Post by Eden on Apr 3, 2023 0:47:13 GMT -5
Eden hadn't been staring at the list of names without interruption for hours on end-- it was more like she kept looking then walking away then circling back and looking again. She'd tell herself she was taking time to think about it, but the truth of what she was doing was just desperate distraction. Nothing getting done; nothing important, anyway. Wasn't for a lack of trying. Every attempt at booking their first card back just ended in a mental blank.
She could've called Edwards. She could've called Black. They'd both be more logical than whose number she hit text on instead.
I'm stuck on something. Need someone with a wrestling mind instead of a forensic psychiatry mind. Let me know when you've got time to talk for a few.
It felt dangerous, asking for advice, admitting she needed help, perspective. But this was the person who'd sent her to the Order of the Soulless when they'd needed that other piece of the financial pie in the revival of WWH. It was the person who'd put a scary amount of their own money on the line to help buy this company to begin with, a number she'd concealed from the other players in the divided ownership structure. It was a lot of financial control, if there was a want to wield it. But what she did have was a doctorate in psychiatry, and she was convinced enough that the will wasn't there. It was only a secret insomuch that she didn't feel like convincing all the other chess pieces of her professional opinion.
The text came back after a few.
you've done this before. why would you need me. All unimposingly lowertext, yet the flatness of the period at the end rather than a question mark wasn't a typo. He'd always been an interesting subject of observation like that.
It's different this time. Can we talk?
sure. where.
And in the back of her head she had to hold back the need to ask if he knew other punctuation. She could already hear that suppressed sigh in the nonquestion he'd sent. Same bat time, same bat channel.
She was smart enough to just leave the door open on the Humboldt Island office she'd taken up residence in. The spook wouldn't knock. She just looked up at one point and magically there was a six foot four lump of muscle in a black hoodie, which brought her to her own feet reflexively. "Keep that shit up and I'm going to put a collar with a little bell on you." Jokes were easier than being unnerved. "Isn't it too warm for that getup?"
"Not too warm quite yet, but soon. It covers the tattoos. And the rest. Do I seem like somebody who gets off on being mobbed for autographs?" The figure moved into the room, eyeing the couch but just sort of hovering near the wall instead. At least he could use a question mark in a verbal tone.
"Do you think putting a piece of black sweater cloth over you makes you inconspicuous? Trust me, you still look like an unsettlingly large person, now you also look like you're hiding something."
"I don't like these little towns. Somewhere like Los Angeles, you can stick close to a big wall when you're in a crowd and it kind of makes the tall part less obvious. Is this a session, Doctor? Because so as I recall, you were asking me for help. If that's not so, I can be elsewhere. This place has a pretty nice sauna." He sounded amused at the end, but she wasn't up on the joke.
"You're right. But please, sit down. It'll probably take a bit, and I'm not going to pretend you're not making me nervous." She managed to offer a metaphorical peace laurel by sitting back down at her own desk. It brought her attention back to the list of names. Ugh.
The figure seemed to consider the chairs on the other side of her desk, then dropped himself onto the couch heavily instead. One hand went behind his head and the hoodie just got tugged off entirely-- the office certainly wasn't any less warm than the outside air was, after all. V's pale blue-gray eyes stared back at her out of that tanned face, and like usual it was like having holes bored into your skull with mind bullets. He looked tired, but it only intensified the thousand-yard stare vibes. "So what did you need, Doc." He could do the nonquestion question thing verbally after all. "Can't be taking all that advice about getting out and making friends you gave back in the day from a literally deserted island and all."
