Post by Josh Kaine | Maggie McIntyre on Aug 28, 2020 8:01:14 GMT -5
Levi Tsingine used with permission from Corey. <3
She let out a groan from under the blankets.
Drinking so much again last night had been a bad idea, but the smell wafting to the back of the RV was enough to pull her from that sound sleep. It was the smell of frybread and the sound of her companion humming to himself as he kneaded the dough before dropping it into the pan of oil. Maggie didn’t know how he always managed to get up so goddamn cheery and just know that she’d be needing that delicious greasy carb-filled goodness to ease the gross feeling of this hangover.
The covers were thrown back and her feet carried her a few steps to the RV’s tiny bathroom to finish the morning constitutionals before joining the fur-coat clad Indian at the dinette area. It had been weird to adjust to this kind of lifestyle when she first joined him on the road. Well, it wasn’t all that weird, just new. Instead of a constant blur of hotels shared with her father and uncle, it was the blur of highways and roads. Meals were sometimes cooked on the little propane stovetop instead of constantly eating inside restaurants. The bed in the RV was phenomenally more comfortable than any motel she had visited with her dad and uncle.
And mornings with frybread that followed nights of drinking were so much better than listening to her uncle snore as he slept off a bottle of Jack after an event.
Maggie yawned again, pulling the window shade down to block out the sun. “Is there any coffee left?”
“Ayup.” He nodded his head in the direction of the counter next to him.
She let out a happy noise, reaching over to grab the carafe and poured the rest into her mug with a healthy dose of her favorite creamer. “Good coffee.” Levi passed the basket of finished fry bread her way and got an even happier squeal. The coffee was put aside after a few sips to devour a half a piece of fry bread like her life depended on it. She was halfway through the second part when she reached over to the other end of the table and pulled her phone from the charger. The notifications were scrolled through, either ignored or deleted before Maggie opened her email app.
One of the unread subject lines brought forth a shriek through a mouthful of frybread and she had to drop the phone, almost choking on her food before she finally got it down the right tube with the help of some coffee—and there was that smack on the back from Levi to help dislodge whatever had been stuck.
“I keep tellin’ ya, Magpie. You gotta stop tryin’ to inhale the frybread.”
Maggie snorted, smacking at his leg before grabbing her phone to show him the email.
“I’M IN!” It came out raspy, as well it should for how much she’d been coughing and choking on her own food a moment ago. “Holy shit I’m in—and in like, no more wrestling in high school gyms and VFW lodges—well, for now, at least.”
There was always the possibility it would happen again. Six months ago she’d been at some local gig in York put together by a man named Hak, curtain jerking with her former tag partner and pseudo-uncle and longtime friend/client of her father. The choice to go out on the road with her promoter father, “Big” Ed Johnson—who touted himself as the loudest mouth in the industry—and his client, Bill Griner, who wrestled under the name of GRIMM. Bill was twenty years past his prime but said he’d die before he retired. Ed reluctantly brought his daughter out on the road with him just so he wouldn’t have to listen to her complain about how much of a dead-end Albany was. Grimm taught her the ropes as much as he could—Ed said she wailed as loud as a Banshee if she took a bad hit during training and thus her in-ring name was born.
At least until a magic Indian entered her life.
Levi Tsingine had been searching for a blackbird and found one on her.
Literally. She’d pulled up her shirt in the middle of a crowded pub to show him the blackbird tattooed under her bust. It had been her congrats on graduating and not fucking up her life by getting knocked up like her mother before she was eighteen present from Grimm. Well, the money for it, at least.
Sure this whole thing had moved really fast, sure her Dad and his client were all too eager to get rid of her, but there really was no point in questioning it. That weekend in York had sealed the deal and Maggie traded uncomfortable traveling with people who were honestly better off without her for Levi and his RV. Clearly, this had been meant to happen and she didn’t know if it would last forever, but it was going to be a wild ride nonetheless. Levi gave a glance at her phone as she showed off the acceptance email with a smirk. Before working with him, she had never even delivered a promo on her own.
Now, after working with him, she’d been deemed good enough.
”You are magic.”
There was a shit-eating grin from him before he pulled the last pieces of fry bread from the skillet and plopped them in the paper-towel-lined basket. They would need a minute or five to drain off any excess oil. He plopped down on the other seat in the dinette and refilled his mug of coffee. “Damn right.”
