OOC: Morning formats for all.




4/13 - It’s easy to feel for the specimen. They clearly care deeply, but struggle on how to express it. One can only wonder how easy, however, it is to be harmed by the constantly conflicting feelings at play within them.

9/22 - Addendum: The isolationist tendencies of TC-01 makes him particularly vulnerable. One merely has to wait for the dominoes to fall.

Ned stood proudly in front of a banner featuring various XWF logos and a handful of sponsors. He glanced around, clearly feeling a little less comfortable in the studio proper as his mind seemed to race.

“Growing up Catholic was always bizarre for me. Sunday School was probably the worst part for me particularly. They’d herd you and a dozen other kids your age into a room and proceed to recite depressing, violent stories one after another until tying some barely relevant moral to the fever dream you had experienced. And everyone would just sort of shrug and assume it was normal. Obviously, the faith and I could never stick together. It felt like the world around me was committed to something based on beliefs I had no chance of sharing. I’m sure if my Dad was still around, he’d be pretty concerned about the sacrilegious nature of me wrestling in “Hell,” but I feel like all I’d have to do to ease him is point to our big show on “the moon.” Still, saying that reminds me of a belief that Dad had that I keep with me to this day, in a fashion. He used to say that Hell is when God’s love no longer touches your heart. While I don’t agree with the source, the underlying sentiment has always felt undeniable to me.”

His eyes opened, his glare intense as ever.

“Hell is the absence of love.”

“If you ever wanted an explanation to why Chris Page acts the way he does, I don’t believe it could be put any more eloquently. The pageantry, the self-serving bravado, the repeated cycle of surrounding himself with opportunists only to get turned on or can them before they have the chance? None of this would come from a man who had any legitimate love coming to or from him. He is a bitter, lonely man in a marriage that exists more in the dirtsheets than the bedsheets. And that’s the closest thing he has to happiness. That’s his best approximation. I always knew you were pathetic, Chris, but I think preparing for this match here has helped me truly recognize why.”

A growing contempt begins to dominate his expression as he speaks, his tone more pointed than usual.

“See, when I first walked into this company, we had a champion of substance, a man you are far too familiar with. I could never understand your obsession with trying to maim and kill and destroy Robert Main and his legacy. For a long time, I assumed that’s why you hated me. I was just an extension of what Main represented and that positive effect on the industry. Eventually, however, I got it. It’s the same reason half of your career is spent building another bridge to burn: you couldn’t stand the idea that someone had a better way. It wasn’t just that Robert was a better champion than you ever were, he didn’t rely on the tricks and games and spotlight hogging arrogance you made every cent on. He paved a way forward and he did it all by the book and out in the open. No shady bullshit or strings attached. That must’ve terrified you, Chris. You need everyone to play your game, to be the loveless coward you always have been. You know the supreme irony of it all? For all the pointed words and condescension you throw at one another, you and Corey Smith aren’t too different. And I know everyone will look at me like I’m being rude to Corey, but he and I have had our problems for a long time and I’m not going to pretend like he doesn’t have flaws just because he’s facing an immoral murderer this week. If Corey needs to face child murderers to look decent, maybe there’s your hint that I’m not talking out of my ass. And, frankly, it makes total sense why you two hate each other despite being cut from the same cloth. If you need to be the center of attention, you’ll break every mirror you find. Because if you think someone like Chris Page can share a spotlight with his reflection, you overestimate his ability to share.”

“Corey is the same vain, narcissistic manipulator as Chris, he just gives to charity. And he could never be where he is without Chris. All his arrogant nonsense will be little more than whining on the wind if the stage hadn’t been set, polished, and furnished by Page. You set the template for shitty champions and now we get to see your fingertips all over the Main Event of Relentless as a spineless champion defends against a heartless challenger. If that isn’t the greatest indictment of the way you do things, then I guess we’ll have to wait until the Universal Title gets obsessed with Lycana. Speaking of her, the best thing she’s done in years is lose to Jenny Myst, the last thing Chris did in the XWF.”

He pauses, letting the impact of his previous words fill the silence as his tone softens, his gaze once more drifting from the camera’s lens.