And the mini game of deadpan joking jabs at each other ended, because she wasn't able to keep procrastinating with direct query like that. "I have to card. Can't get anybody else to throw some help or thoughts in, it's all on me looks like. And I've... got nothin'. Whole lot of nothin'. Fifty pounds of canned nothin'. I just look at the list and half the names I don't know, half of the ones I do know I barely know, and what's left I haven't heard from for years. How am I supposed to know how to match that all up into a TV show? What to do with these people when I'm in charge of their careers? When I stepped in to leadership on Sanatorium, I'd been observing everything for almost a year while Tommy wasted opportunity left and right because he'd rather be fucking patients in his goddamned office." The way V rolled his eyes at that, then shielded them with one hand, was enough suppressed commentary to make anger flash hot in her. "Yes, I broke ethics with Edwards, might not be proud of that but it never got in the way of the main job-- and more importantly, it wasn't actual literal blackmail of multiple patients picked because they were specifically vulnerable. Targeting repeated rape victims. Never wanted to choke out someone twice my size in my life before meeting that... whatever Tommy was, because it wasn't a man. And this isn't the point, so could we get back to it?"
"Oh, there's a point hidden in it. You can own your fuckups without them eating you alive, note your flaws and point out why it's not on the same level as who you're trying to improve on. This is why I wound up okay with offering guidance and shit with you. Because I might've wanted to choke you out for setting me up to fight what's his face, the Tear Down The Sanatorium campaigner, for you the first time I ever met you, but... I get it was because you had to hold up a deal Tommy already made there. And as much as Sanatorium was literally my personal hell and I hated you, you turned around and showed that you'd use whatever power you could get ahold of to improve conditions. It hit stagnation when you were trying to run Dystopia at the same time too... but here we are, all in the wake of the feds investigating Sanatorium and shutting it down, and you seem good with it. Still here. Even if it's now got nothing to do with what you set out to have a doctorate career in. I look at you and go, yeah, pass her the ball, see what she does with it now that she's untethered from the state and media deals that maybe kept her from killing Sanatorium sooner. And I'd even bet you could figure out where the feds got all that info, if you really wanted to."
Though those pale eyes unnerved her when they were blankly staring, they should've been more friendly with the half grin and light of inner amusement. It worked for a fraction of a second... then she remembered the moment she'd stood back and watched helplessly while he put orderlies through walls and practically collapsed an entire hallway on live television because a nurse had touched his face unexpectedly. He might be a friend now, but one best kept at arm's length. "I had people who knew Dystopia to help me figure out how to card Dystopia. I had recent shows to watch back to get a feel for that roster. I don't know how to do this."
His mouth formed this shape she could only describe as like a shrug and he nodded as he took in her perspective. "So what you're saying is you need context. So... set up the first show back as a stage for them to give you exactly that. Take those you know best, put them in the main event-- the old audience you want to return will know them best too, it's your chance to draw a decent crowd fast. Check around on the others for their recent bookings elsewhere, indies and such. I'd say do a tournament for title shots, but the roster isn't that deep yet... so pick a chunk that might have a theoretical prayer against Zolton, if he ever shows up, and let them eliminate each other. If you wanna make some other matches go ahead, but you can always throw the rest in a battle royale-- they'll bitch that it's empty and a bad chance at winning, and they're not wrong, but that's not the point here. The point is that those are always great for sparking some fresh chemistry, we can watch that back and figure out where to go from there. Can use it to help figure out contenders for the other titles you wanna keep around too. If you want to know who your roster members are, give them the debut night's stage to tell you who they are."
He leaned back into the couch with a sigh. "Always wished I could've faced Zolton. Other guy with an alphabet letter for a name, Z, we're even both at the end. And tattoos. And both with a tendency to spout cryptic half-nonsense on camera. Plus I didn't get to face too many guys bigger than me here, and he's pretty huge. The losing might've been as fun as the winning. It's like my only regret besides not grabbing Legion by one leg and doing a thorough Hulk-Loki ragdolling just once. Annoying twat seems to think she's a god, would've been happy to treat her like an annoying twat god.C'est la vie, blah blah blah."
That got her attention. No words, but the look delivered said it all.
"Don't give me that, it's not misogyny when the woman's a fighter and fucking champion, come on. Wishing violence on her isn't the same as doing it to like, Kiki when she first walked through the doors. Could've said way worse in that Legion-Logi analogy, like wanting her to relive the actual-myth-Loki chapter where he gets dicked down by a stallion and gives birth to an eight legged horse, which then winds up his dad's main ride. That's your grandson, Odin, you're almost as screwed up as Zeus for that shit."
