VWA- A Little of Everything!

[thehellion87]

ring, ring! ring, ring!

 

"Answer your phone, babe." The voice coming from my left was muffled, a result of Kim having buried her face into the pillow. Why she was attempting to smother herself, I wasn't about to ask. Maybe she was lazy, maybe she just really enjoyed the scent of her pillow. I don't know. But what I DID know was that my phone was ringing very loudly. And not the sort of ringing you get with tinnitus, either. This was a sort of ringing that pierces you to the very center of your being.

 

Or maybe I was just pissed that someone decided to call me at three in the morning.

 

But I digress.

 

I leaned over, knocked over our alarm clock, fumbled around for my phone and finally answered it.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Joey?"

 

A pause. "Yes?" This was accompanied by a very heavy sigh. Who is this bum and why is he calling me at three in the morning?

 

"My name is Albert Thorp. I own Victory Wrestling Association."

 

Uh huh. Some funny-sounding guy is trying to rib me. "I see. And what is it that's so important that you're calling me at three in the morning?"

 

"My friend, I'm offering you a job as my head booker. Randy Haute personally recommended you."

 

Oh. Randy's fault. Randy trained me as a pro wrestler a couple years ago, before he decided he wanted to move to Europe. "And what exactly did Randy say about me?" I was starting to wake up and the bits of my brain that were responsible for forming good ideas were starting to churn, like gears in a sort of...thing that requires churning gears, I suppose.

 

"He said many great things about you. That you were one of his finest students, charismatic enough to be a cult leader...and pretty damned good in the ring. I am prepared to offer you, right now, a contract. Your travel and relocation expenses shall be covered by myself, and I hope to put a face to the name Mr. Haute recommended to me. Goodbye."

 

He hung up, and I tapped Kim on the back of her leg. "Wake up. Pack your stuff, we're taking a vacation."

 

She bolted upright, disappearing and returning in a few minutes, having showered and gotten dressed already. "Where are we going?" She asked, already packing her bags.

 

"Switzerland." I responded, throwing my clothes and other necessities into a suitcase. Fortunately, we lived a pretty spartan lifestyle, so very little furniture would need to be moved, and the money I'd be making booking some obscenely rich guy's promotion would be enough to get us a nice flat or something. Along with the furniture and other things two people might need in an apartment.

 

"Switzerland?"

 

"Switzerland."

 

"Why there?"

 

"My dear, you are now dating the head booker of VWA."

 

"VWA? That's that Swiss billionaire's company, right?"

 

"Yup. Randy Haute personally recommended me."

 

"So why couldn't Randy call you himself?"

 

"Who knows? Maybe he's getting drunk and sleeping with Swiss hookers." Okay, so that was nothing at all like Randy Haute, but it was the only thing that came to mind at three in the morning.

 

An hour later, we were on our way to Switzerland, land of neutrality and that knife that has a can-opener inside it. And a lot of time later, we landed, being met by Mr. Thorp and Randy Haute.

 

While Al was hitting on my chick, Randy pulled me aside. "Hey, thanks a ton for taking over for me. You know I don't have the creativity for this crap."

 

"So why'd you take the position anyway?"

 

"Money."

 

Shouldn't have asked. "Well, Randy, thanks for recommending me. Maybe now I'll finally afford for me and Kim to actually have some stuff."

 

"Definitely. Albert pays really well, and once you get past his inflated ego, he's pretty easy to work with."

 

"Inflated ego?!''

 

Randy waved me off dismissively, pulling out a notepad as we got into the waiting limo. "Okay. Myself, Sebastian Koller, and Walker van Cleer are top of the card. Griffin, a kid named Cub Balowicz, which is ironic since he's a pretty big dude, and a monster of a man we call the Modern Day Warlord are the upper midcard guys."

 

"Okay. Tell me about our prospects."

 

Randy grinned. "We have plenty, man. Kid named Landon Mallory, Matthew Macks, a kid we call Wild Child because he's absolutely insane- great influence backstage though-, another kid we call the Night Spyder- watch out for him by the way, he's a grade A prick-, and Acheron, a pretty big guy with a pointy goatee."

 

"Any others?"

 

"Hmm..well, Cub's a prospect, so keep him close for the future. Koller's one too, a big reason why I agreed to job to him."

 

"No one on the undercard?"

 

Randy shook his head. "Nope. We're almost to the arena now."

 

I nearly choked. "What?! I'm nowhere near ready to book a show!"

 

My former trainer laughed. "No, no. I called a meeting for all the talent to meet you. That's all."

 

I sighed in relief. "Phew."

 

Then I remembered how much I hated meetings and then spent the rest of the car ride sulking and trying to ignore the pounding headache from the jet lag.