Post by Johnny Reb on Sept 30, 2011 13:22:18 GMT -5
He steps from the shower, a white hotel towel wrapped around his waist, and examines his reflection in the mirror. Water droplets glisten on his bare chest, dripping in a steady rhythm from hair grown long and shaggy. His jaw bristles with stubble. For just a moment, he ponders a shave and a haircut. Then he decides he likes the look; casual, a bit reckless, and decidedly sexy. With a pair of small grooming scissors, he clips off two or three wiry hairs poking out a micron or so past the rest. A voice from the other side of the closed door interrupts his ablutions.
Johnny Reb opens the door to find his manager and mentor, Don Jesus, standing on the other side.
Don Jesus: We need to talk.
Reb: Um… ok. Give me a minute.
The door closes. When it opens moments later, Johnny is fully dressed in slim jeans and a “Southern Discomfort” T-shirt. He saunters to the nearest chair and drops into it.
Reb: So… what’s up?
Don Jesus: I think the time has come. I have done all I can for you, Juanito.
The Inveterate Confederate stares blankly at his mentor; it takes a moment for him to realize the man has, for the first time ever, referred to him as something other than “Bernardo.”
Reb: Wait. What?
Don Jesus: We have had some good times, que no? But I think… you do not need me any longer. You are strong enough to stand on your own now. You and I, Juanito… we must part ways.
Reb: You mean… you’re leavin’? Now?
Don Jesus: Si.
Reb: Where will you go?
Don Jesus: Wherever I am needed. Possibly Detroit.
Reb: Reckon I can’t talk you out of it…
The aging Hispanic shakes his head. Johnny looks disappointed. But when Don Jesus sticks out his hand, Reb stands and clasps it firmly.
Don Jesus: It has been a great honor, Juanito. Do not look so sad. I will always be watching.
Reb: That’s… sorta creepy.
The older man beams proudly and nods his head vigorously. The two gaze at each other for a moment, before Johnny releases his friend’s hand.
Reb: I appreciate ever’thin’ you done for me, Chuy…
Don Jesus: I know. It is easier this way. Good luck with this WAR. I will – how you say? – see around you…
Reb: See ya ‘round.
Chuy offers him a small smile and makes for the door. He pauses, his hand resting on the handle, and looks back over his shoulder.
Don Jesus: Farewell, Bernardo.
With a knowing wink, Don Jesus Luis de Guadalupe steps out the door and disappears… possibly forever. Johnny stares after him, a deep frown creasing his brow. After several moments, he shakes off the impending sense of melancholy.
Reb: Great timing, Old Man. A little over three days to WAR, and you gotta get yourself a case of itchy feet. Then again…what do I got to worry about, really? I’m back in the saddle; all patched up an’ never felt better. For the first time in my admittedly short career, I’m lookin’ forward to this annual event – this battle royal Lerch calls WAR. I have faced every veteran involved in single combat, an’ in most cases, I’ve come out on top. Jake Keeton, f’rinstance. It’s been a long time. One of very few men who has pushed me to my limits. An’ then he just disappeared. Now he’s back, I can’t wait to face him in the ring once more. He, at least, is a man worthy of my time an’ effort.
Lessee…who else? There’s Brad Kane. Now, I reckon he don’t really care ‘bout little ol’ me none. Or at least that’s how he acts. We had our ups an’ downs – an’ most of them downs back when I was, shall we say… conflicted about my moral standin’… Sometimes I gotta wonder if he even remembers them days. Maybe he let it all go. Maybe that’s what I oughta do. We’ve all grown since then, become better men. Either way, the guy’s one of the biggest names in professional wrestlin’ today – an’ I relish any opportunity to prove myself against him.
Then there’s Oblivion, an’ what can I really say ‘bout him? He’s one crazy sonofabitch, but I held my own against him one-on-one before. I’d say my chances are slightly better now. ‘Specially since me an’ him ain’t got no partic’lar beef. His focus will be elsewhere, not on me.
Now, ol’ Logan’s another story. I can’t rightly recall ever havin’ been in a match against him, but maybe it’s just one of them things that was so unimpressive I done forgot already. The guy’s like an STD: just when you think you done got rid of him, he comes right back. Gotta respect that kinda tenacity.
What I ain’t gotta respect, though, is that whinin’, no-good bastard Odin Balfore. I mean, all right, I get that he’s upset he got his World Title taken away. I would be, too. Fact of the matter is, though, his winnin’ it in the first place was less skill than luck. An’ as to his observations on the general state of things ‘round here… Sound an’ fury, nothin’ more.
All in all, I gotta say… my chances of winnin’ this thing are far better than they’ve ever been before. I’m at the top of my game, the competition is pretty thin – with a few notable exceptions – an’ this time, I actually want to win. That’s the most important thing. I’ve held that World Championship twice, just long enough to get a taste for that limelight, an’ now I’m more ready than ever to represent this fine company headin’ into the future. I’m still young, I’m still hungry… but now I got the experience to go along with it. This year ain’t nobody or nothin’ gonna stop the Inveterate Confederate from walkin’ out of WAR with my head held high… and gold around my waist.