Her eyes were on the page now, sketching out notes, making connections. He hadn't dictated the card to her, but he'd given her the keys she needed. "Getting further and further from any actual topics with this ramble. Aw, are you lonely? Do you need friends? I mean, I'd ask why not come back and fight Zolton and Legion now since nobody knows you're an owner... but back in therapy, if I recall, we got far enough into how the sentence to Sanatorium basically dragged you out of retirement screaming and clawing. So... why do the silent partner thing, though? You could be booking this instead of trying to teach me. Taking credit, building a new career. Not sure this as a money-only investment is something your financial manager would advise."
"Dragged me out of retirement? Pfft. I'll probably never be medically cleared to wrestle again--" he gestured with his thumb at the deep ugly scar that looped from ear to ear a few inches under his chin. "Neck muscles compromised, airway compromised, but Sanatorium never cared if we were up to compete because it was therapy. And being the booker would just feel like... an echo. Repeating my same old cycles, but weaker. There was a line from a book I liked...
"That's how you get deathless. Walk the same tale over and over, until you wear a groove in the world, until even if you vanished, the tale would keep turning, keep playing, like a phonograph, and you'd have to get up again, even with a bullet through your eye, to play your part and say your lines."
The quote was weirdly beautiful enough to distract her away from having her whole mood ruined when he turned on the couch and put his boots up on the nice leather armrest. Just like, half a mood ruined, maybe. Which echoed the therapeutic tango they'd done back in the day of him handing her intrigue and then turning around and dishing out self-defensive obnoxiousness. Show others his worst and they wouldn't judge him for his best type shit. She'd always kept that analysis to herself. Poking deep-seated and perhaps unrealized defensiveness on that level was something only to be done when you had more intimacy than she ever wanted with this person, even professionally. She didn't provide words, consequently, but he nudged for them. "Think I'll stay dead this time, if I can help it. But you tell me, Doc. You're the one with the psych degree, I'm just a guy with a GED and a library card."
"...there was a line from therapy you just reminded me of. They were your words, what was it? You hated the rumors about who you supposedly were, but you'd use them all the same, because you're only human and a good myth is hard to kill?" Keeping the observation a bit subversive, keep the moment of transparency to his own words. "Unless that was the library card again and you were on a Batman kick." And then offer an exit strategy if he didn't want to own it right now.
"Nah. Though now it's your turn. You're not big like me, so you gotta be twice as harsh if anyone fucks with you. You want to be queen... then if they try to take your crown, you cut out their hearts and eat them in front of everyone in the kingdom, Daenarys. Whether or not you'd planned on going vegan doesn't matter."
Oh, he wouldn't deny it, but he'd turn the focus on her instead. Alright. "That character arc ended badly, though. Besides, Edwards would be better at that part." Was weird to call her significant other by his last name, but she wasn't giving V permission or opening to call Jon by his first name either.
"Use an enforcer? Maybe. But be careful that they're not just scared of your boyfriend, and know they'll try to tear you two apart, divide and conquer, elementary. I'm uninterested in playing substitute teacher and getting the class back on track if that blows up in your face."
Eyes flicked up from behind blonde bangs. "You never really liked attention. I understood the assignment. If I didn't believe it, I'd be nowhere near this ownership deal. Because I swear to God, if I end up in a power struggle from two sides instead of just one..."
His feet dropped heavily one by one to the floor. "Crown jewels aren't my aesthetic. I've eaten enough hearts, I have no appetite left for more. I'll be Holmes, you be Lestrade. I'll figure shit out from the background, you can take the credit. And OG Lestrade from the writing, not the usually terrible screen adaptations. Initially dismissable, but in reality tenacious and skilled and a different variety of smart and thoroughly teachable. Take credit for whatever you want, it's yours, all I ask in return is that you listen and consider when I have something to say."
Fingers that had been thickened by years of bashing off the skulls of others dug into the couch arm as he hauled himself to his feet with considerably less grace and stealth than he'd appeared in the doorway with. It was late for someone who'd taken more than a life's allotment of wear and tear. "Bonne nuit. If there's more needed, I'm sure it'll fit in text."