Maggie grabbed the little condiment basket, pulling out the honey and cinnamon. The second piece of frybread was doused liberally with cinnamon and then drenched with the dark wildflower honey. She repeated the process on a piece for him, though with less of the honey. It was a thing the rookie liked doing, especially since he was nice enough to make it all the time. Levi had tried a couple of times to teach her—and both agreed that his frybread was much better.
“Oh hell, this means I have to actually get comfortable with cutting promos in front of an actual camera and shit, doesn’t it?” She whined when he nodded, but it was just something to get used to. Just like every other thing that had happened over the last few months. They already knew Levi had been accepted for the Shogun tournament representing the Navajo Nation; whether or not he decided to stay on after that had yet to be determined. Maggie, on the other hand, had managed to snag a spot on the Dystopia main roster. “Fuck it, I’ll get used to it. Lots of shit has changed in the last year, I mean—I went from workin’ at the Stewarts on Central Ave to gettin’ my ass handed to me in a ring for less money than what I was making packing pints of ice cream for assholes but yet somehow liking getting my ass thrown around a whole lot more. And I get to have my ass handed to me in front of thousands of people now instead of just a couple dozen. Happened really fast, but hitting the road with you was the best idea ever.”
He was quiet for a while, listening to her speak as he finally tucked into his pieces of frybread. The only time she wasn’t so talkative was when she was unconscious. He didn’t mind it, she was good company. Maggie would have an uphill battle for her first match on Dystopia, no doubt, but there was little doubt in his mind that it would be a battle worth watching.
“You know what else would be the best ever idea?”
Levi paused mid-bite and raised an accusatory eyebrow. “No, you can’t wear my jacket to the ring.”
“Damn.” She swore, hitting her fist to the table—her plans thwarted for what seemed like the thousandth time. No matter how many times she asked, the answer was always a steadfast No. Her mock-pout soon turned into giggling as he stared her down, his victory was always assured. “Can we at least get me a badass fur jacket like yours after breakfast?”
“You really wanna go hunt and skin something hungover?”
Maggie’s brows furrowed and she shook her head.
“Thought so.” One hand reached across the dinette table, ruffling her hair. “Finish up. We gotta make it to the venue sometime soon. You ain’t the only one with a match.”
She let out a groan from under the blankets.
Drinking so much again last night had been a bad idea, but the smell wafting to the back of the RV was enough to pull her from that sound sleep. It was the smell of frybread and the sound of her companion humming to himself as he kneaded the dough before dropping it into the pan of oil. Maggie didn’t know how he always managed to get up so goddamn cheery and just know that she’d be needing that delicious greasy carb-filled goodness to ease the gross feeling of this hangover.
The covers were thrown back and her feet carried her a few steps to the RV’s tiny bathroom to finish the morning constitutionals before joining the fur-coat clad Indian at the dinette area. It had been weird to adjust to this kind of lifestyle when she first joined him on the road. Well, it wasn’t all that weird, just new. Instead of a constant blur of hotels shared with her father and uncle, it was the blur of highways and roads. Meals were sometimes cooked on the little propane stovetop instead of constantly eating inside restaurants. The bed in the RV was phenomenally more comfortable than any motel she had visited with her dad and uncle.
And mornings with frybread that followed nights of drinking were so much better than listening to her uncle snore as he slept off a bottle of Jack after an event.
Maggie yawned again, pulling the window shade down to block out the sun. “Is there any coffee left?”
“Ayup.” He nodded his head in the direction of the counter next to him.
She let out a happy noise, reaching over to grab the carafe and poured the rest into her mug with a healthy dose of her favorite creamer. “Good coffee.” Levi passed the basket of finished fry bread her way and got an even happier squeal. The coffee was put aside after a few sips to devour a half a piece of fry bread like her life depended on it. She was halfway through the second part when she reached over to the other end of the table and pulled her phone from the charger. The notifications were scrolled through, either ignored or deleted before Maggie opened her email app.
One of the unread subject lines brought forth a shriek through a mouthful of frybread and she had to drop the phone, almost choking on her food before she finally got it down the right tube with the help of some coffee—and there was that smack on the back from Levi to help dislodge whatever had been stuck.
“I keep tellin’ ya, Magpie. You gotta stop tryin’ to inhale the frybread.”
Maggie snorted, smacking at his leg before grabbing her phone to show him the email.