“So much of my life has been spent around people talking about these fantastical myths. Ever since I was young, I’ve watched in awe as everyone would just hear something that sounded absurd to me and be convinced that it must be true because someone else said it to be true. At the end of the day, that’s one Page’s entire career feels like. Everyone keeps repeating that he was some sort of grand innovator and rebel when all he really did was glue a few belts to his waist and disappeared once they got ripped off of him. People like Page and Smith are top athletes who care so much about the business until they lose, then they need six months to fuck off somewhere before they can find their way back. Hell, Chris lost a retirement match to the man whose philosophy he despised most of all and he just couldn’t stay away. The spotlight was just too big for this moth of a human being. All of it is marketing. Folks like Page make up myths like an advertising campaign. Something to control perception. Anything to make the world see a great shadow where a small bug stands. You know what you are, Chris?”

Mark Flynn jumps into frame, holding a strange looking Cabbage Patch Kid-esque doll, dressed and designed to resemble Page.

“STOP RIGHT THERE, NED LETTER MEDIA! I can tell you EXACTLY what Chris Page is with four easy payments of $19.99 and a lifetime of neglecting your mental health!”

He proudly presents the doll as Ned stares on in slight disbelief of the assist.

FEAST YOUR EYES ON THIS QUALITY PRODUCT! My First Chatty Chris! Squeeze his rapidly-growing potbelly to hear ALL SIX of his talking points! Classics like “This place doesn’t deserve me,” and “Multi-time Relentless Main Eventer,” and who could forget his signature catchphrase: “It’s not a stable!””

“It’s the only doll that says nothing AND won’t shut up! My First Chatty Chris: You like baby dolls, America? Try one that's a fifty year old man!”

Ned slowly leans towards Mark, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention away from the previous PERFECT sales pitch.

“Uh, Mark… I appreciate it, but I can handle this myself. The assist is nice, though.”

Mark looks a tad upset to be urged off screen so quickly, but shrugs it off and attempts to plug the number to order a Chatty Chris before Ned finally manages to push him out of the frame.

“Ahem. My point isn’t that you’re a primadona, Chris, although you certainly are. My point is so much more than that. You’re a toy. A product. And by being a product, you get to be remembered long after far better people than you who gave themselves fully to this business have been. They get forgotten, but you linger. How many people have I forgotten just so you could be ubiquitous? One would be too many, but we both know the number isn’t so modest. You wear that as a badge of honor, Chris. As if muscling people out of history makes you a better man. At Relentless, you’ll learn the most important lesson of your life. The people who pave the better road will never let you legacy of lies and myth blot out the truth of it all. You’ve traded everything to be loved- to be immortalized. There are no immortals in a Death Match, Chris. Everything ends. On September 23rd, you will be “Chronic” Chris Page, the myth that stands above the more deserving. The man who plays with lives like pieces on a board. The delusional kingpin of a dying age. And on September 24th…”

“You will be forgotten. Just a man who lost to The Ace. No parades, no big entrances, no next chapter. The final page of a story long overdue for a conclusion.”

“Curtains.”

---

---

---

Ned decompressed somewhat as he stepped off the soundstage, seeing Mark still fiddling with his “prototype sensation,” but aside him, a smiling Darcy Ellis, a little bemused by Ned’s tougher demeanor lightening up. They shared a quick kiss as an unspoken possibility loomed over them, casting its shadow, but refusing yet to storm.

“You’re really out for that guy, huh?” She asked him, her attention being split just due to Mark’s continuous difficulties in getting his doll to stay in one piece following its one appearance on screen.

“He and I view professional wrestling differently. He doesn’t love it like I do,” Ned explained before Darcy interjected.

“Ned, I don’t think anyone loves wrestling like you do,” her tone was mostly comical, with a hint of something else just barely submerged.

“Point taken,” he admitted, “but still. He’s infatuated with himself. Couldn’t care less about the rest.”

She nodded, smiling a tad while she fiddled with her hands silently. They both knew what today was, but they hadn’t spoken about it at length. The thought itself seemed indulgent, given the news they were preparing themselves to receive.

Today, they found out whether or not they were going to have a baby.

“STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!” Mark angrily chucked the bald Cabbage Patch Chris towards Ned, who caught it swiftly. It was technically a baby. Sort of.