"Hm?" Her eyes had dropped back to the sheet and didn't look up. "I think it will, feel free to go back to your eveni..."
She was already alone.
She could've called Edwards. She could've called Black. They'd both be more logical than whose number she hit text on instead.
I'm stuck on something. Need someone with a wrestling mind instead of a forensic psychiatry mind. Let me know when you've got time to talk for a few.
It felt dangerous, asking for advice, admitting she needed help, perspective. But this was the person who'd sent her to the Order of the Soulless when they'd needed that other piece of the financial pie in the revival of WWH. It was the person who'd put a scary amount of their own money on the line to help buy this company to begin with, a number she'd concealed from the other players in the divided ownership structure. It was a lot of financial control, if there was a want to wield it. But what she did have was a doctorate in psychiatry, and she was convinced enough that the will wasn't there. It was only a secret insomuch that she didn't feel like convincing all the other chess pieces of her professional opinion.
The text came back after a few.
you've done this before. why would you need me. All unimposingly lowertext, yet the flatness of the period at the end rather than a question mark wasn't a typo. He'd always been an interesting subject of observation like that.
It's different this time. Can we talk?
sure. where.
And in the back of her head she had to hold back the need to ask if he knew other punctuation. She could already hear that suppressed sigh in the nonquestion he'd sent. Same bat time, same bat channel.
She was smart enough to just leave the door open on the Humboldt Island office she'd taken up residence in. The spook wouldn't knock. She just looked up at one point and magically there was a six foot four lump of muscle in a black hoodie, which brought her to her own feet reflexively. "Keep that shit up and I'm going to put a collar with a little bell on you." Jokes were easier than being unnerved. "Isn't it too warm for that getup?"
"Not too warm quite yet, but soon. It covers the tattoos. And the rest. Do I seem like somebody who gets off on being mobbed for autographs?" The figure moved into the room, eyeing the couch but just sort of hovering near the wall instead. At least he could use a question mark in a verbal tone.
"Do you think putting a piece of black sweater cloth over you makes you inconspicuous? Trust me, you still look like an unsettlingly large person, now you also look like you're hiding something."
"I don't like these little towns. Somewhere like Los Angeles, you can stick close to a big wall when you're in a crowd and it kind of makes the tall part less obvious. Is this a session, Doctor? Because so as I recall, you were asking me for help. If that's not so, I can be elsewhere. This place has a pretty nice sauna." He sounded amused at the end, but she wasn't up on the joke.
"You're right. But please, sit down. It'll probably take a bit, and I'm not going to pretend you're not making me nervous." She managed to offer a metaphorical peace laurel by sitting back down at her own desk. It brought her attention back to the list of names. Ugh.
The figure seemed to consider the chairs on the other side of her desk, then dropped himself onto the couch heavily instead. One hand went behind his head and the hoodie just got tugged off entirely-- the office certainly wasn't any less warm than the outside air was, after all. V's pale blue-gray eyes stared back at her out of that tanned face, and like usual it was like having holes bored into your skull with mind bullets. He looked tired, but it only intensified the thousand-yard stare vibes. "So what did you need, Doc." He could do the nonquestion question thing verbally after all. "Can't be taking all that advice about getting out and making friends you gave back in the day from a literally deserted island and all."
And the mini game of deadpan joking jabs at each other ended, because she wasn't able to keep procrastinating with direct query like that. "I have to card. Can't get anybody else to throw some help or thoughts in, it's all on me looks like. And I've... got nothin'. Whole lot of nothin'. Fifty pounds of canned nothin'. I just look at the list and half the names I don't know, half of the ones I do know I barely know, and what's left I haven't heard from for years. How am I supposed to know how to match that all up into a TV show? What to do with these people when I'm in charge of their careers? When I stepped in to leadership on Sanatorium, I'd been observing everything for almost a year while Tommy wasted opportunity left and right because he'd rather be fucking patients in his goddamned office." The way V rolled his eyes at that, then shielded them with one hand, was enough suppressed commentary to make anger flash hot in her. "Yes, I broke ethics with Edwards, might not be proud of that but it never got in the way of the main job-- and more importantly, it wasn't actual literal blackmail of multiple patients picked because they were specifically vulnerable. Targeting repeated rape victims. Never wanted to choke out someone twice my size in my life before meeting that... whatever Tommy was, because it wasn't a man. And this isn't the point, so could we get back to it?"
