I wanted to see just how far Jen would go... "You know, we can fix that," Jen said. I settled back in my chair, crossed my legs with my hands in my lap, and looked levelly at her. "Oh? How's that?" "We should have her over more often. Show her we still really like her, and that she'll have us as friends no matter what. I mean, she [I]needs[/I] that, right mom?" I smiled at that. "Yeah. She does." I held out my hand to her then, and she took it. I squeezed, and she squeezed back, and we both smiled. "I love you," I said. "I love you too, mom!" she replied. "And I am so proud of you," I continued. She beamed at me, but I grew stern-faced, and she sterned up in kind at that. "So we're going to do that, ok? You hear me? See to it," I told her. "Yes mom," she replied gravely. Taking it as her solemn duty. Her serious reply and nod to me was as sure as any vow. Then she brightened a little. "You know," she added, then paused ever so slightly for thought. "We could even have her move in with us or something. You know. Down the road..." That got a chuckle from me. "Or something?" "No, mom, I'm serious," she admonished me. "I think that'd be a good idea." I nodded, sighing a little. "Well, truth to tell, the thought had occurred to me a time or three..." Jen nodded, growing a little excited at the prospect. "She could have my room. I would so take Stephie's top bunk, just like when we were little." "You think Stephie would agree to that?" I asked, incredulous. "Well..." Jen said, thinking. "I could see it if she wants her space. So I could sleep on the couch." At my chuckles she grew mollified. "No, seriously, mom! I would [I]so[/I] sleep on the couch!" I was about to object when my cell rang. Chuckling, I pulled it out amid Jen's budding objections and affirmations of her owning the couch. But the chuckles and smile evaporated from my face like water on pavement in the desert when I looked at the incoming number. Wasn't what I'd expected. Jen's mood died into seriousness as well. "Someone from Triple-A?" she guessed. She knew I wouldn't get serious had it been Stephie's number. I just stared at it as it rang again. "It's a number I don't know..." I breathed. Which could only mean one thing. "Mom..." Jen began and faltered, eyes widening. My phone rang again "You said you were only going to give your cell out to..." I nodded. "Prospective employers," I finished for her. The cell rang yet again. "Answer it, mom!" Jen scolded excitedly, suddenly bouncy in her seat. "Hello?" I stated as I clicked the thing to life. "Ah," a man's voice said. "Ms... Lightner?" I didn't think it wise at this juncture to correct him. "Speaking," was all I could think to say. "Oh. Great!" he said, sounding relieved. "For a minute there I thought I was getting an answering service or something. Listen, my name is Jason Riley. I'm the Regional V.P. of Marketing and Sales for West Coast Seattle Sports. This isn't a bad time or anything..." "WCSS..." I said, more for Jen's benefit than anything else, and Jen's eyes shot open wide. West Coast Seattle Sports was well known, since they were the largest supplier of gym and athletic equipment in the region. And WCSS was the company Angel Athletic had purchased most all of their gym and ring gear and equipment through. We knew of them quite well. "Um, no! Not a bad time at all," I added so there would be no stretchy silence. "What can I do for you, Mister Riley?" I heard the snap of papers in the background, the sound of someone holding them to look at in one hand. "Well, your resume came to my attention. I take it you were aware of our having a sales position open up recently?" "I am, sir," I replied, scarcely able to believe it. I'd actually gotten a call-back. "It's the reason my resume is in your hands." "Great..." he drawled slowly. "Listen, I've given it the once over, and I think I like what I'm seeing here. But I'd really like to speak to you in person about it. When can you be available for an interview?" "Almost immediately," I replied. Was the first thing I could think of to say. Sure, so in retrospect it may have sounded needy. But I didn't want to be coy or catty either. Not with a potential job at stake. But it worked out just the same. "Almost immediately." Riley parroted, humor in his tone. "I like that. Listen, my schedule happens to be open for a bit. How soon can you get down here? You know the address to our regional offices I assume." I rummaged through my papers, nearly dropping my phone at reaching down to the floor after them. I hauled out the copy of the papers to WCSS I'd dropped off, envelope addressed as if I'd mailed them. I did a quick mental figure of the map in my head of Seattle, and my memory of having been there to drop the papers off personally. And then mentally chastising myself for having to look at the address, since I'd just been there yesterday. "Corner of East Denny Way and Boyleton Avenue East," I affirmed somewhat shakily, distracted with the thoughts flying through my head as well as having to juggle the phone and papers. But I kept it under control, and firmly added, "I can be there in 20 minutes." "Great..." he drawled again. "I'll see you then. 20 minutes." The phone connection died promptly at that. Jen sat squirming on the corner of the couch. Finally she couldn't stand my quiet contemplation any more. "They want you in for an interview?!" she guessed excitedly. She'd heard my half of the conversation, but still wasn't positive. "Yeah," I said, scarcely able yo believe it myself. "Right now." "Yesss!" Jen hissed, pumping victory fists. Then she sobered suddenly, looking horrified. "Mom! You got only 20 minutes to get down there! You've got to get ready!" I nodded, smirking, and rose to do just that. "Honey, I can be there in ten minutes. Plenty of time." So I spent ten minutes freshening up, Jen the whole time just about beside herself, and beside me too. Worrying I'd be late, excited for my job prospect, unable to wait for Stephie to get home to tell her. You know. Kid stuff. Finally I was off, and as I shrugged my leather jacket on and grabbed my keys, I asked Jen, "How do I look?" She gave me two thumbs up. "Great mom." she said with a wink. As I headed out, she called after my back, "Knock 'em dead, mom!" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ShadowedFlames Posted June 29, 2008 Share Posted June 29, 2008 I think it's only a matter of time before Lorna gets involved in a different capacity with AAA. Perhaps as a representative of the network? It has possibilities. Great job as always, and your point regarding writing about the people is quite valid as well. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted July 14, 2008 Author Share Posted July 14, 2008 [CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] Whuf! This next segment was a bit difficult to write! How do you go about making a man smarmy, yet not dislikable badly enough that everyone would hate him? Or at least hate him in a good way, not bitterly? As a result, after writing it, I had to rewrite it many times. Much rewriting and a couple strokes of lightning later, and I'm generally pleased with the results. Hope you are too... . [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] When I pulled up the day before to the Danton/Thayer building where WCSS has their H.Q. to drop off my application, I had to admit it. The foyer, with it's round tower/turret design all the way up to the domed sunroof was pretty impressive. Not large, but still impressive. Nice touch. Nice building. When I pulled into the parking lot behind the building the following day, which I did because I figured I'd be there longer than just dropping papers off, I had to admit. Very nice building. It's sort of an 'L' shape. Maybe pinched more into a lopped-over 'V'. Its point faces south-west at the corner of East Denny Way and Boyleton Avenue East, the round Tower Foyer at that point. The parking lot is situated between it and the neighboring building to the east, and I was surprised to find a small park in the open end of the building's 'V'. An actual park. Lots of bushes and trees, especially for such a small space, along with picnic benches and probable stone-step walks beneath the snow. Would be very green in the warm seasons. Added to that, 'green spaces' like strip parks stretched between all four buildings of the block, giving the entire area a nice, outdoorsy feel. None of the buildings being higher than four floors at the shortest or six floors at the tallest added to the almost suburban feel. All the buildings also had as much glass as concrete to their facades, and the back side of the Danton/Thayer itself even more glass. Adding to the feel of work spaces open to the green outdoors. [I][B]Very[/B][/I] nice building. Of course, once I got inside, all thoughts of the niceties of architecture and green spaces fled. Back to business. I was almost immediately ushered upstairs to the third floor upon introducing myself at the foyer's main desk. Seems like I was a little more than expected. So far, so good. Jason Riley met me when I was ushered into his office, on whose door was the sign, "Jason Riley. Regional VP." Riley himself was all dark gray business suit, with the jacket unbuttoned. Black shoes, thin, black wire-framed glasses, the palest sky-blue shirt, and a multi-colored tie that looked like it'd fallen asleep in the age of tie-dye fashion and never quite woke up since. For myself, I was conservatively, casually formal. Wine colored blouse over black slacks, thin black belt with silver buckle, covered over with my black leather jacket. And no, not a biker's jacket. The plain-ish, priest-collar one, worn comfortably open, a dull sheen so as not to out-do the rest of my outfit. All grounded by my low-yet-spiked-heel boots. And no, there weren't straps and buckles on the boots. What, you think I dress like a wrestler every day? Lastly, of course, the accent piece. My business satchel. You know, the soft-sided brief case that looks casual, yet professional none-the-less. Black leather. Ok, fine. Go ahead and say it. You can take the girl out of the ring, but you can't take the Midnight out of the girl. So I like black. Matches my hair. Sue me. Mister Riley greeted me warmly enough, which I answered with politeness in kind. Nice smile in place, an outstretched hand to usher me into his office. Made me feel like I was a prime prospect for the job. Definitely so far, so good. And yet, something about Jason Riley bothered me... Of course, the inevitable name correction made it a touch awkward. Didn't come right away, but still... Maybe waiting for that was what bothered me. He greeted me like he had over the phone. Bright, genuine smile in place, hand extended for me to shake. Which I took. Firm handshake, too. Friendly smile still on. "Pleasure to finally meet you, Mizz Lightener..." he started. I didn't let him finish. Couldn't, really. "Mrs. [I]Leetner[/I]" I corrected. No sense letting a mispronunciation get too much momentum, right? Of course, he stopped dead at that, mid hand-shake, and stared at me for an awkward moment. "Right..." he drawled, as if reacquiring his bearings. Then he straightened, smiled, and turned to stride to his chair behind his desk. "Well," he said in smooth tones, "glad you could come down on such short notice. Since reading your resume, I've been looking forward to meeting you. You just might fit in very well here." He smiled again, offering me his guest chair with a gesture. "Mrs Leetner," he drawled, as if testing my name in his mouth. And he seemed to like it. "Like the whole internet thing, I guess?" He smiled as he started to sit. "I'm sorry?" I said, taking the proffered seat. "I don't follow." That froze him half way into the sitting position, hand on his tie and everything. "Right..." he drawled again, settling slowly into his chair. "Well," he said, recovering again. "It's the kids thing. You know, the whole '[I]leet[/I]' thing." He grinned as if he were making a joke. Of course, having two daughters and 'the whole leet thing' being so pervasive, I don't really consider it just a kids thing. And I wasn't sure of his meaning, though I [I]was[/I] sure he was making a joke. Was he thinking that I thought [I]myself[/I] leet? Was [I]he[/I] thinking I was leet? Or was the joke simply that it was an inane comment? Not being able to decide, I just went neutral on it. "Oh. Yes," I affirmed. "Exactly like that." In immediate retrospect me going dead-pan, all-business on him killed the mood in the room. But it didn't set a bad tone for a job interview either, at least in my estimation. We weren't, after all, on a date. So. Professional it was. "Well," he said, then paused a moment as if searching for words. Then he continued. "Missus, eh? What's your husband do?" He smiled, probably expecting to have brought up a nice topic for some light conversation before getting down to business. And there I was. Always forward. I let him down as gently as I could, to take the edge off his coming discomfort. "My husband, Rick, died." I stated, looking him right in the eye. His face fell, and he was about to go torpid, thinking who-knows-what, so I hurried on. "He died a long time ago, when my daughters were little. I call myself Mrs. to honor his memory. I find I still miss him a lot, even after all this time." I smiled too, and it was genuine. I was living some fond memories of Rick all of a sudden. Long walks on the beach. That time when that little old fisherman was trying to teach us something, and Rick had just about stuck his foot in his own mouth. Almost literally, too... My smile and wistful revery were what the doctor ordered. He smiled, then turned semi-pensive. "Your daughters..." I smiled. "... Are alive and well, thank you," I finished for him. "Ah," he said with a relieved smile. "Well, then. Let's have a look at that resume, shall we?" What followed next I'll spare you the boring details of. It was mainly him reading quietly to himself for awkward bouts of silence, then suddenly asking me a question as if unexpectedly remembering I was there. Usually to clarify some point or other. My schooling, which took some explaining as I'd bounced around a lot, never got a diploma, but [I]did[/I] get my GED. My employment history prior to Triple-A. My position at those various other jobs, and what duties those entailed. My level of pay at those jobs. Then my stint at Triple-A, and the duties I'd had while there. And again, my pay. Each time he'd gone quiet and continued reading again. And then, just like that, the interview got down to brass tacks. Suddenly and, I admit, predictably. "Lorna..." he started, somewhat hesitantly, as if he were about to ask me on a date. "You don't mind if I call you Lorna, do you?" The question, from a prospective employer, was pretty rhetorical. But I gathered he was fishing, so I bit. "Long as I can call you Mister Riley," I quipped with a smile. It worked. A grin lit his face, and he laughed. "I like that." And he smiled a charming smile for a fraction of a moment. Then, still smiling; "So, Lorna, What were the circumstances around your leaving Angel Athletic Association?" There it was. The elephant in the room. The monster under the bed. The skeleton in the closet. The bogey-man sitting in the shadowy corner, waiting to jump you. I considered for a moment. Should I tell him exactly why, and in explicit detail? My family affairs being none of his business, I decided not. Should I gloss over it, then? Deflect the question? Make something up? That last, definitely not. But as the moment threatened to stretch, I decided. I was, after all, me. Always forward. "Personal family reasons, really," I stated flatly, "leading to creative differences between our head booker and myself." In the moment of silence that followed while I continued to decide just how far to go, it looked like he was formulating something to say, pursing his lips, about to speak. I knew he was going to ask for more details. So I beat him to the punch. "My daughters decided to start wrestling. I didn't approve." "Ah," he said, pausing thoughtfully in mid-nod. "Yeah," I said, smirking ruefully at him. "I really respect our management and I like Triple-A as a good company. Great bunch of workers. So I decided a parting of ways was best before something like that got ugly. Nobody deserves that." "I see," he stated thoughtfully, nodding slightly. "Well then..." He hesitated only briefly. "I hope it wouldn't be a problem if you started here, and your daughters decided to become salesmen..." That got a laugh out of me, and he smiled, having expected, or hoped, I would find that funny. And oddly enough, I did. "No, no problem at all," I replied. "In fact, if they wanted to do that, I'd encourage it." He smiled then, and looked to go on to other topics. Having negotiated that potentially treacherous road as well as I had made me feel good. I genuinely relaxed. He noted it, and got a touch personal. But in a nice way. "So... how many daughters?" "Two," I said, feeling better and better. "The joys of my life. 17 and 19, Stephanie and Jennifer. Doing well in school, too." He smiled warmly. "Sounds like a real cozy household. I imagine it's very nice." "Oh yeah. It is," I acknowledged, feeling quite pleased. "So," He said, turning a touch pensive. "I hope you don't mind my next question, but we like to know these things for... oh... family notifications, or other corporate things like that..." At his hesitation, I smiled. "Sure. Go ahead." "Thanks," he drawled. "So, any... others in the household? Any... significant others? Like that?" I chuckled, shaking my head with a smile. "No, no one else. I'm [I]very[/I] single." He laughed. "Very single! I like that, very well put." He was genuinely amused. We both chuckled over it. But then, a fraction of an awkward moment passed, he going a bit... I don't know. I can't really explain it, because I can't read minds, and he didn't say what was on his. It didn't seem like he was contemplating asking me out or anything, but... there it was. A fraction of a moment of awkwardness, and that eased my relaxation back into professionalism. Because though I'd relaxed, I realized that nagging feeling had come back. He noticed the change as soon as I went professional on him, and he pursed his lips. "Well," he said, returning smoothly back to my resume, "as far as your relationship with your former employer goes, it looks like it didn't get ugly at all." He proffered a budding smile then, and continued. "I had the pleasure of speaking to your head manager, Miss Karen Sor..." He faltered at that. "Sorrenson," I offered. And though I was tempted, I thought it wise not to also correct him and say that she was our head booker, not manager. Big difference there. "Right," he drawled slowly. "Her. She gave a very glowing recommendation of you, actually. She said you're a top notch worker, always prompt and on time -- when you're not early. Very professional in your job. And you work out all the time." He nodded in thought, a smile playing across his lips. Then he leaned forward and fixed a searching gaze on me. He spoke haltingly, as if searching for, or measuring, his words before he spoke them. "What [I]I[/I] would like to know is... how well do you... [I]feel[/I]... you're going to make the... transition frommmm... wrestling to sales...?" His gaze remained fixed on me, awaiting my response. And there it was. Realization hit me like quiet lightning. What it was that bothered me. Jason Riley was a salesman. Not that being a salesman in and of itself is a bad thing. But in Jason Riley's case, he wasn't a [I]good guy[/I] salesman. You know the kind; the ones who try to make a sale, and at the same time try and help you out, to genuinely try and meet your needs. No, Riley was a one-hundred percent sale job. In all things. Measuring. Calculating. Doing or saying whatever it was that he needed to in order to get what [I]he[/I] wanted. The sale. Even to the point of selling himself. Till there was nothing worthwhile left. And in realizing that, I relaxed a little. Oh, still professional, but relaxed. I now knew what I was up against. Time for a little salesmanship of my own. So I smiled, leaned back in my chair, and said matter-of-factly, "I don't really see any transition being needed, Mr. Riley." "Oh. Really..." he drawled, and I could now see the gears turning. "Why would that be?" And just like that his appraisal of me changed. For the negative, looked like. Which I expected. And capitalized on, in order to surprise him. "Because wrestling and this job are very similar," I explained. "You see, it's all about telling your story." "Ah," he said, relaxing from puzzlement into humor. "The whole '[I]wrestling is fake[/I]' thing..." I just about bit my tongue. But I kept it under control, smiling indulgently instead. "There's considerable debate on the validity of professional wrestling, sure," I offered. "But when you're out there having to throw someone around bodily, hoist someone in the air, then bring them down hard enough to hurt yet easy enough you don't kill someone, that's real physicality. Nothing fake about that. It's why I work out, pretty much every day. It's genuine wrestling. But more than that," I went on through his incredulous, even patronizing smirk, "it's about telling a story. The feuds, the contests, the title runs. Very similar to the movies, really. A good actor portrays a role that is not her. A great actor can sell it, to the point where people believe it." "Right..." he drawled slowly. He was thinking, but before he could think of an objection, I continued. "Same with wrestling. You form a character, you have interaction with other characters. There's high drama, intense, thrilling action, and even some humor at times. You're telling a story, which is not what you want to get from people, but what they need to hear. Same with this job," I continued as Riley began to nod thoughtfully, actually starting to swallow what I was feeding him. "You have to be able to tell a client the story of what you're trying to sell. What our equipment can do for them, what the good points are, what it can and can not do, how much it will benefit them, and all in an affordable fashion." I leaned forward for emphasis. "Once you can do [I]that[/I], then the client will see that to not buy what you're selling doesn't do them any favors. And they'll sign. Right on the dotted line." I emphasized that last point by poking my finger on the edge of his desk. "And then, they're happy with what they bought. And you're happy with some of their money in your pocket. Everyone's happy, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that." He smiled then, nodding affirmation. "I like that," he said. Yeah. This guy tended to repeat himself. As if he found a line he liked and used it to death. But I decided that could be lived with. Especially since I'd probably be on the road a lot. "Well..." he said, turning contemplative again. "I bet you have a question or two for us." I smiled back. "Of course I do." And I started in. I won't bore you with the back-and-forth of that. But suffice to say, I did learn a lot. WCSS began in the early eighties, mostly as an outlet for TV advertised workout machines of the era, graduating to better known equipment as time went on. You remember; the wrist and ankle weights, followed by the Stairmaster, then Bowflex and Abflex, TKO Equipment, the various Stamina Stepper-type machines, the Power Wheel. From there they graduated to actual gym equipment, beginning to furnish gyms around the Seattle and Tacoma areas; Cybex, Nautilus, Paramount, Prospot. As time went on, they increased their clientele to professional sports outfits and their gyms, from the workout centers for various sports teams to colleges and even high schools. At the same time they branched out into accessories as well. Clothing, and specialty gear such as belts, gloves and wrist-wraps, jump ropes, resistance tubes, wobble and rocker boards, medicine balls, and mats. It was only a matter of time before local boxing training centers began to buy WCSS equipment, and it was only a small step from there into the Wrestling scene. Finally, in early 2006, AAA made it's first major equipment purchase, tossing out the stuff from the prior business -- the gym and fitness center that had inhabited the building that now served as our headquarters -- and buying everything new from WCSS. And the rest, as they say, is history. Recent, but still history. WCSS now boasted a territory from Vancouver, British Columbia through all of Washington state, north and western Oregon, and the northern tip of California. Of course, eventually the conversation drifted to more specific and more immediate concerns. "I suppose," Riley drawled at one point, "that you'd want to know what office you'd have if you came on board." "Actually," I countered, "I think it more important to know what my compensation would be." Ah..." he said, that semi-irritated thoughtfulness creeping out onto his face again. "Well..." he drawled, plucking the pen from it's small stand and tearing a piece of notepaper from it's pad, "you understand there's commissions involved, so a first glance at a salary would be a bit deceptive..." He fished a mini calculator out from his desk drawer and started figuring something on it. Yeah, right. As if he had no idea what the starting salary of this position would be, and so had to figure it out. "So what's the commission like?" I asked while he figured. "Well," he drawled, stopping with the calculator and rubbing his chin with a finger, "It's a sliding scale, really." He spoke slowly and somewhat haltingly, as if he were figuring it out as he went, or was choosing his words very carefully. Either that or trying for dramatic effect. "You see, with larger sales, we can afford to, ah... [I]give[/I] a somewhat larger... slice of the pie, as it were, to our, uh, [I]sales reps[/I]. It's a sort of a... [I]reward[/I] for our better reps, and... [I]incentive[/I] to our... under-performers to, ah... well, step it up a notch." He smiled a condescendingly disingenuous smile, but then caught himself and the smile turned warm. Smarmy bastard. He went back to the calculator. "As for your salary..." he drawled, pausing to write something on the paper. He then folded the paper neatly in half and dramatically slid it across the desk to me, a proud smirk on his face. What is it with some people? Were the walls of his office so thin that he didn't want neighboring office workers to find out I was being offered a greater salary than they had? Was this job some sort of Christmas or birthday gift, and this was the card? Was he afraid his boss would find he'd miscalculated, and offered me an inappropriately ridiculous amount? Was his office bugged by the CIA, and what he was offering me was a part of his money laundering scheme? Or perhaps he wanted his wife killed, and was hiring me as an assassin... All of the above was extremely unlikely. But there he was, sliding that piece of paper over to me as if he were being oh so slick, instead of just [I]telling[/I] me what it was. But I calmly smiled, took the paper, unfolded it, and looked. 