Not at all.

“You think this will be good practice to get used to lugging something around?” Ned asked, holding up the mangled Page doll upside down by its ankle.

“Somehow, I think plastering the face of one of the people you despise most isn’t a good idea for caretaking practice,” Darcy replied with a dry smirk. Mark poked his head in, intruding upon their conversation.

“What are you two practicing for?”

The two stammered a bit, unable to formulate a response before Mark came to a conclusion. In their defense, that wasn’t long at all.


“Wait… ARE YOU STEALING MY BILLION DOLLAR STOLEN DOLL DESIGN??? How COULD you?! After all that we’ve been together!”

“Mark,” Darcy explained flatly, “most of that stuff was prompted and accelerated by you. You caused a lot of that.”

“Yes, but we still WENT through it- ostensibly- together, Darzipan!”

“We don’t care about your stupid doll!” She clarified passionately. Mark was visibly hurt by his idea being called stupid, but he just grabbed it out of Ned’s arms and grumbled off to the side, mumbling about how artists are never appreciated in their time.

Ned impatiently tapped his foot against the floor, trying desperately to get the nerves to calm, but knowing they wouldn’t. In the back of his mind, he had been considering baby names and ways to find a place for cheap that they could get together just for stability. But beyond all of it was the lingering memory of his father. His father would never get to see himself become a grandpa. Ned’s foot increased in tempo until he felt something squeeze his hand. Glancing down, he saw Darcy’s fingers intertwined with his own. It was almost time for the blood test.

The moment of truth. They smiled, comforted in knowing that they would face it together.

---

Doctor’s offices had a stench to them. Not medicinal in the way most people recognized it, but sterile in some sense. As if the air was coated in suspense, breathing in uncertainty with every expansion of your lungs. Ned had been in too many places that smelt like this, but Darcy seemed far more collected about the whole situation. Still, he watched as her fingernails softly prodded her palm as they waited for a doctor to come in and deliver the results. A band-aid adorned her arm, standing out from her pale skin, looking more drained than usual due to the nerves she was swallowing. She always tried to look as composed as possible, even when she was barely held together. It was something Ned admired about her.

“Are… are you excited?” Ned asked, breaking up the silence, mostly just wanting to hear her voice as a slew of emotions whisked past him.

Darcy didn’t answer immediately, but her tone was confident when she finally found her voice.

“Yeah. I am. I’m a little scared, too, to be honest, but I think I can do this.”

Ned placed his hand on hers, looking her in the eyes and amending her statement.

“We can do this.”

She smiled as Ned felt an all too familiar buzz in his pocket. Using his free hand, he checked to once again see Mark Flynn’s number, as usual. He sent the call to voicemail, bringing his attention back to Darcy, noticing that her anxiousness was coming through a bit more pronounced.

“What was that?” She asked.

“It was nothing,” Ned answered, trying to change the subject, “have you thought about any names you might like?”

“Honestly?” She replied, gulping, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Well… because then it’s happening. Then that means we’re here and we’ve locked into this being a reality and I don’t know if I can just make that step and go back mentally. This is a lot. It’s exciting! I’m happy! But I’m stressed the fuck out and I kind of just want to take it as it comes.”

Ned frowned, giving her some space as he sat back in his seat, “I understand that. All of it. I guess… I heard all these stories about my parents making all these plans about Nate and I immediately and there’s this instinct to-”

The buzz returned. His phone vibrated, showing the same number on its screen. He silenced it again, looking a little more frustrated this time around.

“There’s this instinct for me to-”

“Who was that?”

“It was Mark. I’m just- I’m not going to answer-”

“Can you ask him to stop?”

Ned paused, feeling his words stick in his throat. The fact is that he didn’t know if he could.

“Ned. This is really important to me and he always shows up and has a good reason or something going on and I already had to deal with you going to work today. Can you please call him and tell him no?”

Nodding, Ned took a deep breath and called Mark back, preparing himself for a booming voice on the other end.

“Hey… sorry for throwing a babified Page at you earlier.”

“Hey, Mark. It’s… fine. What’s up?”

Ned’s gaze met Darcy as she noticed that hint of compassion in Kaye’s glare. Her stiffened expression softened.