"Oh, there's a point hidden in it. You can own your fuckups without them eating you alive, note your flaws and point out why it's not on the same level as who you're trying to improve on. This is why I wound up okay with offering guidance and shit with you. Because I might've wanted to choke you out for setting me up to fight what's his face, the Tear Down The Sanatorium campaigner, for you the first time I ever met you, but... I get it was because you had to hold up a deal Tommy already made there. And as much as Sanatorium was literally my personal hell and I hated you, you turned around and showed that you'd use whatever power you could get ahold of to improve conditions. It hit stagnation when you were trying to run Dystopia at the same time too... but here we are, all in the wake of the feds investigating Sanatorium and shutting it down, and you seem good with it. Still here. Even if it's now got nothing to do with what you set out to have a doctorate career in. I look at you and go, yeah, pass her the ball, see what she does with it now that she's untethered from the state and media deals that maybe kept her from killing Sanatorium sooner. And I'd even bet you could figure out where the feds got all that info, if you really wanted to."
Though those pale eyes unnerved her when they were blankly staring, they should've been more friendly with the half grin and light of inner amusement. It worked for a fraction of a second... then she remembered the moment she'd stood back and watched helplessly while he put orderlies through walls and practically collapsed an entire hallway on live television because a nurse had touched his face unexpectedly. He might be a friend now, but one best kept at arm's length. "I had people who knew Dystopia to help me figure out how to card Dystopia. I had recent shows to watch back to get a feel for that roster. I don't know how to do this."
His mouth formed this shape she could only describe as like a shrug and he nodded as he took in her perspective. "So what you're saying is you need context. So... set up the first show back as a stage for them to give you exactly that. Take those you know best, put them in the main event-- the old audience you want to return will know them best too, it's your chance to draw a decent crowd fast. Check around on the others for their recent bookings elsewhere, indies and such. I'd say do a tournament for title shots, but the roster isn't that deep yet... so pick a chunk that might have a theoretical prayer against Zolton, if he ever shows up, and let them eliminate each other. If you wanna make some other matches go ahead, but you can always throw the rest in a battle royale-- they'll bitch that it's empty and a bad chance at winning, and they're not wrong, but that's not the point here. The point is that those are always great for sparking some fresh chemistry, we can watch that back and figure out where to go from there. Can use it to help figure out contenders for the other titles you wanna keep around too. If you want to know who your roster members are, give them the debut night's stage to tell you who they are."
He leaned back into the couch with a sigh. "Always wished I could've faced Zolton. Other guy with an alphabet letter for a name, Z, we're even both at the end. And tattoos. And both with a tendency to spout cryptic half-nonsense on camera. Plus I didn't get to face too many guys bigger than me here, and he's pretty huge. The losing might've been as fun as the winning. It's like my only regret besides not grabbing Legion by one leg and doing a thorough Hulk-Loki ragdolling just once. Annoying twat seems to think she's a god, would've been happy to treat her like an annoying twat god.C'est la vie, blah blah blah."
That got her attention. No words, but the look delivered said it all.
"Don't give me that, it's not misogyny when the woman's a fighter and fucking champion, come on. Wishing violence on her isn't the same as doing it to like, Kiki when she first walked through the doors. Could've said way worse in that Legion-Logi analogy, like wanting her to relive the actual-myth-Loki chapter where he gets dicked down by a stallion and gives birth to an eight legged horse, which then winds up his dad's main ride. That's your grandson, Odin, you're almost as screwed up as Zeus for that shit."