24 grand. I figured that was annual, and did some quick math in my head. Not that I needed that much math. It was, after all, identical to my salary at AAA. 2 grand a month. I got to admit, I was a good girl. I suppressed the desire to light up like a kid at Christmas and go, "Oh, gee! This is just swell!" The deeper sarcasm would probably be lost on him, and as a prospective employer he'd probably take it in less than good grace. Instead, I mimicked him as inobviously as I could -- still got to get my digs in, you understand. "Ah..." I drawled, and dug into my satchel after a pen of my own. Nice one, too. "So," I said, leaning forward and placing the paper he'd slid to me neatly on the edge of his desk, "provided I did reasonably well in sales, what might I be looking at in commissions? An average guesstimate, of course." He smiled. "Of course. Well, let's see..." He did the calculator thing again, looking down his nose at it from time to time, as if he didn't like what it was telling him. "Well... if you did the average sales in a small territory," and he glanced up then and in an aside added, "you'd have a very small territory starting out, until you show us what you can do and get a more appropriate size territory over time... well, you'd [I]probably[/I] be looking at perhaps a quarter of your salary. But over time, provided you did top notch work, you could easily [I]double[/I] your salary." "I see," I said, nodding sagely, then looking dramatically thoughtful. That got a puzzled look from him. Until I took pen to paper. I could see him craning his neck to get a better look as I wrote, right below what he'd written. Maybe he was trying to see what I was writing. Nah. I prefer to think he was impressed with my very nice pen. I re-folded the paper and slid it back to him. He picked it up, unfolded it carefully, and looked at it as if we were at a table in a high stakes poker game. Seriously. What the hell [I]is[/I] it with some people?! He blinked, did a double-take, and then glanced at me. "Downside?" It was clear that he didn't understand wrestling parlance. As intended. And so you know, this is what I'd written, below what he'd written: [QUOTE][CENTER] [FONT="Georgia"][I][B]24,000[/B][/I][/FONT] [FONT="Georgia"]2500 per month Plus commission 1000 per month Downside[/FONT] [/CENTER][/QUOTE] "Wrestling term," I informed him. "I'd make 25 hundred a month. If I made less than a grand commission in one month, I'd get that grand as the downside. If I made more, I'd just get the base salary plus commission." "Right..." he drawled slowly, looking pensive. "Well, I [I]think[/I] I'm going to have to... disagree with you there. You see... we don't offer anything like a [I]downside[/I] to our sales staff. We like to operate on a merit system here." He smiled a cute yet insincere smile, confident he'd won. I sighed. "Well, Mr. Riley, your offer is identical to what Triple-A was paying me. Personal difficulties aside, I'd be better off going back to wrestling." He smiled, still confident he was winning. "Well..." he drawled again, "Having quit, I don't think they'd be so fast to hire you back, and at your prior pay and all..." He paused for dramatic effect. I smiled back and didn't let the pause take hold. "You said yourself that I got a glowing recommendation. And Angel Athletic's made public media statements that I'd be missed, and they'd have me back any time. I was making them money, remember. Now," I continued, "I know this can't [I]really[/I] be a negotiation. After all, the job starts at where it starts. But if I can't do any better then I was, then for the sake of raising my girls I'd [I]have[/I] to go back." I leaned forward again, and broadened my smile. "Oh, I'd find something else eventually. But I'm also willing to bet that you, like me, think I'd do [I]very[/I] well here. Hell of an asset that the regular Jane-off-the-street couldn't offer, too. Connected as I am with not only wrestling but other sports associations and venues. Gives me a rather nice client list to start, without even having to have one handed to me. And just the name recognition alone would open doors that would otherwise slam shut. I can hit the ground running. And I get the feeling you know I would." Ok, sure. So AAA isn't a national promotion like Total Championship Wrestling, and I'm not Tommy Cornell. So maybe I overplayed the name recognition hand a bit. But while I wouldn't necessarily be instantly recognizable, I could bank on it that I might have been at least heard of in the Seattle area, and AAA was definitely locally well known. And from my past in the area I knew, and was known by, more than a few local gyms. He nodded, thoughtful and surprised. "Ah..." he said, and it was clipped rather then drawled. He'd not thought of that last point. "Well," he said, adjusting his glasses and picking up his pen. "How about..." He let it trail off while he wrote, then folded the paper and slid it back. Two grand salary, plus 500 downside. The word 'downside' in quotes. Cute touch. I nodded slowly. Then smiled. "Seeing as you don't normally offer a downside, I can consider this quite generous." He smiled, rising from his seat then. "Mind if I show you something?" That took me by surprise, but I hid it well, rising with him. "Of course." He ushered me out of his office and down the hall. "So," he started as we walked. "Got any preferences for a territory to start out in?" "Well," I replied, thoughtful for only a moment. "My girls are old enough to be left alone at home for a night or two, so I could travel a bit. But I'd prefer it as local to Seattle as possible." By then the hall had opened out into a larger, lobby kind of place. Office cubicles dominated, looking like secretary and computer people bustling about. Height of the middle of the work day. Various doors opened into this room from what I gathered were quite a few offices, as well as a couple halls, and a restroom. And posted on one wall, pride of place, was a map of western Washington state. Various areas, some quite small, others fairly large, were delineated in red, green or blue marker. Riley noticed my gaze and explained to me as he ushered me toward a door. "Ah. Our local regional map. Those are our local sales territories for this region. The colors represent increasingly lucrative markets, from red, to blue, to green. It's an average of the potential of the market, as well as the current sales representative's performance." I noted that most of the areas in and around Seattle were green, with the occasional blue thrown in here and there. Tacoma was predominantly blue. The angry red didn't start till well out into the surrounding countryside, except for a red spot between Seattle and Tacoma. "Nice," I said, studying the map a moment while he opened the door. Then I turned my attention to the room he was ushering me into. It was an office. Empty, except for a book case on one side and a mini coffee service on the other, a small couch along the wall next to the door. I stepped in and took a look around while Riley stayed at the door, leaning against the door frame. "What do you think?" he asked. I considered my reply while I considered the room. It was a good sized office, really, only slightly smaller than Riley's. Plush carpet looked brand new, a neutral slate blue. Off-white drop ceiling panels at the seven foot height hid whatever ducting or wiring there was overhead, and ceiling panel lights as well as an air conditioning outlet in another panel told there definitely was ducting up there. Thermostat on the wall meant the occupant could keep things comfortable in here. And the entire wall opposite the door was windows. I stepped over for a look. The view opened out, third floor, right over that park I'd been so enamored of when I'd parked my car. The view sighted right along the other wing of the building which sat on the left. The building across the way, on the north side of the block, peering out from behind snow covered trees. I nodded. Couldn't help but smile, so I stayed looking out over the view, hoping he couldn't see my reflection clearly in the window. I said in as neutral a voice as I could manage, "Very nice." And then it hit me. That sly bastard. They [I]knew[/I]. He, and probably his superiors, had gone over my resume. And considered the ramifications. And then offered me what probably was actually more than they offered an entry level sales position. And Riley had almost too quickly 'relented' in offering me that downside that I'd effectively demanded, even though it was less than I wanted. And now, this nice, nice office, which was far more than an entry level sales rep could even hope for. Hell, an entry level rep probably got one of those cubicles. But they knew I wasn't going to be entry level. It wasn't that my points about my connections, my drive, nor my name recognition hadn't occurred to him. Riley had been surprised that it had occurred to [I]me[/I]. Ok, then. Game face on. I turned with a pleasant but neutral smile, indicating the coffee mess and looking around. "Nice lounge. Bit under-furnished, though." He chuckled. He knew I figured it for an office. "Well..." he drawled in smooth, offering tones, "whoever gets the sales job gets this office." I turned to look at him in mock surprise, figuring it looked genuine. "Really..." It was one of those statement/questions. He didn't let on if he knew I wasn't surprised, so I couldn't tell. "Really," he affirmed as I stepped out of the office, he following me out onto what I was coming to assume was a sales floor. He went on in that drawling, hesitant and thoughtful tone that I figured was his norm. "So," he said, nodding to the map. "Provided you get the position, we'd [I]probably[/I] start you, oh... in one of the [I]rrred[/I] zones. I [I]suppose [/I]we could, ah... [I]indulge[/I] you and try to get you a territory around Seattle, buuut... it's just as possible that we'd, ah... have to give you a territory in, oh... Vancouver maybe. Of course, depending on how you handled the territory, you could [I]probably[/I] commute, so you wouldn't have to move you and your daughters..." I nodded slowly, looking at the map. "Well..." I drawled in slight imitation again, "SeaTac would be nice..."; I drawled, noting the red area between Seattle and Tacoma. I looked at him sidewise and found him looking at me, gauging my reply. So I gave him what he probably wanted to hear. "But Vancouver's nice. Snow is real pretty this time of year." He smiled, pursed his lips, then glanced around. "Oh, by the way. We also have a gym upstairs. Top of the line equipment, too. We can afford that. Yeah..." he drawled, probably to let that soak in. "We let our staff here use the gym as often as they like. Any time of the day or night, too..." He trailed off as something caught his eye. Then, suddenly, he held up a hand to me. "Would you excuse me for [I]just[/I] a second?" he asked. "Sure," I replied, and he immediately scooted off. Turns out some[B]one[/B] had caught his eye. Riley navigated his way easily among the cubicles till he came up behind someone, arm extended as if to stop the man. "Peter!" he called. The man, unremarkable shirt, slacks, tie, coffee cup and folders full of papers, stopped dead, turning with an expression mixed between despair and 'oh cripes, what now?'. Riley and he talked briefly, quietly, though I could follow the conversation well enough. I pretended not to be eaves dropping though, paying attention to the map. "Peter! Whaaat's happening? Listen," Riley said before 'Peter' could reply, "I'm going to have to ask you to, ah... put together a... [I]client list[/I] of your area for me. We're, ah... thinking of maybe [I]transferring[/I] you." "Transferring me?" Pater replied, looking quite surprised. He took an anxiety-filled glance at the map. "But... I've been making progress in SeaTac, I really have. And I just got settled into my new apartment..." Riley didn't give him a chance to finish. "Yyyyeah..." he drawled. "Well, I think you'd do really well innn... Vancouver," he drawled after a glance of his own at the map. I noted that Vancouver was at the very top edge of the map, it was hacked up into tiny -- probably very competitive -- territories all in red, and angry red letters above the edge of the map announced, "ProSports B.C." Rival company. AAA had briefly considered going to them for the gym equipment back in '06. Peter cast a mortified glance at the map, then turned back to Riley. "Wh..." was all that he got out before Riley cut him off. "Yyyyeah..." Riley drawled. "I hear Vancouver's [I]really[/I] pretty this time of year. Snow and all. So, if you could just get me that [I]client list[/I] by the end of the day, that would be greaaat... Thaaank you, Peter," he finished in smarmy tones as he turned in my direction and set off to rejoin me. "Catch you later," he called, not even turning his head to call over his shoulder. He left Peter with no ability to reply, and the 'catch you later' had the tone of not only seeing him later today for that client list, but the same kind of finality German Officers probably used back in World War II when they shipped soldiers off to the Russian Front. I kept my thoughts to myself when Riley rejoined me, he holding his arm out around my waist without touching me to guide me to one of the halls departing the sales floor. "So," he said, smiling warmly. "Lorna. I'd say you're [I]definitely[/I] in the running among folks we're considering for the job, but we'll have to talk things over with the top brass before anyone makes any [I]final[/I] decisions." "Of course," I replied, smile of my own in place. Like I said, I kept my thoughts to myself. Talk things over, hell. Wouldn't have shown me that office if he weren't trying to [I]woo[/I] me like a potential bride. Still, I didn't figure myself a shoe-in. And I did feel very bad for Peter. Didn't even know the guy, but I felt bad for him. Still, if I got the job, and Riley turned out to be too much of an ass, I could always fix that. By moving up and taking [I]his[/I] job. See how well [I]he[/I] would do in Vancouver, while I gave Peter his old SeaTac territory back. Like I said, I had a smile of my own in place, and Riley and I shook hands. He then said to a secretary at a nearby desk, "Gladys, be a dear and show Lorna to the front lobby please? Thaaaanks." To me he added, "We'll be in touch." I kept that smile on. "Thanks," I replied. "I'll be eagerly awaiting your call." "Great!" he replied, chipper and shooting me a finger gun and a wink. He then turned, looked meaningfully at his watch with a dramatic gesture, and began to stroll among the cubicles. And while I turned to leave and follow Gladys to the front door, one thing Riley had said played over and over in my mind. "We let our staff here use the gym as often as they like..." With that running through my brain, I barely heard Riley in the background as I went out. "Jesse! Whaaat's happening...?" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ShadowedFlames Posted July 15, 2008 Share Posted July 15, 2008 All I can say, sir, is that the re-writes were worth it. I think you got the smarmy salesman down pat, and very realistic in my view. Well done. Somehow, I have a feeling that Lorna is not done with AAA yet, given how she was thinking of the gym...this should be good. I shall paitently await the next installment. You can't rush great quality. :D Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted July 25, 2008 Author Share Posted July 25, 2008 [CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] Ok. I admit it. I didn't do much writing this past week. Nor on the weekend, and this week I'd found out that a DVD Collector's Edition Boxed Set I'd bought and been waiting on had arrived at our Local Video Store. So, I went and picked them up. That was perhaps a mistake, as instead of writing I've been having DVD Video marathons just about every night since. Ah well. It's been very cool. But I'm back, and so put this up to sate my writing thirst, your reading thirst, and perhaps provide some relatively immediate Confessions gratification, light though it is. More writing this evening and tomorrow to follow. Posted when it's ready, of course... . [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] Wednesday. Late afternoon, early evening. That dividing time of the day. I know, I know. I know what you're thinking. Is this day ever going to end? This week is interminable! Will the weekend ever arrive? Well, a couple things about that. For starters, I felt exactly the same way. Holy Kee-riste, was this day/week ever going to end?! How about we leave all this crap behind and get on with the good stuff? Let's get on with life already! But it doesn't happen that easy. Come on. You know that. Regardless of how we think or feel, life just does its own thing and to hell with us, right? And we just have to go along for the ride and hope for the best. Oh sure, we're in charge of our own destiny. But sometimes, you just have to let things unfold till you find something you can do something about. Like the old Serenity Prayer they teach you in AA. Not that I've ever had to go to AA. But we've all heard it so much everybody knows it by heart: "Lord, grant me the Serenity to accept the things I can not change, the Courage to change the things I can, and the Wisdom to know the difference." And believe me, for that week, I had to exercise a good bit of Wisdom. And a whole lot of Serenity. Didn't always succeed, but there we are. Secondly, you're here. You want to know about my life. About Triple-A. Well, like it or not, this is it. Things that Happened. Things that have affected my life. Altered the way I was in the past, made me the way I am at this moment, and influence the way I will become in the future. Lastly, I'm a firm believer in a lot of eastern philosophies. Particularly the ones that say that everything is interconnected, and nothing is without consequence. No matter how small. As a result, many, many things, even little ones, seem insignificant at the time or otherwise unimportant. And in hindsight prove to have real meaning. Little things happen, and they have huge ramifications later. Or are the foundation of happenstances down the road. Or at least color our views of things that happen later. Well, these things and events I'm telling you about are those kinds of things. Take, for example, something I saw as I was driving on my way home from that job interview. Again, it was on the side of a Seattle Transit Authority Bus. We happened to be going the same way for a few blocks, that bus and I. So I had plenty of time to read it, even though I pretended to myself I didn't want to and 'ignored' it. But who am I kidding, right? I found myself reading through it at more than one stoplight. While we waited for the green light, that bus and I. [CENTER] [QUOTE] [CENTER] [IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA_BannerMini.jpg[/IMG] [I][B][SIZE="7"][FONT="Book Antiqua"]Angel Athletic Association[/FONT][/SIZE][/B][/I] [SIZE="1"]in conjunction with Washington State's Northwest Athletic Conference and the Seattle Athletic Sports Association[/SIZE] [I]presents[/I] [SIZE="4"][U]Angel Athletic Association's[/U][/SIZE] [SIZE="5"][I][B]SATURDAY SPECTACULAR![/B][/I][/SIZE] [B][I]January, Week 3[/I][/B] [B][I]LIVE[/I][/B] at the [B][I]Portland Center in Seattle Washington[/I][/B] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Our Preshow[/U] [B][I]East Meets West[/I][/B] as AAA's own [B][I]Norse Warrior[/I][/B] battles the [B][I]Oriental Warrior[/I][/B], [B][SIZE="2"]Karen Sørrenson[/SIZE] [SIZE="1"] v/s [/SIZE] [SIZE="2"]Ginko Kuroda![/SIZE][/B] - - - - - [SIZE="3"][U]Our Main Show Opener[/U][/SIZE] AAA's [B][I]Young Gun[/I][/B] takes on the [B][I]High-flying Angel[/I][/B] from the Far East, [B][SIZE="3"]Kristabel Plum[/SIZE] v/s [SIZE="3"]Tsuki Kawamata![/SIZE][/B] In a [B][I]Wild Time[/I][/B] Sure to rock the [B][I]Old Town[/I][/B] tonight, A [B][I]Veteran Tag Team[/I][/B] seeks to put a couple of hot, new [B][I]Young Lions[/I][/B] in their place [B][SIZE="3"]Wild Times (Devil's Daughter & Vixxen)[/SIZE] v/s [SIZE="3"]A Surprise Tag Team![/SIZE][/B] [SIZE="3"][U]Our Feature Presentation[/U][/SIZE] [B][I]West Meets East[/I][/B] as [B][I]The Misfit[/I][/B] gives [B][I]The DEVIL[/I][/B] her due, [B][SIZE="3"]Claire Masterson[/SIZE] v/s [SIZE="3"]DEVIL Karube![/SIZE][/B] [SIZE="3"][B][U]And in the Main Event[/U][/B][/SIZE] in Part Three of the Three-Part [B][I]Femme Fatale Contenders Feud[/I][/B] [B][SIZE="4"]Suzue Katayama[/SIZE] v/s [SIZE="4"]Black Widow![/SIZE][/B] [B][I][U][SIZE="4"]Be There![/SIZE][/U][/I][/B] [SIZE="1"]Tickets on sale now at: [B]Ticket-tron[/B] the [B]Master Outlet[/B] ([I]featuring all your wrestling apparel and accessory needs[/I]) the [B]Portland Center Box Office[/B] and your local sporting event ticket outlet.[/SIZE] [/CENTER] [/QUOTE] [/CENTER] Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MiddleGA Posted August 4, 2008 Share Posted August 4, 2008 I remember reading this dynasty when it began & being absolutely knocked out by it. Rediscovering it in the wee hours this morning cost me well over an hour of time I should have been sleeping. One of the best written & most engaging dynasties I've seen regardless of game, format, or venue. Simply amazing. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted August 6, 2008 Author Share Posted August 6, 2008 [CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] Hello everyone. It's me again. [QUOTE=MiddleGA;474550]I remember reading this dynasty when it began & being absolutely knocked out by it. Rediscovering it in the wee hours this morning cost me well over an hour of time I should have been sleeping. One of the best written & most engaging dynasties I've seen regardless of game, format, or venue. Simply amazing.[/QUOTE] Thanks so much, MiddleGA! It's knowing that I can show folks a good time that really makes it for me. And I'm very grateful that you all are open enough to allow me to take you there. Thanks for posting and letting me know! As for my writing this go'round; It was, again, somewhat of a trial. No, there were no iffy characters this time. What was trying was the research I had to do. You writers out there know how this goes. You want to do it right. So you research, take copious notes, bookmark web sites, etc. And then you start writing. And find yourself going, "How did that go again?" So you look it up, find it, and write it. And a couple lines later... "Wait, what was that?!" So you stop again, pour through notes, "...no, not there. Web site?" You finally find it, and write some more. And a few lines later... Ad nauseum. Anyway, I got through it naturally enough. All it takes is time. This time, it was cars. Or more specifically, [I]a[/I] car. "What car?!" you ask? Read on, dear readers. Read on... . [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] By the time I'd gotten home, I'd had plenty of time to think about that advertisement for Triple-A's next show. And time as well to draw my own conclusions on certain portions of it. But I didn't dwell too heavily on it. Only long enough to figure out that it wasn't my girls against Wild Times. Had to be the Wildcats. Roxy and Roz. Was the whole "[I]Wild[/I] time in the old town tonight" and "Young Lions" that gave it away. Had to be, right? Right. Anyway. I strolled into the apartment and got a surprise. Jen and Stephie were there gabbing and having a giggle-girl time. At 3:30. Before school normally lets out. But the surprise was short-lived. On many Wednesdays, Center School has an 'early release' day for administrative and logistical reasons. So the kids get out early on Wednesdays a lot. That was replaced by another surprise. "Hey," I said as I hung my coat. "Hey, mom!" Stephie greeted me, excited, and Jen waved with a smile. 'What are you doing home?" I countered, entering the living room. At Stephie's puzzled look, I elaborated. "You didn't call for me to come pick you up." Not that she couldn't have taken the monorail, then the bus, I know. But she would have gotten home closer to 4:30. Besides, when I drive her all the way to school she habitually calls for me to pick her up too. "Oh!" Stephie exclaimed, started to giggle, and then started to explain. She got cut off. "Hey, Mrs. M," That from Masterson, who was seated to my right at the dining bar. She'd been out-of-sight in plain sight, since I'd not thought to look around and see if anyone else were present. She was munching on a Dorito, taken from a pile of them next to a sandwich of some sort on her plate. Glass of milk close to hand. Of course, that greeting got a scowl from me. "It's Mrs. [B][I]L[/I][/B]," I corrected. "Yeah, well, sue me," Claire replied picking up the sandwich, which already had a few bites out of it. "You'll always be Mrs M. to me." She looked at me levelly as she took a large bite from the sandwich, almost glumly. A look that said she was waiting for me to explode. But that comment drew a different response than she, and even I, had expected. It made me smile. Genuinely. Missy smiled back, obviously relieved. And I was a bit relieved myself. It was beginning to feel like the "I'm not working at Triple-A anymore" elephant in the room was shrinking in size. Very nice. I then turned mock-serious on Claire. "Just don't usurp driving my girls around on me, ok? I'm their mom, it's my job." My serious look relented, then, and I smiled. "One that I enjoy very much" Claire smiled again too, and I turned to share my smile with my girls. The smile faded pretty quickly. My girls were looking at each other, and wore 'Oh crap' expressions on their faces, though they tried to hide them. And then I realized it. They were wearing serious looks as if something were up, and they had moved since I'd come in. Standing right next to my chair. Could only mean one thing when that happened. So. We had Things to talk about. "Well, well, well," I said as I drifted over to them. "Serious looks. Seems like we have some things to talk over. This about the package?" That got a quirky brow from Stephie and she looked at Jen. "Oh," Jen said, looking at Stephie. "It came." At Stephie's even more puzzled look, Jen continued, "In the [I]mail[/I]?" she said meaningfully. Then, "The [B][I]mail order[/I][/B]?!" She made motions with her hands like a mime holding and touching an invisible box. A sizable one, too. The size of the package she'd brought in earlier. That drew an 'Ooohh..." from Stephie, and then she got a very, very sad look. "Well," I offered to Stephie, "To her credit, your sister insisted we not talk about it till you got home." "Oh, Bosh!" Stephie replied, then gave me and Jen thumbs-ups. "Good call." But she still looked sad, and a bit apprehensive. So. Something that Jen and Stephie were neck deep into together, that they weren't trying to dodge, yet made them profoundly sad for some reason. "I can't wait to hear this..." I said with a smirk as I sat in my chair. "Want me to vacate?" Claire offered around a mouthful of sandwich. I glanced over to her, then at my girls. "No, it's fine by me if you stay. Up to them." I indicated Jen and Stephie. "You're fine," Jen said with a sad smile. Stephie added, "Hey, you're bosh, ok? Chill." So Masterson settled in, pretending to concentrate on eating and not listening in. Yeah. Right. At that point we settled in, too. I in my chair waiting patiently, and the girls assuming positions they had ever since they were very little, when it got down to serious talk. They got down on their knees and settled back comfortably, Jen in front of my right knee, Stephie off to the side of my left knee. Stephie with one hand on my knee and the other on the armrest of my chair. "Ok," Stephie started in. "We got two news..." "Two news?!" I repeated, incredulous. "Yeah, well," Stephie answered, "we're not exactly sure which you would see as good or bad news. That's up to you, you know? So it's just two news, and you can decide which to start with." I looked at Stephie shrewdly. "Well, since I don't know which is which, you'll have to pick which to start with." "Bosh!" Stephie said, this time with a genuine grin. Which meant we would probably start with the thing that they thought was good news. She promptly picked her laptop off the coffee table, hugged it to her, and started in. "Ok, check this out. We been thinking," Stephie said, nodding towards Jen to include her, "and realize that, you know, with you not working at Triple-A any more, and especially now with a new job..." She'd started to grin cheerfully at that point, so I felt obligated to cut her off. "Sweetie, I didn't actually get the job." That brought her up short. Jen got wide-eyed and very worried-looking. "But Mom," Jen said, "the interview went ok?" "Yeah. Very well in fact." The girls brightened again, so I continued. "Yes, well enough that I think I may have the job. But no one's actually [I]told[/I] me I got it yet, so let's not get the cart in front of the horse, ok?" "Sure, Mom," Stephie said, all grins none-the-less. "So, since you're pretty much [I]getting[/I] the job," she continued with a smirk, "you know, and with the scheduling conflicts that would bring up and all, would make you driving us everywhere kinda hard..." "Honey," I interjected, "There wouldn't be any conflicts I couldn't work around. I'm your mom, driving you around is my job. And I [I]like[/I] that job!" "We know," Jen stated. "But a conflict is bound to happen one of these days, and we can't expect you to drive us around forever..." She didn't get a chance to finish before Stephie butted in. "So, we figure we need a car." I blinked. And probably gaped. "You what?" Jen picked up, as if clarifying something. "We want to buy a car." I blinked, this time at Jen. And this time I [I]know[/I] I gaped. "You [B][I]what[/I][/B]?!" . [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] "Mom," Jen said deadpan. "We want to buy a car." "Yeah," Stephie interjected, anticipating my objections, "It's not like