“I’M IN!” It came out raspy, as well it should for how much she’d been coughing and choking on her own food a moment ago. “Holy shit I’m in—and in like, no more wrestling in high school gyms and VFW lodges—well, for now, at least.”
There was always the possibility it would happen again. Six months ago she’d been at some local gig in York put together by a man named Hak, curtain jerking with her former tag partner and pseudo-uncle and longtime friend/client of her father. The choice to go out on the road with her promoter father, “Big” Ed Johnson—who touted himself as the loudest mouth in the industry—and his client, Bill Griner, who wrestled under the name of GRIMM. Bill was twenty years past his prime but said he’d die before he retired. Ed reluctantly brought his daughter out on the road with him just so he wouldn’t have to listen to her complain about how much of a dead-end Albany was. Grimm taught her the ropes as much as he could—Ed said she wailed as loud as a Banshee if she took a bad hit during training and thus her in-ring name was born.
At least until a magic Indian entered her life.
Levi Tsingine had been searching for a blackbird and found one on her.
Literally. She’d pulled up her shirt in the middle of a crowded pub to show him the blackbird tattooed under her bust. It had been her congrats on graduating and not fucking up her life by getting knocked up like her mother before she was eighteen present from Grimm. Well, the money for it, at least.
Sure this whole thing had moved really fast, sure her Dad and his client were all too eager to get rid of her, but there really was no point in questioning it. That weekend in York had sealed the deal and Maggie traded uncomfortable traveling with people who were honestly better off without her for Levi and his RV. Clearly, this had been meant to happen and she didn’t know if it would last forever, but it was going to be a wild ride nonetheless. Levi gave a glance at her phone as she showed off the acceptance email with a smirk. Before working with him, she had never even delivered a promo on her own.
Now, after working with him, she’d been deemed good enough.
”You are magic.”
There was a shit-eating grin from him before he pulled the last pieces of fry bread from the skillet and plopped them in the paper-towel-lined basket. They would need a minute or five to drain off any excess oil. He plopped down on the other seat in the dinette and refilled his mug of coffee. “Damn right.”
Maggie grabbed the little condiment basket, pulling out the honey and cinnamon. The second piece of frybread was doused liberally with cinnamon and then drenched with the dark wildflower honey. She repeated the process on a piece for him, though with less of the honey. It was a thing the rookie liked doing, especially since he was nice enough to make it all the time. Levi had tried a couple of times to teach her—and both agreed that his frybread was much better.
“Oh hell, this means I have to actually get comfortable with cutting promos in front of an actual camera and shit, doesn’t it?” She whined when he nodded, but it was just something to get used to. Just like every other thing that had happened over the last few months. They already knew Levi had been accepted for the Shogun tournament representing the Navajo Nation; whether or not he decided to stay on after that had yet to be determined. Maggie, on the other hand, had managed to snag a spot on the Dystopia main roster. “Fuck it, I’ll get used to it. Lots of shit has changed in the last year, I mean—I went from workin’ at the Stewarts on Central Ave to gettin’ my ass handed to me in a ring for less money than what I was making packing pints of ice cream for assholes but yet somehow liking getting my ass thrown around a whole lot more. And I get to have my ass handed to me in front of thousands of people now instead of just a couple dozen. Happened really fast, but hitting the road with you was the best idea ever.”
He was quiet for a while, listening to her speak as he finally tucked into his pieces of frybread. The only time she wasn’t so talkative was when she was unconscious. He didn’t mind it, she was good company. Maggie would have an uphill battle for her first match on Dystopia, no doubt, but there was little doubt in his mind that it would be a battle worth watching.
“You know what else would be the best ever idea?”
Levi paused mid-bite and raised an accusatory eyebrow. “No, you can’t wear my jacket to the ring.”
“Damn.” She swore, hitting her fist to the table—her plans thwarted for what seemed like the thousandth time. No matter how many times she asked, the answer was always a steadfast No. Her mock-pout soon turned into giggling as he stared her down, his victory was always assured. “Can we at least get me a badass fur jacket like yours after breakfast?”
“You really wanna go hunt and skin something hungover?”
Maggie’s brows furrowed and she shook her head.
“Thought so.” One hand reached across the dinette table, ruffling her hair. “Finish up. We gotta make it to the venue sometime soon. You ain’t the only one with a match.”