“I’m at Denny’s-”

Ned gulped. It was never good when Mark was at Denny’s. Outside of Ned, he assumed it was the only thing that provided Mark’s life with any structure or support.

“-and I realized “Well, WHOOP-DEE SHIT, I forgot to ask Ned something important and I was hoping we could… talk.”

“Now really isn’t the best time, Ma-”

“Ned,” Darcy interrupted him, getting his full attention. She met his gaze sadly, but forced a smile.

“You just do what you think is right.”

Ned thought about the situation, trying to mull over everything before relenting.

“I’ll be there in a few, Mark.”

“You’re a scholar and a gentleman, Ned! I’ll order an extra Moons over My Hammy for ya! It’ll only be SOMEWHAT COLD by the time you’re here! *click*”

He put his phone away and began to head for the door, trying to add a bit of levity to the situation, “I’m sure it’ll be colder than that, heh.”

Darcy didn’t respond.

“I’ll be back quick. I promise.”

“Yeah,” she answered, avoiding his gaze.

---

Denny’s was as off-kilter and gross as ever, but it was a place the Mark Flynns of the world called home, especially in times of inconvenience, mild slights, or even turmoil. Ned never could feel comfortable, even with his euphemistically named big breakfast platter sat in front of him. His fingers drummed the table as Mark scarfed down some cheap, soggy pancakes, drenched in syrup. He swallowed the unappetizing bite whole before questioning Ned.

“Nedster Jetster, you’ve hardly touched your Hammy! I paid GOOD money for that!” Mark complained, pointed a syrup coated fork at Ned.

“Look, Mark, I just have a lot going on, so my appetite isn’t all what it should be.”

“The only thing I see you doing is FORWARDING MY CALLS! What kind of friend is that?!”

“A busy one,” Ned responded defensively, causing Mark to back off a bit.

“To be honest, the ol’ Optimal Man isn’t feeling like Thad Duke in Coreytopia himself. Seeing NKWC again…”

Ned tried to empathize, adding, “It must be hard to see your best friend out for your blood like that.”

“DIRTY COMMIES can’t be trusted! You think it upsets me to see him violently opposing everything about me? HAH, I say!”

“...”

“Okay, yeah, it really sucks.”

Mark could spin together a thousand points of data, but he struggled hard to get to the point.

“What is this about, Mark? I’ve got something really important I have to-”

“JESUS NED! I’m pouring my SOUL out to you and you can’t help by blab about you over and over! What about MEEEEE?!”

“Mark, I might be becoming a father.”

“OH! Oh.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How… does that feel?”

“It’s cool…? It’s… really scary. I don’t know if I’m going to be enough for anyone. I keep hoping I’ll figure it out and just be what someone needs, but I figure I’ll screw it up. I’m afraid I won’t be what I need to be until it’s too late.”

“Wow. That’s pretty LAME.”

Ned glared at Mark, making his tactless remark’s intolerance known silently.

“You know what would be brave, Ned? Being ringside for my match with NKWC! That way, you overcome your irrational fear and I have my good old buddy old pal there! Whaddeya say?”

Ned looked up, finally realizing why Mark insisted he come here. Chuckling slightly, he shook his hand in agreement. They both had fears they struggled acknowledging, but they could at least be there for each other in a nice, small way.



On the way back, Ned received a text from Darcy. He had missed the test results. He cursed under his breath, but smiled knowing they were going to meet up at the Notorious Gym, still shut down for renovations. It was a long jog, but he made it. However, he didn’t see Darcy. Just a note left on the ring apron. His fingers unfolded the paper with the most caution he could muster. Quietly, he read over the letter, his hand trembling as the words began to process.

Dear Ned,
This past year or so has been the most exciting in my life and not all in a positive way. I love you, but no matter what you love wrestling more than even yourself. I want to see you succeed, but I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t wait on you forever or let myself just tag along and blend into the background of someone else’s world. The results were negative. I hope you can find what it is you’re looking for because I don’t know what to do. I need time for myself.
Love, Darcy.

He sat down, tears rolling down his cheeks as the truth sank in.

He had a problem.

"You can't run from yourself."