we're asking you to buy it for us! And we're plenty old enough, [B][I]and[/I][/B]," she added, holding her hands up to forestall the comment that was threatening to pop out of my mouth, "I know I'm still in school, but my grades are really good! I'm keepin' them up, not just this semester but this whole [I]year[/I]!" "Yeah," Jen picked up, "it's not like we're asking you to buy it for us, so your finances aren't at issue. And my grades were good too, so we figure we deserve a little, you know, reward for all our hard work." "Yeah," Stephie said with a grin. "You know. The official okie-dokie f'r us to get a car." I just sat there for a moment. Stunned. And the girls let me stew. Finally, I got over it. My startlement, that is. I smiled, and said, "So how are you two going to afford a car? You got more money saved up than I figured you did?" "Oh, no mom," Stephie replied with an almost-giggle. "We're working now, remember? So Jen and I think we can afford it." That got a quirk-eyebrow out of me. "Listen, hun, I don't want to burst your bubble or anything, but you are [I]not[/I] going to get some thousand-dollar-junker just to be able to putt around..." "Mom!" Jen scolded me, looking like she was building up a burn like I sometimes could. "We are [I]so[/I] not getting a junker! Give us a little credit, ok? We weren't born yesterday. [B][I]You[/I][/B] taught us to think better'n [I]that[/I]!" "Ok, ok," I relented, relaxing into the chair with a smirk. "You guys have any ideas on the kind of car you want to get?" They killed my playful smirk right there. Partly because Jen was looking deadly, angrily serious and Stephie got this proud grin and opened her laptop a crack, fishing a piece of print paper she'd closed up in it, saying "Yeah, Mom. We kinda got an idea." [CENTER] [IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/MiniMidnite/MiniCover.jpg[/IMG] [/CENTER] I cast my best 'mom's not happy' gaze at Stephie, then Jen. "What?!" they both asked, surprised. "Midnite?" I prompted. "Oh," Stephie said, suppressing a giggle. "No, mom! It's a Mini Cooper. Lookit the plate frame. The 'Mini' at the top, all in chrome an' stuff? Ok, maybe you can't make it out so good in the picture, but it's there! Get it? Mini? Midnite?!" I looked at her levelly. "Mini Midnite..." Mom still wasn't happy. "Ohhh..." Jen said with mock dawning understanding. "Riiiight! We shouldn't have custom vanity plates like [I]Mom's[/I] got. What with the Judge having the vanity plate Midnight an' all..." "Oh, right!" Stephie said with just as much sarcasm, slapping her forehead. "How could I have forgotten [I]that[/I] rule?!" That got a frown out of me. "I could do without the sarcasm, honeys." "Well, mom," Jen said, equally unhappy. "We only feel we got to give you that because we're not 8 any more. So the whole 'do as I say, not what I do' thing doesn't get over so great any more, you know?" "Yeah, Mom," Stephie chimed in, "we're [I]older[/I] now." Emphasizing 'older' as if it had profound meaning. Well, actually, come to think of it, it did... "We're older an' like to think we know a little better. Just like you taught us." I was about to object till she said that last part. So all I could do was pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. "Ok, fine. You're right." I though for a moment more, and the girls let me. They knew as well as I that I was thinking up objections. "Well, what makes you think you can get Midnite as a vanity plate, anyway? It's probably already taken." "Actually, it's not," Jen replied, very serious. "At least not as of two weeks ago when we grabbed it, anyway." Both my eyebrows raised at that. "You girls been thinking about this a while, huh?" "Well, yeah...!" Stephie said, sounding chipper and proud. "What, you expect us to just pop this on you without thinkin' about it first?" "Yeah, Mom," Jen said, pretty much in scolding tones. "Again, just like you taught us." "Ok, ok," I said, looking levelly at Jen. "So you guys nabbed this plate. Which means you registered a vehicle. Only way you can do that. What," I said, looking at Jen and then Stephie in turn, "you already got this car?!" "No, mom!" Stephie said, looking a bit nervous. She knew I was getting mad. "Yeah, Mom," Jen interjected. "We wouldn't do that. We just [B]put in[/B] for a vanity plate." "With no car," I prompted. "Well... yeah..." Jen said, hesitantly. This time it was Stephie to the rescue. "Yeah, mom. We did it online, been checking to see if that plate was taken, and it was but freed up about two weeks ago. So, we put in a registration request for a plate. The bosh part is, it put a lock on that plate name till the request is reviewed. And when it comes to find out that we don't actually have a car or anything, then of course it'll be denied, and the name'll free up again. [I]But[/I]! We been checking, and it seems to take weeks for an online request to be reviewed! It's like the whole getting-us-into-Center-School thing!" Stephie looked mighty proud of it all. "Yeah," Jen added, "we keep checking online, and it's still pending review. So the name is effectively ours. And probably will be for a while. I mean, can you imagine the number of requests they got to review from people putting in from all over the state?!" "Just like how I got you two into Center School, huh...?" "Yep!" Stephie said, and giggled. "Ain't bureaucracy bosh?!" So what the heck was I going to say to that? Couldn't very well hold it against them, and thinking about it, wasn't really any harm done per se. I glanced over to the dining bar, and caught Missy looking at me. Claire, I mean. That's going to take some getting used to... Claire caught me looking at her and turned her attention full on her plate. She'd had her hand over her mouth, probably to stifle herself from saying anything. She covered it by coughing and thumping her chest, as if she'd inhaled something-or-other. "You ok over there?" I asked. "Yeah," Claire rasped. "Yep. Good sandwich. Mind if I make another? Didn't have lunch." I sighed. "Sure," I said with an absent wave. "Make yourself at home." "Thanks!" Claire chirped, getting up to fetch the fixings. But then I thought of something, and my attention was fully back on my girls. "You guys hacked into the State DMV online!?!" Jen almost choked. "No, mom! Chill. We went to DMV.org. They got links to every state's DMVs, and Washington's Department of Licensing too! So you can check what license plate background pictures are available, And check this out; Washington's DOL has a personalized plate search tool online so you can check to see if your choice is available!" "Yeah, mom, it's not like we're hackers after government web sites or anything," Stephie added. "We wouldn't even know how, really!" Which was true. Oh, they both knew how to run a computer very well, and could set things up, install programs and such, but when it came to actual programming, both of them were pretty lost. Neither of them were particularly interested in programming. So I sighed again, and looked at that picture. "Mini Cooper, huh?" "Yeah!" Stephie crowed. "Like in [I]The Italian Job[/I]!" I nodded slowly. I remembered that movie. "So," I said casually, "you guys are going to tear around Seattle like in that movie too?" "Mom, we [I]so[/I] wouldn't do that!" Stephie wailed. "Yeah, mom!" Jen said, looking fed up and starting to gesture dramatically. "We're more responsible than that! You [B][I]know[/I][/B] us, Mom! And it's not like Missy's gonna get all depressed one day, so we'll take her out for a hot spin to cheer her up, gunnin' hundreds of miles an hour down the freeway and out-running cops an' everything!" The things I do to dig my own grave... "I did not out-run any cops!" I groused. And right about then I heard a noise behind me, like a sputtered cough, and I could just [I]see[/I] Claire spewing sandwich or milk all over the dining bar. A glance confirmed it. She was daubing at something on the bar with a hastily grabbed napkin, holding her hand tight over her mouth and trying to turn away, as if I couldn't see anyway. "I hope you choke to death over there," I told her. "Mom... Mom!" Jen said in earnest tones, grabbing my arm and turning my attention back to her. "Look, I can see how you'd think we'd be all dangerous and stuff, and worry about us. But we know better, and while we'll have a bit of fun with it, sure, we're not gonna put anyone's lives in danger on the [I]road[/I]! Or anywhere else for that matter." "Yeah, Mom," Stephie chimed in yet again, "Besides which, a Mini's the safest car on the [I]planet[/I]!" "On the [I]planet[/I]?" I retorted. Pretty hard to believe, I know. The girls started in then, all at once, counting on their fingers but not really keeping track, and I barely kept up. "It's got 6 computer controlled airbags all [I]over[/I] the car, so it knows when to deploy what for an accident." "Yeah, Mom, advanced crumple zones and side impact door beams with interlocking anchors..." "Engine breaks away in a head-on to protect the legs of the driver and co-pilot!" "Oh yeah, forgot that one." "Co-pilot?!" That last from me, incredulous. "Yeah, Mom. Advanced 4-channel anti-lock breaks." "Vented in front and solid in the rear!" "Yeah, an' the braking surface is larger than the whole frickin' wheel!" "How the hell is that possible?!" Again, that last from me. "They also got Electronic Brake Force Distribution, Corner Braking Control..." "Evens out the brake pressure from side to side and on each wheel in cornering." "Yeah, and Dynamic Stability Control..." "That uses sensors to monitor steering angle, yaw and lateral acceleration to determine which way you want to go in turns..." "Yeah, and adjusts engine torque and applies corrective brake pressure to each wheel as needed to keep the mini from getting all squirrelly and shooting off straight instead of cornering properly..." "Brakes to [I]each wheel[/I]? As in separately?!" "Yeah, mom! She's also got All Season Traction Control, because in Seattle especially in the winter, it'll prevent wheel spin and increases tire grip..." "Oh yeah, an' don't forget the Limited Slip Differential, which transfers power..." the girls finished in unison, "... from the wheels that slip to the wheels that grip!" And they both giggled. "Whoa, whoa, WHOA!" I protested, hands raised to stop them. When they quieted, I continued. "And you know all this how?" Jen looked at me deadpan. "Mom, you know all about the Judge, right? And a bunch of stuff about other cars too. Makes sense that we'd learn that kinda thing from you and learn all about Mini Midnite." "Yeah, Mom!" Stephie chimed in with her two cents worth, fishing a couple more papers out of her laptop. "Check it out," she added, handing them to me. So check it out I did. It was a two-page list of items, options and accessories for a 2008 Mini Cooper S. I couldn't help but notice to the right either 'STD' or a price after each item. More prices than 'STD's. And in the accessories, a disconcerting number of 'installation not included's... [CENTER] [IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/MiniMidnite/MiniSpec-1.jpg[/IMG] [IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/MiniMidnite/MiniSpec-2.jpg[/IMG] [/CENTER] I forced the matter of cost from my mind for the moment. More than enough time to deal with that. "So," I began, placing the papers in my lap and leaning back to get comfortable. "Tell me about performance." "Ok, so, it's like..." Stephie faltered. Jen picked up the slack. "It starts under the bonnet..." "That's the hood for you non-Mini peeps," Stephie clarified to Claire and I. "Turbocharged, intercooled direct-injection 1.6-liter dual overhead cam, 16-valve light alloy inline 4-cylinder engine," Jen went smoothly on, recalling from memory. "Topped by a Twin-scroll turbocharger and equipped with not only a separate engine oil cooler but also piston cooling jets. She cranks out 189 horse-power at 5500 RPM, with a peak power output of 185 foot-pounds at a range of 1750 to 5000 RPM." "A [I]range[/I]?!" Stephie giggled. "Yeppers! Not even The Judge can do that! Peak power of 445 at thirty-nine hundred RPM, and power falls off above and below that. But we got peak power over a whole [B][I]range[/I][/B]..." Stephie's excitement faltered at my frown. Call me childish, but I'm not too fond of it when someone slams the Judge. Well, that and this Mini was sounding like a whole lot more car then I felt comfortable with. "Um... yeah..." Stephie stuttered, then picked up steam with a grin. "Yeah. A range." Jen patted my knee for attention and continued. "Down the line there's a 6-speed Getrag Transmission..." "Getrag," I stated flatly. "Never heard of it." Jen turned thoughtful, but only for a moment. "Well, it's a standard transmission with dual-cone synchronizers, and it's only got 4 gears on the input shaft but has two output shafts, meaning a more compact design, longer wear, and crisper shifting and smoother response." I blinked. "Huh..." "Yep," Stephie picked up. "Power exits along two torque-steer squashing drive shafts, too!" I blinked again. "Two drive shafts?" "Sure!" Stephie said, gleeful. "On front wheel drive cars, when you hit the gas, that shaft torquing over tends to throw your steering to that side. Makes you tend to turn, makes turning under the gun kinda unsteady. But with a separate drive shaft, counter-rotating for each wheel, when you step on the gas it goes smooth as buttermilk, straight down the road. In turns, you end up where you wanna, not having to compensate steering away from the torque pull." "Huh..." Yeah, ok. So maybe this car was starting to sound cool, even to me... "She's got drive-by-wire electronic throttling, too." At my blank look, even before I could ask, Jen explained. "There's no cable linkage, the gas pedal's electronic. So when you step on it, there's no lag. The motor's instantly there when you want it. Also enhances gas mileage that way, as well as minimal engine emissions. And not only that, but since it's monitoring everything with the stability systems, it helps manage engine torque. Oh, and there's a throttle overboost, so when you really step on the gas, it crisps up engine response." Jen didn't even let me go "Huh" this time. Kept right on going. "An' where the power meets the road sit 17", 205/45 R17 High-performance run-flat tires. Got reinforced sidewalls and heat resistant rubber, and not just for aggressive driving, either! You get a flat, you can go 50 miles an hour down the road for up to 80 miles if you gotta. So you're not left stranded someplace." "Yep!" Stephie picked up from there. "Now, with her JCW tuned engine stuff, we're not sure about what she'd [I]really[/I] be able to do, but even though her engine's teeny compared to the Judge's, at just 2668 pounds dry, she'll [B][I]go[/I][/B]!" "Yeah," Jen added. "With her JCW tweaked engine, she's a bit hotter'n the standard Mini engine. Around 17 horses more..." Jen hesitated, looked to Stephie for support and me for my inevitable objection, and took a deep breath. She knew I wouldn't like what was coming, but she's not one to hide. "A standard Mini out-of-the-box hits top end around 139 miles an hour, zero-to-sixty in 6.7 seconds..." "Only .7 seconds slower than the Judge!" Stephie interjected. "... and the quarter-mile in 15.1 seconds," Jen finished. "Less than half a second slower than The Judge's 14.7!" Stephie chirped again. "What's with this JCWhat's-it stuff?" I asked sourly. This car was turning out to be way more than I would have preferred. "Stands for [I]John Cooper Works[/I]. High performance stuff," Jen explained. "So, you two want your first car to be a high performance car." Stephie laughed. "Kinda, but we know better. It's not like [I]you[/I] got a high performance car or anything..." "Oh, right!' Jen said, mock light dawning. "What is it mom's got again?" "The Judge is a Pinto..." I exploded. Didn't even let Stephie finish. "The Judge is no damn Pinto!" And right then and there I was beat. Done deal. They win. But they rubbed it in anyway. "Yeah, idiot," Jen scolded Stephie. "Everyone knows a Judge is a Pacer." "Is not!" Stephie squeeled back, mock angry. "It's an Audi!" "Hey, knock that crap off!" Mastrson shot from out of nowhere. But we all knew that was coming the minute the comment was out of Stephie's mouth. "Ok, ok," I said, hands up. "I surrender." So they relented. Stephie looked at me, saying in comforting tones, "But seriously, Mom. It's not like we're setting out to order a car this way!" "Yeah," Jen added. "The stuff's already on the car." That got me going all over again. "You ordered the car already...!" "No, mom," Jen said, souring. "We wouldn't do that on you, you know, without your ok." "Yeah," Stephie continued. "Some guy ordered an' bought it, but had to give it up or something for some reason, so when we went down to look at minis, there she sit!" I dove into the papers and found what I wanted. "Northwest Mini in Tacoma..." I frowned. "When did you guys find time to go down to Tacoma?!" "Mom," Jen stated deadpan, looking at me as if I were an idiot. "We only went down every now and again..." "Once a week or so!" Stephie chimed in. "... and we found time because our mom is at the gym working out for hours every day, and we don't exactly sit around twiddling our thumbs. And before you even start," Jen said, holding up a hand, "if we'd'a told you what we wanted to do you'd'a said no flat out. So I guess, yeah, we kinda snuck down there on you." I sighed. I could have chastised them for sneaking it, but they were right. I would have denied it out of hand, so I couldn't blame them. "Well, I would have thought you'd go to the library, or the gym or the 'Y', or friends houses or something." "Oh, we do that too, you know that!" Stephie confirmed. "But if we're gonna research something, might as well go have an actual look, you know?" "Well, if I'm at the gym and have the Judge with me, how did you guys get down there..." The words died on my lips, and a turned to look at Claire. She had her jacket scooped up and was rounding the dining bar through the kitchen. "Thanks for the sandwiches!" she called. "Claire, no eating and running from this household," I called. "Don't make me chase you to the door, She stopped dead by the fridge, just around it out of sight. "What?!" she called back irritated. "You afraid of me?" I asked. She popped her had around the corner. "Don't be an ar-tard," she quipped, playing at irritation. "I ain't afraid of nobody." But I could see in her eyes she was, a little. "Good," I replied. "Because you got no reason to be." She made a questioning noise, clearly surprised, so I elaborated. "Taking my girls to Tacoma is no big deal. You're not in trouble." "Oh," she said, stunned for a moment. Then she recovered. "Course it's ok. Told you about it, anyway, remember? Last week? The mall, the movie, Mickey-D's, [I]the complaining about my car[/I]..." She's walked back to the dining bar where she irritatedly put her fists on it, glaring at the girls. Unspoken, 'there's some ingratitude for ya'. Jen rolled her eyes and Stephie was about to retort when I defused it by going, "Oh. Yeah..." I did, in fact, recall them telling me about all that. "See?" Stephie said happily. "We [I]didn't[/I] sneak it on you!" Missy... Claire, had plopped herself down on the bar stool again. I waved her over. "Come on, you." "What?" Claire asked, suspicious. "Come on over. Have a seat, make yourself at home. Relax or something." I indicated the other chair, the couch, and the rest of the room with an expansive wave. "Oh..." Clair drawled, uncertain. Then the uncertainty vanished. "Oh," she said, matter-of-factly. And promptly bounced on in and flopped down on the couch by just about jumping over Stephie and landing on it with a crash I thought for a moment would collapse it. "You freak!" Stephie giggled, cringing as if she'd thought she was going to get jumped on. Jen patted the papers in my lap to get my attention. Just like her. Right back on track. "Well?" she asked. I took a deep breath and thought for a moment. "Well, how are you going to pay for all this? I mean, look at it all. 38 grand?!" I started through the list, bottom up. "Sun Shade? Something called a 'Cool Bag? And what the hell is a boot box...?" Jen dead=panned me a 'you dolt' look again. "Most all that stuff, the sun shade, Invisishields, rubber mats, all of that's to protect her from dings and stuff [I]you're[/I] always complaining about on the Judge. And a Cool Box is a refrigerated tote powered by the rear plug-in power jack. The Boot is the back end. You know, in other cars it's called a trunk. Behind the back seats." "There's room for back seats in that thing?!" Claire asked, startled. "Sure, mom!" Stephie called out, ignoring Claire. "And those things are only a hundred bucks or less each. Out of 38 grand, they're drips in the bucket!" She was proud of her assertion. I deflated it. "Honey, it all adds up. Thirty eight thousand dollars!" I looked at the two of them in irritation. "Where the hell are you two going to get the money to pay for that?" "Mom," Jen leveled at me. "We're gonna finance it, ok? And yeah, we know all about the paying huge interest just to pretend it's affordable, but you and dad made payments on The Judge, so it's all good, right?" At my rubbing my temples with no reply, she continued. "And we're working now, remember? We figure at both our pay of 250 a week, means 500 a week total, 2 grand a month, not counting the main Tuesday shows. So even if the payments on Mini Midnite hit a grand a month, we still got a grand a month left over to cover insurance and all, and yes, we know that insurance will be expensive. We got it covered." I scowled. "Honeys, you two are on PPAs. Pay [I]per appearance[/I]. How can you even think you'll be working every week, every show?!" "[I]I[/I] don't even work every show," Claire grumped quietly, pulling a pillow over her head. "Mom, even if Sorely misses us a show here and there, we're covered, right?" Stephie said. At my dubious look she amended, "Not covered by you, we know! I mean, we'd get side jobs or something." "And that right there is what I'm worried about, young lady," I said, quietly triumphant. "Taking extra jobs means extra times away from important things like school." "Mom," Jen interjected, "Even if we miss half the shows, we're still good. We can [I]so[/I] do this!" I thought for a moment. She was fairly right. "So who ends up owning it, then? And how long a finance term are we talking here?" "We're joint ownership," Jen stated emphatically. "Both our names on the title. And we're going for a 36 month plan at most. Any longer and we'll be paying too much in interest..." "We [I]so[/I] don't want to go there," Stephie interjected. "Three years is an awful long time to partner with someone in that kind of financial relationship," I pointed out. "And this isn't just some pinky-shake thing, either," I added, as they'd reached hands out for just that very thing. "This is real, high finance. We're talking 38 [I]thousand[/I] dollars here. The kind of money financial reputations are broken over. Bad credit ratings that will haunt you the rest of your life." The girls looked mollified at that. They knew I knew all about that kind of thing. After Rick died, I'd made some hasty financial decisions for the girls' sakes. Things in retrospect I could have done differently. And as far as bad credit rating goes, even though there's supposed to be a time limit on that sort of thing, some statute of limitations thing, it still rears up and bites me in the ass every now and again. Even recently. "Well..." Stephie faltered a second. "Mom, that's why we wanna run this by you, you know? Just to be sure." "Yeah," Jen said, nodding agreement. "And we need you to be there when we actually do this, just to make sure we don't get flim-flammed." "And you need me there as a co-signer," I added, a level, knowing gaze going from Stephie to Jen. "Well, there is that..." Jen admitted. "Well, there you go," I said. "When it comes right down to it, if you default -- and I'm not saying you will, you have no intention of that I'm sure," I added before they could object, "but [I]if[/I] you default, it's my ass then. That's what a co-signer is for. Then it becomes my responsibility to pay it. That's something I have to consider, you know." The girls grew thoughtful and pensive. "Look, sweeties, I love you both dearly, and would do anything for you. And one of those things is pointing out when you just might be getting in over your head. I really think this is the wrong car for you." "Mom!" Stephie wailed. "It is [I]so[/I] the car for us!" "Yeah, Mom," Jen said, "We sat in it and everything. We used that how-stuff-feels thing, like you taught us..." "Yeah," Stephie added, "salesman looked at us weird for sittin' there in the car listening to it with our eyes closed for a few." "Thing is," Jen continued, "Mini told us. She [I]told[/I] us, mom!" And for the first time in a long time, it looked like Jen was close to tears, she felt it so strongly. "Oh, sweetie..." I said, and stroked her hair, unsure what to add to that. "Mom, it's true," Stephie said. "It's like the Judge, but smaller, and bosher." "Bosher?" I asked, quirk-browed. "Than the Judge?" "Oh, mom!" Stephie said, alarmed both that I was misunderstanding her and offended at her dissing the Judge. "The Judge is like you. Tough and bad-ass and watching over us when we're in her. Like our other mom or something." Which made me smile. Because I felt it too. "But Mini is... well, she's just bosh. I can [I]feel[/I] it, mom! She's there for [I]us[/I]! And she thinks we're bosh too!" "She, huh?" "Yeah, mom," Jen said, nodding. "Definitely she." "Mom," Stephie said, grabbing the papers in my lap and sorting them so the Mini's picture was on top. "Look at her, and you can tell that we love her. Look at it, mom!" So I looked. Picked that paper up and looked. And imagined. "Yeah, mom," Jen added. "Tell us you don't like this car." I looked. And had nothing to say. Because truth to tell, I couldn't tell Jen that I didn't like that car. "Mom," Stephie said, suddenly and subtly exited at what she just thought of. "Look at that car, and tell us Dad wouldn't love it." I looked at that picture. Thought of Rick. And a feeling inside just welled up out of my chest and into my throat. Because I knew, for the car's sake as well as for our daughters, that Rick in fact would love this car. So I pinched the bridge of my nose, sighed, and looked at that picture. And the more I looked, the more I imagined, the worse it got. Damn thing. I was really starting to like it. Yeah. I could see myself in love with that car. Would I tell my daughters that? Hell no. Instead, I lay the papers down on the coffee table. And at my lack of words, the girls [I]knew[/I]. Could see it in my face, or read it in my body language, of feel it in that nebulous thing that envelopes all families and makes you just [B][I]know[/I][/B] what each other are feeling. And they got excited. "Stephie," Jen said, gleeful. "Mom's not saying anything." "I know," Stephie crowed, pumping victory fists. "Hey," I said, in as best a remonstrative tone as I could manage. "I didn't say yes." "But you're not saying no either," Jen prompted, hopeful smirk in place. "I'll think about it," was all I could manage before the doorbell rang. Jen laughed, Stephie got all giddy and hissed, "Yessss!", and I got up to answer the door. "Ok, ok," I called back, "I said I'll think about it. Don't get your hopes up." Didn't matter. They got giggly and giddy, those two. And for myself, I was glad I was headed for the door to answer it. They couldn't see me smiling. Of course, the mood died when I opened the door. I saw who was there, and couldn't help it. First thing to my mind came right out of my mouth. Wasn't friendly, either. "What the hell are [B][I]you[/I][/B] doing here?!" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