At this, Johnny falls silent, his gaze distant and his thoughts centered on that moment of victory that awaits him in the very near future.
Johnny Reb opens the door to find his manager and mentor, Don Jesus, standing on the other side.
Don Jesus: We need to talk.
Reb: Um… ok. Give me a minute.
The door closes. When it opens moments later, Johnny is fully dressed in slim jeans and a “Southern Discomfort” T-shirt. He saunters to the nearest chair and drops into it.
Reb: So… what’s up?
Don Jesus: I think the time has come. I have done all I can for you, Juanito.
The Inveterate Confederate stares blankly at his mentor; it takes a moment for him to realize the man has, for the first time ever, referred to him as something other than “Bernardo.”
Reb: Wait. What?
Don Jesus: We have had some good times, que no? But I think… you do not need me any longer. You are strong enough to stand on your own now. You and I, Juanito… we must part ways.
Reb: You mean… you’re leavin’? Now?
Don Jesus: Si.
Reb: Where will you go?
Don Jesus: Wherever I am needed. Possibly Detroit.
Reb: Reckon I can’t talk you out of it…
The aging Hispanic shakes his head. Johnny looks disappointed. But when Don Jesus sticks out his hand, Reb stands and clasps it firmly.
Don Jesus: It has been a great honor, Juanito. Do not look so sad. I will always be watching.
Reb: That’s… sorta creepy.
The older man beams proudly and nods his head vigorously. The two gaze at each other for a moment, before Johnny releases his friend’s hand.
Reb: I appreciate ever’thin’ you done for me, Chuy…
Don Jesus: I know. It is easier this way. Good luck with this WAR. I will – how you say? – see around you…
Reb: See ya ‘round.
Chuy offers him a small smile and makes for the door. He pauses, his hand resting on the handle, and looks back over his shoulder.
Don Jesus: Farewell, Bernardo.
With a knowing wink, Don Jesus Luis de Guadalupe steps out the door and disappears… possibly forever. Johnny stares after him, a deep frown creasing his brow. After several moments, he shakes off the impending sense of melancholy.
Reb: Great timing, Old Man. A little over three days to WAR, and you gotta get yourself a case of itchy feet. Then again…what do I got to worry about, really? I’m back in the saddle; all patched up an’ never felt better. For the first time in my admittedly short career, I’m lookin’ forward to this annual event – this battle royal Lerch calls WAR. I have faced every veteran involved in single combat, an’ in most cases, I’ve come out on top. Jake Keeton, f’rinstance. It’s been a long time. One of very few men who has pushed me to my limits. An’ then he just disappeared. Now he’s back, I can’t wait to face him in the ring once more. He, at least, is a man worthy of my time an’ effort.
Lessee…who else? There’s Brad Kane. Now, I reckon he don’t really care ‘bout little ol’ me none. Or at least that’s how he acts. We had our ups an’ downs – an’ most of them downs back when I was, shall we say… conflicted about my moral standin’… Sometimes I gotta wonder if he even remembers them days. Maybe he let it all go. Maybe that’s what I oughta do. We’ve all grown since then, become better men. Either way, the guy’s one of the biggest names in professional wrestlin’ today – an’ I relish any opportunity to prove myself against him.
Then there’s Oblivion, an’ what can I really say ‘bout him? He’s one crazy sonofabitch, but I held my own against him one-on-one before. I’d say my chances are slightly better now. ‘Specially since me an’ him ain’t got no partic’lar beef. His focus will be elsewhere, not on me.
Now, ol’ Logan’s another story. I can’t rightly recall ever havin’ been in a match against him, but maybe it’s just one of them things that was so unimpressive I done forgot already. The guy’s like an STD: just when you think you done got rid of him, he comes right back. Gotta respect that kinda tenacity.
What I ain’t gotta respect, though, is that whinin’, no-good bastard Odin Balfore. I mean, all right, I get that he’s upset he got his World Title taken away. I would be, too. Fact of the matter is, though, his winnin’ it in the first place was less skill than luck. An’ as to his observations on the general state of things ‘round here… Sound an’ fury, nothin’ more.
All in all, I gotta say… my chances of winnin’ this thing are far better than they’ve ever been before. I’m at the top of my game, the competition is pretty thin – with a few notable exceptions – an’ this time, I actually want to win. That’s the most important thing. I’ve held that World Championship twice, just long enough to get a taste for that limelight, an’ now I’m more ready than ever to represent this fine company headin’ into the future. I’m still young, I’m still hungry… but now I got the experience to go along with it. This year ain’t nobody or nothin’ gonna stop the Inveterate Confederate from walkin’ out of WAR with my head held high… and gold around my waist.
At this, Johnny falls silent, his gaze distant and his thoughts centered on that moment of victory that awaits him in the very near future.