Her eyes were on the page now, sketching out notes, making connections. He hadn't dictated the card to her, but he'd given her the keys she needed. "Getting further and further from any actual topics with this ramble. Aw, are you lonely? Do you need friends? I mean, I'd ask why not come back and fight Zolton and Legion now since nobody knows you're an owner... but back in therapy, if I recall, we got far enough into how the sentence to Sanatorium basically dragged you out of retirement screaming and clawing. So... why do the silent partner thing, though? You could be booking this instead of trying to teach me. Taking credit, building a new career. Not sure this as a money-only investment is something your financial manager would advise."
"Dragged me out of retirement? Pfft. I'll probably never be medically cleared to wrestle again--" he gestured with his thumb at the deep ugly scar that looped from ear to ear a few inches under his chin. "Neck muscles compromised, airway compromised, but Sanatorium never cared if we were up to compete because it was therapy. And being the booker would just feel like... an echo. Repeating my same old cycles, but weaker. There was a line from a book I liked...
"That's how you get deathless. Walk the same tale over and over, until you wear a groove in the world, until even if you vanished, the tale would keep turning, keep playing, like a phonograph, and you'd have to get up again, even with a bullet through your eye, to play your part and say your lines."
The quote was weirdly beautiful enough to distract her away from having her whole mood ruined when he turned on the couch and put his boots up on the nice leather armrest. Just like, half a mood ruined, maybe. Which echoed the therapeutic tango they'd done back in the day of him handing her intrigue and then turning around and dishing out self-defensive obnoxiousness. Show others his worst and they wouldn't judge him for his best type shit. She'd always kept that analysis to herself. Poking deep-seated and perhaps unrealized defensiveness on that level was something only to be done when you had more intimacy than she ever wanted with this person, even professionally. She didn't provide words, consequently, but he nudged for them. "Think I'll stay dead this time, if I can help it. But you tell me, Doc. You're the one with the psych degree, I'm just a guy with a GED and a library card."
"...there was a line from therapy you just reminded me of. They were your words, what was it? You hated the rumors about who you supposedly were, but you'd use them all the same, because you're only human and a good myth is hard to kill?" Keeping the observation a bit subversive, keep the moment of transparency to his own words. "Unless that was the library card again and you were on a Batman kick." And then offer an exit strategy if he didn't want to own it right now.
"Nah. Though now it's your turn. You're not big like me, so you gotta be twice as harsh if anyone fucks with you. You want to be queen... then if they try to take your crown, you cut out their hearts and eat them in front of everyone in the kingdom, Daenarys. Whether or not you'd planned on going vegan doesn't matter."
Oh, he wouldn't deny it, but he'd turn the focus on her instead. Alright. "That character arc ended badly, though. Besides, Edwards would be better at that part." Was weird to call her significant other by his last name, but she wasn't giving V permission or opening to call Jon by his first name either.
"Use an enforcer? Maybe. But be careful that they're not just scared of your boyfriend, and know they'll try to tear you two apart, divide and conquer, elementary. I'm uninterested in playing substitute teacher and getting the class back on track if that blows up in your face."
Eyes flicked up from behind blonde bangs. "You never really liked attention. I understood the assignment. If I didn't believe it, I'd be nowhere near this ownership deal. Because I swear to God, if I end up in a power struggle from two sides instead of just one..."
His feet dropped heavily one by one to the floor. "Crown jewels aren't my aesthetic. I've eaten enough hearts, I have no appetite left for more. I'll be Holmes, you be Lestrade. I'll figure shit out from the background, you can take the credit. And OG Lestrade from the writing, not the usually terrible screen adaptations. Initially dismissable, but in reality tenacious and skilled and a different variety of smart and thoroughly teachable. Take credit for whatever you want, it's yours, all I ask in return is that you listen and consider when I have something to say."
Fingers that had been thickened by years of bashing off the skulls of others dug into the couch arm as he hauled himself to his feet with considerably less grace and stealth than he'd appeared in the doorway with. It was late for someone who'd taken more than a life's allotment of wear and tear. "Bonne nuit. If there's more needed, I'm sure it'll fit in text."
"Hm?" Her eyes had dropped back to the sheet and didn't look up. "I think it will, feel free to go back to your eveni..."
She was already alone.