SirFozzie Posted August 27, 2008 Share Posted August 27, 2008 [QUOTE=NordVolf;475167]"What the hell are [B][I]you[/I][/B] doing here?!"[/QUOTE] Ahem. This is Rent-A-Mob, calling for NordVolf? We've been hired to rabble-rouse over a lack of updates for this GREAT dynasty, especially cause of the cliffhanger you left the readership on. Now, we're usually into our full fledged torches and pitchfork stage at this point, but.. well.. we're running low on pitchforks, and it's hard to get a torch burning these days (the permits are expensive)... So we'd like to make an offer. Give us a new update soon, and we'll pretend like we were never hired, ok? :D :D (seriously, good stuff. MORE!) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ShadowedFlames Posted September 4, 2008 Share Posted September 4, 2008 [QUOTE=SirFozzie;486815]Ahem. This is Rent-A-Mob, calling for NordVolf? We've been hired to rabble-rouse over a lack of updates for this GREAT dynasty, especially cause of the cliffhanger you left the readership on. Now, we're usually into our full fledged torches and pitchfork stage at this point, but.. well.. we're running low on pitchforks, and it's hard to get a torch burning these days (the permits are expensive)... So we'd like to make an offer. Give us a new update soon, and we'll pretend like we were never hired, ok? :D :D (seriously, good stuff. MORE!)[/QUOTE] This post is full of win. All kidding aside, I came back from an enforced hiatus (computer nearly blowing up on me) to catch up. Just like old times. Please tell me that someone wants Lorna back for one more match. I'd love to see how that goes! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted September 7, 2008 Author Share Posted September 7, 2008 [CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] [QUOTE=NordVolf;475167]"What the hell are [B][I]you[/I][/B] doing here?!"[/QUOTE] [QUOTE=SirFozzie;486815]Ahem. This is Rent-A-Mob, calling for NordVolf? We've been hired to rabble-rouse over a lack of updates for this GREAT dynasty, especially cause of the cliffhanger you left the readership on. Now, we're usually into our full fledged torches and pitchfork stage at this point, but.. well.. we're running low on pitchforks, and it's hard to get a torch burning these days (the permits are expensive)... So we'd like to make an offer. Give us a new update soon, and we'll pretend like we were never hired, ok? :D :D (seriously, good stuff. MORE!)[/QUOTE] [QUOTE=ShadowedFlames;490615]This post is full of win. All kidding aside, I came back from an enforced hiatus (computer nearly blowing up on me) to catch up. Just like old times. Please tell me that someone wants Lorna back for one more match. I'd love to see how that goes![/QUOTE] /me laughs I agree, SF. Absolutely full of win. I laughed so hard when I read this, and your reply as well. Brought tears to my eyes. And actually, guys, in all honesty, it helped motivate me through and past life's exigencies and into this next post. Thank you. So. In the interest of avoiding angering a mob into expending the last of their pitchforks, as well as hard earned money on burn permits, here is the next installment. I hope you enjoy it even half as much as I enjoy you people's replies. And SF, you must be psychic. You hit so close to the mark... [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] "What the hell are [B][I]you[/I][/B] doing here?!" The words were loud enough to echoed in the hall. But not loud enough to carry into the living room behind me, to disturb the budding party the girls were having over the prospect of a car. Of course, I hadn't said yes, so it was still up in the air. But Jen had been right. I hadn't said no either. But all that had vanished with the sight that greeted my eyes, outside my door. And the words I'd said, even before I realized I'd said them. "What the hell are [B][I]you[/I][/B] doing here?!" "Oh, fine greeting from you. That how you treat all you're guests?" came the reply in a thick, Hispanic accent. She gets that way away from work, despite feeling slighted when anyone 'points out' her heritage, acting very offended. Go figure. But I guess that's who she is. I stepped out the door, calling over my shoulder, "I'll be back in a minute, Sweeties." We stood, then. Facing each other, the door mostly closed. "So what the hell are you doing here, J-Ro?" She snort-chuckled. "I came to see how the great Lorna Midnight has got it going on, now that she's not got the Midnight any more. But all I get is a very bad hello. Like you don' want to see me, ah?" She eyed me narrowly. All faux-fur coat and dark brown slacks and expensive shoes. Arms folded in a tough girl-from-the-streets pose. Very unlike the rich-b*tch most people've come to know her as. I folded my arms in kind, gave back a look. Sceptical. "So what are you here for?" She smiled then, and pulled an envelope out of her fancy purse. Maybe not so expensive, but still very nice, rhinestones and sequins winking light out at the world as she moved. She held the plain white envelope out to me. "I came to bring you this." "Huh," I replied. "Last thing I would have expected was a going away gift from you." She almost giggled, holding it in, a half-snort. "Don' flatter yourself," she said. "Sorely asked me to drop it by, so I did." "Sorely asked you?" I asked, incredulous. "[I]You[/I]?!" "Well... not exac'ly," she admitted, getting coy. As if a boyfriend had caught her in the company of another man. "She asked if anyone was going to be around here tonight, to bring this to you." "So you went all the way out of your way to bring this," I said. Again, incredulous. "I was in the neighborhood." It was my turn to snort. "Yeah. Right. Thanks." I turned to go back into the apartment. "Aren' you going to look at what it is?" It was a loaded question, I knew. So I looked at it. "Plain, blank envelope. Something interesting inside, I'm sure." She just stood there, nodding at me. She made a 'well, go on' motion, not saying anything. So I opened it. It was a Triple-A paycheck. My usual two-grand. Minus tax of course. Yeah. I stared at it for what must have been a couple minutes. J-Ro just nodded. "Ah hah," she finally said, breaking the silence, interrupting my revery. "So now it hits home, eh? The last check. Now you really know you're done." I eyed her shrewdly. "You came here to gloat, didn't you?" "Oh? Is that what you think?" she said, eyes wide. "One more thing we can snip at each other about?" I nodded. "Yeah. You came here for leverage. One last dig before we parted." "That's what you think?!" She was genuinely amazed. "You think after all these years you and I have known each other, after all the biting and scratching since you first came to Triple-A to make your big splash, I came here to dig at'choo?!" "Oh, my big splash?" I replied. "Yeah, your big splash," she affirmed. "Don' act like you don' know. Coming in to Triple-A and taking the Junior Miss title away, when it was suppoz'd to be defended?" She stopped there. I guess even she knew I'd been reamed enough about it, especially after it'd happened. I eyed her narrowly. "So what you are [I]really[/I] here for?" I asked. She nodded in admittance. "Ok. What I am really here for. I came to see what the great Lorna Midnight is running from. Because I never thought I'd see that. What I want to know is, what is the [I]one[/I] thing that you could possibly be running from?" I gaped. Couldn't believe she just said that. Then my eyes narrowed to dangerousness. "I'm not running from anything, so don't you dare..." Was all I got out. "Like hell you ain't, chica!" she objected. "Don't you lie to [I]me[/I]! You can fool Sorely. Everyone else at Triple A. You may even be able to fool your daughters, But don' you even [I]start[/I] fooling with me..." "Leave my daughters out of it!" I growled. "Oh, I didn't bring your daughters into it," she countered. "YOU did! Now, I don' know what it is you're running from, and maybe I never will. But the minute you said it was because of your daughters wrestling, you brought them right in the middle of it. I tol' you, don' even start fooling with me." All I could do was scowl darkly for a moment. Dark and threatening. How dare she bring my family into this. And J-Ro wasn't buying it. Wasn't intimidated even a little. She scowled right back. Pointed a finger at me almost in my face. "I may not ever know, because you may not ever tell nobody. That doesn't matter. And it doesn't matter whether you think I brought your daughters up or not. But because I know what that kind of thing does, and what it might do to you, I really don' want to be around when the day comes you're not there for them." That shocked me. "Where the hell did that come from?!" And then I got a little pissed. "And I'm [I]right[/I] here for my daughters, so don't you even try and imply..." She didn't let me finish. "Oh, I'm not implying anything. Sure, you're right here, right now for your daughters. You'll get some nice job and provide for them real good. Food, clothing, a house. Do all kinds of things for them. But some day they are going to need you, and because you're so busy running, you're going to be so caught up in yourself that you won't be there for them. And I don't ever want to be there for that, because your daughters are just too nice to see that happen to them." "Get out," I growled, low. "Fine," she said, smarmy, turning her nose up at me. "Be that way if you want." She turned to go, and I let her. As she headed for the stairs, I watched. Wanted to say all kinds of thing. Don't she ever dare drag my daughters into anything again. Don't she come back to [I]my[/I] house looking for trouble. As she got to the stairs I started to say something, too. Last dig, you know? She never gave me the chance. "Jus' remember," she said over her shoulder. "I came to your house to bring you your last pay, and maybe talk. [I]You[/I] came to the door looking for a fight. And don' you ever think that if you bring a fight to me, I'm not up for it!" And with that, she was gone. [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] "So who was that, Mom?" Jen asked. I'd gone back into the apartment, and the girls were very curious. I'd been in the hall a while. "Triple-A," was all I said, holding up the envelope. "WHOAH!" Stephie exclaimed, and rushed to the dining bar. Missy... Claire was already at it. Seemed almost her assigned place, and when I'd come in I'd gone into the kitchen to stand before the range on that side of the bar. The girls rushed over and took seats. "What IS that, mom?" Stephie asked, wide-eyed. Very concerned. "Relax," I replied. "It's just my last pay." Jen frowned at that. "Great. They sent a courier. Nice touch." She scowled darkly. "They didn't send a courier," I told her. "What, you were expecting Sorrenson to bring it herself?" "Would have been nice..." Jen replied darkly. "So who was it, mom?!" Stephie stage-whispered. "They short you any?" Claire asked nonchalantly, taking a sip of soda from a can she'd apparently got from the fridge when I was out. Got to hand it to her. She knew how to make herself at home. And then her question hit me. I pulled the check out and looked at it again. Just to be sure. "No," I breathed. "All there. Two-grand, minus tax and all of course. But it's all there. My usual." "Huh," Claire said, matter-of-factly, shrugging. "You left in just about the middle of the month, I figured they'd cut that in the middle too." She was acting like it was no big deal. Expected. But that was Claire. She was fishing for reaction. She got it. "That would [I]so[/I] not be fair!" Jen scolded her. "They wouldn't [B]do[/B] that!" Claire snort-chuckled. "Oh, Anne Stardust [I][B]so[/B][/I] would do that." "Yeah, but [I]Sorely[/I] wouldn't!" Stephie interjected. I stared at that check, thinking. "No," I breathed. "No, Sorely wouldn't. And didn't." "Damn straight she wouldn't!" Jen said, serious. "She probably went right down to accounting and had them cut you your check full up, just as always. Like it was expected. And if they would have asked, Sorely might even have told them Stardust said it was ok. Might even have gone up to the Old Lady herself to tell what she was going to do, and why..." Stephie rapid-patted the counter top to get my attention. "But who [I][B]was[/B][/I] it, mom?!" I know I got that brooding look the girls tell me I get when I'm heavy in thought, before I answered. "It was J-Ro." "WHOAH!" It was Claire's turn to get excited. All three girls gaped at me. "Well..." Jen drawled when the shock wore off. "You're in here and you look ok," she said to me, "so does that mean we got to get the stick and a spoon to scrape J-Ro off the carpet in the hall...?" I'm not sure why, but that made me laugh despite the mood. "No, we didn't fight like that," I replied. "But you did fight!" Claire interjected, almost hopeful. "We just argued a little, is all," I replied, looking sidelong at her. "Mom, what [I]is[/I] it with you two, anyway?" Stephie asked, flustered about my not getting along with J-Ro. She was like that. Always wanting people to get along. "Oh, come on," Jen said. "They just don't like each other, is all." Claire snorted again. "[B]No[/B]body likes J-Ro," she said with a smirk in her soda. "She's not so bad," Stephie objected, at which Jen looked at her sidelong. "Oh no?!" Claire barked. "[I]You[/I]'re not the one she thinks is her personal little slave girl. [B]You[/B]'re not one of the under-card she treats like absolute crap. And you see the way she struts through Triple-A like she's some great Queen Madonna, and the rest of us are peasants?!" I smirked at that. Peasants. Claire must've been watching Monty Python again recently. "Ok, ok!" I interrupted, hands up. "She went out of her way to bring me my check. Case closed." I glared at all three of them and received mollified looks in return, though Stephie had a 'so there!' look in her eye. At their silence, I changed the subject. "Ok. Now, there's still a certain package we have to deal with." Claire almost did a spit-take with her soda, wiping her mouth. "Want me to vacate?" I was going to reply that it was up to Jen and Stephie, but Jen beat me to it. "No, you're good," she said, patting Claire on the arm. "You're good." " 'Course I am!" Claire said, all haughty and smirky at her own jest. Either she didn't see Jen and Stephie suddenly getting morose over the change in topic, or was covering her discomfort over it. I imagined the latter. But in a moment, Stephie's morose look evaporated, and she actually got excited. "Bosh..." she breathed. Then to Jen, "In your room?" "Yeah," Jen replied sadly, and Stephie was off like a shot, actually happy. "In the closet!" Jen called after her. So. Something that made the two of them profoundly sad, and yet Stephie was getting giddy over it... I know. Threw me too. [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] I'd gone to sit in my chair by the time Stephie had come back. Yeah, yeah. Very cliche of me to sit in that chair when I and my girls had to talk about things. But hey. I'm a traditionalist. And it just feels right. The girls even have gotten so used to it that they feel awkward when we have to talk about deep, dark, important things and I'm [I]not[/I] in the chair, them at either knee. I guess it's comfortable and safe for all concerned, that fall-back to a time long ago when they were little. And yeah. For me too. So Jen settled at my right knee again as Stephie settled in with the package at my left, placing it in my lap. Stephie was still looking a mix of excited and sad, and said all in one breath, like getting it out in a rush, "We got this for you." I blinked. Didn't know what to think of that. Here I'd thought any number of things, but this was something [I]for me[/I]...?! "Yeah," Jen said, rather glumly. "Merry Christmas." I was thunderstruck. "Christmas?!" "Yeah," Stephie explained when Jen looked too pained to go on. "See, we wanted to get you the most awesome thing we could think of, so we settled on what it was, and sent away for it." "Who'd think they'd [I]backorder[/I] something they said was in stock..." Jen added. "Yeah," Stephie answered my questioning look. "We did it on-line, and it looked like there was plenty of stock. But I guess we waited a li'l too long, couple days, and when it finally went in things were back-ordered..." "You know, the whole Christmas Rush thing," Jen interjected. "Yeah!" Stephie said, continuing her explanation. "And then when Fed Ex 'misplaced' the package and it got lost in Memphis or Phoenix or someplace, well, at that point it was just before New Years so we just kinda gave up on it." "Yeah," Jen said. "Till yesterday, when I got the email that it'd finally arrived at the local Fed Ex office for pickup." Stephie headed off my questions/objections at their hiding shipped things. "We thought to surprise you with it, and it wouldn'a been much of a surprise if the Fed Ex guy knocked on the door and you had answered an' all. So we'd set it to get sent to the Fed Ex office and we'd pick it up from there, an' then pop it on you at Christmas." "We'd actually thought, since New Years, to just cancel it," Jen added. "But by then it'd shipped, so we couldn't get our money back before it landed and we'd have to send it back anyway. So, when it came, I just thought... what the heck? May as well give it to you..." She looked inquiringly at Stephie, who nodded back solemnly in turn. "Good call," Stephie said. "It's way too late, in more than one way, but... well, it's what we got you, so... You know," she finished to me. "But you two got me the jacket," I said, pointing to it hanging on the rack, which we could barely see from this angle. It was the one I'd been wearing lately on occasion, particularly for 'dress' occasions. Black, ending just-above-the-waist in an almost Japanese Anime' cut. Complete with padded shoulders with leather 'shoulder board' straps and a high, snug yet still comfortable priest collar. The sleeves were subtly accented with silver studs looking like cufflinks, and tasteful, small silver roundels like buttons ran down the zipper-hiding flap of the front. I got to admit, when ever I pass a mirror, I can't help but admire how good it makes me look. The girls did a wonderfully surprising job of having it tailored to my figure without my ever really finding out how they managed it. I figure, though, that was why I couldn't find a certain snug-fit suit jacket, which I rarely wore, for one particular two week stretch just before Christmas. "Well... that was actually part of the whole thing. Kind of a package deal," Jen explained. "Yeah," Stephie smoothly continued, "and when the shipping on this fell through, well... we just kind of gave you the jacket. You know. Solo." I sighed, looking at the package. "Oh Honey's," I said. Here it was. The reason they were so sad. Like we'd entirely missed Christmas or something. Not that we made it a huge to-do or anything, but still. The quiet evening get-together to exchange gifts followed by dinner was a small thing. But a Leigtner family tradition none-the-less. And the girls lived for it. "Sweeties, Christmas was amazing this year!" I objected. "You two taking me skating like I'd not done in years, we all sledding in Leshi Park and you girls carrying on like you were 12 all over again, binge-shopping at the mall, quiet times here together just watching old sappy movies... Come on. Christmas was wonderful!" They both smiled. We love doing things like that together, especially that time of year. Every bit of it. And yes, even when watching old, sappy movies on TV and throwing popcorn at the screen on the especially corny parts, they still get teary-eyed and hug me when that bell on the Christmas Tree rings and an angel gets his wings. And not a dry eye in the house. Myself included. "Yeah, it was great," Stephie said, sad smile in place. "But... well, this is still late. But..." She couldn't finish, which puzzled me. "What could possibly be so tragic about a gift being a little late?" I mused, apparently missing something. Jen sighed. "It's just too late, in [I]so[/I] many ways." She sighed again, and straightened her back in that determined way she gets in adversity. "But we wanted you to have it anyway. Because we got it for you." I nodded thoughtfully at that, and started in slowly on the brown paper wrapping. "Oh kay..." I drawled in a way not unlike Claire uses. "Yeah!" Stephie blurted suddenly, startling everyone a bit. "An' we're not making a statement or anything, either!" "Yeah," Jen said, adding, "We hope you just like it anyway. You know. For it's own sake." I took a deep breath. Obviously, there was something else going on. And I figured only one way to find out what it was. "Ok, Sweeties. Open mind," I said. Was my 'traditional' way of saying, without being long winded, that I'd be open minded about the whole thing. And I started in on the package. First thing I found was a plain envelope, looking like it was made of parchment instead of white paper stock, on top of the box inside. And a good size box it was, too, now that it was in my lap. I took a deep breath and opened the envelope. Inside was parchment paper, the genuine stuff it looked like. There was a little logo at the top, looking rather gothic and proclaiming subtly in tiny letters, "Gargoyle Clothing. Skins and Accessories." The main message was below, in large, fancy scrollwork calligraphy letters looking like it had even been hand done. It simply said, "For our mom. With love. Jen and Stephie." That right there threatened to make me cry outright. "Oh Sweeties... it's beautiful." Stephie couldn't help but smile at that. "And that's just the card, Mom!" I nodded soberly, and after looking from Jen to Stephie with what I bet was a 'here goes' expression on my face, I opened the box. And just about fell out of that chair. "Oh, baby..." I breathed. As if addressing the love of my life. Because the piece that I beheld was simply grand. And there wasn't just one, either. As I dug through the paper packing in and around the pieces, I picked up first one, then another, and another, and... "Oh, [I]baby[/I]..." I breathed again. They were exquisite. All black leather, metal accent fittings and buckles and all the rest. "Oh... my... babies..." I breathed yet again. They were glorious. [CENTER] [IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Tees/Other/LornaMidnightBoots.jpg[/IMG][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Tees/Other/LornaMidnightGloves.jpg[/IMG] [/CENTER] And then it hit me. Why it was my girls were so sad. Why it was they were 'too late'. Why it was that they might think I wouldn't love these things. These things weren't just for me. They were for Lorna Midnight. Something that I could wear, not just to look bad-ass, but to be reminded of my daughters and their love for me. Every day. Every show. And there I was. Not with Triple-A anymore... "We love you, mom," Jen said through a sad smile, rubbing my arm. I was about to reply but Stephie blurted through sudden tears almost immediately after Jen's words had left her mouth. "We're so sorry, mom!" "Oh baby, no!" I breathed in reply, and scooted forward, hugging the box and it's contents to me with my right hand and gathering Stephie into a hug with my left. "Don't be sorry, Sweetie! It's ok," I said, crooning comfort to her as she wept on my shoulder. I gathered Jen into my right arm then, and box be damned, even though it kept it's perch in my lap. And I hugged them both fiercely. "It's not your fault," I told them through tears of my own. "You couldn't have known. I love you two so very, very much!" I held them for a moment more, and then added, with a loving snug to them both, "And I love this too. [I]Very[/I] much." The girls settled back to look at me, and Stephie wiped tears. "It's not like you're goth or anything for real, Mom. You're just saying that..." But she had on that hopeful-happy smirk through her tears, because she knew I wasn't just saying that. And a glance at Jen told me she knew it too. "I'm serious. How can I not love them?!" I told them. "They're absolutely [B]beautiful[/B]!" A sniffle broke off any further comment, and the three of us turned to look toward the dining bar. Claire jumped off the stool as if she'd been poked with a pin, racing out of the room muttering something about having to pee. But she couldn't hide what was really going on, sniffling again and wiping her eyes as she all but ran for the bathroom. "Now I feel like some sappy old movie on TV at Christmas," Jen told Stephie with a smirk, rubbing Stephie's shoulder. "Yeah..." Stephie drawled, grinning and wiping her eyes. Then she looked me in the eye again, with that look of awe and surprise she gets, as if I were revealing something deeply wonderful and unexpected. "You really like them?!" "I really, really do," I told both of them. And to prove the point, I immediately pulled off the low dress boots I was wearing. The new boots fit like gloves. Perfectly. As my feet slid home, I couldn't help but pause. Both girls were on needles and pins. High excitement and expectancy. So I told them what they wanted to know. "How in the hell did you girls get these to fit so well?!" They both relaxed into joyous happiness at a job well done. And then, I knew. "Come to think of it," I droned slowly, as if deep in thought, "about the time my favorite dress jacket had come up temporarily missing, I'd seemed to have misplaced the very dress boots I'd been wearing just now. Had to resort to other boots and shoes for nearly a week..." I glanced up at my girls, who wore sly smirks. "And come to think of it some more... an old pair of gloves that fit me best but I seldom wore due to their worn-out age... I don't recall having seen those during that time either..." The girls just grinned at me as I laced and buckled those wonderful boots on my feet. Now, I don't know what they had actually done. Whether they'd sent them away for fit, taken detailed measurements, hell, they may have even made plaster casts of my hands and feet from them for all I knew. But whatever they'd done, it'd worked out perfectly. Since that's how the boots fit. And the gloves too, soon's the boots were secure. I stood, holding out my hands in a pose. "How do I look?" Before the girls could reply, we all heard quietly yet insistently from behind me, "Lemme see!" I turned to find Claire there, composed as if nothing were going on. So though she wasn't fooling me, I didn't let on I thought anything other than the same old Claire was going on either. Though maybe it was just me, or hopeful imagination, but her eyes did kind of look a little red and puffy... Claire gave me the thumbs up. "Spiffy," she said. Which as anyone who knows Claire well, is remarkably high praise. "Oooo, get your jacket!" Jen said. "Yeah, you got black slacks on!" Stephie added. "Black slacks?" I inquired as I headed for the coat rack. "Well, they're not your black leather pants," Jen hesitantly clarified. I blinked, then eyed the girls narrowly. "Black leather pants? The ones from when I'd first started my Midnight shtick?" What? You think I'd always been in body-suit, ass-kicking boots and long-coat? Oh, come on. That look'd had to develop just like anything else. My initial Midnight get-up had been a compilation of suggestions from many sources, and consisted of black uni with leather bikers' pants, a plain short black jacket, fingerless gloves and biker boots. Hell, when I'd first arrived at Triple-A, I hadn't thought out a gimmick at all, so fought the first time in a black leotard, scrunch socks and wrestler boots, scrunch arm warmers and a martial-arts tied headband. Stop laughing. It wasn't [I]that[/I] bad. "Well, mom," Jen said, "You always did say you kinda thought you should have an alternate Midnight get-up. So, you know, we thought..." She let the thought trail off. I nodded appraisingly at my daughters, and thought for a moment. I then plucked my relatively new jacket from it's place and headed for the closet. Ok, fine. The Midnight Wardrobe. "Give me a minute..." was all I said as I stepped in and disappeared from view. Didn't take me long to reappear. Tight leather pants, the wine colored blouse still on and peeking out from beneath the jacket, gloves and new boots in place. I got to admit. I felt bad-ass as I strutted back into the living room into the company of excited girls giggling in awe. Claire was standing there, looking amazed. "I'm tellin' ya," she said, shaking her head at the floor and holding her arms wide, palms toward the floor, like she was going to take flight or something. "It's the freakin' Bat Cave in here..." "Shut up, you," I commanded with a smirk, throwing my slacks at her head. Which she deftly caught with a smirk of her own in place. To my girls I asked, holding my arms out and spinning in place for show. "How do I look?" "Boshness, Mom!" Stephie crowed. Jen stepped over to me, saying as she came, "Bad as hell, Mom." But then she surprised me. She took the front of my jacket in her hands and gently tugged it straight, smoothing it with hands brushing my arms. Just like I'd done her so many times when she'd done firsts, like going off to school, or that first, short-lived part-time job, or her senior prom. It was loving, and tender, and almost motherly. Just like I'd done her. "But you're not wrestling any more, mom..." And that was it. Her voice broke at that, and her tough-as-Leigtner Jen facade cracked, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. And that did it for me as well. I grabbed my daughter up into an almost violent, loving hug, holding her tight. "Oh, baby!" I breathed as she hugged me just as violently back, sobbing. "I love you so much!" I told her. I pulled away a touch and motioned to Stephie. "Come here," I said, and even before I'd finished she ran into my arms. And the three of us hugged fiercely, crying. "I love you two so much!" I said, kissing their necks and hair and holding them tightly while they quietly cried. "Just because I'm not wrestling any more doesn't mean I don't love these wonderful gifts you've given me. And it also doesn't mean I love you any less. And actually, I love you more. And I will always, [I]always[/I] be there for you!" We stood there for a moment, just holding each other, them loving me and me reassuring them that I wasn't going to stop being their mom any time soon. Claire broke the mood. "Cripes, you guys are freakin' huggy an' stuff tonight," she said, huffy, and strode irritatedly into the kitchen. But a glance showed the girls and I that she'd wiped her eyes again, and when she thought she was out of earshot we heard her sniffle. "Hey, we love you too," I called. Yeah, I know. That came from out of nowhere. But it was also true. "Yeah, right!" she called back in sarcastic disbelief. At a nod and a last squeeze from me the girls broke the hug, turning for the kitchen in quiet hurry. Stephie said, almost too quietly for even me to hear, "But we do...!" as she wiped eyes of her own. Jen cast Stephie and me a glance over her shoulder, nodding firmly to us in resolute agreement, and I started to follow. And my cell rang. Christ. What [I]now[/I]? That's what I thought as I pulled my cell out to answer, stepping back into the entry hall as my girls hurried into the kitchen. I couldn't see, but I heard them as they entered, not chasing Claire so much as with casual airs of quiet support, Stephie backing up the pretend nonchalance with an "I'm hungry. What say I whip up some jalapeno-cheese nachoes for us and we all watch a movie or something?" "Hello?" I asked into my cell. "Lorna," a familiar male voice greeted me with a slow drawl. "Whaaat's happening?" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ShadowedFlames Posted September 7, 2008 Share Posted September 7, 2008 Ooh. Now THIS is getting interesting. I liked the boots and gloves bit; very nice touch. To borrow a famous announcer's expression, I think business just picked up. Keep them coming as life allows, Nord. Have to get yourself in order before putting everyone else first, after all. But you still have some good stuff here. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MiddleGA Posted September 8, 2008 Share Posted September 8, 2008 Remarkable. Consistently freakin' amazing. A day between posts, a month between posts, whatever. Just mindbogglingly good stuff. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted September 8, 2008 Author Share Posted September 8, 2008 [CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] [QUOTE=ShadowedFlames;492084]Ooh. Now THIS is getting interesting. I liked the boots and gloves bit; very nice touch. To borrow a famous announcer's expression, I think business just picked up. Keep them coming as life allows, Nord. Have to get yourself in order before putting everyone else first, after all. But you still have some good stuff here.[/QUOTE] *chuckles* Thanks, SF. Glad you're liking it. And in fact, to me too, it feels like 'business is picking up'. After all, AAA's next Saturday Spectacular, while taking it's sweet time, is coming up... [QUOTE=MiddleGA;492106]Remarkable. Consistently freakin' amazing. A day between posts, a month between posts, whatever. Just mindbogglingly good stuff.[/QUOTE] Thanks, GA! It's a never-ending source of wonder to me as well, that I'm able to bring you guys something you like as much as you do. That, to [I]me[/I], is "freakin' amazing!" Huh. Day between posts you mentioned? Heh. Seems there someone other than ShadowedFlames who's psychic... Unlike prior installments, where I had specific things I had to have happen, or detailed things I had to research to get exactly right, or 'feeling' or interaction things I had to get just so, I had no real specific plans for this part. I just had a general idea of "I want something like this to go next." As in the discussion from another thread elsewhere, my right brain took over. It was a slack weekend, and not much was on the agenda. I got off early yesterday, it being Sunday, and I work the late shift today. So I had time. You and I are thus the beneficiary of slackness. And this just poured out of me. Flowed out of my heart and soul, through my fingers, and into my computer. I can only hope it seems as good to you reading it as it felt for me writing it. And maybe I'll plan less specifically next time... Naaaah... Left brain's too strong, and the right brain's kung-foo is occasionally weak... ;) [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] "Mister Riley?" I asked. Couldn't be him. Not so soon after my interview at WCSS, which had only just been today. "Yeah..." he drawled, which proved to me that it was, in fact, him. "I guess congratulations are in order." I froze. Even before I actually realized what that meant, a smile lit my face. "I beg your pardon?" I asked. "Yeah..." he drawled again. "Listen, I and the bosses have been talking, and we think that out of the pool of applicants for that sales position you applied for, we think that you'd be the best fit for the job." And then the smile, which knew a little before my brain what was going on, just threatened to crack my face in half. It was all I could do to keep from running into the kitchen, jumping around and screaming, "I GOT THE JOB!" "So," he continued, and something chilled me as thoroughly as my elation at getting the job had made me happy. It sounded like there was a 'but' coming. "We're in luck, since our best sales rep and regional training associate is going to be in town this weekend. Now..." he drawled again, "he's running a pretty tight schedule, so... we're going to have to ask you to... come in [I]Saturday evening[/I]. Say around... oh, eight or nine or so. You know... get your [I]orientation thing[/I] under way, do the... 'you're hired' paperwork and all that, stuff. Yeah. Oh, and the whole... get you ready to go so you can... you know, 'hit the ground running' Monday morning thing." I brain-froze. Was about as painful as swallowing a huge dollop of ice cream, too. "I'll... have to check my schedule..." "Oh, sure..." he drawled and went quiet. And everything went in slow-motion. You know, the kind of thing where it's like you're about to die, and instead of seeing your life flash before you, everything goes in slo-mo. Everything happens pretty inexorably, too, with no way to stop it, or even slow it down more so you can react. You're just along for the ride, gaping dumbly. Deer in the headlights. I don't even remember taking the few steps toward the front door and then into the little pass-through into the kitchen beside the fridge where the wall phone, 'message center' organizer and calendar hung on the wall. All I remember was the calendar looming larger and larger as I approached it, angry red-ink-letter words filling the day spaces down the right side of the month commanding my attention. As I came to rest in front of it, the words resolved themselves into readability, though I knew what they said even before I got that far. But they screamed at me anyway, as if someone were standing at each shoulder shouting loud as they could while my heart pounded blood-thunder in my ears. Saturday Spectacular. Oh. My. God. I could hardly breath. We did it every Saturday since Sorely took over. Meet up at Triple-A at seven. Board the busses to get down to the Portland Center by a bit before eight. Pull in alongside the vans and other bus loaded with equipment already there. Offload. Set-up began promptly at eight. Help the crew with set-up while the fans' butts started filling the seats. At eight thirty, begin worker prep for the show. Preshow to start at eight forty, main show at nine. And I wasn't working with Triple-A any more. I wouldn't be there. Or would I? I hadn't thought about it. Not even a little. Maybe I'd been avoiding that question. I don't know. But one thing was certain. My girls sure would be there, as they were working that show. Probably something in the Preshow, as they weren't experienced enough yet to hold a spot in the main show. But now the very question I'd apparently either forgotten about or avoided loomed large as the calendar before me. Right then and there, as Riley said they were expecting me Saturday Night. And this wasn't Jeopardy, either. He hadn't framed it in the form of a question. But the follow-on question was there just the same. Where would my girls' mother be? I froze. And stared. Mind blank to all but the question. And no demon sat on my right shoulder nor angel on my left, either. Just the question, screaming in my ears over and over and over again. And then I actually couldn't breath. Throat so tight it threatened to strangle me right to death. Tongue so thick I couldn't even mumble, while the blood pounded in my ears and everything else sounded very far away. The ticking of the wall clock in the living room. A dog barking at something or other somewhere outside. Music from the living room, since the girls always had to be listening to the radio, a CD, or something. The sounds of the girls doing something or other in the kitchen. And Jen's far, far away voice asking, "You ok, mom?" I guess I was having my first anxiety attack or something. Never had one before, near as I could recall, since I always knew what was going on, and what I was doing. And even when something took me by surprise, I knew what I was capable of and as a result what I should do. But this time, there was no clear answer to that question. And since that question was all that existed for me at the time, I was lost. Where would I be? Ok. So I lied. This was my second anxiety attack. The first was when I'd found out Rick had died. That had actually lasted for days, too. This one didn't last as long. Wasn't allowed to. Jason Riley's voice snapped me out of it to the here and now. Since I'd never taken the cell phone from my ear. "Lorna? Mrs Leigtner? You still with me?" "Y...yes," I stammered. "Be right with you," I said, calming, breathing again. Clarity returning with a jolt. And Jen was right there beside me. She'd noticed. "You ok, Mom?" I held a finger up to her, nodded, and she nodded back, all serious but reassured, and returned to Stephie and Claire prepping nachoes. I stepped back into the entry hall. "Mister Riley... I think there's a scheduling conflict. A family matter I may have to attend to." I was testing the waters. "Oh..." he drawled, and even in just saying that one syllable, disappointment dripped. Disappointment in me, as if I were some recalcitrant child. And I felt like one. Probably what guys like him banked on in situations like this. So much for the waters. I had a decision to make, I knew, but couldn't quite come to a good one. Which irked me, but there was no clean way out. Go to work. Problems. Go to Triple-A. Problems. "I'll have to work some things through," I said into the silence that was already stretched longer than I should have let it. "It's a personal family thing, and I have some details to work out. Can I get back to you?" "Well..." Jason drawled slowly again, still disappointed. "We were really hoping you could come in to work for us here. And this is the only time that a training associate of this high... [I]caliber[/I] is going to be in town to get you started. He's got to be back in Portland [I]Monday[/I] morning..." His drawl slowed down to a stop, as if he were deep in thought. "Tell you what," he drawled slowly, and his voice was heavy with concession. As if I should be grateful he was still even talking to me. "You give me a call [I]tomorrow[/I], at... say..." and with his pause I just knew he had made an overly dramatic sweep of his arm to look at his watch, "ten o'clock. You can let me know then whether you're going to be coming in to work for us on Saturday, m'kay?" I nodded, though Riley couldn't see. "Ten o'clock at the latest. I'll call you soon as I know." "Thaaanks." Riley's voice dripped with implication. And I knew damn well what that implication was. "That'd be greaaat," he finished with a drawl. And with a click the line went dead. [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] I walked into the kitchen in a trance. Slipped smoothly through and past the girls in their bustle to prep food, not shouldering past but just slipping through a convenient opening in the action. As if it'd been choreographed beforehand. And as I passed, in my wake all activity stopped. Like in the movies, when some harbinger of doom walks by and everything in its wake dies. I wasn't even looking where I was going, either. My vision had narrowed, focus solely on the counter next to the range. And yet my peripheral vision showed everything clearly. I saw it all, remembered it all after. Silly, weird things. Claire standing there holding a ladle full of melted cheese. Stephie watching me pass her with dawning concern passing quickly into worry. The sound of the living room clock loomed large again. The sound of everything in the room clear yet distant. Like in the old B-rate martial arts movies, at the pivotal point in the movie for the hero, when everything goes slow, and everything is clear and in focus, yet distant. A sort of Zen state or something. Shock maybe. Reason for that was clear enough. Just because I'd clicked my cell shut and off didn't mean the decision I had to make went away. Yet I could breath clearly, easily. It was almost like a presence was with me, something there inside, or maybe even outside myself, giving me support when I needed it. Something clear, reassuring. Shoring me up. It may sound sappy, or even weird, but it felt familiar. And it was very, very rare. Often times when I had a bad moment in my life, I emotionally bulled my way through it. It irritated me when something other than myself had to shore me up. I should be taking care of myself. But in those rare times like this, maybe I needed something more. And someone knew that. You see, as weird as it sounds, as insane as it makes me sound, I believe it. Because it feels like Rick. It feels like the times when he was alive, when he would come up behind me and hold me when he could tell something was troubling me. Not saying a word, just holding me. I can't describe it. If you've ever had someone you love that much, and who loves you that much, you know. In times since, in those rare moments, I'd react differently, just like when he was alive. Sometimes I'd shrug him off gently. "Not now, honey. I have something to work out." Other times I'd talk about it, mostly in monosyllables and short sentences, working it out in my head. Other times I'd wallow in it, the difference since he wasn't around any more making me sad for missing him so. This time? It brought back the anxiety attack. I couldn't breath. The girls saved me. Jen stepped into my left side from behind, holding my arm and rubbing my back like I'd done for her in times of stress, or like she'd seen me do for Stephie. Stood there, serious yet gentle, just [I]willing[/I] strength and support and calm from herself into me. Stephie came to my right, all angst over my distress, but saving just the same. Because even though she'd not learned to [I]project[/I] to someone else the way I had learned long ago and managed to teach to Jen, and the way I tried to teach her, her concern and love and strength just radiated. Without her even trying to do so. It just shone out from her to bathe anyone near in it's warmth and power. Like a warm hearth fire in a cold, dark room. I dropped the cell onto the counter top with a clatter. Regained the ability to breath. "That son of a..." Ok. I actually swore. Seemed like the thing to do at the time. Claire let the ladle clatter back into the pot of melted cheese, staring at me. I looked at her, then at my daughters. And before anyone could ask what was up, because I knew that was what was coming, could see it in their faces, I told them. "I got the job." Ordinarily there would be giddy cheers for me. I'd been surprised, even shocked, at good things before. But this time, the girls could see it. It wasn't good. So they remained concerned. Claire articulated it first. "That S.O.B..." she said, trailing off. At my affirmative nod, she continued. "Gave you a job..." I nodded again. "Ok," she said, turning animated with disbelief, "to steal your saying, what about some S.O.B. giving you a job is so freakin' tragic?!" "They want me to start Saturday Night." "Oh..." Claire let it trail off, her lips holding the 'O' shape long after the sound ended. Now everyone knew the problem. "Mom, just go to work," Jen said, rubbing my back warmly. "We'll be fine..." I didn't let her finish. "Sweetie, I'm your mom. I should be there, bring you there, be there to see your show." Then the devil's advocate in me spoke, returning my eyes to stare at the counter top. "And I'm your mom. I should be making sure I get this job, a great job, to provide for you. They made it pretty clear I have to be there Saturday to get the job." "Duh!" Claire stated in Homer-esque fashion. "So take the job! Sounds cherry, from what little [I]I[/I] heard. You can see a Triple-A show any time, but this job opportunity only comes [I]once[/I]." And just like that it was perfectly articulated for me. All laid out. I was supposed to be a good mom. Be there for my daughters. Be there to take them places, be there to watch events and things they did. To support them, even help them in their interests, be part of their lives. These were not trivial things. And I was supposed to be a good mom. Take a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a great job, especially since there was literally nothing else. Provide for my daughters because there was no one else to. A home. Food. Clothing. These were not trivial things. Anxiety returned. And Jen had a flash. Just like her mom. Like I get sometimes. Jen took after me, while Stephie takes her touchy-feely lovingness from her Dad. Back when he was alive, I always thought Rick was the strong one, while I was the loving wife and mom. But since then, it proved the other way 'round, especially as I'd had to support and provide for the girls all by myself, and Stephie grew up and I realized she was more and more like her dad. Without even ever having really known him. So, when she needed it, Jen had a flash of insight. And also like her mom, just acted on it without even really thinking about it or even consciously being aware it'd happened. Ah, the simplicity of youth. Out of nowhere, Jen reached over, picked up my cell and held it out to me, flipping it open. "Mom, call Cat." "What?!" I know. Brilliant response. But I was in shock, anxiety, whatever. "Mom, give Cat a call," Jen explained, simple to her mind. "Give her a call, talk, maybe even go out." She then looked thoughtful a moment. "Yeah," she continued, brightening. "You and Cat haven't gone out in forever." "Yeah... Has been a while," I affirmed. I wiped my suddenly sweating palms on my pants legs, licked suddenly parched lips. "Yeah, mom," Jen continued, warming to the idea. "Maybe you just need to get out for a little. You're always working out, or now stressing over work. Just... step out." She even smiled, though concern still tinted her eyes. "Yeah..." I said again, and I was warming to the idea myself. I looked from Jen to Stephie, and even to Claire, calming, coming back to the here and now. Quite suddenly it sounded like just what the doctor ordered. A few moments later, when Catherine Quine answered her phone, she'd thought it could have been any number of people or about any number of things. What she never expected was my plaintive cry, like a wounded animal. "Cat...!" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ShadowedFlames Posted September 12, 2008 Share Posted September 12, 2008 I'm not going to guess anything here. I don't want to be accused of stealing NV's computer and reading ahead of time. :D Although I can almost feel how Lorna's torn right now...very well done. I'll be waiting for the next part. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted October 28, 2008 Author Share Posted October 28, 2008 [CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] Hello everyone. I know it's been another stretch of time. Life, you know? I'd wanted to post the next part(s) in one big simul-post, seeing as it all ties together. But in the interest of putting something out sooner rather than later, I'm posting the 'begining' now. So without further adieu, here is... [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] "[I]There[/I] she is!" Cat drawled happily when I opened the truck door. "Yeah," I replied deadpan. "Here she is." I climbed up into the truck. And yes, when I say climbed up into that truck, I climbed [I]up[/I]. Cat's got this Dodge Ram 3500. 2006 model. I know because when she went to buy it she insisted I come along, even though I knew next to nothing about trucks. Biggest damn truck I could ever imagine Cat driving, her 'upgrading' from the full-sized, standard cab Chevy she had before. But this Dodge is big. Full-on Quad Cab, great big four-door model. And I'm not talking about the two rear half-sized 'suicide' doors, either. You know, the ones that open backwards? No, these rear doors are the real deal. The short bed makes it seem like a car wanna-be, except for the dual rear wheels inside the oversized fender-wells, as if the thing were meant to tow houses. Rear bumper that actually wraps around the sides of the bed, they call it a "Ranch Hand" bumper. Add to all that a subtle lift kit. Well, it's not really a lift so much as a leveling kit, made by Kore. Two-and-a-half inch lift in the front and no lift in the rear makes her sit not head-down like most trucks but heads-up and take-notice. Very impressive stance. Thing is, after we got it off the showroom floor and Cat had the 37" Goodyear Wrangler MT/Rs put on her... Well, due to her proportioned body style she doesn't look so tall from a distance. Till you stand next to her to talk to someone inside and find the bottom of the windows are pretty near shoulder height. And as if all that weren't enough, as Cat likes to say, "She's got Body Armor." Front Ranch Hand bumper with brushguards that even wrap around the headlights to the sides of the fenders! And all in a very nice, Inferno Red Crystal Pearl body color. Bumpers and trim in black. Check it out. I took these pictures with my cell after Cat had dragged me to the umpteenth showroom and she [I]finally[/I] decided she'd fallen in love... [CENTER] [SIZE="1"]CLICK PICTURES FOR LARGER VIEWS[/SIZE] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_02.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_02_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_04b.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_04b_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_06.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_06_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_11.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_11_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_22.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_22_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_24.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_24_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_30.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_30_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_31.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_31_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_33.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_33_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_36.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_36_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_37.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_37_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [/CENTER] Of course, Cat had to personalize it even before she got it off the showroom floor. So while the paperwork on the purchase and insurance and what-not was being done, she scooted over to a bodyshop she knew. Turns out her boyfriend... you remember I told you about him? Damian "The Natural" Carvill, a wrestler working both [I]Canadian Golden Combat[/I] and [I]North of the Border Pro Wrestling[/I] promotions, so Cat and I had to figure out a way to make their schedules mesh? Yeah, him. Well, turns out he and Cat have a lot in common, one thing being truck fanatics. And I don't mean just any truck. Got to be a 4x4, off-road, something fancy and usually 'lifted' [I][B]real[/B][/I] truck. And he does a lot of his own work on them, what he knows anyway. For what he doesn't know, he's got a lot of friends in the truck building and modifying community he's gotten to know over the years, both in the Vancouver area where he's from, and more recently the Seattle area since he visits Cat from time to time down here. And those friendships rubbed off on Cat. Anyway, Cat knew exactly what she wanted on her newest truck. So she ran, fairly litterally, to a local detailer she'd become friends with, and whom she also knew was good at cutting chrome and making logos. So, a few days later when the insurance and paperwork were cleared, some brand new chrome letters had gotten back from the chrome plating place where they'd been shipped, and had been mounted on the tailgate, above and below the "HEAVY DUTY" logo that comes standard on every heavy duty truck. Can't see it clearly in the above 3/4 rear shot? Ok. Here's a close-up I'd taken. [CENTER] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_50.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/Vehicles/CatTruck/CatRam_50_t.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [/CENTER] Got to admit. I even liked it. Great statement. And very tough, while at the same time fit for a lady. Yeah. All in all, [I]very[/I] Catherine Quine. Truck's quite beefy, too. One-ton body and suspension, which doesn't mean that she weights one ton, but that she can [I]carry[/I] one ton. Easily. Electric-shift Four Wheel Drive. Goodyear Wrangler tires all around rated to hold up 4080 pounds. [I]Per tire[/I]. Cummins Turbo Diesel engine, complete with AFE Magna Force Intake and Free-flow Exhaust Breather, and the same bad-ass Getrag 6-speed transmission that the Judge's got in her, in front of those big, dual rear wheels and, well... As Cat would say, "She's a real stump-puller!" Of course, Cat also says other things. Usually in a Western Drawl she gets when she's out and about like she was that evening. Jeans, western boots, lined jean jacket, Cowgirl hat, pick-up truck and all. "Dang, girl!" she drawled, true to form. "Ain't you all done up like y'r steppin' out! All leather an' metal and all..." It was true. I'd not bothered to change out of those boots and gloves and leather pants and jacket after I'd tried out the girls' Christmas Gear they'd gotten me. And Cat looked very impressed, as well as delighted. I swear, I thought she was going to whistle at me. "Just shut up and drive," I countered, irritable, though it was only later that I realised why I'd gotten so inexplicably irritable waiting for Cat to show up. Cat, for her part, shrugged that off. Instead, she got a look half way between surprised and pleased. "Hoo-ee!" she crowed. "Sounds like you're fit to tie one on tonight, too!" Since I'd given no such indication, that comment surprised me. So I fell back on my witty reparte. "[I][B]What?![/B][/I]" Cat laughed. "Hot damn, you are, ain't'cha! Y're havin' me drive instead of you takin' The Judge, seein' as y're gonna get all liquored up an' don't wanna risk gettin' y'r perty lil' car all banged up!" Yeah. We hadn't seriously gone out, Cat and I, in a long while. Just that short time the other night. So Cat was all Western tonight. "Oh, shut up!" I groused, no longer irritated in general and instead irritated, in a friendly way, at her banter. "My '[I]perty lil' car[/I]'," I said in my best Cat-drawl immitation, "would beat the [I]hell[/I] out of your big-assed, ugly old bulldog truck at the track, and you know it." "Oh, sure," Cat drawled, lazily confident. Then turned in her seat toward me with an evil grin. "But just you hitch our bumpers together with chain an' this '[I]big-ol' bulldog[/I]'ll drag your perty lil' ass around town [I]all[/I] night long!" She nodded and faced front again, thumbing her hat into place with a smug grin. "Just shut up and drive," I grumped, closing the door. Cat revved the engine a bit like she meant it, shifted into gear and pulled out. Grin firmly in place. "Yeah," she drawled. "[I]all[/I] night long..." "Sure," I remarked, not wanting to let her get the last word in, "but in a drag race I'd leave you behind like you were tied to a post." "Oh, right!" she said, thick with sarcasm. "Like you could beat my 5.9 Liter, High Output, In-line Six Cummins Turbo Diesel!" "400 V8 Ram Air IV," I countered irritably, yet warming to our little truth-or-dare style contest we sometimes get into. "Huh," Cat snorted in reply. "6-speed racing Getrag manual transmission..." "... with Overdrive!" we both finished in unison. And incidentally it's true, as well as an interesting point and a testament to the Getrag's qualities, that both my high-performance muscle car and Cat's heavy-hauling pickup had the exact same transmission. "Huh," she snorted again. "37x12.5 R17 Goodyear Wrangler MT/R tires on 17" Alloy rims!" She glanced at me with a smirk. "225/55ZR16 Firehawk Wide Ovals," I blirted without really thinking about it, "on American Racing Vintage Torq-Thrust D, Rally 2 wheels." Take that, damnit. "Eeee-hah!" Cat crowed suddenly, startling me and nearly sticking her finger in my ear with a point as she drove. "[I]LIAR[/I]!!!" she howled. And I knew I was beat. "You don't wear y'r damn Wide Ovals in winter! You got on y'r Kumho Ecsta ASX Ultra High Performance All-Season tires!" she crowed jubilantly, emphasizing the words like she were a television tire advertisement announcer. "GOTCHA!!!" Cat proceeded to laugh giddily while I thunked my head into the seat's headrest. "Just shut up and drive," I groused. "Yep," Cat drawled smugly as she looked innocently right and left, pulling out onto the main avenue into town. "Drag y'r ass," she crooned absently in a sing-songy tone. "All night long..." [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] "Yep. All night long..." "Oh, you would [I]not[/I] drag my car all around town!" I howled finally. 20 minutes and I'd had enough. "You'd wreck my transmission and probably rip the bumper off for good measure, damn you. And [I]then[/I] how would you feel?!" "Awww..." Cat drawled with a grin. "Yeah, y're right. I wouldn' do that. That'd be [I][B]mean[/B][/I], would'nit?" I sighed. And changed tack. "We there yet?" I grumped. Yeah. Been hanging around Masterson too long. Cat brought the truck to a screeching halt, sliding right into a parking space at roadside. "Sure!" she said, glaring at me with a grin. I sighed again. "Cat... I didn't mean..." "No, really," Cat interrupted, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the door. "We're here." And she piled out. I sighed and got out, looking at the facade of the building we'd pulled up in front of. The no-man's land area between First Hill and Capitol Hill, just north-east of Downtown. First Hill also being known by some Seattleites as Medicine Hill due to the high proportion of hospitals, medical centers, centers for research and what-not. East Pike Street was the informal divider between First and Capitol Hills, being a main thoroughfare known for it's numerous bars, diners, restaurants, delis, lounges and taverns, both on the 'strip' as well as surrounding blocks. The building facade was dubious at best. Looked like a department or grocery store. "S-Mart," I murmered quietly as I shut the truck's door. Then louder, "This your idea of a joke, Cat?" "Silly girl," Cat called across the hood of the truck. "Across the street!" And ducking through light traffic, that's exactly where she went. Looking as she'd indicated, I was greeted by an even sorrier sigh. Hunkered down, as Cat would say, between 4-story buildings on either side was a 2-story or oversized single floor place, obviously a bar or tavern of some sort. In an old, beat up neon sigh, the words "Snerdy's Bar & Grill" announced the place's intention. The letter 'n' in "Snerdy" partially blinked and fizzled, and I bet you'd be at a loss to decide whether it was on purpose or due to a long unfixed short in the wiring. I know [I]I[/I] was. Still, Cat ran straight for the place, so ducking my head against the cold wind and swearing under my breath, I found my own hole in traffic and followed suit. Joining Cat I looked at the bar-front for a moment. "Should I guess?" I ventured. Cat changed the subject, probably because she knew I was about to be unkind. "Hey, what the hell is up with the roads, anyway?" "What?" I replied, dumbfounded. "Well," cat said, looking the street up and down as if searching for something lost, "here we are, middle of January, and the roads are durn near dry." "Ah," I said, light dawning. "You know. The newest Seattle Municipal Clear Streets Initiative. They do this every year." And they did. Load up on trucks and work crews, salt and other snowmelt products, a big show of keeping the streets clear of snow and ice. Safe for the driving desires of the voting masses. "Yeah, but the weather always gets ahead of 'em," Cat said, looking disconcerted. "There aught to be three inches of slush at least." I nodded, sighing, and looking around as if at the city. "Well," I said, speculating, "it's been an unseasonably warm and dry week so far. Probably has a lot to do with it." Cat shuddered as if from some internal cold. "Yeah," she drawled, grabbing her hat to keep it secure while looking suddenly upward. The dying light of day showed thick clouds scuttling by overhead, occassionally broken open to show the almost-black blue of darkening, early evening sky. "Damn," Cat stated suddenly, looking at me. "I don't like it. It ain't natural." She smirked a bit. "About as natural as me walking into a country bar..." I started. And then it hit me. What it was that had made me irritable while I'd waited on Cat to show at the house. I knew she'd do this. I knew it was a place like this she'd take me. "Cat, you [I]know[/I] I don't like country bars!" I was confident in my assessment that it was, in fact, a country bar. "Aw, hell, Lorna!" Cat half yowled. She chuckled a little to cover unease or uncertainty. "I know, I know. I wouldn' do that to you, an' you full well know it. Hell, this ain't a country bar!" "Oh, sure," I said, scepticism at full cry. "It's a nice classy joint. Complete with dingy brick-and-batton facade and plywood-boarded picture windows. Even the door windows are boarded up. Probably from the last time someone was thrown through them..." "Aw, hell, Lorna!" Cat protested. "Look, it's just better insulation than glass in the winter is all. Hell, this ain't no country bar! Why, this here is... well, it's a..." She never got the chance to finish. While she was making expansive, showing gestures like some ringmistress at some big-top circus show and trying valiently to think of something to describe the place as, the double doors blasted open. Out tumbled a couple. He wearing boots, jeans, flannel shirt, cowboy hat, and drunkenly trying to zip up a bomber-style jacket complete with fur ruff. She in like attire, sporting no hat and a longer coat of canvas lined with something-or-other. The two of them were having trouble with their coats because they were all over each other. And whafting out of the bar was the sound of people yell-singing, loud as they could, in time with Garth Brooks. "aaaaAAAAAhhh got frieeeends, in lowwwww places..." I glanced a dubious expression sidelong at Cat. She got this deer-in-the-headlights look. Busted. "Well... maybe they just like this song," she offered cheerfully, waving a welcoming gesture for me to enter first. Well... Cat's my friend, right? And she means well. So I sighed, pinched the bridge of my nose, and accepted her offer. Of course as I entered, I had to get my two cents' worth in. "Sure. Why not. Let's get this over with..." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ShadowedFlames Posted October 29, 2008 Share Posted October 29, 2008 A Garth Brooks song. In a diary featuring a story about a former wrestler. You, sir, win. Plain and simple. Also, I can relate to the clear roads philosophy. I deal with that in my job as well. Another excellent installment. Will be waiting for the next one. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted November 1, 2008 Author Share Posted November 1, 2008 [CENTER] ((OOC post.)) [/CENTER] Hello everyone. I was going to write for my diary some tonight, but events transpired that I just had to share with you instead. Now, I often write a Pre-Ramble just before I post, telling (as you all know by now) what I'd been up to, what I was shooting for, or some other insightful thing about myself or what you are about to read. Instead, I wanted to do [B][I]this[/I][/B] as that pre-ramble, writing it now before I even start on the next part, while it was still fresh in my mind. I'd then append it to the beginning of my next post when I got that far. But I decided it's better to share it with you now instead of waiting. "But what's this got to do with TEW? Or your diary?!" you ask. Well... absolutely nothing. But I got a chuckle out of it, and I thought you might too. And since it [B]is[/B] writing for your entertainment, after all, I thought it wouldn't be too out of place here. So here it is. An Out-Of-Character segment, and a true, Real Life story. Truth can be stranger, and often a good bit more amusing, than fiction... [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] Halloween. October 31st, 2008. After work for me, and as the weather was a nice, balmy, wintery Fall here, and I often walk home from work, I had been doing just that. I was by myself, and enjoying the laziness that all too brief moments of no responsibility can bring, so I was making the most of it. I'd stopped into the local McDonald's for something to eat, and I was munching on hot, salt-free fries and chicken nuggets, sipping my coffee, reading some of the local paper, paying only half attention to what was on the big-screen TV (yeah, they got one of those in this Mickey-D's) and otherwise people watching. People came and went, some more noteworthy than others. Of particular note was an elderly couple sitting at the next table over from me. It was obvious they'd known each other quite a while, and quite well. And just as obvious that they were a loving and devoted couple. Nothing overt, mind you. But obvious just the same. You know. That quiet, wise way older folks have of being with someone they love without being all over each other like teenagers, but you can still tell if you pay attention. Of equal note was the intermittent yet increasing stream of very colorful patrons. It was, after all, late afternoon/early evening on Halloween. As a result. an endless variety of colorful characters came and went, from the dreadfully gory, to frightful monsters, to heroic heroes and dastardly villains, to bright fairies, elves, and other 'happy' characters. And, of course, their doting, normally dressed parents, doing their best to conduct themselves with dignity in a public restaurant while attempting to herd cats. Probably saying prayers both for a non-catastrophic end to the day and giving thanks this only happened once a year. One family, or should I say one child, caught my eye. She was a little girl, something like 10 or 12. Old enough to know better but too young to care yet. She was dressed in a lovely, frilly pink dress, complete with little diadem coronet and curly pigtails. An altogether pretty little princess. Her younger brother, by contrast, was a nasty little troll. Both figuratively and literally, and while mommy was keeping her daughter close and as wrinkle-free as possible, the boy was allowed to 'terrorize' the other patrons, only being called back when he went to a table and roared in as terrifying a manner as possible at the people seated there. "Mommy," the girl said, half distraught and half in despair, "why couldn't I..." The rest was lost to the quiet bustle of the place and even quieter, sheepish words, though I did pick out "goblin". My heart went out to her. I know what she meant. "Why can't [I][B]I[/B][/I] be a goblin too?!" After all, she was obviously expected to stay fairly still and 'pretty' while her brother could fairly well run amok. But her mother reassured her, and while I couldn't make out what was said, the fact the girl got a 'harumph' look and folded her arms spoke volumes. Something probably like "Honey, I don't want you to ruin that dress we worked so hard on! You're very pretty in it, too. Such a dear! Now be good and just be patient, ok? Maybe you can be something else next year." That little girl was pretty good, too, despite not dressing as she'd preferred. She stayed right near Mommy, and waited patiently, though still with a grumpy "harumph" look to her, while her brother carried on delightedly. But soon enough it was made clearer that she didn't prefer to be a little princess. Now, I'm not saying she was a tomboy or anything. I'd never seen these people before. But when her brother pulled on one of her pigtails and she defended herself so enthusiastically that it sent her brother squealing and forced her mother to make her stop, it became obvious just which child it was that wore the pants in that family! No, that's not a slam or meant to be chauvinistic or anything, but I'm just saying. At the very least, I didn't peg that little girl as one of the Frilly Floofy set. Which made me smile, especially since in a time not too terribly long ago, I'd known another little girl very much like that... Anyway, the discussion of this little girl's disposition isn't really the jist of this story. That's coming. You see, it was soon mommy's time to step up to the counter, and she began ordering a couple Happy Meals, or Kids Meals, or what-ever those are called. I haven't paid attention to that sort of thing in a long time, besides which I seem to have Early Onset... oh, I forget what it's called. ;) I don't recall the names of the meals either, and that's immaterial. What [I]is[/I] important, and vitally so, is that each meal comes with a [I]Toy[/I]. "Honey, take your brother and decide what toys you want," Mommy 'suggested'. Being the good girl she was, she dutifully took her brother by the arm and did just that. Of course, I couldn't help surmise that she'd rather be taking him by the ear, and only restrained herself because Mommy wouldn't approve, but that's mere speculation on my part. As I continued to watch, I saw her eye the display case with increasingly narrow eyes and arms more tightly folded. She surveyed the Little Bow Peep in her frilly dress and her crook with the pretty bow, and the cute little Sheep that clustered around her. The Prince on his White Charger, dressed for the part and very well groomed and looking noble like every Prince should. The neaby Fairy with it's butterfly wings, ballerina dress and shoes, and little wand with a sparkly *poof* thing at the end... The little girl's look alternated from disgust to almost horror and back. But then her eyes fell on the [B]other[/B] side of the case. There a Monster Truck roared next to the awesome Speed Racer car which in turn was doing battle with Racer X. Background colored in vivid, tortured road and flames jetting from the backs of the vehicles as they raced towards a destructive and chaotic destination. Her eyes popped open, her jaw dropped, and then she got the biggest grin I'd seen in a long time. She got so thrilled that she bounced up and down like only a child in the height of excitement can, and she cried out, "Mommy... MOMMY!" Which of course caught not only Mommy's attention but most of the patrons in the rest of the place as well. Now, when a child wants something, there is only one thing for it. They say, in as succinct and clear a manner as their little minds can come up with, what it is they want. Because everyone knows that if you're not clear, your parents are likely to make a mistake and get you something you [I]don't[/I] want. Never mind what it is that you [I]actually[/I] say. It's the clear communication of the [I]idea[/I] that counts, right? And this little girl was no exception. So what was it she said? In as enthusiastic a manner as only excited little girls can have (rivaled only in a close second by excited little boys), she stabbed her finger with a *crack* against the Plexiglass and yelled, "Mommy, mommy! [I]I want a [B]Boy Toy[/B]!!![/I]" Of course, half the place busted up. The reaction of the other half ranged from bemused to embarrassed to outright horrified. Mommy being of the latter, as she quickly gathered her startled little dear up, shushed her, and chastised the poor, confused kid not to say things like that. Never mind the poor girl had no idea what Mommy meant by that, and Mommy was not about to explain further! For myself, I'd nearly spewed coffee out of my nose, being one of the amused. After daubing myself with a napkin, I smiled at Mommy when she cast me a horrified and apologetic glance. I'd meant to reassure her, but I think Mommy instead thought I was laughing at her. Of course, my attention was soon enough drawn elsewhere. "Ow!" the old man of that elderly couple at the nearby table yelped quietly. When I glanced their way, he was rubbing his arm with a bemused look at his Love, while she with a mischievous smirk was pulling her hand away, as if she'd pinched him. And apparently none too gently at that! "What was that for?!" he mock-groused. In reply, she leaned her head onto his shoulder, and blinking sweetly up at him spoke in hushed, innocent words. "Can I have a Boy Toy too?" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ShadowedFlames Posted November 1, 2008 Share Posted November 1, 2008 That's just priceless. Absolutely priceless, sir. The sad part? I'm half expecting you to find a way to twist this into the actual story. ;) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted November 1, 2008 Author Share Posted November 1, 2008 [CENTER] ((OOC post.)) [/CENTER] [QUOTE=ShadowedFlames;517840]... I'm half expecting you to find a way to twist this into the actual story. ;)[/QUOTE] Funny you should say that... At the time it happened, I couldn't help but wonder if, in fact, that little girl's name was Lorna. Of course, Mommy would have thought I was some kind of weirdo or something if I would have asked, so I let it go. But all the same, it wouldn't have surprised me even a little bit if it was. :D Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
SirFozzie Posted December 11, 2008 Share Posted December 11, 2008 [QUOTE=NordVolf;517846]Funny you should say that... At the time it happened, I couldn't help but wonder if, in fact, that little girl's name was Lorna. Of course, Mommy would have thought I was some kind of weirdo or something if I would have asked, so I let it go. But all the same, it wouldn't have surprised me even a little bit if it was. :D[/QUOTE] *knock knock* Who's There? "Mob Action" Wait.. Mob Action what? "Mob Action Coming if we don't get updates on this excellent story soon!" :D Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted December 25, 2008 Author Share Posted December 25, 2008 [CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] [QUOTE=SirFozzie;539956]*knock knock* Who's There? "Mob Action" Wait.. Mob Action what? "Mob Action Coming if we don't get updates on this excellent story soon!" :D[/QUOTE] *chuckle* Thanks, Fozz. I appreciate your interest in my little tale here, especially since you dredged it up to post! Thanks. In light of that, I've been writing. A lot. I've been wanting to post, but since I like to post in complete 'thoughts', or episodes as it were, I don't post until that one particular part is done. Hence my delay in posting till today. Hell, it's still not [I]finished[/I], that train of thought, the episode. At least not to my satisfaction. Still some more bits to write. But in the interest of satisfying peoples' desire to see more, and it being Christmas, I decided to post what I have. It's multiple entries, so if you only see one or two, then I'm in the midst of posting the next bit. Merry Christmas, everyone! [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] "Let's get this over with." My last words before entering Snerdy's. Less than 20 minutes later found us on our way out. Me with a sore jaw, and having to hold Cat back. Of course, the crowd before us was substantial. We'd been backed up right to the door. No one of them'd come into the setback entryway yet. But they threatened to. Hmmm? Ah. Right. Sorry. Guess I should tell you what happened in between there, huh? [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] On entering the place, I couldn't say I was shocked. About what I'd expected. Not the details, mind. But the feel of the place? I'd been spot on. For starters, the entire place was lined with Barn Stripping. In case you don't know what that means, picture in your mind an old barn, around 100 years old or so. Wood dark with age, split and cracked because any moisture in the wood has long since dried. Ancient, darker stains streak the wood where the rusting, heavy nails bleed their rot-iron essence onto the wood from whatever moisture the weather sees fit to lend. How the place is still standing is anyone's guess. Maybe, despite the dry rot and neglect, the quality construction from way back when is still doing its job. More likely, the termites are all holding hands. Now tear the place down. But instead of putting it out of its misery, you make it live on. You pull all the nails, keep the boards as intact as possible. Do [I]nothing[/I] to even try and bring the wood back to itself. Just leave it dead. And then, take those old, dried-to-death, stained and nail-holed planks and beams and put them up on the inside of your place. Just line the walls with it. That's barn stripping. Now, I'll be the first to admit, some people find that a very beautiful, rustic aesthetic. But me in general, and Snerdy's in particular? Gave the place a look and feel of a dry-rot, falling-down old barn. They'd even used the old beams from that barn or whatever decrepit building the timbers came from on the ceiling. But instead of giving the place the impression of a massive, well supported roof, it felt like a massive, rotted weight about to collapse on your head. With the bar on the left along the entire wall as you came in, and a set of stairs along the far right wall, the rest of the place had an open feel to it. Well, besides the heavy, dead-barn 12x12 posts placed strategically to hold up the heavy ceiling beams. Probably to keep the place from actually falling down. And, as the kind of people that frequented this place would put it, a team of wild horses couldn't drag me up those stairs. Firstly it was a wonder, with the high ceiling inside and the modest, barely-two-story look from outside, how a second floor bigger than bump-your-head height could live up there. Second, I'd be afraid that my added weight would, in fact, bring the place crashing down. Yeah, sure. I'm exaggerating plenty. But that's the way the place [I]felt[/I] Of course, to their credit they'd tried to spruce the place up. I kid you not, a [I]wagon wheel[/I] hung over the bar. You know the kind. Old and rotten with a rusted metal rim still on it, suspended with chains. Little electric candle-style lights, with the small bulbs pretending to be steady flames, tried vainly to make the contraption chandelier-like. Without much success. In the main part of the place two other "chandeliers", and I use the term loosely, hung, also suspended from chains. These were in a higher part of the ceiling between beams, and consisted of tangled masses of deer or some other creatures’ antlers. I’m no hunter, so I can’t tell. The tangles were so large that the tiny fake-candle lamps struggled to shed their light from within. The result was a ruddy, spotty light, as if some wonk had placed dim flashlights behind some sort of grillwork. And on the sides of those 12 by 12 support posts, pride of place, stood proud yet rusted wrought iron sconces. Yeah, you guessed it. Holding more of the small, fake-candle lights. The combined effort left the place relatively well lit. Until you took into account the dark wood everywhere. [I]That[/I] left the place looking dismal. That’s when it got a little depressing, at least for me. Still, bars and taverns are traditionally darkly or romantically or otherwise moodily lit. Shame this place chose gloomy, though. As I took my first steps into the place, my worse fears were proven. The floor creaked. "What, you step in somethin’?" Cat asked, looking where I had looked at my feet and the floor as I began to gingerly step. Of course that just made me scrutinize the floor more closely as I walked, much to Cat’s amusement. I couldn’t do anything but sigh. "Nice place," Was the best, most kind thing I could think to say. Of course, Cat knows me. And I know her. So to oppose me, and to rub it in, she grinned and said, "I kinda like the place." "You also like your hat," I quipped with a smirk. Cat just grinned back, thumbing her hat from the front and glancing up at what she could see of the brim. "Yep. Got a real lived-in look to it." Of course, I couldn’t tell whether she meant the bar or her hat. Not that her hat’s made of old barn stripping. Instead, it’s made of this tightly woven material that’s sort of like straw, but it’s heavier and more importantly somehow weather tight. She probably slathers it in saddle soap or something. And proud as Cat is of her hat, she takes care of it. Sure she does. About as good a care as the prior owners of the barn that donated its planks to Snerdy’s. When she’s not wearing it but wants it close to hand, she literally hangs on to her hat. And since for some reason that seems to make her nervous or something, she "fiddles with it". Holds it by the sides, curling the brim severely with worried fingers and kneading it like she’s using one of those grip-strength exercise tools. The times she actually puts it down, it often ends up in a chair nearby. Which means that when she calls over some long lost ‘I ain’t seen you in ages!’ person, you guessed it, it invariably gets sat on. As a result, while the top still has its shape -- Cat just punches her fist into it and then puckers the top back in after -- the brim has several severe creases she hasn’t taken the same care with. And it’s oversized in the brim department on top of all that. The end result? Though it fits her head like a glove -- it having assumed the shape of her head over years of pulling it down tight in the incessant Seattle weather -- the brim is curled up tight on the sides and hangs long, wrinkled and creased shelves front and back. Including a front and back droop. But back to the bar. The patrons were numerically on the light site, this being mid-week, but hicks each and every one. Blue jeans and flannel shirts predominated, surmounted by cowboy hats or ball caps. Women as well as the men. Those not in flannel shirts wore jean jackets over tee shirts. Seriously. It’s damn hard not to make cliché jokes when recalling those people. "Folks", I think the local euphemism is. After another moment of getting my bearings, which consisted chiefly of satisfying myself that the floor wouldn’t fall out from under my feet, I nodded wordlessly first to Cat, then the bar. Cat glanced around where I’d glanced just a moment before, and wordlessly nodded reply. I’d been noticed. Yeah. I'd forgotten to change. Sure, I just [I]knew[/I] Cat would bring me to a country bar. Always does. But in my haste to leave, I'd simply forgotten to put on something more 'appropriate'. Not that a woman mostly in black, with no hat and long, black hair, a black leather jacket, and heavy-assed boots and gloves accoutremented in shiny, bad-assed metal would get a look from these people. Folks, rather. Nah. What would be the chances of [I]that[/I] happening? We just quietly went to the bar, however. Hey, if you just ignore them, the rest of the patrons will go back to their conversations and drinks and what-not, and everything will go blissfully apace. Yeah. Right. I had a premonition of trouble when the bartender gave us a less than pleased look. More-so when he glanced at my hands, then leaned over the bar a touch to look at my boots. But I removed the gloves, tucking them into my belt, and Cat came to the rescue. "Hey, barkeep! Round o’ J.D. shots and a pitcher uh beer here?!" That seemed to satisfy him, and he went about filling Cat’s order. As I glanced around, the rest of the patrons did, in fact, seem to be going back to their private affairs too. So far, so good. So I let it go and didn’t beg Cat to leave. Besides, I’m a wrestler. Bad ass, remember? Mixed MMA background, and some training in actual martial arts. I’m too tough to think that I wouldn’t be able to handle myself in a bar full of red-necks and hicks. Yeah. Sure After the drinks had arrived and the barkeep returned to the far side of the bar and some probably preferred patrons, Cat started in. "So, what’s all the fuss?" she quipped with a smirk, taking her first sip of beer of the night. I looked around, didn’t see anything of particular note going on, so replied, "What fuss?" Cat grinned larger, and started in on one of her famed Lorna Midnight impersonations. Which was usually not true in sound or flavor, but steeped so heavily in mockery it couldn’t be missed. "Caaaat!" she wailed quietly so only I could hear. "Come git me outa here!" she mock imitated. "Come take me away from alla this! Somethin’s really buggin’ me, an’ I just gots to git up an’ git!" "I did [I]not[/I] say all that! And especially not like [I]that[/I]," I groused, picking up my shot glass. Cat picked hers up too, and we downed them together, one gulp. Cat chuckled. "Naw, ’course you didn’t say it all like that. But it’s what you meant. What it sounded like. So," she said, leaning in close. "What’s got you so wound up?" I sighed. Cat poured me a glass of beer, pushed it in front of me. And when I looked at her, she was still smiling, but had that '[I]I’m here for ya[/I],' look she gets. So I started in. "I’ve had a sh***y week..." Cat just grinned, planting her elbow on the bar and leaning her head in her hand. She was, in fact, giving me her undivided attention. "Tell me about it," she drawled, inviting smile in place. So that's exactly what I did. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted December 25, 2008 Author Share Posted December 25, 2008 [CENTER][U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] It wasn't but 15 minutes later and I had Cat in stitches. Not that I was trying to be funny. Far from it! I'd had a really lousy week, and call me selfish or pathetic or what ever you like, I wanted... no, I [I]needed[/I] a sympathetic ear. I mean, come on. You know exactly where I'm coming from. Sometimes, when things have gone horribly wrong, you just want a friend to talk to. To hear you out, listen to you, lend some sympathetic or encouraging words, maybe start in helping you to set things straight. Which is exactly why I'd jumped at the chance to go out with Cat tonight. And here we were, in this hick bar, me pouring it all out for her. I'd been telling how my whole week had gone bad. The fruitless work search. My somewhat happy but mostly poignant visit with Principle Scofield. Trying to somehow deal with, and even reconcile, the huge silent elephant that had moved into my home between me and my daughters. All to no avail. Poor, poor me. And how was she responding? With giggle fits. Oh, sure, she listened patiently and even sympathetically at times. But always, below the surface of her demeanor and in her eyes, she was one breath away from bursting out laughing. "Cat, are you even listening to me?!" I fairly howled at her finally. She'd started to chuckle again, and at my outburst broke out laughing in earnest. "I'm sorry," she said, her open laugh cutting her words off. "I'm listenin'..." And then she sputtered, trying to stifle her laughter. "Cat, this is serious..." I started, which made her burst out in a giggle again. "Cat, it's not funny!" "Like hell it ain't!" she retorted, huge grin in place. "Ah c'n just picture it! You an' your tough-as-hellfahr self, in public at the store, an' some kid givin' you what-for! Gawd, to have been there to actually [I]see[/I] that!" She broke into giggles again, this time even pulling her hat down to try and hide her dying. I was irritated, but at the same time chagrined. Ok, so maybe if I had wanted Cat to take me seriously, I shouldn't have started with Owen telling me off at the grocery store. "Damn it, Cat..." I started. Which was about as far as I got. A hand hit my shoulder in an overly friendly way, and a guy's voice said from my right, opposite where Cat sat, "Well, now. One o' ya'll havin' a good tahm an' the other not. Maybe I c'n help with that." I turned an irritated, sidelong glance and found a tall, thin hick almost literally on my shoulder. Scruffy, un-hatted head, partially shaved, with a rather appealing craggy face. His skinniness, however, turned his otherwise rugged handsomeness somewhat comic. He looked an affable sort, with an air of over-friendliness probably hiding something shy. Sure. Just introducing himself. Except I'd had one hell of a week, I was irritated at Cat not being as sympathetic as I'd have liked... and by then I'd had a few drinks in me. Cat had been generous with the shots and beer. And now some hick had his uninvited hand on my shoulder, after having [I]slapped[/I] it there. It was a recipe for the beginnings of a disaster. "You can help with that by taking your hand off my shoulder before you loose it," I stated flatly. He removed his hand. Not that the color drained from his face or anything. But he had obviously either expected or hoped that he would just fit right in, and instead he'd gotten unexpected hostility for his efforts. "Damn..." he said, words drying in his throat. I turned back to my drink. "Aw, hell, Lorna!" Cat protested, suddenly serious and sympathetic. Though her sympathy wasn't for me. "Ain't no need to be lahk that," she stated, her hickness slang in full cry. "Yeah," the man added. "Just tryin' to be friendly." "Slim," I replied, turning partially to address him over my shoulder, "I came in here with my friend to talk. Now go on back to your table where you belong." Those words stung him pretty seriously. I could tell because he got a disturbed, disconcerted look. He half turned, stopped like he wanted to say something more, and froze without any words coming out. "Damn, girl," a gruff voice intoned, and I turned to see the bartender. He'd noticed what was happening like a good bartender should, and had come over to hear my last retort. "There's no reason to be uncivil with him." "Who the hell asked you?!" I shot back. And suddenly, there I was. Full of piss and vinegar and not realizing why. In retrospect, I was just being selfish. Wanting sympathy and seeing only irritation and people intruding. But like I said, I'd been drinking. Does idiot things to a woman. Or maybe just makes it easier for the woman to be an idiot. Yeah. I got a hundred excuses for that night, but in retrospect none of them good. The barkeep, for his part, gave me an evil look and stepped back as if to go back to the patrons at the other end of the bar. But instead he stopped not far off and lingered there. Guess he had an inkling of trouble ahead. Good call. "Lorna!" Cat said, now sounding rather disconcerted. Trying to mediate but being taken by surprised, she had to sort out what to say for a second. I never gave her the time. Turning back to my prior source of irritation, I stated in my most menacing yet quiet tone, "Ok, Slim. Go on, now. [I]Git[/I]." Yeah. I found that sometimes if you use a person's own mannerisms against them, it makes it powerfully effective. Being an ass, like J-Ro sometimes did to me. '[I]Slim[/I]' turned a whipped, puppy-dog face to go back to his table, and as I turned back to my drink and conversation with Cat I saw a big man from that table get up. "Lorna! Ain't no call for you to be like that," Cat hissed quietly, her hiss conveying great displeasure and disappointment in me. Great. I got a touch more irritated. But before I could go back to my talking with Cat, I got interrupted. "What in the Sam Hill's goin' on over here?!" a rather brusk and boisterous voice asked in irritation. I remember thinking on hearing that; Where do people come up with those kinds of sayings!? Seriously. You can't make this stuff up. I turned a glance over my shoulder and, sure enough, the big guy from that table had come over. More, he had a hand on '[I]Slim's[/I]' arm, herding him back over toward me. And the guy was large. Slightly overweight, but in a muscles-under-fat kind of way, his short about-as-tall-as-me height accentuating his girth. Scraggly, long and dark, greasy hair dripped over his shoulders from under his cowboy hat. The scruffy look was made complete by his wispy black beard and moustache. You know the type; the kind that's thin and wiry, as if he'd never shaved from the time he'd hit puberty till his 30-something now. Over his chunky frame were draped the ubiquitous flannel shirt, separated from his jeans by a thick belt with very large belt buckle. All together very tough looking. Made more-so because he looked pretty angry. I did nothing to diffuse his displeasure. In fact, I fueled it. "Well, well. If it isn't Big Piggy Pete come to rescue Slim, here." He got a shocked look, as if he couldn't believe I'd just said that. Which was probably a pretty fair assessment on my part of how he felt. "Lorna!" Cat yelped at my side, also shocked. '[I]Big Pete[/I]' turned his startled look to the barkeep and howled in outrage, "[I]Whut[/I] did she just call me?!" Cat chuckled nervously and stood up as if to came around behind me, trying to cover. "Aw, come on now," she said in her best, nervous conciliatory tones, "Let's all just have a sit, all raht? Lemme get'cha somethin'..." I didn't even have to look. I could [B]feel[/B] her nervous yet bright smile. "Now you knock that off!!" the bartender replied, coming over with a scowl on his face. Just for me. "That's just wrong." "Damn straight, it's wrong!" '[I]Big Piggy Pete[/I]' added, coming over to grab my right shoulder in a decidedly unfriendly grip from behind. "You got a problem?" he fairly growled in my ear. Quite menacing, actually. In retrospect, in a few ways, a man after my own heart. I spared a glance at him, and the rest of the bar as a result. We'd seemed to have gotten the attention of just bout everyone else in the place. I then glanced meaningfully at his hand on my shoulder, then at him, sidelong, right in the eye. "Since I'd prefer your hand not be where it's at just now, I'd move it if I were you." I replied low, in my own most menacing tones. Yeah, I know. Two people, in a country bar, who'd both been getting liquored up, trying to out-menace one another. Great. "Hey now!" Cat interjected, trying to sneak around behind me. "Here's an idea. Round o' drinks f'r the house, all on me. How'zat sound?" She was doing her best to be cheerful, trying to relegate this into a silly little misunderstanding, easily dropped. She even tried to squeeze between '[I]Big Pete[/I]' and me. No go. Oh, Cat's tough, sure. But she isn't an unstoppable force, and the '[I]Big Pig[/I]' proved to be an immovable object. "Now you jus' knock that sh** off!" the bartender growled at me in his own menacing way. It would have been very effective, with his older, graying hair, weathered, leathery skin stretched over craggy features, and his tough-old-man demeanor and build. Must have been a real powerhouse tough-guy in his younger years. Except that I was a little drunk and not just a little angry. And yeah. Looking for a fight. "And just who the hell are you, anyway?!" I asked the barkeep, irritated that he kept interjecting himself. Not that it was part of a good bartenders job to stop situations such as this. Nah. Never occurred to me. "I [I][B]own[/B][/I] this place, and y're two seconds from gettin' thrown out to the street." he replied with increasingly angry tones. He was getting pretty worked up himself. "Hey!" Cat yelled, for the first time sounding miffed, this time at the bartender. Cat's got issues. You see, many times in the past Cat's taken me to country bars. Trying to get me to like them or something. And I pretty much always got us thrown out. Seriously. Why she kept trying was beyond me. And for some reason she always held it against the barkeep or bouncer for throwing us out. This time looked to be no exception. I chose to ignore the barkeep. I instead glanced at the hand on my shoulder again, then looked '[I]Big Pig[/I]' right in the eye. "I [I]said[/I] I'd prefer your hand removed, before I remove it." For his part, that really made [I]Pete[/I] mad. He leaned over in a partial squat, bringing his chin about even with my shoulder, as if coming down to my level. He growled at me, almost right in my ear, "I don't give a flyin' fAAAAAAAH!" Yeah, I know. Odd of him to end that sentence in a howl. But I knew the jist of what he was going to say anyway. He was going to express in impolite terms that he had no concern for my preferences just then. As for his howl? I'd given him good reason. He'd had his left hand on my shoulder, gripping hard. I could [I]feel[/I] the tension as he was preparing to spin me around toward him, at the same time his right hand was just out of sight. I just knew it was pulled back and balling into a fist. And thinking about it, I can't say as I blame him. Sure, you should never hit a lady and all that. But at the time I wasn't being very lady-like, so all bets were off. So I did the only thing I could think of to 'defend myself'. I simply reached up with my right hand, grabbed his pinky, and folded it into a pinching grip. Hard. I got to tell you, that's pretty painful. Had it done to me once a long time ago when I was feeling my oats with my sensei, and I'd learned from that lesson. Come to find out it was a very effective control technique used even by law enforcement. For his part, the barkeep gaped at me, partly in surprise that I'd neutralized [I]Big Pete[/I] so fast, and partly in outrage. "What?" I asked in answer to the barkeep's gape, and dropped my right arm to my side. Of course, moving like that turns and moves your corresponding hand quite suddenly. And I wasn't letting go of that finger any time soon. The result? '[I]Big Piggy Pete[/I] dropped to his knees almost immediately, a slight squeak of pain all he could utter since he'd forgotten to breath after his first howl. The change in the bartender was dramatic. His face turned to the most evil, angry scowl I'd ever seen, and he yelled, "Con-sarnit! That tears it!" My first thought was "Where do they come up with this stuff?!" That was followed by my seeing him, in all his righteous power and fury, reached both hands down, wide apart and about belt height, to yank something fairly long out from under the bar. Oh crap...! Not that Seattle is a crime capital or anything. But we have our own fair share of trouble, especially downtown just like any other self-respecting city. And it's a safe bet that the bartender didn't keep something handy under the bar for no good reason, or from lack of personal experience. And right then my life flashed before my eyes. Everything turning down to slow motion. Well, not my whole life. Just the part where I was making an ass of myself for no good reason, picking a fight with people I didn't even know. The mother of two wonderful, beautiful daughters who needed me yet, and here I was about to get my head blown off. And I was in such a hurry to leave in my dizzying distress and confusion earlier that I hadn't even thought to tell them I loved them... Then again, I quickly realized, Cat was right there, too. Yeah. It's amazing how many things you can think of in situations like that. At any rate, there we were, me causing trouble enough that the bartender was pulling a weapon out from under the bar, and Cat right behind me. What was I going to do? Duck?! Hell no. Cat, who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, didn't deserve to get blasted like that. And in my stead, to boot. I recall very clearly deciding, worse come to worse, I was going to take it. No, I wasn't being heroic or noble or anything. I just didn't want my friend of many years to take my lumps for me. She didn't deserve that. So I stood there, waiting for it. And sure enough. Sure as death and taxes. I kid you not. Out flew, to my suddenly stunned and amazed eyes, a sawed-off... Baseball bat. I kid you not; it was the ugliest implement I'd seen yet. Looked more chewed than sawn off, like the saw'd been especially rough with huge teeth, or the bat'd been hacked with a hatchet. But it wasn't broken, it'd been deliberately cut. Seriously. I mean, what [I]is[/I] it with these hicks? Do they do [B]anything[/B] not cliché?! I mean, sure, in a tight environment like a bar fight, you'd want to saw off a shotgun or what-ever to make it handy. But a baseball bat?! And just when I thought it wasn't going to be so bad after all, the bartender planted his gnarled, rough yet powerful old right hand on the bar top and [I]vaulted up onto the bar[/I]! Skittering right across it to land on his feet right in front of me. Holy crap! The old man actually [I][B]went over the top[/B][/I]! Talk about pissed...! As if that weren't enough, he then brought his right hand far to his left to grip that bat with both hands. And right there I realized two things; the man was a southpaw, and if I didn't do something fast I was in for an ambulance ride. Because he was looking me dead in the face, and he was no martial artist. He was aiming right where he was looking. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted December 25, 2008 Author Share Posted December 25, 2008 [CENTER][U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] This time I did something to really defend myself. I forgot promptly about '[I]Big Piggy Pete[/I]'. So did the rest of me, as my fingers went limp and let go. Hell, I got limp all over. For his part, Cat later told me Pete'd collapsed to the floor like a dead side of beef, holding his wrist and groaning like he'd gotten his whole hand caught in a meat grinder. Ok, so I squeezed and twisted a lot harder than I needed to. Hey, he outweighed me by a fair bit, and I was drunk anyway. I wasn't drunk any more, though. Amazing how realizing that you may actually get your ass handed to you brings a sharp focus and clarity through a somewhat intoxicated haze. That's what saved me. As for my going limp all over, I'd done that on purpose. Learned it wrestling. When you're going to take a huge, driving shot, relaxing takes the sting out of it. Sort of. Then I did what probably saved my life, or at least a hell of a cracked skull. As my legs bent, I leaned back and pushed with my legs, hard as I could. Twisting to my left at the same time. And hoping Cat wasn't expecting it. If she'd expected it, she would have instinctively caught me, held me up. She damn near did as it was. And I would have found out what a fast pitch that doesn't make it into the catcher's mitt feels like. Thankfully, she'd been watching '[I]Pete[/I]' go down, and so I took her by surprise. Shoved her back, hard. Yeah, instinctively she grabbed me to help hold me up, but since her feet weren't braced she nearly fell over. Stumbled back several feet, me turning in her arms. And damn, but that barkeep was good. He'd noticed and tried to compensate by reaching out. Didn't quite work out the way he'd wanted, though. In reaching like that it'd taken a lot of the charge out of the swing, and my spinning, trying to roll with the punch as it were, did the rest. But I still heard a dull *WHUNK* and felt a sharp pain on the right side of my jaw as I spun. A glancing blow, but to the lower corner of the jaw line, right where you feel it pinch the skin against the bone. Didn't come near any teeth, let alone loosen any, but as Cat and I stumbled and she finally righted us almost 10 feet back, I came up holding my face. That freakin' [I][B]hurt[/B][/I]! Now before you think it was suddenly martial arts game-on for me, as I came up jaw-sore and getting ready to defend myself, my eyes brought another consideration into focus. There was not a soul in that bar still in their seats. And a good many of them were advancing with eyes and intention on me and Cat. And some were, I kid you not, rolling up their sleeves. Now, Brucette Lee I'm not. I got no illusions. Sure, I can defend myself, and can more than handle myself against up to maybe three or four, especially if I can intimidate them. I could even hold off half a dozen for a get-away in a pinch, to keep from getting my ass kicked too badly. Hell, I'd probably run from those kind of odds. But that night, looked like no less than 20 people headed for us, and as we were near the door, room was getting tight fast. And sure, I know martial arts. But I'd learned only a thing or three from a little old fisherman a long time ago, and had some interrupted studies here in Seattle from a very good, honorable sensei. But like I said, I got no illusions. I won't be starring in any martial arts movies any time soon. And it's a far cry from the controlled environment of kicking some ass in a ring, even if it's a shoot fight, and facing off against a score of angry hicks in a bar looking to take you apart. So back I started, easing for the door, holding my arms out to herd Cat back. Because she started spoiling for the fight. "Aw, no!" she howled, trying to get past me. "Not this tahm, no frickin' way!" Sounded like she was determined not to get calmly tossed out of a bar. No, she was going to see to it that it was literal this time. Of course, I had my game face on anyway. Turning what I really felt into an ugly expression. Made me look menacing, I'm sure, as none of that crowd rushed us, many of them looking wary and suddenly uncertain. But inside I was thinking, "Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap..." Cat took advantage of the moment, though. Pushing past my arm but not any further, she pointed dead at the man closest to us and said, "Just you watch yourself. All'a ya'll!" she added, encompassing everyone with a broad sweep of her pointed finger. She returned her finger to its original target. "Or me an' Lorna'll kick [I]all'a[/I] yo're asses!" That man looked startled at having been singled out, ostensibly for an ass whupping, and so stepped back. But others looked more than ready to take up that challenge. Great. Thanks, Cat. I made a mental note to have a little 'chat' with her about it later. "Oh yeah?" That from '[I]Big Piggy Pete[/I]', who'd collected himself, shook off the pain in his finger -- quite literally, I might add -- and shouldered his way to the fore. Right dead in front of me. The barkeep stood off his right, bat at the ready, '[I]Slim[/I]' standing somewhat behind. "And who the hell says so?" '[I]Pete[/I]' asked. There were chuckles, as if people expected some lame answer. And then we'd let the mayhem commence. Cat hesitated just the slightest. I noticed. She'd not been prepared for a question like that, but something suddenly occurred to her. She got a sly grin, suddenly got some bright idea. "Angel Athletic Association, that's who!" she crowed, triumphant. That got puzzled looks and exclamations of "Huh?!" from several, others just looking sceptical. '[I]Pete[/I] was one of the latter. "Yeah? An' just who the Sam Hill's that?" he asked. "Only the greatest wrestlin' federation in the whole, North West, U.S. of A." Cat said, proud. "Based right here 'n Seattle, and if anyone knows how t'kick ass, it's rastlers!" '[I]Pete[/I]' put up his hands quickly, waving them. "Now hold on just a minute. Did you say [I]wrestlers[/I]?!" For all of his anger, he looked flumoxed. "Damn straight," Cat said, folding her arms. She got a sly, 'come get some' look on her face and a challenging pose that was all too familiar to me. Cat suddenly had her in-ring, good-ol' girl game face on. Don't get me wrong! Cat can act. But when her gimmick in-ring is a good-ol' girl, and in real life she's a good-ol' girl wanna-be, well, let's just say it's not a stretch. "Now hold on just a damn minute," [I]Pete[/I] said, looking suddenly confused. He even shook his head, getting a scowl as if in momentary deep thought. Then he shook it off, and got a scowl of anger on his face. He stepped in, but instead of attacking me he pointed at my face and said, "Lemme get this straight. You mean tuh tell me you put mah lil' finger in some kinda, whut, mini arm-bar or somethin' like 'at?!" I gave him the steely eye, and nodded. "Something like that, yeah," I replied sternly. "Wull... damn..." he said, looking genuinely startled at the confirmation. "Damn," he said again, more forcefully. Then he turned to '[I]Slim[/I]', slapping him a back-hand on the chest. "You hear that, Clem?" Oh god. '[I]Slim[/I]'s real name was actually Clem. Shoot me now... "You hear that," '[I]Pete[/I]' repeated more firmly. "We got us a couple [I]rastlers[/I] on our hands!" And then, he surprised me. '[I]Big Piggy Pete[/I]' actually smiled. "Damn," he said quietly. And then he got a huge grin, the kind only reserved for children in candy stores. "Wull, Hot Damn!" [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] It wasn't but five minutes after [I]that[/I], and we were sitting at a large round table. Things had actually become cordial. After our little revelation to the mob at the door, it hadn't taken Cat but a moment to tone everything down. Of course they all knew [I]her[/I] a little, she having come into Snerdy's on occasion, so she was alright in their book. A fact she didn't hesitate to point out. And since I was with her, that made me alright, at least in principle, right? Hey, when it comes to connecting with people, Cat is one of the best. It's what makes her so popular at AAA. Anyway, she explained I'd just had a really lousy week. I was feeling put out, trod on, and just plain bad. "An' wouldn't any one o' y'all feel just a lil' ornery, havin' the lousiest week of y'r lahf? Jasper?" That directed at a tall man with long, dark curly hair and a hugely drooping moustache. Seems Jasper was the kind to cause more than his fair share of 'incidents'. "Well... Yeah..." he said hesitantly. He probed his thoughts a second, then very thoughtfully, "Yeah." Then after a second more, a light came on and he said with determination, "Well hell yeah! I believe I'd be ready for some ass kickin'." He nodded emphatically to seal the deal. Cat got a 'There you go' look, throwing her arms up as if the whole thing were out of her hands, striding in a small circle looking like everyone should have known it already. Nods went all around the room, some started drifting back toward their tables, and Cat encouraged it by offering a round for the entire bar, waving a fist full of money at the barkeep. He cast a scathing glance at me, so I nodded curtly to him but with a mollified expression conveying 'I'm sorry'. He bought it, or at least seemed satisfied, and promptly went back to the bar to put the bat away and tend to suddenly numerous orders. I sighed, pinched the bridge of my nose a moment, and regarded Dan. Turns out that was '[I]Big Piggy Pete[/I]'s real name. He regarded me right back, looking a little on his guard. So I did the only thing I could think of. The thing I really should do. "I'm sorry. Really. I'm not normally a jerk, and I'm sorry for being one tonight." "Aw, hell!" he replied. "I... I suppose you ain't got nothin' to be sorry for. Hell, having a bad time like you had an' all, an' bein' a ras'ler to boot, Ah guess it's only nat'ral you'd be spoilin' f'r a fight." And he actually got an 'awe shucks' look. Kind of endearing, actually. So there we ended up. Dan and Clem at the table, Dan to my right, Clem beyond Cat to my left, and a couple others seated there as well. Seating for six, actually, and standing room only around that. Must have been a dozen other people, every one of then introduced to me but [I]you[/I] try and remember every stranger's name being said rapidly around the room. And the questions, like the rounds of drinks bought first by Cat, then by me, then by who knows who all else, came rapid-fire. Questions about Angry Gilmore. Big Cat Brandon, often confused with Brandon 'Bulldozer' Smith. Eddie Peak. Erik Tyler. Christian Faith. Skull DeBones. Phil Vibert and Richard Eisen. Liberty and Rich Money and Joe Sexy and Runaway Train. "So how about Sam Strong, then?" That latest also directed to me. They'd been asking me non-stop how I felt about this or that wrestler in the industry. As if I'd know them personally, despite their various promotions being scattered all across the country. I guess I was accorded a measure of respect. After all, I'd appeared to be willing to take on the whole damn bar -- a fact Cat hadn't failed to point out -- as well as two exploits of mine in-ring that were heavily hyped after the fact by AAA. Turns out a couple people at the bar that night had actually seen bits of those bouts of mine on YouTube without having realized it was me. So with my rep as a bad-ass firmly in place, I'd then been assailed by questions as if I were the Wrestling Universe guru. Cat egging them on every chance she could get, of course. Much to her amusement and my chagrin. But still, I guess it was kind of gratifying. To a point. Or would be, if the entire situation hadn't been so surreal and ironic... "Sam Strong? Hell, they should'a put that ol' geezer to pasture 'long tahm ago. Ain't that right, Lorna?" That from Dan, interjecting an answer for me before I could say anything, and then seeking my confirmation. Again. I swear, the guy sort of adopted me. Dan's got a rep for being a bad apple himself, having gotten into numerous fights and not loosing one to date. Of course, he was quick to point out that he and I hadn't actually fought, so I hadn't actually beaten him. A fact I let go with a smile and a nod to him, which cheered him immeasurably. So it seems he took an instant like to me. Probably also in part because, as he'd said, "Takes a big man... well... person, to apologize like 'at. An' don't you go thinkin' I don't 'preciate it none, neither!" Right after that he shook my hand, a firm shake on both sides, which also seemed to raise my esteem in his eyes. And I got to admit; he kind of grows on you after a while. So, there we were. Me sitting there fielding questions, which was rare because Dan took it on himself to sort of be my spokes person. Which was ok, I suppose. And I didn't do much to discourage him, I'll admit. "Sure, Dan. Which is why he owns USPW, so technically he's already 'out to pasture'." Dan slapped the table with a bang, causing the glasses and pitchers on the table, as well as a few nearby patrons, to jump. He did that quite a bit apparently, when he either whole-heartedly agreed or when he was proven right. "Well there ya go!" he said, a smug nod around the table for all present, followed by a companionable nod to me. "Whut I can't get over," one of the other nearby patrons interrupted, "is that Whippy the Clown feller. Jus' seems damn silly t' me." "Now just a damn minute!" Dan burst forth. "There ain't no call f'r that, Jasper! They got clowns in the rodeo, an' you don't see nobody pokin' at them, do ya." Dan then looked to me for reply. "Well," I said, thinking a moment. What the hell. Be honest. "I can't say that I know anything about rodeos. But from what I hear, rodeo clowns perform a vital function." Dan shook a pointed finger at me. "Y're absolutely right, Lorna!" He then looked Jasper in the eye, and overly clearly enunciated, "They [I]per-form[/I] a [I][B]vi-tal[/B] func-tion[/I]." He said it like he was explaining it to a child that needed instruction, but I was beginning to see through him. Not being widely read or spoken, it probably never occurred to him to say something quite in that way, so he was trying the words out for size in his own mouth. I nodded to him at that, and he smiled slightly, that companionable nod again. He'd once again gotten affirmation from me. Approval, as it were. Made me smile, he was getting so proud, as well as relaxed. And what the hell? I couldn't say that I really disapproved. And truth be told? I guess I was really starting to like the guy. "Ok, then," another older, handsomely craggy-faced gent in flannel and jeans started, leaning in and putting his western-booted foot up on a stool he'd dragged over for just that purpose. "Try this one on for size..." I nodded, took a sip of beer, and said, "Sure. Shoot." "Tommy Cornell." "Aw, lordy.." Dan breathed, and turned to look for my reply. And all eyes were on me. I sighed, took a sip of beer, and thought for a moment. "Well... I never met the man. I don't really know him enough to say much." That seemed to kill a bit of the mood at the table, and Dan especially looked disappointed. I glanced at Cat, and she made a slight 'go on!' motion with an exasperated look on her face. And I suddenly understood what she was driving at. These folks were looking for meaningful commentary from me, and all I had was, "I don't know the man."? I thought for a moment more as general disappointment grew. But before anyone could say anything further on the matter, I took a slow sip of beer, and stated evenly, "But I will say this..." And just like that, all eyes were expectantly on me. After a moment of introspection more, I continued. "I think that Tommy Cornell has to be a brilliant, brilliant man." That got a puzzled though intrigued look from the craggy, grizzled man who'd asked the original question. "What makes you say that?" "Well," I said slowly, collecting my thoughts, "he has to be. Now, as I said, I don't know what he's like as a person. I never met the man. And I haven't seen much of him working, so I can't really comment on his wrestling. But," I continued, leaning forward and warming to my speech, "here's a young guy. Some say, and I'll reserve the right not to say specifically by how much, but he's younger than even me." That got chuckles all around, and even made Cat smile. "So here's this young, young guy. Joins some indy wrestling fed, not too much bigger than our own Triple-A. And what does he do with it? He rises up to [B]own[/B] it outright. With the full faith and support of everyone there. More, he takes that fed and changes it. Changes the product and the rest of the promotion, and then guides it up the ladder of success till it's at the top of the food chain. Rivaled and second only to the Supreme Wrestling Federation. Which is debatable, as some would say that TCW is even better than the SWF." That got approving nods and a couple of "Hell yeah"s, everyone accepting my points so far. So I went on. "Now, just taking account of their wrestlers and those contracts, they're sitting on some cool cash that stretches into six figures. Easily. Now, you look at their distribution. Videos, DVDs, cable and Pay Per Views. Add in their merchandise; the tee shirts, posters, toy action figures, and all the rest. Now we're talking millions. Then add in their hard assets like buildings, vehicles -- and we're including in that quite a few high and fancy limousines for their top workers -- and now we're into the tens of millions. And I haven't even started in on their private and corporate sponsorships, or their advertising revenues. And now, lastly, you toss in, oh, I don't know... say their modest box office ticket sales. Now, this may be a stretch some of you'll think, but I'm betting it's not too terribly far off the mark if I'd say we're now talking in the neighborhood of maybe a quarter of a [I]billion[/I] dollars." That got quiet whistles and drawn breaths all around. "Now, even if I'm exaggerating just a touch, it's still an amount of money that you or I will [I]never[/I] see. And I'm here to tell you; you don't take any company, rise it up like that -- consistently -- and lasting for [I]years[/I], and have that come from sheer stupidity or accidental dumb luck." There were veritable cheers of "Hell yeah!" and "That's tellin' it lahk it [B]is[/B]!" as glasses were hoisted to slosh drinks and Dan slapped the table yet again with a "Damn straight!" of his own. So yeah. With all that, I went with a classic bad-ass bit. I leaned back with a slight, smug smirk on, folded my arms, and nodded slowly around the room till my eyes came to rest on Tall and Handsomely Craggy. He smiled and raised his glass to me, and I took up my beer and raised mine back. "Hadn't really thought of it like that," he said, and he drained the dregs of his glass, me following suit. "Now that's what Ah'm talkin' 'bout!" Dan said, giving me a raised-eyebrow look, as if to yet again get my agreement. So I gave him a big, slow nod of solidarity. "Hell yeah," he said with a big nod of his own to the opposite end of the table, drumming the table lightly with the flat of his hand. "[I]That[/I], is what Ah am [I]talkin'[/I]... about!" He then nodded solidarity back at me. Hey, like I said. The guy grows on you. And at that point, the old, craggy one sighed heavily, pulled on his cowboy hat, and looked around as if for the last time in his life. As if savoring the moment. "And that's where I call it a night, fellahs." As several patrons groaned in disappointment he then nodded to me and, I swear to you, tipped his damn hat. "Pleasure to have met you, ma'am." That right there embarrassed me for some reason, so I hid it in downing the dregs of another beer, then raised my empty glass to him. "Likewise, sir." "Aw, hell!" Dan spoke up with no small amount of consternation in his voice, "What've [I]you[/I] gotta go for, Burt! It's early yet!" Burt smiled at Dan and replied, "It's mid-week, Dan. Some of us have to work in the AM." That got a round of chuckles and even a couple laughs. "Besides," he went on, "I promised the missus I'd be home early tonight." Dan looked put out by that. "But yo're woman's right here!" The pretty women that'd been hanging on Burt's arm all night smiled and sashayed over. "Damn straight, Dan." Then in a low voice she added, "An' I don't take guff from [I]any[/I] man, neither!" And with that she planted a big pinched on Dan's arm and sashayed back to her husband. That got a whole round of cheers and western-style whoops and hoots and whistles, and Burt and 'his woman' walked out of the place, big grins on. "Well," another groaned as he eased out of his chair at our table, after the general hubbub had died down. "I'm callin' it a naht too." "Me too. Night Dan," said another who also got up. There followed a string of goodnights from quite a few people, and protests from Dan. But in the end Dan wished many a good night and resigned himself, as a good many people left for the evening. Honestly, I'd never seen the like. It was as if someone had thrown a switch, and all that was left inside of five minutes were the 'hard core' crowd. And Dan and Clem, and Cat and myself, of course. In their leaving, a surprising many said their goodbyes to Cat and I as well, which I acknowledged gratefully enough. That was also something I'd never seen before, and it was wholly unexpected. Wasn't more than an hour before, and we were all ready to tear this bar apart. And now we were saying goodnight like friends and regular acquaintances. It was weird. Nice, to be sure! But still weird. And as the crowed trickled to almost nothing, just a very few left in the place, Cat out of nowhere caught my eye and said, "You're gonna miss it, ain't'cha?" And just like that I knew what she meant. AAA. Wrestling. All of it. Caught Dan by surprise, though. He raised his eyebrows and said, "Now I [I]know[/I] you ain't talkin' 'bout this bar." I sighed and turned to him. "Dan, I have no problem with this bar..." It was as far as I got before he waved me back, a somewhat irritated look on his face. "Now hold on righ't'er," he protested, looking perturbed. "Now I'll be the first to say that I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed, an' I shore ain't the brightest bulb in [I]any[/I] chandelier. But Ah also ain't no dummy, neither. An' Ah know you don't mean nuthin' by it, but I can tell you don't take a cotton to this place. Seen it when you first walked in an'... well..." He hesitated a moment. "Well, I suppose Ah misjudged you for it there at the start. But the point is, I reckon she ain't talkin' 'bout this bar when she says you'll be missin' somethin'." And with that I knew. He was a good egg at heart, all his bravado and bluster aside. I knew it in his admission about how he'd felt about me, and the unspoken part where he felt differently now. I also knew that he sensed in Cat's question something ominous, and while he might be guessing or wondering, he wasn't going to jump to any conclusions without sounding it out. No. He definitely wasn't a dummy. I nodded to him. "Thanks for that, Dan," I said, genuinely grateful. "Well, yo're welcome," he said, nodding back. So I sighed, picked up one of many shot glasses that littered the table and which the bar tender had kept filled as business allowed, and regarded Dan thoughtfully. Finally, I said, "I suppose I should be honest with you, then." "Well all raht, then," Dan replied firmly, nodded just as firmly, and picked up a shot glass of his own. I sighed, took one last look at him, and as I brought that shot glass in close, I told him. "Dan... I quit wrestling." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
NordVolf Posted January 10, 2009 Author Share Posted January 10, 2009 [CENTER][U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] "Dan... I quit wrestling." Dan had probably expected any number of things for me to say. Maybe things about life, or something very personal, maybe some deep and dark revelation about me moving someplace or something. But clearly not that. Still, he bore it up marvelously. He tipped his whiskey back at the same time as I, but instead of sputtering it, which I half expected, he cool as a cucumber swallowed it down one gulp, his empty shot glass hitting the table at the same time as mine. The only thing showing any kind of out-of-the-ordinary was his hiding a light burp behind his fist while his eyes grew surprised. His eyes then narrowed before making a comment of his own. "Well whut in the Sam Hell you go an' do somethin' like 'at for?!" He was clearly irritated by my revelation, seemingly almost to the point of anger. So I broke right in with my explanation. "Dan, I got two daughters..." Was as far as I got. "Well, hell Lorna!" he said, looking much relieved. And it hit me that what made him so seemingly mad was his not understanding something. He realized, and even admitted, that he wasn't the sharpest. As a result, when he didn't get something it galled him. "Hell, if that's all it is, ain't nuthin' wrong with that. Why, I c'n name any number uh professions to be shamed of, Ah seen plenny, an' don't you think Ah ain't!" He shook his head in a wizened and furrow-browed manner. "No sir... uh, ma'am, Rasslin' ain't' nuthin' tuh be shamed of..." That was as far as I let [I]him[/I] get. "I got two daughters that started wrestling too." That brought him up short. "Whull... Damn..." was all he said, a look of deep thought furrowing his brow for a moment. That evaporated soon enough into surprised joy. "Well, there ain't nothin' wrong with that neither!" he crowed triumphant. "Dan, they're just teenagers! 17 and 19!" There. That should get him. Didn't happen. "Whull so what?!" he said, scowling challenge to me to explain myself. "Dan," I explained patiently, blinking my eyes shut and pinching the bridge of my nose, "they joined Angel Athletic. Same fed as me." Then, to drive one of my points home, I added, "You ever have to work with one of your kids?" "Well hell, Lorna!" Dan said, tipping his hat back. "Why, Ah'd give my eye teeth if my son'd show even [I]one tiniest part[/I] as much in'erest in whut Ah do as your kids show'd you, instead'a all them dumb-ass computer games alla time." He got a look of profound regret and thoughtfulness, and I felt for the guy. Still, that wasn't the kind of reaction I'd been looking for. "Damnit, Dan, that's not the point!" I retorted, getting incensed myself. He got a 'so there' look at me, put his elbow meaningfully on the table, leaned in and replied, "Whull what the hell [I]is[/I] the point, then?!" I got irritated. "Damnit, Dan! It's frickin' [I]dangerous[/I]!" In response, Dan rolled his eyes and leaned heavily onto the table, looking at me askance. Disbelief in full cry. "What," I exclaimed quietly, "you don't think so?" "Look," Dan said, this time patiently explaining something to [I]me[/I], "I don't wanna go gettin' y'r dander up, and Ah don't mean to get in no debate or steppin' on somebody's toes, but you know." His pause got a rise out of my eyebrows. "Awe, hell, do I hafta spell it out?! Lookie here," he said, stabbing a finger onto the table. "Ever'body knows that... well, hell Lorna. I know full well's anybody else't Rasslin's got some real physical stuff to it, and it's shore 'nough that you gotta be tough as nails and spitfahr to do it, but..." He hesitated a moment, and I just knew what he was aiming at. Here it comes, I thought. And sure enough, it came. "Ever'body knows Rasslin's all worked out afore hand!" he started in, hand gestures like he was explaining some deep, dark secret to me. "It's all laid out, who's gonna do whut an' what's gonna happen..." My glare cut him off. There it was. The age-old arguement. The age-old debate. What was real, and what wasn't. I could see out of the corner of my eye Cat fairly biting her tongue. All she could do to keep quiet. "You mean it's fake," I said evenly. There. It was out. But I glared none-the-less, because I positively [B]hate[/B] that. "You think it's all a goddamm sham, don't you?!" I started getting pissed. "That ain't my point!" he replied hastily yet evenly, waving me off. "Ah said Ah don' wanna get y'r dander up, an' Ah meant that. But you gots to admit, with it all laid out, it's a sure bet that it's safe as all get-out. Ah seriously doubt that some Rasslin' fed's gonna take on a couple'a young girls if they was a real chance of them gettin' hurt." I calmed, as a new tack suddenly occurred to me. "Dan? What do you do for a living?" He got surprised. Good. "I drive truck," he said finally and dramatically, as if it were important. And to emphasize just how important it really was, he explained. "I drive an 18 wheeler when it calls f'r it. But mostly the heavy duty panel trucks an' double-axle vans f'r delivery o' machinery an' parts. Hell, if it's big 'n' loaded with diesel, Ah can drive it! Send me down to Tacoma three times a week, an' up to Vancouver twice a month. Pays damn good, too, an' Ah get plenny o' time with the family, which in this day an' age is important. 'Course," he said in admission, "that's the reason some'o the guys like to rib me like you seen tonight about not havin' to get up't oh-dark-thirty in the mornin' f'r work most days." Perfect. I couldn't have planned for a better occupation to make my point. I nodded thoughtfully. And this time, it was me who leaned in with an elbow meaningfully on the table. "Ok," I said, nodding again. Then looked him straight in the eye. "Dan, how many accidents...?" He jumped at it, like I figured he would. He got a pumped up look, straightened his hat and replied, "Hell, in all the years Ah been doin' it... lessee, eight Ah reckon, Ah ain't been in a one! Got the safest drivin' record in the comp'ny." Perfect. I leaned in further, a sly smirk on my face. Then I narrowed my eyes and ammended my question. The one he hadn't let me finish, because I'd paused for him to jump in. "Dan, even with all the time you have to your family, that puts you out on the road a hell of a lot. Now. How many accidents [I]have you seen[/I]?" Bullseye. That made him take stock, and he looked surprised at what he was thinking. He tipped his hat back and said what the expression on his face conveyed. "Whull... damn..." Then, more thoughtfully and seriously, "I reckon I seen more'n my fair share." I nodded firmly. "I bet you have. All manner of them, too," I added. "People anywhere from pulled off the side of the road, to fender-benders that hold up traffic, to full-on off into ditches or wrapped around trees. Slammed into guard rails, run-over signposts or mailboxes, pedestrian near misses. I bet you feel in all your years of driving, you've seen it all." Dan nodded, tipping his hat back once again. "Well, Ah gots to admit... you about got me there, dead to rights. Sometimes Ah do feel like Ah seen it all." I nodded grimly and drove it home. Pun intended. "I bet you have, Dan. And so haven't I!" At his grave look in reply, I expounded. "You see someone get thrown, and instead of landing like they've trained to they spin just a little off, landing on their shoulder and [B]BANG[/B]," I said, startling him with a hard slap to the tabletop, "torn rotator cuff or broken collar bone." He got a disconcerted look and I pressed it out. "You see someone do a leg drop like they've practiced for years, and still doesn't the target move just a little to curl up or try to get out of the way, and instead of the leg dropping across the neck and head [B]BANG[/B], heel to the throat, and maybe a crushed wind pipe. You see someone run in for a spear, and the opponent turns or the spear is from behind with just a little too much shoulder and [B]BANG[/B]! Vented spleen or ruptured kidney." Dan's eyes narrowed and he looked appraisingly at me, waiting for me to make my big point, which even he could tell I was leading up to. So I obliged him. "Now, you take my girls. They're no straight brawlers or mat wrestlers. Sure, Jen my oldest is showing signs of becoming a technical, savvy worker, but the two of them are fliers, Stephie my youngest especially. And I've seen that too. You see someone go up to the top for a splash or whatever move they've worked on as their [I]signature[/I] all their career, let alone just starting out, and the rope jiggles -- intended or not -- and [B]BANG[/B], tumbling straight down on their head with a concussion or maybe even a broken neck!" That brought back the disconcerted look, and even some worry. Good. "I sure as hell don't want to see that happen to my girls." After a moment of deep, seemingly soul-searching thought, he went for the obvious retort. "Well hell, Lorna. You an' Ah both know that crossin' the damn [I]street[/I] ain't a shore thang, the way some people drive..." "This isn't a damn street, Dan!" "Shore it ain't," he replied, leaning in to press his own point. "But you an' I also both know life's like 'at. Yo're fine one minute an' dead or crippled or some manner o' God awefullness the next, and what've you done with yo'r life [I]then[/I]?! An' there's only one answer to that," he hastily added, to cut off my budding interruption with a chopping motion. "You do whut ya love, that's whut. An' I don' give a good gaw'damn if it's spendin' time with the family at the beach or on some horse ranch out o' the city, or workin' high-rise construction, or Rasslin'. You do whut y're good at, an' what you enjoy, 'cause shore'nough, y're gonna find out that when all is said 'n' done you left yo're mark on [I]somebody[/I], somewhere. An' in this life, you give someone somethin' to really think about, or learn from, or just plain enjoy, an' that's about the most best thing a body can git to in this life! An' you damn well know it, too." I could only sigh to that. It was a good and valid point, even as I tried to come up with an appropriate argument. Instead, I hastily latched on to something he said, hoping to drive an old point home. "You like riding horses, Dan?" "Damn straight!" he said, triumphantly. Then, leaning in with a challenging look on his face, he added, "An' Ah know it ain't no picnic neither, an' it shore can be dangerous. But the look on my little girl's face, she bein' just [I]eight years old[/I] to boot, her up on that big-ol' horse an' me walkin' beside her all scared f'r shore but doin' it anyway, an' when Ah let go and let the horse walk on only just one step ahead, an' she realized what'd happened, she hollered, "Daddy, Daddy, lookit me! Ah'm doin' it all by my self!" An' her so proud an' with a look o' such joy on her face on account o' her daddy lettin' her do just that thing..." He paused and looked down at his beer glass, idly toying with it with both hands for a moment. He then quietly said, after that brief pause, "That was a look on my lil' girl's face Ah'll remember f'r the rest of mah life. You just cain't [I]buy[/I] that! You cain't go to the store and pick 'at up, you cain't be all rich and fancified an' hire someone to do that for you," he finished with a quiet vengeance, "An' that's just the sort o' thing you got to think on, not always keepin' y'r kids from doin' somethin' they really wanna do just f'r fear uh who knows what-all!" Yet another good point. I tried to come up with another good response for a moment. I finally did think of something and was about to voice it. Dan never gave me the chance. "An' you still ain't told me why in the Sam Hill you quit Rasslin' for." Only took me a moment's pause to decide that I would just tell it like it was. "My daughters hit me with the same things I've been telling you. These past five years they've been thinking wrestling can be just as dangerous for me. My oldest, Jen, told me everything that I ever objected about them right back at me. And thinking about it, they were right. So I quit." Dan nodded emphatically, and slapped the table. "Damn straight," he said, but my eyes narrowed since it almost sounded like... "That'll learn 'em!" he finished. Yeah. I was right. Mockery. "Thanks, Dan," I replied with a scowl. "Hey, look," he said, all earnestness again. "I'm just sayin', it's been my experience, an' as a kid that I once was too, that sure parents try and lead by example. But in sit'iations like 'at, don't mean a hill 'o beans if they want to up an go on an' do somethin' anyway." A pause followed where I folded my arms and scowled, and he sat expectantly. Once he realized a revelation from me wasn't forthcoming, he asked. "Well? Did they quit?" My scowl deepened. "No." He did his expressive nod and slapped the table again. "Whull there ya go!" I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed, and he relented. I suppose Dan and I were actually starting to get to know one another. "Ok, lookie here," he began. "I'm not sayin' y're doin' anything wrong. Ain't for me to judge like 'at. But you gotta admit, when kids wanna do somethin' with a fired-up will, they ain't much to stop 'em, short o' holdin' 'em down an' sittin' on 'em. An' you don't strike me as the type to sit on yo'r girls. Least-wise not literally." All I could do was nod sternly to Dan, and he returned it in kind saying nothing more. It grew quiet at that table. Even Cat said nothing. And I suddenly realized that the barkeep was standing [I]in front[/I] of the bar. Listening. "Hearing anything good over there?" I asked as an aside to him. "I own this joint," he replied gruffly. "It's my prerogative to listen in on something. Hell," he added, as he leaned over, grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and walked over with it. "It's my joint, an' if the customers are almost gone I can even sit a spell." And he did just that. Looking at me grimly as if challenging me to object. When I didn't that gruff, grizzled old toughy surprised me. He nodded gravely to me, reached across the table, and poured me a drink. He never said a word, and I never asked. But there it was, and we both knew it as if someone had shouted it. On the house. So I nodded curtly to him, the slightest bit, and got a curt, slight nod back in kind. And I picked up that shot glass. But before downing it, I glanced over to Clem. "You're pretty quiet over there." "Awe, don't pay him no nevermind, Lorna," Dan spoke for him. "Clem's just the quiet type, is all. But believe me, he feels like sayin' somethin', it'll come out right enough." "Dan, please," I returned. After a pause, to take the sting out of it, I added, "I have to admit, I was rude to him earlier. I want to hear what he has to say." I turned my attention back to Clem expectantly. He didn't disappoint. "Thanks," he started. "I appreciate that. But how about I ask you a question instead?" That got a smirk out of me for the sly rascal. "Sure. It's the least I owe you." He furrowed his brow, collecting his thoughts and just the right words. Then he dramatically inhaled, and asked. "Cat said earlier you were all ornery on account of havin' one hell of a week." A glance at Cat found her smirking at me. So I nodded to Clem, and he looked down at his glass, kind of shy. But then he looked me straight in the eye. Not challenging, but heart felt. "I'd like to hear just what kind of week it was that got you feelin' so put out, is all." I pursed my lips and regarded Dan and Clem, then the barkeep in turn. Downing that recently filled shot glass, I considered. "So you guys want to hear about my week, huh?" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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